Havok Publishing

Category - Staff Saturday

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Mercenary

We’re a ragtag team, if ever I’ve seen one. Gathered around Major’s battered table in the dimly lit bunker, there’s no less than five kinds of crazy.
Jones, the intellectual, dissecting a cicada under a magnifying glass.
Flint, the muscle; he’s too big for his shirt, probably on purpose.
Qora, the gadgets girl.

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No Man’s Jungle

Dawson Malone prided himself on many things—his jawline and tracking abilities most of all. His crowning achievement thus far? Discovering the Merfolk after they’d been believed extinct for centuries.
So when he heard of monsters lurking deep in the Tangauryan jungle, he pounced.
“You don’t want to go in there,” the woman

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Partner

You’d think that meeting a dog made of stars and an old friend of my parents would prepare me for anything. But I still gape when the glowing, nebulous portal appears. Auburn and purple swirl together in a maelstrom of color suspended in the air.
Major turns, hand at his wristwatch—which

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CROP Brigade

Salt water dripped from sodden hammocks—intermittent patters percussing throughout the dropship against the steady hiss of misters coating the Caribbean Reef Octopus Paratroopers with cool saline. CROP-15 closed his eyes in contentment, swaying as his berth dangled in the metal fuselage. As central brain, he appreciated the effort these land-dwellers had put

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The Mastodon

The engine in my mecha whined as its knees strained, taking the last step onto the icy rise. In the grand view of cold white horizons, the Aurora shimmered vivid green overhead. Despite unceasing mortal peril, the endless ice had her consolations.
None of which made it worth it to me.

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The Mercy of the Currents

Diving for corpses was not Belyan’s ideal profession, but someone had to do it. She shivered as cold, merciless currents swept past, dragging snarls of seaweed and chipped clamshells along with them.
Before her, two gleaming shapes curled through the water, light glowing from their sleek bodies. The presence of Ursu and Laur

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Rescue in Calsced Forest

“Declan, Sierra, have you seen Jade recently?” Dr. Vansyl asked her two aspiring xenyptid trainers.
“Not since this afternoon.” Declan switched to a new tab on the institute’s shared computer. Jade’s section for the day’s survey findings was still blank.
“Hmm.” The doctor looked out the windows of the Calsced Institute, where dusk was

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Strawberry Thief

Cennet cracked one eye open. Her lace curtains fluttered in the cool breeze coming through the open window. Early morning light warmed her face.
And a munching sound came from her garden.
Whipping off her blanket, Cennet hurried outside. Her slippers slapped on the stepping stones. Sure enough, for the third morning in a

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Survivor

Surrounded by the bustle of the Holuvian Interstellar market, I finally admit how bad of a pickle I’m in.
No, not just a pickle. This is worse. It’s a situation.
This situation has left me stranded on an unknown planet with nary a coin nor friend to my name. I grip my hat,

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Down in Flames

The docks stink of fish and cigars. During my early days as a Magickal Protections Officer, I used to retch almost daily. Now, the stench merely reminds me of what it hides—the light, sage scent of drakonixes.
I stalk down the creaky wooden planks, gripping Amaka’s leash as she slithers in front of

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The Dragon’s Cry

The cry came from the underbrush below a giant oak. Jordan set down the basket of magical plant clippings he’d collected and crept closer, pulling the hood of his cloak away from his face. Distant clicks and caws pierced through the rustling trees, but Jordan focused on the tiny cry.
He scanned the area

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Slave of the Eclipse

I clutch the chest of stardust, staring at the space battle raging above. My crew on the Nebula is almost overwhelmed by Nova Alliance soldiers, even with the space-kraken crumpling their boarding vessel in its tentacles.
Breathless, I scoop up a handful of the glittering stardust, heedless of the blood on my skin

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