Zackary Hannibal Kane's Story

The sun was falling fast. The ominous glow of dusk settled in as Aether's eyes shot open. The first thing that came into view was Alma, curled up next to him. He forced a half smile, patting her side. She shot up defensively. Realizing it had only been him, the large lizard calmed and nudged him with her nose. Nodding, Aether slowly rose to his feet. About halfway up, he winced in pain, his hand shooting to his chest. "Must have some broken ribs," he chuckled. It didn't help with the pain. "Nothing I can do about it right now," he added as he stood the rest of the way up.

Looking around him, he realized how much damage he had just caused. "No wonder I passed out," he said in slight awe of himself. Something felt off to the young man. And he noticed that the glow beneath his eye didn't seem to be as bright as before. "Suppose I should start by working on some armor." He bent low, touching the ground with his hands. Bit's of earth slowly crept up his arms, beneath his thobe. Eventually his body was once again covered by stone armor. His head, hands and feet free. Before he could begin hardening it, he felt a sudden rush of fatigue and dropped to the ground. Alma jumped in response and nudged him once more.

Sighing, Aether came to a realization. "Haester must have been boosting my abilities. Now that I'm an enemy, he stopped." Clenching his fists, Aether rose back to his feet. "Suppose I'll have to improvise for a weapon...just in case." Using the stone that covered his arms and legs, he formed a short blade. Since he had already used this bit of stone before it took considerably less energy to reshape it. He gave the blade a few twirls in his right hand before returning his focus to his chest. The armor began to harden. A few moments later, he let up, not wanting to drain too much energy. It wasn't as hard as he would like and may only be good for stopping a light handgun at close range.

With a shrug, Aether whistled, motioning for Alma to start moving, but Aether almost immediately halted. He thought he felt the ground weakening, almost as if it were hollow beneath him. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Stabbing his blade into the ground, he pulled up his knapsack, his left arm shooting inside to search for what little food he had. He stopped when his foot hit something. Looking down, he recognized his water skin. "Can't forget that," he said, reaching for it. Placing it in his bag, he retrieved a bit of sandskidder meat. It was only a couple days old, but he had salted it so that it would last just a little longer. Unwrapping it, he smiled. It was one of his favorite things to eat.

Aether devoured the chunk of meat quickly, feeling far better than before. His hand went back into his bag as he began to walk again. He pulled out a metal cigar case. Opening it, he retrieved a blunt cigar. Placing one end in his mouth, he returned the case to his bag and pulled out his flask. He stared at the name scrawled on the front. His family's name. His thoughts went to Haester. Dismissing his thought, he brought a finger to the tip of his cigar. A small flame appeared, igniting the end. He shook his hand as if he had a match or lighter. As he puffed his cigar, his hands opened the flask, and the smell of strong whiskey his Aether's nose. Smiling, he removed the cigar from his mouth and raised his drink. "To the future death of that bastard, Haester," he said with renewed vigor. Bringing his flask to his lips, he emptied it. Shaking his head he shouted, "Whoo! That's what I'm talkin' about!" Alma stood at his side, motionless the entire time, with quick glances here and there.

Placing the flask back in his bag, Aether threw it over his shoulder and took a drag his cigar. "Alright, Alma. Let's find us a town or something," He said as he began to walk again, pulling his sword from the earth. "Has to be one somewhere around here." Looking up, he spotted a tall building he may be able to use to look for one in the area. "There's our destination, girl." He patted his companion on her side and she bent down, so that Aether could hop aboard. Swinging his leg over the beast, he took another drag as she stood back up. "Let's go," he said lightly kicking her sides. She started at a bit of a trot. A few steps later, and the ground rumbled, bringing Alma to a complete stop. Aether kicked her sides again and she started moving a little faster than before. Almost immediately, the ground beneath her feet gave in.

