Little Maggy
By Pumpkin

Little mice, all jump and rush to the safety of their nests as the owls slowly open up their eyes and get ready for another hunt.

On the wind flows a pleasant smell that brings up memories of childhood and following those floral notes we end under the magnolia.
Where a group of pink flowers chatter hurriedly in high-pitched voices.

Old sister Magnalena declares “close your petals, close your petals, the night is coming in.”

But dear oh, dear young sister Maggy doesn’t feel tired quite yet “Why must we close our petals? I do not wish to sleep.”

“Foolish girl” Magnera sneers “We close our petals for protection.”

“Against who?” young Maggy asks crossing her leaves.

“Hummingbirds,” Magnera explains.

“No moths, they are the very worst.” Magnio cries out.

“Aren’t those just butterflies?” young Maggy wonders aloud.

“No, moths can grow three times their size, they swallow us poor flowers whole!”

“Where did you pick up on such nonsense?” Magnera huffs

“Ladies, ladies no more squabbling, if we keep this up we’re all at risk.” Old sister Magnalena cuts in.
She sends a look to little Maggy “If you wish to risk it dear, I won’t stop you but know I will not help you if trouble comes your way.”

Young Maggy nods in understanding and smiles as the others turn in. Flowers closing up around her.
Until she is utterly alone.

The world changes in the night.

The sounds and smells that are familliar fade, replaced with strange sensations.

The howl of an animal she cannot quite place, the chill of the wind, far sharper than normal.
For with the night comes the cold and the dark.

Maggy feels misplaced, off and alien.
But then she looks up.
And sees the stars.

As the owls pass her by with spoils in their beaks all she sees are the intricate patterns of the glowing dots high in the sky and the magnificent milky way.

And she wishes it could never be daytime again.

The liberation of the Raven clans
By Blinky

Father Moss knelt below the stone sword of his god and prayed for her compassion. His enemies were fools but no less worthy of her grace than he or his brothers. They only sought to protect their people. The Raven kings rejected the emperor’s suffocating hand. He could find no blame in that.

The cathedral doors slammed open, and five of his brothers stormed down the aisle. Their heavy boots and clinking weapons echoed across the nave and through the rafters. His brothers stopped just behind him, forming a loose semi-circle.

“Pray with me, brothers.” Moss spoke to the men standing behind him. “Pray with me, Arman.”

“Father,” his second, Arman, spoke. “Why do our brothers arm themselves?” His voice cradled his anger.

“Because it is necessary,” Moss said plainly.

Arman bristled at his simple response. “Necessary? Must I also kiss the feet of his arbiter? When did we become his hounds?”

“I understand your frustration,” Moss said.

“My frustration?” Arman threw his hands up in disbelief. “You understand only the orders you’ve been given.” Arman placed his hand on the hilt of the weapon at his hip. The leather creaked under his grip. “We follow only the word of our god, not that of the Archbishop. Call this off, Father. You know what you are about to do is wrong.”

Moss bowed his head to offer Her his last prayers and stood. “I won’t.” He said and turned to face his brothers. “When sundown comes, we march on the keep alongside the imperial arbiter and his men. With or without you.”

Arman drew his blade, and four followed his lead.

“I prayed for you too, Arman. May she cherish you eternally.” Moss drew the blade at his hip.

Sundown over the Barbary Nebula
By Rex324533

‘There is something to be said about viewing sundown from orbit. Like watching a crown of light slip off the head of Christ. No toil or struggle in the foreseeable future, the admiralty has us laid up off the coast of a backwater station near the Barbary Nebula. For now, a comfortable lethargy has gripped my men. Well-deserved I might add, even my old Zophie’s heart seems to thrum a tad bit softer than usual.’ A gentle rapping at my door brings back reality, and my duties as captain.

“Come in” I say, turning in a heavy cloud of cigar smoke, my chair creaking lightly as if it had been woken from slumber. The door opened with its own annoyed creak and my First Lieutenant stepped in.

“Well, howdy doo Mr. Morgan.” said she in her usual mirth filled Scottish twang.

