On January 2nd, 2011, I was trying to come up with an idea for a New Year’s Resolution that would get me writing on a regular basis. I was discussing the idea with my family as we finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes. My brother suggested that I try going online and joining a writing forum. Further discussion lead to the idea of writing one short story, at least a page long, each week and then posting them on this forum. Today is the last day of the year 2011 and this is the final post, number fifty-two of this year. I have written stories that were sad, funny or thoughtful (or attempted to at least), as well as character descriptions, dialogue-only tales and some stories that had no dialogue whatsoever. I even tried my hand at a serial story that was written in ten separate parts. Sometimes I missed my Saturday night deadline and certain stories are definitely not as well thought-out or written as others. Some I really liked and received no comments on. Others I thought were pretty awful only to receive praise for. Certain entries were read literally hundreds of times and some were read probably only by a few diehard relatives desperately trying to make me feel better. I have learned a lot over the course of this year and many things have changed in my life, either for better or worse. Overall 2011 was much better than 2010 and I am hoping that that trend will continue into 2012. It has only been the last two years that I have had resolutions and I stuck to both of them for the entire year. For 2012, I have made three resolutions for myself: 1) I want to start reading all of the books whose titles I have written down on little scraps of paper here and there and that I still have yet to get to, 2) I will write five pages EVERY WEEK for my book that I have been “working on” for the past nine years, 3) I want to edit and in some cases rewrite, all of my 2011 short stories and then pay to have them printed and bound into a book that will be the first ever to bear the name K. M. Lynch. These goals may not sound like very much, but for me they will take effort to fulfill them. I also hope to somehow manage to have a life at the same time… I have wanted to be a writer or more specifically an author of fiction novels, for more than a decade now. I have been told repeatedly that this will not be an easy road to take, but to me it is the only option I could ever imagine for my future. An author is someone who has managed to convince others that their writing is worth reading. A writer is someone who desperately struggles to communicate their dreams to others in written form. I want to become an author, but I already am a writer. I will not be posting many new stories in 2012 and although I may take the time to read entries from other members of this forum, I won’t be around as often as I have been this past year. I want to thank everyone who has taken a moment to read my writings and especially those who commented on my work. Above all I would really like to thank my family and friends who have supported me throughout this resolution and who continue to encourage me to keep writing. Happy New Year to everyone and all the best in 2012!
Ten years of hard living, of hunger, disease and fighting, constant, bloody fighting and look where it had got him; inside a huge wooden horse. It was stuffy, cramped, hot and it smelled terrible. Yet for all this it was deadly silent within; no one dared to move a single muscle. Even though his body screamed in silent pain and with his entire left-side asleep, Aeolis wouldn’t so much as budge. After all the suffering and heartache, they finally had this one chance to win the war and no one was going to do anything that might jeopardize that potential victory. When he had first set sail with a thousand ships filled determined Greeks, they had believed themselves to be invincible. They had great heroes numbered among them; Ajax, Menelaus, Agamemnon, Odysseus, Hercules and Achilles himself. It had not seemed possible for them to lose. Ten years of constant struggle had humbled them greatly. Ajax was dead, Menelaus too and the great Achilles, killer of Hector had been felled by a mere arrow to the foot. Agamemnon, once seen as a great king and leader by his loyal warriors, had now become nothing more than one man among many. Aeolis had started out as a foot-soldier, but by the favor of the gods he had survived and slowly worked his way up through the ranks. It was a great honor for him to have been chosen by the wily Odysseus himself to head up the force that would fill the wooden horse. Their task was to wait silently within until the horse was drawn into the city of Troy and for the celebrations of the supposed Trojan victory to wane. Then when everyone was either asleep or passed out from the drink, Aeolis and his men would make their move. Creeping out of the hollow statue, they would climb to the top of the city walls, kill any guards on duty and then open the gate to let in their fellow Greeks who, after having apparently retreated onto their ships, would have turned around and sailed back while the Trojans partied. The Trojans had pulled the horse into Troy and the drink had flowed, but the party was still far from over. Aeolis and his group had been inside the horse since before dawn and night had already fallen. He began to wonder if any of them would be able to walk when they finally crawled out. Part of him felt as though this was a dishonest trick and he had felt that way from the moment that he had heard Odysseus’ plan. The Aeolis of ten years ago would never have agreed to such an underhanded tactic, but after a decade of war, that Aeolis was long gone. Now all he wanted was to go home, get married, settle down and never have to pick up a sword again. Finally, the sounds of revelry faded and the bonfires died down to glowing embers. The increasingly bawdier songs that had rung through the city throughout the day faded and peace temporarily reigned in the streets of Troy for the first time in ten years. It was time; Aeolis gently unlatched the hidden door and pressed it open. With an extraordinary effort he and his men uncurled their bodies and one by one snuck out into the cool, night air. Pausing to listen, Aeolis took a deep breathe and letting it ease back out of his lungs, he lifted his hand and motioned for the men to climb the inner stairs of the walls of Troy. Soon, he thought, soon this hell will at last end. He was one step closer to home.
