Two women in my hands in as many days and I do nothing.
It's a fascinating thing to be disgusted with and proud of myself.
On the one hand, I look at me and see a pathetic weakling who possesses the hidden tools to be capable of anything I will and refrains out of cowardice. I see beauty around me daily, physical and psychological, and my sex drive is more starved Calista Flockheart. At times it's as if repression is changing me into an animal.
On the other, I look at me and see an individual who can no longer willingly engage in emotionally meaningless courtship and sex. The emptiness after such endeavors is draining on a spiritual level, like I have forsaken my morals and my dignity.
What's more, these conflicting miniature tempests of frustration have made me angry beyond belief. I have to literally stop myself from putting my fist through walls and people, especially when they seem out to confound and impede me. Hopefully the therapy and the exercise can relieve some of my rage.
My favorite and simultaneously least favorite part is that I love the passion. The anger is empowering beyond belief and tests my restraint to its absolute limits. I am forced to wrestle my ego down and endlessly contemplate the contrasting nature of my emotions. It impels me physically and intellectually, and like some absurd case of Stockholm syndrome, I don't know if I can truly let it go.
But hey, my plan has always been to be dead by 50, so mayhaps this will end up finishing the job.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
A World Without Music
Come back to me.
I wander in darkness and silence,
With no music to keep my stride.
Deafened chaos robs me of sense,
Panicked confusion steals my pride.
There is no focus to focus,
No point to point.
The world is pillaged of locus,
Left grey, melancholic, and disjoint.
Come back to me.
Where is my heart’s harmony?
Where is my soul’s wavelength?
Free me from this monotony,
Giving meaning to my aimless strength.
I shield my tortured ears
As the machine grinds and squeals.
I hope through my shaking tears
That oblivion will not be revealed.
Come back to me.
All is deathly quiet now.
The world has become insensate.
My blessed music, where art thou?
It is already too late.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Recesses
What a time to forget a tie, Gabriel thought to himself. He straightened his shirt and blazer as best he could in spite of the wrinkles formed by sitting in his car. He coughed into his hand and checked the smell of his breath. Using his car’s side rear-view mirror, he checked his face for any smudges or blemishes. The only things that bothered him were his own hazel-green eyes, both of which betrayed hints of his inner nervousness. He took a deep breath and closed those eyes, trying to compose himself instead of finding something else to worry about. Satisfied, he headed toward the monolithic psychiatric facility.
The thought occurred to be less politically correct about his destination – he was willfully entering an asylum. The very name, though describing sanctuary by its definition, did not bring the happiest connotations. Gabriel knew he was merely interviewing for a receptionist position, and a well-paid receptionist position at that, but the thought of being surrounded by lunatics, psychotics, and the tormented was very unnerving. During his stroll to the door, he considered turning around more than once, but economic needs kept pushing one foot in front of the other.
Half expecting something from a horror film, Gabriel opened the door and was greeted with pristine silence. Everything was in perfect order and immaculately clean, from the air conditioning vents on the ceiling to the grout lines of the tiled floor. Pale blues and faint greys amplified the bright indoor lighting and left Gabriel with a sensation that everything had been sterilized moments ago. It took him a moment to register the reception window to the right of the welcoming room, and still another moment to realize that there was a woman sitting inside, smiling right at him.
“How can I help you?” she asked practically the instant he saw her there. Her tone was very polite and warm. As Gabriel approached her, he noticed she looked a little older than she probably was, with age lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Uh, hi,” he stammered, still off-put by the surroundings. “I’m here about the receptionist position.” When the last word left his mouth he instantly regretted his answer. She was more than likely the person he was going to replace and he had no idea if her departure was going to be an amicable thing.
“I’ll let the doctor know you are here. What’s your name?” she asked, her tone consistent. It made him ease a little.
“Gabriel Verachec,” he answered.
The receptionist dialed an interior line, spoke to someone Gabriel presumed was an orderly, and hung up. She explained that the doctor was finishing up with a patient and would be along shortly, and that Gabriel should take a seat. The whole time she spoke, she carried the same unblinking, smiling facial expression. It wasn’t hostile, or even very upsetting, but it left Gabriel wondering if it was something he’d have after working here – assuming he got the job in the first place.
The next ten minutes passed very slowly. There were no magazines or television to distract Gabriel and the receptionist, as pleasant as she had been, provided no fuel for conversation. He watched the second-hand on the black and white wall clock twitch around and around, noting that every ten seconds that it made a little backwards motion before leaping to the next dash. He examined his clothes again, pulling off some minor pieces of lint, and popped in a breath mint when the receptionist turned to face away from him. Suddenly, the increasingly uncomfortable quiet was aggressively banished by the whoosh of double doors.
“Where’s my new receptionist?” a man asked in a jovial and boisterous tone as he passed through the doors. Strikingly handsome and obviously confident, the newcomer’s unstained lab coat, pressed pants, and shining shoes made him look like he belonged on some ridiculous hospital TV drama. But what truly caught Gabriel’s attention were his hazel-green eyes. They were identical to the ones Gabriel saw in the mirror not twenty minutes earlier, save for the assuredness in the new version.
Interview etiquette took over, impelling Gabriel to stand, offer his hand, and introduce himself.
“Gabriel Verachec, sir,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Are you, now?” the doctor replied sarcastically. “Do you spend a lot of time getting to know psychiatrists?”
“Only the ones who can potentially hire me, sir,” Gabriel answered.
The doctor laughed and said “Good enough. I’m Alexander Kemp, purveyor of this fine establishment and, if you aren’t one to crack under pressure, your employer for at least the next year. Let’s get this little chit-chat started, shall we?”
+ + + + + +
Much to Gabriel’s surprise, the interview went very well and by its end, Dr. Kemp was giving him instructions on what paperwork to file with his predecessor to make things official. The doctor’s easy-going nature and smooth intellect had dispelled practically all of Gabriel’s jitters and hesitancy, and belatedly Gabriel wondered if such a thing was a well-practiced tactic. As he pondered this, Dr. Kemp surprised him again.
“You know, Gabriel, as much as I’d like to have you work with us, there is one critical thing that needs to be settled before we go forward from here,” Dr. Kemp said. “There are some truly disturbed people here and if we cannot acclimate ourselves to their conditions, our efforts to help them will be dangerously counterproductive.”
“I can handle it, Dr. Kemp,” Gabriel answered, trying to be as convincing as possible.
“I have to be the judge of that, Gabriel,” the doctor answered. “Please come with me.”
The doctor stood up and headed out of his office with Gabriel in tow. They passed the dark and empty offices of other physicians and psychiatrists and Gabriel wondered if their absences were permanent or temporary. He shivered a little when he realized how cold it was in the long hallway and though the doctor was facing away from him, he still used the pretense of straightening his blazer to pull it tighter around his shoulders.
At the far end of the hallway, two large, muscular and seemingly dim orderlies stood sentinel in front of heavy steel elevator doors. The men and the doors looked more like a scene from Fort Knox than anything Gabriel expected from a hospital in suburbia.
“Gentlemen,” Dr. Kemp said in a pleasant tone.
“Sir,” they answered and obediently stepped aside at the unspoken command.
The doctor and the new receptionist entered the elevator and as Gabriel turned and watched the ponderous doors come together, he felt a pang of claustrophobia set in. The entirely new experience was extremely disconcerting, but he smothered it before he ruined his chance at the job. The doctor pushed a button to head to a lower level and with a pinch of vertigo, they descended into the belly of the asylum.
+ + + + + +
When the doors opened again, Gabriel’s eyes spread wide. He had expected to see more pale blue and off gray with a whiff of cleaning solvent in the air, but what greeted him could only be described as dank. The facility’s plumbing ran visibly overhead, groaning and shaking with each rush of imported or exported water. Sloppy brick walls pushed back the encroaching earth on all sides. Hastily strung lighting zig-zagged down the corridor, doing a poor job of illuminating and an effective job of concealing what lay beyond.
