Braden C

Sword

Slumbering in your sheath,

awaiting the moment,

when you will be forced to

spill blood,

again.

 

When unleashed,

you slice through the air,

surgically dissecting the clean sheet of

oxygen,

and dance to the cries and screams of chaos

As you clash with another.

 

Weights shift from your wielder

all the way up your long, screeching,

steel blade,

as you take slivers of time,

in the midst of the chaos,

to stop your dance,

and collide with the other.

 

Once summoned,

you produce a pristine,

shining, rebirthing sound.

And as you strike, you

create an explosive, scraping, clang.

 

If your knight falls,

you grow silent.

As you, too

have fallen.   


 

Meeting the Hierarchs

Kwasicarus gallantly strode through the symmetrical hallway leading to the citadel. A look of dread finally swept onto his face like a wave hitting the shore, with such haste and imminence due to the realization of his recent actions. He thought of his mission and how he failed to extinguish the flames of rebellion on Starbase DS-1-2. Butterflies filled his stomach as they would in a child who was on his way to get booster shots. Of course, he was the child and they were the shots. The Hierarchs, Platemena, Ammolyte, Sora, and Diameldiah, led the Quasar Legion with hints of an oligarchy in their rule.

Before anything could interfere with Kwasicarus’s thinking, the door in front of him, which must to have been 10 feet tall, liquified and revealed the throne room. The smell of incense wafted its way into Kwasicarus’s helmet and into his nose, almost giving him a feeling of being at home. False sunlight permeated through the stained glass windows, streaming into the godly dwelling, illuminating 16 yards of regal carpets, walls, and ceiling. At the very end of the room lay a cluster of four thrones, each lined up next to the other, making a council-like display. Three of them were empty.

“Oh Great Ones, I am here to report the loss of our operations base DS-1-2, you…”

“By the gods, Kwasicarus, do you realize how important this base was for us?” A young, dark haired speaker stood up from his comfortable seat, a black, rhombus-shaped crystal embedded on his forehead.

“Ammolyte, I apologize for this loss, but they assaulted our fleet with ships originating from four different species and their engineering capabilities and we couldn’t predict anything.”

“We bring technology from a completely different dimension and you lose to mortals? I am beginning to question Platemena reason for creating you.”

As if Ammolyte’s words were spoken by the devil, another figure entered the room, creating even more tension for Kwasicarus. He had shining armor that covered his entire body under his head, which had no helmet. Hair as white as the clouds spoken about on Earth covered his head, with bangs concealing his forehead. And a purple crystal, similar to Ammolyte’s hid under them. Age-wise, he appeared to be about 16, but they all knew he was much older.

“Platemena, give me mercy! Please!” Fear ruptured out of Kwasicarus’s voice.

“Enough.” Platemena said calmly.

“You are forgiven; it would be a waste of time to let out anger on our own.”  He glanced at Ammolyte. “Now continue with your mission.  The Milky Way must fall.”

 

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