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Gage Epilogue ‘Effigy’

Hey hey,

Here goes that experimental nano story I did that kind of didn’t work out how I expected, maybe I should stop trying to write novels in 30 days haha. Eh but I had fun doing it, it was different enough to hold my attention and be fun and for me to actually finish it despite not making the time limit because of work and that I forgot about nano until a few days in haha.

My one fan who read this said he hated the ending because they all die and no, no they don’t this is just satire on how the news lies and it’s all bullshit, kind of the main theme of the story, of course their press will say whatever they want, paint whatever narrative fits them. There are planned sequels but I don’t know when that will come. I need to do a sequel to Diana before I can even think about one for Gage or anything else. The next Diana book is just too juicy to pass up.

Not much been going on as of late, oh yeah it was my birthday haha. Funny seeing all those people I barely know on facebook sending me happy birthday messages and not being able to respond because I’m banned, I guess they’ll think I’m an asshole, eh they’ll probably forget in a year.

Still reading that new Parker book and I haven’t got that far into it but it seems like a return to form; slow plotting methodical story about a heist. Lots of interesting new characters and some old.

I did watch probably the greatest horror movie I’ve seen maybe in a decade last night and I’ll probably do a review of that just to align my thoughts. Because it’s one of those movies that you really need time to unpack. I should watch it again really.

Anywho I’ll leave you with this little epilogue and try to do some real work, going over the editing for Diana. Really hoping to make a jump on that soon.

See you…

 

–

Further news of this event are not in our record but one news clipping from the New york daily reported as follows;

GRUESOME MASSACRE A TOWN GONE MAD!

CABIN FEVER REACHES PEAK AS SPECIESIST GROUP DESTROYS TOWN AND GOVERNMENT FORCES HAVE TO RESPOND.

Sept 14th

Reports received earlier this week indicate a speciesist riot broke out in a small border town in Arkansas called Tupelo.

Earlier terrorist and anti-government activity has been reported in the area. It seems the gang activity had culminated around the town resulting in chaos and death. Even reports of rape, sodomy and cannibalism as well as predation of children.

The leader of the group one Phineas Gage who has been assumed killed in the resulting bombarbment of the town. Was reported as being a religious fanatic. He followed an outdated and archaic religion that still clings on in parts further away from civilisation. Reports lead us to believe that he was a sexual pervert. Taking many of the townsfolks young daughters and even sons to bed, some as young as eight or nine years old. He was also known to practice polygamy and human sacrifice.

Subsequently a rally will be held. Where upon the dreaded terrorist killed in the event will be burnt in effigy. So as to send a beacon to anyone that would emulate such a repugnant act of defiance. We will burn this traitor to democracy into out memories so as never to forget the aliens killed that day. Our heart goes out to the Cylon and their families who have suffered and who continue to suffer. At the hands of despicable speciesists that continue to persist in our society today.

In a more sombre note a brave attempt by a noble military unit of Lug troops was brutally thwarted by the gang. Who cooked and ate these noble American heroes. Subsequently we believe sodomizing them before and after sacrificing them to their evil god. These brave souls who died protecting their country will never be forgotten. Their noble sacrifice will remain long after their deaths and live on in the heart of the people who carry their memory.

They fought valiantly and will be remembered posthumously in a candle lit vigil in time square late this afternoon. All members of the unit will be posthumously promoted to General 1st class.

Unfortunately their bodies could not be recovered for burial as they were most likely eaten with their remains fed to animals. The resultant bombardment from the Spartan two orbital lazer left very little of the town remaining.

The government issued a statement later that day decreeing that ‘Hate would never win. And all those with hate in their hearts were on the wrong side of history’. A move that has been criticized by many heads of state as drastic and heavy handed. Nevertheless it was met with favourable support from the public after a poll was taken. With a whopping 90% in favour of vaporouzing the small border town and only 9% no and 1% undecided.

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Cur Chapter 6 ‘Hammer to fall’

Good morrow gentle folk,
Gonna keep this super short and sweet because I sort of lost yesterday in the best way possible so had to cram everything I had to do then into today so lots of editing spamming, procrastinating, all packed into today haha.
So yeah that’s it, see really short right haha? But that haiku yesterday was cool right? Right?

See you…
*spoilers*
This chapter is really spicy haha.
–
 
A crow perched atop the highest stone structure of Tallaght. It watched as Birog of the Tuatha De’ descended her horse and cautiously entered the walls of the cursed city.
 
She stopped in the entryway and seemed to sniff the air taken by a familiar scent. She dropped to one knee taking off one of her gloves and touched the ground with her bare hands.
 
She rubbed some sort of substance between her fingers before cautiously putting it in her mouth to taste it. She instantly spat it out and said “Sea salt, how odd.”
 
She rose from the ground and put her glove back and mused to herself “All their salt is surely mined, why would sea water be here, inland of all places? When a fresh water river runs but a stones throw.”
 
She stopped and straightened rigidly as she craned her neck trying to listen for people or animals but not even the crow cawed. Just dead silence and the calm creaking of the empty houses echoing the empty streets.
 
“The village is abandoned, but I was sure they were here, perhaps they camped here and then moved on, maybe I can find something in one of these houses”
 
She tied her horse up at the gates. Briefly she glanced at the standing stone with alien symbols not of her people, she assumed it must have been left from the Firbolg.
 
She entered the small round house tucked closely by the outer fence which was a stone layered daub and thatch wall. Similar to most perimeter construction in villages at the time.
 
On the surface the house was fairly unremarkable. A simple stone and clay hut with the standard spiral thicket inlays and a thatched conical roof. The village had seemed strange to her but she had assumed the village had been abandoned but the inside of the hut seemed to tell a different story.
 
One where food was left to spoil in the pot and a table was lain ready for it to be served. A number of sets of simple hide and leather shoes left untouched and clothes slowly being devoured by all manner of insects.
 
Conclusion could only be that they fled in a hurry or they hadn’t fled at all.
 
The same strange smell of sea spray and the salt hanging in the air, so odd for it to be here as well. The building was a very simple dwelling with the fire pit in the centre and the beds on one side and a simple table for eating on the other. The beds looked slept in but untouched, a thick layer of dust covering them. One adult sized and two small wooden frame bed with hide and fur bedding drawn up.
 
A strange feeling gripped her and she took to looking at the ceiling and the inner thatch working. Staring at the elaborate patterns of cobwebs that had collected there.
 
She paused breathing in through her nostrils and closing her eyes. Then swallowing her fear and trepidation she marched over to the adult bed and drew back the covers swiftly.
 
As she feared underneath the remains of a couple clinging to each other, their expressions of horrifying finality. They had no eyes or tongues or lips but there was something there, something that struck a terrible enervation in them. Skin, what little was left was drawn and yellow and putrified. The smell of the sea salt must have masked it or else there was nothing left to rot. The beetles taking all the flesh for their own and leaving naught but cold off white bone.
 
“They must have been preparing food and then hid here” She remarked to herself. “What could have scared them so?”
 
She shuddered and covered them up again and looked over at the children’s beds.
 
“Oh goddess no”
 
She slowly walked around the adult bed and approached the children’s small simple beds. She took another deep inhale of salty air and turned over their covers.
 
She sighed in relief to see them empty.
 
“Empty?” she ground her teeth “Where are the children?”
 
A noise outside, the clopping of an unfamiliar horse on hard stone, a heavy harsh whinnying that sounded like a howl of a man pained.
 
She took to the small shuttered windows. She got low and peeped out at the cluttered claustrophobic streets seeing nothing. Only hearing the distant closing sound of devil hooves.
 
Then suddenly a black horse’s head appeared close to the window too close, the sound of the hooves completely divorced from its distance. She shrunk back into the hut stupidly trying to avoid the gaze of a dumb horse and reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. Terrifying as it was looming over her.
 
The horse passed by the window and she caught a glimpse of the rider. He was enormous, much larger than any tuatha she’d ever seen. Black armor that looked like bones and a skull death mask with gleaming red jeweled eyes. The black rider silently seemed to throb with breath. His armor rising and falling heavily, making a terrible noise like ribs being scraped with a knife. The plates rattling and shifting as the horse jossled.
 
The mysterious knight scanned the area, what was he looking for? Why here? Why now?
 
After a moment, he whipped the reigns as if angry at the air, spurred the horse and disappeared from the frame of the window.
 
She left it a moment, holding her breathe as she listened to the horses hooves get further away and it’s terrible cries cease.
 
Cautiously she approached the entrance to the round house, taking careful quiet steps on the earthen floor covered in loose straw.
 
She swallowed and listened and when she was satisfied stepped out of the small building and looked around. Without warning a tight gripping sensation around her heart told there was strong magic trained on her. She froze looking at the ground and a huge shadow growing at her feet.
 
She turned and saw the black knight on horseback standing on the thatched roof of the hut looking down at her. The horse scrapping at the straw and snorting breathing heavily.
 
“Hello girl, I’ve been looking for you!”
 
–
 
Head on over to inkitt to get the rest of the chapter right here.
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Gage Chapter 12 ‘Passover’

Hello hello again,

Greetings on this fine tuesday coming from my shack in the middle of murky nowhere to bring you more weird stories and general musings on life (or the lack thereof).

Been getting on with some decent writing and a lot of slacking off, still trying to get back into the swing of things with the 2k a day word count, not quite managing it but saying that the stuff I’ve been putting out imo isn’t too bad. It’s taking shape, it’s getting there.
Is it as good as the start, I don’t but I’m reaching the tipping point now, the story is peaking and I like the way it’s shaping up.

And tbh I’m looking forward to doing something more silly and fun again, so as soon as I’m done here gonna get straight back into 3 ring for the next instalment of that and then maybe start thinking about a sequel to Diana after dark if the time is ready for that. Been wanting to write that one for a while.

But the moon and the stars have to be aligned for that, it has to be perfect and if you’ve read the book you’d know that is pretty topical haha.

Not that I don’t love writing serious stuff and intense stuff, it’s just a little draining being in that head space constantly, you have no idea how worked up I have to get to write stuff like this. It’s like I meditate but not to get calm and serene but to get the complete opposite. I get so worked up it’s like I’m trying to rip the keys out of my laptop haha.

It just takes up a lot of energy to run that hot, I’m literally trying to make myself feel like I’m in battle flinging a battleaxe into someone’s face haha.

Talking about battleaxes in the faces I haven’t been reading or listening to the witcher much, I just don’t care enough to follow the story honestly, the characters are boring and unlikable and I feel like I was cheated out of the witcher series I should’ve have gotten. I keep lamenting to my polish buddy at work that if the series had been like the first story it would have been perfect. If Sapkowksi had kept it a tight almost pulpy action packed terse tense fantasy thriller it would have been my favourite fantasy series hands down.

But it just gets lost in the weeds with this generic crap and shitty characters I just lost interest. I mean most of the books are just about Ciri and completely unrelated stuff honestly. For a series about a monster slayer it just uses his monster slaying as like a character trait, it’s not what the story is about at all and plays no part in the narrative whatsoever.

Geralt being a witcher is just something he likes to tell people like he’s on a speed date but he never actually does any ‘witching’. It’s just astounding that CD projekt red can get it so right with the games but the creator of the character can get it so wrong. It’s weird because it’s usually the opposite for adaptations like it’s the total reverse with Dexter. Sure they hired a great actor to play Dexter but they completely fluffed the story and the character after season one. If the show had followed the books religiously it would have been amazing.

But it’s equally amazing that CD projekt red (jesus I sound like I’m doing marketing for these guys haha) could turn a cool shorty story (which could be a rip off of elric, I need to read elric) and turn it into one of the biggest game franchises in history.

I also finished that Parker book it was taking me ages to get through and yeah it kinda goes nowhere like I thought it might. They kill the only interesting villain off halfway through and replace him with an old guy on a golf cart who doesn’t do anything except shout at people. And the whole book is about Parker trying to escape this amusement park while getting besieged by this criminal organisation and spoilers yeah at the end he escapes and then goes home and makes himself a sandwich. That’s literally the end, I’m not making that up. The last line is him eating the sandwich and then thinking about getting the money he left there.

He doesn’t even get the money, or even try for it there’s no tension at all. He just escapes and thats it, no epic show down because the person he would have had the showdown with he already killed, he was literally the first guy he killed, it was pathetic. I mean why the fuck couldn’t you just have killed off the guys buddy and continued the story with the interesting villain instead?

That tiny change would have changed the entire plot and made it ten times more interesting and it would have been so easy to do. You just have the other guy walk into the hall of mirrors. Why would this smart villain be the first to walk into a trap like that? It made no sense and basically destroyed all the tension in the book.