“Down here is where we keep our most troubled patients,” Dr. Kemp said as they exited and walked forward, in a tone without the slightest gravitas. “Their conditions are so advanced that they remain a danger to themselves and those around them. We have removed most forms of stimuli and keep them heavily medicated, but I must warn you that what you are about to see is not pleasant.”
As the doctor neared the only two cells, deep at the end of the corridor, he called out into the gloom.
“Hello, boys.”
A thunderous crash boomed to Gabriel’s left, causing him to jump back several feet. The impact shook the nearest hanging lamp and as the light swayed, it revealed and concealed the person responsible repeatedly. The man inside the cell held the steel bars in a white-knuckle grip, the musculature on his arms thin but whipcord strong. He held himself several feet off the ground, his heels pressed into the bars. He was trembling with pent up energy and mewling in between long, messy, deliberate strokes of his tongue over his lips. His breaths came out as wet, ragged gasps and long, unkempt hair covered his face down to the nose. He wore only a pair of loose fitting regulation pants, pulled tight at that moment by a prominent erection. His latent stink caught Gabriel’s nostrils then, making the new receptionist silently gag.
“Gabriel, I’d like you to meet Jack,” Dr. Kemp said as if introducing a colleague. “Quite the excitable one, as you can see. Our mission here is to teach our friend Jack to refrain from giving in to his more base impulses.”
The floor of Jack’s cell was covered in small pieces of loose white debris. The smell of old food made Gabriel realize that they were the remains of shattered plastic eating trays. When he looked back at Jack, the patient had his head cocked inquisitively to the side. Jack looked at Gabriel, down at the debris, and back again, smiling the second time. With a grunt, Jack dropped like a stone to the floor, rolled over, grabbed one of the sharper pieces of plastic and hurled it at Gabriel. The shard came within inches of Gabriel’s eye and left a long scratch along the receptionist’s temple before clattering into the wall behind him.
In a flash of movement, Dr. Kemp threw open one side of his lab coat and produced a hefty black gun. Gabriel’s eyes flashed open in shock when Dr. Kemp depressed the trigger and pronged wires leapt at Jack before disgorging several thousand volts of electricity. The imprisoned man writhed and spat incoherent obscenities before the doctor was satisfied and released his electric grip. Jack pushed himself up and began muttering threateningly, all the while walking around his cell and punching the brick walls with considerable force. Several wet pops likely meant dislocated fingers and broken bones, but Jack only growled and retreated to the corner.
“Don’t…don’t be…mad, doctor. He…he…he…he…hasn’t…had any…visitors…for a long time,” said a rumbling voice from behind Gabriel.
Very alarmed, Gabriel slowly turned around to the cell opposite Jack’s. A huge shadow shifted in the depths of the chamber and lumbered its way to the front. It was a huge and deformed man, with impossibly broad shoulders and cartoonishly large arms. His legs were thick and stubby and the regulation clothes he wore were pulled taught around his bulky frame. He leaned forward, eyeing Gabriel underneath a Neanderthal brow.
“He knows the rules, Daniel,” the doctor said to the giant. “That kind of behavior will not be tolerated.” The brute’s gaze turned sheepishly to the floor and he nodded knowingly.
“Gabriel,” the doctor continued, “this gentle giant is Daniel. Despite his appearance, he’s actually quite intelligent and, when his stuttering is under control, he’s quite the conversationalist.” Gabriel looked at the doctor with a momentary disgust caused by the insensitivity of the remarks, but the doctor didn’t notice.
Daniel returned to the middle of his cell, pressed his back into the wall, and slid down to the floor. He looked like a man robbed of all spirit and vitality, and Gabriel could not help but feel crestfallen as well.
“Though we haven’t quite discovered what yet,” Dr. Kemp said, “something in poor Daniel’s past left him a broken and angry spirit. He vented his incredible rage on anyone he could find and the police were going to throw him in prison. Can you imagine it? Poor Daniel would kill and kill until he himself were murdered. The barbarity infuriates me. Anyway, I happened to learn of Daniel’s case and had him brought here for treatment.”
Gabriel saw huge scars forming random crossing patterns on Daniel’s hands and forearms and could only imagine what the rest of his skin looked like underneath the clothes. It was not hard to envision Daniel as some avatar of anger, but seeing him loaded with enough medication to kill a normal man was just as disconcerting and much more disheartening. Daniel began whispering to himself, with the occasional word being much louder than the others and changing the directions of the stream of consciousness that now flowed from his mouth. It made little sense.
“Ah, such a shame,” Dr. Kemp said. “When he goes off on a train of thought like this, he’s unreachable for hours. At times I think it’s a defense mechanism. He does it constantly.”
Gabriel clenched his fists in order to stop himself from shaking, and in all probability, turning and sprinting for the elevator.
“Doctor,” he said, “this is nothing like I expected.”
“Perfectly understandable, Gabriel,” Dr. Kemp replied. “If you have to go for the day, feel free. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”
Gabriel turned and quickly walked to the elevator. He pressed the button several times, no longer concerned about concealing his discomfort and outright fear. After waiting for what felt to him like an eternity, Gabriel sighed in relief when the steel doors opened and revealed the empty elevator within. He entered and pressed the first floor button several times, but as the doors began to close, he looked up one more time.
In the dusk of the corridor, he saw something that didn’t make sense. He something that shouldn’t be. He saw something that had a depth of meaning that he was far too afraid to explore.
There, in the shifting shadows that enveloped what had been hidden from the world, he saw three pairs of hazel-green eyes.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
LAAAZZZEEEE
I'm going to stop being a bum and get back to delivering on this thing.
TOMORROW.
Mwahaha! See what I did there?
*Note: Comments directed at the four crazy people who actually read this stupid blogspot.
TOMORROW.
Mwahaha! See what I did there?
*Note: Comments directed at the four crazy people who actually read this stupid blogspot.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
In That West Texas Town
An homage to the work of Marty Robbins.
I can’t say I’ve ever tasted kerosene, but the swill in my glass is as close as I’d care to get. I’m sure the serving girl that brought it by said it was brandy, but she scampered off before I could check the damn thing. But one must give credit where credit is due. The stuff got me hammered fast and dulled the throbbing of the club’s dance beat. I’m fairly certain I was drunk four double shots ago. Or six. I don’t remember or care at the moment. Looking at or thinking about anything for longer than a few seconds makes everything start to spin, so my attention is rather hit and miss at the moment.
But there is one thing that I can’t pull away from.
A woman stands at the middle of the dance floor, swaying and spinning like a hypnotic dervish. Her raven hair thrashes and whips with a passion bordering on violent. Ornate ink artwork writhes on the exposed mocha skin of her back and shoulders, as if the characters depicted are as entranced by the pounding music as she is. She is the figure commanding attention in a room filled with beautiful people.
Her name is Felina.
It’s a name that every man around here knows. She is the most tantalizing of contradictions- a famous enigma, an untouchable seductress, an illusionary promise of that which you want most and can never have. You can see the lust in the faces of men who want her and women who want to be her.
A broad smile unfolds on my face for two reasons. First, I cannot help but admire her subconscious domination of the club. But more importantly, I have known her. And she has known me. I smile because I can see primal imaginations at work and because I know that those imaginations can never truly understand that their fevered dreams can’t begin to approach the bliss of the reality. She is the closest to perfection any person should ever be.
As I revel in my achievements, something catches my eye. The very fact that it attracted my gaze from Felina is an amazement, but I am too lost in the moment. A group of men has entered the club and the rhythmic crowd parts before them like the Red Sea. Each of them is impeccably dressed and exuding confidence, but it is the one in the center that sets me on edge. He is a man other men instinctually fear and respect in equal measure. His combination of prowess and cunning is obvious enough to threaten that which other men work to achieve.
I am so caught up in his arrival that I fail to notice his trajectory, and when I do, it takes everything I have not to spring from my chair. He has locked eyes with Felina.
