March 28, 2017, 08:34:22 PM

Author Topic: [Jan 2017] - Urban Fantasy - Submission Thread  (Read 1891 times)

Offline shadowkat678

Re: [Jan 2017] - Urban Fantasy - Submission Thread
« Reply #15 on: February 01, 2017, 03:05:16 AM »
Knights and Magic

1498 words.

This caused some trouble. Didn't end like I expected, but at least I got it done!   ;D

Spoiler for Hiden:
There was something strange about Morgan Knight. A detail everyone agreed was...unsettling. If only they knew.

Morgan shouldered on her coat and clasped on her necklace, closing the battered door behind her before entering into another snowy night in West Side Chicago. Despite the area, the woman walked with confidence. Head high and shoulders back as she passed by a group of youths, out far too late in such an area to be up to any good. Yet not one so much as glanced her way. As if Knight was nothing more than another shadow of the alley in which they huddled. The red dots of light from their cigarette butts glowed in their fingers as they spoke, voices quiet. Hushed. Tense.
 
Humans were so oblivious, but even they seemed able to feel something. Energy tingled in the air, growing, rushing across skin like a living breeze. It was always there, the magic, but it seemed restless. Agitated. It was as if it knew what she had planned. She smiled to herself as she passed the group, wondering how much they could sense with their mortal minds.

Walking into a large abandoned and cluttered warehouse a few minutes later, she saw Mordred already waiting and sitting on an old crate near the southern corner. Pale light from a streetlamp crept in through a window to show hair dark as her own, but all tight curls instead of waves.

“You’re late, mother. By…” He paused. Looked at his wrist. “Oh. At least twenty minutes. Weren’t you the one always stressing the importance of punctuality?”

“I’m also the one who brought you back from the edge of death, so I’d think you’d be grateful.”         

“If memory serves, that wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t had me playing pawn. Sorry if I still seem a bit sore about that." He shrugged. "But that’s the past. I don't suppose you're still going under that ridiculous name? Le Fey isn’t the most inconspicuous, but you could’ve chosen something more fitting. After all, it's like you once said. Knights don’t-”

“Mordred.” Her grey pierced into his blue, but the glare had no effect other to prompt a humorless laugh. He cocked an eyebrow, looking more amused than insulted at the interruption. Realizing he was trying to push her Morgan reigned in her agitation. Barely.

“Not the time? After all these years of silence. Not even a note. It’s only natural to want to catch up.” He smiled and leaned forward, infuriatingly at ease. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of crawling out of my hole this evening?”

“Merlin shows himself. Tonight, if all worked as planned. I’ve grown stronger, but not enough to defeat him alone.”

“Ah, and why do you think I’d help? Some last piece of loyalty? If that’s what you think I’ll be leaving.” He started to get up, but she blocked him.

“First reason. It was my magic that linked us when you were healed. If I die, neither knows what will happen. Second. Merlin has likely sensed you’ve arrived. If I don’t die, but he leaves and word gets out that you still live, you will be hunted down. So you’ll help. Because there’s no other option.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“You have my attention.”

      
 
____________________________________________________________
      

Merlin felt more than saw the barrier go up, blocking him as he stepped beyond the entryway. The assault began immediately.

A gout of flame shot towards him, but he was prepared for the trick and the energy was absorbed by a brooch on his cloak, which brightened as the attack dissipated.

Morgana stood, mere paces away. Remnants of flame still dancing on her fingertips. He regarded her stoically.
                               
“Where is he?”

She smiled without an answer, and then the witch was moving.

 
____________________________________________________________
      
                   
The entire scene descended into chaos within moments. A dance of the elements, brightening the room with flashes of lighting; chilling the air with ice; scorching skin with the heat of flames.

As the two longtime enemies clashed, Mordred watched from the safety of the shadows with unveiled admiration. Even in the midst of dueling, Mordred could feel the warlock’s senses reaching, searching for his hidden presence. But Merlin wouldn’t find him. Though nowhere near as powerful as a full blooded warlock, Mordred had his tricks. So he would stay in the shadows and help destroy the barriers, but that was all the help he would provide.

____________________________________________________________
             
     
It was becoming a long fight. At least seven minutes. Yet as time dragged on, Mordred had still not stepped out from the shadows, but instead he had begun to create obstacles and distractions. Sending glass, wood, and even a few chair legs flying towards Merlin, varying their number, position and homing in even when his target was moving They weren’t strong, but they didn’t have to be to weaken his enchantment, and he couldn’t shoot them all down without opening his back to his more powerful opponent. Slowly but surely he felt his defenses crumbling away.

