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Part 1: Awakening

dustinzgirl

Banned - What an Asshat!
26,094
178
0
#1
The Dragon shifted. A Dragon this size does not move, but shifts her weight slowly. Something is awakening her, and lazily she lifts one eye to her deep cavern. She can smell men now, and men are something that at once she despises and fears. Dragon once had a name, but centuries of stillness lost it to her memory. She has slept for so long, remember days of old when her and her kin rose like majesty into the night sky and rained down their terror. She remembers the smell of sulfur and death in her dreams, and it is the sweetest of the sweet. Dragon was also once held powerful magic, but now can barely remember the incantations. She wishes she could die, but she can not, and therefore sleeps.
But something is awakening her none the less. She shifts, and shakily tries to stand. Her long back legs strain and creak with the movement, and at first she feels that maybe, maybe, she should just lie here and let them come for her. Dragon only wanted to rest her last few thousand years, and fade into the stars a quiet death. She remembers her kin, her mother, and her children. Those she loved who no longer rested on this plane, but somewhere else. She did not know where her kin was, had not heard their minds in five hundred years. But she could taste their deaths, oh she could still smell their skin burning and melting, she could still hear her babies screaming, some even still inside their eggs. She could hear that like ghosts can hear other ghosts, a memory of fear and pain seeping through her midnight blue scales.
Dragon, however, is not a ghost. She is still physical, and physical meant two things. The first being that she could inflict pain and the second was that she could feel pain. She felt pain now, standing, stretching, and opening her great maw to spit out cobwebs and mildew. Her teeth, once gleaming with bone and blood, now shined a dull grey and yellow, pitted with cavities of deep brown. She was old, and Dragon felt old. Her bones creaked loudly; the sound would have deafened a mortal.
Dragon stretched her wings, flinging of centuries of dust. A thick film of mushrooms and moss had grown on them, and she thought to breathe fire to burn the growing things off. First, the fire did not come. It was only smoke, a puff that would have been comical had any seen it. Her dull silver eyes thinned to a glare. She breathed in once again, concentrating on releasing the spittle that would bring fire from her mouth. Fire came, and in the blackness it was bright and beautiful.
Oh, she was awake now. She shook the ashes and dirt from her wings, and stretched them wide. Tip to tip inside the cavern, she grinned at her own awakening. Dragon did not feel groggy now, but she felt alive instead. In fact, Dragon had never felt more alive. She took in a deep, sounding breath, but coughed on the dampness of the deep cavern. Dragon was alive, and awake. Now, Dragon wanted out.
She stretched her mind first, stretched it beyond the cavern, and through the mountain of lava that she slept beneath. She stretched her mind to the world of men, far and wide. But she heard none of her kin; she felt none of her kin. Dragon was the last. Memories came to her when her mind was opened, the last memories before she had shut herself deep within the darkness. She cried then, and fire poured from her mouth and eyes. Dragon remembered now, remembered the treachery of man, of the wizard. The deaths dealt to her kin, those murdered by man who would never find the stars. It is an old curse, but one that had been made to keep dragons in good standing with mankind. That any dragon killed by the hand of men would not reach their home in the stars, and any man killed by a dragon would have his soul swallowed.
Dragon wanted to remember the ancient languages, she knew some of the new languages, and they had slipped into her dreams from the dreams of men. She knew also of things like guns, mankind’s attempt at controlling fire, and also something of a man named Jesus, but she cared not of the trinkets of mortal men. She was ancient, and she knew the ancients. The call that had awakened her from her century’s long slumber came again. This time it was louder, stronger, and darker. The voice tore through her like none other. She tried to ignore it, she wanted to taste being alive, but could not linger here. It was the command, an ancient command that only few could give, and fewer of those few would dare too. Dragon did not want to answer. She wanted to enjoy being awake, being alive. But the ancient words of magica tore through her as fire mixed with ice would, all at once painfully burning and freezing her thick blood.
Dragon tore herself from the cavern, plowing through the rock ceiling with all her force. The tears of rocks did not touch her in pain like the ancient magica was; in fact, they did not bother her at all. She pressed, harder and harder, until her nose bled and her scales tore, but she moved still. Molten rock began to sweep to her, because liquefied rock does not move, much as a dragon does not, but it grows with a life of its own and marks its prey with thick red eyes. The lava, Dragon knew this new word from dreams of men who had neared her mountain, licked her with its burning tongue, but lava, fire, heat, means nothing to a dragon such as herself.
Up, up she clawed, spat and screamed. And for those of mankind who somewhere, on some part of the mountain, were living as trappers or as traders, the sound they heard was that of a demon. Something dark was coming. They knew it, felt it. The men folk dropped their hunting tools and ran to their women, many of whom had already grabbed their children and were hidden in cellars or under their beds. The sound was deafening, causing the small herds of livestock, sheep mainly but some cattle, to huddle together in their ramshackle barns, bleating their own fears.
If there had been airplanes in this time of man, or helicopters, flying near by, they would have seen an awesome sight. The mountain opened its great maw, a maw that had been shut for thousands of years. There was a slow gurgle sound as the lava came forth, not in the great bellows of a volcanic eruption, but rather as though the mountain were bleeding from its top. Then a hemorrhage began, and the mountain (whose name had been Sliabh Tarragon, but as many things, was now simply forgotten) opened, spilling forth its own life blood from deep within. A massive blackness came from the glowing red, so large that it would have blocked the sun had any dared to look. The blackness rolled almost lazily across the crumbling top, rolled with the bleeding lava and out into the world.
 

