Mechalith

 The man who was once Victor Reyes woke, eyes blazing momentarily with banked sunfire, and listened. Faint, but unmistakable, the voice of one of his own calling out. ------------------        She came here to make her sacrifices, thinking that she had been discrete enough that nobody would notice. Nobody had ever disturbed her bowl and blade, or the candle she used to sterilize and burn her offerings of herself. Apparently she had been careless though. Today, she was not alone. Human jackals, mistaking her faith as the signs of a cutter, devotion for weakness. Her for prey. Her voice echoed off the concrete walls, falling into the shado

"A bit to the left dear... you know it has to be placed just right Kimmi."  The dark skinned girl nodded shyly and adjusted her aim, this time centering the electrode needle in her subject's iris, despite his frantic pleas for mercy. Cocking it's head at the finished product the zombie child looked to it's master for approval, then smiled lovingly and giggled at his nod, the sound of joy bubbling up from the mockery of innocence standing in front of a lab table Frankenstein would have been proud of. "Hit the switch now girls." "Yes Father..." Across the room, a trio of blondes curtsied and then took hold of a massive knife switch and heaved,

 The vast cogs of the universe turn, and the Wheel of Ages spins onward. Creation withers in the fires of eternity and blossoms anew. Five full cycles of the Age have passed, and once again it stands at the brink of the Age of Sorrow. A round blue marble shining in the darkness is the stage for which the Primordials and Gods once warred. In the night sky learned men, the sages of this time of strife and woe, mark the shine of a grouping of new stars. Their name for it is a stale label of letters and numbers, nothing more. The common folk, only truly at ease with something new after it has a familiar name dub the new constellation the Mask f

A great Wheel turns. Age upon Age has passed whirling in their cycles, and the world once called simply Creation has changed, it's true history long forgotten. But now, uncounted turns later, history stirs. In the black space of Elsewhere something shatters. Held back for an eternity and longer, power surges outward to it's rightful inheritors... Jon walked down the darkened street, hands in his pockets, head down trying to mind his own business. This time of night just breathing was a good way to pick a fight and he just wanted to get home. It would have been nice if the snict of a switchblade behind him was a surprise, but the only shock

Part of me is gone, now that my friends have left. I gave everything to them, body and soul to their defense. I was the rock on which the worlds rested..... And now here I lay, powerless and hollow, no-one to fight for. No mistress, or master to serve... The glimmering warrior I once was is gone now. I miss him. Who now will heal the healer?

I will find my way back. The power sleeps inside me. The one who's hands were broken heals. He who's stories were gone speaks once more. The lightning lord, master of the sky Thunder stolen by the jealous Rises once more, and the storm draws closer We will be whole again, and all will be well.

Call now to your imagination the glowing threads of an image I do not possess the skill to create: An Angel stands on a blasted hilltop, the corpses of trees strewn about scorched by lightning. The sky flickers with the receding hints of a storms fury, grey and purple clouds swirling gently. The Angel wears black armor, covered by a black and purple cloak, and broken white wings hang bleeding at his sides. A once mighty flaming sword now is reduced to a shattered hilt, it's fires dimmed to a few dieing embers flickering along what is left. His eyes are cold grey, as he gazes up at the sky that was once his home, and wonders why..........