Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Tecian City (Chapter 4 - CREATIONS)

 
From the Forthcoming Fantasy/Sci-Fi Novel, Creations
4
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.
 
PREVIOUS CHAPTER     <  >    NEXT CHAPTER
Copyright Held by: Christopher M. Purrett

Find More of this and other stories at the links above!

No comments:

Post a Comment

Purrett Productions - Art & Animation. Discover more at Purrett.com