Dried Mushrooms for proteins, plums of Berries for vitamins, and assorted shreds of nuts for wheat. Izo wasn’t expecting much when he bartered the scavenge metal tools in exchange for foodstuffs and seeds from the Leshen-folks of Crossfen but Mama Sopas had been fairly generous with such exchanges. The druidic leader of the village happily swiped away the new Entrenching Tools for her many myriad concoctions and affairs. Helping his pitching of such a wondrous item was Golgar who was demonstrating the Entrenching Tools many more wide uses and unintended creativities with such a device to his fellow villagers much to their amazement. He did have to suffer through a bohemian lecture from Mama Sopas however of how he needed to give back when after taking so much from the Ruins he had scavenged earlier but he was too blinded by his entrepreneurial spirit to fully take heed.

“Blade and Spoon… Blade Spoon!” Mama Sopas chopped several chippings of firewood with her new tool at hand. The shovel blade of her new Entrenching Tool was also used as a stirring handle to help brew her potions. “Now I can save more time in communing the Spirits likened to the rest of the Green Faith.”

“It’s a very versatile tool! I am glad you like it.” Izo smiled, nodding to the approving rhythm of Mama Sopas. “Maybe when I can find more, I will let you know. I would love to extend trading deals with these ‘Green Faith’ friends of yours.”

“You are one of the good ones, Outlander. Don’t forget that.” Mama Sopas tapped off onto the edge drippings of her latest brew before sheathing away her new Entrenching Tool away.

“I am not a really ‘good’ to be honest… I am a… very angry… man so many times.” Cold Iron sighed.

“Oh don’t keep putting porcupines on your pockets. They lash out if you hold it all in for too long. You must sing the wolf inside you to sleep otherwise it could devour you.” The Onion-skinned Druidess parabled.

“Porcu--- what?” Izo failed to understand her Leshen repartee

“Use that anger to sprout a flower for yourself. Don’t dilly-dally on impossible goals and outrageous escapades. You have a thousand suns, a thousand moons to be something of yourself. Don’t waste it.” Mama Sopas explained. “You’re a man who holds so many things. And having little places to let it all go of. Many folks who venture this far into the Continent do so are looking for something. Fame, Glory, Honor… I hope you find what you seek here in Nirmathas youngin.” The Druidess set aside her new multi-purposed tools as she poured the contents of her cauldron into a poultice.

“I need nowhere else to go but here for now. Goin’ to be setting my feet at Three Pines, one step at a time.” Cold Iron murmured.

“Perhaps the only good news I have heard all day…” her dollish eyes scowled upon her bulb-shaped body.

“What happened?” Izo inquired.

“Scavengers from the village have been reported missing for the past days. It began sometime after you had arrived here and many of the other folks are fearing going outside less, they too are one of the many disappeared ones.” Mama Sopas sighed as she spoke of the grim happenings that befell her and the rest of Crossfen.

“No! I-I would never! Ouch!” Izo’s eyes stiffened as he stood up to defend himself only to bump his head on the dwarfish ceiling height of the Leshy Druid’s hut.

“I am not accusing You! I know that you would never hurt us. Not after you have been taking care of our little Golgar friend, would you?” Mama Sopas interjected. “I am just saying, that I fear the nights will only be darker from here on out. Happenings such as these only breed malpotents. We must not wait for the rain to fall upon us. So, we must both be ready when the Wolves come to prey upon us. I can only pray the ancient Wardstones to keep the village safe from the horrors outside.”

“Wardstones?” Izo brow furrowed curiously. “Like some kind of shielding device to keep the scary stuff outside… outside?”

“Yes! Yes! The Wardstones that me and my village had relied upon for decades to keep us safe from monsters, specifically those Undead North of us from the fallen Crusader-Lands of Lastwall.” Mama Sopas mentions.

“I have seen some of those already. Doggy lil’ creatures. But I like your advice. Can you make some of those same Wards for me?” Izo asked. “I can easily defend against them with what I got back at Three Pines Ford but if Wardstones can keep it all out easier. Then I will look into it more.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot make them. But I do know what Arcane Sigilry is needed to create the Wards the village has. You will need someone who can read the winds of magic to conjure the powers needed to create a proper Wardstone. Come… Come…” Mama Sopas guided Izo outside to her hut to the outskirts of Crossfen about a hundred paces away where a Wardstone appeared. “Wardstones are tricky enchantments. You need to get them just right otherwise they won’t work. Here before you are a Wardstone that is enchanted to stave off the packs of Undead that flood from the North on occasion.”

