Eventually, she grew tired of watching Breanna decay. Her body was beginning to cool, and the blood settled. If they delayed much longer, they would forfeit the keys to the Georgian fortress.
“Can’t have that,” Evelyn said. “Can we, ma chère?”
Evelyn slipped away from her partner and off the bed. Breanna’s legs remained momentarily in position but soon flopped onto the bed. She giggled at the sight while sauntering over to the bedroom door.
She opened the door and found the silhouette of her impeccably dressed sire. He turned around, looked Evelyn straight in the eyes, but remained quiet. Despite Evelyn being naked, bloody, covered in someone else’s sweat, and sporting a large purple strap-on, he never made a peep.
“If you actually used that penis of yours, I wouldn’t need toys so much,” Evelyn said.
The tease had no effect, and never would. Yet either would be concerned if the other behaved out of character. Evelyn moved aside, letting Marc into the room to get started.
Marc would drain the body of blood, adding in an anticoagulant to keep the supply viable. Fingerprints would be harvested along with those delicate green eyes. Anything less would deny them access to the Georgian stronghold.
She sat down at the dressing table and stroked the purple appendage. Despite death being an old companion, Evelyn felt discomfort at the idea of witnessing what was about to happen.
“I need to wash and grab a quick bite,” Evelyn said. “Please treat Breanna’s remains with respect.”
Evelyn then walked out of the bedroom, her hips swaying alluringly. All the while, that purple phallus swung in the opposing direction. Marc never turned around to look. After all, there was work to be done.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
By the time Elizabeth turned off the shower taps, the crime scene had been sanitised. The bodies had all been moved to empty units. Each was posed in an identical manner, all in an effort to create the illusion that these were ritualistic killings.
The floor turned out to be a snap to clean since ambrosia possessed several qualities, in addition to it being a powerful detergent. Given a limitless supply, Clara had no trouble scrubbing away all of that blood, including the footsteps she inadvertently left behind.
Normally, Clara would have found that kind of work tedious, but given the situation, it was both rewarding and distracting. She was reminded of a simpler time, her childhood, when the true nature of this world was masked by innocence. For a moment, Clara was envious of that grey-eyed and button-nosed little girl.
Unfortunately, ambrosia would not be able to repair the fridge door, the couch, or shattered lamp. It also did nothing to fix the hole burned through the middle of her bustier. What a shame, really. Despite the initial stench of wet dog, this attire suited her. Still, there was the coat, which concealed both the hole and her wings.
The fridge door would be a challenge to explain away. Fortunately, the door could close well-enough to form a seal, or at least after a bit of coaxing on her part. Clara wondered if this was an apartment, and in turn, worried about the repercussions.
By the time Elizabeth started up her hair dryer, Clara was back to normal. She took the time to slip back into her clothes and looked herself over in the mirror, loving the vibe it gave off.
Done with the basics, Elizabeth opened the door cautiously, unsure of what she would find. Based on Clara’s earlier breakdown, she half-expected a grisly murder scene or a gateway that led to the seventh level of hell.
“Coast is clear,” Clara said before smiling.
Nevertheless Elizabeth’s eyes ran over the entire scene and found nothing of concern, with the exception of a missing lamp, and a hole burned through the couch. While she could not see the refrigerator, the rest of the place was cleaner than before and she wondered if this was part of Clara’s coping strategy.
On the edge of the couch she saw the weapons that Clara had been carrying: two pistols, a knife, and a shotgun, the latter being illegal from the looks of it. Elizabeth’s heart sank the moment she saw them, but quickly realised that in a world this dangerous, some exceptions could be made for those with a vested interest in saving the lives of innocents.
“Looks great,” Elizabeth said before retreating to her bedroom.
Clara sat on the intact portion of the couch, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Even with the ambrosia, she found it difficult to keep going. She was dog tired, worn out, and would need something substantial in her stomach soon.
“No wonder Hecate was hooked on the stuff,” Clara said lightly.
“What was that?” Elizabeth asked.
“Nothing!” Clara blurted. “Was just thinking that I’m a bit peckish.”
Elizabeth walked out from her room. She wore a pair of jeans that hugged her hips, and a white blouse which flowed overtop her jeans. Still, despite being clothed, Clara had a great view of her bust.
Clara looked at the young woman of Asian descent and imagined tearing those clothes off. What was it about this woman that left her so infatuated? Or was there something else at play? Would Clara still feel this way if she had not been isolated from humanity for the better part of ninety years?
“You look great,” Clara said before biting the bottom of her lip.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said and found an excuse to turn away to hide the fact that she was blushing.
Elizabeth used that time to brush out a few stubborn knots from her hair. It also granted her a few moments to ponder what had been said in the bathroom moments ago.
After her cheeks cooled, Elizabeth turned to face Clara and said, “You’ve been through a lot.”
“Yeah. I’ve been fighting for the forces of good all my life,” Clara said honestly. “I had my fill tonight, you know?”
