Date Published: 05-11-2021

Awakened from an ancient slumber, a warrior of the old gods finds his immediate future bound by fate to the failures of his past. As he struggles to gather allies amongst the untrusting denizens of this oppressed new world, the ancient warrior seeks to secure the plans for the weapon his unit died trying to destroy, only to find himself hunted not only by those who stole those plans but by the very people that he seeks to save.


Copyright © 2021 Jayson P. Jolin

Only a quick glance was necessary to assure  him that the Constrictor would never operate  again. Some of the glyphs sputtered and  flashed with hints of remnant power, but were mostly dark and
broken. The panels revealing  the internal mechanisms of the control machinery were still torn apart, and their  contents in even worse condition than he’d left  them so long ago. Much of the core of the
place  was crushed and buried. The coffin-sized  canister hung over what was now the floor, a tiny  trickle of dust or sand slipping through a crack in  the frame. The battery had been disconnected  from the
machinery. The Constrictor was dead.

By the glow of the sigils, Clank beheld a single  black feather at his feet. The control room was  empty. His gaze shot upwards to the records  room.

A shift in the low light of the sigils made him spin  round, Junker at the ready.

Mandla just stood by the tunnel, smiling. That  fear that she’d show towards Clank since they  had met was still there, but far less pronounced.

Frustration filled Clank to his core. “There are  no side tunnels at the surface that lead this  deep. Monks must be as stealthy as assassins.”

Mandla’s face was resolute, and her eyes locked  onto Clank with a hunter’s determination. “I  have ways to ensure that dangerous gazes fall  elsewhere. I easily bypassed Tardan’s crew,  and was only
minutes behind Meadow Rose. I  watched you fell Vurgell and the others.
I  thought it wise to see what you wanted down  here so badly.” She took a glance around the ruined chamber. “As distracted as you were in  here, I had hoped to sneak up on you, keep
your  own eyes averted until I could strike.  Unfortunately, your instincts are too well honed.”

“I’m popular with people who want to kill me,”  Clank quipped.

The monk stepped to one side. “Indeed. Well, I  mean to do so, and, since I can’t have you  running off, and since you like being underground so much…” She leapt up and  slammed the ceiling of the fissure with a  powerful punch, blue psionic power erupting out  like cracks in the rock as he impacted.

Mandla scowled determinedly as she landed a  few feet away, fists squeezed tight. Seconds  later, the fissure was buried in a shower of  heavy rocks.

The half-elf stalked slowly towards Clank,  tattoos aglow. “I had to find you, quickly, you  and whatever you came here for, stop whatever  threat it poses. And now that I’ve got you, I will  take glee in destroying you for good.”


About the Author

I started out writing for myself when I was a pre-teen, during long hours running Sunday open houses for my father's apartment building, writing mainly to keep myself entertained. My interest in storytelling helped shift my attention to acting, leading to my getting my bachelors of arts in theater. Even after entering more mundane employment, I would often write and draw short sketches and occasional short stories, as well as adventures for role-playing games. After years of dancing around my love of storytelling, I finally sat down in front of my computer and got serious, producing my first trilogy of novels, the first book of which I hope you will find compelling enough to represent.

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