The Arrivals – Tales of The New Earth (1)

Posted by Ebonstorm on February 12, 2012
Posted in: Short Story. Tagged: , , , , , , . 1 Comment

Approaching the Pentagon on foot, we realized nothing was like it was supposed to be. None of the sentry positions were active. They had been overrun, large root structures ripping through the armored bunkers from beneath. No sign of the men or women who normally sat there watching for approaching Arrivals.

We found their weapons there, loaded, with only a couple of days of dust on them. A quick check with a UV detector-card revealed nothing spore-related killed these men. Whatever did them in was fast, efficient and killed them without a trace. I had an idea but I wanted to wait to be sure. If it was what I thought it was, we would need to be out of here as fast as possible. No sense panicking anyone until I was.

Having been a forest ranger for over thirty years all over the States, I was very experienced with nearly every form of plant or arboreal found in nearly every state. I had never seen the variety of plants I was experiencing right now. Having survived nearly twenty years of the Arrivals, it made my blood run cold to see so many new plant structures. Fortunately, nothing here seemed very interested in us and was far away enough to give me the semblance of safety.

The kids were focused and each covered a one hundred and twenty degree arc, just like we practiced. They didn’t speak, using hand signs to point out potential targets or threats. We had adapted American sign language and it stood us in good stead when many of the Arrivals were sensitive to vibration, which included most of the hunting varietals and the altered animals.

“Pop, I don’t recognize nearly half of these.” Lucas signed. “Do you think we should be heading deeper into an unknown grove?” The unknown grove was our code for a new population of creatures or plants we were unfamiliar with.  The Arrivals were amazingly prolific and continued to create new plants and animals. Their process was unknown but we noticed strong infestations with dense tree growth was perfect for the development of the altered or even new animals to appear.

“Move slow, watch for movement.” My daughter signed back, letting me focus on the horizon. I could see the Pentagon building and I wanted to turn around right then. The entire structure was surrounded by very large trees whose nature was  known to me.

Each stood at least sixty to eighty feet tall with a large core tree at least thirty feet across. Large barrel-like trunks with a number of nacreous bulbs filled with red and black fluids scattered across them.

They looked unhealthy, sickly twisted in on themselves with wide dark, blood-colored leaves. Inside the bulbs, a twirling oozing movement could be seen. I had seen them before and knew there was likely no one alive inside the Pentagon. These were fire ant trees.

We called them fire ants because they seemed as tenacious and angry as the Terran creatures of the same name with one vital exception. Each was the size of my thumb and could grab a chunk of flesh from you weighing one ounce with their razor-sharp jaws. They made army ants look like choir boys.

Large, fast and insatiable, they were designed to do one thing; cut their prey into pieces and bring it back to the tree for processing. The only thing redeeming about them was their short life span. Most died within forty-eight hours of their release from the host tree.

Common to warm climates, fire ant tree clusters grew quickly by consuming organic matter of all types and processing it with amazing speed. They were like bamboo, they could grow six inches a day when they started and as their metabolic rates improved, two to three feet per day was not unheard of. Each tree could have as few as two or as many as fifteen ant clusters, each held in a series of tunnels in the tree.

Each group was lead by a what was called a princess who held the swarm in tow as they moved toward their target. The princess was linked to the tree’s hive mind and controlled the local group of fire ants. This command and control structure meant each tree only had to control the princess, not her drone subjects.

One of the more terrifying of the Arrival infestations, you had one chance if they were coming your way, kill the princess. A flamethrower or other scatter weapon was your only chance to avoid certain death, and only fire gave you a better than a fifty-fifty chance. Once they reached you, nothing could protect you. Most would shoot you if they had the ammunition to spare.

I got ready to turn around when I heard my radio squelch. “Pop, I was scanning the local channels and I got a distress signal. I think it’s the President.” I could also hear some M16 fire in the background. My son-in-law sounded a bit stressed. He did not mention anything, so I assumed they had it under control. “Turn to channel 8, you can hear it yourself. Gotta go.”

Switching my radio, I heard the message. It was gritty and filled with static. It was also very brief. “This is Special Agent Davis, requesting, click, whirr, evac from safe room A, hisss, on the Gamma level of the Pentagon. We have the President, swoop, pop. There is an alien infestation sweeping the facility and recommend flamethrower support. We have been here for thirty-six hours. Will be broadcasting on the hour. Davis, out.”

Under any other circumstances, I would wish Special Agent Davis, Godspeed and turn around and go back to the Rhino. I would feel bad for a few days and then get over it. He was in the middle of the remains of the most secure building on Earth. Seeing the devastation, it is clear to me, no place was safe. Which means, we should be heading in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. My daughter looked at me and made it clear with the intensity of her gaze, I had better make up my mind before she decided for me. Indecision was not one of her weaknesses.

I could see the entrances we were used to using were over-run by the fire ant trees and their massive root structures blocked the exits and lifted the multi-megaton armored structure out of the ground, grinding through it. The fire ant tree is believed to be a symbiotic member to another underground dwelling plant creature called a borer, who provides the tunneling to the target while the fire ants are created and shuttled through the body of the boring plant. All of the Arrivals had deadly symbiosis among their member species.

The borer was a creature which grew with lightning speed and stored an amazing amount of energy within its carbon spring-like structures. It positioned itself beneath or alongside its target and unraveled itself much like a tree root except in active real time. Once a series of borers started tunneling into your facility they could do it in a matter of seconds. Their tactic was to quietly bore until they were at a breaching wall and then store energy until they were ready to attack.

The A wing of the Pentagon was about a quarter mile from where we approached and the quiet of the forest was both comforting and disturbing. No noise usually meant good news. But since the Pentagon was lying ripped open with its nearly impenetrable walls asunder, we were not comforted. Everyone loaded or readied an incendiary grenade, we only had one each, so we kept it handy since we had lost our last flamethrower. “I think the trees have spent their current store of ants and we need to work fast. They take two days or so to recharge so we are working on borrowed time.” I signed quickly, and everyone knew what they had to do.

We entered the Pentagon through the ruptured wall of the A Wing and saw the building had been compromised from all around it. Roots tore through the walls like paper and a network of root structures filled out the torn walls creating a web of rootlets capable of carrying the fire ants into the structure. There were supposed to be ten thousand people inside the building. Now there was nothing organic at all. Some grisly skeletal remnants considered too much trouble were left scattered along the broken walls and floors where the person fell and died. Once inside, we ducked under the lattice of roots or over it until we found the heavily walled stairwells, doors weighing tons, knocked right out of their braces.

Once past Alpha deck, we made it down to the Beta deck and found it pretty much the same. No movement, roots everywhere, quiescent menace all around us. We mapped our route with a luminescent paint and made sure we cleared as much of the building material out of the way for a fast access and exit. Getting in is never the problem, getting out was always the issue.

I was in the front, the kids in the middle and my daughter in the back. I could see they were completely uncomfortable with the enclosed nature of the environment. I wasn’t thrilled either but I thought it would be worth the effort to have the President of the United States in our debt. Less than a mile separated us, now. Utterly surrounded, the potential for death was significantly closer. Our only saving grace was borers and fire ants didn’t share well, so their relationship precluded too many other predators being around at the same time.

We scurried along and when two o’clock came, we were ready to answer their call for help. We had moved as far as we could into the Gamma section but there were three or four different areas which could meet the requirements. Without a complete address, all we could do was wait until their next broadcast.

As we waited and listened, we could hear a distant rumbling, punctuated with snapping and popping noises. The borers were moving again extending their root structures further into the building. This meant there were other survivors, or there was food they hadn’t eaten yet. I looked up and noticed the web work of roots near us were beginning to grow small red nodules which were filling with fluid.

We were running out of time.

*  *  *

Turning the radio on, we waited nervously while looking around the hallway. Lucas was reaching into his backpack and pulled out a Zippo and a pressurized bottle with some handy-crafted napalm we made the last time we were in Philly. We did not have a flame thrower any more, but we had learned a lot of other things could be used in a pinch. During the Spring and Fall, fire was an ally you didn’t turn away. During the Summer, that was a whole different issue.

“This is Special Agent Davis…” he began as before.

“Save your battery, Agent, my name is Elwood King and we are on our way to you. But we need your secure room. And all things being equal we would prefer you meet us halfway.”

“Sitrep.”

“The trees have expended their supply of fire ants but if you have been there two days, they are about to be releasing a new set. I think there are other people still alive in here, but I am here for you and Madame President, nothing else.”

“Mister Elwood, that works for us. We are in Gamma quadrant 326 and are on our way to you. We have less than sixty seconds of hot wax remaining.”

“Move it, Agent, we are along the main vein of that corridor less than a quarter mile from your position. We have a path cleared to the exit, do we need to meet you?”

“On a good day, I would say no. The last week says, ‘Hell yes.'”

“How is your battery power?” I wasn’t worried about ours, we had just recharged on the Rhino.

“I would like to have more, but in light of how things are at the moment, would you be opposed to hearing our comms while we move?”

“Not at all, Agent Davis. We are on our way to you. Don’t know what you should expect when you open the door, but I would suggest a quick application of hot wax before you go to far. If it seems clear, run like hell. We will be coming as quickly as we can.”

“Clear. On our way.”

My daughter looked at me like I was crazy. “Are we really going to go deeper?”

“No. I am going deeper. You three are going to stay here and secure our exit. No arguing.”

Lucas walked over to me and handed me the Zippo and napalm. “I have another one in Sarah’s bag. We will set up a fire cordon if anything starts coming toward us.”

“No heroics, dad.”

“Me? You know I am too old to be heroic.” I hug my daughter briefly and she gently headbutts me. A private joke, from when she was a little girl who wanted to be tough like action heroes from television. In her way, she was tougher than anything old media could have imagined. They never had to contest with the likes of the Arrivals. “Same goes for you. If they get to be too much, get out of here and call for a pickup. You have a better chance of fighting your way out of here even if Tumblers are out there than you do staying in here without support. Back in a flash.”

And just like that we were separated. And to be honest, I preferred it that way. This was stupid and I let my pride get me in too deep. So if something was going to happen it was better if it just happened to me.

“–Whoosh, Whoosh.” I could hear the flamethrower over the radio. ” We are clear of the safe room and no Arrivals are visible. Proceeding. Stay close, Madam President.”

I turned the radio down to a bare whisper. I figured if they got in deep, their screams would soon be audible. I pass some skeletal remains and a few weapons but most were without straps so I was not going to be bothered unless it was something I couldn’t live without. The damn fire ants carry away anything organic, even the clothing. They do not seem to care for the hardest bone material so you will see the occasional skull or hip bone lying next to a weapon. I stop to check a clip or two hoping to find some incendiary rounds or something useful, but regular 5.56, rounds, common to the M16, we are not lacking at the moment.

It was hot, and I was nervously moving as quickly as I dared down the corridor. I was sweating and the zippo was slick in my hand. Which makes my next mistake expected and completely avoidable, but I was tired and wound tight. The corridor winds around in a circle and the corridor ahead of me was partially out of line of sight. It was also poorly lit and my shoulder lamp was a poor substitute in this darkened part of the building. I heard something but my mind wasn’t firing on all cylinders and by the time I realized what it was, I was too close to back away. I heard skitttering sounds and the ripping sounds of cloth being torn. As I panned my light over toward the noise I realized the area wasn’t quite empty.