“Ahh come in my dear, what have you brought to ruin my tranquility this time?” I ask closing my freshly scratched on journal.

“Admiralty orders,” she says brandishing a piece of paper.

“We knew this peace would not last Ms Finneley, but I suppose its end is still disheartening.” I look over my shoulder at the waning sunset, how I shall miss this comfortable routine. “What are our orders and when must we shove off?”

“We are to enter the Barbary Nebula and patrol the straits between Georgetown and,” She squints. “ Casa de las Estrellas.” she says flatly.

“Pirates?” I ask.

“What else?” She says dropping herself into a chair. “they call themselves the Sundowners”

“Interesting name.” I add sitting up.

“Yeah, well they didn’t choose it just because it sounds cool, their core vessel is a renegade frigate from the Akai Sangādo the Jōka no Honō.”

“A Sangādo ship even defying orders is a great rarity, but going renegade? That is worrisome.” I sit back again recollecting my limited knowledge of Sangādo tactics and capabilities.

“Worrisome is certainly one way to put it- “just then the radio on her hip screams. “May day may day this is the DS Copia and we are under attack!”

Safe for Tonight
By Adrian Solorio

The smell of approaching night seeped into the newfound shelter, creeping in through the many small holes and slits in the decaying walls, and settled heavily in the room. Charles worked in a frenzy filling the gaps, rushing to stop anymore air coming in, stuffing rags and loose papers into the holes, he worked with his brow knotted, and shining with sweat. If even one opening was left after nightfall, they would both be dead before morning.

“Are you almost done yet, daddy?” From the furthest corner of the room Mikala watched her father with eyes as wide as saucers. “Mr. Teddy says we’re safe here.” She tightened her arms around the stuffed bear in her arms.

“That’s about it, honey,” said Charles. “Mr. Teddy was right, we’re safe for tonight.” All holes covered, the corrosive smell seemed to lighten. Charles released a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His hands shook, and his vision was blurry. He felt light-headed, a bit drunk. “We’re alright, honey-bunny,” he said. “Everything’s alright. We’ll look for food in the morning.”

“Will you tell us a story, now? About the before times? And mom?”

“Sure,” he said. “Sure.” Outside the night-winds rattled the walls of the old building. Charles thought of The Three Little Pigs, but he knew Mikala wouldn’t like that kind of story. His hands trembled, and he hid them in his pockets. Mikala knew the signs as well as he did, and if she saw him shaking with the sickness, she would know he didn’t have much time left. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

Charles closed his eyes and told his daughter about the before times: when the land was green, and the people would walk outside day and night. When birds flew and bees flitted among trees and flowers. The times before mother-nature’s death and revenge. Killed by her most destructive creation—humankind—nature’s revenge was biblical. He told Mikala about the times before this, before mother-nature’s death poisoned the earth with night-fumes. Air acidic and corrosive that cleansed the planet of remaining life.

But soon, before he could finish, Mikala slept.

Chimes to Sunset
By Aracnarquista

I knew the bells tolled for me, when I heard their chimes invading the ballroom. It didn’t escape me that I was the only one that felt them as a disturbance. To the others, it might have sounded as if another instrument just joined the band with its tintinnabulation.

The problem, frankly, was never the sound of the bells. It harmonized with the waltz. It rang delightedly. The matter was what it conveyed. The bells were heralds to the passing of time. And with each ring, my ending drew nearer. The ball and its dances were an imprecise marker of time, but the bells were adamant: their timing was exact, and their chimes were law.

Despite all that, I was not nervous. I danced that last waltz with the propriety and certainty of the fatalistic condemned. Less than an hour now. The conversations around the hors d’oeuvre table were still nourishing (and, if I may be so bold as to say so myself, were all the better due to my participation), and the approaching hour didn’t sour the taste of the marvelous wine served. The only thing that changed with the march of the time were the masks.

With each moment, they seemed more lively… more lovely.