Etched into the bronze standing stone lay holy symbols and arcane signs of alien alphabets. The Onion Druid held out a piece of coal no bigger than the palms of her hand and parchment paper aged into an amber hue. Placing the parchment onto the stone, Mama Sopas slid over her coal piece up and down until the precise etchings found were copied over to the paper.

“If you find yourself having the time to go out of Three Pines Ford, go South until you find yourself amidst mountains shaped likened to the fangs of wolves. There you will find the Ironfangs. If you are harried by them then tell them I have sent you. My friend Aza would love to meet someone like you and your little… Construct Friends you tag along with.” Mama Sopas explained. “She can easily help you get those Wardstones you need, though I must warn you, the mountains twist and rises that your head can spin.”

“Ironfangs south of here, Mountains. Meet ‘Aza’. Noted.” Cold Iron rolled the sketch and placed it in his pocket. “If that is all for now, I shall go now. I have to see to it my home gets properly excavated. If I find anything you might be interested in or if I got any questions, I will let you know.”

“May your tree grow tall and prosper Outlander.” Mama Sopas bid him farewell.

[-]

Fort Bragg was slowly returning to life if one can consider the laborious Myrmidons and Izo’s own Domesticated Drones excavating the Bunker Complex. But today, a fraction of these Robots were called for his attendance. With a Pipe of Opium at his lip, Izo huffed a whiff of the relaxant into his nerves as he readies the mandatory inspection as his duties as ‘Secretary Baird’. The chem was part of a large stash of Chems that the Doctor-Commander helped himself with inside the Medical Bay. Since he was the only person to be able to handle such items or have any need. He had the entire cabinet to himself.

Adrenaline for work and Opiates to help him relax himself to a listless stupor. Never a moment of Sobriety for him. Not whilst there’s work to be done still.

“Present Arms!” the Doctor-Commander ordered; smoke billowed from his nostrils.

About twenty Robots that Cold Iron ‘inherited’ from Fort Bragg presented themselves upon the central grounds of the Bunker Complex. M.U.S.C.L.E. Units that form the core of his Standing Army. Equipped with either Metal Riot Shields that clicked open through a hatch that can be opened and close to allow submachine gun or pistol fire to shoot out from. The heavier, more elite variants are armed with Shotguns, Electro-Rods, and even a few Battle Rifles. But bravery and firepower alone doesn’t make the conqueror, accompanying the Myrmidons were drones of Mr. Handy’s, some of whom were much nimbler in size.

“Why are these ones smaller?” Izo remarked closely at these miniaturized drones. He found it quite quaint.

“These Mr. Handy’s were a government-issued variant in the year of 2077. Dubbed ‘Fixxit’ by DARPA to distinguish it from its larger predecessors. Unlike what General Atomics International had sold in the Mass Market’s, they are nimbler and are designed to fit a variety of functions outside of its civilian counterparts.” Myrmidon’s voice informed him over the speaker. “I have managed to salvage over ten still operational units to assist in the excavation. They are tasked with the regular maintenance of both the Bunker. But they are also capable of being attached onto my M.U.S.C.L.E. Units to be able to attend to any damages inflicted upon them during sorties above ground. In addition, they can also be refitted with Remote Reconnaissance Package and 10-millimeter Striking Packages at the cost of its maintenance abilities.”

“Strike drones?” Izo queried.

“In layman’s terms. Fitting a 10-millimeter pistol onto one of its three arms. The Reconnaissance Package boasts additional thrusters and a Remote-Control Receiver to allow for extensive observational capabilities.” Myrmidon explained. “May I also suggest we can also use them to scavenge for additional supplies such as the rest of the M.U.S.C.L.E Units or other American Survivors above the world?”

“This I want to see… outfit one of these units with that Strike Drone Package. Make this Bot have some teeth.” The Doctor-Commander excitedly requested, cooing the little Mr. Handy gently with his hand.