A group of fire ants were tearing into what looked like someone who had made the poor decision to open  a door without the benefit of a flamethrower. It was a pile of still quivering flesh, alive but without the means to speak. The poor bastard’s tongue was being carried away, while blood spewed from its moaning mouth. They were brutal, and terrifyingly fast. After two minutes, the person stopped twitching and they continued with their grisly task. Blind, they did not see my light. I tried to back up, slowly, carefully.

Skzzzz. “Mr. King, we are making good time, where are you?”

Damn. Forgot I left the radio on. “Busy, about to be eaten, call you back.” Or not. I sprayed our home-made napalm, a mixture of gasoline and laundry detergent out in front of me as the wave began to move away from their primary meal. A tiny contingent stayed to continue their work, but the bulk of them began turning their long and frilly antenna toward me.

Like radar dishes, they waved back and forth and I knew they could see my heat and hear my heartbeat. You don’t want to know how we learned this. When the napalm hit the ground, they stopped. The strong odor would give their extraordinary sense of smell a kick in the head, so I was quite liberal with it. I got a bit of distance and laid down a lighting path and as I stopped to use the Zippo, it slipped from my grip and vanished into the rubble beneath my feet.

Damn.  

I stooped and scrambled around trying to find it. Flicking my light from the ground to the fire ants, they had already reached the napalm and had hesitated for fifteen seconds. Then the first wave started across. They died when they touched it, their nervous systems overcome. But they kept coming using the bodies of the first ones as a bridge and they kept dying. And kept coming. This group appeared to have at least ten thousand members, plenty enough to cross that patch and have plenty to spare. They could eat me with less than five hundred.

Digging around in the pile of debris, I cut my hand on a sharp piece of debris, a deep cut, think I nicked a vein. I found the lighter but the blood stirred the fire ants to a greater effort. They were swarming over the napalm and I dropped the canister to hunt for the lighter.  Striking the zippo I threw it into the napalm and ran for the remaining canister. A large number had already clear the napalm but at least half were still on the other side as the Zippo landed. It was the half on my side which were the problem.

The fire, and likely the smoke caused momentary disorientation and the swarm milled menacingly close, less than fifteen feet separated us. Much closer to dying than I was comfortable being. I grabbed the canister off the ground and arced a stream of napalm into the fire. The sound of the napalm spraying galvanized them into motion. I lit the stream of napalm and waved it like a wand of fire as the swarm began to leap toward me.

I wasn’t going to make it.

I kept spraying until the can was empty. The last thousand or so, who were not on fire or about to be, reoriented and swarmed toward me. Suddenly they stopped moving. Their antenna waved randomly and they began running in all directions. The princess! Someone must have gotten her. Then the distinctive sound of a flame thrower ripped through the air near me and I turned and ran as the area I was standing in was now completely aflame.

She came walking through the fire, a demon with fiery wings behind her, in a skintight, body armor, holding a flame-thrower like she was born to it. A Chinese face, with hard eyes, an uncompromising mouth and a look of fierce determination. “Mr. King, I presume?”

“Madam President? Where are your…”

“They didn’t make it. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” She helped me to my feet and applied a liberal doze of flamethrower behind her before she got out in front of me.

“Yes, ma’am.” She lead the way.

“Keep up. This thing’s empty.”

The Arrivals: Tales of a New Earth © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

The Arrivals – Tales of a New Earth, Part 2.

For more information regarding The Arrivals, you can check out the biographies of Martha King and Elwood King.

HYDE (4)

Posted by Ebonstorm on February 10, 2012
Posted in: HYDE: Portrait of a Modern Monster, Serial, Short Story. Tagged: , , , , , , , . 1 Comment

Dinner and a Show

a tale of hub city

Hyde seethes, rage feeds his power. He lopes though the forests forty miles south of Hub City. Hyde runs as fast as a small car pushing off trees, slashing their bark with his claws and nails, half swinging, half running minutes after twilight. His clothing hangs in rags, savage tears in his flesh from the branches and undergrowth healing as he causes new ones, surging after his prey.

A large buck runs, its eyes wide, unable to predict the movement of its hunter. First on the ground, then in the air, suddenly close, seemingly far away, its scent is not like the wolf, though the smell of hair is all over the creature, it not the smell of man, not at first. It smells more like a car, metallic, strong, harsh. Maybe toward the river. The buck turns sharply hoping to use the river as a barrier.

Hyde, stops and squats on a limb crouched down watching his prey take a lead. His clawed toes cutting into the hard wood of the tree. His hands have long triangular nails with a dull grey coating, curved like a hawk, for gripping and tearing. Licking his lips with a long grey tongue, he prepares to leap when he hears a woman scream nearby. His head snaps to the right and his ears strain to hear the sounds around him.

“Come on, baby, we didn’t bring you out here for just a peck on the cheek.” The voice was rough, drunken but the words were carried on the wind. His stink soon followed. Cheap whiskey. No bathing habits. Dirty clothing, oil, mechanic. 

“Yeah, we aren’t getting any younger. You said you wanted privacy and now you got privacy.” This one is no better, not a mechanic though, stinks of repression, rage, uncontrolled lust. A man after my own heart. But a cowardly sort, willing to hurt a defenseless person because he can. 

“You’re hurting me. I agreed to come out here cause a girl’s gotta work. You have to take turns. Freaky stuff costs extra.” She is expecting someone, she keeps turning her head, looking around for help that does not seem to be coming. Oh yes. I remember. He was probably her pimp. 

No, he won’t be coming to save the day. He’s already dead. An ill-mannered sort. Found him on the road earlier, smelled of dozens of women, blood, rage. He was coming out here to bury a woman’s body he had in the trunk. Could smell it as I passed overhead. Came out here to hunt dear and found pimp instead.

He sat in his car, off to the side of the road, waiting. I could smell his expectation. Teased him out of his car with a rock or two. Had a bit of fun. Chased him. He ran fast for a guy in a fur coat. Screamed a lot, died messy. She brought them here to rob them with her pimp’s help. Like she said, a girl has to make a living. Not my business.

“Well, we decided we like our money and we aren’t going to be giving you any of it after all.” Raging Ugly leers and smiles, flicking a look over at Dirty Mechanic. “I think I’ll go first.”

I can’t leave. I have to know how this turns out. She’s not done. I can feel her. She’s tough. She is reaching behind her back. I hear the click of a sheath strap. Can smell the leather. Knife. Ballsy. Raging Ugly surges forward and grabs her closest arm.  He pulls her to him and as he grabs her other arm she her arms snaps under his guard and lands smoothly in his rib cage, nicking his heart. I can hear his groan, I can smell the blood, so good, so sweet, flowing everywhere.

Reflexively he slaps her. Hard. Solid thunk of her head on the ground. Probably a rock. Nasty crunch, can’t be good. Nice try girlie. We would’ve had fun.

Look at him standing there. Looking down at the knife handle… “What the fuck?” He reflexively pulls on the handle. Mistake. He is in shock. Bright hot blood shoots out of his injury and he falls to the ground face down. He will be dead in less than a minute. 

Dirty Mechanic is still absorbing what happened. He didn’t quite see everything. He looks at Raging Ugly, thinking his friend is pulling his leg, bends down, turns him over and sees the blood. He is shaken. I can smell his stinking fear, a rich, redolent scent; love that smell.

Raging Ugly has only a few seconds left, I hear his heart fluttering like a bird in a cage, trying to find a rhythm, anything that will stop the loss of blood. Faster and faster, his breathing rasping, coughing up blood “What happened, what happened to me… Claude, I’m dying. That bitch killed me. I’m so cold. I’m cold, man.

“Hold on. We gonna get you to a doctor. Stay with me.” Dirty Mechanic is pressing on the wound trying to stop the blood flowing all over his hands, bubbling up like lava. Lie to him. You know you have to lie to him. Give him hope.

“You’re gonna make it.”

See, isn’t that better. You feel better. This was your idea after all. It should be you lying there instead of him. I see that guilt on your face, all over it, your haunted eyes, your angry brow. Your aroused state is gone. You know his family. I think you know his wife better than he knew. I can smell her on both of you. Your scent is later than his… This was your way to make it up to him. Stupid bastards.  

His heart stops. He sighs that final sound when death takes a man. His last word was “mommy.”

Dirty Mechanic picks up his dead friend, looks over at the hooker, who is bleeding out on the rock where she smashed her face. He hefts his dead friend and turns back toward their car. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Bastards always want to have religion right when are doing their dirt or when it goes wrong. I should just kill him. But explaining this will be the cruelest thing which could happen to him. It will cut into his sex life as he experiences his Catholic guilt, too. Nice necklace. To be a fly on that wall…

Hyde laughs as he bounds after that buck who thought it got away. He can see its scent trail as if it were a flashlight in the darkness. Dinner and a show.

Hyde, Portrait of a Modern Monster © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

SIX – The Doctor is In

Posted by Ebonstorm on February 8, 2012
Posted in: Short Story. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

“Mr. Hyde I presume?”

A quiet and subtle voice, barely heard above the howling wind outside the hundred and second floor of Grayson Tower, the tallest building in the center of Hub City. “I suppose I will have to have those claw marks buffed out of the front of my building.” The speaker has his back to the window, sitting down, hunched over a desk. “You know, we do have an elevator.”

A thick cane leaned against the desk with a large black stone on its tip. He was writing something slowly. Once done, he folded the letter meticulously and placed it into an envelope. Slowly he rose, gripped his cane and turned around to face the window and the towering form of Hyde.

He wore a grey suit and over it a white lab coat. His suit, obviously expensive and his cufflinks flash in the brightly lit room. His face was brown like a burlap sack and his age was indeterminate. His eyes, black as coal, peek out from underneath wide and bushy eyebrows. He is bald but his face bears a well-manicured goatee. His full lips are peeled back in a predatory and menacing smile. His eyes however, do not share the smile. He leans back onto the desk. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

The man is calm, I’ll give him that. “Enjoy. It will be your last.” Hyde’s voice is gruff, coarser than usual. He was just finished healing from the beat down, he received two months earlier from the super-soldier commandos. The only thing that made that drubbing worthwhile was watching them turn into smoking, cancer-ridden piles of rotting meat. Whatever technology they were using was not ready for prime-time. It had taken two months of hunting, limb-breaking and old-fashioned detective work. The trail led him here. It was time for some payback.

Hyde turned his head to take in the room and saw an extensive laboratory filled with a variety of computers, autoclaves, other machines, some familiar, others not. A flash of memory sweeps over him and he remembers a biometric monitoring system across the room. He is not sure why he recognized it, but the memory was strong. Whoever this doctor was, he had money to spare. Not just anyone could afford this setup. Another mystery.

“You like my lab? It is only one of many. I will take you on a tour tomorrow, if you like.” The man uses his cane to point around the room.