I complained that the last book was kind of small and uninteresting and the heist was a little boring because everything went right. But that still had tension and interesting characters and a more dynamic story, it had legs. This book is just lazy and hacky honestly.

But still this is like I dunno the 14th book in the series and it’s the first real stinker, so that’s amazing. I’ve been burning through these books and loving each one more than the last. I just hope the next one returns to form a little.
Oh and I’m really excited because I just found out that someone turned all Stark’s books into graphic novels so that’ll give me a reason to read them all again which is great. I can’t wait for that.

I didn’t think the book was shit, I think if it had a few tweaks it would have been decent. Just have that interesting villain you spent all that time building up live til the end and have this awesome battle of wits of which I expected. And maybe have a little more set up to the actual job and the park itself. Just to give the story a little more breathing room and not be this claustrophobic almost like stage play set in one room.

Yeah so that’s my rant for the day probably be back for a poem tomorrow, I don’t know yet, been feeling a little up and down about that. I definitely have material let’s leave it at that.

Oh that reminds me I finally got to the part of the story where my bardic poem is used in Cur, so that’s cool. It is kind of a pivotal point in the story and the lore, the celtic mythology. Bards are held in high regard in that culture, their power to influence people is quite literally seen as a form of powerful magic and curses.

Anyway gotta go and do some proof reading as usual, finished the Diana pitch chapters but I’m gonna start working on the whole book soon enough. But I will put out another Cur chapter soon enough.

See you…

–

They came for us at night.

Me and my friends watched from our rooftops as they snaked through the back alleys. That bookish one with the moustache behind them fiddling with a tiny pencil and paper trying to write in some kind of journal.

They crept quickly and quietly to the centre of town. The town was so quiet you could hear the sand moving in their boots. A ghost town silently watching as they worked their way closer to the saloon they hoped Gage was sleeping in.

I could see on the hill where they set up camp, those weird pods were still there closed up and not moving, just sitting there like warts on a frogs ass.

They had strange weaponry and stalked the alleys ways watching every corner as they went. Feeling the eyes on them, slits of boarded windows following them as they passed holding their breath.

They must have felt us watching, the big one with the beard looked up at us but we ducked too quickly for him to see. They hurried along passing us off as curious birds.

He was waiting for them.

Just standing so tall, alone in the centre of main street, a cold wind blowing. His shotgun hanging loose at his side.

The men fanned out in formation and surrounded Gage in a semi circle in front of the saloon.

The man with the moustache shouted and tried to push past the men.

“Ryan, we have to take him alive.” He shouted as he approached the man with the white hair.

The man at the front said nothing, he just spun around and hit the pudgy moustache guy in the guts dropping him flat to his knees. Then he turned back to Gage and shrugged his shoulders.

The man on his knees tried to get up as the other men attempted to keep him down.

“If you kill him and others hear about it, he’ll become a martyr”

The man with the white hair, he must have been the leader turned to each of his men and he pointed, first at the woman. He said “Are you gonna tell anyone about this?”

She shook her head.

Then to the large man with the beard “You?”

“Not a soul.”

Then to the mexican.

“De nada”

“You?” He said to the younger man.

“No sir” he grinned.

“Well that’s everyone.” He said looking at the man with the mustache and quickly shooting him in the head with his strange alien weapon. There was just a quick flash of light and a strange noise and the man’s head was gone and his body became dead weight in the arms of the men carrying. Stained as they were with a light dusting of pink mist.

Disgusted, they threw his body down like a sack of potatoes in the dry loose top soil.

Gage watched the dust settle around it as it stopped being a person and just became scenery.

Ryan stopped and looked Gage up and down and scoffed. “We travelled all this way for this” He sniffed and spat on the dirt next to the mustache man’s body and said “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He smirked and put his e-cigar in his mouth and sucked on it looking at Gage. “I know you” He said.

Gage tossed his gun out in front of him on the ground. It landed with a heavy thudding noise.

Ryan let out a laugh and said “Well that was easy.”

Gage didn’t move or say a word, his one eye burning staring through Ryan who tried too hard to hide a boiling fear in his gut. Destiny staring him right in the face, looking at the bare pit where his soul was supposed to reside.

Gage took his duster off of his shoulders revealing a mountain of man in a stained grey longsleeved under shirt that was once white. Ripped and torn and bitten and stretched with the sinewy muscles underneath forged through nothing but hard work and sweat and toil. The work horse bitten and turned sour and vicious and lame biting back at the hand of his master and running madly and wild and free to it’s own doom.

He took his suspenders off his shoulders and clenched his fists.

Ryan scoffed again “Oh so you wanna do it the old fashioned way.” He took another suck on his e-cigar and put it back in his pocket. He took his gun out of it’s holster and lifted it over his shoulder at which point the younger guy with the shaved head took it off of him.

He was wearing some kind of weird skeleton suit over his body that went over his arms and legs and connected at the hips. Under it he was just wearing a fitted shirt and a pair of pants.

Ryan didn’t take a stance he just smiled with his cocky smile and said “Well what are you waiting for?”

He let out a mocking breathy laughter and said “Ok, I guess I’ll be the one to lead”

He moved so fast I thought I was dreaming at first. I’d never seen a human move like that, it was like he was there one minute and then there was just dust and dirt and he was barrelling at Gage. He didn’t throw a punch he just launched himself right into him like a cannonball and swept him off his feet with enough force to kill a horse.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. He couldn’t have been more than six foot nothing this guy but one minute he was standing there the next he was on top of Gage. He toppled the gigantic man in two seconds flat, felled him like a great oak tree in a single strike.

–

Check out the rest of the chapter on inkitt.

Passover

–

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3 Ring Samurai Chapter 5 ‘Take the sword part 2’

Hey there,

So this is the concluding part to the first little 3 Ring novella about favourite clown samurai; Pookie.
I’m planning to do this on and off, just short and fun episodic novellas with different enclosed little beats. I wouldn’t say ‘story’ this one doesn’t really have much of an enclosed story on it’s own but the idea for the plot is from a kung fu movie I like, kung fu movies not known for their shakesperian storylines.

It’s just a fun little series I can keep on with in between things I’m working on, maybe I could get some of it in an anthology or a magazine eventually, who knows. For now I’m just blowing off steam with it, a bit of fun between more serious work I’m doing.

Bit of a shitty week honestly, only had two solid days of writing, then I had to go to work on father’s day and it was pretty depressing. Just watching all those happy families and knowing in the pit of my soul that that would never be me. It really upset me and then even when I got home I couldn’t shake the feeling and there was no one I could turn to.

So I’ll probably have a poem about that feeling tomorrow maybe. I wrote some on my break but I got distracted.

Very little bitching about the witcher today. I’m finally getting to some of the romance between Geralt and Yen and it’s I dunno, sometimes this book strikes me as if the author thinks he’s shakespeare and he can just have people spout flowery shit and then they have sex and that somehow constitutes romance. I guess to some people but I can’t tell if he’s an idiot or a genius in this regard. But this isn’t really a romance, it’s sort of an anti-romance because all the while I’m wondering why they love eachother when every scene they share it seems they literally can’t stand eachother.
Later he has this interaction with one of her other lovers (of which supposedly she has several) and it basically rips into their romance by pointing out that Geralt has no human emotions because he’s a mutant and Yen doesn’t love her as much as she’s intrigued by him and under a genie’s spell. So basically they don’t love eachother, Geralt just fancies her and is afraid he can’t get anyone else to stay with him because he literally can’t give them the love of a normal man. So it’s not really a romance since neither of them can truly be in love with the other.

So that’s an interesting part, the characters aren’t really likeable, Yen is horrible and Geralt is just sort of a placeholder character, he’s not really interesting on his own. The story too seems more interested in subverting expectations than actually being good. I mean it’s all well and good if you can surprise the reader but if the surprise is nothing happens, that’s not a good surprise. 

I don’t mind if something is predictable as long as it’s good and interesting and fun. The first story is basically this huge build up to Geralt fighting a dragon which he decides not to do. The next story is about him having a duel with a mage which he walks away from. Oh yeah, really subverted my expectations by not having interesting things happen in your action fantasy book, really blowing my socks off here.

Well that’s enough of that I guess, the Parker book is probably the slowest and worst one of the series so far but it’s still miles better than the witcher and even the most boring parts where nothing is happening still manage to maintain tension and work really well. So it’s not a bad book, it’s fantastic but it’s just not as good as some of the others. I think it may just be that you’re seeing a softer side of Parker we shouldn’t be seeing. Because for me Parker is just this ineffable statuesque character that can never be stopped or show any weakness and in this he seems a little off and I think that’s done on purpose to show that his involvement with this woman is softening him and putting him at risk.

Anyway, enough waffling, hope you enjoy the samurai clown action and hold on for more fantasy brutality when I release more Cur.

See you…

–

The moon was high and Crow had grown tired of waiting for the clown to wake. His claw sang to him as he scratched the glass and it thirsted for the clown’s blood, whispering thusly.

He knew honor dictated that his foe should be conscious. But his mind and his claw would come up with a million and one good reasons why the code of honor didn’t apply. Such as ‘it only counted in the circus and he was a traitor, a ronin, a vagabond’, ‘no one would know’, ‘it would feel sooooo good!’.

The boy that was watching over him had long fallen asleep in his chair and Crow had given up pretense of hiding and was perched on the window ledge.

He scratched longingly at the glass staring at the mound of covers he knew the clown to be sleeping under like a cat licking the side of an aquarium.

“Ooh I c-can’t, I c-can’t wait!”

Almost on it’s own his claw started to scratch and scrape at a pain of glass in the hatched window. And as if on pure accident the small pain popped out and fell soundlessly on the inner windowsill.

Crow felt his mask rising as his face stretched into a drawn out long grin. It must be fate, the glass just fell out. The night, the moon wants me to kill him, he told himself as without thinking he snaked his free hand through the window and unlatched it.

Slowly he eased the window up, it was sticky but he managed to open it silently. Staring his empty cold eyes at the sleeping boy, his chin to his chest drooling and snoring loudly.

He thought about silencing the boy permanently, but something told him that the clown should be the one that dies first.

Crow dropped soundlessly into the room, rolling like a dust bunny from hell. He tiptoed towards the bed and then without telegraphing he leapt like he was wires. With an inhuman speed and agility he pounced on the sleeping Pookie stabbing and shredding the bed with an animal furosity.

“Huh, n-no blood, w-where’s the blood?” He shrieked and stabbed the head under the covers and was startled by a loud popping noise. He withdrew his claw attached to the end was a balloon with a silly clown face drawn on it quickly deflating with an anti-climatic farting noise.

Crow bobbed his head nervously and swivelled his eyes around the room. The boy somehow was still asleep, still snoring loudly and drooling even more than before.

He swivelled his head like an animal and looked at the closet.

“Ah s-so you’re hiding, like a coward.”

He hopped off the bed with no noise except the tired springs of the bed sighing.

His skinny sandaled feet touched down weightlessly and he came around the bed to reach the closet.

The crow fell forward as a quick swiping sound and a flash of silver caused one of his legs to fall off as it was attached by a clasp that suddenly burst. He stood looking down at it puzzled as blood began to spurt from the stump.

Pookie rolled out from under the bed and sprung to his feet putting the sword to the crow’s throat.

“I do balloon animals too- for the kids.”

The crow laughed maniacally moving the sword away from his throat with his three pronged claw “Just a s-scratch”

“Huh?”

“Even a one legged crow can still f-fly!” He shrieked as he leapt as if his one leg was a pogo stick. He mounted Pookie’s shoulders and started to furiously scratch and slash at Pookie’s back. He was far too fast and unpredictable for Pookie to fight back and too close for him strike with his sword. All he could do was feebly slam the freak against the thin wooden walls as he mauled him like a cat.

In one fluid motion he threw Crow out of the window. Without hesitation Pookie leaned out to see where he landed but saw nothing but a claw flying into his face he only had time to block with his fleshy hand. The claw pierced right through and the crow pulled him right through the window. His sword hanging on just barely as he slid down the slanted metal roof covered in broken glass.

He slid all the way down catching onto some gutter with his bleeding hand, his sword hand hanging loose as he dangled off the roof. The drop wasn’t that high but it would still hurt. But before he could even consider making the drop a slender hand wrapped around his wrist and his face was an inch away from the black crow mask.

“Need a hand?” He raised his claw.

Pookie looked down at his sword hanging loose and then up at the curved points of the claw hook. There was a brief moment of silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Then out of nowhere an odd whooping whistling sound and a spray of blood hit Pookie’s face. The Crow’s head fell off and rolled over his shoulder and then they were both falling.

“Oops” Finch smiled under his mask as his glaive boomeranged back around. He caught it in his armoured gauntlet with a mechanical locking noise.

