“This is Commander Detrick, USSTU,” he said, following the
initialization of the com. “Aboard the USST Interceptor,
off the coast of Nantucket at 1400 hours. Code DW-4,
this is Report 7, Subject File: Project Black; sub/file: Mission Alpha. This Report, File, and sub/file are Code
7-1—for eyes only, 446; any other personnel observing this file without proper
authorization, will be subject to immediate termination.”
Detrick stopped momentarily to fill his shot-glass and
hammer it down.
“Anomalies
and/or Aberrations have infiltrated the entire Eastern Seaboard. At this time
there have been sightings in Canada, Connecticut, and New York. Operation
Containment, Red Flag, and Triage, have been initiated. President of the United
States, Obama is secure in the NORAD
facility. We are currently at Defcon-Four.
“All but two members of Alpha Group are either dead,
critically injured, or MIA. Gamma and Rogue Groups have been dispatched to try
and contain Tesla, and retrieve any more survivors.
“A
civilian, Pamela Dempster, was attacked by an Aberration prior to Dust-off in
Tesla. She was infected by the Aberration. The incubation to transformation was
thirty minutes. Fifteen members of the crew were killed before the creature
could be brought down. All other civilians are under close observation. There
wasn’t enough tissue left of the late Mrs. Dempster to analyze. And the only
consensus that the Specialists can agree on is that the Aberration is
sulfur-based—not carbon. There has been no indication to determine whether or
not the Aberration has DNA worth questioning. All that’s known at this time is
that the Aberration is one tough motherfucker…but, it can be killed. N2 seems
to be the most affective way of eradicating the creature; however after contact
with the liquid-nitrogen, the Aberration literally disintegrates.”
“Testimonies from the civilians have stated that
the Primary Aberration—which has been labeled, Wolf-wraith, is not the only Aberration that causes infection and
transformation. The Secondary Aberration—quaintly referred to as Devil-wasp, also infects its prey;
transforming them into still another Aberration, called Gravers...
Steps are currently being taken in an attempt to retrieve
tissue samples from the Demon-wasps and/or Ghouls.
Recordings
and statements from Alpha Group have revealed isolated craters, with the nature
of spacio-rifts, or…wormholes. People go in, but they don’t come out.
Transmissions have been lost by those falling victim to these craters.
Thirteen Anomalies have appeared in Tesla, Sanford,
Springdale, and Rochester, Maine; others have appeared in Redfield, New
Hampshire. From the craters more Aberrations emerge. Main
and New Hampshire are currently
under quarantine, and only specific satellite-feed is beamed to the local news
stations that are monitored by the Secret Service.”
Another
hammer of whiskey, and Detrick continued.
“At this
time there seems to be no way of stopping the Aberrations without inflicting
collateral-damage.
As a child I was full of magic, wizards, dragons, kings, and super-heroes.I couldn't wait for my favorite heroes to be in the movies. Twenty-five years later, the dream is a reality viewed by all. The world changed me over the years--now I have added horror fantasy--not Twilight Forever--I don't consider that fantasy horror; more like paranormal romance-- and I write erotic science-fiction/fantasy, as well as paranormal crime dramas, and still more science-fiction fantasy to add to my itinerary and genres of versatility. I hope you enjoy my work and find a genre to suit your taste for your reading pleasure.
AVAILABLE AT AMAZON FOR KINDLE
—it took four
years to write, and has been gathering dust for almost three years while I
worked on Darkness Within. Tears of the Le’igro was considered by Tor for its
prose and originality; unfortunately—there is that word again—Tor had filled
its quota for submissions that year.
Tears of the Le’igro won the Redbubblle Alpha and Omega contest for best story--initially written for teens, I present to you, installments of the Epic Fantasy
Adventure, Tears of the Le’igro
The Le’igro is
dying…
The miraculous and enchanted Garden of Life
and Illumination that has seen to the vitality and protection of the surrounding
lands since the dawn of time has been poisoned.
Now the people of Caladashari face sickness and death.
The weather soon threatens crops and life,
and the dead rise, even as darkness falls.
Cities crumble under the onslaught of sorcerers,
dragons, and devils.
