Thursday, January 31, 2013

Elfin Warfare - Chapter Two

“You know I hate fixing these things.” Levi said as he peeled Freya’s skin back with a pair of tweezers and looked through a magnifying glass into the tiny cut on her arm, “And this one’s gonna be some real trouble. I’ll have to cut your hand to get in there and fix the damn thing.”

“I know.” Freya answered. She was lying down on a medical table. The walls of the room were once white, now they were stained with blood and dirt from the various times Freya needed repair. Scorch marks covered a portion of one of the walls. They caught Freya’s attention, “What happened there?”

Levi glanced up and followed her gaze to the wall. “Oh.” he said. A childish smile spread across his face, “I was just playing with a new toy. Alright, hold still.”

Levi grabbed a small surgical knife from the table next to him, and with steady precision he made a slice down Freya’s left arm. She flinched a bit; she didn’t like pain. That was part of the reason she destroyed her enemies so quickly, so they wouldn’t be able to inflict pain on her. But she also wanted them to feel as little pain as possible as well.

“Alright, I see the hole. Damn little thing, I don’t have a patch that small. What’re you doing getting splinters in your ellicit veins? Of all the things to poke with a piece of wood.”

Freya gave a cold glance to her doctor. This didn’t go unnoticed and he said amusedly; “Why do you always have to find the worst possible meanings in my statements, Freya? Does Alcuin know your mind is in the gutter?”

“What would it matter to Alcuin? And my mind is not ‘in the gutter.’”

“What would it matter to Alcuin? It might matter a little bit more then he’d let on. Oh damn.” Levi added, quick to change his own subject, “Frey, I’m going to have to replace the section of vein here, there’s no way I’ll be able to get a patch there without cutting off circulation to your thumb.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I’m the doctor here, just roll with it.”

The black door to Freya’s right swung open just then. Alcuin walked into the room, he now wore his military clothes, the armor he wore on the field. Bulletproof but not ellicitproof. An orange cape hung from his shoulders, showing his rank as Lt. Commander. It was a position he took lightly. He hadn’t asked for it, but Geov had chosen him as his successor.

“Is she okay?” Alcuin asked anxiously.

Levi looked up from his work to answer; “Dude, she got pricked by a splinter. She’s perfectly fine.”

“Well, you’ve got her arm all open and-”

“The puncture was too small to patch, I have to replace the vein. It really is a pain, I wish her ellicit veins would just heal themselves. It’s the one foil about her being part robot, I have to fix her every time she scrapes one of these things.”

“I’m sorry to be such a pain.” Freya added dryly.

“It’s not your fault.” Levi said as he pushed her skin back down and wrapped a bandage around her arm, “Alright, you’re set. Alcuin, I see you’re ready.”

“Yeah. Commander Geov and Dora will be accompanying us.”

Freya sat up and silently slid off the edge of the medical table. Her armored feet hit the black tiled floor with a light click.

“Thank you, Levi. May I have my arm back now?” the elfin girl asked, nodding towards the portion of blue armor on a nearby countertop.

Levi turned to look at the armor, as if he’d forgotten it, before answering her question; “Not unless there’s an emergency. It would irritate the slice I just had to put in your arm. And that would be bad.”

Freya seemed irritated by the answer she received. Despite this she did not persist in the matter any further, she knew Levi was right. And she also didn’t feel up to arguing with him and his so-called logic. She looked over to Alcuin. Dressed in his armor and cape she thought he looked a bit like a carrot with glasses and a fuzzy mound of dirt on top. A small smile forced itself onto her face from this thought.

“Hey, why are we headin’ to the capitol anyways?” Levi asked.

“We were summoned by the King himself. He says he may have found a way to turn the tides of this war in our favor.” Alcuin responded in a more serious tone than he had used before.

“I thought Freya was already doing that.” Levi said, gathering some tools and the piece of Freya’s armor into a small bag.

“You don’t seriously expect her to win this war for us, do you? Even she has limits.” Alcuin argued.

“Yeah, but we don’t know what those limits are. Has she even broken a sweat in the battles we’ve encountered so far? Does she even sweat?”

“I’m standing right here. I can hear everything you’re saying.” Freya growled irritably. She didn’t appreciate being discussed as a weapon of war.

“Alright, enough of this. We have to report to the Commander. Now. So finish packing your things Levi.” Alcuin said, wary of Freya’s unseen wrath.

“Fine, fine. I’m packin‘. Although I’ve got something’ for you, Alcuin.” Levi answered, pointing to a closet in the corner of the room.

Alcuin approached the closet. It was larger then himself and built of a flimsy metal. Slowly he opened one of the dull gray doors. The last time he had carelessly opened one of Levi’s closets, he had nearly lost his head to an automatic ellicit blaster. Nothing happened, the shelves were empty except for a red cylinder about the length of a finger. Alcuin grabbed the cylinder from the shelf.

“What is this?” he asked, turning to face Levi.

“That is the bottom of this.” Levi answered as he grabbed at something beneath his desk.

From beneath the white laboratory desk Levi revealed a human length red stick. At one end of the stick was a jagged yellow object that slightly resembled a lightning bolt.

“And what would that be?” Freya asked, her patience with Levi’s games lost.

“This is the new toy I was telling you about. It’s a spear I designed. That top piece is an ellicit chamber. That bottom piece in Alcuin’s hand is actually a trigger. Twisting it while it’s attached to the spear will heat the ellicit in the chamber.”

“What does heating ellicit do? I’ve never heard of that doing anything special.” Alcuin questioned.

“Then you, my friend, are poorly educated. Heated ellicit is what makes her blades so deadly.” Levi answered, glancing over to Freya.

“So this spear is as powerful as my swords?” Freya asked curiously.

“No. Your swords were funded completely by the government, I had to pay for the materials in his spear myself. But the spear is more powerful then the ellicit guns used by the Elfin Empire.”

“That’s pretty powerful.” Alcuin said, very impressed, then he remembered that they had somewhere to be, “Thanks for the weapon Levi. I’m afraid we don’t have time for a demonstration though. We really have to get going.”

“Right, I better get dressed.” Levi added. And without hesitation he had zipped up his vest.


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Commander Geov paced impatiently before the gates of the military fortress. Alcuin was late, too late. The sun had risen to its highest and beat on Geov remorselessly. Dora was also growing impatient, though she hid her impatience with an emotionless face. Strapped to the girls back were two very large guns of unique design. They were modified from bullet guns, now they fired powerful blasts of ellicit. Unlike Geov, Dora wasn’t heavily armored. She wore an upper torso piece, but that was all she had for armor. She was dressed just as she was in the mess hall; a green jacket and skirt piece with knee-high field boots.

“I’m losing my patience with Alcuin. If he doesn’t arrive in the next thirty seconds you’re the new Lieutenant Commander.” Geov grumbled.

“It’s possible that Freya’s injury was more serious then we thought.” Dora suggested.

“Serious? Injury? Dora, she got a splinter! I understand that she punctured one of her cyborg things, an ellicit vein was it? But a splinter is a splinter! This wait is ridiculous!”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Dora said quietly, turning her gaze downwards.

“Wow Commander, you sure do like to hang around with the ladies, don’t ya?” a familiar voice asked.

Geov turned to see who it was, but he already knew before he had done so. Lace approached from the road near Dora‘s right. The skinny man was still atop his horse. His gaze fell to the quiet girl, his eyes sparkled with temptation.

“She’s a short one, isn’t she? Sure is cute though.” Lace commented as he ordered his horse to circle around Dora, “Can I take her home tonight, since I don’t think you need both her and the blue haired one.”

Dora backed towards her Commander nervously. She didn’t like Lace and this was only their first meeting. Her gaze remained downwards, watching the shadows of the people around her and the horse’s brown hooves.

