Mirrors of Dormarth: Path to Corruption

This is the prologue to a 3 part series that I will be selling at the Kindle store by the end of the year.   

MIRRORS OF DORMARTH

The Path to Corruption

Prologue

Six candles struggled against the darkness pressing the wooden table.  The young sorcerer shifted in the surrounding shadows striving to conceal his anxiety from the cloaked figure standing at the other end of the table.  But it seemed little could be hidden from the cloaked one’s hooded gaze.  Annoyed with his apprehension, the sorcerer stilled his silent fidgeting.

“Show me the object,” said the cloaked figure.  The avarice in his voice stole what little warmth the flames had to offer.  The dark one’s impertinent tone sent cold anger howling through the young sorcerer.

The sorcerer froze for a moment until the icy winds raging inside of him subdued.  He bent forward and slid a small gilded mirror onto the table.  Upon withdrawing his hand back into the looming dark, the mirror vanished from view and reappeared on the other side of the table.  A slight shiver slithered down the young sorcerer’s spine.

Shadows stirred and flames fluttered as the dark one moved closer to examine the mirror.  

“My companion found it while campaigning in the Forgotten Lands,” spoke the sorcerer in a calm, practiced cadence.  “He did not grasp the importance of the object and relinquished it into my care.”

“Heh, campaigning, you mean scavenging,” spat the dark one.  “What about you, young one?  Do you understand the significance of this object?”

Indignation tore through the sorcerer once again threatening to shatter his carefully constructed calm, but the sorcerer maintained composure as he recited ancient knowledge he recently discovered.  “It is one of seven mirrors of Dormarth created by Goibhniu, god of blacksmiths, and the god of magic, Gwydion.  Once all seven are acquisitioned, they will grant access to the realm of the dead.”

“I see you are acquainted with the legend, but you are wrong.  This mirror is not one of the actual seven.  It is merely a replica,” whispered the dark one.

Silence.  

The cracking of knuckles echoed in the dark.  “Then it’s worthless,” spoke the sorcerer through clenched teeth.

“One as young as you cannot possibly understand the meaning of worth,” snapped the dark one.  “While it may not be one of the genuine mirrors of Dormarth, it still testifies to their existence.  When Cailleach, the Veiled One, discovered that another entrance to her realm was created without her knowledge, she scattered the seven mirrors across the land and sent seven guardians to protect them.  Then she created replicas and scattered them as well.”

The sorcerer’s body froze while his mind pondered and catalogued the newly acquired information.  Whispers for vengeance stirred within his head excitedly, yet careful not to disturb the surface of his face.  “So we have some proof that the legend is true but are not any closer to finding the true mirrors.”

“Why do you want to find the mirrors of Dormarth?  What business do you have with the Veiled One?” The dark one shifted the conversation like the shadows that surrounded him.  

Fingernails cut into the flesh of his palms, but the words that the sorcerer spoke left his mouth unhindered by emotion.  “The goddess of death exceeded her bounds.  She left her realm and stole my family from me before their proper time.  I wish to show her that there are consequences to even her actions.”

The dark one snorted with amusement.  “While my motives are not as limited as yours, I too have noticed the Veiled One’s extended reach.  This poses a threat to our land, and that I cannot have.  We have invested too much time rebuilding from the ashes of the Forgotten Time to risk having our civilization wiped out again just because a god was bored.”  The dark one’s voice pressed against the sorcerer like cold stone.  “I will send you assistance for this quest.  But even with my help, you will not be able to face the guardians protecting the mirrors.  You must involve the Wild Dog.  Can you do this?”

Fingers uncurled from fists to rest on the table’s edge as the sorcerer leaned closer to the dark one.  “Yes, but how do we discover the location of the mirrors?”

“It is rumored that the gods Goibhniu and Gwydion searched the land and found every replica.  It is rumored that they then engraved maps on each replica, revealing the locations of the real mirrors.”  The dark one whispered a string of unintelligible words and an image surfaced on the face of the mirror.

