Sequel: United Front ›
Status: Currently put on pause for varying circumstances. I will return to FT when I have a firm basis to continue.
Frozen Tundra
Prologue: Darkness
Dak Lanner struggled to walk through the endless mounds of snow that made up the outskirts of the city of Dothen. The wind was blowing hard and the snow was quickly becoming a blizzard. The man placed a gloved hand over the scarf that covered his face to prevent the garment from blowing away.
Dark shapes against the white background began to form in front of his eyes. There was only a hundred more yards until he made it to the shelter of his home where his wife Zilsha had a hot, steaming pot of stew waiting on the stove.
The lumberjack was on his way home from a long, hard day of work at the mill. He worked hours and hours on end to make a meager pay that barely supported his family of three. But jobs on Valetron were rare and he’d take any that he could get his hands on.
Dak leaned against his walking stick. His legs were getting tired, but stopping meant certain death. At this temperature and in this weather, he’d surely die of hypothermia. The rugged man forced himself to continue on despite the agonizing pangs that erupted from the joints in his legs.
As he entered the city, the rockcrete buildings around him provided some protection against the gusting winds. He briefly rested against the wall, reaching into his coat pocket for some caffeine he had taken from his work several hours earlier.
The thermos was cold.
He opened the container and held the opening against his nearly frozen, lips.
“Of course...” He whispered to himself, “Frozen...”
Firmly twisting the top back on, he hobbled into his tenement building.
It was oddly quiet for the end of the week. Usually Erin would be holding some kind of party on his apartment floor. But the familiar music that erupted from his room on such nights did not fill the hallways today. Perhaps the alcoholic finally realized the meaning of relaxation. The lumberjack let out a slight chuckle.
Ascending six flights of stairs, Dak arrived at the top floor of the building. He dug his key from out of his pocket and fumbled around with it until he managed to slide it into the keyhole.
As quietly as he could he opened the door to his apartment, his 15-year-old daughter should be asleep by now. But teenagers always had this tendency to disobey their parents. It wouldn’t be the first time he caught her staying up late, writing and day-dreaming about a boy she liked at the academy she went to.
Dak hung his coat up on the hook by the door and made his way into the bedroom where he expected his wife to be sleeping.
But what he saw was not what he thought it would be.
The bed sheets were thrown about the room and the lantern that hung from the ceiling eerily flickered on and off. One of the shelves had been toppled, the books scattered about the floor. The silver aquila that hung above their bed was crooked; a dark liquid was dripping from one of its edges.
Dak took a flashlight from his belt and shone it on the ornament. The liquid that fell from the broken wing was a dark red. He pulled off one of his gloves and stuck his finger into it.
Blood...
A slight panic gripped his heart and his chest began to throb. He ran downstairs and burst into Erin’s room. A record was on the player, but all that came out of the speakers was a crackly, static. The sight he saw was horrific.
His buddy was hanging by a hook stuck deep into his skull; blood was dripping down his limp fingers. The smell that filled the room was rancid and caused him to gag.
Zilsha!
He ran back into his room and searched through his apartment until he entered the bathroom. His wife was dead. Her body hacked in half. Her torso was floating morbidly in the bathtub, inside a mixture of blood and water, her entrails made a path that revealed where her legs and waist were; on the floor in a pool of blood.
Painted in red on the walls of the bathroom were strange markings. But there was one Dak could identify, an eight-pointed cross.
The symbol of the arch-enemy...
There was a high-pitched scream. Dak turned around to see an ugly creature, piercings covering his entire body, leap out at him.
He drew his pistol...
There was a gunshot that resonated through the building’s hall.
Dark shapes against the white background began to form in front of his eyes. There was only a hundred more yards until he made it to the shelter of his home where his wife Zilsha had a hot, steaming pot of stew waiting on the stove.
The lumberjack was on his way home from a long, hard day of work at the mill. He worked hours and hours on end to make a meager pay that barely supported his family of three. But jobs on Valetron were rare and he’d take any that he could get his hands on.
Dak leaned against his walking stick. His legs were getting tired, but stopping meant certain death. At this temperature and in this weather, he’d surely die of hypothermia. The rugged man forced himself to continue on despite the agonizing pangs that erupted from the joints in his legs.
As he entered the city, the rockcrete buildings around him provided some protection against the gusting winds. He briefly rested against the wall, reaching into his coat pocket for some caffeine he had taken from his work several hours earlier.
The thermos was cold.
He opened the container and held the opening against his nearly frozen, lips.
“Of course...” He whispered to himself, “Frozen...”
Firmly twisting the top back on, he hobbled into his tenement building.
It was oddly quiet for the end of the week. Usually Erin would be holding some kind of party on his apartment floor. But the familiar music that erupted from his room on such nights did not fill the hallways today. Perhaps the alcoholic finally realized the meaning of relaxation. The lumberjack let out a slight chuckle.
Ascending six flights of stairs, Dak arrived at the top floor of the building. He dug his key from out of his pocket and fumbled around with it until he managed to slide it into the keyhole.
As quietly as he could he opened the door to his apartment, his 15-year-old daughter should be asleep by now. But teenagers always had this tendency to disobey their parents. It wouldn’t be the first time he caught her staying up late, writing and day-dreaming about a boy she liked at the academy she went to.
Dak hung his coat up on the hook by the door and made his way into the bedroom where he expected his wife to be sleeping.
But what he saw was not what he thought it would be.
The bed sheets were thrown about the room and the lantern that hung from the ceiling eerily flickered on and off. One of the shelves had been toppled, the books scattered about the floor. The silver aquila that hung above their bed was crooked; a dark liquid was dripping from one of its edges.
Dak took a flashlight from his belt and shone it on the ornament. The liquid that fell from the broken wing was a dark red. He pulled off one of his gloves and stuck his finger into it.
Blood...
A slight panic gripped his heart and his chest began to throb. He ran downstairs and burst into Erin’s room. A record was on the player, but all that came out of the speakers was a crackly, static. The sight he saw was horrific.
His buddy was hanging by a hook stuck deep into his skull; blood was dripping down his limp fingers. The smell that filled the room was rancid and caused him to gag.
Zilsha!
He ran back into his room and searched through his apartment until he entered the bathroom. His wife was dead. Her body hacked in half. Her torso was floating morbidly in the bathtub, inside a mixture of blood and water, her entrails made a path that revealed where her legs and waist were; on the floor in a pool of blood.
Painted in red on the walls of the bathroom were strange markings. But there was one Dak could identify, an eight-pointed cross.
The symbol of the arch-enemy...
There was a high-pitched scream. Dak turned around to see an ugly creature, piercings covering his entire body, leap out at him.
He drew his pistol...
There was a gunshot that resonated through the building’s hall.