Elizabeth honestly did not know and suspected that most of her coworkers could not relate. She suspected that such trauma was more common to veterans of war, and first responders. That meant she would not be able to fall back on her training to help her deal with this.
“Can you talk about it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Honestly,” Clara said. “The less you know of the subject—the better.”
“You know, I just saw you run someone over and bitch slap my ex… who turned out to be a fucking vampire!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I have every right to know what’s going on.”
Clara’s facial features never changed she just carried on smiling. It had taken an unbelievable amount of strain for her to lose any self-control. She had been taught to stay cool under fire, to never give into her baser instincts. Either way, now was the time to remain calm, cool, and collected.
“Fair enough,” Clara said. “In short, a goddess known as Hecate, the one who brought about my death, followed a duplicate to your place, then proceeded to kill that copy in your kitchen.”
Elizabeth had indeed opened a can of worms. After the initial cocking of her brow, she found it necessary to sit down.
“She then waited for me to leave the bathroom before confronting me. Explained that a race of creatures known as Georgians shattered reality. In doing so, they caused alternate paths of history to exist concurrently with our own,” Clara said. “That’s when Sparky attacked.”
“Sparky?” Elizabeth asked.
“Sparky is one of this goddess’ personas. Hecate can choose to appear as a single individual, as one form rotating between the three, or as distinct individuals representing her three personalities,” Clara replied.
“So you’re telling me that there were—” Elizabeth tried to confirm.
“Yep! Six identical bodies! Well except for that one I turned to charcoal, but she was one helluva sour pill anyways,” Clara rambled on. “So after ingesting a lot of ambrosia, the bodies were moved, and I cleaned this place. Still, you might need to get a new fridge, lamp, and couch. Any questions?”
Elizabeth did not know what to make of this. Less than twenty-four hours ago, the world had been plain, normal, and boring. Since then, she learned that vampires were real, followed by angels, and now, old gods?
“What else… No wait! I’m not sure that I want an answer just yet,” Elizabeth said.
“Bit much for the grey matter to take in?” Clara asked. “It takes time. Many of our acolytes didn’t make it past that aspect of our training.”
“How did you?” Elizabeth queried.
Clara sighed, and took a quick look at her wings. It appeared as though they were going to be visible from here on out.
“I’ve known since I was little,” Clara said. “Father was a chew toy for a ghoul when I was little. Two years later, that thing came back for Mum, so I hid under the bed and stabbed it repeatedly until it ran away.”
Elizabeth listened intently to those words, and wondered how Clara ever managed to hold things together this long. These events involved monsters, creatures that terrorised humanity for millennia. Perhaps the inhumanity of her prey, combined with faith, shielded Clara’s mind from all that trauma.
“Of course, I knew nothing about those events. That’s part of a ghoul’s power, you see. They can make you forget. Still, there is always a part of you that remains aware,” Clara continued.
“So how did you find out?” Elizabeth asked.
“Simple answer—these insights came to me after death,” Clara said. Since she wanted to avoid delving further on that subject, she added, “I’m starving.”
“Let me grab my coat,” Elizabeth said as she got up to head towards the coat closet.
Clara happily evaded another round of queries. It was great to let it all out, but the recipient needed time to process it. When Elizabeth passed the kitchen island, she noticed the amphora sitting there.
“Are you expecting company anytime soon?” Clara asked while packing away her weapons.
Elizabeth found that an odd question but figured Clara was avoiding making a reference to her wife. In a way, she was thankful for the consideration, although Elizabeth would need to come to terms with her own failures as a spouse.
“No.” Elizabeth answered. “Why?”
“I don’t want you or anyone else going near that amphora. It contains ambrosia,” Clara said.
“Ambrosia?” Elizabeth said while slipping on her long coat.
Clara walked over, smiled, and ran the zipper up Elizabeth’s jacket, but she stopped when in proximity of those breasts. Their closeness felt right, but Clara was clearly in control of her faculties now.
“Yes. Do not touch or drink the contents of that amphora,” Clara said. “Understood?”
Elizabeth looked over at the object, and noted how its unearthly glow lit up the kitchen. Without lingering on the amphora, Elizabeth was distracted by Clara’s hands running along her cleavage while the zipper was run home.
Happy that her little diversion worked, Clara neatly folded Elizabeth’s coat collar, then offered her arm. Elizabeth blushed lightly and accepted the offer.
Once the door was locked, Clara said, “One drop of that stuff evoked a response more powerful than the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.” She then leaned in a bit closer as they walked towards the elevator and added, “Just think. Flappers were renowned for their petting parties…”
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Clara did not knock and entered the bathroom as though she owned it. It seemed appropriate considering that moments ago, relatively speaking, she received a first-hand demonstration on the use of modern razors.
She walked over to the sink, and after a bit of experimentation, figured out how to make the faucet work. Behind her back, a cloud of steam rose out from the shower, followed by a yelp. That’s when the naked mass of a woman jumped out of the tub, all in an attempt to escape the searing heat.
“Hot!” Elizabeth yelled.
