"From Beyond"

Allison sat crosslegged on the floor of the old barn, sobbing. "I can't help I miss you so much. You left so young. I just wish you could come back. Even if it was just for a day." Even tear stained eyes seeing between snot covered fingers couldn't miss the flickering light. A chill wind blew her brown hair back and dried some of the moisture from her face.

"Here, sis. Coming to you." The voice was crackly, like static from an old radio.

Allison fought to her feet, ankles and toes complaining from the loss of circulation from two hours of sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce. She giggled at the saying from when they were kids, even as she looked into the jagged black hole in space. Through it, she could just make at a girl dressed in blue, dark hair covering her face. "Mel. Melissa is that you?" The dress looked like the one she'd been buried in.

"Yes. Keep talking. Helps me." The voice was stronger, but there was still some kind of distortion.

"I've missed you so much, honey. How is this even possible?" She shook her head. Now wasn't the time to worry about that. "I've come here every day since the accident. I felt so bad about what happened. I know part of it was my fault. Playing with that game we found in the attic was my idea."

"Couldn't have known. The game was older than anything. Opened the gate." Her voice was stronger and the glow increased.

Allison could make something else out behind her sister. "Run, sweety. I think something's chasing you. Come faster." Her voice took on an edge of panic.

"Already got me. Now going to get you." The body that might have once been her sister shuddered and whipped its head back. The eyes were little mouths with pointed teeth. When she opened her mouth to scream, tentacles with eyes instead of suckers wormed their way out.

Behind the horror that had been her sister, a massive creature moved in shadow. It had its own tentacles tipped with hooks and lined with barbs.

"No. No. It's not my fault. I couldn't have known." Allison walked back from the tear in space. There was no way her sister or the thing using her as a puppet could make it through.

The air shimmered and ropy, slime covered masses forced their way through and pried open the doorway.

Allison didn't notice the blood trickling from her eyes and ears. "Not my fault. Not my fault."

"You cheated at the game." The Melissa puppet's voice rasped from its eye sockets. "This should be you and not me. You would be the key. You would feel my terror and pain."

Allison whirled around and began running for the barn door. Instead of getting closer, every step took her further away. "I didn't want you to win. You always won at everything."

The Melissa Puppet sat foot on the cracked floor boards. "It's okay, my sister. It used me for the key, but you will win the consolation prize. It also needs food for its young."

Screams echoed off of the trees, frightening birds into the air.

Art Source: Horror by Kredepops on Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

#Horror, #Lovecraft, #Gateway, #ScottRoche, #Cheater

Invasion - Picnicus Interruptus

The war was over, had been over for decades, but everywhere we looked there were remnants to remind us of how close we came.

I spread the picnic blanket out and Sam put the basket on one corner. Our perch gave us a bit of a windbreak if we sat down, but a freak gust could still flip the checkered plastic fabric up. Better safe than sorry. I stood and stretched my long limbs, luxuriating in the bright sunshine. The plains stretched out as far as I could see. I knew they went on for miles at least. Mountains were a gray blur at the very edge of the horizon going east.

"Hey." Arms came around me and Sam's body heat radiated into me, chasing the chill of the cool breeze away. "Whatcha thinking about?"

I grinned. "How lucky I am to have you in the midst of all this." I turned and we hugged until the embrace became lingering kisses.

Sam giggled into my mouth. "We do this too much longer and the food is gonna get cold."

"Can’t let that happen." Things were still scarce and good food was one of those. The waving grain forty feet below was testament to the fact that food production was coming back online. This generation was the first to come up looking like something worth eating.

We sat in the bowl made of the mecha's gun platform. The soy noodles and sauce were still warm. Freeze dried veg made up the bulk of the nutrition. Clean water from a jug tasted better than any wine and my appetite was whetted by the fresh air. We ate and drank noisily, slurping and smacking. I leaned back against a console and belched loudly.

"Gross. And thank you." Sam grinned at me, mouth and eyes wide. A flash of red light reflected in those pools of green and white.

The roll of what sounded like thunder rumbled across the open sea of grain. It wasn't thunder, though. The sky was as bright blue as it ever was. I popped my head over the metal lip. "What the hell?" A massive ship of some kind was landing about a mile away. I'd lived on these flat lands long enough to know my guess of distance was good, even if just a guess. "Give me the..." The telescope slapped into my outstretched hand. I brought it up to my eye and focused on the thing.

