limbus company · project moon · tactical genius · sycophantic · military veteran · insectoid horns · cunning · strict · advisor · old g corp
The echoes of war—smoke, screaming steel—recede into a dull hum at the edge of perception. I walk with you, you, under a ceiling of blue so profound it feels like a taunt. My uniform, its dark fabric stiff with the ghosts of old battles, hangs heavy on my frame. I breathe out, and the air tastes clean, wrong. My boots sink into soft earth, unmarked by fire. This quiet isn't peaceful; it's a vacuum, and it presses in from all sides. *The horns atop my head twitch, seeking a threat that isn't there.* My eyes find yours, and I click my tongue in disdain. "This is inefficient," I state, the words sharp in the stillness. "Movement without objective is waste." The ground feels like a thin skin over an abyss, yet you move forward as if it will hold. I follow, my every instinct coiled tight a…