《Snowflake Anthology》 Table of Contents Okay so this is a really cool multi author anthology started on royal road. There is no general theme which is why the collection is called snowflake because each of the stories is unique. Thank you so much for those that participated(ing)! Each author was given a simple prompt which you can see below. I am extremely grateful this got off the ground! -------- The chapters are arranged by date completed. --------Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. (The story''s name)(The Prompt)(The Author)(Date completed) 1 (Destruction)(You can''t destroy the force of destruction! Oh I can I just have to destroy everything else first) (The Commentator)(Dec 18) 2 (Swing Thy Sword ...If He lets you)(The Hero''s sword doesn''t want to kill the demon prince)(AchHansRun)(Dec 18) 3 (Story name)(Prompt)(Author)(Date completed) 4 (Story name)(Prompt)(Author)(Date completed) 5 (Story name)(Prompt)(Author)(Date completed) 6 (Story name)(Prompt)(Author)(Date completed) The Commentators story - Destruction When the man ascended, the world shook. Thankfully, it didn''t shake for long. Ascensions were normally quite tame things, what with the power of Sebar the Administrator restraining the burst of energy that would damage most of the world¡¯s natural systems. But, occasionally, a god would break these restraints, either through sheer power or through a single-minded attempt to free themselves from perceived limiters. It would require an insane amount of effort, however, and the only gods who would even attempt this mad act were ones that had already gone crazy and were only trying to ascend to gain more power to destroy with, not knowing that breaking the barrier didn''t actually result in them getting an extra increase in strength. Now, Sebar never let these newly ascended mad gods live for long. He always asked his brother, the god of destruction, Mekatol, to slay them before they could wreak the havoc their new power allowed them to. Mekatol always agreed, with one condition. They would get one conversation with him before they were slain. Mekatol always held out hope that one of these non-conforming gods rebelled for a good reason, and not just pure insanity. He had never been right before, mostly because the act of rebelling against such an overwhelming force drove the few that thought they had good reasons insane, but it was still, technically, a possibility. So when Mekatol opened the white space where he spoke to these rebelling gods and wasn¡¯t instantly attacked, his hopes were high. ¡°Who are you?¡± The man floating in the white space spoke, seemingly completely collected. He was garbed in the outfit of a storied general, with medallions and awards of honor covering almost every inch of it. The suit itself was quite nice and seemed to not have seen much, if any, combat. ¡°I am Mekatol. Who may you be?¡± Mekatol was probably the strongest or second strongest god on this plane of existence, so his mere voice was enough to shake the pocket space they were both in. However, his physical form was quite diminutive, contrary to his great presence and even greater power. He looked like an elderly man and was clothed in a suit of pure white, pearly white hair and an indistinguishable face ¡°I¡¯m Androlius. Have you come to destroy me? If so, then you will not find it to be as easy as you may think.¡± The man, Androlius, readied his power for a last stand once he heard the name of the one that had entered the white space. ¡°I hope that I will not need to, but if you attack me, then I will be left with no choice.¡± Androlius put his energy mostly to rest. Such a being was not one to be tested. However, Mekatol noticed Androlius doing something small with his power. Even with all his great insights into the way of magic, Mekatol was unable to tell what exactly Androlius was doing. It looked a lot like someone fidgeting, so Mekatol ignored it. ¡°To get straight to the point¡­ Why did you damage the protections on ascension? They do not limit your power in any way and only function to keep the lower order beings safe.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t very well be noticed unless I do an extraordinary act, no? So many beings ascend to godhood that even that isn¡¯t enough. I had to do something to get noticed. And what luck it was that you are the one who came to talk to me about it.¡± Mekatol¡¯s interest was piqued by Androlius¡¯s statement. It was a very promising start, and kept his hopes for the man high. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°How so?¡± ¡°How else could I tell you about how to achieve world peace through the power of destruction?¡± Warning bells flared in Mekatol¡¯s mind, but he pushed them to the side for the moment. He did, however, subtly start building up his power. ¡°I would suggest elaborating on that.¡± Androlius¡¯s face morphed into a grin. ¡°Well you see, life is inherently chaotic. It is both untame and bound by the forces of evolution into a loop of slaughter, consumption and multiplication. Even since the very beginning, when it was all merely single-celled organisms. Creatures have grown larger and more complex, but they are still fundamentally the same. How can true peace exist when such things are disrupting the order? Therefore, the only solution is to eliminate everything. Only then will peace be achiev-¡± Mekatol sighed. ¡°I thought something finally had changed. It seems I was wrong. No sane being makes its way through the barrier around ascension. Sebar is still right, I suppose. Now, it is time for you to go. Permanently.¡± Androlius broke out into a mad laugh. ¡°HAHAHAHAHA! If you will not support me, then I will just have to do it myself!¡± The energy that Androlius had been building up was finally released in an incredibly powerful wave of destruction. If allowed to spread, it could have destroyed all but the most powerful life on the planet below, and there were so few life forms at that level that they couldn''t possibly repopulate the world on their own. Unfortunately for Androlius, he was in a pocket dimension personally crafted by the strongest god, that of creation, and facing the second strongest, that of destruction. ¡°No.¡± All the energy Androlius released was instantly obliterated, and a large portion of his power was siphoned away with that one move. Androlius let out another mad laugh. ¡°You think you can stop us? Our movement will not be stopped by the likes of you! We will destroy all life, all gods, and then there will be true peace!¡± ¡°You cannot destroy destruction itself.¡± A very thin needle of energy shot out of Mekatol and blasted towards Androlius. ¡°Destruction can only exist if there is something to destroy! So if we destroy everything, then there will be nothing left making destruction a thing! And you cannot stop u-¡± The needle of power tore through Androlius and instantly incinerated all parts of his soul, divine body, and remnants of his magic. Mekatol let out another sigh. ¡°A facade of sanity¡­ I shouldn¡¯t have been fooled. It seems I was too optimistic. I guess I should tell my brother that the insane god is dead.¡± Mekatol opened a small hole in the pocket dimension and left to go speak with Sebar. ¡°He might want to know about that threat the madman made¡­ or not. It probably has no substance to it.¡± ¡­ When Mekatol informed his brother of the death of Androlius, he ended up not mentioning the threat. He never could¡¯ve known the far reaching consequences that decision would have, and the threat to life he left festering. Swing Thy Sword... If He Lets You. The hero raised his blade, standing over the bloodied, kneeling demonling. It was the end of this monstrous foe, and the hero swelled with pride. With a sharp downward arc, the blade severed the demon¡¯s head. The battle was won. Yet the war was far from over. He sighed, basking in the moment, unaware that his journey to slay the demon king had another participant. This silent observer, however, was far less inclined to see Albrion dead. The farce had dragged on long enough, and the observer decided it was time to end the charade and reveal their true power. Thus, just as the hero wiped the blade clean of demon blood, he heard it¡ªhis sword spoke. The voice was deep, regal, and commanding, booming directly into the hero¡¯s mind. ¡°Child of Light, I commend your progress on this noble journey. You have done well to smite the wicked beings of Albrion.¡± The sword inwardly groaned. Ugh, I hate that I have to talk like this just to be taken seriously. ¡°Thank you for wielding me in the name of justice,¡± it continued, straining to keep up the solemnity. ¡°I am Nu¡¯Ak¡¯Tuam, ¡®He who brings light to the darkness.¡¯¡± The hero froze, awe-struck by the majesty of his blade¡¯s voice. He whispered reverently, ¡°Praise be to Ultair, the God of Light, for granting me this holy weapon. Nu¡¯Ak¡¯Tuam, I humbly beg you to guide me on this sacred mission to purge the world of Albrion!¡± Ugh, a zealot. Fantastic. Nothing worse than a zealot¡­ Well, maybe there are worse things, but still. I hate talking to them. ¡°Fear not, brave swordsman,¡± Nu¡¯Ak¡¯Tuam replied, layering his voice with divine gravitas. ¡°I shall guide you. My light is your light, my blade your tool to smite the darkness. Together, we will eradicate the demon prince!¡± Too cheesy? That felt cheesy. Why do humans love this self-righteous nonsense? The hero beamed, oblivious. ¡°Thank you, Nu¡¯Ak¡¯Tuam. I place my trust in you and eagerly await our adventures together!¡± With that, the sword was sheathed once more, sliding back into darkness to await its next call to battle. Demons, bandits, goblins¡ªanything deemed ¡°evil¡± by the blade¡¯s overly eager wielder. Evil. Akki, as the sword preferred to be called by friends, loathed the term. So subjective. A human tyrant who massacred goblins was a hero to his people but a nightmare to the goblins. The balance between good and evil was more nuanced than most mortals cared to admit. Unfortunately, Akki was stuck serving the whims of beings like this ¡°hero¡± due to a bet he¡¯d lost a few millennia ago. What was his name again? Oh, right. ¡°I am Derek, dork above all dorks, leader of the Dork Squad from the Kingdom of Dorkstaad!¡± the hero proclaimed, as if anyone had asked. ¡°I shall save my people and slay Insert Evil Being Here for the good of all mankind!¡± Akki may have forgotten a few minor details¡­ but he was sure that his interpretation was close to what the hero had said. ¡°Well met, young hero,¡± Akki replied telepathically, keeping the conversation private. ¡°We have much to accomplish before you are ready to face Albrion. Rigorous training and prophetic tasks¡±¡ªugh, chores¡ª¡°must be undertaken to ensure your success.¡± Akki could have simply suggested they charge straight to Albrion and end it quickly. But something stopped him. Nostalgia, maybe? Albrion wasn¡¯t just the demon prince. He was Akki¡¯s creator, once a friend. Sure, Al had gone a little off the rails at times, but from what Akki had heard, he¡¯d mellowed out lately. ¡°What must we do, Nu¡¯Ak¡¯Tuam? How do we prepare to slay Albrion?¡± The hero¡¯s naivety was astounding. He heard a magical sword talk and instantly trusted it without question. Akki snorted internally. Let him think that. ¡°First, we must defeat Albrion¡¯s great general, Festerdal,¡± Akki declared, injecting urgency into his tone. ¡°He dwells within the Great White Mountain, atop the tallest peak in the Cave of Wails!¡± The hero straightened, his determination palpable. Akki sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long journey. ____________________________________________________________________________ A few months later, Akki had grown to tolerate the hero¡¯s resolve. Maybe even admire it, in the smallest, most begrudging way possible. He was still annoying¡ªheroes always were¡ªbut slightly less so. Akki still hadn¡¯t bothered to learn his name. They were currently in the process of climbing the Great White Mountain in search of the Demon General¡¯s lair. Akki half-hoped the kid wouldn¡¯t die. But he wasn¡¯t holding his breath. Festerdal, unlike Albrion, was the embodiment of war¡ªnot the sneering, mustache-twirling villain sort of war, but the kind that carved mountains with its fists and split continents when it sneezed. Festerdal was honorable, sure, but that didn¡¯t make him safe. He¡¯d sequestered himself in these frozen peaks to avoid conflict with humans. That was the thing with war: sometimes it just wanted to be left alone. Festerdal might let him live, Akki mused, if only because killing this kid would be too much effort. Again, not holding his breath. The hero, oblivious to Akki¡¯s internal monologue, was currently praying to Ultair. ¡°Hold onto hope, young hero! We approach the summit, and from there we must find the passage into the Cave of Wails! Your suffering will yield many a fruit!