Morgan scored yet another hit, and he could feel his skin almost bubbling as intense flame superheated the air around him and blurred his vision.

He attempted a return strike, but the attack was deflected, sending the lighting into a crate across the room, which exploded in a shower of splinters. He let loose another attack, one with a wider range, and the pendant around Morgan’s neck glowed with a dark ruby light as she stumbled back a step. The smallest of cracks appeared in its center, as with his own jeweled broach, though she had been hit far fewer times. Merlin filed away the information, and a plan began to form. He’d have to move quickly when the time came, and there’d only be one shot.

____________________________________________________________
          

Mordred whispered under his breath and thrusted out his hand, sending more trash sailing towards their target. They flew in from various directions, and while three were shot down, two came through. At last a bright flash of light erupted from Merlin as his last shield fell, and a wave of energy sent the warlock soaring back, landing only seven feet from where he hid.

Mordred drew further back into the shadows and ducked behind a storage crate. He could hear his mother’s laughter echoing through the room. Morgan’s footsteps sounded on the cement floor, then they stopped.

Sneaking a glance, he saw that Merlin still had not risen. Laying on his side as his Morgan stood over him, lip bleeding and cloak singed, the figure looked nothing like the enemy he and his mother had clashed with so many times in the past.

Morgan had began chanting, tendrils of darkness snaking from her fingers and curling around her fallen enemy. Her wounds began healing, while Merlin’s prone form seemed to wither.

“Warlock or not, you’re getting old,” she taunted. “I, however am still young. It’s time I got rid of you, and when Arthur returns from Avalon there will be no one left to protect him…”

It was then that he realized what was happening. The most taboo spell. She was absorbing his power; his connection to Magic.

She was stealing his soul.

____________________________________________________________
      

Morgan could feel him resisting. Fighting the draining force taking hold, but her will was stronger, and she hardly registered her son as he emerged. Enraptured with the terrified expression of the wizard now convulsing at her feet, she did not see the movements of Merlin’s fingers forming subtle signs at his side. She didn’t see anything.

 
____________________________________________________________
      

Yet Mordred did see, and almost shouted a warning. Then he stopped and tilted his head in thought before slowly backing away. Already Merlin’s spell was starting to take effect. A rebound. Clever last move.
         
Individual tendrils of darkness slowly moved from his body towards his assailant, and by the time Morgan realized what was happening it was too late. Her pendent broke, but unlike Merlin, she did not fly across the room. Only screamed, stuck in place without a way to end her spell. The darkness would not stop until its work was done. Through the pain, he watched as a determined sneer formed on her face, the darkness was pushed back, before inching forward once more. It would be a final battle of wills, but no matter the winner Mordred would claim victory. 

Morgan turned to him with a pleading expression, but he only smiled and watched her fall as the barrier fell with her. He felt was no pity. Mordred pulled an object from his pocket and threw it down. Then, with a whispered word, he was gone. The last thing Morgan heard was the caw of a crow echoing through the night. Then the building exploded.

____________________________________________________________
      

Mordred looked into the mirror and pulled at a wrinkle that hadn’t been there the day before. Now that their link was severed his magic weakened, and he was aging again. It appeared his mother’s death did have an effect. Knights didn’t have magic after all.
« Last Edit: February 02, 2017, 01:11:49 AM by shadowkat678 »
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Offline ArcaneArtsVelho

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Re: [Jan 2017] - Urban Fantasy - Submission Thread
« Reply #16 on: February 01, 2017, 12:51:00 PM »
Once more unto the breach...

1497 words, including title.

Spoiler for Hiden:

The Rules


The clop of steps stirred me. High heels hitting the marble outside my office. Or maybe hooves.

I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the floor next to the door, my hand holding a bottle of whiskey I had opened after my day job. It was half-empty now. Dealing with the normies, humans, by day was bad, but I just couldn’t handle the super naturals or non-humans, supnats for short, at night without a little encouragement. This time, however, I had lifted my spirits a bit too high.

The steps stopped; there was a knock. I opened my mouth to answer, but only a burp found the exit—by the smell, it had been searching for one for a while now. But the sound was affirmative enough for the person, or thing, outside to open the door.