Clara wanted to laugh since this scene had all of the elements of a classic gag, but that would do little to prepare Elizabeth. A shame that she forgot to clean up before broaching the subject.
Elizabeth’s skin was red on her back and side. Her hair was covered in conditioner, and she also managed to nick her leg. The wound was bleeding, although that would soon stop.
“Sorry,” Clara said. “I figured they would have fixed that sort of nonsense by now.”
The other was not paying attention, preoccupied with the cut and the application of toilet paper to slow the bleeding. Clara used this opportunity to wash her hands, clearing away the blood but not the memories.
“What happened?” Elizabeth asked upon noticing the black feathered wings.
Clara sighed and hoped that this reaction was muted by the running water. Clara grabbed the soap after a quick rinse, noticed there were streaks of blood everywhere.
“What do you mean?” Clara asked in an attempt to stall.
“Your wings,” Elizabeth said. “They are badass.”
Clara contorted her body in such a way to get a partial view of her rear-end before saying, “I thought I had a great ass?”
Elizabeth smirked. It appeared that this turn of phrase had not been in use during her time. How many ways could that be interpreted if one had no clue what the expression meant?
“I meant to say your wings are cool… swell… the cat’s meow,” Elizabeth said while looking for signs of recognition on Clara’s face.
“Now you decide to speak proper English?” Clara asked with a smirk. She then expanded her wings to their full size before adding, “They are the bees knees, aren’t they?”
Meanwhile, Clara was busy wiping down every surface that had blood in an attempt to clean away the evidence. She only managed to dilute the mess. Still, it appeared more pink than crimson.
“Yes…” Elizabeth began to say until she noticed the bloody footprints leading into the room. “What—”
Before Elizabeth finished that statement, Clara folded her wings and moved to embrace the amazon. Given their difference in height, Clara had to do a quick hop to wrap her arms around Elizabeth’s neck and plant a kiss.
Elizabeth was bewildered, but her sense of reason soon went down the drain. In response, she moulded her wet body into Clara’s and leaned into the kiss. The kiss was invigorating. Clara’s willing body and breasts radiated heat even through the leather. Clara willingly parted her lips, taking in Elizabeth’s tongue, and surrendered to the passion.
Their embrace lasted for minutes. They danced using their tongues, since Elizabeth was hesitant to explore Clara’s exposed back. Every so often, they came up for air, and this separation only served to deepen their desire. So why was Clara crying?
“What—,” Elizabeth tried to say.
Lost in the moment, Clara wanted nothing more than those lips and was not about to tolerate any interruptions. For the first time, she was exposed, vulnerable, but unaware of it.
“What—,” Elizabeth repeated.
“Don’t,” Clara said and tried to place a lone finger over Elizabeth’s lips.
“W—,” Elizabeth attempted to ask.
“Please,” Clara pleaded.
With the knowledge that this would go on as long as there was proximity, Elizabeth tore herself away. Despite her smaller stature, the perky brunette was the embodiment of strength. Not entirely unexpected, since Clara could wield a heavy truck door like a baseball bat.
Clara fell to her knees and began to cry. All of the emotions that were bundled up and concealed over the years chose this moment to make an appearance. As judged by the severity of Clara’s reaction, they had done so with a vengeance.
Elizabeth sensed that something life altering had taken place in the last five minutes. The change in her wings, the bloody footsteps, the need for an escape, and emotional breakdown were all indicators of trauma.
For now, there was nothing to be done about her hair, so she grabbed a towel and approached Clara cautiously. She gingerly knelt beside Clara and placed a hand on her exposed shoulder.
Clara’s reaction was immediate; she fell into Elizabeth’s arms. Tears streamed from her eyes, which would soon become puffy and red. Elizabeth held on tight and let this wave of emotion take its course. No matter how hardened an individual appeared to be, there were limits.
“I— killed her—” Clara managed to say through all of that sobbing.
“Who?” Elizabeth said in a calm and soothing voice.
“Goddess—” Clara blurted out, showing frustration at her own loss of control.
“Shhhhhh,” Elizabeth repeated. “It’s okay.”
Clara went on crying for a good five or ten minutes. Elizabeth stayed with her the entire time, realising that a fresh towel would be needed after this.
Eventually, Clara pulled away, took a deep breath, and smiled awkwardly. There was still much for her to deal with, but that moment of vulnerability had done a great deal of good for the soul. She had killed a lot of creatures in her years, many who pleaded for their lives. They were the worst, often looking so innocent before she performed the coup de grâce.
Every kill, beginning with Jack, her first love, the one who tried to torture her for information, had been one more drop of water held back by a dam. Hecate had been one drop too many, and despite the shock, this incident had been a boon for Clara.
“Thank you,” Clara said in a nasal voice, before she sniffled to breathe better.
Elizabeth smiled but realised that her bathroom was now a sauna. Steam permeated the air while humidity clung to the walls, turning into droplets that ran down every surface. The floor was also soaked and succeeded in washing away any evidence of blood.
“Oh shit!” Elizabeth said, when the cause dawned on her.