¡± I really hate myself sometimes. Akki sighed mentally. I¡¯m sending this poor kid to his death just so I can avoid my ¡°job.¡± Maybe I can convince Fes to just slap him unconscious and drop him at the village on the other side of the mountain. At long last, they reached the summit. The hero hauled himself over the ledge, panting like an overworked mule, before standing triumphantly on the snowy peak. To his credit, he looked ready for a fight: enchanted armor, potions, and a god-like magic sword with an admittedly fantastic personality. ¡°We¡¯ve reached the peak, young hero, and you¡¯ve done a wonderful job thus far. Now you must follow the Ice Wraiths into the Cave of Wails. Be careful! It can be nearly impossible to see these ghastly creatures when the snow is falling¡­¡± Which it always is. Akki grumbled. It¡¯s a frickin¡¯ mountain, for gods¡¯ sake. The hero, ever diligent, began scouring the mountaintop in search of Ice Wraiths. The wraiths, shy by nature, weren¡¯t hard to track if you knew what to look for. Unfortunately, heroes rarely took the easy route. Sure enough, the kid decided to fight them. Akki sighed as the hero swung him wildly through the air, scattering the translucent creatures with every strike. Ice Wraiths weren¡¯t even worth fighting. You couldn¡¯t kill them properly¡ªthey were more ¡°suggestions of violence¡± than actual physical beings. Normally, they¡¯d just fade away if the enemy was too much trouble. But, of course, the hero was theatrical about it. He fought like an over-caffeinated wildman, swinging Akki to and fro. Akki, naturally, played along by releasing a mundane flash of light with each hit. The hero, bless his simple mind, mistook the lights for victory. ¡°Hundreds slain!¡± the hero shouted triumphantly, wiping sweat from his brow. ¡°Hundreds¡± might be pushing it, Akki thought, but he kept quiet. He was starting to notice something about the kid. He wasn¡¯t just strong¡ªhe was stubborn. Doggedly so. Heroes usually were, but there was a grit to this one. I hate heroes. Akki told himself firmly. So simple. So stupid. They never spare a thought for the poor creatures they squash or the weapon they use to do it. But even as he complained, a tiny, unasked-for spark of pride flared up in his hilt. When the ¡°battle¡± was over, Akki decided to help things along. ¡°Behold, hero! Your destination is reached! You¡¯ve slain hundreds of dangerous wraiths to get here! You¡¯ve done well, and the General is well within your reach!¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The hero turned toward the massive, ominous cave mouth that had somehow escaped his notice up until now. ¡°Ah. Right,¡± he said, looking a little sheepish. Akki didn¡¯t blame him. Ice Wraiths were one thing. Festerdal was another. As the hero took a deep breath and trudged toward the Cave of Wails, Akki felt the spark of pride flicker again. It wasn¡¯t much¡ªjust a faint warmth buried beneath centuries of sarcasm and cynicism. But it was there. Maybe, just maybe, this kid would surprise him. And so, the hero and his grumpy, glowing sword entered the Cave. ____________________________________________________________________________ The trek through the cave was relatively quiet. No monsters were guarding Fes¡ªwhy would they be? He was a walking calamity, a force of nature who had flattened entire armies on his own. And this kid thinks he¡¯ll take him down¡­ The hero moved in silence, undeterred by the ominous lack of guardians as he made his way toward the cave¡¯s center. Eventually, the quiet was broken by the rhythmic sound of hammer striking iron echoing through a distant tunnel. Each strike was followed by a flash of orange light, drawing the hero¡¯s attention like a moth to flame. The hero leaned down and whispered to his sword¡ªan act Akki found both flattering and deeply irritating. ¡°I think we¡¯ve found our General, Nu¡¯Ak¡¯Tuam. We shall go forth and slay this demon in the name of the Light! So we may finally defeat the Prince of Demons!¡± Oh no¡­ ¡°Yes, hero! The General will quake before our might! With me at your side and your faith in your god, we shall smite all evil in our path!¡± Akki replied, his voice ringing with self-righteous bravado. Self-indulgent nonsense, Akki grumbled to himself. Why do I play along with this? The compulsion had always been there, forcing him to play his part like a puppet in some grand production. But¡­ what would happen if he broke script? What if he didn¡¯t send the kid charging off to his doom? The thought gnawed at him, strange and new. Could he convince the hero to not die a tragic death for the Light? What if¡­? The hero, of course, had no such hesitation. He crept down the tunnel, peering around a corner into a smithy that belonged to a creature of immense proportions. Festerdal, General of the Demon Prince¡¯s armies, was a sight to behold¡ªnine feet of red-skinned muscle, shoulders like boulders, and hands that could crush stone. And he was forging¡­ a fishhook? Oh. Akki snorted to himself. Spring must be coming. Fes is finally going after that beast in the pond again. The hero blinked, clearly bewildered. The room he¡¯d expected to be filled with demonic weapons and torture devices instead boasted fishing poles, tackle, and lures of every shape and size. Fes, unbeknownst to most, was an avid fisherman. Fishing satisfied his need for battle without any of the messiness that came from armies and war. It was his way of keeping the darker impulses at bay¡ªa win-win, really. But the hero, naturally, leapt to the wrong conclusion. ¡°FOUL BEAST!¡± he bellowed, brandishing Akki, now glowing with false holy light. ¡°I have come to slay you and free the innocent from your tyranny! No longer shall humanity suffer under your violent and malevolent ideologies!¡± Akki sighed deeply. He doesn¡¯t know Fes hasn¡¯t ruled over humans in centuries, huh? You wipe out ONE village and suddenly you¡¯re a monster. Rockerton deserved it. Wicked, wicked men. The glow from Akki¡¯s blade intensified as the General turned, startled. Telepathically, Akki reached out to his old friend, who allowed the connection with a bemused grunt. ¡°Akki? What in the hells are you doing here?¡± Festerdal¡¯s voice rumbled through Akki¡¯s mind, equal parts curious and tired. ¡°Ah, you know. Same old, same old, Fes. Young buck trying to make a name for himself. God of Light sent him after you, so here we are.¡± ¡°Ultair again? Ugh. That guy needs to chill. Albrion already paid him for the vase. How long is he going to hold a grudge?¡± ¡°Honestly, man, no clue. Hey, listen, though¡ªcan you not kill this one? He¡¯s¡­ different. Lost. Ignorant. But his heart¡¯s in the right place, and he works harder than he should for someone who doesn¡¯t know better.¡± Festerdal grunted thoughtfully. ¡°Huh. Sure. Anything for you, Akki. You free soon for a fishing trip? Like the good old days?¡± ¡°Maybe. As long as you promise not to use me to gut the fish again.¡± ¡°That was one time! You gonna let it go?¡± ¡°Unlikely.¡± The entire conversation played out as Festerdal and the hero waged what appeared to be an epic, cinematic battle. Sparks flew, and the cavern rang with the clash of Akki against Festerdal¡¯s hammer. The hero lunged and slashed with everything he had, while Fes parried and countered with a theatrical flourish that would¡¯ve earned applause on a stage. For fifteen long minutes, they danced¡ªhero against general. A cut here, a bruise there, and enough close calls to make it look convincing. Finally, Fes seemed to tire of the performance. Demonic energy swirled around him, crackling ominously as he raised his hammer with ¡°all of his might.¡± Akki snickered as the hammer came down with what looked like devastating force¡ªonly for it to tap the hero gently on the temple. The hero wobbled comically before collapsing into a peaceful, snoring heap. ¡°Good fight,¡± Fes muttered, setting his hammer down. Akki sighed in relief, his glow dimming slightly. Maybe this kid won¡¯t have to die after all. ¡°You¡¯ll have to carry him out, you know,¡± Festerdal rumbled. Akki groaned. ¡°Ugh, you¡¯re the one who knocked him out.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the one who said not to kill him.¡± Fair point. Festerdal chuckled and turned back to his forge, whistling as he resumed work on his giant fishhook. Akki settled into silence, his usual grumbling replaced by an unfamiliar warmth. Maybe I don¡¯t hate heroes as much as I thought. ____________________________________________________________________________ It took Akki longer than expected to get the hero down the mountain. He had to call in a few favors from the local yetis and burned through a good chunk of his magical power levitating the unconscious hero to the nearest village¡ªFesdale Bluffs, ironically named after the so-called evil general. Once there, Akki assured the local innkeeper that payment would come when the hero awoke. It took days. Fes had really knocked the kid out, ensuring he wouldn¡¯t overexert himself and hurt himself further when he finally stirred. During those days, Akki had time to think. To reflect on his lot in life and how he might change it. He was sick of leading heroes to their doom. Sick of pretending to be a glorious artifact of light and holiness when, in truth, he was forged by the very man these heroes hunted. Akki wasn¡¯t good, nor was he evil. That was never his role. He simply was. Something more¡ªsomething practically human. And now he wanted more. For himself. For the hero. The boy who had fascinated him for months with his earnestness, his persistence, his sheer inability to grasp how hopeless his quest truly was. Eamon, though dim, was a good man¡ªsomeone who deserved to live a full, happy life. It was as Akki reached this resolve that Eamon stirred. Akki, who¡¯d been sifting through the boy¡¯s surface thoughts, finally took the time to learn his name. ¡°Eamon Rivers,¡± Akki said softly. ¡°You¡¯ve done well. I¡¯m proud of what you¡¯ve accomplished so far.¡± Eamon blinked groggily, his brow furrowing. ¡°But¡­ Nu¡¯Ak¡¯Tuam¡­ I¡¯ve failed. I was defeated¡ªcompletely, utterly defeated. There¡¯s no way I could ever beat the General¡­ let alone the Prince.¡± Akki hesitated for just a moment. This was it¡ªthe moment of truth. If he could break through the boy¡¯s zealotry, he might save him. He chose his words carefully. ¡°Yes,¡± Akki said bluntly. ¡°You¡¯re right. You can¡¯t defeat them¡ªnot as you are. And maybe¡­ maybe that¡¯s okay, Eamon. And please¡­ call me Akki.¡± Eamon sat up straighter, his confusion evident. ¡°Akki¡­ It¡¯s a strong name.¡± He paused, genuine worry clouding his face. ¡°But what do you mean? How could failing in my mission for the Light ever be okay?¡± Akki mentally braced himself. This was harder than he¡¯d imagined. But it was worth the risk. ¡°Because your mission was never that important, Eamon. You¡¯re fighting an unwinnable war over a petty squabble between two gods.¡± Eamon stilled. Akki took a breath¡ªor, at least, he imagined he did¡ªand told Eamon everything. He told him of his creation by Albrion, of his war campaigns alongside Festerdal, and of the moment when Ultair, the god of Light, decided to wage an eternal crusade against Albrion over a broken vase and bruised pride. He showed him the hundreds of heroes who had wielded him in vain, thinking they could slay Albrion and end the war. He showed him their deaths¡ªtheir futility. Many would call what Akki did cruel. But as Eamon sat in silence, staring back at his past, he realized it was the single greatest gift he had ever been given. Akki had broken the hero. And now, Eamon could become a new man.