I have always loved clever insults. I am sick of hearing all of the tired, old cliché snubs and am frequently, thoroughly disgusted with people who curse and swear at each other. I also really love alliteration. If you want to express your disdain for someone and in a unique way, then I suggest some of the following slights. If you are really lucky, you may even manage to insult someone without them realizing it! Enjoy. You are such a(n): Abominable, aggravating albatross Babbling, blithering braggart Crass, craven cretin Diabolic, disgusting, despotic demon Effeminate, exasperating egitt Frenzied, fanatical fiend Grasping, greedy gargoyle Hellish, horrible harpy Ignoble, ignorant, illiterate idiot Jealous, jaded jackanapes Kooky, kinky kleptomaniac Lying, lascivious libertine Malformed, malignant mongoloid Nattering, nagging Nancy Obnoxious, obsequious ostrich Pompous, pretentious, probably-petite prick Quivering, quail-hearted, querulous quack Rabid, rancid rapscallion Slithering, sneaky, slimy serpent Traitorous, treacherous tramp Unctuous, unbearable, ugly upstart Vicious, vindictive, vainglorious viper Wicked, wily wench Xenophobic Xanthippe Yellow-bellied, yammering yak Zany, zoophagous zealot If you want to insult someone, do it right. Be creative and quick and though they may hate you, at least they will come to respect your intellect.
I met her at the beginning of a new period in my life. She was unique and very creative in her own way. I had never met anyone else before whose emotions were so on display. To me, she seemed fearless and yet somehow, also intensely human. She could be very trying at times, but than so could I. We became fast friends and whenever we needed someone the other was there. It was a friendship without depth. It was comforting however and that was something both of us needed at the time. We had little in common, but that’s what made everyday life more fun. Then things started to change. Cracks began to appear in the façade. We started speaking at each other rather than to each other. Times were still fun, but they now became strained as well. Days would go by and things were constantly put aside, not discussed, but instead left to fester in the dark. Occasionally, one would snap at the other and tensions would mount. However, neither of us wished to face losing our constant, if often reluctant companion and so we would back off. Sometimes it took days to cool down, but then we’d make the call and pretend nothing was wrong. Her life was filled with drama. My life was quiet. The two mixed like oil and water; we were never on the same plane. Secrets became crucial to the survival of the pact. She hid things from me for fear of harsh judgment. I hid things from her for fear of betrayal. It was no longer a friendship so much as a survival tactic. A raft with a potential leak was still better than no raft at all. I often wondered how she could ignore so much. At first, she created problems while trying to fix problems. Then she started to avoid problems completely. She covered her ears and closed her eyes and hoped that everything would fix itself. I wanted to help, but every time I tried to save her, I would sink further myself. She was racing for the bottom and worst still she was dragging me with her. I started to hate the person I had become. I felt preachy when I stood up to her and tried to assert my own morals and beliefs. I felt cruel when I avoided her for the sake of a quiet moment of my own. I felt trapped and indescribably alone. My world crumbled and I couldn’t bring myself to care enough to stop it from happening. I had avoided all my problems by focusing on hers. Finally, I was forced to face what I had become. It hurt and it was hard. I struggled. Once I thought I had made it only to have it implode all over again. I picked myself up a second time. I finally let others in and they helped hold me up. I had hurt them with my lies and in return they forgave and aided me. I remembered what it felt like to be able to trust myself again. I had distanced myself from her and my life became better for it. I rediscovered who I was and I restarted my life. She was still there though. She lurked at the edges. She tried to break back into my life. This time I knew her tricks and I stood firm against them. So she learned a new one. She tried to become me. In the time I had been away, she had altered further. Like me she started hating herself. However, I faced my hate and beat it whereas she ran from hers. She decided that if she couldn’t be herself than she would be someone else. Her personality took on the traits of others. Her sense of style disappeared and she started dressing like the rest. Her appearance changed, her mannerisms changed, she changed. All these alterations did not save her though; she was worse off than she started. This was when she looked at me. I had been hurting too, but now I was putting myself back together. I now had what she so desperately craved: hope. I look at her now and I miss the girl she once was. I find it so had to believe that the person I met all those years ago is the same person now standing in front of me. I don’t like what she has become. I have the choice to walk away. I faced my demons and I am still fighting them, but that doesn’t mean I have to fight hers too. The more she tries to be me, the less I want to be around her. I want her to know: You will never be me. You simply aren’t strong enough.
