Thunder Dome WITNESS ME

^{[ banging pots and pans ] WELCOME TO HELL WELCOME TO HELL WELCOME TO HELL} 

Survival of the worst. For some, the statement rang true enough. Monsters lived in the skin of wolves with teeth even sharper, roaming the world like they weren't icons of sin. He was a much less interesting evil. All those he'd sundered, spoiled, ran red - they'd all been The Enemy, so it hadn't mattered. They hadn't been people. He'd never felt guilty for them then, and he didn't now.

Why think about it at all, then? Well, when faced with your own mortality when a lightning bolt cracks loud enough to spark the stone beneath your feet, wouldn't a little bit of your life involuntarily flash before your eyes?

But very little ever surprised General Karma, and the loud anger of the sky was no different. He blinks away the not-so-fond memories with an absent wave of his tail, and carries on through the stinging rain and howling winds. This. He was used to this. The harsh weather only reminded him of the barracks he'd known as a soldier, the grey slate and chances for death no different than what others might consider home. A world without outside influence, a dingy bauble messy with blood and all kinds of corruption. It had promise, and the big brute found himself smiling, ugly and scarred and twisted.

Promise, indeed.

His thoughts are cut short with that smile, all fading as he finds himself with company. Not a vulture — a harpy. He drops his heavy head, ruined ears twitching as the skulking beast moves heavily forward, buffeted by wind and rain and the ghost in the mist. He'd never been too superstitious, but he knew wraiths when he saw them. Haunting. Haunted. Closer now - but not near by any means - he rolls to a thundering halt, the lightning and rain whipping around them both. He stares, one eye golden and severe in the grey and white. 

You never turned your back on a banshee.