Numbers

The numbers where tumbling again.

A continuous cascade of random digits where causing havoc with his mind. Every night the same thing, numbers, with no reason or purpose just random. Then as he awakes the numbers stop, 1698717.

Every time.

James Reills, the man who dreams of numbers and nothing else. If the world wasn't a complete shithouse he would have felt rather sorry for himself. As life is now he counts himself one of the lucky few that actually dream, not just reliving the nightmare over and over again.

It has been seven years since the end of civilization, or rather the metamorphoses of civilization to something other. Being human was not something to be proud of anymore. Since they discovered us we have become a disease to be exterminated. The last remnants of a defeated enemy, the destroyer of worlds.

If only they left us a memo or something when we were abandoned on this world. nobody told us that we were seen as the greatest evil ever to walk the space ways. 

If you were wondering what the numbers meant, well that makes two of us. All he know is that they are burned into his eyes every morning when he wake up. 

The passageway reverberated with the heavy tread of a soldier. The reinforced titanium alloy armour that this brute wears weighed over a ton and the bastard moves like a ninja. If ninjas were mutant ape lizards with four eyes.

"Prisoner 44-1919."

"What?"

"Your lucky day, meat bag."

"Fuck sakes I don't want to go to the surface."

"You don't have a choice, regulation forbids a prisoner from staying underground for longer than a week, earth-standard."

Who would have guessed, conscientious conquerors. We truly live in a fucked up world. Unfortunately this is only the beginning; shit gets way worse from here. 

Aftermath

" Now the world is overrun with monsters and demons, because every snot-nosed fool with blood chalk thinks he is a master at scribing runes." said Rashid.

 "Mere apprentices bind undead reavers and worse; guess what happens, the damn idiot loses control and forfeits his soul. To an undead reaver of all things." 

He looks up from the fire, glaring out across the silent wastes.
Black sands billowing across the vast grey waste as the wind stirs.

 "Necromancers own giant swabs of land,  they use it to harvest human souls, to power their rituals. Trying to bind  greater and more powerful demons to serve them," continued Rashid. 

"At some stage the fool cannot complete the binding or it fails and the demon gains the sweet soul of a gifted human."

  The shadow-cowled figure moved, turning towards them, the intensity of his eyes burned with the memories of ancient times. The rumbling of his bitter laughter echo across the waste. 

 "Yes, the human soul has always been the most powerful source of magic, why do you think the gods warred amongst themselves?" asked the shadow wrapped figure.

"We destroyed continents and realms to hold the frail beauty of the human soul" he said. 

"Now demons claim more and more through foolishness."

  The shattered piles of stone, stacked haphazardly, reflected the soft words. A quite sigh of the wind carries the dying echo out among the desicated trees. 

The three travellers sat in quite contemplation for a while, each trying to come to grips with what they have just been told. Rashid stares into the fire, willing the feeble flames higher and brighter.

  "At least the first gate is sealed, no more unsuspecting peasants running into schreechers," Rathe said, as the feeble light cast ragged shadows across his scarred face.

 Idly scratching one eyebrow Rashid looks across to his companion. 

"Do you honestly think that one closed gate will make such a difference in the long run?"asked Rashid.

 "Think about it, we just lost a full battalion of elite fighters from Gromme, our mages are sucked dry to the point where most of them will need to be sealed less their warding fail," said Rashid. 

"How is that any better than before?"

"You depressing, soulless freak," growled the god from the shadows, "If it wasn't for your kind we would not be in this  forsaken mess anyway."

"My kind," asked Rashid, "Lets just get the facts straight you bastard. The only reason my kind exist is because you gods left pieces of your brethren scattered across the universe. Your wars have changed the fundamental structure of the universe, gifting us freaks with the ability to wield power," said Rashid looking across at the godling, "the gods created a world where they are no longer necessary, you have become obsolete."

Debriefing

"I'm telling you that is what I saw, even if you don't believe me, I saw it. Even Evans saw something, he's just to shit scared to say anything."

"That true, Evans, did you see something out there?"

"I ain't seen nothing, Captain, Gorenson's just jumping at shadows he is."

"You lying sack of shit, Evans you saw that thing the same time I did. The fuck man?"

"Control yourself private. Evans answer truthfully, you will not be punished in anyway if you just tell the truth."

"The truth sir, is that  Gorenson left the tub to go wandering about by his self, without saying nothing."  

