[Falsum]

Short Story of the Month #2
(SSOTM #2)

This Months Genre: FANTASY
This Months Theme: FREE-STYLE

Length: Between 750-5000 words. Don't worry too much about this, this is more or less flexible. If you have trouble fitting in the guidelines, just tell me and I can change the size to another acceptable amount.

Ripping: Please, don't take someone elses work. An original Short Story is what we are looking for. If we catch you ripping, you will be disqualified, and everyone will only pity you.

Fan Fiction: FanFics are considered short stories as well, so as long as they stay within the word limit, go ahead and post em.

Entries must be in by: OCTOBER 6TH, 12:00AM(Midnight) CENTRAL TIME

Voting: will be from October 6th to Midnight Central Time October 10th, to allow people time to read the entries, and vote on who they like, as well as to start at the same time next month, October 11th.

Rewards:
1. I'll think about it

Please go to this thread --> [Only registered and activated users can see links. ] to discuss things. No discussion here please.
Drop me or Duratrix a private message if you have any questions.

As a side note, if you have entered in the first competition, you may re-use your entry again.

Good Luck! Hah hah...

[TTally]

She was crouched down in her room, shrouded in a blue orb. Her green eyes were closed gently against the wind that buffered her clothes and spun her hair around her neck and shoulders. The light danced off various objects in her room not unlike that the reflecting pond outside her dorm did to the statue of Soldier during the day. Ribbons of white mixed with the pale teal colours that danced off her book shelves, bed, and computer; seemingly searching for something lost in the small, untidy room.


Socks discarded on the floor around the girl’s feet were filled with this light; an open magazine was flipping back and forth between covers. Still she sat, uncaring in the middle of the floor on her legs. Her arms hugged herself as the wind within the globe surrounding her grew outward tearing a small lock of hair from her head. The lock of hair separated like a grenade in their new found freedom; a flash of red. The girl’s eyes flew open just as the orb overtook the whole room.


The magazine stopped in mid-flip, the hairs halted their decent on her furniture. In this state she could move around freely- not fearing anything from her possible threat. What kind of threat though? It was Pennsylvania- everyone here was a coal miner or historian not a diplomat or movie star. No stalkers, no kidnapping schemes.


Just good old, primal, normal day people- dead or alive. She lived in Gettysburg, and attended Gettysburg College; lived in Steven’s Hall. The Blue Boy had been haunting her for weeks now. Ever since she first stepped onto the campus she knew something was different. She felt watched, cold, on the verge of tears. She would run back to her dorm before lights out, eyes fixed ahead at the round handle. The other students living nearby could set their watches by listening to the hard slam of the door as she threw herself on it.


On the internet she found help in the guise of a classroom forum. A few fellow Wiccan’s had been lurking around and noticed her question of, “Is the campus really haunted?” They told her stories that made it impossible for Addison to go to sleep. Most sounded just absurd- like the one about two staff that went to the basement and saw a full field hospital from a hundred years ago.


Apparently the elevator went to the basement floor one night when two male teachers were attempting to leave in the 1980’s. When the ding sounded and the doors opened, what they knew to be an area for storage was now filled with doctors and nurses running around treating wounded soldiers. In on far corner was a pile of limbs oozing blood, in another bodies covered in thin white sheets were carelessly tossed. They ran and alerted the guard- who found nothing.


Other’s though, like the Blue Boy . . . made her act the way she did. Her light’s were never on (they could see you that way) and her doors never locked (easier to run). When going up stairs she ran wind milling her arms behind her to ward off imaginary attackers. Most nights she would sit at her desk letting the severe light from her monitor illuminate her hallowed face. Her green eyes had become dull; her hair fell in vines of red mats across her shoulders. Her lips were cracked and hung half open.


The Blue Boy haunted her without rest. The other witch’s told her he was harmless, to stop worrying. A few even offered to let her sleep in their room or switch completely, but she declined every time. He might follow her. He might get angry at her for running, and hurt her. No, she couldn’t leave. She had to cope with the fact she was his new mother until the winter finally came and she could drop out- go home! She had to at least pretend to be strong.


That’s when she got the idea to put a barrier around herself and her room every night. She would gather her wits and sit on her floor and call upon the Gods and Goddess’. “Divine Goddess, Goddess Divine, Divine God, God Divine, if evil dwells within this place, please make it leave my space!” The spell would then manifest inside her as a blue ray, and cast itself around her entire room. She knew it worked when the fatigue and dread lifted off her as if made of small winged insects.


