Archive for the Fiction Category

Traveler Out Of Time

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on February 11, 2011 by GuNNhead

“Well, good to see you havn’t improved at all. I’d like to see you dis-integrate your entire planet that you fought so hard for, as you did my entire future.” I roll onto my back.
“Don’t worry, I think I’ll just dis-integrate you.”

[Activate:: Gravity Bullets]

I aim my arm at him, and my hand begins to spin rapidly, releasing a gatling fire of energy blasts. A few clip him, others blast through his armor, but thousands more miss completely before he returns fire, blindsiding me. The blast sends me burning a trail to a deep crater in the center of the continent before I can stop it. He’s already there, gloating beneath the black cloud that blots out the sun. The water pouring in from underground sources evaporates immediately off of my scalding armor.

“I’d normally tell you to surrender because you’re so pathetic, but I just know I’ll have even more fun tearing you limb from limb than I did your entire family!”

He flies at me, and our fists lock in the ensuing power struggle, crushing. The first one to give up is the first one to die. The ground cracks beneath our feet, rock and water pushed away, into the ground and up into the air by the sheer amount of power being exerted. The crater expands, deepens. The walls crash, and torrents of water flood in.

The battle of wills and strange powers, encased in a dome of energy at the bottom, continues unabated.

“I can keep this up forever, you nobody! I am Kænus! I have become a time lord!”
“You idiot! You just don’t get it, do you? I can’t die! Even if you win, and kill me, I can’t die! Even if I didn’t want to wipe you from existence, I have the power of the entire cosmos, I AM the power of the entire cosmos, you just have some stupid suit made from old bullshit! Now die!”

I concentrate, focus, remove all thoughts. Anger. Revenge; anything; they are all pointless, transient. There is only my drive. Death. It is death, the constant of life within the cosmos, within this vast plane. The end of life. The plane of reality, life that I cannot escape. If I cannot die, then everything must.

No. He must die.

I begin to feel his every molecule being compressed, popping, combusting, imploding by the sheer force of the gravitons. Everything about him in existence is dying. His screams of pain echo through and across time before he completely dis-integrates.

The clash of destructive energy forms creates a cataclysmic explosion, decimating my body; my own powers counter-react to the augmented tachyons and a shockwave of the unknown combined energies envelopes the destroyed planet Loameria. Far below the scorched sky the energy dome dissipates, and the remains of my mutilated torso at the bottom of this new sea become frozen in time.

Pressure, intense. No need to breathe, no sights to see.

I am to blame. Why am I driven to death? Why was I given this power?

After all of this, I end up right back where I started, worse off than before in countless ways.

Future Descent

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on February 9, 2011 by GuNNhead

I break through, spinning out of control from the other side of the spacial tempest, my craft close behind.

[Warning: Energy: 83%]
[Warning: Shields: 86%]

I can see pieces of the hull flying off. Swirling violently, I employ my powers to make it back to my ship. I stand on it, and can start to make out the planet through the storm.

Inside, the white panels are exploding open, showering the area with sparks, showing exposed wiring. I make it to the control area, and manage to steady it, pushing it so that it takes a wide path, and enters a wide orbit around the planet.

I disembark, and right myself in line with the curvature of the planet I appeared before. I notice: it’s Loameria, but not the forested grown-over planet, my Loameria, the one I once knew and never thought I’d see again, filled with sprawling metropolii, self-sustaining, a unified world working together, a resource based economy, technology of the stars: fully restored. I activate my gravitational pull, anchoring myself to the planet I once knew, and never thought I’d see again. Soon, I have visual of my city, great upon the sandy beach. Only to lose it before my eyes in a great bright flash of light that then spreads outwards, destroying everything it touches, everything upon the continent, and covering it in a black cloud of smoke before I even have a chance to react.

There, upon the shore, it’s the armor from before.

Kænus.

I charge him at full speed, and hit him into the ground with enough force to smash every atom in his body. He floats up out of the dust and debris, arms folded.