“Hello?” a honeyed voice called.

Hooves it was.

I raised my eyes from the doorstep. And it might have been the booze, but apart from those hooves… the tail and small horns, the red skin and yellow eyes, she was ALL woman.

I flopped on my back; fixed my tie. “Hello”, I said, tossing the bottle away.

The creature—Daemon?—was startled, spotting me only now. “Oh...” She brushed her blonde curls behind her ear. “James Hadley? The private detective?”

“At your service.” I jumped up but had to clutch the doorjamb to stay erect. I fumbled my fedora from a coat rack and put it on to tip it. “Come in, miss...”

“Caprine. Lilian Caprine”, she said, stepping in. The smile she shot told me she was over her initial shock. Perhaps the shock hadn’t even been real—you could never quite tell with supnats… or women.

I helped her out of her overcoat, revealing her dress—something between cheeky and flirty in length. The velvety black fabric, tightly imitating the curves of her maroon body, made it hard not to stare.

I played it cool. “Um...”

Real cool.

“Take a... seat, miss Caprine.”

“Lily.” The wink she shot told me I was in trouble.

“Lily...”

I lingered on the word and her perfume—curiously rose, not lily—dropping her coat on the floor as she sauntered past me and took a seat.

My own shuffle around my desk was surprisingly stable. “How can I help, miss… Lily?”



The girl's human friend, Bobby, had gone missing with a valuable family heirloom of hers, a golden pendant with a ruby inlay. She told that Bobby had left to Coalton last night and hadn’t returned. Her concern—whether for the man or the jewel—seemed genuine, but it was difficult to tell. I pretended to take notes while trying to decipher her act which ranged from distraught to flirty—sometimes in a single sentence. I suggested that her ‘friend’ might have just run off, but she asserted Bobby’s loyalty… and his assumed demise.

Her story was over; I wasn’t compliant.

She stood up and leaned over the desk. “Please, help me.” She drew closer.

It was very hard not to be compliant…

…but I managed to resist her. Kind of.

“Hold on, toots!” I said, putting my finger on her dark, luscious lips. “I’ll take the job, but the payment will be cash.”

I’m not a bad looking fellow, though perhaps past my prime, but young women—supnats or normies—throwing themselves at me was rare: It never happened.

“I have five rules, one of them not to kiss magical beings.”

She was all about shooting facial expression, it seemed, and now a faux frown was her ammo of choice. “Aw, couldn’t you bend it just once? Or remove it?”

“I only remove a rule when replacing it with a more important one. And I never bend them.”

“Shame”, she said, strolling to the door. She picked up her coat with deliberate tardiness while looking at me over her shoulder. Then she left.

In hindsight, I should have taken the kiss: It’s not like she would have killed me before the job was done.



My office was about halfway between the City and Coalton. The place once known for its mines and factories, was a ghost town now, inhabited only by supnats and lowlifes—those two groups having a large crossover. I took a bus: Driving in my condition would have been reckless, and taking a car to Coalton at night was a sure way to lose its tires, engine, or even soul if it had one. Hardly any normie outside knew what really went on in there.

I walked around, asking ‘people’ discreetly about Bobby—time consuming endeavour and often an expensive one. This time the cost was all my cash… and my shoes and socks: Gnomes are strange. I usually kept extra boots in my car—though not for this reason—but because getting them wasn’t a viable option timewise and I now had no money to buy a pair, I had to make do with scavenged plastic bags wrapped around my feet.

The address the little guy had given me was for a place hidden in a maze of buildings and back streets. I felt uneasy, first about the validity of the info, then about a red, pulsing glow coming from a distant gateway. I scuttled onwards in the gloom, trying not to step on the broken bottles riddled on the ground, and despite of my raising fear, or because of it, I found myself thinking for a word that had the flair of serendipitous but the opposite meaning. That distraction marked the end to my somewhat stealthy approach as I inadvertently bumped into a ramshackle bicycle which fell with a sound equal in effect to a fart in a yoga class: Everyone nearby was fully aware of my presence, and I wished I wasn’t there.

After a painful dash to the gateway, I pulled a sawed-off shotgun from under my trench coat. One barrel had rock salt in it, the other a silver alloy buckshot. I didn’t like guns, but as a normie dealing with supnats I had to be prepared for everything.