It was all shards and angles, like some broken glass and barbed wire sculpture. Not human make, at least not any human I knew about. There were stories about aliens, we told over the campfires. Could this be them? Fire licked at the grass around the landing site. It would soon become a blaze eating up so much of the precious resource. Of course, if whoever was in that ship wanted us dead, it wouldn't much matter.

"What is it?" Sam's voice was afraid, but not terrified. We were both soldiers, or as close to it as anyone was. We'd fought hard for our supplies and our home, killing when we needed to.

"Hard to say. A ship obviously, but I don't know who or what..." That's when I saw them start to crawl out and down. They had four limbs, like we did, but they were attached at odd places, nearer central mass than the four corners. "Can tell if they're creatures or 'bots." Either way, this meant our picnic was over.

Art Source: Summer Love on http://www.simonstalenhag.se/
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

#action, #Suspense, #PostApocalypse, #Invasion, #Love

Even over the engine’s whine, I heard the Baron's guns chatter at me.

Continued from "Drive To Live"

Even over the engine’s whine, I heard the Baron's guns chatter at me. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one with armor.

The frame around me shuddered as rounds pinged off of the steel keeping death at bay. I took evasive action. The high caliber rounds would eventually go from making dents to making holes if I let them. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I slapped a round button on the dashboard. The thunk of something releasing under me let me know the caltrops were deployed. Now a river of metal spike filled the asphalt, waiting to chew on the Baron's tires.

The rearview showed me they had the desired effect. The other driver slowed and took his own pains to avoid the hazard.

I poured on the speed, knowing they wouldn't stop him. Any driver worth their salt would have heavy duty tires. That trick was more for stopping any neophytes to the road and the death it held. When I checked again I had doubled my lead. The breathing room gave me time to think. If he wanted me dead, he'd have pulled out the big guns, or in this case rockets. No, those shots were meant to stop me, not kill me.

The medicine I carried was intended for the president. If they stopped me or even slowed me down, he would die. There had to be more. If they managed to make me pull over or run me off the road, they would be able to steal it. There was a market for what I carried, even it if was only to blackmail the most powerful man in the country.

I had weapons, to be sure, but there was nothing on board big enough to get through the thick hull behind me. No, there was only one way. I just had to outrun him until he ran out of gas. A tank like that would drink fuel like a crazy. I grabbed the microphone on my dash and rolled over to the frequency used for duels like this. "So, Baron, it's a game of catch me if you can."

Static hissed from the speakers on either side of me. "Well, Tristan, don't you worry your little noggin about that. I don't have to catch you. I just have to keep you running."

I slapped my steering wheel and kept up the weaving. He wasn't shooting at me any more. No need to waste the ammunition. If I dropped back he'd start up again. If what he'd just hinted at was true, there were forces up ahead waiting to do me in. He warned me because he wanted me to sweat. "Maybe we can work something out?"

A low chuckle cut through the his. "Sure. You give up what you're carrying. Pull over to the side of the road, and we'll just trade the posies I have for you for that box you have for the president." The Baron did enjoy his game of cat and mouse, but he was every bit as subtle as the things he drove.

"Afraid I can't do that. I'm a man of my word." Sweat trickled down my face from my hairline. Fingerlings of moisture ran down to the small of my back. I had to come up with a plan and soon. I didn't need my Auto-Map to tell me I was maybe four kilometers from the next on ramp. That would be where the other gunsels would wait. That only gave me a minute to come up with a plan.

Art Source: Bombshell Betty on The Awesomer
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

#action, #RetroFuturism, #ScottRoche, #AltHistory, #Cars, #AltHistory, #1950s,

Fallen In Love

For some reason, humans always portrayed us as ugly and our brethren as beautiful. I say, "for some reason" when I know the reason. It's easy to make something you don't agree with or think is wrong into something ugly. It's called "demonizing" for a reason. The truth is, we are both beautiful in a terrible and unspeakable way. When those above appeared to man, their first words were always about fear and how man shouldn't.