“Woah , if you were any faster, you could have almost caught me off guard there… too bad, though, as it was the only chance you’ll have to not die.”
“Shut up. How did you come back to life? How did you bring back Loameria just to destroy it?”
He hovers steadily above the settling dust cloud, silent, almost… speechless.
“Answer me or I’ll kill you again!” He snaps out of his thoughts.
“No… it can’t be you, not this you, there’s no way you could have followed me! You destroyed yourself; along with my ship, my entire life, my entire life’s work… I travelled here, back through the ether of time into the past, to get my revenge–”
“–We’re in the past?!”
“Yes, to find and destroy a younger, weaker you, prevent all this from happening.”
“Well you’ve found me at full power, and fully pissed off, fucker.”
“Hurm, doesn’t look much like it, looks almost like you’ve been through a damn black hole.”
“When I’m done with you, you won’t look like anything.”

I rush at him, but end up miles away: face down in the dirt with a footprint on my spine. I quickly get up, and make my way to attack him again as he ascends within the black plume of smoke. I fly above the smoke, then descend upon him, Jacknifing through the lightless cloud of destruction. A hand reaches out and grasps me by the throat, clawed fingers digging deep.

Dragging me down through the smoke, he rams his fist through my spine, I see it exit my chest. Then I see the ground again.

A New Tomorrow

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on February 7, 2011 by GuNNhead

A beautiful and lush planet at peace with itself. A man appears out of a portal in the sky. He arrives with hate filled deep within his chest cavity. A face distorted behind his helmet’s mask, powerless, for now; as his is a power that resonates through time. He remembers power and wealth, fragments, but enough. He makes it to a city, a credit terminal. He places a transfer through the to the most powerful, vile being in the entire multiversity that he has ever heard of. Money always speaks stronger than words. The man has time to recover, heal, repair; all but his once handsome, famous looks: ruined, warped, twisted beyond all recognition, lost forever to the alter of time.

The man stands in an open field as the sleek black craft slowly snakes its way down out of the sky. A figure in reptilian black armor walks out.

“Celrdrrun.”
“-tt-, you’re lucky I accepted this offer, rich man. It came at a most opportune moment, funding my research to adapt and integrate these new fluorographic weapon systems into my own.”
“Are you going to talk all day, or are we going to get to work?”
“-tt-, I’m always working…” he places his five-digited arm across his chest and taps the middle finger of his one three-digit hand against his helmet.
“Also,” the figure from beyond the future continues, “if any beings appear in a suit that bears any resemblance to ours and attempts to stop us, he is mine.”
“Whatever.”

The two figures take to the air, and explode out in opposite directions, leaving swaths of destruction in their wake. On one side of the planet, Celrdurrn lays down a curtain of fire over the major cities, quickly prompting retaliation. The initial forces of the planet only serve to make him laugh as he razes another landmass into ruin. No history of the planet running through his mind, he feels free, unprepared, excited. In his exhilaration, he hardly notices the planet’s primary defences against interstellar threats targeting him. A giant laser blast descends upon him from the sky, arresting his flight of destruction and forcing him deep into the ground.

In space, he emerges out of the beam, and takes hold of the weapon. With it, he carves a giant symbol into the planet, throwing down the weapon, creating a giant crater.

“Hmpf, not my best, but I was hired to do a job, and it’s done.” He flies back to his craft. “What a pathetic planet; fitting that its history won’t be saved.” He closes to door, and gets in. He keeps his craft in the area until his employer has rid the planet of life, survivors would be detrimental to his notoriety.

On the other side of the planet, Kænus’ plans take their necessary time. With forces distracted, he’s free to go where he must, to make use of his research, his bioscans; everything. With the pandemonium and destruction happening on the opposite side of Loameria, he travels in secret to a small metropolis, and zeros in on multiple targets, a family, traced by a recorded DNA signature from a not too distant time. In no time at all, he induces an excruciating evisceration to each of them in succession, torture lasting days in seconds. When done his grotesque, malicious goal, he travels to the shore of the city, and unleashes a giant blast of force, obliterating all life across the continent, leaving only a giant black cloud of smoke to cover half the planet.