She jumped to her feet, shut the sink’s tap, and returned to the tub to ensure the water could support human life. Once the temperature was just right, Elizabeth jumped right back in. Still, it was too late; her hair needed another wash.
Clara’s weak smile turned into a smirk; the light humour helped her settle back into her normal state of mind. When Elizabeth stuck out her arm to drop her sopping wet towel, Clara burst out laughing.
There was still that mess to deal with, but Clara was more centred now and better able to think. Once a plan formed in her mind, Clara adopted the cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk.
“Are there any empty units in this block?” Clara asked.
While Elizabeth’s voice was muffled by the water, the answer came clear enough, “Units in the opposing block are being renovated… Why do you ask?”
Clara got to her feet and opened the curtain to get a better view of Elizabeth before replying, “The less you know, the better.”
With that, Clara left the bathroom, looked out the window, and quickly refined her plan. She would have no trouble reaching the fire escape on the other side, even under a heavy load. No one would suspect the bodies had flown across an alley.
Clara looked at the sky and guessed there was a solid hour before the alley was bathed in daylight. Still, she removed her leather pants and bustier. That way, if anyone called in a sighting, the police would dismiss the call. Who would trust a witness claiming they saw some naked chick with black wings leaping between buildings?
That meant she would need to pick the fridge clean to get her energy levels up and with luck, would remain accelerated. Clara concentrated until she could hear individual drops fall in the shower.
“Let’s eat,” Clara said, but an errant thought crossed her mind.
Clara reached down on the floor and picked up the amphora. Despite Hecate being no more, the glowing liquid was still filled to the brim. Clara had also been fortunate that the amphora had righted itself rather than flood this floor in ambrosia.
Clara did not dwell on that aspect. Instead, she poured three glasses and downed them all. It did not have the pep that Sparky’s bolt provided, but it was enough.
“This should help,” Clara said while picking up the first body.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Breanna snapped up from the console, and left a puddle of drool on the surface. Her eyelids felt as though they weighed a ton, and with some effort she managed to pry them open. What a shame, the world turned out to be nothing more than a haze.
As her eyes focused on Mason, she realised that her mind had been exploring a memory. Now she hated him even more for taking her out of it.
“What?” Breanna asked annoyed.
“Any updates?” Mason queried.
“What? Oh!” Breanna said while she wiped the drool off her display.
Her fingers glided over the display with more difficulty than usual, and she grimaced every time the wrong functions were triggered. Breanna’s mind was lingering on that memory and would not compensate for her smaller, thicker, and less agile digits.
Eventually, she had the information they sought and said, “Nothing yet.”
Mason asked, “How much time do you need?”
“The system is running at full capacity,” Breanna said. “Since the shockwave really messed things up, we will need a lot of resources to unravel what happened.”
Mason looked around the room. In the back corner, Brett was replacing the floor tiles one at a time. Every move he made was slow and laborious; his mind was clearly not in it. All of their minds were wandering.
“Okay. Go home,” Mason said.
Breanna blinked several times and was severely tempted to pinch herself. Nonetheless, she thought it best to confirm, “What?”
“You’re running on fumes,” Mason said. “We all are. So let’s leave these systems on auto. We can check on them tomorrow.”
Breanna did not need to be told twice. She grabbed her coat and phone before heading towards the door. Then it occurred to her that it was probably sensible to smile and thank him.
“Thanks,” Breanna said with a meek smile. “Have a good night,” she added, managing to sound sincere.
Mason spotted Brett trying to make a break for the door, “You’ll need to close up this floor before you leave.”
Brett looked as though he was about to toss out one of his witty remarks, but reason must have gotten the better of him. Without a word, he turned around and headed directly for the stack of tiles.
Breanna smiled, and for a split second did not hate Mason that much. Although, this would wear off when that ass reverted to his regular charming self.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Their original estimate had been in the order of weeks, but the fusion generators were roaring back to life now. When operating normally, they would be silent and undetectable to humans, functioning at frequency ranges that were beyond a human’s ability to detect. In contrast, the ramp up procedure made them impossible to conceal. While the machinery whirled back to life, the sound increased lock-step with the power levels, reminding him of gas turbines spooling up on an airliner.
For a moment, the building vibrated in harmony with the generators. The startled group looked to one another because this scenario was never meant to happen. If this were to turn into a positive feedback loop, the building would come crashing down.
Fortunately, the speed increased just enough to cancel out the harmonics. Soon, the main power would be restored and they could get some answers, or so they hoped.
Brett, who was preoccupied with the generator start-up routine, answered once he was satisfied, “Breanna activated a repair drone.”
“So I leave for a couple of hours and you find a repair drone that none of us knew about?” Mason asked.
Brett shrugged before answering, “She found it while snooping around in the inventory database.”
“Breanna!” Mason yelled, but by now, the generators were nearly silent, so it came across like he was furious.
“What!” Breanna snapped back. A few seconds later, her head peeked out from the floor above and she asked, “You called, Oh Captain, My Captain?”