The sorcerer leaned farther over the table to peer more closely at the mirror.  His palms left little crimson stains on the wood, but that was of little importance to him.

The Old Stories: Baba Yaga "White"

This is the first installment of Baba Yaga.  It will be followed by two more installments, Red & Black.
Thank you, Russia, for being my number one foreign reader.

Baba Yaga

White

     

  A grey fox burst across the path.  The predawn’s glow followed in its wake.  A gasp escaped from young Avienda’s throat as she watched the ancient wood awake.  Villas flitted among dark grey leaves, and psotniks mischievous grins flashed from behind the surrounding trees.

        The ancient wood’s splendor flushed Avienda’s pale face with wonder.  She stood on the small meandering trail watching mythical creatures frolic that she thought only existed in her babka’s tales.  A desire to know the secrets of these creatures grew inside Avienda’s mind, but all she could do was watch and sigh.

        A howling cry rang across the wood.  Dark bushes shuddered and shook as a pale blue giant bounded onto the path.  Curling horns crowned its head, and its visage filled Avienda with dread.  It stared hungrily down at the girl and approached slow with heavy club in tow.

        Avienda backed away a few steps and collapsed to the ground.  Trembling she clutched the crucifix at her breast unable to make a sound.  The monster, now towering over the cowering girl, grinned fiercely at the youth, “Miliy Moy, will you allow me to commune with you?”

        Young Avienda gripped her cross more tightly unsure of what to do, but despite her fearful silence the beast continued.  “I am the Leshy, the guardian of the wood.  All flee before my wrath, the vile and the good.  I am a force of nature, unknowable and wild, but today I have been tamed by the beauty of a child.”

        Avienda brushed stray strands of dark hair from her face, “Ser Leshy, your words honor me greatly, but all I have to offer in return is some bread and kvass.”

        Throwing back its pale blue head, the Leshy laughed, “Pretty girl, to break fast with you is all I ask!”  The Leshy sat down staring at the girl.

        The girl removed a loaf of bread and a jar from her bag.  Her fear of the creature slowly began to fade.  She poured kvass into two wooden cups and broke the bread.  The Leshy took his portions, ate, drank, and then said, “Child, your beauty and kindness have blessed my soul!  Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

        Avienda gazed into her cup, cleared her throat, and then looked up.  She met the Leshy’s stare and spoke, “Kind ser, my mind wonders at many things, the secrets of the wood, the movement of the stars, the whims of the weather, and the thoughts of men both evil and good.  But most of all, I long to know the mystical ways.”

        Eyes gleaming with the new light of the day, the Leshy leaned forward to say, “What you ask I can tell.  Sit back, young one, and I will teach you words and spells, potions and salves, and of the ways of Heaven and Hell.”

        The Leshy educated Avienda in the secret ways of the world, and the girl, bright and yearning, committed it all to memory.  At the end, the Leshy produced a mortar and pestle out of his leather satchel and handed them to the girl as a symbol for all she had learned.  “Now for all the knowledge you have been given something must be lost.”

        Avienda paled and whispered, “What?”

        “Oh, nothing much, just a little bauble, like your pretty cross,” the Leshy announced with a blue finger pointing at the crucifix hanging around the young girl’s neck.

        Avienda clutched the cross for just a moment, and then tore it from her neck with one swift movement.  She tossed it to the Leshy.  “Thank you for the gifts you’ve given me.  I will keep them always close to my heart.  But now I must go for I wish to travel far, and make use of the knowledge to set myself apart.”

        The Leshy stood and made a regal bow.  “Beautiful girl, this I vow with this knowledge your name shall live on forever.  But keep in mind, you can still choose how you shall be remembered.”  With that the Leshy bound back into the trees.  Leaving in his wake, young Avienda propped up on her knees wondering what kind of name she shall make.

