《Bakshi House Crusaders》


 Ch 1: Double Ought Buck and Unknown Magick

    The music would settle into a kind of hypnotic river of sound which would leave me free to make up anything that came into my head at the time. ¨C Jim Morrison


    When I act, I hear it like music. In my head, I hear the dialogue like music. ¨C Nic Cage


    Ch 1: Double Ought Buck and Unknown Magick


    Thrash Metal


    It was night, bordering on early morning, somewhere in Texas.


    The pale saucer of a full moon lit up the granite boulders and short scrub trees that littered the area. Deposits of chalky white rocks stood out against the clumps of half-dead grass. A bank of fog marked the location of a creek.


    A figure dressed in dark clothing appeared on a ridge. Paranoid eyes surveyed the terrain below through the lenses of a militarized gasmask. Trained hands held a battle-ready rifle, an index finger hovering near the trigger. A simple pump action shotgun was slung across her back. Quick breaths strained against an armored vest, which was covered in magazine pouches. A pistol sat on her right hip, and a combat knife on her left.


    Hidden under the mask and bulky combat gear there was the face and body of a woman, but this could only be told by the way that she moved, which was with a belligerent sway and swagger. Behind her, the horizon glowed orange, lit up by a cluster of far off cities. The foul light blocked out the wonders of the cosmos, reducing the night sky to a handful of stars.


    Another explosion, a burst of strangely colored light. Now that she was in a better position, she could tell that it was coming from the other side of the creek. Acting quickly, the armored woman found a fast way off of the ridge. After sliding down one of the less treacherous places she brought the iron sights up to her eye and started heading toward the wall of fog.


    Now shouting could be heard behind the mist. A silhouette appeared; she took aim. The image of straggly a coyote took shape as the animal fled whatever was going on. The woman leveled her rifle, pushing forward with the barrel pointed at chest height. Another bout of furious shouting came, it echoed off of distant hills. Moonlight reflected off of her mask¡¯s lens, a breeze moved her long brown hair.


    The fog parted, making way for some pulse of red colored energy. The blast of raw power shot past her, impacting a boulder. Smoldering chunks of rock exploded off of the surface, whizzing into the brush with lethal force.


    The attack didn¡¯t seem to have been directed at her. It felt more like a stray shot, but from what weapon, she had no clue. Was it some kind of high-tech directed energy gun? She would find out soon, as she had reached the misty creek.


    The stream was shallow, the woman didn¡¯t worry about looking for a high spot or any rocks. Her combat boots had been waterproofed, and she wanted to be ready when she cleared the fog. After wading across she came out of the mist barrel first, finally seeing what all of the commotion was about.


    A man stood in the middle of a clearing. Flowing red and black robes hung from a thin frame, a hood was pulled up over his head. A pair of near skeletal hands were held out in front of the figure, but they were not raised up defensively. Long fingers were pointed outward at seemingly random angles. Crimson lightning shot out of the tips, the arcs danced through the short trees, flaming strips of wood bursting off of their trunks. He swept the forest, probing for unseen foes.


    The wizard, as it was clear that against all logic and sanity he was a wizard, stopped his attack. He kept his hands up, breathing heavily as he scanned the wood line. Then the sorcerer turned suddenly, pointing his hands at a shimmering distortion, a transparent blob that the woman had not spotted until then. The wizard fired off a blast from his hand, which was identical to the one that had nearly hit her earlier. The attack struck the strange anomaly. The distortion ended, as if a switch had been flipped, revealing a figure clad in black leather. The blast had opened up his chest, splaying his ribcage, he unceremoniously fell to the ground.


    Another distortion, this one behind the robed figure, rapidly closing in. It was clear to the woman that she was meant to help him. This was why she had ended up here. Her gun sight moved onto the target, her finger squeezed the trigger steady and slow. The round left the barrel, followed by a jet of flame, it cut through the night air, stopping inside of the assailant¡¯s guts. Just like before, the distortion stopped and a black clad person fell, this one holding a dagger at the ready.Stolen novel; please report.


    The wizard turned to face her, saw the dead body, and nodded. From out of the forest a cacophony of howls and shrieks caused the woman to jump and hastily sweep the trees, seeing a menagerie of strange beasts make their way into the clearing.


    They came in all shapes and sizes and their skins were often brightly colored. She saw horrific faces, many sported powerful pincers and multiple sets of eyes. They seemed animalistic, having no guns or blades, only claws and other natural weapons; the beasts wore no clothing or armor, except for thick, leathery hides or spiny exoskeletons.


    The wizard took aim, fired off another blast. It detonated on impact, blasting one creature apart in a shower of scaly skin and bones. The woman emptied her magazine, popped it out, letting it fall to the ground. She reached into one of the pockets on her vest, fully aware that this was her last mag. She slammed it home, slapping the bottom to make sure that it was properly seated, then she hit the bolt release, chambering a round.


    One by one she burned through her last mag. Each shot was carefully aimed, each of the 2.23 rounds found its mark. Foul ichor sprayed out of exit wounds, hideous monsters fell to the ground, clawing into the dirt in the throes of death spasms. The final bullet was discharged, the bolt locked to the rear. The woman slung the rifle, switching to the pump-action.


    It had a body that could be compared to a praying mantis, complete with a set of scythe-like hands. Its body was bright purple, with a few jagged red stripes running horizontally across the creature¡¯s revolting carapace. The head was covered in strange sense organs that she could not hope to identify.


    She leveled her shotgun, the first blast took an arm clean off, the second punched a hole into the exoskeleton. She put a third blast of buckshot through that same hole, green juice and horrid guts sprayed out, splattering against her pant legs and combat boots. The thing fell down, its legs and remaining claw twitching in its death spasms. The rest of the horde pressed on, ignoring the creature¡¯s grim fate.


    She aimed and fired, dropping another one, this time a beast that was covered in a thick mat of brown fur. Then she took aim at a lumbering mass of orange flesh, its fingers tipped with razor talons. She was rewarded with a burst of purple slime, a good amount of which struck her armor; she had to wipe a few drops off of her mask before killing another freak.


    A shotgun blast, followed by the iconic sound of another shell being chambered. Another blast and another shotshell racked into place. One managed to get close, slashing at her with its claws. She dove to the side, the razor-sharp talons barely missing. A pulse of magickal death from the robed man slayed the beast. The woman hopped back up, put a shell into another beast.


    Another wave inbound, the woman moved closer to the wizard, loading up more shotshells as she moved. The man in the red and black robes and the woman in the gasmask stood beside each other as the monstrosities made their final push.


    They laid down a hellfire of buckshot and directed energy. Granite stones were painted with boiling blood, which was the color of detergent. Orange slime spurted out of fist sized holes. Muscular limbs were blasted off. Bones, blacken hunks of meat still clinging to them, tumbled through the night air. One by one they all fell to the firepower of the two faceless warriors.


    The woman surveyed the carnage before inspecting her blood splattered gear. Moans of pain alerted her to the fact that one of them was still alive. The fallen foe lay flat on the dirt, it was one of the human ones. Or so she thought.


    The wounded man removed his mask, blood ran out of his mouth, he stopped breathing after a few seconds. She stooped over him, inspecting the face, fascinated by its angular features and his pointed ears.


    The robed figure stepped up to her. ¡°He isn¡¯t human,¡± she stated, then she gestured toward the bizarre corpses, ¡°But I guess that it hardly matters after all of that.¡±


    He spoke, his voice hypnotic and as clear as a thunder crack, ¡°You are correct. He is an elf, but he has undergone so many magickal changes it could be argued that he is no longer one of that breed. The beasts that we killed are Yukikar, lured into service by the promise of meat that is spiced and drugged in ways that are exotic to them,¡± he pointed to the body of a thing with dozens of different sets of eyes, ¡°And that vile thing over there is a Skargug, tamed for use as a seeker.¡±


    He pulled his hood back. The woman was surprised to see that he was still fairly young, looking like he had not yet seen his thirtieth birthday. A black beard stood out against his pale face, his hair was long; gleeful, grey eyes sat in sunken sockets. These eyes radiated maniacal intensity and unchained joy. As she stared into them, she noticed fine lines of glowing red mixed in with the white.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am Mal Gehen,¡± he looked around, making sure that no surviving enemies attacked them while they spoke, ¡°Thank you for helping me, I owe this armored shieldmaiden a debt. Your name is?¡±


    ¡°Amber, Amber Deathrage. I am from a little town that isn¡¯t that far away.¡±


    ¡°You have seen me in visions?¡± it felt as much like a statement as a question.


    ¡°No, in dreams.¡±


    ¡°They are often the same thing.¡±


    She took a second to consider this, before saying, ¡°You, and a woman in a white mask, kind of like those ones from the theater.¡±


    A satisfied smile crossed the wizard¡¯s face, ¡°I have also seen you. Your enemies will be here soon. I can help you; I can take you to safety.¡±


    ¡°Yes, please.¡±


    ¡°I will follow, I still need to take care of something first. I must visit an important place,¡± he stepped up close to her, put his hand on her shoulder, ¡°My friend will take care of you,¡± multicolored flames filled her vision.

 Ch 2: The Battle of Altairis Five

    Soaring European Classical


    The starfield was a resplendent array of colors. A nebula made of cobalt colored gas lit up the area behind the enemy¡¯s grand fleet. The big mass of swirling red clouds that was Altairis Five could be seen, but at this distance it was the size of a coin. A human fleet slowly moved toward the alien force, it would be spotted soon.


    The bridge of the human¡¯s flagship was a multi leveled array of command centers and intel stations, all of it built around a central area. In the center of this section the command chair sat on a raised platform. The man on the chair wore a black uniform with a high collar, shiny medals and colorful ribbons covered his chest.


    A lift crawled up the wall, stopping on the same level as the commander. A petty officer jumped off of it, jogging over to the platform. ¡°Admiral Hurlant, we count thirty battleships and five dreadnoughts on our scopes.¡±


    The admiral smiled, ¡°Good, begin the attack.¡±


    The look on the petty officer¡¯s face said that he didn¡¯t think that this news was such a good thing. In spite of this he saluted and said, ¡°Yes, sir,¡± before running off to relay the order.