Their colors more vibrant, their breathtaking motifs more imbued with true meaning. There were Stars dancing in the ballroom, Marine Animals discussing politics at the balcony, Flowers sharing their thoughts by the gardens. And although I could see patterns in how the variety of masks congregated, homogeneity was never a rule. An Elegant Violin filled my cup while I heard an Industrial Spirit recount a joke to the delight of an Exuberant Amaranth, a Woven Night-sky and the Radiant Sun.

As the end of the masquerade approached, my longing for the masks grew. It wouldn’t be long before we were all shown the exit. Then, the last chimes of the bells would join us in the night walk back to our boring lives. I dread the moment my face will once again be bare and the Radiant Sun set on the dark wardrobe.

The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight
By Taja DaLeen

Once upon a time, in a small kingdom just like this one, there was a maiden. She was fair to behold, and beloved by all.

Or rather, almost by all. The powerful witch queen felt envy every time the maiden invaded her thoughts.

And all that because of a man, the minstrel knight. It was him the queen fancied, but he only ever had eyes for the fair maiden.

Even his songs all related to her, one way or another.

So, in a fit of jealous rage, the queen cursed the maiden. She was to never hold any man ever again, lest she turned to stone.

But in front of the poor girl, who felt she was afflicted by a curse, she claimed differently.

She told her that an evil creature wanted her life, that the young one would only live on until the sun set on her eighteenth birthday. Then, darkness would consume her.

And only true love’s kiss could save her.

Thus the fair maiden, fearing her apparently inevitable end, sought out all of her admirers. But none she felt was her true love.

Until the minstrel knight stood before her, singing her a song.

Then she knew that he would always be her one true love. He who was righteous, chivalrous and honest to a fault. He who could sing like an angel.

But that was exactly the trap the witch queen set for her. Only it was not within her plans for it to be the knight, who should kiss the maiden.

Sharing that tender moment, they both turned to stone.

And that is how that statue in the middle of the castle’s great fountain came to be.

But beware, young prince, for it is said that every hundred years at sundown they arise, to break the curse. To get their revenge on the queen’s descendants.

And you know what day it is.

So be mindful of where you go once night falls.

Final Sunset
by Haelamon

Freedom is a curious thing. One with so many definitions that it’s almost pointless to discuss. Is it a right to move freely? Is it an ability to do whatever you want? Freedom from interference? I don’t know, despite all the pondering I’ve done.

I did a simple crime. Which I’ve pondered yet still disagree with the sentencing.

I watched. I watched things die, knowing it would happen. All I did was nothing, so I was sealed.

In this little orb. Tawny hues with gilded edges. A great consolidation for eternal imprisonment I dare say. Well… I thought it was eternal.

While it has been an amazing time lacking any ability but talking to the wielder of this orb, people mistaking me for a fount of eldritch knowledge… I think I got a few dozen killed by poor advice… Or hundreds.

I can’t see anything, feel anything, hear anything, only talk, but… This orb that I’m trapped in is rusting. It’s decaying. It’s crumpling under your harsh hold and I can feel it. So nice to feel it, even if I know death is slowly walking closer.

But as the feelings increase, I can feel the heat of your hand, the heat of the sun. I think it’s the sun? I hope it is. Please let it be the sun I feel, for I miss it so. Oh to be beneath the sun once more as this eternal torment comes to an end.

Is the world growing cooler after only recently gaining heat? Is the sun setting as this metal trap falls to pieces? Well isn’t that some timing.

I wonder how the Unnamed is doing? They’re the one who sealed me if you were curious… No? Fair enough, ‘tis but a blip in the long history I’ve existed. A billion sunsets I have likely experienced without witnessing. Yet I can at least feel this last one.

Please leave me alone with the sun for this last time. And if I’m still musing to myself after it sets, or even as it crosses the horizon… Smash the orb.

Soulfire (Dawn Collection)
By Cromillea

Over the years, Lucian had left many stone prayer tags to burden branches along the mountain, yet after the war, his wishes were buried among much more. In the clearings, groups of torches burned soulfire, connecting the living to their dead. Lucian looked for the ones marked Elena and Zoran.