“Stop that!” Mason exclaimed before adding, “Why were you searching through the inventory?”
Breanna was enjoying getting under his skin. While this had been a rough night for the lot of them, she was still bored of these petty squabbles. She needed an escape, but for now, the where and the who was still up for grabs.
Breanna let out a long woeful sigh before replying, “I thought it was time well spent compared to staring at a blank screen.”
“So, you didn’t know we had one?” Mason asked.
“No,” Breanna said in a bored tone. “Did you?”
The act of throwing the question back in Mason’s face was her way of avoiding conflict. While Brett could get away with his antics, she had no such leeway.
Georgians in their true form functioned like insect colonies here on Earth. Enclaves of Georgians were primarily composed of female workers, a small group of drones, and the Queen. Mason, Brett, and Breanna had all been workers, so gender had not been a factor until they were selected for this expedition.
Mason and Brett ended up with naughty bits on the outside and quickly developed traits that came with that toolset. Mason became the authoritarian ass who led by edict, while Brett played the part of the court jester.
Breanna had been assigned a female body, which opened up a whole array of alternate attack vectors. While the men could draw conflict by threatening some unwritten patriarchal rule, she possessed the ability to bypass most safeguards all by using her assets against the opposite sex.
Although effective, Breanna soon learned that she preferred the company of other women. There was a softness, a connection that existed during those liaisons that eluded her with men. Her age of discovery coincided with the Roaring Twenties, an era when empowered and hedonistic women were also open to exploration.
While Mason questioned Brett on what was known of the repair drone, Breanna pulled out her mobile from the depths of her pocket. She flicked through the interface until a certain name made her heart skip a beat. Without a second thought, the fiery redhead sent out a ping into the night.
“Am I going to get a reply?” Breanna hoped.
Mason tapped Breanna’s shoulder and asked, “Is everything okay?”
Breanna fumbled with the phone until she managed to press the lock button. The screen went black, and left behind the reflection of a hysterical woman.
“Fuck!” Breanna exclaimed. “Don’t do that.”
“Sorry,” Mason said in that sorry, not sorry tone.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Breanna replied while ignoring the giggle-snort that Brett made. “I’m sorry. Did I miss something?”
Mason gave her a curious look, as though he was trying to peer into the depths of her soul. Since they were no longer linked through cybernetic implants, the man gave up.
“Can we confirm—,” Mason said.
“The gain in mass?” Breanna answered while interacting with her station’s interface. She paused for a moment before adding, “The original estimates were correct.”
“That’s impossible!” Mason blurted out.
“Well, normally, yes,” Breanna said.
She switched to her phone and scanned trending headlines. There were a few articles of note, so she pushed the content onto her workstation’s display to show the group.
The first article started off with the image of a man in prison attire. The headlines read, ’Man who rode lighting, back from the grave?’ Immediately, to the side of the mugshot, they displayed the picture of a man they apprehended earlier tonight. Either they were twins or—
“Says here that police arrested a man trying to break into his former home. Authorities are baffled. Dental records and fingerprints were matched to those of the convicted serial killer, Adam Graves. The same man who was executed last year for his string of sex crimes that culminated in a series of horrific murders,” Breanna summarized. “The thing is, this man has no scars from the police shootout.”
The second article was more graphic. It contained a picture of a skyscraper superimposed over a dilapidated neighbourhood block. Some developments did integrate existing building faces into the design, but this was something else entirely. The front face of the larger structure was blocked by two boarded up buildings. In between, there were dumpsters, full of trash, which were fused in the front doors. Of course, the most disturbing element, were the people embedded into the structure. Men and women in suits were now literally part of walls erected a century ago.
“What the—,” Mason and Brett said.
“The article states that this neighbourhood was torn down shortly after the last municipal elections,” Breanna said. “Now it seems that both events happened simultaneously.”
“So—,” Mason tried to ask.
“Correct,” Breanna said. “These humans can’t create matter, or at least not on this scale. The disturbance we saw appears to have resurrected alternate timelines and integrated them with our own.”
Mason turned to face Brett who, by now, was white as a sheet. It was one thing to make a mistake that knocked out their systems. Mishaps like that could be remedied without alerting the world to their presence. However, this was a fuck up of epic proportions. People were sure to remember an alternate version of events and start asking questions. News of this event was already spreading like wildfire which would only add fuel to the fire.
“Oh shit.” Brett said in an attempt to deflect.
Breanna smiled, knowing that this court jester was about to be put in his place. She only wished that she had a big bag of popcorn on hand to enjoy the show.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
For a moment, Evelyn considered baiting Victoria to make sure she still had the woman’s full support. There were conditions to their way of life, and choice featured prominently amongst the core tenants of their faith.
“How odd?” Evelyn whispered.
That nagging voice in the back of her thoughts had gone silent. A general sense of laissez-faire permeated her mind, which only served to strengthen the moral certainty that everything was above board.
