《Aegis - Short Stories Collection》


 C-1: Waking Nightmares

    ¡°I write for the smartest Audience in the world, I write for myself.


    And I figure that everyone else is as smart as I am, or smarter.¡±


    ¡°Miss Lucky. Please, have a seat.¡± The Director looks at me almost expectantly. I oblige only because I¡¯m tired. Prefer standing. Something about this room is unnaturally calm.


    ¡°Director. A pleasure.¡± I curtsey to him before sitting, lifting my flame-scented skirt to reveal two somewhat muscular, tanned legs. Those workout weeks were worth the effort...


    ¡°Indeed, I have heard a lot of you in recent days. My condolences, by the w-¡± My look cuts him off. It¡¯s clear as glass, I do not wish to remember those events. He picks up fast.


    Red hair being blown gently abyss by currents, falling faithfully to my chest. My orange eyes lock with his. And in that short span of time, he seems to remember what fear is.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°I... I... see...¡± Trying to look at anything except me, my gaze burning a hole in his soul. I¡¯ve been told my eyes are creepy. I don¡¯t see it. Maybe I¡¯m just so blind I don¡¯t notice.


    ¡°Ahem. In any case, I formally welcome you to Aegis Headquarters. You need no introduction to me it seems. Merlin. A pleasure.¡± He looks back upon his final words. Humph.


    ¡°You¡¯re smart, still with manners when facing what most call the Lucky Star. I¡¯m impressed.¡± After I blink, the air currents settle. I hear the entire complex sighing in uncomfort.


    ¡°All these little lambs, resting beside the fire. Yet no dime, or stories to inspire. Only empty souls, running out of time, until nobody is left to go higher.¡± Our tone is bitter-sweet.


    ¡°Two voices, one head. At least this skin of mine won¡¯t ever combust. Many more than you have tried, all annoying locust.¡± I raise my eyes to him again, two flames dancing rims.


    Merlin hums to himself, thinking. ¡°This is why I asked your audience, milady. We cannot save those who are gone. But. We may help you find peace, prosperity. Loving home.¡±


    My smile darkens. I look down at my thighs. They still burn from her blood. The Phoenix, never once brought down. She isn¡¯t dead. I suppose, in a way, I can pray for the fact.

 C-2: Lucid Dreams

    Amber sighs softly, a long exhale to release tension built by the raging magic. Lifting a city without her staff, much less relocating immediately? And only now, she breaks sweat.


    This witch is... something else. Outclassing Merlin¡¯s ability, making him look like a rough joke. And from what I¡¯ve heard, there¡¯s someone ABOVE her in sheer, unshakable will.


    Before I can delve into my thoughts, ¡°it¡± moves my body. Catching arrows just short of Amber¡¯s heart, snapping the enchanted obsidian frames like twigs. All she does is smirk.


    ¡°Shut up you damn munchkin...¡± I roll my eyes. She laughs at that, putting her hat back in motion of strolling away. Looking down at them, these rebels are a bit outraged. Heh.


    ¡°Alright, Alright. Since you¡¯ve been so well behaved, go and have your fun. I close my eyes, shifting out of my body into the perceptive of a viewer. Similar to a spirit watching.


    But no matter how many times I see it, that unnaturally crooked smile makes my stomach crawl. Within seconds, lower streets are bathed in misty glow. They look around. Petty.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Cold steam traces their outline, crawling in like corpses of their fallen. Illusion feats beyond my understanding show their loved memories, now torn to shreds, as if simple paper.


    I can hear their screams, seeing my own silhouette ripping bloodily into their skulls with mandibles peering from my own throat. Sticky and white, the albino monstrosity within.


    Despite this, I have no fear. No remorse. This is just the way it is. Not one of faith, like the priests may have you believe. Not one of nightmare, as many stories would tell falsely.


    This is my reality. Stuck with ¡°it¡± inside me, by my own stupidity. Nothing left to fear. Nothing left to lose. It just takes bliss in carnage. Death. Drinking blood like a sweet treat.


    But nevertheless, it behaves. Only targets those I choose unworthy of life. Do not mistake me for a god, for I am but a mortal soul. Only I use my power in the way it should be.


    I use it to save lives. I use it to save nature. I use it to preserve near history, myself nothing more than a vessel of intelligence. I am a living book with thousands of stories to tell.


    Upon completion, my person is pulled back to it¡¯s place. The dirty deeds have been done, in name of our own faith. One of passion. One of preservation. Would you believe me?

 C-3: Reality

    ¡°Come here, you little locust...¡± said teasingly. My anger has finally spiralled out of control. They¡¯ve pushed me too far, threatening a mother and her child. I stare, with beating hearts of eyes.


    I snap. They fall unconscious, leaving nothing but that damned senator. The last rebel standing in my way. About to be slaughtered into next week. Well, actually... oblivion. If that even exists.


    With a kick where the sun doesn¡¯t shine, his head is sent reeling down into my waiting fist. Excalibur pierces him from above, bringing fiery retribution to the entire continent. Nothing left alive.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The radiation of Mana flows freely through the land, scorching all heresy from the face of this corruption. Only Aegis and the innocent are unscathed. No false idols, no corrupt priesthood. No liars.


    Excalibur, that which pierces the darkness with an unyielding shatter of light. And yet when I stand there, in the midst of a Colosseum ¨C Nay an Earth full of people. One Billion were now nothing.


    Nothing but flowers. As I stand in the glossy midnight glow, the sun setting behind me... This land is mine. Pitch Hatred pours from the moonlight, into the stalks of my wooden wings.


    Those once glistening wings of light, of flower petals like a stained glass painting, dripped with blood red.