The only possibility of salvation for the
Le’igro lies in the tears of the one that breathed life into her at the
beginning of time.
.
Once
a god of goodness and beauty, now after thousands of years of disreputable
treatment by the other gods—Parthalamas has grown embittered and callous, and
now finds his home in the nether regions of the hellish realm of Infer’nos.
Only
the most elite of heroes has a chance of braving the realm of darkness and
demons, and petitioning the tears from the Lord of Flame and Shadow, in hope of
restoring the Le’igro, and bringing life and peace once again to the
surrounding lands…but can the tears of a dark god save the Garden, or is she
doomed to die?
Deriic
Moriin was hysterical. He believed that it was quite conceivable that he had
never known such stark terror and utter horror. Not in this lifetime. Not until
now. The worst phantasm dredged up from a child’s nightmarish imagination was
insignificant, save for musing, to this circumstance. His wife and children
were dead, even if they were cognitive, like he was. He knew this now, even if
he didn’t realize it when the sickness had been upon him. During that time it
seemed as if he were moving through a veil of surrealism so acute that
everything and nothing at all had seemed real.
And when Dalin had finally passed, being the third in line to succumb to the
sickness, Deriic made himself believe that his son had merely fallen into a
deep sleep. And even when all the color had left Dalin’s face, his father was
made to believe that there was still a glow about his son’s countenance.
But there wasn’t. Life had left him. And so did his
color.
Entropy had been Deriic’s rationale then, everything
was possible. And when he put his hand to his heart and failed to feel it
beating, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the picture’s
presentation. It was just a little off-centered is all, just a little
off-centered. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed.
(He had been healed…)
If he tried real hard at this very moment he could
further believe that his heart was still beating. And maybe somewhere else it
still was. It was hard to make out anything in the wavering and intermittently
fluctuating darkness. It was hard to know what was real in the haze. And
(A man of God had touched him…)
the
eerie green illumination that flared periodically, merely stretched the shadows
of his imagination. And what was it that he imagined he saw? Currently it was
the smile that was in his wife’s eyes. So beautiful she was. So beautiful. Her
eyes, just like the day when he danced with her in the Hall of Caliisdan, on
the same day that she had admitted to herself that her heart no longer belonged
to a pompous noble, if her heart had ever belonged to him at all
.
Her name was Monique, daughter of Laddon and Priscilla Coradine, a merchant’s
daughter, with long flaxen curls that spilled down to the small of her back,
and eyes the color of a misty sea; her voice was not unlike music when she
spoke, and smiles came easily to her--that is, at least for a little while.
Monique had caught the eye of Bodin
Estrese, son of a noble, Patriic Estrese, while the Coradines were in Calohraad
selling weapons and traveling goods during the Trystese Fair. And Bodin had
charmed Monique then, while he was still a young man, before his true colors
were shown, before it was seen how he treated people that he considered lower
class, before the poison of arrogance infected his soul.
This
side of Bodin would be seen three years later at a banquet for the noble
families and their merchants, and Monique witnessed Bodin speaking to a servant
like a dog. She was appalled by the noble’s performance.
During that three year interim
Monique would meet Deriic Morin who would touch her heart in ways that Bodin
couldn’t begin to fathom. Deriic, a man of not just a few talents such as
hunting and fishing, with long black hair and dark eyes set low below his high
forehead, with a nose that was nondescript, and lips that were full and
sensual.
Deriic
was as humble as he was confidant in who he was, he was as generous as he was
tenderhearted. Who would have though that the man would be interested in
joining the military?
But he was. And almost two years
later, on the dance floor, the night before he enlisted, Deriic told Monique
that he loved her, that he had always loved her, and would always love her. And
although she might have been willing to wait for him, Monique’s mother would
not, she had other plans; marriage to a noble would be very lucrative and would
ensure that the Coradines wouldn’t have to work near as hard for—well, for anything
at all.
.
So
a month before the wedding Monique ran away from her home. And although Bodin
had sent the best men that he could afford to look for her, Monique could not
be--would not be found.
Six years later and Deriic returned
from the military a decorated Captain, and Monique sent a messenger to him,
saying that she could be found in Windelport. The couple was soon married and
Monique was pregnant with Dalin in the same year. Two years later and Maraline
was brought into the world.
