Xye leapt, simultaneously heating and charging her twin stingerz as she did so.

Xye leapt, simultaneously heating and charging her twin stingerz as she did so. “Death comes to you, Pheres!” she screeched, landing mere hairs-breaths behind her prey. She immediately leapt again, trying to catch him mid-air.

The purple-skinned mutant growled, bounding in mid-air off the carcass of a rusting tower of ruined autos. He reversed his momentum and slammed into Xye’s yellow-and-black carapace in the empty space above the arena.

The crowd went wild.

He was inside the reach of her stingerz now, but not her mandibles or her deadly abdomen sting. Xye wrapped her arms around his back, locking one stingerz over the other and tried desperately to plunge the venom-laced, two-foot long hollow spear into the mutant’s flesh.

“You will die, foul thing! I'll find my freedom from the DeathDome!” Pheres spat. Two massive claws shot out from the odd otherworld device on his wrist and plunged into the completely surprised Xye.

The wasp-woman screamed, golden blood flowing from the deep puncture in her slender waist. Pheres's brutal attack had nearly severed her in two. She answered the mutant’s sting with one of her own, driving her abdomen stinger deep into his thigh. Her glassy eyes glittered with instinctual hunger and learned pride as she pumped the viscous venom into his flesh. 

It was now the mutant’s turn to bellow. He did and the crowd responded in turn with a titanic roar of their own.

The two combatants slammed heavily into the bedrock arena floor, long-since stained black with the combined blood of those countless thousands who died within the gladiatorial arena. Neither of the normally lithe beings managed to dodge or roll away any of the momentum from their fall--they both hit like wet sacks of concrete.

Thousands of voices all around them went up in a titanic wave of adoration and approval of the show...and in arrogation of it's continuance.

Pheres groaned, spitting blood out of his mouth and nose. "I...will...be...free...beast!" Each word was ripped, kicking and screaming, away from the pain inside him.

"You are a fool, Pheres! You will never be free! Listen to the crowd!" Xye paused, drawing breath in past her weakly flexing mandibles.

The purple-skinned mutant did as his opponent said and perceived the crazed faces of the throng around them. The mob was indeed mad for blood, and realization slowly began to dawn.

Xye continued, the words coming in ragged rasps, "They will drink you in like a flagon of water and toss the ruined husk away when you are spent. Mark my words, mutant, I may die here this day, but you will die here in a day soon to come."

Like a sinking ship, the truth of the Wasp-woman's words finally hit the bottom of Pheres's brainpan. His pale blue, pupil-less eyes widened with the inexorable weight and inescapable actuality of it all. He growled, pushing himself up from the bloody bedrock. Slowly, painfully, he began to crawl towards his opponent.

The crowd, sensing the coup de grace to come, cheered louder and louder with each of the purple-skinned mutant's unrelenting movements.

Pheres clapped a thick hand on Xye's thin neck. The Wasp-woman flailed weakly, golden life-blood gushing, but it was a foregone conclusion.

The savage swarm of the DeathDome leaned forward collectively, almost holding their breath as one, massive, bloodthirsty beast. It was as if they were straining to hear the crick-crack of Xye's neck breaking.

"No one is dying here today," Pheres said, his odd golden tattoo flaring to life. With a grunt of effort, will, and mystic energy, he leaped...

Then, both he and Xye where just...gone.

Art Source: "Wasp Warrior" (c)/by Enigmasystem

Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth, Pheres (c) by Corey Blankenship

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth,  #dimensions, #Freekrok, #Makes, #Me, #MMWW, #paranormal, #Pheres, #Wanna, #Write, #Xye, #WaspWoman, #DeathDome

"You're cornered, Jimmy!"

"You're cornered, Jimmy!"

He stood in the shadows twitching. I could smell the Bulleit on his breath even at this distance. I could also smell the thick perfume of fear underneath that stench, mingled with several doses of meth. The rail-thin perp clawed at his face, trying to block the high-beams from my cruiser. Blind fingers nearly dared to gouge out his eyes to relieve the pain.

"Ji-Ji-Jimmy's not here," he rasped.

"I know you're in there, Jim," I countered. "I know you've been trying to drown your demons. They feed on that. Fear, too. I'm here to help."