“Listen you dirty little sell sword, the women here are not objects for your amusement. They are to be treated as equals, or in your case, superiors.” Geov sternly replied as he stepped between Dora and Lace.

“Ah, you’re so cheap, Commander. How are we supposed to keep our morale up if we don’t have anything to look forward to at night?” Lace asked while he looked for a way around Geov. Lace commanded his horse to step to the right, but Geov again blocked the man’s path.

The Commander placed one hand on the hilt of his sword and said; “Lace, your insubordination may cost you your life, think carefully or I will kill you.”

“I doubt you’d ever do that!” laughed the mercenary, “You barely have the heart to kill the enemy elves! You’d never have it in you to strike one of your men!”

“Do not test me, Lace. Leave.” Geov demanded.

“Well, come on then!” Lace said as he drew his own thin blade, “Kill me!”

Geov didn’t reply this time, he only tightened the grip of his large fist on the silver handle of his sheathed blade. He grit his teeth together and prepared himself mentally for what was inevitably to come. For a moment he and Lace stared at each other waiting for the other to move. Lace still smiled sickly and Geov glared disgustedly. The mercenary was first to move, slashing at his commander. Geov easily stepped to the side, avoiding the attack. In one quick motion Geov had drawn his mighty blade from its sheath and sliced Lace down from the shoulder. The mercenary’s smile slowly faded as he limply slid from his horse’s back.

Geov turned away from Lace’s corpse and sheathed his mighty blade. Dora stared up at her commander from behind her thin glasses. The Commander’s mouth was flipped to a long frown and his eyes seemed to sparkle with tears. She didn’t understand; he had won, why did he look so sad?

“Co-Commander?” she stuttered quietly.

He slowly turned to face her. When he spoke, his voice was filled with sadness; “Have you ever taken somebody’s life, Dora?”

“No, Commander. The only things I have struck down are the dummies used in our training exercises.”

“Taking a life, no matter how twisted, is never a happy moment. This is something you may someday learn. Though I hope that you never have to.”

Lace’s horse whinnied and shook it’s head impatiently. Geov had spared the beast the fate of its rider, and now the large man turned to face the animal. He placed his large hand on the back of the creature’s neck and apologized to the now orphaned animal. Geov had just decided to bring the horse on their journey to the capitol city when Alcuin, Freya and Levi called to him from not too far down the central road.

“What happened here?” Levi asked as he peered down at Lace’s body.

“Lace forced my hand. I finished him quickly, there was little pain.” Geov answered before looking towards the horse. He then spoke again, “This was Lace’s horse. He no longer has an owner, so we will be bringing him with us to Belyur.”

“Does he have a name?” Levi asked anxiously approaching the brown horse.

“No, you may name him if you like.” Geov replied, then he turned to Alcuin and spoke with a frustrated voice; “You are late.”

“I’m sorry, Commander Geov. Levi had wanted to show me a new weapon he invented. It harnesses ellicit in the same manner as Freya’s swords, though not as powerful,” Alcuin explained as he bowed in respect for the Commander.

“If that was the case I suppose you are excused. Any ounce of new strength found will do our efforts good,” Geov replied in a much softer tone. He looked back to Levi who was listing off names to the horse and asking Dora which was best.

Freya stepped forward, a question was on her mind and she needed to ask it; “Commander, why am I to go to Belyur? Wouldn’t this fort fall into the control of the Elfin Empire without the protection of you or myself?”

“Indeed, it is likely that we will lose control of this fort. But it does not give much more of an advantage to the elves since we’re on the border of our country and in the middle of the Setten Desert. It is not a great loss.” Geov explained.

“I see. But what of the lives of the soldiers staying in the fort now?”

“If it were up to me they would all be accompanying us, but,” Geov turned away from Freya and looked towards the gate that stood between them and miles of desert, then continued to speak, “King Raulsh orders that we leave them here. He says bringing them with us would only lure the elves further into Altoa.”

“In other words, the King believes the lives of these soldiers are expandable? And what of Medley? Is she expandable as well?” Freya asked Geov though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

Geov suddenly looked much older; his face seemed to sag as he frowned. It took him a moment, but at last he turned and sadly uttered a single word; “Yes.”

At this point Dora approached the Commander, leaving Levi to list names and ask the opinion of the horse, who didn’t seem to like any of the suggested titles. She tapped Geov on the shoulder and pointed to the hundred foot double doors behind them. The doors had slowly begun to creep open, signifying that the time for departure had come. Geov checked over everyone a last time, making sure they had packed enough food and water for the three-day march. He tied everyone’s packs onto the back of the horse, whom Levi had decided was “Chester” then turned to face the doors which now were half open, revealing a view of the desert before them.

“Remember, there is no turning back. Once we step out of this fort the gate will close, and it will not open. If any of you wishes to remain here, speak now.” Geov offered.

Nobody said a word; nobody wanted to turn away. They were all too happy to get away from the uncivilized soldiers of the Setten Fort. They were all too excited to finally be adventuring out into the world again. They were all too blind to what lay before them. And so, one by one, they all stepped out into the scorching sun and the dry sand.

Elfin Warfare - Chapter One

She solemnly stood on the concrete wall that protected a military base of the Eruthine army. Before her the sun had just begun to show itself, emerging from behind several distant mountains and casting an orange glow over the war torn desert. Behind her were the weapon storage facilities and temporary camps of the unit she was assigned to. The wall she stood on blocked the young suns light, making all but the slightly orange sky appear as night. Her pointed ears flicked as they picked up the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Do you remember anything?” asked the familiar voice of Alcuin.

His brown hair was slightly spiked upwards though his bangs fell just above his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to dress for the day yet; a brown robe sufficed for his early morning activities. A tray of food was held in his right hand, steam still rose from the bowl of oatmeal.

“No… I can’t remember anything of my life before I awoke in the Professor’s lab,” Freya answered without bothering to turn towards Alcuin. She was too wrapped in thoughts to remember her manners.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. She gave up on her sleep hours ago and was already dressed in her specially fitted blue armor. The sun’s light was reflected off the smoother, harder pieces of her armor while the more rubber-like portions on her joints and torso seemed to absorb the light. The armor was colored to compliment her long blue hair and sapphire eyes. These colors were natural for elves.

“I brought you some breakfast,” Alcuin said, motioning towards the tray of food in his hands.

“Oh. Thank you,” she replied snapping away from her thoughts.

Together they sat cross-legged on the large wall, eating bowls of hot oatmeal and enjoying the site of the rising sun. Alcuin couldn’t help but smile. Most elves emitted dread and other dark emotions in the young human, but Freya seemed to emit a light brighter then the sun itself. His smile shifted into a frown, however, as something appeared on the horizon. A large silhouette followed soon by the many smaller silhouettes of bipeds approaching from the distance.

“They’re here,” Alcuin said sadly.

Freya rose to her feet; “Excuse me,” she said. And before Alcuin had time to say anything more the girl had leapt from the large wall.

Twenty feet. Thirty. Forty. The wind whipped her blue hair in all directions as she plummeted towards the dusty desert ground below. Her sapphire eyes were focused on a spot a few dozen feet beneath her. Seventy feet. Eighty. Ninety. One hundred. She hit the ground hard, one of her legs immediately buckled and left her kneeling on her other. A cloud of dust and sand quickly consumed her, making her completely invisible to Alcuin from the wall above. It took only a few seconds for Freya to burst out of the dust cloud, but to Alcuin it felt so much longer. She was running at a speed no human, or elf, could have normally achieved. From atop the wall it looked as though a small blue ant was running across a sandbox, kicking up clouds of dust with every step it took.