The only thing restraining me from getting between them is that I know Felina and believe no man to be a match for her. But as he approaches her, he does not try to join her in dance. He does not pay her due respect. He does not even stop, even when his coterie disperses amongst the crowd. He strolls through the dance floor and straight past her, his eyes only leaving when to continue would require him to turn his head. His game is painfully obvious and too crude to even laugh at.
But Felina has stopped dancing. For the first time, I see her face curious and the slightest bit confused. The newcomer will not bow to her latent charms and she wishes to know why.
She follows him to the bar and takes a chair two away from his. For an eternity, neither does anything but order a drink. Then, with a measured calm, he turns to her and says something lost in the thunder of amplifiers. She smiles in return and a conversation is ignited. I am no lip reader, but it is plain to see that she is tolerating his company well. Even enjoying it, revolting as the idea is.
The crowd, in its ignorance, has returned to its mundane and fitful dancing. How they can no longer be concerned with the transpiring events is beyond me. Felina is precariously close to the man now, toying with him and letting herself be toyed with in equal measure.
I cannot stop myself anymore. I rise and slip through the mass of people, wondering why it never seemed to take so long to get to the bar before. When I finally emerge, the man is watching Felina sashay back onto the dance floor. I order a double shot of something slightly more expensive than my previous drinks. I want to say something to the man, but it occurs to me that I have no idea what. Felina’s renewed dancing only serves to distract me further
“I don’t think she’s into your type,” the man says. It takes me a moment to realize he is talking to me.
“Excuse me?” I ask incredulously.
“You heard me,” the man replied. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching from the moment I got here. You’re a little out of your league, friend.”
“What business is it of yours?” I ask.
“When I got here, Felina was dancing for the rest of you,” the man replied. “Look at her. She’s dancing for me now. This moment is perfect and I don’t need your delusions of grandeur fucking it up. Think of it as me doing you a favor, if that helps it go down smoother.”
“You arrogant little prick,” I spit. “You’re right about one thing. I was watching since you got here and my impressions were right all along. You’re nothing but a spoiled bastard who thinks he’s entitled to anything he wants. Grow up and maybe I’ll consider asking you for a favor.”
“Grow up?” the man asked with a smile. “You’re getting territorial about a woman who isn’t going to give you the time of day. Go back to your corner and deal with your little obsession.”
I promised myself I wasn’t going to overreact. I promised myself I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself in front of Felina. I promised myself that I have enough composure.
My fist lurches forward, deviating far from the perfect angle of attack my brain calculated. As if warned of my intent, the man arches back and lets me and my arm swing past him. I almost lose my balance, but I manage to turn, bellow, and charge, my arms spread wide like a football player. I close my eyes instinctually before the impact, and with a painful suddenness I’m greeted by the bar’s front panels. The world spins and I’m on my side on the floor, secretly marveling at the man’s agility and the stoicism of oak. I rise with considerable effort and spit something that tastes like blood. The rhythm around me has quieted and I hear the voices of large men shouting to clear a path. They could be the club’s bouncers or the man’s entourage, but either way I’m not going down without getting him.
I throw another punch and miss again, this one spinning me almost completely around to face the bar once more. I can hear him laughing now, the sound grating on my emotions like sandpaper on bare skin. My hand finds a bottle, thick-glassed and half-full. I blindly swing one more time, furious beyond what I thought I was capable of.
There is a heavy thud and pop that stop both the bottle and my whirling momentum. My eyes take far too long to adjust but when they do, the man is no longer there. I look around and see terrified faces. I look down and see a man- the man- lying on the floor. Blood is pouring from the side of his head and pooling around him. I look at the bottle and examine the red stain on the corner. I am in no small amount of disbelief that I actually hit him. For the briefest moment, I feel triumphant at having accomplished what I set out to do. But as I look at his ruined head, a terrible, sobering sickness uncoils in my gut. A veil is lifted from my hazy vision and, though I am no doctor, every part of my terrified brain says this man is dead.
A throaty growl makes me look up and see enraged bouncers lumbering and shouldering their way through the mass of people, intent solely on me. The man’s friends follow suit, their sudden movements distinguishing them and allowing me to see the mixture of shock and anger that consumes them.
The bottle becomes enormously heavy then and I drop it. I take a step back, too afraid to do anything besides let instinct take over again. A million thoughts tear through my mind at once- police, courts, prison, fear of vengeance, and pain being chief amongst them.
I have but one chance, and that is to run.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Questions
What is objective truth?
Laws of science, religion, and culture
Change with each generation,
As easily as a person's mood.
In a universe where nothing is still,
Can anything truly be defined?
Question, so many questions,
Leaving nothing but more queries behind,
Each beckoning to the curious,
And those blind to the eternal scale.
Why do I try the possible?
Why will pride not allow me peace?
Is it better to be ignorant in bliss
Or to stare into the amoral soul of creation?
I cannot stop my yearning now,
For I have tasted the fruit of knowledge.
To turn away is naught but cowardice.
To submit is the path to despair.
Would I want to hold stars and sands
If such a fate is truly knowable?
Welcome to my island within the cosmos,
Where only the brilliant fool survives.
Laws of science, religion, and culture
Change with each generation,
As easily as a person's mood.
In a universe where nothing is still,
Can anything truly be defined?
Question, so many questions,
Leaving nothing but more queries behind,
Each beckoning to the curious,
And those blind to the eternal scale.
Why do I try the possible?
Why will pride not allow me peace?
Is it better to be ignorant in bliss
Or to stare into the amoral soul of creation?
I cannot stop my yearning now,
For I have tasted the fruit of knowledge.
To turn away is naught but cowardice.
To submit is the path to despair.
Would I want to hold stars and sands
If such a fate is truly knowable?
Welcome to my island within the cosmos,
Where only the brilliant fool survives.
Quote of the Day- 06/16/2011
"On a Friday night, there's nothing I like better than cracking open a cool one and watching seventy two hours of brutal beatings and forced sodomy."
- Stephen Colbert
- Stephen Colbert
Nightwalker
Nothing is regarded with more dread
Than that which we cannot see.
When all rational thought does flee,
Only phantom and nightmare are in its stead.
The stinging stench of night's terror
Permeates chill air and smoldering soul
Gone is your illusion of control,
Boasts of courage made in knowing error.
Embrace the things you so horridly fear.
Wear cloying dark as victory's mantle.
You will find the shade's aegis most ample,
Even when the direst predators draw near.
So much of the world exists beyond sight,
So one cannot rely on the eyes alone.
That shadow's bounty has already been sown,
Waiting to be reaped by those who walk the night.
Than that which we cannot see.
When all rational thought does flee,
Only phantom and nightmare are in its stead.
The stinging stench of night's terror
Permeates chill air and smoldering soul
Gone is your illusion of control,
Boasts of courage made in knowing error.
Embrace the things you so horridly fear.
Wear cloying dark as victory's mantle.
You will find the shade's aegis most ample,
Even when the direst predators draw near.
So much of the world exists beyond sight,
So one cannot rely on the eyes alone.
That shadow's bounty has already been sown,
Waiting to be reaped by those who walk the night.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Quote of the Day- 06/15/2011
"I'd say that you were the perfect combination of imperfections. I'd say that your nose was just a little too short, your mouth just a little too wide. But yours was a face that a man could see in his dreams for the whole of his life. I'd say that you were vain, selfish, cruel, deceitful. I'd say that you were... Sibella."
- Louis Mazzini
- Louis Mazzini
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Quote of the Day- 06/14/2011
"Every compulsion is put upon writers to become safe, polite, obedient, and sterile."
- Sinclair Lewis
- Sinclair Lewis
Monday, June 13, 2011
Quote of the Day- 06/13/2011
"Historically, the claim of consensus is the first refuge of scoundrels; it is a way to avoid debate by claiming that the matter is already settled."
- Michael Crichton
- Michael Crichton
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Quote of the Day- 06/10/2011
"Mr. Madison, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."