Night Week Death 3

Posted in Fiction, Horror on December 17, 2010 by GuNNhead

He awoke in the morning, drenched in sweat. He was merely relieved that he had not soiled himself in any way during the night. His body felt unharmed, though completely numb. What kind of brain disorder do I have that could have done that to me? Maybe it was just a dream, something I ate. It did taste sort of off…

Then the thoughts returned, and he hated life all over again, forever.

Before he knew it, the day was done for, and he was out, at a party. His wife was with him, along with all his friends. He was drinking heavily enough to block out the thoughts. He was his old self, laughing, enjoying company, and, generally, it seemed to him, having a good time. A fun Friday night with the people who made him, the old him, who he was.

He awoke in the morning beside his wife, with the unmistakable feeling that everyone hated him. That they were mad at him, and there would be repercussions. He had done or said some horrible things. After a quiet morning around the house, they went out to get some supplies for the small get together they were having for their closest friend-couple, and maybe one or two good friends. During the day, picking up snacks, he turned to his wife, to address his thoughts of the night before.

“So, how do you think last night went? I got pretty drunk; don’t remember the end.”
“Everything was great. Everyone had a lot of fun, I was actually glad to see you enjoying yourself.” She smiled.
“I didn’t do or say anything?”
“Well, I wasn’t with you every second, but nobody said anything to me, and saying bye, nothing was awkward, but I had a few drinks too, so I might have not noticed.”
“Oh, okay.” He wanted to feel reassured, but still couldn’t shake the feeling. He dropped the conversation, and focused on what snacks he’d like. Oh well, he thought, if anything did happen, as bad as his thoughts were saying, I’ll find out eventually.

That night, things were once again going well. His closest friends, his house, his wife. Things should have felt complete, but he felt disconnected. Like it wasn’t for him. If it wasn’t for him. Not towards, but it all. It was gone while it was happening before his eyes. He hated them, his thoughts, only of their death, beyond his control. Murder… out of the question, there was no point to it. He sat, and watched them enjoying themselves, as he used to do, living life. His thoughts spun within his mind, leading to no conclusions. His thoughts were seeing them, strung up, drained out, eviscerated. No matter how he envisioned their bodies, it led to no pacification. Eviscerated, torn open, blood everywhere. They were still there. Reality struck. There, it seemed, was nothing he could do while maintaining himself. Just kick them out? They’ll still exist, I’ll still exist. Death is too extreme, but still a step behind of what is required.

They noticed him. He left, went to the bedroom, to listen to music, to lie down. His thoughts remained, their voices, grating over his every thought. What to do? Soon, (it felt too soon), he rejoined them, and continued in what was normal, expected of him because they were doing it, drinking, laughing. It was all hollow, outside of him, he took nothing within him, for it was full of emptiness, just the thoughts, these thoughts that will not leave, these pathetic, ghostly thoughts of pointless hate. He hated everything as much as he hated these thoughts, but they were all he truly had, because they were the only things within him. The external is so fleeting, even more pointless than a thought; actions, the extension of pointlessness, driven to its utmost.

He drank enough so that he could not remember anything beyond that point, and awoke on Sunday afternoon, alone. His wife had left again, another series of meetings. What will they lead to? What will anything lead to? Nothing.

He busied his time with a few more drinks, a shot or two of rum, another beer or few. Then he was out, dry. Watched movies of old, read a book, took a nap, read some more. It was all empty time wasting. There was no purpose to anything, his thoughts saw to that.

That night, the final night, he tried to sleep, but it would not take him. He listened to more music, but grew tired of it. He stayed in bed, covered with sheets, staring at the ceiling. By 3AM, he was asleep, but the TV turned on, though he could not move to deal with it. The dizzy spell had returned. No: it never really left. His head erupted with pain again, charged in full, expanding out of the confines of his limited, physical skull. A pain never before felt, the pain, so extreme, electric, burning out everything else around him. He closed his eyes, but could still see it all. He was dragged out of bed, onto the floor, toward the door.

