As the days went by, tanks fired at me. I screamed for them to put me out of my misery, ripping them apart, begging them to do more. I spent most of my miserable time trying to hurt myself with the sword. And then I started to hurt myself by thinking of what was really the case. I beat at myself all the harder for it. Eventually, I felt myself bleed. I stared down at my hand, which was dark as pitch. The sword was not there, but the crystal was definitely in my forehead. I looked straight ahead and saw a mirror of myself, but the purest white. He had the sword. I was the dark one, the demon, the evil being. How had I deluded myself this whole time? “Have mercy, my better half,” I moaned.
Perhaps it listened. Perhaps it did what it thought was right. Thrusting the blade into the point between my eyes, I could hear it whisper, “Have blissful agony, fiend.”
Light blinded me, burned me like nothing had before. I still see it, the light, all before me. I had not the strength to scream. I don’t know how long I’ve been like this, but the light hasn’t stopped burning yet.
This one is definitely complete. Now I need to think up a new story.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Crystal, Part 4
I decided to deal with the fissure first, so I held the crystal tight and filled the ground’s gaping maw with that red crystal, essentially making a new street where the old one was torn apart. The giant swordsman cut apart a few more buildings. The crystal in my hand stopped vibrating when the sword cut through the last building in its path. Something was definitely wrong here. Looking down, my crystal had started to dig into my palm. No blood was coming out, so I left it where it was.
Looking around, I saw people pointing at me and screaming, then running away. How were there this many people in Denver all of a sudden, anyway? A man on a megaphone was shouting, I realized, and started paying attention to the voice.
“Stand down, whatever you are! What’s left of the military will destroy you!” the mayor of Denver shouted.
“Sir, I’ll help you!” I shouted in return.
The world got smaller around me; I found myself as tall as the skyscrapers. In my hand was a sword made of the crystal. I could feel a hole in my forehead, but when I put my fingers to it, I felt sharp gemstone. “This cannot be!”
I was struck in the leg by an explosion. I looked down and saw a tank, just like a toy, firing at me. Irritated, I roared, “Let me think!” and brought the sword down onto the armored vehicle, which crunched beneath my might. “I am the salvation of this world! I will destroy that shadow!”
The mayor called out again. “You are the shadow, you beast! We will put you down!”
All I could do was scream wordlessly. I swung the sword around, throwing it and finding it in my hand again. The city was destroyed in moments by this rampage, and I sat in the ruins, weeping, trying to pull the crystal from my head and destroy the sword. I tried to rend my own flesh, bleed out, but there was nothing. What was I? Was there any humanity left, or was I just a vehicle for the crystal?
Looking around, I saw people pointing at me and screaming, then running away. How were there this many people in Denver all of a sudden, anyway? A man on a megaphone was shouting, I realized, and started paying attention to the voice.
“Stand down, whatever you are! What’s left of the military will destroy you!” the mayor of Denver shouted.
“Sir, I’ll help you!” I shouted in return.
The world got smaller around me; I found myself as tall as the skyscrapers. In my hand was a sword made of the crystal. I could feel a hole in my forehead, but when I put my fingers to it, I felt sharp gemstone. “This cannot be!”
I was struck in the leg by an explosion. I looked down and saw a tank, just like a toy, firing at me. Irritated, I roared, “Let me think!” and brought the sword down onto the armored vehicle, which crunched beneath my might. “I am the salvation of this world! I will destroy that shadow!”
The mayor called out again. “You are the shadow, you beast! We will put you down!”
All I could do was scream wordlessly. I swung the sword around, throwing it and finding it in my hand again. The city was destroyed in moments by this rampage, and I sat in the ruins, weeping, trying to pull the crystal from my head and destroy the sword. I tried to rend my own flesh, bleed out, but there was nothing. What was I? Was there any humanity left, or was I just a vehicle for the crystal?
Thursday, August 19, 2010
I've Returned
Computer had a virus that apparently was sent out through Facebook. I have been without the computer I'm using since Saturday, but it's all good now. The background, though, has become kinda funky and I don't think that problem is ever going to be fixed until this computer is upgraded to Windows 7 and all the stuff is wiped anyway. >_>
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Third Era
Unoriginal rhymes in my mind,
Old and faded, tossed aside.
The time has come to make anew
And leave behind what was broken.
So begins an era third,
Where rhyme is worthless.
Meaning is all that is left.
Let it begin.
Old and faded, tossed aside.
The time has come to make anew
And leave behind what was broken.
So begins an era third,
Where rhyme is worthless.
Meaning is all that is left.
Let it begin.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Crystal, part 3
It gets epic here.
It pulsed, a throb that I felt inside my heart, in my veins, and to my very soul. Touching it was like feeling my salvation, all the answers to my problems inside a stone. I never thought this might have been dangerous, or stupid, or destructive—I had no reason to at the time. As I held it in my hand, staring intently, I lost myself completely in its beauty. Only when I closed my eyes did I realize I couldn’t feel it, and panicked, opening them again and seeing it sitting serenely in my palm, always pulsing.
What was it made of, anyway? I thought it was just a rare stone, but it wasn’t like anything this world had ever seen. I closed my eyes and focused on that pulse, rhythmic and calm. Then I saw fire in my mind’s eye, immense structures made of it and by it. I saw darkness in sheets, and saw the power this crystal had. A dangerous beauty, I thought it. One I could love easily, one I could master, control. So I tried to control it. I saw the fire, and began to mold it inside my mind, and place it in the world around me. Nothing happened, until I relaxed my grip on the crystal, and then it started throbbing faster, turning darker as it did. The field in front of me burned itself down to nothing before the crystal’s presence. At the end, though, the crystal turned back to its previous state with the calm pulse and the bright red.
I realized something: this was humanity’s salvation! With this, I could destroy the cause of the destruction that had wiped out most of Earth’s population! With the crystal, my power was limitless! No longer was I some poor soul who had lost all means of survival, but instead the savior of an entire species. I walked slowly back to Denver, basking in the crystal’s strength.