The rain poured down and everywhere he looked people ran for cover. The mother and daughter walking in front of him both playfully screeched and ran into the nearest shop, helplessly giggling and shaking raindrops from their shoulders. A business man across the street swore up at the sky and motioned impatiently for a taxi. The city became a dark and mysterious place and small pinpoints of electric light blazed brightly in the blackness. He continued on his way, head held high, smiling up at the roiling clouds. Lightning flashed and thunder quickly broke above the sheltering concrete and metal girders. He had always loved storms; they made a person feel like they were alive. There was so much power in the air. It was as though Mother Nature was reminding the human race that she alone ruled this earth. No matter how much humanity had reshaped the world, no matter how much knowledge we acquired or how many hidden secrets we exposed and studied, we would always cower before nature’s furies. To him, a storm created the same feeling as when he looked up at the infinite number of stars in the night sky and realized that we are all insignificant within the universe. Some people did not like that thought; but if human beings are insignificant than so too are our problems. He found that this thought made him stop stressing so much over the decisions he made in his life. Oddly the effect of this belief actually made being outside in the middle of a storm calming for him. At the same time though, it was pretty dangerous and he knew that he should get inside before too long. Lightning may look awesome, but he was fairly certain that it didn’t feel so great. Looking around for shelter he spotted a coffee shop just off to the left. Sprinting to make a light, he raced to the doors and ducked inside. He was drenched to the skin and his coat started to steam a little in the warm indoor air. Water dripped down his face and into his eyes. A small puddle was already forming at his feet. People were scattered about sitting at little tables, talking and watching the rain come down. Sipping coffee and tea, they looked warm and cozy as they ate their pastries. Digging in his pocket for some change, he walked up to the counter and ordered a black coffee and a chocolate donut. Grabbing one of the last empty tables, he sat down and took a bite out of his donut. The rain was coming down in torrents and with a healthy wind to carry it, the drops were driven sideways. The streets were now empty of all but the hardiest of pedestrians and traffic had slowed to a crawl. A blanket of black clouds covered the sky and occasionally lightning sparked and thunder crashed in the distance. Sitting with a warm drink and surrounded by strangers, unable to go rushing off on yet more errands, he felt peace wash over him. This was the type of calm that only came with a storm.
This was his very first flight. For so long he had looked up at those enigmatic flying sardine cans and felt fear. It was simply fear of the unknown; he didn’t understand how such massive, heavy tubes of metal were capable of soaring through the atmosphere. How did people trust them? They were clearly death traps. Yet for all he was afraid of them, part of him longed to float along through the clouds. Not to mention the thought of travelling made him feel almost giddy with excitement. Sure he had been all over Canada, the United States and even Mexico, but he had ever gone overseas. Since his childhood, Russia in particular had fascinated him. It seemed so mystical and opulent; so foreign and unique. The only obstacle in his path was that getting there without flying would take a considerable amount of time and money. So after years of dreaming and of saving up, he had finally decided that fear would no longer rule his life. He had planned a two week vacation to be spent divided between St. Petersburg and Moscow and then he had bought himself a ticket. Now, at long last here he was strapped into his seat on an airplane that was winging its way over the Atlantic. In an attempt to conquer his fears completely he had even sprung for the window seat. At the time that had seemed like a brilliant idea; however now that he was on the plane staring out at an endless, restless expanse of water thousands of kilometers beneath him, he was having some second thoughts. Perhaps this was yet another wonderful theory that did not actually work in practice. Deep breaths, just keep taking those nice and deep breaths. Ok, maybe that and also stop looking out the window. There, he felt better already. The in-flight movie was some stupid teenage love story, so that wouldn’t help to distract him much, but thankfully he had brought along a book that he had been meaning to read for months now. So he would just focus on the plot and not look out the tiny, almost porthole-like pane of glass that was the only thing between him and a whole lot of air. Deep breaths. For the next hour he forced himself to focus on his novel. It was pretty good and it was written in an amusing and sardonic style that he always enjoyed. Finishing off another chapter, he decided that he could manage another glance out at the sky. It really was a beautiful way to travel. You get on the plane in one country and several hours later you arrived in another country, on another continent. Of course, several hours in a hollow steel cylinder sailing through space was fairly daunting when climbing a step ladder took an unusual amount of confidence. Yet for all that, he was doing it. Getting to see Russia after all these years would definitely be worth it though. He just had to keep focused on seeing those sugar-spun domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral. He would walk across Red Square and tour through the Kremlin. Russia was waiting just for him and in a few more hours he would be there. No obstacle stood in his way. “Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. Due to an unusually large amount of snowfall in the last couple of hours, we have just been informed that this flight has been rerouted and that we will be landing at our closest alternate airport. We at Air Canada Airlines apologize for any inconvenience and further information will be made available through your flight attendants. Thank you for your patience and understanding.” Head falling forward, he hit his call button. He was bringing in his reserves; nothing less than copious amounts of alcohol was going to get him through this.