Pookie groaned as he lay in the loose top dust on the ground, Crow’s dismembered body lying next to him. He rose to an indian sitting position with a painful creaking noise, cracking his neck from side to side shaking off the cobwebs. He looked at Crow’s body “Did I do that?”

A sudden shrinking feeling put his teeth on edge as he heard wooden sandals clacking on metal roves coming closer. Realising it wasn’t over he scrabbled to his feet and listened. It was dark now, but the moon was high and the stars were stage lights twinkling. It was deathly quiet, just the wind and the creaking of wooden buildings and the long way off call of some nocturnal beast, a coyote or an owl, both.

He’d landed in a tight back alley with lots of cover but he was out in the open, the saloon backed onto a bunch of houses that looked empty in the dark. Two story shacks with wooden shutters.

There was that damn whooping noise again, like a bat or some kind of bird swooping down on him. He batted it away with his sword and sparks split the night in two for just a moment and flew away again.

It came down again and he had to roll, which was a bad move forgetting all the cuts on his back. Rolling through the dirt hurt like hell and he probably picked up more damn glass from the window.

It was no good, he had to run and find some place where he wasn’t so exposed

He took off in a random direction that damn noise following him. The feet clacking and the blade spinning and getting closer nipping at his heels like some flying cockerspaniel.

Pookie bust open some little shack and barricaded the door with a hatrack. The whooping sound reached it’s peak as he slammed the door in the face of the flying cockerspaniel. Only to get a long curved blade stopping an inch from his face as it embedded itself with into the door.

Pookie opened the door again and yanked the thing out of the wood. It was almost like a bladed boomerang or shuriken. Made- it seemed from some kind of cross shaped tool forged into a shape reminiscent of a bladed swastika.

He looked at it with some puzzlement before sticking it down the back of his trousers and sheepishly poking his head out of the door. Looking up and around the roofs and ledges he gingerly exited the shack and started to look up and down the street. And then the noise came again louder and faster and seemingly in greater numbers.

Two of the damn things criss crossing coming right at him, he ducked one and the other cut the whiskers off his chin.

He heard a shrill laughter in the dead silence “YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D HAVE ANY MORE RIGHT?”

Pookie tried to place the voice but it echoed off the buildings and travelled all around him. He was too busy not getting his head cut off to see where the blades flew back to or if they came at all. Pookie had no choice but to get to higher ground. He scaled the ramshackle buildings using the rough edges of wood and large gaps in the planks, keeping an ear pinned for those spinning blades.

He reached the top and got his footing and then waited and listened. They came again one right at him, the other on a curved trajectory coming around his side. He dodged the first and deflected the other up over his head with his sword.

“YOU CAN’T KEEP THAT UP FOREVER.”

Pookie sneered but he couldn’t disagree, there was no way he could keep this up, the blades would keep coming and just ware him down or wait til he made a mistake. He had to think of something.

Finch quickly caught and launched another volley from his perch on a richety old wooden water tower overlooking the saloon. It creaked and moaned under him as he shifted his weight to throw the two shurikens.

He’d staggered them so he could use one hand to launch both, he just threw one after the other as soon as caught them in his gauntlet.

He watched them quickly disappear into the night only catching glimpses as the moonlight touched them. He smiled as they got closer to the clown running around like an ant on the rooftops below.

The clown flipped and flopped around barely escaping them once again. Finch simply snickered and planned a new trajectory in his head as he watched the blades arcing back to his position.

“Getting closer” He whispered.

The blades came back casting moonlight off of them like silver water. But there was something wrong, a sudden uneasiness gripped Finch. Struck by an imminent giddiness or vertigo, his face felt hot and he felt off balance as if realising a horrible miscalculation.

And at the last minute he saw it but it was too late.

He caught the first blade and before he could throw it back another – a third blade hidden in the shadow of it’s trajectory cut his hand off. It fell from the roof still holding the first blade. The second blade still coming unimpeded without any way to catch it Finch dodged uneasily, the blade cutting him along the side. He tumbled onto the rooftops below, sliding down the slick tin and onto the dusty ground below.

Finch was still for a moment. He stirred and then rose to his knees pulling his stump of a hand closer to his body. He took out another blade from his cloak and shouted “THAT WAS A CUTE TRICK, BUT IT CAN ONLY WORK ONCE!”

“It only has to work once” A voice above him said.

Finch looked up to see Pookie on the rooftop looking down at him. Finch scrambled to his feet and into a run as he flung the shuriken in his hand.

Pookie easily deflected it and jumped down to his level. He stopped and thoughtfully picked up Finch’s hand with the blade still clasped in it.

“Hey you forgot this”

Finch stopped only a few feet form Pookie in the shadow of the tall water tower, he turned holding his stump.

“You bastard, you couldn’t find me so you just copied the trajectory of their arc coming back. Hoping I wouldn’t notice a third blade under the others.”

“And you didn’t” Pookie smiled as he threw Finch’s hand down. “Can I go back to bed now?”

Finch thought for a moment and pulled out another blade and lifted it as if he meant to throw it.

“Haven’t we played this game already?” Pookie jeered.

Finch launched the blade with much more force than before but it was wild and in a wide uncontrolled arc. Pookie didn’t even have to move to dodge or deflect it.

It simply passed with a burst of air and that loud whooping noise.

“You missed”

Finch laughed.

Pookie was puzzled as he felt little droplets of water hitting him, followed by a loud creaking and snapping. He turned to see the water tower quickly buckling under it’s weight as one of it’s ramshackle supports had been cut away by Finch. The remaining supports wobbled and groaned painfully as the whole thing started to come down leaking from either side.

There was nowhere to go in the alley, and it all happened so fast. Pookie were pinned on either side by houses and there was no time to cut through Finch and outrun it.

He couldn’t think of anything else but to cut it. He held his sword over his head and watched in slow motion as all that water and steel and wood fell on him.

Finch’s continued to laugh maniacally until his laughter was turned into a high pitched yelping noise. As he was instantly crushed by the falling debris.

Everything went white for a second and he couldn’t breathe and then he opened his eyes and he was in his bed again.

“Was it a dream?”

“Err” Donny said motioning to the blood all over and the broken glass and then further swivelling to point out the street covered in wet debris.

“How did I-?”

“All that commotion woke me up and first I hid in the closet but then I thought you might need my help. So I got a little closer hiding in one of those houses and when I saw the tower coming down I opened a door and yanked you inside before the thing fell.”

“Don’t people live in those houses”

“I guess not” the kid smirked. “Aren’t too many folks live in a place like this, use to be a mining town I’ll bet but the mine must have gone dry, no mine, no miners.”

“I thought you lived here?”

“No I’m just visiting, I live in the next town over, it’s close enough so I can walk and see the shows twice.”

“You really like that stuff huh?”

“I mean, yeah, what else is there?”

“Huh, I never really thought about it that way”

“This world is nothing but suffering and blood and misery but- I dunno. I go in that big tent and it starts to feel like it’s not real. Like it’s all just one big show and we’re just performers and death is just a game we all play- there’s just something about that you know?”

The clown groaned as he turned over “You might be right”.

The kid smiled as he looked at the back of the clowns head and then he saw the scratches on his back. “You know you should really get those looked at, they might be infected.”

“Ah I dated a chick with long nails once, I’ll be fine.”

“I dunno-“ Donny was cut off by a loud whirring noise and he turned to see the door shaking. A small blade sawing through the door launching wood chips and dust into the room.

“Goddamit!” Pookie yelled as he reached for the sword resting against the wall next to the bed. “People are trying to sleep in here” He shouted as he quickly unsheathed his sword letting out that mocking laughter.

The saw cut a precise square out of the door. Turkey then retracted the blade slowly allowing the square piece of door to fall away replacing it with his masked face.

“Heeeerrr-“ Turkey was cut off as Pookie, frustrated just turned the blade over in his hand and launched the sword like a spear through the door. Pinning Turkey in place, the blade still laughing. He then rolled over and slept the rest of the night.

–

In the morning he woke to birds cawing outside, the sky was a bruised putrid orange. Pookie felt somewhat rested although he hurt in numerous places, more numerous to count. He got out of bed drowsily, he picked up his sword sheathe puzzled by it’s lack of a sword and looking out the window. Seeing the streets covered in debris like a hurricane passed through. He slipped on a patch of almost congealed blood on the floor as he stumbled towards the door. Confronted by the Turkey mask through the square porthole and the silly face of his sword pommel staring back at him.

He shrugged and pulled the sword out of the door resulting in a loud thudding noise as Turkey’s body hit the ground. He looked over the blade before tutting and wiping it on his pants and sliding it back in his sheathe. He yawned opened the door and stepped over Turkey’s body going down for breakfast.

Donny waved as he sat waiting in the booth one to the right of the one he was sitting in the other day.

The pool players were gone and only the old coots remained still playing their game.

“Morning” he croaked.

Pookie just winced holding his head in a freshly bandaged palm as he sat his sword down next to him in the booth.

“Long night?”

“Vivid dreams”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby”

“You should thank Ethel, she came in and treated the scratches on your back, your hand too. She was even more annoyed when you didn’t scream after she poured grain alcohol on them. Didn’t even wake you.”

“I’m a real deep sleeper” Pookie reached down to feel the plasters and ointments on his back. He turned over to the bar where the old woman was grimacing and polishing bar glass.

“Err- thanks – Ethel.”

She just grunted back angrily and pretended the glass she was vigorously rubbing was a clown’s face.

Pookie sighed leaning back on his seat “I need to get out of this town” He winced as he put pressure on the cuts. His side too was still giving him trouble.

“You can come back with me, my town is ok, I mean you haven’t trashed it yet” He laughed.

“Is it far?”

“Nah, just gotta go over a gorge, but it’s no big deal, I do it all the time.”

“Hmm”

Ethel interrupted them by throwing down two plates of eggs down on the table and storming off.

“I paid up for everything so we can head out as soon as you finish breakfast- boy my friends won’t believe this, I’ll be the coolest kid for miles” He smirked.

“THE CLOWN THAT CALLS HIMSELF POOKIE!” A booming voice shouted. “I’M GIVING YOU TEN SECONDS TO COME OUT AND FACE ME”

“-OR ELSE WHAT?” Pookie shouted back.

“Hmm” Cardinal thought about it for a minute before dropping his chain sickle to the floor. He started to spin it over his head like a lasoo and then threw it through the window. Hooking Ethel through the throat before yanking her out of the window like a ragdoll.

“TEN- NINE – EIGHT- screw it!” He started to spin the chain over his head faster and faster until it was spinning like a helicopter blade or a giant blender. He started to throw it and pull chunks out of the building, first collapsing the porch with a crashing snapping noise. He seemed intent on pulling the building down on top of Pookie. The chain whipped past the bar like the tentacle of a giant squid smashing all the liquor bottles and the lamp that was on the side igniting it instantly.

“We gotta get outta here” The kid said.

“Nah, I was gonna get out a packet of wienies”

“Wienies?”

There was a loud banging outside like a crash of thunder and an old man was standing behind the man in the bird mask.

“We’ve got a deal with you folks, we give ya food, our women, our kids, in return you leave us alone. – that’s the deal” The old man was thin and bowed and had a heavy looking sheriff badge pinned to a plaid shirt.

Cardinal turned and without saying anything he brought the chain down and cut the sheriff in half right down the centre.

“No!” Another voice said. “You didn’t have to kill him!”

The deputy ran to the sheriff’s body, tears in his eyes. “He was just a silly old man, you didn’t have to kill him.”

Cardinal stepped forward and said nothing. “He was your friend?”

“He was my uncle” The deputy said as he pointed the gun at Cardinal still on his knees, still with tears in his eyes.

“I see- “ Cardinal launched the chain at the deputy, it snaked and wrapped around his forearm yanking the gun loose pulling him forward. He pulled the chain back and forth yanking the deputy around by his arm. Painfully punctuating every turn with a bone cracking sound and a pained yelping from the young lad.

“But I did have to kill him, just as I have to kill you. We are all born into this world with a singular purpose and once we find it, we have no choice but to carry it out until our end.”

He yanked him forward and he fell into the dry dusty top soil, tears streaming down his face “Why? Why do we have to suffer, for that goddamn clown? Just kill him and get out of here and never come back!”

“Why do you have to suffer? Because you exist, you were born to suffer. If I did not make you suffer you would make yourself suffer, drink or bore yourself to death, is it any better than dying here in the dirt like this? Would you prefer he died of old age alone with shit in his trousers barely conscious?”

“Honk honk” A voice above them said.

Cardinal laughed and covered his eyes with his hand to look up at Pookie with the sun behind him standing on the roof of the burning building.