.
Life
was hard. No one said it would be otherwise, sometimes it was hard to make ends
meet, and sometimes Deriic was called away for service missions, but Deriic and
Monique were both hard workers and in spite of these ups and downs, they always
managed to find a way to make it through the hard times. That is until the sickness
found them.
Dalin
was seven when Deriic purchased a horse and wagon. And with it the Morins need
not call anyplace their home lest they chose to, and often times they lived
contentedly off the land. A week ago their intentions had been to make it to
the concert in Palimaar, but they ran up against foul weather, then there was
the sickness.
Deriic
vaguely remembered the man in the black robes and hooded cloak,
(A man of God had touched him…)
but
remembered very little after that. Did he share his fire with the man in black?
Deriic supposed that he probably had. And the next morning after the man had
left, mother and daughter were struck down by a fever that stayed with them for
days and grew increasingly worse as time slipped by. Now there was another
reason to find Palimaar. One of pertinence. And then there was a moment that
instilled an incomprehensible fear; it was so articulate that Deriic suspected
it was even worse than when he feared that his wife and daughter were dying;
that was in the midst of a severe coughing fit, one in which Deriic thought
that his wife would never catch her breath.
Tears
and perspiration spilled down her face, and she suffered spasms along with the
wracking coughs, and then she spit up, and in her phlegm Deriic saw blood. The
chill at the core of him grew colder.
(But she too had been touched by
(Joshua Heit…
a man of
God…)
When his son Dalin had finally
passed--even though he didn’t accept the reality of it at the time--Deriic was
hot with fever--but then…but then four men who had been hunting had come to his
aid. One of them had run to get help, gauging Deriic’s condition to be more
than that which they could handle. And before long a man had touched Deriic and
his family, and he healed them! The man called himself Joshua Heit, and he
professed that it was the power of Dhamara that had given Deriic and his family
back their lives. Praise be to Dhamara! Following the miracle and epiphany and
Deriic found himself suffering from a kind of short-term memory loss. Moreover
he experienced it in a manner that would suggest that his loss of memory was
actually protecting him from something. Almost as if, by remembering something
that he would choose to forget, he might drive himself utterly mad.
It was quite possible.
Following a haze and intermittent moments of
blackness there flared before him a fiery yellow-green light, which was quite
hellish in its presentation, wherein Deriic found himself in an immense chamber
that quite possibly had been a temple of old gods. He was able to see a great
stone altar under the discontinuous flashes of fiery yellow-green luminosity
that filled the cavern, but he could not turn his head to look around him, it
was as if his head were fixed to look in one direction, straight ahead, toward the
altar. Under the illumination of the light the whole place took on a hazy
surrealistic nature which obscured reality and invited the imagination to dark
phantasms.
.
His family was with him; he could see them to either
side of him from the corners of his eyes. They too were apparently in a similar
boat as Deriic, as they could not move their heads either, but were forced to
stare straight ahead.
In addition to the inability to move his head,
Deriic realized that he could not feel his body; he couldn’t feel his arms or
his legs or his hands, neither could he see them. Something decidedly nasty was
going on here. But for the moment he knew not what.
(The man in black had returned…)
When the green fire faded and left Deriic in
darkness he was able to think about what it was that led him to this
circumstance. Heit took his family in, fed them, and made certain that they
recovered fully from their ordeal. Not long after they had retired for the
evening and Deriic was visited again by the man in black, but this time, framed
in the hood of his cloak, and with a halo of long, wavy white hair, he wore the
face of Heit, and as an unforeseen fear rose up like a wraith out of the
darkness and gripped the man while he lay in his bed, that is when Deriic saw
the massive blade flash under the dim moonlight. He heard a scream, and then
everything was cast into a void of black
Now thoughts grew hazy again. A flash of light and
Deriic saw several sable columns reaching up from the floor to a cloudy height
beyond the range of the man’s vision. In the center of the cavern, over a wide
pit glowing with yellow-green fire, squatted a lattice of steel, wood, and
precious stones, the construct had spines and climbed a hundred feet into the
air. Deriic was part of the lattice, he didn’t know how this was so, but
another burst of acute fear confirmed his suspicions that couldn’t yet be
explained.
