Sworded Tales

Jimmy sat on the sled as only a child could, lower legs pinned beneath him despite the chill of a day’s play. The woman sitting beside him was underdressed for the crisp January air, but she showed no sign of caring what nature intended. Her eyes were cast down the hill, gaze following the myriad sled trails as they coursed toward the sluggish creek beyond. The collection of neighborhood children lined up on the other side of Jimmy waited still and silent while the pair talked.

“You’re sure?” she asked. “Things could get a little scary.” Continue reading

For the past fifteen years, the exploding metropolis of Salcedo offered a tourist attraction that no other city could hope to match.  Paranormal activity was witnessed and recorded for the first time in mankind’s history.  The discovery of super humans initiated a feeding frenzy within the media, and not a day would pass nor a newscast air without mention of some paranormal extravaganza that reaffirmed that Salcedo was “the safest and most exciting place to live.”

The subsequent infusion of tens of thousands upon thousands of citizens into the city spiraled the economy and political machinations into the stratosphere.  The population swelled to where the city itself appeared to bulge on the verge of rupture.  Housing and development industries soared to meet the increasing demand, and grants, donations and contributions were channeled with unprecedented ferocity to alleviate the straining infrastructure.  Salcedo was catapulted into the future on the backs of the super humans. Continue reading

Western civilization was collapsing, and not with the triumphant conflagration envisioned by the doomsayers and prophets.  A blood poison simply ate along the pathways of society long enough that the heart could not overcome the cascade failure of the internal organs.  Even when the wretched shit stink of corruption boiled into the daylight, enough blind eyes turned to allow the wounds to fester.  The world saw it coming, but the disease had spread too far.

The Chromes finally put an end to the misery. Continue reading

Demonmauler

Demons walked the days, and no one could see them but Gabriel Trask.  His years preaching the word blended together, but he carried on as his mind continued to decay.  He was cast out for his beliefs, shunned by those he sought to protect, and still he walked on.

Infernal forces were massing.  The City thrummed with their blood, and the air reeked of ash and sulfur.  In the desperate days before mankind drowned in hellfire, Gabriel Trask’s prayers were answered.

God offered the artifact to him, shining with the purity of the heavens.  Gabriel reached for the weapon but hesitated, questioning his faith to the calling.  The hand of God waited patiently, and a voice echoed with infinite serenity.

“Demonmauler must once more rise against the coming darkness,” God uttered with perfect conviction, offering the weapon to him, “You have been chosen.” Continue reading

You’d say I was lying unless you actually saw the little green pig-fucker for yourself.  I swear to you, that is the toughest son of a bitch I have ever laid teeth on.  And I don’t care to do it again thank you very much.

I don’t know what it was about him.  He just stood there taking our best shots and hardly even flinching.  To tell you the truth, I think he might have been trying not to laugh.  Jackass.  That sounds like we’re a pretty sorry bunch, but let me tell you, I have seen my teammates fuck some people up on more than one occasion.  And come on, you know me.  For ME to say someone is a tough nugget?  Now that should be proof enough. Continue reading

Cherry Charges

The money was always good for an exotic dancer named Cherry Popper. The hours and the maw pawing of hands? Not so much. Especially where the mob was concerned, but a girl got by no matter how many greaseballs tried to liberate her from her tassels.

Cherry took to the pole with a finesse and ferocity that hinted at talent buried deep within her genetic past. Headlining at the Barracuda Lounge brought about the performances which eventually landed her in the lap of Damiano “Cheeks” Mancini.

Dodging the mafioso’s advances for months lasted until their dance culminated with a public slap to the face that sealed her fate. Her next performance was supercharged with a pole that rocked her with electricity when she grabbed hold.

The scorched body that disappeared off of a stainless steel morgue tray wound up in the Rogue Isles with a new name and a new plan. The latent energy burning within her multiplied each day, and soon she would return to the Rogue Isles to give Cheeks his sweet goodbye.

Continue reading

Fateweaver stared down at the fluffy cap she reverently held in her hands.  All ten fingertips traced the delicate softness, as the heroine ruminated over the memories of her last encounter with this legendary headpiece.  Hundreds of years ago that had been, and she still remembered the events with crystal clarity.  No mien feat to be sure, since these particular eyes gazing down, with their almost transparent blue irises, had never actually seen this hat before.  The hint of a smile came to her lips as the conundrum of her existence surfaced once more.

