I entered this world covered in blood. #HistoricalFiction #Fantasy

The War Master's Daughter
by Elly Zupko


“This could not go on, Abern. A soldier is a part of the machine that is the unit. A unit is part of the machine that is the army. One soldier refusing to function can bring down her unit by simply neglecting the duties of her rank. But more than neglect, Borodin had put herself in a position to lead by example and was on the eve of bringing down the entire unit. We are at war, Abern, and this was treason.
“At first I beat her, then progressed to the cat. But I soon realized this would not solve my problem. Abern . . . you know intimately my passion for carnal justice. Messy deaths prove points. Blood stains prompt memories when time would fade the lessons. However, in the field we kill treasonous soldiers by breaking their necks. This is so no blood spills on their uniforms, because those uniforms can be worn by others. We waste nothing in the pursuit of the good of the whole.
“She screamed as I came to her.” Cashel sighed ruefully. “The weak ones always scream.”
Before Abern’s eyes, the room began to spin. He searched, wildly scanning the room. Found nothing.
“Sir, allow me to light the lamp.” He began to cough uncontrollably. “Please, Cashel. You needn’t do this. . . . Cashel, I held you as a baby.”
“Then you know more than any that I entered this world covered in blood, and I feel no remorse at my role in it. Farewell, Mr. Abern. It is for the good of the whole.”
Abern took his last breath and did not have time to exhale before the pillow was over his face, and his lungs gave out, his brain gave out, his heart gave out, and he was dead.

Master Capolitu selecting Tarlok as an acolyte of the Brotherhood of Warlocks #Fantasy

The Brotherhood Of Piaxia

by Michael Drakich


“Yes, I seem to recall now. Hmm, the last time I saw you, you were no more than a young boy running through the streets with the other urchins plaguing our alleys.”
“That might have been me sir, but as you can see, I have reached the age of ascension and am ready.”
“Ready you say. I decide who is ready. Still, there can be no doubt you possess the mana necessary.”
Master Capolidu paused, as if lost in thought then glanced at Avradiman and winked.
In the next instant the old man began a charade of wild gestures and loud pronouncements. “What do we have here? An aura so bright that I am near blinded by the sight of it!” He drew a large circle around the boy. “I am surprised that such an aura even exists! What is your name again, lad?”
“I am Tarlok, noble Master, son of Jurg.”
“Tarlok, son of Jurg, you say. I know a Jurg, a great fellow, commander of the guard, and his son Savan, a captain in the same guard. Surely you are not his son as well, are you?”
“The very one, Master. My father and brother are well known and they bring me great pride.”
“Well, won’t they be the proud ones when they learn of your acceptance into the Brotherhood as this year’s apprentice! Let it be marked in the records that I, Master Capolidu, select Tarlok, son of Jurg, brother of Savan, as my choice for the twenty-fourth year in the glorious reign of Lord Ramtok!”

An inexpressive warrior must find a way to bring fire to his home and his heart. May cause your kindle to combust. #Fantasy #Romance

City of Blaze

by H. O. Charles


She noticed how her footfalls reverberated around the tunnel while his did not. How did such a tall man walk with no sound at all? There must be something special about his boots, she decided. They reached the gate where Morghiad took the key from her hand, sending the usual flow of sparks and flame through her limbs. She still hadn’t quite become accustomed to it, and was increasingly frustrated at Morghiad’s utter lack of reaction.

“Stay.” He held his hand up at her and then proceeded through the gate. She could see through its iron rails that he was making straight for the cloak, now dangling limply from the cell door. The cloak shuddered and waved suddenly. It was still being held tightly by the prisoner, who was evidently proud of his prize and unable to pull it through the hole in the door. With startling speed, Morghiad snatched the prisoner’s arm and thrust it downwards. From beyond the cell door the arm’s owner screamed and released the cloak, which Morghiad caught neatly. The prisoner withdrew his arm into the cell door, whimpering quietly. Upon silent feet, the kahr returned to Artemi with the reclaimed cloak and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she uttered. Then, “Did you break his arm?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
“Probably. You’d better hope they don’t talk.” He locked the gate, gave her the key and walked on. The man was inhuman! Did he have no sensibilities at all? What was to stop him from snapping her neck if she angered him? She decided to keep a little more distance behind him.

The battle against pure evil begins. Friendships are betrayed. Rivals bond…and powers collide. #YA #Paranormal

Blood Oath

by T.L. Clarke


Rosalinda’s face turned sickly green as she gagged. “Dios, they’re drinking their blood like vampires. Who are they?”

