Poem militisPugno durum pugno tantum.
De poena mea non est clone.
My gun ardet meus ammo est profectus,
Donec suscipit placerat sed pugnare.
Solus et tenebrarum sensi vera timore,
I, prope mortem cognoverant.
Corpus meum defecerunt, cecidi ad aream
Errantes spiritus meus, in aeternum.
TWoDA Nyan InfectionThe War of dA: Nyan Virus
I sat on my bed, recovering (Or so I hoped...) from an infection that had set in from my last mission. I hated myself at the moment, as I was suffering from a wound I could have avoided. I had heard of the virus sweeping through the area, but as I contemplated it, a horrible, racking cough assaulted my lungs. I looked at the mess that was now on my hands, and what was on them provoked a sharp, startled cry.
It was a mass of rainbow colored phlegm, with reds vibrant, and a hint of black on the outside.
This scared me. Somehow, I had contracted the virus through the wound in my leg! I looked around frantically, coughing more of the vile substance up with every breath. My breathing soon sounded wet, as fluid filled my lungs, choking me, drowning me without water. I could hardly breathe, and my body distorted, flattening out, changing into a black and red poptart. My face cracked, stretched, and I could feel a bunch of sharp pricks as not one, but MANY