“I was wondering when you would make your grand entrance- you’ve done well up to now, you gave my comrades good deaths and I thank you for that. Shall we get on with it?”

“Get on with what?”

“Your judgement”

“My- “ Pookie shit a brick as the burning saloon started to collapse under him and he stumbled to tactically fall off the building landing on his arse. He got up and rubbed his bottom. “I meant to do that”.

“Pookie the clown! You have been found guilty of killing your master Chuckles the clown lord, do you accept judgement?”

“I- I mean- you weren’t there!”

“Yes or no!

“No!- fuck no!- I didn’t mean to- it was an accident!”

“There are no accidents, the chain of fate is one unbroken- err chain” A moment passed.

There was another thunder crack and something heavy hit Cardinal in the shoulder and there was a light puff of blood.

He turned and yanked the chain tossing the deputy against the wall, his body going limp and the gun dropping by his head.

Before he could turn Pookie pulled the cord and let out that ridiculous whirring kazoo noise. With one hand on the handle as a counter weight and his other hand pulling. The blade shot out at an incredible speed and Pookie cut Cardinal across his back.

Cardinal span and tossed the chain around Pookie’s sword arm flipping him over his shoulder. The sickle came down in Cardinal’s hand and he planted it right next to Pookie’s head missing his ear by a hair as he rolled.

“You can’t fight your destiny, you can’t stand against the caravan. They’ll kill you and everyone that ever laid eyes on you!”

“What’s so special about me?”

“Nothing- nothing at all” He threw the sickle at Pookie hungering for his death but the sickle stopped short and hooked into the ground. “What?”

Cardinal turned to see his chain was hung up on Pookie’s scabbard which was stuck in the ground. “How annoying!” He quickly unlooped the chain and turned to see that Pookie was gone “Huh?”

“Those masks don’t give you a lot of peripheral vision huh?” He said right next to him.

“Eh?”

Pookie slashed him across the chest and once more downward toward the groin and Cardinal fell to his knees.

“They look cool though”. He said walking towards his back as he knelt.

“Thanks” Was the last word Cardinal said before Pookie cut his head off with one quick strike.

–

A couple of hours later Pookie lead by Donny wearing his travelling gear which consisted of a wide brim straw hat. A long segmented hiking stick and galoshes to the gorge he spoke of which was crossable via a sad looking rope bridge.

“Cool huh? This would be like an awesome spot for a final boss battle” The kid forshadowed.

“Yup” Pookie’s face looked long and drawn starring at the old bridge hanging over the wide gorge. A torrent of dirty irradiated water flowing beneath it.

The kid smiled “Don’t worry about it, I’ll cross first, show you it’s safe.” He took a step forward then turned back and laughed. “Besides you fall in there you’ll probably come out with super powers or something!”

“Or an extra toe”.

“I’d rather have a spare than missing one.” He called over his shoulder as he slowly traversed the swaying rope bridge carefully holding on to either side of the fraying ropes. He made it across dismounted with a little hop as if he expected applause.

“Your turn” he shouted playfully.

Pookie hiked up his baggy pants, his sword bobbing up and down as he cautiously took his first step onto the bridge.

The bridge reluctantly took the clown’s weight moaning and creaking as he edged his way gingerly across.

It was only when he made it about halfway across before he heard a hideous snapping cracking noise and he felt the boards shifting under his feet. He struggled to get his balance as the bridge started to collapse the parts breaking away like falling leaves.

The only part that remained was a single piece of rope connecting one end of gorge to the other that Pookie precariously balanced on. Shifting his weight back and forth wobbling in and out trying to stay upright.

“I guess I underestimated you” A voice said.

Pookie turned to see Donny kicking his galoshes off as he expertly mounted the tight rope. His bare feet clinging to it tightly like another set of hands. He walked along the rope with ease, like it wasn’t even there, his walking cane held out in front of him for balance.

“I was sure you’d be washed up by now” Donny smiled as he cast a glance at the toxic rapids below.

“Who are you?”

The kid grinned “Donald Duck” He said as he slid the Duck mask over his emotionless waxy face.

He quickly flicked his cane like a switchblade and a long spear point flipped out of it. “My friends call me ‘Canard’”

–

Read the rest here.
3 Ring Samurai

0

Cur Chapter one ‘Who wants to live forever?’

Well would you look at that, is there anything sweeter than a first chapter?

It’s a really good feeling, a feeling I thought I’d lost but then came back stronger than ever and just completely reinvigorated me body and soul. I was kind of stewing after Diana, waiting for the next wave of creative euphoria to hit me and boy did it hit me. I was just kind of going through the motions filling quotas with Gage and 3 Ring, just fun distractions this is the meat, this is heart and soul fire this is what I was born for.

You can tell I don’t really give a shit about Gage an 3 Ring because I really don’t care what people think about them and I haven’t asked for reviews, whereas with this I want people to review the first chapter now goddamit haha. But I think it’s good to keep your pen moving, keep your stick on the ice even if you aren’t feeling it. Just to keep yourself in top form ready for the big game haha. Analogy salad.

The greatest advice I could give another writer if I were asked to do so is just to keep writing, keep practising and keep doing what you love until that one day lightning strikes. Because as long as you are doing what you love it will.

But if you’re not it wont.

Ok so quickly I’m not going to rag on the witcher today, there was actually a decent fight scene in blood of elves, it lasted like two pages but it was ok, then straight back to talking and Ciri taking a bath. I will do an amazon review when I finish it, just for my own sanity, just to get all the salt out of me head haha.

Ok now back to the important shit, so this chapter is basically a character hook so I can unload a lot of backstory in the huge next chapter which still isn’t finished haha (sorry). But the second chapter is really cool and ends in a couple of really awesome fight scenes some of the best I’ve ever written. I kind of glossed over the big battles as exposition because I mean shit, how do you write big battles as compelling? Is that even possible? I mean to me as someone who was a fighter, a fight is more than just swords clanging it’s about personalities clashing ans when you just have these waves of faceless people smashing against eachother it just seems like a sex scene with two blow up dolls, there’s no fun for me there. It was a videogame I’d feel totally different but its not so :P.

I took a lot of inspiration from The Witcher which I suspect takes a lot of inspiration from the Berserk series which I absolutely adore, it’s probably the only fantasy series I follow religiously. A lot of my inspiration especially later on in the book and somewhat for Cur as a character comes from that.

Ok so enough waffling (now I’m hungry) this chapter is going live on inkitt today gonna get writing a blurb and a teaser for it after I transfer from coffee to green tea (he says as he spills coffee all over himself, fuck my life. It was just a flesh wound.

Yeah then I’m gonna try and get some first chapter reviews and get my buddies at work to read it and tell me it’s better than the witcher all they’re all fired haha.

Still proofreading chapter two which is a bit overlong and a bit of a mess and wrestling with some plot changes I made later on that I’m ironing out.

But other than it’s full steam ahead and check out that dank cover art I found haha.

If you want to read it in a mobile format without all my waffling head on over to inkitt right here.

Cur: Blood and Soil

 

–

The fire pit popped and cracked in the center of the round house. The farmers gathered close with their mead and whiskey to wait as the bard Coirpre tuned his lute. Breathing in and out deeply as he plucked each string in turn. Sitting with his back to the daub wall, where finger marks could be seen in the crudely layered earthen clay.

The ridges of the branch frame sticking out in places like the ribs of a starved horse. A facsimile of the Leinster cote of arms; that of the golden harp hung above the hearth.

A mouse ran along the beams as the wind howled outside. The cold seeping through the thatching making a terrible ghostly whistling noise and disturbing the fire.

 

The bard doffed his grouse feathered cap and smiled as he rested the lute in his lap and started to play.

 

“This poem, I have affectionately dubbed; ‘Bres the bastard’” The poet smiled glancing around the room for a covered smile but found naught but dead silence.

 

“What?!” A woman cawed at once.

 

A man in green tunic leapt from his stool “We feed you and give you a bed and you insult our king?!”

 

“Good people, it’s merely satire; you wouldn’t criticize my work before even hearing it would you?

 

“That you may die roarin like Doran’s arse we would aye!” A broad bearded man said.

 

“Please there’s no need for this, another ballad perchance, I have many”.

 

“Many a time a man’s mouth broke his nose” The bearded man spat.

 

“What’s a ‘bastard’, grandfather?” A little girl asked as she bounced on the old man’s knee twiddling her braided hair tween her finger and thumb.

 

The old grey haired man in the grey woolen cloak looked down at her and sighed “Well it’s a man ere not knowing who his father be.”

 

The little girl scrunched up her freckled face “How could he not know that?”

 

“Well ya see-“ The old man turned his long grey face to the banging shutters. Then glanced over and the small crowd gathered around the poet shouting and heckling and pulling at him.

 

“Grandfather, can you tell me the story of the other king instead?” She said swinging her blond plaited hair about her bonny face unable to keep still.

 

“Child, I’ve told you that story so many times you should be able to recite it by rote”

 

“And I could that” The little girl pouted and preened.

 

“Well go on with yourself then”

 

“I will” The little girl put her hands on her hips and tipped her head back putting her finger to her lips. “Mmm well there once was these men”

 

“Were they just men were they?” Her grandfather jested.

 

“There once were these people, mmm and they were called the Nemedians, and this was their land and they called it, erm… Inish Alga, which means; ‘the noble isle.’”

 

“Yes”

 

“But then they got sick and there was a big wave and legends say these mean monsters called the Fomori came and chased them all away. But… they didn’t all go to the same place.”

 

“No, where did they go child?”

 

“Half went north to the cities of knowledge.” The little girl’s voice droned a little as if she were reading the names. ”Falias, Gorias, Murias and…. erm…. Finias!” He caught her breathe and swallowed. “-To be with the gods and most importantly the mother god Danu. She bathed them in light and knowledge and shared with them her blood and they became the children of Danu. The Tuatha De Danann, which is you and me” She smiled.

 

Her grandfather nodded “Go on child”.

 

“The other Nemedians weren’t as lucky. They went south and were slaved and treated very badly by the dwellers of that land for hundreds of years. Those mean people made them carry huge sacks of dirt on their back from morning until night. Made to eat the worst food and live in the most horrible conditions.

 

But like the winter makes the tree bark gnarled and like iron; the children of Nemed became savage by nature. As soon as a male child was born he was thrown in a pit with hungry dogs and if the boy child didn’t kill the dogs with his bare hands, it would surely kill him.

 

Soon they became so strong growing to the size of giants they broke free of their slave masters and slaughtered them. Carrying sacks of dirt on their backs twice the size of them all the way through the desert and across the sea to the land they knew as their home Inish Alga.

 

They called themselves ‘The Firbolg’ the people of the bag after the earth that shaped this land.

 

The earth they took from that harsh realm transformed this land from craggy cliffs to a rich farmland. For a long time they cultivating the land endlessly warring amongst themselves for control of the island.

 

“Then what happened” Her grandfather smirked.

 

“Then we came” She chirped. “Although grateful to Danu for sheltering them, the Tuatha de’ never felt truly at home and longed to return to the island they left so many years ago. With the knowledge and magic given to them by Danu they set out to return to their ancestral homeland.

 

But when they got to the shore in their great flying ships the Firbolg were not happy to see them. The Tuatha pleaded that they might have only a fifth of the island to call home but the cruel king Eoichid the Prideful rejected them as he only knew war. The Firbolg didn’t know how to share the land. They didn’t know how to live in tune with nature like the Tuatha de’, seeking only to bend it to their will.

 

The Tuatha pleaded for peace with their long lost brothers but the Firbolg denied them time and time again and before long war was their only option.

 

The Tuatha were not afraid of war, they had mastered the magic of the gods and were skilled warriors. But the Firbolg were a formidable foe and they outnumbered the Tuatha ten to one. Each Firbolg almost double the size of any Tuatha de’.

 

Still they met on the field of battle and the Firbolg even with their superior numbers and even with their size and strength could not beat the Tuatha de Danann.

 

The high king Eoichid angered by this challenged Nuada king of the Tuatha to a duel to decide the fate of the isle. Knowing that he could kill Nuada with one blow. Nuada accepted and with one vicious blow Eoichid cut Nuada’s shield in half and took his arm at the root. But Nuada with the last of his strength bested the wicked high king.

 

Without their leader all the Firbolg knew was to fight and they would fight without end until they were all wiped out. In Nuada’s mercy he offered them a province all of their own so they might live. As a reward for their bravery and martial valor. They accepted and retreated to Connacht, never to be seen again. Some say a plague took them or they fled under the hills but Connacht is a strange and haunted place to this day where no Tuatha de’ dare tread.