The red light was calling me to the courtyard beyond the gateway and, at the same time, pushing me away. It was magical all right. I scanned the area, but apart from a dried-out fountain it seemed clear. I inched forward.

Then I saw it: A bald, muscular man, resembling the description of Bobby, lay behind the fountain, face down in his own, coagulated blood. He had the pendant in his hand. It was pulsing red.

“Oy!”

I shot towards the sound. Both barrels. I was on edge.

Burst of laughter came from the building I had shot. A door opened and a short figure holding a knife stepped out. It was the gnome.

“Be a pal and pick up the bauble? I need another normie blood sacrifice to be able to use it.” He twirled the blade.

“What?”

“Ye heard me, boyo.” He kicked some glass shards with his boot, smiling. “It’s not like you can run.”

I looked at my plastic covered feet.

Not unlucky, just tricked.

I grabbed the pendant and ran, but crashing against the bicycle for a second time was too significant to ignore. Serendipitous? Its tires were flat, but riding it beat running on glass. I could hear how the tap of tiny steps started to fall behind.

But as I cycled along the many alleys, I realized how out off shape I was. Years, sitting behind a desk or on stakeouts, had killed the athlete in me. I was wheezing, slowing down. And the little bastard was gaining on me.

I reached one of Coalton’s main roads just as the gnome jumped at me. I swerved, unlike the car that hit us. There was no screaming, no sirens, only a dead supnat and a busted bicycle. And me, laying on the road, holding the pendant.



I stole my money back from the corpse and took a cab to my office. Lily was already there.

“Did you get it?” she asked.

So much for her friend.

“You all right?”

Did my disheveled appearance evoke real concern?

Poppycock!

I sat down and took a bottle from a drawer. “There’s your trinket”, I said, throwing the pendant on the desk in front of her.

Smiling, she took a hammer from her handbag and smashed the jewel. I spat my whiskey.

Lily blew a curl off her face. “There.” Then she put the hammer on the table along with a wad of bills. “Thanks, handsome. That was the only relic those nasty gnomes could have used against me.”

When I managed to close my jaw, she was already at the door. “Hold on, toots!” I strode to her. She was shooting raised eyebrows and a cocked head. I ran my fingers through her blonde locks and dipped her into a kiss.

“What about your rule?” she asked, flustered.

“New rule to replace it: Never deal with gnomes!”


« Last Edit: February 01, 2017, 12:55:25 PM by ArcaneArtsVelho »
Everything I wrote above is pure conjecture. I don't know what I'm talking about.

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Offline Lanko

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Re: [Jan 2017] - Urban Fantasy - Submission Thread
« Reply #17 on: February 01, 2017, 02:40:54 PM »
Crossroads, 1500 words.

Spoiler for Hiden:
        I believe someone living on the road constantly restart their lives with one finality: freedom. Freedom in various forms that was somehow lost or subtracted at some point, whether they know it or not. They want to prove to themselves that they really changed, recovered, or to simply leave something behind. To never look back, and if they do, it’s to say ‘never again’.

   That’s what I must do.

   “Roberto, you son of a bitch,” Captain Fábio’s pushes me. “You fooled the government, but not me. One misstep and I off you, understand?”

   “Just want a new beginning, sir.”

   We enter Bangu. If you ever get arrested in Rio, don’t do it in summer. The zombies in Walking Dead look livelier than the guards. The doors and walls appear to be melting.

   I count twelve men inside a cell for four. I can see the Cristo Redentor from here, his back towards us.
   “He may exist, pal, but he never looked this way,” someone says.

   Here even Lucifer, full of himself and boasting of hell would be just one more eating tainted, pulled out of trash food, tasting his own medicine in summer and shivering in the rough cement coughing with pneumonia in winter.

   War isn’t hell, prison is. You don’t know allies from enemies. Who to trust. Here and in life the game is different. More cruel perhaps, as some who claim to be helping actually want you to sink deeper. Trusting is like gambling.

   Night comes. Sleep is a serious matter with so many people clumped together. Snoring and farts causes deaths.

   Tomorrow I’m allowed in the library, my old refuge, surprisingly well stocked. I check old favorites, missing even more pages. Some use it for drugs, others really keep them.

   Books have that effect. We all carry in our pockets and in our memories bits of philosophy, fragments of poetry, quotations from the scriptures, epic fantasies, that in times of doubt, fear or danger speak to us in their own way, each page a bandage wrapping wounds inflicted by the sharp edges of life.