"Fuck that Evans, you were with me the whole time, it was your lame ass idea to activate the antipersonnel systems so that we could go scope for tracks."

"Give him time to finish private, you will get to speak soon enough."

"He says he saw some troll-like thing walking by them trees so he loads up his shredder and wanders off like he on some picnic or something."

"Then what happened?"

"I left the mug to go take a leak, next thing I know he's shredding them trees like we was mowing down a line of them Terex from Artus sector. Shitting my self I flip the hotness for some cover only to see the fool standing in a smoking patch of scorch all by his lonesome, shredder smoking like an old moon buster. All limp dick, blacked out by the backlash. Fool playing soldier with ghosts in the trees."

"So you did not see anything attack Private Gorenson?"

"Hell no, like I said, he be a big shadow killer, twitchy."

"Thank you private Evans you are dismissed."

"Sir."

"Now private Gorenson, what made you abandon your post and destroy indigenous fauna for half a click on our perimeter?"

"Evans is a lying turd, captain, there is no way that I could do that amount of damage by myself. Not with one little shredder. If I had myself  a heavy plasma carbine sure, but a shredder please."

"True, continue."

"Well as I stated in my report sir, we saw something walking the perimeter. It was about 3 to 4 meters in height, hulking with what seemed to be lightning coursing underneath its skin. It was freaky." 

"So you decided to go and take a closer look instead of calling for a probe run?"

"Yes sir, standard protocol out in the sticks ain't what they teach at the academy. Calling for a probe run by a Strafer will get you docked R and R."

"None sense."

"No disrespect sir, but the frontier is a lot larger than it looks from space, there ain't enough drones to cover all areas, so unless you have a definite positive you don't bother God."

"God?"

"Yeah, what we call the Tomb class destroyer that covers this sector."

"I'm sure Fleet Captain Nerus will be delighted. please continue."

"Yes, sir. Activating the perimeter defence for back-up..."

"Sorry that would be the 'hotness' that Evans referred to?"

"Yes sir."

"OK"

"Anyway we light up the hotness, grab some extra tom, sorry, ammo and we head out toward the last sighted location of the creature.
 Evans and I were both carrying shredders, with full combat rated armor, enhanced muscle capabilities, retinal integration with full split second analysis with the aid of the on-board limited AI. Nothing should be able to sneak up on two boosted rangers."

"Yet I assume from the slight hesitation in your voice that something did?"

"Hell yeah, fucking thing just appeared from nothing. All solid fucking crystalline armor and blazing lightning bolts. Fried out circuits before we even knew it was there."

"Your response?"

"Standard save your ass procedure sir, back to back clockwise rotation on full auto. two full rotations four thousand armor piercing rounds in less that 10 seconds, nothing should be able to survive that."

"This thing did?"

"I don't know sir, remember we were running black, backup batteries take half a minute to kick in. When our systems came online we were glitched so we could not be certain. Sure did not see anything."

"Did you recover any evidence of this creature?"

"Fuck Captain you know we didn't, lots of fucked up trees and shit but nothing else."

"Thank you Private Gorenson, you are dismissed."

"Sir, a question?"

" Yes private?"

"You've seen one haven't you?"

"That is classified."

"Sir."

Dinner guests

The house was cold and dark by the time Gen returned. Hours spent wandering the streets have not put him in a better frame of mind, instead it made the anger seethe to the front of his mind. With a whispered word the ward on his door dissipates, dark tendrils scroll an intricate pattern on the woodwork as the power is released. With a sigh he steps into his home, a sanctuary against the new world he now has to live in. Darkness envelops his person as the door closes behind him, yet the peace he yearns for does not descend. Instead his aura bleeds into the house, the potency of his anger ignites all the lamps and candles in the house. Brightness flairs around him, as if the sun has risen in his hallway.

With a wry smile Gen stares at his home, books stacked hap hazardously, piles of scrolls lie strewn everywhere, pages and open books cover almost every open flat surface in the room. Near the window, a large drawing table covered in strange arcane designs. Anointed sketches of animals and plants cover most of the walls; a mind preoccupied with knowledge resides here. The aroma of fresh coffee draws his attention to the kitchen. A musical voice startles him from his introspection
.
“Gen, sweetheart, you have been neglecting yourself again? Haven’t you? How many weeks have you been locked in this miserable little hut you call a home?” Nox walks into the hallway, “Are you going to stand on attention in your own home now?”

Arching a gorgeously sculpted eyebrow at him she turns and walks back into the kitchen.