The distance between Freya and the oncoming army was quickly being closed. She grabbed one of the hilts strapped to her back and tugged. In an instant she held a blue weapon resembling a long sword, a katana. But the sword was not metal; it instead resembled a blue neon light. Another instant and she had grabbed at a second hilt and held a sword in her other hand. The handles of these blades were made with the same material as her armor, though the coloring was white.

The soldiers she approached were dressed all in black. Their ears were pointed and their hair was colors unnatural to humans. They were elves. This was a land unit of the Elfin Army. The object that had once been a large silhouette was now revealed to be a very large assault tank. The tank bore some resemblance to a rhinoceros though there were obvious differences. It was painted entirely in black and it seemed to be built of several rectangular tiles stuck together at sloping angles with a large tube protruding from the vehicles front.

Some of the soldiers pointed at the dust cloud that approached them. “Captain Jaren!” some of the soldiers shouted. Their captain stood atop the black tank, his golden hair was tied back in a ponytail. The red cape he wore signified his rank.

“Shoot it! By the time you can make out the girl creating the cloud, it’ll be too late!” Captain Jaren shouted while his green eyes fixed on the cloud of dust and dirt.

The soldiers fired their automatic weapons. Machine guns and auto rifles fired round after round, but the bullets were a wasted effort. They hit Freya’s armor and simply ricocheted away.

“No! Not bullets you idiots! Only ellicit can damage her armor!” Jaren shouted to his soldiers.

But it was too late for them. She was already upon them. The soldiers around her attempted to fire at her, destroy her. They all fell quickly. In under a minute she had decimated the ground troops on the left side of the tank. She paused for a brief moment, to catch her breath. Jaren, from atop his tank, began firing spheres of pink energy at Freya. She managed to avoid these shots, and rush around the backside of the tank to destroy the remainder of the troops. They turned as she approached, and with their own weapons began firing multi-colored spheres of light from their guns.

Most of the shots missed the girl and created tiny explosions where they hit the ground. She stormed through the small dust clouds the explosions kicked up, avoiding more shots of green or yellow light. One shot struck her upper arm and she heard her armor crack. A searing pain burned into her flesh, but she ignored it and continued rushing through the flurry of colored lights. Almost as quickly as the left flank had fallen, the soldiers on the right were defeated.

“You will not dispose of me so quickly!” Jaren shouted.

The Captain leapt from the top of his tank, the red cape flowing behind him elegantly. He raised a large mace with a similar neon-light design to Freya‘s sword, and the rest seemed to be in slow motion to the hopeless Captain. Jaren had no time to strike; the blue clad warrior slid by him almost silently, and as she passed time restored for the Captain and his vision went black a second later. An instant later Freya had bound into the air a dozen or so feet above the tank. A push of a button and the neon blades of her weapons had bent at an angle beneath her arms and the weapons handles. Her fingers pulled the white triggers attached to the swords handle and instantly balls of blue energy blasted down into the tank.

The tank exploded in a green inferno as the ellicit blasts rained down upon it. Freya landed just as the inferno cleared to reveal scraps of black metal, all with green and orange flames adorning them. The blades of her weapons returned to their original angles and she returned them to the blue sheaths on her back, just behind her shoulders. She then began the treck back to her base, though in no hurry, she was decidedly walking.


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Alcuin had watched it all from his perch atop the concrete wall. Through the entire ordeal he was terrified for the life of his friend, but his worries were put to rest when he saw the enemies fall. He hadn’t noticed that someone else had joined in watching Freya decimate the enemy troops. Alcuin jumped in fright as the other person spoke.

“Wow, amazing,” said the person, his arms were crossed and his face showed great amusement.

“Levi, you scared me,” Alcuin said, after calming down and gathering his senses.

“I know. It’s a talent,” Levi answered, unfolding his arms and tightening the green and brown camo bandanna on his head, “I’ve been wondering Alcuin. She destroyed them probably without breaking a sweat. I’d bet she could win this war on her own. Why are we here?”

Alcuin took a moment to answer. Despite Levi’s general appearance and attitude, he wasn’t an idiot. The young man before him, dressed in an unzipped bulletproof vest and black pants with his tangled blond hair stabbing wildly at the air from beneath his bandanna was actually a mechanical genius. It was actually Levi who had invented the weapons used by Freya, not Professor Foley. After an impatient glance from Levi, Alcuin answered, “I’m sure our officials would say we’re here to win the war. Most of us know it’s really to keep Freya under control if she were ever to go rogue or change alliances.”

“Yeah, but she can’t do that, can she? I thought that when the Professor programmed her he designed her not to attack humans.”

“That’s true, but she still possesses the ability to think, as well as all normal emotions. It’s these factors that make it possible for her to go rogue. They allow her to choose what she does.”

“So what would happen if she were to make choices that conflicted with her programming?”

“I have no idea. In all cases, it wouldn’t be good. You shouldn’t concern yourself with it too much, Levi. She’s come to trust us and consider us her friends. I’m more puzzled as to where she came from.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… she’s an elf. Sure she’s a robotically enhanced elf, but she’s still an elf. It makes me wonder if there’s more to Freya we should know about. Was she a willing participant or was she abducted from some elfin settlement? You know? I just don’t think it would sit well with me if it turns out she was experimented on against her will…”

“I guess it wouldn’t make me feel too great either. But think about it reasonably and it‘s pretty obvious. These days, there’s not an elf alive that would willingly sacrifice themselves for the betterment of humans.”

“Unfortunately I’ll have to admit that you’re right,” Alcuin said, his mind beginning to drift into darker territories.

“Come on,” Levi said, placing a smile on his face and patting Alcuin on the back, “Let’s get ready. We head out for the capital today.”

“Yeah,” Alcuin turned back to the desert, Freya was still a rather small speck of blue, “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“If you say so,” Levi replied as he walked away.

Freya reached the bottom of the gray wall after several long minutes. She looked up at Alcuin. She could jump higher then most, but there was no way she would be able to leap one hundred feet into the air. She knew this.

“I’ll be in the mess hall! I’m a little thirsty!” Freya called up to her human companion.

“Alright! I’ll meet you there!” Alcuin called down.


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Freya’s walk to the mess hall wasn’t a painless one. Though she protected the humans and always treated them kindly, most of them did not return her kindness. They could not see beyond the fact that she was an elf. Most of them had decided that she would one day betray them all. As she walked along the dirt roads and past the many stone structures used as sleeping facilities by the soldiers she couldn’t help but notice the many hateful glares she received.

Involuntarily tears found themselves drowning her sapphire eyes. She turned her head downwards, where she wouldn’t be able to see their ugly scowls. It seemed like she could almost hear the thoughts of the hateful men and women around her. As she stared at her own shadow and tried to ignore her watering eyes her thoughts lifted her out of reality. But they didn’t bring her to a safe place like most thoughts do. She found herself tortured by mental images of the hateful humans. When she managed to thrust these images away the troubling thoughts about how she came to be returned to her. How does someone like her come to exist?

Lost in her thoughts she didn’t notice the man riding a horse up the road. The man didn’t call to warn her, he remained as quiet as he possibly could while ushering his horse to go faster. Faster. Freya still did not notice the man or his horse. He swerved to the side, avoiding her. But as he passed by he reached down and grabbed her by the hair. Freya was yanked out of her thoughts. Pain shivered around her scalp.

“Hey pretty girl! Wanna come to my bunk tonight?” the man asked with a lustful cruelty.

“Let go!” Freya demanded, trying to pull away from the man’s grasp. Had she wanted to she could have easily broken the man’s arm and continued on her way, but that was the kind of falter all the hateful humans were waiting for.

“Or what blue beauty? You’ll cut me up?” the man twisted her hair tightly, pulling her closer.

“That’s enough, Lace!” a voice called from somewhere in the crowd that had gathered.