We looked at each other anxiously because we instinctively knew who they were, the Banished, the enemies of the Eternals and Elementi. Grossly deformed, they stood waiting with clawlike hands and reptilian tongues darting out, tasting the air as if searching for more victims to drain.

“We can’t just stand here. We have to do something.” Jessica’s voice was husky with emotion as she nervously rubbed her now-glowing scarlet pendant. Zora quickly pushed up her eyeglasses that fell familiarly to the tip of her narrow nose.

“Like what? Our scarlet pendants are not strong enough to conjure up ample magic to cast a strong spell to hurt them,” she said with frustration, “so logically, there is nothing that we can do, and fighting is not an option. We’re just not ready.” Rosalinda’s face looked green, like she was one step away from puking on the floor.

“In other words, you mean that we would end up dead like the rest of the Normals out there,” she responded coldly.

Beth was being watched, just as they had said she would be... #Fantasy #MysterySuspense

Sangian: Returning

by Alan Dean


He was nervous, fear flickered on the edge of his resolve, but he didn’t move. He could see her clearly despite the lack of light. His eyes had got used to the dark. He could see her face, her smooth, clear skin. Flawless, like it had never seen the sun. She was only a foot or so from him. He knew she would have to see him; that she must have done so already. He knew he had to act or his moment of glory would pass by forever.
Pulse racing he stepped forward. She stopped, but didn’t look at him. She continued facing the way she’d been walking as though it was something else she’d stopped for, not a strange man on a deserted path in a darkened park, but something more usual, something not in the least threatening. Her manner disquieted him. He needed some show of fear to bolster him, and its absence sucked away his resolve. He stopped and waited in confusion for something to happen, for her to run so he could give chase and overpower her.
The girl turned her head slowly and looked straight at him. Bright sparkling almond-shaped eyes held his gaze and a flicker of somewhere long distant found its way through his defenses. He let his eyes drop. He’d not meant to, he knew it was a sign of failure, of weakness, but she was stronger than he was. He could sense that, and he feared that even his gesture of submission would not end what he had started. But no blows came. No sharp stab of pain. He looked up again hopefully. Perhaps she was smiling. Maybe it was something else she wanted, but she’d gone and the path was empty.

Nothing gets the blood flowing quite like seeing a ghost... #MysterySuspense #Thriller

Buried Secrets

by Brandi Salazar


Coming to a stop below the attic door, James reached up and tugged on the long cord that released the stairs, and pulled them down. On shaky legs, his breaths coming in short, labored bursts, he scaled the stairs slowly until he could just peak his head over the floorboards. From this vantage point, James had a direct line of sight between the many boxes leading a straight path to the dormer window where silver moonlight poured in washing the room in its unearthly glow. And there, sitting in front of the window, sat the filmy apparition of a young girl. She had her back turned toward him, but when James gasped his shock, she slowly turned her head, and when her eyes fell on him, she grinned.
Fear crippled him and James lost his footing. He grabbed for the floorboards, but it was too late. He fell, tumbling backward down the staircase and landing with a thud on the floor below. Panicking, James didn’t need time to recover. He leapt to his feet, and with desperation born of fear, he hauled the steps up, tucking them back into the ceiling and locking them in place. Then he turned and raced back to his room, slamming the door and locking himself inside until morning.

Almost but not quite a fantasy short story with several twists... #Fantasy #Short Stories

"The Dark Knight Rizan the Destroyer, the Lair of the Ice Wyrm Vandrakarn and the Strange Incident on the Ninth Level of the Dungeon of Tharg"

By Michael White


The adventurers continue down into the dungeon... or do they?

"The final sounds of battle faded around them as the last ice creature fell dead, clearing the way ahead. Rizan slumped to the floor; his blood stained great sword clattering to the ground alongside him. Breathing heavily he could hardly manage to raise his face to ensure that the rest of his comrades had come through the last battle unscathed. His swords brother Gethane was also slumped on the floor, his back propped up against the narrow brick tunnel wall behind him. He was attempting to wipe the gore from his blade, a small whetstone being placed on the floor close to hand. As Gethane noticed him taking stock he nodded once in recognition. It seemed as if even that small gesture had drained him completely of all energy. Yet still he continued to clean his sword. To the side of Gethane stood Vix the female fire wizard. She gave him a haughty look and swallowed a small drink from a phial she had concealed up a sleeve. “That last ice fury came close to killing us all!” she pronounced haughtily, “It seemed resistant to most of the fire bolts I cast upon it.”

