Subjugation (A Song for: Luther)
by Lunabear (CW: Violence)

Marianna lay curled on the ground. From this distance, she didn’t appear to be breathing.

Not his beloved. She couldn’t be–

Luther turned murderous eyes towards the man he’d once called his friend. “What the hell did you do, Abraham?”

“A necessary investment. You wouldn’t have come without proper incentive.”

Abraham’s calm tone turned Luther’s stomach. His heart punched his ribs, and his blood chilled.

“You bastard.”

“I know my Father, and He has shown me a greater path than the one you walk.” He extended a hand. “Join me, Luther.”

Marianna whimpered, and Luther breathed easier. “You’re sick.”

“Quite the contrary; I am healed. No pain, no sickness. Life everlasting on this plane, in this vessel.” Abraham placed his palm flat against his chest.

Luther rushed for Marianna, but Abraham blocked him.

He was far too fast.

“If you stand by my side, Luther, she can be saved, as well.” His face twisted. “If you don’t, she dies.”

Luther swallowed. He watched Marianna stir and saw two punctures carved into the hollow of her collarbone.

“Monster!”

Luther’s fist shattered on contact with Abraham’s cheek. Abraham didn’t flinch. Unshed tears filled Luther’s eyes as he fell to his knees.

“You understand, now. In case you don’t, bear witness.” Abraham lifted his top lip with one finger, revealing dangerously sharp fangs.

“How can you still preach after all you’ve done?”

Abraham was there, yanking back Luther’s head.

“It is BECAUSE of what I am. I have found my retribution in death, and I have been given a new purpose with my second life.”

Abraham’s cold hand trailed down Luther’s wet cheek. “I know your true feelings for me, Luther.”

Frigid lips touched Luther’s. “I feel the same.”

Luther’s breath stalled. What a fool he’d been.

“Choose. Have us both or suffer beyond death.”

“Marianna.” Luther’s voice cracked.

“You are wise despite your weak faith. Call me Adam.”

A breath shuddered from his lungs. “Adam.”

A malicious chuckle. “You will be reborn, and you will thrive. This I promise you, my enlightened brother.”

Before Luther’s next breath, fangs pierced his throat.

“Further Down the Rabbit Hole” (Drakenheim: Athnona’s Mission) (CW: human trafficking imagery, neglect, mention of bodily fluids)
By Hemming Sebastian Bane

Athnona watched her mark from the corner of the freight elevator. He was calm despite the squeaks and squeals of the ancient lift, a tail of cigarette smoke lazily coiling around his head. The grates on each side filtered in artificial light that was only interrupted as they passed basement floor after basement floor. If this wasn’t the belly of the beast, Athnona didn’t want to know what was.

The elevator stopped suddenly, and the mark approached the grate. With a grunt and flourish, the man opened the rattling grate, offering Athnona to exit before him. Athnona smiled cordially and stepped out. The smell of sweat, urine and feces hung like a miasma in the air.

“Such a gentleman,” she said, suppressing her disgust.

The man threw his cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. “Madam, you flatter me. Anyway, if you’ll follow me.”

The man walked briskly through the corridor. Athnona matched his stride. It’d be best not to arouse suspicion right now. As they walked, chain link doors came up on their left and right. Athnona had to bite the inside of her mouth not to cry. In the first cell was what appeared to be an emaciated six-year-old.

“Don’t let them fool you, my lovely,” the mark said. “These creatures are very tricky. That one’s looked like that ever since we’ve had it.”

Athnona hid her concern the best she could. Her eyes could penetrate the Mien and see the disheveled ragged scales and the swollen water-filled gut of the dragon beneath. He could have been more than sixty years old. A child in dragon terms.

“This is our branch holding facility,” he continued. “Think of it like an adoption center associated with a larger animal shelter. Fresh water, three meals. So. What are you looking for? A servant? Arm candy? A bound familiar?”

Athnona’s stomach turned. How dare they. Dragons were meant to be gods. Dragons were meant to be kings. Dragons were not meant to be chattel. Athnona buried her indignance with purpose. She was here to set them free no matter the consequences.

Street Hard
By Adrian Solorio

Something about tonight was different, realized Caro. There was something in the air. Something nasty–and it wasn’t just the smell of urine or trash in the gutters. But then again, since she’d met Luisa, many things were different. The young woman wasn’t just her work partner, she was something more–almost like a daughter. Caro shook her head, and stubbed her cigarette on the missing person flyer posted to the wall. One of many. This one a schoolgirl’s. Which reminded her that she had to stop being soft. These streets ate the soft. If Caro didn’t look out for Luisa, the streets would eat her, too. “You got your protection?”

“Right here.” Luisa patted her purse. “You?”

“Of course, mijita. You don’t have to worry about me. I always carry my protection.”

“Why’d you ask?”

“I don’t know,” said Caro. “There’s something–I feel something–like a premonition. My abuela would have called it that. A premonition. Like–” The sound of an approaching car silenced her. The street was dark, and she squinted to make out whether it was a customer, or a cop. A white pick-up truck materialized from the dimness and stalked slowly down the street toward them.

Luisa slid off the shadowed motel wall, leaving Caro, and stepped into the soft flickering glow of the streetlight. The truck drew up and stopped, its windows down, its engine idling.

“Two for the price of one,” Luisa cooed, teasingly, to the driver. He was a young man, college-aged–maybe. His hair was fresh-cut and combed perfectly. He would have been handsome if not for the emptiness of his eyes. All the light and life were gone from his eyes, and only hate remained there.