Getting there in due course, I saw buildings toppled and debris in the streets. Oddly enough, I also saw people out and about, probably afraid of another one of those events that seemed to have happened. Going up to one man, I asked, “What happened here?”
“A giant man came here and cut buildings in half with a sword made of darkness,” he said in a rush. I had to think for a few moments to comprehend what he had said.
“I can destroy this man!” I shouted. “I have this.” I raised the crystal high, and for a moment in shone purple as the land seemed to rip itself apart and was then made right. The ground quaked, shuddered for some reason. Maybe an aftereffect of the crystal being used? Regardless, the clouds turned into a gray, almost black, that I hadn’t seen for over two years. Rain, real rain, poured down. I was the savior of this land. I was the bringer of a new age. I was godlike.
The earth ripped itself open again, didn’t close. I heard another scream, saw a silhouette giant against a skyscraper. The sword’s shadow took up three more buildings in width. A crystal, glowing red, was lodged in his forehead.
It pulsed, a throb that I felt inside my heart, in my veins, and to my very soul. Touching it was like feeling my salvation, all the answers to my problems inside a stone. I never thought this might have been dangerous, or stupid, or destructive—I had no reason to at the time. As I held it in my hand, staring intently, I lost myself completely in its beauty. Only when I closed my eyes did I realize I couldn’t feel it, and panicked, opening them again and seeing it sitting serenely in my palm, always pulsing.
What was it made of, anyway? I thought it was just a rare stone, but it wasn’t like anything this world had ever seen. I closed my eyes and focused on that pulse, rhythmic and calm. Then I saw fire in my mind’s eye, immense structures made of it and by it. I saw darkness in sheets, and saw the power this crystal had. A dangerous beauty, I thought it. One I could love easily, one I could master, control. So I tried to control it. I saw the fire, and began to mold it inside my mind, and place it in the world around me. Nothing happened, until I relaxed my grip on the crystal, and then it started throbbing faster, turning darker as it did. The field in front of me burned itself down to nothing before the crystal’s presence. At the end, though, the crystal turned back to its previous state with the calm pulse and the bright red.
I realized something: this was humanity’s salvation! With this, I could destroy the cause of the destruction that had wiped out most of Earth’s population! With the crystal, my power was limitless! No longer was I some poor soul who had lost all means of survival, but instead the savior of an entire species. I walked slowly back to Denver, basking in the crystal’s strength.
Getting there in due course, I saw buildings toppled and debris in the streets. Oddly enough, I also saw people out and about, probably afraid of another one of those events that seemed to have happened. Going up to one man, I asked, “What happened here?”
“A giant man came here and cut buildings in half with a sword made of darkness,” he said in a rush. I had to think for a few moments to comprehend what he had said.
“I can destroy this man!” I shouted. “I have this.” I raised the crystal high, and for a moment in shone purple as the land seemed to rip itself apart and was then made right. The ground quaked, shuddered for some reason. Maybe an aftereffect of the crystal being used? Regardless, the clouds turned into a gray, almost black, that I hadn’t seen for over two years. Rain, real rain, poured down. I was the savior of this land. I was the bringer of a new age. I was godlike.
The earth ripped itself open again, didn’t close. I heard another scream, saw a silhouette giant against a skyscraper. The sword’s shadow took up three more buildings in width. A crystal, glowing red, was lodged in his forehead.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Crystal, part 2
This is short because I wrote it just a few minutes ago. After all, I need to post something.
Clouds that blotted out the sun greeted me when I opened the door of the apartment building that remained my home for two years. The sky was orange, a sickly color that was the child of an orange and blood. Lightning flashed madly in the distance. Typical.
I’m still not sure where I was going, but if I were to believe in Fate, I would say she guided me. For the worse, surely. What happened in these next hours were what shaped a new era of the world’s history. Thunder’s incessant rumbling was the epitome of my mood. For those who might have seen me walking the streets of Denver, I must have been something out of a nightmare, with a murderous glare on my face, my eyes dark stormclouds of emotion.
Being in a suburb of the city itself, I hadn’t far to walk before I reached no-man’s land. The scream was shaking up my thoughts and my countenance. Whose was it, and what caused it? It reminded me of the deaths that happened in that time that feels like so long ago, where fire was raining without end while earthquakes rocked us like we were on a boat in a massive ocean. Hearing a voice now, scream or not, gives me that very same remembrance, in all its disturbing detail.
Suddenly, my eyes focused on an object that had no place in this city—no, on this planet. I could see a crystal a few inches across glowing bright red in the dirt.
Clouds that blotted out the sun greeted me when I opened the door of the apartment building that remained my home for two years. The sky was orange, a sickly color that was the child of an orange and blood. Lightning flashed madly in the distance. Typical.
I’m still not sure where I was going, but if I were to believe in Fate, I would say she guided me. For the worse, surely. What happened in these next hours were what shaped a new era of the world’s history. Thunder’s incessant rumbling was the epitome of my mood. For those who might have seen me walking the streets of Denver, I must have been something out of a nightmare, with a murderous glare on my face, my eyes dark stormclouds of emotion.
Being in a suburb of the city itself, I hadn’t far to walk before I reached no-man’s land. The scream was shaking up my thoughts and my countenance. Whose was it, and what caused it? It reminded me of the deaths that happened in that time that feels like so long ago, where fire was raining without end while earthquakes rocked us like we were on a boat in a massive ocean. Hearing a voice now, scream or not, gives me that very same remembrance, in all its disturbing detail.
Suddenly, my eyes focused on an object that had no place in this city—no, on this planet. I could see a crystal a few inches across glowing bright red in the dirt.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Post-Apocalyptic Story 1, Part 1
I'm not going to reveal its name until the next section is posted.
Sirens sounding all over the city were my first clue to yet another incident. I looked outside the window in my apartment and saw balls of fire raining down. They weren’t the largest I had seen, and not coming down very fast either. If I had thought that they would only improve from here, I would be wrong. The fire was common nowadays. Even though it was normal, people still got hit by it. The population of Denver had halved with the first earthquakes, cut again by the numerous volcanoes, and mostly wiped out with the meteor.
