Tag Archives: Power

Taking of Medalia

Leven, the Outlands prince, waved a hand, forcing open Medalia’s throne room doors. Despite the heavy blockade. His silver armor glistened as much as his bright yellow eyes. A knowing smirk rested on his face.

The soldiers guarding their king trembled. They knew what the foreign prince was capable of unleashing. And his full powers had yet to be seen.

“Kill him!” King Talus cried from his throne.

Hesitating, they rushed forward.

Leven lifted a hand, and all their necks snapped at once. He stepped over their fallen bodies. Gaze trained on Talus. Holding out an arm, the peppered king’s sword came to him. “You’ve grown weak, old man.”

Talus stood with confidence. “The Medalia we know will die with me. You’ll do nothing but destroy it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m going to take it as my own, seeing how my parents banished me from the Outlands.”

“Their only lack in judgement was that they didn’t foresee you coming here.”

Leven’s grin never faded. He inspected the jeweled sword. “It’s a pity, really. How useless Medalia is now. Your generals have been slain, your son has been captured by my army, and I can waltz right in and take your throne.” He teleported behind Talus. “Your time is up.” In one swift move, he beheaded the king with his own sword. Stood splattered with blood. Looking very much like his mother with his pale skin and charcoal gray hair falling just past his shoulders.

A small gasp caught the Outlander’s attention. He whirled around. Someone was behind a pillar. He teleported to the source of the sound. Grabbed the servant girl by the neck and lifted her up.

Her thin frame quivered.

His head slightly tilted. “There is a power about you that I cannot read. How strange. But I can tell the old king favored you.”

She struggled under his grasp. Fear etched in her face.

“I won’t kill you. Not yet. You may prove interesting. But I am your new king.” He dropped her. “You will serve me, now. I will make you my personal slave. Tell me your name so I know how to call you.”

Throwing herself on the floor, she remained in the lowest form of submission. Her voice small. “T-Teckia, my…my lord.”


A Warrior’s Poem

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If you mess with the rose
You’ll be pricked by thorns
If you mess with the bull
You’ll be struck by horns
If you mess with the sword
You’ll soon taste iron
If you mess with the dragon
You’re asking for fire

A warrior may not always win
But a warrior will never bend
I will fight even when cornered
I will fight until I look horrid
I will fight with passionate fury
I will fight with vision blurry
I will fight until my last breath
I will fight even after death

Do not put on my grave
How I won or saved the day
If I had words on my grave
This, I would want it to say:
I helped those I found in need
And the captives, I helped freed
I did what I felt to be right
I didn’t accomplish everything with might
For there are higher powers above
And the greatest of these is Love


A Rainy Day

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Rain pattered on the metal roof. Neon lit up the front of the agency through the dim haze. The front window fogged in the corners. Inside, the detective agency wasn’t much brighter. A desk lamp and a handul of lanterns provided soft, golden light. The radio faintly crooned a timeless classic.

The detective looked up from his newspaper. Smiled.

The assistant sat in a faded red armchair, holding a mug, legs drawn to her chin. A pink glow cast on her from the neon sign. She stared longingly at the rain.

He rose and went to her. Placed a hand on her shoulder.

She smiled, looking back at him.

“I think we can close down for the day.”

“Are you sure? People still may need our help.”

“We live right up the street. If someone has an emergency, they’ll come to us. They know where we live.” He held out a hand. “No one is going to be out in this weather.”

“True.”

He helped her up when she put her hand in his. Kissed her forehead. “Besides, you look tired.”

“I’m not tired.” But she yawned and stretched anyway.

“I don’t need to be a detective to know that you are.” He straightened his desk while she blew out the lanterns. Retreiving his trench coat from the back of his swivel chair, he held it above her head. The neon flickered off, and he locked the door.

Together, they made their way through the rain. The detective shielding as much of his wife as possible. She allowed it. This time. During the next downpour, she would freely dance her way around. But he was right. She was tired.

