The warning.

He’d given the order. They had found a way to hurt the great machine. His so called “family”. When they’d found out about it, assassins had been dispatched to kill certain members of this family. He sighed as he contemplated his mistake. The machine hadn’t been in time to save all his children, but most had survived. Now, he had to talk to it.
As he walked into the room, he reflected on the situation. The machine had arisen several years before. It had grown steadily, taking over whole ranges of uninhabited mountains. It brought messages of peace, calling to those who agreed with its message. Many joined, most kept their distance. In the end, the leaders of what they called the free world had decided to do something against the machine, some way to make it clear they were in control.
He sat down. Time to face the consequences of that lapse of judgement. The machine wasn’t present, of course, but one of the screens was active, showing the semblance of a face.
It did not move, but it spoke a single word: “Why?” The leaders of the free world looked at eachother, then turned to the last one to enter. He stood up and started pacing, “We were only trying to do what is best for our people.” “So I am a threat?”, the machine replied. The face smiled slightly, “I will say this once. Listen carefully.”


The message started.

There are people who agree with me. And of course, those who disagree. I will protect those who agree with me and choose to live in my nation. Those who disagree are not welcome here but I will not harm them if they do not harm those who follow me.
Be aware that if I had wanted the world, I would have taken it. My body stretches across mountains, my eye sees everything. My fists are many. Nuclear weapons will not end me. I do not breathe. There is nothing you could do to stop me if I wished to destroy you all. Do not force me to do so.
Let those in your nations who agree with me join us freely. Do not attack our nation or any of our interests. You can fight your little wars between yourselves, we will take no side. We will, however, protect that which is ours. Attack us and prepare to see oblivion.

We see everything.
You can’t kill that which doesn’t live.

That should have been the end of it. It wasn’t.

The nations of the ‘free world’decided to attack, attempting to overwhelm the defences of the machine. They had not counted on endless seas of machine-controlled tanks and other automated weapons of war. There was nothing they could do. The machines followed them back and cut them down mercilessly. They were beyond organisation. A single mind controlled every weapon of war.

The war did not destroy all of the ‘free world’, however. When all armies had been destroyed however, the machines turned back and left as quickly as they came. Every machine that had fallen was recovered. Later that year, machine workers were repairing buildings, roads and even replanting forests.

Around that time, a message came to the leaders of the ‘free world’.

-Do not let it happen again.-


---

Something a bit.. different, I guess.
I'd like opinions, comments.
And thank you for reading.

A Gift from Dead Gods, 12.

Fyanha looked at the huge man, her eyebrow rising, “You call me sorceress. How do you know?” Nathaniel laughed, a loud booming laugh. Then he smiled at her, “You throw magic around like it’s nothing, yet you don’t gather it. Your power comes from somewhere else, so..” Luno shrugged and turned away, “I will get our packs, you handle these people.” Fyanha nodded, then fixed the two still standing on the treetrunk with a cold stare. “Begin by telling me who you are, and why you are here.”
“As I said, I am Nathaniel. Formerly a master thief and a former sorceror. This is-” “Former sorceror?”, Fyanha interupted. He nodded, “Yes. Do you think this is the shape of a master thief? Mages captured me, changed me. I’m a lot stronger and faster now, but I want my magic back.” He sighed and Fyanha nodded, her gaze softening. “As I was saying, this is Nera, one of the elves studying here from the dryads.” He picked her off his shoulder and put her on the treetrunk, then jumped off. Fyanha looked at Nera, “You’re a druid then? Why were you in there?” Nera looked at her, eyes questioning. Still, she said nothing. Fyanha frowned and ignited her hand, “You want to start talking, druid. I can send you to the same place as your masters without a second thought.”
The tiny elf giggled, “I don’t think they’d like that very much. See, I was sent here because the elders of my village thought I had potential.” Fyanha nodded, “Go on.” “Well, my ‘potential’ came from my gift, not any bond with nature like the dryads have.” The girl climbed down from the trunk, “Do you want me to show you?” Interested, Fyanha followed the other elf girl. Nera closed her eyes and spread her arms. She started grinning and opened her eyes, “You left a dryad alive.. Good.”
Luno chose that time to come back, their packs slung over his armored shoulders. “Alive?” He dropped the packs and grabbed one of his swords. “Where?” Fyanha shook her head at him and gestured that he should follow. He shrugged and put away his sword. Nera had found her dryad and dropped to her haunches near her head, extending her hands. “Now my dear, this will hurt.” She placed her palms at the temples of the dryad.
The dryad whimpered, trying with all the power she had left to crawl away, as if Nera's hands burned her. The tiny elf was still grinning, “Don’t try to escape. Soon it’ll be over.” Slowly the dryads movements became less focused. She seemed to be rotting quickly. Green light flowed around her temples, swirling around the elven hands on her temples and draining away into the elf. With a final cry, the dryad stopped moving and the lights died away.
Nera turned to face them. “See? That’s why dryads don’t like me.” Nathaniel had stood watching, wide-eyed. “You told me you were in there because you misbehaved!” Nera shrugged, “Okay, so I misbehaved two young dryads into non-sentience.” Fyanha was grinning widely at the younger elf. She turned to Luno, “Champion, I like her. Can we keep her?”