    The admiral studied the holographic maps and readouts in front of him. Buttons and dials that were built into the arm rests of the chair allowed him to select different displays and data sets.


    Admiral wasn¡¯t his only title. He was a count, though he had not been addressed as such for a long time. During wartime he was an officer before he was a nobleman. No matter what role he found himself in, he was a loyal servant of the Aerath empire.


    He put a hand to his prominent chin, which was a trait of the Hurlant family line. So were his sharp cheeks, olive skin, and dark curly locks. Nearly black eyes burned with intelligence and pride.


    There was a finality to it. Regardless of how this battle went, the war with the Tarji would be over. All of those years, all of those lives; thousands of ships built, millions of troops trained, worlds conquered and retaken and fallen again; it had all come down to the outcome of a single battle.


    The attack started. Massive energy beams swept across the enemy fleet, obliterating smaller support vessels, burning away the shields of the big combat ships. Armor piercing rounds from railgun turrets punched deep into hulls, jets of fire burst out of the holes. Armor plating was burned away, carving ghastly wounds into mighty warships. One vessel was cut clean in half, the two pieces floating away from each other.


    The hostile armada returned fire, unleashing massive broadsides. Admiral Hurlant watched the status display in silent horror as ship after ship blinked out, signifying their destruction. He had known that people would die, it was inevitable. This knowledge only helped so much, only blunted the blow so much. In spite of his pain, he didn¡¯t let it show, let a confident smile stay stuck in place.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    How will the Tarji commander respond? the Admiral wondered. It was the one question that would decide the outcome of this battle. When faced with an attacking force, which was less than a third the size of their own force, how would they react? After all, there had to be more to it than that. It couldn¡¯t be as easy as that, there had to be some kind of trick, something else in the works. What the hostile fleet¡¯s leadership guessed that unknown threat was would dictate their actions.


    The two sides continued to exchange fire. Beams and pulses of energy raced across the void. Plasma weapons burned into hulls. The conning tower of one vessel was turned into liquid metal as a beam was walked from the bridge to the superstructure. The forward blade of an Aerath battleship exploded when the power cells that fed its beam weapon were ignited. Squadrons of starfighters dodged point defense weapons as they carried out strafing runs or became locked in vicious dogfights.


    A message came in from the sensor section, ¡°Enemy fleet changing course. They are heading toward us!¡±


    There it was, the move that the admiral and the majority of his command staff had predicted. The Tarji would sacrifice their ability to lay down devastating broadsides in the hope of avoiding whatever nasty surprise was in store for them. They would move in close, get into knife fighting range, slugging it out at point blank. Getting mixed in with their opponent was a good plan, it would keep them safe from any large-scale attacks, while still allowing them to engage and destroy the human fleet. It was like a group of ground troops negating hostile artillery or air support by fixing bayonets and charging the enemy lines.


    Admiral Hurlant pushed the button that activated the intercom, ¡°Stay on course. Coms officer, send out a transmission on the general frequency, ¡®Avenge Kilimar.¡¯¡±


    From out of the gas cloud a formation of sleek starships raced toward the Tarji fleet, aiming their guns at the enemy¡¯s exposed backsides. The trap had been sprung.


    The flotilla of high-speed battle cruisers was all that was left of the Kilimari navy. They had escaped the Tarji conquest, living to fight another day. This would be their last battle. The reason why the Tarji had ignored the gas cloud was because it did tremendous damage to a spacecraft¡¯s hull. The Kilimari cruisers would fall apart on the molecular level within hours. But it didn¡¯t matter, because the battle and the war would be won or lost long before then.


    They sped in with righteous fury, targeting engines and fuel tanks. The precision strikes crippled over a dozen Tarji warships, which drifted out of formation. Unable to maneuver, enemy craft were outflanked and picked off one by one. A hostile dreadnought went wildly off course, ramming and destroying one of their own battleships.


    The Aerath and Tarji fleets met, trading broad sides at point blank range. Their formation compromised and unable to coordinate fire, the Tarji vessels were blasted to pieces. What was left of the Tarji fleet came out the other side battered and flaming.


    The petty officer made is way to the command chair, still shaking, ¡°Admiral Hurlant, Tarji grand fleet has been reduced by ninety percent, remaining ships are retreating in the direction of Rigel Orlang.¡±


    ¡°Let them go.¡±


    ¡°Sir?¡± the petty officer asked incredulously.


    ¡°Yes, that is a likely location of their fifth taskforce. We are in no shape to tangle with them. Best to preserve our ships. The battle is won; now we have the advantage. I have no doubt that the Tarji will sue for peace. A peace that will be on our terms.¡±


    ¡°Of course, sir. What are your orders?¡±


    ¡°Get the Kilimari crews aboard whichever ships have room. Then proceed to the orbital docks at Vultuna.¡±


    ¡°Admiral, Obis Prime is much closer.¡±


    ¡°That is true, petty officer. But that also makes it a much more likely destination and therefor a much more likely target for avenging Tarji fast attack squadrons.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. Good thinking, I will see to it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, petty officer,¡± the admiral¡¯s confident smile turned into a jubilant grin, ¡°Cheer up, we just won the war.¡±

 Ch 3: In the Court of the Masked Queen

    Epic Doom Metal


    A tamed Thylacon flew through the night sky. The beast flapped its leathery wings, its crested head moving back and forth as it searched for threats. A saddle and bags stood out against its grey skin, which sported jagged blue and white markings. Its rider was a woman clad in metal and leather.


    Behind her a bright moon floated. If you squinted, you could just make out the cables that connected it to the other moons that surrounded the world. The rest of the sky was dead black, except for a blue sphere that was only just visible over the horizon.


    Ahead, the towers of the queen¡¯s palace. They called it a palace, but it was just as much a fortress. The thing was the tallest structure in existence. Barracks for an army, facilities from which to run a government, ceremonial chambers, luxurious suites, the palace was a self-contained capital city and military base.


    She directed her mount to one of the landing platforms that jutted out of the colossal structure. As she drew closer, she could start to make out the loopholes that hid archers and the scorpion turrets that sat on the tops of the towers.


    She landed and dismounted. Walking the beast into the hangar, which was a strange word borrowed from a far-off land. It was an open space, with stables on the sides. A series of flaming caldrons provided light. Doors led to storehouses and guest rooms. Guards kept a close watch for airborne infiltrators.


    The armored plates that adorned her body gleamed in the fire light. A thick belt that was lined with metal studs held up her loincloth and the scabbards that contained two short swords. A dagger was held in place by straps around her left thigh. Buskins adorned her feet, the leather straps twisting their way up to just below her knees. A spiked helmet sat on her head, a nose guard ran between her heavily shadowed eyes and chainmail hung off to the sides, her blonde hair flowed out from under the lip.


    A man wearing immaculate robes and a conical hat walked over and greeted her, ¡°Kyrie of Engle, welcome. Have you taken care of that problem for us?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the word came out of Kyrie¡¯s mouth like a well-aimed arrow.


    The warrior dug around in one of the saddle bags, what she produced caused the man to put a hand over his mouth and take a step back, ¡°High Queen Ver¡¯da is in the throne room. She wishes to speak with you at once.¡±


    Before leaving, Kyrie grabbed a weapon from its place on the saddle. It was a poleaxe, a variation of a normal axe that was designed to give its user several different options when it came to the art of killing. A stable boy trundled over to take care of the Thylacon, leading it to a place where it could rest and be fed.


    The walk to the throne room was long. The palace was a seemingly endless maze of corridors. This was no doubt intentional, a way of overawing guests and confusing invaders. She carried her poleaxe in one hand, resting it on her shoulder; in the other she let the grim parcel hang low.


    She entered the throne room, hundreds of guests were lounging on plush pillows and mats. Servants moved around the chamber, keeping glasses filled; dancers and jesters kept them entertained. The laughter and gossip mixed, forming an incessant den. All eyes fixed on her armored form as she made her way to the dais that held the queen¡¯s seat. As the warrior approached, the queen studied her through the eye holes in her mask.


    Despite High Queen Ver¡¯da¡¯s beauty and imposing aura, the mask was the first thing that those who beheld her noticed, and the thing that held their attention. A dress made of soft, white and lilac fabric ran up her body. Emeralds set in silver jewelry sparkled. The queen didn¡¯t just sit on her thrown, she made a point of owning it, of dominating it. Slaves, each a living war trophy, were chained to the ornate chair. They were nude, save for a few precious jewels they were mockingly allowed to keep, and their golden collars.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    General Grogbl¨¹d stood nearby. The orc was a mountain of green muscle. Cruel and hungry yet cunning eyes stared at her, before moving on to the legs of a noblewoman. He was the queen¡¯s right hand, and other than the king of the orcs, he was the highest ranking of their people.


    Kyrie of Engle reached the seat of the high queen. The barbarian warrior dumped the thing that she was holding at the monarch''s feet. It was a bundle of recently severed heads, each of them belonging to an orc warlord. One of the slaves, a woman that had once been a pampered aristocrat, let out a little squeal and moved as far back as her chain would allow. The queen reached down, placing a reassuring hand on the poor girl¡¯s head. Kyrie sank to one knee reverently.


    From behind the smooth, pallid mask a graceful but imposing voice spoke, ¡°Rise, my exulted champion.¡±


    Kyrie rose. The room stared in awe. The queen tugged on the chain of one of the male slaves, whispering something to him. He obediently crawled forward and grabbed one of the heads, holding it aloft for the crowd to see. Many cheered wildly, others stared in wide eyed shock at the sight of such a powerful warlord¡¯s head. Many eyes shot to Grogbl¨¹d, who was acting indifferent.


    The cheers died down, the high queen spoke again, ¡°When your chief told me that he only owed me two battalions instead of three, all because he would send you, well, I wondered if he was trying to spite me. But then I saw you, and I knew, I knew that you were just as valuable as a battalion, if not more.¡±


    You sit on his throne, use his words and systems, how are you any different?