- The Principal from "Billy Madison"
- The Principal from "Billy Madison"
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Faces of the Damned
A tune airy and mischievous plays,
Keeping us dancing all in time,
Whirling and prancing in elegant ways,
Together locked in unison sublime.
But as I spin and step with joy,
A barbed fragment cannot escape my mind.
The whole beauteous scene begins to cloy,
Gorgeous tapestry tearing at its binds.
My gaze is drawn from face to face,
And the disturbing truth is revealed.
Features obscured by masks in their place,
The souls of all left false and concealed.
With herculean effort I break from the line,
Trying to take in the growing horror.
Desperation is blooming and mine,
Like the pain of a forsaken explorer.
Where once was magnificent dance
I now see only endless pantomime,
Infinite hordes locked in trance,
Gleefully enslaved to tune and rhyme.
I am rocked and struck by the crowd,
Caught in the path of a conforming swarm.
Their unwilling ecstasy is insane and loud,
Even as their blood spills fluid and warm.
Quote of the Day- 06/09/2011
"Love is an attempt at penetrating another being, but it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual."
- Octavio Paz
- Octavio Paz
Quote of the Day- 06/08/2011
"I have to understand what my strengths and limitations are, and work from a true place. I try to do this as best I can while still protecting my writer self, which more than ever needs privacy."
- Sandra Cisneros
- Sandra Cisneros
Quote of the Day- 06/07/2011
"Boredom is the feeling that everything is a waste of time; serenity, that nothing is."
- Thomas Szasz
- Thomas Szasz
Quote of the Day- 06/06/2011
"Fiction was invented the day Jonas arrived home and told his wife that he was three days late because he had been swallowed by a whale."
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Quote of the Day- 06/05/2011
"You climb to reach the summit, but once there, discover all roads lead down."
- Stanislaw Lem
- Stanislaw Lem
Monday, June 6, 2011
Quote of the Day- 06/04/2011
"Oh, you mean love? A big lightning bolt to the heart when you can't eat and you can't work and you just run off and get married and make babies? The reason you haven't felt it is because it doesn't exist. What you call love was invented by guys like me to sell nylons...you're born alone and you die alone and this world just drops a bunch of rules on top of you to make you forget those facts, but I never forget. I'm living like there is no tomorrow, because there isn't one."
- Don Draper.
- Don Draper.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
I Miss You
Written to answer a request for a piece about a lonely lover.
I've spent my life as a man untouched
By fear, weakness, or cowardly shame,
With heart hardened to love and much
That I took for a strong man's bane.
Then, by simple circumstance, you came to me,
A furious aphrodesian hurricane,
Within you a fire for all to see,
So much power in such a tiny frame.
You tore down my walls and left me bare,
Casting my heart into the light of the sun,
And for a moment I knew love without compare,
Giving you a victory I thought could not be won.
I stand alone amongst the rubble now,
Yearning, spent, pained, and wasted.
With what I have left I hope that somehow
Your tempest returns to see my heart sated.
I want to hate and be rid of memory,
But as I rebuild my walls ever higher,
Thoughts of you are locked in my treasury,
Forever safe from my futile ire.
I've spent my life as a man untouched
By fear, weakness, or cowardly shame,
With heart hardened to love and much
That I took for a strong man's bane.
Then, by simple circumstance, you came to me,
A furious aphrodesian hurricane,
Within you a fire for all to see,
So much power in such a tiny frame.
You tore down my walls and left me bare,
Casting my heart into the light of the sun,
And for a moment I knew love without compare,
Giving you a victory I thought could not be won.
I stand alone amongst the rubble now,
Yearning, spent, pained, and wasted.
With what I have left I hope that somehow
Your tempest returns to see my heart sated.
I want to hate and be rid of memory,
But as I rebuild my walls ever higher,
Thoughts of you are locked in my treasury,
Forever safe from my futile ire.
Defiance
Written in response to a question about why I am so stubborn in light of the resistance I've found.
A broken man asks why
Fate seems set against him.
He fails to want to try
In the face of the world's brim.
A desperate man asks when
Will awaited salvation come.
He fails to know his ken
And will only find faith undone.
A cautious man asks how
Unknown can be illuminated.
He fails to love here and now,
Left with stale breath bated.
A defiant man ask what
He must do to weather the storm.
He fails to see invincible plot
For in hope is victory born.
A broken man asks why
Fate seems set against him.
He fails to want to try
In the face of the world's brim.
A desperate man asks when
Will awaited salvation come.
He fails to know his ken
And will only find faith undone.
A cautious man asks how
Unknown can be illuminated.
He fails to love here and now,
Left with stale breath bated.
A defiant man ask what
He must do to weather the storm.
He fails to see invincible plot
For in hope is victory born.
Quote of the Day- 06/02/2011 (A TWO-FER!)
"It is not reasonable that those who gamble with men's lives should not pay with their own."
- H.G. Wells
"A witty saying proves nothing."
- Voltaire
- H.G. Wells
"A witty saying proves nothing."
- Voltaire
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Quote of the Day- 05/31/2011
"All political thinking for years past has been vitiated in the same way. People can foresee the future only when it coincides with their own wishes, and the most grossly obvious facts can be ignored when they are unwelcome."
- George Orwell
- George Orwell
Monday, May 30, 2011
Quote of the Day- 05/30/2011
"The way people speak and write nowadays makes my head hurt."
- Edmund Rostand
- Edmund Rostand
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wyrmblood
I am a monster.
You know my face,
Shadow of your dreams.
Lord of a primeval race,
Avatar of power’s extremes.
You look upon my form,
Envy and fear in your eye.
My wrath, an unholy storm,
Then naught but widow’s cry.
Yet you cannot know
Why I take to ancient wing.
Each heated breath I blow,
Driven by chilled heart string.
Force of nature despised,
Cast as civilization’s bane.
Each thought of peace denied,
In name of honor and fame.
I cannot willingly relent,
With tooth and talon will I rend.
Only when my fire is spent,
Will I welcome fury’s end.
Quote of the Day- 05/29/2011
"In my pursuit, World, why such diligence? What my offense, when I am thus inclined, insuring elegance affect my mind, not that mind affect an elegance?"
- Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
- Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Quote of the Day- 05/28/2011
"An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why."
- William Faulkner
- William Faulkner
Friday, May 27, 2011
Quote of the Day- 05/27/2011
"There are two levers for moving men- interest and fear."
- Napoleon Bonaparte
- Napoleon Bonaparte
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Quote of the Day- 05/26/2011
"Wait a minute! There's a chance I could lose?! That wasn't part of the deal!"
- Bender Bending Rodriguez
- Bender Bending Rodriguez
Know What Awaits You...
Sister Ines racked the slide of her bolter and heard the meaty clicking of the first round of a new magazine sliding into place. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to keep her focus and drown out the barrage of artillery that screamed and roared around her. Her training and her faith were more than enough to control her fear, but the murderous torrent of shells still had ample effect on her more tangible senses. She shifted her shoulders and stretched her arms, checking the sounds and feel of her armor’s servo-joints. Satisfied, she turned back to the rest of her squad. Four other Sisters of Battle were flexing their respective grips on their respective bolters and checking their weapons for signs of significant wear or trauma.
Sister Freyda continued her seemingly endless muttering of litanies and prayers, as if the Emperor would cease to know her should she stop. Sister Maniku shifted uncomfortably, trying to lessen pressure on her two broken ribs. Focusing a rage-filled glare on the landscape beyond the squad’s cover, Sister Area looked like a vengeful raptor seeking prey. Between all of them, Sister Superior Joanna pressed her vox-link bud into her ear and closed her eyes in an attempt to assess the overall tactical situation. Each of them had been blooded and their wargear had taken savage beatings.
“Sisters, ears to the vox,” the Superior ordered. “Please repeat, my mistress” Joanna yelled into her link.
The metallic growl of the communications network flooded Ines’s ears and was swiftly replaced with the voice of the Blessed Canoness.