 

King Nuada in his victory renamed the isle Inish Vale ‘The island of Destiny’ after the stone they brought with them from Finias. But Nuada could not be king because a king must be perfect and without his arm he was not fit to rule. So the crown fell to Bres the bas- the Bres the Beautiful and everyone lived happily ever after.”

 

The old man smiled and clapped his young prodigy “Well done lass, well done.”

 

She smiled and tussled her hair to take a small bow.

 

Then there was the sharp sound of fist thumping a table rife with malice.

 

“Liar” A scarred voice said.

 

“I beg your pardon?” The old man rose defiantly from his bench to scan the round house.

 

All the men were at one side of the round house pommeling and kicking the poet. The women too crowded round to geer and throw pieces of mead wet bread and cabbage at him as he lay on the sodden earthen floor in the fetal position. One of the wenches taken to wearing his grouse feather cap in jest.

 

The only other figure was a stooped cripple dressed like a druid with a long dark hood and cloak.

 

“Identify yourself stranger, who is it that calls this innocent girl a liar?”

 

“I do” A cold gravelly voice said.

 

The figure sat alone unmoving on a small round table to himself, almost unnoticeable in the darkness of the round house until now. For that was his wish.

 

The old man stood and drew a slim short sword pointing the tip down.

 

“The crows curse on you! You will stand; show me the face of the man who would call!”

 

The man didn’t move from his seat.

 

The old man angered by his silence took to his side and slammed his hand flat on the table in front of the stranger.

 

“Briseadh agus brú ar do chnámha! You will rise and give me your name cur!”

 

“Cur will do” The man said, his voice sending a chill down the spine of the old man.

 

Without cause the stranger moved like water. Without thought or pause he pinned the old man’s hand to the table with a wide oddly shaped javelin head crudely fashioned into a sword or cleaver. The head of the javelin having a rounded point like a shovel which curved into two hooking spikes. Which then recurved inward on each side creating a harsh biting cutting edge like snakes fang.

 

The blade rounded shovel point was so wide it cut right through the old man’s hand and into the table. Cutting off all his fingers above the knuckle and the tip of his thumb. His white blood poured over the ash table and over the bench and on the floor.

 

The old man staggered back wordlessly clutching his bloody hand under his armpit. The sound of his light sword dropping on the floor draw the attention of the hecklers.

 

“What’s going on here?” The man in the green tunic said.

 

The old man swallowed and tried not to vomit or pass out “Call the chieftain” He huffed.

 

“What’s this?” The man said confusedly, then he saw the blood and drew a wide broadsword in one hand.

 

“What did he do?” The stranger in the cloak asked pointing at the crowd around the poet, kicking and jeering at him.

 

The man in the green tunic tightened his jaw and flared his nostrils looking back for a moment and then back at the stranger.

 

“He insulted our kings, what of it”

 

The stranger uncovered his long sinewy arm it bulged with a vicious vile intense hatred. He squeezed his fist and the room became hot with the beating of his blood. “Give me your kings!” He said in his low gravelly scarred voice. “-Let me squeeze them in my hand!”

 

“He’s mad”

 

The old man vomited and passed out, his granddaughter loudly sobbing over him as she tried to rouse him. “Grandfather!” She cried.

 

“Here” The man in the green tunic barked at the men crowded around the poet.

 

The men craned their necks trying to see by the light of the fire pit what he was jabbering about.

 

The stooped stranger stood to his full height then, a full two feet above every man in the round house.

 

With the same hand he took his hood down and a tuathan wench turning at the wrong moment bobbed her eyes at him and let out a horrifying shriek.

 

He was completely bald, his head and eyebrows cleanly shaven. One side of his face covered in strange markings that looked like scars but seemed all too deliberate and esoteric.

 

But the thing they noticed most of all was his ears.

 

They were rounded.

 

“He’s- he’s a human!”

 

“I thought they were all dead!”

 

“You missed one” The man raised an ominous smirk.

 

The little girl lunged at the stranger with the short sword and thrust it into his gut. Half blinded by her tears she didn’t miss her mark burying the blade up to the hilt.

 

He looked down at the girl and smiled and smacked his lips kissing at her mockingly.

 

She shook letting go of the sword and stumbling backwards.

 

He laughed maniacally and pulled it out covered in his hot red blood and tossed it on the ground at the onlooker’s feet.

 

“Red”

 

“Is he a monster?“

 

“Firbolg!”

 

“Dear Deugh!”

 

“Vampire!”

 

“He should be dead!”

 

The man in the green tunic swallowed his cold feeling of dread as he watched the stab wound close by itself. The elven young lad flung himself as if dragged by the tip of his sword at the giant.

 

Cur turned faster than his size would deem possible and corked his blade from table and found it a new home in the lad’s soft skull. His face cleaved open by the wide spiked tip. His white blood and brain matter showering his kinfolk.

 

And the women wailed so.

 

The blade still buried in the lad’s face he tossed the lad like an empty sack of grain and tore his cloak from his shoulders. The man was large even for a human and was built of sinew and limestone and held together by bile and hatred. His chest heaved and his shoulders hawed but only one arm held a sword. The other was gone. Replaced only by more of the hideous scarification.

 

“He’s a cripple – all at once!” The crowd turned from the battered poet who lay bruised and bloodied and covered in piss.

 

The stranger laughed and let his tongue roll out of his mouth lapping at the air madly like a dog or a viper hungry for their blood.

 

One lurched out of the stolid pack raising a sword above his head. The odd shaped chopper swung under him fast and light and delivered a deep gaping hungry dull chop across his gut. The sound it made like an oar cutting through a wave sent shivers through the hecklers and tossed their bellies. The elf doubled over heaving, a ghastly wheezing sound coming out of his side.

 

The woman in the grouse feather cap lunged at him with a pitchfork pinning the Firbolg against the daub wall, he smiled at her with blood in his teeth. Cur snapped the haft with one powerful strike and with another he split her down the middle.

 

The other peasants dropped everything they had and ran at the sight of her bisected body.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Halt!”

 

Cur turned to the entrance and saw two heavily armored dwarves with long pikes and iron shields ready to greet him. He pulled the pitch fork head out of his guts and dropped it.

 

“You’ll come with us now!” They ordered.

 

The Firbolg threw his javelin head sword into a table. He stooped with a mocking grin and put out his one hand for them to shackle.

 

“Did I do something wrong?”

 

The one that shackled him walked him out in front of the round house; the other went inside to retrieve his strange weapon. Admiring it quizzically.

 

They walked him through the tiny village. Consisting of a smattering of stone and clay round houses surrounded by a thatched branch fence next to the Dobber river. The large round hut was communal and the smaller ones were where the families lived. The biggest round house at the fair side of the fence was where the chieftain of Tallaght lived and held court.

 

Around the village the trees and hills were a deep emerald and sparkled with dew as the sun on occasion broke through the dense grey clouds. The wind and the rain a constant steady and gentle metronome.

 

Cur smirked at a woman feeding pigs knee deep in shit. She looked up at him with abstract horror in her face. They walked him on towards the large round house, his wicked mad laughter carrying over the trees as he went.

–

0

GS2 Chapter 17 ‘Heavy Hitter’

Well here we are again,

Not much has transpired between now and since my last blog, oh I got banned on facebook again for having wrong opinions but that happens so often it doesn’t even bare mentioning anymore. Also I watched thor ragnarok, stupid jokes aside, I rather liked it so don’t feel the need to write a cathartic review about it. I really don’t enjoy gushing over something I like unless it really highlights something pivotal I think the human experience or something artsy fartsy like that.

I only really want to write negative reviews because it feels like I’m exorcising those bad films out of my system by dissecting them. I’m trying to understand what made them so bad and how I can avoid those pitfalls in my own work. And although I could do the opposite with good movies, it’s less fun and funny and I’d prefer to keep the good stuff secret. So you the audience at home will never know why I liked Thor Ragnarok, I know right, it’s a crying shame, everyone is just clambering to know my opinion of a movie that’s already yesterdays news haha.

Besides that I finished to some degree a basic outline for what are set to be five books so far in the Cur series, could be six, it’s still very rough. Also been playing Gwent again, that cursed addiction and I’m thinking of stopping reading blood and elves or just skipping it. It’s probably the most tedious book I’ve ever read.

I was memeing before when I said I was halfway through and the only thing that’s happened is Ciri got her period. Now I actually am at the 150th page and literally all that’s happened is Dandelion got kidnapped for a bit and saved by Yennefer, then Triss goes to Kaer Morhen has some weird visions then they go to take Ciri to a monastery type thing but Triss gets a tummy ache on the way. 

That is literally what has happened in a 150 pages of the second witcher book. He hasn’t met a monster, Geralt, actually no one has drawn a sword in the entire book. I’m not even counting the kidnapping as a fight. And I think what’s more is the writer who’s name I wont even attempt to spell knew this book was boring that’s why he put Ciri escaping Cintra at the start and the Dandelion kidnapping in. So people wouldn’t think that a sequel to a book about a monster slayer was actually a book about a babysitter or a nurse maid, because that’s all Geralt has done so far. 

But what’s worse is those parts at the beginning aren’t even good, the cintra bit was generic fluff I basically skimmed and the Dandelion bit seems kind of superfluous now that I’m halfway through the book and it hasn’t come back at all. 
I really genuinely just feel no drive at all to read this book and I just force myself for ten minutes at a time to read it, which is why it’s taking so damn long to finish, this is without a doubt the longest it’s taken me to read a book ever.

I’m not someone that reads books especially fast, I like to take my time, I sometime reread parts just to fully experience them but I’m pretty consistently devouring books and I get through a far few. And what with putting them on my phone it’s become even easier just to use every free moment to do so, but I don’t find myself wanting to with this crap. I’m just forcing myself to read this filler.

Nevertheless, I’ll continue to slog it out in the hope the next book can redeem it.

I have rambled enough, time to do some actual work, been dying to do the scene structuring for the first Cur book and fingers crossed I might even start writer the fucker some time this year haha.

See you…

_

Zomnision watched the police station station burn. The fires reflecting in his now glassy expressionless eyes. His face was blown out and distended and looked something a kin to a Spanish omelette.

But he was pleased with himself, he wasn’t a fake anymore, he was a real psychic, a god, a zombie god. Accustomed to such, he’d given up walking. Opting instead to lounge his aching exposed joints to a throne of soft furries. Their bodies interlocked by his will. The base of which took their weight. They crawled along at the speed of a caterpillar in the midst of the thousand strong throng of his cult like followers. A sea of colourful characters wreaking havoc across the small town. Striking in unison as if they were a sword in his own hand, organised and merciless and kind of cute.

“Soon” He whispered “First this town, and then the world shall know my power is real”.

A strange disruption, a silver flash, furries flying in the air like an explosion in a build a bear store. Fluff raining down as this slim flash of sliver cut a path straight forward.

“What is that?” Zomnision said.

The Lancer was fast and precise, moving like a sliver of silver caught in an updraft. A living scalpel to cut out the cancer.

“You dare strike at me?”

The furries moved in a wave, surrounding the Lancer. Thousands of them piling all over him, moving as if connected, forming shapes even. Moving like the waves of an ocean battering against the Lancer. Pulling him down.

Zomnision’s face flaps jiggled as he laughed a cheesy comic book villain laugh.

The light forming in the cracks of the furry horde launched them upwards. A splash of them flying through the air like water particles. Fluff and blood and gore levitating for brief flashes. Silver sparks flashing inbetween brief pops of activity. The Lancer climbed the furries. He hopping them as they floated like stepping stones in some vertical zen garden. Cutting a swath closer and closer, an unstoppable immovable object colliding with mortality. A train with no tracks to rend bones to dust.

Zomnision was overwhelmed. His powers burgeoning on godhood but caught with his trousers down. His full potential a glimmer in his eye. The throne he was sitting on started to subsume him. The furries lifted and covered him. Interlocking like some horrible mix between power rangers and barnie the dinosaur. Forming on him like living armour fluffy armor. But it was too late, the Lancer had no time. No monologue would hold him back to witness some final transformation. This was a hurdle, a hiccup to correct before moving on.

He straddled the furry well, bubbling with activity like a rainbow anthill. He reached his metallic long claw deep into the pile. A crunching snapping noise like he was pulling a tooth and it came out spiked on his three pronged claw.

The head of the fake psychic.

The Lancer looked at it and smiled with his eyes. The pile of furry started to crumble and disperse. He walked down it as it collapsed like a poorly made sandcastle. He took the misshapen mushy excuse for a head. Placing it in some kind of sack made of an metallic alloy and affixed to his hip and continued on.