Aether hit some solid surface. It hadn't been a long fall, but it was enough to hurt his already broken ribs, and so, he let out a cry of pain. "Fuck!" He shouted as the dust settled. He rose to his feet looking up at the hole. Alma lay on the ground a few feet away, covered in dust and some rocks. "That shockwave earlier must have weakened the ground. You would be able to get out of here, ya damn lizard. Can't say the same for me, though." Alma stood back up, shaking the dust off. Shaking his head, Aether continued, "Whatever. Let's try to find a way out of here, girl." To his left, Aether could see his blade, snapped in half. Picking the pieces up, he mended it without using to much energy. Once again the lizard bent down, and once again Aether mounted her.

Aether's cigar seemed to have landed beneath the rubble. "Great. Pretty sure that's a bad sign," he stated. With another kick, Alma began to walk. Once they were too far from the hole to get any light from it, Aether produced a flame in his right hand, using it as a torch. Looking around, he realized that they had fallen into the old sewer system. It had run dry after so many years without being used. The two went on for a while, finding it hard to keep an idea of time. It was most definitely dark by now.

Eventually, Aether began hearing strange sounds in the distance. Readying his blade Aether and Alma pressed on. The sounds only came every so often, a click here, or a chatter there. After a while, Aether could see starlight in the distance. At this point, he hopped off of his friend and took the lead, sword raised in his right hand. As he got closer, he allowed the flame to dissipate. As he got closer to the hole, he felt the familiar rush of light radiation hitting him. He had only experienced it once on a salvage mission with Haester when he was still young, but the feeling had stuck with him.

When Aether reached the edge, there were two things he took note of. One, he finally found a possible way out. And two, there was deep hole in front of him. Looking back up, he saw some sort of rope that went from the edge of the hole and descended into the darkness below. A moment later, the rope fell, startling Aether. Curiosity overcame him. Producing a head sized ball of flames, he tossed it into the abyss, allowing it to fall slowly, rather than at a normal rate. Some sounds were heard from below. A few clicks and some chitters here and there. As the light lowered, some figures came into view. Some grotesque humanoids could be seen. One form stood out. It looked like a large man. The mutant forms began to shift, seeming irritated. Quickly, Aether snuffed out the flame, hoping that he hadn't just pissed something off.

Cain ran and leaped out towards the center of the depository, falling the remaining twenty or so feet down landing with 'thud' that sounded like a jackhammer strike. It was due to the immensity of the armor he bore, and wore around on a day-to-day basis. It was extremely heavy, most could even pick it up let alone wear it everyday like a t-shirt. Two-hundred pounds alone. That was not with all the added equipment attached to it, the guns, the ammunition and the supplies. This was a strong point for the people in Roram to contest that the "Albino" was in-fact a mutant living among them. This brought most disgust, but also a fear. But unlike the simple fear from a man with a gun--Cain provided an added threat. They didn't know what he could do, let alone prove without a doubt he was. But he never yet denied the allegations.

In fact, he was indeed a hybrid. But the mutations were constantly growing. The reason for his extraordinary strength, comparable to a silverback gorilla--enabling him to easily break, squeeze, tear off and move incredibly heavy objects. The cause of this mutation? The hyper condensed muscles in his arms and legs. Nearly four times as hard as a humans would be of a comparable growth. This meant that while he certainly didn't look any bigger or stronger--he was actually both. This highly dense bundle of musculature that has attached to an equally impressive hardened skeletal frame allowed him to be six times the strength of any normal, every day man.

This was a frightening concept to be sure. An entirely overpowering humanoid that could not only shoot a gun--but could literally crush a man's skull terrified the locales. The fact that he could see in the dark--although they were never truly aware of just how well-- it nevertheless, unnerved them to see his feats in complete darkness. Simply his acuity with the senses themselves; on several occasions mobs had tried to essentially ambush Caine, only to find that his animal-like tendencies and natural gifts made him very astute. He could smell them even though they didn't have a particularly pungent aroma--none that a normal human could smell. He also has surround sound hearing, meaning he can flex the small bones in his ears to accurately tune in to hear even a heart beating.

