Still Night by Simon D. Field

The first counterattack came in the early December, a wave of bodies thrown against a depleted company stuck in a destitute fishing village, coming without artillery support, without the usual flare-signals, unheralded, scarcely expected. Though easily repulsed, it was only the first sign of what was to come later.

For two days no assault was made, and camouflaged figures shifted in the vast white expanse, flowing around the strongpoint as a tide flows around a breakwater.

But the lull ended, and more attacks came, from the front and the rear, though there was no rear anymore.

The company held.

By the start of the second week artillery barrages became merciless, showering the men with explosives before the attacks and shooting incendiary shells during the night, burning the wooden houses, denying heat and rest. It was almost forty degrees below zero, and thirty wounded were laid on piles of blankets near the charred remnants of the buildings.

The company held.

Shortly before the Christmas they came in great force, supported with tanks, and there was nothing left to leverage against them. Lieutenant Erdmannsdorf, covered during his approach by the machine-gun fire, grabbed hold of one and, miraculously preserving balance, shoved four grenades under its turret overhang. The rest were disabled or driven back by desperate infantry.

The company held.

On the Eve a plane dropped supplies. The crates brought shrapnel instead of much-needed armor-piercing shells and a Knight’s cross for the captain, already buried in a shell-hole.

The same day the artillery fire reached unparallelled severity. Mortars and howitzers of all calibers blended together in a cacophonous storm of fire and biting steel, and the shallow trenches chiseled in the hardened earth offered scant protection. For the entire day death fell from the sky in a bid to break the obstinate resistance.

But as it ceased, and the Sun waned, light snow gently descended on the ravaged earth below, powdering the emaciated faces turned upwards, collecting in the cold open eyes and covering the destroyed positions. The Christmas night was still and calm.

And none were left to disturb the silence.

Storm is Over by Jesse Fisher

The near silence of the world around the arzura robot was almost deafening,the virus had worked its way through the population of this world leading to this. Many did survive the first wave but by that point people had grown too used to just being isolated from the world. One could call it a mass Otaku conversion if not for the fact when people did go out it was dressed in some inflated outfits with filters to keep the still airborne virus out of their systems.

Those that were exposed were fine but due to stigma and, in the bot’s opinion, paranoia the ‘lock ins’ shunned them as they might still carry the virus. The lock ins disinfected anything brought into their homes, as well as making way too many orders of paper products. That was what the visored bot had as no other delivery person could or would take sixteen tons of said products to a lock in building in the middle of the city.

The world seems to just adjust to this change, even seeing an advanced robot as some cosplayer or lock in, all in all the bot just needed time to see what in this world had changed. It seemed the world grew quieter, less cars on the road meant more animals around.

With a sigh just to play the ‘role’ of a cosplayer, the trailer behind the truck took a bit to stop given the weight of the haul. Cutting the engine the bot hopped out of the cab, his metal feet clinked against the ground and echoed in the now quieter area.

“I see the people here just let paranoia make them go either Fallout or Mad Max of the world ending.” The bot thought to himself as he got every then ready for unloading the tons of product in the trailer. “I still don’t get the whole toilet paper thing.”

The decom area was clearly marked and large enough for a ton of stuff to wait for them to make it clean.

“This is going to be a long day.”

“Debt Cleared”
by Samantha Realynn

“Is it…is it finally over, Nic?”

Nicolai looked up from the note, eyes wide with disbelief. “I…I think so. At least…” he handed over the paper, his hand shaking. Molly grabbed it and eagerly scanned it. Her eyes watered and she let out a sob, almost dropping the parchment before it was scooped up by Jay. She lunged and wrapped Nicolai in a tight hug, Jay muttering a curse in disbelief as he read.

“It’s really over. We finally did it. It’s finally over.” Jay shook his head and flopped down on the couch. “We’re finally free.” He held up the note with the fancy penmanship and the stamped seal on the bottom. “That’s what this means, right?”

“Yeah.” Nicolai nodded; his arms wrapped tightly around Molly. “Our Debt is cleared.”

“After so many long years…” Molly whispered. “We can finally go home. Rebuild our lives. We don’t have to stay here anymore.”