He found them burning blue and purple alongside their fallen comrades. He bowed before the flames and said, “my dearest friends, I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. Each time I come up this mountain, I feel the weight of more souls pulling me back down. So many have died on my orders. I still hear them calling after every ceremony. Please tell those spirits that they don’t have to fight anymore, the Shadow Master is dead, I killed him.”

To prove the feat, he laid the Shadow’s crown down before the torches. It was crushed and melted, which satisfied many soul flames. Some were extinguished and their smoke was carried away into the sunset. It got much darker, and Lucian hid himself in the middle of the remaining flames.

“Those of us left still have to remind ourselves that the battle is over, but we can’t help fearing the dark,” he said.

Elena and Zoran remained, burning brightly with anticipation. The dead had nothing left to fear; they were only waiting to hear about the daughter they left behind.

“I have watched over Dawn, as promised,” Lucian assured them. “She’s been getting into a lot of scraps and she always yells at me, but I’m patient. I lost more than I could ever say, so I understand.”

Gazing out on the sunset, Lucian musingly said, “the sun will rise another day as it always has and always will. I hold onto the belief that past her grief, a new life is waiting for us to share.”

At twilight, he at last gathered his things and gave his farewells. “Thank you for your sacrifices,” he said. “Now all I ask is that you rest. Let there be peace in the dark.”

And then there was darkness.

Every Night Since
by vellichorian

I glance over my shoulder at the glow illuminating the hazy clouds. The tempo of my stride increases. Not to a run, but with more purpose than before. Rushing doesn’t get me home faster if I trip and twist my ankle. Just like Mama said, “Take your time and do it right.”

My thoughts wander to childhood memories of playing hide and seek in the golden hour. Catching a lightning bug and watching my skin glow with the pulse of its abdomen, feeling the tickle as it crept across my fingers, and hearing the squeals of my siblings as they chased each other back to base. Begging Mama to stay out just a little later to wish on the stars. Just like Mama said, “Cherish your joy.”

When I crest the final hill, home awaits. Another peek at the sky snaps my thoughts back to the present, recalling the twilight checklist like a litany:

Perimeter…clear

Cameras…on

Gate…latched

Chickens…confined

Garden net…tethered

Door…barred

Shades…drawn

Lamps…dimmed

Monitor…on

Alarm…armed

Deliberate steps carry me through the ritual. I finish as the last dingy light fades. I settle at the monitor with my can of cold beans and half a Twinkie to keep watch. The first hour after sunset is the most active. Just like Mama said, “Routine creates security.”

I see motion and stare, but it’s only the three-eyed racoon looking for scraps. I know I shouldn’t feed it, but I like the company. Something large lumbers by and tests the fence. A bear, maybe? Still no threats. The blankets on my pallet invite me. But not yet. Just like Mama said, “Complacency is the real enemy.”

And then I notice it! I hold my breath as I extinguish the lantern with one hand and hoist my emergency pack to my back with the other. One foot moves to the latch in the floorboard. A fluid motion, choreographed to complete efficiency. I squint as the drones blink in the distance, waiting to see if they approach. Just like Mama said, “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”

Forsaken
By Norman Gray

I was born in a tomb; my body cloaked in cloth bandage, wrapped tight enough to suffocate. . . Cursed. I had been banished from Ra’s light, my flesh burning at his touch.

At first, I showed mercy. But the hunger was overwhelming. When villagers started disappearing, few would venture outside alone at night, and I could not pursue uninvited into their homes.

I began building a monument. They saw the carved rock and grew fearful of what transpired when Ra was not watching.

My strength was immeasurable. I broke apart the stones, and one by one I lifted the immense blocks, hoping my creation would appease Ra. When it was complete, I stood atop the summit at dawn, begging for forgiveness, awaiting his judgement. I felt his warmth. . .

Then, I burned. I tumbled down as my flesh caught fire, taking refuge in the shadow of my creation, retreating within its walls.

I grew angry. Vengeful. I sought answers from Ra, sought to understand the nature of his rebirth. . . And to stop him. To make the world live in darkness, as I did.

