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Kro

Eat.

0 · 149 views · located in The Infinite Void

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by R0NlN

Description

The Calix


Image


The Calix are an ancient alien race living in a deep, unexplored part of the universe. Residing in their home planet, Foet, the Calix have lived a peaceful, secluded life; relatively untouched by foreigners. They are a passive people, deeply devoted to their religion and spirituality. Harmonious, care-free and productive, the Calix are a moral populace even if they're technologically primitive.

The biology of the Calix is quite unique. They posses no blood, organ system or skeletal structure of any sort. Their "bodies" are almost entirely made up of a single cell type: collig. The Calix have the ability to mold their colligic frames, twisting and shaping themselves into any form they choose. The Calix can even seperate masses of collig from their central composition and still maintain control of them at a distance.

Yet the methods by which the Calix survive remains to be the most important (and interesting) system of the alien anatomy. The Calix diet consists of only one food source: hormones. The Calix feed on the hormones of other creatures. When hungry, the collig cell will release the enzyme mollin, which in turn find a host to extract from. The mollin will gather the hormones it was directed to accumulate, leave the host and return to the central composition. The collig cell then breakes down the hormones into nutrient food substance for consumption.

Although the Calix have never understood the science behind their feeding methods (attributing the process to their religion instead), they do understand that they feed on “lesco” (the Calix word for “emotion”). For this reason, the Calix established a society built around peace, harmony and love, hoping to induce positive emotions throughout their race, thus producing the hormones they needed to live. Calix law strictly forbade anyone to feed on “Krolesco” (“twisted-emotion”), or in other words: the hormones released when an individual is experiencing negative emotion. They lived prosperously on their planet, leading simple, happy, self-sustaining lives.


The Atrocity Born


One Calix by the name of Viron, however, was not content existing in such a manner. Although honorable and pure of heart to every degree, he was possessed with a driving desire to explore and discover the universe around him. Unable to be understood by his brethren, he took to the beyond, traveling through space and becoming the first Calix ever to visit alien planets. He discovered, learned and quickly acquired great knowledge and understanding. But the innocent heart of Viron could only understand so much. As he traveled, he was exposed to the darkness of the universe. Witnessing firsthand sins he previously didn’t even know existed, Viron was exposed to pain, war, sorrow, poverty, disease and a myriad of other foul realities. Existence was not happy and joyous as he had supposed it to be. There was darkness…there was evil…perhaps even more so then there was good.

Realizing this drove him insane.

Battling with his consciousness, Viron did the only thing he could to save himself from destruction: he divided his mind. By focusing all his negative emotions and hormones in one center, he separated the feelings from his main body entirely, purging from it from his psyche permanently. It was from the bubbling mass of corrupted collig cells, lying before Viron’s feet in writhing fury, that would come the first and only abomination of the Calix race. Seething with dark energies…filled with concentrated emotion…the mass became a different entity entirely. It became aware. Alive. Sentient.

Constructed from all the evil of the universe, Kro was born.

Coming to terms with what he did, Viron attempted to destroy his accidental monster. Creator and creation dueled briefly, but Kro, fed by the corruption of sentient life; triumphed. Viron fled, leaving the monster to his own devices. Travelling the universe, Kro went from planet to planet in search of food. Like a virus he would incite all sorts of dark and delicious passions in the local inhabitants, then suck the feelings from them like a leech. It’s what he is: an eater. A hunter. A destroyer. It his only purpose to create negative emotion…to corrupt life for consumption.

So begins...

Kro's Story

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#, as written by R0NlN
Kro lives.

The setting changes from smugglers-route to Gambit's Bar

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A strange man enters the bar, silently pushing a grimy grocery cart out in front of him. A large, dirty trenchcoat is draped over his hunching figure, with a scarf wrapped around his neck and a scarecrow's hat shadowing his downcast face. It seems as if a mendicant had just walked into the establishment.

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Kro 's eyes (carefully hidden with a pair of cheap sunglasses he had picked out of the garbage earlier that morning) flicker from patron to patron. His figure heaved for a brief moment as if sighing. Beneath the shadow of his ridiculous hat, the strange man was indeed frowning; his painted lips contorted in sheer displeasure. What a disappointment, after all! Gambit's was supposed to be the most notorious spot in Wing City. Where was the fighting? The crying? The chaos?

The red frown somehow mangled itself into a horrific smile. If there was no corruption here, he'd just have to make some.

He began to push his grocery cart deeper into the bar, its rust wheels squealing on every turn.