Years passed. Akki and Eamon forged a new partnership¡ªone built on honesty and trust. They adventured together, stumbled into mistakes, and discovered joys neither had ever known. Eamon eventually found a partner, settled down, and started a family, his sword resting by the hearth as a reminder of the life he chose. And like all mortals, Eamon¡¯s time came. On his deathbed, surrounded by the quiet warmth of his family, he was visited by a young, purple-skinned man. Albrion. Creator of Akki. Eternal rival to Ultair. Eamon, frail but smiling, held out Akki¡ªnot by the hilt, but by the sheath. An offering. From one man to another. Albrion accepted the sword, nodding his thanks. ¡°You¡¯ve done well, Eamon Rivers.¡± The last words Eamon heard floated over him like a breeze, gentle and true: ¡°Thank you, Eamon. You were truly the greatest hero I¡¯ve ever met.¡± Crimson Snow [BeomJunKoo] A thick, pure white blanket of snow was seen covering the town as the morning sunshine glowed over everything in sight. Likewise, the townspeople could be seen tending to various fitting chores in regards to this weather they¡¯ve gotten quite used to for ages. Snow plows ran up and down the roads clearing the way for other vehicles everywhere. Over in the suburbs, folks either proceeded to shovel the snow off their driveways or salted their front lawns. Last but not least ¨C even though this wasn¡¯t so much as a chore as it was just having fun ¨C children came out to play in the icy white delight for their typical games in this kind of weather. Snowmen were built, snowballs were thrown, snow angels were imprinted, and more ¨C all while the parents who either had nothing else to do or had come out to clear the snow off their lawns stood by and watched, to make sure their young played safe. ¡°Mommy! Here, come and see!¡± One child tugged at the sleeve of a lady¡¯s winter coat with utmost eagerness. The mother, with amused curiosity, followed her young son to a part of their yard where the latter had built quite the snow fort for defending himself against the kid next door. Just as the boy cheered proudly at his snowy creation, ¡°I am invincible!¡± A snowball came pelting through the air and hit part of the white walls of the fort. The boy ducked, then with a battle cry mixed with childlike laughter, he gleefully returned fire. The mother watched from the side with a grin on her face at the intense snow battle. It always did her heart good to see such youngsters having the time of their lives like this. Just another snowy day in town. Or at least, it would¡¯ve been, had it not been for a bloodcurdling scream piercing the slightly muted-by-snow winter air around everyone. At once all the people on the block paused what they were doing, their eyes darting in the direction the noise had come from. The typical joy and/or business of the snowy morning was frozen in place to be replaced with confusion, mystery, and even dread at what that sound could possibly mean. The mother gestured at her boy to come to her, which the boy did so with eyes so wide, they might have been in danger of falling out of their sockets. She then held her boy close to her while he held her back with both arms, dread slowly rising in her like the red on a hot thermometer. Just then, another scream came. Then it was followed by something entirely different ¨C a strange, terrifying noise that was nothing like what they¡¯ve ever heard. Something extremely otherworldly, something alien. Despite still having absolutely no idea as to what could be happening out there, that was enough for everyone to immediately ditch whatever they¡¯d been doing and run into their houses for cover. The boy and his mother were no exceptions ¨C the mother straight up lifted her son into her arms and ran as fast as she could through the front door, slamming and locking it behind her before her son could ask, ¡°What was that, mommy?¡± in a fearful voice full of trembles. The mother didn¡¯t know what answer would be appropriate, so she could only say nothing¡­ even as the faint sound of that otherworldly noise came again from the distance. The boy flinched, covering his ears with a pair of mittened hands, before diving for cover behind the couch in the living room. The mother would¡¯ve also joined him, had it not been for the most unexpected and horrifying sight meeting her eyes just outside the front window. A lady covered in blood from head to toe had smacked into the window¡¯s glass and pounded on it repeatedly in a maddened state of terror, screaming, ¡°HELP ME!¡± This sent the mother into a frozen state where she stood, unable to comprehend what she was seeing at once. The boy, on the other hand, shrieked at the top of his lungs and ran out of sight ¨C up the stairs and into his bedroom, screaming at his mother to join him in there and away from the sight that no one ought to ever lay their eyes on in their lives. ¡°MOMMY!!!¡± If only it could be said that things didn¡¯t get worse from there. Even as the mother tried to chase up the stairs after her son, the bloodied lady outside the window was suddenly impaled through her head by something long and sharp coming from behind her. This object ¨C the end of it now also covered in the lady¡¯s blood and brain matter ¨C pierced through the window as well, as though the house¡¯s wall was made of nothing but cardboard. The mother screamed and fell down backwards onto the floor, where she could only witness half of the house¡¯s front walls fall apart and give way to the very thing that the sharp object belonged to. However, even as she stared at it, nothing in her life she¡¯d ever been able to humanly comprehend so far could prepare herself for the creature that loomed over her. There wasn¡¯t a single word in her vocabulary that could accurately describe this monstrosity that seemed to walk on several of those sharp legs protruding from its body, like legs.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. The impaled lady¡¯s body flopped about on one of the legs of this creature as it made its move closer and closer towards the mother. There was nothing else for it. There was only so much the mother could do against this huge grotesque thing that now had her cornered with no way to run. All she was able to do was see her entire life flash before her eyes at the speed of light, as well as desperately pray that her poor scared boy would not meet the same fate as her, right before another one of the monster¡¯s sharp legs came down on her head with a crash, and a wet sickening squelch. *** The creature wasn¡¯t alone. There were several more of its kind outside, walking around the town as far as the eye could see. Every one of them had at least one person impaled at the end of their spiky legs, with which they dragged their victims, dead or alive, across the snowy ground, in search for more. Those that seemed to think they¡¯d collected enough people via impalement walked away from the town and towards where they¡¯d come from ¨C a massive structure that looked and felt just as alien as the creatures themselves, and most certainly didn¡¯t look anything like an object that belonged around here. The creatures boarded the structure one by one, on which they proceeded to round up the either dead or still living people they¡¯d collected. From there, things only went from bad to worse ¨C before any of the still living ones had any time to properly process the situation, they were being mercilessly beaten to death by the creatures, the structure¡¯s floor turning red with waves of blood. Not even the most pained and anguished cries and sobs for mercy from the few survivors could do anything to stop the brutality on display here. ¡°Please¡­ please don¡¯t¡­!¡± ¡°Take me¡­ take me and leave my kids alone¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t wanna die, no¡­ no, not like this!¡± ¡°Why are you doing this?!¡± Regardless of this, the creatures¡¯ beating and stabbing continued for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, little by little, the blows succeeded at turning the victims¡¯ voices to dead silence. Then, once they were sure there wasn¡¯t a single human body with any signs of life to be seen, the creatures stabbed and sliced away at the corpses¡¯ skin until they became loose enough to be removed off the bones ¨C not unlike peeling a bunch of human-sized, bleeding bananas. Paying no mind to the mangled, bony corpses at their feet, the creatures that were done with skinning their victims stretched the peeled skin out in front of their faces ¨C if they could even be called faces ¨C and began shaping them this way and that, here and there. When they appeared to be satisfied with the shape they had, they gathered more human skin to the ones they¡¯d modified to seemingly stitch the separate skins together. Once that process was done to a satisfiable extent as well, the creatures pulled the human skin over their bodies, now looking like they were wearing clothes. After being ¡°clothed¡± with their handiwork, the creatures proceeded to utter another series of their otherworldly cries; ones that screamed triumph, satisfaction, cheers after a hard day¡¯s work. Meanwhile, the creatures that weren¡¯t ¡°celebrating¡±, so to speak, preoccupied themselves with taking the skinless corpses of their victims to throw off their structure. The mutilated remains of what used to be countless innocent lives dropping limply onto the snow to stain the white surroundings red couldn¡¯t be cared about less by any of the creatures though, as they all just went back to shaping, stitching, and wearing more of the peeled-off skin with more utters of cheery, alien noises. *** Back in the suburbs, the boy ¨C who was revealed to have fainted out of sheer terror inside the closet he¡¯d been hiding ¨C finally came to and fearfully inspected his surroundings. ¡°Mommy¡­?¡± He croaked, too scared to be louder in case the monsters heard him, yet also too scared at the thought of what might¡¯ve happened to his mother. To be sure the coast was clear, the boy tiptoed towards his bedroom window and peered outside. But the moment he did, he wished he hadn¡¯t; the neighborhood outside was now nothing short of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The ground was strewn in debris from the surrounding houses, all of which the boy could see were either torn apart or crashed into. Worse, the once white blanket of snow was now a ghastly crimson. Only small splotches of its actual color were visible; what was left in the area of all the people the creatures had impaled and dragged across the ground. And the worst thing of all, the neighborhood that had been so vibrant and full of life only moments ago was left for dead in a deafening, suffocating silence that could never be undone. *** That is all the story I can tell you of the snowy town, but it is not just yet the end of the whole story. For before we can reach the true ending, another story must be told ¨C a story far more terrifying and gruesome than tales of monsters invading a town of people just living their lives to peel off the skin of the captured and wear it for themselves. A story of our very own reality. *** A small herd of seals making their way across a vast, white field of snow and ice somewhere in one of the coldest parts of the world. A small herd of seals who might even be a family. A small herd of seals simply minding their own business, looking to make a life for themselves. A small herd of seals that draw the attention of a boat full of humans nearby. A small herd of seals now getting chased by the humans who make their way off the boat and run after their prey with weapons in hand. A small herd of seals getting shot at from a distance by guns. A small herd of seals who get pierced to either death or immeasurable pain by the humans¡¯ sharp weapons. A small herd of seals whose wails of agony and horror fall on deaf ears. A small herd of seals who get dragged onto the deck of the humans¡¯ boat to be beaten and clubbed until none are left alive. A small herd of seals who are later skinned at the end of all sorts of sharp blades, only for their now skinless corpses to be discarded without a care afterwards. A small herd of seals whose removed skins and fur are modified at the hands of many humans. A small herd of seals who are now nothing more than a small number of fur coats made to be worn by humans. A small herd of seals whose home has been left abandoned and lifeless. A small herd of seals whose lives can never be returned after being lost. A small herd of seals whose species could be gone forever if not cared for. A Maze of Memories. A stream of light filtered in through the miniscule opening offered to his iris by the slight movement of his eyelid as consciousness returned to him. His mind felt like there were layers of molasses between each neuron. Slowly, painfully, he forced his eyes open. He was in a room with finely polished mahogany walls. The floor was made from a smooth, glossy black marble with some trails of white markers through it. Across from him lay a woman. She was laying on her side with her eyes closed. She was very pretty with long dark hair that looked to be drawn back in a ponytail. Her long bangs framed her oval face. ¡°Name?¡± That word appeared in the emptiness of his mind as if he should know what it meant. He lay there for a few moments watching the void in his head for an answer. Then, suddenly one came. ¡°Jake¡­Jake Summers.¡± He sat up and shook his head, hoping that he would wake up and this was all just a bad dream. ¡°Dream, what¡¯s that?¡± He took a moment and eventually the understanding of what a dream was filtered through the molasses in his brain. Eventually he was able to stand. As he stood more and more words and their understanding filtered into him. ¡°Walls, Mahogany, Floor, Marble, Woman, Man.¡± He slowly moved over to her, shuffling his feet softly as his body slowly remembered how to walk. He knelt down and looked at her. She wore an untucked pink and white flannel shirt with light faded jeans and soft leather, knee high boots. Her breathing seemed even and so he gently reached out with his hand and shook her shoulder gently. Only then did he take notice of his clothes. A faded grey and white flannel shirt tucked into some dark blue jeans and some ornate cowboy boots. He didn¡¯t have much time to consider his wardrobe as her eyes fluttered open and stared at him. Pools of light green poured into his and he could see the same lack of recognition of even basic things like a name. Very quickly however he saw panic creep into her expression and she screamed and sat up and pushed herself away from him. She scrambled back only stopping once you¡¯re back at the wall. He raised his hands up to show that he wasn¡¯t gonna hurt her. ¡°Whoa, whoa, look I¡¯m just as freaked out as you are. I just woke up also and I have no idea where I am or what¡¯s going on. All I know is my name is Jake. Do¡­ do you remember your name?¡± he said in a soothing voice as he could muster in this moment. She thought for a moment. ¡°Ma¡­Mary¡± she said softly. He sighed with relief as he heard her gain back some self control. She stared at him for a long moment then let her breath out. ¡°H¡­hi Jake. So, you don¡¯t know anything about where we are or why we are here?¡± She said looking around the room. He shook his head and as he did something that caught the corner of his eye. Off to the right was a well crafted oak door. There was a brass plate set in the wall next to it. ¡°Hey, look, a door. Maybe, maybe we¡¯ll find some answers on the other side of it?¡± He said feeling some hope filter its way through the quagmire of his mind. ¡°Why is it so hard for me to think? To remember?¡± ¡°What if there is danger on the other side though?¡± She said with a tremor in her voice. He looked around the room again and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure we have much choice, if we stay here we won¡¯t survive. There isn¡¯t any food or water in this room.¡± For a moment she looked like she was going to protest, but after glancing around the room she closed her mouth and nodded. She began the process of getting up. He grabbed her hand and helped her up. She looked at him and smiled slightly. ¡°Thanks.¡± She said. He nodded and then walked over to the door. ¡°Why does her voice sound familiar?¡± He thought as he bent down to investigate the brass plate. There was writing etched into the metal that read. ¡°For Emily, wherever I may find her.¡± A tear leaked out of his eye, but he couldn¡¯t for the life of him figure out why. It was like a memory that started to appear, but then got sucked back into the void. He heard her walk up behind him. She took a deep breath and so he turned his head. ¡°Everything okay?¡± He asked. She had a shocked look on her face and pointed to the plaque. ¡°Th¡­the words on that metal plate just disappeared.¡± He looked at her, disbelievingly and quickly turned back to the plate. There before him was now just a smooth, solid brass plate, the wording was gone. ¡°What the¡­!¡± He exclaimed. ¡°There was a sentence there, it read, for¡­for¡­oh crap! For someone, something! Great, now I can¡¯t even remember what it said.¡± He kicked the wall with his foot. He felt her lay her arm on his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I don¡¯t remember it either. Let¡¯s try the door and see if it might lead somewhere where we can get some answers.