They had never officially dated. She knew that he had a crush on her and she was definitely interested in him, but somehow things never really paned out for them. They would go out together to see movies. Sometimes they hung out at his house. These weren’t dates though because he never made “the move.” She waited for him to; she was too shy to do something herself. Sometimes he’d lean slightly towards her. She would catch her breath and nothing more would happen. She tried everything she could think of to encourage him. She’d suggest going for a walk together at night. They’d go and he wouldn’t so much as try to hold her hand. At the movies she would slide over slowly during the movie, even go some far as whisper in his ear about what was happening on the screen. Still he did nothing. She liked that he was such a gentleman, but it drove her crazy that he’d stare at her longingly, sigh and then again, nothing. She would try to flirt a little. Nothing. She’d dress up and make herself look as beautiful as possible. He’d compliment her and then nothing. Sometimes she thought he’d prefer a girl who was more down to earth and so she dress in her runners, jeans and a t-shirt. Again, nothing. Always nothing! She called him, she never forgot his birthday, she sent him Christmas gifts and he responded to every gesture and yet… she remained utterly untouched. Eventually she grew angry. It was like he was toying with her; she knew that he was interested but he never took a chance. He was being a coward. They had known each other for years. Why was he so afraid of asking her out? She had made it as clear as possible that she liked him. She had her pride though and desperately wanted him to show her that he was brave enough to take the leap. She wanted him to tell her how he felt. Finally, sick of waiting for him to “man-up,” she left. She met and dated other men. She went out dancing and even managed to flirt a little. She learned how to be confident in herself and ultimately she moved on. Her life was difficult at times and she often said all the wrong thing at all the wrong time, but eventually and with the help of others she pulled herself together and became someone she could be proud of. Years later, she saw him again. For her life had changed; she had grown into a woman who respected herself and who understood her own worth. Oddly, he seemed unchanged. Sure he had dated; in fact, he was much more experienced in that area than she was. And yet, he was still the same guy she had known so very long ago. There was still something lurking between them, but she refused to acknowledge it lest it give him ideas. They started hanging out again and they laughed together just like they had before. He still occasionally stared at her and he often made off-color remarks, but she wouldn’t rise to the bait anymore. They were as they had ever been: friends. She would look to her other friendships for invitations to parties. It was with other people that she danced and flirted and let loose a little. When she was with him a different part of her personality would emerge and though she enjoyed being around him, she knew one thing for certain: For them, nothing would ever happen. And finally, she was ok with just that.
He didn’t feel safe. It was night and he was in his bed, in the room that he’s been assigned. He was huddled into a ball and he’d wrapped himself in his blankets so tightly that he was practically swaddled. It was deafeningly quiet. The smallest, tiniest movement echoed like a gun shot off the cinder block walls. He didn’t want to breathe too loudly because he was terrified of what would happen to him if he was identified as a “noisemaker.” The others around him were likely feeling the exact same way. No one moved more than the smallest fraction and even the beginnings of squeaking sounds were quickly covered. The guards were just outside the doors and all of the windows were barred. Every ten minutes the shadow of a night-watchman passed over the walls and occasionally a guard dog barked in the darkness. It was a night without wind or moon. The snow that had fallen yesterday muffled any sounds. He was usually comforted by the night. He could sleep and dream of all those things that were missing from his life. Night was the only time that he felt truly safe. However, tonight was an entirely different story. It was all Tim’s fault. He knew that he wasn’t allowed to play with the blocks. He had been told that several times. He had been banned from playing with all solid toys because he tended to throw them at the nurses. Tim knew that; they all knew that. Yet for some reason, today Tim had picked up one of the blocks and stacked it neatly on top of another block. They had all frozen; they knew better than to make even the smallest gasp of surprise. Playtime was during quiet hours. No talking, no singing, no noise of any kind was acceptable. So they had all simply stopped moving and stared in horrified fascination as a nurse walked over to Tim and taking him by the hand had lead him silently from the room. He wouldn’t be seen for the next week. By that time, Tim would be long gone anyway. No one ever really came back. He tried to remember a time when he was happy. It had been years. The institute did not aim for happiness, but rather contentment. They wanted quiet; they wanted peace. No one ever mentioned happiness. Of course, no one ever mentioned living in a constant state of fear either. Communication of any kind was highly frowned upon. This wasn’t living; at its best it was existing and even that was not likely. So far this month, six others had met the same fate as Tim. They were adjusted. They were reacclimatized. It was all about harmony they said. Equality was everything. No one was superior and no one was inferior. Everyone was the same. All creativity was erased. Conflict was crushed, anger was annihilated and placidity prevailed. This was the new world order. Shivering in his bed, he silently begged for sleep to come. His greatest wish was to reach perfect oblivion; to have it all end. He was sick of the fear and self-loathing that he woke up to every morning. Silence no longer comforted him, but now it scared him because he was forever afraid that that silence would be broken and that yet another person would disappear somewhere into the inner nucleus of the institute. Suddenly he had thought; the people who came back always had a little smile on their faces. They looked like they were forever lost in happy dreams. Maybe if he was taken away for awhile he would never return from his wonderful dreams. No longer would he be afraid to wake up because he never would again. Reaching out from under his thin blanket, he decided to take control of the quiet. He rapped his knuckles loudly against his bed post and seized control of his life for the first time in years. A small smile stretched across his mouth as the night-watchman turned around and walked towards his room.