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Kro continued forward, the slow, steady cadence of the squeaking grocery cart heralding his arrival. He stopped only when the cart at last met the corner of the bar counter, the metal shuddering briefly as it made contact.

For a long while, he only stared down at the halted cart, his gloved hands still gripped around the handle.

"What a strange sound..." he commented reflectively, his voice edging along a hoarse whisper. He stepped back suddenly and threw the cart forward again into the counter, this time with purposeful force. The cart shuddered and groaned, shaking violently from the impact.

"Yes! Good, good..." he muttered to himself, a red grin lining his painted jaw. He repeated the process yet again, putting all his strength into it this time. The front of the cart dented against the counter, the noise perfectly audible to anyone in the bar.

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Kro froze instantly right as he prepares to throw the cart forward once again, his shoulders hunched forward in eager anticipation. He turns quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he looks about himself once again, his absurd scarecrow hat hiding his face entirely.

Hobo. Yes. THAT was what he looked like, he reminded himself. The pretty little girl was indirectly addressing him.

"Mayhaps he'a bit upset that ee's got nuthin t'eat," Kro spoke up in a voice that quite certainly not his own, as the tone was deep, cheery and friendly.

Beneath the shadow of his hat, Kro licked his lips. He'd have something to eat very soon, he was sure of it.

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Kro cackled sharply, following Ike to the counter, "You got eny' idea how spensive' this hat wuz? Sides' I hate the drink. Devil's licker..." He inhales suddenly, his lids half-drooping beneath his sunglasses. There was lust in this one. Loads and loads of delicious lust...

"Th'grocery cart? Nah, just need a place t'keep my things is all. I may'nt be a rich man, but'least I'mma free man!" That last part he had heard from a metal box inside a building. He hoped it was applicable in this particular scenario...

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Kro smiled, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the bar counter casually. He sort of liked the 'free-man' topic. Instinct told him he might be succesful in touching a soft spot in this one.

"It'true aint it miss? You must be awful happy, livin'n a city like this, doin watcha' want when ya wanna'? All pretty-like an'such. No one tellin' you what t'do or nuthin." His voice is warm and inviting, almost jolly.

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Kro recoiled, as if he had just been told the most awful in his life, "A succubus? Well no wonder y'were all pretty n'such. But owned? Well what kinda' man's got th'nerve to put summun' like you n'a chain?"

So she was an enslaved demoness, was she? Oh yes...this was simply delicious. Now if only he could incite some sorrow...regret perhaps? It was just be a beau-ti-ful cherry on top of an already scrumptious...mouthwatering...dessert...

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Kro nodded patiently to Ike as she spoke, taking a wing from the plate to be avoid suspicion. He WAS supposed to be a hungry hobo after all. Bringing it underneath his hat, he sniffed it suspciously. Disgusting. Just a bunch of sauce and meat. The moment Ike's eyes were off his own, he threw it behind his head quickly. The food will likely splat on the counter before Timo, perhaps even ON Timo, disguised in the gorgeous body of Marina Magdalena.

Turning to Ike once more, he spoke in a quiet, understanding coo, as if he completely related to her sorrow and was perfectly willing to offer her help. "You poor, lil' thing you. Just ain't right, missy. All God's chillun are s'pposed t'be free, even th'damned ones." As he spoke, he moved behind her quietly, removing his beaten leather gloves stealthily. Were anyone to notice his bare hands, they would find them sheet white and his fingernails a ridiculous shade of pink.

"I bet you'd give anything to be free, wouldn't you?" he almost whispered into ear. His voice was no longer the merry slur of a happy-go-lucky mendicant as it was earlier. The words fell of his tongue in perfect metrenome, slithering into Ike's ears in a deceptive dance.

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Kro doesn't say another word to Ike. Grabbing her firmly by her shoulders, he attempted to spin her around so she faced him entirely. After this, his hands would shoot up, gripping her face madly. One of them enveloped her forehead, the other her mouth and jaw.

It was time. Oh yes...now it was time. Kro would do the only thing he existed to do: consume. Eat. He would gorge himself on the plentiful lust reserves of this pretty-young succubus, lightly peppered with regret and a tinge of sadness. A scrumptious concoction of twisted emotions for the abomination that was Kro.

Inclining his head for once, he allowed Ike to look into his face...into his sheet-white face and blood-red lips...like a fucking circus clown. The thin lines of sanguine twisted into a thirsty smile.

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Kro 's hand only tightens around her mouth, pinching her jaw to painful extremes. Ike would feel a sharp sting in every part of her body where Kro's fingers made contact, as he makes tiny little wholes across her pretty little face. She would bleed beneath his fingers, little lines of blood streaming down her jaw rapidly.