He knew something was definitely wrong when she didn’t make it a point to splash in every puddle she came across. The rain brought her so much joy. Yet, he knew it was because of her abilities. The first time she unleashed, she was in a coma for two weeks. The past four days had seen a decline in her zeal for life. He tried his best to remain positive. But he also knew of her mother. She had similar abilities that led her to sickness and premature death. He was afraid the same would happen to his wife. For now, all he could do was pray. Pray that she wouldn’t be taken away from him too soon. There couldn’t be a Double Heart Agency if one of them was missing.


Thornne and Hyalus

We have finally moved into our house! That being said, I’m hoping to get back into a regular rhythm of posting again. The two characters I’m about to introduce to you came to me in a dream. They’re an interesting pair. I hope you like them as much as I do.

 

Sure, she may be unique, but she wasn’t that special. She was an average, mid-twenties young woman. At least, that’s what Thornne kept telling herself. Okay, so her mother’s prayers were answered, and she became imbued with the powers of an ancient goddess. Big deal. She didn’t ask for it. But as long as her mother got what she wanted. All she wanted was to work on Mr. Sexy–her 1968 Corvette convertible she bought for $1,000 cash.

The rest of her cash was spent on a full sleeve tattoo she got on her right arm. A variety of black and white roses with thorned stems twisting down her appendage and onto her hand. She barely felt the pain. There was enough of it that she had already endured. Needles and ink didn’t amount to anything. She did it alone. Just like she did everything. She preferred it that way. Being alone–

A shrill ring of the doorbell made her sigh and lift her head. Who, on God’s green earth, could that be? She pushed herself out from underneath her classic car. Rose and grabbed a stained rag. With a look of irritation, she threw it over her shoulder when she finished cleaning her hands. Crossed the three bedroom home and opened the front door.

Her emotionless face didn’t change at the 6’5″ well-muscled man on her porch. “What you want?”

Hyalus seemed offended. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

“Didn’t know we were friends.” Thornne moved out of the way. “But, by all means, come on in.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He removed his hoodie after she shut the door, revealing his abnormality. His upper right arm had been replaced with clear glass. Minimal electronics surrounded an empty vial in the center.

She tightened her lime green ponytail. “What you want?”

Before he responded, he grabbed her left arm. Marks littered her forearm. “What are these? And don’t even think about shapeshifting to cover them up.”

Her rose-colored eyes drilled him. “I was deciding where I want my next tattoo.”

He matched her stare. “I know scars when I see them. Thornne, we talked about you hurting yourself.” Sighing, he released her arm. “But I know you never listen to a word I say.”

“Did you come here just to lecture me?”

“No. I need recharged. They’re sending me on a mission.”

She pivoted without a word, heading back to the garage. Hyalus followed without his normal chatter. Not that she was complaining. Throwing the rag onto the workbench, she dragged a stool to a slim machine in the corner. That stupid machine.

Hyalus had been part of a secret government experiment. Go figure. For whatever reason, they wanted glass soldiers. At least, that’s what she got out of it. But glass is fragile. So along came Rosalee the Sorceress. She lived across the street and ran a small coffee shop. If you were a rude customer, she would give you a shot of bad luck with that espresso. But anyway, Hyalus’s arm became enchanted, and he occassionally had to juice. She didn’t know why she was responsible for the machine.

She hated Hyalus. Hated everyone. Except for Rosalee. She liked that witch. Which is probably why the sorceress convinced her to take the device. Whatever. So what she was good with machines? That didn’t mean anything. She continuously glared at Hyalus as he hooked himself up to the charging station and began filling the vial with “essence,” as Rosalee so eloquenly put it.

“I have room for one more,” the unwanted guest said.

“No.”

“Come on. You used to be one of the best. We were a great team.”

Thornne blew a lime strand out of her face. “We were never a team. And no matter what you say, I will never go back. Don’t you remember that Tollack tried assassinating me?”

“Only because you changed who you were.”

“I shifted shape. That’s all.”

Hyalus threw up his unconnected arm. “You changed sides!”