Silence reigned across the battlefield as the two massive opponents faced one another. Tension filled the air and every muscle was locked, rigidly ready for either fight or flight. All waited for the unspoken sign that would trigger the most epic battle seen since the days of old. Then suddenly and with no discernable signal, Vulcan and Nex Necis collided and the crashing sound of steel versus steel rang out across the earth. Sparks showered down upon them both as their flaming weapons met repeatedly, hammering against each other and slashing at their armor. Each threw everything they had at the other and a dance of advance and retreat began. The earth groaned and shook beneath their feet and dust swirled around them. Back and forth the battle raged, one minute Vulcan prevailing, the next with Nex. Nothing was held back and the fury with which each fought filled the onlookers with absolute dread. Grunting and straining the two pummeled each other, but neither backed down. Coated in sweat, Paul refused to let up, knowing that he had to come up with some sort of plan. Vulcan would not tire and Paul knew that hit for hit, Vulcan had more power. He had to change the nature of the fight; he had to defeat Vulcan not with strength, but with brains instead. He had to outsmart the god. Desperately parrying and dodging out of the path of Vulcan’s red flame-encased sword, Paul frantically tried to come up with an idea. Sensing that he was distracted, Vulcan advanced and rained blows down upon him. In a frenzy, Vulcan slashed and hacked at Nex’s armor and unable to counter, Paul fell back and crashed to the ground. His sword skittered away from him and the blue flames that had enveloped its blade were doused. Standing over him, Vulcan let out a triumphant roar of laughter and pointing his sword down at his fallen enemy, Vulcan mocked him: “You pathetic disgrace, did you honestly believe that you could defeat me? I am a god! My every creation has a weakness that I personally design so that nothing could ever be too great so that I cannot defeat it. The weakness within Nex Necis is you, mortal. I allowed you to remain within the armor; your conscience is my monster’s weakness! I knew that you were not worthy of my sword and so I gave you armor that you could not control. And now that you have served your purpose, I shall destroy you and nothing shall stop Nex Necis from annihilating this diseased world!” It was with Vulcan poised above him, with his sword raised and ready to deliver the final blow, that Paul finally came up with a plan. Reacting immediately, Nex’s armored shin connected with Vulcan’s left damaged kneecap which gave away completely bringing the god crashing down. Rolling to the right, Paul grabbed his sword and came to his feet. Spinning around, he took advantage of Vulcan’s surprise and swiped the sword from his hand. Kicking Vulcan onto his back, Paul now stood over the him, his once more blue-flamed sword pressing down on the god’s throat. “It would seem that even gods have weaknesses, Vulcan. Now admit that you have been defeated and release me. This armor you will now destroy and no longer will Nex Necis terrorize this world. This is what you agreed to and you must fulfill that agreement.” Glaring up at him, Vulcan allowed his armor to fade and then disappear. Once again clothed in the apron of a blacksmith, he nodded his head and then vanished. Ж Standing once more in a trench beside some crumbling foundations, Paul blinked up at the sun. He was right back to where he had been before the lightning bolt had struck. Looking down he saw the glint of the sword lying half-buried at his feet. He bent down and for the second time, uncovered Vulcan’s sword. It felt all-too-right in his grip. The power that Paul had had while being in Nex Necis’ armor had been terrible, but also addictive. He could have that power again; the small piece of paper with its single fate-changing sentence was right there at his feet. Paul reached down and picked it up. With a heavy sigh, he slid the card into his pocket and then yelled out to his supervisor. “Hey Steve! I think I found something…” Waiting for Steve to come running over, Paul started to climb out of the trench with the sword in his hand. One thing he could say about all this was that suddenly history didn’t seem quite so boring. Perhaps Paul the construction worker would try going back to school and become Paul the historian… The End To everyone who has followed The Sword of Vulcan, I would love to get some feedback on your thoughts about the story. I am really trying to improve my writing and any comments would be greatly appreciated. Thanks to everyone who has read SoV and I hope you enjoyed Paul's story!
