Klavatora Verd
Midnight Huntress
Klavatora dropped into a low squat, her armor plates shifting with a subtle clink as blaster bolts and anti-aircraft fire roared overhead like an angry storm. The chaos of the battlefield was familiar—almost comforting in its brutality—but today’s horror stirred something deeper. Disgust twisted in her gut as she saw him—her fallen brother—rising unnaturally from the swamp’s murky waters, his armor stained and his eyes vacant. It was wrong. An abomination. Her grip tightened on her weapon, knuckles white beneath the gauntlet.
Each movement she made felt heavy, as if she were magnetized to the hull of a ship. The swamp sucked at her steps, dragging her down with every stride. She wasn’t a large woman, but that didn’t seem to matter here. The world itself wanted to hold her in place. But she couldn’t afford to freeze. Taking cover behind a crooked, moss-covered root, she raised her rifle and returned fire with steady, focused bursts.
Her shots were methodical, aimed for exposed joints and gaps in the grotesque forms that advanced. They didn’t drop like normal foes. Even with clean hits, they kept moving. It was like it wasn’t flesh and bone she was fighting, but something possessed, something cursed. It made her question her choice of armament; perhaps she should have brought something heavier. But second-guessing wouldn’t change the outcome. She just wanted her vod to rest in peace.
She braced her rifle tighter against the protruding root, pushing herself to aim between the armor plates, to shoot with intent rather than panic. Nearby, Kuben tore through enemies with ease, cleaving them like superheated durasteel with raw strength, relentless fury, and well placed shots. He was exactly what this kind of battle demanded. One that could be considered a blunt instrument of war. Klavatora couldn’t match that brute force. Her strength lay elsewhere.
That’s why she trained relentlessly with vibroknives, favoring speed and precision over sheer power. She wasn’t afraid to get in close, far from it. But here and now, her role was clear. Klavatora was a shield of fire, a wall of suppression to keep the enemy from breaching their lines. To keep them away from their liege. The others could handle the charge; she would hold the line.
Things progressively seemed to gain traction of un-niceties. The warming and bubbling of flesh creating an amalgamation of unparalleled horror. Her fire paused briefly before continuing her burst of fire. How long were we supposed to keep this up? A dance of battle and war she would continue to engage.
Tag: All of ya’s
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