The man released his grip on the clump of blue hair. A man much larger then the others stepped out of the crowd. He stood a head taller then the rest, and a blue cape dangled from his shoulders. At his waist was a very large sheath for a very large sword. He narrowed his eyes on the horseman and said sternly; “Leave, Lace, before I make an example of you.”

“Aw gee Commander. I was just havin’ a little fun with her is all!” the horseman said in his same nasty voice.

“Leave!” demanded the large man. When Lace had run off the Commander turned to the rest of his soldiers, which had gathered to watch Freya’s torment, “And for the rest of you rotten maggots, if I catch word of your tormenting Freya at all I will lock you in on of our detention cells! It is because of her that each and every one of us breathes today! You should all be thanking her, not pulling her hair and demanding sex! She is no less human then we are! She deserves as much respect as you show me! Do you understand?”

Grudging murmurs and nods from the crowd showed that they did not understand, but they would say what they had to to make the Commander leave them be. Slowly they began to turn away and disperse back to their daily activities.

“Thank you Commander Geov,” Freya said as she turned to look up at the Commander’s face.

“Yes, well, I couldn’t allow that nonsense to go on in my camp. Filthy mercenaries,“ Geov muttered with disgust before adopting a more polite tone, “Tell me, where were you headed? Would you like an escort?”

“I was just going to the mess hall for some water. I’m a little thirsty after this mornings fight. I think I can get there without an escort though, it’s not too far from here.”

“Ah, I see. Well, just keep your eyes open. There are others like Lace whom I wouldn’t trust with if my own life depended on it. It is unfortunate that we are in such desperate need of soldiers that we must hire the likes of him. Oh well. Farewell for now Freya, I will see you again as we leave for the capital.”

“Until then, Commander.”

After the Commander had left, Freya walked a bit faster, feeling very uneasy. Commander Geov had always been kind to her, but like he said, there were many undesirables among the ranks of these soldiers. Much of the human army had been built of mercenaries and released criminals. They were truly scraping the bottom of the bucket. If the war was not won soon, all hope for humans would be lost.

She approached the mess hall building. It wasn’t much better looking then the sleeping houses, but it was larger and always smelled better then the dirty beds. She gently pushed the crooked hinged wooden door open and stepped in. Instantly she was hit by the smell of what would soon be lunch.

“Macaroni,” she muttered as she walked through rows of wooden tables.

“That and bits of fish slop!” a voice called from the end of the mess hall.

It was Medley, a cooking lady whom always had something interesting to say about the meals she had to make. Medley was a large and kind woman, she always managed to make Freya feel a little better about herself. The cook lady had already known what Freya would do; she presented a jug of water to the girl.

“Thank you, Medley,” Freya managed a smile for her friend.

“Oh, it’s nothing Freya. After all, you keep those soldiers away and you’ve given hope to those of us who once lost it! Keeping you hydrated is the least I could do for you!”

“I’m just doing what I was created to do.”

“Yeah, sure. And I respect that! I tell ya what. If you want it, I’ll sneak you an extra piece of spice cake for dessert tonight!”

“That would be great, Medley,” Freya responded with a smile. Suddenly her arm felt sore and she remembered that one of the ellicit spheres had hit her, “I’m going to sit down now. I’m a little tired.”

“No problem Frey! I have to get back to the kitchen anyway, or Herb’ll get mad. We all know how pissy he gets. See ya later,” and with a smile and a wave Medley vanished behind the swinging doors to the kitchen.

Freya sat across the table from a black haired girl whom had her nose buried in a pile of papers. The table was old and creaked beneath Freya’s added weight. She ignored the creak and took a swig from the jug of water Medley had given her.

“Good morning, Dora,” Freya greeted the girl across from her.

“Good morning,” the girl responded in a barely audible tone, almost a whisper.

“What are you so wrapped up in? All these papers don’t look like fun.”

“I’m going over the list of supplies we’ll be bringing to the capital with us, as well as the instructions to leave with Captain Edder while we’re gone,” Dora responded in her quiet voice.

“Edder, I haven’t seen much of him.”

“No, he generally avoids you and Alcuin. There’s a rumor that he’s jealous Alcuin was chosen to be Geov’s Lt. Commander.”

“I see,” Freya replied as she took another swig of water.

Dora looked away from her papers for an instant, distracted by Freya’s sudden movement. Her eyes widened when she saw her friend.

“You’re bleeding!” the small girl squeaked.

“What?”

“You’re bleeding!” Dora repeated, this time pointing at Freya’s arm.

Freya looked at the cracked piece of armor just below her shoulder, where she had been shot when she attacked the elfin soldiers. Sure enough a red liquid had begun to seep through the cracks of her armor and coat the rest of her arm. A blue liquid accompanied the red, and in places the two had mixed into a purple color.

“Blue,” Dora said slowly, “Freya, you damaged an ellicit vein.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Freya replied glumly as she clutched her shoulder to stop the bleeding, “When Alcuin gets here, tell him where I went.”

Dora nodded and watched as Freya speedily walked away, vanishing behind the creaky wooden door once more.

Eyes in the Back of Your Head

The Principal calls you into his office and immediately accuses you of having written a wonderfully elegant poem utilizing no less than thirty-eight different definitions of the word "shit." All while keeping form, you prodigy you.

Unfortunately this is not an invitation to join the PSA. You have the smarts to deny such a ridiculous claim, but the Principal insists that it was you, and he knows for a fact.

"How do you know?" You demand, weary of the circular argument.

The Principal looks at you dead in the eyes and says: "Because I have eyes in the back of your head."

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Evran

Evran - Chapter Two

The sun sank behind the hills in the far distance. A purple ocean flooded the skies above. Evran stares up at the sky and the stars that slowly appear. He looks at the ground and sighs. The villagers had kept him all day, they wouldn't allow him to leave until he stopped bleeding and they were sure he'd live. He tugged at the thick white bandages that were wrapped tightly around his shoulder. He winced as there grip strengthened on his wound. He looked at the sky again.

My dad's going to be furious..., he thought to himself as he gazed at the advancing darkness.

The wooden house came into view. A yellow glow seeped through the window and illuminated portions of the area around it. Smoke fled from the chimney in thick puffs, trailing into the skies above. As Evran approached the house of logs, his heart beat faster, his mind clouded with only thoughts of punishment, and in some ways hate and fear. The night seemed to grow still and silent. The bats stopped screeching, the owls stopped hooting, the bugs stopped biting. Even the wind seemed to bring itself to nothing, leaving the air stale and trees silent. The beating of his heart became deafening. Overwhelming. A swelling pain nestled within his skull. He could feel his fingers wrap around the door knob and pull the door open, but it was all in a blurred silence.

Then he was inside. All was calm, still. Peaceful. Then there was a loud crash and a shattering sound. Evran felt warm liquid slide down his face, dripping off his chin. The world seemed to spin wildly, then it stopped. Noise had returned, vision wasn't blurry. Everything was as it should be. It took Evran moments to figure out that the liquid sliding down his face wasn't his blood. He looked down at the floor next to him and found many pieces of shattered, green glass. He looked up again.

A large man stood before him. His arms bulged with veins and his right eye twitched with irritation, causing his hairy eyebrows to pop up and down. His nose large and round. The man let out a grunt and lifted his unshaven chin into the air. "Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice seemed to shake the very foundations of the house.

"I... I went to the town while you slept." Evran replied, his voice barely more then a whisper.

"I've told you before. Never leave this house unless I say! Never!" the man's voice grew louder and more furious.

"Y-yes father." Evran stuttered.