        The grey fox appeared before her staring with eyes milk white.  “Young girl, allow me to herald the day’s first light in honor of your beauty,” said the fox.

        Avienda laughed with delight, “It would be my pleasure, ser fox.  But I desire a more regal harbinger.”  With a twirl of her finger, she transformed the fox into pale rider astride a horse of white.  

Children of the Watchers

              

Children of the Watchers

Dominic pressed his forehead forcefully into the dirt.  Fragments of stone bit shallowly into his skin.  Sharp green blades of grass tickled his face.  He inhaled deeply hoping to fill his nose with the smell of earth.  The morning air was already thick and hot.  Streams of sweat made competing currents across his prone body.  Sporadic itches flashed across his skin.  Itches that came from being motionless for more than a couple minutes, but he refused to move an inch.  

There was an unnatural stillness in the surrounding jungle.  He strained his ears in hopes to hear bird song, a beetle’s chirrup, anything.   Finally, thunder rumbled in the distance promising rain but no break from the heat.  A slight tremble ran through him.  He always liked playing in a rainstorm with the other kids in the village.  Maybe he would still be here when the rain came.  It could wash over him, and maybe he wouldn’t feel the metal barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head.  

No matter how hard he pressed his forehead into the dirt or how close his nose was to the ground or how much his ears strained to hear the thunder, the hot metal of the gun still pressed against his skin, the smell of death clogged his nose, and moans of the villagers filled his ears.  

Dominic had once thought that he would be safe when he and the other refugees had wandered into the village and that the men who had killed his parents would not find him here.  But that had been the foolish hope of a five year old.  Now he was seven and knew better.  Dominic knew that today he was going to die.  

The resistance army raided the village that night.  By morning, everyone was either dead or waiting to die.  They did offer to spare some of the younger village boys if the boys agreed to fight for the resistance.  Several of Dominic’s friends had chosen to do so.  He didn’t see them but he heard the leader praising them for doing the Lord’s will.  But Dominic would not fight for the monsters that murdered his parents or for their Lord.  So he was forced to lie in the dirt next to the other boys who refused the initial offer.  

Dominic wondered if he would get to see his parents today.  Maybe what the white missionaries said could be true.  He wished he had asked them if there were drums in heaven.  Dominic would really like to play the drums for his parents.  But then again his parents did not know about the white missionaries’ God, so why would they be with him?  That was a stupid hope of a five year old.

“Alright, you runts!  I give you one last chance at life.  We have been most gracious with da time we already have given you, but now you must choose.”  The leader’s voice carried a jesting quality.  It almost sounded happy.  

“Ah, there be a good lad.  No one else?  I am very sorry it has to be like this.”  No one’s voice should sound that happy.  Not now.  “Shoot ‘em.”

There was a brief pause.  Then gunfire ripped through the air, but what started as controlled bursts became wild sprays.  Bits of ground pelted Dominic’s face.  He thought he heard men screaming over the roar of the gunfire.  Then silence reigned.  

Dominic shook uncontrollably.  Tears streamed down his face.  He told himself he would be brave like his dad, but he his pants were soaked as well as his face.  

“Get up, boy,” a soft feminine voice urged him.  

Dominic just trembled unable to move any more than that.  

“It’s ok.  Look at me,” the still voice commanded.  

Dominic’s head rose as if compelled, and his dark brown eyes locked on eyes black as coal.  He thought he recognized the owner of those black eyes as a woman from the village, but she looked…wrong.  It wasn’t the blood that almost covered the entirety of her simple dress or the smoking gun or bloody knife she held in her hands.  It was a bunch of little things like her black eyes.  Her limbs were slightly longer and bonier.  Her hands reminded him of falcon claws.  And her teeth seemed sharper.  

In spite of the wrongness of her features, Dominic felt his fear slip away as he looked into her black eyes.  He realized surprisingly that he was on his feet and staring up at her.  She smiled down at him.  Her dark fingers went to his face brushing away tears and probing at the small cuts.  