“True.” mumbled the cleric Legaoniel who was flitting amongst the mostly slumped forms gathered about the lit torches held by several of the warriors there. She occasionally cast an arcane gesture or ward and the recipient would take on a slightly healthier aspect. After some time however she too sloped to the floor, gathering her energy. “Strange for ice to be so resistant to fire.” Her voice faded away into the darkness. At the edge of the light Rizan could just make out the shadowy form of Varesh, the hunter..."

Quick, before some country nukes us, get your copy of The Feud so you'll have something to read in the shelter! #Horror #Fantasy

"The Feud"

by Hubert Williams


Here big brother, while we wait for someone to bring me a torch, let's have a drink.” De Valen squirted some of the contents of the flask into Bertalans mouth. “Is that good? Have some more” he said while squirting some more into Bertalans mouth and down the front of his clothes. The soldier brought a lit torch to the platform. “Hold it out away from you.” the soldier did as he was told and De Valen squirted some of the contents of the flask on the torch, causing the torch to flare up. “Do you see that young woman over there? The one that is with child. Bring her over here so we can drink to her baby.” De Valen squirted some more of whatever was in the flask into Bertalans mouth and onto his clothes. Motioning the guard to give him the torch and remove the woman who was just brought over. “The father of that baby was a friend of mine. I was there when he was born. He died last night. Do you know how he died?” Bertalan shook his head. “Like this!” De Valen tossed the torch onto Bertalan igniting him. Bertalan began screaming louder and writhing in pain. “Is that how my daughter screamed as she died!?!? Is it?!?! Is that how my little girl screamed?!?!

Laments, Love and Loneliness #Fantasy

The World In-between

by IE Castellano


Morning broke with a soft cold light inching through Berty’s window. Getting out of bed, Berty paused to look at the gray sky though his window thinking that finally the outside reflected the inside. After he showered and dressed, Berty walked downstairs to sit at his desk.
Opening a book, he began to read. A chapter into the book, Berty realized that it was yet another book that not only described different places within the Empire but also chronicled someone’s journey through it. "You could not travel yourself," muttered Berty aloud, "so you filled your study with books about people who did." Theodore ringing his wind chimes interrupted his pondering about how lonely and confining Silvia’s life must have been.
"Good morning, Emperor," said the young Dwarf.
"You are cheerful today," Berty said.
"Getting ready for Wassail," said Theodore. "This is my first Wassail as Head Tender. I am so excited."
Berty could not help but smile as Theodore placed his breakfast on the table. After Theodore left, Berty ate. His mind wandered more and more with each chew. Taking a sip from his goblet, he lowered it slowly to the table saying, "I did give you my life -- I set you free." He closed his eyes and could feel her limp cold hand beneath his as he wrapped her fingers around the metal of the scepter. Opening his eyes, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Rise and Fall: Book One of the Blood and Tears Trilogy [Epic Fantasy]

Rise and Fall: Book One of the Blood and Tears Trilogy

by Joshua P. Simon


The Hell Patrol, a mercenary outfit, are sneaking out of their employer’s encampment in the middle of the night…

“Where are Cassus and Krytien? They should be here by now.”

“You got me, Boss,” said Kroke, again cleaning his nails.

“We’ll give them ten more minutes and then we head out. They can catch up later.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Is what necessary?”

“That,” said Jonrell pointing at the dagger. “How can they be dirty if you’re constantly cleaning them?”

“They aren’t. Just habit I guess. Like the way a blade feels in my hand is all.” Kroke sheathed the knife and looked up. “Don’t sweat it, Boss. They’ll be here.”

Jonrell sighed.

“See, that’s them coming out the camp now,” said Kroke with a nod. He pulled out a different knife, picking at the nails on his other hand.

Jonrell shook his head and turned toward the encampment. He squinted and saw some movement but couldn’t make out more than a few shapes in the night. The distance was too great. “How can you tell it’s them?”

“I can’t.” Kroke shrugged his shoulders. “Just trying to be positive is all.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Kroke sheathed his blade and pulled out another that he started spinning in his hand, a small grin crawled across his face as he watched the blade dance in the moonlight.

“How about you do something useful and grab Yanasi? Something’s up and I need her eyes. That’s definitely Cassus in front but there is no way that many soldiers were worth bringing with us.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Hard-boiled Detective in Cybernetic Playground #Scifi #fantasy

Dragon's Teeth

By Suzanne van Rooyen

The Detective meets a contact in a less than salubrious establishment...

