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About Literature / Hobbyist Core Member Blake Archibald Indigo SteorraMale/Australia Group :icondragonshadowcouncil: DragonShadowCouncil
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A New Beginning: Surprise Package

Colab between Drakdrake0 :icondarkdrake0: and me :iconshadowfaller:
Based on Surprise Package setting, venture into Timeline 16; 2033. A virus has turned half of humanity into Dragons and carriers of it, while the remaining and unaltered half is vulnerable to it's adverse effect; Blood Thirst.
When worlds collide, Lt. Shane Smith will have his weirdest day ever, and Blake Indigo will find something that has been erased from reality.

Random from Favourites


Rawr. Haven't heard from you in a while.... You OK?
Thu Jan 16, 2014, 9:49 AM
I heard someone say bacon... where's the bacon?
Thu Aug 29, 2013, 3:28 AM
BA... con... Thank the empty heavens no one was around to hear that.
Fri Apr 5, 2013, 1:41 AM
Ahem. I have bacon!
Fri Mar 1, 2013, 6:44 PM
Thu Jan 24, 2013, 4:59 PM



Which story should I start first? (See comment for Bios) 

6 deviants said Curse and Effect
5 deviants said Rising Sun
1 deviant said God of War
No deviants said Into the Black

Hunter's Moon

To be written and published by Commercial Means:

Welcome to Terra, a world where technology has advanced to the point where interstellar travel is commercially available, where creatures of myth and fantasy exist along side humans and aliens, magic runs wild in the streets, and reaching for the stars is as simple as boarding a ship...

And a place where the flaws of humanity still exist.

It comes to no surprise that people find out werewolves exist. What does is how they became werewolves in the first place, why they were hunted down. And how they were reclaimed their humanity, at the price of their human forms.


Blake Archibald Indigo Steorra
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Species: Caucasian Human/Sun Elf Hybrid with Fire Fae and Rose Vampire Heritage.
Occupation: Time Traveler/Commonwealth Agent(Interminstery Office of Special Projects)
Likes: Karate, Arcane Spellcraft, Rugby, Exotic Worlds, the occasional anti-grav speedway.
Dislikes: People causing the big problems in the worlds, almost always white humans
Current Location: Nightingale Estate, Ashfield, Australia, Terra.
Method of Contact: Though this site, or the fae, Skype or Subspace communications.
Email address:
Steam Name: ShadowFaller

Favourite Quotes:
"Normal is Relative to Reality."
"I can't see the future, I just work there."
"And here I was, thinking it was going to be another dull decade."
"This is so simple, even a monkey can do it. Guess I better have at it then."
"BA... *Coughs* Ok. I've spent way too much time with dragons."
"It's one thing to see something inhuman as a monster though ignorance. It's another to do so out of appearance alone."
"I'm convinced stupidity killed the cat. Curiosity was framed."

About me: In short, I'm a Psychopath, and experienced in spy-craft and warfare. My Best friend is a werewolf, my lab partner is an alien, my gym partner is a dragon, and I share my house with two sun elves and a two thousand year old vampire who moonlights as a doctor.


Mature Content

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Windwalker. Human by Day. Dragon by Night.

’Subject Thirteen has completed his metamorphous, completing stage four. Even at this point, the subject has grown to just shy of two meters in hight, with a three meter wingspan, equal to his length from snout to tail tip. Additionally, while the subject’s muscle mass has obviously increased, his weight seemed to have decreased slightly. It’s possible that from examining our further along failures that the metamorphous has altered it’s bone chemistry, making it’s bones lighter while making them strong…’

There was a muffled bang from outside the room. The man, his benefactors only know as the Monster Maker looked up from his notebook, looking right at the reenforced door that was the only access into or out of the room.

A streak of red began to appear, like someone took a welding flame to the lock. The man took a revolver, loaded it with six rounds, and closed the revolver. He aimed it at the door.

It opened.

He emptied the gun into what ever was standing there. The man fell forward. Dead.

But too late did he realise that black leather clad man was one of the mercenaries that the Monster Maker hired to secure the facility and keep the subjects in check. Too late did he see the gunshot wound to the head, execution style. His executioner still had the silencer attached to the pistol. He heard the surpassed gunshot just before it hit his chest and ripped though his heart, not stopping until it comes to rest between his vertebrae.