A man that Dominic had never seen before appeared next to the woman suddenly.  He had a similar wrongness about him and only wore dark pants that didn’t even reach his ankles.  The man reminded Dominic of a gorilla ready to tear a man to pieces.   

A gasp caught in Dominic’s throat as he looked around him.  Mixed in with the bodies of dead villagers were the torn and broken bodies of the men of the resistance.  Guns were twisted and bent.  Machetes that weren’t impaling men were lying on the ground snapped like twigs.  

Dominic swiveled his head back around.  The man’s coal black eyes were on level with Dominic’s.  Dominic froze as the man moved his face even closer to Dominic’s.  The man began sniffing like an animal.  Were these people real monsters?

Straightening back, the man grunted.  “He is one of us.  We will look after him.”  Then he stalked away disappearing into the jungle after a few steps.

Dominic looked up at the woman expectantly, “I’m one of you?”

The woman’s black eyes looked down at him and a jungle cat smile spread across her face, “You’re part of our little family now.”

Dominic stared in shock at the woman.  The more he stared the more monstrous she appeared.  But maybe that’s what he needed.  “Did…did you kill those men?”

Her eyes widened with pleasure, “Yes.”

Dominic glanced at the lifeless body of the boy lying closest to him.  “Did you kill them, too?”

The woman followed his gaze.  A frown creased her face. “The villagers?  No, some did survive, but they ran.” Disgust tinged those last words.  

Dominic swallowed hard and tried to speak audibly, “Will you help me kill the rest of those men?”  The boy looked up at her pleading yet defiant.

The woman threw back her head and laughed.  “Child, I want the same thing, and we will get what we want.  The Great Ones promised.  Now come with me.”  She grabbed Dominic’s wrist and led him into the jungle.  

He couldn’t join the resistance because they were the monsters that killed his family, but maybe to get revenge, he had to join another group of monsters…a group of real monsters.  And that, he thought with grim satisfaction, was thinking like a seven year old.  

Rain swept across the jungle washing over Dominic.  It soaked the boy after a few moments.  Dirt and sweat slid from his body.  He could almost sense the piss being washed away from his pants.  But unlike the dirt, sweat, and piss, his memories were untouched by the rain.  Dominic clenched the woman’s hand as hard as he could.  He bent his head towards the ground thankful for the rain.  

Monsters & Men: Witch's Spell

The Witch’s Spell

My mind wanders across a field of tan

Flows down rivers black

White marbled tombs so perfectly aligned

Tauntingly smirk just to remind me

Of all the things I’ve done

All the graves I’ve dug

The oaths that have been broken

Wars I started either lost or won

All on a woman’s whim

A witch’s curse so vile

But can I blame the spell

For all the crimes that’ll send me to Hell

When I know I would do them all again

Just to see her smile

Humanity Rising: Part One

Chapter 1

            Constance stirred in her bed.  Silence stole across her room as an ominous shadow slid across the walls from the door to the bed.

                Eyes snapped open, and Constance awoke with a start.  She attempted to sit up, but found she could not.  A horrible, invisible weight sat upon her chest, forcibly pinning her to the bed.  White noise began building inside her ears.  Sudden, real terror gripped her.  Constance screamed for help only to find her voice incapable of producing noise.

                The white noise grew ever louder to the sound thousands of buzzing insects.  Indistinct screams punctuated the buzzing sound.  She had to be dreaming.  This couldn’t be real.  Then the voice entered her mind.

               

I am coming for you, Constance Buines Povey.

A white light began flashing in the corner of the ceiling by the door.

I am here.

As sweat and tears streaked her face, Constance fought with every ounce of will power to banish the hallucination.   Then as suddenly as it started, the event ended.  The house was ushered back into the natural silence of night.  Constance stumbled out of her room and rushed towards her parents’ room.  When she entered her parents’ room, Constance found her voice, and her screams filled the house.

