I will never forget the day they put that thing in me. It crawled in my ear and dug its way deeper into my very soul until it was impossible to be dislodged without bringing about my death. Acid began to flow through my veins and my skin hardened into some semi-impermeable alloy. The muscles in my legs and arms tightened and hardened. My eyes began to glow in crimson light. My hair became impenetrable armor. A computer jack emerged from behind my ear. LED readouts began to flash across my eyes. And then that nasty bug took control of my endocrine system. I began to scream in a frantic rage and my motions became a frenzy. I spent one last nostalgic moment musing on my dreams as my mind became a machine. Reality became as much of a blur as my movements. I began to see things in binary code. And then it happens. You die. Everything you have known or loved becomes a piece of data in your databank. Your cerebral cortex becomes a neural net. And then the combat programs begin to download. You slowly feel yourself ebb away as your killing instincts begin to take hold. And then you know only the horror of battle. Life ceases to have any value unless only a statistic in some remote databank to be processed if you should survive. You are measured by what you can kill and how effectively you do so. Quantity is the only thing that matters. And you have no future other than an uncertain death at some undetermined time. Battle is the only thing constant in your life and your past becomes irrelevant. You feel almost holy as you become the perfect machine. You no longer care for living things and destiny becomes translucent. But all will fear you and despair. And with cold calculation you will slay them all.
Photo Credit Randis Albion
Posted at 03:07 pm by BlueSkelton
The water which was once a boiling vat of death had cooled into a lukewarm puddle of piss. A body lay in the tub. It had defecated itself and desecrated the holy pool that surrounded it. The water was tainted by blood. The pleasurable bubbles that had once floated on top of the luxurious bathtub lingered no more. There was evidence of a battle and water now covered the tile of the bathroom floor. Amidst the water and blood there laid a broken glass of champagne but sadly the celebration had been cut short. Or perhaps the body was celebrating its freedom from the mundane trivialities of this world. It would be difficult to tell until an investigative force arrived.
But only the corpse knew the harbingering her death would bring. For the murderer now carried a heavy doom. There would a price on its head so large that every bounty hunter in the wasteland would soon be after him. But dead men tell no tales and the body lounging in the tub would now speak only to a forensic scientist. Its soul would be washed down the drain with the rest of the refuse after forensics finished with the body. And the mansion surrounding the death would crumble into ruin and fall into ash. For even now the killer baptized the house with gasoline.
But her death would not be unavenged. You cannot kill the daughter of a known warlord and expect their not to be consequences. Lune was prepared to scour the earth for the culprit. But first he would seek his retribution on the Elves who kidnapped her. He could see her death in his mind. The gift of clairvoyance albeit askew was no small gift. And besides this whole thing smelled of Elvish cruelty. Something was about to happen that had not happened since I was a boy. The Dakmar were about to be unleashed. The stickmen would again ravage the wasteland and the battle would rage itself all the way to the Black Lotus Temple.
Photo Credit Andrew Berridge
Posted at 03:34 pm by BlueSkelton
The piercing wail of the air raid sirens were deafening. Those around the tower felt their ears begin to bleed; but that was just the beginning. Elvish propaganda had finally stirred the dragons into action. But even though you can never trust an Elf, dealing with dragons is precarious. Dragons shared Blue Skelton’s sentiment, in that they did not care who they killed. Collateral damage was not a word in their extensive vocabulary. Fire would soon descend upon the tower frying everyone in sight. Elves and Goblins alike fled the battle scene. A warm breeze preceded the dragons but the Elves had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. For the dragons would feast upon them all. Just before the area around the tower became a hellscape, Blue slipped inside the tower doors. He was hell bent on destroying the WarMachine once and for all. But as he soon would find out some things cannot be undone so easily. Explosions rocked the earth and the tower was set ablaze as the wrath of the dragons began. Blue just barely shut the gargantuan gothic doors before the tempest ensued. Blue saw flames begin to crawl like impending doom from underneath the doorstep and he fled down the corridor. The noise that he heard from the outside reminded himself of a distant past. It reminded him of the bombings of his homeland from when he was a child. The ground of the jungle would rumble as if being attacked by dragons when the bombs came crashing down. But this was a time before dragons when the smell of real napalm would spread throughout the realm. With a blink of an eye Blue focused upon his task.
Photo Credit: Jan Patrik Krasny
Posted at 11:01 am by BlueSkelton
The moons converged and the sky dripped with blood. And the blood trickled down into the Opiate glade. The Black Lotus were under attack. The roars and screams of the great black dragon guarding the gate could be heard all throughout the Enchanted Forest. Fear was rampant as the dragon flared its nostrils and spat liquid panic over the whole monastery. But whoever or whatever was making the assault on the temple had already conquered their fear. If you can conquer fear you can conquer your destiny. The attackers maintained the assault and the deadliest warriors on the planet were smoking the Black Lotus at alarming rates. Darkness had fallen over the temple and nothing would penetrate the gloom. No star or bleeding moon could ooze its way through the void. For the Black Lotus prefer the darkness. With ninja like precision they hid in the shadows waiting for their aggressors to emerge. Their beloved black dragon was dearly hurt and they intended to repay this hurt with vengeance of which had never been seen before on this earth.