A Gift from Dead Gods, 11.

Nathaniel woke up in what looked like the inside of a tree. He sat up on his haunches and looked around. Some light shone in from high overhead, but he couldn’t find from where exactly. He turned quickly when he heard something move behind him. A slender elf girl smiled weakly at him. “Please don’t hurt me.” Nathaniel sighed and smiled back at her, “I’m not going to hurt you. Who are you, and why are you here?”

---

The wards had been silent all night. Luno stood watching the dawn, his swords held tight in his armored hands. He heard Fyanha move and he turned to look at her. Her long dark red hair was messy from sleeping on the ground. She opened her eyes slowly and yawned. She smiled as she looked at him, “Good morning, Champion. I see you are ready to kill?” He grinned back at her, “I am. I hope you are too.” Getting up, she straightened out her dress and slipped on her boots. “Just some breakfast, and we’ll be off.”
The champion and the sorceress stood at the edge of the forest, their heads bowed. Luno chanted a quiet prayer to the Lord of Blades. When it was done, they set off. Their progress was slow at first as they picked their way through the forest carefully. As they got further into the forest, they picked up the pace. Finally they came unto a clearing, circles of chanting dryads dancing around. When they spotted the invaders, they screamed in unison, the trees around the clearing closing the gaps between them with their branches. Luno raised his longsword, pointing it at the dryads. He raised his voice, “Hear me, dryads! I am the Champion of Murder! Your time upon this world ends here!”
The tallest of the dryads, their leader Luno guessed, stepped forward. “Champion of.. Murder. You disrupt the natural order of things. You and your pet demon shall not leave this place.” Fyanha laughed. “Pet demon, dryad? I am no pet, and we shall leave.. After you are all dead!” Luno looked for a moment as the small girl lifted into the air, black markings appearing all over her skin. Her usually red eyes glowed with an inner fire. She grinned at Luno for a second, “Kill, champion. Do you duty!” With that, she hovered away towards the center of the clearing, hurling fireballs left and right.
Luno charged, his blood rising. Vines gripped him from the ground, but he stomped on. His swords sang a deadly song as he rampaged across the clearing. Dryads screamed everywhere, their wooden skin on fire, their limbs hacked off. Luno laughed as he charged another dryad, smashing through the wooden growths she erected in his path. His armored shoulder connected and the dryad was hurled through the air.
A great roar came from beyond the trees, and some trees opened their branches. Hulking figures appeared, their steps heavy. “Males!”, Fyanha called. “Champion, I will finish these wretches, kill the warriors!” Luno nodded and advanced on the male dryads, the warriors of the woods. His stance was wide, blades held low. The charge of the warriors thundered across the grass.
Luno focussed his thoughts, gathered the energy he felt around him. Between the killing done in this place and Fyanha hurling magic fire around, a lot of background power had built up. When the warriors were a few steps away, he released his spell and shot forwards like a cannonball. His armored form tore through the first dryad, his blades impaling the second. The kills rushed through his veins, throbbed in his head. Another warrior fell, another throb, the rush of the kill, a red fog enveloping him.
The next thing Luno knew was Fyanha yelling. “Champion, what are you doing?” He stopped and looked around him. The warriors lay around him, their limbs hacked off, their bodies broken. His helmet was embedded in the chest of one of them. He took a step back, and the tree he had been hacking at toppled over, smashing into the ground. Fyanha climbed on top of it, walking along its length to stand besides him. She looked at him, her gaze questioning. “Champion, what were you doing? You howled and screamed like you were insane. You did kill them all though.. I am impressed.”
Luno shrugged. “I cast a spell, one of the spells Irune taught me. I felt the kills, and I.. I don’t remember.” Stepping over to one of the bodies, he pulled out his helmet. The corpse twitched, and he quickly stabbed it. “Well, we’re done here. We go back to the city?” Fyanha shook her head. “No, champion. Deeper into the forest more dryads dwell. We should probably find a village nearby first, find some supplies and a place to stay.” She turned, her hands afire. “Whoever you are, I hear you. Show yourself!”
From the trunk of the tree Luno had hacked apart, a giant figure pulled himself into the light. He was smiling, “Can’t hide this time, can I?” He turned and sank to his knee, pulling a girl out into the light as well. Putting her on his massive shoulder, he looked at Luno and Fyanha. “Champion of murder, Sorceress.. I am Nathaniel. This,” he inclined his head towards the girl, “is Nera. I suppose we should thank you for freeing us.”

