Hunter Scene?

Huh. I guess I'd had a plot point with a rogue Hunter? I'm not 100% sure and this document was literally "Untitled" and it's from 2011. I have NO idea where it fits in to the story, these are just random documents that I have in an old zip I exported from Google Drive years ago.


A cloud of steam rose around its body, releasing from the vents on its back and shoulders. The armored behemoth slowly stood to its full height of seven feet, the joints of its body popping as it stretched lethargic muscles and tendons.

The small lenses and mirrors over the right side of its face showed it every direction, but behind it, at once. It looked around for a moment, taking in its new surroundings. A city, the shells of its master’s faust still falling around it.

The whirr and click of gears issued from its armour as it stepped forward, the pistons on its legs and arms squeezing slightly as it moved. It knew what it was sent to do, destroy, that was all.

It was the first of its kind, the strongest. It looked at the rifle in its hands, felt the weight of the armour that encased it, felt the water slosh in the tank on its back, the heat of the furnace inside.

It took one more step forward then stopped, “Why?” The first word it had uttered since it had been transformed into the juggernaut it now was.

Its breath fogged over the left lens of its helmet, its breathing quickened as thoughts now raced through its head, the filter in its mask rattling slightly. “Why did I choose this?”

Its keeps arrived, all of them wary of it, keeping their distance. “Well? You gonna get to it you freak?”

Its head snapped toward the man who’d spoken, its arm stretching out, closing around his throat. Before he could utter an apology it crushed his windpipe, its gloved fingers sinking into his flesh, warm blood spilling onto its iron shell.

The others took a step back, their weapons reflexively brought to bear. It laughed then, the deep rumble sounding like the chug of a steam engine dying. The only parts of its body that they could hope to hurt were its joints, which it had been trained for years to protect at all cost.

One of the men’s teeth chattered, the gun in his hand rattling. “Y-you stay back now!”

It looked at the corpse in her hand, noticed the pattern of blood as it ran over leather and iron. It dropped the man’s body.

Its other hand shot out, catching the frightened soldier in the sternum, snapping it with ease. He screamed as his breastplate shattered under the weight of another lightning fast blow. It brought its hand upward, backhanding the man in the chin, his neck broke from the impact; the pistons on its arms and fingers giving it far more strength than a normal human.

The three remaining soldiers tried to flee then, it leveled its rifle and fired three shots. The bullets found their marks, killing the soldiers.

It looked at the five corpses around it for a moment, the knelt down, collecting their dog tags. It broke the seal of its helmet, slowly taking the casing off, blinking in the unfiltered sunlight.

A leather-bound hand ran through against the stubble of its hair and beard. He let out a brief sigh, the only emotion it had shown in the ten years since he had become what he was. It was exhilarating, thinking for himself.

He placed the dog tags around his neck and put his helmet on again, waiting for the seal to build pressure before moving. Slowly he made his way through the outskirts of Agrareos, his gun spitting death at anything he saw move.

As he made his way through the city streets he could sense more magick users than before, some felt the same as the priests of Indas, this would be interesting.

Bullets pinged off his armour as he rounded a corner, a group of local resistance fighters attempting to ambush him. The rounds left small dents, one pierced through his shoulder plate, another clipping the top of his shoulder, tearing away some of the iron.

He returned fire, sending a hail of bullets into the thinly armoured car they hid behind. Three fell dead, another wounded.

The stood over the writhing woman, “Filth! Unholy th-” Her insults were cut off as his boot came down on her skull.

 

It took hours for him to cleanse the city, his armour was battered and scorched, the priests were stronger than he expected. He took a moment to count the dog tags he collected, one hundred seventy-three, as well as the resistance fighters he slaughtered.

He knew his former masters would be displeased with him, knew that they would send his kin after him, but he did not care. He would burn as much of the world as he could before his time came. The war he had given his mind and body for was never going to end, he could see that.

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