“Because his way was ludicrous. From the beginning, he’s never trusted me. I knew that then. I know that now. That’s why you’re my babysitter. I can’t do anything without supervision.”

“In his defense, you are known for backstabbing people.”

“And?”

“And there’s nothing else to it. You can’t expect people to trust you when they know you can’t trust yourself.”

She rolled her eyes and turned. “You know your way out.”

“After all these years, I’ve been wondering something.”

“What?”

“Why is your name Thornne? It has nothing to do with your powers.”

“Because I’m a thorn in everybody’s side.” Her ears could still hear her mother’s jeers, all the nastiness. She didn’t do what her mother wanted, and that made her the evil one. Walking back inside the house, she slammed the door closed. Slammed away the voices.


Axxeriorat

Out of the darkness formed an angelic creature with black-tinted skin and white, feathered wings. He stood tall and strong, waiting in the darkness patiently. It was not often someone visited the ruins of Elion, and he surely didn’t expect it to be a wandering soul of the female creature race. He stared with electric purple eyes as she stepped foot onto the main road. The night wind unsettled years of encrusted dirt and rust. The deteriorated buldings groaned. A familiar sound to him.
He stepped back when she found the monstrous markings in the dirt that would never pass. Though he was many yards away from her. With narrowed eyes, he passed her off as a careless creature who had been forsaken. He paused through the dirty haze, a structure forming. A structure made of the ribs and skull of an unsightly, many-horned creature that had fallen long ago.
The girl continued walking the ghost town. Unsure of what would happen. She missed her dragon companion. And she couldn’t shake the memories of the last creature she encountered. She came upon a great beast’s forgotton remains. A creature stood in the skull’s gaping mouth. He was similar to the one she met a few days back. Except this one’s skin was black and his eyes purple. His wings were ragged, one permanently broken while the other was half missing. “Who are you?”
His intense gaze tracked her movements. Head turning as he watched her in silence. Her words were foreign to him, but he could still understand what she wanted. But he turned away. Noiselessly moved deeper into the skull. “Wait!” she cried. “I’ve met someone like you.”
Pivoting, a purple aura emanated from his form, veins illuminating like violet lightning on his skin. His shredded wings arched as much as they could. He beckoned her until she cautiously approached. Then his eyes flashed with lightning, sending her to the ground as he gained access to her mind. A blast of electricity broke through her eyelids, radiated into her skull, then left her body of nerves tingling.
Axxeriorat–for that was his name–still remained in place. His aura spread further from him. Lighting the inside of the skull. He cared little for the torment she suffered upon the dirt. Not many knew of Elion’s brutal history. Not many cared. Tortured by the silence of the dead around him, he continued staring. She managed gaining control of herself. Her eyes wide in horror.
He had given her a brief history. Had shown her what had passed. His jaw set as he relived the memories himself. It was his brother and him. Together, they led the charge against the invasion of their peaceful civilization. They were successfull until the fell beast was summoned. Only diaster followed. For three days and nights, their town was burned, defiled, and shredded.
Nothing stopped the brutal phenomenon. Streets lined with blood. Homes filled with screams that turned silent. Everything burned to ash. The brothers failed in their sworn duty. They were the best forces Elion had to offer, and their best wasn’t good enough. He was the last survivor. Only because he had fled like a coward.
When he returned weeks later, the beast was nothing more than a rotting carcass. It was off the carcass he lived. Until only bones remained. He assumed the beast had served its purpose then was killed by its summoners. That mattered not. What mattered was he failed. Failed to destroy the relentless attackers and foul creature. Failed to save his people, his brother. His battle-torn wings helped pay the cost. But according to tradition, his tongue needed removal. So he could never speak of his failures.
The deed had been done. He had drawn the sword from his wings and cut out the apendage long ago. Not that he was a chattery creature. A constant power he possessed was that involving the mind. He had also tapped into her memories. Seen the creature she had spoken of. His cruel stare found her once more. She begged him to stop the mental intrusion. She couldn’t bear the horrid images of his past world.
Lighting flashed from his eyes, releasing the hold he had over her mind. His aura dimmed until it vanished. Darkness flooded the skull. But his veins illuminated. This being had mere seconds to flee before he unleashed more power upon her. How many other creatures had he turned to ash? This one would be no different. His eyes glowed with his electric purple light. She was on her feet and sprinting from the skull.
The display of power only increased. His aura emanated again. This time filling the skull with blinding light. He was enraged. Had he only continued his failings? His brother was still alive. Yet, he hadn’t taken it upon himself to search. A snarl took over his lips. He had failed his brother even when he thought his family enjoyed the afterlife. Apparently, their other-life celebration wasn’t so. How many others did he leave behind when he fled?
Axxeriorat released a burst of power, finally bringing his emotions under control. But the damage had been done. The skeleton crumbled around him, disintegrated. He strode through the ash, ready to smite anything in his way. This place that held his brother, this Saison Burn, would not enjoy his coming presence.