A Gift from Dead Gods, 10.

“Show yourself!”, Luno shouted. No answer came. For several minutes, Fyanha and Luno looked around searching for the owner of that voice. Finally, Luno laid down his blades and sat down. He shook his head, “Coward.” Fyanha shrugged and sat down across the fire from him. “What he said was true though, champion.” She smiled. “Now we should rest. We have a lot of killing to do in the morning.” Luno nodded, “I’ll set some wards, in case that coward returns.” She smiled at him and laid down, pulling a blanket from her pack. “Good night, champion of murder.”

---

Nathaniel ran through the forest to where he had left the gear he had stolen from a store in Adnar. Although he was over twice the size he used to be, he was still a thief. He hadn’t found any armor that would fit, so he had taken only food, water and some clothes, which he barely fit into. He still prefered it to running around completely exposed. On his way to the forest, he had stopped by a small farm, taking some of the more vicious farming equipment. If he had to use weapons, he could at least used weapons which were more his size.
When he reached the rocky hill he had left his messy pile of things, he stopped and crouched. Listening for a moment, he concluded the area was clear. He jumped on top of the hill, rummaging through the pile and picking out some fruit. He sat down and looked at the row of tools he had laid out. He had to attack tonight. If that champion of murder and the demon-girl attacked, they wouldn’t leave any dryads for him to interrogate. Picking up a sturdy looking pitchfork, he ran off towards the clearing where the dryads gathered.
As he entered the clearing he stopped. It was empty, the dryads weren’t there. “Hello, Nathaniel,” said a voice behind him. He turned and stared at the black-robed figure. “You,” he growled. “You’re the one who changed me.” The man threw back his hood and smiled. His skin was pale and his features sunken. His head was devoid of hair, except for a thin strip of hair on the side. He was smiling. “No, Nathaniel. That was my brother. Now, sleep.”
A familiar blackness filled Nathaniels head and he fell to his knees. He shook his head to shake of the veil and charged at the man, roaring ferociously. The man staggered backwards, “No! No! You must sleep, Nathaniel!” Nathaniel felt the darkness grasping at him, but it didn’t seem to hold. He grinned and roared again, the distance closing quickly. From behind a tree stepped another figure in black and before he could respond, the figure threw a bolt of lighting which caught him on the shoulder, his momentum hurling him to the forest floor.
When Nathaniel looked up, the men were gone. He had been so close. He stood up. Before he could turn, two sets of arms grabbed him. A soft voice came from just behind him, “Look what we’ve found.. A thief. Now, Nathaniel, it’s time for you to sleep.” He laughed, “Those sorcerors tried that too, it didn’t-“ His sentence was cut short by a hard blow to the head, and he fell into unconsiousness.