She had been doing it for five nights now, (or was it six?) and hadn’t seen the small, frozen boy yet. No more hearing his moans in the night, waiting for the all clear signal from the older college girls as he sat on the window ledge. No more sickening thuds as a body froze and fell four stories. No more guilt as the boy would cry asking her why she didn’t save him.


Addison flopped down on her back. Her red hair spilled out around her like a pool of blood. The white T-Shirt she was wearing rose up to expose a tan stomach with a small birth mark on her side that wound its way around to her back. A hand quickly, hastily grabbed the shirt and pulled it down then stopped, feeling the mark with her fingers. The hand was not hers.


She screamed.

[RinVonStark]

A lifeless body fell soundly to the ground. A child stood next to it with dreadful eyes. His innocence was no longer present. A man looked at him expectantly. His sins weighted heavily on his shoulders.

“You got guts, I can tell you that.”
“This is not about guts. This... is what I want to do.”

A loud chuckle could be heard throughout the room. The man was amused.

“Really? Nobody will thank you for it.”
“Shut up.”
“You aren’t ready. You should stop now.”
“Shut up!”
“You won’t get what you want this way.”
“Fuck you! What do you know, anyway?”
“I know what you want. Isn’t that enough? We humans are defined by our desires and yours... burns like a flare to me.”

The child pointed a small metal contraption at the stranger.

“I told you to shut up! I’m gonna do this, even if-”
“Even if you die? The Union isn’t to be messed with. A runt like you doesn’t hold a candle to one of their rookies, let alone a Torch.”
“I don’t care.” – pure tears crashed on the floor, tainted with the spilled life essence of the corpse. – “I can’t do anything else.”

With silent steps, the man walked towards the youth.

“Wrong. There’s something else you can do.”
“Liar!”

Again, a trigger was pulled; a bullet flew across the room heading towards yet another living being... But, this time, it didn’t meet its target.

“Pointless.” – the man’s head was tilted to the side; a crack on the wall behind him could be seen; the bullet had been dodged.
“M-monster! You’re one of them!” – three loud noises could be heard coming from the contraption in the child’s hand.
“Pathetic.” – a strong gust of wind hit the child and, suddenly, the stranger was standing behind him, and three new cracks appeared on the wall. – “If I were that Torch, you’d already be a rotten corpse. Do better, boy!”

With his free hand, the kid unsheathed a small pocket knife from his belt, jumped forward, hoping to put some distance between him and the assailant, and turned back, throwing his knife towards the target’s neck.

“Slow.” – with a quick movement from his left hand, the man got hold of the tip of the blade with his middle and index finger. – “But trying is what counts, right?”
“Shut up!!” – raising his fist high, the child threw himself at the tall figure in front of him.
“Weak and foolish.” – the remaining right hand caught the fist. – “But you really should try harder. For your friends and family, maybe? Oh, forgot! Sorry.”

Yet again, a loud chuckle came out of the man’s mouth. The boy could be seen struggling to be released from the attacker’s grasp.

“What do you want from me?!”
“I want the same you do: I want that Torch to die... But I can’t. She’s just too powerful for me.”
“I don’t care! If you can’t kill her, I don’t have a chance either!”
“Do you want to have a chance?”

The youth’s body froze; the offer was too tempting to be ignored. Silence followed, only to be broken by the attacker.

“You have the potential to become an Agent like me... A far better one, even.”
“An agent?” – for the first time, their eyes met.
“A member of the Syndicate Intervention Wing. We aren’t just agents of the Syndicate; we are THE Agents. Your power will be recognized throughout Europe. From Berlin to Trinity, from Werdan to the Gate of Valentine, you will be known. Tell me your name.”
“..... Adrian.”

Reason held no territory in the child’s tainted mind; he was already lost.


∑


“So, that’s why you hold a grudge against us, Colonel?” – stated Elian, with a clearly defiant tone.
“Right now, you agents are the right hand of the Syndicate echelon but you all have forgotten your honour. Tell me, why do you fight, Reed?”
“Peace and justice.” – said Elian, immediately.
“Haha! I was right; you have no reason to fight. Or, better yet, you haven’t found one.” – said Adrian, while laughing.

Elian tried to reply but something prevented him; he had heard similar words before. The Demon-Mist Torch had questioned his motives too. Almost instantly, a question came to mind.

“Colonel, you’re familiar with Torch history, right?
“You can say that.” – answered Adrian, intrigued.
“Two years ago, you and your squad recovered valuable intel related to the identity of many active Torches, right?”
“Just come out with it.”
“Did you read anything special about a Torch named Alexander Valentine?”
“.... So, you were the one they sent after him.” – Adrian looked at the soldiers guarding his quarters. – “You two, leave.”
“Yes, sir.”

