From the Forthcoming Fantasy/Sci-Fi Novel, Creations
4
TECIAN CITY
TECIAN CITY
For most, the
tremendous volume of the rushing waters to his right side would deter thought.
It was an undeniable distraction, yet for Hans Gative, it was a calming, serene
atmosphere in which he could collect his thoughts and gather his senses. He
discovered most of his greatest creations amidst this turbulent scenery. He
felt a great peace so close to the Tecian City’s crowning technological
advancement. His father had developed the machinery that harnessed the water’s
great energy and powered the whole island of Dormi.
Obsidian River raged across turbines
and wheels forcing them into motion, driving the massive steel rods, pistons
and gears into action creating energy which was stored in gigantic charging
tanks deep within the cliff at the edge of Dormi, where the Tecian City rested
overlooking Biln Ocean.
The city was as majestic as any in
Angora, and if you asked the dwellers of this proud land they would gladly
boast that Tecian outbid even Medatroy as grandest city.
It was just as technologically dependent as Medatroy. The Tecian City used its advancements for everything
from security and transportation, to routine daily living, however, on a much
smaller scale. Above ground, Tecian City wasn’t much larger than the square
block in which the Capital Spire resided in Medatroy, however, below ground
built into the side of the cliff overseeing the ocean, it was far more
expansive than anyone on the mainland of Angora could even comprehend. The
cliff kept the city well guarded, with only a few access points. This made the
Tecian City extremely difficult to attack, and far easier to protect than
Medatroy.
Hans placed his hands firmly along
the metal guardrail. Gripping tightly, he inhaled deeply pulling the swirling
mists from the cascading waters into his nostrils. The fine mist ran through
his body. Hans could sense it energizing him as it ran through his chest, and
out into his limbs. A satisfied smile indulged his slightly aged skin, which
hung a bit loose as though stretched by his years in this world. He was thinner
than most Dormeans, because he had spent nearly a decade living in Medatroy
before he and his father traveled here to work on The Falls.
He peered over the edge with a
strong hold on the guardrail, which lay against his chest. The Obsidian River’s
snow white, frothy waters cascaded nearly twelve hundred feet into the ocean
below. The scenery was breathtaking. The facade of this great city protruded
from the cliff, with shrubbery of all colors, reaching out toward the water.
There
would be no surviving a fall from this height. His heart beat quicker than
normal, due to his anxiety over the height, but otherwise he was in paradise. It is so beautiful.
A pulsation began against his left
hip, jolting him slightly. He pushed back away from the guardrail and poised
himself. Inhaling the calming mists, Hans’s heart slowed again. He pulled aside
his long black coat to expose a Telliture, just the same as those used by the
people of Shirah. He grasped the cool grey device and opened his hand allowing
it to rest in his palm.
Hans felt a shudder through his
body. I am never alone. They will always
find me. Then, he exhaled greatly. The air brushed heavily against his
teeth. He extended his slim finger and tapped against the blinking screen. It
flashed and instantly the image of a man much like himself appeared hovering
about his Telliture. The man, however, was older, his hair wispy and thin; skin
around his eyes and cheeks hung like under a great strain.
“Hans, you’ll be late, my son,”
scolded Leynard Gative. “She won’t always be as forgiving as yesterday.”
“Yes, father. I’m coming,” Hans
replied with a note of discontent in his voice. He dreaded this call from the
moment he had risen today, but knew that no matter how hard he attempted to
avoid her, Governess Zobier would find him.
“With haste, my son. We have a great
many things to discuss with the governess.”
His father’s eyes mixed with shame
and fear. The Governess knew exactly how to manipulate them both, and she used
fear to get her way. The Gative men were her marionettes, and she the
puppeteer. She pulled a string, and they would respond, or at least that was
how she viewed the relationship.
Hans was growing tired, anxious to
break free from her grip, but he was far too close for that now.
The image of his father flickered
and shrunk into nothingness. Hans’s Telliture returned to darkness. He closed
his hand around it as to block it from viewing his expression.
“I am never alone,” he muttered with
dissatisfaction. Hans felt a welling of sorrow behind his eyes. He feared for
this world…for Angora. This war would
have no winners. War never does, only those that suffer the least.
At the guardrail once more, Hans craned
his neck. “So beautiful…and so deadly,” he whispered to the waters, but his
meaning was two-fold.
