To Be a Rock and Not to Roll

In the last city, Mammon, the sins of past lives are inked onto the skin of every man, woman, and child with tattoo-like birthmarks. The more skin the markings cover, the deeper their sins, and the less trust they’re given. Trust that Dias Drake, a young man with 24% of his body covered in markings, will need if he wants to realize his dream of becoming an explorer. However, in Mammon, someone that heavily marked will find gaining trust near impossible, and so, a storm rolls over the city when the marked underclass organize.

Shouts and raised fists call for every heart to be counted. Will Dias be counted among the marked in rebelling against the tyrannical SAFE Act, join the unmarked who hold his dream in their hands, or with everything to gain and nothing to lose, will he be able to keep a distant promise to not be blown away with everyone else?

Home Improver Stories: June’s Revenge

The long awaited ending to the first season of the Home Improver series. As June exacts her revenge, what will the cost be to our heroines?

Fallout: Ronto Chapter 1

A Collaboration Between TheLostLegionnaire and Sun_ThatAntGuy: War. War never changes.   Ever since nuclear armament became a reality on July 16, 1945, Canada knew its fate would be inextricably tied with that of the United States. In the 21st Century, a global energy crisis and war over the planet’s finite resources had inevitably emerged. Gradually…

Hunting Hunters

Eternal winter and titans of the Old Age had been an usual sight in Freiksgaard since time immemorial, the land where the Demon Lord’s influence had yet to reach. So too did the hunters of those titans inhabit those lands, and the day they found a peculiar monster carrying the Demon Lord’s will would soon arrive.

The Three Strings of Shame

-A quick 2 hour’s work, this might stay a one shot or I might add more. I wanted to try and write a horror story, not something I’ve ever done before.-

A man returns to his ancestral home and inherits an instrument, and finds its his soul that get’s played with instead.

“No, I’m done. I can’t finish this.” – Snowdrake’s “NOPE.jpg” moment trying to read this story.

The Tiny Swordsman Chapter 4

The boy rose out of the water, soon joined by two others. Their skin was grey and bloated, boiled on the bone. They grabbed at me with their slimy hands. Despite the heat of their flesh, spikes of ice pierced at their touch. The boiled boys held my gaze. I felt the power of their hatred tearing at my soul. My strength left me as if being drained. They started to pull me downwards, towards the boiling water. I couldn’t resist, no matter how hard I fucking tried to tell my body to move.

I fell to one knee, hands braced on either side of the large pot. Waterlogged hands gripped my collar, pulling me closer to the murky broth. Somehow, I knew it was over. I knew that was fucking it. It sounds nuts, but I don’t care. I don’t care if it was just a dream. I knew if I touched that fetid water, I was done. The heat of the broth seared my face as I stood inches above it.