Shacking himself out of his stupor Gen walks into the kitchen.

Sprawling in one of the unbroken chairs he gratefully accepts the coffee. “I had a loaf of bread earlier but I can’t seem to recall what I did with it?” he admits with a small shrug of his shoulders. Nox quickly smoothed the surprised look from her face before Gen notices the result of his casual remark. “It must have been quite a day if you lost most of the afternoon,” said Nox as she took a seat opposite him. Gen shifted his gaze from the window to look at the woman opposite him. Dark hair framed a delicate face with fierce green eyes, a beautiful woman, cultured, refined and utterly deadly. Most people would have run at the sound of her voice let alone at the sight of her, but to Gen she was one of the few friends remaining that he trusted with his life.
“I have had an interesting morning, with a few nasty surprises thrown in just to keep it entertaining.” Gen said taking another sip of his coffee. “Do I have anything in this kitchen worth eating, or are we going out for dinner?”

“I have brought some things, why don’t you fill me in on your morning while I cook. Maybe talking about it will help you calm down a little, I had to use a soothing on you just to make you notice the world around you.” Unfolding herself from her stool with a grace that left him speechless, Nox set about gathering the necessary utensils. While she busied herself around the kitchen Gen related the tale of his morning to her.

“ So according to Marshall the council has begun building puppets, we have an adept with frightening skills killing randomly for no rhyme or reason and to top it all Marshall wants me to find the bastard.” The vehemence in his voice draws her attention, “There is something in this whole thing that you are not telling me, so spill it. The fact that you have to find a rogue adept cannot be the only reason you are all uptight.” Her green eyes bore into him, as if she could delve the depths of his soul the find the source of his anguish. “Seriously Gen, even if I had no sensitivity, your aura would be tearing the hair out of my head, as it is I can see how tightly leashed you have your anger. You have to let me in to help, tell me…”

The pleading note in her voice hits Gen like a bucket of ice water, as he realises what she was afraid of. “Nox, please I still have control. I haven’t used any of my abilities in years, just enough to help with my research…I’m fine.”
“No, you are not. You forget that I was there when you lost control the last time. If it wasn’t for Crowe I don’t think any of us would be here anymore. You have to let us help you.”

Turning back to the pot on the stove she continued, “Speaking of Crowe, he should be arriving in a hour or so. I thought you should know in case he just walks in the door with his usual subtleness. I would not want the house defences thinking him a threat.” The smile that played across her face made Gen forget the world for a second.
Hard to think that he has loved this woman for more years than most people live, yet that was the plain truth. “Crowe is coming for dinner, is he?” With a pained sigh Gen pushed himself up off the chair. “Thanks for the warning; Dennis still hasn’t forgotten the last time Crowe was here.” Nox’s laughter cascaded around the room as Gen walks towards his study. “You mean he is still pissed?” she shouts from the kitchen.
“Pissed, Dennis will tear reality apart to get at Crowe.” Gen shouted back, rummaging around in one of his chest looking for silver wire. Finding the roll of soft silver wire Gen goes back to the kitchen.

“So what are you going to do about Dennis then?” asks Nox.
“Nothing, Crowe is just going to have to man up about his behaviour. Besides I haven’t had any good entertainment in a long, long time.” With that Gen feeds a small tendril of power into the silver wire. The wire starts to glow a bright green as tiny glyphs scroll around the wire.
Fascinated, Nox moves closer to the table to watch Gen work. The utter ease with which he wards the wire is almost as frightening as the complexity of the warding. With a rueful sigh Nox could only stare, irritably scrubbing away the tears that forms in her eyes against her will.

“No need to cry,” Gen whispers, “you know there was no choice.”

The gentleness of his voice as he said those words tore at her soul, she wanted to scream, rage at the world and the shear stupidity of humanity. To have a adept with the pure genius and artistry as Gen denied most of his gifts because of the folly of others was an injustice that could not be described. The green light dims, and then fades from the silver wire. In its place was a intricate necklace engraved with a script only three people living could read.

“Dennis!”Gen’s shout fills the whole house, echoing over and over.

“You hollered, master.”

A disembodied voice answered, dripping with sarcasm.

“Ah, yes Dennis. We have a guest arriving soon, please don’t harm him too much,” said Gen trying to sound serious, yet failing miserably instead.