Briskly, he turned his back to the
ocean, his long coat fluttered against the mists, and Hans was through the
doorway.
Seated in the secluded and blackened
room was Kayla Zobier, the Governess of Dormi. She waited impatiently for the
others to arrive. Her snug black jacket accentuated her curvaceous figure. Governess
Zobier’s face was a work of art, hiding her true age. Each inch of her
cream-colored skin radiated the soft lights from the glowing monitor screen at
her side. Her amble cheeks and full red lips aroused a virile desire amongst
the men of Dormi. She had designed herself to create the perfect woman, one
that could gain the unwavering command of her subjects…and get them to perform
her will through a basic yet powerful desire, lust. One look into her perfectly
engineered eyes and they were hooked.
Leynard Gative was the first to
arrive. He bowed respectfully. Governess Zobier didn’t respond. The old man was
of great importance for his intellect but was far past the age at which she
could control by sheer animal instinct. Leynard sat to her far left and looked
to the doorway anticipating his son’s arrival.
Unfortunately, Hans wasn’t the next
figure to enter the dimly lit room. A broad shouldered, rippling muscled shape
lumbered in nearly scrapping again the door wall. His heavy footsteps, rumbled along
the floor sending a tremor through Leynard’s soul. It was the Dormeath leader,
Skylam Lasher. His face looked as though Lasher was in perpetual agony; eyes
bloodshot, pupils dilated and black as coal, thick brows hung over his eyes
like storm clouds and a deep colored vein protruded from his forehead. The
synthetically created warrior’s body was covered only at the lower half, his
shape carved like a deity, arms hanging like tree limbs off his sides. He
didn’t sit, nor did he ever.
A few other members of the council
arrived. Governess Zobier began to grow increasingly intolerant of Hans’s
absence. She had warned him before to not test her patience, yet again he did.
The faint echo of hurried footsteps
floated into the room. All heads turned to watch, except Lasher, whom remained
ever focused upon the Governess, a small amount of spit formed at the crook of
his mouth. He was entranced by her beauty just as she had wanted.
Hans’s silhouette emerged in the
doorway, tall and lanky, anything but Dormean.
Leynard shook his head with
disapproval.
Governess Zobier ignored his
presence, just as she had to Leynard’s, however, she immediately address the
group of no more than ten men in the room as Hans sat himself beside his
father.
Her breasts heaved with her deep
inhale, before speaking. “Shirah grows impatient; The Elite send soldiers into
our jungle. They see we are much stronger than they imagined. Fear is creeping
into their minds.”
Lasher’s mouth quivered in an
attempt to smile.
“The Dormeath have brought much
suffering to Medatroy, but it hasn’t brought us what we do dearly deserve,” Governess
Zobier continued. “Our freedom.”
She paused. Silence reigned. No one
dared to speak out of turn. She had never directly been challenged by anyone on
the council.
“Look at him, Leynard,” Governess
Zobier spoke referring to the monstrously large man standing in the room. She
had finally acknowledged Leynard’s presence. “The product of your fine
engineering.”
She smiled at
the beast. Her eyes fluttered. Hans thought it odd, but turned to view Lasher
and noticed he too attempted to smile. His skin so stretched and taught against
the muscle structure underneath it was hard for him to express emotions through
facial gestures.
Dim witted dolt. He is an abomination. A
waste of resources. Hans believed, but was fearful of speaking those words aloud. The
Governess would strongly disapprove.
“Thank you, Governess,” the elder
Gative simply replied.
Hans shared a momentary glance with
his father. They didn’t have to speak to one another in order to know what the
other was thinking. Years spent together in the laboratories developing all the
truly inspirational achievements that Dormi should be proud of had allowed them
to finish each other’s thoughts. Neither believed the drug induced Dormeath
creatures to be anything of the sort.
Governess Zobier leaned forward
slightly exposing her cleavage. She exhaled seductively. “Tell me, Commander
Lasher. What do you have for me?”
His lips quivered again, vein in his
forehead pulsing, movement within his pants.
Hans was
disgusted, as were many others in the room. The entire room bore witness to the
Governess’s power over this beast.
“We
slaughtered the Deluge in Bren, my lady,” Lasher proudly proclaimed.
She responded with an approving
smile.
Hans wasn’t
sure if she was smiling over what the Dormeath said or what she had done. He determined
she was proud of both.
