My Child Will Soon Be In The Process Of Painting And Detailing! (And I Know That The Sentence Is Worded

I'm just preparing a little project. And this is just one of its parts. Which is still being finalized. •-•

Readiness : 0'5/3

Not my miracle, as mine will not appear soon. But this child will get his "life".

His glaive, or scythe, reminds me of a guitar...

I will return the weapon to him! It's just that I spent more than an hour or two doing this damn body of his. And there are details that distinguish it from the paper version. For example, there is symmetry. I guess... 🗿

Readiness No.2 : 0.5/3

A black pen got into my hands...

Now I have cute sketches of my first three ladies! °^°

How I love to rejoice even in such small things...

Yes yes, I measure height in meters.

“A little darling... He looks like a baby, there's nothing I can do about it. ;-;

Although, this "kid", I think, can "bite" painfully (figuratively) if you annoy him... But it's still nice.” — The author is smiling contentedly, while the others who are in the room are nervously looking at this miracle... Well, only a few - two seem to be looking with "charm".

nedshabakh's theme in my head

Orikan's "face" is a separate art form... And we like it.

Penis blast 👌🤙

We also love and cherish insufferable divorced husbands too

I don't have a Halloween project ready... But there is another project!

And, you know, our souls - I like them.

They're beautiful... You won't change my mind.

The Flayer Hates(The Flayer Loves)

Warning: light gore

It doesn’t hurt, when you sink in the knives. It never does. This hate. This desire for an end. This vicious, burning thing that wants to eat all, trample all, tear all that shines down until they are as low as you are, as wretched of a creature as you have been. The sheer hatred that is not  cannot - be articulated, the ache in your bones that can only be stalled, never cured. The rage, the hate, the screams that died in cords unsung, the blind madness that will kill you before you could screech your hatred out to the stars.

The hunger that never ends. 

Skin. Teeth. Bones. Liver. Skull. You want to strip them away, flay them alive, feast upon them until they’re unidentifiable dust, you want to find those that betrayed you so utterly and shattered you Llandu'gor into oblivion, you want to find those who built citadels out of your skull and idols out of your bones and you want to beat them into dust. You want to smear their flesh across your unmoving jaws and separate their bones from their meat, you want to hear them scream as you have screamed, fading now, hear them decay limb by limb as you have rotted, drowning in the all-consuming night as you have drowned. 

You want to find their graves, you want to put them there, you want to grind their bones one by one into ash and sink sickle-claws down into their flesh until they bleed through metallic bones, until they scream with unmoving mouths, until they repent the sins of steel. You want to hear the crunch of bones squealing apart, the screech of metal torn to ash, the slow seeping of green ichor leaking from your clawed fingernails as you grind talons over a skull that was a face. To hear their joints creak, their limbs snap, rotate, twist and turn and pop, to tear apart metallic augments until they are mortal now, nothing but a weak, fleshy shell not even worthy of being called human, writhing on the ground, begging for forgiveness through a toothless mouth. Rip wires from pumping innards, tear tubing from limbs and spines, rip tails, talons, claws, wings, take tendrils and hear them crack, snapping inch by inch into twisted, worthless fragments.

You want to flay them alive. You want to give them flesh and take it away, you want to give them skin and eat it away, you want to rust their bones and breathe cancer over their steel, you want to make them hate as you have been hated. You want to turn them into you, a wretched, lonely thing screaming away in the dark. You want to find these helpless, mocking creatures, so weak, so loathsome in their aloneness, and you want to turn them into you. You want to flay them alive, make them bleed as you have bleed. You will turn them into your children, your flaws, your sins come to life. 

Find them, crush them, make them repent. Crush their steel into rust, cover their green ichor with black bile. Teach them the falsehoods of their love, how even their beloved obsessions hate them back, how they will never be loved again. Teach them the carnality of the endless hunger, the flesh and blood upon steel lips, of hate unending instead of joy, of hunger enduring instead of adoration. 

They will never be loved. You will find these lonely, forgotten, cast away creatures of steel, not flesh.

And you will love them. 

You are Llandu'gor, the Flayer. 

And you will make them love.

1/3

Amhut the Magnificent, the Destroyer of C'tan is ready! I may have partially messed up with the weapon, but overall, I like everything. Especially he it shines, blazes. ;^;

I will be brief with his story, which came to mind during the drawing of this child (However, by the standards of the other two who will be with him, he will clearly be young) :

...Skipping the moment from the moment of awakening after the Great Dream and realizing that the crown world of the dynasty had been destroyed, Amhut retained his original consciousness. Well, how did save it?.. Like all necrons, he did not remember his past before the BioTransfer, and what happened after that Great Sleep, he remembers very vaguely. But unlike others who currently want to lead a dynasty, he is sane. And he has his own problems.

His homeworld is literally located on the very edge of the Mefrith territory. The devastation was also accompanied by the disappearance of many other lords who were supposed to control the system in this sector. Left with his small legions, cryptek and another Overlord (whom he almost killed), Amhut is slowly restoring influence in this solar system.

The former necrontyr has a nasty temper when it comes to his personal attitude towards other necrons who are not related to his environment. Some may even call him too selfish in this regard. The nickname "Magnificent" was given not by anyone, but by Amhut himself, either to somehow stand out, or because of his opinion that he copes well with his weapon ..?

Speaking of weapons, it was a mixture of an axe and a staff (there is little left of the latter) and it requires some skills to fight with this weapon. Amhut loves battles and was always eager to fight if the enemy was worthy of it. However, now this "love" has cooled down in him. During the destruction of the invaders in the tomb, he lost his legs after meeting with an unknown creature, according to his memory. The latter disappeared somewhere or was destroyed, but after that he lost the opportunity to walk for a while. The living metal was not restored, so he and his cryptek had to look for, come up with, a replacement. But, as we can see, they found it. However, this had consequences - now Amkhut was literally blazing intermittently without burning down. Whether it was thought out, or some kind of mistake, he did not know. But he feels no anxiety or irritation towards the Anubitar. Such an effect even makes a good, in the bad sense of the word, impression on mortals and on his colleagues. However, after that incident, he became cautious. Yes, and some annoying shadow followed him...

-----

Kira said, "It will be short ..."

A mini biography was released, which, with the right path and knowledge, can be developed into a full-fledged story.

Animation progress!

Recently I finished working on 20th scene of my "War in the Museum" animation and here it is! English subtitles included. I also made a Boosty page so you can support making of this animation if you want! -> https://boosty.to/alxmst <-