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The malefic warrior stood silently brooding, surrounded by a battle-hungry battalion of its own baleful kind. The menacing array gloated at the hills, dales and hamlets in their view, feeling the time when they would have complete domination over this world on which they had recently arrived was drawing close. Their meticulously polished suits of armour reflected the rays of a sun so fierce it could cause the death of a human with ease, the resulting glare momentarily blinding a few passive onlookers of a subservient species - a poignant metaphor for the horror such an army would eagerly wreak upon all lower lifeforms once given their now imminent orders to do so. For to their merciless breed, music was the sounds of bodies being crushed, of fragile skulls being dealt deathly blows, the spatter of spilling blood, the writhing of death throes, screams of pain and rage and despair, the indiscriminate frying of flesh. Yet these loathsome beasts also shared a thirst for more meticulous, slow and disciplined lifetaking. For in their possession was an enormous supply of a wide variety of poison gases. Once released into its atmosphere, this world’s already warwounded and fragile ecology would be rendered at the invading monsters’ virtually non-existent mercy. The malefic warrior waited patiently, keeping its bulk perfectly still, as was its discipline. The landscape seemed to visibly cower before it, and the sociopath meditated on its confidence in its kind’s power to usurp and annihilate. As it glowered at the multitude of potential victims before it, its attention was suddenly drawn towards one of this celestial body’s native bipeds approaching. Its form was recognised at once, for this species the monsters had dubbed suicidae, whom they had trained to serve them with the promise of material wealth, but would eventually betray and destroy in a final orgy of multi-speciesocide on this not quite spherical planet, with its 23 hour, 56 minute and 4 second days. Better still, this biped was adorned in the regalia bestowed only upon the monsters’ most brainwashed and faithful servants - basically voluntary slaves. And what was this? How delightful! The suicida was reaching for the gladiator’s armour in order to operate its machinery of war, thus fully empowering it for the global conflict ahead. Very well, the monster thought to itself. My time has come and I accept it graciously. Let the battle commence! Completely unsuspectful of the malign presence it embodied, the car showroom’s mechanic slid behind the wheel of the Ford XR3i on the forecourt. Indifferent was he to the low and ominous growl of the engine at the turn of the ignition key. Mercifully unaware was he of the grisly end such automobiles would spell for his children’s children. |