Victoria noticed that Evelyn was silent, either for effect or as a part of the ritual; either way Victoria did not care. She knew that her character was aware of her thoughts, so why the inaction? In all honesty, she found the concept intriguing and frightening. How many wanted someone to truly understand how they felt in times of need? Especially during their darkest hour? Evelyn was in a way, a kindred spirit, or perhaps some twisted version of the fairy godmother.
“What did Evelyn choose?” Victoria wondered.
She never realised how all of this had been part of the show. A deliberate period of inaction to distract and deceive, to keep her blissfully unaware of what lurked behind her.
In the background, the smooth and reflective surface of the blood pool began to congeal. This transformation brought about tendrils, and with these, it began to move in a coherent mass out of the pool. This creature was drawn to Victoria, seeking out that one element lacking in the rest of this room, the spark of life.
Once the creature was within a sliver of that spark, Evelyn’s smile changed. Victoria focused on Evelyn, as the empress’ arm came forward. That hand then formed into a fist before she struck out a lone thumb, which was pointed towards the floor, and meant certain death. Victoria gasped, not knowing that this would be her last breath. That thing latched on, and dragged her into the depths.
Before Victoria realised what was going on, her vision had turned red. Above, she saw nothing more than a point of light growing smaller with every passing second. Perhaps panic should have set in, which would have left her flaying about like a fish out of water, but this was ludicrous! Left to drown in a pool of blood, after a chance meeting with one’s own creation? Surely, it was more likely that she was suffering from psychosis?
At first, she saw nothing more than fading light, but as time passed and her need to breathe grew, a black substance crept up from out of the depths. It seemed disjointed, lacking any form and Victoria wondered which part of her mind conjure up this apparition.
Once the spectre took a definite shape, she realised how literal Evelyn’s words were. The light peering from the surface represented the light of God, while the creature below would assist her in turning away. Turning away? No, those words did not apply, she would be torn away from his divine presence, and sentenced to suffer the same fate as that whore!
Victoria tried to break away from the tentacles’ grasp, by pushing against the walls, using what was left of her strength. Nothing seemed to be effective, even digging in her nails into the rough edges of the wall did nothing more than tear them off. She knew that time was limited, and that her life would soon be forfeit unless she broke free. With her body drawing upon the last of its last reserves, reality set in, her chance for escape was long gone.
Once the darkness reached Victoria, the creature released its iron grip while the spectre embraced her. The spectre’s hold was oddly comforting, like a mother rocking her child to sleep. With her lungs burning for air, Victoria calmed down. Intent on leaving this world on her own terms, she took a deep breath which filled her lungs with fluid. In that moment, Victoria something that evaded her for most of her life, peace.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
There was a long pause as the group collectively assimilated what had been projected before their eyes. While the men were clearly distraught by the way that vampire ended Victoria’s life. They were even disgusted by the outward display of inhumanity, however Breanna was far more subdued.
“That was brutal,” Brett said astonished.
Breanna snorted before countering, “She’s done a lot worse! That was pretty merciful actually.”
“Really?” Brett asked.
“Yeah,” Breanna replied. “Almost a hundred years ago, three seasoned investigators were committed after investigating one of her more creative murders.”
“Bullshit,” the men said in unison.
“It’s true!” Breanna exclaimed. “We were dating at the time—”
“No way!” They exclaimed in unison, which looked like a badly rehearsed comedy skit.
“You mean she’s not—,” Mason inquired.
“Straight?” Breanna asked. “She hates men, and wants nothing to do with them.”
“So what—,” Brett demanded.
“Their relationship… is complicated. It was never physical,” Breanna replied. “Although I’d avoid bringing that up in her company.”
“How did you two cross paths?” Brett asked, snooping around for some gossip.
“She was at the Grand during its construction,” Breanna said as though reliving a dream. “You two sent me there to establish our lab in that region, remember?”
Evelyn had been searching for a model, and conveniently Breanna was bored out of her skull. Establishing an outpost on the site had been a cinch, and would not return on investments until years later.
Breanna concealed a slight smile, as she thought back to her first experience in human sexuality. Evelyn may have been a vampire, but was more than adept at teaching her the ins and outs. To this day, no one could even hope to approximate that woman’s skill.
“Attentive, determined, and utterly sensual. Is there a better combination for a lover?” Breanna asked herself.
“A small reward for allowing me capture your beauty in stone,” Evelyn whispered that day in bed, after a particularly vigorous session.
“What’s with you and women at the Grand?” Mason asked. When Breanna did not register what was alluded to, he added, “The girl with hundreds of past lives?”
Breanna’s eyes narrowed a moment before they exploded in a bright glow. It was obvious to the others that memories of that brief interlude had also been memorable.
“Hey!” Breanna exclaimed. “She came onto me and didn’t care that my appearance was artificial, or that my hips were well-suited for childbearing. Besides, the experiences gained from having lived a hundred lifetimes… helped us to consolidate centuries of human history.”
“Did you two bond over the beating heart research?” Brett asked.