For a long moment all was still. Then to everyone’s surprise the great god began to laugh. It started as little more than a chuckle, but it quickly grew into a full-bodied guffaw that rumbled through him and caused him to shudder with mirth. After several minutes, Vulcan managed to regain his composure and sobering, he said: “You are brave, small one. You are an utter fool to issue such a challenge, but you have courage none the less. I have enjoyed watching you massacre all those worshippers of my much-hated step-brother, Mars. I will face you, mortal, not as the god of war, but rather as the god of weapons. Stand against me if you can.” With this, Vulcan waved his arm and all those who had been fighting, but had stopped at the appearance of Nex Necis, followed by the appearance of the Roman god of fire and crafts were thrown backwards. Quickly rising, the militants stepped back and formed a sort of rough circle around the two combatants. No one wanted to get too close, but neither did anyone wish to miss what promised to be an incredible battle. Stretching out his arms and straightening to his full height, Vulcan tipped back his head and spoke a single word: “Armare.” Instantly Vulcan was encased in an ornate armor that covered him from head to toe. Thick leather straps encircled his massive arms, holding in place bronze gauntlets that protected his forearms. Greaves that gleamed wrapped around his shins and a gigantic chest-plate emblazoned with a triumphant Eagle covered his torso. On his head rested a helmet that contoured perfectly to his skull, complete with steel flaps to protect his ears and the back of his neck. With his left arm he gripped a large, rectangular shield that curved slightly inward. In his right hand he held a sword that looked capable of cleaving a full-grown man in two pieces with a single stroke. He was noting less than a colossus. For the first time since gaining the armor of Nex Necis, Paul felt real fear. He may have Herculean strength and endurance, he may be equipped with a magical sword and armor, but the fact was, he was facing a god. “I am ready, mortal. Come and face the one who has created you.” With these words, Vulcan advanced with his shield up and his sword raised. Held high above his head, the blade burst into a fiery red inferno and with a terrified gasp the crowd fell back yet further. Taking a deep breath, fearing that it would be his last, Paul released his grip on Nex and allowed the creature to step forth. The odds of him surviving this were slim he knew, but he couldn’t think of any other way to stop the killing of Vulcan’s monster. This time, Paul swore his sword would be put to good use. To be Finished in Part 10!
Between the battles that Vulcan would transport Nex to, the creature would rest in a sort of limbo-like place. Held in darkness, Nex waited until called upon yet again to go forth and destroy all who ventured into his path. It was while in this place that Paul planned how he would challenge Vulcan. Feeling the light tug that always came right before Nex would be dropped into another fight, Paul screwed his courage to the sticking place. With a deafening thump, the monster created another small crater in the Earth. All around was chaos; bullets flew, missiles screeched past and everywhere people screamed and ran. Nex stepped out onto the field and his sword burst once more into flame. It was at this moment that Paul finally took back control and Nex froze. All around soldiers and militants watched as the terror that had slaughtered hundreds simply stood, unmoving before them. Within the armor, Paul struggled desperately to restrain Nex’s killing instincts. It took all of his willpower to withstand the command of Vulcan and he felt as though his brain was going to explode with the effort. Finally after what felt like years, but could have been no longer than a couple minutes, the air before Nex shimmered and suddenly Vulcan appeared before him. Admittedly, Vulcan was ugly to begin with, but furious anger made him even more appalling to behold. And at the moment, Vulcan was nothing short of enraged. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold back the beast much longer, Paul seized his chance to speak before Vulcan had so much as opened his mouth. “Mighty Vulcan, god of the forge and the fire, I hereby challenge thee. Will you, divine being within this mortal realm, accept my challenge and face that which you have created?” Even under such distress, Paul felt a small smile tugging at him: he was definitely getting better at the whole speech thing. For a second, the great god stood utterly still; then he threw back his head and like a volcano erupting, let out a roar that shook the very Earth itself. A torrent of unintelligible words poured forth from him and he started stomping about and gesturing wildly with his arms. Like a child forbidden a treat, he gave into an almighty tantrum that went on and on for countless minutes. Slowly he regained his composure and after multiple deep breaths he turned back to Paul and in a voice tight with barely restrained fury, he demanded: “You pathetic, pitiful, ungrateful little wretch, you dare to challenge me? I am a god, more powerful than an insect like you could ever even understand. Accepting a challenge from the likes of you would not gain me any glory no matter how quickly I defeated you. Why then would I agree to such a contest?” “If you should win, then Nex Necis will no longer have my conscience holding him back. Your monster will be able to rampage across this Earth without check. However, if I should win, you will swear to destroy this armor and set me free. You are a god and I am naught but your pawn; why refuse when you have everything to gain and supposedly nothing to lose?” To Be Continued in Part 9!
