I savor the moment as our cannons fire on the bustling trade ring. The void of space swallows any sound as red flashes shoot from our guns and streak for the alliance’s heart. The time for my vengeance has come at last.
The blast turns the huge ring-shaped trade station into space dust
The Veil between worlds smells like overripe fruit, a deep purple scent. Cloying. Decaying. Bruised.
The sanitized atmospheres of living worlds lack the depth and complexity of abandoned realms. They never smell like the Veil, suffused with the scintillating aroma of death.
I breathe it deeply.
Invigorating.
Its heavens, ever-clouded. Its ground
In four minutes, I’ll be dead.
I didn’t plan to go down like this, but you know what they say: Make plans or don’t make plans, God hocks a loogie in your face regardless. So here I am, dripping with holy spit in Jackson Square. Here I am with a splitting headache
“Tell us how y’all got that shiner, Cap?” Private Cordone’s voice crackled over the comms. I couldn’t remember his full name, Something Something Cordone IV.
I shook my head and closed my thermos, suppressing a sigh. Ever since I’d reported for duty with a black eye, the squad hadn’t been able to
The biggest risk of being a superhero was ending up a cliché.
Caspian had always mocked the stereotypical hero speeches he’d seen on the news, but now, facing his own villainous showdown in a closed pawn shop at midnight, well… it seemed like the only things he could spout were tired old
Florence’s knuckles creaked as she clutched the bottle of phoenix ash.
What if it’s not enough? She bit her lip. The medicine is almost as rare as the ash.
Threadbare skirts rustled around her legs as she ducked through the rough-hewn doorframe of the Emberstone Tavern. Her stomach clenched in hunger as the rich
All pirates are dirty liars and murderers, but none worse than Captain Dolion of the Nebula. His aim is as sharp as his tongue, and his neck scarf as red as the blood of his victims.
Stardust parts around the bow of the Nebula and swirls in our wake as we forge toward
Captain Tiberius Q. Overton sneered in disgust. The tavern smelled like the inside of a whiskey barrel—the cheap kind of whiskey the deckhands drank. He shouldered through the flock of nattering peasants, who warmed themselves at the meteor smoldering in the central hearth.
The tawny, glowing emberstone put out a remarkable amount
“Kid. Hey, kid.”
Stuart felt a hand slap his cheek.
“You okay?”
Stuart groaned and opened his eyes. Something bright and orange hovered above him. “Yeah, I think so.”
He pulled himself up as his vision focused. The orange solidified into an upright tapir with a tortoise shell, the dorsal appendage of an anglerfish
Pam: I saw one
Jimmy: srsly? What do they look like? I hear they’re so orange, they’ll burn your eyes. Like the sun.
Pam: How’d you now what I’m talking about?
*know
Jimmy: Because it’s all anyone is talking about. Cam got sent to the hospital last week for getting too close
The ornate front door of The Inventor’s house had a glass knob and engravings of vines crawling over the edges. I didn’t knock—there was no need. The Inventor wouldn’t answer, anyways. Mother had tried to convince him he needed an assistant to run the house, but The Inventor wouldn’t have it.
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Halfway down 22nd Avenue, a linebacker wannabe nearly knocked me over. I twisted around him, threaded between a mother and daughter, and sidestepped a yapping fur ball. All the while, my focus never left the woman.
She stood with her back against a storefront wall, staring at me with purple eyes. Yep. Purple.
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