The clawing paused as a rheumy laugh cackled in his voice box. The deliver boy-turned-junkie garbled out, "Funny you speak of fear, Investigator. You're the one behind that circle."

I didn't glance at the black line I had scrawled before chasing Jim down this alleyway. "That's not for me. It'd be best you come with me and leave Jim alone."

The shadows around Jim deepened as a voice like a baffled coal furnace sputtered, "On what authority do you dare collar me?"

I shot back in my deadpan manner, "The Highest."

Another burst of laughter bubbled up from this deeper source. "You're a fool if you think you can take a Prince of Poverty on your own."

I struck my lighter and lit a cigar. I took a puff as I dropped the igniter onto the dark line in front of me. The flame kindled a golden light which converted the black sigils into living emblems. They came to life both in the air and on the ground. The golden coil slithered across the alley and traced itself around Jim and the shadows.

The delivery boy's eyes bulged. He went into a frenzy as though trying to pat invisible flames off his clothes. The shadows danced and the diabolical voice boomed in rage, "What sorcery is this, Investigator?!"

I flicked the burning coal off the end of my cigar, collected my lighter, and answered, "No sorcery at all, Tenebrae. You should remember that. Then again, you did just get back from your last visit to the Courts. Your parole's been suspended."

Three things happened all at once. A shriek. A flash. A vanishing act.

Jimmy stood in the alley, staring all around him at the decaying urban landscape. He wondered how he hadn't OD'd and where the stranger and the terrible voices went. He didn't wonder why his pants were soaked. He'd seen to that.

It didn't take him long to run home to tell his estranged mother he had been wrong and that he loved her. Guess you can chalk that up to a win-win case. Too bad they aren't all as rosy.

Art Source: "Noir Detective- Video Process" by Hideyoshi
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship

Most people learn via crawl, walk, run. I jump.

Most people learn via crawl, walk, run. I jump.

I always jump.

First, it was jumping into houses engulfed in flame. Then it was jumping out of planes to combat forest fires. Then, I jumped through the inferno to reach that smooth slab of rock. All because the veins in it glowed. That's when I changed. I didn't just jump from place to place.

I jumped right out of reality.

Now I'm adrift in this place full of stars, mists, and monsters. You'd think I'd want to go home. But here's the thing. I can't go back to being me. I'm different. That stone or this place did something. I'm part of something more. If I do make it home, I'm not going to stand by and let the monsters there keep pounding on my people. It's time someone stepped up and took the fight to the invisible fight.

This place I call Nowhere changed me. I can see those who hide, and I've found or made all types of tools to fight them. My journey here hasn't made me less prone to leaping. I've become quite the hunter-of-tears as the locals call me.

You can call me Pheres.

Art Source: "Kairth" by OakKs
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship

Ten faces populated the rail car around me, each lost in their personal revelry

Ten faces populated the rail car around me, each lost in their personal revelry. I watched each sift through their personal thoughts and plans, awaiting the much distant destination. As a mother and her two children adjusted their warming blanket, I closed my eyes and slipped into Dreamscape.

The train lights flickered and each particle in the air glistened. I stood in the back of the rail car, right behind my own wide-brimmed form, which sat motionless and asleep. I scanned the unemotional faces around me. None registered my mirror image standing against the far wall. I leaned into the gut feeling that told me seven of the ten were passengers. Three were stowaways from another realm. This realm.

Three porcelain masks with painted smiles and slit eyes stared at me in the corner. They shared the same black shroud. I knew it. The family wasn't as benevolent as they had appeared. Too bad this was about to get messy in both worlds. My slumbering form half-opened its eyes as both right hands slipped to twin hilts.

I drew my katana and went to work.

Art Source: "Train Station - Episode 5" by Hideyoshi
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship

The edges of the Curtain are fraying.

The edges of the Curtain are fraying.

Few realms relish in these moments when the gaps and tears grow wider to reveal that man is not alone. Mine is such a place. We have craved the coming days, too long in the dark. It came like a key-shaped star dropping into the midnight pool of our reality. It split open a pinprick, through which we smelled a scent long lost to us. This fragrance came to our starved hearts like morsels of food to a prisoner.

Fear.

We slurped at the seam and nourished our spirits. Mankind made it easy, so well-sown and watered with concerns. We knew the harvest was ripe for the picking. We just needed a little more strength before we opened the door and claimed our reward. Their fertile souls would be a welcome exchange for the depravity of our cage.