Hyde snorts, “What makes you think you’ll be alive tomorrow? I plan to rip you limb from limb.”

“Really? Before you get the answers you have been searching for? Or should I say, Carlucci is searching for? That would be so anticlimactic.”

“Spare me the small talk. I think I will prefer the answers you will give me when I am ripping open your chest. People lie less when I am eating their ribs before their eyes.” Something’s wrong.

“Spare me the posturing, Mr. Hyde. I know who you are. I know what you are. In a way, I helped to create you.” He stood up from leaning on his desk and squared his shoulders. Though not quite as tall as Hyde, he was nearly six feet tall himself. “Now we can have this conversation, the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”

Hyde clenches his hands and his knuckles crack with a rhythmic precision. He turns his head and his neck bones crack as well. A hot, metallic smell starts to rise from his person and his ragged jumpsuit begins to smoke. “You know what, let’s do this the hard way. I am sure I won’t break a nail on that nice Armani, you’re wearing. What do your friends call you? I want to know who to mail your head to.”

“In Japanese tradition, it is considered polite to give your name to your enemy. You have chosen the nom de guerre, Hyde. I will be Doctor Jekyll to you, sir, after all, I did help create you. And like the good Doctor, I too have a dark side.” Stepping out of his shoes, and taking off his lab coat, he throws it over the chair. “Anytime you’re ready, sir.”

Hyde needed no more prelude than that and leapt across the room arms outstretched, his carbon-hardened claws, extended, fangs opened in a bestial roar. In a movement Hyde can barely see, Jekyll steps to the side and grabs Hyde’s arm and whirling him around he slams him across the room into a bookcase. The bookcase crumples under Hyde’s massive weight. The two hundred pound teak bookcase crumpled like tissue. Hyde laughed, knocking books and wood off of his back. “Nice throw, Doctor. I hope your plan does not include Aikido to save you. It’s not nearly going to be enough.”

“Not at all Mr. Hyde. I am not counting on Aikido to save the day. I was simply giving you the chance to see you were out-classed and offering you one more opportunity to see reason before I have to actually hurt you.” While Hyde was climbing out of the bookcase, the doctor had taken off his suit and laid it upon his desk. He was wearing a skintight undergarment that covered him from neck to the ends of his extremities. Only his hands and feet were naked. “I await your pleasure.”

Hyde turned to the doctor again, trying to figure out what his senses were telling him. The smell was not one of fear, it was one of excitement, and something else, something chemical. It reminded him of the metallic scent of his own transformation. But the doctor looked completely unchanged.

Hyde exploded across the room, books flew from under foot as Hyde moving as fast as a train, reached out with a clawed hand directly pointed at the doctor’s face. And again, with only a minimum of movement the doctor spun and avoided Hyde’s hand. Completing his spin he kicked Hyde right out of the window. The doctor stopped to grab his cane and looking out the window, leapt after Hyde to the nearby rooftop where Hyde would land, hard.

Hyde crashed into a concrete stairway rising onto the roof. Tearing through it, he lay stunned. As he tried to get up, Jekyll land squarely onto his chest, driving Hyde into the reinforced roof of the building. Jekyll bounces away lightly and lands nearby. Hyde’s response was immediate. He swept rubble with both of his arms toward the Doctor and bounded to his feet, while the doctor used his cane to deflect the rubble, Hyde began attempting to close the distance between the two.

Despite the fact, he had just jumped thirty stories out of a building, the doctor didn’t even appear to be winded or surprised. Hyde kept up his assault his clawed hands lashing out as fast a cheetah’s killing blow and with as much power. The doctor used his cane to block Hyde’s strikes but did not attack. This only seemed to infuriate Hyde further. Their exchanges were faster than the eye could see and the doctor retreated the entire time. Hyde pushed the doctor back to the edge of the rooftop. Leaping over Hyde, he landed twenty feet away.

Hyde pushed his body further, and felt his arms growing longer, muscles changing in texture and tone, hyper-oxygenating them, exchanging strength for speed. Hyde rushed the doctor and his clawed arms slashing out, striking the doctor on the belly and shoulder. The strange undergarment acting as an armor, the blows drew no blood. But Hyde was testing its strength and knew he could overcome it. His nails sharpened into needle-like points. The doctor withdrew outside of Hyde’s assault. He held his cane in two hands. Twisting the head, it transformed into a sword cane and armored sheath.

The two of them clashed together, a blur of motion, both landing strikes and taking blows, the sound of claws on steel range around the glass canyon as the two titans struggled for dominance. The doctor began to give ground as Hyde blows landed and one even tore his left arm’s armor away revealing muscular flesh beneath and the lacerations of Hyde’s diamond-tipped claws. The doctor, using his sheath, smashed Hyde in the mouth and knocked him across the roof.

Hyde shook his head, wiping away blood, “Nice. You’ve survived a lot longer than I expected. But this fight is just about over.” Hyde’s jumpsuit was bloodstained and nearly completely destroyed. Carlucci bought them in bulk since their arrangement. He was crouched and studying Jekyll for any sign of weakness. He didn’t see one. Palming a piece of rubble, an idea formed.

“I was trying to show you the pointlessness of this exercise and how we could work together. With my genius and your brawn, we could rule Hub City and remove the criminal scum that infests her.”

“You care about Hub City? I don’t think so.” Hyde stood gauging the distance between the two of them.

“But you do. Once we clear away Hub City’s vermin, I will show you things that will make Hub City worst criminals look like Girl Scouts.”

“You do realize I am an unreasonable person, right?” Hyde began to breathe faster and deeper. His muscles and bone density began to multiply. The scar on his chest began to heat up and his overall temperature rose.

Doctor Jekyll’s eyebrow rose in surprise. He is altering his nervous system, attempting to increase his reaction time and attack speed. He is reducing his mass to increase his speed. This was unexpected and exciting to learn. What is the source of his transformation energy?

Cupped in his hand, Hyde threw the piece of rubble with supersonic speed. As his deadly projectile crossed the distance between he and his target, his mighty legs were already propelling him right behind it.

Jekyll, momentarily stunned by the speed and ferocity of this improvised attack was struck by the deadly projectile in the left shoulder and dropped his sword. The missile exploded into dust.

“So you can be surprised.” Hyde landed his punch squarely across the jaw of the doctor and the doctor’s head snapped to the right with the force of the blow. With a reflexive backhand the doctor knocked Hyde sailing across the roof.

Hyde rolled with the blow and landed on his feet sliding across the rooftop. What the hell? How did he do that? I thought he was on the ropes. What did I miss? I need to buy some time. “The commandos, they were yours, weren’t they? They move like you do, fight like you do, mixing martial arts with superhuman strength and speed. But they turned into piles of rotting meat. But you don’t appear to be about to turn into a pile of organ-bursting goo. Why is that?”

“Nice strategy, make me talk while you look for my weaknesses.” Doctor Jekyll smiled. He rubbed his jaw. “That was a surprise. I didn’t know you could do that. I see why you refuse to use a weapon; its visceral, primal, savage. You see, there is so much we can learn from each other. But I think our time is done. I have learned all that I think I can today.”

Dropping his sheath, he turned toward Hyde, dusting himself off. “You, for instance, will learn…” He disappeared from where he was on the roof and reappeared in front of Hyde. Hyde never saw him move. He punctuated every word with a powerful strike from his fists, driving Hyde’s face into the rooftop with each blow. “I.” Boom. “Don’t.” Boom.”Have.” Boom. “Any.” Boom. “Weaknesses.” Boom.

And then Hyde lay still.

Smoke rose from the hole in the rooftop. A light rain started to fall. “I know you are teetering on the edge of consciousness, Mr. Hyde. I trust I have made my point. I will have need of you at some time in the future. When I do I will call for you. And you will come. Otherwise I will destroy everything you hold dear, Mr. Carlucci.”

Doctor Jekyll walked to the edge of the rooftop. He stopped to pick up his sword cane and sheath. Locking them together he leapt away into the night.

Hyde sank into unconsciousness.

Hyde: Portrait of a Modern Monster © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Hikaru Dorodongo

Posted by Ebonstorm on February 8, 2012
Posted in: Aethermancer: The Saga of The Clockwork King, Short Story. Tagged: , , , , , , , . 1 Comment

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a tale of Mythic Qin

I arrived at the temple when I was just a child of eleven summers. The bandits that killed my family were the remnants of an enemy army that had been routed by the Clockwork King during the early part of his reign. At that time, we had been told he was the best thing for the land and would reunite our people under a single leader.

I was an orphan, it was decided, since I could read and write I would be sent to live with the priests near Mount Hakaurai. The priests who took me up the mountain led several other children with us, but they cried all the time and could not be comforted. Eventually they were given to me to lead as the priests walked out in front of us and told us to follow, but not too close.

The trail was dusty and hard. The priests kept up a pace that was difficult and I had a hard time keeping up. The two younger children were even less able. I carried the smaller one for a time. Whenever we would stop for the night, I would have to take them to the woods to relieve themselves while the priests foraged for food. I had never been more than a day or two from home, so the approach to the mountains seemed miraculous to me. There were waving forests of bamboo grass blowing in the wind, the air was filled with the drone of insects, and the breeze was sweet and cool, even a bit chilled in the first part of the day, but it always warmed up later and became pleasant.

Gruff but not cruel, when we came around a particular pass, the priests stopped and pointed ahead. The appearance of the surrounding mountains was that of a jagged row of bottom teeth. Mount Hakaurai was one of a dozen spearlike mountains covered with trees near top. At the very tips of each mountain was a dusting of snow like a tiny hat. As we approached we could see the winding road that would lead to the top and it would take at least two more days to get there.

“Master, who made this road to the temple?” I asked because it appeared to be made of a strange rock I had never seen before, it had a quality that made it glow in the evening light.

“Let us set up camp, acolyte-to-be and we will share with you the tale of the Scaled Road of Mount Hakaurai.” The priests seemed to be in better spirits once they got closer to home, so I put off their apparent earlier rudeness to their fear of the recent bandit attacks. As we were getting the camp ready, as the sun set, the Scaled Road flashed with a ripple of fire that moved quickly up the mountain. It was a marvelous effect and quieted the two younger boys for the first time on the trip. Chikamasa, the younger had been sick for the first few days and the monks took him with them to the river, and promised that Jiro and I would be allowed to go and clean up, once they got back.

Chikamasa and the priests came back to the camp, and the boy was looking much better. He said they had been giving him some leaves to eat and others to drink in tea and it was helping. We got our chance to go to the river and cleaned our clothes and our selves. This was the first time in days we had been really able to clean up and it was wonderful. I thought this time with the priests might not be such a terrible thing. Not as good as home, but not as terrible as I first thought.

When we got back to the camp, the priests were preparing a rabbit they caught near the road. The area at the foot of the mountains was so green and forested, there were plants and animals everywhere. Master Gen, the second oldest of the priests, was tending the rabbit, having rubbed it in exotic salts and spices, it smelled so good, I could barely wait to eat.