Cyrus gazed towards the stage, peering through the
smoky haze that billowed around the crowded tables.
The interior of the club was dark, the walls painted a
deep green--or perhaps even black. Life-size projections of Dizzie Gillespie and Miles Davis moved across the walls, living shadows in moribund dance. The patrons were a motley lot. Some were clad in sequins and feather boas, others sporting the slim-fit catsuits of the modern era, all engrossed in the speakeasy vibe of the club called Dixieland. The kid on stage dipped and swayed beneath the flickering blue and orange lights, the sax sitting snug in his fat cherub mouth. His lips, Cyrus decided, were
made for caressing a wind instrument into sonorous ecstasy.
The detective tapped his feet to the rhythm of the drums, his eyes still fixed on the saxophonist, his criminal accomplice: Cleo. The kid was young, not yet qualifying for longevity treatments. Still au naturale in the bloom of late adolescence, his face doused in freckles and framed by the tight springy hair of his African heritage. Young as he was, Cleo was smart with a ruthless street savvy cultivated by a hard life lived on the sidewalks. He was Cyrus’s connection to the underworld. Half Chinese and half black, Cleo was the poster child of the lower end district: part Chinatown, part 1940’s Louisiana. This strange juxtaposition was the new New Orleans and Cyrus loved it—the warmth of nostalgia in his belly, the hankering for a past he had never lived but only read about in books and seen in gritty black and white films. He had been born two centuries too late, a situation he lamented.

"Ariel" by Gabriel Madison

Angel Santos has just asked the two Archangels in her room, why they are in her room…
 

Gabriel motioned for me to sit back down. I sat as he moved his long dark hair behind his ears. “We all watched as the
a
ngel Lailah entered the Holy Palace. All of the spirit realms were filled with songs of joy and love. I don’t remember a time before that Heaven itself had been filled with so many angels. They came from all over, Nirvana, Shangri-La, Valhalla and many of the other free spirit realms. Everyone stood in awe as Lailah walked into the Holy Palace. And then…the Palace crumbled into a pile of dust.”

My stomach dropped, my mouth became dry and I balled my hands into fist to keep them from trembling. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything I’d been through, everything I’d done, everything I wanted to forget. It took all the strength I had, but I took in a deep breath of air while slowly calming myself. “What do you mean crumbled to a pile of dust?”

“He means the Holy Palace is no more.” Michael chimed in. “We searched through the rubble and found the dead body of Lailah. We found no signs of God. It seems he no longer resides in the spirit realms.”

"The Book Traveller" by Alan Moreton

Thomas Howard had recently retired and was glad that he had said goodbye to the world of work. He was now looking forward to taking things easy and with this thought in mind, he went shopping. Now ordinarily Thomas hated shopping, unless it was for books, because of all things in life, Thomas loved reading. In fact, he would rather do DIY than go shopping and he hated DIY. To Thomas DIY meant Destroy It Yourself rather than Do It Yourself! It is true that Thomas was actually contemplating buying something other than books but this was to be a special purchase.
 
Thomas sank into the chair and it was indeed wonderfully comfortable. A strange sensation briefly passed through his mind as if a dream had suddenly presented itself and then quickly passed away. Thomas gave it no more thought but just luxuriated in the comfort of the chair as he slid his hands over the soft leather of the arms of the chair. 

 “Can’t you just see yourself sitting comfortably at home reading one of your favourite books in this armchair?” the old man asked.

“Yes, indeed I can,” Thomas agreed. “But why is it called: The Book Traveller?”

"Shadow Path" by P.L. Blair

Tevis placed a hand on the left temple of the corpse. "Most of the brain has been destroyed by the blast." He sounded distant, talking to himself, thinking out loud rather than answering the Wizard's question. "I feel … cold. Freezing. Like wind sweeping off a great field of ice. It has dissipated very little, even after all this time. You are very strong, Coira.” His voice dropped to little more than a barely heard murmur. “You are hiding something from us — trying to hide something."

His voice dropped even lower, whispering words Kat couldn't understand – didn't think she would've understood them even if she could've heard them clearly. He closed his eyes. Sweat beaded on his forehead, rolled down to drip from his chin. Kat had never seen Tevis sweat before — never seen him look so pale. "Tevis ..." She reached toward him.

Arvandus caught her hand. "He casts a spell," the Wizard said. "It would be dangerous to disturb him now — dangerous for you as well as him."

"Stone Bearers: The Gift" by R. E. Washington

My name is Constance and this story starts the day I was ripped apart...

I pointed to the exit. "We have to go there."

She nodded and then we both were running. Glass crunched under my feet and behind me I could hear a shriek. The light was glowing bright, almost encompassing the entire greenhouse. We were almost at the exit. Danielle was a little ahead of me, when she froze. "No. No!"

That's when I saw it. The black glutinous body that looked like hot bubbling tar and white, white teeth. For a second, I could only stare as my mind denied what was in front of me. The monster didn't have such a problem. It leapt at Danielle. Instantly, I reacted. I shoved her out of the way and slashed with the glass shard I grabbed earlier. 