“An honor to work by your side Secretary Baird!” the Fixxit Unit saluted with one of its three arms.

“Hold on, do you say… ‘Survivors’? Oh yeah, uhm… I actually managed to find some on my own.”

“Taking the initiative are you Secretary Baird? Admirable.” Myrmidon gladly acknowledged. “Where are these contacts?”

“Northwest. A little town that managed to bring its feet back up. The place is called Vellumis but they call themselves the Whispering Way. Met this woman named Lysithea, she and her folks got almost everything you could ask. We can all start from there and see what we can do for each other. I also heard of some kind of mountain clan who lives south of us called the Iron Fangs. Worth investigating maybe after we can get a bit more of the base up and running again.” Cold Iron explained.

“That is very encouraging.” Myrmidon acknowledged.

“I am going to return to Vellumis this afternoon and spend the night there whilst opening Diplomatic channels with them. See if I can get anything of use there. Heard Lysithea is holding me a little party.” Izo smiled.

“I await your reports on both of these Leads. We must re-establish what we can of Old America.” Myrmidon bowed.

His first meeting with the black-haired lass had hooked him amongst such whispered sayings of a means to regain his strength. But as for now, he needed to pass over something of value before Lysithea could reveal more of these supposed secrets of her town’s success. Something about a secret passed down from her ‘Mother and Father’. Whatever it is, if he could exploit it for himself, to use it for its strength, he could finally gain the foundation needed to turnabout his fate.

“Secretary Baird, if I may also inform you that I have detected that one of your Staffers, identified as ‘Golgar’, has been infected with several tumors of some kind of… infectious fungi.” Myrmidon remarked upon Cold Iron’s Leshy companion. “These Tumors seemed to be hampering his normal consumptive abilities. Already I had found him consuming Fertilizer meant for the Hydroponics supplies.”

“Put Golgar down you stupid shrews!” the Leshy Warrior was being dragged up away from his feet by a Mister Handy as it took the Fungal Creature to Izo.

“Golgar! I thought I told you that the Hydroponics are off-limits!” Cold Iron snapped at him. His nostrils flared like a brazen bull. This setback soured his glance as the blunt of cannabis fell down to the ground.

He had earlier placed several rules for the Leshy as he was housed here. One being he could only use his blades on enemies or at the training dummies. Second, being a bottom feeder at heart, Golgar is only allowed to consume the supply of Dung Cookies from Mama Sopas or whatever scavenged pests or wastes he could find to nourish off during his escapades.

“Golgar no puny Maggie-shoota! Me Kill! Me maim! Me burn for Lord of Iron!” Golgar screeched as he attempted wiggle his way out of the Mister Handy's grasp.

“Let him go.” Izo ordered. The Mister Handy dropped the Leshy away. “Oh, he isn’t one of my Staffers, he’s just Emergency Food in the event we all starve.” Izo informed the A.I.

“Hey! That’s even worst than being called a Magic ‘Staffer’!” Golgar stomped his foot down, scratching his bruised head from his fall.

“Oh, I am just kidding…” the Doctor-Commander laughed. “You can trust him Myrmidon. Just forgive some of his… uh… peculiarities.” He pointed out.

“I am not sharing you my Mama Sopas’ Poo-Cookies anymore!” the Leshy frowned and turned his head away.

“Well then, Mr. Handy take away his blades until he learns to behave.” Izo shunned Golgar.

“No! Me obey! Golgar don’t want punishment!” the Leshy went down to his knees and begged.

“Fine… confine yourself to your quarters until the next day.” The Doctor-Commander changed his disciplinarian method.

“A-A-Acknowledged.” Myrmidon accepted rewrote himself to accept Golgar’s eccentricities. He was programmed to assist the Secretary of Defense after all in his day-to-day duties.

“But Remember Golgar, what you did was Bad! Bad! Hydroponics Supplies are not for you!” he again reprimanded the Leshy.

Submissively, the Gorrumite Funghi Berserker sulked and nodded. He skedaddled away leaving Izo to prepare for his second expedition into Vellumis.

“One more before the road…” Izo grabbed his pipe again and placed another dosage of Opiates. He needed to calm his introverted nerves before meeting sweet Lysithea again.