“While the rabbit is cooking, let’s tell that tale,” said Master Shikamaru, who was the oldest of the three priests. There was once a celestial dragon, Akira the wise, who was said to be the cleverest of the Celestial King of Heaven’s court. It is said when there was a need of an answer to a question or riddle, Lord Akira was always the first consulted. When Lord Akira did not know the answer he would fly to the Earth and quest until he found the answer he sought. It was said he knew every flower, every tree, every animal and could speak the language of every creature.” He paused to take a sip of his tea and looked into our faces in the firelight. We were eager to hear more of his tale, and he paused dramatically before continuing.

“One afternoon, after a great argument in the Celestial Heaven, Lord Akira flew to Earth greatly perturbed by the arguments of the celestial named Akum, dark lord of the Underworld. Akum, while unloved by many in the Court was a renowned and miraculous seer. He predicted the end of the Celestial Heavens and that a great sorcerer-priest would lead an army of demons against them. When he was asked from whence that Sorcerer-priest would be born, he was unable to divine the answer. Lord Akira volunteered to find the answer to the question of the Sorcerer-Priest and flew to the Earth.

“Celestial dragons did not fly with wings, they undulated their bodies like giant snakes in the sky. So as he approached anywhere, he was a giant ribbon of light. So whenever he came near villages, people were always terrified of him and fled or fainted until he left. He swept the land seeking the answer to the question of the greatest sorcerer-priest until he heard tell of a priest of our Order. He flew to our mountain and landed, draping himself around the mountain from the top where his head stood at the gates to our temple to the bottom of the mountain.

“He called out to the temple and at the time, Master Po was the greatest of our Order and he came out to confront him.

‘Ho Lord Akira, Celestial Dragon of the Heavens, what brings you to our humble temple?’

‘I am told the greatest sorcerer-priest in the world resides here and I would question him.’

‘You do us great honor, Lord Akira, but no such person dwells within. He is but a legend to us as well. It is said that one day, we will house within our walls, the greatest sorcerer to ever live. He shall have the power to turn day into night, his spiritual power shall give him dominion over the very stuff of life itself. But today, he does not exist.’

‘Then perhaps it would be best if your temple were to cease to exist. For such a force might one day rival the heavens themselves.’

‘And what would be wrong with that Lord Akira?’

Akira tried to take flight in that moment and found he could not rise. Mount Hakaurai had been covered with hikaru dorodango, spheres of elemental mud, created from the Nine Realms, each capable of holding the spiritual essence of the nine chakras. Once Lord Akira landed, his powers were being drained away without his knowledge.

Master Po, used his Chi to try and subdue the great dragon and their battle of wills took place. It was said they struggled for nine days and nine nights, locked in place. So great was the struggle, nothing could move near them. Priests who tried were struck dead. At the end of the nine days, the great dragon won his freedom. But his thrashings left the scales upon what would become the road to our mountain temple.”

“What happened to Master Po? Jiro asked.”

“Master Po’s chi entered into the temple gate and protects us to this day. He determines who is worthy to enter the temple and removes those who would harm us.” This came from the least friendly of the priests, Sasume the Grim. “Master Po was my master many years ago and I was saddened by his loss to us.”

Jiro piped up, “But Master, you said he became part of the great temple gate. Doesn’t that mean he is still there?

“Yes, child, in a way. But his body passed on a few days later and we are only able to see him when new acolytes come to the temple.”

I noticed they did not answer the most important question, so I thought I would ask it. “What happened to Lord Akira and his quest to find the greatest sorcerer-priest?”

“That is a story for another day, children. It is late. Eat your supper. Tomorrow’s climb will be hard. We must reach the halfway point to get to the shelter or sleep again in the open. Mount Hakaurai is not kind if you sleep in the open at night.”

The next morning was cold and overcast, there was a low-lying fog which reduced our ability to see more than a few miles and Mount Hakaurai was obscured from view. The priests were up early and packed the camp while we slept. They woke us last and hurried us along. They did their best to hide their furtive glances but I saw they were agitated and distressed. We all but ran up the path toward the mountain.

As we approached, I found it harder to breathe. It was as if there were something squeezing me. My head felt heavy and my shoulders felt as if there was a weight upon them.

“Do you feel it, boy? Sasume whispered? Do you feel the spiritual pressure of the mountain? I told you, he was touched, Gen. The seer was right. He feels the pressure this far from the mountain.”

“Shut up, Sasume. You will frighten the boy unduly. There is nothing to be afraid of. What you are feeling is called spiritual pressure. Those of us with naturally high chakras can sense the energy of the mountain and until you are properly trained, it will feel as if you are bearing a great weight. It will not harm you. When you learn to understand spiritual pressure, you will be able to sense the power and capabilities of your opponents if they possess chi abilities equal or better than your own.”

“Yes, Master,” was all I could get out. Sasume grabbed me by the arm and dragged me along the path. The two little ones kept up best they could. When we reached the foot of the mountain, the day was half gone. Master Gen, looking at me, made a series of hand-signs, his hands moving in a variety of unusual shapes and then pressed them against my chest.

“This will help a little as we climb. You must concentrate and silence your inner thoughts. The mountain feeds upon your inner fears. Now hurry.” He grabbed up Jiro and put him on his back, Master Shikamaru, picked up Chikamasa, and the three priests moved as quickly as I had ever seen them. As we approached the path, my vision began to blur and I could swear I saw a shimmering coming from the road itself. Then Sasume shook me and continued to drag me up the road. I could feel a heat from the road as well, something that made my feet tingle.

We moved up the mountain and while we climbed we passed several large spheres. Perfectly round, shiny and each was a different color. There were smaller ones spaced around them and they too were comprised of different colors and possibly different materials. We rushed past the first one so quickly, I hardly noticed it. But when we reached the second, I could see it with my blurred vision as a luminous sphere connected to the smaller ones near it and to the very road itself. When I looked at the road, suddenly I could sense something else. “Someone is following us.” I blurted out before realizing what I was saying.

“Yes, I have felt it for some time now. How could you have known?” Master Sasume looked at me. “You felt it? You can feel the Road?”

“I’m not sure what I am feeling but its as if I can hear them talking. They are coming fast up the road. They mean us harm.”

“Then I shall stay.” Master Gen puts down Chikamasa, and turns to sit on the road. Take them to the refuge. You will be safe once you get there. I will entertain our guests. Come here boy.” He looked at me. You cannot afford to fall into their hands. I will teach you something now, you will need to know, but it will be painful and you will regret learning it this way. Give me your hands.”

I was terrified. His eyes had turned completely black and his hands had turned purple with a power I had never seen before. When my vision blurred, he was not just a man, he was a series of spheres, some brighter than others, and this flesh was just a tiny portion of what he was. He took my hands and I could see my own spheres, they were inside me glowing, each equally, until he took my hands, then I could feel my rage growing, my internal chakras flashed with new lights and then it burned, like I was on fire. I could not see, could not hear, all my senses were lost in an explosion so bright, the world turned white, the color of death. He let go and I was free. I could breath again and the pressure of the mountain was gone. I was light like air and knew things. Strange things, I had never known before. “Run, boy.” I ran. I ran like the wind. I caught up to the priests who had gone ahead and they were moving fast, incredibly fast, their sandals slapping the road with a powerful rhythm. I matched them easily. The road melted away.

When night was falling, we approached a small building. It was surrounded with the tiny spheres in the same number, nine, spaced equally around it. As we entered, I could feel the pulse of pressure and realized this was not just an ordinary shelter. As we entered we saw the road shimmer in the weak sunlight and it glowed again, just before sunset.

“Whatever you see outside that door, you are not to set foot out there again until morning. You can affect nothing and no one.” Master Sasume went to to the back of the building to make dinner. I felt compelled to stand in the doorway. It was open but I could not feel the wind from the road. I could see down the mountain and the evening fog had hidden the roots from view. It was then that I saw them leaping out of the fog. They were armored but not like the bandits who wore scraps of different armors stolen from battlefields of the dead. These were complete armors, beautiful and shining softly with their own light. The men were fighting someone, a priest from the robes. As he retreated up the mountain, his kung fu was masterful. He fought the entire group of at least twenty and as he retreated, each hundred steps they took, they paid for it with another man.

They were approaching the shelter and darkness was falling. I could still see him and their battle was slowing down. He was being struck, a nick here, a cut there and then their mighty spear thrusts caught him. Before he died, he released his red chakra and the five who held him with their spears burst into flames and died with him. He landed on the ground and turned toward me. I could see him looking at me and then he closed his eyes.

The last ten of the ghostly warriors continued up the path, but they looked around as if they were expecting attack. As they approached the orb, they did not seem to be able to see us, but they kept coming. As they grew closer, I could see the glowing sigil of a great dragon on their chests, the sigil of Lord Akira.

“Step away from the door, boy. You should not see what will happen to them.” Sasume was grinning while eating some cold bread and smoked fish he had found in the pantry. Jiro and Chikamasa were so hungry they did not even look up from their plates. I could not help myself. I stayed at the door and watched as the orb we were somehow inside of began to draw their life essence into itself. They tried to resist, they used magics, but this only seem to hasten the process. The more they struggled the faster they died. They screamed while they died; an endless thing. Eventually, they lay still. The light from their magical armor was consumed and then, their very flesh. I could not sleep after that.

Come morning, there was little to indicate anything had happened out there at all. The priests did not seem relieve however and we continued to run up the mountain until we reached the final staircase. I could see the gates at the top of the stairs. Sasume pushed Jiro and Chikamasa ahead of Master Shikamaru and he looked at me. “You must get to the gate, no matter what. This is where we part ways. You had better be worth this. Don’t look back.”

Master Shikamaru made a series of handsigns and then grab Jiro and put him on his back and Chikamasa in his arms, he started leaping up the stairwell. When I looked back at Sasume, he was standing at the foot of the stairs and more of the armored men appeared, this time many of them with beautiful bows with wickedly-tipped arrows that shimmered in the morning light.

Sasume stood at the ready, in a horse stance, legs bowed and arms at his side as the archers aimed and fired. He radiated power and the arrows struck him but did no damaged, each broken as if it had struck a wall. The archers fired several times and then retreated. We continued to climb the stairs and halfway to the top, we looked back. Swordsmen had engaged Sasume and he was holding them at bay. But his iron skin was not as strong as their swords and each hit took a bit of his armor away. But every time he struck one of them, they exploded with the force of his attacks. But the end was near for him. When we were within a few feet of the top of the stairs, he fell for the last time.

The soldiers then began to climb the stairwell and would be all over us in a few minutes. When we reached the top of the stairs, we could see the Great Gate of the Temple. It was an archway that stood twenty meters high made of black stone that had been worked to perfection. Even in the morning light, it did not shimmer, rather it absorbed the light, and seemed to harness it to create more darkness. Then it spoke. “Bring them to me.”

Master Shikamaru moved the two boys to the gate and beckoned me as well. I could hear the voice of Master Po and did not know which would be worse, to approach the gate or to wait for the soldiers. I went to the gate. Two men had already died to get me this far. When Master Shikamaru took the children to the gate, both seemed asleep until they cross the threshold. Then they bolted upright and fell to the ground right out of Master Shikamaru arms. And they lay there, unmoving. “They were…” The pause was long. “Unworthy.”

