Nyd is a tough long range combatant. Having all 4 limbs replaced with biomechanical parts, he has an inhuman strength and toughness. His arm-gun allows him to initiate fights at range, while his exceptionally strong shield provides protection for when he gets in over-his-head.
7215, Common era. Wildland Territories, Western EuroAllianc, Zone 18.
Nyd stood over the remains of the body; staring down at the corpse of his father brought an unusual silence to an otherwise raucous person; adrenaline and rage building within him, barely held in check by the young man.
"Well, that's that, then," he said flatly, letting no emotion escape his grim façade, others were be watching his reactions now, judging him, weighing his value.
Nyd had grown through adolescence along with his two brothers, Lenox and Hew, and his father, Nyland McKay. Now war had taken his father. His brothers were away on distant battles; if they were alive or dead, Nyd did not currently know. Nyd was just over 21 years old, but he knew the time to lead had come.
The stocky young man from the highlands gathered sighed deeply, he knew what needed to be done. He needed to become the leader has father had been, he needed to be more than just another meat-bag soldier wading into the thick of war; dying gloriously was still dying, and what his clan needed was a living breathing leader. Nyland had taught him many things, and strategy had not been left to chance. Nyd motioned to his closest clansmen, and heaved Nyland's unmoving body onto a makeshift stretcher. The remaining men and women formed a funeral procession, carrying his father back to their home, warriors all, protecting their fallen leader.
Nyd shuttered himself into their compound, ordered guards be placed along the walls, and scouts in the wildlands. He called in his best surgeons and began the macabre work of removing the components of his father's wrecked circuitry and armor. Cutting and sewing and stitching, he lay on the cold slab table as the tech-surgeons worked the armor and cybernetic components into his own body. His father had cared deeply for his clansmen, made sure they did not lack for surgical training to keep his people alive, no matter the cost. Biomechanical grafting was the first thing the leaders made sure clan surgeons were experts in; technology had long ago proved itself a life safer.
For three days the tech-surgeons worked, weaving his dead father's biomechanical components into Nyd's body, biomech circuitry grafts laid alongside his muscle, bone, and veins. Although he was a fearless, he could not always stop his body from shaking, or his muscles contracting as they carved into his body. Three of his strongest kin were called to hold him down, not for his own safety, but for the safety of the surgeons. A leader of the clan McKay, was not allowed the mercy of medicines to reduce pain during surgery, it was a rite of passage. No warrior could ever assume the heavy mantle of leadership if it had been granted through the weakness of drugs and painkillers. The clan had always believed a true warrior lead through all hardships and any pain. It was the way of the McKays, it was how they lived and survived.
When the surgeons had finished, the technology of his father sewn to his body like a menagerie of death, Nyd rested for five days, allowing the augments to knit his skin faster than any human ever normally could. On the sixth day, he called for an assembly of his kin and those who called the fortress their home.
Nyd walked slowly to the top of a sturdy dais made of metal and stone, broken and rebuilt over centuries of warfare, it's structure pocked with bullet holes and stained with blood. He looked out over his kin and clan, they looked up to him, his body re-forged in his father's image. His left arm now augmented with steel and wires, his right arm a harbinger of death formed as Nyland's powerful machine gun. He scanned them, looking at his closest kin directly in the eyes before he spoke.
"I am not my father, he has left us in the only way knew how," Nyd began.
"Death takes us all, we fear it not" chanted Nyd, his kin and clan.
"The wars of the last year have taken much from us all. We 'ave lost kin and clan; blood has been spilled, and it has flowed from e'ry one o' us onto the rocks and dirt beneath our feet." Nyd's baritone voice reached out to the crowd. "You have fought with me since I could barely hold a gun. You 'ave all bled with me."
Some of the crowd cheered, some shouted in acknowledgement.
"I am not a man that'll sing the fancy words nor say the sweet things the lasses yearn to hear. But I am a man who'll spit in th' eyes of my enemies and shout at death till all that's left is bleedin' before me."
The crowd became raucous in excitement, some cheering their approval, some firing their weapons off in the sky.
"I can'na tell ya' what tomorrow will bring, or who'll be livin'. What I can tell ya' is that those scum and mutates that're livin' along our borders took our kin from us for too long, and that I am going ta' spill their blood until they are na' more." Nyd's voice boomed, becoming one with the cheering of his people.
"Ta'nite we will mourn our dead, ta'morrow we will avenge them!" Nyd roared. His clan with him.
Upon the next morning Nyd stood at the forefront of his clan, strong men and women, warriors all, awaiting the joining of battle.
Nyd roared as all ancestors of the McKay clan had before battle, and led the charge.
Nyd awakened the warrior within himself that day as he had never done before. Something his father, his grandfather and his great-grandfather had always possessed. Nyd awakened his zeal for war; his bullets tore flesh, his skull bashed bone and teeth of his enemies. The highlander belted out laughter. He belted out laughter and rage and blood lust.
Nyd's bloodlust raged and raged. He raged through the night and into the next day. He raged on that battle field until there were no enemies of the clan alive. He raged and his enemies fell before him. Nyd raged on, and nothing stopped him. Nothing could quell that rage. He was Nyd of the north highlands! He was the son of Nyland McKay in every way, right down to his biomechanical circuits.
Nyd had always needed to be the center of attention. War suited him fine. Since his youth he had been the first to rush in to conflict and the last one out. His father had said, "Nyd is a warrior. A true highlander." This was a source of great pride for him, from his earliest days he had been judged on everything in his life; how much glory he could bring to the family. And battle always brought glory.
After many weeks of battle that followed, when all fell quiet, when his enemy's smoldering corpses burned in heaps, and limbs were scattered across the grasslands, Nyd finally sat. He heard the chanting of victory from his kin and clan.
"Bah!" He spat. "Tha' deed is done." Nyd reveled in the cheers of the men and women around him. Bathed in the blood of combat, they had survived and were now stronger for it. Their enemies driven from their homelands.
Nyd allowed himself a moment of internal peace. While the landscape around him smoldered, and the dead lie dying, Nyd closed his eyes and rested. He knew Nyland would have been proud of what he had accomplished. He knew that he had proven himself a leader, and that his kin and clan were safe now. He inhaled deeply through his nose, held it a moment, and let it out. The war was over, he had spit in death's eye, now it was time to live.
Nyd opened his eyes and scanned the warrior around him. His gaze locked with that of a fire-haired warrior woman, not his kin but of his clan, not far from him. He stood and proclaimed, "I know what conquerors do!" he exclaimed. "They go a-celebratin!" He shouted, a cheer erupted from those around him.
"The women of the vale yearn for Nyd the conquerer! An' who be me ta keep 'em waitin'?" He roared, moving into the embrace of the woman.
Nyd scanned the landscape around him one last time; the slain were in their heaps, a bottle waited for his hand, and the women of the vale always loved a hero.
You swing your shield, bashing any enemies foolish enough to get close to you.
Your arm mounted gatling gun rends enemies from afar.
Slamming your shield down in front of you, a personal shield boost is triggered. Damaging nearby enemies and reducing incoming damage.
Throwing your shield, you deal damage to your target and knock them back on hit.
Flying into a berserk rage, your melee attack damage is increased.
Spinning up your arm mounted gatling gun to full power, you deal massive damage to enemies in your forward arc.