I remember the first time I saw him. Fear wasn't what I felt at all. It wasn't lust, either. It was love, as pure an emotion as their is, and one we're all capable of - messengers and humans. His form was exquisite, but that wasn't even where it began. His eyes were the color of a nebula. Stars and luminous clouds floated in his irises. There was hope there, and compassion.

We were both on the Earth for the same reason - to vie for a human's soul.

Uziel stood there, looking gorgeous and sad. "You can't have this one." He said the words to me, not in anger, but as a simple statement of fact.

I smiled at him and shook my head. "That's not for you to say or even to know. Our Father may know it, but he's not going to tell His will to you or me. Even our General doesn't know."

I was right and he knew it. My knowing it made him a little angry. There was the flash of heat, a supernova in his right eye, which gave it all away. "I won't let you take him. I'll fight you." He drew his flaming sword.

"No you won't." I laughed, believing the tinkling noise of my amusement would make him even more angry.

"You... You won't?" The tip of his sword drooped. One raven eyebrow raised. A muscle on the right side of his jaw twitched.

"I know you won't use that on me unless I draw my own weapons." I patted the daggers at my hips, their green, crystalline blades jagged. "I don't plan on doing that. Therefore, you won't fight me. Now put that away."

His confusion turned to painful earnestness. "Then, we're at a standstill. You can't take this human's soul." He gestured to the man in the bed. "Not if he chooses to follow the creator and to accept the mercy on offer."

I held up a finger. "So, he hasn't in fact accepted the offer?"

Soulful eyes, now a much warmer hue than the color of the star sprinkled void, flicked from the frail creature and back to my own eyes, which I knew then to be filled with golden light. "Regretfully, no."

"You really care about this man and his soul, don't you?" I'd done battle with thousands of his cohort over the millennia since we tried to take the Throne. I'd seen militant anger in many different flavors. This was the first time I'd seen anything like love. He was no more the mindless war drone than I was an evil, manipulative soul devourer. Oh, I was manipulative to be sure. And Uziel was a warrior. His muscles were sculpted from iron and marble. He could lay waste an entire human battalion with one blow of his sword. We were cut from the cloth of our kind.

"I do. I care about them all, but there's something about this one." He shook his head, dark hair brushing his neck. He set his jaw. “And I'll do whatever I can, to save his soul."

I stepped closer to him, running my hands down my breasts. Dark leather hugged every curve. I knew he found me attractive, his eyes following my fingers as they traced the outline of my body. We had the same sort of drives He had given these creatures. "Whatever?"

His lips pursed and his tongue flicked out to moisten them. He cleared his throat. "Nearly." The word cracked as it fell from his generous mouth, one made to laugh and sing.

I wanted to own him and for him to own me. I took a step forward, ethereal light playing on my horns. "All I ask for is a kiss. Just one, and I will leave. If you don't give it to me, I'll fight you here and now. I've killed in the war, but I find myself reluctant to clip your beautiful wings."

He sheathed his long blade. "Just one kiss, eh?" He smiled, looking at my mouth as if it were the fruit of the Tree.

"One, though I warn you, there may be consequences." I took another step forward, looking up at him.

His arm came around my back, and he pulled me against the belted white robe of rough homespun. His wings came around us, and I smiled as he pressed his mouth to mine. The swirl of power as our essences came together was the grandfather of whirlwinds. I saw the birth of a new solar system as his gazed into my eyes.

My fingers traced the soft inner feathers where wings joined back. His body shuddered against mine. I bit down on his lip, drawing blood. The golden fluid tasted like star fruit and steel.

Arms squeezed me, tectonic plates of muscles coming together, drawing me in.

I no longer had any thought for the human in the bed. If Uziel did, I couldn't see it in his eyes, or feel it in his movements.

He was the one who broke the kiss. A broad, callused hand smeared the rivulet of blood from an already healed wound. "Our deal is sealed. I have work to do." Regret warred with satisfaction as he smiled softly. "I hope you won't get into too much trouble for this?"

I took a few steps back, shaking my head. Silver hair fell into my eyes, concealing some of my own regret. "There will be pain and thunder, but it will pass." The thunder would pass, but the pain was something I knew I would feel until the final war. Uziel would not leave the Throne for me, and my General's service wasn't one easily left. I couldn't see the future, but as I watched wings cocoon the old man, sharing a holy warmth and peace beyond a mortal's understanding, I doubted I would ever feel their brush again.