“Get in.” He sneered, and motioned Luisa to enter the truck, but she stood frozen. “Get in you wh–”

“If you don’t drive away, “Caro shouted, “it’ll be a bullet in your head.” There was a click as she cocked the hammer of the revolver–her protection. It wasn’t until the truck had disappeared that she lowered the gun, and allowed Luisa to take it from her shaking hands.

Returning Home (Illusions of Heroes)
by Gerrit (Rattus)

Niri clutched at the pendant around her neck, her only keepsake from home. It felt like a lifetime ago now, since she boarded the boat and left the islands behind. She remembered the wind ruffling her hair, the spray cool against her skin. Remembered thinking that it was what freedom must feel like.

She had looked out at the horizon with bated breath, as Emrys told her stories of the mainland. She wondered how many of them were true. How many stories of her own she would soon have.

Now she found herself on a ship once more, hands holding the railing, wishing she had Emrys’s stories to distract her. She had her own stories now, sure. But they weren’t the kind to cheer one up on a long journey.

The stone affixed to the necklace was smooth to the touch. A small piece of obsidian, passed down through the generations. It had been centuries since Miloa erupted, during the last Scourge. So long ago that it had passed from memory into legend. This piece had been salvaged during the first few days of peace thereafter.

‘Always remember that darkness has an end.’ Her father’s words, when he first pressed the necklace into her palm.

She felt the wind rustling her clothing against her skin. It was strange, how this feeling once meant excited freedom, and now only reminded her of home. Memories of her family and friends flashed through her mind, and she wondered how much they had all changed in the years since she had seen them.

The sky began to darken, brilliant blues fading into dull greys. The winds seemed to turn, as though the breeze itself refused to approach the islands.

She gripped the pendant tighter, hoping it would keep her safe.

The peak of Miloa pierced the skyline, spewing smoke and ash into the air above. Streaks of red cascaded down its sides, igniting trees and scorching the ground. She had been so excited to return home to her family, and now she only prayed they’d still be there to greet her.

Black Stone Heart
By John Perceval Cain (oneeye John)

Izorpo strode up into the rocky prominence. Her black dress and cowl billowed in the wind like an ethereal aura, and she surveyed the battleground. It was a morass of humans, elves, demons and other creatures strewn about in various states of death and dying. Everywhere she gazed, it was a large seething and roiling mass looking like the muscled skin of some serpentine beast.

Izorpo grinned, her pale skin and beautifully chiseled features appearing skeletal in that moment. She had time to prepare her ritual; she hated to be hurried in these things. As she laid out her implements, she thought back to the beginning of it all…

Good failed her when the Duke’s soldiers stood by and watched as raiders had burned her hamlet and killed her mother and father as they attempted to defend their daughters.

Good failed her again. When the soldiers finally attacked the raiders, their intent was to take the spoils. She and her younger sister. Her sister died at the soldiers’ hands as they raped them both.

Good failed her the last time. When abandoned by the soldiers, she wandered to a convent, only to be refused entry. “She must be evil. Look what had befallen her.”

The witches that finally rescued her, taught her ‘good’ was an illusion. They also taught her that only another type of evil could defeat evil.

Izorpo studied hard and excelled at learning. She looked down at her makeshift altar. In the middle was her black-stone-heart, the necromantic relic which served as the focus and reservoir for life energy. Many novitiates never completed training and fewer still completed the creation of the relic.

Izorpo completed training faster than anyone in the coven’s history and set out to hunt and bind the soldier who had raped and killed her sister. We ritually create a black-stone-heart when life, death, memory, and will of the caster unite with the blood and life force of the first kill.

Izorpo savored the memory. Your first was always the best.

Divine Resuscitation
by Exce, edited by Luna

William found himself looking down at an unexpected and quiet child.

“How can I help you?” He threw the child a bone.

“T-The magic broke.” Its voice was steady, but with the high-pitch of youth. William furrowed his brow before going down in a squat. “What now? Tell me what you need me for.”
The child took a deep breath, then gestured wildly as they spoke.
“The magical spring under our village has gone out! The adults told me to get you.”

For a moment, William’s expression was frozen as he processed the child’s words before jolting back upright.
“Alright, show me the way.”

Whilst he had expected to be led to the town, the child instead took a path down a grassy gorge until the two of them arrived in front of a cave. Next to the black opening lay a great round stone, as well as wooden stakes and ropes, evidently used to keep the cave sealed. A group of adult men turned as William approached, but he did not spare the time to address them. Instead he issued a command as he passed into the cave mouth.

“Put the rock back in place. You’ll know if I wish to exit the cave.” He descended into the cave, heavy rock replacing packed earth. William had seen a few magical cores, springs, before, but the one in front of him now looked nothing of the sort.

Instead of incandescent light, he was met by cold and black stone suspended in the center of a great cavern. It looked almost vulcanic. Taking a deep breath, William placed one hand on the cold smooth stone.
Improvising, he sent questing tendrils of magic inside, feeling out what remained of the original energy.

To his relief, it seemed the spring wasn’t broken and instead some whim of nature had blocked its natural regeneration.
A borrowed spark of divine magic alighted in his eyes traveling through his arm into the stone.

Unexpectedly, the petrified spring rapidly imploded, compacting denser and denser before the cave and William were flooded with a rush of chittering light.