[-]

“Please leave your giant axe by the door.” The Door Guard barred him. Izo, knowing he is a guest at Vellumis had no choice but to demonstratively oblige.

It was a ruse, however, Hidden beneath his armor, an overlooked detail of the Door Guard. A hidden compartment that Izo used to store a .45 caliber pistol as a Fallback Weapon, held in the event of an emergency. Only the dead and ravaged would go to any place unarmed, verbal laws of willful disarmament notwithstanding. He was a blue-blooded Texan at heart after all. That and he is still wearing his Exo-Suit armor and a few packs of Epipherine and Stimpacks on his person too. But ultimately, he is coming in at his Sunday’s Best upon this invitational gathering by Lysithea. He had already gotten her a little gift she had requested from him.

“Your… Construct must stay outside. It is making several of us… Uhm… nervous.” The Door Guard once again at the Vellumis Keep, the destination of Izo’s overnight expedition halted him from entering.

“Master, I advise against leaving yourself vuln---” his faithful robot implored him but he was again insulated by the Doctor-Commander.

“Don’t ruin this for me, for you and for all of us H.E.N.R.I. Stay outside and wait for me.” Izo determinedly wanting to make a good first impression with Vellumis as he makes his debut upon the Whispering Way adherents.

“Activating Sentry Protocols.” H.E.N.R.I. obeyed once again. He turned around away from the courtyard of the Keep as he would faithfully be programmed to do.

“Welcome then to the Feasting Day Outlander. Very rare to have someone new to join us.” The Door Guard bowed. “Lady Lysithea had told me quite the repertoire of you. They say you lead a Legion of Iron Golems into battle that no’s no rest nor fear.”

“Did she now? Where is she?” Izo smiled at the adulation. His new friend must had buzzed quite the chatter in Vellumis. It was the first time someone ever respected his superior aptitude.

“At the end of the table at the hall where the Host of the Feast shall be Sir. You are to be seated just next to her. This is a sign of great honor for the Mistress.” The Door Guard opened a grand steel door adorned with flowered horned skulls being crowned upon a halo ring by winged insects.

“Mistress?” Izo gasped, eyes dazed open unable to look away. He was never told by her that she would be the Host of the Banquet.

Immediately upon gaining entry, Izo was immediately assaulted upon his five senses. First came for his nose, besieged by the symphony of aromas of freshly baked bread that gluttonously arose from its bread basket. His mouth thirsted for the spring water contained in tapped barrels by the side of the table. Upon his ears were the elysian strings of a bard who played melancholic melodies upon their blindfolded prowess. To feast his eyes upon was an entire gallery of highfaluting grandeurs. Attendees dressed in painted bodies and sensual robes as they engage in frolicked appetizers and lascivious comforts. Their bodies had sweated themselves from the toil of the day and now it was their time to unwind and enjoy what life they still have to offer today. It was difficult if not impossible to drown oneself in all of this.

Not even one moment longer than he just arrived, several of the Whispering Way assembled approached him, and began to marvel at his Vulcan Suit’s armor. Some of whom, couldn’t help but caress its steel surface. Such attention was enough to make the wallflower that was Cold Iron feeling light-headed. All these sensations were overwhelming.

“Abstain yourselves!” a familiar yet uncharacteristically despotic voice rang forth. It was Lysithea.

All of the Whispering Way in the attended Audience immediately stepped away from the Doctor-Commander. They balked with bellyache before re submerging upon the Cornucopia of the Feast on the table, or attending to their many companions’ sensual activities.

“Izo, Darling… forgive my… these patrons of mine. They can be such a tease when it comes to newcomers like yourself.” Dressed in a prismatic gown, Lysithea grabbed hold of Izo’s hand and guided him into his seat.

“No… no… please let’s get this started.” Cold Iron blinked dumbstruckingly twice. “I am hungry.”

“And you shall soon and be forevermore Darling.~” Lysithea smiled. “Tell me! Tell me! What have you been doing since the last time we locked our eyes together? Did you visit Crossfen as I asked of you?”

“I went back there just as you said. Had a chat with Mama Sopas and she was doing alright despite some scary stuff happening lately. She told me about how she kept safe from all of the Wild Undead that sometimes reach her village on occasion. Wardstones.” Cold Iron answered.