From his fingers and into her body, Kro injected his mollin. The enzyme would course throughout her body all at once, seeking out those precious little lusty hormones (oxytocin) and whatever else could be salvaged. Ike might begin to feel weak and faint as Kro makes a sudden invasion over the poor succubus' anatomy, sapping her of both her emotions and her energy.

Kro only gasped in wicked ecstacy. Feeding time's here.

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Fear! Now there was fear too! Kro lapped up the sudden rush of emotion like a panting dog, greedily gorging himself on Ike's delicious hormones. Ohhhh...he hadn't fed THIS well in a while. Kro easily held her limping body up by her face as Ike's knees buckled. With a feast this satisfing, he had enough strength to level a building.

Still, he didn't want to kill the girl. It was no pity or compassion that induced him to spare her life (after all, the emotions spinning through one's mind at the moment before death are the most delicious of all...). Quite simply the succubus was more good to him alive then dead. If she was ALWAYS this full of lust and if he made a habit of finding her...she could prove to be a valuable food bank.

Releasing her from his clenching grip all at once, Kro stepped back. It is very likely that the succubus would fall to her knees, perhaps passed out completely.

Kro would be instantly knocked off her feet at Isobel's tidal wave of power. Not that it mattered much to him anymore...he was full and no longer had any wish to pursue conflict.

"She's alive!" he croaked, still smiling wildly from his recent feeding, "I'm done with her anyhow!"

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A strange man entered the bar, silently pushing a grimy grocery cart out in front of him. A large, dirty trenchcoat is draped over his hunching figure, with a scarf wrapped around his neck and a scarecrow's hat shadowing his downcast face. The grocery cart's rusty wheels squeek in eerie metrenome to his cautious footsteps. It seems as if a mendicant had just walked into the establishment.

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Kro slowly looked from side to side, analyzing the bar patrons through shadowed eyes. It was another quiet day at Gambit's, was it? The walking figure heaved suddenly, sighing in perplexed dissapointment.

One figure however, managed to catch Kro's attention. It was a particularly peculiar ('What a wonderful word!' Kro paused himself briefly to reflect, 'peculiar...peculiar...') looking woman pacing about the bar, garbed in some sort of metallic alloy. A faint but sharp irritation wisped off this one...nothing much at first, certainly not. But perhaps it could be built upon?

"Peculiar..." Kro repeated himself aloud now, enunciated the adjective with careful punctuality, "Pe-CU-lee-er...Pe-cu-LEE-er..."

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And what was this? Panic was it? Oh my...this was quickly becoming quite the delicious little encounter. QUITE the delicious little encounter indeed. Kro hardly paid any attention to the strange ice chilling across her armor. It was easy enough to realize that she wasn't human.

But she felt, no? There was emotion in her. Negative emotion, in fact. This alone was sufficient enough to interest the atrocity that was Kro.

"Pardon me, ma'am..." Kro approached her suddenly, speaking up in a relaxed, friendly and disarming voice that was certainly not his own.

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A strange man entered the bar, silently pushing a grimy grocery cart out in front of him. The filthy wheels make eerie, metronomic -screeks- with every slow rotation. A large, dirty trenchcoat is draped over the mans hunching figure, with a scarf wrapped around his neck and a scarecrow's hat shadowing his downcast face. It seems as if a mendicant had just walked into the establishment.

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Kro continued forward, the slow, steady cadence of the squeaking grocery cart heralding his arrival. He stopped only when the cart at last met the corner of the bar counter, the metal shuddering briefly as it made contact.

For a long while, he only stared down at the halted cart, his gloved hands still gripped around the handle.

"That sound again..." a hoarse, rasping whisper came from beneath the wrapped scard, "...I just loovvvveedd....that soouuunndddd...." He stepped back suddenly and threw the cart forward again into the counter, this time with purposeful force. The cart shuddered and groaned, shaking violently from the impact.

"Loooovvvvedddd...." Kro seethed as he slammed the cart into the counter again and again, "....sooouuuunnnndddd...." He looked up briefly at Jack, advertising to the bar. Hmmm...was there perhaps something to be gained in this little "game" for Kro?

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Kro wrung his hands together silently, his black breath rasping in monstrous cadence. Yes...there WAS something to be gained here. But it was no amount of money or success that made Kro shudder in sick ecstacy. Rather, it was the bubbling brewing of negative emotion in Jack, a beautiful concoction of anger, greed and pride. Anger towards these "fucktards", greed for the money he might possibly procure...pride in his own abilities...

