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  1. Prologue - Shirley

    Eternal pessimism is an odd thing. A whole set of people so distrusting of the future, of people, of any thought of hope. America has become such a distraught, torn, tortured place in the past thirty years that very few, even across the world, have been able to break the mold of the American mindset. Scientists have no name for this mindset epidemic but many people have decided that some physical structure in the brain was altered thirty years ago by a traumatic event, eventually leading to a cellular ...
    Book Chapters
  2. The Book, the Beast, and the Burglar

    The Book, the Beast, and the Burglar
    a short story by Stephen Brooke ©2016

    In a red leather book — what? No, I don’t know what beast supplied the leather — as I said, in a red leather book in the loftiest tower of Hirstel, a city of lofty towers, were written the names of all the demons of the lower planes. There, well-warded, it lay in the highest room of that tower, rising above the palace of Piras Tindeval, Prince-Sorcerer.

    Hirstel, where all men are wizards, ...
    Short Stories
  3. The Sacrifice

    “Volka warriors are made of hardened stones. When we walk upon the mud caked earth, the very soil shakes to its core. We march for days on end, without complaint and without regrets — for we live for war. We nourish it; cherish it; die for it. Imagine yourself as an arrow readied for the bow. One day you will be a weapon capable of piercing through the enemy,” his father had said, before he had died on the battlefield, as a stray spear pierced through his one remaining right eye and jutted out the ...
    Short Stories
  4. A Titanfall Inspired Story

    The day was lost. The enemy had routed our forces to nothing, crushing us in an ambush. Despite a valiant effort, there was no other option left to us now other than retreating. One of my arms had been blown off at the elbow, the hinge destroyed and wires sparking and hissing angrily.

    I ran across the wall, dodging bullets as they flew my way. With a vault and a scrambling climb, I'm on the roof, still sprinting for dear life.

    "Head to the extraction point, Corporal," ...
  5. The Inner Abyss (Part Two)

    The tinnabulum chimes cascaded overhead, marking the hour of Belannos’s ascension and the alignment of the heavenly bodies. Vienne stood at the center of an old magister’s tower, stripped of all its furnishings to bare black bones of basalt and granite.

    Everything was as she had imagined it would be. She wore her deepest-dyed robes, embroidered in blue and violet, her hair pinned in a net of golden thread. The materials of her Founding—raw marble, quartz, teak—were ...
    Short Stories
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