Funnel-Witch Host - HELL-BENT game concept
A Funnel-Witch, head incased by rare Ley-Tech, leads her monstrous host with Promise-Virus and Murmur-Wave.
Under her spells march the Knotted-Constructs of the Urobus Worm, beings of eternally ringed light who make their home within leagues of disused wire and pipe, useless detritus from the old world.
In their shadow creeps the three-legged Chan-Chu, it's will to survive so great it effects the flow of time and reality around it, a lucky charm to those willing to become flotsam upon the river of chance.
The Djinn Meta-Hex, the White Kane Sword-Saint and Revenant H.A.H.A Drone form the tactical backbone of the host, bitter survivalist bought together by unholy will.
As the Blister Gods afterbirth billowed outwards, the collapsing zero-width skeins of reality and manifold private-universes settled, like shards of broken egg shell, within the nooks and crannies of our world. We know not why our Luna turned red, nor what made it so susceptible to those predatory dimensions. Whatever the reasons, we soon forgot about our nascent Luna colonies as our own world drowned in the madness.
The Lunacy came when the last of us were broken and being harried by the Hell’s forces, black and white shuttles mottled with antenna and weaponry, discouraged fearsome, wolf-helmed soldiers, atrophied limbs supported by exo-frames, hi-tech weaponry spitting dancing, blue light.
We thought them our saviours, long-lost cousins returned to us in our 11th hour. Little did we know they would just be another in the long list of subjugators, another bitter faction hell-bent on spilling blood over a dead earth.
"We left warnings in our wake. Great, foreboding edifices carved from bedrock and mountain, frozen agonies and eternal screams immortalised in stone, for what else could be a clearer sign of danger?
Foolish were we, for is it not the currents of curiosity that spread the spores of this life-antithesis, this abhorrent reflection, across time and space? Had we ourselves strode pass the weathered warnings of those that had come before us? Had we not thought we could control, then contain, then when all was lost, warn others?
And how many races, how many civilisations had come before even those old ruins? How many times had this malevolent weapon, long slipped the shackles of it’s creators, turn sentience and evolution inside out to serve it’s own means?
Perhaps this Strange Form, this sentient sword, is punishment then, a high irony, a divine comedy from up above. For when confronted with our worst nightmare, is not our first thought is to use it on our own kind?”
Happy Alien day!