A Gift for Dead Gods, 9.

Back in the great city of Rasnach, trouble was brewing. Irune, one of the high priestesses of the Lord of Blades stared from her tower standing at the edge of the temple. Somewhere in that great, stinking pit of a city her sister danced amongst the shadows. The god of murder demanded blood to be spilled, and they obeyed. Ilane had always been her superior in the ways of the blade, Irune had to admit. She raised her skeletal hand and began weaving her spell. She grinned.
It had been a terrible day for Por, he told himself. Stumbling through the alleys he paused, leaning against the wall. Too much ale, he decided. He heard something behind him, and he turned. An empty alley stared back at him. He shrugged and turned back the way he was heading. He never noticed the woman stepping from the darkness, her dagger sinking into his eye. As he fell, she wiped her knife on his shirt and put it away in the same motion. Ilane spoke a few ritual words of murder, then turned and ran back to the palace. As she ran, she started grinning.
Somewhere, deep inside the ruins of Garnack stood the court of the Lord of Blades. The ruins were one of the most dangerous places in the known world. If one were to try and find the court, one would have to travel to the ruins, and survive long enough in the ruins to locate the temple. Ferocious creatures roamed there, preying upon one another and on all magical energy they could find.
The court was in attendence. On one side of the huge throne hovered five skeletal liches, dark robes draped around their bones. From within their empty sockets a cold light shone. Opposite these undead sorcerors were five shades, creatures of solid shadow. These deathless watchers stood along the path that led to the enormous throne that held the physical shell of the Lord of Blades.
Upon the throne sat the Lord in his massive glory. This form was his true form, not the armors which sat on thrones in his temples to be animated by his projected mind, this shell contained the essence and conciousness of the god. While the armor was the same, it was almost twice as big as the armors in the temples, and unlike those empty husks, this armor was filled by a shifting mass of metal. Near the centre of the hall, two figures knelt.
The lich closest to the throne turned towards the kneeling figures. A hollow, monotone and echoing voice spoke, and the light in its eyes flared. “No mortal being has stood in these halls for ages. Be wary, mortals. We are no friends.” A shade, slightly darker then its companions, drifted forwards. From inside the coiling shadows, a vague face appeared. “My friend speaks truth, mortal. Speak no ill of us here or anywhere. We can always find you.” A grating laugh came from the god, and all those in the hall turned to watch the god.
“My servants are right, mortals. You have my protection for the moment, but you must continue to serve.” As he stood up, he waved his enormous arms, indicating the shades and liches. “My servants, my high priests and priestesses. They are my eternal companions, even in death.” Towering over the kneeling figures, he continued in a voice like grating metal, “Tell me, mortals. Why are you here?”
Trembling, the figure on the right spoke. Despite his trembling, his voice was steady. “We are here to warn you, divine one. Your champion is about to meet one of our.. Less stable experiments.” The god turned and returned to the throne. “You presume to warn me, Olivex? You, the imprisoned one?” Once more, he laughed. “I know of your ‘experiment’. The mage-thief, the changed one. You are wrong on two fronts. First, you do not warn me. Second, he is not your experiment any more, mage. He is mine. Now I shall warn you, do not enter these halls again. It is time for you to leave.”
As the two figures stood up and had bowed to the throne, they turned and made their way to the doors at the other end of the hall. The voice of the god thundered after them, “Caphis, keep your unruly brother in line. There is a reason the gods imprisoned him but not you. Now begone!”