I ended up as one of the lucky ones, along with about three thousand others. We were Denver now. Situations like ours were happening all over the world. Beijing had fifty thousand people; Rome had five hundred. Most of the people in rural areas were moving in to cities because no supplies were coming to the sticks. Most of Colorado had migrated into this city.
I didn’t usually bother remembering back that far, for much had changed in two years. I was sure much more would change, too. Nobody knew why these events had happened. What was left of the Christian extremists said that humanity had done something utterly vile to displease the Lord. I looked down upon that because many of their own number had been killed by the natural disasters.
The window in my room shattered suddenly, a vicious gust of wind pushing in, then pulling out. Like a massive hand, the wind grabbed my television and my emergency radio and pulled them up and into the sky. I didn’t bother looking; I would have taken a fireball to the face. I was stunned for a few moments because my main means of survival had just been taken. At least that wind hadn’t grabbed my—
Another “hand” of wind went through the same entryway and ripped my fridge from the wall. “Damn,” I remember myself saying rather loudly. I was the only person in this apartment complex, anyway, and was lucky that I even had electricity. With this thought, the power shut down. I said something a little bit nastier this time. The room got even darker as cloud cover increased, but at least the fire stopped coming down. The sirens didn’t stop, though. In the sudden silence, I heard a scream. This was new. And it wasn’t good.
Sirens sounding all over the city were my first clue to yet another incident. I looked outside the window in my apartment and saw balls of fire raining down. They weren’t the largest I had seen, and not coming down very fast either. If I had thought that they would only improve from here, I would be wrong. The fire was common nowadays. Even though it was normal, people still got hit by it. The population of Denver had halved with the first earthquakes, cut again by the numerous volcanoes, and mostly wiped out with the meteor.
I ended up as one of the lucky ones, along with about three thousand others. We were Denver now. Situations like ours were happening all over the world. Beijing had fifty thousand people; Rome had five hundred. Most of the people in rural areas were moving in to cities because no supplies were coming to the sticks. Most of Colorado had migrated into this city.
I didn’t usually bother remembering back that far, for much had changed in two years. I was sure much more would change, too. Nobody knew why these events had happened. What was left of the Christian extremists said that humanity had done something utterly vile to displease the Lord. I looked down upon that because many of their own number had been killed by the natural disasters.
The window in my room shattered suddenly, a vicious gust of wind pushing in, then pulling out. Like a massive hand, the wind grabbed my television and my emergency radio and pulled them up and into the sky. I didn’t bother looking; I would have taken a fireball to the face. I was stunned for a few moments because my main means of survival had just been taken. At least that wind hadn’t grabbed my—
Another “hand” of wind went through the same entryway and ripped my fridge from the wall. “Damn,” I remember myself saying rather loudly. I was the only person in this apartment complex, anyway, and was lucky that I even had electricity. With this thought, the power shut down. I said something a little bit nastier this time. The room got even darker as cloud cover increased, but at least the fire stopped coming down. The sirens didn’t stop, though. In the sudden silence, I heard a scream. This was new. And it wasn’t good.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Ling, part 4 of 3
This is the epilogue. If you haven't read the story, go and start at the first post.
With the last sword he would ever make between his hands, Ling walked to the Emperor himself. All his sons were around him. Beautiful, in its own way, these four men with the power of a nation. Tyrants were beautiful for being able to hold onto the power they had, but not much else. “As Sora’s crimes were avenged,” Ling said, “So too will yours be.”
Gripping the blade, Ling swung from the left to the right, blade extending itself to reach each neck in its way. Once the last cut was made, he fluidly moved and ran for the exit of the huge room he had found himself in. Guards were running at him, so he slashed at as many as he could, more charging through the halls. “Others like me will rend the evil you bring to this world, for justice must be done! I am not the last! MY FURY IS THE HERALD OF CHANGE, OF REBIRTH! OUT OF THIS WORLD IN DARKNESS WILL COME FRAGMENTS OF LIGHT, WHICH WILL ILLUMINATE WHAT IS KNOWN AS “TRUTH”! THE RIGHTEOUS WILL BE FREED, AND IN THE FINAL HOURS OF THIS EXISTENCE THE HEROES OF OLD WILL RISE FROM THE GRAVE TO STOP THE ENCOMPASSING DARKNESS! YOU WILL BE DESTROYED! YOU WILL BE—“
Finally, one man stood up in front of him and stabbed him in the chest. Mercy for a madman, but cursed for killing a prophet.
As it was foretold by Ling, as the world stepped out of darkness into what we call the present, glimmers of light were shining on a darkened world. Nearly destroyed by the chaos and evil caused by Sora and the Emperor, fragments of existence were being mended, healed. Justice, flawed by concepts of right and wrong, is still broken. Ling’s swords haven’t been found. Yet.
With the last sword he would ever make between his hands, Ling walked to the Emperor himself. All his sons were around him. Beautiful, in its own way, these four men with the power of a nation. Tyrants were beautiful for being able to hold onto the power they had, but not much else. “As Sora’s crimes were avenged,” Ling said, “So too will yours be.”
Gripping the blade, Ling swung from the left to the right, blade extending itself to reach each neck in its way. Once the last cut was made, he fluidly moved and ran for the exit of the huge room he had found himself in. Guards were running at him, so he slashed at as many as he could, more charging through the halls. “Others like me will rend the evil you bring to this world, for justice must be done! I am not the last! MY FURY IS THE HERALD OF CHANGE, OF REBIRTH! OUT OF THIS WORLD IN DARKNESS WILL COME FRAGMENTS OF LIGHT, WHICH WILL ILLUMINATE WHAT IS KNOWN AS “TRUTH”! THE RIGHTEOUS WILL BE FREED, AND IN THE FINAL HOURS OF THIS EXISTENCE THE HEROES OF OLD WILL RISE FROM THE GRAVE TO STOP THE ENCOMPASSING DARKNESS! YOU WILL BE DESTROYED! YOU WILL BE—“
Finally, one man stood up in front of him and stabbed him in the chest. Mercy for a madman, but cursed for killing a prophet.