Breanna glared at Brett, and for a moment looked as though she were about to gouge his eyes out. The opportunity to study and dissect an immortal, should have been her ticket out of here. Unfortunately, someone managed to steal that beating heart in a jar, which invalidated all associated research. To this day, these two knuckleheads never failed to rub salt in the wound.
“Did Anna Hunter tell you that?” Breanna asked Brett to dredge up another experiment that went sideways for the group.
While Breanna maintained her composure, Brett reacted violently. He slammed the surface of his workstation, which caused a display element to shift; a virtual dial changed from a dark green, to a deep red.
“Just because you two look like the descendants of apes,” Mason said. “It doesn’t mean that you have to fling shit at each other!”
Breanna and Brett looked down to avoid the gaze of the expedition’s senior scientist. While Mason was stuck here like the rest, they both knew he had the authority to make things worse, all in the name of research.
“So what now?” Mason asked to get these two back on track.
“We—We are roughly two minutes away from exploiting the alternate path,” Breanna said.
“The tachyon generators are primed, capacitors charged and waveform generators are set for optimal insertion,” Brett said.
Mason knew the rest. They would target the area in space, and time where the differing paths began. They had no choice, since Evelyn’s current choice did not align with their goals.
“One minute to divergent path,” Breanna said.
By targeting just the right point, they were able to shift the probability of Evelyn making a choice they favoured. Using this method, they could alter coin tosses, or shift the tides of war.
“Thirty seconds…” Breanna announced.
Breanna pulled out her mobile device, something the others never embraced. While the men avoided human contact, and the pleasures that came with such interactions, she saw it as a way to better integrate and disappear into the crowd.
“Twenty seconds,” Breanna said.
She checked for notifications, but they were none. A tinge of disappointment overcame her, but realised that it was late, and that people needed to sleep. Well so did she, but they had ways to push themselves beyond the limits of human endurance.
“Ten seconds,” Breanna said with a hint of excitement.
All they needed was a well-timed nudge, fortunately the precise set of calculations made that part easy.
Brett tapped a button on his virtual interface. For a second the lights flickered, and dimmed before going out entirely. The trio were frozen like deer caught in the headlights, silent witnesses to every piece of equipment in their lab powering down.
“What’s going on,” Mason asked while visibly annoyed, or at least he would be, if the lights were on. “We have enough power generating capacity to power half the continent.”
Before anyone could reply, a large wave of energy originating from the centre of the building passed right through them. Mason could not help but wonder if this phenomenon was linked to their equipment failure.
“Oops,” Brett said to break the silence.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
He walked into the lab, and came face to face with a world that was sterile by design. Everything in this room, including the walls were a bright white with no style or flare of any kind. To most, this room would have evoked images of an early twentieth-century sanitorium. For him, this room had all of the comforts of home.
Located within the depths of an office high-rise, this lab was invisible to those who worked and visited this building. The illusion that protected the access to the inner sanctum, was simple and effective. It took a very powerful mind to see past the deception, although that was only the first level of defence.
“About time you showed up,” Brett said.
Brett was physically perfect, they all were, because that had been the goal of their genetically designed appearances. Each of them could have walked off the pages of a glamour magazine; Brett a blonde Adonis, Breanna an Irish lass, and Mason the embodiment of Casanova.
“We got an indication on a divergent event that will swing the balance of power our way,” Breanna said.
“What are we looking at?” Mason asked.
“The odds are better than a-million-to-one chance that this divergence will result in a step back,” Breanna said.
“Seems too good to be true,” Mason said. “So how did we come across this gem?”
Brett typed away on his desktop angled at a forty-five degree angle. It resembled a drafting table, and was devoid of any content except for the virtual user interface overlaid onto the surface. From this console, he could interface with any system linked to their network.
“Picked it up an hour ago,” Brett replied. “This one was big enough to trigger every sensor we have. The strongest signals were from our listening stations near here, but sensors in Australia also registered it.”
“Impressive,” Mason said.
“No kidding,” Breanna quipped.
There was excitement that permeated the air, it felt like a current was flowing between them. No one said it, and to do so would be tempting fate, but this might be their chance to get off of this primordial ooze covered rock.
“How long have I been here?” Mason wondered.
He had memories of the steam age and Pax Britannia, but little else prior to that. Still, that meant he had been on this backwater planet more than a century. They had been busy manipulating world events, or influencing key players to their benefit. All the while, they posed as a neutral party, one who sold technology to both sides of the conflict.
Every attempt made to shift things in the favour triggered an opposing force that returned the system to an equilibrium. They were responsible for plunging Europe into a continental war, all in an effort to weaken the vampire’s power base. Instead, they watched as their corruption spread westward into North America, which created an even stronger power base.
The activation of a gate into the Hunters’ stronghold, followed by an attack, only magnified the zealotry of those left behind. They never got the all-out war they hoped for, since the bulk of the hunters remained within the confines of the Tower. Meanwhile one of their best managed to destroy an influential vampire, which struck a serious blow to several projects their group favoured.
That time they had a-thousand-to-one odds in favour of changing balance to favour the Georgians. That had been seen as more than favourable odds, but this? Was this even possible?
