Armageddon

This is a novel planked in a universe that occupied our orbital space before it painted its own doom. The murder of the king/president of that world triggers a chain of events that unfold, to arc the doom hammer. The saga of a disgusted detective for whom the wheels turn to make him a man destined to garb the clothes of a .......... Read more to know more.

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12. An antognist of sorts

 

Hades stood on the seventh story of the Spire, baking stories as to the intriguing appearance of the yacht. The third bunker was weeding away the yacht, but Hades had that bad feeling that suggested that his creek maybe impregnated. He turned away from the arched windows and looked at his trump card.  Gloss and sleek in its dimension sat the last crystal, the only curvature upon which the fate of the world rested. Apparently, these crystals never corroded or lost their features, this wrought them with the power to cremate the rays of the giant nimbus anywhere they wanted. Coupled with a few spells arcane to those who went orthodox, these crystals were invincible.

He caressed the crystal's cruel edges, he could feel the vibrations it emanated, he felt empowered, the greatest crystals were now his players. He looked at the glass box that entombed the crystals; they were sheathed by three coatings of steel and thus opaque. But inside this nut, a miniature dome of glass housed the crystal. In the outermost guard of steel were studded two rubber buttons. These buttons had engraved on them the words Alarm and Snooze, the same words that had eased into his dictionary during the hallucination.

He turned back, tuning his mind to revert back to the hurdle at hand. He looked out again and realized that his servants were losing. Each bunker was manned by only one man, but Hades had installed three men in that particular bunker in order to bridge the gap between the concerned bunker and the one to its next.

He tweaked his mouth to play for a smile, he reveled in the fact that his loyal dogs were to this day, in dark about his designs. They just knew that Hades was in concurrence to the protocol etched in the Tribal books, and he was the master of some arcane device that indented the Empire's pride. As was the wont of humans, and as dictated by his kith, the unassuming dogs, fueled by patriotism were weaving his victory.

Hades had pastured his own designs and had deployed a message to the empire. They might have taken it a prank of their adversaries, but he would make clear that he meant business. Tomorrow, as the first rays of sun touched the horizon, as the first rays touched his side of the world, the world would be torched.

He had liberated Gaia during his illusionary battle, and that act had arrowed toward him results that transcended his expectations. First he had confined his mind to threats. Steal the crystals, make clear the intentions behind it by issuing a veiled threat, if it does not work destroy their crystals; this had been his first minstrel. But, Gaia had insisted he finish the world, and in return to this favor she would make his soul an impenetrable fort against the myriad maladies of a macabre life. Gaia had said that pain bought with it light and to absorb that light unto oneself, one needed to be the initiator of the pain.

He looked out again, the fight was getting long drawn, and the bunker was illuminated with fires of projectiles so he decided to trigger the self destruct button he had woven within the fabric of the bunker. The close combat was dreary and it brought with it the distaste Hades wore for illicit fighting.

 

Hades took out his triple zoom lens and attached it to the propeller, and he eyed the zoom. He could see the cylinder of oil; he took out a matchbook and ignited it. The propeller was neutral in its attack, so anything stuck onto it would be the invading element. So, he contracted the fire to the extending thread and pressed the trigger, with the aim dead on, the projectile hit the cylinder.

In an instant the whole bunker was a ball of fire, he could hear the screams as people tried to jump into the water. He had already bobbed the surface of water with adequate oil, so the fire would catch on. He wanted absolutely no survivors. If there was the rare phenomenon with sensational survival instincts, then its convalescence period would be time enough for the alerted guards from other bunkers to come negate it.

 

 

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