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The Mid

Posted in Fiction, Horror on April 14, 2010 by GuNNhead

The clock strikes twelve. I’m in the study, reading. The arbitrary alteration of the clock’s hands go unnoticed by myself. I turn the page. Books line the walls of my mahogany and maroon room. Older books tend to emit a musty odor, but in my study, that disappears, replaced by the rum and maple scent of my pipe tobacco. I don’t know how long I’ve been reading, it’s unimportant, really. The amber lamp on the small table to my right fills the room with a bright, relaxing light. I take a sip from my teacup and set it back down on the saucer. I turn another page.

Slime crawled up the walls as I began to read to words aloud. Screams came out of the air, bombarding me though I was alone for miles in my country estate. Wind encircled me, and yet I continued to speak the words. In my mind I cursed it all, everything that this world is. I’ll be glad when the new world I am summoning will overtake it all. What never was shall always be. The floorboards in front of me begin to lift up and break apart. Billowing smoke shoots out of the hole. The ceiling sets aflame and the walls melt away.

Then, It arises from the depths.

The It that death dare not speak its name. The creature oozes insanity, I lose my mind a thousand times over simply by witnessing it claw up from the portal. Then, inciting countless horrors from its abysmal realm to flood my mind, tearing it apart to make their homes, It speaks without sound.

“It is I, The Mid.” Each word echos and reverberates through my brain, every aspect of my reality shatters. I cannot believe the world that I have lived for over 40 years is but an illusion to stop one from unleashing these arcane terrors. I have transcended, learned, I can no longer live in the world of man. It speaks again to me.

“It is lunch time.”

I’m pulled down into its realm, where I am to suffer for eternity within a life without death. Neigns feast upon my dreams and live in my nightmares. Unable to move, unable to see. They taunt, and feast upon me from the inside. There is nothing I can do, It is beyond all.

I turn the page.

An insane asylum. A place filled with visions that no sane person can conceive of. Reality exists solely unto the individual. Entire stories and universes exist within minds that only they can comprehend. An imagination gone out of control, no one can say what is reality, what is true, truth comes from within. Those here lost themselves to the inner workings instead of the outer. The truth, for some, is that their innermost mind is a place most odious.

I close the book, and place It back on the shelf.

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By the Lava-Steel of the FlameSword of Tarnaal

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Legends of the Primal Energy on April 12, 2010 by GuNNhead

Night falls across the battlefield. Hundreds of soldiers stand poised. The moonlight floods the scene as the sunlight dies out, billowing out their individual shadows into a conglomeration of continual darkness. Once the sun has gone, they begin forward, their armor, swords and shields gently clanging; lit in pieces by the moonshine. In the distance ahead of them, there is a beacon of light, of death.

On the other side of the field, the Lava-Steel of the FlameSword glows and burns the night air. The flames that lick the hands of its owner do not burn him, for he is Tarnaal. His muscles bulge as he lifts the sword, arms glinting with slight perspiration. His bare chest shines with the light of the FlameSword as a drop of sweat beads down in between his pecs and down his abs, down to his animal skin loin cloth. He breathes in deeply, heavily, taking in all of his surroundings.

The army is approaching. Tarnaal lifts the FlameSword over his head, and unleashes a horrifically fierce war cry. While only a yell of valor, it exudes manliness, injects the essence of man forcefully into the air. He runs toward them. A few of the soldiers run in the opposite way at the sight of this one man, screaming and brandishing a sword above his head. Some have heard the legends, some realize the source of their fright in their own imaginations. The rest regain their confidence in numbers, and pick up speed towards this sole warrior, this one man.

The opposing forces meet with screams of burning pain as the FlameSword scorches the flesh of any who it touches, in addition to cutting through the limbs. Arms and blood fly past Tarnaal. He makes his way deeper into the crowd, never stopping his assault. The battle lasts throughout the night.

As the morning sun begins to rise, the chill of the night remains. Tarnaal is the only figure that remains standing. He breathes out the cool night air into the morning, the moisture-laden air from his lungs chills into a mist. Blood is dripping off every inch of his body; his messy hair, caked and dirty. The FlameSword in his hands throbs and pulsates with energy, fed into the lava-steel. He, in his warrior mind remains confident. He did not always have the FlameSword, and used to engage in battles of this nature. Nothing has changed, only the amount of pain he inflicts towards those he cuts in twain. At the first sign of the sun appearing over the hills, it strikes his eyes, he spits upon the bodies of the dead soldiers.