The Water lily

The Water Lily Inn was situated near the centre of the old city, over a thousand years old, the weathered stone exterior still bore scars from the Great War. Black scorch marks trace strange patterns on the stone from ancient wards that protects the building. New roof tiles shine brightly in the late morning sunlight as Gen approached the entrance to the Inn. Smiling to himself as the soldiers at the door straighten at his approach, too young to know who he is yet a personal friend of the Lord Marshall must be important.

Quite conversation could be heard from inside the common room of the inn. In the corner near the kitchen sat the owner in deep conversation with the house chef. With a cursory gesture he motioned towards the spiral staircase to the left of the entrance. As it has been many a year since he last visited the Water Lily Gen idled a while in the common noticing the new improvements to the establishment. Wide, comfortable lounge chairs where placed near the two hearths with numerous heavy, dark tables discretely spaced to maximise space yet maintain the privacy of the occupants. Rich carpets from Riyot lay randomly scattered across the floor, giving the common room a casual yet luxurious feel. Remembering why he came, Gen walked up the stairs. At the top of the stairs bright sunlight enveloped him. As he entered the private sitting room, a large bay window showed a magnificent view of the gardens, with an arching bridge over the lake, filled with blooming water lilies, which gave the inn its name.

The Lord Marshall reclined in a wing backed chair, chin resting on his hands, a man with grave concerns on his mind. Gen studied his old friend; the years have been good to him. The ravages of war have been tempered by a relatively quite post, yet things were never as they appear. Knocking on the wooden arch that served as a doorway Gen entered the presence of the old man. “Lord Marshall.” Gen bowed, hands at his side, palms facing outward. He maintained the bow a few seconds longer than customary, yet few alive would understand the significance.

“Gen.”

With a languid wave of his hand Lord Marshall indicated to the chair opposite his. Gen settles gratefully into the comfortable chair with a long sigh. The man opposite him arches an eyebrow at him. Gen smiles ruefully, “Over indulgence.”

“Not as young as we use to be anymore are we Gen? That is what makes this mess even more trying; if I was a younger man I would scour the earth for this creature. Alas, now you will have to do it by yourself.” Rubbing at his forehead Marshall looked towards the towering statues. Leaning to the side he picked up a small bundle from beside his chair and tosses it onto the table next to Gen. “ A little gift from our dead friend.”

“Let me guess, wooden tiles, expertly painted…” Upending the little bag onto the table top with a loud clatter, he slowly moves them about with a lazy finger.
“Three tiles missing, would you care to tell me which ones?” Slowly Marshall turns the tiles one by one while Gen studies each intently. As he turns the final tile around Marshall looks up into the deathly pale face of the man opposite him. “I must be missing something from the bigger picture; I haven’t seen you this afraid in many years.” Marshall sits back and motions to the servant waiting at a side door. Quietly he whispers in servant’s ear that then leaves the room.

They both sit in absolute silence, the servant returns with steaming mugs of coffee for each of them. Placing the mugs with care he leaves the room, never hurrying, drawing the door closed behind him. Taking a sip of the warm coffee Gen finally looks up. “What you did not see was the pattern melded into the marble flagstones at the bottom of the statue. Combined with the missing tiles it forms a completely different story. This wasn’t a ritualistic killing, not in the normal sense anyway. This was a puppet binding, the placing of the tiles was done by the victim, through his own free will.”

“Wait, I am a bit confused. I thought this was a ritual killing, with the tile placements and the desiccation of the corpse. This was classic necromancy, with the victim’s life force fuel for the casting. If you include the tiles then you have a soul binding into a new construct.” Marshall sat back with his mug between his hands. “This would mean that we have a necromancer and a construct roaming free within city limits, and my reason for calling you.”

Gen smile at Marshall, taking a long draught of his coffee he sat forward in his chair. “Basically your observations are correct, if this was necromancy. But we both know that it cannot be, the plaza is sanctified ground and warded tighter than a maiden honour.” Gen takes another sip of coffee just to calm his jangling nerves.

“No, this was only meant to look like a ritual binding, the pattern was not soul forged, just burned into the marble. That is the part that has me afraid, the wards were bypassed."

“Impossible.”

introducing Gen

Gen starts awake to a furious pounding on his front door. Groaning he stumbles from his bed, searching for something to wear. Realising that he is fully dressed he navigates the short passage towards the door. The insistent pounding reverberates in his skull, turning the dull ache into a raging storm of pain behind his eyes. Opening the door he glares at the officious militia constable through bleary eyes.