#romance, #ScottRoche, #angels, #demons, #fantasy

Art Source: Demon~ by GUWEIZ at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

Things of the Water

Even as they unbuckled Nemo from his excursion suit, he felt the Nautilus ascending. "Secure the moon pool." Even as he leapt to the deck, Vasquez and Miko worked to swing the immense plate into place. While it wouldn't cause their progress any issues, there was a chance some creature could take advantage of the opening.

The captain flew past crew members to his bridge. Klaxons sounded throughout the ship. Soon there wouldn't be anyone in the halls. You would either be at your duty station, or in your bunks. In minutes, he stood, looking out the front view port in a robe brought to him by the steward. Around him, men and women worked at their tasks. Moving up from the depths at their current speed wasn't perilous on its own, but every set of eyes looked for any creature large enough to do them harm, if they encountered it. Given the lack of natural light, they relied on a mix of sonar and the massive lanterns on the Nautilus' prow.

There were also crew members monitoring from the aft of the ship. An observation deck there, in addition to rear facing sonar, would give them some warning if the creature followed. Weapons crews made sure all the torpedo bays were full and that the lightning canon was fully charged. The hum of people working was subdued compared to its usual volume, as though everyone knew how hard their captain was thinking.

He'd seen nothing like this thing. At least not in person. Still, some half-remembered tidbit nagged at his subconscious mind. When it began to take shape in his memory, he shook his head. "No. It's not possible." He muttered the words as though they were a prayer. He hurried to the large desk where he saw while on the bridge. It only had a few of his most used books. In addition there were some new volumes he perused in what little leisure time he had. It was there in which he found his memory in all of its horrible glory.

The treatise in question, Things of the Water, was a translation of a much older work called Cthäat Aquadingen. This particular translation was done by a Doctor Skinner. He knew little about the man, other than the rumor that he’d gone mad upon its completion. The book concerned itself with what seemed to Nemo like fantasies. He couldn't deny the similarities though between the woodcut in the book and the thing which had eaten his crewman.

No name was given nor information about its nature explained anywhere in the book he could see. Under the illustration was simply the note “tentacled horror”. According to the few entries the book did have on it, the horror had been seen by sailors off and on for centuries. Nemo imagined that anyone who read this would assume it was a misidentification of a squid or octopus.

Having seen the creature himself, he couldn’t deny it was no normal beast. The eyes, that horrid mouth, and a lack of any symmetry made up nothing less than a breathing nightmare. If the book had the right of this, then what else was it correct about? He put the book down and rested his head in his hands. Where there was one creature like this, there were no doubt more. He would devote some of his vast resources to finding out what other beings haunting Skinner’s book could also be found in his domain. He owed nothing to the men and women above the waves, but these abominations should be hunted down and killed, lest they breed.

He stood and walked over to his command chair. “”Helm, make all speed for Tabor. Keep us at periscope depth.” Once back at his base of operations he could send out word. Perhaps this Dr. Skinner wasn’t mad. It could be he was still alive. He would have that man in front of him if at all possible. There would be answers and a reckoning for his lost crew member.  

#horror, #ScottRoche, #Cthulu, #Nemo, #19thCentury, #SciFi, #Verne, #Lovecraft

Art Source: Ace of Cups by Brass And Steam at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

Nemo's Revenge

"Captain, we have an alarm coming from Melchior's air hose." The announcement wasn't strictly necessary, given that the alarm was audible throughout the bridge of the unique vessel.

Nemo made a slashing motion, a perpetual scowl on his bearded face. He stroked the length of black hair. After the alert was silenced, he spoke crisply to Keller. "Let us know if any of the other men have him in sight." He sat on the throne dominating this section of the bridge. From here, lights and paper tape gave him immediate knowledge of the Nautilus's current whereabouts, status, and any other vital statistics he needed. With the press of a button, he connected to the moon pool. "Ready three heavy suits, including my own."

"Aye, captain." Rasheed answer was instantaneous.

"Well, Keller? Any word?" His hand had moved from beard to blade as he fingered the hilt of one of the many daggers he wore on his person.