As it was foretold by Ling, as the world stepped out of darkness into what we call the present, glimmers of light were shining on a darkened world. Nearly destroyed by the chaos and evil caused by Sora and the Emperor, fragments of existence were being mended, healed. Justice, flawed by concepts of right and wrong, is still broken. Ling’s swords haven’t been found. Yet.
Ling, part 3 of 3
A chill in the air, harsh gusts of wind blowing at random, and the sky completely blanketed with clouds were the perfect punctuations to the importance of this night. Despite there being no light, Ling’s new sword glowed like a thousand suns. Its pure brilliance was unmatched—this sword was superior to that of Sora’s. Etched into this one’s hilt were the words “armor of the gods”. Ling didn’t know what they did, only that “armor of demigods” was the inscription on the blades of most of his allies, blades which he had also made.
Bonfires were numerous, dotting the landscape. Were they bonfires, or villages? Sometimes Ling though he could hear the beating of leathery wings in the distance. Though Searing Light, as he had named it, was in his hand, at his side and in its scabbard was another sword, named Cold Truth. Together, he thought he had a chance against the Dragon herself.
“Men, we ride!” Ling roared when he was sure he saw the wings directly in front of him, about a mile ahead. A battle cry was shout by the warriors in unison. Ling remained silent. Grabbing Cold Truth from where it was kept, Ling put the blades next to each other and chanted, “Darkness will not corrupt you, the righteous will wield you, and for you legends will be made. Immortal blade of Shining Death, come forth to your holder!” Where he learned that, he did not remember. It was irrelevant, for he had the strongest blade in existence.
Sora’s roar pushed Ling’s horse back with the sheer volume. Ling grimaced when he thought of who gave her that power. He knew what he had to do from here. “Sora! You are being accused of crimes against innocents and evil forces alike! With the power bestowed upon me by the creators, I will destroy you here in the name of justice!”
“When did you change into such a maggot, Ling?” Sora snarled. “What a fool you are if you believe you can destroy me!”
“I saw with my own eyes what destruction you reaped. I decided a consistent, reliable evil is a better choice than…than you.”
“Attack, miserable mortal! Attack and face your doom!”
“Back, men! On my cue will you attack!” Ling dismounted and charged her. Wind screaming in his ears, darkness overwhelming his soul, he kept moving, gambling with death and fate alike with this single action. Time crawled along, as the men kept back in a semicircle while he charged at a black dragon, scales glimmering and teeth glowing. Her red eyes stared at him mercilessly. As though running through molasses, he pulled Shining Death off the scabbard on his back, forcing it downward as the breath of pure flame hurled itself at him, the only fast-moving thing in existence.
It was cloven in half, spreading itself out around him. “So, you think you can win because you can cut apart my fire? Prepare yourself!”
Slamming his eyes shut, Ling screamed, gripped the sword with all the power he possessed. The darkness in the world disappeared. Only Ling and Sora existed in this state, hunter and prey. Ling threw his sword point-first into Sora’s mouth. As the blade cut through to the other side, scales and all, Ling shouted, “Surround her!”
Hearing their footsteps stop, for he could not see them, he yelled, “Raise!”
“THROW, FOR ALL YOU ARE WORTH! THROW!” Until the day he died, Ling could hear the dragon screaming with the pain of having eleven swords inside her massive neck at the same time. She deserved the pain, and he deserved the memory. Turning around, he truly opened his eyes again. The sky had cleared to show a full moon, beautiful and eerie. There was no more wind, no more fire. A new age had almost begun.
There's an epilogue, and I already wrote it. I'll put it online later today.
Bonfires were numerous, dotting the landscape. Were they bonfires, or villages? Sometimes Ling though he could hear the beating of leathery wings in the distance. Though Searing Light, as he had named it, was in his hand, at his side and in its scabbard was another sword, named Cold Truth. Together, he thought he had a chance against the Dragon herself.
“Men, we ride!” Ling roared when he was sure he saw the wings directly in front of him, about a mile ahead. A battle cry was shout by the warriors in unison. Ling remained silent. Grabbing Cold Truth from where it was kept, Ling put the blades next to each other and chanted, “Darkness will not corrupt you, the righteous will wield you, and for you legends will be made. Immortal blade of Shining Death, come forth to your holder!” Where he learned that, he did not remember. It was irrelevant, for he had the strongest blade in existence.
Sora’s roar pushed Ling’s horse back with the sheer volume. Ling grimaced when he thought of who gave her that power. He knew what he had to do from here. “Sora! You are being accused of crimes against innocents and evil forces alike! With the power bestowed upon me by the creators, I will destroy you here in the name of justice!”
“When did you change into such a maggot, Ling?” Sora snarled. “What a fool you are if you believe you can destroy me!”
“I saw with my own eyes what destruction you reaped. I decided a consistent, reliable evil is a better choice than…than you.”
“Attack, miserable mortal! Attack and face your doom!”
“Back, men! On my cue will you attack!” Ling dismounted and charged her. Wind screaming in his ears, darkness overwhelming his soul, he kept moving, gambling with death and fate alike with this single action. Time crawled along, as the men kept back in a semicircle while he charged at a black dragon, scales glimmering and teeth glowing. Her red eyes stared at him mercilessly. As though running through molasses, he pulled Shining Death off the scabbard on his back, forcing it downward as the breath of pure flame hurled itself at him, the only fast-moving thing in existence.
It was cloven in half, spreading itself out around him. “So, you think you can win because you can cut apart my fire? Prepare yourself!”
Slamming his eyes shut, Ling screamed, gripped the sword with all the power he possessed. The darkness in the world disappeared. Only Ling and Sora existed in this state, hunter and prey. Ling threw his sword point-first into Sora’s mouth. As the blade cut through to the other side, scales and all, Ling shouted, “Surround her!”
