The Dream

"SOLDIER GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!!!" I awake to the screaming of a man in green combat armor, holding his helmet in one arm and a balancing a gun in the other. I jump out of my cot and grab my guitar. Blue, stained with the blood of thousands of enemies, and yet it still plays like new. I put on my suit and run into the battlefield as my guitars form shifts into that of a gun. Pulling it apart into two identical firearms, I blast away at the first two machines that cross my path, hot oil covering my arms and chest as their mechanical limbs explode in a storm of hot metal and lead. I flip a switch on my guns and slam them back together as a blade sprouts from the barrel of what was once the finest gun in the library. Slashing through the forest to get at my enemy I am reminded again of what it means to be the Hero. The man I trusted most in this world, the man who taught me everything I know, is now my greatest adversary. Killing my father was acceptable, for he was a vile man and deserved what he got, but killing Elizabeth was to set an example. One that I hated him for. Years of serving in his army, of learning every tactic he employed, I was ready to make my move. I slam to the ground as something attacks me from above. Rolling over I see the bastard brother of my Heroic father. The bane of the colonies, my Uncle. Is this how it all ends? After spending a lifetime in a prison for a crime I didn't commit, a lifetime of training for this moment, I am to be wiped off the map by a sneak attack? No, I kick my unholy Uncle's legs out from under him and spring on top. Shooting off his hands and feet with my energy blasts, I am faced with a decision, do I kill the innocent boy, or turn my back on this life of hatred? I am the most wanted man in all of the galaxy, it's not too late to turn myself in. No, using my powers of creation I restore the boys limbs, smiling as he stands from his wheelchair. I turn to see the crowds cheering. The savior of the U.S. they call me. All of this made possible by a freak accident in my underground lab. Years I was kept in a glass dome, studied by the worlds greatest minds. The biblical, ethical, and political effects of letting me live were too great, so they thought to eliminate me. Tearing my limbs from my body, and burning them in hopes that they had finally killed the Wizard. These people are failures, and they deserve what is coming to them. Using my last bit of magic before my life ended, I called upon the forces of nature to reap my revenge. My arms and legs severely burned, I hear my love calling my name.

"James! James wake up!" I hear her, barely.

"Jane, Jane is that you?"

"Wake up James, it's time for school."

Oh shit, it was all a dream. Sliding out of bed I see burn marks on the ceiling, new scars all over my chest and god knows how many on my back. Burns on my arms, the palms of my hands are black and crackling with electricity. Looking at my face in the mirror I see my eyes are now a dark red. What happened last night?

Later Drones.

Darkbringer Reborn

I am remaking the Darkbringer Chronicles into a 2 part short story. Part one is focused on The Darkbringer as the main character. His transformation from anti-hero to villain, half-human to demon lord. Then part two is Aslin. His capture, his life before the Darkbringer took over the world. Putting a few twists in it though. Want to run a few ideas by you all. What if Aslin was the Darkbringers blood son? Not created of his flesh, but born of a human mate of the Darkbringer? Like his daughter. Or, if the roles were switched, what if Aslin was the demon lord and it was Darkbringer's demonic blood that allowed him to defeat Aslin and claim the kingdom? I'll not be posting my progress on here for risk of giving others ideas.

THE ViRUS

Fighting Myself

I don't know who I am anymore. The Virus is here for me. Always cold, calculated, logical. And me, weak, caring, trusting. The Virus is the superior being in this battle. And it is to him that I relinquish this situation to. I wish only for my mistakes to be forgotten, not forgiven. I know that I have condemned myself to this life. Destined to become a lock-in in my future, no friends, no contacts, no family. I have done this to myself. I drown out these thoughts with music in a futile attempt to resist these suicidal tendencies that The Virus is pushing upon me. Passing the blame off onto a dear friend that I have pushed away. Fuck, I don't know what to do. Who is wrong in situations such as these, who is the antagonizer and who is the victim. I have broken another one of my rules, friends never say goodbye. Harnessing my greatest fear and using it against myself, I drive out The Virus, if only temporarily. If I had a soul to condemn, no doubt she would have already wished me to hell. But hell holds no torture greater than that of loneliness. It is to you dear readers that I write this letter of hate. Praying to the Gods that one of you may be able to relate to my inner hatred towards The Virus and myself. I thank you for your time. And Goodbye.