The two soldiers stepped out of the room and a slider door shut itself behind them. Adrian was clearly nervous; he had been forced to retire from the Syndicate Intervention Wing because of the intel he had gathered. What he had found was important enough for the Echelon to dismiss his whole team and reassign them to the various corners of Europe.

“This is a sensible matter; I don’t want anyone eavesdropping on what I’m about to tell you. I don’t know much, and what I know doesn’t really mean anything but the High Echelon forced me to retire because of it. Why do you think the Thanatos Union keep waging war on us?
“Because they want to destroy what we’ve built. They are terrorists, pure and simple.”
“So, you say their purpose is to destroy the Syndicate?”
“Yes” – answered Elian, nodding slowing.
“Right... It has been almost 24 years since the NeoRapture and the appearance of the Union but, Agent Reed, what if I told you that the intel I found had some records dating back to the XVII century?”

Elian took a step back, surprised by Colonel Adrian’s words.

“They must have been doctored. Probably to confuse us.”
“True. But you didn’t read what was written there. It wasn’t just information on the current Torches... It had information related to multiple Torch generations, unionist doctrine; proof that the Union wasn’t created to fight the Syndicate. They were already here when we took over Europe. Even so, this doesn’t change the fact that they are indeed terrorists.”
“Guess not. And nobody would stop fighting them just cause they are an ancient organization.”
“Right, but now let me tell you this: the Union follows doctrines like a religion. One that got my eye was the fact that there can only be thirteen Torches alive at the same time, each of them controlling one of the Union’s sections in the continent. This is where Alexander Valentine comes into play; he was made a Torch around 4 years ago and, by then, there is proof that all of the other thirteen Torches were alive. That makes fourteen; they broke their rules.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Think about the numbers and their meanings.” – Adrian got up from his recliner and grabbed Elian’s collar.
“What does this have to do with anything?!” – Elian tried to break free of the Colonel’s powerful grip but, without resorting to violence, there was nothing that could be done.
“Just connect the dots. They call you a genius for some reason!”

The room was filled with anger; a light blue mist started emanating from Elian as he tried to break free.

“Don’t tell me you can’t control your willpower yet... I’m disappointed.” – stated Adrian, depressed with the event. – “So much power and you can’t do anything to control it.”

Suddenly, maroon coloured willpower crashed against the existing blue one; the Colonel was trying to suppress the agent’s power.

“Why are you doing this, Adrian!? Are you a traitor too!?”
“Do I seem like one?” – he let go of Elian’s collar but quickly punched him in the chin. – “I’m asking you to use your fucking brain! Something is terribly wrong. They are breaking their cycle. The Union’s patron, the symbolism, the numbers! Something is gonna happen and it will be bad for us. Even the Echelon is trying to cover it!”

It hit Elian: he had never been good at history studies but he remembered playing around with Tarot cards during class; Thanatos was supposed to be a god of death and many used its name due to the literary appeal. He always thought that the unionists were after the same appeal but this changed everything.

“They are playing with Tarot cards. They have thirteen Torches because the Death Arcana is number 13. If they elected another Torch, then... Temperance is next?”
“No. If you think about it, there’s nothing after death. When they broke the cycle, they meant to restart it. It’s back to nothing. The 14th Torch is equivalent to the Fool, number zero.”
“The Fool holds unlimited possibilities. It’s a way for the Union to show they are going to start something important, and that specific Torch is going to make the move.”

The willpower that flooded the room vanished, and both men look at each other with doubt in their eyes.

“Alexander Valentine, the Demon-Mist Torch, as they call him... He let you live for some reason, so you’re probably an important piece in their chess game.”
“He seemed rather irreverent; I don’t think he had a real objective in mind. I’m convinced he let me live on a whim.”
“Maybe so, but we don’t know their plans. By the way, do you know his full name?”
“I do. He told me before leaving.”
“Doesn’t it ring a bell?”
“Nothing comes to mind... Well, except being a Valentine and... No...” – fear invaded Elian as he realized what it all meant.
“It’s true. The Stark Conglomerate. He is the son of Sonja Valentine, creator of the Gate. If anyone is going to move the treads of the world, it’s going to be him. You need to find him first.”



Credits:

Special thanks to: Me


Trivia:

Since I didn't have much time to write a new story, I simply copy-"pasta"ed a part of the 3rd chapter of my novel. The 3rd chapter is still in its early stages, with lots of typos since I mostly write when deprived of sleep or bored.

The pre-sigma part of the text is like a flashback, while the post-sigma is the actual "present".

The storyline is set in a near-future, after the 4th WW, cause by the NeoRapture.