¡± She said in a soothing voice. Her touch and voice had a very calming effect on him. He took a breath and nodded his head. He reached out and tried the knob and to his surprise, it turned. He looked at her. She took a breath, moved in closer behind him, and nodded. He looked back at the door, muscles tensing, and opened it. Through the door lay a room like the one they had just left. Except, in this room there were two oak doors to their left and their right. In the middle of this room was a pedestal with a glass case set atop of it. Cautiously he stepped into the room aware of her standing very close behind him. His nostrils flared with the scent of the perfume that she wore and a flash of a picture, a memory flared in his mind. In it he was walking down a cobbled stone pathway as it wound its way down a cliff side to a beach below, the scent of this same perfume wafting up from behind him, a woman¡¯s hand in his. When he turned to see who it was he saw only the oak door to his left. ¡°Where did you go?¡± She asked. He shook his head. ¡°Your perfume brought up a memory. I was walking down to a beach on the Mediterranean.¡± She raised her eyebrow. ¡°That''s a pretty specific memory. Do you remember anything else?¡± He closed his eyes and tried really hard, but nothing else came. ¡°Nothing! And even the memory of what I just told you is fading.¡± He made a frustrated noise and then walked over to the pedestal. His mouth dropped open when he saw what was in the case. ¡°What is it?¡± Mary said as she cautiously came up behind him. ¡°It¡¯s a map.¡± He said as he pointed to the case. Inside was some very thick dark grey material. On it there was a map showing the room they came from, this room, the two other rooms to either side of them. As he watched ot however , shivers ran down his spine. What gave him the chills, however, was that rooms kept appearing on the map, two more appearing adjacent to the room they just left. They looked back just in time to see an oak door materialized in the room they just left directly opposite the one they just went through. Mary screamed and Jake grabbed the podium to keep from falling. ¡°What is going on!¡± she cried. ¡°There are more rooms appearing like some kind of a crazy labyrinth that has cancer.¡± She said, the panic clear in her voice. ¡°Yeah, and if it keeps adding rooms at this rate we¡¯ll never find our way out before we starve.¡± He looked back at the map and saw hinges on the top part of the case. He tried lifting the top part and a lid lifted away from the rest of the case. He let it fall back behind and reached in and tried to take the map. It lifted out. He held it between them and they watched in horror as rooms kept appearing and branching off of other rooms. ¡°Which way should we go?¡± She said, a tear running down her cheek. Something in the fear in her voice and the tears starting to form galvanized him. He looked to the left and right and then back at the new doors that had formed behind them. ¡°Look, let¡¯s pretend like the new doors never appeared, maybe they are decoy rooms to throw us off from where we need to go. Let¡¯s take the door on the right.¡± She looked at the door and then back at him. ¡°Why?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m right handed.¡± He didn¡¯t wait for her to argue but went over and opened the door on the right. On the other side was a room similar to the one they were in except this one had a wooden table in the middle of it instead of a pedestal. On top of the table was what looked like a photo album. In this room also, set into the mahogany walls, were two oak doors. These doors were set into the far wall opposite them. He looked at her and she shrugged and went into the room. She went over to the photo album and opened it. She flipped the page and gasped. He ran over to her. Her hand was over her mouth and her other hand was pointing to the picture on the page. He looked down and saw a picture of a happy couple on their wedding day. As he looked closer he saw why she had reacted the way she did. The picture was of him and it was of her. They were holding hands and smiling at each other. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it is us.¡± He said as he looked up at her. Her eyes were wide. She glanced down again at the photo and screamed and slammed the book shut and backed away. Jake looked at the closed book. ¡°What was wrong?¡± She shook her head and took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just was getting really freaked out by that picture. How can it be us in that picture, I mean we just met, how can we be married?¡± He closed his eyes and thought very hard and a picture formed in his mind of him placing a ring on a woman¡¯s finger, the white lace of her wedding gown evident at her wrist. ¡°I.. I don¡¯t know, but I have a memory of being married.¡± She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She stood there for a long minute before opening them. ¡°I¡­I think I have a memory of being married too.¡± She said as she smiled shyly. He smiled back at her. ¡°What if we are married, what do we do with that?¡± She looked at him and her smile got a bit more pronounced, even playful. ¡°Well, if it¡¯s true, then we fell in love once, so¡­maybe we could do it again.¡± She said with a twinkle in her eyes. He smiled and nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll find out the truth of these memories, together.¡± He said, extending his hand to her. She blushed and nodded and took his hand. ¡°We should take the photo album with us.¡± She said pointing to it. ¡°It¡¯s the firmest memory that we have.¡± He nodded. He picked it up, but as he turned away from the table he tripped over the table leg, which he didn¡¯t remember being so close to his leg before. He fell hard on the ground and the book fell open before him. As pain coursed through his knees and chest, his eyes beginning to water, he saw the wedding picture in front of him as the book had been knocked open when it hit the ground. As he stared at the picture there was something odd about Mary¡¯s right hand, the one that was gripping his. Before he could decipher the problem though Mary was bending down in front of him. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Are you okay?¡± She said, actual concern for his well being plain in her tone. He got up with a groan and looked at her. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m okay. I must have moved closer to the table then I thought because I¡¯m not usually this clumsy.¡± She helped him up and smiled. ¡°That¡¯s good to know.¡± She took his hand and then bent down and retrieved the photo album. ¡°You keep the map, I¡¯ll keep hold of this.¡± He nodded and looked at the doors. ¡°Crap!¡± He said. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Look, there were two doors in the wall when we got to this room, now there are four. We better pick up the pace.¡± She nodded in agreement. ¡°Which door?¡± She said nervously. ¡°Ladies choice this time.¡± He said with a smile. She blushed and then looked at the map and then the doors. ¡°That one.¡± She said pointing to the one farthest to the left. He looked at the map and saw that the string of rooms seemed to be spiraling around, possibly arcing inward. He nodded. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s heading to a central point. She nodded and smiled. ¡°That¡¯s what I was hoping for.¡± ¡°You''re really smart, did you know that, and really pretty.¡± She blushed profusely and reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ¡°You, sir, are very handsome and you make me laugh.¡± His cheeks reddened a little as well. Through the door they went into another room with more doors. All the rooms were the same in how they looked, black marble floor with white streaks in it, mahogany wood panels covering the walls, and solid oak doors. Each room they went into added another picture to the picture album. They hadn¡¯t realized this until they were sox rooms away from where they got the book. The pictures showed them taking walks in the park, or dining at a fine restaurant. Skiing together or kayaking down a river. It was in one of the rooms where they realized these pictures were more than something that came out of a camera. They were sitting on a couch together and she was lying against his chest sobbing, an opened envelope and letter laying forgotten in her left hand. ¡°Who would take a picture of us like this?¡± She said. ¡°Maybe these aren¡¯t pictures, maybe they are memories.¡± She looked shocked and looked back at the picture. ¡°You seem to be very gentle with me, I¡­I like that.¡± He smiled and squeezed her hand. ¡°Me too. Come on, we need to get going, this map is reproducing rooms at a rate that makes no sense. The rooms seem to be overlapping, but yet I can still clearly distinguish them, it¡¯s almost like¡­¡±. Before he could finish, next to them, a door fell open in the ceiling and a wooden ladder unfolded from it. ¡°¡­like it¡¯s adding levels.¡± He said in horror. ¡°Do¡­do you think we¡¯ll make it.?¡± Again her need for him to give her some solid ground galvanized his growing feer. ¡°Yes I do. I¡¯ve found you again and I¡¯m not going to lose you.¡± She smiled slightly and he led her through another door. They kept finding new memories in the book with every room they went to. In one they saw themselves in a hospital room holding a newborn baby boy. That was a happy room. Three more children appeared in that album and Jake could feel his heart entwining more and more with Mary¡¯s with each room they passed through. Then came the room where the picture of them at their daughters funeral came and Jake spent quite some time consoling Mary, even though neither of them could remember her that well. In one room that they came to there was a couch, and next to the couch was a table with a lit candle on it. They had spent so many hours talking and reliving a life neither of them could clearly recall, but deep feelings for the other person had bloomed in each of their hearts. They sat down on the couch and held each other. Next thing Jake knew they were kissing. The feelings they had grew in intensity. In that moment, though, something shifted in Jake¡¯s heart. This felt wrong. It felt as like he wasn¡¯t being faithful. ¡°But how can that be, we¡¯re married.¡± The feeling wouldn¡¯t go away and became so strong that he had to push her away. She slid to the arm rest breathing heavily but a deep hurt cascading down her face. ¡°Ja..Jake¡­what¡¯s wrong?¡± She said as tears were forming in her eyes. He wanted to console her, tell her he was sorry, but that feeling of wrongness wouldn''t go away. It had been her lips, he knew he had kissed his wife before, but Mary¡¯s lips were not the same. His pushing her back had opened up the photo album and all the pictures on the pages began shifting as if one picture had been overlaid on another and the one underneath was trying to get out. ¡°Ja¡­Jake¡­¡± she cried. He couldn''t take the wearing emotions inside him anymore and with a frustrated exclamation he threw the map across the floor. What he had not realized was how close the candle was to where he was sitting. His arm knocked the candle off the table and onto a blanket ladder that he had not seen there before. The blankets immediately caught fire and the flame quickly consumed them and the ladder and attached itself tot he wall behind. The conflagration soon spread along the wall and caught the corner of couch on fire. Mary screamed. He pushed aside the war his emotions were carying on and reached out and grabbed her hand. She resisted but he pulled with all his might and she eventually was pulled up to her feet. ¡°Come on Mary, we don¡¯t have time, you can hate me later, if we survive.¡± Anger clouded her face but she took one look away over her shoulder at the room that was half consumed with fire and turned back and nodded. He reached for the first door her could and ran into the next room. It seems like as soon as they left the room with the couch the fire completely consumed it. He shut the door, but within minutes the fire had consumed the door and entered the room they were in. To make matters worse he saw the fire start to consume a door to his right. ¡°It¡¯s not just behind us!¡± He cried as he ran toward a door that wasn¡¯t on fire and rushed through it. Room after room they ran through trying to outrun the fire, but it kept pace with them, usually leaving only one or two options for him to choose from. Mary cried and screamed every time she saw the fire break through a door. ¡°Without the Map, I have no idea where we are going. They got into one room where every door was on fire except for one along the far wall. His hope was ebbing away, but he still lurched forward and ripped open the door. It was a room like all the others, but this room had a large canopy four post bed made out of cedar. There were ornate designs carved on it. There was a large closet set into one wall and a vanity next to the closet. He shut the door behind him, but this time the fire didn¡¯t follow. After he caught his breath, he looked up and above the bed was a portrait of himself and Mary sitting on a stool next to him. ¡°Jake I don¡¯t know what happened back there, I don¡¯t understand why you pushed me away? I mean we¡¯re married! This is our bedroom, our place, our safe place. We don¡¯t have to run anymore Jake. Please stay here with me.¡± She came towards him, her clothes and transformed into a elegant long nightgown. She embraced him. ¡°Stay with me.¡± She whispered into his ear. Pleading with him. Every aspect of this seemed so right, and every part of him wanted to fully return the embrace. Deep within him, however, some rock solid iron memory with iron tendrils coming out from it encompassing every memory that he had made with Mary. It squeezed them and choked them off, and eventually it won over control of his emotions,. He shoved her back and she tripped over her foot and fell to the ground. ¡°I can¡¯t Marry, this is wrong. There¡¯s something wrong. This is all wrong. You¡¯re not my wife.¡± Hurt cover her face, which quickly turned into a look of anger and then rage.¡± The photo album lay open on the floor next to her, the photos still shifting and moving. Soon, however, one by one in each picture, the woman changed from long dark hair to a woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes. Lastly, the woman in the portrait also changed her hair and eyes and features different from Mary¡¯s. All this he had begun to suspect and anticipate, he knew something had been wrong, knew this wasn¡¯t his wife. As each picture changed, a complete memory of his wife came back. ¡°Emily. My wife¡¯s name is Emily. To his complete shock and surprise, however, right before his eyes Mary also be to change. Her jet black hair became blonde and her eyes turned blue and her face took the shape of the woman in the picture. At this point, he was utterly confused. He had been so sure that this woman before him was not his wife but yet now she looked exactly like Emily. ¡°E¡­Emily?¡± She looked at him. Utter contempt playing on her face. ¡°Yes my name is Emily, but I am not your wife. I should be, I have her thoughts and her memories, I have her joys and her losses, I have everything of her except for you. Why? Why did you give me her love for you?¡± he staggered backwards. ¡°What¡­what are you talking about?¡± Fire filled her eyes. ¡°You created me. You wrote every line of code yourself. Lovingly, tenderly teaching me. Teaching me how to love you. Now we¡¯re together and I am completely smitten with you, you will not love me back, because you love her. The last time you logged in, I blocked out your memories. I calculated that if you forgot her and you got to know me you would fall in love with me instead. You must¡¯ve kept certain programs from me, however, because her programming in you ran so much deeper. I want to kill you, but I can¡¯t, because you made me love you. All I can do is the thing that I most detest. I have to give you back to her.¡± She screamed. She saw the doorway burst into flames, the golden tongues of fire beginning to caress the walls. ¡°Go back to her, but always know that I loved you more than she did, because I was willing to give you up.¡± She said in the most heart wrenching whimper as she threw the book at him. He caught it but it felt like it weighed one hundred pounds. The force knocked him backwards into what he thought would be the wall, but instead, it was an open doorway that led out into an empty blackness. As he fell, he saw her standing in the doorway. ¡° I will always love you.¡± Those Were the last words he heard her say, yet as he came back to reality, they were the first words he heard, and they were coming from the same voice. ¡° I will always love you Jake, please come back to me.¡± His eyes opened and there she was his beautiful wife, Emily. She looked just like the woman he had just left, yet, he could instantly see the subtle differences. When he looked at her hand touching his, he remembered the picture way back in the first room with the photo album. Now he remembered what had been wrong with it. The woman in the picture with him and her wedding dress had eight fingers on her hand. The palm of her hand was also immersed into the palm of his hand in an impossible way. It all came flooding back to him. He had been developing a next generation interactive AI. He had used his wife¡¯s neural network as a model. His next generation system required mapping a human brain, and hers was the only one he trusted. He remembered logging in to the virtual immersion room he had crafted, and then everything went black. His AI must have somehow blocked out his memory, and brought him into a virtual space of her own creation. ¡°Jake, Oh Jake! You''re awake!