Three weeks had passed since the monstrosity, Nex Necis, had fallen to Earth and landed right in the middle of a raging armed conflict. Since that time, the creature had not stopped killing. Wherever a battle was being fought, Nex would inevitably find a way onto the battlefield. It didn’t matter who was fighting who, or what their reasons were, flaming sword in hand, Nex cut down everyone in his path. Some clever reporter had looked up the Latin translation of Nex Necis and quickly made it a well-known fact that Nex Necis translated to ‘violent death.’ Afterwards he became known simply as Nex, or as ‘death’ itself. Nex waged a continuous and utterly merciless rampage across the globe and as of yet no one knew why he did this or where he had come from. Oddly enough, Nex never attacked civilians or buildings. He only went after combatants or military equipment and compounds. It seemed that he mission was to end war by killings all warriors; he was forcing people to be peaceful. Some labeled Nex as a cold-blooded killer intent on destruction. They condemned his methods and feared his power. So far nothing had hurt him and nothing could stop him. More and more people were calling for a nuclear strike to bring him down. Others supported him, claiming that although his methods were harsh, peace was worth any cost. They cheered him as an unlikely saviour. Meanwhile, Paul the construction worker had been listed as missing and hadn’t been seen for three weeks. Few of his friends would recognize him now as Vulcan’s terrible killing machine. However a small part of Paul still existed, lying dormant within Nex’s mind. Paul drifted in and out of consciousness, alternately appalled and then unconcerned by the carnage being wrecked all around him. He felt largely numb and seemed incapable of reigning in the bloodlust that suffused his new body. Occasionally the image of a screaming terrified victim would surface in his thoughts and he would feel shame and anger at what Vulcan had made him into. Days and nights meshed and he lost all track of time. Slowly, oh so very slowly, his anger grew from within. He wanted to escape from this drugged existence and put an end to Nex Necis forever. Paul had wanted to help people, not to kill without mercy. Vulcan was using him and he wanted to fight back. So far no one else had managed to even so much as halt the monster’s path, let alone stop him. Over the passage of these weeks, Paul had sluggishly come to the conclusion that the only way to stop the beast was to attack it from within. Paul knew that he was the world’s only hope and that now was the time to end this. He would challenge Vulcan; a mere man against a vicious, insane god of old. It would be a battle between creator and created. And no matter what, Paul was prepared to do whatever it took to end Nex Necis and to banish him for this earth. To be Continued in Part 8!
The creature now known as Nex Necis crashed back down to earth in the middle of a furious battle. Climbing up out of the crater his landing had caused, he stopped for a moment to assess the fight. One side was dressed in full camouflage and carried some serious ordinance. The other side was less well equipped and dressed simply in everyday t-shirts and kaki pants. After taking a mere moment to consider, Nex Necis launched himself at the nearest camouflaged soldier and cut the man to ribbons with his mighty sword. Wading into the fray, Vulcan’s monster tore through his new enemies. Hacking at them with his flaming blade, he killed without mercy. Bullets rained down upon his armored body causing sparks with every hit. Paying them no attention whatsoever, Nex continued his rampage. Soon bodies were piled up in mounds on either side of him and he advanced unchecked through the infantry division. His target was obvious; he made a straight shot for the tanks lined up across the back of the battlefield. In a desperate effort to take down the giant machine that was smashing through their ranks two tanks opened fire. Both anti-tank guided missiles hit their target head-on, one right after the other. Smoke obscured their view and the soldiers waited with baited breath to see if the colossus had been destroyed. The smoke finally cleared. Nex was still standing and after a tense moment, he started coming forward yet again. Terrified of the seemingly invincible monstrosity determined to destroy them the soldiers in camouflage fled in an unorganized flight from the battlefield. Men could be seen hauling themselves out of the tanks and fleeing the fight. As he continued onward, Nex used his sword to slash into those around him. The number of dead multiplied alarmingly quickly and very few escaped from his terrible onslaught. Reaching the now empty tanks, he raised his bloodied sword high above his head and grasped its hilt with both steel-encased hands. Swinging downwards with awful force, the blade carved through the metal hulls like a hot knife through butter. One after another, each tank was utterly destroyed. Having completed his task, Nex turned at the sound of cheering behind him. The other side, those in kakis and t-shirts and carrying outdated AK-47s were yelling, jumping up and down and raising their guns up into the air. They believed that Nex was an awesome warrior or perhaps some sort of machine that had been sent down from above to free them from their oppressors. One of the braver guerrillas approached the arm of Vulcan and in an obscure dialect attempted to profess his intense admiration and deepest thanks. He fell to his knees and bowed his head before the creature. At its feet he laid his weapon. Raising his sword once more, Nex sliced off the head of his prostrate disciple. The others who had also come forward to praise their would-be saviour fell back in shock. Nex looked up at them and as one they all turned and fled screaming back the way they had come. Stepping over the beheaded warrior at his feet, Nex Necis continued his deadly mission. To be Continued in Part 7!
