Tag: Short Stories

The Conqueror’s Witch – 4: Seven of Swords – Futility

On By John d'AndrioleIn Fiction, The Conqueror's Witch, The Story Zone, Writing

‘This is how most people die,’ Jazmynde thought. ‘They die badly.’

In her office, chairs were overturned and carbon scars on the paneling behind her desk showed the discharge where the invader tried to shoot through the portal, triggering an explosive decompression.

She crouched down next to the body. The woman was certainly dead. Her eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling and already drying out. She was dressed as a technician for the base – purple jumpsuit and comfortables shoes. On her hands, Jazmynde could see the faint outlines of tattoos. The woman’s face was bloodied and smashed. She lay there on her back, head pointed towards the open doorway, eyes staring off into eternity.

Jazmynde tutted quietly and started frisking the body.

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The Conqueror’s Witch – 3: The Lovers

On By John d'AndrioleIn Fiction, The Conqueror's Witch, The Story Zone, Writing

FOUR YEARS BEFORE THE DEATH OF THE LEADER

“Here’s the problem with space,” Yumi said. “It’s big.”

“This again,” Jazmynde said, rolling her eyes.

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The Conqueror’s Witch – 2: The Queen of Wands

On By John d'AndrioleIn Fiction, The Conqueror's Witch, The Story Zone, Writing

THREE YEARS BEFORE THE DEATH OF THE LEADER

“You are a witch,” Wilhelm said, smiling. “At least, that is what the soldiers say.”

Jazmynde, leaning against her drinks cabinet, smiled slightly. The room was large, yet intimate. Wood and copper lined the walls in diagonal slats and geometric patterns, and the light was soft amber. “A witch?” She asked.

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The Conqueror’s Witch – 1: Four Swords – Truce

On By John d'AndrioleIn Fiction, The Conqueror's Witch, The Story Zone, Writing

There was a gleaming silver sword that lay over his body. His dead hands were knit around the copper-chained grip, ruby pommel snug against the meat of the hands as if it was the only thing keeping the sword from falling off.

He lay in state on a golden and copper altar in the middle of a cathedral once built in his honor. Silence slapped against the marble, amplifying the smallest noise into an interruption.

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The Shaman War – The Ordeal

On By John d'AndrioleIn Fiction, The Story Zone, Writing

Faustina lay in the dark, panting; her breath slapped against the invisible walls of her safe room. Her eyes looked for any light to catch themselves on. There was none.

“Safe,” she muttered, although she didn’t feel it.

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