Hearing their footsteps stop, for he could not see them, he yelled, “Raise!”
“THROW, FOR ALL YOU ARE WORTH! THROW!” Until the day he died, Ling could hear the dragon screaming with the pain of having eleven swords inside her massive neck at the same time. She deserved the pain, and he deserved the memory. Turning around, he truly opened his eyes again. The sky had cleared to show a full moon, beautiful and eerie. There was no more wind, no more fire. A new age had almost begun.
There's an epilogue, and I already wrote it. I'll put it online later today.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Ling, part 2 of 3
Wind at her back, pushing her long, braided strands of hair everywhere, Sora stood at the top of the hill, staring down at the village below. The sword in her hand was beautiful, one of the greatest Ling had crafted. On the hilt were symbols different from Ling’s, for they said the words “Dragon Master”. She thought it sounded ridiculous, but there was no swaying the man. Stubborn. Regardless, she had the power to level this small town in a single blow. Raising her sword, she inhaled deeply.
With the exhalation, she brought the blade down in front of her. A line of fire ten feet across cut through the village. Many people were in the literal line of fire. Sora licked her lips when she heard the screams. Delicious.
“You take too much pleasure in torture, Sora,” Ling said from behind her.
“I just love expressing my power through violence.”
“You’re a bad person.”
“You’re the one who gave me the power to do that.” She motioned to the village with her sword. “And…this.”
A pentagram with a circle around it, made entirely of fire, descended from the sky and laid like a molten sheet over the town.
“I wouldn’t have done that. That was excessive, and a waste of your energies.”
“But so satisfying. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It may give satisfaction, but it’s a total waste.”
“Stop thinking, old man, and act like I am.” She turned back to the village in flames, smiling. Ling couldn’t stop thinking about how good the young woman looked. A beauty, but a cold-hearted one. She was more powerful than him, too. She could wipe him out and not have any remorse, except maybe that her dear sword-maker would not be around to make her anything special. “How do you think those guards caught on to us?” she asked.
“Someone must have overheard, doubtful as that might sound.”
“Wouldn’t that mean that someone besides us has some sort of power? We couldn’t detect anybody around during our meetings.”
“I do not know. We will see.”
“The time to speak is over. We must reach our targets.”
“Who is it this time?”
“The magistrate of a province not far from here.”
“What did he do?”
“He passed unjust laws, ridiculous taxations of the citizens.”
“So now you choose to be a hero?”
“I’ve always been a hero, Ling.”
“I’ve been looking at it from different points of view, Sora, and we are hated by everyone. Those merciless acts of yours, of mine, and yet we call ourselves just. We call ourselves heroes. We’re destroyers, and we call ourselves builders. I don’t want to do this anymore, Sora. I don’t want to contradict myself like this.”
“The dead have no means of contradicting themselves, Ling.”
“So you threaten to kill me?”
“There’s no way out, old man.” To prove her point, a hemisphere of fire covered them. There truly was no escape.
“You forget my fighting prowess.”
“I am impervious to this fire. I could collapse it in on us, and leave unscathed.”
“I can cut my way out, woman. I want no part in your schemes anymore.”
“Save yourself, fool. I’m going to do this whether I have you to accompany me or not.” Walking out of the fiery prison, Sora cackled.
Ling grimaced at having to use his abilities like this, but he applied the Demon aspect of his sword and burrowed underground, tunneling to a place outside the hemisphere of flame. After reaching the surface, he looked around. Sora was flying away, massive wings beating rhythmically. Ling sighed, spat on the ground, and turned into a falcon, flying away from her as fast as he could. When he got to a place where nobody knew him—or knew of him—he would melt that sword down and forge a good blade, something about which legends might be written.
Note: I've had a great time writing this, and can't wait for the conclusion, since I haven't written it yet.
With the exhalation, she brought the blade down in front of her. A line of fire ten feet across cut through the village. Many people were in the literal line of fire. Sora licked her lips when she heard the screams. Delicious.
“You take too much pleasure in torture, Sora,” Ling said from behind her.
“I just love expressing my power through violence.”
“You’re a bad person.”
“You’re the one who gave me the power to do that.” She motioned to the village with her sword. “And…this.”
A pentagram with a circle around it, made entirely of fire, descended from the sky and laid like a molten sheet over the town.
“I wouldn’t have done that. That was excessive, and a waste of your energies.”
“But so satisfying. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It may give satisfaction, but it’s a total waste.”
“Stop thinking, old man, and act like I am.” She turned back to the village in flames, smiling. Ling couldn’t stop thinking about how good the young woman looked. A beauty, but a cold-hearted one. She was more powerful than him, too. She could wipe him out and not have any remorse, except maybe that her dear sword-maker would not be around to make her anything special. “How do you think those guards caught on to us?” she asked.
“Someone must have overheard, doubtful as that might sound.”
“Wouldn’t that mean that someone besides us has some sort of power? We couldn’t detect anybody around during our meetings.”
“I do not know. We will see.”
“The time to speak is over. We must reach our targets.”
“Who is it this time?”
“The magistrate of a province not far from here.”
“What did he do?”
“He passed unjust laws, ridiculous taxations of the citizens.”
“So now you choose to be a hero?”
“I’ve always been a hero, Ling.”
“I’ve been looking at it from different points of view, Sora, and we are hated by everyone. Those merciless acts of yours, of mine, and yet we call ourselves just. We call ourselves heroes. We’re destroyers, and we call ourselves builders. I don’t want to do this anymore, Sora. I don’t want to contradict myself like this.”
“The dead have no means of contradicting themselves, Ling.”
“So you threaten to kill me?”
“There’s no way out, old man.” To prove her point, a hemisphere of fire covered them. There truly was no escape.
“You forget my fighting prowess.”
“I am impervious to this fire. I could collapse it in on us, and leave unscathed.”
“I can cut my way out, woman. I want no part in your schemes anymore.”