dustinzgirl

Banned - What an Asshat!
26,094
178
0
#2
Part II: Invocation

Hesson had never been very bright, or very strong, he was just very average. He hand sandy blonde hair that fell around him in little curly waves, it was nice, but not extravagantly gorgeous. He wasn’t fat, or thin, or weak or muscular, just sort of normal. In fact, Hesson nearly reeked of average-ness to the point of never really having a girlfriend or even just a friend other than the few that he had a Saturday night visit to the pubs with, but in reality these guys weren’t his friends, they were just there. He wasn’t lonely or gay (contrary to popular belief) but instead just floated through life. He could hear his mother (God rest her soul) sometimes, that nagging voice in the back of his mind “Aren’t you ever going do anything?”
There were few things in life that brought Hesson joy. Hell, the guy hardly masturbated, he was that boring. There were, however, those points of light inside his mind, places that he went that no other did. Hesson had the uncanny ability to wrap himself up in whatever book it was that he was reading, and he was particularly fond of Stephen King and The Dark Tower novels, because the stories were so real to him. He could feel the desert, the tower, the fear and the strangeness of it all. In fact, when he was wrapped up in this story, time went awry for him as well. This was one of his great joys in a rather bland and unimaginative life.
The other was the picture of his father, who had died by the hand of a psychotic when he was little more than a pimple faced thirteen year old dreaming those great teenage wet dreams. His father had been a great man, a leader, a breakthrough researcher stand up and cheer (Halleluiah) kind of guy. But, instead of living so that Hesson could follow in his footsteps and be just as golly-gee darn great, some asshole schizo stabbed Micah D. Winter in the neck with his own ball point pen. The last picture that Hesson had of him was Micah standing on the beach, one hand in an open wave, with an amazing white toothy grin on his face. It was comical and cheery; his father had been wearing the fashionable black and white striped bathing suites of years past.
The first thing that Hesson loved about this photo was that he had saved it from his mother, who in her own psychotic depression had burned, shredded, and threw out ever remaining bit of her dead husband, believing that he was haunting her. The second was that at this point in his life he had been ten, and they had been on the Great Family Vacation to the Mountain and Lake, and his mother had not been a raving lunatic cunt. Hesson could not remember the name of the lake or the mountain, but he remembered the trip and the picture very well. The third, and most important part of his love and joy for this photograph, was that when he looked at it, really gave into the photo with all his heart and soul, the lake rippled with the wind, and his father laughed, waving (not still-life, actual movement) like a happy clown. That was his secret, his joy.
It was at one of these séances that his father first began to speak to him. At first, the words were slow, and small. Hesson believed that he was going into lunacy like his mother had. Maybe this was why she offed herself on deadly mix of Percocet, Valium and Long Island Ice Teas. The photograph dad only called his name in a smaller, almost mocking version of the booming voice that Dr. Winter had in real life.
Hesson had feared, and in his almost adult age of nineteen, had nearly thrown the photograph dad into the fire. His heart failed him, even though the picture was silent now, he crept to the room that had once been locked (even though it was empty) and once had been his fathers study, and laid it in the middle of the bare floor, then locked the door behind himself.
Years passed from the orphaned nineteen year old boy to a man of adulthood, offices, and of course, practicality. Because above all things, an adult must be practical. He still lived alone in the house that his father built, and could still hear his mothers’ ghost and his dad’s photograph voice late at night. But, being as practical as he was, he of course ignored all of this. At thirty, many things that were not practical could be ignored, or chalked up to post-traumatic stress syndrome from a bad childhood. Hesson even had a girlfriend now, one that was quiet and mousy and refused to sleep over until he gave her a ring. And he still loved the Dark Tower.
Time changes all things, except for ghosts. Ghosts, the ones that man makes within himself or the ones that are really metaphysical, often take time in passing. Hell, their dead, what do they care for time? Saturday of some year in his early thirties, Hesson answered the door. He did not get many visitors, and his girlfriend was working a busy Saturday at the county library, so it was abnormal that his door should even ring.
Hesson almost did not answer the door, but the urgency of that ding-ding-ding over and over again for two minutes was enough to drive him insane. He opened the front door without looking through the peephole, ready to give some girl scout twenty bucks to NOT sell him any of her shitty cookies. Instead, Hesson met with the brown boring uniform of the UPS man, who had a brown, boring box. The brown boring UPS guy gave Hesson a lazy smile that said “Hey, man, they pay me overtime for Saturdays, but this shit job is boring me to tears” and handed him the electronic signature clipboard.
The first thing Hesson noticed after signing and giving the practical thanks to the UPS guy was that there was no name on the box. He opened the box, almost tenderly. He was suddenly full of wonder and excitement that Hesson had not felt since those magical pre-death days of his youth, thinking that this must be some mistake, some great idiot or irony that it would arrive on a boring, practical, golf-watching Saturday. He nearly fell to the floor, his heart beating out of his chest like great, ancient drums. There were three, only three contents of the box. The first being the Mountain and Lake Picture of his father, which Hesson lifted gently out of the box, his hands shaking roughly, and set aside. The next item of wonder from the boring wonder box was a rod. Not any rod, but one that bore a kind of mystery about it that sent shivers through his already shivering body. It was about two feet long, though seemed smaller when inside the box, and the rod was crowned with a circular piece of amber, carved with symbols he neither understood nor cared to look at for too long, because the symbols moved with their own shimmering goldness. The third was a simple piece of white paper, regular plain old stock typing paper. On that paper was typed one single paragraph. Later, when Hesson was fighting for his life against things that were neither practical, nor in his opinion, possibly real, Hesson would remember these words. Remember them as his undoing, as his final farewell to the reality that adulthood clings to so well.
The language was like nothing Hesson had seen before, although he only spoke English and bad television-learned Spanish, they words were strange, the syllabulls other-worldly. Something, his mother’s voice perhaps, screamed at the back of his mind. “Don’t you dare do that, don’t you fucking dare, you disrespectful bastard child” he had not been a bastard, but she had called him so many times after his fathers death anyways. He learned, through fear and painful burns and beltings, that he had never had a father. Those memories came back to him sometimes, like little snips of the past wanting to infest him with their pain.
He ignored the voice, the memories, and the words. Hesson began to read the paragraph, although as he read he knew that it was not really a paragraph, but rather a set of words separated by other words. As he spoke, the words became to have a life of their own, and he understood them as if he had always spoken the ancient language. The sounds he made were guttural and beautiful and frightening spurts of words and sounds. Inside his head, he translated, as the wording poured forth from his mouth. He suddenly felt very, very afraid, but now could not stop himself, could not cease to speak. Something else, something within him was creating this voice, these words, and this sound. There was no longer a sense of self, and that frightened him. Hesson could only stand back within his own mind and listen to the translation being laid out before him. Too late he realized and understood the power within those other-worldly words, the power of the invocation. Too late he tried to stop it, tried to stop the presence in his head from continuing. Everything came too late, and the deep blackness that swiftly surrounded him and suffocated him came far too early.
 