The furries seemed disinterested in the tall silver man. Their demeanors hadn’t changed. No magical spell was caste slaying the head vampire so easily, the effects were the same. They were still dead, sort of, and they were still furries. But now they were regular zombies, hungry and directionless. That was until an ear cracking explosion caught their attention over the horizon.

Suddenly filled with purpose. The now stringless zombie furries shambled in the general direction of the noise.

The Lancer watched them go and let out a robotic tinny laugh.

–

The donut shop was shredded by a large explosion. The giant metal donut on top was still connected on top just a little singed but still standing. The supports of the heavy donut groaning and shrieking under it’s weight.

The cooling barrel of a clip fed grenade rifle smoked in Juanitas hands. She held it in front of her crotch like a giant metal strapon.

“Nita why’d you blow up the donut shop?” Jaclyn screeched.

Juanita was shaking with her eyes closed. Satisfied sweat dripping down her pasty face as she held the giant rifle between her legs. She shook her head and opened her eyes coming out of it and said “Huh o-what?” She got snotty instantly, reaching back for that nasally vocal fry. “That and places like that victimize people of size like myself. Using their biology against them to make them fat”. She was panting a little and she dropped the guns stock to the ground. Holding herself up with it like a crutch and then said “Oh and I call dibs on this”.

Kat was loading up a mach ten looking down the sights of the compact sub machine gun. She cocked her head to the side and said “You can keep it honey, I don’t want anything to do with that thing.”

“Yeah too phallic, and too- black” Roch said as she cocked a pistol grip shotgun.

Kat looked back at her giving her the side eye but Roch didn’t look up as she loaded the compact shotgun.

Jaclyn looked at the large rifle Junita was leaning on. It looked like a huge sniper rifle, almost the length of the girl leaning on it. She differed to the users manual “Copperhead anti-tank rifle” She recited.

Juanita snatched the users manual off her and threw it into the gutter. “No one looks at these, just take this.” She said as she shoved a small pistol into Jaclyn’s hand.

“Wwwwait, I’ve never!”

“Oh stow it, if straight white men can do it then so can you girlfriend.” Juanita said clicking her fingers still leaning one hand on the large rifle.

“I guess.” She said looking down at it. She lifted her head and said “We need to get moving, they’re watching us for sure now. If we want to complete our mission we need to move fast.”

“Ok, but let me fire off another round first.” Juanita said as she lifted the huge gun with both hands burying the stock into her warm sweaty crotch. Gripping it with her huge thighs. “Ooh” She shivered as she stroked up the long black shaft fingering the trigger.

–

If you liked this and want to read more, head on over to inkitt by pressing on the link below.

Heavy Hitter

0

3 Ring Samurai Chapter 3 “Hatin’ Don’t Pay”

Well hello there again,

As usual I don’t know how to start this, oh I rewatched all the Mad Max movies and they sucked a lot more than I remember when I was a kid and I never got why people hated thunderdome and now I totally get it haha. Like the first movie is sort of a nonsensical mess but it’s entertaining, and then I made the hipster realisation that the second movie is just in his head after what happens to him in the first. And the second movie is the quintisential Mad Max movie because it sort of gets the formula right, it gives in to the absurdist shit in the first movie but doesn’t take itself as seriously but takes itself seriously enough to make an action packed entertaining little romp which Thunderdome completely fucks up.

I was enjoying Road Warrior and thinking to myself ‘Why didn’t this become a big series, why aren’t we on Mad Max 12 Angry street? Well evidently because George Miller changed his mind and instead of wanting to make gritty post apocalyptic movies pretty much inventing diesel punk he wanted to make a reboot of Peter Pan. Because that’s what thunderdome feels like, it feels like a Robin Williams movie and it completely ruins the tone of Mad Max and turns it into a joke where no one even dies. Completely took what Mad Max was and turned it into a glorified kids movie where Tina Turner and Mel Gibson with a bunch of kids fight over a midget. And don’t get me started on Fury Road anyway onto real stuff haha.

I’ve felt really overwhelmed recently but in a good way, in the best way. I feel like I’ve been on a fucking insane bender but it was in my living room with my laptop watching documentaries of celtic folklore on youtube and scouring the internet for more stories.

I literally spent the last four days reading nothing but celtic folklore until my eyes actually hurt. My eyes were bloodshot from reading, it was like being possessed and I just felt so high building this story in my head I couldn’t stop. It felt uncontrollable and so good, just right. And I honestly have to fight the feeling and remember about Diana and how important that story is. Because I so just want to forget about it and delve into this because this feels like it for me.

So what did I do? I spent four days building a compendium of info from the internet (mostly wikipedia 😦 don’t hate me, and youtube) which is now 87 pages of frantically copy pasted articles about releveant places, people, events, myths and monsters to draw from when I start writing. This sounds like laborious bullshit but it felt so good to make it didn’t feel like work at all. I felt like I was uncovering the fucking holy grail haha.

Then I tried to start writing a synopsis but there’s just so much stuff, so much story and character I had to write a timeline first. I couldn’t just do what I usually do, take some notes, build a synopsis and then do a chapter breakdown and then start writing. I’ve spent weeks now plotting this in my head so I had to build a timeline of events to build my synopsis from. So now I’m going from the beginning and the end of my saga to see how fare the rabbit hole goes and now I’m fighting myself tooth and nail because I don’t know whether to start the first book with the synopsis I have or go through and complete the entire timeline and go from there.

I don’t know whether I should just do this one part first and build it up or try to look at it basically from a big picture perspective and build this large circular story. And it’s lots of things at play, basically my perfectionism and anal retentive streaks battling my impulsive need to just do and write and throw myself head long into it and it’s my nature to love to pull in those opposite directions. I want to just jump in and start tearing shit up but it feels too good to hold myself back to the eventual cathartic release of unleashing all my creative energy at once.

And right now I just want to stop writing this fucking blog and get back to doing that, because this is getting me nowhere haha.

Also the witcher sucks haha. (Not the game though)

See you…

~

The deputy slammed the jail door shut and locked it, Pookie lingered at the door, looking out, watching his sword as the deputy took it over to his desk. The rest of the punks dispersed murmuring angrily shooting eye daggers at the back of Pookie’s head.

 

Pookie rested his arms through the bars as he watched the deputy sit in his chair at his desk. He continued to study the weird sword like he was wondering which end was the pointy one.

 

“Now I saw this thing work” He said pointing at the ringpull on the scabbard. “Shoots it out real fast right?” He looked up at Pookie “Now how in the hell does that work?”

 

Pookie shrugged and made a face.

 

“Sure” He turned the sword over and studied the handle. “That is the goofiest thing I’ve ever seen” He laughed. “Oh and what in the hell does this one do?” He said pointing at another but much smaller hidden ring pull on the handle itself.

 

“I’d leave that one alone.” Pookie said.

 

“Is that right?” The deputy smirked as he put his feet up on his desk and cocked his chin out. He looked it up and down again. “I might take your advice on this one” He smiled and put the sword down on his desk.

 

“So what now?” Pookie asked.

 

“Now you watch shadows grow bud”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“You’ll cool your heels with your buddies in there and then in the morning you’ll get your sword back and be on your way. There may even be a plate a cold beans in it if I’m feeling hospitable.” He smiled and tipped his hat down as he reclined in his seat closing his eyes.

 

“Others may come”

 

“Oh so you’re one of those huh? – A run away, they got a name for that?” The deputy poked his hat up over his head and opened one eye. “So what did you do? Ya kill someone you weren’t supposed to?”

 

“…”

 

“I see- so now you’ve got a price on your head- I’m not about to get mixed up in all that. Not a big fan of your shows but I know what you do- all that blood really turns my stomach, I gotta, say.” He tutted “I don’t know how you stand it” He let out a spiteful laugh. “You probably like it, only way your pecker gets hard I’ll bet”.

 

“It’s not like that.”

 

“Uh huh- Well don’t you worry, you’ll leave town in the morning and you’ll never come back ya hear.”

 

–

 

“Gramps there are some weird guys outside” Efron squeaked.

 

“Eh?” The old man peaked outside his door trying to look through the distant heat haze. Blackened shifting shapes moving in his general direction. “Just look like big birds to me, probably just want some of my worm broth”. He chuckled.

 

There was a loud banging on the roof and a dent to match and then more foot steps and a strange scratching and whispering and high pitch mocking laughter.

 

“What the hell was that?” Zach said in harsh whisper. He got up on the bed and tried to look through one of the holes in the roof and saw nothing. Then for a split second he was face to face with a wooden crow face, it’s empty black eyes staring at him. He jumped back falling off the bed.

 

They watched not breathing as the dents in the roof moved towards the door. There was a flapping fluttering noise and a thud and then a knock at the door.

 

“Who is it?” Efron said.

 

“Shhhhhh!” Gramps and Zach hushed her in unison.

 

There was an ominous cawing noise made more so by the fact it was a human voice making the sound.

 

They waited a moment and the sounds stopped. After about ten minutes of listening to nothing but the wind the old man gingerly walked towards the door and peaked out. Opening the door wider to get a better look. “Take a gander through the hole again” He whispered.

 

Zach did as he was told and sheepishly probed his head around the hole, making sure not to get too close. “I can’t see nothing” He whispered back.

 

The old man feeling a little more sure of himself opened the door all the way and stepped out to look around. He instantly regretted it as a three pronged meat hook claw came down and hooked him under the shoulder blade. Picking him up like a toy grabber at an arcade.

The kids sat inside listening to his screams as he was dragged onto the roof bleeding and kicking and crying. The sounds of the claw ripping into his flesh and then it went quiet again and all that they could hear was the blood running off the tin roof.

 

The door opened slowly and a man with a duck mask was standing there. The crow dropped off the roof in a crouching position behind him covered in the old man’s blood.

 

“It might’ve been good to talk to someone around here who could actually communicate in full sentences.” Canard said.

 

“S-sorry, all the f-fun from before and I didn’t even get my beak wet” Crow tittered as he looked at the blood dripping off his claws. “I c-couldn’t help myself” He flicked his head erraticy, bobbing like a birds.

 

Canard sighed and looked at the kids as they stared up at the old man’s bloody hand through the hole in the roof. “Hey, any of you kids seen a clown around here.”

 

“Yeah he went into Woodsmoke, town not too far from here, just over the ridge.” Zach said without looking away from the old man’s hand as it dripped.

 

Canard scratched his face under his mask “Well that was easy.”

 

“W-what do we do now?” Crow said bobbing his head erraticly.

 

“Business as usual I guess”.

 

“M-me first” Crow said eagerly.

 

“Ay ya ya, hold your horses there bucko” Canard said barring the door with his arm. “We do this the right way, Finch, fetch the chart will you.”

 

Finch appeared pulling out a rolled up scroll from his coat sleeve and he walked up to Efron.

 

She looked up at this strange thin man in the bird mask as he began to unravel the scroll next to her.

 

He held it up next to her and on it was a picture of a clown with his hand out over a height chart. He stood it next to her and measured. Her head was just under the clowns hand.

 

Finch tutted and said. “This one is too small.”

 

“Come on out honey” Canard said. “It’s alright”

 

Efron cautiously walked towards the door as Finch moved on to Zach.

 

He held the chart up to Zach and his head was just over the clown’s hand.

 

“Ah we have a winner.” Finch said. He rolled up the scroll and put it back in his sleeve as he made his way out of the shack.

 

“Well what has he won?” Canard said turning to Crow.

 

“H-ha-ha.” Crow hopped and bobbed into the shack, the door slamming behind him.

 

“What are we gonna do with this one” A female voice said over the muffled sounds of Zach’s screams.

 

Canard turned to Heron and then back to Efron and patted her on the head. “I always loved that motherly instinct you have”

 

Heron said nothing.

 

“Well we can’t take her with us until we complete our mission” He said looking down at her mussing up her scruffy red hair. She looked up at him, her face screwed up into a puzzled frown. “You wanna babysit?”

 

“…”

 

Canard sighed “I guess you’ll just have to go play somewhere else kid. Auntie Heron is too busy to take care of you, she really doesn’t have time for kids, what with her high flying career and all.” He looked for a reaction from her and got none. “Scoot kid, before I change my mind.”

 

Efron didn’t take a second to think about it she just started to run in a seemingly random direction without looking back.

 

“See ya” Canard waved.

 

“What do we do now? Turkey asked.

 

“Hmm- What do you think big guy?” Canard said looking at Penguin.

 

Penguin breathed deeply and made a low growling noise.

 

“That’s what I thought- Crow! Aren’t you done yet?” Canard shouted.

 

Crow appeared behind him covered in blood from head to toe. “W-whats up?”

 

“I’m calling a little ‘family meeting’” Canard said.

 

“Who died and made you boss?” Cardinal said.