He remembered the enlightening conversations he had about Life and Unlife with Lysithea a few days passed. Of how there are two types of undead, those made artificially and those who were spawned via natural inseminations of its seeds unto their bodies. He could certify for himself, a competent education in Lore related to the Undead next to his expertise in Machinery. Pragmatically, Vellumis only uses artificial undead for labor and nothing more which although the frightful practice was ultimately for the benefit of their town and nothing more. Wild Undead do indeed sometimes perform incursions into Vellumis and surrounding settlements much to their chagrin if Lysithea’s brush with those Ghouls were to be a testament by.

She had asked of him, before he departed from her to go about and gather information about the surrounding neighbors of theirs as much as he can before reporting back to her during a Banquet Feast that coincidentally will be the initiation ceremony of him into the Whispering Way.

“Oh? That ole’ crone actually managed to tell you? I was quite curious about how she managed to keep herself safe when they lacked many warriors to defend themselves with. I tried to talk to her but journeying so far to her these days have been oh so… cumbersome for me Darling. Tell me, how did she do it?” Lysithea pressed.

“Someone from the South of here told me so. A clan calling themselves ‘the Iron Fangs’. Someone named ‘Aza’ helped her create those Wardstones of hers.” Izo pulled up the sketch he had gotten from the Crossfen Druidess and passed it to Lysithea. “You will have to go to Aza directly however to get your Wardstones out. It’s a… how you say… a precise work they do there.”

“I see… Perhaps afterward I can call for a visit to the Iron Fangs for a visit.” Lysithea nodded.

“Mistress…” a meek and dwarfish servant approached Lysithea from her left. “The feast can begin.”

“Excellent!” she clapped her hands.

Lysithea stood up, her gown of prismatic shimmered taking all attention away from what indulgences the other Whispering Way Canonists were undertaking at that fleeting moment.

“May I have your attention please!” Lysithea yelled forth to the congregation.

On cue, a throng of reanimated servants flocked from a side door that led into the nearby kitchen of the Feasting Hall. Carrying upon each of their two hands was a banquet of freshly sliced vegetables, fruits and a few assorted cuts of freshwater fish. The banquet’s attendees didn’t even bother to wait for the mistress to allow them to begin when several of them began to grab hold of the trays of food and

“You are one with us now Outlander. Eat up!” one of the guests encouraged him.

Izo looked at Lysithea for her approval to eat the feast before him. All the raven-haired maiden had to do was smile. The Doctor-Commander used his two hands to grab forth a bowl of richly infused vegetable essence and a steak of a local cod onto his mouth. Its nourishments exhilarated his tongue and stomach to heights unseen for a man born from the Wastelands of America. It was if Heaven itself came down that day for him.

If Vellumis can be relied upon for food stocks then its only natural he continues on dabbling with these Whispering Way Practitioners with Lysithea.

“We are beyond the petty stipulations of now ages past. Of those of weaker will, we celebrate their destruction and we exalt our triumphs people of Vellumis. Today this feast is like no other, for we welcome new blood into our ranks. Izo Winters.” Lysithea formally introduced the Doctor-Commander to the congregation.

Greetings of welcome let loosed onto the hall as he blushed from beneath his glutton cheeked mouth.

“We of the Whispering Way reject the old order so we may bring upon the new. An age where the Weak become nothing more but the food that shall nourish the Strong. I pity those of the Crimson Reclaimers, the Orcs of Belkzen and the Green Faith. All of them squalor in the pitiable quagmire of their decrepit lives. Ignorant of the Whispered Truth of our Mother, Urgathoa, and our Father, Tar-Baphon speak of. Now we gorge ourselves fat today so that the days morrow, we may achieve Elysium here on this world. Never forget of our Mother and Father’s teachings. For we wait in bated hope for the day that when the path to the tranquil world is opened before us all.” Lysithea raised her chalice up high.

“And so, we dine now that so we may be forever!” the other Whispering Way Practitioners chanted in unison with raised cups, hands and solemn voices.

“Green Faith? Like Mama Sopas? I thought you don’t see eye to eye with her? And you feel sorry for her?” Izo asked.