The boy lowered again. He looked no older then fifteen, but his steel grey eyes were weary with centuries of wonder and horror. He was dressed in a black leather duster, over a blue oxford tee, it’s long sleeves poking out from under the sleeves of the duster and a pair of navy jeans, the denim torn around the knees, and a pair of high top converse.

He ran a ran though his wild and unruly brown hair before taking a clip out of his pocket, and replacing the spent clip in his USP as he kicked the door closed. On the far wall, there was line of photos, each with red crosses though them. Beside them were a series of dates, numbers and observations. The last one, number thirteen did not have a red cross though it. It was a photo of a caucasian boy, six or seven years old, the youngest on the list.

The book that the man was writing in shortly before his death was closed, it’s contents protected by the leather cover.

The boy hosted the weapon and picked up the book. Flipping though the pages, he was unfazed by the rather graphic content.

Subjects one though three had no photos. All the details ended with ‘Subject melted.’

Subject four: A homeless man, a war vet died peacefully. His skin was only slightly discoloured, like he died of CO poisoning.

Subject five: An old woman, her body looked twisted and mangled, like her bones were broken in multiple places, and put back together roughly.

Subject six: An american american teenager was more brutally killed, like his organs, heart, lungs, liver, have swollen into over inflated balloons and ruptured the skin before exploding.

Subject seven: A latino young man with prison tattoos. His muscle mass had bulked up too rapidly, resulting in his body to eat away his internal organs to keep up with his growth, even rotting away his brain.

Subject eight: A lot more successful. An asian woman, with a massively corrupted skeleton. The noted cause of death was the skeleton was deforming to rapidly.

Subject nine: Unrecognisable from all the ruby scales covering his body, but his/her face was still flat and human.

Subject ten: Another young woman, caucasian, but the scales only reached her neck, and her face was half formed into a muzzle.

Subject eleven: Photo of a large reptile with eight legs, five tails, two pairs of wings, and a whole spectrum of scales.

Subject twelve: A more ‘normal’ looking dragon. But she began coughing up blood the night she finished her metamorphous. She was dead by morning.

Subject thirteen… To be unveiled to the benefactor.

The accompanying photo was of a young, anthro dragon, black scales, scared out of his mind, but very much alive.

Sleep did not come easy for the forsaken child, but weariness and exhaustion had it’s way. The uncomfortable position he was in was nothing compared to his need for sleep. The sound of gunshots however, made short work of his rest as two quite rounds hit a man.

The smell of blood made his own race. A figure approached his case. He didn’t put up a fight. He just wanted it to be over. The pain. The torture. The hell.

The loneliness.
He heard the latch scrape, and the hinges squeak. The cage was opened and he was pulled out on to the cold concrete ground.

A soft voice reached his ears.

“It’s okay little WindWalker. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

Generally, he was lifted up and he could hear footsteps move under his weight.

Eventually, the smell of blood, dirt and sweat was gone. He felt warmth on his scales. Sunlight.

“Blake!” He heard another voice. Deep. Rough.

He heard a hiss.

“I thought they were all dead.” The voice said, in an attempt of a whisper.

“So did I.” The figure said. “Get Koraian.”

There was a pause as he was lied out on something soft.

“Can you hear me?”

The child tried to make words. His throat was sore and dry from screaming. What he said came out almost as deep as the other voice.


“We’re going to get you some help.” The figure assure him. “What’s your name?”

Again. the child tried to make words, but only coming out with “Al…”

“Al? Alec? Albert?”

“Alex.” He finally got out. “Ru… Rus…” The rest came out in a hiss.

“Rush? Alex Rush?”

The child nodded before blacking out.

Windwalker - Prologue
A new story idea I've been working with. Alex Rush, AKA, Windwalker, lives in Chicago. Born human, he was abducted an subjected to the final form of a transformative serum. He becomes a dragon, with the ability to shape shift back into his human form. Nine years later, his family and best friend, Conner, are still ignorant of Alex's abilities. But WindWalker makes a name for himself Chicagotown's Hero Dragon. But not everyone is happy, and Alex's adductors want him back. The story touches a superhero genre, following Alex's struggles, fears, triumphs and ambitions as Chicago's Protector.