The attackers were after the black lotus plant itself and were willing to risk their very souls for just one petal. For in their hands it would wield a power more terrible than the Darklord in his great tower. Only one man defended the fields within the opiate glade. But he was the deadliest thing to ever walk this walk this earth. He was the Master of the Black Lotus Clan and he was capable of wielding the secret black fire. Even now the fields were ablaze but since the fire was created by the lotus it would do the plant no harm. The Lotus Master became a shadow in the night. He wore neither armor nor weaponry for he had no need of them. He wore only a simple black Asian tunic that was of no particular magical value. It was rumored that he could appear in multiple places at once was able to render himself invisible. He could rip out your heart with a flick of his wrist and his fire burned the very essence of your soul.
But the attackers were no slouches themselves. They entered the monastery after passing the Dragon through the quarters of the novices who were just beginning their training in the dark arts. But even the Children of the Black Lotus were deadly like a baby asp they were venomous. Poison dripped from their teeth. And as if from some prophecy they had been fed lotus tea before bed. They were bouncing off the walls and many of the attackers fell to their fangs. But tragically many of the children were lost before they fled into the compound. Many pursued the children but the little babes betrayed them too their doom and that was where the Black Lotus made their first assault. And most of the attackers were slain in the courtyard separating the dormitories and the opiate glade.
But the true warriors of the attacking force had yet to enter the monastery and the Lotus master still sat calmly in the opiate glade waiting patiently for his turn.
[To Be Continued]
Photo Credit Jan Wawrzik
Posted at 06:04 pm by BlueSkelton
The Cavalry Arrives Again
In an empty sky the constellations came crashing down to the Earth, searing through the sky in a blinding light. The explosion up heaved the earth and shot fire and ash from the hole into the heavens. The dust cleared. A charred Angel emerged in from the center of a blackened hole to battle the forces of Evil. It looked more hideous and foul than any demon that ever walked this Earth. But interstellar travel does that sort of thing to a person. But the horror lasted only for a moment. The Angel’s eyes glowed in a golden aura and for a moment a bright halo appeared above his head. As the light faded the black and rotted flesh surrounding the heavenly creature began to peel away like a snake shedding its excess skin. The Angel’s beauty was revealed.
The Angel shivered in the frigid Kansas wind. But the cold was merely an inconvenience for the Angel. But it knew that it require some clothes and a weapon. And it wasn’t long before its prayers were answered. The Angel happened upon a Goblin scout, who was coming to investigate the strange explosion that hit the ground from the Angel’s reentry. And the Goblin was very surprised by what he saw.
Lying next to the crater was the most voluptuous human female the Goblin had ever set eyes on. She was definitely a buxom lass. The Goblin was hard almost immediately for he knew that human females gave good sport.
“Hello my pretty.” The Goblin choked in his guttural tongue.
The Female opened her arms and beckoned to the orc. She had no idea of the terror and the horrible things the Goblin had in mind for her. The goblin set aside his black scimitar so could commence ravaging the fair maiden. The goblin fell into the maiden’s embrace but he received more than he had bargained for. At the Angel’s first touch the Goblin’s skin and bones crumbled into ash.
The Angel picked up the tattered clothes and armor that the immolated Goblin left behind. The Angel began putting on the goblins clothing and it was strange to see something so fair, dressed in such evil cloth. As the Angel fastened the tattered, black leather cloak around its neck, it wrinkled its nose a little from the stench. And then the Angel picked up the horned Goblin helm and slammed it snuggly over its head. And so the Angel very nearly resembled a Goblin. The only thing that gave it away were the streams of golden locks cascading out of the stinky helm.
Then the Angel picked up the dark scimitar and set the blade ablaze. The black tarnished silver shriveled and fell of the silver blade. The weapon was now an instrument of God. With a smile the cheerful angel stepped upon the path and began its journey.
Photo Credit Brita Seifert
Posted at 05:05 pm by BlueSkelton
The Zen Master
"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; […]”
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
Posted at 11:08 am by BlueSkelton
Lune loved his sister more than life itself. He’d tasted the forbidden fruit. As soon as the news of her abduction reached him, He opened the tower gates ever so slowly. The demon’s trumpet sounded and the gargoyle screamed. Its gruesome wail shook the foundation of the tower. The goblin horde quivered in fear and gnashed their rotting teeth. They clashed their rusted iron swords against sweet metal shields. They were chomping at the bit. Then as if out of nothing an almost endless stream of goblin soldiers came pouring out of the gates to rape and pillage the Kansas Wasteland. They would fight and destroy their ancient Elvish enemy. Goblins hate Elves for some reason and vice versa. The rivalry goes back before the age of man. The rule of men was over. Phantasy had returned to the world. The goblins were rank with anxiety. They had waited too long to attack to settle the score with their Elvish and Human enemies. First out the gate came the archers armed with bows and arrows and strings of hand grenades. Then the cavalry rode out of the gates. Thousands of dreaded automatons armed with lance’s and Sub machine guns. The goblins stomped their feet as the gates opened. Then the little green bastards began running out the gate. They screeched and hooted and cracked their mighty whips. Every Kansan dreaded this moment. It was even worse than Tornado season.