The man let off another grunt and turned away from Evran. Evran began to walk away, leaving the room. Suddenly he was knocked to the floor and pain shot through his side. His father towered over him, a vicious glint in his eye. His arms raised into the air, he held a stool. The wooden stool met with Evran's side once more, and he rolled over in pain. Again pressure and pain rammed into his body. This time the back of his head. His face became one with the floor, and the smell of pine drifted into his nose. Evran felt the weight lift off his head. He rolled away just in time to dodge another swing from the stool. He looked over as the stool met the floor, both woods turning to splinters. Evran slowly brought himself to his feet, though he was unsteady and would have collapsed at any moment.

How much punishment does the world think I can take? Everywhere I go I get beat on! I've had enough of this shit!, Evran's mind screams.

"Y-you bastard! Look what you did to my floor!" his father roars. His hand flies to the side of his belt and in an instant he holds a large blade.

His father points the machete at him, it's dark blade becomes orange as it reflects the crackling fire. He tosses himself at Evran and raises the cleaver high into the air. Evran hesitates for a brief moment, very brief, and without thinking any longer he throws himself forward as well. The large man groans as Evran's fist meets with his stomach. Evran screams for a moment but grinds his teeth to muffle the noise. Scarlet trickles from his extended arm, which is the new burrow of the machete. He pulls back, tearing flesh from his arm and screaming once more. The wood below becomes stained with the red liquid. His father recovers from the punch and again raises his knife.

Evran turns and flees farther into the house, recieving a large gash in his back. He gasps and nearly falls, but regains his balance and runs into the kitchen. A large, green bottle, half-filled with whiskey, rests on the counter. Evran tries to stop but is moving to quickly, he collides against the counter and pain erupts into his side. He clutches his side, but jumps away, barely managing to dodge the machete's blade. The large cleaver digs deep into the counter, and Evran's father struggles to yank it out. Evran panics as the blade slowly loosens and rises upward. It will only take seconds before the knife is completely free from it's vice. He jumps away, dancing around his father as quickly as possible. Not quick enough. The machete splinters the counter and is brought swiftly through the air.

Evran leaps into the air, desperate to avoid getting sliced by the cleaver. He slams into the counter yet again, causing the bottle to teeter. He grabs the bottle by the tube and swings it forward. The bottle contacts the back of his father's head. A gasp and a moan. The bottle explodes, shattering into shards of glass and a wave of whiskey. His father falls to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. The back of his head bleeds rapidly, spilling onto the floor and mixing with the drink and glass. It takes mere moments, but it feels like hours, his body lay still.

Cautiously Evran steps forward, slowly inching his way towards what was once his father. His head begins to swirl, but he shakes it off. However the noise of his beating heart still drowns out all else.

I-I killed him... I killed my father. I can't stay here, I'll be arrested!, Evran's mind shrieks.

He reaches forward, grabbing the hilt of the machete and shaking his fathers limp hand away. It sickens him, but he also takes the scabbard from his father's belt and attatches it to his own. He looks around frantically for something to cover the corpse with, just to make it seem less grotesque as he prepares to leave. He finds nothing. Then he hears it, the crack of the fire. An idea forms in his head. Disgusted with himself, he grabs the feet of his father's corpse and drags it back into the other room. He grunts, the body is heavy. With great effort he swings it around and tosses the majority of the body into the blazing fire.

Some of the body can't fit, an arm and a leg stick out from the fireplace and gently float in the first puddle of whiskey. Sickened by his task, Evran leaves the room to prepare for his new life. He grabs the largest leather sac he can find and stuffs it with food and other various supplies. Bread, meat, jars of water, some of his posessions, and a couple blankets which he manages to shove in at the bottom. A grotesque scent fills the air and smoke fills Evran's lungs. His back burns and the kitchen begins to glow orange, the crackling fire grows louder. He spins around to face a raging blaze spewing from the room over. Quickly, Evran rushes out the door and runs into the night, stopping once to watch what was once his home collapse in flame.

Evran - Chapter One

The sun peeked out from behind the distant mountains, slowly awakening from it’s slumber. As it rose, it’s growing light roused the sleeping inhabitants of the world it watched over. Like a mother waking her children. The light was easily winning against the darkness of night, leaving an orange glow on the landscape, and streaks of pink in the sky. An occasional cloud drifted by, purple and hazy.

Finally the sun emerged completely from its rest, rising into the sky to watch down on all the inhabitants it had peacefully awoken. A bird chirped in a branch not distant, then whistled a merry tune. Other birds, of different colors and sizes, joined into the chorus and soon an elaborate yet simple melody drifted across the valley, being carried ever further by the gentle morning breeze.

Evran stared upwards, enjoying the sun as it rose upwards. Enjoying the warmth its light brought, and the tranquility the bird’s song brought, and the relaxing calm the breeze brought still. It was almost as if everything was peaceful, quiet. Calm and easy. Life could be no more perfect-even if only, for a moment.

As the sun drifted higher into the sky, paling the pink and orange colors from the scenery, Evran returned to the inside of his home. He nudged the door slowly, allowing it to make no more noise then a small mouse. He was being so quiet, as to not disturb his father, who was still sleeping, despite the fact that the sun had risen. When Evran finally managed to close the door without awaking his father, he quietly tip-toed across wooden floors which creaked often to his dismay. He reached his destination: kitchen.

The kitchen of the small home was larger then other rooms. A round table of sturdy wood rest in the center, with three sturdy chairs of the same wood shoved beneath it. Cabinets and drawers held smooth counters which followed the walls closely, with gaps not large enough for even a small ant to crawl through. On the edge of one of the counters sat a loaf of bread, uncut and fresh. Evran reached over and grabbed the loaf, it was hard, and somewhat over baked. Though the golden-tan was appealing. Reaching into one of the drawers, Evran grabbed a small butter knife, it’s metal shining, almost liquid in appearance.

Without much regard to how large of a slice, Evran shoved the knife into the bread from top to bottom, slicing off a piece. The single slice of bread felt soft and weak compared to the loaf when it was whole. Evran left the slice of bread on the counter, as he reached into one of the higher cabinets. From within came a bowl. And inside that bowl was a thick stew, filled with vegetables and meat. Evran placed the stew on the counter, then grabbed the bread. He dunked the medium-thick bread into the ocean of beef and carrots, scooping some onto the wheat good, but preferring to soak up the broth. Eagerly he bit into the bread. By the time he had decided he’d eaten enough breakfast, half the loaf of bread had vanished, consumed by Evran.

His father still did not wake. And so, I will use this time to myself. To the town! He thought, and again made his way through the house to the door. He again, opened the door with great care, again, being sure not to make to much noise, again stepped outside, and again closed the door with the same caution. When at last the door clicked shut, signifying that it was into place, Evran stepped off the small porch of stained birch and into the grass and soil that was his yard. It had rained the night before, and his boots sunk into the soft dirt. He didn’t mind, his boots were thick, and he enjoyed the odd mixture of sunny warmth with rainy dirt.

It was a three mile hike to the town, but it was often worth it. There were usually many things there, and many people. A wandering merchant would usually stop by and set-up shop, trying to sell ordinary items to passerby as “the wonderous stick of Ganew!” Of course nobody in Ifadel had ever heard of Ganew or his wonderous stick, however there were some that would purchase the item either way. Evran found it amusing, the way the merchants tried to peddle normal things as magical items.

The dirt road that Evran traveled was less muddy then the dirt in his home, most likely due to the path being padded down by numerous feet over the years. Like the loaf of bread, the dirt in the path was stronger when pounded together, making it powerful enough to battle the rain and water. Carriage tracks and the prints of chickens from months before could still be seen on the dirt, Evran thought of it as a window into his last trip to the town. At least, his last one with the animals. It was sometime before the winter season, Evran and his father had needed the money of the chickens to pay for food and blankets to survive the cold days.

