Famously known across the multi realms as the Warps, the ever different family consisting of six distinct humans were all standing in a line at the peak of a silver mountain. Every gaze on their faces were glossed with ice, seemingly dead as their heads and bodies swayed in normal movements. A bunch of humans, who were thought to be some weaklings in the universe, were now ending battles against inter-galactic warriors.
May they have been alive, the eyes of this chaotic household narrowed in a dismay so strange, it was menacing.
As if they lost their hearts.
Like nothing mattered anymore.
Scattered around, stacking on every side to the middle of this summit, were all the corpses of thousands of lifeforms. Up to the half point on this tyrant of a mountain was sprayed and covered in polychromatic blood colors.
Some of them were humans, others were alien-like sentient beings, but really, that meant nothing.
People's lives were no more.
Isn't that all that matters?
Like fruit tofu, the collective beings all eternally slept. Fallen, they were dismembered, and dead in various, gruesome ways. All fighters of the Tezeo Revolution were cut, pierced, and mangled to pieces.
Posted in the middle was an inhumanly muscular man. He was Caucasian, as his entire family was as well.
This was the family leader and father, Patrick, a gloomy middle aged human. He had an expression of utter apathy, was beardless, and towered in height standing at (6,4 ft.)
Hulking in pure muscle, Patrick Warps body was developed deeply, and all visible muscles were high highly defined, close to that of a power lifter.
He was wearing an all black fit with a basic t-shirt that hardly contained his arms, baggy chrome heart pants, and no sheath for his monster of a blade.
Truly a formidable height fitting of his external appearance.
Not that this mattered, because if he were a dwarf, he'd be just as mighty.
With shredded muscles and a hefty weight of two hundred and thirty pounds, he described himself as a rational pacifist who stands perplexed at existence.
God? He definitely exists. He won't say who although.
This particular agnostic, Patrick, was extremely passionate about sword fighting. Wielding in his left hand was a pure emerald great-sword, its large size lay pierced into the mountain, standstill with the immovable rock.
He gripped it one handed, same as he did when he fought. At this time though, it was coated in a dozen colors of blood.
Red… blue… purple… yellow… Practically the entire color table was stained on that blade.
Before battling aliens on a world of mayhem, on Earth, he worked as a therapist who in his free time played video games on his gaming computer.
Surprisingly, the middle aged man had a lavish, black short middle part. Going back to eighteen years of age, that never changed.
Other than his monster of a physique, his sharp jawline and decent features defined his outward appearance...
But, it ended at that.
Patrick's face was utterly average. Handsome, but not so much so like a model.
Among his family, Patrick's hair was one of his few treasures.
He knew his hair meant nothing, but despite it all, he made it mean something.
Standing directly beside him, on that same mountain was Wendel Warp: Julian's second son.
He wore a plain, long sleeve white turtleneck, with matching white jeans. Which made sense, since the snow surrounding them acted perfectly for camouflage.
Wendell was a sharpshooter. Grasping a frost bow in his hand, the six foot six muscular sixteen year old blankly stared into the azure nebula that hovered above the Warps. Wendel was quite brawny for his physique, his body similar looking to Luka Doncic from the Dallas Mavericks.
There was no quiver on his back, and obviously, he had no physical arrows. He'd rather create projectiles of energy out of nothingness.
He was the tallest in the family, and was by far the kindest, "How beautiful." Exhales of cold air exited his mouth as he uttered at the sky, "Never thought I'd see this scenery in this way."
Wendel didn't have an ounce of blood on his clothing, which could've been stained easily.
Why would he?
To ensure ultimate safety, he fought his battles from a distance.
He used to be, however, a nerdy teenage boy. On earth, he didn't have glasses, but was lanky and played video games. He was a prodigy within the video game world, never failing to gain the highest rank in a matter of weeks. It was the closest he could get to adventure, and took it without hesitation.
In that small world, esport scouts would constantly send him offers, asking him to go pro and "Change the world." Going on and boasting his ability online, "This kid, he's a phenom. Destroying world champions and not even going pro? Is he even human with that aim? It's so godlike, people think he's cheating!" Another esports announcer added after, "Apparently he's doing this in Stem Royale, Valorant, and apex too. Just what are you, walltrail? (Wendells in-game name.)
Those words never made sense to Wendell. He could never professionally game, because to him, it was all meaningless.
It was just a bunch of pixels on a screen, how could that be classified as world saving? He just used gaming as an outlet for his anxiety, nothing more. He enjoyed reading more than gaming. Learning was his medication.
As obviously seen, the lean boy was abnormally tall, standing above his fathers height with a weight of two hundred and forty pounds. He was physically strong, looking extremely healthy for his height.
Viewing the mystically colored sky off that giant rock, he smiled at the fact he hadn't touched video games in around a year.
This was because Wendel was no longer a spectator, or someone who just "faked his adventure." He was out there, adventuring for the first, real time.
If anything, externally, Wendel's blonde wolfcut was his unique factor.
Shadowed in the light of the warps, standing on the two opposing sides of the peak were his mysterious brother and sister, Blaze and Yacy Warp. They were identical twins with an alike black and blonde highlights to their hairs. In this family, they were elders to Wendel at twenty years old, and how reality works, they became great allies in the despairing battle of life.
They were best friends, two opposites who always had each other's backs.
While they looked alike facially, their hairs were poral opposites. Blazes hair was black with blonde highlights, and Yacy's hair was black with blonde highlights.
Both used to be drug addicts, who on earth lived scot-free in the Warps household.
Leering and levitating in the air, a dog-man hybrid donned an emotionless stare. He was floating just nine feet above the warps.
"So the nation crumbled in the end. I tried to protect you, I really did. Guess I'm not cut out for this king nonsense." He had no physical weapon equipped at the time.
A whisper was heard from a woman, the mother of the warps, "You can say that again."
Not in a million years could you forget the glue to this dysfunctional family. Varney Warp. The mother and balancer of a group in which most could never keep together. She was by far the strongest pillar in this family for her might and will, if provoked, could topple giants.
She stood beside her partner, Patrick.
Her enigmatic jett black robe blended with her darkening hair. Flexed at her waist, her brass gauntlets were soaked in blood, where on her head she donned a large frown that emanated a egotistical sadness…
"They attacked us… just why would they throw away their lives so easily? You gots to be an idiot to think I won't slaughter all of you to protect my family." An eerie smile slowly formed on her face. Ear to ear, Varney was…
Conflicted.
Her life before all of this was meaningless and banal, as dull and boring as it can get being a housewife in America's society. And now…
She was living as a mage, and the laws in which she thought guided physics bent to her will.
There were two sides existing within Varney that day. One hated the bloodshed, loathing its nature entirely, but in another crevice, a fraction of her hiding far into her psyche… was exhilarated by it.
She dubbed it the art of defending.
Peering into the distant lands ahead of them, the Warps contemplated a few things, existence being the unchanging question that not even reality warpers could answer.
It all started in a candy-like galaxy, on an ordinary planet called Earth.