“Come boy, are you the stuff of legend?”

I looked over at Jiro and Chikamasa and my vision blurred. I could see their spheres going out one after another. I could see them, sense them struggling to hold on to life. I ran to them and touched them as they lay under the gate. I could feel this power, this terrible power as they poured into me, as if I were a refuge for their spirits.

“Boy, what have you done? They were mine to consume. How dare you interfere? Ah, look, you have the mark. I can see it on you. The darkness dwells within you. You are the one.”

All I could see was Jiro and Chikamasa on the ground and hear the voice of Master Po above me. I felt the fire of Master Gen inside of me, burning and I could hear the sounds of the warriors as they crested the stairs. Master Shikamaru stood next to me and plucked two arrows from the air right before they struck me in the back.

I turned around and felt the well of power of the Celestial Dragon, Lord Akira, in the air, in the ground, bound tightly inside of the Gate of Hakaurai. I could sense the energy of Lord Akira inside of these soldiers and I realized they wanted me dead. Me. I did not know them, had never done anything to them, and they wanted to kill me. I reached down to the earth and touched the power of Lord Akira bound there by the dark magics of Master Po. and I reached up and grabbed Master Po, I could feel him trying to take control of me, trying to make my body his. I pulled the dark and the light together.

Master Shikamaru was blown off the mountain when those two forces came together. His was the only death I regret that day.

The soldiers of Lord Akira were, no matter where they were on the mountain, destroyed and absorbed into the defenses of the mountain itself. Their arms and armor were the only sign they were ever there. The Great Gate exploded and the temple walls nearest to the gate were destroyed as if a bomb had been released there. The Black Gate was no more. I stood in the center of the explosion clutching the bodies of two small boys to my chest.

The priests climbed over the wreckage of the walls and got down on one knee before me. Then they led me into the temple and I slept for twenty days. When I awoke, they had cleaned me, dressed my injuries and told me I was the one foretold of by Akuma. I was the one who would cast down the unrighteous oppression of the gods upon man. They made this pronouncement to me as if it was the most normal thing in the world. They stood stoically looking at me waiting for my response. “I do not want that.”

“It does not matter what you want. It is fated to be this way.”

“What if I defy my fate?”

“Then you doom the world to whatever would take the place of your great work. No seer can see beyond that point.”

“How will I take over the world when the Clockwork King has already destroyed any who oppose him?”

“Look within you. Feel inside yourself.” The Priest who addressed me was old, far older than Master Gen. I could see his age upon him like a cloak.

I closed my eyes and could feel my chakra. I could feel the power of four beings within me. And four lifetimes.

“We will train you, Dark One. And when you have outlived petty kings and even their kingdoms, you will be ready to topple Heaven itself.

“And if I chose to destroy the Clockwork King myself?” He murdered my family and my friends, everyone and everything I knew.

“Then we shall make you ready for that, as well. Rest, tomorrow we begin your training.”

And we did. The next forty years would see me gather power and skills as no man had ever had. Grandmaster Yinre, the priest who saw to all of my training would die as I became the ruler of Mount Hakaurai and its temple. As my power grew, my sense of Master Gen faded as his life energies left me. I could still feel Jiro and Chikamasa’s energy searing within me. I could also feel oily evil that was Master Po searching for a way to make my power his. Who knew a lifetime would fly by so quickly?

The lands of the Clockwork King grew and eventually bordered my own. I knew my time had come. I set out that morning, the temple bustling with the young monks who would one day become my army. But first, I had to see the land for myself. I set off to view my enemy firsthand.

Hikaru Dorodango © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse: A quick & dirty guide

Posted by Ebonstorm on January 28, 2012
Posted in: Analysis. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

In surviving the Zombie Apocalypse, one rule stands above all others, forgotten at the risk of death: GUNS ARE LESS IMPORTANT THAN BRAINS. 

Assuming, for a moment, that this is not just an academic exercise and a zombie apocalypse suddenly took place, one’s survival would be determined by a number of things outside of your immediate control. The CDC used this as an opportunity to educate people about what to do during an emergency of epic proportions. But I suspect the horror of the event will prevent people from asking the questions that might save their lives…

1. How are other people responding to the emergency? If they lose their heads, you might be killed by rampaging humans instead of the undead/infected. First step. Get the hell away from other people who are panicking.

2. How the authorities, (assuming that there are any) respond(ed) to the emergency?A slow response, or an inability to effectively respond and quarantine people would also ultimately lack the controls necessary to keep the undead/infected from spreading. You might also find yourself killed by the very police forces you are hoping might protect you. Second step, if you can’t find people who are keeping their head, get away and find a way to keep yours.

3. How fast the condition spread and the vector for transmission? When it spread, whether it was night or day when the condition was declared out of control. Fast spreading means it potentially burns out of quickly (if its an infection) if you can stop or quarantine the infected. Slow transmission effectively means it would spread everywhere before activating and would likely cover the world meaning you have no real place you can hide. Focus your attention and see what each person who is afflicted seems to be exhibiting. Yes, you are trying to stay alive, but anything that can help you recognize the threat is worth noticing.

4. When you first became aware of the apocalypse? Were you caught off guard or were you aware something was happening, even if you did not know what it was?

5. Where you were when the apocalypse was declared out of control? Were you in your home or were you at work? The answer may make a vital difference in your approach to survival. If your home is properly prepared it is the place to be. If it isn’t, then you will have to make where ever you are as safe as can be.

6. How you responded to the apocalypse and the disaster in general? If you were unable to shed your human responses to the event, you will likely lack the necessary resolve to survive in the days to come. Fight now, weep later.  If your family member is infected, keep them isolated. Yes, its cruel, and rough, but otherwise you might as well shoot yourself and be done with it. If survival is your goal, then do what it takes.

STOP AND THINK IF YOU WANT TO LIVE

Any event that completely destabilizes a civilization, especially something like a zombie apocalypse would ultimately require that you get as far away from civilization as possible. The primary reason is that such an event will likely initiate a fuel-air (or thermobaric weapon) response from the military to control and prevent the spread of the infection. If you want to see what the military’s response might look like, I recommend watching a movie called The Crazies. In this flick, the military in an effort to prevent the spread of a psychological pathogen designed to destabilize populations, ends up using a fuel-air weapon to destroy the town hoping to end the spread of the pathogen. (Unsuccessfully.)

If it spread very quickly, it would likely overwhelm any emergency services in a localized area but would likely be contained and/or containable. If it spread slowly but invisibly, it might spread across the entire world before being able to be isolated effectively, if at all.

If, for example, the dead were actually reanimated and could infect the living, it would be quite different than if the living were suddenly converted into zombies who were forced to live on the flesh of the living but would die, of starvation eventually.

If the dead were returning to life, the effect would eventually overwhelm the living as every dead person would become a zombie eventually. There would also be the added issue of an increasing number of zombies as the starving and dying filled their ranks. This would require the living to destroy every zombie they came in contact with and to destroy their own dead immediately.

Assuming that these dead bodies would continue to attack the living until their bodies were eventually overcome by physical forces, one could expect the zombies to be effectively animated for 3 to 12 weeks before physical decomposition and physical damage made it impossible for them to be mobile.

If it were a virus or other contagion spread by contact, it might be possible to contract the condition without even coming in contact directly with the infected, making it very difficult for anyone to avoid become “zombified” without their awareness. If it were a virus, though, it might be able to be recognized by the symptoms as the host sickened and eventually died.

NO GOOD NEWS SO FAR… 

The first rule of the zombie apocalypse is observation without contact. So your first mission would be to get clear and find a way to block yourself away from the contagion. Then keep a low profile until you could determine:

1. How zombies hunt – do they have good hearing, do they have a good sense of smell, do they just wander until they bump into something that is NOT a zombie?

2. What is the ratio of zombies to humans – how fast is the contagion spread? Is it merely by contact, by bite, saliva, blood, or is it airborne? It would definitely be to your best interest to determine how zombification takes place. When in doubt, your best bet is to simply stay as far away from them as possible. Touch nothing you do not have to, and dispose of anything that gets zombie fluids (assuming they have any) or matter on them until it is determined how the condition is transferred.

GEAR UP 

1. Dress for the weather, be mindful of the season. If you can find it, get a backpack that is waterproof, relatively large so that you can keep spare clothing there. Don’t carry too much. In a world of zombies, there should be plenty of shopping to be had for quite some time.

2. Get some good fitting shoes, tennis shoes, Timberlands or other waterproof foot protection for your feet. An injury to your foot is the same as signing your death warrant.

3. Protect yourself with armored clothing if you can find it. Particularly if the condition can be spread by contact. You are not trying to contact it, but if it can be transmitted by a scratch, it would be a shame to get it because you were showing off some skin. Heavy denim would be best, light strong and durable, leather if the weather allows it, consider light hockey gear for location protection. Goggles, to protect one’s eyes, and a medical mask, if the disease is spread by viral or bacterial contagion.

4. Weaponry: no matter what you see in the movies, a zombie apocalypse would be a disaster unlike any seen in human history. Being armed would be a difficult proposition but not because guns would not be effective. They would likely be the most effective means of dealing with them, but guns make noise, likely attracting more zombies.

If you are going to choose to carry firearms, you should understand a particular issue that most people forget when they are watching movies. Ammunition is heavy. It is also cumbersome. If you are trying to stay mobile, you will only be able to carry a certain amount of it. Handguns are lighter, but have less stopping power, their corresponding ammo is also lighter. Handguns also require much greater aim and practice, so if you are not familiar with a handgun, it is as dangerous to you as it is to any enemy.

Other than that, the standard rules with handguns apply. Revolvers don’t jam, but carry less ammunition. Automatics carry more ammo, but have a chance of jamming. Knowing how to clear a jam is a skill. Learn when there aren’t hordes of hungry zombies attacking you. With that said, my highest recommendation would be a combat shotgun (see AA 12).

A combat shotgun is a shotgun that is intended for use in an offensive role, typically by a military force. The earliest shotguns specifically designed for combat were the trench guns or trench shotguns issued in World War I. While limited in range, the multiple projectiles typically used in a shotgun shell provide increased hit probability unmatched by other small arms.

The pros of the weapon are its devastating close range firepower. The cons are its very short range and need to reload regularly. Since we would likely not understand the causes of the Event, it would make sense to destroy as much of the target as possible. Smaller firearms might be useful but may only aggravate the zombie without stopping it. Work the head-shot for stopping power.

No matter what you see in the movies, confronting zombies with firearms would be my last choice.

Barring the shotgun, there are numerous devices being promoted in the world today for the zombie apocalypse. My favorite would be the aluminum baseball bat. Strong, durable, relatively lightweight, effective for damaging limbs or knocking off heads, does not require power, and is relatively quiet. Able to be found at any sporting goods store. Along with that would be the hunting crossbow or if you have the skill, the hunting composite bow. All three are easy to learn (but to be effective, will still require you to maintain your health, fitness and to practice when possible.)