Chapter Three: The Red Haired Aristocrat

Young, professional, and beautiful was just a few words that anyone could describe her with. Dressed in a tailored purple suit, with designer high heels and matching handbag, you could tell she was very professional, and the cufflinks, the wedding band and silver ear rings, everyone could tell she was wealthy. And the long crimson red hair, almost cheerleader like looks and hourglass figure, everyone’s head turned.

Though, the look on her face, and the phone in her hand, and the purposeful stride across the lobby, everyone knew she meant business. No one approached her, she walked up to the reception desk, rang the bell and waited.

He didn’t just want the door locked. He wanted to make sure no one was going to reenter the room. With a permeant marker he found on one of the desks, he drew a spell seal around the door knob. He was sure that the lower demonic symbols were inaccurate, but if it worked, if it channeled the mana to make the room impossible to access, then it was fine.

Smiling, Blake remembered doing this to a rather egotistical demigod, almost getting himself caught as the tyrant prince tried to enter his room filled with riches, only to end up in some random room in the fortified city. Thankfully, the room he ended up in, was also his first, and two seconds before he ended up there. Three seconds later, the entire continuum collapsed, saving himself and liberating the entire kingdom form the prince. But they didn’t remember the prince in the first place, so he just took something form the treasure room as a souvenir, and called it a day trip.

The first thing he grabbed was his sword, the hilt seemed to glow in approval now that it was back in the hands of it’s welder. Then he went to return what was thrown from his bag back inside before making a note of it’s contents, checking if everything important was there. Laptop, tablet, weapons, equipment, spacesuit, reagents, potions, charms…

Blake cursed. Then he cursed again. And for good measure, cursed some more. He couldn’t believe it. Volkanir's Attenuator was gone.

Jamie was aware of the charm, and what it did.

The story of how it came into existence was a simple one. Blake was still a young human, and it was sometime after his biological father died that his mother, Dianne began taking him on various trips though the dimensions and timelines. One such journey, they visited the great southern mountains of Calypso, home to the dragon, Volkanir. Initially, Blake did not take to the trip enthusiastically as Dianne hoped and blamed it on the boy morning the loss of his father. But when the boy collapsed on their walk, she then began to suspect something more.

The elder of the local clan, Vokanir had taken pity on the boy, and used considerable resources to diagnose the boy’s problem, and much more treating the boy. Two crystals, one she knew as Obsidianite, the other was a rose coloured, quartz like crystal known as Tempate, a rare and valuable crystal due to it’s properties in time and dimension manipulation. With a shard of both crystals, Volkanir created his Attenuator and bound it to the boy with the single purpose of helping the human physical body, stay in sync with the fairy astral body.

However, after Dianne died, the boy was taken off anti-aging medication that prevented him from maturing during their lengthy trips, and kept any inconvenient questions at bay. Blake was around two hundred when they celebrated his eighth birthday, the day his mother died. The problem was that the Attenuator did to things to him as he matured. Over the seven years, Blake matured and grew unaware of his Fairy heritage or even that his astral body was fusing to his physical body. This, in turn disabled any possible ability to physically shape shift, along with some unusual biological quirks. The second, and unconfirmed theory is that the Attenuator was responsible for his ability to manipulate dimensions and time though spell craft easily. As his instructor in spellcraft, this surprised Jamie. He could barely create a controlled flame, and yet teleporting and stopping time came almost too easy. 

So imagine her distain when she saw the charm hanging from one of the villain’s necks, the twin crystal shards seemed to glow in the light, one purple, one yellow. What it did to Blake was unexpected. Gods only know what it’s going to do to Mikey. She knew she had to get that charm way from him, and quickly.

Her first attempt was brewing up a gale, despite how suspicious it might be, or how difficult it was to manipulate air currents indoors.

When she managed to gather the energy to create a decent gust, a loud rip silenced the world in a comical fashion. Even more comical was a long, silver reptilian tail, followed the man, who was completely obvious to the addition.

No. Jamie retracted as she watched the man walk, his new found tail moving as if to counterbalance his stride. He’s aware of the tail, but he’s acting like he’s had it his whole life.

The other villains, including the teller, heard the rip that heralded the arrival of the tail, but didn’t see the cause, and dismissed the sound. The hostages however did hear and see the tail, as confirmed by the whispers of the to youths that accompanied the boy inside, prior to his transformation.

“Do you think what’s happening to Greg is happening to him as well?” The girl asked her companion.

“Could be contagious.” The boy whispered, as if unsure on how he thought on the topic himself.

