Sworded Tales

Gerard thought about the hunter he sought and what was perhaps waiting for him on the trail ahead as the day continued to wear on.  Little was known of the wicked mechanical constructs known as Shredders.  Few who encountered them survived to convey any details about the habits and tendencies of the mechanical monstrosities.  Clearly they possessed a sentience that was impressive, locked into a permanent predatory mode that continually improved with each successful hunt.  By all accounts, they had appeared relatively impervious to damage inflicted by standard weaponry, although there was some indication that heavier, siege weaponry could exceed the integral strength of the creature’s frame.  A magical aura had been detected around the Shredder’s metal casing, but this was not uncommon when dealing with constructs fashioned by Artificers.  The number and type of appendages varied greatly from machine to machine, which added to the difficulty in classification.  Some researches believed that the term Shredder was merely a catch all title for any construct that couldn’t be placed in a more refined category.  Function seemed largely based on what appendages the particular Shredder manifested, but inevitably the lethality of many of the creature’s limbs was unquestionable.  If nothing else, the metal beasts could kill nearly without equal.  Continue reading

Dante’s Inferno was nothing compared to this.  I rushed in through the front door, yes through, splintering it.  The smoke engulfed me, and the heat was beginning to sear the hair off of my flesh.

A cry from upstairs lead me to my prey.  The smell was thankfully muffled by the burning hell around me as I leapt up to the first landing.  It was still solid.  I sprung up to the second floor hallway, landing crouched on all fours.  Glancing down the corridor to my left, I noticed a telltale shifting blackness.  The blade was in my palm before I actually thought about it.  The pincers were the first thing to emerge from the inky hole.  Hairy and dripping with something that reeked of acid, I winced at what that was going to do to my claws.  But hey, someone’s got to put these filthy bastards in their place. Continue reading

Lisa Nelson worked part-time as a bank teller for a local branch in Wichita, Kansas.  Living at home with her mother and father, Helen and Glenn, her twin sister, Abbey, two German shepherds, Zeus and Cabal, a cat, Lena, and four goldfish, allowed her to concentrate most of her time on her studies of botany at one of the local colleges.

Alexander Smith was a messenger who happened to befriend Lisa while delivering several packages to the bank.  The two teens hit it off magnificently and began dating soon after.  Two and a half months later, Lisa was pregnant.  Distraught with fear and uncertainty and against her parents’ better judgment, she decided to have the baby.

One Thursday evening about six and a half weeks into Lisa’s third trimester, she was unusually agitated.  Alexander had not arrived at her house to take her to dinner.  She tried calling, but his phone had been disconnected.  She feared the worst.  Standing there in her bedroom, tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared out at the starlit sky, the gibbous moon casting a hollow glow on everything in the back yard.

Had Lisa waited another three seconds before turning from the window, she would have seen the shadows come to life and move towards the back porch of the small ranch house, but she was across the room and out the door on her fleeting gymnast feet heels of her hands wiping the tears from her cheeks. Continue reading