A.C Hofstetter
Bio
My name is A.C Hofstetter and I plan on releasing a four-book series called Tera Galactus one day. As I continue to practice my writing, I will be releasing in-universe short stories from time to time.
Stories (10)
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Tera Galactus Chapter 3
Mu and Hoftis could still smell the battle on their clothes as they wandered the streets of New Dantham. It was unlikely for word to have traveled to this town faster than they had, yet each civilians’ eyes felt like they measuring the weight of the duo's sins. They were deserters now. Mu looked up at Hoftis to see how he was holding up. The Thraxian medic was in bad shape. Medics are expected to see their fair share of death but what happened back there wasn’t something he wished upon his worst enemies. Hoftis was slender for a Thraxian. His scales were not as rigid as most of the others Mu had seen and his under skin seemed to have a more rubbery-gel texture to it. His legs were by far his most impressive feature, densely packed with muscle and long enough to produce a mean stride. Throughout Mu’s examination of his new partner, he had noticed his body twitching an inordinate amount. As his eyes made their way back up to the Thraxian’s face, he noticed that Hoftis was struggling to keep his wits.
By A.C Hofstetterabout a year ago in Fiction
Tera Galactus Chapter 2
The dreams forced their way into Merrick’s mind as she drifted between states of consciousness. Visions of blistering light and inescapable inky nothingness fought for control of her senses as she navigated the torrent of information. She felt herself on a battlefield with rivers of stars leaking from corpses on the floor. She saw strange people desperately fighting against a figure of physical shadow. The figure turned to stare at her, and she fell backward into a new dream.
By A.C Hofstetterabout a year ago in Fiction
Tera Galactus Chapter 1
“In the name of the Vanguard, I order you to stand down.” Faltis stood in the mouth of the sunken grotto, unconscious mercenaries strewn about at his feet. Poor souls sent out to die in a war they had already lost. Darve and Yenbig had made quick work of the paltry recruits who were used as fodder to face the Vanguards best. The mercenaries’ leader, a lieutenant of the final warlord to have perished, spat vitriol like acid at the men here to arrest him.
By A.C Hofstetterabout a year ago in Fiction
Ghosts of the Past
Skips Sandalin poked at the rim of ice choking the neck of his bottle. It was designed to chill the drink with each sip yet all it did currently was inhibit consumption. Skips’ Gills always dried out after using Multi-System Mass Transit, his skinscales were even beginning to feel crispy to the touch. He returned his attention to the elongated boddle of nutrient supplements that came standard in most Federation restock centers. Any attempt to remove the chunk of ice filtering the viscous flood was futile so he turned his attention to the quartermaster.
By A.C Hofstetter4 years ago in Fiction
The Upper Cradle Grand Prix
I sat hunched over my strider gazing down into Gransen's Gully, winding up for my warmup run. At this point, I've memorized every inch of the winding terrain, tracing air-dusted skid marks into the minutest corner of the most hidden back alley. A lot of oddities packed into this canyon. One time, I found a camp of squatters who claimed they were sent here to search for the next coming of some god named Hystron. They said the only thing they needed to survive was their faith and the occasional skitter lizard. Nice people, I still bring them lizards from time to time. Anyways, as I’m looking down into the gully I feel a rush of excitement overtake me. Even though I’ve run this gully day in and day out any chance I could get since I could sit up straight on a strider, this would be the first time I was actually getting to compete in it. It’s not every day the Galactic Prix gets dropped on your doorstep begging you to compete against the best in the Upper Cradle. The competition may not have been until tomorrow but I needed to practice like it was today.
By A.C Hofstetter4 years ago in Fiction
The Third Call
Officer Cortez: So the chief says were makin some kinda big move tomorrow but wasn’t too keen on providing the details over the transponder. Says to meet at the usually safe house for a debriefing. I've been through this song and dance too many times to count at this point so I’m not really thinkin too hard about it you know? Chief played this fun little game where the entire force had to wait til AFTER debrief to pick up our shipments from the resupply convoy. Once a month is a ridiculous amount of time between shipments to an off-world colony and I’ll be damned if i'm not the first one in line getting a fresh pack of smokes. The Families gonna try and muscle in to secure their cut but I’d like to see if they're singin that same tune with a blanket of bullets rolling through their penthouse windows.
By A.C Hofstetter4 years ago in Fiction
You Can’t Win Them All
Lord Admiral Tobias SandFang watched as the last of the tattered cruisers crawled ever closer to the jump ring. He always let a few stragglers limp back to Federation High Command, a consolation price for putting up a good fight. However, the latest round of attacks could barely even be considered a fight. Sloppy attack patterns, weak hull plating, and outdated fighters were welcoming signs from an opponent. Often associated with bands of marauders and rag-tag bounty hunting parties in way over their head but when Federation ships start floundering around is sub-space that can only mean one thing. It was him.
By A.C Hofstetter4 years ago in Fiction
The Furiban Job
Prexis Minor Karaban despised traveling this far outside of Federation Space. Planets looked half-finished out here, and the denizens tried their hardest to imitate that feeling. Prexis Minor was no different. The dusty brownish red plains stretched out for as far as the eye could see with barely even a hill to break up the monotony of the horizon. Flora seemed more like a luxury than a requirement for life here and it was pretty clear the Fauna agreed. The only living thing Karaban actually encountered on his walk from the port to his rendezvous was the occasional drunken vagabond wandering from street to streets like the royal guard of some long-abandoned kingdom, searching for a taste of their past glory. He did see a Voro-Hound but wasn’t entirely sure if it was taking in enough oxygen to be considered a living thing. The smell of hull rot was oddly persistent, maybe someone was cooking juice. Wouldn’t be hard to get away with this far out of regulated space.
By A.C Hofstetter5 years ago in Fiction
The Upper Cradle Galactic Prix
I sat hunched over my strider gazing down into Gransen's Gully, winding up for my warmup run. At this point, I've memorized every inch of the winding terrain, tracing air-dusted skid marks into the minutest corner of the most hidden back alley. A lot of oddities packed into this canyon. One time, I found a camp of squatters who claimed they were sent here to search for the next coming of some god named Hystron. They said the only thing they needed to survive was their faith and the occasional skitter lizard. Nice people, I still bring them lizards from time to time. Anyways, as I’m looking down into the gully I feel a rush of excitement overtake me. Even though I’ve run this gully day in and day out any chance I could get since I could sit up straight on a strider, this would be the first time I was actually getting to compete in it. It’s not every day the Galactic Prix gets dropped on your doorstep begging you to compete against the best in the Upper Cradle. The competition may not have been until tomorrow but I needed to practice like it was today.
By A.C Hofstetter5 years ago in Fiction