“But it’s not happening all at once like it did to Greg.”

Then it hit Jamie… the Attenuator was slowing down the effects of… what ever it was that was causing the transformation.

There was also something else. She could sense the charm doing something else. She repurposed the mana gathered and used it to pick up the ‘Spell Matrix’ in an effort to identify both who was causing it, and what it was doing.

When Roxanne arrived in the hotel suite she was directed to, she expected to see the room transformed into a makeshift office, holographic screens on one end, desks, chairs and tables arranged on another with laptops, tablets and sheets of plastic that displayed uploaded documents scatted around with portable scientific equipment, arcane bobbles, trinkets and weapons ranging from throwing knives to broadswords and battle axes to hand guns and assault rifles to laser pistols and anti-matter grenades.

And the only sound was the tapping of a keyboard. Sitting at the largest array of computers was Joey Parker, a young aboriginal cyborg she knew well. The boy had a talent for hacking into even the most secure of systems, writing entire programs in a matter of hours, and a reputation on the Darknet as the Ace of Spades.

He often stated that his status as Blake’s Guardian, and his Commonwealth Badge now prevents him from wearing that username again.

“You got access to the server?” Roxanne demanded, going straight into action.

“Just did.” He answered as the array of screens showed the entire file system of Roxanne’s Political Career.

“Navigate to the Human Rights document in the Universal Accords folder. And who’s the contact in the NSA?”

“Director Cynthia Hayes. Called her already. Most of the Western World has already released statements. Washington, Ottawa, Tokyo and Canberra have released statements. Basically saying that people are still people, no matter what they are, asking for clam, and carry on as normal. Meanwhile, this guy, Gordon Charles has started this Human Supremacist Movement and stirring up social media. As if it hasn’t been stirred up already by videos of dragons doing stupid things.”

“Give teenagers a pair of wings and a flamethrower…”

“It’s more then that. A pair of kids in New York City thinks it’s a good idea to scare innocent people as they walk into an elevator, and film the reactions. But for now, there’s an emergency meeting at the UN. Topic of discussion is this little dilemma. Right now, they’re just watching.”

Not wishing to dwell on the missing charm any longer, Blake looked towards the still, tied up form of the dragon adolescent. A pang of guilt and sympathy ran though his heart and the star core flared with anger in his chest as he regarded the pain, the agonising pain the transformation forced him to go though, and the obstacles he’s yet to overcome.

‘What if I lose my self control,

‘What if I choose to let it go,

‘I wanna let you and me collide,

“Baby these wings were made, these wings were made to…’

Silencing the music as quickly as he could, Blake had answered the call, well aware of who was calling, thanks to the assigned ringtone.

“You must be psychic.” He whispered.

“Very funny. So dear husband, since I’m all alone in Paris, I was hoping that a handsome young man would sweep me off my feet and show me a good time in the city of lights, especially now that I’ve found a beautiful new dress to show off.”

Blake had to restrain himself at the ‘subtle’ hints Charlotte Wells was trying to drop. “Well, a girl can dream, can’t she.” He whispered.

“Okay. What’s happened?” She asked deflated.

He grimaced. This was the one person he could never ever lie to, and she had to ask the question that may lead to her romantic night to be shot down. “Bank robbery, hostage situation, and a dragon. And if I stick around long enough, the sun might expand and roast this little backwater planet.”

“Then it’s a good thing I brought marshmallows. And nothing says love like watching a star expand into a red supergiant with a glass of champaign.”

“That’s what you said about stopping a terrorist on the Orient Express.”

“We had fun didn’t we?”

“Fun?” Blake shock his head. “I had to disarm a bomb with my teeth.”

“Upside down and…”

“Don’t remind me.” There was a beep. Blake checked his phone to find another call waiting. “I’ve got another call.”

“I’ll be on the next flight to LAX. Ta ta my love.” And with that, Charlotte hung up and Blake answered the other call.


“Mr. Steorra. This is the undertaker. The client you called about earlier.”

“Yeah? What about him?”

“The cause of death was genetic shock. And I say was on a very loose basis.”

“What do you mean?”

“The client is no longer deceased.” There was a loud roar on the other end as Blake grimaced.

People coming back from the dead did not mean good things, in any situation.