Posted at 03:28 pm by BlueSkelton
LET THE guilty hang. For thousands of years, Lune lived in peace with the creatures of Kansas. It seemed as if the bloodlust of the Dark Lord had exhausted itself when he reached middle age. He remained unprovoked for almost an age. Peace reigned over the Midwestern desert and civilization returned to Kansas. It remained that way until a notorious clown and a mischievous band of elve’s broke into the wartower via an external drainpipe. They made their way into the upper reaches of the tower and kidnapped Lune’s beloved baby sister, Angelique. It wasn’t long after that before Lune emptied the tower. He sent the Dakmar, the dreaded stickman army along with a host of goblins to punish the elves and recover his sister. The walls of the tower dripped with blood. The Gatling guns and the cannons rose from their sagging positions, ready to make war and spit fiery death onto the countryside.
Posted at 01:59 pm by BlueSkelton
OUT OF THE RUINS of a mythical Asian wasteland arose a menace more ferocious than any twisted soul Earth has ever suffered. It was a villainous shadow, colder and darker than your worst nightmare. It was the Wartower sent from the darkest vault of Hell. The Warmachine created it. The Warmachine was the beginning and end of all evil. It was a sick and twisted device hidden deep inside the tower’s dungeons. I still remember the day they built the Warmachine I was there when they brought that evil thing online. Flames twirled and twisted of the demon’s fingers as he turned on that insidious machine. Bits of amber fell off his forearm and singed the earth. His enlightened bicep flexed as he reached the dark abyss. The Warmachine had only one purpose. Its mission was to destroy all of God’s Creations and have dominion over heaven and earth. Sparks flew everywhere as the machine’s gears ground together. Gloom and poisonous gas puffed from the tower like an industrial dragon. Off in the distance there were two towers of black and white. Their nostrils exhaled green smoke and jealousy that coasted through the air like an unstoppable plague. Not even the jealousy of the infamous Captain Ahab could harpoon that beast of metal and machine. It was something that could only have been created by the most devious of demons. Almost nothing could stand in its way.
The Wartower loomed against the chaos of the horizon. It was a forbidding phallic symbol standing against the violent hues of orange and purple. Light was fading over Hell, I mean rural Kansas. But the smoke would continue erupting out of the volcanic tower long into the night. The sun would not shine the next day. The lustrous rapture of the sunset contrasted harshly against the desecration and death that would plague the countryside. The Wartower was an obsidian monstrosity filled to the brim with dark secrets. It was protected by cartoon cannons, Gatling guns, and the dreaded stickman army.
The terrain around the tower was up heaved as if the tower had cleaved itself out of the ground rather being built brick by brick. A river of green corrosive slime formed a deadly moat around its walls. It was rumored that any creature that entered the tower’s black doors ever returned unchanged. They were lucky if they returned at all. Heroes died in that tower. Paladins became servants of the machine. Beneath the sour ground surrounding the castle, the dungeons of The Dark Lord delved deep into the earth. The dungeon was larger than the tower itself. Parts of it were older than the tower. Long forgotten horrors hidden lurked in the nooks and crannies of that evil place.
The black marble tower stood against the horizon like a tombstone. It gleamed as it soared into the heavenly Midwestern sky. The glimmering stone became almost too bright to stare at head on. The tower held its breath. It was a place for children. Holograms moved silently on the walls. Ghosts and tortured souls tore little boys apart for fun. Time passed like snapshots in a family photo album. Alcoholic screams swam through the black mirror less corridors.
On the top of the tower there clutched a gargoyle on the limb of despair. His red eyes singed with hatred. His cold callous claws crested to the stone tower walls. It reminded me of a scene from “Night on Bald Mountain.” With a wingspan of almost fifty feet, the stone juggernaut stretched its shoulders with a mighty roar that would cause even the bravest of soldiers to tremble in fear. With a snort, cherry red brimstone swarmed out of his gray nostrils. His hard brow said one thing and one thing only pain.
Posted at 05:01 pm by BlueSkelton
LUNE GRASPED the mutated cranium between his withered palms. Despair and fear were the only nightmares that kept him company at night. His own torment became his energy. Mangled flesh dripped from between his fingers. The Angel of Death was two breaths away. His life trembled inside his supernatural fingers. He was going mad with rage. He put his lips to those of the soon to be lifeless corpse, and sucked out its life force. Brain matter dribbled onto his greedy lips. A surge of adrenaline flooded the cyberfairie’s body. Wrath pulsated through his spidery veins. He was drunk on bloodlust. He wouldn’t live much longer but he found the strength inside his tortured soul to go on. To do what he was destined to do. Death would rain from the skies. The pillars of Heaven shook with his mighty war-cry. He forced his hand into a bloody fist, and discarded the severed skull. He grimaced in pain as he forced himself to his feet.
Posted at 03:57 pm by BlueSkelton