The monster jumped back and bared its teeth. I watched it. Its fingers twitched, its claws glinting in the light. I only had a second to decide. I pushed Danielle. 

"Run!"

"Wizard's Refrain" by R.L. Austin

Dirah is trying to escape a failed attack against the dark army...

Dirah stumbled out of the thorny brambles, scratched and bleeding, to find a group of dark-robed figures blocking her path. Instead of pulling back, she slammed the heel of Baldric’s staff on the ground and growled a spell with the sound of a curse.

Every wizard facing her lurched as the ground between them buckled. From a large crack burst molten rock that boiled and coagulated into a vaguely animal-like form. Even Dirah took a step back when the fiery orange figure reared onto two stump-like legs, and the faint image of a misshapen face appeared on its bulbous head. This was no fireball, but a monstrous apparition that lumbered forward, spewing hot sulfuric gas as if it had breath.

"Drawn Breath (Part I - Wrought Iron)" by Yusufu Shehu

Then all of a sudden six glowing green orbs shot up from the corpses and rose slowly into the sky. They reached right up past Desem’s view point on Wresheina Tower into the faintly cloudy sky. The orbs then exploded silently, drenching the entire fiefdom in a deep, toxic green. It was like a dye, staining every aspect of Schtarelruhn. The flares hissed out, as civilians in their thousands exclaimed and cried. Estrall heard them all. His hair, eyes, skin and clothes stained a caustic green. It signified a breach, an injection of a new power that would soak every possible part of Schtarelruhn, encroach it and then eradicate it. As Estrall turned his head about his fiefdom, his eyes cutting through the miasma, he now knew truly who had come. The solemn yet intensely violent message was sent. The defiance and audacity in this act - their own Sha’n!: the use of magna-flares, the symmetry; the sadistic ceremony. It reeked of them. He looked up at the sky now a complete hostile green: another world; a hell...

"Silver Smoke" by Monica Leonelle

Brie heard Pilot calling after her in the distance, most likely swearing at her. But she kept running.

It wasn't like it was Brie’s fault that they'd stolen the car. If Pilot hadn’t run his Camry’s gas tank dry, they could have been on time for school without having to jack their father’s most prized possession. Not that Brie really cared—after everything their father James had done to them, the least he could do was loan them his Aston Martin every once in awhile.

It wasn't Brie's fault that they'd crashed into a palm tree either. Sure, she'd screamed, and grabbed Pilot's shoulders from the backseat. She'd even shaken him as hard as she could to get him to hit the brakes. But the paparazzi had run him off the road in the first place.

Lastly—not that she wasn’t going to get blamed for all this anyway—it wasn’t Brie’s fault that she’d jumped out of the car just a few seconds after it crashed. She had to get answers. And in this case, she had to chase them... 

"Vampiris Sancti: The Demon Prince" by Katri Cardew

The Martyc watched the wary eyes of the room, his presence meant either sanction or investigation and where there was a demon then paranoia was never too far behind. Their universe was one of constant struggle to survive, betrayal rather than loyalty, acquisition rather than trade was the norm. The human realm had thrown everyone for a loop, for this was no backward realm. These beings not only knew how, but also loved to fight and would happily raze their world to dust than tolerate invasion. Vampires were the demon face of the human world, and Martycs the power behind the curtain ensuring all demons respected the Veil—the illusion humans had of their realm. Though Vryn tended to keep a low profile on this world he made certain all demons respected the wishes of Empire, or reap the brutal consequence of insolence.

From "Survivors' Dreams" by Kaylan Doyle

A small metal cylinder suddenly extrudes between sixteen year-old Rak’khiel’s toes. As she works it free, another searing pain tears at the base of her skull:

Rak’khiel clapped the hand holding the bristling object over the wounded spot. She heard a snick, felt a gooey, slick sensation slipping against her fingertips.

The lozenge moved.

“Holy Forge!” Her fingertips scrabbled frantically to catch, to grip the slimy capsule. Found the tiny spikes retracted. 

The thing slid into the base of her skull, then into her brain. And settled.

Tendrils, like strands of ivy, or root systems of noxious weeds, branched through her mind. They explored the recesses of Kel’s skull, created connections and networks, became one with her.  

Nausea surged.

Rak’khiel retched. The bile held back for so long came up in a churning rush. She lifted her head and scrambled away from her hiding place. Lurched to one side just far enough to deposit the sparse remains of her supper in a nearby bush.

As with her foot, all pain disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“Shalit,” she whispered. “Goddess forbid. What just happened to me?”