Completed Works
New to the Site? Catch Up Below: By Christoper Mitchell IV. Sickle inched her way from underneath the barmaid’s arm. The woman wasn’t as attractive in daylight, but Sickle was still impressed that something so pretty would still live in Detroit. The woman continued snoring as Sickle pissed and washed her hands. She wondered if…
New to the Site? Catch Up Below By Christopher Mitchell Twelve Marcus cinched the last of their belongings to the back of Sceppio. Falbreth was already mounted, though it had taken Argos some coercion to allow the boy on his back. The horse was displeased that his long-time rider had not returned to claim him….
New to the Site? Catch Up Below By Christopher Mitchell Eleven The Blue King raged. The whelp had proven to be more cunning than he thought possible; his queen would not be pleased. He paced in front of the mouth of the cavern, the large one laying still on the other side of those…
By Christoper Mitchell Ten Marcus’ breathing was deep, though unlabored. He looked as if he were resting peacefully, the images of Adrianople no longer clawing at his dreams. Peck placed his hand on Marcus’ forehead, not knowing what else to do. He had memories of his mother, so long ago, doing something similar to his…
By Christoper Mitchell One Sickle lit the end of her Bali-Hai and surveyed the carnage of the room. Emergency lighting cast the space in a red glow, while circuit boards snapped and popped with still-live electricity. A gentle haze of spent gunpowder mingled with the smell of sweet cloves, and Sickle smiled. This was…
By Christopher Mitchell Nine Peck awoke with a start, realizing he’d drifted to sleep at some point during his watch. The sun had risen over the ruins of the village, the huts they’d set ablaze in the night now skeletal kindling and ash, sending streaks of smoke to drift lazily into the grey-cloaked sky. His…
By Christopher Mitchell Eight Tiberius heard the Maraughin scream in pain in his mind. The boy crumpled atop him, the remaining lamias scattering as Marcus’ blade swung out above him in those wide arcs. Tiberius screamed below the writhing body of the boy, who screamed as well. Peck had missed the heart, the pilum still…
By Christopher Mitchell Six “He’s Mine.” Marcus meant the words. This demon would not take Peck; he felt a kinship with the boy. He knelt, fighting a sword from the rigid fingers of a dead Roman. He rose…and sensed the boy’s fear. “Courage, young Peck. You will survive this…” Peck felt him grip the sword…
By Christopher Mitchell Five Tiberius dropped his sword, falling to Marcus’ side and shaking him. “Marcus! MARCUS!” He slumbers, dear Tiberius. Tiberius withdrew his dagger, holding it out to stave off the voice that cut into his mind like whispering knives. “Who are you?” He heard cackling in the air around him, of many voices…
By Christopher Mitchell Four Marcus worried. It was his nature to protect those around him; he’d been that way since he was a boy. He worried now, watching Peck toss stones as they walked northward, the boy keeping his mind occupied as the drudgery of marching dug itself into the marrow of his mind. Marcus…