He woke up. 4AM. The pain was still searing, he tried to stand, get dressed again; shut off that damn TV. He stumbled into his pants, his shirt, and toward the door. The pain was galvanizing these new thoughts, destroying his old self for the last time. He fell, and hit the floor in the hallway, clutching his temples.

He woke up. 5AM. In his bed. His clothes, where they were before he put them on. It was just a dream. All a dream, he thought. The TV was off. Monday, my head is fine. But it wasn’t, the pain, the thoughts, playing their games one last time. He stood, but immediately doubled over, the electricity stronger than ever, frying all that he was and anything he could ever be. Dragged towards oblivion.

He never saw his love or his friends again, though they were there.

Night Week Death 2

Posted in Fiction, Horror on December 15, 2010 by GuNNhead

On Thursday morning, he awoke with the sun in his eyes, it felt warm, and he hated it. He was on the couch in the living room. Maybe my headache is gone? No such luck. Why am I on the couch? He got up to go to the bedroom, but on the way there, the alarm went off.

“Hey you,” she said to him, wiping the sleep out of her eyes, “how are you doing today?” He stood in the doorway.
“Same, do you know why I was on the couch?”
“You were on the couch? Since when?”
“I guess. I don’t know. Weird.”
“Yeah, you want some breakfast, maybe?”
“That sounds nice.”

Out of the confusion and into the night, dinner time came round again, and it was his favorite: general tao. There’s a little place down the street that makes it perfect every time, his wife knew it would pick him up. True to form, it was perfect. But to him, trapped behind a veil of thoughts, it was simply food. He’d been enjoying it less and less all week, like everything else in life.

She had to be out-of-town tonight, a business meeting early in the morning and most of the night, in the next town over. She’d bought the food, and left it there in the kitchen for him, just before he was able to get home, with a little card. On the card, a hand drawn heart. When he saw it, something sparked in his brain, but was quickly extinguished and forgotten. He wished he remembered what it was, but for the life of him could not remember why. So there he sat, hunched over the styrofoam container, eating in a darkened, quiet living room. The card, tossed haphazardly aside on the kitchen counter.

He was consumed in these thoughts that he hated. Why won’t they stop? He tried to think of all the amazing things in his life, but the thoughts made him abhor those, too. And so, he simply listened to his thoughts, hating them. When he had finished eating, feeling only like he had done what is required of him; without feeling satisfied, full, or hungry. He left the trash on the table, and turned on the TV. It was his show again! The one from younger times. This time it was not the same, however, for his eyes as well had begun to not listen to him. They shook, quivering and distorting the world around him without purpose.

His equilibrium felt… off, as if he was not sitting where he was. He felt around with his hands on the couch, to make sure, and could only be disappointed at his sensory intake of reality. It was all still intact but himself. It was not the world that was the problem, but his mind that was the problem, no matter what it told him of the opposite.

Soon though, he was able to regain control over his doors of perception. He liked to imagine that it was his old brain that did it. He, then, automatically, hated everything about life again, and, having noticed it was past midnight, decided that he should go to sleep. His head still hurt, but medication would probably only make things worse. Why fill yourself up with pointless medication, chemicals to alter the body and mind? He had work in the morning, after all.

But as he thought to stand up, an electroshock of pain ran through his brain, pushing against the inside of his skull, trying to escape, to break open his skull. He clutched his head, fell on his side, then off the couch. On his chest, hands still clasped around his exploding, electrocuting brain, grinding it against the carpeted floor, he felt himself being dragged backwards by his feet towards the bedroom. He was sweating, burning up with fever. He was lifted with the greatest of ease and slammed into the walls unexpectedly, repeatedly, but could not go limp, think of what to do, or fight back in any way, the pain inside of his head was too great.