“Because she still desperately clings on to archaic traditions that have no place in the world. Relying on altruistic but ultimately naive tenets while preaching such falsehoods from her little tiny Witch Hut. I am glad she didn’t get too many ramblings into you. She is ignorant of just how painful and miserable the world outside of her Treetop Fortress it can be.” Lysithea expounded as she latched herself over to Izo, her eyes and chest locked into him.

“Maybe I can try to get her for you.” Izo answered.

“You may try, but I will not be surprised if you fail just like me. In fact, I advise against ever mentioning of my name.” she shook her head. “I tried to convince her but she so stubbornly refused to listen to me now. Of just how cruel the world it is without listening to the cold and hard truth. All of them in Crossfen. They hold so much yet they seek to hide upon their apostate Green Faith. It was my hope that I could convince them just how dangerous the world is when I had several of her Villagers be... appropriated when they had trespassed too closely to Vellumis.” she answered.

“You did… what?” Izo furrowed his brow.

“Leshies Darling, their bodies are vessels of power. Don’t let their charming appearances fool you of what they are capable of. They are Magical Vessels animated into puppets that house the ripe fruits of concentrated magical power. Imagine Darling, they are like sponges, and water being absorbed into them is Magic. When I had taken those Leshies, I had tried to proselytize of the Whispered Truths of Mother Urgathoa and Father Tar-Baphon unto them yet still… they stubbornly held firm to their silly old ways.” Lysithea disclosed.

“If they contain so much power housed into those fellows maybe you should… I don’t know find a way to get all that magic soaked up without hurting them.” Cold Iron’s chin fidgeted.

“Oh, it is painless I can assure you. They didn’t scream when their bodies liquified unto my Kitchen’s Cauldron…” Lysithea blasely passes mention of.

“Wha---” Izo blinked out of his rapture. The bloom of euphoria dissipated in his face when he just heard what the raven-haired maiden said.

Was it his nerves playing tricks with him, or did he really just hear what Lysithea just mentioned about Leshies?

“Now with their reaped souls and bloodied bodies, we can devour this power before you to inexorably bring us all closer to the Ely---” Lysithea addressed the congregation until a loud bang erupted from the bowels of this gourmet orgy.

The raven-haired looked onto her red dressed to see blood rupture forth from her gown, staining the dress in red. Her eyes darted to who had dared assail her perfectly arranged dress made of Leshy fibers until she saw Doctor-Commander Izo Cold Iron, his gun smoked with dispersed iron recently being discharged.

And then he fired the pistol once again, and again and again and again. Each shot tearing asunder Lysithea’s body until her Evening Gown disintegrated as it unraveled it seams until she was naked before the entire congregation. Her body gored ten times over by Cold Iron’s .45 Caliber Pistol.

“W-Who… in Oblivion DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?” Lysithea roared at the Doctor-Commander.

“You’re turning Leshy’s into glue!” Izo answered back. The anger that sparked in his adrenal-fueled eyes stared down on the raven-haired waif.

“I tried, oh I tried so much to convince you of what you NEEDED to do in order to be able to achieve the very Peace we so desire and… and THIS is how you show your gratitude?!” Lysithea’s voice raised as he arms repulsively swept around her amidst this unexpected betrayal from such a promising Pupil to the Whispering Way.

“Killing people? For all of this… ‘Souls’? There just Villagers! Peaceful villagers!” Cold Iron yelled. “What kind of animals are you all this… this Murder happy… Smut?! Disgusting little things of yours?” he looked down upon the rest of the Whispering Way Gatherers.

To his horror, they all disconcertingly ridiculed him with their silent scorn.

Lysithea let out a canticle of macabre laughter, coughing a few pints of blood from her throat as her chilling gasps echoed for all of the halls to see. She placed her fingers upon the bullet holes left by Izo’s unloading of his Pistol around her body, and began to prod these said holes, pulleying each of them as more wounds, blood, and flesh erupted from her riddled body. Pain ejaculated into Lysithea’s head as if they weren’t hurting her. Instead, she began to ecstatically moan in masochistic delight. In bliss, she smiled back not of the buoyant poise Cold Iron first saw in her, but of inhibitions long abandoned.