dustinzgirl

Banned - What an Asshat!
26,094
178
0
#3
Part III Ellie

Ellie stepped from her mini-van with one thought. She was going to give Hesson a very large piece of her mind. She was not an amazingly pretty girl, but she had these small, almost elf like features. Her body was lithe and graceful, she taught ballet to young girls during the week, and ran before work every morning. This year she finally got Hesson to join her, run off some of that middle aged gut he had grown. Three years they had been dating, and for three years she had taken his mood swings and the odd way his personality jumped around with an amazing grace. She loved him, for reasons she could not explain to her mother, who despised the middle-aged boring software analyst, and told her that she was far too young to be in love. Young! She was twenty-six, and in four years this mousy little fairy like librarian would be on the verge of OLD. She did not want to be OLD, but time cares little for what librarians think.
She of course, knew why she loved him; he was so much like her. Hesson loved a good story, and relished the books she collected as if they were gold. In fact, she almost had him convinced to turn the Locked Room into a library. But at this moment, she was steaming angry. The kind of anger that creeps up on a woman, the kind that man could not understand until they were, well, in the belly of the beast, so to speak. She had an explanation, the same one she had given him their entire history together. She was a Good Catholic Girl, and Good Catholic Girls marry with their parents and priests permission and do not lay with someone until that final “I do” was cemented under their version of God, and she was getting OLD, so god damn it Hesson, get off your golf watching ass and buy her a ring!
All this anger and resentment that she had stewed about during her Saturday shift at the County Library was so freshly and sharply on her mind, that she barely noticed the small boy sitting in front of Hesson’s White Picket Fence. It was a very nice White Picket Fence, and Hesson tended it like one would tend a garden. The lawn behind the fence was also Green, and not the average green of the average lawn, but perfectly picturesque Green.
“Ellie! Ellie!” the boy was not quite a toddler anymore, he was nearing the age of five, and he loved Ellie.
“Hello, Mikey, where’s you’re big brother at today?” Ellie smiled, taking a step back to keep from trampling the little toe-head.
“He was ‘sposed to mow Hessy’s back-lawn, but nobody answered the door and he told me to wait here. Wait Here he said and I did and he went into the house ‘cuz he said ma said that I couldn’t go into anyone’s house but he was old enough too.” Mikey, or Michael Dean Wilson, slipped his thumb into his mouth.
“Well, what a smart big brother you have. Where is your mommy?” Ellie picked the boy up, setting him nose to nose, grinning. “She will let you come in to have a piece of cake if I go next door and ask her.”
Mikey’s eyes widened a little; Ellie had the feeling that their mom was not the nicest person to live with. Once, a few months ago, Mikey’s older brother, Devon, had came by to say that he couldn’t mow the lawn, he wasn’t feeling well. Hesson had clasped his hand on the boys back, saying, “No problem-O kid-O” and handed him five bucks anyways. Hesson hadn’t thought much of it, but Ellie had seen the way that Devon (or Big D as Mikey would say) flinched away from him, a momentary look of pain crossed his twelve year old face. Ellie had seen this look, and had started to ask him if something was wrong, but those eyes, deep brown and far to OLD for a twelve year old kid, looked at her in that please don’t ask me manner, and she only smiled.
“No-no-no mommy says she is sleeping and if we wake her then Big D is going to get into big-big trouble. And I don’t like it when my Big D gets into trouble because then we can’t play horses. And I really, really like playing horses.” Ellie hugged the little tyke closer, she could just see herself as a mom, a few years down the road, and she would be damned if any kid had that look of fear in their eyes when they talked about her. She loved the way Mikey talked, in that little childish voice where all the words and sentences ran together. It was, to her, the perfection of language, not ruined by punctuation or practicality. Mikey was still rambling when she hefted him across her hip.
Walking through the White Picket Fence, Ellie suddenly had the feeling that she was tumbling down a rabbit hole, like little lost Alice had in that story from childhood. It was a feeling that she had never had before, but she suddenly felt dizzy, and falling. The feeling passed after a moment, and she thought that maybe that Chinese take-out for lunch had been a bad idea.
 

DIZNUTS

Ñúñ'§ þêG £ègGéÐ /\/\å±ëý
3,158
1
0
#4
wow DG! all i have to say is WOW i can't wait to read more.......its a really interesting story..you should b a writer :thumbsup:
 

DIZNUTS

Ñúñ'§ þêG £ègGéÐ /\/\å±ëý
3,158
1
0
#7
come on DG your story has me addicted like a crack ho to crack and cock....post more of the story please *starts crawling on his knees kissing DG's feet*
 

CopyLifted

Funnier than a 5th grader
4,790
78
0
#8
DIZNUTS said:
come on DG your story has me addicted like a crack ho to crack and cock....post more of the story please *starts crawling on his knees kissing DG's feet*
She's working on it. She works alot so doesn't have much time to really sit down and write.

This is one hell of a story so far. :thumbsup:
 

