Rot

Rot

The news was bleak. Teow had gone the depressingly apocalyptic path of its predecessor home-worlds, and at almost half the time it had taken Jorae. At only thirty seven years the signs of Rot were beginning to appear in the outcroppings of civilization, signaling it was once again time to flee.

Our crafters, creators, the engineer's of society traveling at disproportionate speeds to preserve intelligence, were of course already working on the fifth destination. It's location not even yet known by them to ensure Rot did not spread via sabotage. It was, however, too soon. Even were the shuttles to me delayed as long as humanly possible, there was doubt Moeg would be ready in time.

Even more found themselves asking why to even bother. Rot had consumed Earth, and ever sense it seemed to cling to humanity like an infection.

No moving ceased its pursuit. No cleansing purged its hold. No cure could be made to combat its growth. And neither could the weapons of men harm moving poison. Rot is reckoning taken from, a meteor from God, a karma from Gaia, a sickness. Yet still we try, still we run. Further and further every time despite the diminishing results.

It seems as though our death will finally be met upon Moeg, or perhaps on route. Only twelve thousand engineers will remain, creating planets for the dead. Given time Rot will reach them too, carbon form developing near light speed just so that it might kill the last human adrift in space. It was not enough to live alone and as a failure, the scourge condemns you to die as such without chance of salvation.

I see around me the past playing out at heightened speed. Panic, unbridled and untamed, wrecking the streets of super-cities. There was lawlessness, there was death, there was anarchy already beginning to take form, and there was fear and suffering at what would eventually come. It had happened before. I had seen it before. This time was worse however, more extreme, for we were ever more aware of imminent doom.

I have already decided to let whatever happens, happen. To let the choir of screams outside go unanswered. To let murder, and thievery, go unpunished. And to let myself die, in isolation, surrounded only by damned billion's of similar fate, as Rot consumes life. I have already decided to go unsaved.

What more could I do? The news was bleak.

The Revenant

Sirens screamed like an old Drekavac now immortalized in cold steel, their cries accompanied by violent red lights of warning which shone upon blood that bathed dead corridors. Once soldiers of courage fled down winding halls in panic, more, in dread. Rightfully scared scientists, engineers, cooks, janitors, piolets, all that remained, that is, crammed themselves into every tight corner that provided a haven of safety. God-fearing roars of resident announcer Micheal Shirk bellowed out mechanically an omen that all could see. The Revenant had arrived once more.

As hell broke loose, and the stranger from across the stars massacred the occupants of Travelway Haden, Captain Philip prepared to take his own life.

Philip thought first of despair, of agony, of pain soon arriving and to be delivered by his own pistol. A vellian shot through the chest would be the force of a raging bull, the shock of the electric chair. Millions of volts were to course through his body instantaneously on impact. A violence beyond nature that would evaporate hair, burn skin, twist bone in sudden spasm, and partially cremate upon corpseification. Even all this would not act quick enough to prevent Philip from the second pain. From feeling the gaping hole in his chest, lungs popping and hearts punctured, muscle dropping to the floor, blood pouring.

As the Revenant drew near, and the last dying screams of attempted hiders vibrated upon metal, the choice became clear.

Philip's next thoughts were of regret, for Cassandra told clearly of the knife in her hand, and how she would come to exact payment in pain. It was clear from that start that whatever was trapped within the vessel, its construction of solid tungsten and alien alloy, was never meant to be. Yet Haden had welcomed the unknown stranger, nursed it, taught it. Taught it science, and religion, and history, and culture, and politics, and above all the purest way of man, the greatest pastime of humanity, how to kill. It so passively demonstrated its clear lacking need for instruction, standing idly and with disinterest at every world not involving food, until we had come to the topic of death. Foolish as children, we were but toys that interested it, animals barking such funny noises, but when a dog bites an owner, the dog must die.

Screams had all died down now, even the howls of Shirk. Not even the Drekavac and its fellow red dared announce the coming presence, for without warning Haden was silent and dark. Silent, that is, except for the soft foot prints of the Revenant outside the command rooms very door.

Steeled, prepared, Philip turned the gun rapidly not at the mortal monster beyond but towards his own life. Pulling hard the clicking trigger so that a finger paled from pressure. Dying. Alone. One billion miles from family. But safe from the Revenant. Safe.

The Revenant did later then open the heavy door to find a bloodbath. Mangled and burnt body that smolders atop fine carpet now dipped in red, half the chest thrown against the wall. It surely smiled at this site.

--the end

Hey fellas, can we get an updated list of helpful links?

Cause a number of these don't work, have links that don't work, or lead to outdated sites

This is coming from a guy who really needs to grow up, but found several of the links I clicked on to be unhelpful

how to grow the fuck up

Too tired to keep going but also too impatient to wait, here's an unfinished thing I'm trying to make for SuperHot. I don't think it's gonna look great, but I also think it's good but look terrible, so you know

Hi 👋 Good morning

I don't exactly feel like finishing this one, cause all that's left is people and it can't draw people, but here's a practice thing I drew before I try to draw something specific