Hellions: Earth 2
in the shadows of late 17th century Cincinnati. Joanna Wissing, living near the forbidden Dark Woods rumored to be a haven for wickedness, becomes pregnant. She gives birth to a son, Daniel, followed by a daughter, Abigail, with a mysterious father who vanishes without a trace. The identity of Daniel's true father remains a haunting enigma.
Minister Jonathan Walker, a prominent figure who enforces strict morals, forms an unlikely bond with Oswald Campbelle, the town hangman. Together, these men act as hunters, wielding axe and scythe (Oswald and Daniel, respectively) to provide sustenance for the community.
Fueling fear and paranoia, the Minister alleges that local Native Americans plot to raid the town for its riches. He issues a chilling decree: their complete annihilation. Donning a burlap mask, Oswald leads the mission, with a cloaked Daniel by his side. They mercilessly slaughter the warriors.
However, when confronted with innocent children, Daniel falters. Unable to follow through with the ruthless order, he's rendered unconscious by Oswald.
Upon awakening, Daniel finds himself at a horrifying spectacle – The Judgment Table. He witnesses his sister beside him, nooses dangling ominously above them. Their mother is bound to a stake, her terrified screams echoing as the Minister lights the fire. Oswald, under the Minister's command, pulls the lever.
Daniel is forced to watch in agonizing silence as his mother and sister perish. As He hangs. In last moments, As the flames rise, the Minister leans in and whispers a cryptic message in Daniel's ear: "My seed is unleashed. Rest now my son.... Rest In Damnation!" Daniel life ends, and his soul would be trapped in a Nightmare.
Tales of The Darkwoods
As The Damned One is trapped in a Nightmare
The Darkwoods and his rancid corpse
Would affect any life that enters
From human to animal
would be infected unleashing their dark desires and gain powers. Unleashing the Monster from within
Here are a few
Joyce Shelly, the spoiled brat and cheer captain, got too close to the Dark Woods. Her sins and wrath were felt by many. Her infection was slow, but she began to feel overwhelming hate for her teacher, Mr. Bonospikner.
One night, she hunted him down like a beast and ripped him to shreds with her bare hands, consuming his meat.
Joyce went missing, as did many boys and men. Her parents became worried, until one night, their daughter came home.
They saw the monster she had truly become. Her mother screamed as Joyce ripped into her husband. She turned and laughed at her mother.
"I was in his will, right?" she asked.
Her mother, scared, asked her what had happened to her.
"What?" Joyce said. She looked in the mirror. "Well, isn't that hot?" She got into her mother's face. "You always wanted me to eat light and be thin. You said it would get me places and bring me success. Life is all about image." She grinned. "My name is Corpsey... and I'm quite hungry!"
Joyce bit into her mother, who screamed
Laura Frehley Queen of The Stray
Laura Frehley, a sweet old blind lady, had a gift for seeing the faces of innocent furry faces, the cats and dogs that had been abused. She gave them love and a home.
But within their love, they remembered the abuse they had taken. The darkness had tainted many of them. One day, a cat arrived, infected with a dark force that spread to Laura and her pets.
Laura began to transform and have Cat like features. Her pets grew larger, becoming her protectors. Linked as one, Laura could see through their eyes and feel their anger. She decided to become vengeance on those who had hurt her babies and herself.
The Slugger
Boris Stamford was a 25-year-old baseball player with a bright future ahead of him. He was talented, ambitious, and determined to make it to the major leagues.
One day, Boris was practicing playing catch in the dark woods behind his house. He was so focused on his practice that he didn't notice the strange insects that were swarming around him.
The insects were carrying a virus that was unknown to science. When they bit Boris, the virus entered his bloodstream and began to slowly transform him.
At first, Boris didn't notice any changes. But over time, he started to feel more and more aggressive. He also began to crave steroid shots. He knew that they were bad for him, but he couldn't resist the urge to take them.