“Save yourself, fool. I’m going to do this whether I have you to accompany me or not.” Walking out of the fiery prison, Sora cackled.
Ling grimaced at having to use his abilities like this, but he applied the Demon aspect of his sword and burrowed underground, tunneling to a place outside the hemisphere of flame. After reaching the surface, he looked around. Sora was flying away, massive wings beating rhythmically. Ling sighed, spat on the ground, and turned into a falcon, flying away from her as fast as he could. When he got to a place where nobody knew him—or knew of him—he would melt that sword down and forge a good blade, something about which legends might be written.
Note: I've had a great time writing this, and can't wait for the conclusion, since I haven't written it yet.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Next story, part 1
I don't know the name of this yet. There are probably going to be two more parts, as I said before, coming tomorrow and Friday.
Law enforcement higher-up than the village guards walked into Ling Chu’s sword shop, both men tall and broad-shouldered, carrying greatswords on their backs. Turning from polishing one of his wares, Ling sighed. “What do you men want?”
“Not to buy,” the one on Ling’s left said. “We’re here asking about a sword you might have sold.”
“What is the significance of this sword, and who exactly are you two to know?”
“We are regional defenders, who are in search of a bandit—but not an ordinary bandit. By the reports, he is terrifyingly powerful, wielding strange powers. He was looking for a blade of Damascus steel, with which he would be able to wreak havoc on the very land. He would become a force strong enough to kill the Emperor and his heirs.”
“I did sell a blade of Damascus steel, but I don’t believe it’s to the person you think it to be.”
“How would this person differ?”
“Well, the one I sold the blade to…she is not a bandit, but a revolutionary. She is terrifyingly powerful, wielding the arcane and controlling dragons. She was given the blade by me, actually, with which she will have the strength to destroy the judicial system of this land, and annihilate the tyrannical Emperor, and every last one of his heirs.”
“GET HIM!” the guard roared. Ling realized the guards were going to wreck his shop, so he grabbed two longswords and ran out the back and around the side of the building. This way, the guards would be sure to split up and he could easily take them out one at a time.
“We must stop this!” the other guard shouted. Hearing footsteps pounding his way, he relaxed and switched to a stance where the blades both curved down in front of him, known in his time as the Praying Mantis. As the guard turned and jumped around the corner, Ling lunged forward and caught the guard’s blade between his swords, and threw both one of his swords and the guard’s out of reach. He made the death merciful, wiped the blood on the grass, and grabbed the sword he had thrown.
Climbing to the roof of his shop, Ling crept along and found the other guard easily. He dropped one of the swords from ten feet above the other guard’s head. A cut-off scream and a thud told him all he needed to know. Hopping down at the back, he picked up a better blade: a long, sharply curved Damascus steel beauty. Requiring two hands, this was forged at the same time as the one he had given the revolutionary. He went outside, whispered a goodbye to the town, and jumped as high as he could, imagining himself going even higher.
The sensation of turning into a falcon never ceased to exhilarate him, the beauty of seeing life from the air, with the wind rushing through his wings. The sword had markings on its hilt, Chinese for “Bird Demon”. These were etched in red on Ling’s back. He had to find Sora soon. She was going to have too much fun without him. After all, the fun was just beginning.
Law enforcement higher-up than the village guards walked into Ling Chu’s sword shop, both men tall and broad-shouldered, carrying greatswords on their backs. Turning from polishing one of his wares, Ling sighed. “What do you men want?”
“Not to buy,” the one on Ling’s left said. “We’re here asking about a sword you might have sold.”
“What is the significance of this sword, and who exactly are you two to know?”
“We are regional defenders, who are in search of a bandit—but not an ordinary bandit. By the reports, he is terrifyingly powerful, wielding strange powers. He was looking for a blade of Damascus steel, with which he would be able to wreak havoc on the very land. He would become a force strong enough to kill the Emperor and his heirs.”
“I did sell a blade of Damascus steel, but I don’t believe it’s to the person you think it to be.”
“How would this person differ?”
“Well, the one I sold the blade to…she is not a bandit, but a revolutionary. She is terrifyingly powerful, wielding the arcane and controlling dragons. She was given the blade by me, actually, with which she will have the strength to destroy the judicial system of this land, and annihilate the tyrannical Emperor, and every last one of his heirs.”
“GET HIM!” the guard roared. Ling realized the guards were going to wreck his shop, so he grabbed two longswords and ran out the back and around the side of the building. This way, the guards would be sure to split up and he could easily take them out one at a time.
“We must stop this!” the other guard shouted. Hearing footsteps pounding his way, he relaxed and switched to a stance where the blades both curved down in front of him, known in his time as the Praying Mantis. As the guard turned and jumped around the corner, Ling lunged forward and caught the guard’s blade between his swords, and threw both one of his swords and the guard’s out of reach. He made the death merciful, wiped the blood on the grass, and grabbed the sword he had thrown.
Climbing to the roof of his shop, Ling crept along and found the other guard easily. He dropped one of the swords from ten feet above the other guard’s head. A cut-off scream and a thud told him all he needed to know. Hopping down at the back, he picked up a better blade: a long, sharply curved Damascus steel beauty. Requiring two hands, this was forged at the same time as the one he had given the revolutionary. He went outside, whispered a goodbye to the town, and jumped as high as he could, imagining himself going even higher.
The sensation of turning into a falcon never ceased to exhilarate him, the beauty of seeing life from the air, with the wind rushing through his wings. The sword had markings on its hilt, Chinese for “Bird Demon”. These were etched in red on Ling’s back. He had to find Sora soon. She was going to have too much fun without him. After all, the fun was just beginning.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Plan for the blog
I've decided to phase out of poetry for a little while and instead focus on short stories. I'll probably not be posting more of the story of Mordus since I plan for that one to be longer, and potentially publishable at some point in time. If you'd like to read it, just inform me and I'll be willing to send some more parts of it your way. Starting tomorrow, though, I'll have a short story that might be able to take up three days worth of posting. I'd put these in Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday so I could have something new starting Saturday.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Story, part two
Needless to say, this got a lot bigger a lot faster. I'm loving this story, and there's more than what I'm posting here. It'll be very segmented.