“We did however manage to integrate the client before his recovery.” The Undertaker continued. “We have a set of terrestrial coordinates. Koraian and Zane are arriving at the location by Star Yacht.”

“In other words, they’re flying the Endeavour. That’s bad news from any angel.”

“And your sister is has arrived.” The line went dead.

Flames below.

A soft growl reached his ears...

Vicious - Ch 3
Chapter two: Vicious - Ch 2

Sorry about the long wait. It's been a busy few months.

Chapter two: Fallen

Magister Jamie Sw’et wasn’t afraid. Which would probably explain her arrogance in the face of such a situation. This band of criminals were nothing compared to compared to the trained, well armed and merciless mercenaries that held her friends hostage, lead by a corrupt Terran Aristocrat whom Blake had long since replaced in the high council. And that was before she became a Commonwealth Agent, and the aforementioned boy’s Guardian.

She was very certain that with her mastery of wind, and one or two of her teams small reserve of greater elementals, these criminals wouldn’t stand a chance as they were swallowed by a hurricane localised entirely inside the bank’s foyer. With that said, doing so would mean risking the lives of the hostages, and such actions would lead to her cover being blown, certainly. She was less concerned for her cover, but if she were to somehow talk herself out of supposition, then it would be a media fuelled witch hunt, and they had a dragon right in the middle of it.

Which lead her to another line of thought. The boy, turned into a dragon so suddenly. She was aware of the room’s arcane content. There was no spikes, ever, let alone during the boy’s metamorphosis into a winged reptile. She ruled out errant spell casting immediately, though the knowledge of such spells were not wide spread on this version of earth, and made it very unlikely it was the cause in the first place. An enchanted item maybe. But still unlikely as he would have either been wearing it, or holding it though the change.

There was only one other common cause.

With that said, her expertise in the arts arcane were useless.

She heard a whimper, which wasn’t unheard of in a hostage situation, but this particular whimper came from a girl, fifteen, caucasian human, her black hair was frazzled, her eyeliner now ruined by the stray tear… again. Not out of the ordinary for a hostage situation, but when Jamie came out of the back offices, the girl was calm. Now, she was a wreck.

A chubby boy was comforting her, as best he could, but she could tell that the boy was trying just as hard to convince himself of the same thing. She raised the possibility that they knew the boy that had changed. She remembered seeing them walk into the bank together.

And now they were gripped in fear and uncertainty. While the hostages whispered their various conspires, unaware that they were wrong.

Again, her arrogance of experience. But she was certain that the boy’s now tenuous psyche would not benefit from this attention. Especially when a passing news helicopter, was at just the right distance and angle to record the whole thing. She only became aware of that fact just now as a television mounted on the far wall was replaying the live footage, in silent detail. But just looking at it gave a sample of the pain the process inflicted on the boy.

The world knows about him already, and he had yet to come to terms with his new found form.

A spike in arcane energy informed her of Blake’s return, but the hostage taker dubbed ‘Mikey’ and the teller who she concluded was the inside man had not returned after dragging the poor boy into the office.

“Does Ma’am like?”

“Ma’am likes very much.” The girl said looking over her formal dress, scrutinising her appearance at every angle, it’s single strap running over her left shoulder. “What do you think?”

Her question was directed to the dark skinned teenager with chiselled tattoo that covered the right side of his face. He was currently looking at his hands, making ebony black claws appear on the ends of his fingers and forcing them back into human fingernails.

“Glenn!” She snapped.

“What?” He looked up to see his companion shot a look at him that screamed ‘Not here.’ Once he got past the look, he saw the dress, hugging the teenage girl’s hourglass figure in it’s silk like gold embrace. He was speechless, stunned by the white hair teenager’s beauty. In his oppion, he would probably be fighting off every teenage heterosexual male in Beverly Hills Mall, and a few brave lesbian girls too, if they saw Clair Weli’sol wearing that.

At the Dianne Indigo Foundation Annual Gala, the Levertan beauty was going to make heads, and the equivalent of heads turn as she walked into the grand ball room, arm in arm with a strong and handsome Lycan in formal black tie, in his less then humble opinion.

He was staring at Clair for at least ten seconds when his phone forced him to move and answer it, while Clair and the shop assistant started talking about accessories.

“What’s up Blake?”

“Did you hear about it?”

“Hear what?”