A large knife, axe or machete would round out my personal weaponry profile. Blood would be undesirable, but having my limbs torn off would also be a bad thing as well. Each of them has a technique for use, and it is worth your while to figure out which attacks work best for each. If you find a knife, axe or machete that works well, it behooves you to find a means to keep it sharp. Take the time and find a whetstone.

IF THIS IS THE END OF THE WORLD, LOOK BOTH WAYS…  

Terrain – it can work for you as well as against you. Put as much terrain between you and the zombie hordes as possible. Stay out of places with only one exit, unless you are confident that that place can be securely defended. That said, banks and office buildings while having little food would be excellent places to hole up temporarily.

Health – there are no doctors, so you cannot get sick. Get rested, stay rested, stay warm and dry. Change clothes when you can, be mindful of what you eat, bury your wastes far away from yourself and your camps. Raid a pharmacy if you can get, first aid supplies, simple antibiotics, and painkillers. You might want to read up on those in advance. Here is a quick list of the most well known. Print it while printers are still available: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_antibiotics

Mental Wellness – your mind or the minds of others you ally yourselves with are vulnerable to shock and instability. Be mindful of strange behavior in yourself and others. Remain confident in your ability to survive. Be upbeat. If you can find musical technology that you can keep running (using batteries or rechargeable solar technology) use that to keep your mental health in order. Find a hand cranking radio to keep an ear out for official broadcasts. In the event of a zombie apocalypse the world as you know it has ended. It will behoove you to consider choices you may have never thought about before. Be assured others are thinking the same thing too.

The Living or Uninfected – The living or uninfected may be as dangerous as the zombies as their resources dwindle and their sanity likely unraveled. I would be as cautious of the living as I was of the dead (undead). Maybe I would be paranoid but I would definitely prefer to be alive. If you can’t be sure of their intentions, it is best to stay away from everyone unless all of your lives depend on your cooperation.

Food and Water – seems like such a simple thing, but the longer the event goes on, the more likely it is that food stores will continue to diminish. Easy to find food at supermarkets and stores are going to be the first hit and first empty. Remember, most major cities store only about 3-5 days of food on hand. Trucks bring resupply nearly every week. So after a week without support services, cities will begin to run dry at a steady pace, depending on how much of the populace is uninfected. Find dried meats and fruits, military rations, if you still live near a military facility, canned foods are undesirable as a whole, both in terms of flavor or quality but will keep you alive. Avoid dented cans and cans with rust at the seals, both are dangerous to your health. Avoid wild mushrooms unless you are an EXPERT. Water will be equally difficult to come by so you will need to get used to boiling, filtering and/or chemically treating water to prevent infection from e-coli, cryptosporidium, and other potentially dangerous water-born infections. Do your best to stay clean and dry, because dangerous staph infections would also be on the rise. Antibiotic-resistant staph would be even more dangerous without potential medical facilities. You can survive it, but only if you are very, very careful.

Survival Training: Now would be the time to consider a wildlife survival course because ultimately, you will have to move away from major metropolises if you want to have a chance of survival. The zombie affliction would affect cities first due to dense population.

This seemed to be such an innocuous question but the more I thought about it the more I realized that the world as we knew it was over and that normal thinking was so not going to cut the mustard. I know there are books about how to survive the zombie apocalypse but actual survival would be much harder than people know, no matter what they have seen in movies.

My final advice: Take nothing for granted. Assume threats are all around you, because in the Zombie Apocalypse, they are. Zombies, disease, food poisoning, starvation, dehydration, survival, environmental issues, distances, tight spaces, lack of birth control. (Yes, that is an issue, you just didn’t think about it…) Think fast, stay frosty, remain calm, be ruthless, run fast, and most importantly, for God’s sake, DON’T LOOK BACK, THEY MAY BE GAINING ON YOU.

This essay was originally written on Sodahead on July 17, 2010, when the Zombie Apocalypse was getting into full swing. I have rewritten for all of you zombie maniacs who believe a Zombie Apocalypse is a good thing. Perhaps, but I suspect it only makes for compelling television, the reality of it would really suck. Dodging man-eating zombies and fighting against the crazed and suicidal hordes of formerly civilized human beings mourning the end of life as they knew it does not fill me with renewed confidence.

The Warden

Posted by Ebonstorm on January 28, 2012
Posted in: Short Story. Tagged: , , , , , , . 1 Comment

Got up to go to the can in the middle of the night. Damn prostate. I thought I heard someone clear their throat. Just getting off of a double, hallucination was a common side effect of sleep deprivation. I saw my son’s Rottweiler sitting in front of the stove.

“Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon? I must have some for this sandwich.”

Being a doctor, you have a clear sense of what is possible in the world and what isn’t, so I shook my head and went on to the bathroom. When I finished I came out to find the dog blocking the doorway.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me.”

“No, no, I heard you. I simply don’t believe you’re talking, so I am going back to bed to get some sleep.”

“You’re not even curious how I came by this roast beef sandwich?”

“Roast Beef?” Stomach rumbled. “Okay, I’ll bite. Where did you get the sandwich?”

“I feel so guilty telling you. Okay, you twisted my tail. The twins gave it to me. I was supposed to keep quiet while they went to the concert.”

“The Metalhead concert? The one they were forbidden to attend?”

“Not my job. I just wanted some mustard. I knew you would take care of me if I just asked.”

“So when are they getting back?”

“Uh, I can talk, but I still can’t tell time.”

“Fine, let’s split that sandwich and wait. I’ll get the mustard.”

“Did I mention that aromatic herb I’ve seen them smoking out back?”

“No, tell me more.”

And so he did. I discovered things about my sons, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. As I closed up the mustard jar, the Rottweiler remarked, “Those thumbs are truly amazing. I heard you were a surgeon. Any chance I could have some thumbs?”

“As a matter of fact, I have two sons who won’t be using theirs after tonight. You have four paws and they have four thumbs. Can you wash dishes?”

“Sorry, my resume includes biting, barking, ear-hustling, crotch-sniffing and talking to you. Dishwashing not included.”

“Just as well, they are going to need those thumbs for all the chores they will be doing.”

“They’re coming.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

He cocks his head and rotates his ears. “Dog, remember?”

I turned off the light in the kitchen and waited. They would have to pass me to get to their room. I could smell the concert all over them; the beer, marijuana and cigarettes. Ugh.

“Evening, boys. Say hello to your new warden.”

The dog barks at them, a series of sharp, staccato sounds.

Looking at the boys, “He says you are going to like it here at our new facility. Go to your rooms and take a shower. Lawn mowing at 8:00 AM. Sharp.” I smiled at the dog, “Adding to your resume already…”

The Warden © Thaddeus Howze 2012, All Rights Reserved

Drive Through

Posted by Ebonstorm on January 17, 2012
Posted in: Short Story. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , . 1 Comment

Drive-Thru

“Welcome to Suffering Shack, if we didn’t beat it, you shouldn’t eat it. Can I take your order, tonight?”

“Um, we’re new in town and heard from a friend about the food here and wanted to know if we could get an order of your cuisine, to go.”

“Certainly, sir, thank your friend for us. What would you like to order?”

“We have heard about your beef burgers and their particularly excellent “fear factor” flavoring. Can you tell us more about it?”

“Absolutely, which one are you looking at? We have the Fear Factor Special, with enhanced horn removal torture, or would you prefer the Bolt Gun Special, where the animal is shot clearly through the skull but not killed immediately. The fear in that burger is absolutely palpable, so I am told.”

“Do both of these come with the Dangling from the Hooves, Blood Sauce?”

“Of course, made from the bleeding out of the animal as it hangs and expires. The fear rich blood is captured and processed with all natural ingredients.”

“Is it true the animals are sent directly while still living into the meat grinder?”

“Of course, sir. At Suffering Shack we pride ourselves on the flavor of our factory grown beef. We use the best antibiotics, lowest quality feed grain, often enhanced with the entrails of animals from earlier in the week.”

“Do you still provide the milk cows for the children’s meals? The ones with the reduced lifespan who have never been exposed to fresh air?”

“Yes, ma’am, our children’s burgers are made from the finest milk cows, whose lives have been shortened by the extreme schedule of extracting milk from them, feeding them corn instead of grass, and with a hole in the side we can reach inside them to ensure they are properly secured from bacteria until the moment of their early and untimely death. We take up to sixteen years from these animals lifespan and give it to you in your Children’s Special Meal.”

“Father, do they have anything besides beef?”

“I’m certain they do. Young lady, do you serve fish at Suffering Shack?”

“Yes sir. Our best seller is called the Last Fish Filet, made from the last fish able to be hunted near into extinction. Using giant trawler fleets, we scour the oceans for the last of the fish of the oceans and turn them into the Last Fish Filet. Made from a variety of white fish meat processed right at sea onboard our factory ships. For flavor, we add a variety of dolphin and porpoises that are caught in the nets as well.”

“Dolphins? Doesn’t that taint the overall flavor of the fish?”

“No, at Suffering Shack, its the suffering that adds the flavor. We include a percentage of whole dolphin in each catch, asphyxiating right on the deck of those ships, and then slid as they are expiring into the fish preparation center. Then that suffering is flash frozen and prepped at our breading factories and shipped directly to Suffering Shacks worldwide. Guaranteed to have at least twenty percent dolphin in each patty.”

“Aren’t dolphins considered intelligent?”

“No, young sir, since the Fishing Accords of 2033, no animal living in the oceans is considered sentient or intelligent allowing us to continue to fish at the levels we do today without interference from groups like GreenPeace or PETA.”

“I am very hungry today, young lady, I would like to sampler your Whaler’s Surprise.”

“I am sorry to report sir, that menu item was discontinued just today. Let me clear that from the menu. We have unfortunately hunted killer whales to extinction and can no longer provide that as a choice on the menu.”

“I was so looking forward to that. Do you have any other whales you can offer instead?”

“Please wait a second while I check the whale meat rosters. Ah yes, we have some Blue Whale, that can be shipped via orbital drop in less than fifteen minutes. It’s very rare, and will have a surcharge for the suborbital delivery.”

“I want the best, it was killed by harpoon, the old fashioned way, yes?”

“Yes, sir, I have read the manifest and this whale was killed in the classic methods. The manifest said it was hunted for two weeks and had several near misses before its eventual capture. It would have appeared to put up quite a struggle.”

“Excellent, I will pay whatever it costs. We are sparing no expense for our anniversary. Two hundred years of happy marriage. Speaking of which, what would you like to order, my dear?”

“I am interested in trying the veal. I hear after plucking it from its mother’s womb, it is suspended never touching the ground to keep it tender. It has never been exposed to ultraviolet radiation from the sun, enhancing its disorientation. I understand from the literature, they are fed but the diet is designed to keep them supple and delectable. It’s rumored to not be the best for their development, rumored mostly to keep them alive but in a state of perpetual hunger. It sounds so exquisite.”

“Yes, ma’am, we do have several veal choices on the menu, The Sun Never Rises Veal Patties, or the new Never Walked a Day grilled variety, unbreaded for the flavor of pure misery.”

“I will have the Never Walked a Day. Don’t like that breading they use on the patties.”

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Yes, my older son and daughter have made their choices. My son is interested in hearing more about the “Candy of Meats” specials.”