He is loved, he is a friend, just not here.

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In the Blackest of Space III

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on March 17, 2010 by GuNNhead

I peer out from behind my cover to see a veritable army of ectoplasmic ghosts flowing into the armor, repowering it, lessening its new translucency. Whole again, it takes to the sky. It’s then that I notice that the ice structures were filled with the bones and bodies of billions of the dead. The explorers, the travelers: all dead, encased in ice. Wait. It just took to the sky. Oh no, I know what I would do in this situation. Gravity spheres begin to rain down from this ethereal doppelganger, leveling the entire field of ice.

I run towards it, and run up one of the few standing ice slopes, leaping off it towards my duplicate figure. I grab hold of it, and drag it to the ground. It tries to gain some distance, but I don’t let it, and strike the armor. It matches every one of my hits in exact mirrors. I punch it in the stomach, it responds simultaneously likewise. I’m just beating myself against an infinitely more powerful foe while I cannot transform into my suit. The real suit. I stop fighting and stand to face my doom on this planet from which none have ever returned. I’m prepared to accept my fate, standing in front of the eternal black death of this cave. Death by my own hands. A fitting end for one who has accomplished his life goals. It stands back, going a short distance and readies itself, placing its hands together.

[Activate: Quantum Destroyer]

It fires the massive blast…

It connects, and begins to disintegrate everything that I am. I can now hear the souls of all that have been brought here, screaming, crying out for me to save them from this planetary torment. How can I save them when I can’t even save myself? Hated, salvation, death. Our pain is one, our chains are one. The blast continues, fires into the cave, drawing power while destroying all within.

The chain reaction continues, destroying the darkness, flowing out of the other side of the cave. Expelling every last bit of ectoplasmic energy. Changing the orbit of the planet, restoring yet destroying everything. Freeing the souls of billions.

I give a gift that I cannot have. I am trapped in life. The dead are the lucky ones. The brutality I incur is a blessing they should be thankful for. A grand end to a life with ultimately no meaning. Even a tormented afterlife had meaning, and I was able to extinguish that, creating more. I am surrounded by meaning, things that have a purpose, and yet there is none for me save what I create within my own mind. There is no meaning to life. I am trapped in eternal meaninglessness. Only in death does life have meaning. My death is a part of me, part of my life; I cannot end.

When I come to from within the ethereal wave I can see it: Loameria; my former planet that was reduced to waste. It is once more filled with life. The trees and plants appear to spring to life and grow before my very eyes. How is the restoration of Loameria possible? But the growth is slowing, and something is wrong. That’s when I sense what should not be possible: A giant portal, a dimensional rift of indeterminable origin that seems to be pulling my planet into it. No, it can’t happen again. I exit my craft fully armored once more, bursting towards this anomalous black hole. I engage all of my power, once more returned to me.

I’m the only thing that is between it and my planet. I have to save it. I focus all of my powers, and take hold of the gravitational rift. I reduce its size, but that only focuses its power upon me. I’m sure if this was a normal black hole I’d be able to close it. I can feel it. But it’s not. The only way out is to go through it, close it from within its depths. Beyond the gates of space and time. Thunder and lightning and fire erupt from the planet and the rift. I begin to control the pull, and go into the spiral, down into the dark. If there’s a possible chance for something that can be called future behind the spiral, there’s only one way to find out. I stare into the spinning abyss: Let me take it out on you, the hate inside, the pain that I wear. I can no longer hide. Tear me apart. I can sense that I may never come back, through the ether. Explanation will defy what I will see beyond the black hole. Maybe one day I’ll return brand new: lost to the ether.

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In the Blackest of Space II

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Horror, Sci-Fi on March 15, 2010 by GuNNhead

From within the blackness of my own mind, flashes of history strike me during my crafts descent. I struggle to consciousness as I’m blinded, by these images of warring planets, I reach the controls as my craft plummets. I’m able to level it out, and crash land as gently as that description allows into the ectoplasmically constructed world. My craft coarsely skids across the rock and sand landscape, until it begins to glide to a stop within the ectoplasm that loses its structure, turning into a translucent slime against the reality of my craft. Some pieces return to form, others remain upon my craft, dripping and oozing.