    She wasn¡¯t, the flags and seals were different, but she was as much the Mullah¡¯s successor as his destroyer. But that distinction wasn¡¯t even hers to take, at least not completely. If only he was still here, he would set things right again.


    ¡°I would offer you drink, food, and company, but there is another urgent matter that must be attended to.¡±


    ¡°Gaulr?th¡¯s wizard.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Ten days ago, he fled from the magick school on Korhak. I feel that he is seeking the Midlothian. I sent an HK team and a platoon of Yukikar after him, but they haven¡¯t returned.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have given him a second chance.¡±


    ¡°Few would dare to point out one of my mistakes. That is why I like you, you are willing to do what needs to be done,¡± she scanned the room with her unseen eyes, ¡°How can I hope to meet my destiny when those that serve me are too cowardly to set me straight when I faulter?¡±


    ¡°My queen, they trust in your sight and defer to your title. To them you are not a mere woman, you are a heroine and their master.¡±


    ¡°And what am I to you, HK Gladiatrix?¡±


    ¡°My glorious leader. A leader who rules better than any other that I have known. A leader who is burdened with the flaws of any other person and the curse of the unblinking third eye.¡±


    ¡°Honest as always. Most would call it a gift, yet you identify it as a curse. The truth is somewhere in the middle, as it often is. Go to Korhak, huntress of the painted tribes, pick up the sorcerer¡¯s trail.¡±


    ¡°And when I find him?¡±


    Her next words became soaked with venom, ¡°Correct my mistake.¡±


    Kyrie bowed low, ¡°It will be done, your highness,¡± with that she turned on one heel and marched out of the throne room. The walk back to the hangar felt much shorter than the trip to the throne room. She was glad to be back on the road. She hated the generals, viziers, and courtiers. They did not understand the ways of her people. Someone like her could never feel comfortable in the halls of the palace.


    The warrior-huntress entered the hanger and requested a mount. As she waited, she thought about the journey ahead. The bridge to Korhak was a short flight to the south. From there, it was a three-day journey to the school. What she found there could take her far away, much furtherer that she had ever been.


    A stable boy walked a new mount toward her, this one sporting red and orange slashes on its wings. She checked the provisions that had been loaded into the beast¡¯s saddle bags, a sudden shout distracted her, ¡°It¡¯s the watcher!¡±


    She looked toward the hangar¡¯s opening. In the sky a swirling mass of glowing eyes had appeared. The stable boys and guards rushed to the entrance, joyfully saluting the sky and yelling, ¡°Hail watcher!¡±


    Kyrie smiled with pride, this was a good sign, for surly the watcher had appeared because of her. This meant that what had happened was truly important, and what was to come must also be so. She placed her hand above her heart before throwing her arm toward the cluster of eyes. ¡°Hail watcher,¡± she said with awe.

 Ch 4: Strange Developments

    Mellotron centric Progressive Rock


    Multicolored flames filled Amber¡¯s vision. She automatically dropped to the floor and started rolling around. The light quickly dissipated, and she realized two things. Firstly: there was no pain, which meant that she had either suffered no burns or very bad ones. Secondly: she was lying on a floor, instead of dirt or grass. It wasn¡¯t the ground, it was now gaudy, brightly colored tiles. She quickly inspected her arms for evidence of fire but found none.


    She jumped up and scanned the room while looking down the sights of her shotgun. The young woman immediately assumed that she had been attacked from behind by some fire wielding enemy. It had happened when Mal had touched her shoulder, perhaps her new friend had not been so friendly after all. She completed her sweep, scanning the room through lifeless gasmask lens and saw no one. What had attacked her and how had she managed to end up there?


    It was a kitchen, the kind of kitchen that you would find in a house. As she continued to look around, she started to notice that things seemed to be off somehow.


    As her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she figured out what was wrong. This kitchen was straight out of the 1970s! The cupboards and drawers were painted in an extremely loud shade of neon yellow. The toaster was covered in decals of brightly colored flowers and looked like it would be more likely to burn your house down rather than cook your food. The fridge was weirdly rounded, and bizarrely, painted pink. Everything just looked like it was from that particular decade. But all of it looked, more or less, brand new, like it had been bought just a few weeks ago.


    Amber wanted to flip on the lights and take a closer look, make sure that she wasn¡¯t seeing things. But she didn¡¯t want to give her position away. Instead, she stayed in place and listened.


    As she waited there in the darkness her mind started wandering. How had she ended up in an old house? There were homes scattered around the area, and many of them were rather old. But how had this one managed to escape the wear and tear of the decades? Was this even real? Had she been badly injured, lying in a hospital bed in a coma or high on pain meds? That would certainly explain the wizard and the horde of monsters that she had killed. Then the kitchen¡¯s light was suddenly flicked on and she heard the words, ¡°There you are!¡±


    The girl in the gasmask had been taken by surprise, but her reflexes were quick, she swung around to point her weapon at the threat. The person who had flipped on the lights and called out her position was plainly visible as they stood there in the doorway.


    It was a demon, a red skinned lady demon. The shear surprise of it kept Amber from firing, she could only stand there and stare at the thing, desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on.


    The monster had a modest set of horns, totally white eyes, and long, jet-black hair, cut in the classic Betty Page style. Other than her demonic features the most striking thing about her was her voluptuous figure. The demoness¡¯s tail eagerly moved back and forth behind her. Her feet were not cloven hooves, other than the red skin and black toenails they were normal. Oddly, Amber found the she-devil¡¯s clothing to be the strangest thing of all. It was totally inappropriate for a creature like her, consisting of a white tank top and a little pair of blue shorts.


    The demon slowly raised her arms and said, ¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa, you aint got no reason to shoot me.¡± Her voice was what you would expect a demoness to sound like, sultry and otherworldly, yet the way she talked was like a normal person. The two of them just stood there like that for about a minute, and then the standoff was interrupted by someone entering the room via the doorway that was located directly behind Amber.


    The armored woman turned, hit the newcomer square in the face with the butt of her shotgun. Then she slung the weapon onto her back and drew her pistol, the intent was to get behind the newcomer and use them as a human shield. Before Amber made her next move, she intentionally took a second to assess the new threat.


    It had the shape of a woman, complete with curves, a bust, an angular face with a pleasant smile, and long flowing hair. However, it was no woman, it wasn¡¯t even a solid being like the demon. This thing wasn¡¯t just transparent, as she was made of clear liquid; judging by the smell, Amber would have guessed water. Inside of this being¡¯s forehead a point of golden light shown, waves of gold pulsing from it and traveling throughout the rest of the body. A dent left by the shotgun¡¯s buttstock popped back out, waves of liquid rippling for a second.


    The only thing that kept the woman in the gas mask from putting a bullet into the thing¡¯s forehead was the discipline that firearms training brings. Remembering that there was still a servant of Satan standing right behind her, Amber bolted, skirting around the translucent woman and out the door.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    A quick glance at the next room revealed that it, like the kitchen, was something straight out of the 70s. The wood paneling and shag carpets made Amber ask herself where in the hell she was for the second time. The TV set was encased in woodgrain. Several vinyl record holders sat on top of a shelf, each displaying a classic from the era. The sofa and chairs were a blinding shade of orange.


    And then there was the red light that was coming in through the windows. What was causing it? A fire? Was it dawn? Dusk? Had she been knocked out and carried here? That would certainly explain how she had changed locations.


    But none of that mattered at the moment. She needed to get out of the area, needed to find a safe and secluded place to get her bearings. This house, she assumed it was a house, was clearly occupied so the best option was to get out of there. Amber rapidly worked her way to the door.


    The instant she got outside she planned to do a sweep from right to left, checking for any threats, but she never even started. It was the sight of the sky that stopped her: a pitch-black void that was filled with bolts of red lightning, which discharged endlessly. A massive, dark stone tower sat behind the house, silhouetted against the insane sky. The home had a decent sized front lawn, beyond that the ground abruptly dropped off into the abyss.


    She took a look around. The plain brown bricks that the house was made of contrasted with the stylized interior. The faded white paint of a picket fence enclosed the home, but still left plenty of room. The ground was covered in thick grass, the place needed to be mowed. The pointy red hats of several garden gnomes peeked above the green blades. A stone birdbath sat near a window, but there were no birds in sight. Flat rocks had been intricately placed in a line, so that they formed a pathway that led to the front gate. The metal mailbox had, ¡°2977 Bakshi,¡± printed on it using blocky stencils.


    A bolt of lightning came from the sky, hitting somewhere out of sight. Amber¡¯s mind slammed back into survival mode. She dashed around the side of the house, finding that the backyard wasn¡¯t much different from the front. Rust spots on a grill and a weather beaten picknick table were among the things that she noticed. Amber scrambled past an overgrown garden and hopped the fence.


    A good distance behind the backyard she spotted the start of a forested area. There was something off about the trees, they had grown twisted. To its left, the ground rose significantly near the edge. It was on this hill that the tower sat. Colossal basalt blocks sat around the base of the spire, which it seemed to be constructed from. Now that she had a better look at the structure, she could plainly see that it was still under construction. Wooden scaffolding surrounded the outer walls and a primitive crane was positioned at the top. Humanoid shapes were moving around to area, clearly a busy construction crew.


    The sound of the backdoor being pushed open helped to keep her running. The demonesses¡¯ sultry voice called out to her, ¡°Wait, Amber! Mal wanted me to find you!¡±


    There was no way. She was a demon. How could a demon be trusted? The answer was they could never be trusted, everything that they said was a lie. The pleas for her to stop continued, but they were tuned out as she got closer to the tower and got a good look at the builders.


    They looked like men made of grey stone which was flicked with bits of shiny white and black. Arcs of electricity, red like the bolts that filled the sky, danced across their stony bodies. Crudely fashioned, these rock men had no defined features such as toes or mouths, the only details were glowing red spots where the eyes would be and four fingered hands.