Even his mouth could relay things like temperature differences, sensing from both sides of the head and following trails based on chemical cues is called tropotaxis. His teeth's dentin and enamel had super hardened and even though they looked like a humans teeth s till, there were serrated ridges, like small steak knives even on his molars. This made flesh a prime target over anything else. Human. Animal. Mutant. Flesh was flesh to him. His jaw was unlike a humans as well. It was designed more like a Rottweilers, in the function that it could essentially "lock" into place. But this had a devastating effect to whatever he had a hold of in his mouth. Snapping his jaws shut, he had a bite force enough to snap the femur of a human leg.

He did have several drawbacks. One being a true albino, he could not endure the sunlight on his bare skin, it was why when he was younger he dwelt within the slums of shanty towns like Roram and lived inside the ruins like this city like a ghost. It provided much needed shelter from the sun's UV rays. While not nearly as potent as it formally was due to the nuclear winter from the fallout of the war--to him as an Albino, it was very similar to turning an arc welder loose on human flesh. The effects can speak for themselves. Large, painful blisters that can quickly go from some the size of a dime, to covering his whole backside in several cases that left disfiguring scars.

Another was his mutation itself. While being highly adaptive its progressive effects could be decisively seen all over his body. In the scars that littered it. He would begin to mutate secondary limbs or some other extra appendage and he simply, cut it off. Though make no mistake, he bled heavily, and the pain was excruciating. It was a source of severe contempt and disdain for Cain. Moreover, if he allowed it to progress past the initial stages of growth there was no telling what the effects would be. For Cain, it would feel like he would be lost in a conglomeration of grotesque, abhorrent mutations.

A ball of flame plummeted past him as he fell twenty to the tracks of the subway, once he had landed he slowly rose to an upright standing position. If not for his goggles, Cain would surely be wincing from the flames that were near by. His head drifted up to a ledge where--to his eyes-- he could make out a humanoid shaped figure standing there. When the winged creatures began to react--hissing at the focal point of light--the fire went out.

Magic users never equaled anything good. This one had alerted the guardians of the nest. These weren't winged creatures, but tall--perhaps seven or eight feet in height. They had two extra limbs, like arms but the didn't have hands on them. No, instead, these limbs ended in long, thick spikes that could perforate steel. Real welcoming guys they were. They were incredibly strong, even stronger than Cain was himself. They could scale walls very quickly using their double-jointed arms and defensive weaponry. Their talon-tipped feet, being heavily contaminated with fecal matter could cause severe sepsis.

But they did something that annoyed Cain. It was sort of a pet peeve. They spat. Their spitting irked him. However, it served a mechanical function. Anything that they digested, came up as a mucous web based mater that was sticky and viscous. It sickened him. He would kill them when he came across them, if for nothing else but because of what they did got under his skin. He stared out seemingly into a void, but he could see them crawling on all fours like beasts of burdening.

He waited for them to come. The residual shock-wave vibrating their 'webbing', the thick coat of mucous that encapsulated this dismal hole in the ground. He took off his XM8, un-slinging it from around his neck and shoulder. It would draw too much attention. He set it down slowly, in the the muck and grime. He would clean it later. Several times. But for now, for the task he had at hand he unsnapped his shotgun and withdrew it. His fingers, in an almost rehearsed manner indexed several--questionable shotgun rounds and cycled them into the slide while remaining on point with the stock pressed firmly against one shoulder.

The rounds he was loading into the barrel so effortlessly, were fléchettes. These dart-shaped tungsten carbide projectiles were thirty in number--per shotgun shell. While it had a charge to propel the projectiles forwards with extreme, the resulting firing would only create a very loud 'crack' and not result with a muzzle flash. The fléchettes themselves were denser than steel. They could punch through soft body armor with ease. They were banned in the past for being "inhumane". He stalked forwards, gripping the forearm of the shotgun while pinning the stock tightly against his shoulder.