“It’s been a long time though.” Jay murmured. “With how long it’s actually been here, it’s going to be hard, to say the least.”

Molly shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We paid our Debt, and then some. That letter says we’re owed some aid for helping The Lady.” She reached down to grab Jay and pulled him into the hug. “We’re free.”

“She’s right,” Nicolai said, hugging them both close to him. “It’ll be hard, even with the aid of The Lady. But helping her got us out of our Debt sooner. We can go back to Earth and rebuild.”

Jay shook and clutched them. “I don’t care how hard it is. I don’t care if we must start up from nothing. I don’t care that it’s been almost a hundred years. We’re together, and we’re finally free from those Fae bastards.”

They stood there for a moment, simply holding each other and basking in the moment. They were alive. They had survived, together. Molly smiled and kissed her partners. “So when can we leave? What about the help promised?”

Nicolai smiled. “Everything gets settled tomorrow. So for now, we rest.”

“An Ending”
by Zendrelax

Morgal was sunk deep into the mud, almost to her knees. The sky had disgorged so much water, all sunk into the earth, it was almost like fording a river.

The end was to hand.

The rain had withered. The curtains that had washed the battlefield barren were gone; now, there were only a few scattered droplets.

As Morgal trudged through the muck, it was not uniform. It was littered with chunks that had been baked hard by lashing tongues of fire.

In time, she came to a lone shelf of earth, dry and hard, and hauled herself atop it.

There was one other person on there with her, a man in tattered dress and scorched armor. His skin, such as it could be seen, was covered in a web of thin, branching burns. His spear was gone, and his eyes glowed only faintly, the merest embers. And yet…

“You’re still breathing.” Morgal couldn’t help but notice how tired she sounded.

The man laughed. It was a croaking, pathetic thing.

“The Lands of Summer are mine,” he said, “and my blood is fire. I do not die easy.”

“Mayhaps,” said Morgal, “but you are the last. Now, Summer sets.”

The Lord of Summer chortled, and it actually sounded somewhat human. “My line ends with me, but Summer endures. Another shall find the Fang of the Lion.”

“I shall find it,” said Morgal, “and I shall break your spear over my knee.”

“As you proclaimed you would. But you are not the first to say such.” He raised his head to look in her face, and grimaced at the pain. “My grandsire thought as you do, but only until he held it in his hands. All things burn.”

Morgal did not speak. Instead, she turned inwards, and thus upwards. She felt the touch of the clouds, damp and wide. She felt the wind, fast and wild.

There.

She struck him with her own spear, which fell from the heavens, fast and bright.

The clouds parted. For the first time in a very, very long time, the sun’s rays shone gently.

Finding Peace in Chaos by Felicia Taylor

The waves crash against the rocky shore. The clouds are grey. Heavy. There’s a storm approaching, and you’ve no umbrella.

Your eyes close as you take a moment to simply *breathe*. To be.

Their fights get longer each time, and each time, you hate them a little more. And you hate yourself for letting it continue.

*She’s* never home.

*He* doesn’t provide enough.

And it escalates from there.

Others see, too. But nothing is done beyond pitied whispers and secret shaming.

She’s turned her fury on you before, but she went too far this time. He had stood by and watched. Done NOTHING as she picked up the-

NO.

You will NOT think of it now.

It doesn’t matter, anyway.

It’ll be hours before they come looking for you.

Once they’ve fought and fucked themselves senseless, they’ll remember you exist. It’s only a matter of time.

The small peace you’ve managed to grab is snatched away by those souring thoughts.

You go to the cliff’s edge. Peering down, you see the jagged rocks being bombarded with wave after wave. You know how they feel.

Hardened and sharpened through the actions of others and the consequences of idleness.

You pick up small stones and hurl them over the edge, grunting and panting like some mad thing.

It isn’t enough.

You take a step back, and you scream.

You scream away your rage, your hatred, your agonized lonely nights. You’re so burnt out that you can’t even cry anymore.

Still screaming, you fall to your knees. The skies open up, and the drizzle becomes a downpour. You are now spent. Your throat is raw and aching.

Soaked, you lay silent beneath the cleansing rain as a different peace washes over you. Your mind is quiet and tranquil.
As long as you have this, you will be able to carry on.