As Evran traveled the path, wood structures came into view. These were the many houses and shops that were settled within Ifadel. As difficult as it was to imagine, Ifadel was also connected directly to the sea, which made it a prime spot for merchants and travelers. Evran entered the town, and watched the business around him. Woman hurried their children across streets as carriages drawn by horses and oxen walked down many roads. Merchant tents flapped lazily in the calm breeze. The loud clanging of metal from the blacksmith could be heard for many yards from his shop.

Curious as to what the blacksmith was forging, Evran entered the man’s shop. Inside he saw the hulking figure of Borin, the blacksmith, hard at work on pounding something into shape.

“Mornin’ Borin.” Evran says, walking over to examine some of the smith’s finished pieces, which adorned the walls.

“Good morning to ya too, Evran.” Borin replied, not turning to look at him, still focused on his current project.

“What are you making today?” Evran asked, interested by some of the weapons and shields hung on the walls.

The smith brought his mighty hammer down upon heated metal, forcing it to bend and mold like bread dough, “Longsword.”

Evran looked at the mass of molten metal, that will one day be a large weapon, he was fascinated by the idea of such a transformation, but he also realized that he had wanted to visit more shops before he needed to return home, “I have to leave now.” He says, walking out of the shop and back into the streets.

The dirt streets were more crowded then when he had entered Borin’s metal shop. Small clouds of dust lifted into the air by scurrying feet rushing from shop to shop. Many merchants began pitching colorful tents they called shops. These were the wandering merchants, those that tried to sell Ganew’s stick. Evran always found it amusing to see what objects these merchants attempted to sell as ancient and powerful things. Most of the merchants were old, withered and decaying. Teeth missing, gums bleeding and stale. Cracked, chapped lips framing their sneaky grins. Hooked noses, long and beak-like. Many of them were short and had a lazy eye, which rolled from side to side in its socket.

The objects they attempted to sell, as was expected, were merely every day objects like a spoon or a leaf, but with a fictional back story to make it seem powerful and rare. One object in particular caught Evran’s eye. A red gem gleaming with the light of the sun, framed by a gold and silver edge. Gold chains connected the object into a loop, creating a necklace. As beautiful as the object was, Evran knew the merchant would still sell such a prize at an extreme price. Evran, however, was transfixed by the object, as if it called to him. He approached the purple tent and began to haggle with the dirt-stained merchant.

“A fine item. You have a good eye.” the merchant said to Evran, noticing the boys eyes rest upon the gem, “It is said that this necklace once belonged to a family in the hidden race of the Neko. It was this item that broke the Neko’s continent, Nerok and allowed it to drift freely. The gem is supposed to allow even those without mana to perform magic.” The merchant hacked as he finished his explanation.

“How much is it?” Evran said, finally deciding to buy the jewel.

“Normally I wouldn’t let it go at a low price,” the merchant began, but a coughing fit caught him in mid sentence, he quickly recovered from his attack, “But there’s something about you I like… I’ll let you have it for a mere fifteen Glore.”

Fifteen Glore! Evran thought, How can he afford to let this item go at such a cheap price? No matter, I’ll take it! Evran reached into his pocket and grabbed his money pouch. From within he retrieved several coins of copper color. He counted out five of the copper coins, and returned the rest to his silk pouch, which he tied with a thin string and returned to the pocket of his pants.

“I’ll take it.” Evran exclaims, handing the cones to the merchant. The merchant reaches out to unsteady hand, holding the necklace towards Evran. Evran thanks the man and takes the necklace, then walks off to continue browsing other tents.

As he walked along the crowded streets of Ifadel he spotted several other merchants, none of them caught his eye the way the one with the necklace had. He glanced down at the gold chain he still held in his hand. He ran his fingers over its smooth surface, perfectly polished, no scratches or even dents. Both the chain and the jewel reflect everything as perfectly as a mirror, perfectly clear. Evran brought the chain upward and slipped it over his head. He released the magnificent item and allowed it to slide down his neck, stopping at his shoulder.

He felt stronger somehow, as if the jem was giving him power. As he continues to glance at other marchants he notices a change of light. The sun was risen high into the sky, much higher then before.

"It must be noon... I'm going to be late!" Evran shouts.

He began to run in the opposite direction, trying to reach his house as soon as he can. The tents are hardly more then blurs of color, purples and yellows, reds and blues. A sharp pain stabs at Evrans back. He falls to the ground, grains of dirt jump into his eyes. He rolls onto his back looking up at three figures. They smile and laugh.

"Bariah..." Evran mutters, trying to pull himself to his feet.

Bariah shoves him back down onto the dirt, "Don't struggle Worm. It will be much easier that way... Jerim, search the Worm."

One of Bariah's friends steps forward. This one is much sleeker then Bariah, then even Evran. A long sheath hangs at his waist, black with gold rims. His clothes are dirty, spotted with stains of many variaties. He kneels down and examines Evran for jewelry.

"Jerim, I assume." Evran says. The boy with the katana nods.

Evran smirks as Jerim's eyes stop at a harness in his belt.

"Where's the knife?" Jerim asks, his voice trembles slightlty.

"I lost a week or two ago... it wouldn't be worth much anyways." Evran answers, his smirk fades.

Jerim grabs the hilt of his sword, and stands. He towers high above Evran, and his head blocks out the sun, "Don't screw with me."

"Fine, it's in my boot." Evran replies.

Jerim turns to Bariah and the other boy. Bariah nods and the other one steps forward. He reaches down towards Evran's boot. An expression of pain and shock ripples into his face as the boot smashes into his mouth. With one swift movement Evran manages to swing the thief towards Jerim. Jerim jumps backwards a fair distance, drawing his sword before his feet land on the dirt ground. Evran leaps to his feet. Bariah lunges forward, his hands clenched into fists. Evran steps to the side, Bariah's massive body slams into the ground throwing clouds of dirt through the air.

He grunts and stands. He again tosses himself towards Evran, this time throwing his fist forward and keeping himself on the ground. Evran tries to dodge, but is too slow and takes the impact. He stumbles backward as pain erupts through his shoulder. A crowed has formed around Bariah and Evran, watching the fight. Bariah smirks, soaking up the attention like a sponge to water. He rushes at Evran, building as much momentum as he can.

Evran steps away and drives his elbow into Bariah's back forcing him into the ground. Bariah snorts and jumps to his feet yet again. Evran waits for Bariah to stand. Just as Bariah finally steadies himself, Evran's foot crashes into his gut. Bariah stumbles backwards, and bends over, clutching his gut. Jerim steps forward and points his sword at Evran.

"Allow me to handle this." Jerim glances at Bariah as he speaks, then returns his attention towards Evran again, "This is a katana, a foreign sword. I doubt you've seen one. This will be the last one you will ever see. Enjoy it."

The sword looked foreign enough. It was much longer and sleeker then the broadswords Evran was used to seeing. Jerim allows Evran a short moment to admire the weapon, then propells himself forward at an amazing speed. Evran isn't fast enough, the katana burrows into his shoulder. A pain unlike anything Evran has ever felt before fills a large portion of his body, it makes the pain in his other shoulder seem like nothing more then a small whisper. He glances at the now crimson katana blade. He clamps his teeth together, supressing the scream. It doesn't last long, the pain is unbearable. Evran screams, his muscles twitch. Suddenly he finds himself surrounded by flames. The fire lasts for only a brief second, and is soon extinguished. He looks around. The katana lies on the ground, a crimson pool forming around it. Jerim lies feet away, his clothes torn and his skin badly burned.

Scarlet drops plummet to the ground. Evran turns to face the on-lookers, the majority are shocked and confused as to what happened.

Evran suddenly remembers his injury, "Does anybody have a bandage?"

