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The hell
By:
Lole
Ongoing
16
16
Chapters: 5
views: 695
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May 14, 1945. Work carried out by the Third Reich was brought to light and made it possible to reveal a secret buried for too long: humanity was not alone on Earth. From this discovery were born protest movements against races that had just come out of the shadows. Fifteen years after the capitulation of Germany and its allies, the outbreak of World War III once again plunged the whole world into chaos. Twenty years later, the period that survivors renamed Dark Silence ended hostilities. In 1983, an agreement was established between human governments and nonhuman rulers. All beings endowed with intelligence created Cicerone, in order to maintain and guarantee interspecific peace. The future was assured, and in everyone was born the desire to move forward, forgetting the grudges of the past. Unfortunately, the bitterness never completely dies, and within the nascent rebellions reappears a prophecy, which can overthrow the powerful of this world. One of them wants more than anything to get his hands on this legend, before others seize it before him. He is capable of all madness to avoid his fall, even if it means pushing his prey to its last entrenchments, until it loses a part of her... and steals a piece of her soul.
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1
NowadaysI've always loved the relief that the dead bring us, the tranquility of their silence. Even if I know that some can get up, that some are not quite on the other side, walking up the aisles has always been synonymous with peace for me. I am a cemetery walker. A visitor to the tombs. Not like a Necromancer, certainly not like a Ghoul. I just walk around. Sometimes I stop and read a few names. I work a bouquet about to wither, I weed a grave without descendants.I wonder about their past, try to decipher what they were based on their epitaph, when they have one. Was this man a torturer with his wife and a loving father? Did this woman live all her dreams or did she let herself die, swallowed up by a life that was too short? I always stay longer in front of children's graves. As if, suddenly, the grief of their parents was suffocating me, grabbing me to make me feel their pain and pushing me to follow them into the crypts.But Ghosts don't often appear to humans, and I continue o
The hell 5
Ishmael observes me calmly, while I'm on the verge of fainting. It's too close, far too close, for me to even consider grabbing my blade. Especially since, if I'm right, he'll manage to melt my dagger before I throw myself at him. I've never been burned enough to leave marks before, and I don't want to start today. However, it may be my only alternative if I intend to get out of this trap. For a moment, I consider calling Adele, but what can a Shadow of the Between Worlds do in the face of such a Creature? Creature who takes a deep breath and widens his smile without ceasing to stare at me, with his slightly glowing eyes.- So, little half-breed, we go for a walk?My interbreeding does not go back far enough to hide my Indian features. In another situation, I would send him to hell before moving on. In my current case, I choose to lay low. My way.- I'm visiting the museum, I inform him, managing to control the trembling of my voice.- Oh... Vacation?- Non.- Hum... Londoner, I presu
Last Updated : 2024-10-29The hell 4
Going out in the street is always difficult for me, because the crowds come, especially during market hours. I almost get knocked down by a cab, then by a racing car launched at high speed. I have time to see the driver behind the wheel of the vehicle and growl. A Goblin. Obvious. Climbing up the crowded sidewalk, I think to myself that this is the only place saving me from certain death. I still don't know how we can make horses and roaring engines coexist on the cobblestones of London. Very often, passers-by are found thrown against a wall, or slip under the wheels. Depending on their nature, some survive. When it comes to people like me, it's rare to see him get back up. But that's the least of the mayor's worries.Since World War III, it has been common knowledge that the UK is not a good place to live as a human. Freedom, for us, is everything. Americas. Only, you still have to fall on the right side of the border and plant your feet in the soil of the North. The South is nothing
Last Updated : 2024-10-29The hell 3
A week later- Stop taking yourself for my mother! I mumbled, keeping my head stubbornly glued to the TV.- You can look at me when I talk to you at least!?With a huge sigh, I tear my eyes away from my series and plant them in those, furious, of my sister... who has incidentally become my surrogate mother. Hands on her hips, she stares at me, both dismayed and annoyed.- How long are you going to let yourself go like this?I raise an eyebrow, feigning surprise brilliantly. Yet I know perfectly well what she blames me for. It's three o'clock in the afternoon, today is Thursday... and I'm still in my pajamas. My messy hair partly hides my dirty face, I have a packet of cookies next to me and I haven't showered in...a while. And to add another layer to the picture, I got fired two days ago from my job.My boss called me to offer his condolences and then, without going through any further detours, he told me that I had to replace a colleague. This is where I started being rude. He didn't
Last Updated : 2024-10-29The hell 2
The way back is not long, but allows time for the rain to completely soak up my clothes. Four floors without an elevator later, I open the door while silently watching my hands shake. The keys clash several times before I manage to extract the bunch from the lock. When I turn, I remain frozen for a moment, facing our apartment. No. My apartment. It's as if I saw him in a new light, without Adèle's reassuring presence. The kitchen to my left, overlooking the untidy living room. The two bedrooms adjoining each other. And the bathroom down the hall. I drop the keys in the bowl, at the entrance, and get rid of my clothes while contemplating the chocolate sofa. How many times did we end up there, when we no longer had the strength to drag ourselves to our rooms? When certain objects remind me too cruelly of her absence, I can't hold on any longer and flee down the hall. The door to my room slams behind me and I collapse to the floor, exhausted. My tears are flowing and torrenting, in a pl
Last Updated : 2024-10-29The hell 1
NowadaysI've always loved the relief that the dead bring us, the tranquility of their silence. Even if I know that some can get up, that some are not quite on the other side, walking up the aisles has always been synonymous with peace for me. I am a cemetery walker. A visitor to the tombs. Not like a Necromancer, certainly not like a Ghoul. I just walk around. Sometimes I stop and read a few names. I work a bouquet about to wither, I weed a grave without descendants.I wonder about their past, try to decipher what they were based on their epitaph, when they have one. Was this man a torturer with his wife and a loving father? Did this woman live all her dreams or did she let herself die, swallowed up by a life that was too short? I always stay longer in front of children's graves. As if, suddenly, the grief of their parents was suffocating me, grabbing me to make me feel their pain and pushing me to follow them into the crypts.But Ghosts don't often appear to humans, and I continue o
Last Updated : 2024-10-29