Cain moved forwards, walking towards these terrors with a calm dispassion, his eyes looking straight ahead. The blood was pumping heavily through out his body. He was excited. He was exhilarated. He drew the forearm to, cocking the first round into the chamber. Inside of his chest, beneath layers of armored plating, beyond the taut muscle that clothed his skeletal frame--beat the heart of a true killer. A fearless machine with nerves of ice, and determination that was predictably stubborn.

The first in a grouping of three stood upright and threw its arms back, releasing a extraordinarily high-pitched scream that resonated through the chamber. Cain instantly lifted the 12 gauge rifle to point at the broadness of its chest. A perfect target. He squeezed the trigger. A loud 'pop' resounded but hardly any muzzle flash. In that instant, thirty tungsten carbide darts exploded from the barrel. The punctured, not only the monster in front of him, but the spread caught the second in the eye-less facade skull. The dart mangled the connective tissues of its brain. Bouncing around as a frangible like a pin ball, dropping it immediately, and the third in the leg. The chest shot to the first didn't kill it, but did substantial flesh and muscle tissue damage.

The creature lurched forwards with one of its defensive arms striking out, while it leaned forwards exerting pressure. Cain avoided the sharpened claw, side stepping and pivoting around, ducking under the extended arm cocking the rifle again dispelling the cartridge from the guns port and loading the next chambered round. But rather than expend another round of the frangible munition, he slung the rifle behind him and unlatched his tomahawk. The curved and deadly tempered steel bladed was honed. Gripping the axe handle he rushed the creature's face which snapped its jaws at him.

Saliva dripped from its open mouth as it bit at him trying to recover the limb it had embedded in the ground in its haste to quickly kill him. Using the backwards curving hook atop the axe head, pierced the fleshy underside of its jaw in between the bones and before the throat. It whined, and thrashed as it suddenly recognized the severity of the pain. Pressing a boot to the creature's chest, he had gotten an alarming amount of leverage. Gripping the single handed axe with both hands, he twisted and pulled the creature's jaw away from its own structurally sound mechanics. The flesh tore in a gruesome, barbaric display of which Cain was grinning psychotically as he felt the creatures blood flowing and with it--its heart beat.

The lower palette tore away from the remainder of the creature's countenance. The bones began to splinter and break apart. He could feel it in his hands. The power raging trough him. He was addicted to it. It was the truest drug, the only one he'd ever need. He tore the jaw off the axe although it barely needed any further tearing from the amount of devastation he had already caused. He roared himself, though not nearly as loud, it held its own sinister tone and was definitely not human. The blood had gotten to him, he felt himself slipping in a frenzy. That mind numbing belligerence. The sheer acts of violence that came afterwards when he gave into his indecent nature.

He mounted the hemorrhaging creature. If they experienced shock the way that humans had, it was definitely in it by now. But it wasn't enough for Cain. Something in him had broken loose. A primal aspect. A terrible aspect. Before he killed because it was needed. Now, now he killed because he simply wanted to. Again he lifted the axe and brought it down on the creature's skull. The bones splintered yet again, and yet again the flesh was sundered. He drove the axe into the creature's cranium, going deeper and deeper with his psychotic fit of rage until he was covered in blood, brains and shit.

The third was limping away when Cain took notice of the movement. He twisted and craned his head stepping down the carcass of the first guardian that had been literally minced. The axe in his hand still having gorged bits and chunks of flesh and pulp on it. It was dragging itself because the frangible had torn one of its tendons in its leg. He gripped the axe loosely as he stalked towards the beast and feasted on the confusion in its eyes. It was not human, it didn't comprehend what was going on. Its brain, panicked and it was in flight mode.However it was still dangerous. Nevertheless, Cain mocked it.

"Come on beasty, get to your fucking feet!" He called out to it, waving it towards himself with both hands. He was seething and drooling. Gore and violence had this effect on him.If something was ultra violent, it tapped into his hybrid genetics and brought fully to the surface. It made the world see who was and what he was very capable of doing. It was a side he had to keep under wraps at all times while in a settlement lest he massacre the town. He had done it a time or two when he was younger. Two of the border towns in other sectors seemingly...vanished. When really, he had taken every man, woman, and child and slaughtered them.