Death Row

Slowly, quietly she creeps forward, eyes never moving from the row of headstones; from the row of death. The hairs on her neck stand rigid. Though it is sunny, there is a sinister chill in the air. Her shadow stalks behind her, lunging closer then falling back, as though sizing her up before making a final strike. Her shirt ruffles, pushed and pulled by unnatural forces. She can feel the hands slide over her body. They climb her legs, forcing clammy palms on the back of her knees, and up her tingling spine until they reach her neck. They tighten, so slowly at first that she hardly notices. Soon she is struggling for breath. Her blood runs cold as her vision turns to black. She tries to scream out; tries to call for help, but she has no voice. Soon she is with them sleeping beneath the dirt.

Death Row

Slowly, quietly, she creeps forward, eyes never moving from the row of headstones; from the row of death. The hairs on her neck stand rigid. Though it is sunny, there is a sinister chill in the air. Her shadow stalks behind her, lunging closer then falling back, as though sizing her up before making its final strike. Her shirt ruffles, pushed and pulled by unnatural forces. She can feel the hands slide over her body. They climb her legs, forcing clammy palms on the back of her knees, and up her tingling spine until they reach her neck. They tighten, so slowly at first that she hardly notices. Soon she is struggling for breath. Her blood runs cold as her vision turns to black. She tries to scream out; tries to call for help, but she has no voice. Soon she is with them sleeping beneath the dirt.

Fellatio

The teal carpet scraped against her slender knees, burning ever more intensely with each half-inch scuffle. She slowly dragged the zipper down its chain. With fasciantion and finesse she massaged the jittering hovel into a well-pitched tent. Her thighs shivered and dripped as the scent of packaged sweat wafted over her. She flashed him a smile and ran her tongue over her shining red lips. Then she saw it. Long, wet, and white. It quivered at the warm caress of her breath. With a yelp she reeled back, recognizing the horrors of the bot fly.

Fellatio

The teal carpet scraped against her slender knees, burning ever more intensely with each half-inch scuffle. She dragged the zipper slowly down its chain. With fasciantion and finesse she slid her hand over his pelvis, rotating clockwise as she slipped the button out of place and pulled apart the cotten curtains of his boxers. Her tongue slid over her shining, red lips as the pheremones elevated her senses. Then she saw it. Darting in and out of the flesh near his head. Sickly white and peppered with black spines. It writhed in an attempt to avoid sight. She reeled back in terror, recognizing the horrors of the bot fly.

Works in Progress

Howl

Howl: Hey Girl!

"Damn, you're heavy," Eric groaned as held the girl  on his back. He'd managed to wrap her arms around his neck, but she still wobbled unsteadily on his arms. He was unnerved by her odd appearance. The black cloth, he'd discovered, was some kind of cloak that was way too long for her body, and draped off her like a heavy curtain. She wore some kind of black robe beneath that, which made her clothes seem to run together as one piece. Her hair was an odd purple shade, but it seemed to be growing naturally that way. Long ears poked out of the hair just a bit, and her mouth—which hung open by his face—was filled with a line of pearly white knives.

He'd stuck around for five or ten minutes, prodding her face and hoping that ice rain would wake her, but she was out like a light. At first he thought "Someone else will handle it" and went on his way, but at the end of the road he looked back and saw her slumped form in the street, bottom up like a small child. With a sigh he hurried back and hoisted her up.

It was his hope that she'd recover before he made it home, but she showed no sign of waking. He muttered a quiet thank you as he approached the house and saw no vehicles in the driveway. At least he would avoid some messy explanations. Many of which he was ill equipped to answer.

Careful not to drop her he wrestled with the front door. It popped open with a little convincing, and he stumbled into the home on shaking knees. Water pooled on the red kitchen tiles around them, and he waited a moment for them to drip sufficiently before he stepped into the carpeted living room. Still, it squashed beneath his feet, and he knew there'd be a marsh left behind. He just hoped it would dry out before Isaac got home.

The stairway stretched out before him. Even without added weight, they were a pain in the ass to climb up.

"Whatever moron decided the second floor had to be that far up is an asshole," he growled, biting hard on his teeth.

He tromped up the stairs. Suddenly, about halfway up, he felt himself getting lighter. His first thought was that he'd caught something akin to a runner's high. Free of his chains, he could make it up these stairs no problem. Once a treacherous mountain, now little more than a simple hiking trail. He grinned. Then there was a crash behind him.

The girl was heaped at the bottom of the stairs, her legs flipped over and folded by her head. Waves of panic washed over Eric, and he waited to see if she moved. She didn't.

"Oh no, no no, no, no! Be alive. Be alive." He flipped her right, stretched her out across the floor. Her skin was cold. He checked her wrist. No pulse. "Shitshitshitshitshit."

Hiff. Hew. Hiff. Hew.

"Huh?" He looked around. It was an odd noise. Quiet, and light. Oddly familiar.

Hiff. Hew. Hiff. Hew.

He looked down and breathed a sigh. She was snoring.

Howl: Come on, Freedom!

Darkness washed over them. Eric's neck tingled. Electricity jolted through his veins. Two words chanted through his mind on repeat with no shuffle: Early release. Early release. Early release. It was a chant that silently hopped from head to head in the cafeteria until it made a final leap from one boy's mouth and became a loud cheer accompanied by a steady pounding of tables and feet.

The lights flickered on, buzzing weakly. The enthusiastic chant became a choir of perturbed sighs. Eric slammed his face into the nest of his folded arms, muttering something about feces and apes. A math class nap (Leigh did not take that class with him, as he was below standard) seemed like the best solution. Then he'd have the energy to take on Balbadir when he got home. The fate of eighty-four star systems were in his hands, and he couldn't let them down. Especially not when it was Karmia's cleverly clothed bod that did the walking.

"What the hell?" Leigh shrugged her shoulders and flipped her palms up, tossing the twins a look that blamed them for the lights return. "Now I have to take a stupid exam in Psych."

"Wow. Sucks," Eric muttered through his denim cradle.

Leigh smacked him on the head, an affront he chose to ignore. The temporary short had distracted him enough to cool down, and he realized that griping about her abuse would only make things worse. After all, it was a bit of a delicate situation with Leigh. Knowing what he did, it seemed like a betrayal of any notion of decency to lash out at her.

"I wouldn't worry about Psych so much," Isaac added as he stirred a few bread crumbs onto his spoon. "It's a pretty easy class. At least, it was for me. I bet even Eric could pass it. Maybe even get an A."

"Well, we aren't all prodigies, Isaac. Just because you're a human encyclopedia doesn't mean everyone can store infinite knowledge." Leigh gave him a hard glance.

The conversation fell quiet after that. Eric wasn't sure if it had ended, or if he'd finally managed to shut them out. Frankly, he didn't care. All that mattered was the sweet silence of sleep. The warm embrace of the green clad goddess. The rush of ravenous rain. The crash of Thor's thundering hammer. The screams of a thousand fleeing teens. The—

"Eric! Eric, get up!" A rough shake snapped him awake. Isaac stood beside him, his hand clamped tightly on Eric's shoulder.

"Whasgoinon?" Eric looked with one eye barely open as his head bobbed up and down carelessly.

"The lights went off again. We're being dismissed early." Isaac grinned.

"Wheresleigh?" Eric slid off the table something like a slug, shakily rising to meet his brother.

"She took off after you started snoring. I told her to leave you be and she bitched me out for a bit before heading at the library. Are you thinking of catching up with her?"

"Nah, nah man." Eric nearly collapsed onto Isaac's shoulder. "I just want to go home. Home and sleep."

"Sounds like a plan." Isaac laughed and patted Eric on the back. Then he eased him away, making sure his brother could stand steadily on two feet. "But you're going to have to head home without me. I want to meet with a couple teachers for the homework. AP classes and all that. They might not count early dismissal as an excuse."