dustinzgirl

Banned - What an Asshat!
26,094
178
0
#9
Part IV: Home

She slipped one arm from around Mikey and placed in on the brass handle of the door, she has always loved that particular brass handle, and it was one of her favorite pieces of the house. The handle, Hesson would tell her, came from Italy, something his father had purchased for his mother on their first honeymoon together. It was, he said, often with some far off glaze in his eyes, one of the few stories he had left of his father. The handle had really not been purchased; Mrs. Winter had told him once when he was young, once when she would still speak the father’s name. Dr. Winter had really taken the door handle from a grand hotel that in those days, the days before he made it big as a break through psychiatrist, and they were really so broke that they slept in the park on several nights. But, she had told him when she was young and beautiful and happy, that if they could ever afford it, she would want a door handle just like that one. So, late on night, young Dr. Winter (who went by Bud at that juncture in his life) snuck up to the door man, giving the Italian a good strong drink of cheap Italian wine. The wine, of course, had just enough sleeping pills in it to make the late night door man groggy enough to sit down on the steps, have a few laughs with good ‘ole American Bud, and pass out right there. Bud then made short work of the door handle, having spent his college summers working part time at a lock smiths shop; he knew how to quietly steal it away. Mrs. Winter would tell Hesson this tale with a wink of her bright green eyes and that mischievous grin of hers, usually late in the evenings when she braided her long chestnut hair for the night.
The brass handle turned in her hand, and she stepped softly into the dark house. It was almost a suffocating darkness, and Ellie had never seen the house quite so dark. Almost, a sliver of fear, of something Not Quite Right, shook her away from the door, but Ellie dismissed this for unpractical nonsense (possibly from bad Chinese), and stepped through the hallway, nearly having to feel herself along the wall, clutching Mikey tightly with one arm and pressing for the light switch with the other. Further down the dark hallway opened into the sitting room, a place that was for entertaining guests and had very quaint, very expensive, Victorian Era sofas and end tables, with a lovely collection of coffee table books from the early 1980’s collecting spiders and dust. They did not sit in the sitting room very often. To the left was the dining room, a wide space that no longer held an actual table, but instead her books and two computers, having been converted into an office. Behind the dining room was the kitchen, and if Ellie knew Hesson, which she thought she did, and fairly well at that, he would be entertaining Big D with a piece of her German Chocolate Cake, their favorite and her specialty.
Ellie had been so caught up in finding her way in the dark, that she nearly forgot about little Mikey. To her, for some reason, she felt as if he belonged to her as she cuddled him closer to her hip. He was whimpering a bit, and Ellie patted him on the head, promising cake and light in just a moment. “Maybe the fuse blew, Mikey, it will be all right, there is cake and candles in the kitchen.”
Ellie thought of turning back, going back through the hallway and out the front door, but she was to far into the familiar house now, and she was certain that she could hear Hesson just past the door to the kitchen. There was light, soft and glowing gold emanating from beneath the doorway that separated the dining-office room, the light of candles. Ellie slipped open the door, not quickly, because of the way the kitchen was designed, the door had caught one of them in the head a few times if it was opened too quickly.
Ellie realized at once that it was not the light of candles, in fact, the light illuminating Hesson and the young Big D was totally unnatural. It pulsed with varying shades of gold, and both faces held a certain emptiness that wasn’t quite the same as being mesmerized. She gasped, covering Mikey’s eyes out of some natural instinct to protect him. He was crying now, crying because Ellie had not quite covered his eyes in time.
Big D had once had eyes of quiet dark brown, sometimes looking too OLD for his small but slightly chubby face. Where those eyes had once sparkled and sometimes cried, there were instead deep gouges of darkness and blood. The pain had long ago left Devon, but he could still see, or rather sense, the golden pulse coming from the long, two foot rod that Hesson held in his hand. In the round space between the end of the rod and the circular runic crest, Big D’s big brown eyes pulsed with their own glowing red, the deep color of hearts blood, and it was the pulsing that held his sightless attention.
Ellie found her voice then, “What the fuck!” She screamed, all at once afraid and angry. Keeping a tight clutch on Mikey, she reached past Hesson in the small kitchen space, yanking Big D by the shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She screamed again, her voice cracking at the end, turning to where she was nearly face to face with Hesson, all the while trying to keep a tight grip on the now crying Mikey and yank the unmoving Devon to his feet.
She pulled on the boy so hard that he came up on top of her, sending all three of them sprawling to the polished hard wood floor. Ellie’s head hit the floor hard, and for a moment the world was white. She could feel her grip loosening on the boys, and fought that urge into unconsciousness. Mikey was nearly screaming now, his breaths coming in great big gasps, and exiting in high pitched screeches. Ellie tried to grab him by the waist with one hand, Big D by the arm with the other, and haul herself up from the floor. Her feet, wearing a very nice pair of slick flats, would not quite cooperate with her, so instead of rising she tried to push herself backwards, dragging one screaming child and one numb child with her. She was so intent in getting to the kitchen door, which stood slightly open now, that she did not fully realize that Hesson was moving towards her until she felt his hand on her head.
Hesson grabbed Ellie by her brown wavy hair, tied back in a very librarian style bun, and lifted her with one swift movement from the floor to the chair that Devon had once occupied. Ellie screeched, clawing at his hand with her nails and trying to kick backwards. Mikey, trembling in fear and now beyond crying, only taking in deep gasps that came out in harsh gurgles, crawled to his Big D. Devon slipped out of his own horrified haze long enough to encircle a protective, big brother arm around the little one and scoot back against the door, as far into the corner as possible.