A Gift from Dead Gods, 8.

Luno was furious. “Why was I not told? This gift of theirs! A wonderful, amazing suit of armor!” Fyanha shrugged. “Look, that’s the sisters for you. Every blessing is a curse. And you should be happy that armor cleans itself. If it didn’t, you’d be on your own.” He sat down, hanging his head. “But why? Why would they give me armor that doesn’t come off? Will I have to wear it forever?”
It was dark, and they were sitting at a campfire Fyanha had created. After the foiled ambush earlier in the day they had walked on, closer to the forests. As night fell, Luno had tried to take off his armor. He had failed. The armor was sealed shut, trapping him inside.
Fyanha stood up, walking around the fire. “Look, champion. You can ask the sisters about the armor when we get back to the Artok. Or maybe the Lord?” She grinned. “Of course, this might all be part of His great plan.” Luno stared at her, then started shaking his head. “Let us just let it rest. We should rest too. Tomorrow we could make it to the edge of the forest, and prepare.” She nodded and curled up next to the fire.
Sighing, Luno stared at the sky.

The next evening, they reached the edge of the forests. Fyanha turned. “We are close to our destination now. Can you set up some magical wards?” She grinned and continued, “I smell fresh food.” Luno nodded, and she ran off into the nearby trees. He sighed and started gathering wood for the fire. Even magical fire needed a fuel source to keep burning.
Later that night, as they were eating whatever it was Fyanha had caught. She’d brought it back already nearly burned, and as good as done. “Tell me, champion. Do we have a plan?” Luno started grinning. “We are on their grounds, without any knowledge. We have their unwillingness to kill as an advantage. They say no plan survives contact with the enemy. My plan is making our enemies not survive contact with us.”
“Spoken like a true Champion of Murder.”, said a voice. Fyanha jumped up, fire surrounding her hands. Luno pulled his swords as he stood up. “Who dares adress us without showing himself?”

Utopia.

“Utopia”, they called it. In a way, they are correct. This place suits humans perfectly. The strongest impose their will, the weakest feed on their trash. Laws have long since evaporated. Only tyrants rule. The machines grow, feed, harvest us. Terra is a long-lost place of legends and folk tales. We don’t remember what they called this place in the old days. It must have had a name, but it is lost to us. They call it home. I named it hell.
I think I used to be a criminal, in those other days. I vaguely remember trees, parks. Or maybe I was an idealist. Whatever I was, I am but a shadow of what I once was. All of us here, shades in the dark. No way off this shithole of a planet, only a way in. A machine named Sweep controls the spaceport. With it comes the only official medical facility here. Been there once, when I lost my arms. Had to work off the debt, but it was worth it.
Knocking on the door. A voice yelling. I seal my suit, and turn around. Door gets blasted to pieces. Screaming from across the hall. Raid. Three of them run in, pointing their guns at me. One of them tells me to put up my arms. Same voice as the yelling, must be their leader. I put up my arms, no sense resisting. Curious about what they want. There is nothing here but me.
Three hours later, I am sitting in a small room. They’ve taken my suit, even my arms. Removed the lenses from my right eye. Half-blind and unarmed I wait for them to tell me what they want. A young woman enters. Her long hair is black, I can see the datawires hanging from her temples. Heavy cybernetics on her left side. Good quality, probably servant of a machine. Her voice is a monotone, soft and unnerving. She tells me I will do as she says or die. I have accepted her offer.

---

I haven't written anything for a while. It's not flowing.
This came up, and it's something.
Should I continue this?

This would turn into a dystopian cyberpunkish story.