“The California Union Branch in Downtown Los Angeles was being robbed. The same branch Jamie and I were probing for movement of finances that were used to finance illegal genetic experiments.” Blake explained. “I was just there, and now I’m in a hotel room with a dead body.” He could hear Blake pull the phone way from his ear and face to say “This won’t take long. I’ll be with you in a moment.” to someone. Given who was talking, it was probably the dead body he referred to earlier. Wait…

“Dead body? In a hotel room?” He whispered.

“Yeah. The late Mr. James Higgins who deposited large sums into a twelve digit corporate account held by dummy corp that was started by someone on the terrorist watch list, to vanished seven years ago. Very efficiently too.” Blake continued to explained. “Turned out he was here, in the city of angels. Now they’re carrying him to his rest.” He took a breath.

“Are you okay?” Glenn asked concerned.

“I might need to switch to decaffeinated chocolate milk for a decade or two. Did you two put a dint in that slush fund yet?” Blake asked. 

“Dead body.”

“Right. I need you to get there as soon as Clair’s finished finding the right shoes for that stunning gold dress she has on. You lucky dog.” Blake informed him. “Doc Martins would be my suggestion. Stylish and functional.”

Glenn turned to see the shop assistant offering a pair of hot pink high heels that, if anything, did not go with the dress she had worn just moments ago. She could see her grit her teeth just at the sight of them.

“Anything but hot pink?”

“God yes.” He head the door knock on the other end of the line. “That’s the undertaker. Gotta go.” He hung up, and Glenn put his phone away. Clair walked up to him with a smile on her face, and a bag on her hand.

“Lunch?” Clair asked as she walked up.

“To go.” Glenn deadpanned.

“God yes.” Blake answered as he heard a knock at the door.

“Room service for Mr. Goodfellow.” Blake heard a woman’s voice, thick with a Costa Rican accent. “I have a bottle of 2003 Ivanhoe Shiraz.”

“That’s the undertaker. Gotta go.” He told Glenn before hanging up. He walked up to the door. “There must be some mistake. I didn’t order room service.” He called to the woman.

“The order was made on behalf and paid for by your employer, Miss Sheoth.” The voice on the other side said. “She wants to welcome you to the City of Angels.” Blake opened the door to admit a latin woman in a suit and wearing a pair of sunglasses. “Where’s the client?”

Blake pointed to the middle aged man on the ground. The woman walked up and examined the body quickly.

“How long has he been dead?” She asked.

“Best guess, twenty minutes.” Blake answered. “Your ideal client.”

“And the scene?”

“Process and wash.” Blake ordered. “Forward all reports to Clair Weli’sol and Korian Gordisi.”

“Understood sir.” And with that, the boy suddenly vanished in a flash of purple light…

…only to reappear in the office of the Downtown Los Angeles Branch of the California Union Bank. Just as two individual entered the empty offices, dragging something heavy… no. It wasn’t heavy, just large. In the reflection in one of the computer screens, he could see a bank teller and a young man in a ski mask drag in a dragon. The rags still clinging to the reptile in question, and from the whimpers of the man in the ski mask told Blake that the dragon was probably another human among the crowd just a few minutes ago.

“If he wakes up, he’s gonna eat us man.” The man in the ski mask said clearly. “I don’t wanna be dragon food.”

“Mikey!” The teller yelled. “Where’s the rope?”

The ski mask man threw a duffle bag on to the desk. The teller, already fed up with the situation dug around the bag and pulled out a coil of climbing rope, and proceed to tie the dragon up in the most complicated fashion he could think of, making sure arms, legs, wings, tail and for added measure, the jaw was secured and immoveable. When he was done, he spotted another bag, a black and red backpack.

“Mikey. This is it. This is the other agents bag.” The teller picked up the bag and they started to examine the contents, verbally sounding their thoughts. Blake muttered something about cleaning that bag more often.

“Eh, look at this. This guy Rusty certainly has a reoccurring theme for his flying school.”

“I don’t envy this guy. A doctor Arcflame had to prescribe some serious pain killers, and he didn’t even fill the script.”

“What language is this? Koran?”

“Newspaper article of shooting at a private school in Newcastle. Thirteen dead.”

“Some blueprints for an F-34 Valient Fighter Jet by Edge Industries. Maybe. I don’t think I covered this in shop class.”

“What are Advantists? And what to they have against Alterists? Has to be some sort of code.”