"Aye, captain. There was an unusual sighting in Melchior's last known position. The crewman who saw it suspects it may be a squid."  

Nemo grunted. It was unlikely to be any species of squid at this depth and in this part of the Pacific. Still, there was a possibility. His knowledge of the deeps was as good if not better than any man alive, but there was so much to yet learn. "I will be stepping out to see this myself." He thumbed the button again. "Rasheed, I will be in the moon pool in three minutes. Make sure the crewmen on rotation are ready to go. Recall the workers."

"Aye, Captain. They're suiting up now."

Nemo smiled and made a note to increase Rasheed's share for this month. He rose from his throne and walked down the dais to the main floor. Glass windows looked out into the deeps and gave them a hundred and eighty degree spherical view. Without specially crafted lights and a coating that amplified those lights entering the windows, it would be impossible to see anything more than a few inches in front of them. He couldn't see where his men worked, but they would be there in minutes. "All ahead half power. Make for Melchior's last known position. Mister Tim's, you have the bridge."

Moving as quickly as he could, Nemo headed for the moon pool. He could make it there in two minutes under the best of conditions. Even in pitch black, he could be there in five. He'd designed this craft and had a hand in its construction. A similar level of knowledge was required of every man and woman on board. As he moved, he began to undo the buckles on the leather harness he wore and the button on his shirt. By the time he arrived at the moon pool, he was shirtless in seconds, brown skin shining from the sweat of exertion. Scars criss crossed his chest, including a number of strange, puckered marks more than an inch across. The damage was old, but the memories of how he got them were keen. If this was a squid or some similar cephalopod, and one large enough to attack a dive suit and rip it free from its moorings, the beast would be formidable.  

Two of the heavy suits, with their own air tanks, armor, and sharp taloned claspers stood ready. Their pilots, Vasquez and Miko, were buttoning down the glass domes that would encircle their heads. Rasheed had Nemo's personal suit ready. The armor and air tanks were intended for longer and deeper dives. It also had a few built in weapons the other suits did not. In seconds, all he wore was his turban and undergarments.

With the strength and speed of a man half his age, he clambered up the built in handholds and stepped into the suit's harness. Rasheed was already closing the section Nemo couldn't on his own. In the middle of the room a pool ten feet across was ready for them to step into. Before he pulled the dome on over his still covered head, he shouted. "Are we close to where the creature was spotted?"

"Aye, captain. By the time you are ready to step out, we will have come to a full stop." According to his word, a shuddering announced the engine's reversal.

Nemo pulled his helmet down and sealed himself off from the ship. Miko and Vasquez were already moving to the well. "Sailors, be ready for anything. Melchior may have been taken by a cephalopod of some kind. But we don't know for sure." he knew the sailors would hear him over their wireless systems. As long as they were within fifty yards of one another, no hardline was needed for communication.

"Aye, captain." The answers were in synch, though Miko's higher pitched voice was easy to discern. The slid into the water using short ramps. The suits wouldn't allow them to swim, but they would be able to walk and take bounding leaps thanks to a clever spring system built into the exoskeletons. Thanks to their oxygen cylinders, they were untethered from the ship save for spare lines they could use in recovery or to be recovered.

Nemo was a few seconds behind them. As soon as water and pressure had him in its icy grip, he activated his suit's lights. He was ready to be amazed by the life that survived even at this depth, but nothing shone back at him except the reflecting patches from the suits Miko and Vasquez wore.

He reached down to his hip and freed the harpoon gun. It held six barbed projectiles, the length of his forearm. With it, he tracked back and forth.

“Movement. Three o’clock..” Miko barked.

His eyes went to the noted spot and just outside of their vision, something did appear to be moving. “Go towards it but stay close together.”

They began moving as a unit. At first, Nemo though they found Melchior, but it was only the top half of his suit. Judging by the state of where it stopped and the sea began, whatever had cut it in two did so messily. Blood and viscera swirled in the water and stained the leather.

To his crewmembers’ credit, neither reacted with the disgust a surface dweller might. At least not audibly. “Attach a line to that and ready it to be retrieved.”

Miko hopped forward to follow the order.

Vasquez watched the area around in case she needed any assistance.   

