The memoirs of Necrocide




I was a lost soul, wondering though the back alleys of New York, scavenging what food I could from garbage or killing small animals. I know nothing about my past prior to this miserable existence. Even my name is unknown to me. An outcast from society, my tough, scaly skin marking me as a shockingly different mutant for all to see. My mutation causes bone growths to shoot randomly though my skin, causing me intense pain each and every time. My life may have continued along this miserable course if it were not for a twist of fate, which resulted in me learning to control my powers and finally gaining a name. My name would be Necrocide.

I was tearing into rat I had just caught, I hadn’t eaten in days. This war with the strange creatures that appeared out of holes in the very air had caused many to flee the city, taking their food with them. I cared little about the war, humanity has shown me no compassion, why should I care who won. Either way I was likely to remain living off others scraps.

A loud crashing sound made me look up as a brightly coloured blur crashed into a nearby rubbish heap. I recognised it as one of the warriors I’d had seen fighting the invaders. Before the war they’d also occasionally come running though my alleys chasing local thugs, never even noticing me as they ran past. While the warrior lay there groaning one of the armoured invaders appeared next to him. As it towered over its beaten pray it emitted a sound that could only be laughter. From somewhere deep inside me, from whatever dregs of humanity were left after a life of banishment, I felt an anger rise towards the invader. It was about to kill someone who was already no threat to it, and it was clearly enjoying it. It was too much for me, I leapt from the shadows towards the back of the laughing murderer. I harboured no delusions about how successful I expected my attack to be. It might distract the attacker long enough for the brightly coloured warrior to escape, but nothing more. Maybe if I was lucky the invader would kill me.

As I travelled though the air, time seemed to slow down. My arm was pulled back ready to deliver the blow as soon as I landed. My target was beginning to raise its weapon; its helpless pray lifted its hands protectively to its face. I felt a familiar pain in my arm as one of my bone protrusions quickly extended from it. Time returned in a rush, suddenly I was swinging my punch, the bone turning my arm into a deadly spear.

It was over, the invader hung lifelessly from my outstreched arm, my extended bone protruding from it chest. As bone slid back into my arm the creature fell to the floor, for the first time in my life my mutant power had helped me! As I turned to leave I heard a call from behind me.

‘Wait! I owe you my life’. I looked around to see the person I had saved climbing to his feet. ‘Those bones, we’ve seen others with the same mutation; they’ve very painful aren’t they? We can help you, train you to control them’. Considering his offer I said ‘Why would you want to help me?’. ‘You saved my life’ he replied, finally managing to stand, ‘And I see great potential in you, you could become a powerful hero’. So, these coloured warriors call themselves heroes? Why should I help the world that has shunned me? However the lure of learning to control my powers, to control the pain, was strong (and some where, nagging at the back of my mind, was the thought that maybe I could stop other mutants suffering as I had). So I accepted his offer.

I was assigned the code name 'Necrocide', a dark name to match my dark nature. However, I saw little combat during the war with the Rikti (as I later found out these invaders were called), my training wasn't complete until the war was almost over. I was useless in a fight if I couldn't control my powers.

I trained long and hard, I learnt to lock out the pain caused by my powers using meditation techniques. My natural speed and agility allowed me to become a very skilled close quarter’s fighter. During one of the few battles I did see during the war a shot from a Rikti energy weapon caught the side of my face, ruining my right eye and scaring my face. I was fitted with a cybernetic eye to replace the one I had lost and used a leather mask to hide my scared face.

After the war, my training complete, I left mentors. Many heroes who's powers came from their mutations fought in the war, gaining public acceptance for our kind. I could now walk the streets without causing cries of fear and disgust. I was no longer the empty husk I had been. I had a purpose, I had a name, I was a hero! Like so many other heroes of the time, I decided to answer the call of Paragon City and a new phase of my life began.