“Don’t you fucking TOUCH them! You fucking psycho!” Ellie screamed again, ignoring the pounding in the back of her head and the bile rising into her throat. “Fuck you!” She punched him in his slightly flabby gut with all of her might, which wasn’t really much, but enough to send the stunned Hesson back a bit. Taking this moment, Ellie nearly threw herself upwards, sending another fist flying into his throat. “I’m going to fucking kill you I swear!” She had never really cursed before, not even when sneaking Marbs beneath the football field bleachers with her friends in high school, but the words flew out of her like spit. She aimed for his throat again, drawing her fist back farther this time.
“That is enough Eleanor.” The voice was not coming from Hesson, who was now nearly hunched over, gasping for air. She had landed a few solid punches, and what she lacked in power she had made up for in speed and accuracy. It was a quiet voice, it reminded her of Father Thomas Michael (who was later stripped of his priestly rights for playing in the little boys bathroom), void of emotion but commanding all at once.
Ellie almost stopped, but let her last punch fly anyways, catching Hesson in the side of the neck this time. She turned towards the voice, “Who the fuck are you?” Her own voice was hoarse now, and she realized the beauty of cursing, once you started, it was damn hard to stop.
From the darkness behind where Devon eyes were still glowing in a bloody red, a figure stepped forth. “You should not be so harsh on the man, for he is nothing more than a tool.” The figure spoke in that raspy, crumpled paper voice. It wore a long, flowing black robe, and within that robe lay thousands upon thousands of small points of light, and Ellie had the feeling that some of those lights were being born while others were dying. The figure itself was something of a man, at least, it stood as a man would stand, but where there would be eyes, nose and mouth there was instead a perfectly smooth crystalline ball. “Don’t worry, little Eleanor, I will have a face someday soon.”
“What do you want?” Ellie was never one to banter, she was one to get right to the heart of the matter, and right now the heart of the matter was to get away from this asshole and save the children.
“I need to take no more physical contributions from you and yours, dear Eleanor, but I still have needs.” It reached one hand, well, almost a hand, and petted the top of her head. The hand was itself crystalline, like a crystal ball from a gypsy’s tent at the country fair, but this was moving and shaped into that of a human hand and body. “Ah, yes I still have needs of you. I am sorry that I had to hurt the boy, but I needed his eyes to gain sight in this world.”
Ellie flinched away, swatting at the crystal mans hand with her own. It snatched its own hand back, hissing. “Never touch me. Your pain would be something I could not cure.”
“What do you want?” She whispered, placing her hands over her face to cover her sobs.
“Do you think, Eleanor, this is the only world where pain and death and war have come to pass? Imagine a world of only pain, of only war. Where children scrounge naked through blasted cities, crying for food, their bellies distended from illness. Imagine your worst fears coming true, a world ravaged by nuclear war and destruction, sent by those who swore to protect their peoples?” There was sadness in the raspy voice, a quiet, longing sadness. “I did not do to the boy what I did for pleasure, and I assure you, I took his pain from him.” The crystalline man stepped forward, towards the little ones. It had to step between Ellie and Hesson, who was still in a dazed state of confusion, and staring at her with eyes that seemed to be more shadows of eyes, as they held neither shine nor emotion.
As the thing stepped past Ellie, she kicked upwards in one fluid, graceful movement, and she had not even needed to adjust her position in the chair. The flat front part of her slick loafers caught the crystalline man in the almost face, but instead of hard contact her foot slid into him, as if his crystalline face was thick liquid. The pain was intense, and Ellie could not quite pull her foot free. Once, she had stepped on a bees nest as a child, and this felt like thousands of bees stinging her foot and crawling up her leg. The crystalline man grasped her leg with his almost hand, jerking her foot free from his round liquid face with a loud sucking sound.
“I could take this pain from you, but I will not. It will be your lesson. Do not forget. Think, if there had not been the protection of your loafers, you would no longer have foot or leg. Do not touch me unbidden again.” The voice was still raspy, but gargled as his roundness reshaped itself. “I will not hurt the babies, I promise you this.”
“If you touch them,” Ellie gasped between painful sobs, “I will kill you,’ she rubbed her stinging leg, speaking through clenched teeth, “I don’t know how, you cursed thing, but I goddamned will!” Ellie thought she heard the crystalline man laugh softly, as if under her breath, but she was far to pissed off and hurting to care.
The crystalline man swooped Mikey from the corner where he huddled with his brother. Ellie heard him say “It is fine little one, no worries.” But she did not see him place his hand on the little boys face, and she did not hear the words of magica that he whispered into the boy’s ear. Mikey stopped crying, and while not looking quite as dazed and empty as Hesson, his face went mercifully blank, and his gasping quieted to raspy, quiet breaths.
The crystalline man laid the little one with his brother, and in their magica induced bliss huddled closer to one another. He turned back towards Ellie, the black robe swirling like midnight around him. “If I told you that I needed your help to fight the greatest of deaths, would you save your world and mine?”
For a moment, Ellie could only stare. Things had occurred very quickly, and she was having trouble deciding which demon to kill, or if either Hesson or the crystalline man were the true demon. In fact, and it pained her to admit this, she had no clue as to what was, or what had happened. Something whispered to her, remnants of all the tales of sword and sorcery that she had read in her lifetime, everything from Lord of the Rings to Dungeons and Dragons hinted at one very important note of sorcery. Ellie asked her question.
“Will you tell me your true name?”
The crystalline man gasped, or rather his voice gasped, because the truth of his name was known to only himself and his teacher, who had past in the time of the Dragons. A moments pause, and he knew that this human, who knew nothing of the intricacies of magica nor Dragons, nor time travel, nor plane traveling had him, oh, how do those of this world put it? Ah, yes, had him by the balls. He needed her, and he could not force her. “My true name is Criostal.” His voice resounded in her head, and with the voice came visions, so many at first that Ellie thought her head would explode out of her eye sockets, visions of water and ice, of stars and beauty, of love so true and deep that even death grew small at the sight of it, of mothers and fathers, gods and goddesses, but all this goodness was mixed with horrid, painful visions of death and destruction, of families being slaughtered and left for the vultures, of dark things that had no name reaching and clawing at her.
 