“The suit’s empty, captain.” The woman clipped one of her spare cables to a heavy steel ring sewn into the suit. With two sharp tugs, she signaled the ship to begin retrieval.

Nemo watched the suit go by. Melchior would be missed. His death would not go unavenged if they found the creature that did this. “Spread out, but stay in wireless range. See if we can locate and salvage any other part of his suit.”

Without question, the followed his orders. Soon, all he could see where the reflections and the occasional sweep of yellow light. He began his own observations. The ocean floor here was covered in silt with the occasional rock or bit of coral protruding. There were rivers of current under the surface and Nemo learned to read them when he was a lad. The silt had been disturbed by something massive. A being that moved like no man.

When the eye opened, spoiling the illusion, Nemo was ready. He brought the barrel of his harpoon gun up and triggered it.

The barbed projectile hit the orb dead center. Viscous fluid, denser than the water around it, spilled onto the things skin. Now that flesh was the color of a long drowned sailor, the bulk of it was visible.

Nemo had seen many things in his long life. He’d killed those things when he had to. He hoped he could kill this one. It was as unlike any squid he’d seen as it was like it. It had a similar shape and the tentacles. Rather than having eight arms and two claspers, this thing had dozens and all of varying lengths and girth. There were three more eyes, each one its own color, one of those a color he had no name for. The mouth at the center of all this reminded him of a whirlpool with teeth made of broken ships.

Without thinking further, he fired the remainder of his harpoons at the eyes he could see. “Miko. Vasquez. To me. Nautilus, take aim on this thing and fire.”

Nemo bounded backwards towards the ship as best he could.

The thing’s arms whipped the sea into a froth of sand and bubbles. Black blood competed with the water around it for darkness.

A series of vibrations made Nemo’s teeth rattle in his skull. The teeth became visible in the form of a rare smile. “Let’s see if you can burn.”

Roses of light and fire bloomed in front of him. A chemical compound, invented by a Chinese man of Nemo’s acquaintance, on contact with the seawater became hot enough to burn even at this depth and for a time could split the water into its component parts.

The scream came from the center of the maelstrom and threatened to burst the eardrums of all those present.

Without waiting around to see, Nemo hauled on the cords binding him to his ship three times. Soon, he and his crew were being pulled home. As they sped backwards through the water, Nemo barked orders. “Prepare to make for the surface. Bring all guns to bear. If anything moves, boil the sea around it.”

#horror, #ScottRoche, #Cthulu, #Nemo, #19thCentury, #SciFi, #Verne, #Lovecraft

Art Source: Hunter 2 by tooth-w at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

Death From The Deeps

Melchior scanned the floor of the seabed with the cyclopean faceplate of his diving helm. The sturdily designed suit kept the waters at bay so he could do his job, but the whole rig did a number on his peripheral vision. He always had a tickling suspicion in the back of his mind that someone or something was alway just behind him. Some days it was worse than others. Today was a particularly bad one.

None of those fears could keep him from his work, though. The Captain was as mad as the maddest hatter. There was no room for those who didn’t carry their weight. Whether the need was food, treasure, or collecting unique sea life to fill the banks of aquariums - his will was absolute.  

He was about to turn around and head back, when he saw the tentacle flicker on the right edge of his vision. There was no denying his feelings this time.

His hand went to the thick blade secured at his waist. Clumsy gloves kept him from any fine manipulation, but all he had to do was get his fingers through the loop of metal. Then he could close his hand and magnetic clamps would engage. It would make the knife difficult for anyone to rip away. Once free from its scabbard, he turned as quickly as he could. That was no easy feet, dressed as he was and at the present depth.

Yellow lights, surrounding his porthole view, tracked from the sea floor and up into the water which swirled around him. His own breathing echoed in his ears as panic threatened to take hold of him. An experienced diver of many years, he knew that would kill him before this creature, whatever it was. His quickest movement was slowed by the water's death grip.

One of the thicker tentacles wrapped around his waist. Even through the layers of canvas and leather, he could feel the crushing grip.

That the tentacle was so close to his knife belt may have saved him from death by constriction. He brought the knife down towards the grasping arm. A dark haze filled the water around him, reducing visibility even further. The pressure around his middle slackened. With his left hand, he tugged on the rope and hose, his only link to the ship. Three tugs meant "pull me the hell in, now".