    There was an explosion of rainbow fire, it quickly dissipated, a group of stone men now stood around one of the great big blocks, having appeared out of thin air. Without pause, they began pushing it toward the tower.


    The rock men paid no attention to her, going about their work with a single-minded focus as she raced toward the tree line and the demonic woman yelled for her to stop. It was a good thing too, because it was doubtful that 9mm rounds would have enough force to pierce their skin. The sky was filled with crimson lightning, there was a massive tower with a seventies house in front of it, and yet somehow things were still getting stranger. At last she reached the forest, now she had cover and concealment, a chance to stop and think.


    Based on what she had seen it seemed like it was the colorful flames that had brought her here. Things were operating on a whole new kind of logic now, a version of reality where magick existed and demons roamed around. This last thought begged the question, why was there a demon here? Was this Hell? This was a strange place, although it didn¡¯t really look like Hell. Amber was one of the good guys, her actions had helped many people, why would she even be in Hell in the first place?


    The calls of the demon persisted as the she-devil stalked the trees, searching for the young woman in the gasmask and body armor.


    Amber considered the situation, decided that offence was the best defense. She burst out of the bushes, weapon at the ready. ¡°Hands up!¡± Amber yelled.


    She had gotten the drop on the demon, which made a sassy comment about clearly being unarmed, but still complied.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± Amber demanded.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t shoot me. If really hurts.¡±


    ¡°It will kill you.¡±


    ¡°Not likely. Maybe that boomstick you got slung across your back. But not that handgun,¡± she smiled, ¡°Angry girlfriend walked in on me with her man, pulled out a little concealed carry pistol. My shoulder hurt for hours!¡±


    ¡°Stop the nonsense. Where are we?¡± Amber demanded, her weapon still pointed at the demon¡¯s head.


    ¡°Me and Mally-G found this place and decided that it would make an excellent base.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t answer the question.¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait, I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t think about it. You¡¯re from Earth, you guys don¡¯t know about the true nature of the universe. I don¡¯t go to your world that much anymore; believe it or not there are places that are much more repressed. I blame liberalism, and the internet.¡±


    ¡°You need to stop fucking with me before¡­¡±


    The deep and hypnotic voice of the wizard cut her threat short, ¡°Amber, please don¡¯t point that thing at my friend.¡±

 Ch 5: Stone vs. Steel

    Punk Rock


    Automatic fire cut through the jungle, chopping up vegetation, dropping the charging cavemen and their tamed dinosaurs.


    The power plant had been built atop a volcano, then fortified with high walls and laser gun turrets. But none of them were firing at the moment. Only the guards were active, spraying into the vegetation, struggling to keep the attackers at bay. A woman stood on top of the ramparts, surveying the battle. This was just the latest in the series of human wave attacks that had kept the project on edge since its inception.


    A camouflage jumpsuit clung to her body. Belts that held pouches and holsters crisscrossed her torso and legs. A kind of girdle sat on her midriff, it was covered with extra magazines for the submachinegun that she carried. A fairly short head of jet-black hair was kept neat with a few metal clips, which were painted blue. Her features were predominantly Japanese, although that word would be meaningless to her. Her left eye was artificial, being jet black with a tiny white dot for an iris. Several pieces of silvery metal were grafted to the flesh on the side of her neck and head.


    The voice in SYN-42J¡¯s ear was frantic, ¡°Syn, we need to get those turrets back online!¡±


    A heads-up display identified her current objective and the status of nearby friendlies, along with any hostiles that the group¡¯s intel gathering systems had identified. Thermal imaging systems and motion trackers had tagged no less than three hundred attackers, many of them this world¡¯s equivalent of dinosaurs.


    The primitives wielded crude weapons made of fallen tree branches, sturdy bones, and roughly hewn stone. Their attire was just as archaic, consisting of pelts from mammals, many of them brightly colored. The dinos were massive, protected by thick hides, and armed with razor sharp claws and horns that were known to be able to punch through a war mech¡¯s armor.


    The majority of the friendly troops were from the Advanced Science and Technology Corporation, all of them looked the exact same, because they were all cloned from the same guy, and then issued the same equipment and cybernetic enhancements. They were like a parody of an over muscled, square jawed, action hero from an old cheesy movie or comic book. The troopers wore heavy body armor that was painted olive drab and sported massive shoulder pads. Their eyes were mechanical, emitting an eerie red glow.


    These forces were supplemented by a few government personnel, as the state had taken great interest in the project. And then there were the people that ran the day to day operations. Syn was something else. They had sent her there to fix the power problem, and not a moment too soon.


    The computer system that was linked to her brain plotted the quickest course to the turbines. She frowned, it was the quickest route, but by no means the easiest. Years of training, both in VR and in real life took over, all of it aided by eight combat tours spread across three wars. She ran past a group of ASTC troopers. They were popping in and out of cover, firing bursts at rabid cave people and vicious lizards. She vaulted over a wall, using the equipment that jutted out of it as handholds. Then she sprinted across a roof, leaping off of the other side. Syn hit the ground running, raced along the top of the wall toward the buttress that would take her to the rim of the volcano.


    Ahead, several of the primitives cleared the top of the wall, instantly spotted her. A hairy brute hurled a stone tipped spear. She dove, emptying her SMG into the savages as she slid. Syn jumped up, loaded a fresh mag. The buttress was close now, she could see the antennas, vents, and other assorted apparatuses that would help get her to the top.


    An axe wielding maniac screamed as he charged toward her. The cyborg lined up her weapon¡¯s sights and fired a burst, the madman fell, slipping over the edge. The way was clear, she had a straight shot. Then, as if on cue, one of the lizards leaped over the wall, landing on the rampart and blocking her path. The giant reptile walked on two legs, moving with frightening speed and agility. It ran toward her with jaws and claws at the ready, like a soldier handling his weapons.


    Why didn¡¯t I bring any grenades? Syn thought. She expended the rest of the magazine, peppering the creature¡¯s torso. Few of the rounds penetrated the thick hide. She slapped another mag into place, this time aiming for the head. The rounds bounced off, except the one that caught the beast in the eye. Syn bolted past the stunned dinosaur, reaching the buttress and jumping up to grab the support strut for a power converter.


    Syn clambered up and on top of the device, glancing down, she saw that the creature had recovered. Enraged, the dinosaur showed a mouth full of razor-sharp death and started rushing toward her. Ignoring the threat, Syn looked toward the next step in the path. A running leap got her up to the next level and a quick scramble up the side of a cooling unit got her up to a ledge.


    The dinosaur leapt, reaching the cooling unit, stripping it off of the building as it clawed its way onto the ledge. Syn pulled the longed barreled, large caliber pistol off of her hip and took aim. The armor piercing round struck just above the remaining eye. It ricocheted off of the thick bone. She didn¡¯t bother trying again, choosing a different target instead. The shot took out an antenna¡¯s support, causing it to swing down. Syn ducked, the beam struck the reptile, sending it tumbling to its doom.


    Tearing her eyes away from the falling creature, Syn scrutinized the area immediately above her, looking for the next step up. Before starting, she instinctively looked back down the structure. A woman wearing only a purple and green loincloth was climbing toward her, a stone blade knife clutched in her teeth. Syn took aim, extending her arm out, the gun an extension of it. Sensing an attack, the cavewoman leaped, taking hold of the cyborg¡¯s outstretched arm. Syn was pulled off of the ledge.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The first handhold that presented itself was the woman¡¯s shoulder. This changed the trajectory of her fall so that Syn landed on a ledge, hitting the back of her head hard on the cement. It also caused the primitive to lose her grip and land right next to her.


    Before Syn could recover, the savage was on top of her, all of her weight put on the tip of the stone blade. Syn pushed up on the attacker¡¯s arm, her eyes fixed on the point that was aimed at her heart. She tried kneeing her opponent in the groin and stomach, only to be blocked by her legs. Then she tried head butting her, the cavewoman responded to this by delivering a blow to her temple. The knife inched closer. It was ironic, a technologically advanced being like her would be killed with the most archaic of weapons¡­unless.


    She looked to her sides, discovering that the pistol had landed near the edge. Her hand shot out, reaching desperately for the gun. It was only just out of range. Syn tried shifting her body in the direction of the weapon, but the cavewoman adjusted her stance, making it impossible.


    Syn reassessed the situation, noticed that her opponent¡¯s foot was near the weapon, her other leg braced against the wall to help her keep the cyborg pinned in place. This time Syn used her legs to push herself forward. The primitive adjusted her stance, kicking the pistol as she shuffled forward.


    Syn reached again, fingertips touching the edge of the grip, digging into the gritty, grooved material as she slid it toward herself. The second it was in her hand she moved the weapon, darting it past the primitive¡¯s arms. Several bullets ripped through the enemy¡¯s torso, she stumbled back, slipping over the edge. Syn got back up and continued her journey up the side of the building.


    A message came in from one of the squads, ¡°They¡¯re overrunning us!¡±


    How could this have happened? The inhabitants lacked technology and organization, yet they had been a constant threat. Overwhelming numbers and superior willpower, that was how they had done it. The primitive¡¯s desire to free their god was far greater than the company¡¯s desire to utilize its power making potential.


    She had at last reached the top. From there it was a short sprint to the rim of the volcano. Fearful of a sudden burst of superheated gas, Syn cautiously peered in. After several long seconds she sent a transmission to HQ, ¡°The turbines aren¡¯t turning, that is why we aren¡¯t getting any power.¡±


    ¡°Can you get them operational?¡±


    ¡°Not unless you can tell me how to get the volcano working again,¡± she replied.


    The guy on the other end was too desperate to pick up on her sarcasm, ¡°I don¡¯t know. Can you try throwing an explosive into it?¡±


    A thousand petty insults and smartassed remarks crossed her mind. She opted to calmly inform him that she had none and that it wouldn¡¯t work anyway.


    There was a long pause before his response, ¡°Roger that, just do what you can,¡± it sounded resigned, like he had given up.