The steroids mixed with the virus in Boris's system, and it caused him to transform into a hulking creature. He was not recognizable as Boris, but his skin was now stretched, His face was pulled and his mind wasn't even stable. He was like ragging beast.
Boris's transformation made him more addicted to the steroid shots. He started taking them more and more often, and his rage grew out of control. He began to attack people, using baseball bats and other sports equipment as weapons.
The people of the town were terrified of Boris. They didn't know what he was or why he was attacking them. They tried to stop him, but he was too strong.
One day, Boris attacked a group of children who were playing in the park. The police arrived and tried to arrest him, but he overpowered them and escaped.
The wail was a thin, ragged thing, lost in the rustling symphony of the Darkwoods. A small, white bunny, once known as Cotton, now simply a hollow shell of desperate searching, hopped through the gnarled, blackened trees. His nose twitched, picking up the faint, metallic scent that clung to the damp earth – a scent that wasn’t carrots, wasn’t clover, wasn’t the sweet, earthy musk of Hon Bun.
Hon Bun. His mate. Gone. Snapped from his burrow, a terrified squeak swallowed by the crunch of a human’s boot. Cotton had seen it, a flash of coarse, hairy skin, the glint of steel, and Hon Bun’s terrified eyes, wide and pleading, as he was hauled away.
The memory, usually a sharp, agonizing pang, began to twist, to curdle, in the oppressive, unnatural air of the Darkwoods. This wasn’t just grief. It was something else, something…hungry.
He stumbled upon it, a clearing bathed in the sickly, phosphorescent glow of fungi that pulsed with an inner light. A discarded bone, stripped clean, lay at the base of a twisted oak, the marrow gleaming wetly. He recognized the shape. A human femur.
The sight sent a jolt through him, not of fear, but of a raw, animalistic something that pulsed in his veins. The scent, once repulsive, now seemed…appetizing. The image of Hon Bun, helpless and consumed, flickered in his mind, but it was no longer just a source of sorrow. It was a spark, igniting a dark, primal rage.
The Darkwoods whispered, a chorus of unseen things rustling and clicking in the shadows. It was a place where the natural order was warped, where the very essence of life was twisted into something grotesque. The grief, the rage, the hunger – the woods embraced it, amplified it, transformed it.
Cotton was gone. In his place stood The Hare.
His eyes, once soft and innocent, burned with a cold, feral light. His teeth, sharpened and elongated, gleamed in the dim light. His paws, no longer delicate, ended in claws, thick and black, capable of rending flesh.
The first taste was an accident. A stray human, lost and whimpering, stumbled into the clearing. The Hare moved with a speed that defied his small frame, a blur of white fur and snapping jaws. The scream was short, choked off by the force of his bite.
The taste, raw and coppery, filled his mouth. It was a jolt, a surge of power, a grotesque satisfaction that spread through him like wildfire. The hunger, the gnawing emptiness left by Hon Bun’s absence, was momentarily sated.
But the satisfaction was fleeting. It was replaced by a deeper, more insatiable hunger, a craving that no carrot, no patch of clover, could ever hope to satisfy.
The Hare stalked the Darkwoods, a white phantom in the shadows. He hunted the humans who dared to trespass, their screams a symphony to his sharpened ears. With each kill, with each bite, he grew stronger, more monstrous. His form twisted, his muscles bulged, his teeth grew longer, more jagged.
The humans spoke of a creature, a white demon that stalked the woods, a rabbit of impossible size and ferocity. They spoke of the gnawed bones, the ripped flesh, the empty, staring eyes that haunted their nightmares.
The Hare didn’t care. He was driven by a hunger that consumed him, a hunger that grew with each human life he extinguished. The Darkwoods had made him a predator, a monster born of grief and rage, and he would devour them all, until the only sound left was the crunch of bone beneath his sharpened teeth. He was evolving, each human meal, further warping him into a monster the woods desired. The hunger, forever growing, was his only purpose.