“That should
prove to The Shirum Elite that they need to fear our strength,” She replied.
A
strength from a chemlab, thought Hans. He too feared this beastly
creature standing before them. How many
injections of Steridorn could they accept? The drug wasn’t produced for this
effect, he thought referring to the mass of muscles and brute
strength that gazed at the Governess like a sugary substance he desperately
wanted to lick. Steridorn was a serum created to help rebuild muscles in the
weak or injured. Too much exposure had created an abomination. Is this really what we fought for? The
ability to live like these monsters.
The Governess, herself was somewhat
of an abomination. She was also Hans’s wife, a few years older than he, but
because of the drugs she had ingested during the past decade against the laws
of Shirah, she looked half his age.
It had all begun after a freak
accident in the jungles of Dormi. Hans and Kayla were enjoying an afternoon
just outside the city when a sudden storm swept into the jungle. They were
trapped and sought shelter amongst the trees…the very same trees that nearly
killed her. Hans awoke bloodied, but alive. His beloved wife, Kayla was crushed
beneath a toppled branch. It had split her skull, and crushed her body. He
raced her back to his father and together they saved her life, but at a grave
cost. They used the powerful lifesaving drugs to restore her body, but she
became addicted to Aspitor, a pill that dulled pain. During the years that followed,
Kayla continued to alter her appearance. Hans pleaded with her to stop, but it
in itself had become an addiction like the drugs she used to stop the pain.
The Shirum Elite ruled these drugs
illegal in the years to follow, because of the health risks that became evident
in those that needed them most. These drugs, Steridorn and Aspitor, became
highly addictive. Men killed for them.
A political
stalemate occurred between Dormi and Shirah, when Kayla was later elected by
the peoples of Dormi as Governess. She continued to fight for what she believed
to be the people’s right to choice. That culminated in her petitioning for
legal right to succeed from Shirah’s governmental control. The Shirum Elite
refused.
Furthermore, the
Elite determined that those addicted to the pain killer, Aspitor, and the
muscle grown serum, Steridorn, were unable to make the choice for themselves,
and therefore interceded on their behalf.
A fervent
divide had spurned between Governess Zobier and Elitorium Bovee. Shirah began
to place harsher penalties upon those discovered using the illegal drugs. Governess
Zobier hid her use, but many in Dormi did not. Those caught were sentenced to
the prison located on the Isle of Bren, Hapler’s Cove, since Shirah had no
prisons on the mainland. Ironically, the isle of Bren was governed by Dormi.
The growing political tension was
bound to bring about change, and with that change, came war.
The Governess pleaded with her
husband to help, but he couldn’t. He still loved her and was afraid of what she
had become. Unbeknownst to him, she convinced Leynard to aid her in creating an
army of ruthless and monstrous warriors. Using the illegal and life altering
combination of Steridorn and Aspitor drugs on the prisoners at Hapler’s Cove,
Leynard created his most sinister and reprehensible advancement in Angoran
History…the Dormeath. These creatures developed unworldly strength. Muscle grown had far exceeded that of any
mortals on Angora. These creatures had the strength of ten men, even more in
short and explosive bursts. Their sense of pain became nearly imperceptible
able to withstand what were deemed ‘deadly’ wounds in a normal soldier. The
Dormeath were perfect warriors, and they brought Governess Zobier’s war to
Medatroy.
“We strike then!” She announced. The
room shuttered, unsure how to react. Most remained silent afraid to respond
incorrectly, a few gasped and even fewer cheered.
Hans lamented
his part in all this. It is all my fault.
If I had only let her die…but I couldn’t. She is my wife. He so desperately
wished he could find a way to stop this but felt helpless. Weak. Worthless.
Lasher clinched his fists, emitting
a horrifying growl in response. The room recoiled. He was a terrifyingly
awesome presence.
Hans awoke from his self-pity and wondered
exactly where they were to attack since they were already engaged in warfare
all throughout Medatroy. He turned toward Leynard, who avoided his gaze. Hans
leaned forward, but his father continued to try and avoid him.
“Father?” Hans firmly placed a hand
around Leynard’s thin frail forearm. His father lifted his head to met Hans.
“No! The Elite?” he whispered to avoid attention.
His father didn’t respond, but he
didn’t have to. Hans was certain this war would grow bloodier, and that the
Tecian City would soon be targeted directly.
Copyright Held by: Christopher M. Purrett
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