***

“Hey, buddy, are you going to sit here all night, or are you going to finish your drink?”  Jack Chambers leered at man perched precariously on top of one of his barstools.  As bartender, bouncer, and owner of the establishment, Jack had to be quick to spot potential trouble.  And this particular joker had been sitting in the same spot for almost an hour and had only ordered one beer. 

The beer was unfinished, and the guy hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in bar.  He just sat there with smirk on his face.  If a person wasn’t in a bar to drink, eat, or talk, then he was there to cause problems for everyone else around him especially Jack. 

“Hey!  I asked if you were going to order another beer.”  The guy met Jack’s gaze.  A subtle shiver slithered down Jack’s spine as he looked into the guy’s slate grey eyes.

The guy’s omnipresent smirk grew, “Why?  You going to throw me out?”

“I prefer paying customers, if you’re not eating or drinking something, you have no reason to be here.”  Jack would have loved nothing more than to grab the guy by his shoulder length, black hair and throw him out the front door.  But in the age of lawsuits, that type of action was ill advised.  The guy looked Jewish to Jack, and he couldn’t remember if Jews were considered a “special interest” group.  Either way it wouldn’t look good if a German beat the crap out of a Jew. 

“Fine then, get me another beer.”

“You haven’t even finished your first one.”

“Then look at it as purchasing the privilege to remain in your bar.”  The guy’s smirk remained on his face, but his tone was mirthless.

“Fine, whatever.”  Jack muttered to himself, and walked to the fridge.  He did all he could legally to make the guy leave.  Now Jack would have to wait for the guy to actually cause trouble.  In that case, then he could beat the guy senseless with minimal risk of repercussions.  The guy couldn’t have weighed more than 150 pounds and was no taller than 5’10”.  At a height of 6’3” and pushing 280 pounds, the bartender definitely would have the size advantage in a fight.  And Jack also had a shotgun secured underneath the bar.

With a beer and a fresh glass, Jack walked back to the guy.  He set them down on the bar and heard the front door open.  The man who walked in, stopped to survey the building and its inhabitants, then his eyes focused on Jack or possibly the Jew.  Jack instantly pegged the man as an undercover law officer of some kind and knew he was carrying. 

The officer stopped ten feet from the bar and spoke in a quiet yet forceful voice, “Samson Alastor Brunhild, you will accompany me outside.”

Jack felt something grab him around the throat and lift him off his feet.  He was overtaken by disorientation.  When it cleared, the bartender found himself on the other side of the bar and trapped in a headlock by the scrawny little Jew.  The Jew had the big bartender pinned in such a way that he couldn’t even struggle against the guy’s iron grip. 

Jack looked up to see that the officer had his gun out and pointed at him.  His mouth started moving, “What the, what is going on, let me go! I will sue you for…”

There was a loud crack.  Hot, searing pain ran through Jack’s body from his head to his toes. And his jaw fell slack, unable to move. 

“That’s better.”  The Jew’s voice was quiet and tense.  “Your move officer.”

Welcome to Backwards Town

Chapter 24

Esau

3:00 am

Four floors underground

The room was darkness, except for the single halo of light projected by the hanging lamp above my head. The light illuminated a fist as it smashed into my face. The impact caused the cold, metal chair to dig into my naked body. The chair would have fallen over if it had not been bolted to the floor. Stars exploded before eyes as another blow drove into the back of my skull.  Blood frollicked about my face. Several loose teeth danced inside my mouth. Despite all of those distracting externalities, my attention was focused on the poem that I was taught growing up.