“What, has the world ended?” Gen rubs the grit from his eyes.

Confused the militia man begins, “Sir I…”

“I asked you a question soldier.” The note of authority in Gen’s voice gave the officer a moment’s pause before answering.

“No Sir.” The officer replies, trying to keep his irritation in check.

“Then piss off.”Gen turns, closing the door behind him, only to find that it was caught on something. Without looking he tries to slam the door shut, it rebound violently as the constable strong-arms the door open.

“Gen Isihiro, you are here by ordered to appear before the Lord Marshal at once. If you do not comply we are ordered to forcibly move your person to said location, sir.” The anger in the man’s voice was clear, Gen stopped, as the implication of the officer’s statement filtered through the quite storm in his mind.

“We, forcibly move…” Turning around Gen finally notices a full squad of militia standing in front of his house.

“Fine let me just get some coffee.”

“Apologies sir, we have coffee for you, please come with us, Constable Ridley here will secure your house.”

Staring at the constable Gen sighs, “Lead the way officer, and I guess my day will only get worse, right?”

The constable gave Gen a knowing look, this was going to be a very long day. Gen and the constable wound there way through his garden towards the road, the squad forming up behind at a discreet distance. City life was starting to awake to the new dawn, street vendors were unpacking carts, shopkeepers assistants were sweeping the storefronts and young children were slowly gathering at the skyline.

As they neared the centre of town, Gen could feel a chill creep up the back of his neck. Looking to the constable, Rob, he said. “Let me guess, Plaza of the Kings?”

“That would be correct, sir. If I didn’t know better I would have called that a very lucky guess, but the Lord Marshall did inform me that you had a sense about you.”
Rob gave him a side long glance. The stories of the war were still fresh in the minds of the local people, even if most of it was hearsay. Giant flying machines, un-dead soldiers, men and women tearing soldiers and beast apart with their minds, enough to make any god fearing man think twice.

“The Lord Marshall would be correct in his observation. Magic makes my skin crawl.” Gen rubbed his arms as the thought of having to enter the chaos again. “There are a few of us left after the war, mostly we try and keep out of trouble. As always trouble has a way of finding us.”

The cordon of soldiers blocking the road into the plaza moved aside to let Gen and Officer Rob through. The squad that were escorting them peeled away to some other part of the city, their duty complete. Rob took the lead across the plaza heading straight towards the statue of the Ancient First King. As they neared the statue Rob noticed the look on Gen’s face.

“I guess your morning just got a lot worse, didn’t it.”

placing of the tiles

Dawn set the sky ablaze as a riot of colour played upon the clouds. A cool breeze stirred the leaves of the tall birch trees lining the avenue. No sound could be heard except the hurried footsteps of a rotund figure, furtively scurrying along, constantly looking behind as if he was being followed. Yet all that filled the street behind him was the sound of his own passing.

The tree lined avenue soon gave way to a great plaza, paved with giant slabs of veined white marble. All around the plaza stood statues of men, each attired in a different outfit, yet all with the distinct aura of authority. The Plaza of Kings was the burial site for the monarchs of Streza, each statue a tomb containing the cremated remains of each ruler.

The rotund man stands at the edge of the plaza as if fearful to walk into the plaza. His destination was directly across the plaza, at the foot of the first and most ancient statue. He slowly edge into the plaza, waiting after every few feet as if a bolt from the heavens were to incinerate him for this sacrilege. Nothing happens, scraping up the dredges of his courage the man stumbles quickly across the smooth marble. At the foot of the statue he removes the wooden tiles he was given. Staring at the paintings on the tiles he remembers the precise instructions.

Place the tiles face up in concentric circles at the foot of the ancient one, the three tiles at the convergence of the circles must be the construct, the henge and the burning sky. Place the rest as you please, if you fail to do this task end your life for I will not be as merciful.


He tries to quite the shaking of his hands as he builds the patterns as instructed. As the final tile is placed in position, he hears a high pitched giggle echo through the plaza. Startled the man leaped to his feet, staring around wildly trying to find the source of the giggle.

Cold-laced pain flairs in his mind, as his personality is torn asunder by the invader. Blood flows from every orifice as the man’s soul is torn from his dying body. The corpse falls to a heap at the foot of the statue, its final breath wheezes’ from the cold dead lips across the scattered pattern. As the sunlight burst onto the plaza three tiles burst into red flame, bathing the early morning plaza in the eerie sound of giggles.