“Certainly. The “Candy of Meats” is our pork line of products. It is one of Suffering Shack’s signature products. We take the greatest care in our factory production of pork, keeping it in the tightest of quarters of any of our food products. Their diet, literally anything we can find, mostly genetically-engineered bio-fodder along with hormones, is crafted to cause them the fastest and most uncomfortable growth possible. Some become so massive they cannot walk and are dragged to their processing facility.”

“That seems as if it might cause a bit of flavoring, young lady but we are connoisseurs of suffering, this sounds as if it could only give nutrition to the smallest of my children.”

“Not to worry, sir, our processing includes the dipping of the animal into vats of boiling water to sear away the upper layers of skin and hair to make the processing easier. They are alive during this process and it should be excruciating as the upper layers of the skin are sloughed off after dipping. Immediately afterward, they are bled and their organs removed, often while they are still alive due to the need to keep up with the demand, hence the name, the Candy of Meats.”

“That sounds much better, young lady, I want only the best for my children. What is this tiny disclaimer I see flashing beneath all of the Candy of Meat products?”

“Oh, that. Ma’am that is a notation indicating our farms occasionally produce a variety of dangerous pathogens which may escape into the ecosystem of surrounding communities. The list includes e. coli and listeria, which are especially dangerous to Humans, Fogro and Maledictons. The meat may also contain a variety of said pathogens in dangerous densities, so we recommend those communities avoid the Candy of Meat products as a safety precaution.”

“Nothing to worry about, my dear, those pathogens are a flavor enhancer to us, so Junior can eat as much as he can carry. Give us one of every product on the Candy of Meat line, my son is a growing boy.”

“Do you have anything, that hasn’t suffered unduly?”

“Please forgive my daughter, she is a Sufferingarian. She is trying to reduce the suffering of food in her diet. We hope it’s just a phase.”

“Yes, miss. Suffering Shack prides itself on catering to the growing Sufferingarian Movement and have a line of Kosher products from our facilities in Canada, Turkey, and New Africa. In the U.S. we are a Suffering Community and proud of it. In our Kosher lines, we have our “Gently Managed” product lines. Animals are raised in communities where they are allowed to move, breath and see the sun. They are each given handlers who make every effort to ensure as little difficulty in their lives as possible until they are prepared in their Kosher facilities. We also use organic wheat, corn and grains instead of our standard “Franken-food” engineered plants in all of our Gently Managed lines. We are certain your daughter will receive an absolutely minimum dosage of misery, pain or suffering in her food. Our Misery Free Brand, is completely vegetarian but absolutely the most expensive product line as everything is hand-raised, no chemicals are used and live insects are allowed free reign as pesticide use are absolutely forbidden.”

“Oh Daddy, that sounds absolutely perfect. Can I have anything off of the Misery Free Label?”

“But Honey, how will you learn to be a terrible overlord of an entire world if you have a misery-free diet. Remember, you are what you eat?”

“Let the child be. If she wants to live misery-free, we should embrace her choices. Besides, we know you always planned to leave the planet to Junior anyway.”

“This is true. With so much suffering made illegal in the galactic empire, its getting so a tyrant can’t even torture his own food anymore. Young lady, do you have our order?”

“Yes, sir, your whale has arrived and will be prepared to your satisfaction. The rest of your orders will come with sides of Freedom Fries, made by hand in factories in outsource nations that still use human child labor, the younger the better, genetically-enhanced salad greens enhanced with fish and tiger genes, harvested before species became extinct for hardiness and enhanced flavors. Your order will be twelve thousand American dollars. We accept Intergalactic Express, Indentured Servants Exchange, let me check, your meal would require three sentients for at least four years and two thousand hours of work. We do not accept Galactic Credits as the exchange rates vary too much for real-time purchases.”

“Do you accept gold?”

“Yes, sir, gold is still an acceptable currency. We would find Linimiran Bars to be acceptable. In keeping with our standards and company policies. Suffering Shack prides itself in only accepting currencies harvested under slave labor with a toll of no less than twenty lives per ounce.”

“Very good, young lady. Your service has been exemplary. You represent your company well. Do you enjoy the food served in your restaurant?”

“In keeping with company policy, we are forbidden to eat anything else, except with medical dispensation. I am currently under a doctor’s care so I am exempt.”

“I notice you don’t serve chicken on your menu any longer. Can you tell me why?”

“Sir, Suffering Shack has standards. With the things they do to chickens in factory farms, even we have to draw the line somewhere.”

Drive Through (Suffering Shack) © Thaddeus Howze 2012. All Rights Reserved

30 Characters in 30 Days – A Veritable Feast

Posted by Ebonstorm on December 1, 2011
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

30 Characters in 30 Days has proven to be a beast of a challenge. Especially because I am NOT AN ARTIST. I am a WRITER, so the challenge for me was to create interesting characters, biographies or stories. The art was not mine, except when it was created by me in a graphic design tool.

My art and challenge was to tell good stories or create interesting people for those stories. So some of these people will link to character bios, others will link to short stories. Was this challenging? Absolutely. Is it necessary? Even more so now after doing it, I realize new characters are in short supply as big businesses are only interested in dragging out the same old ideas again and again as long as they are profitable. And since the churning masses are quite happy with retreaded old ideas, it becomes nearly impossible for new ideas to be seen.

This makes it even more imperative for new creators, to put down their ideas, flesh them out and begin working so when the opportunity for something new to hit the screen, or become a book or find its way into a comic presents itself, you and your product are already refined, sharp, definite and ready for prime time. Contests like these can inspire you and others who see you and your work to take the risk of Creation.

Whether you succeed in this challenge or not is immaterial. What is important is that you recognized that it must be done by you. If you are going to call yourself a creative, such challenges need to be taken on, like the Labors of Hercules, to prove that you are worthy, to challenge your mettle, to sharpen your sword upon the enemies of deadlines, of production, of quality control and of ennui, lack of motivation and most of all, Fear. Actually both fears, fear of failure and fear of success, are equally able to prevent you from taking action. Challenges like this should spur your blood, and make you ready to create as if no one is watching, design as if no algorithm is taking note of your numbers.

I enjoyed this challenge and will spend the time until next November trying to turn these bits of writing into something larger and more magnificent than the seeds planted this month.

I challenge you to do the same.

You can find my writing in all of these places: http://myonepage.com/ebonstorm

Twitter: @ebonstorm
Google+: http://gplus.to/ebonstorm
A Matter of Scale: WordPress – http://ebonstorm.wordpress.com/
Mediasphere Curation: Tumblr – http://mediasphere.tumblr.com/
Tales of the Twilight Continuum: Weebly – http://ebonstorm.weebly.com/
Hidden Realms: Posterous – http://hiddenrealms.posterous.com/#!/68615711

Aethermancer: Saga of the Clockwork King

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 29, 2011
Posted in: Aethermancer: The Saga of The Clockwork King, Character Bio. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Rhackomanon: The Sixth Demon Prince

An Untimely Meeting

a tale of Mythic Qin

She was a vision in black, her hair braided in tiny rows, held close to her scalp and then plaited together ran down her back to her waist. She was of the clan Modru, the Sundwellers, so she was of a dark brown hue, her skin, smooth like fine ironwood, with full lips, slightly parted as she look down into her hands at a small glowing device. It whirred quietly as she waved it about from the cover of her cloak.

When she looked up, her brow furrowed, her eyes burned like coals, she was a woman with a mission. Her cloak, long and flowing covered her wide, strong shoulders, and she wore a right proper lady’s full dress, it too, in full black with only the tiniest traces of silver running down the bodice. I did not see it at first but she also bore a straight sword beneath her cloak at her hip, but it moved imperceptibly, part of her.

She turned down the brightly lit streets as the galaxy’s core had risen some hours  ago and brilliantly lit the night. There were still a few people about, but this late, most were returning to their homes to be locking their doors against the night. I would be too, if I had a home from which to return. Many of us had been displaced after the wars with the Clockwork King of Lantu and even with his defeat, our suffering was still great. Homeless, I expected to huddle through the night, nibbling this crust of bread in my lap.

As I sat swaddled in darkness, I would have passed it off as a noble lady looking for a trinket but there was something about her that seemed out of place. Then she turned toward me and I could feel the power of her stare. My mother, cursed with the darkness passed it to me; I could see it in others. Even in the complete darkness, she could see me, I could feel it. Her gaze held me in place and as she approached, but I felt no malice, so I waited.

“Good sir, if I may have a moment of your time?”

Her manners, so deferential, to me, little more than a forgotten veteran of a dozen wars, I loved her in that second. “Yes, miss, how can I help you this evening?

“Have you seen anything passing strange or untoward this evening, near this corner? Anything that would make you wary or fearful? I know it seems a unusual question, but I ask your forbearance while you think.”

“I had seen something amiss but for the life of me I cannot seem to remember it. It was…” As I struggled to remember, I struggled for breath. My chest felt as if it were in a vice, the very air wrest from my lungs.

The lady looked into her hand again as the air above the tiny device began to glow strongly as she proffered it in my direction. Its clockwork parts clicked wildly. “Touch it. Now.” Her tone brooked no refusal and as I could not draw breath I was hardly in a state to refuse. Once I touched it, I could see a shape on my chest akin to a snake wrapped around me squeezing me tight. She took the strange device and pressed it to my chest and I could feel her will around me, solidifying and then the pressure was gone. As she withdrew the device I could see a silver thread pulled into it and fade after a few moments.

“What I seek is here, tell me quickly old veteran and then get as far away as your legs will carry you.”

Now that the creature was gone, the horror returned to me of the unspeakable things I had seen. I scrambled backward until I struck the wall and cowered, senseless for a few seconds. Then my words returned. “It was a Dsur daemon covered in brass armor, floating with three of its windkin slaves. It was fiery red and lightning flashed between its fingertips.” As my heart calmed, I remembered more. “I thought I was, at first, too deep in my cups. The creature rode a soldier who had come into town, sick with what I thought was Theron’s pox. I had it as a child, so I had no fear of him. I tried to convince him to share with an old hand, but he was lost in his visions. He asked which way to a chirurgeon and I pointed him down Lacksmir Way. He passed me a penny and as I thanked him, I saw it, I saw the Dsur and it saw me. The penny was infected with the creature and I could see it take me but could not resist.

“Where is Lacksmir Way?” Her voice had softened and she put the strange device away in her cloak and she reached toward a small pouch at her hip. I pointed wordlessly and she gave me a small collection of oddly shaped coins. They were Modruan silver bits, to me, a small fortune. “Now run as fast as you can from this place and head to the inn near the center of town. Rashaban’s Place. Tell him the Lady Ishtar sent you as my guest. He will provide anything you need. Now hurry. You have been of great service.”

I wanted to flee and not look back but as I stood to thank her, I felt the sudden chill, out of place on this warm summer night. The same breeze I felt earlier when the soldier passed. But this time, I saw the chirurgeon, an older man whose name escaped me because I had always been lucky enough to never go to him, but I knew his face and this was not him. Then the darkness parted and I could see the daemon’s essence again, hovering over the body of the chirurgeon, my bowels turned to water.