I saw a man beaten down

By the people he had served

He had given all he had

And they ground him into the dirt

Then left him there for dead

He arose, looked up at me, and said,

“Forgive them Son, for they

Do not know what they do

They repaid me for my deeds

The only way they knew how to”

Smiling he continued,

“Follow me and I’ll show you why I’m not down”

***    

Jacob

3:00 am

Thirty four stories above ground

The wind tugged insistently at my $2,000 suit, compelling me towards the edge of the building. Peering into the abyss, I saw a glimmering city. Its sounds called out to me, whispered to me. This is my city, my home, my prison, and my grave. Standing on the ledge was terrifying and exhilarating. A sense of euphoria that I had never before experienced surged through my veins. I would be free soon! Everything about this moment would have been perfect if only I could have been rid of the annoying rhyme my father taught me.

I saw a man lifted up

By the people he had hurt

He had taken everything they had

And they praised him for his work

He moved away from the crowd

Looked down at me and said,

“Hate them Boy, for they’ll

Never be like me and you

They are mindless cattle, an aimless

Herd with nothing great to do”

Smirking he continued,

“Come with me, and I’ll show you how to live well”

From the Hall of Dreams: My Name is Wolverine

This was a dream I had

Blood, Metal & Betrayal

            My name is Wolverine, and I’m the best at what I do.  And what I do right now involves disemboweling several nasty cyborgs. 

            Now these ain’t your run of the mill “look like normal human but really have wires on the inside” type of cyborg.  No these suckers are fugly.  None of them are particularly similar in appearance, but just imagine a human and a robot were fused together by way of molten lava and you’ll get the picture…oh yeah, and throw on some miscellaneous weaponry in there as well. 

            Now to answer the important questions, what do they do?  Kill mutants.  Damned good at it too. 

            Next question, who made them?  Does it really even matter at this point?  Mutantkind has so many enemies you can just take your pick. 

            Now where and how are they made?  Shut up and stop asking questions. 

            The cyborgs seemed to be just as interested in collecting mutants as they were in killing them.  It took me awhile to sniff around for information, but I finally found the facility the borgs were dragging the mutants off to.  Staking the place out, I came to a haunting realization.  Mutants went in, and cyborgs came out. 

            It was time to rally the troops and level the freaking place.  The most powerful mutants, Professor X, Magneto, and such, were assassinated early on.  So when mutantkind looked for someone to lead them into a war, my name was on the top of the list. 

            That brings us to the present, with me and a whole bunch of pissed off mutants charging the facility that sought the eradication of mutankind.  Of course there were a whole lot of cybitches between us and the facility. 

            Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Cyclops finally cut loose.  Screaming, he removed his shades and vaporized about a dozen cyborgs.  Didn’t think the guy had the spine.  Well, he did, but then a cyborg ripped it out.  I have to stay focused. 

            I carved my way to the facility.  None of the other mutants were even close, but hey, I am the best at what I do.  A heavy metal door stood between me and the captive mutants inside.  Using a claw, I popped the door open like a tin can lid and stepped into a chaotic labyrinth. 

            Apparently, the captive mutants weren’t so captive any more.  Mutants were running loose inside the facility with packs of cyborgs in pursuit.  In the first couple of minutes I was on the inside, most of the mutants I caught a glimpse of were quickly buried beneath a pile of flesh and metal.  But some of the mutants were putting up a good fight.  I began gathering up the feisty mutants and started searching for my main target.  There was a mutant girl inside the facility that had the ability to locate nearby mutants.  She was vital to my plan. 

            I found the girl barricaded in a room with a few other mutants trying to hold off a large group of ‘borgs.  Howling, I launched myself into the fray slicing tendons and wires.  The other mutants were right behind me…damn fools. 

            Not exactly sure how everything went down, but when everything stopped twitching, the only people left standing were me and the girl.  The girl was cowering in against the far wall of the room.  “You’re coming with me,” I growled.  I didn’t wait for her to answer.  I grabbed her by the arm and propelled her out of the room.  “Lead me to the rest of the mutants.”