    Sounds near the jungle side of the roof, three more of those creatures, each moving toward her. Her pistol in one hand and her SMG in the other, she prepared to make her last stand.


    The high velocity round punched a hole clear through the dino, blood and liquefied organs sprayed out the backside of the hole. This was quickly followed by the other two being killed with precision shots.


    A gruff, familiar voice in her ear, ¡°This is Archangel Omega, we¡¯re here to help.¡±


    Syn looked over the edge excitedly. Four armored figures were standing by the exit to the part of the building that housed the portal.


    Miri, the demolition expert, and Arell, the team leader slash CQB man, climbed the stairs to the ramparts and got to work. Miri hurled grenades and satchel charges, while Arell used his automatic shotgun to keep any primitives that got onto the wall away from her.


    There was Nex, he was easy to spot because he was a clone whose templet had been modified for increased size. He launched a volley of shoulder mounted rockets. They landed in a line that ran the length of the enemy¡¯s ranks. Flames expanded out and upward into mushroom clouds. Then he spun up his Gatling gun, sending a stream of lead into the tree line, cutting down scores of cavemen.


    Syn ran over to the side that faced the jungle, ¡°Karlin, I will call out targets for you.¡±


    ¡°Roger that,¡± the sniper said, still looking down the scope of his longed barreled anti-tank rifle. She scanned the jungle with her enhanced vision. The trees moved as a lizard that was at least two stories tall stomped its way toward the facility. A structure on its back housed several spear throwers. Aided by her cybernetic enhancements, Syn fed the trajectory data to Karlin. The hypersonic round dropped the massive beast, sending the spearmen flying from their perch.


    Several more targets were dropped. Horns sounded, the remaining enemies turned tail, fleeing back into the jungle. Syn worked her way back down. Archangel Omega was there to greet her.


    Arell took his helmet off, seeing the shock of red hair on his head always surprised her. He gave her a sly grin, ¡°Looks like we got here just in time.¡±


    She returned his smartassed smile, ¡°Well, then it¡¯s a good thing that I wrote that report. You know, the one that recommended the creation of a special rescue team.¡±


    The program director exited the building, he was flanked by two guards, their body armor contrasting with his business suit. The team left to go inspect the perimeter.


    The sight of his bald head and ruddy skin brought up a range of mixed emotions. ¡°What went wrong?¡± the director asked, angry, but at the turn of events, not at her.


    ¡°There is still something wrong with the turbines. They aren¡¯t producing enough to power the defense systems.¡±


    ¡°We checked them four times already. How is this still an issue?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I inspected them personally, they are in working order. The thermal output on the other hand,¡± she shrugged.


    ¡°Are you telling me that this volcano isn¡¯t making enough heat?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that is exactly what I am saying.¡±


    ¡°How is that possible? It is an active volcano!¡±


    She turned away, examining the jungle, ¡°There is something wrong with this place. Things don¡¯t flow in the right way.¡±


    ¡°What the hell does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Something is off with all of the readings, the background radiation, the sunlight, the way that the ecology functions. It is like the place is operating at a lower setting.¡±


    He put a hand to his temple, ¡°If we can¡¯t produce enough power to run a few gun turrets then we certainly can¡¯t make enough to export. This whole thing has been a waste of time and resources.¡±


    ¡°It certainly has.¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine, sunk costs shouldn¡¯t be a concern. We will cut our losses and abandon this facility. I want you to get with a scout team, Archangel Three probably needs another member.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said flatly.


    ¡°I need you to find us another prospect.¡±


    ¡°I work alone.¡±


    ¡°Listen, what happened wasn¡¯t your fault. No one could have known what you were going to find in that place.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, I failed them. I will go looking, but I will do it on my terms.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay,¡± he grinned shyly, ¡°Sometimes I wish that they hadn¡¯t freed the clones.¡±


    She smiled in spite of herself, ¡°You are trying to get a boot in the groin, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°You would let me off that easily? No bullets to the head?¡±


    ¡°Maybe one or two in the gut, depending on my mood.¡±

 Ch 6: Eternal Glory

    European style Power Metal


    The empire¡¯s capital city dominated much of Aerath¡¯s second smallest continent. It shown brightly, but the other landmasses had their own clusters of lights, more than enough to compete.


    As it approached its descent vector the shuttle took a course that went under the orbital ring station that was positioned over the equator. Off to the left one of the massive towers was just visible, this particular structure curved its way to somewhere near the north pole.


    The ride down gave him too much time to think, too much time to consider how things could go wrong. The royal palace¡¯s hangar bay was practically a spaceport. From there, it was a mercifully short trip to the ceremonial hall.


    The court herald¡¯s voice boomed through the room, ¡°Admiral Count Justinian Lucaris Hurlant, Commander of the First Battle Fleet, defender of Space Fortress Araki, hero of the Iron Star Campaign, and victor of Altairis Five,¡± this was followed by jubilant trumpets.


    Admiral Hurlant made his way past the lines of dignitaries and military leaders. He wore a crisp white dress uniform with black trim. Shiny insignia and badges, along with three long rows of multicolored ribbons adorned his tunic, scarlet epaulets sat on his shoulders. As he walked his black cape flowed and his riding boots clicked.


    The colossal hall was packed, important people had come from all around the empire for the victory ceremony. Out of all of the rooms in the imperial palace this one had seen the least use, although it had once been the sight of many such events. Countless governments had surrendered to the might of the Aerath Empire in this very place. Those were the old days, the good days, now the empire was a thin and haggard version of its former glory. Justinian looked to the flags of defeated foes that lined the walls, one day they would once again know the invincible glory of the past.


    The crowds cheered. Ladies stared raptly, like animals in heat. Formations of troopers saluted with their rifles and swords. Officers looked on in awe. Noblemen betrayed their jealousy by adopting smug smiles. And there was Princess Telij?, gazing at him joyfully.


    The emperor watched from his throne, his uniform was black with red trim, his medals prodigious, the golden crown on his head shine with the light from a myriad of gems. The ruler of all mankind and a thousand conquered peoples stood up, all eyes switched to him as he moved to meet Justinian. The emperor¡¯s voice thundered with power, ¡°Count Hurlant, your achievements have saved the empire. We owe you a great deal. A promotion to grand admiral is in order, and a move to a higher rung of the peerage.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, your majesty.¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Emperor Aurelius led him off to the side, toward a group of ornate globes, ¡°You will control the Ultiar system,¡± he waved his hand over several of the worlds. Each was held up by a golden stand and were covered with jewels. One planet was black and grey, covered in rubies, each one signifying a mining facility. Another world sported numerous emeralds, which meant that it was the home to many military assets. Diamonds, each representing a population center and its accompanying tax revenue, were in abundance on every one of the globes.


    Justinian pointed to a blue and green world that only sported a few jewels, ¡°But my emperor, my planet is in the Traule system.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you will turn it over to Count Fuer when you take control of your new territory.¡±


    ¡°Your majesty, I appreciate the fact that you would give me a system as wealthy and productive as Ultiar. However, I would prefer it if my people stayed under my control.¡±


    ¡°You would rather have Traule, a system with half the population, a third of the factories, and not a single shipyard?¡±


    ¡°With all due respect to Count Fuer, he is not known for his subtlety when it comes to commanding the lower people.¡±


    ¡°Discrete as always. Hear me clearly, this isn¡¯t a request. I need your skill to help rebuild the empire. I will see to it that a gentler hand takes control of your fiefdom.¡±


    ¡°Thank you again, your majesty. I will do what needs to be done to increase our might.¡±


    ¡°Yes, once again we will take our rightful place in the galaxy.¡±


    ¡°There is nothing that I want more.¡±


    He gestured toward a long line of tables, ¡°But now let us feast.¡±


    The guests and dignitaries settled down for the grand meal. The princess would want him to take a seat next to her, but should he? Justinian wasn¡¯t given a choice, Telij? grabbed him by the hand and led him to a seat.


    ¡°I saw to it that we would have plenty of Galintiaren wine, your favorite.¡±


    ¡°You always think of the little things. How have you been?¡±


    ¡°I attended three soldier¡¯s funerals yesterday.¡±


    He was taken aback, ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just glad that it is going to stop, thanks to you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks to a lot of warriors.¡±


    ¡°But you were the one that ended it.¡±


    She was right, but it felt strange to admit it, like he was stealing from his comrades in arms. They chatted lightly as they ate. It felt good to be away from work for a while.


    The Tarji ambassador scuttled to the podium. Blue and purple robes covered most of its disgusting exoskeleton, sparing the humans the nasty sight. It looked at the crowd, its mandibles forming their species¡¯ equivalent of a smile, ¡°This armistice is the first step on the journey toward peace in our galaxy.¡±


    It was a complete and total lie. The Tarji had surrendered, this was not a peace without victors, they were lucky that they were allowed to save face like this. And there was no way that the empire was going to stop its conquests. As soon as they had recovered from this conflict, they would go on the offensive again. Justinian planned to invest time in drawing up strategies for defeating the Yarhoth Republic, which would grant them access to several new crystal mines. Along with plans for capturing a dozen other juicy targets. The future looked bright indeed.


    An assistant walked over to the emperor, whispered something in his ear. The ruler of the empire asked a question in a low voice, received a response, then he turned to look at the admiral with great concern. Justinian got up, his mind heavy with fear over what this development might be.


    The emperor spoke to him in a low voice, ¡°Admiral, go to the temple, the high priestess has important news.¡±

 Ch 7: The Nomad

    Stoner Doom Metal


    The sky was overcast, the sun barely peeked through the grey haze, it looked pathetic.


    A man walked around a battlefield, which was the shattered remains of a town. The ground was littered with expended shell casings and dead bodies. The dead were incased in rusted armor, all of it made from scavenged scrap metal. Flames danced out of the hood of what had once been a car designed for families; now it was a heavily modified troop transport.


    The man wore faded denim, metal rivets and thick stitching, battered black leather, and a tattered gray poncho. A revolver sat on his hip, a jack knife on his boot. A fat metal tube with a wooden buttstock and a set of simple iron sights attached to it was slung across his back.