When the flames devoured the blade of the sword something in Paul altered. Something fundamental within him shifted and changed. He was angry, furious even. Suddenly Paul wanted nothing more than to kill. Reason left him and fury consumed his every thought. He felt his body change; muscles grew and rippled with new-found strength. He shot up several inches taller and his shoulders widened greatly. His hands became the size of dinner plates and his legs the size of tree trunks. He felt powerful and capable of overcoming any obstacle placed in his path. “You can feel the power can you not? Imagine all that you could do to fix this world and your own failed race. You shall be my instrument and your duty shall be to purge this earth of all of those who are unworthy.” Having thus proclaimed, Vulcan turned and limped to a nearby table. On it was a massive suit of armor. It was beautifully designed and covered with intricate etchings that entwined and curved around each other. The armor was made of some unrecognizable metal that had been polished so that it gleamed. “Step forward, my minion and take this armor that I gift to you. I forged it in the eternal fires of Mount Etna herself. No weapon, no matter its destructive force can so much as dent this fire-hardened shell. When you wear it the power and strength I have given you shall be increased a hundredfold. You will be unstoppable, relentless and filled with the fury of a too long forgotten god.” At Vulcan’s thunderous command, Paul began to walk towards the hotheaded deity. His newly reinforced body responded of its own will; unquestionably it answered the demand of its master. Moving mechanically, Paul dressed in the armor, amazed to find that it fit him perfectly. It was almost as if it had been made especially for him. Looking pleased, Vulcan stepped back and looked over his latest creation. “The name given to you by your mortal parents no longer fits you. I shall give you a new name: Nex Necis.” These words suddenly emblazed themselves upon Paul’s chest-plate. With a flick of his hand, Vulcan opened a portal through which could be seen a raging battle in progress. Men scurried back and forth below them and the scene looked like a mass of ants teeming over a flat plain. At the sight of this, Paul was again filled with rage. He wanted to go on a killing rampage. He wanted to eradicate all those who stood before him. He wanted to destroy, to annihilate, to kill. Vulcan turned from the war playing out in front of him and smiled at his toy soldier. “I will send you back to earth now and you shall do my bidding. You shall be the tool I use to recreate this flawed realm of men. Jupiter has failed where I shall succeed. Go, Nex Necis and honor me with the deaths of the countless.” Paul the construction worker had disappeared and in his place, a monster was unleashed upon the world. To be Continued in Part 6!
Paul swayed on his feet while his vision blurred and faded. It was so hot in the cave that he was no longer capable of sweating. His skin was drying out and it felt like his throat was trying to dust. Any second now, Paul thought. He waited and waited… and then waited some more. Only thing was, his vision started to come back. And he could swear that he felt a cooling breeze blowing gently across his face. The fire, which had filled the room, was now drawing back, its flames receding into the pit in the center of the floor. Paul could breathe deeply again, great big wonderful breaths of fresh air. His skin cooled and his heart rate slowly. And after a bewildering moment or two, Paul realized that he wasn’t dead. In fact, he felt fine. All his aches and pains were suddenly gone. Vulcan stood before him, encased in bronze armor, a flaming sword in his right hand. His left leg was twisted and he rested his weight mostly on the right one. His face was scarred and his eyes gleamed from beneath bushy black brows. His arms were massive, the muscles distended to the point that he looked almost deformed. Worst of all, his lips were contorted into a sickening attempt of a smile. “You demand my sword do you, human? I should kill you for such insolence. However, I shall stay my hand. Tell me mortal, what would you do if you had the favor of a god and all the power that comes with it?” It’s like asking someone what they would do if they won the lottery, Paul thought. His answer had always been the same as everyone else’s: “What wouldn’t I do?” The only difference was that this was no fantasy. What would he do with unlimited power? And then the answer came to him: “I would fight for all those people who have no one to fight for them.” Vulcan stared at him for a moment and then he threw back his hideous head and let out a roar of laughter. He laughed so hard and so loud that the armor and swords scattered about the cave shook and dust fell from the ceiling. “You would waste your time saving the little, useless, insignificant vermin that crawl all over this earth? I would make you a hero like those of old! Achilles fought for glory! Hector fought for honor! Hercules fought for fame! Forget the peasants! If you truly are worthy enough to wield my sword then you would use my power to defeat your enemies!” “But, great Vulcan… I have no enemies” Shaking his head in disgust, Vulcan speared Paul with a glance and said: “Then you shall go forth and make some.” Vulcan pulled back his arm and threw his sword at Paul. Paul’s body reacted of its own will and his arm stretched forth. Wrapping his hand around its hilt, he caught the sword and lifted it aloft. Again flames shot up the blade and this time it was encased in a blue fire. To Be Continued In Part 5!