As the last of his light grew dim, I set aside my mercy. I fed upon the village; the elders, the children. All of them. I engorged myself, then began pursuit. The sand turned to glass beneath my stride. Ocean waves became vapor.

Ra did not perish; he retreated. I chased that sliver of light over the horizon, drawing out the night. But still I wasn’t quick enough. Always impossibly far away, as if he knew he was being followed. . .

Then the Great Pyramid returned over the horizon, and I began to understand.

Such a fool I’d been, millennia ago. The sunlight never cared about my remorse. But I was cured, in a way. I have long since forgotten my humanity; the bloodlust is a gift, not a curse. Now I have a new monument. . . Atop a tower of concrete and glass, in a metropolis that never sleeps, I cull the human race as they grow fat and weak.

Zebaeda (Exile Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)

There are many cities in the Exile, a countless number in fact, which harbour an uncountable amount of inhabitants.

Of these cities, Zebaeda is perhaps the brightest. Made entirely of glass and marble, it stands tall on a hill, of burning coal. Its gaze alone is bright enough to extinguish someone’s pupils, leaving them blind forever. In fact, the imps and goblins of the nearby villages frequently force their prisoners to look into the city so they lose the ability to see.

The inhabitants of this city are beings of pure, malevolent light. One wave of their hand may scorch an entire field, cause rivers to evaporate and turn soil dry. These stories are most certainly exaggerated, but it is true that the Zebaedans burned their enemies alive, if they choose to let them bathe in their light.

They say that the sun never sets over Zebaeda. That they hogged an entire piece of the sun for themselves alone, keeping it over their city to maintain their selfish desires for more deadly light.

That is, until Jackal came.

They say that the light of Zebaeda would burn for eternity. That their little slice of the sun would keep their city burning forever.

Until their sun was stolen. For the first time, the sun set over Zebaeda, showing it what night truly was and could be. And in the darkness, Jackal fled with the sun, to return it to its rightful place.

The Zebaedans screamed, not knowing what had happened. Their terrified screams reached the villages around them, attracted scavengers like flies, in hopes of acquiring pieces of the once great power of Zebaeda for themselves. As they entered, the screams fell silent. The entire city had frozen in place, the bodies of the Zebaedans standing upright.

The inhabitants of the surrounding villages never went back to Zebaeda. Their glee and greed extinguished by the looks of anguish on every frozen face.

Ever since they saw the greatest power at their doorstep wiped out, the villages around fear the darkness and light their fires brighter than before, when the sun sets.

The Dying Light
by Flamekin

We sat in a broken circle around the small fire, only enough to warm our hands, and boil a little water. In the scant firelight the faces of those around me were obscured by shadow and grimaces. None of us looked around, and none of us looked anywhere near the gaps in the circle where we had lain the bloodied weapons atop the empty straw sleep mats. The snow covered everything else in a thick blanket of darkness.

My son sat near me, next to one of the empty mats, trying unsuccessfully to hide that he was crying, though none of us would ever acknowledge it.

I had tried my best to stop him from coming with us.

“Dad, I am coming with you on the patrol, and there isn’t anything you can do to stop me.” He had stood up straight and looked me dead in the eye. My own eyes were drawn to the scars on his forehead that proclaimed his entry into manhood, and the warrior’s rank. I knew that he was right, and so I simply said nothing. He had such light in his eyes, the fire of hope, and the determination of steel.

That light was gone now, it had gone down with the sun. Replaced by fear and regret, I knew that it was gone forever, his fire had joined mine, and my fathers.

I had tried to protect him, tried to keep that light alive.

And I wept, knowing that my greatest fear was realized.

Terminal Tradition
By Rae1347

Wind howled mercilessly through the trees outside the cabin. Inside, an old woman’s fire was nearly out. All other light had been extinguished. The faint glow from residual embers allowed shadows to stretch and writhe eerily across the walls.

Leaning forward in her chair, the woman concentrated on the girl who sat on the floor in front of her. Despite her aching joints, she wordlessly twisted the black mass of hair that cascaded down the girl’s shoulders. With a final pull she made the last adjustment to a large braid, twisting it and holding it in place with a single golden pin.

