Shattered Sphere – Entry 5

Jack slammed me against the moldy hull of the vessel. His antique knife pressed tightly against my throat and I felt it pass through the first two layers of skin. Had it been only us I would have wasted no time turning that blade on his bowels, but the bastards had my sisters. They were not ready. I couldn’t let them be hurt, not now. Jenna continued to sob, her adolescent mind defensively numbing itself away from this foreign brutality. Arial remained silent, but I could see the defiant resolve in her eyes. She would kill every last one of these mercs, or herself, before she would give in to their despicable intentions. But she wasn’t ready to wield this strength. In truth, none of were.

I felt my jugular pop as the blade sank inward. Air rushed out from the opening as I yelled in pain, then blood rushed in and I began to choke. I could hear Arial screaming as I sank to the floor. Blackness began filling my vision. Jack turned around to face my sisters, “Resist and you’ll end up like that,” he laughed, “you may anyway.” My heart was racing to compensate for the rapid blood loss. My vision was completely gone and only the faint sounds of Jenna’s sobs and the hungry jeers of 8 mercenaries remained. Then I felt the final heartbeat. Then I felt nothing.

Jack barked an order to secure Jenna in her quarters. He would take Arial first. The others would have their turn after him. He leaned over her while his men pinned her in the chair. She kept her eyes locked on his. Fearless, resolute… hate filled. Jack enjoyed it.

The silver mist began to leak from my torn throat, then my mouth and nose. My eyes ignited, become a white tempest of fire and electricity; silver mist now leaking from the outer sockets. I could suddenly see everything: the outside of the ship, the bridge, the galley, the corridor as Jenna was being led away, the room we were in, Jack loosening his belt, Arial’s knowing smirk, myself… I could see myself standing now. Silver mist covering my body like a new layer of skin then bleeding off in wisps, light casting a faint glow from my eyes, the gash in my neck bleeding the mist.

Jack’s men yelped and he quickly turned to see what they were seeing, what I was seeing. His eyes widened, mouth gaping in disbelief and he suddenly felt something he hadn’t felt since he was a boy, terror. I stepped out of time, moved past him and into the corridor grabbing Jenna’s two escorts and dragging them back to the room. I heard their necks snap the moment I moved them. They were already dead, but I wondered if they would see their surroundings suddenly change before their bodies realized what had happened and their dim lights extinguished. I left them standing next to Jack. The other six would suffer. I pushed my fingers, fists, and blade hands through their limbs and torsos. It was as effortless as treading water and the silver mist repelled their fluids from my flesh. When I had finished I placed a hand on Arial. She looked up at me. “Are they all dead?” I nodded slowly, “all but Jack… we still need him.” Jenna rose from the chair and we walked over to his frozen mass. He was still facing the wall he felled me upon. Jenna took his prized antique blade and we stepped back. I breathed in for the first time. The silver mist rapidly flowed into me. My eyes returned to their normal dark shade, the wound on my neck closed, my heart began to beat and my vision returned to a singular point of reference. We slipped back into time and heard sudden and final screams of the six mercenaries I had cut down. We didn’t bother to look at them, our eyes were fixed on Jack. The two men I left beside him collapsed at his feet. He looked down at them then turned dumbfounded toward us and his dead and dying men behind us. Jenna jumped forward with a flying snap kick to his face. His nose split and he stumbled back against the wall and slipped down into my spilled blood. Jenna pounced on him, pressing the blade firmly against his throat. “You will complete your service and deliver us to the Aspen Plains, or you will die…” she smirked, “you may anyway.”

Shattered Sphere – Entry 2

Skyir’s stomach ached. She had run out of food and drink two days earlier, but she still reached into her satchel instinctively. Three smooth stones rolled through her fingers. She hated them, what they stood for, but she needed them. “Now is not the time, girl. You have come too far to stop now,” she said to herself far more loudly than she had intended. Her Saradacathan follower turned its head to her slowly. Its face remained expressionless as always. Its black eyes communicating nothing of emotion or inquisition. It’s the face they used to serve with and now the face they will kill with. Skyir looked back at it. “You do know that you are forbidden from eating me, right? Because you are,” she said, believing the deceleration were binding… almost. The Saradacathan said nothing. It merely turned its head forward again as they continued to walk. By her best estimation, they would reach the Aspen Plains by next nightfall. They would have to. Another day in this wasteland, without water, would be too risky, even for her. Even for it.

The stones were warmer than she had ever felt them be before. They were not hot, not yet, but it was still making her uneasy. Her favored hand reflexively made its way to the hilt of her blade. The contrast of its frigid metal grip met strongly against the warmth of the stones. “Typical, Sky. Always clutching opposing extremes. Learn your lesson already,” she murmured to herself. The Saradacathan (or Tad, as she had been calling it) huffed. Was it laughing at her or just blowing another sand fly out of its undersized nostrils. She was certain she knew the answer… almost. Still, that didn’t stop her from gripping the blade and the stones more tightly. At least she still had them.