“Squad Joanna- traitorous Astartes have been sighted in your area,” the commander said. “Fall back and regroup at a more defensible position. We must consolidate and not allow them to attack us piecemeal.”
“Negative, mistress. We have made significant ground in this sector,” Joanna responded. “My squad can defend th…”
The barking retort of a bolter, heavier in caliber than those of Squad Joanna, cut off the Superior’s remarks by hitting her in the pauldron, spinning and dropping her. She herself was superficially damaged, but she tore the piece of armor from her shoulder and cast it aside. She rolled aside as a three round burst exploded in the space she formerly occupied, showering the squad with rockcrete and shrapnel. As one, the four Sisters counter-attacked, barely emerging from cover and opening up with their firearms. Sister Area’s head exploded as she pulled her trigger, scattering her shots to the wind but forcing her massive Astartes murderer to move to cover.
The giant was absurdly quick and relentless, loosing off single shots as he moved, each of which came perilously close to a squad member. His thick, burgundy, statuesque armor absorbed several direct hits which did little more than make him grunt in defiance. Some thirty meters behind him, a swarm of obscene and frenzied cultists was advancing and butchering any soldier unfortunate enough to be wounded.
Rather than move between the cover, the Chaos Marine thundered through it like a runaway vehicle, forcing Maniku and Freyda to leap and roll out of the way. Superior Joanna drew her power sword and leapt forward into the mass of ceramite and debris, the weapon held out like a lance of light. The Astarte plowed through her, sending her airborne body spinning and slamming into the rockcrete.
“Ave Imperator!” Ines cried as she rose and emptied her bolter. The repeated impacts pulverized the Chaos Marine’s backpack generator and staggered his bulky form. Ines allowed her bolter to kick hard in her hands and use the recoil to bring the shots toward his head. Even as she fired, her eyes caught the golden glimmer of Joanna’s power sword embedded to the hilt in the traitor’s belly, and she smiled.
“Suffer not…the unclean…to live!” Joanna heaved in ragged gasps as the Chaos Marine dropped to one knee and the icon of a grey, screaming demon was scoured from his shoulder. The final shot cleared the barrel of Ines’s weapon and struck the Marine just beneath his helm, tearing his throat into a bloody ruin that barely kept his head on his shoulders.
Sister Freyda approached the dying Astarte and gripped his horned helm with both hands. With a throaty scream, she torn the Word Bearer’s head from his shoulders and turned to the cultist throng beyond.
"We are the Daughters of the Emperor! His Holy Avengers! See our wrath and know what awaits you, heretics!”
Sister Freyda continued her seemingly endless muttering of litanies and prayers, as if the Emperor would cease to know her should she stop. Sister Maniku shifted uncomfortably, trying to lessen pressure on her two broken ribs. Focusing a rage-filled glare on the landscape beyond the squad’s cover, Sister Area looked like a vengeful raptor seeking prey. Between all of them, Sister Superior Joanna pressed her vox-link bud into her ear and closed her eyes in an attempt to assess the overall tactical situation. Each of them had been blooded and their wargear had taken savage beatings.
“Sisters, ears to the vox,” the Superior ordered. “Please repeat, my mistress” Joanna yelled into her link.
The metallic growl of the communications network flooded Ines’s ears and was swiftly replaced with the voice of the Blessed Canoness.
“Squad Joanna- traitorous Astartes have been sighted in your area,” the commander said. “Fall back and regroup at a more defensible position. We must consolidate and not allow them to attack us piecemeal.”
“Negative, mistress. We have made significant ground in this sector,” Joanna responded. “My squad can defend th…”
The barking retort of a bolter, heavier in caliber than those of Squad Joanna, cut off the Superior’s remarks by hitting her in the pauldron, spinning and dropping her. She herself was superficially damaged, but she tore the piece of armor from her shoulder and cast it aside. She rolled aside as a three round burst exploded in the space she formerly occupied, showering the squad with rockcrete and shrapnel. As one, the four Sisters counter-attacked, barely emerging from cover and opening up with their firearms. Sister Area’s head exploded as she pulled her trigger, scattering her shots to the wind but forcing her massive Astartes murderer to move to cover.
The giant was absurdly quick and relentless, loosing off single shots as he moved, each of which came perilously close to a squad member. His thick, burgundy, statuesque armor absorbed several direct hits which did little more than make him grunt in defiance. Some thirty meters behind him, a swarm of obscene and frenzied cultists was advancing and butchering any soldier unfortunate enough to be wounded.
Rather than move between the cover, the Chaos Marine thundered through it like a runaway vehicle, forcing Maniku and Freyda to leap and roll out of the way. Superior Joanna drew her power sword and leapt forward into the mass of ceramite and debris, the weapon held out like a lance of light. The Astarte plowed through her, sending her airborne body spinning and slamming into the rockcrete.
“Ave Imperator!” Ines cried as she rose and emptied her bolter. The repeated impacts pulverized the Chaos Marine’s backpack generator and staggered his bulky form. Ines allowed her bolter to kick hard in her hands and use the recoil to bring the shots toward his head. Even as she fired, her eyes caught the golden glimmer of Joanna’s power sword embedded to the hilt in the traitor’s belly, and she smiled.
“Suffer not…the unclean…to live!” Joanna heaved in ragged gasps as the Chaos Marine dropped to one knee and the icon of a grey, screaming demon was scoured from his shoulder. The final shot cleared the barrel of Ines’s weapon and struck the Marine just beneath his helm, tearing his throat into a bloody ruin that barely kept his head on his shoulders.
Sister Freyda approached the dying Astarte and gripped his horned helm with both hands. With a throaty scream, she torn the Word Bearer’s head from his shoulders and turned to the cultist throng beyond.
"We are the Daughters of the Emperor! His Holy Avengers! See our wrath and know what awaits you, heretics!”
Battle for the Sepulcher Redux
In all his many years of waging war, Marneus had never seen anything like it. Images flickered across his vision, as the creature could not seem to keep its shape. It was a towering inferno, head and shoulders taller than him, even with the Armor of Antilochus. A myriad of aspects vied for dominance, each an image of a particular strategy in war perfected. Wreathed in smoke and spewing flame in its wake, the abomination thundered towards the Ultramarine elite without hesitation or fear. Squads Barachus and Varudon marched into the behemoth’s path, baring their thunder hammers and lightning claws in challenge.
As a predator acquiring its quarry, the Avatar leaned back and unleashed a tremendous roar. Each son of Guilleman staggered, and as Calgar turned to Tigurius, he saw the venerable Librarian screaming at the top of his lungs. Whatever sound the creature was making cut across the dimensional barriers and afflicted those with psychic power most drastically. And yet, as the Lord of Macragge turned back to the xenos, he saw the fragile Eldar standing tall. Their bewitched monster empowered them as it crippled the Ultramarines, and a fell light of determination appeared in their once-defeated eyes.
“Do not give in to their witchcraft, brothers!” Calgar yelled over the vox-link, though he was not sure if any could hear or acknowledge him. “For Orar, Guilleman, and the Emperor, bring that abomination to its knees!”
A throaty and defiant confirmation answered him, and the Ultramarines stepped forward.
The raspy exhaust of a wave of krak missiles erupted, and seconds later they slammed into the Avatar with enough collective force to fell a Land Raider tank. The heavy hammering of bolt shells and the scream of assault cannon rounds joined in the chorus of war, showering the monster in a torrent of gunfire. The Eldar Champion swayed and staggered beneath the weight of the assault, and a great cheer went up from the Ultramarine squads when the beast dropped to a knee. A Predator spun where it sat and fired twin lascannon beams, scoring a direct hit in the Avatar’s blackened chest and dropped it to the ground.