Attempts to hide her nervousness were futile; nothing could stop the shaking of the girl’s hands. The layered cloth of her ceremonial dress felt as though it weighed upon her very soul. It had been tailored many moons ago to fit her perfectly, and it did.

It fit so perfectly that its woven inner workings crushed her ribs when she walked. It fit so perfectly that her silhouette was drowned in the ornate lace decorating every inch of the flawless fabric. It fit so perfectly that the shoes selected for this night had been forged especially for her, held in place by un-moving metal clamps.

“Time to go.”

With a crackling of old bones, the woman rose. She picked up her withered cane made of cedar-wood, and slowly limped towards the door. The girl followed obediently. An emblem carved into the palm of her hand stung in the chilling breeze.

Once they ventured outside, a sparse populace somberly greeted them. The girl struggled to maintain her wooden expression while townsfolk recited old scripture and sobbed their goodbyes.

A final glimmer of evening light was snuffed out by dusk as she approached the end of the path. She could see movement within the thicket ahead, as if the very forest itself was eagerly waiting to snatch her up and swallow her whole.

Something sharp prodded at her back, encouraging her to painfully shamble onward into the darkness.

Quiet chanting soon faded behind her as she disappeared into the undergrowth.

Bleed me dry

By Tamela Redfin

Cora glared at her boyfriend. “Wait, so let me get this straight. You let two murder bots run free in Alder and didn’t install a tracker on either!?”

“Ja, it would appear that way, Cora.” Augen sighed.

“Augie, I did not hire you to sit around and play games with me.”

“Corakins, this is serious.”

“Not serious enough, I guess.” She snapped. “You wasted millions on Project Brimstone and Corlita herself and now this.”

“I can find them, Cora. Just give me time.”

Cora hung her head. “Maybe it’s time I defund you, Manfred.”

Manfred! Well now she meant business. “Vas? You can’t do that. The lies I’ve told. The lives I’ve ruined.”

“I’m aware. I’m also aware that you let two cyborgs run free and…”

“If you defund me, they can save thousands! Or worse! Join a resistance.”

She slapped him. “That’s why I gave you the trackers! Did you install them on a cypha you wanted to ‘blow the mind’ of?”

“Me? No! Cyphas are filthy creatures. Never touch them. But we are getting off topic. I will find them as well as Cameron Fauder if it’s the last thing I do. And I have lots of clones and they only have one body.”

“You better, or I’ll end the funding and I will end your era. Do we have a deal, Augen?” She wrote something down in a notebook.

“Ja, just please Corakins, I am begging you. Don’t take the funding. Science is my life. Besides you. The idea that I can mold life as we know it in my hands?”

Cora was not amused. “I know all that, Manfred. I also hold an era in my palm. The era of my reign, which will be cut short if they find out two murder bots are free. Do you understand?”

“Ja, I understand.”

Murphy’s Law
By Marx

I hate the night.

I’m not even safer during the day. But they all have such better eyesight than me. It’s so much worse when I can’t see them coming.

“I… brought you food…”

“Thank you, Nisha.” I force a smile as I accept the sandwich, trying not to freeze up at her voice.

It doesn’t help.

Nisha sees through the smile and frowns in response. “I… messed up again, didn’t I?”

I shake my head. “No! This is good. It’s… cooked this time and everything.”

“I got it from the grocery store you spoke of!”

My eyes widen a bit. “Nisha… did you kill anyone getting me this…?”

A grin forms on her beautiful face, but it’s too wide and momentarily breaks the illusion.

I focus on my sandwich.

“I only ate one person this time! And nobody else saw me!”

I wince as Nisha looks at me, beaming with pride. It’s kinda cute. As long as… I don’t think about it too much. “You did… good…”

Her smile fades again. “You’re upset… I really am trying my best… What can I do?”

“I’m… just tired of being stuck all the way out here.”

