A note concerning ties stronger than blood (Project: Lodestar 8)

Amaranth ran through hazardous rain darkened streets. The apartment building she left ten minutes ago seemed squat and hunched in the gloom. Her hand was shaking so hard she could not press the call button on the intercom. Instead she took a few steps back and kicked the metal door from its hinges. The lobby was dark and she located the stairwell by the wan illumination cast by the emergency lights. Taking the stairs three at a time Amaranth was a crimson flash. Cassandra’s door did not slow her down at all, in fact it exploded with such velocity that the fragments caught flame. Slippery shoes betrayed her and she was only able to stop herself by crashing half way through a wall. Amaranth stumbled free as a cascade of lightning cut through the sky illuminating the apartment. On her knees she tried to find the breath to cry.


A soldier named Ridley paused halfway through the report he was reading, cursed, and leaned back into his camp chair. The efficiently spartan quarters took on an empty feeling he had never noticed before. Ridley retrieved a half finished cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. He took a deep drag and held it until his vision began to waver before releasing his breath. Bluish smoke enshrouded the radio on the desk. Ridley roughly thumbed it on and spoke in a gravelly baritone, “Maya, something urgent has come up. I’m going stateside for an unknown amount of time. Please draw up orders placing Hamlin in charge of the Reapers until I return.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Thank you, Maya.” Ridley hung his head and pulled deeply from the cigarette once more.


A man sometimes called Dayth awoke from a dead sleep with a start. His surroundings confused him. There was a distinct impression of being trapped in a small room despite the fact that he was in an open forest. Instincts warred within his mind and adrenaline turned his limbs to fire. Dayth wanted to both fight and flee. Something warm and rough pressed against his cheek brought him to his senses. An old, grizzled wolf stared at him with warm amber eyes and licked his face again. Realization of what happened hit Dayth like a hammer blow. The wolf tilted his head back and loosed a low, solemn howl. The call was picked up by the other animals in the makeshift camp; a collection of dogs, wolves, and coyotes. Dayth added his voice to those of his brothers and sisters.


A young woman named Kyler sat alone in a warmly lit room. A pair of tears formed in the corners of her vacant eyes and slowly rolled down her cheeks.


A glassblower named Gabriel stared without seeing anything. His clothing smoldered. Molten glass oozed between the trembling fingers of his clenched fist deep within the furnace. He vainly tried to chase his nightmares away with the pain.

The mysterious Grey dodged backward awkwardly, his balance askew from his recently severed right arm. He ducked under his opponent’s next attack and deftly tapped it on its left hip. Blackish purple sparks erupted from the point of contact. Over half of its component pieces were teleported to random locations throughout the Tomb and what was left collapsed into a heap at Grey’s feet. Momentarily free of the melee, he paused to take stock of the situation. A sudden sharp intake of breath and a slight narrowing of the eyes was the only indication he gave that something was amiss. Grey's voice was quiet and harsh, “That utter cunning bastard.” When he tried to teleport out of the Tomb, his body flared into a cloud or purple sparks and images of him flickered violently all over the room and did so with such rapidity that it seemed as if he were everywhere at once. The sparks dispersed. Grey reappeared. Thin cracks of rage began to mar his normally imperturbable veneer.


Even the shock of Cassandra’s psychic tremor could not cause Arsiel to falter. He choked up on his weapon and quickly dispatched the two machines in front of him. Despite more foes pressing in he spared a breath to disparage Ansel. Finely channeled fury raced through his limbs and his world narrowed to flashing blades and the smell of wreckage.


The minute characters flooding Valentine’s vision with streams of information blurred. She blinked once and her eyes returned to their normal hazel hue. The sounds of the struggle around her began to feel overpowering. Grey looked angry; Arsiel fought with an inhuman level of competence and poise. Valentine bit down on her lip and rubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of a glowing hand. When she opened them data was once again rolling across an even orange field and she redoubled her efforts with a new found determination.


Far away, a young lady named Midori rose slowly from her bed. Her movements were slow, trance-like. Although tears welled from her eyes, when she spoke to the empty room her voice was level. “Yes, Cassie, I understand.” She raised a hand to the wall and began to write, the wood smoldering in the wake of her fingertip.


Alexandra absently rubbed her cheek leaving a smear of dirt behind. The sunlight was warm upon her back and the fragrant breeze cool on her skin. She jerked her head up abruptly. “What? No!” Alexandra dashed recklessly through her garden and into her home. The normally open and friendly environment seemed a hostile obstacle in her rush. Cursing under her breath the entire way, she grabbed a staff from an umbrella stand near the front door, careened around a corner, and leapt down the basement stairs. The psychic impact of Cassandra's passing broke her concentration and she twisted her ankle when she landed. Alexandra turned the stumble into a forward roll and kept moving toward a mirror standing upright in the middle of the room. Its surface rippled slightly, like water. “I won’t be too late! Not again!” Alexandra thought as she lunged through mirror leaving behind a heap of earth-stained clothing.