Dark Age

“I sent a man to Mercury to bring Darrow home if Heliopolis falls.”

“Who?” I ask.

“The same man who told us the Rim was coming.”

She cradles me as I do, humming in my ear as I have always wished my mother had done for me.

For instance, the Pandemonium Chair. Did you know Octavia only used it twice? It is dangerous.

Using the bones of our braves fallen in the Rain, I saw a griffin in the flames. Winged and stained red, red as the eyes of a Helldiver. And the gray smoke that formed above the griffin took the shape of a fox, one old and cunning, but held back by thorns of darkness.

Even if you survive this walk, you can never best Darrow,

lying is not a science, it is an art. And art will always be a human language

lying is not a science, it is an art. And art will always be a human language

“Hello, goodman. Kavax said you might need a hand.”

I would die for the truth that all men are created equal. But in the kingdom of death, amidst ramparts of bodies and wind all of screams, there is a king, and his name is not Lune. It is Reaper.

They turn their glowing evil red eyes toward me, and I laugh when they do not fire, for I am a spirit warrior and I point my rifle at them, pull the trigger, and shit down my leg, because I am alone amongst a pack of hunterkiller robots and it is no rifle in my hand, it is only a mop.