DIZNUTS

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#10
dustinzgirl said:
She slipped one arm from around Mikey and placed in on the brass handle of the door, she has always loved that particular brass handle, and it was one of her favorite pieces of the house. The handle, Hesson would tell her, came from Italy, something his father had purchased for his mother on their first honeymoon together. It was, he said, often with some far off glaze in his eyes, one of the few stories he had left of his father. The handle had really not been purchased; Mrs. Winter had told him once when he was young, once when she would still speak the father’s name. Dr. Winter had really taken the door handle from a grand hotel that in those days, the days before he made it big as a break through psychiatrist, and they were really so broke that they slept in the park on several nights. But, she had told him when she was young and beautiful and happy, that if they could ever afford it, she would want a door handle just like that one. So, late on night, young Dr. Winter (who went by Bud at that juncture in his life) snuck up to the door man, giving the Italian a good strong drink of cheap Italian wine. The wine, of course, had just enough sleeping pills in it to make the late night door man groggy enough to sit down on the steps, have a few laughs with good ‘ole American Bud, and pass out right there. Bud then made short work of the door handle, having spent his college summers working part time at a lock smiths shop; he knew how to quietly steal it away. Mrs. Winter would tell Hesson this tale with a wink of her bright green eyes and that mischievous grin of hers, usually late in the evenings when she braided her long chestnut hair for the night.
The brass handle turned in her hand, and she stepped softly into the dark house. It was almost a suffocating darkness, and Ellie had never seen the house quite so dark. Almost, a sliver of fear, of something Not Quite Right, shook her away from the door, but Ellie dismissed this for unpractical nonsense (possibly from bad Chinese), and stepped through the hallway, nearly having to feel herself along the wall, clutching Mikey tightly with one arm and pressing for the light switch with the other. Further down the dark hallway opened into the sitting room, a place that was for entertaining guests and had very quaint, very expensive, Victorian Era sofas and end tables, with a lovely collection of coffee table books from the early 1980’s collecting spiders and dust. They did not sit in the sitting room very often. To the left was the dining room, a wide space that no longer held an actual table, but instead her books and two computers, having been converted into an office. Behind the dining room was the kitchen, and if Ellie knew Hesson, which she thought she did, and fairly well at that, he would be entertaining Big D with a piece of her German Chocolate Cake, their favorite and her specialty.
Ellie had been so caught up in finding her way in the dark, that she nearly forgot about little Mikey. To her, for some reason, she felt as if he belonged to her as she cuddled him closer to her hip. He was whimpering a bit, and Ellie patted him on the head, promising cake and light in just a moment. “Maybe the fuse blew, Mikey, it will be all right, there is cake and candles in the kitchen.”
Ellie thought of turning back, going back through the hallway and out the front door, but she was to far into the familiar house now, and she was certain that she could hear Hesson just past the door to the kitchen. There was light, soft and glowing gold emanating from beneath the doorway that separated the dining-office room, the light of candles. Ellie slipped open the door, not quickly, because of the way the kitchen was designed, the door had caught one of them in the head a few times if it was opened too quickly.
Ellie realized at once that it was not the light of candles, in fact, the light illuminating Hesson and the young Big D was totally unnatural. It pulsed with varying shades of gold, and both faces held a certain emptiness that wasn’t quite the same as being mesmerized. She gasped, covering Mikey’s eyes out of some natural instinct to protect him. He was crying now, crying because Ellie had not quite covered his eyes in time.
Big D had once had eyes of quiet dark brown, sometimes looking too OLD for his small but slightly chubby face. Where those eyes had once sparkled and sometimes cried, there were instead deep gouges of darkness and blood. The pain had long ago left Devon, but he could still see, or rather sense, the golden pulse coming from the long, two foot rod that Hesson held in his hand. In the round space between the end of the rod and the circular runic crest, Big D’s big brown eyes pulsed with their own glowing red, the deep color of hearts blood, and it was the pulsing that held his sightless attention.
Ellie found her voice then, “What the fuck!” She screamed, all at once afraid and angry. Keeping a tight clutch on Mikey, she reached past Hesson in the small kitchen space, yanking Big D by the shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She screamed again, her voice cracking at the end, turning to where she was nearly face to face with Hesson, all the while trying to keep a tight grip on the now crying Mikey and yank the unmoving Devon to his feet.
She pulled on the boy so hard that he came up on top of her, sending all three of them sprawling to the polished hard wood floor. Ellie’s head hit the floor hard, and for a moment the world was white. She could feel her grip loosening on the boys, and fought that urge into unconsciousness. Mikey was nearly screaming now, his breaths coming in great big gasps, and exiting in high pitched screeches. Ellie tried to grab him by the waist with one hand, Big D by the arm with the other, and haul herself up from the floor. Her feet, wearing a very nice pair of slick flats, would not quite cooperate with her, so instead of rising she tried to push herself backwards, dragging one screaming child and one numb child with her. She was so intent in getting to the kitchen door, which stood slightly open now, that she did not fully realize that Hesson was moving towards her until she felt his hand on her head.
Hesson grabbed Ellie by her brown wavy hair, tied back in a very librarian style bun, and lifted her with one swift movement from the floor to the chair that Devon had once occupied. Ellie screeched, clawing at his hand with her nails and trying to kick backwards. Mikey, trembling in fear and now beyond crying, only taking in deep gasps that came out in harsh gurgles, crawled to his Big D. Devon slipped out of his own horrified haze long enough to encircle a protective, big brother arm around the little one and scoot back against the door, as far into the corner as possible.
“Don’t you fucking TOUCH them! You fucking psycho!” Ellie screamed again, ignoring the pounding in the back of her head and the bile rising into her throat. “Fuck you!” She punched him in his slightly flabby gut with all of her might, which wasn’t really much, but enough to send the stunned Hesson back a bit. Taking this moment, Ellie nearly threw herself upwards, sending another fist flying into his throat. “I’m going to fucking kill you I swear!” She had never really cursed before, not even when sneaking Marbs beneath the football field bleachers with her friends in high school, but the words flew out of her like spit. She aimed for his throat again, drawing her fist back farther this time.
“That is enough Eleanor.” The voice was not coming from Hesson, who was now nearly hunched over, gasping for air. She had landed a few solid punches, and what she lacked in power she had made up for in speed and accuracy. It was a quiet voice, it reminded her of Father Thomas Michael (who was later stripped of his priestly rights for playing in the little boys bathroom), void of emotion but commanding all at once.
Ellie almost stopped, but let her last punch fly anyways, catching Hesson in the side of the neck this time. She turned towards the voice, “Who the fuck are you?” Her own voice was hoarse now, and she realized the beauty of cursing, once you started, it was damn hard to stop.
From the darkness behind where Devon eyes were still glowing in a bloody red, a figure stepped forth. “You should not be so harsh on the man, for he is nothing more than a tool.” The figure spoke in that raspy, crumpled paper voice. It wore a long, flowing black robe, and within that robe lay thousands upon thousands of small points of light, and Ellie had the feeling that some of those lights were being born while others were dying. The figure itself was something of a man, at least, it stood as a man would stand, but where there would be eyes, nose and mouth there was instead a perfectly smooth crystalline ball. “Don’t worry, little Eleanor, I will have a face someday soon.”
“What do you want?” Ellie was never one to banter, she was one to get right to the heart of the matter, and right now the heart of the matter was to get away from this asshole and save the children.
“I need to take no more physical contributions from you and yours, dear Eleanor, but I still have needs.” It reached one hand, well, almost a hand, and petted the top of her head. The hand was itself crystalline, like a crystal ball from a gypsy’s tent at the country fair, but this was moving and shaped into that of a human hand and body. “Ah, yes I still have needs of you. I am sorry that I had to hurt the boy, but I needed his eyes to gain sight in this world.”
Ellie flinched away, swatting at the crystal mans hand with her own. It snatched its own hand back, hissing. “Never touch me. Your pain would be something I could not cure.”
“What do you want?” She whispered, placing her hands over her face to cover her sobs.
“Do you think, Eleanor, this is the only world where pain and death and war have come to pass? Imagine a world of only pain, of only war. Where children scrounge naked through blasted cities, crying for food, their bellies distended from illness. Imagine your worst fears coming true, a world ravaged by nuclear war and destruction, sent by those who swore to protect their peoples?” There was sadness in the raspy voice, a quiet, longing sadness. “I did not do to the boy what I did for pleasure, and I assure you, I took his pain from him.” The crystalline man stepped forward, towards the little ones. It had to step between Ellie and Hesson, who was still in a dazed state of confusion, and staring at her with eyes that seemed to be more shadows of eyes, as they held neither shine nor emotion.
As the thing stepped past Ellie, she kicked upwards in one fluid, graceful movement, and she had not even needed to adjust her position in the chair. The flat front part of her slick loafers caught the crystalline man in the almost face, but instead of hard contact her foot slid into him, as if his crystalline face was thick liquid. The pain was intense, and Ellie could not quite pull her foot free. Once, she had stepped on a bees nest as a child, and this felt like thousands of bees stinging her foot and crawling up her leg. The crystalline man grasped her leg with his almost hand, jerking her foot free from his round liquid face with a loud sucking sound.
“I could take this pain from you, but I will not. It will be your lesson. Do not forget. Think, if there had not been the protection of your loafers, you would no longer have foot or leg. Do not touch me unbidden again.” The voice was still raspy, but gargled as his roundness reshaped itself. “I will not hurt the babies, I promise you this.”
“If you touch them,” Ellie gasped between painful sobs, “I will kill you,’ she rubbed her stinging leg, speaking through clenched teeth, “I don’t know how, you cursed thing, but I goddamned will!” Ellie thought she heard the crystalline man laugh softly, as if under her breath, but she was far to pissed off and hurting to care.
The crystalline man swooped Mikey from the corner where he huddled with his brother. Ellie heard him say “It is fine little one, no worries.” But she did not see him place his hand on the little boys face, and she did not hear the words of magica that he whispered into the boy’s ear. Mikey stopped crying, and while not looking quite as dazed and empty as Hesson, his face went mercifully blank, and his gasping quieted to raspy, quiet breaths.
The crystalline man laid the little one with his brother, and in their magica induced bliss huddled closer to one another. He turned back towards Ellie, the black robe swirling like midnight around him. “If I told you that I needed your help to fight the greatest of deaths, would you save your world and mine?”
For a moment, Ellie could only stare. Things had occurred very quickly, and she was having trouble deciding which demon to kill, or if either Hesson or the crystalline man were the true demon. In fact, and it pained her to admit this, she had no clue as to what was, or what had happened. Something whispered to her, remnants of all the tales of sword and sorcery that she had read in her lifetime, everything from Lord of the Rings to Dungeons and Dragons hinted at one very important note of sorcery. Ellie asked her question.
“Will you tell me your true name?”
The crystalline man gasped, or rather his voice gasped, because the truth of his name was known to only himself and his teacher, who had past in the time of the Dragons. A moments pause, and he knew that this human, who knew nothing of the intricacies of magica nor Dragons, nor time travel, nor plane traveling had him, oh, how do those of this world put it? Ah, yes, had him by the balls. He needed her, and he could not force her. “My true name is Criostal.” His voice resounded in her head, and with the voice came visions, so many at first that Ellie thought her head would explode out of her eye sockets, visions of water and ice, of stars and beauty, of love so true and deep that even death grew small at the sight of it, of mothers and fathers, gods and goddesses, but all this goodness was mixed with horrid, painful visions of death and destruction, of families being slaughtered and left for the vultures, of dark things that had no name reaching and clawing at her.
wow what a twist :thumbsup:
 