“Georgians,” Mason said absentmindedly. “What an awful choice of name for our kind.”
“What was that?” Breanna asked.
Mason’s glassy stare ended with a quick shake of his head. He desperately wanted to return to his normal form, have his cybernetic implants returned, and be linked once more to the hives group consciousness. Alas the presence of such implants were not only incompatible with their physiology, they would also raise some uncomfortable questions if discovered here.
“What?” Mason asked. “Nothing. So what’s going on that could bring about such a dramatic shift?”
Brett’s fingers glided over the interface with ease. Every button and available option had been committed to memory long ago. The user had an intimacy with the interface that only existed between a creation and its maker.
“Look here,” Brett said.
They collectively looked up at the wall connected to the desk. The surface broke up into millions of tiny colour-shifting squares that moved independently from the whole to display a three dimensional image. In this case, the moment rendered had yet to occur.
Mason looked over every detail of the scene, but did not understand how any of this would alter world events in their favour. This scene was more deserving of a soap opera than a chapter in the history books.
There were three people visible, only one of which was human. The display included a series of overlays, which included a biometrics associated for each individual, and only one registered a body temperature above ambient.
The human sported short blonde hair cut into a fashionable bob. Her pale blue eyes, sharp features and feminine nose would have made her attractive, if not for that mousey demeanour, and physical exhaustion. This was all part of the ritual he supposed, since Breanna had not briefed him otherwise, or bothered to explain why the woman’s clothes hung loosely from her frame.
The young girl was a real knockout, what with those piercing green eyes, shoulder length dark hair, and a body better suited to world class runway models. She had lips that beckoned and a smile that promised so much.
The man was harder to make out, dark hair and dark eyes enabled him to melt into the shadows. While short in stature, he was built like the strong men of old. Mason identified this one as an ancient specimen of their kind, and yet had no trouble letting his partner take the lead.
Mason and his kind had seen this place before. The altar and the pit filled with an endless supply of blood.
“Wait. Is that the Icon of Sin?” Brett asked with a snicker.
Breanna slapped the back of Brett’s head before responding, “Why do you keep bringing up that video game references when we get footage of this site?”
“Hey!” Brett exclaimed. “I loved that game, besides the name fits.”
In a way it did, this hall of worship featured a pedestal, and icons that celebrated the cruellest of despots, psychopaths, and murderers. This was a holy site where their kind practised some of their darkest rituals.
“Situation?” Mason asked, since it was time to get things on track.
Breanna looked away from the display and took a seat at her own workstation. At first, she appeared to be absorbing a great deal of information, but soon commented on the situation.
“Initiation ceremony,” Breanna said. “The brunette, Evelyn has been manipulating that blonde since early childhood.”
“To what end?” Mason asked genuinely curious, because it was rare for their kind to toy with their food for so long.
“Evelyn made sure to keep this child away from anything that could spoil her innocence,” Breanna replied.
“Woman looks to be in her late twenties. How could she—,” Mason was about to ask.
“Still a virgin,” Breanna said flatly. “Recent events led her to quit her job and start writing a story that centred on Evelyn’s life… a bit of a mind fuck ensued to prepare her… her parents were killed to start the process… Wait! Fascinating!”
“What?” the men asked.
“A herald,” Breanna said.
“I don’t follow,” Mason said.
“The predictive algorithms are still forming the narrative,” Breanna said. “But if this divergent path is strengthened. Then Victoria, the blonde, will chronicle the systematic eradication of vampires.”
“How would her being turned lead to their extinction?” Mason queried.
“The company her parents founded are heavily invested in the government’s military industrial complex,” Breanna replied. “Her disappearance has been noticed and will trigger an investigation to determine her whereabouts. This leads to a SWAT team being decimated in an attempt to save her, which in turn, exposes their kind’s existence to the general public.”
Once they realised how this divergent path panned out, the current that flowed amongst them increased exponentially. Their hopes rose, and despite years of experience telling them to temper their expectations, they all cracked a smile.
“What’s the primary path?” Mason asked.
Brett turned around and beamed a smile before saying, “Just enough of that scenario has solidified to show you.”
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
I completed my sixth review of Into the Fire. In this chapter, a chambermaid’s car breaks down on her way back home. What could possibly go wrong once the sun sets?
There were 20 modifications made to this 7 page chapter leading to a 38% reduction in changes when compared with revision five.
Both Google Docs and Wattpad have the revised edition. Note that the Google Docs version permits comments and revisions, so please feel free to make use of this capability.
I have completed my sixth review of Hadrian’s Legacy. This story focuses on the construction of the Grand’s defensive wall, the Georgian involvement and the reasons behind it being commissioned. John is also introduced to the existence of the Grand in this hard-hitting revelation.
There were 27 modifications made to this 8 page chapter leading to a 41% decrease in changes when compared to revision five.
Both Google Docs and Wattpad display the revised edition. Note that the Google Docs version permits comments and revisions, so please feel free to make use of this capability.