Everyone had their coping skills...

Out of the wastes of the world outside the gates into Roram, a figure on the searing hot face of the landscape emerged. A lone figure appeared. Bulky in appearance, the heat waves rising from the ground reflected the image as it tread towards the small makeshift town like an approaching plague. Its faceless façade was cloaked by a veil of thick cloth, black goggles and a combat helmet. He looked like a walking tank with the armament that tirelessly toted with him; assault rifles clanking against each other, the duffel bag strapped to his armored backside as was his shotgun. However, as he encroached further and further inland--it became clear that weapons were not the only thing he was carrying.

The town of Roram came to life; a whirlwind of voices--whispered concerns, threats to which he acknowledged none, and those that were curious to see this vagabond. To know if he was the one. The Albino Man, supposedly a hybrid that massacred two towns already. What were they to do? He probably had more guns strapped to him, than the whole town itself. And what was that in his right hand? The two guards outside saw what it was first and were taken back and awe struck. They were afraid, they were terrified and he hadn't even had to do anything--yet. Yes, he held the head of one of the town's very own 'elite'. It was clasped tightly in a gloved hand by the scalp. The face was, desiccated from the extreme temperature of the midday sun. The flesh had a leathery texture to its appearance and as one might have the clear notion--was putrefied. The rotten flesh just barely able to cling to the bleached bone beneath. His face had been chewed on but not completely gone. There were some features.

One grabbed his Colt revolver, the hammer cocking back with the assistance of the man's thumb. To the audible 'clicking' action, Cain simply turned his blanketed face towards the man giving him a subtle reminder. You see, his left hand still had the tomahawk out and the skin textured leather gloves he wore--let out a soft squeal of their own as his fingers tightened around the lever-action handle as if to say ' you pull yours, I'll pull mine' without the utterance of a single word between them. The large, round black eyes of Cain's goggles stared emotionless into the face of a panic stricken man who then tried to lift, aim, and fire at Cain.

However, Cain's eyes watched carefully now. In the brevity of the moment the man took to gain his sights, Cain firmly and swiftly came in arc starting from below and traveling upwards at angle until the hatchet burrowed into, and past the man's temple with a sickening 'crack' as bone splintered. The more sickening thing was, was the man was still alive. Lobotomized, but still breathing. There came a harsh, quick yelp from the second sentry as he fumbled for his gun. His hands were shaking, he had backed up quickly to try and put distance between him and Cain.

Cain reeled, pivoting in a 360 degree manner, tearing away the hatchet and sending the body of the man's partner towards him. They both collapsed, backs to stomach. The man's hand still had a hold of his side arm but as soon as he drew it, his wrist bent inwards. There was a second sickening 'pop'. In the micro second that his wrist bent to withdraw, Cain had stomped on the bent compilation of cartilage and bone. The force of which, was an even more grisly sight as the resonating tremors that vibrated through his bone structure from the tour de force blow had, in effect, blown out the bone causing it to crumple and the flesh be perforated in many angles and ways. This man screamed, yet it was on deaf ears when it came to Cain. The city, however, heard this man's wail like a banshee cry.

"But if there is harm, then you shall pay life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe." Cain uttered, it was from the book of Exodus. Taking his tomahawk, he turned back to the gates, walking away with the man's mangled arm causing considerable an irreconcilable pain. He brought his boot up, he kicked the doors ajar, and readily moved into town. A great many people fled in terror when they saw the rotten, half eaten head of a man they had formally known. Cain, carried it to the arms dealer that employed him to begin with. With a baffled look of why everyone was running and this lone man was simply...walking. It too made them very nervous, but it was only the beginning of their horror. Cain simply lifted his hand carrying the disembodied head of their field agents. One threw up immediately, the other backed away very quickly. Cain dropped the head on the counter, letting the ten pounds of flesh and bone bounce and roll towards them before carrying the gear that he had gotten onto Commando Capacity.