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#11
STUNNING !!! Absolutely you are gifted and talented and should let nothing stand in your way of writing, writing, writing !
Nothing short of amazing, you are very good, keep em coming !
 

dustinzgirl

Banned - What an Asshat!
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#12
concepts said:
STUNNING !!! Absolutely you are gifted and talented and should let nothing stand in your way of writing, writing, writing !
Nothing short of amazing, you are very good, keep em coming !
Thank you! There are only three things that stand in my way of writing: Job! Job! Job! But I really want to be a professional writer.
 

icka

fuckoffanddiekthx!
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#13
i only read a bit but the story reminds me of the movie dragon heart. good nonetheless.. ill read more when my eyes arent strianing.

looks like we have something in common i want to be a writer as well.
 
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#14
dustinzgirl said:
Thank you! There are only three things that stand in my way of writing: Job! Job! Job! But I really want to be a professional writer.
I KNOW !!! Ive got a job too and its always getting in the way of stuff I want to do ! Like stay home and eat fig newtons or lay in the grass and look at clouds.....Ive got ambitions, its that friggin job, its keepin me down !

But cereally, your talented and I hope you get your break.
 

DIZNUTS

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#15
concepts said:
I KNOW !!! Ive got a job too and its always getting in the way of stuff I want to do ! Like stay home and eat fig newtons or lay in the grass and look at clouds.....Ive got ambitions, its that friggin job, its keepin me down !

But cereally, your talented and I hope you get your break.
so um why dont you like uhh quit?
 

dustinzgirl

Banned - What an Asshat!
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#16
DIZNUTS said:
so um why dont you like uhh quit?
well, we are getting off of the writers block topic, but, I cant quit because of children, food, gas, house, electricity, insurance (medical, car, dental, house), clothes, toys, birthdays, christmas, well, you get the point.
 

DIZNUTS

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#17
dustinzgirl said:
well, we are getting off of the writers block topic, but, I cant quit because of children, food, gas, house, electricity, insurance (medical, car, dental, house), clothes, toys, birthdays, christmas, well, you get the point.
i know DG i was just playin....i know how it is....im 21 i gotta pay $400 rent 2 my parents(i dont think i should......im barely home) pay insurance on 3 cars.....cell bill..highspeed.....aol......and all this other bullshit adds up
 