The fey xenos were not idle as their idol took such punishment. Walls of shuriken fire and bolts of refined plasma greeted whatever Space Marine was not eager in his search for cover. Rockets from concealed Dark Reapers pinned the Terminators in place while Wave Serpents and mounted Fire Dragons circled around with their armor-shredding weaponry. The Predator that had felled the Avatar was in turn pierced by a bright blue lance-beam and exploded spectacularly as its ammunition and fuel detonated. Marneus was appalled at the losses on both sides, the likes of which he had not seen since the War for Macragge.
“My lord,” Tigurius called out from behind the Chapter Master. He was obviously shaken from the psychic assault he had endured. “We must pull back deeper into the compound. Their monster has been felled, and a fury has overtaken them. We will defeat them in this protracted battle, but it will be a most pyrrhic victory.”
“Aye, brother. This is Lord Macragge to all units- initiate Astartes pattern epsilon. Keep to cover.”
As the last words left his lips, Calgar saw the unthinkable. The Avatar raised an arm and planted its palm on the ground, pushing itself upright once again. The tormented wraithbone of its construction seemed to be restructuring itself even as the creature regained its balance. Strangely, the creature’s shoulders heaved up and down. With a hurt pride and a snarl of disgust, Calgar realized the Avatar was laughing, if such a thing was capable of a sense of humor.
In response to their demi-god’s resurgence, the Eldar surged forward, pouring shot after shot into the Ultramarines as they fell back. To their credit, the Ultramarines moved with perfect precision and haste, all the while burdening themselves with the fallen. Disciplined retreats and counter-volleys forced the maniacal Eldar to slow their advance on the flanks, but the Avatar had broken into a run and was closing once again on squads Baruchus and Varodon. In his heart Marneus could not willingly allow such noble warriors to die alone, and in his mind he knew that if the Avatar broke through them, no defensible position present would withstand the demon’s fury.
“Tigurius, you have operational command,” Calgar ordered. “I am joining Baruchus and Varodon. Sergeant Baruchus, activate your teleport homer.”
With a thought, Calgar activated his armor’s teleportation device, and with a flash, he vanished into the warp. A moment later, he phased into existence directly before Sergeant Baruchus.
“With me, brothers,” Marneus ordered.
On his right, squad Varodon lumbered forward and activate the power cells within their lightning claws. They fanned out into a tactical pattern taught to assault squads that was meant to absorb and counter the charging momentum of a tank. Sergeant Varodon took the center, flanked by three talon-bearing Terminators on either side of him. They stalked forward, weapons raised, ready to close on the monster’s flanks. The Avatar broke into a run, letting its eagerness to fight push aside any thoughts of waiting. In its hand, the blazing sword was remolded into a massive spear. With a swiftness and grace that defied all assumptions about its size, the Avatar closed the gap and leapt forward.
The infernal spear impacted on the exact center point of Varodon’s armor before the century-old Sergeant had time to close into a defensive posture. It cut through him as easily as through robes and stuck him into the ground. Pushing its weight forward, the Avatar vaulted into the air and over the charging Terminators. A blast of energy dislodged the immolating corpse of Varodon and the soil beneath him, freeing the spear. The demi-god twisted in the air as the weapon changed once more, taking on the aspect of an axe. The creature landed in a crouch, not ten meters from the Chapter Master. In an instant, Calgar activated the Gauntlets and stepped forward, flanked by a wall of energy shields and hammers cackling with lightning.
In two broad steps, the Avatar covered the distance and raised a two-handed deathstrike. It was so fast that the Lord of the Ultramarines had no time to react. A bright, white light flared into his vision, and for a moment, time stood still. All around him, multi-hued colors conveyed a kaleidoscopic display of the world. The warriors of squad Baruchus had not yet fully turned to confront the Eldar construct. The Avatar itself was still in mid-air, its knees bent, its body bent forward, and its weapon inches above his head. The pointed corner of the axe-blade had pierced the protective barrier by millimeters, and increased the immaterial wound with every passing second. On impulse, Calgar turned around and saw the face of Tigurius, many meters behind, locked in concentration. His hand was outstretched. It was he that had come to Calgar’s aid.
Once again, everything went white, and the space in front of the Force Commander exploded with tremendous force. Colossal warp energies compelled both warriors in opposite directions and time hastened back to its relentless pace. The Avatar landed on its toes and its feet tore great molten gouges in the earth as it arrested its momentum. Calgar slammed into the ground like a heavy stone next to the Librarian.
“By the honor of Guilleman, I could not accept your orders, my lord,” Tigurius said. “Captain Sicarius has the defensive situation under control, and it seems the rest of the xenos are content to let us fight their idol undisturbed.”
“And they say old Cassius is stubborn,” Calgar jested as he spat dust from his mouth. “It does me great honor to have you here, old friend.”
Sergeant Baruchus was enraged beyond all measure at the death of his closest friend and battle-brother, but he still felt compelled to silently acknowledge the Avatar’s power. Its movements were almost too fast to follow, and the squad leader saw no other course of action than to attack and leave his fate to the Emperor. Its damnable weapon shifted into the form of a sword once again and arced towards Brother Partheon. The blade leapt inside the Terminator’s guard and sheared off his shield arm at the shoulder. With its free hand, the Avatar grabbed Brothern Falthius by his shield and tossed him like a child no longer interested in its toy.
Brother Marvien, the longest standing member of Varodon’s unit, swung his talons at the creature’s hindquarters. The Avatar turned its head and saw the attack at the last possible moment before spinning and letting the swipe pass through nothing but air. The demi-god twirled its sword as it spun, slicing off Marvien’s arm at the elbow. Baruchus swung downward with all the might he could muster, aiming squarely for the Avatar’s spine. The creature pushed off its back foot and avoided the blow entirely. It dodged between three more Terminators before thrusting its blade forward and impaling Brother Argus and Brother Orphaed together.
In a tremendous display of savage strength, the Avatar hoisted its sword over its head, with the two Ultramarine still upon the weapon, and hammered it down onto Brother Partheon, crushing his exposed head. Blood sizzled and evaporated in the heat of the sword, and with a growl, the Avatar flooded it with power. The blade seared through Astartes flesh and armor alike and cut itself free.
Above the swirling melee, the sky darkened. Clouds swirled and grumbled. A bolt of lightning punched into the Avatar’s head, stunning the beast. Sergeant Baruchus used the distraction and struck the Avatar in the shoulder with his weapon, discharging a wash of energy. Another bolt thundered into the demi-god, forcing it back several more meters. A third descended from the skies, but the Avatar raised its weapon and absorbed the ethereal lightning.
Varro Tigurius stepped forward, chanting ancient words of power. A ghostly, enlarged mimic-sheath appeared around his staff, and he swung the thing with all the strength of Guilleman himself. Staff and sword collided in a burst of energy, forcing the Avatar back yet another step. Swinging his staff in a carefully orchestrated pattern, the Librarian traced his own image. With each movement of the weapon, the image became more and more real, until it stood as an empyreal reflection of its maker. The summoning swelled to a size comparable to the Avatar and, with of flick of Tigurius’ wrist, it charged.
Instead of striking the Avatar, however, it leapt upon the monster and embraced it with a superhuman grip. The conjuration bloated and swelled once more, this time to obscene proportions, and detonated. The explosion leveled all but the Avatar, and tore a hole in the very fabric of reality. A swirling vortex opened and began to swallow much of the smoke and fire emitted by the Avatar, taking a measure of the creature’s power with it. Marneus opened fire with both of his Gauntlets, hoping he might add even the slightest of weights to the battle.
The Avatar’s mask flowed into a shape of frustration and anger, and it roared once more. Everything shook with the force of the exclamation, and Tigurius doubled over in pain. Blood poured from every opening in the Librarian’s head as he tried with all of his mental might to keep the psychic sound at bay. The Avatar thrust its blade into the vortex, and like a hot iron cauterizing a fresh wound, the hole blistered and sealed shut. The Avatar heaved and growled, and to the surprise of all, spoke in words that the Ultramarines heard with their minds as much as their ears.
“I…am…Kaela Mensha Khaine.”