 

Canard laughed “I’ve got the biggest mouth”

 

“No argument there” Finch sighed.

 

“You got a plan Cardinal? Nah, didn’t think so, so why don’t you keep your beak shut” Turkey sniped.

 

“We were only supposed to recover the body” Heron chimed in.

 

Canard scratched his cheek under the mask. “Yeah well, ‘the body’ appears to be walking around killing wasteland transvestites and weebs, or did you not notice that?”

 

“…”

 

“If you wanna go back and report-be my guest.” Canard continued.

 

“You think Regus is gonna give you a pat on the head if you bring him the clown’s head?”

 

“You think you’re gonna get one for tattling on us?” Canard laughed.

 

“…”

 

“Tell you what, we’ll make up our minds when we get there, deal?” He said smiling with his voice.

 

~

Ah ah ah if you want to read the rest of this utter madness you must follow this link.

See ya.

Hatin’ Don’t Pay

 

0

Gage Chapter 7 ‘Ceremony’

Well hello der,

Err, I never know how to start these things, all I really want to do is bitch about the witcher.

No I’ll do an intro, ok well I’ve done pretty much nothing except make googoo eyes at my babymama and think about celtic folklore in the shower. But on that front it’s great. I should feel shitty because nothing is on paper but I don’t for the major reason; the mushy stuff which I don’t want to talk about. To focus on the writing, I feel like this is a real awakening for me. 

I found myself pretty blackpilled after I finished Diana because I genuinely thought to myself that I would never write anything better than this and it stung a little because it’s pretty much a fanfic or an homage to Dexter, it is mine, but also not mine. When I write it I’m purposefully trying to recapture the feeling I had while reading Dexter because I just want more of that feeling and I probably wont ever be getting it again from the actual source.

But there’s something about this, I didn’t have it at first, but as I read the folklore and think about it and wrestle with it in my head I just get this really good feeling in my chest. And even if it doesn’t turn out better than Diana it will be the next step nomatter what. I told myself if Diana failed, if I couldn’t get an agent or any copies sold I might quit but this is what I was waiting for, this will restock the fires in my heart for writing, I can feel it.

Right now I’m in this gorgeous calm before the storm moment like I have this big juicy apple the size of my head in front of me and I’m deciding how to eat it, just nibbling at it from all sides waiting for the answer to present itself. I really can’t wait til friday, I think I’m just going to dive into the internet for names and sources and start digging and taking notes and start sculpting this story. For right now it’s enough to let it cook in my head. I can’t rush it, this one has to be perfect.

Ok so enough of this positive shit, time to rag on the witcher haha. I dunno I actually feel positive even ragging on it, I think my fantasy book will be ten times better in terms of story, I don’t know about the writing, these books as I’ve said are really well written which I keep mentioning because it surprises me having read so many bad fantasy books on inkitt haha.

Because as I’ve harped on about the first witcher book ‘the last wish’ has almost no story it’s a witcher cheesy clip show with no real narrative linking the random events then it just ends with Geralt and Yennefer fucking because he uses his magic Genie wish to make her love him, which makes literally no sense. I mean the magic date rape sure but  I don’t even get why he liked her and not the snow white chick who banged the seven dwarves, their relationship was pretty much the same but she was more interesting.

Anyway so I started reading the second book ‘Blood of Elves’ and it starts with Ciri escaping cintra written in a really teenage girl ‘omg’ way I find really annoying. Then there’s a bunch of guys discussing the battle then Dandelion is captured and tortured and saved by Yennefer then Triss goes to Kaher Morhen (I at least tried to spell it this time) and that’s it. I started meming when was about 30% in that I was halfway through a book about monster killers and they haven’t killed a single monster yet nor did it seem likely they would in the near future. But now I just went over the halfway point and the most eventful thing to happen was Triss had a vision quest and Ciri got her period.

I wish I was kidding. Yeah it’s well written and some of the characters are decent but this is fucking filler, this is like bad bleach filler but instead of going on a wacky adventure they just sit around and do nothing but whine and feel awkward. I dunno, it almost feels like I’m missing a book, like there must have been a big time jump from the first book because I get the feeling that the thing where Geralt has a relationship with Triss has already happened and Yennefer and Geralt have already split up sort of. Also Ciri wasn’t born in the first book and she’s old enough to be having periods in this one.

This is the book that brings in Vessemir and my boy Lambert and all the other witchers and surrounding characters… to do nothing. I’m halfway through the book and the only person to pick up a sword was a little girl. I’m sitting here reading this expecting to get this rip roaring swashbuckling witcher adventure like the first book but with a story and I’m stuck in this really well written fantasy snorefest where the most interesting thing to happen is a magic make up tutorial.

Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not giving it up, I’m told the series gets better and my polish friend told me the first two books were sort of a slog but I won’t skip them. I’ll just read them and moan about them til I get to the good ones haha.

Ok so enough whining about the witcher, on to do something productive like blow it out of the water haha.

See you…

–

After the fire died Gage took ash onto his fingers and marked each boy’s forehead in turn. To symbolize the ashes of the old world and the world that would rise from it.

He took the various guns he collected from the patrons of the whorehouse who no longer needed them and handed them out like the sacraments at a mass. The boys eyeing them with wondrous curiosity as they splayed out on a tray Gage found in back.

They each took a revolver and Gage made them all take an oath to the new world. A mighty bone shaking oath that shook them to their core and moved them in ways they never thought possible.

*Note to the reader, the oath spoke of is never mentioned in the following text nor referred to again. And any remant of it has several variations none of which can be said to be cannon.

They were the warriors of the new world who’s only purpose would be to save the future of the human race from alien control. They would be the first droplets in a mighty tide of revolution to wipe clean this land and then this earth.

They swore before god and on the words of the bible that they would lay their lives down in service of their people. And cut down any that would stand in their way.

They spent the next few days in the remote brothel fixing it up and making it livable. Converting it into something of a clubhouse. Although there only being four bedrooms would mean two of the boys had to bunk up. Which lead to incessant consternation and ribbing between them. Although most of the time Gage preferred not to use a bed and just sleep on the porch on the rocking chair with his gun on his lap.

The boys took the time, familiarised themselves with the guns long and short until they could say they were as adept as anyone could have been. Considering only government officials and cut throats would even handle such a thing. They got comfortable enough to use them without blowing their own toes off. Learning for instance to keep one chamber empty to rest the hammer on so as not to misfire down the back of their trousers.

A few days past, it was around sundown when Clarke rushed back to the brothel, his rifle tucked under his saddle so it wasn’t visible to any passersby. He was out hunting rabbits and had come back empty handed but was very excited none the less. The sun was coming down and the boys were inside rather hungry with nothing to eat but stale bread and crackers from the whorehouses stores. Clarke had proven himself calm and capable with the long gun, a steady shot and a good tracker, so he’d taken it upon himself to scout around for food.

He rushed into the whorehouse coughing and sputtering with youthful excitement. Although this was unusual for him, as he’d displayed himself to be an even tempered young lad who rarely spoke when it was uneccessary. And could even be considered taciturn and moody in some respects. But he was excited by something.

“I- found- something!” He exhalted.

“Not rabbits ey” O’Shaugnessy bellyached.

“Let him breathe lads” Jameson said as the other three crowded around him.

Gage listened pretending to be asleep on the porch with a hat pulled down over his face.

“What did ya find Billy?” Mcdonald asked.

“A- trading post- about five or six miles east of here” He sputtered trying to steady his breathing.

“They have anything worth trading fer, like rabbits?” O’Shaugnesy added.

“Would ya shut yer mouth Shaun and let the man speak” Jameson said.

“I dunno, I didn’t go inside, I just looked in the window, got all kinds of stuff, guns, ammo, food, coats and furs and the ugliest damn wife and kids I ever seen”. He smirked.

“How many?”

“A whole bunch, look like that fella we hung the other day cept uglier.”

“He’s human?”

“Oh yeah, as you and I, must’ve taken one of them things as his wife for some goddamn reason.”

Jameson and the other lads made a face of confused disgust at the thought of a human mating with a lug. Shocked to think it was even possible and encountering the demonic children such a coupling would create.

“So you didn’t talk to him at all, he didn’t see you?” Jameson asked.

“No, I was the only one doing the seeing.” Clarke smirked. “I overheard him bellyaching with some traveller said he was pissed at the Cyclon for some reason. Wished someone would take’em out. I couldn’t rightly understand what it was he was saying, the fella didn’t seem too interested hisself neither.”

McDonald who was the largest but most soft spoken of the group with whispy mousey brown hair trying to escape his head. And muton chops framing a rough potmarked scotch-irish mug scratched his chin. “Could be he knows if there’s a town nearby, mightn’t be a good place to start.”

Jameson breathed in a little puffing out his chest and stomping across the wood floor of the brothel out the saloon door.

“Morning” Gage said as he rose from his rocking chair letting his shotgun fall loose at his side. “We ride out first thing tomorrow.” He said low.

Jameson nodded and smiled trying to hold in his excitement.

“Yes sir” He said.

The next morning they got up at the crack of dawn all four of them but Gage was nowhere to be found. He left a note outside Jameson’s door telling him to take his horse and he’d meet them there.

Read the rest of the chapter over on inkitt.

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GS2 Chapter 16 ‘Get at Me’

Good day humanoid creatures, not excluding non-euclidian slime constructs too un-nameably horrible to describe of course. Wouldn’t want to transdimensional amorphous nightmare shame.

It’s that time again, for me to talk words again, basically ramble about nonsense and then copy pasta a chapter from my nonsensical books and disappear into the ether yet again.

So been mostly just proofreading 3 ring, should really be putting some finishing touches on my Diana pitch but I just got let back on facebook so I’m too busy shitposting and spamming haha.

Also been watching the new season of Bosch and wishing I could write serious stuff, the closest thing to that is Diana, a story about  teenage serial killer. Although The One That Came Back is played serious and it’s actually doing really well on Inkitt.

But I’m itching to write the next Diana book, I just really want back into that world so bad, but something is telling me it’s too soon. I need a push really, trying to conjure it up because I wanted to start it this week but I might just work on Cur instead and push it along. It has to be just right, I can’t force it, it needs to come naturally and at the right time. Has to be organic. I want to savour it, I don’t want to rush it.

I really don’t know what I want to do with myself, I’ve been reading the second Witcher book Blood of Elves for inspiration and it’s far better than the first so far in that it’s actually a book and not a witcher cheesy clip show haha.
Y’all know I only rag on the witcher out of insecurity haha. It’s so well written it makes me sad, like how can I write something even close to on par with this? Even if the first one’s story didn’t make much sense. 
Again any gripes I have with this book are pure insecurity on my part  and I accept this fully and strive to be comparable. So far in the book not much has happened and I’m a fair way through it, around chapter 2 and these are pretty long chapters. But so far all that’s happened is a bunch of people talking for the purposes of world building and then the least interesting characters talk about the most interesting characters and then Triss goes to the witchers castle (I thought I could spell it, not even gonna try haha). No real action yet which is disappointing since the first book starts really strong. It’s not two minutes into the first book before he’s slicing up fools and then having a fight with a striga.

But this book seems content with describing mountains to an insane level detail that are sort of a waste of time. I dunno like if I wrote this stuff my editor would have cut it out. Is it essential to have every crag on the mountain described? I mean I like it, it makes me feel like I’m there but it isn’t propelling the story and there kind of isn’t one yet. There is no propelling narrative other than Ciri is special for reasons and shadowy men want at her. It’s making me want to play the games again though haha. I dunno like I loved the games and people were constantly praising the story and I thought it was bog standard ‘save the princess’ stuff with a few twists here and there where the princess is also a bad ass which also now isn’t a twist.

Although it never really felt forced with Ciri because it’s not implied that Ciri is more skilled than Geralt, despite Ciri having the powers of the elder blood. I think that transfers to the games too. There’s a distinct different feel when you swap between her and Geralt with all his cool powers and tonics and gadgets and her magic warping powers.

Still a fantastic game that deserves all the praise it gets which pissed me off at the time because I really wanted to be an uber edgelord and hate it haha.

Anyway enough rambling please to read my insanity, thanking you.

*Oh snap, almost forgot to mention Inkitt got back to me about 3 ring not being approved and they were all like “You used ‘unfamiliar characters'” or something along those lines so for a few minutes I felt decidedly silly. Until I realised the characters they were referring to were separators I use as a scene brake, aka something I’ve used in every one of my stories up til now, really gets the old noggin’ joggin’ there don’t it haha?

See you…

Get at me

~

There was a quiet ferreting knock at the chief’s office door.

“Err, chief?”

“Shhh, go away, I’m not coming out until the national guard show up!” The chief whispered.