            We wandered through the endless metal maze tracking mutants.  Finding mutants wasn’t as difficult as was keeping them alive.  The girl became more and more erratic.  She reeked of fear.  She finally collapsed in the middle of a small lab. 

            “Get up.  We have to keep looking.”

            The girl was shaking, “There are no more.  They’re all gone.”

            I looked around the lab and spotted what I wanted.  There were several tall, sturdy shelves lining the lab walls.  Above one set of the shelves was a recess in the wall.  Grabbing the girl, I dragged her over to that set of shelves.  “Start climbing,” I ordered. 

            The girl half-heartedly began climbing the shelves.  I had to poke and prod her up the shelves.  A figure moved among the shelves.  The girl screamed almost falling off.  I reached out to keep her up.  “It’s ok.  He’s with me,” I said as I prodded her up the shelves and into the recess above them. 

            “Just stay up here.  It’ll be ok,” I started to lower myself down off the shelves. 

            “Wait,” the girl sputtered.  “What happened to your friend?”

            “Oh yeah, him,” I continued to lower myself down from the shelves as a nasty looking cyborg pulled himself up into the recess with the girl. 

            By the time my feet hit the floor, the girl’s screams had stopped.  I walked out of the lab.  The hall was crawling with cyborgs.  As they turned toward me, I pulled out a small clicker from my pocket and clicked the button on it.  The surrounding cyborgs slumped over.  I pushed my way through the unmoving mass.  My job was done.  Doc' would be pleased.

***

Several months previous

            I walked through the mutant camp.  Fear had spread through the mutant communities ever since the Professor was whacked.  So now most mutants rallied under Magneto’s Brotherhood.  There were only a few mutants that could potentially be a problem to the Doctor’s plan.  Magneto was the first on that list.  And that’s why I was here. 

            I located Magneto’s tent.  He was out.  I had to hurry.  He would be drawn to me soon.  Stalking into the tent, I planted the plastique explosive in the center of the tent.  I straightened as Magneto strode into the tent. 

            “Ah, Wolverine, what brings you here?”

            Time to make this look convincing. I pressed a small button in my pocket. 

            I crashed into the ground on the outskirts of the camp.  Crawling out of the small crater I had made on my landing, I could see the black billowing smoke coming from Magneto’s tent.  One down, two more to go. 

            “Hey, Logan, I saw what you did back there, and I gotta tell yah, it wasn’t very nice.”

            Deadpool was crouched by the side of the crater.  “Wade, you just made my day a lot simpler.  Won’t have to waste much time tracking you down.” 

            Deadpool cocked his head to the side in confusion, and then swore. 

            My blades weren’t as quick as his guns, but I have the adamantium skeleton.  You can’t dice me up into little pieces.  Wade Wilson on the other hand…it’ll be interesting to see if he can put himself back together with his body scattered over a couple miles of forest. 

***

            I felt a sense of satisfaction as I tossed the last piece of bone and flesh into the surrounding underbrush of the forest. 

            “Wolverine!  I’m going to kill you for this!” Sabertooth burst out of the woods.  Anger burned in his eyes. 

            This was the last obstacle, and then I can lead the rest of the mutants to extinction.  Eyeing a river close by, I faced Sabertooth  “I’m curious, how well can you swim?” 

Interpreting the Reel: Pan's Labyrinth

I did a psychological and theme analysis on Guillermo del Toro's film Pan's Labyrinth.  To read it, visit my friend's movie review blog, Candy and a Movie.  If you've seen the movie, I hope you find the post enlightening.  If you haven't, please do so.

Answers Found in Death: Part One

Everything must burn

           The house was quiet, for the moment.  It would scream later.  But right now it was time to deal with the two sleeping toddlers.  The twin boys stirred as the demon hovered over their crib.  It struggled to decide which one should become still forever and which one should become the dark’s redeemer.

            Must choose one.  Kill the other.  Cannot risk interference from the other child.  The older one must be saved.  The second son has always proved meddlesome for my kind.