   Marcos calls me to his drug boss pavilion. Cable TV, intimate visits and new blood being initiated in the faction. Prisons are excellent schools to teach the magical art of crime and Bangu is Rio’s very own Hogwarts.

   Marcos hugs me. “Thought they had you, Berto. How you doing?”
   
   “Will get a conditional tomorrow.”

   “The studio has a new star. Carla and the German will be there.”

   The “studio” is an internal joke. Before crime we tried music. Funk, samba, rap. We sucked. Now whoever pisses us off visits the studio to sing like a soprano.

   Tomorrow I visit my shack in the hill. The gasoline cans are secure. It’s so hot I wonder how every wooden shack here isn’t on fire. People nod as I walk.
   
   I no longer see fame as something good. I wish I was unknown, that nobody knew my powers, no police or government after me. But I was young. Wanted respect from other men and to impress the women. 

    After all, you live in a place where cats and dogs are not pets, but concorrence for food. An entire life hoping and dreaming to only wake up at the end. To live a little like a king or forever like a sheep? My examples of victory were all in the corners of the city carrying .38 revolvers or at the top of the hill with golden AK-47s.
 
   Then one discovers they can teleport, read minds or become invisible. Now they want to hold the world in their hands like Citizen Kane.

   Take a kid who is fatherless, motherless, or both, someone eager to please, to belong and looks for someone to respect. Some incentive and they become your most loyal and violent members. Your Kingsguard.

   I read tales with magical words and phrases. A clever allegory. Figuring out someone’s needs and wants, what makes them tick and then manipulate it with the right words at the right times until someone willingly and happily does your every bidding… that’s the most powerful magic.

   History shows us true wizards in that regard. Marcos was no different. Here he’s the Billboard hit, the myth, the legend, in the hill he has Chief of State honors. He’s the hero, the mirror, the dream and hope of the kids.

   Speaking of magic, I’m a criminal Super Mario. I create portals as long as I have two magic circles linking them just like his pipes, with some distance limits. I could kidnap princesses, but kidnapping is a mess. Calls too much attention. Better to just get in, rob stuff and get out.

   Also… big show at Maracanã? Flamengo and Fluminense playing? No problem.

   I meet Captain Fábio at a cliff by the sea to assure everything is well. For years my powers helped kill a lot of his men. When I offered my abilities to the government he tilted.
   
   Why someone with magic chooses to be a cop, of all things? Pitiful wage, poor respect, family always worried about that phone call, susceptible to every whim of politicians…
   
   The government actually benefits from our faction. We keep criminals in line better than the police. And politicians say all is peaceful. But this is Rio. The peace dove took two shots in the chest long ago. Here even God wears body armor and walks surrounded and protected by ten armed angels.

   I draw a circle at the edge of the cliffs.

   At night I go to Copacabana. Here I stared entire nights at the stars and made the moon listen to my ramblings. I brought lovers here and muddied these sands with our sweat and with tears when alone. My footsteps are imprinted here; pieces of me are in every sand grain, wave and breeze, and will forever remain here like bloodstains on a rock.

   “Hey.”

   I jump and Carla laughs. Never got used to this. But I’m glad to see her. If she wasn’t the faction’s assassin she would easily be a Carnival muse.

   “Marcos knows about your deal, if you didn’t suspect already. For our past, I’m warning you to run away.”

   “Can’t. Doesn’t matter where I run, I won’t be left alone. Only one way to put everything behind and start anew. You know it. Join me.”

   “Run away.” She disappears, only footprints appearing in the sand.

   At morning I’m at the studio with Carla and the German. She can’t look at me, but the German is smiling, the motherfucker. He was my best friend after Marcos.
   
   He looks like a Johnny Bravo who never skipped leg day. Also unusual here in the hill, the kind of pale person who never gets tanned, only burn so much they almost bubble.

   I open a portal and run inside, carefully sidestepping. The German rushes through and falls down the cliff. Even with the roar of waves crashing against rocks I hear bones cracking. He doesn’t move. I wonder if the waves will carry him to Copacabana or even to Ipanema. Would be bad for tourism, but what do I care?

   I return. “Carla, you know I’m right.”

   Invisibility is fucking creepy. She could shoot her Magnum from anywhere or slit my throat. The fact I’m still alive gives me hope she listens.

   Iron touches my back. “You’re right,” she whispers at my ear.