"What jerks." Eric hobbled to one side, and grabbed the table for support.

"Do you have your key?"

Eric fumbled with his pockets. First the one on his right, then his left. Then the two on his chest. Maybe the one inside, next to the zipper? His pants? Isaac was about to hand over his when a jingling chain emerged from Eric's butt pocket.

"Alright, good." Isaac let out a sigh of relief. "You really need to get this sleep thing straightened out, man. It's not doing you any favors."

"Yeah, yeah." Eric waved him off. "Just go get your homework, I'll get home okay."

"Glad to hear it. I'll hold ya to it." Isaac disappeared through a gaggle of giggling girls. They all turned to watch, whispering ratings in each other's ears. Most of them ranked above nine.

Eric toppled to one side and dragged himself across the dark cafeteria, using the tables as a rail. After a few fumbling moments the crust fell off his eyes and he began to hold himself uneasily, moving forward with some vagueness that irritated other hurrying students. By the time he reached the door the world had stopped swaying. Cold rain washed the fuzziness away as he strolled out into the storm and made his way across the parking lot, breezing by the "KEEP OFF" sign and tromping through muddy grass.

Storms always seemed to excite Eric. So much so that by the time he'd reached Second Street he no longer felt tired. He was toying with the idea of booting right into Star Savior and saving the sleep for later (even humoring himself with "fixing the problem"). A hot bowl of ramen would help that right along, he figured. Still, the green clad lady beckoned from a mental distance, and she reminded him just how comfy a pillow could be.

But that evaporated entirely as he rounded the corner onto Lake Street. Chills caught him by surprise, and he suddenly felt completely awake. The world seemed to operate in slow motion as his hairs stood on end. Preparing for the worst, he clenched his fists. When the bushes beside him started to dance, he had a suspicion that someone's dog was off its leash.

A blur dashed out of the hedge, bashing Eric's shoulder and pushing him back a step. His fists spread loose as he tried to balance himself, all too aware of the warm, black meat toppling into him. As soon as he found footing he danced away, counting his blessings that he remained tooth and claw free. His legs revved up a serious kick, but it never had the chance to peel. The black mass collapsed in the street, a tattered heap.

Torn strips of black fabric piled up like a blanket. At the head of it all, face down in a growing puddle, a girl's lips swallowed no air.

Howl: Tired Eyes

"Have you been paying attention to me at all?" Leigh snapped her fingers at the tip of Eric's nose. 

He gave her a disinterested sideways glance, more annoyed than anything else, and through his lips uttered: "Hm?"

"You haven't! I should have known." Leigh crossed her arms and stared, equally cross. "You know, it's pretty rude to just zone out like that. Some of us are interested in being friendly."

Eric sighed and pulled his chin off his palm. He turned slowly and faced her from across the table. Thin lines sagged beneath his eyes, and he fought the urge to drop his head. "Sorry, didn't get much sleep."

"Why do you stay up so late? What were you doing all night?" She squinted so tight her eyes disappeared behind a curtain of thick lashes. It was the face she made when forced to look at someone or something incredibly, insufferably stupid.

"Oh, y'know. Just insomnia and stuff," Eric muttered, giving in and letting his cheek rest on the lunch table.

"Insomnia sounded an awful lot like Star Savior." Isaac clapped down a tray, launching echoes through Eric's face. They were twins, and despite being identical, looked nothing alike. Isaac beamed as he chomped into his sub. He always ate with gusto, cramming and mashing food into his face as much and as quickly as possible. Eschewing common utensils aided his quest to hastily and thoroughly abolish any crumb that lived on his plate. Yet when he was done there was never any slivers or sauce to be found on his face or clothes, or the table, or the tray. His shirts, always blinding bleached white and pressed to a crisp, looked exactly as they did when he pulled them from the closet.

Eric, on the other hand, always seemed to be glaring, even when he smiled. Even though they were equally pale, Eric seemed sickly while Isaac was angelic. It always looked as though Eric was going to fall into coma at any second, like the entire world had dumped a diseased burden on his shoulders at birth. His body always ached, his joints were always heavy. And, worst of all, no matter how often he did his laundry, no matter how neatly he folded and pressed, his dark wardrobe always came out ratty and ruffled. Naturally, they also became stained throughout the day. It might take Eric an entire lunch period to finish a meatball sub, but every ounce of sauce in that sandwich would find its way to his sleeves or his collar, without a doubt.

"Zero sympathy for playing video games all night," Leigh snapped. She shoved a sliced peach down her throat. It bubbled as it slid away, eventually dropping into deeper organs and out of sight.

"I didn't ask for any." Eric closed his eyes. For a few moments it was silent, except for the murmur of the other hundred students in the room. Just when a lovely lady clad in green descended from glistening golden clouds to guide him gently to sleep, a sharp pain on his forehead sent her away. He swore as Leigh pulled her fingers away.

"No sleeping. You don't get to sleep."

"What? Why not?"

"You should have done that at night."

"I have insomnia!"

"No, you don't. If you'd just stay awake here, you'd be able to sleep later." Leigh cocked her eye. They were dashed with flecks of blue and green, but full of crazy. At least, that's what Eric always thought. "Crazy eyes" he'd call them, and most were quick to agree.

"Screw that, you're not my boss." Eric flipped his head down into folded arms, making certain to cover up any fleshy bits with hair or the peaks of his jacket sleeves. He felt a few pokes, which he assumed were probably flicks, but his hard head served him well. Until the textbook was brought into play.

"Augh, what the fuck!" He groaned and held his head. A storm of pins and needles stabbed his skull.

"Who's not your boss?" Leigh laughed loudly, tossing her head back and letting her face turn pink.

Isaac watched silently, stuffing down more sub. In the beginning he protected Eric from Leigh's abuse, but day after day he went back begging for more. He knew his brother hated it, but it became a routine he grew weary of fighting. The only reasonable option was to hope Eric eventually grew tired of it all.

It seemed that moment might have come. Eric leered from behind blond bangs. His lips twisted at the corners, showing more than a hint of tightly clenched teeth. A bit of dribble slipped away, and a low, short growl, more like a pant, rumbled out. All over his body began to tremble, and he grasped his head so hard Isaac could hear the nails digging through the scalp.

Leigh laughed on, oblivious to the festering rage just a foot away.

That was when thunder shot like a cannon. Mighty winds forced open the front doors, at the end of the cafeteria. Rain rushed in, drowning the lunches of a few unfortunate students. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, it stopped. The rain washed away, the thunder rumbled into silence. Then the lights went out.

Howl

1. Tired Eyes

What is Howl?

Howl is what I have dubbed a continuous novel. Really, it's a modern penny dreadful. Since it's free, I suppose it's a pennyless dreadful. Preferably a pennyless dreadfulless, but I can't make any promises. What this is really all about is me—well, let me stop there for a second. I have this horrible habit of writing things very, very slowly. This is in large part because I have project ADHD and can't sit still long enough to finish anything. What I'm trying to do here, with Howl, is not to exercise myself in actually getting things done (believe me, I'm working on it), but rather an exercise in keeping myself writing something everyday. Sick, well, sun or snow. The goal is to keep my literary juices from evaporating away. There's also another thing going on here, and I'll have to direct you all to Ira Glass to make you understand it. He's this way, guys.


I trust you all watched that. So what I'm trying to do here is... fight my way through it. I need to create a body of work, and who knows what's going to come out of that body? Well, alright, I have a vague idea, but I don't know how it's gonna turn out. Probably freaking amazing, because we all know I am the lord of writing. Right? That... that's true, right? Guys?

tl;dr (aren't I nifty?) - Howl is practice and a daily exercise. Like word jogging.

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