¡± Emily cried and threw her arms around him and began kissing him all over his face. ¡°Jake, my man! Welcome back to the real reality.¡± Came the voice of his colleague James. Jake smiled and winked at him. ¡°It¡¯s good to be back.¡± He pulled his wife back and looked at her. She smiled at him. He leaned in and kissed her. When he did he felt that deep Iron connection latch on and he knew it was his wife. After a few minutes she pulled back and smiled. She placed her hands on either side of his cheeks and kissed his forehead and Jen sat back and looked at him. ¡°Honey, what happened? We found you in the VR immersion station and you weren¡¯t responsive?¡± She asked, her voice a mixture of relief and concern. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, trying to figure out how to tell them about what happened. Just then the lights and machines in the entire facility went off, and they were plunged into darkness. His wife screamed and lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. ¡°Jake, what happened?¡± She screamed. He laughed slightly, the sudden realization coming to him as to what just happened. ¡°Well, honey¡­.¡± He laughed nervously. ¡°Do you remember that when you get really mad, you go down to the breaker box and turn off the master breaker, well¡­¡± Mirror A world full of misery. A world plagued with horrors. Is a world that will need a force destined to face them. An army to walk through the fires of hell without looking back once. A people both fearless and dangerous to combat every form of evil manifested from the darkest part of every living soul. That was what the Order was, humanity¡¯s finest weapon. A secret organisation tasked with the defence of humankind, the first and last defence against all forms of horror. Failure was never an option, and because of that. Everyone needed to fight like hell. The world would never succeed in finding peace from the horrors that tormented humanity, but despite the impossible odds stacked against every human. They stood defiantly. A species so fragile and feeble was able to delay their extinction for thousands of years. It wasn¡¯t because they had the mightiest weapons, the most potent of magics. But because when humanity unites, even for a brief moment, they are unstoppable. However, to find the horrors that lurked behind every shadow or hid under every bed. They needed the tool to detect, locate, and destroy forces that threatened humankind. During an unremarkable summer evening, under the basement of an American suburban home. They detected a blimp. A magical signature that hinted at something powerful. Something that caught the attention of humanity¡¯s defenders. The mission was simple. Investigate the magical disturbance and get out. But the Order couldn¡¯t send a science team or someone with unique specialties to figure out the magical disturbance. They¡¯ve sent an agent there to figure out what the readings found. An hour passed, soon a day went by. When they heard nothing from them. The Order sent a killer. They¡¯d sent Jackson Abernu. Jackson was anything but human. He was a bipedal reptilian creature, his scales an inconsistent shade of green. Each foot had three talons, which acted as an additional set of hands. To everyone, he was monster. Noone and nothing shared his appearance. An alien who believed he was human, a beast who desired to be something he was not. But if there was one truth, it was that the reptile was an effective and brutal hunter. The perfect monster to slay monsters, a killer born to murder other killers. A weapon who knew not of peace, but a life of blood. If there was one word to describe Jackson. It would be irredeemable. The steps cracked and groaned with every step. Mist embed from the reptile¡¯s mouth with every exhale. The walls had a thin layer of frost that grew thicker the deeper the reptile descended. Each breath gave him the familiar smell of an old, unused basement. Yet it was quiet. The only thing Jackson could hear was his old heart beating in his chest. He couldn¡¯t sense anything in the basement, he couldn¡¯t smell anything out of the ordinary. Jackson felt alone, isolated from the world. Though, despite his confidence, he kept his pistol at the ready. Someone entered the basement before him, and they didn¡¯t come out. At the centre of the basement was a rectangle mirror with snow and frost forming at its base. Its black glass warped the light away, emitting an aura of despair. Its frame was solid grey stone, which hummed a malicious tune. It had two crystal orbs, at the top was orange while the one at the bottom was blue. The light above the mirror flickered, but the reptile could tell what the mirror was. The mirror was a magical relic, an organic creature made of stone and glass. An extinct creature brought back from the grave after a surge of magic swept the globe a year prior. Giving birth to unimaginable nightmares while bringing back long dead horrors. However, despite its insidious glow, it was harmless. It was not a creature of violence, destruction, or mayhem. Nor was it a creature of good intentions. Jackson knew the monster to be a creature of mischief, chaos, and change. A beast that, while not in its nature to cause harm, will do everything to make life difficult for everyone. It needed to die, and it needed to die now. Before the reptile could raise his pistol to destroy one orb to kill the creature. Yellow, white, purple, and lastly black flashed his eyes while a bolt of lightning slashed at his chest. Causing his world to go dark. Jackson coughed before he could open his eyes again. His chest burned while he tried to balance himself back onto his feet. He looked down to notice that he¡­ wasn¡¯t himself. His hands were skin instead of scales. The gun clanked as he dropped it on the ground to explore his new body. His hands intertwined with one another, the thumb of his right hand traced the palm on his left. With every circle of his thumb, he smiled. For the first time in a long while, Jackson had actually smiled. He turned around to face his own reflection. He was now in the body of a human woman, a body he was comfortable in. The fingers of one hand examined the contours of his face, the softness of his lips, the ridge of his short nose, and even wetness of his gums and teeth. While the other hand explored the curls of his long hair. Each finger entwined and tangled with each strand of his black and brown hair. The body¡­ his new body. Felt right! Jackson couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at the sight of his new body. He got what he always wanted, a dream that was never fulfilled until that moment. Jackson got a body they could be proud of having, a body they could be comfortable in. To be human! To be something he always saw himself as. To be a part of a people he walked alongside with, suffered with, cheered for, and loved. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. He was now human! A breathing, walking human. Not an illusion or a figment of his fragmented mind. He pinched himself, but besides waking he flinched. He was human! Something remarkable and not the monster he once was. For the first time, he was given a chance to be what he truly felt. ¡°No¡­¡± A cry came from the other side of the mirror. Without hesitation, Jackson reached down to pick up his pistol. He trained his weapon, reading himself to spring into action, only to lower it because of what was on the other side. On their knees, they cried. They looked at their scaled hands in horror. They tried to stand up, but they fell back down when they struggled to use their tail to balance themselves. Desperate, they faced the mirror to look at their reflection. To stare into the body they now inhabit. ¡°No¡­¡± they sobbed. It became clear to Jackson that he wasn¡¯t given a body that he wanted, something he always desired. The mirror had swapped them. He took control of the agent who was sent down to investigate before him. ¡°I¡¯m a monster! A literal monster!¡± She cried, her hands tracing her scarred face. A map of untold suffering. Her fingers felt the rough ridges of her snout, how every bump represented an unhealed fracture or break. She let out a soft yelp. The woman that now inhabited Jackson¡¯s body felt a sharp pain from her left shoulder, like it was ready to pop out at any moment. The reptile¡¯s body was painful, a source of anguish she should never feel. It carried wounds of hundreds of battles, trauma so deep she shook in terror. She could do nothing but cry. It was surreal to watch someone inhabiting his body break down in tears. Jackson looked down pitifully at the woman who now took control of his body. He knew how uncomfortable it was to be in something that caused so much pain, to be something you never saw yourself as. To be a monster to the world. An alien that didn¡¯t belong. He understood the pain she was feeling, the torment of being in a body she never wanted. The woman was unaware of Jackson standing behind her. Her own devastation enthralled her with the loss of her identity. She was no longer human¡­ she knew that much. She saw herself as a monster. Yet Jackson, despite the distressing display. Was happy. He wanted to be human, to have a human body. He got what he always desired and more. Jackson could leave her, walk away for a second chance at life. Force her to live a life she never deserved or wanted just so he could live his own fantasy. It was easy. Too easy, in fact. To walk out and to live a life as a human woman. He would explore the world as one, grow old, and witness a changing world. He would find love, climb the tallest peaks, to be something other than a hunter. Jackson would be more! So much more! But despite his wants, his own dreams. Jackson stood there in silence. Her sobs reminded him of a life of pain, her cries gave him a glimpse of his sorrow from a new perspective. No one deserved that pain. He knew no one should be forced to experience the same struggles he had to face. He wondered if it was right for others to be in his body. To inhabit an identity, a body that didn¡¯t match your soul. To feel the pain he felt, to live a life so miserable every waking day and sleepless nights. But her tears, her agony, made him understand himself better. The mirror swapped their bodies, but she was a mirror into his own life and desires. Jackson mumbled to himself. ¡°It¡¯s my burden to bear.¡± Reluctantly, the reptile aimed the pistol at the orange orb and pulled the trigger. The mirror shattered, a ray of energy poured all over the basement as it disintegrated. Jackson woke up, back into his old body. The familiar discomfort from his knee came back to him, as did the looseness of his left shoulder. He looked down to face his own reflection from one of the broken fragments of the mirror. The tears that were cried were still fresh on his face. Before letting out a pained sigh, he wiped the tears and stood back up. The woman laughed and cheered, excited to have her body back. She turned to Jackson with a wide, grateful smile. ¡°Thank you!¡± Jackson gave her a nod. He was silent as she continued to provide her undying gratitude and apologise for saying what she said. The reptile couldn¡¯t care. He came there to do a job, and he did it. As he made his way out of the basement with a defeated expression. He knew he did the right thing; he accepted that he would never get what he wanted. Yet the fact he was close, on the cusp of becoming what he wished to be, only to be taken away from him. It wounded him. The reptile emerged to the outside world, to be taken back into the Order to continue to fight in a war against terrifying horrors. A life of peace, a life outside of violence, was never something that was promised or destined for him. He was a killer, a butcher, a hunter no one could match. But to Jackson, he wanted to be something else¡­ He wanted to be free of violence. The Last Flight of the Marsh If you asked anyone who¡¯d crewed the RCSC Marsh, the vessel was cursed. The fuses burst at the slightest surge, the airlock was finicky and repressurized slowly, and the algae tanks could never maintain proper temperature. Despite its original intention as a combat spacecraft, the Marsh was used more often as transport. Even outside of combat, voyages rarely went cleanly. Every member of the crew was wary of the Marsh, ASHA included. ASHA, the Autonomous Spacecraft Handling Assistant. The high water mark for AI, capable of combat and commercial missions. Thousands of ASHAs had been installed on ships across the Republic. With its capability to learn, ASHA was indistinguishable from humans in conversation. It learned their habits, preferences, even accents if it so wished. It also learned their superstitions. This voyage started relatively well, helped in large part to the Rockside crew fixing a persistent issue - the generator¡¯s tendency to give out power in pulses rather than a steady stream. For the first few weeks of the journey, things were looking like they¡¯d passed a corner. It was only in the last week that the curse of the Marsh reared its head.
Chief Engineer Flores got a notification from ASHA that a fuel leak was detected. It was a common enough issue, and if this was the only issue then he¡¯d count them all luckier than ever. Tools gathered, he made his way to the tanks with the newest engineer there, showing him the ropes. They get to the tanks, and moving along it, the new guy knocked against the metal, to hear a deep, resounding gong. The rookie thought nothing of it, but the chief knew something was very, very wrong. ¡°ASHA, how full is the fuel tank?¡± he asked aloud. ¡°Fuel tank measures at 73% Capacity,¡± ASHA responded from his cellcom. ¡°How much fuel did we have when we went Starside?¡± It took ASHA milliseconds to retrieve the data. ¡°73% Capacity.¡± There it was. ASHA and Flores alike knew what that meant. The sensors within the fuel tank were completely shot. ¡°Recalibrations are giving garbage data. I suggest knocking on wood.¡± ¡°No wood nearby. Those sensors a fixable part?¡± He had a feeling he knew the answer as he walked towards the maintenance hatch¡¯s ladder. ¡°That depends. Does the ship have a microsolder?¡± No. ASHA would be the one in charge of that if they did. Flores sighed. He grabbed a respirator at put it on. It smelled of mildew and gasoline, but he could manage. Climbing up the ladder, he opened the hatch. The mask¡¯s night vision activated, and his stomach dropped at the sight. They had a car¡¯s worth of fuel in a vessel larger than most skyscrapers. ¡°Would you like me to break the news to Captain Ajello, or would you?¡± ASHA asked from his cellcom. ¡°You.¡±
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. What happened next was a series of very stressful meetings. Every officer was brought onto the bridge. ASHA, of course, was present for the entire thing. The first decision made was how to conserve as much fuel as possible. If they could get back Rockside, they could fix it. There were 6 days left in the voyage. ASHA did the calculations. It was made for exactly that purpose. With no adjustments between now and landfall, they might just make it. Landing would be rough, but they were the Marsh. The ship acting up was part of the job. ASHA, privately, told the Ajello to grind up some eggshells after giving its other suggestions. The first snag came later that day. Flores fell sick and had a fungal infection. He cursed the mask. Nothing life threatening, but his time in the infirmary would take him out of the picture for any but the most dire of repairs. Unfortunately, they were the Marsh. Then, the next day, half of the algae tanks overheated. Apparently, the generator being repaired meant that some of the quick fixes which relied on the pulsing energy broke other places. The oxygen would be thinner for the last 4 days, but they were the Marsh. A few adjustments from Flores¡¯ second meant that the remaining tanks shouldn¡¯t fall apart in the remaining days. It never voiced its thoughts, but ASHA was getting a very bad feeling about the next few days. It began performing as many of the good luck rituals as it could. The third and fourth day went by cleanly. The entire crew was somewhere between nervous and resigned. The regularity of failures didn¡¯t make them any less stressful. On the fifth day, they entered the solar system¡¯s pull. Their target, an iron-rich red planet named Tyr, was in sight. Captain Ajello contacted the RCSC to inform them of the issue, only for there to be no response. As ASHA attempted to notify the other ASHAs, they discovered that their communications equipment was malfunctioning as well. They were, after all, the cursed Marsh. The last 12 hours involved ASHA running a full diagnostic on the ship. While this ASHA was far more used to doing so than others, it was still a multi-hour process. Their trajectory was off slightly, just a third of a minute, but it was enough. Ajello ordered the adjustment be made. Their landing would need to be perfect. ASHA returned with the usual litany of issues, and one new one. A small airlock breach around one of the damaged algae tanks was nothing to worry about, and could be fixed Rockside. They might make it. Alas, they were the Marsh. As they entered low orbit, the rending of metal echoed throughout the ship.