++++++
Marneus pushed himself up and stumbled towards Tigurius, picking up the fallen Librarian in his massive gauntlets.
“Brother, I don’t know what strength you have left, but I need it now,” the Chapter Master said.
“Such incredible power…” was all Tigurius could respond with. The Librarian blinked absent-mindedly and Calgar feared the worst.
“Are you with me, son of Guilleman? Will you stand when your brothers need you the most?”
After a pause that seemed to last for an eternity, Tigurius spoke. “Always…”.
“The legend of your stubbornness grows, my friend,” Calgar said with a smile. His face turned serious then, and he said “When I tell you, you must hurl me at the demon.”
“What?” Tigurius asked with labored breath.
“Do not question me, Varro! Just do it,” Calgar ordered.
Marneus looked up as the Avatar stood over Sergeant Baruchus. He roared in defiance as the Avatar impaled the squad leader and incinerated him in the same fashion as Varodon.
“Varro, NOW!”
Tigurius rolled onto his shoulder and stretched out his hand. With a horizontal chop from the Librarian, Calgar went airborne. He raised the Gauntlets of Ultramar in front of his face and opened the fingers as wide as he could as he flew at the Avatar. The demi-god turned, and in its weakened state, it could do nothing to avoid or counter the flying Astarte. Marneus slammed into the Avatar and embraced it much as the summoning had. The force of the tackle barreled both into the ground, with the Chapter Master kneeling on the Avatar’s chest.
Calgar reared back and threw a devastating punch that smacked straight into the idol’s face. Two more identical blows pulverized the Avatar’s mask, spraying molten ichor over the Gauntlets and the Armor. The Lord of Ultramar took hold of the monster’s head with both Gauntlets and stood upon its shoulders. Willing the Armor of Antilochus to a power level beyond safe capacity, Calgar pulled upwards. The Avatar’s hands took hold of Marneus’ arms, and the plates of his Terminator armor began to crumple under the pressure. But stunned as it was, the Avatar could not muster the strength it needed. It's head ripped free in a wash of flaming warp-blood, and the Chapter Master screamed to the heavens in victory. He fell to a knee as the hands of the Avatar fell to the ground. The air around them condensed and pulsed, snuffing out the flickering flame within the wraithbone monster.
++++++
Marneus tossed the head aside and lumbered off of the rapidly disintegrating statue. He walked as quickly as his damaged armor would allow toward Tigurius and knelt down beside his utterly drained friend.
“We did it, Varro,” Marneus said. “The beast is dead.”
“It seems you will need some rest and recreation, my lord,” Tigurius gasped.
“Not all of us enjoying spending time pouring over the old tomes, brother,” Calgar said as he placed a silent Gauntlet on the Librarian’s chest.
Above them both, Thunderhawks began to descend from the skies. At the entrance to the Sepulcher, the remaining Eldar forces were in rapid retreat towards the tree line. The vox-link buzzed to life with Captain Sicarius’ voice.
“Sicarius to all units- the Eldar are in full retreat. Acquire Lord Calgar’s signal and assess his situation immediately. Keep alert for enemy feints.”
Moments later, as Rhinos pulled up alongside the fallen Terminators and unloaded several Apothecaries, Marneus Calgar collapsed onto his side and let himself rest.
As a predator acquiring its quarry, the Avatar leaned back and unleashed a tremendous roar. Each son of Guilleman staggered, and as Calgar turned to Tigurius, he saw the venerable Librarian screaming at the top of his lungs. Whatever sound the creature was making cut across the dimensional barriers and afflicted those with psychic power most drastically. And yet, as the Lord of Macragge turned back to the xenos, he saw the fragile Eldar standing tall. Their bewitched monster empowered them as it crippled the Ultramarines, and a fell light of determination appeared in their once-defeated eyes.
“Do not give in to their witchcraft, brothers!” Calgar yelled over the vox-link, though he was not sure if any could hear or acknowledge him. “For Orar, Guilleman, and the Emperor, bring that abomination to its knees!”
A throaty and defiant confirmation answered him, and the Ultramarines stepped forward.
The raspy exhaust of a wave of krak missiles erupted, and seconds later they slammed into the Avatar with enough collective force to fell a Land Raider tank. The heavy hammering of bolt shells and the scream of assault cannon rounds joined in the chorus of war, showering the monster in a torrent of gunfire. The Eldar Champion swayed and staggered beneath the weight of the assault, and a great cheer went up from the Ultramarine squads when the beast dropped to a knee. A Predator spun where it sat and fired twin lascannon beams, scoring a direct hit in the Avatar’s blackened chest and dropped it to the ground.
The fey xenos were not idle as their idol took such punishment. Walls of shuriken fire and bolts of refined plasma greeted whatever Space Marine was not eager in his search for cover. Rockets from concealed Dark Reapers pinned the Terminators in place while Wave Serpents and mounted Fire Dragons circled around with their armor-shredding weaponry. The Predator that had felled the Avatar was in turn pierced by a bright blue lance-beam and exploded spectacularly as its ammunition and fuel detonated. Marneus was appalled at the losses on both sides, the likes of which he had not seen since the War for Macragge.
“My lord,” Tigurius called out from behind the Chapter Master. He was obviously shaken from the psychic assault he had endured. “We must pull back deeper into the compound. Their monster has been felled, and a fury has overtaken them. We will defeat them in this protracted battle, but it will be a most pyrrhic victory.”
“Aye, brother. This is Lord Macragge to all units- initiate Astartes pattern epsilon. Keep to cover.”
As the last words left his lips, Calgar saw the unthinkable. The Avatar raised an arm and planted its palm on the ground, pushing itself upright once again. The tormented wraithbone of its construction seemed to be restructuring itself even as the creature regained its balance. Strangely, the creature’s shoulders heaved up and down. With a hurt pride and a snarl of disgust, Calgar realized the Avatar was laughing, if such a thing was capable of a sense of humor.
In response to their demi-god’s resurgence, the Eldar surged forward, pouring shot after shot into the Ultramarines as they fell back. To their credit, the Ultramarines moved with perfect precision and haste, all the while burdening themselves with the fallen. Disciplined retreats and counter-volleys forced the maniacal Eldar to slow their advance on the flanks, but the Avatar had broken into a run and was closing once again on squads Baruchus and Varodon. In his heart Marneus could not willingly allow such noble warriors to die alone, and in his mind he knew that if the Avatar broke through them, no defensible position present would withstand the demon’s fury.
“Tigurius, you have operational command,” Calgar ordered. “I am joining Baruchus and Varodon. Sergeant Baruchus, activate your teleport homer.”
With a thought, Calgar activated his armor’s teleportation device, and with a flash, he vanished into the warp. A moment later, he phased into existence directly before Sergeant Baruchus.
“With me, brothers,” Marneus ordered.
On his right, squad Varodon lumbered forward and activate the power cells within their lightning claws. They fanned out into a tactical pattern taught to assault squads that was meant to absorb and counter the charging momentum of a tank. Sergeant Varodon took the center, flanked by three talon-bearing Terminators on either side of him. They stalked forward, weapons raised, ready to close on the monster’s flanks. The Avatar broke into a run, letting its eagerness to fight push aside any thoughts of waiting. In its hand, the blazing sword was remolded into a massive spear. With a swiftness and grace that defied all assumptions about its size, the Avatar closed the gap and leapt forward.
The infernal spear impacted on the exact center point of Varodon’s armor before the century-old Sergeant had time to close into a defensive posture. It cut through him as easily as through robes and stuck him into the ground. Pushing its weight forward, the Avatar vaulted into the air and over the charging Terminators. A blast of energy dislodged the immolating corpse of Varodon and the soil beneath him, freeing the spear. The demi-god twisted in the air as the weapon changed once more, taking on the aspect of an axe. The creature landed in a crouch, not ten meters from the Chapter Master. In an instant, Calgar activated the Gauntlets and stepped forward, flanked by a wall of energy shields and hammers cackling with lightning.