    His name was John Logan. He was seldom addressed by it. People were rare and his encounters with them tended to be brief and to the point.


    One of the men rolled over, springing his trap, pointing a zipgun at John. In a flash the revolver was out of its holster and the trigger squeezed. The bullet found its mark, blood gushed out of the hole in his jugular, coating the orange rust of his improvised body armor with a layer of red.


    The people of the settlement started to slowly trickle out of hiding, looking at the fallen raiders unsurely. The women were freed, and the food stores were opened so that everyone could eat their fill. The man ate with the people and had his way with the most beautiful of the women, any or even all of them would gladly be his bride, and the people would have made him their chief. And yet he pushed on, sneaking away at night.


    John was a gunslinger and a survivor. He came walking out of the wastes, like a warrior sent by God. No one could stop him; he killed them all. He came and went like a vengeful spirit, doing violent deeds and then vanishing back into the desert. He was a nomad, no home, no companions, only the drive to wander the wasteland. Was he searching for something? Was he simply compelled to do what he could to help the innocent? Maybe it was all a sham, maybe he was just a survivor and people attached meaning to his actions. Regardless, he had left a trail of dead bodies in his wake.


    The little village disappeared into the distance, now he beheld a massive highway, one that stretched to both horizons. Endless lines of cars sat in every single lane. They had been trying to get away, streaming away from the population centers, traveling in all directions, fleeing in a blind panic. Word of the doom that was coming did its own damage before the cataclysm itself.


    The structures and access roads that flanked the freeway were badly weathered. Many buildings had been reduced to ruins. Vegetation was sparse, so that the color green seemed rare and hallowed. He saw no people, no movement or sound. The buildings and most of the cars had been looted. At some point in the past they had been convenience stores and restaurants, now they were empty collapsing shells.


    Civilization had fallen, and for many, that meant basic humanity was no longer a concern. Some were like rabid animals, lashing out in acts of needless ultraviolence. Others were like carrion eaters, desperate and vicious.


    Compelled by something that he could not identify, he walked along the highway, scanning the cars for threats and anything salvageable. He marched west, seeing barren hills, a single tree, nothing of value.


    He camped near the side of the road, staying up far into the night, waiting and listening for the sound of engines. A starless sky sat overhead, still too much shit in the air, the distant suns were too weak to get through it. This was true darkness, just like those days when his old life had been stolen from him.


    That night he dreamt of spacecraft locked in combat, a charismatic man commanded them. More memories, it had to have been something that he had watched with his kids.


    He pushed on. On past lifeless rubble and crumbling reminders of a long dead way of life. The lines of rusted out hulks slowly turned into a trickle of roadside wrecks and abandoned vehicles.


    A crossroad, an inhabited town, this one protected by high walls. People congregated in a bazaar. Uniformed troops stood guard. It had been the first time in many years that he had seen a uniform. These weren¡¯t worn or patched together, they had been produced recently. Patches and pins adorned the combat fatigues and gear, they depicted the roaring face of a vicious beast. This was a symbol of the old government. What had once been mocked and hated for being a sign of rules and taxes had become a symbol of order.


    A crier stepped up onto a platform. He spoke of a horde of madmen, each of them wearing some kind of gasmask. They were ravaging small settlements, the town¡¯s leader was asking for volunteers to supplement his troops on a campaign to eradicate the menace.


    They piled into the back of a truck and settled in for the ride.


    ¡°Why the masks?¡± a wide-eyed young man asked.


    A guy with a long beard and taped together glasses answered him, ¡°They soak the filters in some kind of hallucinogenic drug, they believe that it shows them visions of how things really are.¡±


    ¡°Another cult,¡± an older soldier said with distaste.


    The NCO that the volunteers had been placed under looked around the group, ¡°They are the last gasp of the chaotic and lawless old days. We are taking the world back. Radio transmissions from far away, even from over the seas, speak of civilization¡¯s return.¡±


    John kept silent, considering the sergeant¡¯s words. Was it the truth, or the propaganda of the town¡¯s leadership?The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Heavy gunfire ahead, multiple MGs and the occasional rifle. The truck stopped in front of a rise and they were instructed to dismount. The ad hoc combat unit formed up into a line and started up, reaching the crest quickly.


    Madmen brandishing all manner of melee weapons were blindly charging into automatic weapon fire. They let out gleeful war cries, consumed by a blood lust, immune to fear and even self-preservation. They all wore masks, their original functions varied, no two were alike. Other than that, they were outfitted the same as any other raider, jerry rigged gear and scrap metal body armor that had a layer of menacing war paint sloppily applied.


    ¡°They don¡¯t give a fuck!¡± a soldier exclaimed.


    ¡°We have them on the flank! Open fire, open fire!¡± the NCO shouted.


    John took the weapon off his back, pointed it in the general direction of the faceless horde, and fired. The fragmentation grenade landed amongst them, shrapnel tearing through flesh and severing limbs. Over a dozen enemies dropped to the ground.


    ¡°Woah! How many more of those to you have?¡± the young man asked.¡±


    ¡°None,¡± John replied, putting the sling back over his shoulder and drawing his sidearm.


    A good chunk of the horde switched targets, pivoting toward John and his group. They closed in with frightening speed. The volunteers¡¯ gunfire became panicked, many rounds missed their mark. John aimed carefully, working his way around the cylinder of his revolver calmly.


    A few volunteers broke ranks, fleeing in the face of the horde. John expected the NCO to turn around and shoot them in the back, but he stayed focused on what was in front of him.


    The enemy reached striking distance, the volunteers pulled their own close range weapons. Shotguns were discharged, knifes slashed, improvised clubs swung. John drew his jack knife, plunged the blade into the heart of a freak with a machete. Then he slashed open the throat of a psycho with a respirator that had been painted to look like a clown¡¯s makeup.


    A woman in rags, her face covered by what had once been an army gasmask, he recognized the design from his time in the service, during that short but sweet little war. Maybe it was some natural reluctance to kill a woman, maybe it was the sight of what had once been a part of his uniform; he couldn¡¯t tell, but whatever the reason, he hesitated. Her long knife flashed as she closed the distance.


    A blast of birdshot from a volunteer caused her to stumble. John was able to grab the arm that held the knife, while she did the same to him. They circled around, trying to get some kind of advantage. John put all of his strength into his dominate hand, managed to dig the tip into her flesh. She ignored the gruesome wound, kneed John hard in the stomach.


    He lost his footing, the two tumbled to the ground, twisting and turning as they fought. In the midst of the struggle the raider¡¯s mask was torn free, revealing a mouth which was twisted into a ghoulish grin and a pair of eyes that had a distorted soul behind them. The punch to her jaw was purely instinctual. It stunned her, gave him the time he needed to deliver the killing blow.


    John jumped back up, grabbed a dead raider¡¯s mace, which was made from a pipe with sharp pieces of metal wielded to it. The spiked club connected with the faces of several marauders. The fight became a blur of blood and savage blows. The next thing that he knew he found himself standing there surrounded by dead foes, panting, red dripping from the end of the mace. He dropped the weapon, reloaded his gun as he scanned the rest of the battlefield. The horde had been wiped out, a pile of corpses sat in front of the friendly machinegun nests.


    The battle was over, the threat neutralized. John wondered off as his comrades scavenged the battlefield. A storm rolled in, in the past the rain had been an annoyance, now it was a welcome thing, meant that more plants would grow. A cave offered refuge from the freezing wind and downpour. Pots, pans, cups, bowls, he sat anything that held water near the mouth of the cavern.


    John dug around in his pack, found his new battle trophy. He examined the mask, wondering why he had even taken it. The thing had once been used for some sort of industrial work; lenses protected the eyes, the canisters on the sides filtered out noxious chemicals. Years of wear and damage from hard use had been patched and jerry-rigged. Modifications of a purely aesthetic nature had been made, each designed to frighten.


    John turned the mask around, examining the inside. To think that this had been warn by a person that he had killed. This had been his face, his world. Curious. John unconsciously moved the mask closer and closer to his face.


    An accidental whiff of whatever chemicals were in the filters. He was no longer in the cave. He was rushing through darkness. The only thing in front of him was a dark-haired woman, clad in silk and gold, her back to him. Just as he reached her, she turned to look at him. A plain white mask covered her face, yet he could still feel her eyes on him.


    His awareness jumped back into his body; it was like bolting awake from a nightmare. John used a rock to smash the mask apart, burying the pieces. He was able to fill several canteens and bottles with the rainwater. The survivor left the cave as soon as the sun came up.


    Smoke in the distance, the walk was long and lonely. The source of the black column turned out to be a forge. The people of the little settlement were friendly, more interested in commerce than combat. He entered the shop that sat adjacent to it.


    The place was organized chaos. Salvage of all shapes and sizes was stacked from floor to ceiling. A cruiser style motorcycle sat in the middle of the room, a tarp half covering it.


    John put his guns on the counter, ¡°Got any ammo for these?¡±


    The trader looked at the weapons lovingly, ¡°The Mark IV Obliterator. A break-action grenade launcher that supports a variety of specialized rounds. Options include: HE, high velocity fragmentation, weapons grade acid, napalm projecting cluster, armor piercing slugs made out of neo-titanium, extreme-density poison gas, and canister rounds for up close work. Very rare. I have a few rounds for it


    ¡°The revolver is a Stallion, model 6, if I¡¯m not mistaken. Originally designed to kill raging Hakia addicts, as the drug keeps them moving long after a normal person would have stopped. I can sell you a few hollow points and an extra speed loader, if you are interested.¡±


    John glanced behind him, ¡°How much for the motorcycle?¡±


    ¡°I will give you a discount. Throw in the Obliterator grenades and Stallion rounds too. How will you be paying.¡±


    John dumped the contents of a cloth sack onto the table. The trader looked at the pile of gold and silver coins enthusiastically, ¡°I think that will be enough.¡±


    ¡°More than enough. Give me a few cans of food as well.¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course,¡± he held up a finger, ¡°And if you find yourself in Lakeside Valley be sure to mention me to the guy that owns the gas well. He will give you a discount.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do that.¡±


    John left the settlement, his pockets full of ammo, his pack stuffed with food, and a powerful engine under him. The nomad cruised along the pitted and mangled remains of highways. His eyes scanned for traps and ambushes as he searched for the next opportunity, the next battle.