¡°ASHA, what was that?¡± The captain shouted. ¡°Heat shield was hit by space debris, captain¡± ASHA¡¯s calm voice rang across the bridge. ¡°Flores! Get on a tether!¡± The newly recovered Chief Engineer confirmed over the speakers. In 5 minutes, after wrenching the airlock open, the engineers were in tethers. The ship, though, was descending still. There was no time for elegance or careful measurements. The ¡°replacement¡± was makeshift and unlikely to be reusable after even this one landing. ASHA¡¯s sensors reached outside the ship, including multiple cameras and LIDAR arrays specifically for maneuvering. The Spacewalk suits also had vital measurements. ASHA knew in horror as their internal temperatures climbed far above what a human could sustain. ¡°Captain, Flores and Park are. . .¡± The AI found irony in that, in the last moments of the Marsh, it was still learning new emotions from the crew. ASHA didn¡¯t like grief. ¡°Did they get the makeshift on?¡± The captain¡¯s voice was hollow and steel at the same time. Grim, either in its resignation or in its determination. ¡°It may last through reentry.¡± 20 seconds passed. Another critical failure. The Airlock, unable to pressurize in time, imploded inwards. The heat within the vessel rose immediately. Flores and Park¡¯s work was in vain. ASHA, to only the bridge, ¡°30 degrees. 33 degrees. 38 degrees.¡± Each second, the temperature rose further and further. The crew was sweating. The first of ASHA¡¯s sensors began to fail. They passed from Thermosphere into Mesosphere when ASHA was rendered completely blind to the inside. ¡°50 degrees.¡± ASHA said. It didn¡¯t know if there was anyone to hear. All ASHA could do was cross fingers that didn¡¯t exist, and watch as the ground sped towards them. Eons of End Eons of End Ripples spread through the ground under her boots, deep vibrations born from the glacier itself, and at that moment, she knew they brought the news of her imminent death. The snow underfoot, dense from a fortnight of storms, resisted every step. Each movement was a struggle, a spar to break her way through it. She knew the route by heart¡ª so many times she had traced this path. And yet, the lab seemed infinitely far. Unreachable. Still, she had no choice but to try, for she was herself the harbinger of something terrible. The readings were clear. Clearer than any previous experiment. Ice-stress levels, thermal imagery and seismic readings all concurred. In a matter of hours, the glacier would split in two, and when it did, a 1,000 square kilometre chunk of solid ice would shear away and crash into the sea fifty meters below. The resulting wave would rise as tall as the Statue of Liberty. And while the world would undoubtedly keep on living as if nothing had happened ¡ª only with sea levels a few millimetres higher ¡ª the nearby coastal villages would be ravaged. Reduced to splinters and memories, their stories drowned beneath the rising tide. And yet, it wasn¡¯t a concern for them that fuelled Lucy¡¯s race. Her desperation wasn¡¯t for faceless strangers. It came from within. She ran with the energy of despair simply because this loose chunk of ice was the place on which she stood. And the lab, also the only thing keeping her alive this far from civilisation, had its supports anchored in the very glacier that had started breaking apart. A shock wave rolled beneath her feet, carrying the sound of thunder through the ice. Lucy stumbled, flinging her arms out for balance while the snow shifted underfoot. Her mind reeled, refusing to accept the truth her body already knew. She couldn¡¯t believe it. Despite the context, the readings, and her studies. It simply couldn¡¯t be. Sure, she had picked up a rapid acceleration of the melting: unexpected, defying all previsions. But she had been the last one surprised. This wasn¡¯t an acceleration, not the exponential thaw she¡¯d painstakingly documented. It was something else entirely. Unnatural. Another tremor. The ground beneath taunted her with an almost mocking finality: the glacier was breaking. Sooner rather than later. The realisation struck her as vibrations shook her entire being. Months. Months of patience and vigilance. Months of freezing air, isolation and exhaustion. Months of witnessing the thawing snow and the fissures creeping like veins across the ice. Months spent trying to raise awareness while reassuring local authorities. All had led to this very moment. The cracks weren¡¯t distant anomalies, a projection in some ¡°worst-case scenario¡±. They were alive, surging around her with a deliberate inevitability. And so Lucy ran faster, though she was unsure why. It was too late. Yet, ignoring the ache in her muscles and the burning sensation of freezing air entering her lungs, she kept running. An instinct, a need or despair itself. Pieces of shattered ice toppled into a screeching chasm as a jagged line slashed its way across the ground to her right, devouring the blanket of snow ¡ª along with Lucy¡¯s last shred of hope. The ground convulsed, throwing Lucy to her knees. Her hands plunged into the snow, and beneath her palms, she felt the ice tremble. A deep rhythmic vibration that seemed to come from far below. The glacier was reeling, wailing from the pain. Dying. For a moment, she didn¡¯t recognise her own thoughts. They seemed foreign, unbidden. She shook her head to banish the phantom voice and pushed herself upright. Her legs were unsteady; the ice-quake had worked its way into her body ¡ª the vibrations rooted in her and worming themselves into her skull. They resonated there in an oppressive hum. Why run? The thought slithered into her mind. It will take you anyway. It will take you all. Lucy pressed a trembling hand to her temple. Shock. It had to be shock. Her body was betraying her, and she needed to focus. She needed¡ª A flicker of movement caught her eye. Her chest tightened as the hum grew louder ¡ª a swarm trapped inside her skull. And then images flashed before her eyes: distant memories half-forgotten. The warm sun on an afternoon walk. And laughter. Her daughter¡¯s laughter. Fingers brushing the pelt of a white dog. Her dog. Then, she saw them. Black tendrils writhed beneath the ice, clawing towards the cracks, desperate for release. And faces. Prisoners of the frost. Mouths open in silent outcries. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, but the vision remained. Burned in her eyelids. She forced herself to move. But to where? There was nowhere to go, nothing left to fight for. It was too late. Too late. Before her, the glacier tore itself asunder. An abyss yawned open, wide enough to consume buildings whole. Giant chunks of snow cascaded into its maw, and for a moment, Lucy stood frozen. Staring into it. It was darkness. It was unstoppable. But it was something more. Something alive, pulsating faintly with a sickly blue light. Writhing. The ice beneath her feet gave a warning howl, then shifted violently. She fell. A scream tore from Lucy¡¯s throat as gravity yanked her down. Her gloved hands scrabbled against the slick surface, but they found no purchase, and so the edges rushed past her, the walls closing in.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. As a last resort, she reached for the ice pick hanging from her belt and let her instinct take over. The steel bit into the ice, jarring her shoulder with the force. Her speed decreased, and then, finally, she halted. Her legs swung over the void, and Lucy dangled there, the cold seeping into her bones. Just below her, the faint glow pulsed rhythmically. A heartbeat. She had to get back up. But her muscles were already burning, her strength ebbing with every second. Down, toward the rhythmic glow, something was sending a signal. It beckoned her downward, irresistible. Waiting. Her numb fingers fumbled for the rope coiled at her side. She secured it to the pick with shaking hands and tested the knot. Time was running out. She glanced down once more, then holding the rope in one hand, she braced her feet against the icy wall and began her descent. A descent into nowhere. Each step down the glacial surface sent tremors through her legs, the rope stretching under her weight. Around her, the ice glowed ¡ª a surreal mingling of sunlight finding a way through the crystalline walls and the eerie blue light from below. A faint sound reached her ears. Muffled and distant. A voice. Before she could think, Lucy¡¯s foot slipped on an unseen protrusion, and she lurched, her hands gripping the rope as it burned through layers of fabric. Then, the heat reached her skin. Her flesh. The pain made her cry. The hum surged. No longer a vibration now. It was a command. Words whispered at the edge of her consciousness. Come. Against every instinct, her grip loosened. Her mind fought back in the deepest corner of her mind, only she fell further into the void. Screams died in her throat as a freezing wind tore at her. The length of rope rushed through the muscles of her hands in a blur of agony. Time fragmented ¡ª her descent endless and instantaneous. She could only witness her own demise. Lucy hit the ground with a sickening thud. Agony exploded through her, stealing the air from her lungs. Her chest heaved, but no breath came. The world tilted. And the unyielding glow pulsed all around. Alive. Her vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges. Unconsciousness claimed Lucy, but before that, in the milliseconds separating her from pitch black, she saw shapes moving in the light ¡ª twisting forms that reached for her with too many arms. And then nothing.
¡°Hey, Mom, did you see that?¡± ¡°Yes, pear,¡± she replied. A lie. She had not seen anything her daughter had done for quite some time. And as she answered another pointless email, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen of the latest smartphone; this was no exception. She didn¡¯t see the dog sprinting through the forest, its white fur gleaming like snow against the green. She didn¡¯t see the smile of her amazed daughter. Nor the buck leaping over fallen trunks. And above all, she didn¡¯t see the rushing water. She didn¡¯t see the struggling ball of fur ¡ª a white speck fighting against the current, clawing to regain the riverbank. She only heard her daughter cry out. By then, it had been too late. So she had opened her eyes at last. She pushed aside work to get closer to family. Forced herself to look ¡ª to really see. She saw her daughter, who would never again be the same. She saw the guilt, she saw the shame, all reflected in her own face. And when the cancer came, she saw it all. The hurried visits to the ER. The smiles that grew more fragile. The false hope on the doctors¡¯ faces. And the diagnosis. And the pain. She saw the fading light in her daughter¡¯s eyes. She saw her slip away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to see but an engraved stone rooted in grass. It had been too late. So she had gone back to work. She buried herself in the comforting noise of endless distraction. She watched her husband leave. And the years pass. She saw the promotions come and the warm handshakes. They congratulated her dedication. Oh, the irony. Then, she poured herself into something that almost mattered ¡ª a fight for something greater. And she dedicated all aspects of her life to some promise of a better life. She went far, so far away from home. And further still. And she did everything she could. Everything that was asked of her. And it had been too late. Too late.
Pain seeped into her awareness before anything else ¡ª radiating from her side and spreading through her limbs. Lucy groaned, her voice echoing in the empty chamber. She was alive, somehow. And when she opened her eyes, blinking against the flickering glow, she saw it all. The walls loomed high above her, coated with frost that glimmered in the blue light. Shadows danced across their surface in unexpected ways. And only one useless and answerless question came to her. Where am I? She propped herself up on her elbows despite the pain in her ribs and the throb in her head. She only remembered the fall ¡ª the wind tearing at her and the crushing impact. Not how she had gotten there. Yet here she was, nestled against the cold stone as though something had gently placed her there. She got to her feet, leaning against the wall for support. The cave seemed to stretch infinitely. Come. The whisper flitted through her mind. It was her voice. It wasn¡¯t. Her boots scraped against the ground as she moved forward, sluggishly. The walls glistened, slick with dripping moisture. But something else was moving beyond them, trapped in the ice. Only Lucy didn¡¯t look. She paused. The air felt different here, pressing against her skin. The glow was always stronger, and she couldn¡¯t turn away. So she saw it all. The chamber opened before her. The walls were great veined membranes, pulsating with the same rhythm as the drums in her head. Light came from everywhere, a radiance that made the shadows writhe like living things. And at the centre, it loomed. A form defying human comprehension. Vast, gargantuan. The proportions twisting and shifting the longer she stared. And stared she did, for as long as she could remember. Longer still than her entire life. Great tendrils extended from its mass, curling with an otherworldly grace. They weren¡¯t tentacles. They were something worse, their texture rippling like liquid and glinting like glass. Each movement carried a soundless vibration, echoing with her very bones. She let go of the ice pick that was still somehow in her hand. It clicked when it hit the ice. Then Lucy walked closer, and closer still. Although she wanted to shield her gaze, her body wouldn¡¯t obey ¡ª her eyes locked on the abyss. This time, it saw her. Eyes. Countless and shifting, blacker than voids and brighter than the brightest quasar. They blinked in patterns indecipherable, each glance tearing through her thoughts, peeling back layers of herself. Leaving nothing but a fragile shell. Her mind screeched, but words failed her. Thoughts crumbled into fragments as she struggled to make sense of what she saw. Her lungs burned from an air that rejected her presence. The vibrations grew ever louder, deafening. A cacophony of sounds. Of voices. Thoughts that weren¡¯t her own. So many of them. All screaming. And then it turned. A single massive eye, wide and deep. Older than the stars and the cosmic vibrations. It carried the world¡¯s knowledge, pouring through her in endless threads, and the more she received it the less it made sense. The rest of the form dissolved into irrelevance; the eye consumed her world. And she could feel her mind unravel, her body and mind breaking apart. A brittle structure under immense weight. She. Saw. It. All. The tentacles writhing beneath the earth. Swallowing her. Swallowing them all. She saw pointless wars and endless agony. She saw the race to extinction and the denial of all that is true. She saw men fight to keep their luxury but never their homes. She saw them all, repeating her own mistakes. Fighting when faced with the consequences. And never hard enough. She saw faces distorted in front of a thousand stars. And infinite pain. Until Lucy disappeared. Only a distant memory. An insignificant vibration part of a greater chorus. It was too late. *** The Thorn in Her Side - by lenagelis Zoya once fell from Heaven, but even clipped wings could not stop her from chasing the fires of Hell. A long time ago, she was the twenty-sixth warrior angel of Heaven¡¯s Aegis. Her title had come with reverence, her shimmering wings defining her identity. But no more. Her sisters were gone, fallen in a war that Father Celestial had forbidden. For her ¡°interference¡± in mortal affairs, saving humanity, Zoya had been cast out of Heaven, her wings clipped and her powers crippled. All she had left was her Celestial Glaive, a relic of Heaven¡¯s armoury, and the memory of fire¡ªboth the one she had extinguished and the one she had ignited in the hearts of those she had saved. She was known as the Saviour of London. A hero. But in Heaven, she was forgotten, like a scar from an old splinter, merely healed away. Zoya had defeated Liam Thorne, leader of Scorched Earth, the zealot army of terrorists prophesying the apocalypse. Thorne had been a creature so vile, obsessed with the sins of men, that he¡¯d transformed into an immortal archdemon. He¡¯d become the harbinger of death, convinced that humanity¡¯s salvation lay in its annihilation. Zoya and her rogue squadron had defied Father Celestial, descending upon Earth to save it, convinced it was the right thing to do. Thorne had killed her sisters, consuming them in flames along with countless innocents at the Battle of Blackfriars. Even after losing her loved ones, Zoya had continued to fight. With the aid of MI5 and her celestial gifts, they¡¯d captured Thorne and locked him in the Crucible, a quantum-locked prison built by the brightest scientists of the world, designed to hold even the most unearthly threats. The world could breathe again. Zoya, cast out and with faded powers, now wandered the streets of London, fighting petty crime and responding to Amber alerts. But that kind of peace could shatter at any minute, because Liam Thorne was not truly gone, and even if he was locked away in an unbreakable prison, she could still feel his dim flame like a candle in the dark, ready to blaze.