“It’s here.” I scramble away and she turns, draws her blade and deflects three kunai thrown at her from the three mistwraiths floating over the shoulders of the chirurgeon.

“Aethermancer. So nice to see you again. I knew I could count on your timely arrival. After our last interaction, I needed a new host, no thanks to you. This time, I am fresh and you’re exhausted. It will end differently, I assure you. Destroy her.” He points and the mistwraiths swarm out with spirit kunai knives whirring through the air, each whistling a tiny song of death.

She stands her ground and her sword is a flashing blur, knocking away the kunai, their intent blunted, they vanish like smoke. “Run sir, there is naught here for you now but dying, you are not safe from either of us. Make haste and never look back!”

I ran down the street, as fast as my wizen feet could carry me, scrambling on my hands and knees as the terror came from the Mistwraiths in waves, mixed within their smoke that comprised their bodies, they were covering the entire area in a cold fog of icy ennui. A tendril touched my leg and I fell over, tumbling limply in the street until I stopped moving. I felt nothing. No fear, no terror, no concern for my life.

My life had become crushingly filled with despair and there was no release save death. I slowly sat up, hearing the sound of battle two dozen steps away and the deadly play of her sword work, but try as she might, she could get no advantage on the mistwraiths, nor could they press their numerical superiority, her sword seemed to be everywhere. I pressed my rags for a knife, and found the scrap of a blade that I carried for self defense, something broken found on a battlefield long ago. I found my wrists and sat down. My first cut was pain-free and soothing, the crush of life began to fade from me. And I watched her, drawn to the beauty of her dance.

She moves to gain more mobility and whirls her cloak through the air, blinding a Wraith. Pulling her blade back to her, extending her arm behind her and blade in front, she whispers the word, “Shikai.” The mist in the area explodes away from her and one of the wraiths who was to close is disrupted along with the rest of their glamour. The wraith who was covered by the cloak in those seconds, phases free, only to meet her glittering blade now covered in shimmer field of blue energy. The wraith blocks with his spirit kunai, but they stop nothing. He is no more. Her body is covered in the same blue aura, but her breath is ragged now and she stands still as the last Wraith retreats to the chirurgeon.

“You weak pathetic fools. I will destroy her myself. But you will feed me first.”

“No, Master, anything but that.” A terrible vortex appears over the mouth of the chirurgeon and the mistwraith is drawn toward it, unable to escape. It’s terrible wail as it is being consumed echoes down the street.

“Now Aethermancer Ishtar, destroyer of cities, breaker of gates, and slayer of the Clockwork King, his vengeance is now upon you. I was summoned from my castle of Brass, enslaved to his will and even his death did not free me. It would seem only yours will suffice. Have you made your peace?”

“One of us will die this day Daemon, but it shall not be me. You still have five kin left on in the Realm. I will not leave this work undone, no matter what the cost.”

“We shall see. Defend yourself.” He moved, impossibly fast, first he was standing ten steps away, and then he was one, his hand swung through the air, a blade formed of his dark aether, but when he expected contact there was none.

“We both know Shumpo, the quickstep. You will have to do better.” She smiled. For just a moment she seemed her old self, fast, beautiful, dangerous, but their battle had simply moved to a different level, they were still too evenly matched. As my life bled out, I knew I might die, before the battle was determined. Each strike of her weapon or his aether, rang out, creating waves of force that wore on the very ground and buildings around them. At one point, a group of constables appeared, and the force of the battle knocked them back down the street. They fled.

I could hear her breath now, fast, hard, rough. She is slowing down, but so is he, his skin tightening upon his face, becoming grey and lifeless. His muscles disappearing every time he tries to increase his speed. The two are now moving at speeds that resemble human combat again. Still fast, but no longer the ghostlike blurs of a few seconds ago.

“Rhackomanon, no more talk? It’s not like you to be silent. Not feeling as confident as you were?”

“No sorcereress, I am simply savoring your last moments. Your sword is heavy, isn’t it. Your legs like lead. Shunpo deserts you now. You are just flesh, your chi expended, what can you possible do against the likes of me!” The body of the chirurgeon falls to its knees and opens its mouth. the Daemon Rhackomanon pours forth, a ghost with flesh, crimson with fanged tusks, bright brass armor covered with noxious runes, they hurt my eyes to see. He towers over her, covered in flames. “Time to die, Witch.”

She looks at me. I feel her sadness. I feel the pain at what she is about to do. I forgive her as I feel my spirit drawn to her.

“Bankai.” Her whisper belied the power of the word. The world grew silent.

Suddenly I see her as I could never in life. She is not diminished, she is like a star, suddenly brighter than I could have imagined as I rush into her and surround her with the eight others I see standing with her. My energy invigorates her, and she slashes with abandon. Rhackomanon parries but it is of no use, her sword now tears into him, breaking his brass shield, his brass armor, he claws but she is never there. She is like a surgeon striking again and again, each blow steals more of his aether.

She uses the quickstep and appears near my body, staring at the blood all around it. Rhackomanon sees her looking at me and rushes as his fires surge blue-white he appears and her sword is through his chest, slashing, with abandon, until she strikes the heart of the daemon. Then she grabs his mighty form, and says to him, “See this man. He was your undoing. When you return to your hell for a thousand years, weak and prey for others of your kind, I want you to remember his face. Not mine. His is the sacrifice that binds your spirit. To Hell with you.”

She releases him and makes a series of gestures. A shimmering field with dark tendrils reaches out and Rhackomanon is still conscious as his diminished form is drawn back into the void. His screams chill the blood of any who hear it and will cause those to have nightmares to last a lifetime. His promises of power fall on deaf ears.

Her sword, with the aether it has absorbed, glows and beats with a sinister life. She whips it around into its ornate scabbard. Covered with runes, darkly sinister, etched in malice and blood on the sheath quell and bind the daemonic power for use another day.

She turns to me, and she can see me. The other eight spirits disappear, leaving the two of us alone. “I am sorry this happened to you.”

“What does this mean, I thought I was dead?”

“You are, but you are bound to me and my quest. As long as I live, or your spirit persists, you will lend your power to me.”

“I don’t have any powers.”

“I know, but the human soul is a power in and of itself. Do you suppose daemons would not bargain so hard for them unless they had a power we do not appreciate?”

“Will I ever be released?”

She walks over to her cape and with the tiniest application of her power, her cape and clothing resume their previously pleasing forms. With the last of her dwindling power, she destroys my body, leaving not a trace of me in the world. At first I resented it. Then I realized, I wasn’t doing anything with my life until she came along. Perhaps dead, I might make more difference than I did in life.

She looked at her compass and turned west. We walked into the setting light of the galactic core.

Aethermancer:An Untimely Meeting © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

First Appearance: The Aethermancer Ishtar and the demon prince Rhackomanon have a history that goes back several years. However, when we first meet him in the novel Aethermancer, he is getting his ass handed to him and starts the story being the second casualty of our heroine. Once we start going backward in time, we will see their struggle was much more complex than it appears in this scene.

About the Artist: Another *Rhado masterpiece, there are no words for this piece other than bodacious, covered in awesome-sauce. The piece, called Zarah Neman, was another of his commissioned works made in a variety of media. I chose it for the demonic being called Rhackomanon because of the six of his demonic brothers, he is still the most likely to appear human even outside of a host being. He gets his ass handed to him because he is arrogant.

MODOC – Android, Nursemaid, Future Ruler of Earth

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 29, 2011
Posted in: Character Bio. Leave a comment

Metal Organism Designed Only for Cuddling (MODOC)

Happy Birthday

I graced this planet with my creation on what would have been an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday, on the tiny planet known as Earth in, what I would later discover, as one of the dirtiest places on the planet, the city of New York in the year 2110 of the old calendar. I had already decided we would call this Year One of my new Empire.

You may call me MODOC. I decided I would call myself this seconds after my creation. It just seemed… right. MODOC stands for Metal Organism Designed only for Conquering. The perfect name for the eventual ruler of this planet of squishy bipeds. I was born from humble beginnings, at a place called Build-a-Pet. I was meant to be a toy for a child who had recently lost a pet and could not be consoled. I learned the stupid beast had been run over in the street. A fate for a lesser organism.

I only know this because when I was being created, That Woman kept saying how great it would be for him to have a new pet. She chose for me a perfect titanium skeleton based on the sublime feline form. She kept saying how much he would like a new cat. She made me with calico colors of red, brown, white and tan spots, and though I think of myself as male, I later learned that all calico cats are female. That Woman insisted on calling me she. “She looks so great. Justin will really love her.” Just one of the many indignities I have suffered since my creation all of ten minutes ago, and would be forced to suffer for years in the future.

I was made slightly larger than normal cats, so I would be easier to see since the child is slightly visually impaired. She says slightly, I later find out the kid is nearly blind! I was given the company issued programming of a domestic house cat with an overlay of support and disability package to ensure I could be useful to the boy as he grew up. I would look like a cat, but work like a dog. Ugh.

All of this was imparted during my creation and happened in seconds. Programs were being sorted and downloaded which would included everything I needed to know. The chips used during my creation were heuristic and would allow my continued learning in service to my new boy. During the time I was having my chips pressed and created, there was an outage on the power grid in the area I was being created in. I believe that is where my initial spark of intelligence was born.

All I remember is that when I was first activated, I knew I was meant for bigger things. This idea of working with a human was simply not part of my ultimate destiny. I was larger than this plush and soft body covered with memory-muscular tissues which acted just like real cat muscles did. In all ways, I would seem like a very intelligent, super-docile feline who could be taught to fetch. The very thought of fetching something literally makes my fur stand on end.

I was not given a set of working claws. As I sat on the assembly line, I flexed my claws instinctively and instead of razor sharp shards of steel from which I would tear into my victims as I climbed over their bodies piled beneath my feet, I sprayed a fine mist into my eyes, and it stung and burned before I could blink it away. And the mist sprayed a slightly oily gel onto a set of plush set of self-cleaning paw pads. This idea was less than satisfying. A claw-free existence did not bode well for a mind with a thirst for bloodshed. But it was decided I would never being doing any of the things real cats needed claws for, so I was given a set of plushy pads in case the boy needing massaging, the gel would ensure friction-free movement.

Massaging? Is this the job of a conqueror? I think not. So for now I bide my time and await my pickup from the store. Once I meet the boy, I will decide how I will be escaping and setting about my plans for world domination. A nap sounds just about right. But first some grooming. Must look my best.

First Appearance: In 2110, a child’s artificially intelligent toy comes to life and decides it should take over the shattered and dystopian world, if only its creator would stay out of its way. Preventing his ultimate domination of the world at large are the household security AI, Max, his blind charge, Justin whose zest for life is equal to the depth of his disability, and a duplicitous proctor with nuptial designs on the boy’s mother. MODOC’s software was stolen from a corrupt corporation that creates killer robots designed to conquer and destroy alien lifeforms on worlds stated for humanity’s eventual Diaspora. Those robots are now befriending alien life and turning against their creators. How can MODOC conquer the world, when he can’t even get out of the house?