            With the decision made, the demon’s shapeless arm shaped a shadowy spike that stuck purposefully toward the second son’s mouth.   The spike halted a hair’s breadth from the younger boy.  A pale skeletal hand gripped the shadowy arm.  A shudder shook through the demon.  The demon knew this other, holier being of death well and fear gripped its twisted soul.  Without meeting the angel of death’s eyes, the demon addressed it. 

            “Azriel, please remove your hand from me.  It burns my cursed essence.”

            Without relinquishing its grip, Azriel responded, “You were only given power over the first born.  You have no power over the second son.”

            The demon stiffened. “I chose the first born.”

            “Did you, Azorath?  Did you really choose?” mocked the angel of death.  Azriel wore its guise for dealing with the ungodly: black robe, skeletal limbs, and a cowl that obscured the whole face except the glowing red eyes.  “Then will you tell me why you chose the firstborn?”

            Azorath had yet to meet the death angel’s gaze, and Azriel kept a firm grip on the demon’s arm.  Azorath answered, “Because of the irony of their names.  And the second son has historically been problematic for the fallen.”

            “Crude methodology, but seeing how your prophet, Delphi, failed to specify which child to choose…”

            “She did not fail.  She left room for choice, Angel.”  Azorath’s essence began to stir violently. 

            Azriel’s mocking tone disappeared, and a cold, deathly whisper took its place, “Believe me, Azorath, you never had a choice.”  The death angel removed its skeletal hand, wrapped it around the second son, and disappeared from the room.  Azorath raised the first born from the crib and followed Azriel.  In wake of the demon’s sudden absence, a spark lit the floor boards where the demon previously hovered.  The spark grew into a fire which quickly devoured the twins’ room and consumed the rest of the house.

            The angel and the demon, each one holding a twin, reappeared on the street in front of the burning house. 

            “Fire, the most beautiful of all the material elements.  ‘Everything will burn’.  Isn’t that what Y’weh promised, Azriel?”

            “Unfortunately for you, there is no fire in Sheol.  Only darkness awaits you there.”

            “With this child, Azriel, I will be able to avoid the darkness.”  The entire house was engulfed in flame.  It groaned as the fire ate away its support.  “The house burns quietly.  I was so looking forward to the screams of the parents.  Maybe I made the fire too hot.”

            Azriel stirred and spoke, “I was ordered to send the parents to Paradise before I stopped you from killing the second son.” then disappeared. 

            The demon stood alone with first born cradled in its arms.  “You must save me from the darkness, little one.  Please save me.”

***

            Azriel and the second son appeared in front of a small run down church.  When viewed from the material plane, the church looked decrepit and rotting.  But viewed from the spirit realms, the church was a fortress against everything but Y’weh Himself.

            The Father of this church was a medium to the spirit realm.  Because of the ever-increasing realignment of the spirit and material planes, many mediums’ interactions with the beings of the spirit realm became more frequent and intense.  Mediums were disappearing, dying, or going insane.   To avoid all of these possibilities, the Father rarely left the church which protected him from any malevolent being.

            Azriel placed the child on the top step of the church.  The angel of death bent over the toddler and whispered for some time in his ear.  Then stepped back and said, “Everything will burn and be recreated from the ashes.”  The second son was left alone on the step. 

***

Six year old Jacob ran into his father’s study, crying, “Daddy! Daddy, I was reading the book you gave me, and it just caught fire!”

The father barely had a chance to get out of his chair, when Jacob grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the study to the room that held the smoldering book.  As the father picked up the remains of the Bible, it turned to ash in his hands.  The father looked down at his sniffling son, “Stop crying, boy.  Everything must burn.  Now, recite the lines I taught you until you can control yourself.”

Walking back to his study, he could hear the boy dutifully reciting the poem.  Looking at the ashes in his hands, Azorath frowned and sat back in his chair.

            So much work to do.