And
then he saw the creatures bathed in the light, moving back and forth amidst the
temple, and taking care of things that needed attending. And they were
milky-white and grotesque, slippery things resembling amorphous bipedal toads
with eyes on wavering stalks. They waddled busily about the temple, carrying
bundles which they brought up to the lattice that climbed toward the skies. And
what happened next would have driven a scream of insane revelation from the man
known as Deriic Moriin, even as he saw the creatures open their bundles and
produced what could only be severed heads.
And without a second thought, the monstrosities
moved over and placed the heads on the spines of the lattice, one after
another, pushing what remained of the hapless victim’s neck down on the sharp
spikes, almost tenderly, fitting them in place. Yes, Deriic would have screamed
had he been able to do so. The problem is that he could not. He had no throat
for which to emit a voice of any kind. And that is when he realized that the
reason he could no longer feel his arms or legs, feet or hands, was because he
was just like those hapless victims; he was nothing more than a severed head
now, trapped on a spine amidst hundreds of others melding into the lattice that
squatted over a pit that could only lead to hell.
Rook
turned and gestured to Lilimiist, Aliadaarnah, Sratos, Dalanrai, and Malachaar.
His expression let them know that the time was now. "I leave you know
Sire," Rook told Darion. "I wish you the best of good fortune. May
the light of Tiisa’jhariana shine on you." Following this, the five
followed their commander out to the dining hall. It wasn't difficult to discern
who Gaarick's men were. They had a table to themselves and were making a
raucous, pinching the bottoms of the serving wenches, and wanting to know when
the dancing girls were going to be coming out. They were informed that it would
be almost an hour before the girls would begin dancing. That didn't go over too
well, and one of the men broke a bottle on the floor. And that was when Rook
stepped in.
"That's alcohol-abuse,
soldier." the commander told the man who looked at him like he had just
been insulted.
"What
the hell is it to you, cleric?" The team was wearing large--if not heavy
cloaks over their armor, Rook supposed they did look like clerics at that, or perhaps
the man was just being insulting.
"Firstly, I'm not a
cleric," Rook told the man kindly. "I'm a fighter, much like
yourself."
"Of that I doubt," the man
said. Then he looked passed Rook at Dalanrai, Alia. "Maybe you ladies
would like to dance for us?"
Alia said emotionlessly, "Maybe
you would like to go straight to hell?"
"Oh--you just said the wrong
thing to the wrong person, little bitch." The fighter stood up, drawing
his sword as he did so. He gleamed in chain mail armor. He moved toward Alia.
Rook stepped in front of him. "Get out of my way crud, before I break you
in half." Rook shrugged.
"Just trying to save you from
getting hurt." the commander told the man.
The
fighter snorted. "Now, little bitch, I think you need to take back what
you said. And then I think that you need to get your little ass up there and
dance for me."
"Really?"
And then it was almost as if Alia
disappeared. She was no longer in front of the man. Somehow she got behind him,
and as she did so, she grabbed his sword-arm, just a few inches from the wrist,
and with the strength of the dragon that she was, she pulled back forcibly, so
that the arm bent in half, backward at the elbow. A loud crack was heard in the process, and then the fighter was screaming
as he dropped his sword from an arm that was bent in an unnatural position, he
fell precariously to the floor.
"That
is sure to leave a mark," Rook said commentarily.
Of the three men that remained at
the table there was one with a long blond mustache and studious brown eyes.
"What do you want?"
Rook looked over at him. "Ah, a
civilized question. We don't wish to fight, you can be assured of that. What
happened with your friend there was really quite unfortunate--"
"What do you want?" the
man said again.
Without waiting for an open
invitation, Rook sat down at the table with the three remaining men. They each
regarded the man with a guarded expression, occasionally passing a glance over
at their comrade rolling around on the floor. In time one of the men rose to
give assistance to the man on the floor, he was lifted to his feet and led
toward the door when Gaarick stepped through it.