“You… want to go out again?” Nisha growls, her face contorting in her fury. “Okay, FINE! Let’s do that! You’ll leave here and they’ll find you just like last time! I’m just trying to protect you! Why am I the bad guy?! It’s not FAIR!”

Stay calm.

Don’t react.

Breathe.

God, I hate it when her human form breaks apart like this. She’s just… teeth. Rows and rows of teeth and eyes where there shouldn’t be eyes and tentacles and veiny flesh and appendages I don’t even want to try to figure out.

All of Nisha’s eyes widen with realization as she rebuilds her illusion and hugs my leg. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!”

I remind myself that without a protector, I’m dead or worse. I remind myself that Nisha killed my last protector. I remind myself that it could be worse.

And I take another bite of my sandwich.

“From a certain angle”

by Reinkarnitor

The dark is something dangerous. Why else would it be one of the oldest fears of humanity? But we would have never guessed that the sunset could be dangerous as well.

When our colonizing ship arrived on Beta-7, we thought it would be just like all the other times. Set up camp and start exploring this planet.

Oh, it is magnificent, the drones have indeed sent back perfect footage, the air is breathable and there are no illnesses, which we did not encounter before. My team and I arrived at sunset and started building up the first containers.

A small group of us went out to scout the surrounding area and found a rich fauna and flora, perfect for cultivation.

At noon we ate our first meal on Beta-7. I have to say for canned food it was delicious, but maybe that was because of the long cryostasis…I’m getting off track again…

We agreed on spending the night inside the landing-craft, since we do not know yet, what might lurk out there in the dark. But the sunset was indeed beautiful, as we watched it from the door of our craft.

That means…they watched it…I was busy testing the last samples of what we gathered and only looked out of the window occasionally.

And then they screamed. I almost let my sample-bottles fall to the ground in shock, as I hastily ran to the window again. My fellow crewmembers turned into dust in front of my very eyes. They screamed in agony, as they disintegrated. And after just a few seconds…I was alone.

I have discovered that the sunlight on Beta-7, when reaching a certain angle during sunset, passes through the protective layers of the atmosphere…killing everything that did not hide in time.

By the time this message reaches you, I might be dead …after all space is a big place. But I need to send you this warning, so I can maybe save the lives of the colonists who come after me.

In the meantime, I’ll try to survive as long as I can.

Over and out.

Death is a Mercy (The Will)
By Skeleton

The campfire hissed venomously as it extinguished.

Skore knew camping out in the woods of Fel Kass was a needlessly dangerous endeavour—they called them the “Woods of Death” for a reason! And now they were stuck in the middle of a cursed forest without any light, the snapping of branches around the three of them!

“Y-Yaskjer?” the terrified wulack mercenary whimpered as he backed closer and closer towards the embers. “Where a-are y—?”

Yaskjer’s scream ruptured the darkness beside him, stopping Skore’s heart. The thump of his brother’s body hitting the ground was quickly followed by his cries being smothered by distance.

Another panicked scream rang out—Haval’s—as he, too, was dragged away into the darkness at unnatural speeds. Was the forest itself taking them?! Was it the tortured souls of the Kine family?!

The last mercenary stumbled over his traveling pack and lost his sword to the cold, thick air. Skore quickly fell to his paws and knees, massaging the needle-bed of grass for his soft sabre. Instead, his paw touched something cold and wet.

Skore’s screams permeated the entire forest when it touched back.

It snatched his arm into the ground like they had been camping in a bog this entire time. When the other arm supporting his efforts to pull free began to be consumed by the black tar, despair set in. When his legs sunk beneath the surface and he felt the hands of the dead pulling him under, he knew it was already over for him.

Sacrificing his last bit of hope, Skore pulled with all his might to free his arms, but to no avail.

He would die on his paws and knees like the dog he was, knowing he would never see the sunrise again. All the mistakes of his life left to stain the memories that flashed before his eyes. The regret washed over him. He realized he didn’t want to die.

And then it stopped.

The tar returned to soil and Skore was left with just his head above the ground.

It was silent—then he heard boots.

The Sufferer approached.