SAW

Hate

There's a rage inside all of us. Religion calls it Satan, the government calls it Anarchy, I call it Hatred. The Hatred of those who surround us. The Hatred towards the ones who betray us, lie to us, and those who direct their own Hatred towards us. Fuck them all. You have your own Hate, your own rage, your sense of anarchy, Satan, demons, whatever the fuck you want to call it, it's yours. Use it. Harness your rage and direct it towards those who do you wrong. Whatever you do, don't fall in love, it will expose your rage to the outside world because of the aftereffects. When it's all over, your Hatred will overpower you, and you'll have nothing left but hate.

THE VIRUS

Who Do You Think You Are?

I'm sick of all of this crap. People think I'm suicidal because I write these stories, because I hate my current situations, and because I listen to "emo music". Who the fuck are you to judge me?! The ideas that flow through my head are inspired by things that are going on in real life, whether you make the connections or not. If you actually read my work instead of looking for some "hidden meaning" that might show that I'm depressed or suicidal, then you might actually like what you read. So fuck you guys, I'm brought down daily by people who call themselves my friends, I don't need to come home and get a phone call asking me if I've tried killing myself lately, from a family member too. You're all Drones. Do you even come up with these ideas yourselves, or is my defective parental unit giving you false information? If I tried killing myself, you'd all already know, because I'd leave a note on this blog! Oh wait, you don't actually read the works, you just skim them. So, for all of you that have encouraged my writing, thank you. To the one who told me that it's just a phase I'm going through, that I'm not actually going to succeed at this, GO FUCK YOURSELF. See, big capital letters mean that you would have noticed it because your skimming the post. So, to my aunts, uncles, mother, sister, grandfathers, grandmothers, "friends", and cousins, thank you for your encouragement. I'm done for the day. Go away. Don't come back unless your actually going to offer some CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, which would require you to read my work. So, thank you for your time, goodbye drones.

-THE VIRUS

The Forest

Suicide flashes through his mind again. Watching his life fall apart before his eyes. Hearing the mocking laughter of his so-called friends. Seven months planning. He prepared for this moment, but he couldn't take it. A year of working up the courage to try, took only 5 minutes to destroy. He runs, tears in his eyes. But he has no where to run to. Even the voice of reason in his head laughs at him now. Reminding him how he could never have succeeded anyway. Telling him he'd never be good enough to think about trying again. Eyes closed and sprinting through the forest, he slams headfirst into a tree. Throwing his bag to the ground and letting out a scream of hatred for himself, he sits with his back resting on the trunk of the tree. Tired, embarrassed, and emotionally bleeding, he wishes only for release from this damning world. He reaches into his bag and his hand comes out holding a wicked looking dagger. Not knowing or caring how it got there, he closes his eyes and prepares for the end. He pulls the dagger towards his chest, waiting for the piercing pain of death to claim him. But it never comes. Then he feels the hands pulling his wrists back. Even with his eyes closed he knew who it was. He could feel the guilt in those hands. The pain of knowing that she drove him to this. She separates the blade from his hands as he opens his eyes. Looking at him, she realizes that this is the first time she has truly looked at him. Seen past the pathetic exterior that hides the being within. She reaches for the dagger, looking him in the eyes. He knows what she's thinking, what she wants. He reaches into his bag once more and comes out with a blade identical to the first. Positioning the blades over each others hearts, they share a kiss. Their first, their last. Then they die. Their souls joining the many who have fallen victim to the magic of this cursed forest. It can grant you the love of your life, but only in the afterlife.

No, this story is not about anyone. Everybody that has read it has either said that they know who it's about, or they want to know. That's all for now Drones, later.
-The Virus

Aslin: The Survivor

It has been three years since the Darkbringer killed the last pure human. Three years and already he seeks me out. He knows that I'm still alive. That I'm the one killing his Elites. No other creature would try. The forest has long since become my home. But he is expanding his reach even farther into my sanctuary. Infecting the waters and plant life. I wonder if he even knows the extent of my transformations since I escaped. My right arm has been replaced by a scythe-like appendage beginning at my elbow. It has been stained by the blood of his warriors, which only furthered my changes. My wings grew out, so much so that I can wrap them around myself as a vampire would a cape. I never fly anymore though, for risk of exposing myself to his aerial patrols. I simply wait for him to send me more Elites, more blood. With the blood comes change, and with change comes power. Soon I will be strong enough to storm his Empire's gates. Then I shall have my revenge. When I am the last one of his creations alive. The last victim robbed of my humanity and reduced to drinking the blood of my kin. Then I shall have my revenge. When I am the last surviving proof of the Darkbringer's reign of darkness, this war will be over, and I can finally die.