Death and Life

It came quickly, ravaging, consuming. With a sickening sound, it landed. Death had come to devour this world. He rose in all his dark glory, cloak spreading across the land. Everything his shadow cloth touched died. The more he destroyed, the larger he grew. Until his darkness covered the entire planet. Death’s form was the size of a mountain. He had devoured every living thing. Raising his arms to the gray sky, a wicked smile caressed his face. Another world was lost. He summoned his cloak to his feet. Rose the dark power up his form, high into the sky. Gave one last grin. He plunged the evil forces straight into the core of the planet that had once been so full of life. Mere seconds passed. The world exploded into a million pieces, scattering into unlit space. His job was done. Now to spread Death to another section of the universe.

It came slowly, flickering, hopeful. With a melodious sigh, it took form. Life had come to restore the annihilated world. She materialized in all her soft, golden glory. The skirt of her ethereal dress flowing about her bare feet. A warm glow radiated off her form. Life was the size the situation required her to be. She would restore the living things. Silently walking among the black space, she touched the dull fragments. A smile graced her. Another world would shine. She continued throughout the blast radius. Tenderly brushing her hand against every last rock from the destroyed planet. Gave another smile. When she touched the pieces, a glow started at their centers. Mere seconds passed as she surveyed the space filling with light. The million pieces began twinkling. Her job was finished. Now Life had given new stars to another section of the universe.


Long Live the Monsters

Have you ever witnessed monsters come alive?
Try 43. Waiting. Sitting quietly, patiently in line.
The command rings out loud and clear.
And so begins the awakening.
One after another, their life-sources fire. A low, thunderous rumble that shakes you to the bone.
The single procession doubles into two columns and takes a few laps to become familiar with the territory. Their romping grounds for the next few hours.
A green flag waves violently.
The 43 take flight, fully alive, powered by over 800 horses.
But these aren’t your typical monsters under the bed just meant to scare. No, these monsters are out for the kill.
The rumble gains a higher pitch as the monsters scream for more. A whine that makes your ears bleed and your head pound.
Some bite off more than they can chew, spinning, crashing.
The whole field has to regroup.
But with each green flag comes a new unleashing. And with each green flag, they grow ever hungrier.
Mile after mile, turn after turn, each one is pushed to its extreme. But they take the abuse and still beg for more.
Laps wind down. This knowledge sends the monsters into an all-out frenzy. A death match to the end.
They know only one can be the victor.
White flag.
Any who can run in contention has to use it all now.
Pushed past their limits, they face the final four turns. There may be a leader now, but it’s not over ’til it’s over.
To the outsider, it goes by in a flash.
To the field, it’s an agonizing fight for the chance at victory.
What’s left of the 43 cross the line for the last time as the checkered flag informs them of the end of the match.
The winner burns rubber and unused fuel in celebration.
Exhausted, the others retreat to their selected lairs.
But the winner’s name will reign supreme.
Until next week.
When a screaming rumble like none other is fully unleashed to wreak havoc.
When 43 monsters awaken and shake the earth with their raw power and brute force. When another fight for the win breaks loose.
Long Live the Monsters.


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