Once you were a normal soldier. Now you are a huge, steel war-golem

“It looks fucking huge,” the woman says, “I can’t believe it. It must have been a war golem. An ancient war-golem. By the gods. And I think it is mostly intact. If we deliver it to the scholars in the capital, we can get a small fortune.”

This woman is not the first one who describes you this way. The dark mages of the cult always needed servants and soldiers. For you, the latter one was chosen. Your soul was transferred into a war-golem. Dwarfen slaves crafted hundreds of your kind made of solid steel. Two times as big and wide as a normal human or elf. Decorated with the cult’s insignia and some lines of copper or silver. In fact, you look like a giant living armor. Your face is like a helmet, you have big but otherwise normal hands and one of your punches can break thin stone walls. There were other versions of war-golems too. Made out of wood, stone or even crystals. But you got the standard variant. The backbone of the cult’s army.

Before that, you are not so sure. You know that you were a soldier. You and your comrades fought against the cult’s henchmen and creatures. But at some point, during one of your fights, you were overpowered. You don’t remember the details anymore. The only other thing you remember is how you were dragged from your cell in a cult fortress to one of their dark mages. You can’t remember your race, your life or even if you had any family.

“I guess you are right,” the voice of the leader says and suddenly a loud clap is heard, “good job honey. Seems you are not only useful for motivation. Not go back and let the real men take care of this.”

“Do you think it could be still … alive, boss?” a new voice asks a little nervous, “I mean … there are stories. These things are fucking unbeatable.”

“Rao is not wrong boss,” the first man agrees, “I heard stories too. Some guys found one and freed it. It was heavily damaged but still took down a whole wild tribe and half of a troop of knights before being destroyed.”

“What kind of sissy cocksuckers are you?” the leader of the group says aggressive and suddenly a small stone collides with a echoing bang with your head, “Hey, steel face. Make some noise if you are more than a bunch of rusted scraps.”

You can hear some people laughing. Anger boils inside of you. You were **** to rot here for decades, if not centuries, and the first people you meet in all this time are a bunch of assholes who piss you off seconds after meeting you. They are going to pay. You will make them pay, then look for your control rod to never be a **** again, and then you will make the cult suffer for what they did to you.