And Kro was very, very hungry.

And yet, there were other emotions in the bar too. There was a childish lust (for blood, he assumed) in that vampire child...a steady growing aggression in the other vampire standing next to the cat...

My, my...Gambit's was ready to be slaughtered.

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Kro suddenly drew back to reality as Nyarlathotep bestowed his dark, accursed gift on him. The Calix could feel forbiden luck energies coursing through him...giving him power...horrible, horrible power...

"I do not know you, spirit..." Kro said quietly in his true voice, "...but it seems as if we are kindred in the depths of our miserable souls. Whatever your reason for this blessing, I accept it..." His fingers curled in foul intent.

Hm. So Jack was gone, yes? Well he would just have to start with the boy, then. There wasn't much to feed from, but it should give him enough strength to take the older vampire next...

"Little boy..." Kro's voice would suddenly change, his monstrous, shadow tone wisping into a friendly, disarming "old-man Jenkins" kind of sound, "...it seems as if you've run out of games t'play. Poor kid...lil'thing you..."

Beneath the shadow of his scarecrow hat, Crow's painted lips smiled in red malice.

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Kro only grinned wider. Now there was arrogance and intolerance thrown into the mix too! Perhaps this would prove to be a decent meal after all.

"Don't speak then, boy..." Kro's voice assumed it's natural beastly tone, as he suddenly lunged at Parson. Blessed with the luck powers of a dark god, Kro would be considerable fast. If he succesfully grabbed Parson (one hand on his neck, the other over his face), the monster would lift the vampire child off the ground, the kid's back to the flaming hearth behind them.

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Kro has lost the ability to speak, his mind completely consumed with the hunt. As Parson ran to the other side of the room, Kro growled in fury. Removing one of his flithy gloves, he extended his hand, releasing two bubbling globs of collig cells straight at the boy. If they struck, they would slam him up against the and pin him there. Hopefully his luck powers would force a direct hit.

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A strange man entered the bar, silently pushing a grimy grocery cart out in front of him. A large, dirty trenchcoat is draped over his hunching figure, with a scarf wrapped around his neck and a scarecrow's hat shadowing his downcast face. It seems as if a mendicant had just walked into the establishment.

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Kro continued forward, the slow, steady cadence of the squeaking grocery cart heralding his arrival. Every so often his hidden face would turn slowly to a patron, silently watching them...as a butcher might inspect a sow before the slaughter. He rolled on through the room, and stopped only when Artyom dropped some money and ammunition in his grocery cart. For a long while, the man simply stared down at the donation, pondering its significance...

Ah yes, -that's- what some people do with ragged-looking folk on this planet. They help them. Kro himself couldn't possibly fathom what petty stirrings of compassion might induce another human being to give aid without expecting anything in return...but it had happened nonetheless. Perhaps this could be used to his advantage...

"Mah'boi..." Kro would pipe up in a friendly, disarming 'old-man-Jenkins' kind of voice that was certainly not his own, "thas'a luvlee thing you jus'did fer me. Luvlee thing. Ah'been lookin' fer'sum meel'. Sum good meel'. Won'cha cum' an ave' a drink with ol'Kro? Lees' I can do fer ya!" A hearty cackle followed.

...what a nice, jolly old man...

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Kro cackled again, "Was'better then sum cumpanee? Sum good cumpanee? Any boi' like yerself who'd help a lil'ol'man like me ought t'have sumethin' to say! Lemmee' have sumethin' t'say with ya'!" Beneath the brim of his scarecrow hat, the Calix almost growled. Curse this pathetic manner of speaking he had to use...but his voice was his greatest disguise. Better he be taken for a drunk mendicant then something...else...

Kro was also beginning to wonder if Artyom would be the best person in the bar to approach. Although there was certainly traces of arrogance in the young soldier, there was also tremendous bravery and determination. Kro sputtered and coughed at the thought, black scum dripping from his red lips. Of all the 'noble virtues' that man possessed, Kro hated courage the most...

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"Never'mind ya, boi," Kro staggered, gripping his grocery cart with maddening force, "thank'ee fer th'creds. I'mma be usen'em. Usen'em em reel good..." With that, the Calix turned, attempting to move his grocery cart past Artyom. There wasn't a meal here. Just a man with a lot of guns and a decent ammount of balls. On a better day, perhaps Kro would have tried Artyom anyway...but he hadn't had a good meal in a month. Now wasn't the time for a fight.

...now was the time for an easy slaughter.