The collection began like usual, which is to say the imminent target was obvious. A gentle hum was coming from the scythe, today its normal bronze hue. The shaft shone in the stark light of the hospital. Mordus could never understand why such a sad place had to exist, where misery was put on show and the ill saw Death walk right past them on a daily basis—literally. Having died so long ago, however, Mordus couldn’t sympathize with those seeing Death himself. What an honor that would be, rather than a curse!
Seeing the Reaper, the woman lying on the bed with the oxygen mask keeping her alive widened her eyes. This was a usual reaction, and more often than not the soon-to-be-deceased thought Death himself had come to take them.
“Ma’am, I’m not Death. I just work for him.” Mordus had spoken this speech so many times he would make a mistake if he thought about what he was saying. “You’re about to undergo one of the rights all humans are blessed to have: the right to die. I know not what existence awaits you, for I am not a judge. I am merely a Reaper, the vehicle for the scythe I hold in my hands. I’ve heard that the sensation of death is nothing like what I felt, for I only felt cold mist around me, forming this robe I wear. You will feel utmost warmth, for my soul will be holding yours inside the scythe itself.” He had to work to control Thal’gryyk’s shuddering at this remark, as he usually did.
The woman mustered the strength of will to remove the oxygen and ask, “Why was it not sooner that this happened? Why was this mercy spared until now?”
“Take it up with Death if you so desire. Personally, I might feel thankful for this rest. I can tell, actually, that your general nature was a balance of good and evil, but predominantly good. This is the case for most of my clients. You have but moments left. Relax, for you’ll have a long ride before you’re home.”
At this her body’s tenseness released, partially of its own will and partially because of the ice that was always in Mordus’ tone of voice. Her breath began to slow, and Mordus took her hand, as he usually did with his clientele. It made the passage easier for them, less painless, to be guided so closely. Using only its will, Thal’gryyk’s blade stretched to its longest, and brushed against the forehead of the woman. As it touched, the color faded from her face, her eyes closed, and the warmth was sucked from the room. Releasing the hand of the body beside him, Mordus walked to the window the room had to offer. The view was of an interstate, with cars constantly flowing from point A to point B, mindless about the ever-nearing death of the drivers, the ever-nearing death of everything around them.
Death was something people learned to ignore, Mordus supposed. A subject of such a nature was apt to be pushed aside, so uncomfortable to talk about. He saw it as the opposite, as something good to talk about, for everyone was going to experience it and almost everyone had a fate beyond. Those who refused to believe in something past life faded, their existences truly ending at the end of their dream. Closing his eyes, Mordus felt around for another possible client. As often the case, there was nobody else in need of his services.
Inside the scythe were two souls besides that of Mordus himself. Balls of light, burning golden and charcoal, were all that existed of them in that phase. He wasn’t sure if they could hear the screaming, but he thought that his grip on them as he Collected saved them from most of that sound. He had learned much in the time he had been working, very little coming from the handbook he had received. Useful for the basics, but the personal level with which he met his clients cast many of the guidelines aside. As a result, he was a respected member of the Reapers, and an authority figure. He was, to many, Death’s right-hand-man. All this could be seen of him inside the Scythe, where his soul was laid open to be viewed by those he had taken.
The woman from the hospital seemed pleased, for the radiant golden glow pulsed with the hum of the Scythe that surrounded them. The other deceased member was a man about forty years of age who died in a construction accident. His pain was cut short by the arrival of Mordus and the Scythe. This man was “speaking” with the woman, soul-to-soul, and Mordus listened in since he had the time.
“The Reaping was like being put into a tub of ice water after being on fire. The chill of the grave—hah—wasn’t what I expected.”
“My taking was mercy, after long last. I was of no use to this world anymore.”
“I don’t feel like I need to introduce myself to you, as though we already met.”
“I doubt it, for you are younger than I.”
“Ma’am, I lived and died a life with not very many people around me. Well, very few I could call my friends. After this, you may be my first.”
Mordus stepped in about here, as usual. “Second, sir.”
“Why, you must be that man who took my soul from my body!”
“Yes, sir, I am the very one. And she is your second friend, for I am the first. I am one with the Scythe, as a reaper.”
“Wait a moment and let me think,” the woman said. “You said something about a scythe, but now it’s the Scythe?”
“Indeed. Before death, you would think it impossible enough as it is that I am here, and adding that the Scythe is sentient would have caused unnecessary issues. By having information given in pieces, comprehension is easier and a good result is achieved more quickly.”
“Who are you?”
“If you want the name of the body, it is Mordus. If you want the name of the Scythe, it is Thal’gryyk, or Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water. I am called the Bringer by some, the Sage by others, and occasionally I’m the second-in-command for Death himself, or whoever holds that office.”
The man interjected. “So there’s politics in the Afterlife?”
“There are a few things I’d like to correct here. Firstly, it is not the Afterlife, but the first chapter, for what you call ‘life’ was a prologue. Secondly, politics does exist, but the matter of the position of Death is disputed between God and Satan. They must come to a consensus, but the expiration of Death, or the retirement, usually means the second-in-command becomes Death him- or herself.”
“You’re the heir to Death?”
“As it stands, perhaps. If I choose to retire before the current Death, it’ll be irrelevant. However, the system is in place in such a way that none may claim the position while I am still employed by both God and Satan.”
The woman spoke. “You speak of many Reapers, underneath Death. Does this mean that all Reapers have a chance at becoming Death, which means that the Deities must come to a consensus about each Reaper?”
“Exactly correct. Now, I hope you understand that the businesslike manner I possess is something trained into me. Conversations exactly like this happen for me many times in each…day, would you call it? Time has blended together so finely that I sometimes lose track of what is what.”
“How long is this trip, as you said?”
“It matters not, for you will be in a state of rest for a small while. Sleep well, children, and may Eternity be your imagined dream.” With this, Mordus left the existence in Thal’gryyk and imagined the gates of Hell.