dustinzgirl

Banned - What an Asshat!
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#18
Ellie sat for a moment, taking in deep, slow breaths. The boys were no longer crying, and Hesson was staring at her with empty eyes and a slow pool of drool was slipping from the corner of his mouth. “I will call you Char, I think.” She said, not averting her eyes from Hesson.
“Well, that is as good a name as any.” The crystalline man whispered, stepping across the kitchen towards her. “Now, we must complete the enchantment before nightfall. He has already awoken the Dragon, and I fear her as I fear no other.”
Ellie wanted to ask who he was talking about, but she knew, no, she felt it now, that time was turning against them. Against the world, and the universes. She suddenly felt very afraid, and very alone.
“Then let us finish this, and be done with your deeds, foul thing.” Ellie said, her gaze laying on Big D, whose gasping breaths had subsided to the rhythmical calm of sleep, and one of his small arms curled around Mikey.
Char turned to her, his face glowed softly. “These are not my deeds, Eleanor. They are deeds that must be done, at all costs. You do not trust me, and I understand that. But you must understand that nothing I do or that I have done is something I would choose to do, but instead a path that I neither control nor desire.” His paper thin voice sounded at once sad and reserved.
Ellie felt a sadness emanating from him, and she said, softly, “Show me.” Because she knew that he could show her, that he could touch her mind and tell his story.
And he did.
She was falling now, falling through places that seemed to be nothing more than an abstract of life, places of color and emptiness, of sound and silence. Ellie felt this inside of her mind, but the reality of the kitchen was far behind her. She landed, an astral landing, where she felt the movement stop more than the feeling of touching ground. There were children, of sorts. They were small versions of the crystalline man, who laughed with paper thin voices that did not make a sound, but rested inside the heart, as they chased a large glowing ball. The ball itself was moving, dancing in a manner that would be happiness, gaily jumping between the children and through their feet.
“Ho, now, wee ones, be it time for lunch?” This came from another voice, female, soft and lilting and loving. The children gave their, “Aw, buts” as any child taken from their play would, but ran to the large house just the same.
Ellie felt peaceful here, the landscape was much similar to her world, but the trees had leaves of white and blue, and the grass was white and gold, not green. The colors were an odd mix, but soft and pleasing. She pulled her attention to the sky, where three suns rounded against the soft blue-white tint. One sun was dark red, the color of blood and life, another was a paler version of this, and the last, which hung opposite the sky of the two red ones, was shining and smooth glass, like a crystal ball would be if it slept in the sky.
Ellie could have stayed here forever; there was a scent of happiness, of peace and love, of togetherness. But even she felt the darkness before it appeared, growing from the northern sky. The darkness came slowly, but to quick for anyone to notice. It grew from the horizon, beating massive wings against the blue sky.
Men, of sorts, men like the crystalline man in that far away kitchen, came running from what Ellie assumed were fields, running and yelling for their children and women. But they came too late. The thing in the sky, Ellie knew it to be a Dragon, something large and massive, something like a serpent with terrible black wings, came down upon them. The men melted before her eyes, and even though they were still far across the fields of yellow and purple stalks, she could see them burning and hear them screaming as if they were right next to her. She tried to run, she meant to go to the house where the children had, she meant to reach them and save them, somehow. But she could not move, and the fear of what she would see gripped her heart like ice. She could do nothing as the Dragon beat its wings and breathed fire on the first house, and the next, and the next. And it breathed fire upon the women who ran clutching their children, upon the children who ran dragging their smaller siblings with them.
Ellie snapped to the kitchen. It was disorienting to be delivered to a place that felt so right, so happy, then to see the death, and then to be in the plain old kitchen with the hum of the refrigerator and the small country flowered wallpaper. Tears, hot and painful to her eyes came violently, and she shuddered with a fearful sadness.
“I was the only child to survive. There was more, so much more, but I only allowed you this, as I do not want to break your mind.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Ellie sobbed, taking her hands to her face. She could still smell the burning, hear the dying, and feel the heat from the fires.
“Our world was destroyed. We had no weapons, and we thought…we thought that if we prayed long enough and hard enough, if we subjugated ourselves, our gods would come to save us. We did not believe in causing another creature pain or death.”
“But it came for you anyways? Pain, and death, for years upon years. That was the first attack, wasn’t it? There were thousands more across your world, until all were dead or enslaved.”
The crystalline man sighed. “Yes. And though I was a child of the Healers, I fought with a few of my brethren. My father cursed me, and them, in the end, because he thought that I was betraying our ways. I stood at the doorways to other worlds and refused the Dragons entry. For that, the greatest of Dragons came to murder me, and yet I smashed the gate and jumped through.”
“And came here, by accident I assume, to our world.”
“Yes, by accident. But I was trapped, and had limited Magica, as your world has forgotten the old ways, except in dreams and stories. I was not real, as I am now, and was caught in a photograph that was taken at the moment of my arrival. Many years later, I was able to reach out and create the avenues of Magica that would allow for my ascent into reality. I did not want to hurt the child, but the spells required the innocent.”
Ellie thought he was crying now, as his raspy voice came haltingly before he fell silent. She heard him gasp as one crying would, and her heart felt heavy for him, for the children, and for his world.
“But you need something more from us, even still. You need me, because I have not felt the touch of a man, because I am a virgin, and the children, for their innocence. You needed Hesson for his soul, to appease the gods. I saw this; I saw this in your mind, when you touched me. How can it be worth it to destroy what is for your vengeance? I still feel that, your anger, you need for revenge, not to save what is, but to destroy what was, but also because the dark things are spreading. Because even I know they are coming to my world, maybe not today, nor the next, but soon. Very soon.” As she spoke, Ellie realized that by Char touching her mind, he had let her know more than he meant to, and as the words came, more realizations followed them.
“Yes. You are the warrior, the Mother. Whether you choose it or not, as I did not choose my fate, it is still the Truth. And the children, though it pains me, must play into this somehow. Perhaps this is because of their place in this world, and in your heart. Now, we must carry out the Magica, and we must all go forth to fight the darkness that beckons me home.” He moved past her, his long black robe sweeping against her knees. Char bent towards Hesson, who had fell to his knees from weakness. Hesson was blubbering incoherently, and now words and spittle flew from his mouth in near whispers.
“Will he die?” Ellie asked, softly and frightened for him. “I love him, please.” She whispered, feeling that too much had happened in the last few hours, far too much for her to lose the only person she had ever trusted, and the only person who had ever understood her.
Chris looked back to her with his empty crystal ball face. “No, he will not die. He is trapped in his own mind. This is not of my doing, at least not directly.”
“Can you save him?”
“Not on this world. There is no Magica left here, there are no ancients to ask for help, and I have not the strength.”
“Then open the portal, and we should go to where they can all be safe.” Ellie said with some force. “You said we were running out of time. I can feel that, like I can feel you inside my head still. I can even feel that you are telling me the Truth, and you are lying now. You used Hesson’s soul, his essence, to come through the portal. Even if his mind were stable, he would be nothing without his soul. You killed him, in a manner of speaking.”
The crystalline man placed his hands slowly upon Hesson’s head, between his jawbone and neck. “Yes, I killed his soul. And yes I could save him, but if I did that, I would have not the power for opening the portal, and that is our only hope for your world, and thousands of others.” The crystalline man snapped Hesson’s neck with one swift movement. “And now I have killed his body.”
 

DIZNUTS

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#19
damn poor poor Hesson......this is getting really really good......keep up the good work DG :thumbsup:
 

Zickddot

Banned - What an Asshat!
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#20
i liked how u made a character out of him, but u twisted it so hes no longer a character right in the begining