“But sir, I don’t think we can stay here.” Coral said through the door of the chief’s office.

A rustling noise came from behind the door and an irritated clicking. The chief popped his head and the barrel of his colt python through the tight gap and spat “Coral! Go the fuck away or so help me- oh jesus!” He said as he looked past Coral at the dismay of the office. The spent cartridges and the bodies and little fires dying.

“It doesn’t get much better from there sir, erm, the building is being sieged.” Coral said. The chief gingerly entered the destroyed office.

“Sieged?” He said looking back.

“Yes sir, erm, by giant stuffed animals, or something.”

“What?” He said scrunching his fat face up.

–

The side fire door creaked open cautiously.

“Well they look like stuffed animals and they kill people, it’s hard to explain” Coral said as he went through the door. It was morning now, the sun was up and beaming cosmic rays of joy onto the snowy chaos.

“Wait Coral-“ The chief put his hand up to shush Coral. The python fully erect in his other hand as they heard these noises building. A distant whooping sound coming over the horizon. Dark blots looming, masked by the bright morning sun.

“What is it?”

“They’re here, we’re saved” The chief said smiling, holstering his gun and hiking his belt over his fat gut.

“Who’s here?”

“The national guard, the cavalry, the army, whoever.” He said turning back to Coral. Coral cupped his hands to protect from the glare of the sun. He could just make out their outlines and the spinning blades of helicopters whisking up the cold mountain air.

“Helicopters?” As if summoned by his words they passed overhead with a triumphant whooshing of air. He could almost hear in his mind the sound of flight of the valkries or some doors song from a vietnam movie.

“Damn straight, U.S.A Coral, we’re gonna be o-k, we’re-” He smiled and looked off into the bright sun, warming his face. “We’re gonna be just fi-“ His sentence cut off by a giant metal canister pulping him against the concrete. His guts and brains splattering Coral like they were thrown over him with a bucket.

Coral stopped dead in his tracks, dazed. He scooped his bosses guts out of his eyes allowing him to see a sleek pod of some sort. Slaked in the remaints of the fat police chief glistening in the mid morning sun.

–

The door of the atv clicked and opened. The limp body of the Frenchman rolled out of the driver’s seat onto the concrete garage floor. Falling like a dead gold fish getting poured into a toilet bowl.

The back passenger seat opened and Sunday climbed down from the high atv. Her long smooth naked legs gliding past eachother as she walked over towards the Frenchman. She padded him for his guns and ammo. She pulled the nine from his grip and the extra clip and threw it onto the front passenger seat. He lay lifeless on his back, eyes closed like he was sleeping.

When she was done she walked over to her headless body, the only sounds; her bare feet on the cold concrete. She looked down at it, pausing for a moment of thought, it looked so, pathetic. Smaller than her for some reason, sad like broken doll parts. Sighing or making some quiet noise to herself she started undressing her corpse. An odd tussle, like undressing a clothes store mannequin. The clothes seemed tighter, like the body was expanding or the clothes shrank in the cold.

When it was naked it looked even sadder, limp but getting colder and more rigid. She looked down at her headless bodies ankle and saw a small icecream tattoo. Looking down at her own ankle noticing it wasn’t there she got a strange creeping feeling. She was literally standing over her own grave.

She started to dress, the clothes were cold and crisp and felt itchy on her skin for some reason. It was unpleasant but better than freezing to death out there.

“So that’s how it is huh?”

Sunday zipped up her jacket and turned nonchalant to her other and said nothing. Her clone was coming out of the drivers seat still naked. Her skin getting more opaque but still white and slick looking.

Sunday ignored her and moved to the front of the atv pulling the corpse of her other clone off the hood by the ankle.

It was surprisingly light and came off with almost a single tug. It was a little too fast and the height and softness of the skull made a mess on Sunday’s shoes as it hit the concrete floor.

“Fucking great” She sighed.

“So you’re just going to ignore me?” The other one said.

Sunday passed her and stopped, looking at her hand. Her fingers had grown back, no scars, no nothing, like it never happened.

She walked over to her bat lying on the floor. Looking at the remnants of BJ strewn across the floor. Then over in the corner at Jimmies body slumped with a bullet in the head. She picked it up deliberately like it was cursed, letting its teeth scrape along the floor.

“You think this is a dream?” Her other said. “You can just leave me here, naked, alone and you and the fat kid are just gonna what? Drive off into the sunset?”

Sunday continued to ignore her like she wasn’t there. She moved to the rear passenger seat door to check on TJ. She opened the door and he was still passed out. She checked his finger, it was still missing, no point in trying to find it now, but the bleeding had stopped. She checked his pulse and his temperature, he was cold but his breathing was solid. She pulled his coat over him like a blanket and closed the door again. Without changing her expression from stolid concern.

She breathed in and out deep as she leaned against the door. Her face cold and contorting. Angry tired tears building up at corners of her eyes, kept in check by a bottled frustration.

“You’re a freak, he’ll know that soon enough, what’s the point in hiding it?” The other said. “Look at me, you’re not even human anymore.”

Sunday wiped her face and sniffed with a rising righteous anger. She ripped the drivers side door of the atv open and climbed in and slammed the door behind her. She sighed and fumbled for the keys in the pocket of her jacket and started up the engine.

It was quiet again, in her mind, in the garage; only the roaring hum of the engine. She rested her arms across the steering wheel. Dropping her head against them and started to weep softly.

“What makes you any more special than me?” The other said pressing against the drivers side door looking at her through the open window. “You were here first, is that how it is? You’re not speci-.“ A nine millimitre bullet shredding through her eyesocket shut her up. Sunday sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand with the nine in it. She licked her lips and swallowed. Her throat was raw now and her face was burning, the sound of the gunshot seemed to go on and on.

The body of the other still stood for a moment like a broken animatronic. Then crumpling under it’s own weight like it was made of coathangers and spackle. Hitting the concrete with a strange wet slapping noise.

She cursed herself and angrily threw the gun out of the car, like it was to blame.

Sunday bit her lip, scrunching up her face, mad, at herself, at everything she couldn’t change. She turned the rearview mirror to look at herself and attempted a limp cocky smile. Then dropped it like it weighed a tonne. She turned the mirror back and started the engine.

A ringing noise started as if out of nowhere, a phone?

–

A call came in on Jaclyn’s laptop, she answered hastily, her little heart pumping.

Macintosh’s strangely bulbous head came into to view, maybe he was just standing too close to his webcam.

“It’s time gender non-conforming humanoids. Pack up, we need to move fast, I’ve marked the cache on your map.” He made that effeminate sucking noise again and said nothing.

“Got it Mac, come on everyone, we need to move.” Jaclyn said in a peppy camp councillor voice. To which everyone collectively groaned and eye rolled.

“Hey, I’m the leader here” Juanita said spitting half chewed chirros out of her mouth. “I tell us to go” She paused “Let’s go everyone! What are we waiting for?”

Kat was even more jittery now. Her hands shaking as she opened the blinds “It’s good, cost seems clear, I don’t think any normal people are even awake yet.”

Roch hopped out of her seat and walked up to the window next to Kat and said “Finally, lets get out of this shithole.”

Kat looked at her and sneered “You brush your teeth with shit?”

Roch looked at her and said “Fuck you” storming off, with her back turned breathing into her hand and sniffing it.

“Is this thing working or not, piece of crap?” Juanita said getting in the face of the monster they had on loan from Lysander labs, unofficially.

“Erm, it should be working, I think it’s just in like on standby, power saving mode, ya know?” Jaclyn said.

“Well we need it now, wake it the fuck up!” Juanita said shaking her head with a latin bob.

“Ok let me just-” She started tapping at her laptop.

“Wakey wakey” Juanita started to tap at it’s large misshapen head like she was knocking on a door.

The thing started to shake. It lumbered forward but now its spine started to straighten and it was a huge thing once again. It’s eye red and glowing.

“We’ve got work to do”

“WORK” The thing said robotically.

–

“What the fudge” Coral said as he slopped gore onto the back parking lot of his former office.

The canister was shaped like an egg, like one of those things covered in chocolate you get kids toys out of. But the seam was at the front and it had a see-through window.

Some strange force compelled his curiosity to overreach his abstract horror and desire to not be dismembered. He got close enough to look to crane his neck over the steaming mess of his former boss to look inside.

Before he could get close enough the door in the front opened with a hiss of nmeutatics and a cloud of steam. Then a rattling clicking noise. Something quick and small launched itself into the mist.

Carl coughed and blinked, taking off his glasses and rubbing his nose. He tried to clear the smoke and then blinked again as he saw a squat figure hunched over by the pod.

“Err, are you lost kid, do you need me to find your parents” Carl said, half dazed by a chunk of brain hitting him in the face.

“Kid?” The figure said, shaking.

The smoke cleared and the figure stood to a less than impressive five foot nothing. He turned without moving his feet. An unnatural pose, turning his spine around revealing a young fresh face. Maybe even some freckles and a tuft of light coloured hair. Which was poking out of what looked like a chrome centurion helmet.

He was what looked like a fourteen year old kid wearing a skin tight jumpsuit. The suit looked vaguely metallic covered in exagonal scales. His arms and legs encased in some kind of weird layered armor.

“Are you here for that furry convention? Are you one of those Larpers? I used to play dungeons and dragons as a kid, I’m kinda cool for an adult.” Coral was rambling.

The kid grinned, his eyes were weird, one blue one green. A section of the centurion helmet came down and locked in place hiding his face. A thin strip of light behind a glass visor.

“Oh that’s cool, did you make that yourself? Is this from an anime I haven’t seen yet?”

The kid kept smiling with his eyes as if by magic a beanstalk started to grow. He was getting taller.

“What the heck?”

The kids legs and arms were getting longer and thinner and sharper. The armor on his arms and legs were telescopic, extending like a pointer. Growing long and gangly but still rigid and strong, his limbs were thin and monstrous like a metal spider’s legs. He’d grown to a height of at least nine feet tall.

One hand reached back, the dexterity was still as precise as if it was his real hand. The limbs moved effortlessly, quick and responsive. His left hand gripped at a raised portion of the back of his suit. It began to pull at some long strange soft metallic object, like it was made of fabric or a thin mail chain.

Pulling it out it was appeared to be some kind of silvery baton, a completely unremarkable piece of metal.

“Err that’s kind of cool”

The kid chuckled, his voice enhanced by the visor to sound deeper and more monstrous. Inside the visor he smiled, bright lights illuminating his face.

The kid pressed an almost invisible button on the underside of the baton. The pod he arrived in started to vibrate the ground under it. Hatches at the side opening a gasp of hissing mneumatics. Two ufos shot out spinning too fast to keep track of. The pod hatches closed. An indecernible lump of flesh from the chief plopped onto the ground taking on no real shape, making a grotesque sound.

Whipping wurring noise sounded. The light and the speed made it impossible to see what the two objects flying through the air were. Just glimpses through the corner of Coral’s eyes. Brief flashes like cars passing too fast reflecting the light. A wooshing noise around his ear and a brief flits of fast moving air, his hair parting.

The two pieces locked into place at the end of the dull metal shaft the kid was holding. Forming a long chrome double headed lance.

Carl began to clap nervously like he just saw a clown juggling flaming chainsaws.

The Lancer cringed as he felt a wave of condescension coming from the gangly dispatcher. Pity applause. A fearful uproarious clapping.

“That was, uhm, something else” Coral said laughing uncomfortably. “Oh I get it now, you’re like an anime mash up of Inspector gadget. ” He laughed. “Should have known by the gogo gadget extending arms, wow, how long did it take to make all this stuff?”

A light flashed in the Lancer’s helmet. On the inside a screen was illuminated. Directives, written in a standard type font it read “Contain infection, Kill fatso”.

The lancer scanned the skinny dispatcher and there was zero threat. He was unarmed and unoffensive.

Still, feeling slighted. He turned his lance over and pressed a button. A quick roaring noise launched the end of his lance at an inhuman speed like a rocket.

Coral ducked grabbing his head, cowering holding onto his butt.

He looked around and he was intact, not a scratch. He shrieked as he looked at the wall of the police station. A foot away from where his head was was the other end of the lance stuck at least a six inches into the wall’s structure.

The Lancer was walking away and Coral shakily called out “Hey, you forgot your, err, thing!”

The Lancer lifted his lance without looking back and pressed another button. The lance in the wall started to wiggle like a tooth being extracted. The wall shaking, it sounded like it was drilling it’s way out.

In an instant it burst loose with a cough of cement dust and rubble. Shooting back onto the other end of the lance with a thin sheen of masonry dust and a clicking noise.

Coral breathed a sigh of relief before the entire wall collapsed on him, crushing him to death.

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