Fusion and Iron

20. An Accord Between Lords

A horrid stench ruined the air around it. It was sickly dry, almost like swallowing tiny pebbles when breathing in. The sky above was a rotting green, a vast color of decay, glowing a mortified and eerie overcast over the terrain. Loose tendrils of mist wove through the air, thick and cloying, smelling of hot tar and sulfur. The Precipice was shrouded in a perpetual twilight, hell on earth finally here. The heart of this forsaken land had been buckled under sheer gloom, plucked as an impromptu string of despair.

Twisting trees covered the landscape, overgrown in grotesque and puke-invoking abominations. The soil underneath was flat yet unsettlingly void, each footfall echoing with a resonant emptiness that suggested a vast, unseen chasm below.

Dead grass laid in brittle patches, the fulfilling vibrant green now dulled into a lifeless brown. Each blade, thin and fragile, crumbled underfoot like ashes. In between the withered remnants were twisted roots, digging and stabbing into the ground underneath. Their forms were gnarled and contorted as if they had struggled in vain to escape the corruption around them.
Rocks jutted from the earth, their surfaces rough and pitted, marred by old age. Some were covered in a thin layer of slime, glistening faintly in the sickly light, others bore deep, pitted scars like monstrous claws.

In the distance, rising from the fog lied a malignant growth, taking the shape of boisterous and ragged towers. Constructed from blackened stone, this particularly intimidating structure's walls were wrapped around in a dark ivy. It pulsated like seams, creeping and curling around the jagged wall's edges. Narrow and curved windows like stabbing eyes added to the decrepit and haunting appearance of this place, pieces of glass stained and cracked.

Each tower was capped with roofs that represented spikey points, some appearing to have crumbled away entirely. The skeletal framework had been exposed, though somehow it still stood tall.
Frequently wandering on the top walls, passageways and surrounding vicinity of this fortress were dozens of abstract and horrifyingly mauled fusion creatures. Below them, the main massive iron monstrosity of a gate had been rusted and covered in deep gouges. It hung slightly ajar, creaking ominously with the faintest gust of wind. Chains hung from the surrounding walls hooked up to a shifting mechanism, daunting an entrance to the darkness within.

This large structure exuded an aura of despair, a place where not only did earth die, but hope died also.

Deep within the looming halls, corrupt whispers echoed. The dimensions shifted as if there were no force of gravity, bits and pieces of stone calmly hovering across the anti-gravity grasp centered in this place. The walls from within squished in the sick, organic texture of green fusion creating a near-living fortress. The hum of machinery combined with the squelching walls came to life, creating a biofusion of machine and creature. Everywhere, the influence of the fusion was evident. Pods of green slime hung from the ceilings, occasionally bursting to release new monstrosities into the fray. Pools of the same fluid collected in depressions on the floor, bubbling and churning as if with a life of their own. Occasionally, a loose limb or wet tendril flopping around in the acidic soup.

Occasionally, the outline of a fusion figure overlooked these operations and the health of the walls. The entire place had been swarming with more creatures, once original and familiar forms now twisted into nightmarish reflections.

At the heart of this fortress lied a cavernous, dominating throne room. Surrounded by twisted spikes and barbed vines, puke-green light radiated from the jagged black rock throne lying in the center. Banners of green stood stiff, made from solidified fusion just for a twisted metaphor. At the far end, behind the throne, a massive, quaking portal shimmered, its surface swirling with chaotic energy, a gateway to some unseen location.

Lord Fuse had been sprawled out over his throne, his humanoid figure having been manipulated and stretched into a living blanket. He had no limbs, no bones, rather created as a solidified tarp that covered over the chair. His body throbbed delicately like a living lava lamp, tendrils of his form extended outward and clutching tightly onto the arms of his throne and the floor around him. His eyes flared an electrifying red, scanning the room, looking quite dissatisfied. Each subtle movement of his form sent ripples through the gelatinous substance, pulsating lights frequently traveling from his brain sacks and into the ground underneath him like glow sticks.

Another figure was making his way forward toward the throne with a wide smile on his face, almost smug. He had completely disregarded Lord Fuse's disgruntled look, nearly a living embodiment of the word 'pride'. His hands were tucked behind his back, a draping black cloak dragging on the ground behind him. Rested atop his head was a sickening flame of green, more like a living shadow than a legitimate man. A pair of squinty red eyes blinked just once, fixating on the immensely powerful figure in front of him.

"Lore Fussse? You have requessted my presence?" His voice hissed, echoing in the wide chamber.

Fuse lifted his head, transforming part of his mass into a neck so that he was somewhat noticeable. "DEMONGO, MY MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT. "

Fusion Demongo bowed, then lifted himself back up.
"EVEN AS EARTH CLAIMS, YOU HAVE NEVER KNOWN DEFEAT. I MUST ASK A FAVOR FROM YOU. "