Short Story
A Dance with Shadows
It was the hottest day of the year. Actually it was the hottest day on record. Alayia twisted her long hair up on top of her head, seeking some sort of respite from the scorching sun above her. “Curse you, mom.” she muttered, but she was looking down at the dirt path beneath her feet. As the sun god’s daughter, she knew the heat wave was mostly her fault. She had just disappeared one day while her mom was working. And she had a charm to ensure none of the other gods could see her.
By Phoenixica24about a month ago in Fiction
CRIMSON VOW
The first thing she heard was laughter deep slow and cruel echoing through concrete walls while cold water dripped on her face and the smell of iron and blood filled her lungs when Lyra Hale opened her eyes she realized she was tied to a chair in a dark warehouse surrounded by men who carried guns like toys and scars like trophies she did not scream because fear had already burned her voice away and when the footsteps approached her heart stopped because she knew that sound belonged to him Roman Vale the king of the Crimson Syndicate the man whose name ended lives without bullets the man she hated before she ever saw his face he stopped in front of her studying her like a broken weapon worth fixing or discarding and instead of threatening her he smiled and said she was not supposed to be there and that single sentence terrified her more than any knife because it meant she was now part of his world a world where people disappeared and love was a weakness Roman ordered his men to untie her not to free her but to see if she would run and Lyra stood on shaking legs staring into the eyes of the man who ruled the city through fear and silence and in that moment something dangerous sparked between hatred and curiosity because Roman Vale did not look at her like prey he looked at her like a challenge
By Diab the story maker about a month ago in Fiction
When the Dead Dance at Midnight
The zombies arrived during the wedding reception, which struck me as poor timing even by apocalypse standards. I had been watching Charlotte from across the pavilion, my ex-fiancée in her bridesmaid dress, laughing at something the groom said. Three years since she left me. Three years since I learned you could love someone completely while they felt nothing similar in return. The wound had mostly healed, I thought, until I saw her again tonight.
By Tim Carmichaelabout a month ago in Fiction
NEON BLOOD EMPIRE
The night the city tried to kill her the sky was burning red and the alarms never stopped screaming and Nyx Virel stood in the middle of Sector Nine with blood on her hands not all of it hers watching a skyscraper collapse like a dying giant behind her while drones hunted her name through the air the city of Axiom Prime was not supposed to look afraid it was built to dominate to control to erase weakness but tonight it was trembling because Nyx had stolen something that was never meant to be touched the Core Seed a living quantum intelligence buried under the city for two hundred years and every gang every syndicate every artificial god connected to the grid wanted her dead Nyx did not run because she was scared she ran because standing still meant extinction and as she jumped across broken rails and burning streets memories flashed of the moment she met Kael Draven the man who taught her how to survive how to shoot without hesitation how to love without fear and how to trust in a world that punished trust the moment she landed hard on the steel bridge her comm crackled with his voice calm sharp alive telling her he was coming that he would get her out like he always did but this time the city itself had turned into a weapon and the gangs were not just criminals anymore they were armies enhanced by illegal cybernetic rituals feeding on fear and data and Nyx knew this was no longer a job gone wrong this was war and she was at the center of it whether she wanted to be or not
By Diab the story maker about a month ago in Fiction
That Arrived Too Late. AI-Generated.
The clock on the wall showed 2:17 a.m. The room was quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that keeps sleep away. Ayaan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts racing without direction. Just as he turned to check the time again, his phone vibrated softly on the nightstand.
By shakir hamidabout a month ago in Fiction
