"Peace? You think I came for that? No—I'm the Bearmountean, forged in war, blood, and bone. I didn’t come to make things calm; I came with a goddamn axe to rip the sky apart and crush every skull that stands in my way. I am the reckoning, the storm they never saw coming. You want peace? You better earn it, ‘cause where I walk, only death and ruin follow. Think not of peace—think of my axe tearing your world apart."
The Bearmountean and the Brotherhood of Arktos—more than warriors, more than legends, they are the primal force unleashed upon the world, forged in the frozen hell of the Northern Highlands where the weak never survive. Their mission is simple: Krush, Kill, and Destroy Ben Zion and the cancerous blight of Ziongoria. They are not coming to negotiate. Diplomacy is for the weak, and weakness is a sin that Ziongoria will answer for in blood.
Ziongoria—a stolen land steeped in satanic degeneracy, where the worship of depravity has replaced any shred of honor. Tiny hat midget cowards rule with the twisted rainbow banners of victimhood and Machiavellian cunning, their false cries for security masking an iron grip of brutal oppression. This is a nation built on filth, a cesspool where corruption festers, where the weak lead the blind into pits of perversion. Ben Zion, their depraved puppet-master, cloaked in the stench of degenerate power, believes he’s untouchable. He rules over this rotting empire like a king of the damned, poisoning the land with every breath.
But Ben Zion has never seen the likes of the Bearmountean and his Brotherhood of Arktos. He thinks his evil is absolute, his kingdom impenetrable. He’s wrong. He’s never faced a force born from the icy peaks of Japan's great Northern Alps, warriors who are the very embodiment of primal rage, forged in the flames of an unforgiving land. The Brotherhood of Arktos doesn’t come to negotiate or to bring salvation. They come to tear Ziongoria a new asshole, to execute Ben Zion and his cabal limb by bloody limb.
They are the storm, the fury of the old gods reborn, bringing annihilation to every piece of filth that crosses their path. The Brotherhood will rip Ziongoria apart, exposing the rot beneath its façade, executing each degenerate who has poisoned the land. There will be no sanctuary, no mercy for those who hide behind their twisted illusions of power. Ben Zion's skull will be crushed, his bones shattered under the weight of the Bearmountean’s axe, and his followers will be left as nothing but bloodied corpses in the wake of Arktos’ wrath.
Krush. Kill. Destroy.
The Bearmountean’s axe is no mere weapon; it’s a tool of absolute destruction, a thirsting beast eager for the blood of those who dare oppose it. With each swing, it cleaves heads from necks, reduces spines to dust, and tears the very soul from the bodies of its enemies. When the Brotherhood of Arktos descends upon Ziongoria, the world will tremble. It will be a reckoning of unimaginable scale, where mercy is a forgotten concept and surrender a coward's wish. Only rivers of blood, mountains of shattered skulls, and the burning wreckage of a kingdom brought to its knees will remain.
The Brotherhood, led by Jack Rennell, moves as a pack—a savage force of nature too relentless, too brutal to stop. They revel in the chaos, basking in the carnage as Ziongoria’s armies are torn apart like lambs to the slaughter. Megumi, fierce and unwavering, swings her battle axe with surgical precision, each arc a symphony of brutality that carves through flesh and bone, leaving behind a wake of dismembered bodies. Her enemies meet a swift and violent end, their screams muffled by the roar of battle.
Then there’s Wyatt, the embodiment of unyielding ferocity, wielding twin blades that flash like lightning in the darkness. He dances through the chaos, a whirlwind of death, slicing through foes with a frenzy that leaves only dismembered limbs and blood-soaked ground in his wake. He takes pleasure in the visceral brutality, every cut a reminder of the price of defiance.
Jugs, the towering titan of muscle, crushes enemies underfoot like insects. His fists, like hammers, deliver skull-splitting blows, reducing their victims to pulp. With each impact, he laughs, a deep, echoing sound that reverberates through the battlefield as if mocking the very concept of resistance.
Dogballs, the wild card of the Brotherhood, embraces madness like a lover. His unpredictable, chaotic style results in a cacophony of violence—he lunges and bites, his ferocity unmatched as he rends flesh from bone with savage glee. His laughter echoes through the carnage, a chilling reminder of the madness that has descended upon Ziongoria.
And there’s Chowder, the strategist turned executioner, whose mind is as sharp as his weapons. He positions himself at the heart of the chaos, guiding his comrades with an iron will. But don’t let his cunning demeanor fool you—when it’s time to strike, he transforms into a ruthless killer, his blades finding their mark with ruthless efficiency.
The Grizzly, the savage behemoth of Bear Mountain, crushes skulls beneath its claws like fragile eggshells. With each swipe, it sends enemies flying, their lifeless bodies a testament to its unmatched power. The Grizzly howls, a primal sound of dominance, marking the end for all who dare oppose the Brotherhood.
Together, they are a whirlwind of destruction—Krush, Kill, Destroy—each member an instrument of death in this symphony of brutality. As they march into Ziongoria, they are a force that will leave nothing but shattered dreams and bloody memories. No stone will be left unturned; no soul will be spared. The Brotherhood of Arktos has come to enact their vengeance, and Ziongoria will crumble beneath their feet.
Ben Zion won’t know what hit him—he’ll hear the roar of the Bearmountean on the wind, feel the earth tremble beneath the boots of the Arktos Brotherhood, but by the time he sees them, it will be too late. They’ll rip through his armies, tearing his soldiers apart with brutal efficiency, and when they reach him, there will be no escape. The Bearmountean’s axe will be the last thing he sees, splitting his skull open like rotten fruit, before the Brotherhood tears his kingdom to pieces, leaving nothing but ash and bone in their wake.
You wanted peace? You should’ve run when you had the chance. Now, there’s only one certainty—death is coming, and the Bearmountean will see to it personally.
— The Bearmountaen is on sale now at all good book stores.
No comments:
Post a Comment