She had difficulty grasping the scope of her being at times, and the notion of trying to explain it to someone else was too daunting a prospect to ever offer any solace.  Solitude was an easier mistress by far when pitted against the confused and guarded looks her story would bring.  She had found a place among kindred spirits where she could perform her work without question.  That was all that mattered, and she didn’t intend to squander such an asset.  Not when so much was at stake.  She could set her troubles aside and focus on the present, but memories were a force that could never be entirely avoided.  A tiny spark would surface from time to time, like the silk lined hat she now handled, and the flashbacks would race to the forefront of her mind.  Little good ever came of such interruptions, and more often than not, quite the opposite indeed.  She just needed to make sure that these sparks didn’t combust into wildfires. Continue reading

Samurai Maia

“Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amidst the storm.” –Samurai Maia

Her origins were as much a mystery to her as to those who witnessed her arrival in the ringing aftermath of a fearsome bolt of lightning.

The locals had referred to their recent climatology as the Season of Storms, despite the inaccuracy of all other means of weather prediction.  So the rains came, and the flooding washed away the transient.  The hail peppered the landscape, and the winds set afloat all that was not earthbound.

Amidst the entire fury of the world, Maia appeared in a moment of stunning serenity, arriving bearing nothing but the slender blade clenched tightly in one hand.  Glancing down at the singed earth between her bare feet, she raised her head and stepped away from the spot, joining the fray with the zeal of ancient warriors of old.

Long Division

The Ministry of Autonomous Teaching in the Home was a short lived research project after complications surfaced with the initial prototype. The government funded effort focused on creating a cybernetic intelligence through application of nanotechnology. The Long Division unit was engineered to educate basic arithmetic values in a small scale setting, but the AI quickly exceeded the program parameters and began reapplying its fundamental code on a progressively larger scale. Continue reading

Standing on the snow encrusted sidewalk of Brubaker street, the sizable man swallowed the revulsion which welled up in his throat as the bustling torrents of shoppers ebbed and flowed around him.  The heart of Steel Canyon pulsed with the merriment of the holiday season in a garish explosion of color and stench.  There were only three days remaining before Christmas, and Paragon City was being consumed at a nauseating rate.

A sweaty shoulder bumped solidly into the stranger and was quickly followed by a jaunty apology.  The flare of red in the mysterious man’s eyes was masked by the thousands of lights strung along the street, but the fluid state of the mass citizenry drew the offender away from him before the rage could take over.  His teeth ground thickly.  Uncapping the flask drawn from an inner jacket pocket, a hefty swallow of bourbon replaced the feral burning with a more mundane, manageable version.

‘Why in Shiva’s name did I agree to come here?’ the thought came unbidden to him.  He swallowed the animal a second time, and focused on the instructions for his task ahead.  As always, prophetic truth had come from the lips of his savior, and existence was utterly more satisfying when he did not have to think about the insignificant nuances.  He was the weapon.  Simple.  Clean.  Efficient.

Well, a clean result with a very messy methodology. Continue reading

Deep in the Andes mountains along the border of Chile and Argentina beneath the shadow of the menacing volcano Copahue, an ancient legend has been passed down for hundreds of generations. The archaic religions, in what is now the Neuquen Province of Argentina, tell of a great spirit that burns beneath the towering mountains, guarding the edge of the world from that which lies beyond.

The tremors that regularly shake the villages of the Neuquen, flex a little more violently than usual as dawn creeps across the lush landscape. The steamy clouds of acidic vapor lingering above the cratered summit reach ever skyward as hot gasses spill from hundreds of new fissures in the volcanic crust. In the nearby homes below, silent prayers are whispered to ancient gods in hopes of soothing the mountain spirit back to sleep. Little do they know that forces are in motion which will change their lives forever.

Today, powerful energies will coalesce deep within the heart of Mt. Copahue preparing to bring the volcano back to fiery life.
Today, the gateway which has been closed for over a thousand years will be split asunder.
And today, a legend will be reborn. Continue reading