Gaarick
stepped across the threshold and his eyes grew wide. One of his men—Calbost,
was helping another of his men—Harsil, walk while he observed that Harsil had
one arm bent at an impossible angle behind him, tears of pain streaming down
his face. Harsil was a powerful man, having seen many conflicts, he wasn’t
easily beaten, and the captain had never seen tears in his eyes. But what
Gaarick was seeing told him that the man had run into an opponent who was not
only worthy of his skills but could easily surpass them, as it were, he didn’t
see a single scratch on the man, indicating that the arm was a solitary attack.
What
the hell happened?” Gaarick wanted to know.
“Broken arm, sir.” Calbos spoke the
obvious. “A woman,”
“A woman broke his arm?”
“Yes sir, she was fast. Didn’t even
see her move. Harsil needs medical attention.”
“I can see that. Get him back to the
castle. Then bring another coach around.”
Captain
Gaarick let the two men pass then he stepped into the Golden Sands. He looked
over at the table that he usually shared with his men and saw a stranger
sitting there. The figure appeared to be dressed like a druid, and there were
three others that remained standing that were dressed in similar fashion. It
was hard to fathom that one of these individuals here had broken Harsil’s’ arm,
possibly the one sitting at the table with his men. He immediately took a
disliking to him. Then he remembered it was a girl that had broken Harsil’s
arm, and he saw two of them standing behind the one seated. His men stood at
his approach, Rook remained where he was.
“Which
one of you young women broke my soldier’s arm?” Gaarick demanded coldly.
“That would be me,” Aliadaarnah
stated plainly.
“And why would you do that, my
dear?”
“Because the man’s a pig. He
insulted me and my friend. Then he decided he wanted to fight.”
“Is this what happened?” Gaarick
asked, turning to his men for an answer.
The two men nodded their heads.
“In that case ladies, you have my
sincerest apologies. And I will see to it that my soldier is properly
reprimanded.”
Even as he spoke the words, he
couldn’t believe that his demeanor so easily leaned toward chivalry; very
seldom had Gaarick reprimanded his men for insulting women, it wasn’t uncommon
for him to offer a few chauvinistic remarks at one time or another. But
something about these druids made him feel a little…charming, maybe it was
something to do with the beauty of the women who were, he noted, quite striking
in appearance. He wondered.
“What
can I do for you folks?”
Rook appeared to be looking at his
hand for the moment, rubbing the tips of his fingers on one hand with his
thumb. He looked up and smiled. “It’s not what you can do for us, Captain
Gaarick; it’s what I think that I can do for your Duke.”
“And what might that be?” Gaarick
said, sitting down at the table, his soldiers following suit.
“Well, I think showing you would be
the easiest way of going about this.” Rook removed the amulet from around his
neck. He placed it on the table.
“What’s this?” Gaarick asked,
looking at the smoky-blue amulet quizzically.
“If Mjha’jhahadriin were here he
would easily recognize it for what it is; the Amulet of Stalariis.”
“I
recognize the name,” Gaarick said admittedly. “That would mean that this is…the key to Infer’nos.”
Reaching for the
amulet, the captain held it up for examination.
“It is indeed.” Rook confirmed
“How did you get a-hold of it?”
“I’m a very good thief.”
“I thought you were a druid.”
“And a very deceptive thief as
well.”
“I see. Yes, I think that Duke
Maladaan would be very interested in this.” Setting the amulet back down on the
table, Gaarick said, “I will set up a meeting with you and the Duke, immediately;
just as soon as the coach comes around. I will go to the castle and tell them
about you—what is your name?”
Ilan Palamos, but those who know me
call me Rook.”
“Rook. Very well. I will tell my
Duke about you Rook, and about your talisman, and we should be able to send a
coach back for you some time around sunset.”
With business seemingly out of the way, Gaarick
wanted to drink. A serving wench saw to his wishes, ordering drinks for all
those present. “Have your team sit down Rook, they are making me nervous.”
Rook signaled to them and the four
took the table next to their leader.
An inscription on the wall opens a veil between worlds. Beyond the veil is a dimension of unmitigated evil and diabolical perversity. In this realm there reside Dark Gods that challenge the other in a war, where the victor lays claim to the planet. Entities enter our world at the bidding of the Gods, to acclimate it for the coming of The Darkness.