Then the Grey One drew near.

That Betrayer caused no small injury with his meddling. He, too, saw the key hole from the other side. He hated it. Better, he feared it. There is little like the taste of fear from his kind. I nearly leaped at the eyelet in the Curtain just to suck at the vapor of his dread. But we waited and grew stronger. He jammed a stopper into our draught. He thought his patchwork fixed the breach and kept our coming at bay.

He was too late.

The slit in the fabric tore in a flash of blue fire. The Exile could not realize his error too soon. It was time for the Wanderer to meet the Imprisoned. It was time for the Darkness to spread into the land of the living. I have long waited for this moment, and the silver-touched would be my first prize. I summoned the monoliths, the decayers, the desiccants, the shadows, and the Things-Man-Forgot-and-Feared-To-Name. It was time for a reaping. The fire in my heart kindled my visor and sped along my sword forged in the depths of our realm.

It was time for Tenet to face Apollyon.

Art Source: "WarCry" (c)/by JustMick
Story and Characters: (c)/by Corey Blankenship, Tenet (c) Brannon Hollingsworth

#Tenetstales, #Apollyon, #CoreyBlankenship, #TheEvent, #demons, #paranormal

The darkness was pierced by a brief flicker of light and then the next slide appeared before the gathered throng.

The darkness was pierced by a brief flicker of light and then the next slide appeared before the gathered throng. It was an unusual image. It depicted what appeared, at first glance, to be a young girl of indeterminate age with long blue-black locks. Just about the time that thought registered, however, the realization that this was anything but a young girl hit us like a ton of bricks.

“Is this what I think it is?” Matt asked, leaning forward, his elbows on the table like a hungry man getting ready for the turkey to be sliced at Thanksgiving.

Carter, the fellow in control of this little presentation, said nothing. The slight twitch of the end of an eyebrow was telling, however.

“This has got to be ‘shopped, folks. I would not get all worked up about it.” Thomas (true to his name-sake) poo-pooed the whole thing outright and immediately. He’d barely even looked at it, of course.

“I don’t know, it looks legit to me,” Ginger sounded off. She was the newest member of the Observer; that fact, and that she self-identified as a “workplace oppressed female” made her desperate to have her opinions heard and validated.

Matt Olsen, senior reporter of the yellow rag known as The Orbis Observer, stared intently at the image for a long time. His eyes roved over every fragment of the picture, like a ravenous scavenger picking clean the bones of a carcass.

If the image was real, it was a doozy. What had appeared to be a girl was actually some form of free-ranging specter. The thing had no legs—its lower form vanishing beneath tendrils of floating ethereal cloth—and her visage was lacking some major anatomical features, namely a nose and eyeballs with irises and pupils installed. The thing—we referred to it as a she—had hands, but they were blunted and ended in oddly glowing orangey-yellow fingernails that were a matched set to her blocky, donkey-like teeth.

She wore one of those unusual oriental necklaces that appear to be made of giant spheres (no one knew the name of them) but these seemed to be crafted of jade, or some other exotic-looking green stone. Beneath the billowy, gauzy robe, her torso seemed to be covered in old yellowed funereal wrappings from the base of her skull all the way down to…well, nothingness.

The picture had been snapped at night, and there were three strange orbs of yellow-white fire floating in the air around her. The orbs were in no way supported by anything that could be discerned with the naked eye.

Carter let the fuzzy whirr of the projector fill the room for a few moments and then cleared his throat. “I can see you’re all stumped. Well, this is what I pay you Journalism School Drop-Outs for, ain’t it? This picture was taken last night in Chinatown at eleven fifty-six in th’ PM in an alleyway between a Chinese takeout joint called Hong-Fong’s Happy Tummy and a Buddhist Temple whose name I’m not even going to try and pronounce. Get out there and see what’s what, people. MOOVE!”

The room was empty before “MOO”.

Art Source: "Ghost" (c)/by Vaejoun
Story and Characters: (c)/by Brannon Hollingsworth

#MMWW, #Makes, #Me, #Wanna, #Write, #BrannonHollingsworth, #tenetstales, #Tenet, #TheOrbisObserver, #MattOlsen, #Sector7, #ghoststory, #ghost, #paranormal, #investigator