Forming around her curves, Lysithea conjured a new dress for herself with her unexpected sorceries. A gray liquid arose forth upwards to clothe her skin in its embrace. A bodice as pallid as her skin was created that hugged her body from her chest, arms all the way down to her legs formed. She let out a macabre yet sensual moan as she stretched her arms upwards upon fully robing herself after that recent spat.

By then the other, Whispering Way Adherents looked upon themselves as they know what is about to happen. They slowly began to back away several paces as to gather distance between them and the upcoming retribution Lysithea was about to unleash on the Doctor-Commander. A heavy sweat fell upon Izo as he realized what dire predicament, he has just found himself in. He really shouldn’t have let H.E.N.R.I. come with him inside.

“Oh please! It was so easy to tangle you in my web. But it looks like the little fly manage to grow a pair to escape me! Tell me, Darling… did you really think… it would be THIS easy?” Lysithea’s wounds slowly regenerated as the bullets that struck her were regurgitated out of them. “You are a craven little worm who cannot fathom the Price of the Peace you so desperately seek!?”

Lysithea grabbed hold of her hand scythe as she cracked her neck back and forth with an animus hell-bent upon the Doctor-Commander who dared befoul her lithe body. Just as she walked closer, the raven-haired woman grew taller, from her maidenly five-feet to an alpine height of seven-feet tall. In perfect unison of scaling, the hand scythe elongated to be as great as Lysithea. Its handle cracked as bony spines erupted forth from its hidden shell as raven-haired maiden held with bated murder lust. The now two-handed giant scythewrithed like a snakish worm as decorative bones embedded with carvings of sorrow-frozen faces of past slain bellowed breathed anguishes within her Scythe’s blade.

“I thought you were just… a… a…” Cold Iron couldn’t muster the words. His tongue revulsing upon dining on the flesh of those of Crossfen. He gagged as his stomach gurgled and frothed upon their bodies.

“Thought I was what Darling?~ A dainty little dame who swoons at the hero over one teensy lil’ act of kindess?~” Lysithea moued with an irrepressibly jutting chin. “What did you expect from me Izo? ‘Take me off my feet oh brave hero!’? Dither-dither that with my little ‘Wholesome Village Girl’ act? Quite a fun role to play with… especially for the likes of you Outlander Darling~”

“You… you sick freak!” Izo curled his fist, the Exo Suit revved into action readying to unleash his ire unto the cabal of the Whispering Way.

“Come now, I expect at least a ‘You Whore!’ or something like that! Ho-ho-ho-ho!” Lysithea arrogantly loosed more laughter.

“Screw you!”

“Rejecting your only shot in restoring the Pioneers you oh so care so much about? Disappointing. But I will add a few points for getting a ‘Screw You’ from you.~” Lysithea rolled her eyes at the Doctor-Commander’s rejection. “Well then, it is time to let myself… cut loose.” She arched as black angelic wings sprouted forth from her back that contrast to her pallid skin. Immaculacy descended into murderous smut as she licked her lips.

She had become mockery of the myths of divine saviors of old, this ‘Pallid Angel’ revealed herself to Izo. Everything from her delicate femineity, her lithe body and flattering tongue was all a poisonous distortion to the morbid truth! A mockery of such winged majesties of the Old Earthly Faiths. It was of little wonder this black-haired succubus had nearly pulled Izo’s agency to the Whispering Way’s designs. A puppet to further turn the hellish Wastelands into a greater Hell than it was, and mockingly call it ‘Heaven’. And now he had all just too willingly tangled himself into her web.

“If you do not accept my Parent’s gifts then I… Lysithea Sorrowscythe will gift you to Mother and Father!” she held out her scythe, its unliving blade twitched articulated at its wielder’s beck and call. The fang-like blade shined with silverin waves that housed hundreds of thousands unholy evils done upon the flick of its wielder’s whims.

“I do wonder, what wanton deeds will Mother and Father be of use of you? Oh, I crave to witness them breaking every little bone on your body… and… put you all back together Darling.~” Lysithea blithely pouted.

She charged forth; raptorial wings unbound at blinding speeds towards Izo. Her Sorrowscythe’s ravenous readied to achieve more wonton acts of blissful murder.

And Lysithea’s lips fancied to taste upon Cold Iron’s blood…