Shattered Sphere

The Saradacathan are perhaps the most vicious of all Ukathi – their small frames deceptively unassuming and their permanently affixed vacant expressions indicating cognitive absence, concealing their uncanny cunning nature. Even in death they remain completely silent, lips sealed flatly and eyes wide open, they show now fear or worry or joy or anger. Most people believe them to be mute as the they have no known language, though rumors have always lingered that they can in fact speak. They are emotionless killers, perfect predators. Even a lone Saradacathan has been known to overtake an entire squad of Lukashi’L Elites, leaving a pile of tongue-less corpses to rot as a monument of victory. Encountering a group Saradacathan on disputed territory is a misfortune few live to regret. No’ten knew this better than anyone. Orphaned in his eleventh year during the winter pilgrimage through the Aspen Plains, he had never forgotten the horror of Saradacathan brutality. He survived then and he survived now. His hands trembled as he lowered his black saber, silver blood running down it’s side, bending around the strange glyphs beveling along the dull end of the blade.

Three Saradacathan bodies laid twisted before him – motionless, lifeless, ever expressionless with large seeping gashes across their necks, spilling silver blood on the snow covered earth. An illumines vapor still poured from his eyes, his skin still rigid and hard as if were a thin leather pulled tightly over chainmail. No’ten’s mind raced faster than his pounding heart. Was he the foretold pestilence of the Ukathi prophecy or the peace bringer of Lukashi’L folklore or did either of these even matter anymore? The world was ending in six days anyway. The black saber had already cleaned itself of the metallic Saradacathan blood. No’ten’s boots would not clean so easily. He sheathed his blade, and turned his back to the fallen opponents, facing eastward towards the Ukathi towers. “Osar’eli, if you still circle this sphere, tell Le’nalia I love her. Tell her I’m sorry.”

The Empty – Entry 5

“You came back,” Anthony said in disbelief. His throat tighten as the emotions ignited inside him. It had been a year since his visit to the edge. Jasmin wasn’t scheduled to return until next Fall. They had spoken over hololink two days earlier and she hadn’t mentioned a trip home. She looked perfect, maybe a little older, her hair was short now and red, that natural red she had always covered up. Jasmin didn’t speak, her knees felt like they would buckle. She looked around, confused. She was back at campus, in the lawn south of the library. The entire sky was blue, the Empty was no where in sight. “Jasmin,” Anthony asked, snapping her gaze back on him. She took several breaths and managed to whisper, “Toner?”

They rushed to embrace. She pressed her cheek to his chest, clutching his back. His arms surrounded her as he kissed her forehead. Time felt like it had stopped. Neither let go. Jasmin looked up into Anthony’s eyes. “I love you! I’ve always loved you. I wish I had told you before you died!” Anthony laughed, “I love you too, Jazz! And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.” Her eyes widened. She pulled back, placing her hands on his arms, “It’s ok, I know this is just…” A rock hit the ground a meter away and tumbled towards their feet. She glanced at it just as it came to rest, recognizing the black shine and thin silvery veins running through it. Hadn’t she thrown this rock into The Empty? She blinked.

Jasmin was in bed. Her chest still felt warm from Anthony’s embrace. Dog was sitting in the doorway, ears pulled back, the tip of his tail wagging slightly. Her eyes filled with tears.

The Empty – Entry 4

Toner… Anthony… he’s the reason I keep this ridiculous journal. Sentimental nonsense, I know. But since the 8th advance the whole world has gone senseless, why rock the boat.

It was the first day of the semester, my final year and his first year. I saw him from across the campus field. He was busy reviewing notes on his holo. His path was a collisions course, so I just stood there until he nearly walked in to me. His holo display warped around my face. The photons gave a slight tingling as they bounced off my cheeks. He gasped. In fairness I suppose a cute girl is the last thing one would expect to have erupt from the “The Political History of the North American Super Nation”. He took the cue pretty well. We had coffee that evening.

Toner had a full scholarship for journalism. School was really just a formality for him, something his parents wanted him to do. He didn’t mind; his first short story was published when he was 8. He already had 3 books on the top 50 list and he was regularly featured in several syndicated monthly publications. He could have gone anywhere and done anything. Instead he sipped lattes with me at Ariah’s Cafe every afternoon that year. That’s how I ended up journaling. He gave a convincing argument for why I should. And by “convincing argument” I mean those forest-in-the-fall hued eyes had a way of making you say yes just by looking at them. I tried not to look at them often.

Immediately after graduation SphereSafe Logistics recruited me for their Special Robotics division and sent me to the edge of the Empty. Toner came to visit befor his 2nd year started. We played it safe as usual. Coy. Dodging the overtones. It was a safe harmony. I never saw him in person after that trip. The 7th advance made sure of that. We never reached a crescendo.

– Jasmin Tzotsof, 8th advance survivor