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 March of the Severed Undead Hand Thingies [ML]

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PostSubject: March of the Severed Undead Hand Thingies [ML]   Tue Jul 16, 2013 3:25 am

It always seemed like some kind of cruel joke that Nico's last name was di Angelo. It meant from the angel - and Hades definitely didn't seem like any angel Nico had ever seen. Hades was about the most distant of a father you could get. At least Zeus and Poseidon gave their kids some nice fatherly guidance. All Nico got was some powers he didn't understand, and hundreds of spirits hunting him out and whispering in his ears while he slept.

At least his last name fitted that everyone in his family was dead. That was very nice and comforting. Death chased Nico everywhere. Now he was faced with a hoard of reanimated corpses numbered in the hundreds.

As horrifying as it was, Nico couldn't help but be impressed. He could barely control one spirit - but whatever force created these zombies must have made some sort of animalistic artificial soul, and transferred it into the bodies. Or something. Nico really had no idea. It was a friendly reminder that the enemy was really really powerful compared to a few unsupported demigods at a summer camp.

Nico breathed deeply as he crouched under a (somehow) overturned stone table. All the grey moaning arms reaching through the windows were in various stages of rotting. Some had fingers hanging on by string. Some kills seemed to be fresh.

None of the zombies seemed to be gearing towards anyone or anything in particular. There were dozens of other demigods all defending the Mess Hall. He guessed it was like a feast for the zombies, so they didn't really care.

"What the hell..." muttered Nico, as a scuttling hand headed towards him. It looked like one of the rotting wrists had finally gave way. Just as Nico prepared to swing his own sword at the weird crab-like hand, he found another swiftly striking upon it.
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PostSubject: Re: March of the Severed Undead Hand Thingies [ML]   Tue Jul 16, 2013 1:41 pm

Parker Isaiah Kahn
Son of Ares

Parker is still about fifty percent sure he is dreaming. He has never believe in the apocalypse, but it seems to be happening right now. But not a normal apocalypse, a zombie apocalypse. The idea of it is so unreal, that he just has to believe it. Slowly, he is starting to believe in the idea more and more. And the more he believes, the more he knows he must protect the camp. His home, he has to protect keep his home safe.

That is why, right now Parker is standing around the edge of the mess hall, fending off zombies. Out of all the places in camp, the safe houses are the mess hall, the armory, the Ares and Hephaestus cabins, the store and the Big house. Right now it seems like the mess hall is a main priority to keep zombies out of it. So that is also why he is fighting of zombies.

Stabbing a zombie in the chest, he pulls his sword out of it. He then raises it up and turns to look for more targets. He notices the zombie creeping up on the boy, who is not paying attention. Gritting his teeth he runs towards the boy. "NO"he yells loudly, hoping to scare off the zombie. He then slashes his sword down at the zombie, splitting it's head in half.

He kicks the body away, and turns to the boy. "You should be more careful"he says to him. Parker then turns to face the zombies. He swings his sword, and slashes one of the zombies.

"yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away"
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PostSubject: Re: March of the Severed Undead Hand Thingies [ML]   Sun Jul 21, 2013 7:36 pm

A shriek pierces the night air, followed by several crying pleads for help, and the unforgettable sound of groaning and bones snapping. Sobs can be heard from just outside the mess hall, as another camper is taken.

The zombies, plastered in crimson from their fresh meal, snap their spines back and return to an upright position, and just in time to year a loud yelling from just beyond the walls. Pft, walls. They can keep a few out, but they're not much defense against a horde, especially when adorned with glass windows, just begging to be shattered. Heck, some already were, but it didn't hurt to take out one or two more.

An angular, pale gray corpse, made of flaking skin and bones, shuffles towards its reflection in a cracked window, locking faded yellow eyes with itself. The beast groans, revealing only a handful of broken teeth and black gums, stretching out and fisting through the glass. It bounces off, but is reluctant to quit. Fine, hands won't work. Something stronger is needed. And heavier. The undead animation moves closer, pressing one cheek against the window, peering in at a delicious young lad with dark eyes, standing close to another beating heart wielding a shining stick. Drool slides down the window, and the clump of hair (or what's left of it) whips back, before knocking into the window with the rest of the zombie's skull. There's a clatter as shards fall to the floor, and the window is left broken and a vulnerable entrance. Now that was will power.

The zombie tries once more to get an arm in, and succeeds, grazing the skin and hooking at the elbow, which might hurt, if this fellow could, in fact, feel anything. But he couldn't, so it didn't phase him. Instead he waved his arm, inhaling the fragrance of the living, dribbling saliva and blood down its neck while making hungry growls.

Come now, little ones. I only want your organs.
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