I pause for a moment to assess the situation.

I open the door craft into the eerie calm of this otherworldly supernatural planet. The chill of death has set into permafrost. I try to power up my armor to shield me from the cold, but nothing happens. I will my civilian clothes to enhance to suit the conditions, and pull up my new hood. I jump down onto the ground. My scarf and long coat blow in the icy winds. I see a cave calling out to me a short distance away. The inside is darkened to an eternal blackness. I stand at the cusp of the cave entrance. The winds of death encircle me. Suddenly, I begin to slide; the darkness, pulling me in. I fight against it, but it’s no use. I’m enveloped by the effervescent absence of the cave. I feel myself falling.

“It all began centuries ago, when two planets fought for a third, but when the battle reached its plateau, a horrific phenomenon occurred. As both sides engaged their greatest device, the planet caught betwixt was turned to ice. Those on either side, on each warring world immediately died as clouds slowly swirled.
Their souls were not to stay on the land that was their home. All the death was brought to the center, and set in psychic permafrost. From then on, any ship traveling past would be bombarded by immense psychic and ethereal waves, often losing power, disengaging warp speed. Too many were too close to the source, and were never heard from again. Two entire planets died by one giant moment in their mutual history, the battle for control over a planet that passed between them. The immense energy from that battle destroyed two planets, and turned a third into an uninhabitable ice world.”

I strike upon the cold icy ground at the lip of a new cave. Outside, there is a field of imposing ice sickles, serrated waves of punishes ethereal ice. Mist covers the ground. I begin to walk out of the cave when an energy blast lands beside me, and the force slams me into a cave wall. That was a gravity sphere. I look up to see where it came from and then I see it: The death of countless beings. The death of me. That which I can no longer become. The omega surge suit. My suit; made of a solid translucent green. Ethereal armor shimmering in the dim sunlight. Ephemeral smoke emanates out from each detail of it. Uncanny horror strikes my mind.

I run towards it, but eye lasers cut in front of my path and stop me short. I stand in place for a second until I see it get ready to fire the surge bullets. I take off running in the opposite direction into the cover of the ice fields. Huge pillars and sheets of ice crash and fall down around and behind me. The barrage stops.

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Hypernull

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on March 10, 2010 by GuNNhead

Emptiness… Nothingness… Everything vaporized into nothingness, not an atom nor its constituent parts remain.

Bolts of electricity fire across the black abyss of nihility.

I feel the first firing of synapses as my consciousness comes back into being. No…

Only a void remains of what was for lightyears around, Kænus’ craft, completely eradicated, same with planets, moons, and stars. Nothing, except for the Gravity Surge, now adrift in space.

I had it. I had it all, I had attained nothingness, obliteration. I felt it. Now, alive again, continually, I remain still, floating amongst the annihilation I have created. I ponder the power. All of this power I have, the power I have used for retribution, the power to expunge solar systems in a single attack, but I’m powerless against existence itself, my own drives. I can kill but I can’t die. I know it means nothing. It simply is.

I see my craft in the distance. It returns, responding to my suit. I drift inside, and head to the central control area. Here, I scour the DataBase, I’ve done all that I care to be. My meaning has been completed. My former life has long since been lost. Only a scorched husk of a planet remains of everything I knew, the connections I made on my intermittent travels feel untrue, transitory. I cannot go back in this state. I am no longer the same. They have indubitably moved on, forgotten. No matter. I have new parameters of which I live my life now.

Where has no being ever returned from? Where is a place that I may find an end, a place where only death exists? I must be enveloped by the unknown end if I cannot die. There must be a place somewhere in the universe; ignoring the multiversity; to find death without myself playing the reaper.

I find it.

A formation in space classified as a Group 6 Crystal: Hexagonal Pyramid of non-existence. In the blackest of space, no craft that has ever traveled near it has ever returned. All readings and studies are negative. It is an anomaly of endings. One cannot even see any light through it, as it blots out all beyond it. Countless beings have been lost to it. I set course to this deep vector of space, as I intend to make myself a part of these beings, destined to never be known of again.

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