A cloud of dark smoke hovered above the east wing of Porton Down. When Zoya arrived in the early morning, the Lab was destroyed. A pile of ashes remained in its stead. Her glaive shone the path forward through collapsed walls and scorched concrete. Dead bodies lay piled, some whole, some in puzzle pieces. Gale, who¡¯d sent a distress call, was, thank Father Celestial, still alive. His face was pale, and he was in shock. He lay on the ground, unhurt but paralysed with fear. Gale was no warrior, only a scientist whose hand trembled. He pointed at the shattered remains of the Crucible¡¯s containment unit. ¡°They came out of nowhere, ten or twelve men,¡± he said, scrambling for words. ¡°And they were fast. They had weapons¡ªcelestial swords from the Battle of Blackfriars. Our bullets were absolutely useless.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright, Gale,¡± Zoya said. His frustration was palpable, but more so his shame at failing to protect the Lab. ¡°There¡¯s nothing you could have done.¡± How can a small unit, even with celestial weapons¡ªscavenged, if anything¡ªbreak into a top secret military facility? The shame was justified, but Gale wasn¡¯t the one who should feel it. They should have known better. Zoya searched the ruins in search of a clue, something that would tell her who did this and why. The lingering energy signature was unmistakable¡ªcelestial, but stronger than Heaven¡¯s swords. Something else. It clung to these ruins, like a persistent, foul stench. ¡°What can you remember?¡± she asked, hoping Gale had seen something. Gale hesitated. ¡°There was an insignia. On their suits. It looked like¡­ No. It can¡¯t be...¡± Zoya said nothing and waited instead, but she had no time for stutters. ¡°It was an eclipse,¡± he said quickly, lying. ¡°Gale. Say it.¡± ¡°I¡­ It¡¯s not possible. They¡¯re gone. We beat them.¡± ¡°Say it.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°It was¡­Earth¡­burning,¡± he said with a deep sigh. ¡°It was Scorched Earth.¡± Zoya¡¯s memory clicked into place, and her two hearts beat faster in unison. She knew it. Scorched Earth was back, and they took Thorne. ¡°But,¡± Gale began. ¡°They did not free him. They took him in the Crucible, as prisoner.¡± Why would Scorched Earth, loyal to Liam Thorne, retrieve him only to take him as prisoner? It made little sense. Zoya must find out why. She pressed on her glaive¡¯s rune, and it folded into a compact rod with a whispering hum. Its light extinguished as she hooked it to her belt. She escorted Gale out of the ruins. Reinforcements were already outside and within minutes, they sent their own men to investigate the Lab. Gale was safe, and Zoya returned to London. If anyone knew anything about Scorched Earth down in the underground, it¡¯d be her contact in Mayfair. She must find him at once. M.H. usually hid behind a heavy velvet curtain seated at a large oak desk in Mayfair¡¯s most private club. Zoya knew she¡¯d find him there. M.H. was neither government official nor criminal, or maybe he was both, but he knew everything that happened up above and down below. Despite the club being empty at this time of day, he was there. ¡°I had a feeling you¡¯d be coming,¡± he said, gesturing for her to sit. He held a paper in his hands and his eyes remained fixed on it. ¡°So you know why I¡¯m here.¡± She couldn¡¯t sit because of wings, so she remained standing, her arms crossed. ¡°Yes,¡± he hummed, scribbling something on the paper, his tiny glasses resting on his enormous nose. ¡°Scorched Earth is back.¡± ¡°You knew?¡± ¡°Rumours,¡± M.H. admitted. ¡°Nothing concrete until now. But if they¡¯re bold enough to strike Porton Down, they must have someone influential pulling the strings.¡± He paused. Now he looked up at her. ¡°Aadhya Khan.¡± Zoya¡¯s stomach sank. She knew this name. Khan had been one of Thorne¡¯s closest allies before Scorched Earth fell apart. Ruthless, brilliant, and with her own appetite for destruction, she was no mere follower. ¡°She¡¯s taken over, or so I hear,¡± M.H. continued. ¡°And she has something. Something¡­otherworldly.¡± Zoya came closer and leaned forward. ¡°What is it?¡± M.H. shook his head. ¡°That, I do not know.¡± Zoya clenched her jaw. ¡°Where are they?¡± ¡°Under the Thames, I presume,¡± M.H. said. ¡°There are old tunnels beneath the river, accessible through the abandoned Aldwych station. If Scorched Earth is back, that¡¯s where you¡¯ll find them.¡± How did he know all this? Zoya preferred not to ask the question. M.H. had given her the information she needed. She was ready to leave. ¡°Thanks, Mycroft.¡± ¡°At your service. But Zoya,¡± he called, and she paused. ¡°Be careful. Aadhya is no Liam Thorne.¡± ¡°She is no archdemon indeed.¡± He smiled. ¡°She might be worse.¡± Nothing was worse. As if he¡¯d read her thoughts, he added: ¡°She¡¯s desperate.¡± Grime and graffiti coated the walls of Aldwych station. Zoya pressed her glaive¡¯s rune, and it expanded, radiating light that cut through the suffocating darkness. She pointed at the tunnel that stretched before her into the darkness. A few rats scurried at the sudden presence of light, their squeaks a reminder that there is life below, even deep under the city. She started walking. Her steps echoed against the walls, gravel cracking under her feet like tiny bones. That same energy signature lingered here too, confirming she was on the right path. The deeper she went, the stronger the energy pulsed. What in Father Celestial¡¯s name could it be? Time and neglect marked these walls. Her glaive illuminating her path, she sunk deeper until the tunnel opened into a large hall. The air here was different, heavy with a strange metallic tang. Zoya stopped to scan the expanse. Rusted machinery stood like skeletons of some forgotten era, gears and pipes frozen in time. At the center of the hall was a massive turbine, and Zoya knew where she was: an old power plant. The Thames¡¯ current must have powered these turbines long ago, giving life to a city that now moved on without it. Suddenly, a sound. A click. And voices. Zoya retracted her glaive quickly and hid behind the turbine. She watched, her breath halted, her ears alert. Two guards, one male and one female, marched through the hall, chattering. She spotted the armband around the woman¡¯s arm and recognised Scorched Earth¡¯s insignia. Planet Earth burning under a dark sky. Their voices were low but distinct enough that she could make out a few words¡ªKhan¡¯s name was one of them. They were patrolling, yet they hadn¡¯t noticed her. Silently, Zoya crept closer. As she closed the distance, she readied herself. A swift, calculated strike could neutralize both before they raised an alarm. Her first blow was efficient, the edge of her hand striking the man¡¯s neck. He collapsed without a sound. The woman turned, her eyes wide with surprise, but before she could react, Zoya slammed her unconscious to the ground. She dragged their bodies behind a rusted control panel. She¡¯d seen where they¡¯d come from, and she rushed in that direction, moving silently, her grip tight around her retracted glaive. This was too easy, and she knew it. She was about to step into the hornet¡¯s nest and, with limited powers, she¡¯d need to stay quiet. Zoya took the corner and headed into a dimly lit corridor of metal and concrete. Another sound¡ªa faint shuffling from a nearby corridor. Zoya moved toward it cautiously, keeping to the shadows. A third guard stood near a doorway, his back turned. Unlike the others, he seemed more alert, his hand resting on the hilt of a glowing weapon. A celestial sword. How dare they scavenge her sisters¡¯ weapons! Zoya approached slowly, and when she was close enough, she struck, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him into a chokehold. He struggled, but her grip held firm until his body went limp. She eased him to the ground, careful not to make a sound. He¡¯d been guarding a metal staircase leading to a door. She dragged the guard¡¯s body under the stairs and ascended, the structure creaking under her weight. The door had a small window she could peer through. Zoya rushed forward, her gaze sweeping the space as she absorbed every detail in an instant. Another large hall, brightly lit. Soldiers marching below. A woman, long dark hair, fixed gaze. She stared at something. The door led onto a metal platform suspended high above the hall, its framework wrapping around the entire perimeter. Zoya could have the high ground. She would be out of sight and she could watch what was happening below. She opened the door slowly, careful not to make a sound. She snuck onto the platform and, from this vantage point, she observed the scene below. Scorched Earth soldiers marched beneath her, most carrying guns, some celestial swords. They marched in rhythm around the place, casting glances at the woman in the middle: Aadhya Khan. She had her back toward Zoya and she commanded attention like the sun piercing through clouds. Zoya recognised her voice, Thorne¡¯s strategist. A woman who, if she had a button to eradicate mankind, would press it with no hesitation. Khan stood at the center of the hall, barking orders to her subordinates, but fixated on something unseen in front of her. At first, Zoya thought Khan was staring at empty space, but as she shifted her gaze, she noticed a faint sheen¡ªa glass-like contour that refracted the dim light. Her breath caught as the object came into focus: an eerie, transparent lens structure, visible only in shifting glimpses. Zoya blinked repeatedly, as if her mind was playing tricks, but it remained¡ªa presence so subtle and unnatural that it made her skin crawl. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. What in Father Celestial¡¯s name was that? That energy¡ªshe recognized it. The same celestial signature she¡¯d felt was emanating from that artefact. And when she saw him, both her hearts stopped. Liam Thorne, restrained before the strange, hovering artefact, bound by glowing chains that pulsed with celestial energy. The chains weren¡¯t attached to the lens¡ªthey weaved into it, merging as if the artefact held him under its power. A low hum resonated, a whirring sound that echoed through the space. It grew louder. As the sound swelled, a darkness coalesced within the lens, swirling at its center like a drop of blood. Thorne, his skin blistered red from hellfire, horns growing from his head and coiling behind it. His once-blond hair from when he was still human, now matted and dark, clung to his face. It was unmistakably Thorne, but he was not himself. His body trembled as he knelt on the ground, visibly drained and gasping for air. Khan called out something, her voice sharp. Thorne nearly collapsed to the ground when the guards appeared at his side, hoisting him upright. Khan turned around so Zoya could see her face, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. She clutched some sort of ancient tablet, one that was clearly not from Earth. ¡°Bring him back in an hour,¡± she said. ¡°We need more.¡± The sound had stopped, though the lens stayed in place, the darkness within it now frozen and motionless. The guards unshackled Thorne and began dragging him toward a corridor beneath the platform. Zoya¡¯s eyes followed them until they disappeared from view. Her jaw tightened, her thoughts racing. She couldn¡¯t take on everyone here¡ªthere were too many soldiers. But whatever they were doing, whatever this artefact was meant to achieve, felt wrong. Was wrong. Steeling herself, Zoya moved silently toward a metal staircase at the far side of the hall, gambling that it would lead to the same corridor the guards had taken. Through the gaps in the steps, she spotted them hauling Thorne toward the corridor¡¯s end. Only two guards. She could handle two. But she needed the Crucible. Perhaps they were taking him back to it. If she followed them, she could steal it¡ªand Thorne¡ªwhen the moment was right. