Discovery Gaming Community

//Note that it refers to the character, while as it may refer to anything else. Emphasis on this is in purpose for a better understanding on the character's point of view.

Undying

Surrounded by machines, it laid in a white dress. Unable to breath on its own, oxygen was brought through wires. Wires that covered its body, full of holes. Wires that connected its every part to these machines that allowed it to breath, diggest, and exist in a neverending parade of dying light and dying life.

Sometimes, the creature had dreams. Or was it only one?

Embedded in darkness, a figure stared at it. Maybe he had his eyes closed, but that was irrelevant. With a flexed right arm, the man aimed at his own chest.

The dreams, dream, was always the same. Though, that might not be true. For a while, the monster merely stood there, watching the man. Eventually however, it started walking towards him. Why did it know, that it was a man?

Every dream, it was slightly closer. Maybe it wasn't different dreams, but a really long one.

Figures dressed in white sometimes appeared around him. Ghosts, surely, ready to prey on it should his guard be down for a spare second.

At some point, the shadow of the man dissapeared. The darkness had turned slighly red, and it was sitting on the chair previously occupied by the man.

No matter how terrifying they are, dying monsters aren't monsters at all. Ghosts surrounded it from every side, like wolves would flank a wounded animal.

Sitting down in the crimson hall, alone in the dark, it felt a beat. Staring at its chest, a freezing feel shoock its broken spine. A lazy heart, ready to give up. Strength left it for dead, and so did every sense.

But a monster needs none of those. With a monster's grin, it sank its monstrous right arm that had been there for this very purpose and stroked the frozen heart, forcing the blood to flow once more.

Its eyes opened for the first time in a lifetime.

Unforgotten

The recovery wasn't an easy process. Patches and implants of all sorts coated a body just as weak as it was wasted. Lack of exercise and proper feeding for years left it in terrible shape. A monster's shape.

They had strange accents, the ghosts that turned into men and women. Half deaf, half blind and half dead, the freak that was it merely couldn't understand.

Memories slowly clinged their way into its mind. Some of them. A large fight, them surrounded by ships. Them?. A space battle. Its clan and it had been all but wiped out by an overwhelming force.

A question so obvious that it couldn't be avoided any longer rose. The monstrous mouth disagreed, however, for it could not pronounce a word.

Months of recovery were neccesary for the freak to be able to stand, though still breathing artificially. Observing them, the white dressed men and women, it learnt words and phrases in their language, eventually becoming able to understand a handful. Did it take a day, or a year?.Its crashed throat began, for the first time in a lifetime, to emit sound.

And so, the monstrosity was introduced into who it is and what had happened, it's identity only known by the outcast militia that it belonged to. Former slaves, they'd been hired to obliterate a colonial operation.

The arrival to the docking area was only quick enough to contemplate as its companions left the planet's orbit, piloting a variety of space ships.

_____________

Renaissance

Standing on the spot, it didn't move a single inch. Permanently looking up with the crooked neck of a crooked monster, it waited, breathing through a machine for only death was possible should it be removed. The air was infested with a substance so toxic it'd turn men into monsters.

They came back. As many as they had taken off, even if it had forgotten numbers and how to count. The men docked scratched ships, led by the one named "Aslan", and followed by "Lich". Former slaves, they certainly didn't look as such, covered in scars.

A monster's grin deformed its monstrous face, as it walked towards its fellow abominations.

Friends greeted the one who had passed away as if it was only natural. Just like fellow mates who haven't seen one another in a long time, they talked, and the newborn listened, learning of the reformed Xtreme Fighters.

For it had been dead and undying, for it had been fighting and unyielding.
For it had been breathing poison, for it had been forgotten its memories in a 4 years lapse.
It shall henceforth be known as Renaissance, born anew from the mortal remains of a slain monster.

An empty shell without any talents, what would he be filled with by his fellow undying monsters?