   We understand each other very well. I push my body back, grab her arm and take the Magnum away. She stares at me, afraid. I shoot thrice. The sound hurts.

   A crowd gathered outside. I walk to the gas post, grab a can and set the “studio” on fire. Nobody tries anything. I look at the Cristo Redentor and I could swear the damn statue turned its face away.

   I return to Bangu and Marcos’ two bodyguards escort me. They already know what happened. Sensing my tension, a hand touches my back to calm me. It works.

   “Kill him.”

   Two shots drop them dead right away. A third hits Marcos in the guts.

   “Goddamnit… they said you killed her.” Carla snorts. “I see…” He coughs blood.

   I bring gasoline cans through the portal to my shack and start another fire. I love fire.

   “What are you doing?”

   “They’ll believe we just killed each other. Yes, they will investigate a little, shrug, say ‘good riddance’, and by the end of the day we will just be numbers in a statistic.” I look at Carla. “And that’s how we will truly be free.”

    We leave. From the hill we watch smoke rising. Inmates and the police fighting in the yards and rooftops.

   DNA, dental identification, that’s for foreign movies. No such database here.
This time no criminal organization, no ostentation. Just us two, discreetly enriching ourselves, always on the road, never looking back. One day we may even settle somewhere.

   The Cristo Redentor faces us with a stern look. I smile at the irony that it’s me who now turn away.

« Last Edit: February 01, 2017, 08:09:02 PM by Lanko »
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Re: [Jan 2017] - Urban Fantasy - Submission Thread
« Reply #18 on: February 02, 2017, 03:19:13 AM »
1498 words. All I want is peace.
Spoiler for Hiden:
 

 

 "What in the hell happened to you're eye, Brian." His Mom screeched. Her voice was like a shovel on concrete. 

Brian touched his eye, felt the tender swollen skin around it, and winched from the pain.

" Who did this?"

Brian opened his mouth, ready to take his mother on a magical journey of lies.

But today, was not the day.

 "Don't even think about it Brian. I swear  if You tell me one more lie, I'll have the nanny beat you."

The nanny hovered into the room right on cue.
 
" Did you call for me Madame? The bulky robot asked.

Its appearance was similar to a large metal block with slender metal arms, legs, and another smaller block for a head. The standard nanny bot. Brian's family had found this older model on Amazon. And a drone had dropped it at their door.
 
"No Nanny, I'm just fine. Though, Steven might need his skinny ass beaten.

" He is rather troublesome, madame. Call me if you require my services ".
Said the bot, in a stale human voice , as it rode off to perform its programmed duties.

"Now, would you like a beating or are you going to tell me the truth."

 The truth is.... " Brian began.
 
"Brian I swear!"

" Ok. Ok." He gave in, beatings weren't fun.

" Theres this Boy at my school. Big boy. Bigest of all the boys at my school."

Brian hesitated.

"Out with it. And stop stalling." There was a glimmer in her eyes, that let Brian know she was deadly serious.

" He wanted my lunch money. "

" Well, Did you give it to him."

"Yes."

 Surprise showed on his mother's normally sober face.  And she began to tap her short manicured finger nails against the table she sat at, as she spoke.

" So, you gave this boy your lunch money. Then what?"
 
"He punched me." Brian told her, shame highlighted his rosey cheeks as he spoke.

 "Well. what happened after you punched him."

 "I didn't punch him."

 His mother looked appalled.

" You didn't... And why not? Did they gang up on you?"

"No mother."

"So you just allowed that little twerp to beat you...are you even my child."
 
"Yes!" Brian cried out.

"I'm sorry mother, Please dont be mad." He begged.

" How can I not be mad, Brian. You're weak. You're suppose to be the embodiment of our family name. But constantly you show Sympathy for those weaker then you. To let someone inferior beat you." She had her finger pressed to Brian's forehead and proded there while she spoke.

"Unforgivableable." She declared

"Yet. you are my son and the first born child. So regrettably, I must forgive you."   

This did not sit well with her, and that was always a bad thing.

"But Brian, only if you destroy this boy. Nothing else will suffice."

"But mother I can't !"

 She shoved him back with her finger.

"You can, you will, and that is final."


Brian's walk to school wasn't a trip he'd been looking forward to. In fact he had dreaded the moment since the confrontation with his mom yesterday evening. Steven would find him. And there would be trouble, end of story.

