Chains, thick as a mans body, lay drapped across the body of a monster created by man. No signs of life, save for the slow drawing of breath every now and again. Across its body a scaly armor protects the soft flesh just bellow. Its face a noble vestige mobelled after the creature it trys imitat. With bones, horns, teeth, can claws mad of the crystalline blood of the spirits.
How much longer do I have to lay here. A prisoner of my own fleah.
All around the black coloered creature sees is the haunted visions of science and his ever growing madness.
Lifting its head the creatre screams, but instead of a mans yell all that is heard is a monsters roar.
"Realease me! Release me from my torment..."
Serris Lengsk, in his years living in the harshest of conditions in a place where nothing but the impersonal wildlife provides company alongside an implacable cold, had silently watched the world from afar. He laughed at the folly of the rabble as the poor rose against the rich. The nobles, the soft-bodied flesh bags he was supposed to protect called out to all his forces in vain, a savior among the soldiers that were assigned to a life of unreasonable hardship would not be found here.
The sheep, had they grown horns, would've marked themselves as his flock. He'd have an obligation then.
However, when they could provide little else for the ram that already lived on nothing, they were unnecessary - a burden wanted only by those capable of protecting life and limb for a false emotion called affection.
So Serris continued to observe, not batting a single lash at his soldiers. There came about other captains, of supposedly equal skill, strengths, etc.
Even in refuse, six other gems had been found in the rough. But much to his dismay, they began to plot against one another, over silly things like politics, religion, resources. Instead of fixing the problem at its root, these so-called Captains, his equals, were fighting because they could not survive with nothing.
Because they were too inferior to live without as much needs. Serris needed not to cull anybody; years of arctic conditions had already achieved that for his army.
His only real qualm with them, however, was because they were led by worthy individuals. Smart individuals with an annoying penchant for killing. Too bad they weren't smart enough to condition their men for what Serris was about to bring down upon them.
The warm-bloods were probably fighting for their own reasons : families, resources, something stupid called nationalism or curiosity...but in the end, all those faltered when simple biology and ecology came into play : those who were most fit survived; those who were not fit...competed and die.
Serris grinned as he stared off south. Thy were not fit for this world...the world that offered so much already. How unfortunate for those monkeys to be born drinking fatty milk; they'd get their second filling in the next life.