In two broad steps, the Avatar covered the distance and raised a two-handed deathstrike. It was so fast that the Lord of the Ultramarines had no time to react. A bright, white light flared into his vision, and for a moment, time stood still. All around him, multi-hued colors conveyed a kaleidoscopic display of the world. The warriors of squad Baruchus had not yet fully turned to confront the Eldar construct. The Avatar itself was still in mid-air, its knees bent, its body bent forward, and its weapon inches above his head. The pointed corner of the axe-blade had pierced the protective barrier by millimeters, and increased the immaterial wound with every passing second. On impulse, Calgar turned around and saw the face of Tigurius, many meters behind, locked in concentration. His hand was outstretched. It was he that had come to Calgar’s aid.
Once again, everything went white, and the space in front of the Force Commander exploded with tremendous force. Colossal warp energies compelled both warriors in opposite directions and time hastened back to its relentless pace. The Avatar landed on its toes and its feet tore great molten gouges in the earth as it arrested its momentum. Calgar slammed into the ground like a heavy stone next to the Librarian.
“By the honor of Guilleman, I could not accept your orders, my lord,” Tigurius said. “Captain Sicarius has the defensive situation under control, and it seems the rest of the xenos are content to let us fight their idol undisturbed.”
“And they say old Cassius is stubborn,” Calgar jested as he spat dust from his mouth. “It does me great honor to have you here, old friend.”
Sergeant Baruchus was enraged beyond all measure at the death of his closest friend and battle-brother, but he still felt compelled to silently acknowledge the Avatar’s power. Its movements were almost too fast to follow, and the squad leader saw no other course of action than to attack and leave his fate to the Emperor. Its damnable weapon shifted into the form of a sword once again and arced towards Brother Partheon. The blade leapt inside the Terminator’s guard and sheared off his shield arm at the shoulder. With its free hand, the Avatar grabbed Brothern Falthius by his shield and tossed him like a child no longer interested in its toy.
Brother Marvien, the longest standing member of Varodon’s unit, swung his talons at the creature’s hindquarters. The Avatar turned its head and saw the attack at the last possible moment before spinning and letting the swipe pass through nothing but air. The demi-god twirled its sword as it spun, slicing off Marvien’s arm at the elbow. Baruchus swung downward with all the might he could muster, aiming squarely for the Avatar’s spine. The creature pushed off its back foot and avoided the blow entirely. It dodged between three more Terminators before thrusting its blade forward and impaling Brother Argus and Brother Orphaed together.
In a tremendous display of savage strength, the Avatar hoisted its sword over its head, with the two Ultramarine still upon the weapon, and hammered it down onto Brother Partheon, crushing his exposed head. Blood sizzled and evaporated in the heat of the sword, and with a growl, the Avatar flooded it with power. The blade seared through Astartes flesh and armor alike and cut itself free.
Above the swirling melee, the sky darkened. Clouds swirled and grumbled. A bolt of lightning punched into the Avatar’s head, stunning the beast. Sergeant Baruchus used the distraction and struck the Avatar in the shoulder with his weapon, discharging a wash of energy. Another bolt thundered into the demi-god, forcing it back several more meters. A third descended from the skies, but the Avatar raised its weapon and absorbed the ethereal lightning.
Varro Tigurius stepped forward, chanting ancient words of power. A ghostly, enlarged mimic-sheath appeared around his staff, and he swung the thing with all the strength of Guilleman himself. Staff and sword collided in a burst of energy, forcing the Avatar back yet another step. Swinging his staff in a carefully orchestrated pattern, the Librarian traced his own image. With each movement of the weapon, the image became more and more real, until it stood as an empyreal reflection of its maker. The summoning swelled to a size comparable to the Avatar and, with of flick of Tigurius’ wrist, it charged.
Instead of striking the Avatar, however, it leapt upon the monster and embraced it with a superhuman grip. The conjuration bloated and swelled once more, this time to obscene proportions, and detonated. The explosion leveled all but the Avatar, and tore a hole in the very fabric of reality. A swirling vortex opened and began to swallow much of the smoke and fire emitted by the Avatar, taking a measure of the creature’s power with it. Marneus opened fire with both of his Gauntlets, hoping he might add even the slightest of weights to the battle.
The Avatar’s mask flowed into a shape of frustration and anger, and it roared once more. Everything shook with the force of the exclamation, and Tigurius doubled over in pain. Blood poured from every opening in the Librarian’s head as he tried with all of his mental might to keep the psychic sound at bay. The Avatar thrust its blade into the vortex, and like a hot iron cauterizing a fresh wound, the hole blistered and sealed shut. The Avatar heaved and growled, and to the surprise of all, spoke in words that the Ultramarines heard with their minds as much as their ears.
“I…am…Kaela Mensha Khaine.”
++++++
Marneus pushed himself up and stumbled towards Tigurius, picking up the fallen Librarian in his massive gauntlets.
“Brother, I don’t know what strength you have left, but I need it now,” the Chapter Master said.
“Such incredible power…” was all Tigurius could respond with. The Librarian blinked absent-mindedly and Calgar feared the worst.
“Are you with me, son of Guilleman? Will you stand when your brothers need you the most?”
After a pause that seemed to last for an eternity, Tigurius spoke. “Always…”.
“The legend of your stubbornness grows, my friend,” Calgar said with a smile. His face turned serious then, and he said “When I tell you, you must hurl me at the demon.”
“What?” Tigurius asked with labored breath.
“Do not question me, Varro! Just do it,” Calgar ordered.
Marneus looked up as the Avatar stood over Sergeant Baruchus. He roared in defiance as the Avatar impaled the squad leader and incinerated him in the same fashion as Varodon.
“Varro, NOW!”
Tigurius rolled onto his shoulder and stretched out his hand. With a horizontal chop from the Librarian, Calgar went airborne. He raised the Gauntlets of Ultramar in front of his face and opened the fingers as wide as he could as he flew at the Avatar. The demi-god turned, and in its weakened state, it could do nothing to avoid or counter the flying Astarte. Marneus slammed into the Avatar and embraced it much as the summoning had. The force of the tackle barreled both into the ground, with the Chapter Master kneeling on the Avatar’s chest.
Calgar reared back and threw a devastating punch that smacked straight into the idol’s face. Two more identical blows pulverized the Avatar’s mask, spraying molten ichor over the Gauntlets and the Armor. The Lord of Ultramar took hold of the monster’s head with both Gauntlets and stood upon its shoulders. Willing the Armor of Antilochus to a power level beyond safe capacity, Calgar pulled upwards. The Avatar’s hands took hold of Marneus’ arms, and the plates of his Terminator armor began to crumple under the pressure. But stunned as it was, the Avatar could not muster the strength it needed. It's head ripped free in a wash of flaming warp-blood, and the Chapter Master screamed to the heavens in victory. He fell to a knee as the hands of the Avatar fell to the ground. The air around them condensed and pulsed, snuffing out the flickering flame within the wraithbone monster.
++++++
Marneus tossed the head aside and lumbered off of the rapidly disintegrating statue. He walked as quickly as his damaged armor would allow toward Tigurius and knelt down beside his utterly drained friend.
“We did it, Varro,” Marneus said. “The beast is dead.”
“It seems you will need some rest and recreation, my lord,” Tigurius gasped.
“Not all of us enjoying spending time pouring over the old tomes, brother,” Calgar said as he placed a silent Gauntlet on the Librarian’s chest.
Above them both, Thunderhawks began to descend from the skies. At the entrance to the Sepulcher, the remaining Eldar forces were in rapid retreat towards the tree line. The vox-link buzzed to life with Captain Sicarius’ voice.
“Sicarius to all units- the Eldar are in full retreat. Acquire Lord Calgar’s signal and assess his situation immediately. Keep alert for enemy feints.”
Moments later, as Rhinos pulled up alongside the fallen Terminators and unloaded several Apothecaries, Marneus Calgar collapsed onto his side and let himself rest.
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