He had come prepared for battle today. He wore a breathing mask and black gloves. Brian had breathing nose plugs, which would have been better. But the mask gave off a more dangerous appearance.

Tilting his head back as he walked so he could get a glimpse of the sky, brian saw that it had its usual red hue with a nice film of black smog . There would be no rain today it seemed, for there was not a trace of a cloud in the sky.

 Unrestrained pollution and magic had taken there toll on the atmosphere. And now there was only a matter of time before the world become baren and dead.

 Steven was there waiting outside of school with three other boys, all seemed hard and tough.

 " Looky here guys, the king has returned." All the boys laughed.

Steven jumped off the hood of his classic 2017 Ford F-150 and headed Brian's way.

"You lose you're breather or something, mask face." Steven pressed his body up against Brian, towering over the him like a giant. He squinted down at him, inspecting. You know something, dweeb. That mask would probably be scary on someone esle, just not on a weakling like you."

He bent his face down closer to Brian's.

 "Did you bring my money ,dweeb or did you want another pounding like last time. I beg you to pick the second choice. Its always the more interesting of the two. Atleast to me, that is."

Brian just stood there and stared.

His mother had commanded him to destroy Steven, and he had set his mind to doing just that. But now that he was face to face with the bully that terrorizes the entire school. All he felt was piety and sorrow for the boy. Steven was big there was no doubt about that but he was weak. Slow of the mind, wasted potential in the body, and no heart.
 
 "Are you deaf or just dumb, dweeb." Steven said, mushing Brian's head back.

You don't wanna answer huh...in that case how about I pound you take your money then pound you again." Joy registered on Steven' face as he pictured beating the crap out of Brian.

 " You can have my lunch money. I just dont want anymore trouble, Steven." Brian quietly said.

His mother was right. Sympathy crippled him. Yet in the end Brian could only be who he was, and that was a weakling, just like Steven. And thats why he pietied him. They were the same, atleast on the inside. Just two Self-conscious little boys.

 " Its too late now, dweeb. You had you're chance to do this the easy way. Now I get to pound you. And oh how delightful it will be." His breath misted in the air. Steven had activated his crystal. A freezing crystal it seemed, but from how warm Brian felt and they were so close meant that it wasnt a very powerful crystal. But the neither the crystal nor the user had to be powerful in order to inflict damage. And the ball of ice Steven had surround his hand with was definitely going to leave a mark.

"STOP!" a high pitch wail rang out.

A tall, skinny girl tried to force her way through the other boys. Her will was strong but her might, not quite yet. She tried to struggle but the boys ganged up on her and pinned her down to the ground.

 Steven jumped up and down like, a school girl, pumping his fist in the air in glee.

" This is fantastic! I'm a genius."

 There was that same gleam in Steven's eyes that Brian saw in his mother's, when something bad was about to happen.

"Dont you even think about it." Brian hissed through gritted teeth. DONT YOU DARE, LAY A HAND ON MY SISTER!"

"Oh, I'm a do alot more then lay a hand on her Dweep. But I can show you better than I can tell you." The bully's breath misted in the air again as he spoke. And then he attacked.

 Brian knew what was coming and blocked the first blow with his left arm. The ice cold fist smashed into his skinny frail arm and Brian bite his lip in order to suppress the cry that tried to escape from between them. Steven smirked in his face as he activated the second property of his crystal.

 "Shit." Brian mumbed.

Ice crystals began to form and creep up his arm ,freezing everything intill they covered him fully.

Steven had already turned away and started toward his sister.

" Don't worry Brian the ice won't impair your vision. You'll see all of the wonderful things we're going to do with you're, dear sister. But don't worry. She'll Love it.

"Damn." Brian thought.

"I tried, I swear it."

The ice melted away from Brian and evaporated within an instance.

" I swore, that I would change." Brian's body grew as he spoke. "I swore this to the women I had loved. But people like you, and my damn mother force the rage out of me."

His skin cracked and reddened as he grew and horns sprouted from his brow, three feet long, and curved at the ends.

"There can be no change in a world like this. A world that craves violence and nurtures hate." The demon that was Brian said, his voice boomed.

"But my eyes are opened now. My wish of change can still be realized. Once I cleanse this world of people like, you."

Brian smiled. " Yes, that is it. " 

He extened his arm out, towards the boys who stood there petrified. Flames engulfed steven's fragile human body first.

" Die weaklings." 
[/quote]

 

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