    The flaming remains of a raider camp, dead bodies everywhere. Troops surrounded it, moving with a victor¡¯s confidence. An emblem was emblazoned on their uniforms and vehicles, a flaming sword.


    That symbol. He knew that symbol. That bright-eyed young fool had used it, said that it would be a sign of hope, that it would fly over the wastes as he rebuilt the world. John had helped the idealist¡¯s people and moved on as always, assuming that it would all go to shit.


    Did this mean that he had been successful? Was the soldier right after all, was the world recovering?


    John Logan had helped build civilizations, and yet he kept going.

 Ch 8: Revelations

    B-grade horror themed Alternative Metal


    ¡°A demon is your friend?¡± Amber asked, moving away from the monster, her weapon still at the ready.


    For a few seconds the mad joy in Mal Gehen¡¯s eyes faded and was replaced by compassion, ¡°Jyssayilor wasn¡¯t involved in any torcher. In a way, she is just as much a victim of her evil masters. Her only task was trading thrills for a bit of energy.¡±


    The demoness giggled, ¡°And you know all about that, don¡¯t you, Mal?¡±


    ¡°My friend is trying to embarrass me in front of my guest. She was only summoned to aid in arcane rituals.¡±


    The demoness moved her hands down her hips seductively, ¡°And I have to give it to you and the other mages, you do know how to throw one hell of a party!¡±


    Amber put her gun away, yet still kept her distance.


    Mal Adopted a reassuring tone, ¡°You are safe here. Please, remove your mask.¡±


    Amber looked around one more time, before reaching behind her head and loosening the straps. The rubber peeled off of her face, like a second set of skin was being removed.


    The succubus licked her lips, ¡°That mane of auburn hair, the light speckling of freckles on the cheeks, that cute little nose, those stunning blue eyes, she is the perfect vision of the All-American girl next door. I want to violate every part of her!¡±


    ¡°Jyssayilor, please don¡¯t make my new apprentice uncomfortable. What is America?¡±


    ¡°It is a wicked place, very sinful and violent,¡± ¡°Jyssayilor said, a big smile on her face. Amber didn¡¯t object to the demon¡¯s assessment of her homeland. She simply added that she loved the place and wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. Then she asked what the wizard meant by his apprentice.


    ¡°You need to learn how to command the arcane. This I will show you.¡±


    ¡°You will show me how to do magick?¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Yes, although I don¡¯t understand why you don¡¯t already know how.¡±


    Jyssayilor¡¯s expression changed from lust to annoyance, ¡°I told you, that universe isn¡¯t anything special. It actually kind of sucks. Trust me, I¡¯ve spent a lot of time there.¡±


    ¡°The Midlothian is real, I have been there, I have felt it. I found it, the place that he told me about! The place where he came from!¡±


    Midlothian: Amber thought that the word sounded familiar, but she didn¡¯t understand its meaning.


    The she-devil crossed her arms, ¡°And why do you think that he was sent to Arkovlak? He was rewarded with a trip to a better place.¡±


    ¡°Just ask Amber! She will tell you about the glory of her home.¡±


    Before Amber could say anything, the succubus spoke, her voice was irate. ¡°She don¡¯t know anything about what you are saying. Hell, she probably don¡¯t even know that her realm, or dimension or whatever you want to call it, she probably don¡¯t even know it aint the only one.¡± He looked even more puzzled. Then the demon tried again, this time completely changing how she spoke. ¡°Thee arth so ignorant of other plains, and wrapped in thyn own pursuits, that yee cannot comprehend this woman. In her plain they know not of ye deeds and ways.¡±


    This time he seemed to get it, the cloaked figure stepped forward and said that he would set things straight. ¡°There are countless plains of existence. Each one different from all of the others. We often refer to them as realms.¡±


    ¡°I know about the multiverse, I have seen in it in movies and video games, but it is only a theory,¡± she stated, still confused and kind of doubting that any of it was actually happening. But this at least assigned some kind of logic to the situation. It was twisted, fantasy world logic, but at least it was something. It was like the engine of a car, she certainly didn¡¯t understand exactly how it worked, but she understood the basic concept.


    ¡°It is no theory,¡± he spread his arms out, ¡°You can look upon it here and now. That is the chaotic sky of a lower plain. I have harnessed its energy for my own purposes,¡± he pointed at the tower and men made of rock, ¡°And from another low and dead realm I found the stone from which I made those golems.¡±


    ¡°Okay, as crazy as all of this is, I am willing to accept it. After all, it is a big universe and there is probably lots of weird stuff in it. But why do you think that my dimension is so important?¡±


    There was a crash somewhere in the woods. Amber jumped, pulling her pistol. The wizard assured her that it was just some of the aforementioned golems gathering wood for the tower. After she had holstered her sidearm, Jyssayilor suggested that they return to the house. On the way back the golem that had knocked down the tree shuffled past, carrying the log under his arm. A bolt struck the rocky brute, causing her to jump again. The creature just kept lumbering along.


    ¡°Is it safe to be out here?¡± Amber asked, peering worriedly at the sky.


    ¡°The bolts won¡¯t hit us. The golems are enchanted so that they are replenished.¡±


    ¡°Automatic recharge,¡± Jyssayilor clarified.


    They settled down in the living room, the demon and the sorcerer sitting on the orange couch and Amber picking a chair that gave her a clean shot at making it out the front door. She looked into the wizard¡¯s maniacal eyes, ¡°Okay, explain it all to me, slowly.¡±

 Ch 9: The Journey

    Folk Metal


    The watcher followed Kyrie as she flew to the south. The bridge to Korhak had been heavily fortified. Like almost every other structure on that planet, these walls and towers had been destroyed and rebuilt countless times over. The guards let her pass without incident. The beast and rider passed between the stone spokes, becoming enveloped by yellow light.


    The Thylacon stopped flapping its wings, riding the pulse of light as it left the atmosphere and shot them through the space that separated the two worlds. Off to her right the sun shone naked and bright, contrasted perfectly with the solid wall of inky black nothing on her left which marked the edge of the universe. Karrie looked over her shoulder, Luknanuk got further away, the grid of teetered moons became visible. Korhak rapidly got closer, the tiny blue dot expanding until it was the only thing that she could see.


    A sharp dark metal disk ran around the equator, struts led from this to the poles, where spikes pointed down at the ground. The surface was blue with hints of black and purple, along with the white of scattered clouds.


    The pulse skirted the atmosphere as it circled toward the other side of the bridge. Beast and rider reached the new planet. The Thylacon started flapping its wings again, as Kyrie plotted a course for her target¡¯s last known location. Below her, miles of blue rock dotted with little hamlets and towers sped by.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    As the sun sank, she maneuvered her mount to the ground, deciding to let it rest for the night. Experience and training helped her find a good campsite, one that was close to running water. She laid out her bedroll and set her little shelter up over it.


    A wave of relief washed over her as she removed her oppressive helmet, started stripping off the heavy metal and hard leather. Now she felt free, liberated. It wasn¡¯t right that she had to wear such garments. It wasn¡¯t right that a lot of things were the way that they were.


    Kyrie grabbed her poleaxe and got to work gathering firewood. She had a cloak in her pack, but she didn¡¯t bother putting it on. She could ignore the planets chilly air. The area was mostly free of lose branches. But that was okay, she had her axe. After several minutes she had built up a nice sweat and a decent pile of wood.


    She went to the water. Ignoring the chill, she settled down. Creatures which were like chubby little balls of fur hunted in the tall grass and ferns. The glowing eyes of predators glared at her, but none would dare strike.


    How long till she could be with her people again? The hunt was lonely; the biggest danger was often a wandering mind. Her sacrifice spared others, that was what made it worth it. Clean and relaxed, she settled down into her sleeping bag.


    Mal Gehen had been on the wrong side during the war. He and so many others had surrendered after Gaulr?th¡¯s defeat.


    Now that all of the worlds had been secured, they could start purging threats. Maybe that was why he finally decided to run, he was afraid that they would come for him. But this was unlikely, he had still been useful, helped research the arcane. And just as importantly, he had stayed in line, kept his mouth shut.


    Karrie drifted off to sleep. Her dreams filled with visions of a strange people that wielded bizarre weapons. She awoke well before the sun had rose. After feeding her mount she downed some rations and put her armor back on. It was time to get back in the sky.

 Ch 10: Silver Eyes See into the Beyond

    Space Rock


    Justinian fought to suppress the wave of discomfort that he felt as he entered the temple.


    His image was reflected on the shiny obsidian surfaces. Gold trimming accented the obelisks and mounts that held bizarre statues.


    The scrys had provided critical intel during the war. His own victory at Araki was due in no small part to their warning that the space fortress was going to be attacked.


    What they did was useful, but strange, unknowable. If a recon team or a scout ship reported on the enemy¡¯s movements, he could be confident that eyes or scanner systems had seen things. But this was pure hoodoo, it had no place in the real world.


    He reached the inner sanctum. The place was kept dark. Tanks lined the walls, the occupants floating in liquid, breathing apparatuses stuck to their faces. Their eyes were shut, but the lids moved as if the scrys were deep in dreams. Weird drugs were pumped into the pods, so that the person inside was submerged in them. Wires ran out of their heads to the tank¡¯s subsystems. From there, the data was fed to a central computer.


    Green text on a black background, queer symbols and incomprehensible gibberish scrolled past on a big screen. Circuits hummed and relays clicked as the gigantic mainframe processed the visions of the scrys. The screen was surrounded by instruments, panels, and machines, the functions of which Justinian had no clue.