The collection began like usual, which is to say the imminent target was obvious. A gentle hum was coming from the scythe, today its normal bronze hue. The shaft shone in the stark light of the hospital. Mordus could never understand why such a sad place had to exist, where misery was put on show and the ill saw Death walk right past them on a daily basis—literally. Having died so long ago, however, Mordus couldn’t sympathize with those seeing Death himself. What an honor that would be, rather than a curse!
Seeing the Reaper, the woman lying on the bed with the oxygen mask keeping her alive widened her eyes. This was a usual reaction, and more often than not the soon-to-be-deceased thought Death himself had come to take them.
“Ma’am, I’m not Death. I just work for him.” Mordus had spoken this speech so many times he would make a mistake if he thought about what he was saying. “You’re about to undergo one of the rights all humans are blessed to have: the right to die. I know not what existence awaits you, for I am not a judge. I am merely a Reaper, the vehicle for the scythe I hold in my hands. I’ve heard that the sensation of death is nothing like what I felt, for I only felt cold mist around me, forming this robe I wear. You will feel utmost warmth, for my soul will be holding yours inside the scythe itself.” He had to work to control Thal’gryyk’s shuddering at this remark, as he usually did.
The woman mustered the strength of will to remove the oxygen and ask, “Why was it not sooner that this happened? Why was this mercy spared until now?”
“Take it up with Death if you so desire. Personally, I might feel thankful for this rest. I can tell, actually, that your general nature was a balance of good and evil, but predominantly good. This is the case for most of my clients. You have but moments left. Relax, for you’ll have a long ride before you’re home.”
At this her body’s tenseness released, partially of its own will and partially because of the ice that was always in Mordus’ tone of voice. Her breath began to slow, and Mordus took her hand, as he usually did with his clientele. It made the passage easier for them, less painless, to be guided so closely. Using only its will, Thal’gryyk’s blade stretched to its longest, and brushed against the forehead of the woman. As it touched, the color faded from her face, her eyes closed, and the warmth was sucked from the room. Releasing the hand of the body beside him, Mordus walked to the window the room had to offer. The view was of an interstate, with cars constantly flowing from point A to point B, mindless about the ever-nearing death of the drivers, the ever-nearing death of everything around them.
Death was something people learned to ignore, Mordus supposed. A subject of such a nature was apt to be pushed aside, so uncomfortable to talk about. He saw it as the opposite, as something good to talk about, for everyone was going to experience it and almost everyone had a fate beyond. Those who refused to believe in something past life faded, their existences truly ending at the end of their dream. Closing his eyes, Mordus felt around for another possible client. As often the case, there was nobody else in need of his services.
Inside the scythe were two souls besides that of Mordus himself. Balls of light, burning golden and charcoal, were all that existed of them in that phase. He wasn’t sure if they could hear the screaming, but he thought that his grip on them as he Collected saved them from most of that sound. He had learned much in the time he had been working, very little coming from the handbook he had received. Useful for the basics, but the personal level with which he met his clients cast many of the guidelines aside. As a result, he was a respected member of the Reapers, and an authority figure. He was, to many, Death’s right-hand-man. All this could be seen of him inside the Scythe, where his soul was laid open to be viewed by those he had taken.
The woman from the hospital seemed pleased, for the radiant golden glow pulsed with the hum of the Scythe that surrounded them. The other deceased member was a man about forty years of age who died in a construction accident. His pain was cut short by the arrival of Mordus and the Scythe. This man was “speaking” with the woman, soul-to-soul, and Mordus listened in since he had the time.
“The Reaping was like being put into a tub of ice water after being on fire. The chill of the grave—hah—wasn’t what I expected.”
“My taking was mercy, after long last. I was of no use to this world anymore.”
“I don’t feel like I need to introduce myself to you, as though we already met.”
“I doubt it, for you are younger than I.”
“Ma’am, I lived and died a life with not very many people around me. Well, very few I could call my friends. After this, you may be my first.”
Mordus stepped in about here, as usual. “Second, sir.”
“Why, you must be that man who took my soul from my body!”
“Yes, sir, I am the very one. And she is your second friend, for I am the first. I am one with the Scythe, as a reaper.”
“Wait a moment and let me think,” the woman said. “You said something about a scythe, but now it’s the Scythe?”
“Indeed. Before death, you would think it impossible enough as it is that I am here, and adding that the Scythe is sentient would have caused unnecessary issues. By having information given in pieces, comprehension is easier and a good result is achieved more quickly.”
“Who are you?”
“If you want the name of the body, it is Mordus. If you want the name of the Scythe, it is Thal’gryyk, or Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water. I am called the Bringer by some, the Sage by others, and occasionally I’m the second-in-command for Death himself, or whoever holds that office.”
The man interjected. “So there’s politics in the Afterlife?”
“There are a few things I’d like to correct here. Firstly, it is not the Afterlife, but the first chapter, for what you call ‘life’ was a prologue. Secondly, politics does exist, but the matter of the position of Death is disputed between God and Satan. They must come to a consensus, but the expiration of Death, or the retirement, usually means the second-in-command becomes Death him- or herself.”
“You’re the heir to Death?”
“As it stands, perhaps. If I choose to retire before the current Death, it’ll be irrelevant. However, the system is in place in such a way that none may claim the position while I am still employed by both God and Satan.”
The woman spoke. “You speak of many Reapers, underneath Death. Does this mean that all Reapers have a chance at becoming Death, which means that the Deities must come to a consensus about each Reaper?”
“Exactly correct. Now, I hope you understand that the businesslike manner I possess is something trained into me. Conversations exactly like this happen for me many times in each…day, would you call it? Time has blended together so finely that I sometimes lose track of what is what.”
“How long is this trip, as you said?”
“It matters not, for you will be in a state of rest for a small while. Sleep well, children, and may Eternity be your imagined dream.” With this, Mordus left the existence in Thal’gryyk and imagined the gates of Hell.
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