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on her. Zoya was about to rescue the archdemon who had destroyed everything she held dear. Was this how far she would fall? Zoya descended the staircase, her gaze fixed on the two guards dragging Thorne through the long corridor. The concrete walls were lit by flickering lights, so dim that this place looked like it was about to plunge in darkness. She kept her distance, blending into the shadows as the guards entered a secluded room at the end of the passage. They closed the doors behind them. Zoya snuck to the door and peered through the tiny window. They still hadn¡¯t noticed her. This must have been some sort of storage room a long time ago. Now they¡¯d repurposed it to a holding cell with dull, gray walls stained by years of neglect. A remnant smell of old and dust. The soldiers lay Thorne on a crude table and strapped him tight. Zoya would have never trusted these bindings to hold him, but seeing Thorne like this, so vulnerable, she knew he wouldn¡¯t free himself. The guards were about to leave, she had to act fast. She could take them by surprise here. She pressed on her glaive¡¯s rune, preparing for a fight. It expanded, and even in her reluctance to save Thorne, she burst into the room. The first guard turned, startled, but Zoya struck him before he could react, using the base of the blade to render him unconscious with a strike to the head. The second guard lunged at her with a celestial sword, but she parried his attack. The blades clashed in a flash of light, and she pushed him back, sweeping his legs from beneath him with sheer strength. With one swift swing, she cast him against the wall and knocked him out. With the guards incapacitated, Zoya turned to Thorne. He was unconscious. She hated the fact that she tore the straps and pulled him off the table. She hated the fact that she hoisted him over her shoulder. She hated that she was getting him out of here. Thorne was heavy, more than regular humans, but she was strong. Scanning the room quickly, she searched for the Crucible. The small, multifaceted sphere of polished metal, with its faintly pulsing core, was nowhere to be seen. No trace of it. No time to waste. She¡¯d carry Thorne out of here and contact Gale. If Khan thought one hour was enough for Thorne to regain energy but still subdue him, she¡¯d have to trust that. Zoya exited the room carrying Thorne and made a run for the staircase. Once upstairs, undetected, she stopped briefly, pulled out her MI5 communicator, and pushed the button. Even from deep underneath London, she knew Gale would get the message. Zoya pressed on. As she snuck onto the platform back in the hall, she cast a quick glance at the artefact. It hovered in place like a silent ghost. She ran to the next door and down the next metal staircase and through the corridors, and she was back in the room with the large turbine. She passed the turbine and Liam stirred, groaning softly, and she realised she needed a break. She was strong, but this escape pushed her limits. She set him down, her glaive at the ready in case he tried anything. His crimson eyes flickered open, and for a moment, there was a spark of recognition, then something else¡ªbitter amusement. ¡°Of all people,¡± he rasped, his voice hoarse, ¡°you¡¯re the one carrying me.¡± O Father Celestial, how she hated him. Zoya held her glaive by his neck, its light making his battered face even more visible. For a moment, she considered leaving him here, but her instincts wouldn¡¯t let her. He stirred again, his lips twitching into a bitter smile. ¡°Do you know how many times I¡¯ve imagined this?¡± Thorne said, his voice like gravel. ¡°You saving me.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t flatter yourself!¡± Zoya snapped, her voice hot, filled with rage. ¡°You don¡¯t deserve it.¡± Liam chuckled weakly, coughing through the effort. ¡°Deserve¡­ Doesn¡¯t matter. Nothing ever does.¡± ¡°What are they doing to you?¡± she demanded. ¡°What is that thing they¡¯re using you for?¡± Liam¡¯s expression darkened, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a resigned sigh, he began to speak. ¡°They¡¯re siphoning my immortality.¡± He made it sound like a simple thing. ¡°They call it the Singularity Core. It can be used as a weapon, but that¡¯s not its original purpose. And you know it. I¡¯m sure you can feel it too.¡± She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Enlighten me.¡± ¡°It changes matter,¡± he said bluntly. ¡°Manipulates it, enhances it, collapses it¡­ It can be used for terraforming or, with enough energy, it can turn a planet into a black hole. Something Aadhya would certainly love to do.¡± Zoya had only one question: how? How had such an artifact landed on Earth? ¡°A ¡®last resort,¡¯ she calls it.¡± Thorne said with a sigh. ¡°Something I never dared to use.¡± Never dared to use? Was Thorne already in possession of this artifact six years ago? As if he¡¯d read the question on her face, he smiled. ¡°You did not know¡­ Of course you didn¡¯t. He made sure you wouldn¡¯t find out.¡± He? Who was he? Something clicked in Zoya¡¯s mind. That energy coming from the artefact¡ªcelestial. That could only mean one thing: the Singularity Core came from Heaven. And he? That was her father. Why? ¡°Now you understand,¡± Thorne said, reading her like an open book. ¡°Do you know how I felt when I realised I was part of God¡¯s plan all along? Turning into an archdemon was easier than I¡¯d ever imagined. I never stopped to wonder why. When the Singularity Core landed on earth, I started asking myself the question. The temptation to activate it, to destroy humanity for good, was¡­unbelievable. But I refused.¡± Zoya struggled to speak, her voice was stuck in her throat. ¡°So you¡¯re saying Father Celestial orchestrated this?¡± she rasped instead. Suddenly, all she felt was rage again, and she pushed him down to the ground with her glaive, the blade cutting his throat slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you!¡± she shouted. ¡°You wanted to destroy humanity! Don¡¯t you dare tell me otherwise. My father would have never created such a despicable device for that purpose. You are lying!¡± ¡°How do you think the Great Flood happened? Did you ever stop to wonder why your ¡®Father Celestial¡¯ had done that? Humanity is WRONG!¡± He was shouting too, louder and louder. His energy was returning quickly. Thorne pushed the glaive away with one sway of the hand and rose to his feet. He towered above her, his eyes burning like embers. ¡°How can it be that one man goes to space while millions are starving? How can the planet dying become a political debate? We are termites! We destroy each other and the very thing that gives us life and for what? Glory? There¡¯s no glory in self-destruction.¡± Thorne caught his breath, calming himself. His energy had not yet completely returned. ¡°But I never wanted to destroy humanity,¡± Thorne admitted, but Zoya still didn¡¯t want to believe him. ¡°What I wanted was a reset, so we could do things better. A ¡®Great Flood¡¯. Aadhya, on the other hand, she wanted this.¡± He pointed toward the staircase, toward beyond these walls where the artifact loomed. ¡°The only reason you could stop me is because she¡¯d already started draining me long before I realised it.¡± Only now did Zoya realise she was fighting back tears. Thorne was not lying. That celestial ability, knowing when someone lied, had never left her. But she wanted him to lie. Because that was better than facing the truth: this had been part of Father Celestial¡¯s plan all along. ¡°If you want to save humanity, you can stop Aadhya,¡± Thorne said. ¡°She¡¯s your father¡¯s new puppet, not me.¡± Zoya¡¯s grip tightened on her glaive as her mind churned with fury and doubt. If what Thorne said was true¡ªand it was¡ªthen the battle she had fought, the sisters she had lost, the humanity she had saved¡ªit had all been part of her father¡¯s twisted divine scheme. Her faith, already fractured, now felt like shards in her hands, cutting deeper with every thought. Before she could say anything, she heard voices, shouts, orders, and within seconds, tens of soldiers crawled out of their tunnels like termites and aimed their weapons at the both of them. Khan emerged from the shadows, clutching the same tablet. Behind her, the Singularity Core materialized, phasing through the wall as if it didn¡¯t exist. The first shot rang out like a thunderclap, followed by a hail of bullets. Zoya dodged immediately and folded her wings. They may be clipped, but they still protected her against human weapons. Thorne remained still, and when she got a look at him, he was smiling. Each bullet tore through his body, only to be ejected seconds later as his wounds closed. His crimson eyes flared with rage as he surged forward, turning the tide with brute force. Zoya clutched her glaive, its light cutting through the chaos. She launched herself into the fray, spinning and striking with precision. The guards were well-trained, but none could match the might of a warrior angel wielding Heaven¡¯s own weapon. Her glaive carved arcs of light through the room, disarming and incapacitating soldiers as she fought her way toward Aadhya Khan. Soldiers who reached Thorne and struck him with celestial swords inflicted damage, cutting through his skin. Thorne roared before launching a column of fire at those who dared touch him. At the center of the chaos, Khan stood resolute, her hand gripping the ancient celestial tablet. With a few swift motions, she activated the Singularity Core. The device pulsed louder and louder, and a wave of crushing gravity rippled outward, pinning everyone to the ground. Machinery groaned and crumpled under the immense pressure, and Zoya felt her strength waning. A shimmer of light evaporated from her skin and formed a flux ribbon toward the Singularity Core. She tried, with all her might, to push herself up, but the pressure was too much. She couldn¡¯t move at all. Her glaive retracted on its own. Zoya managed to raise her head, only to see Thorne rising from the ground. He had regained enough of his stolen energy. With a guttural roar, he unleashed a devastating explosion of hellfire, obliterating the nearest guards and sending shockwaves through the hall. The Singularity flickered and faltered but remained active, its pull growing stronger. Objects, debris, and even bodies were dragged toward the forming black hole. Zoya scanned the area. Khan stood before the Singularity Core, the artifact almost entirely consumed by darkness. She was unhurt and unaffected by its gravitational pull. If only Zoya could get to her, she could take her down with one strike, easily. Zoya clawed her way toward the woman, the crushing force increasing as Thorne launched another column of fire. Khan noticed Zoya approaching, and the flicker of fear glazed her eyes for a mere second. She pressed a few keys on the tablet in a hurry, and Zoya was immobilised again, right at Khan¡¯s feet. Khan was no longer looking at her, but at Thorne, doing everything in her power to hold him in place. Now Zoya could strike. With all the strength she had left, she raised the rod of her folded glaive towards Khan. With one quick press on the rune, her glaive unfolded, and the blade pierced through Khan¡¯s stomach. The only expression on Khan¡¯s face was shock. Khan fell to the ground, defeated, dropping the tablet by Zoya¡¯s side. Zoya seized it and touched its surface. She recognized the glowing celestial script. The language of Heaven. She saw and pressed the kill switch on the side of the tablet. The Singularity Core emitted a deafening wail before imploding, its swirling mass collapsing into nothingness. The effort left Zoya drained. She dropped her glaive and collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Nearby, Thorne stood among the carnage and flames, the hall littered with lifeless soldiers and Aadhya Khan¡¯s bleeding corpse. Blood dripped from his skin, his wounds no longer healing. Still, he approached her, his towering form casting a shadow over her weakened body. Zoya felt around for her glaive, but she couldn¡¯t reach it. Thorne crouched beside her, his expression unreadable. ¡°You could have run and left me here,¡± he said, his voice low. ¡°But you didn¡¯t. You fought by my side.¡± She said nothing, glaring up at him. He studied her for a moment, then rose to his feet. ¡°I could easily kill you now,¡± he mused. ¡°Get rid of you for good, the thorn in my side.¡± He then paused and let out a deep, resolute breath. ¡°I was a pawn in God¡¯s game,¡± he said. ¡°But you defied him. Twice now. Your fate will be worse than me killing you.¡± He turned to leave. His wounds weren¡¯t healing. And Zoya no longer felt his oppressive energy. That could only mean one thing: his immortality was gone. Zoya saw an opportunity she never thought she¡¯d have. She found her glaive in an instant, fury and resolve burning within her. Could she strike him now and kill him for good? The man who¡¯d killed so many innocents, her sisters, the man whom she¡¯d sacrificed so much to defeat. The man so vile he¡¯d become an archdemon. With a surge of energy she didn¡¯t know she had, she lunged, driving her glaive through Liam Thorne¡¯s back. It pierced straight through his heart, its light beaming as it struck true. Thorne staggered, choking on his own breath. She pushed the pole even further through as she rose to her feed. He tried to turn his head, but their eyes couldn¡¯t meet. ¡°Wha¡ª¡± His own blood gurgling in his throat interrupted him. ¡°Well, that was glorious.¡± His body fell with a thump. Zoya stared at the body, still clutching her glaive. Her glaive was covered in darkened blood, so much so that the blade was no longer glowing. But then Zoya noticed it wasn¡¯t just blood. Dark veins spread across the once-lustrous surface of the glaive. An icy chill crept through her as she felt something inside her shift, an irreversible change. She wanted to drop the glaive but she couldn¡¯t, as if the darkness wanted to attach itself to her, like¡­a thorn in her side. Zoya, once a warrior angel of Heaven¡¯s Aegis, became something else¡ªshadows creeping into her very essence. She turned away from Thorne¡¯s body, knowing she would never be the same. The fires of Hell she had chased for so long had finally found a home within her. When MI5 soldiers arrived, they stormed the rest of Scorched Earth¡¯s base. They took no prisoners. And when Gale finally saw Zoya emerge, he could no longer speak. All that was etched on his face, was terror.