    The high priestess wore a black and white gown. The fans of a silver headdress stuck out on the sides of her head. She was pretty, but the chrome sheen of her mechanical eyes was all that he saw.


    How can I still see a soul behind those damnable eyes?This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Her words felt like they could have been a response to this thought, ¡°Admiral, you must learn to trust in our sight. It should be easy for you, after all, you have seen visions.¡±


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t,¡± he lied, making a mental note to figure out who he had told that too.


    ¡°You must go to the black star, enter the spectrum rift.¡±


    The black star, the spectrum rift, pure madness. The star was home to a species of crazed barbarians, avoided by all civilized peoples. And no one had ever entered the rift and returned to report what was on the other side.


    ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    ¡°It is your fate, your destiny.¡±


    ¡°Those words mean little to me, at least when they come from you.¡±


    The priestess ignored his remark, ¡°We have a new enemy.¡±


    His mind started going over the possibilities. Star empires, sinister corporations, and fanatical organizations walked across his consciousness, each stopping to present themselves, showing off their weaknesses and capabilities.


    Again, she spoke as if she could read his thoughts, ¡°They are like nothing that you have ever faced. Their leader has aims that go beyond even those of our imperial majesty.¡±


    ¡°Who is this new enemy?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know, we only see shadows on the cave wall; glimpses of flesh that is strange to us, and occulted power.¡±


    ¡°Where will the rift take me?¡±


    ¡°The same place that it takes all who enter it, where they need to go.¡±


    Justinian looked around, seeing that all of the dreamers had awakened. Many sets of silvery machine eyes stared at him, unblinking. He left the building, wondering away from it in a daze. He had survived the war, only to commit suicide carrying out a fool¡¯s errand. How had it come to this?


    The sky was still bright. The finely carved stone buildings towered high above him. Imperial banners and seals adorned practically every flat surface.


    Was this a trick? What better way to get rid of him than to send him on a mission like this? Was it a plot by a rival house? Could the emperor be upset with him over his affair with the princess?


    He found himself at the knights¡¯ way. Statues, each representing an era of the empire, were standing in a long row. They went from the time when the home world was at last united under one flag, on through the days of the first interstellar conquests, up to the warriors of the present day.


    He grabbed the communicator off of his belt, ¡°Is Suspiria available?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. It is in port while the crew are on leave.¡±


    ¡°Recall them, prepare the ship for launch. Mission: classified,¡± he hesitated slightly before the next sentence, ¡°I will be accompanying them.¡±

 Ch 11: The Streets of Neo-Rosenasi

    Synthwave


    Syn stepped out of the portal of swirling, multicolored energy, like breaking the surface of a churning oil slick. Armed guards automatically moved in to disarm and inspect her. After a brief ID check, it was the decontamination crew¡¯s turn to make sure that there was no threat present.


    The After Action Report was dull and pointless. She rushed through the paperwork, eager to get away. The cyborg practically ran to the hot lab¡¯s parking lot. Her motorcycle was a strange hybrid between a cruiser and a racer. The driver sat low to the ground inside of a half-enclosed cockpit.


    The glow of the city dominated the entire western skyline. Even at full speed it was a long ride back and an even longer trip through the winding highways that would take her to the sector that she lived in. After a long, lonely hour the skyline and its landmarks became visible. A series of columns with platforms jutting out to the sides, with towers and antennas lining them. The black, glossy pyramid that housed one of the larger corporations. The city was massive, it was impossible to fully memorize its layout or even comprehend its dimensions, and it was only one of many.


    Her building housed ten thousand people, many of them clones. Interestingly, the people that did the most advocating for clones lived in much less crowded buildings. She parked in the complex¡¯s colossal parking garage, the weight of her sidearm comforting her during the long walk to the elevator.


    Her room was dark, the only illumination came from the indicators on a few control panels, and from where the blinds didn¡¯t quite reach the bottom of the window. A thin line of multicolored light came in through this gap. It sat there on the wall, constantly changing color, fragments of images and patterns were visible in it.


    She was wired, her mind restless, squirming. She popped a pill, a little something to help her relax, and then she told the computer to play some soothing music. She slipped out of her boots and peeled off her jumpsuit. After a mission like that, a long hot shower was in order. Unfortunately, it gave her time to think.


    Her world was so ugly, and what was beautiful was fake, artificial. Maybe that was why she had agreed to work on the project. She had always been an explorer and a voyeur at heart. She wanted to go out there and find something different, something that was real. Maybe she was just sick of her own universe¡¯s madness, maybe she just wanted to get a taste of the insanity of the other dimensions.


    Syn turned the shower off, stepped over to the drying units and flipped them on. Heat radiated out for a few seconds before, as if on cue, the power died. She stood there in darkness for several minutes, soaking wet and starting to get cold.


    The frustrated woman wondered over to the window, using the backup hand crank to raise the blinds. It looked like the whole city had gone out again. It was surreal, seeing the buildings as vague shapes. She looked up at the sky, without the overwhelming light, the cosmos was visible. She spotted an interesting cluster of stars, from this angle it looked like someone was pouring out a glass of sparkling liquid. Then the sight of flashlight beams drew her eyes back down to the blackened streets. If it stayed dark long enough, there would be riots and looting.


    It was like the universe was telling her to stay with the project. The other stars were too far away, the planet was overcrowded and always hungry for more energy. All other generation methods had come up short. Taking power from other dimensions was the only viable option.


    The lights came back on, the music started up again. She went into the bathroom and got dry. Opening up her closet, Syn saw a variety of clothes. The streets were dangerous, best to stick with something functional. She put on a black jumpsuit, the soft inner lining felt good against her skin. Before heading out she grabbed the shoulder holster that was hanging from a peg on the wall. The big old brick semi-auto would keep people from screwing with her.


    The sky was now starless, just empty darkness, the cosmos drowned out by the light. Everywhere she looked there was a discharge of neon colors. Every empty space had some kind of advertisement. The ads ranged from gaudy to profane to something that approached sensible. The city was soaked in light and saturated by noise. And everywhere there were people. Many had referred to the multitude as an infestation. Syn wasn¡¯t that hateful, at least not yet.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    So many lonely faces as she walked the streets. So many people, packed together so tightly, and yet so many of them were lonely. How had it come to this?


    She moved up onto a higher level, which was a walkway suspended between buildings. Trash was everywhere, both piled up in heaps and scattered around; refuse of all kinds was stacked on top of things, food wrappers blew around in the breeze. A monorail moved passed her, through the windows she could see the dead, lethargic faces of its passengers.


    This section of the city was seemingly locked into a permanent state of debauchery. Cybernetic enhancements were used as fashion statements and ways to appeal to people that were looking for new thrills. Every eye was locked open in the frenzy of a drug binge.


    They sold it all here, synthetic substances, all-natural plant extracts, whatever suited your fancy. Junk to shoot, pills to pop, stuff to smoke, they sold it all here. Her kind were built to be immune to any and all intoxicants. That wasn¡¯t a problem, certain enterprising individuals had simply developed new substances to sell to the tank born. This was the place where she had gone to activate her sexuality, which had been cut out of her DNA. This is where she would go to get a womb, if she ever found a man that she wanted to have a child with.


    A sign red, ¡°Companion bot, buy one get one free,¡± a sign next to it said, ¡°Cheap! Custom made love droid. Bio-synth, real flesh upgrades.¡±


    Syn passed a store that sold V.R. sex experiences, and then one that specialized in exotic modifications to male genitals, and then one that replaced skin with other materials. She saw women that were exaggerated parodies of the female form, with oversized lips and hips and inflated breasts, asses that seemed more liquid than solid. And she saw grotesque, over muscled men with bulges that looked like they would be more painful than pleasing. There were people that had extensive robotic upgrades, and that was a turn on for some. One of them had a bright purple mohawk and several piercings, one side of his face completely metallic.


    There was this group of people, to call them a subculture would be wrong because they weren¡¯t organized. These people had become disenchanted with life; they no longer had a sense of purpose. The only thing that kept them going was some primordial drive and maybe a healthy dose of mindless pleasure seeking, something to dull the crippling feeling of pointlessness. Maybe it was some symptom of the modern age, people no longer struggled; no longer fought as they once did, no longer had to worry about old age and sickness. It was a problem that society had been grappling with for some time.


    A charming little caf¨¦/automat offered refuge from the seething mass of people and the endless ads. Syn ordered an iced coffee and settled into a booth. The data from the trans-dimensional scanners moved into her awareness as the computer that was grafted to her brain checked the data.


    The world wasn¡¯t getting any bigger and people weren¡¯t dying like they used to. The space program was going well, but it could only get them so far. Other solar systems were too far away to be colonized. At least with the propulsion systems that were currently available. They would eventually have to deal with the problem of interstellar travel, and that was a hurdle that they might never be able to jump. That was why the program was so important.


    There were places that had an abundance of energy. Those areas also seem to always have hostile native populations with advanced tech. Every time they explored a new dimension, they rolled the dice, because they had no clue what was there and how much pain it could cause them.


    What they needed to do was find a place that had power and lacked people. There were places that lacked life. But they were always dead and barren. There were so many other universes, thousands of them had been detected, one of them had to be the sweet spot that their civilization so desperately needed.


    Buried deep in the data she spotted it. A strange signature, one which was always out of place. It had appeared in multiple dimensions. The reading would appear and vanish, it never appeared in the same place twice.


    Was this an extradimensional traveler?


    The company isn¡¯t going to be happy to hear that they don¡¯t have a monopoly on extradimensional travel, she thought with delight. If this being moved around the multiverse than it might know more than ASTC did. They could know the location of some untapped energy source, or at least tell them how to find one.


    It was a long shot. Even as she began to dismiss the idea, news reports about the murders that had been committed during the evening¡¯s blackout played on the caf¨¦¡¯s television screens. Things were starting to get desperate, what choice did they have?


    Fuck it.


    She stood up, heading out the door. She would go over the data some more during the ride back to the hot lab, have a starting destination picked by the time she arrived.