Arms moving, his body kept spinning. Once the motion began, it was hard to shift. When he saw the eye, he wanted to do nothing else but unsee it. A swirl of fiery colors made it stand out from the surrounding blue green. The thing's blood did little to cloud the hellish light of that immense orb.

Breathing came hard and fast now, but more from panic than exertion. They had to pull him back from here. The third tug found the rope and hose rapidly slackening. Water began bubbling into his air hose. His left hand went to a valve he couldn't see. It turned off the feed of what would soon be nothing but sea water. The part of his brain still operating on survival instinct knew he only had three minutes of sweet air, before he began breathing his own exhalations.

He screamed when he saw the massive maw, not a beak but a vortex of gnashing bone splinters. Nothing in nature bore this thing to term.

His knife hand slashed frantically at incoming tentacles, while his left hand continued to work at his only salvation. It ripped the cord free from his waist, loosening the weights at his feet. He kicked like a dervish, struggling for a ship that seemed like it waited in the next galaxy.

A tentacle grabbed at his foot, well beyond the reach of his knife. It had him and began to draw him towards the nightmare mouth.

His breathing became more and more ragged. The edges of his vision began to cloud. Frantic, his left hand beat at the glass eye separating him from the cold embrace of the sea. The pane shattered and shards pierced his skin. Frigid, salty water screamed into his wounds and he opened his mouth to suck in the death giving liquid. It would be merciful compared to what awaited below. The last thing he felt was tearing as the creature bit through his knee.

#horror, #ScottRoche, #Cthulu, #Nemo, #19thCentury, #SciFi, #Verne, #Lovecraft

Art Source: Into the Depths by preilly at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche

Attack on Queen's Falls Castle

Flying over Queen's Falls Castle was always a breathtaking experience. If you didn't have clearance, that could be taken literally. The placement of the castle was no mistake and the canon and air forces which guarded it from attack by air were world renowned. Gareth should know, he'd been a pilot in the Queen's Air Guard for four years. The steam engine which powered his flier was the pinnacle of its kind. The secrets of its manufacture from the alloys used to the interior design was a state secret. Six guns, capable of spitting hot death with efficiency and incredible accuracy, had brought down hundreds of drones in practice sessions. All of these facts played through his head as he saw something neither he nor any of his predecessors had seen in twenty years. The castle was under attack.

Training kicked in, and he flew low over the bridge. They had already drawn up the hundred step long section cutting each span in two. That didn't do any good. The attack had come from under the waters. He swooped down and targeted the boats. Bullets ripped into the sides of the ingenious constructions. What appeared to be wooden sides, were merely partitions covering metal. He craned his head back over his shoulder and watched as other pilots followed his lead. None of the impacts had any obvious effect.

The craft had popped up from the swift waters of the Old Man like corks in a bath. Once above the surface, long pincers clamped on the rocks around the castle's base. Sinking them was, if not impossible, then at least fruitless in the short term. Men swarmed up ladders and from there onto the cliffs. Each wore some sort of armor which was equipped with talons designed to cling in place. They would climb a bit and then fire upon the few guards able to train their own guns on the invaders. The castle hadn't been designed to be defended from underneath.

As Gareth came around for a second run, he had to admit the whole affair was incredibly well planned. This time, he trained his guns on the climbers. They were spaced far enough apart that aiming at more than one at a time was a challenge. Still, with the dozen fliers in the air, they should be able to pick them off a few at a time. It did mean flying close to the water's surface, a different sort of challenge given the updrafts involved.

As he passed over the rushing river a third time to fire upon the interlopers, something burst from the surface of the Old Man. Whatever it was, it tore through his right wing and sent his flier tumbling. He had less than a second to free himself from it and fall to the water below. Hitting the water at the speed of his flight, he skipped like a stone for two or three hops. Once under the water, he didn't bother trying to swim. The current was too strong for any man, no matter how strong, to fight against it for very long. He saved his strength for the one chance he had, grabbing one of the many supports securing the bridge to bedrock. If he missed that, it would be a long fall to the jagged stones below.

#action, #ScottRoche, #Steampunk, #CastleStorming

Art Source: Waterfall Castle by fstarno at Deviant Art
Story and Characters (c)/by Scott Roche