“Yuck. Is that blood? Why is it yellow?”

“DSC? What does that stand for? And who’s Zorath Flamecloak?”

“Is that an eagle feather? Looks way too big.”

“There are a lot of metal balls in here.”

“Wer Ith Vur Plisoic Nishka Kult? Is that german?”

“Crystal Blade Smithing using White Dwarf Forges? This guy has some weird reading material.”

“Tell me about it. Terragonia: A Dimension Jumpers Guide this incredible Post-Human Civilisation. What next? A book on werewolves?”

“How about a blog article on Werewolf Street Racers?”

“Is that a brain? In a jar?”

“Complete review of Vernia, the VRMMORPG?”

“To Henry, Happy Hatchday? What’s that suppose to mean? And is he really just giving him a solid gold dragon idol? How much do you think this thing is worth?”

"Coldplay Piano Music?"

“Geschichte des Tower: Fünfzig zweite Auflage. Guess this guy really does speak german.”

“Friday, 29th of June, 2015. Bring cake. Dracula Cafe, Budapest. Looks like he crossed out June and put May.”

“Ow! Why does he have a mousetrap in there?”

“Maybe he has a rodent problem. Hey, look at this.”

Damn it. Blake cursed to himself, hoping they wouldn’t find what they just found. A black, glass like blade grew from a silver hilt, a glass and steel cross guard extended from it’s sides. The sword however began to glow a bright and ominous purple. Blake cursed under his breath, nether the bank teller or the bank robber heard.

The sword was forged from four materials. Obsidianite Crystal, Demon Blood, Stainless Steel, and a piece of his own soul, now housed within the crystal blade. Together, the materials were forged in the heart of a white dwarf, and designed down to the molecule. Like the Eye of Horus that was on the back of his hand, it was a symbol of his position as Titania’s Champion.

Then panic turned to concern for the bank robber’s part. Obsidianite has an unusual property of glowing when the wielder or wear was in danger. The swords wielder was now the bank robber Mikey. And if the sword was glowing, something was about to happen, and it was going to happen soon.

“Sweet.” ‘Mikey’ exclaimed. “Retractable sword.”

“Odd thing for a Fed to have.”

“Who cares.” Mikey threw out, turning towards the dragon, whom Blake could sense was waking up. “Die dragon.” Mikey raised the blade over his head and prepared to bring it down.

Just as he did, the blade retracted back into it’s hilt and the cross guard collapsed, the sword losing all it’s lethality just made Mikey look like an idiot when he bought the hilt down.

“Come on.” He tried to flick the blade back out but to no avail. He looked over the purple and silver for a button.

“If your done playing around.” The teller said frustrated.

Mikey just grumbled. “Fine.” He threw the hilt into the pile of paper, books and junk. Blake hoped they were about to leave.

“Lets just lock the thing in here. If the Fed is in here, we’ll know.” The Teller explained, even though the dragon was tied up. Spoke more about the confidence in the rope he guessed. They left and the door clicked as it locked behind them.


“This is not good.” Clair finally declared after several minutes of pondering. The bank robbery has just gone viral, the transformation hit youtube and already has several thousand hits. And the live footage went to air only five minutes ago.

She was surprised YouTube hadn’t overloaded.

Beside her, Glenn was driving, mostly insisting since it was his famed blue mustang, updated and upgraded. That included the full iPod interface, Silverback playing though the surround sound speakers. Clair continued to search the local cyberspace for answers, but instead found more videos of assorted transformations. As it turned out, the bank robbery was not an isolated incident.

But how were they connected?

“Dianne’s Judgement?” Glenn asked.


“It’s going to have to be though the international court. This isn’t just localised in the United States.” Clair pointed out. “I’ll call Parker. Tell him to organise the paperwork.”

Vicious - Ch 2
Chapter one: Vicious - Ch 1

Not a lengthy chapter, it'll get the ball rolling. Additionally, name dropping and the junk found in the backpack are as follows:
Flyer for Rusty's Flying School from :iconrekalnus:. Personally I might add.
Prescription Script from :icontorkos-arcflame:'s prescription pad. I never go to human doctors.
Communication from :icontanorath-drgn: Space fleet's. Definitely not written in Koran. Where do I begin describing the differences?
Edge Industries' F-34 Valient from :iconedgec:. Still working out how they got there. I'll work on returning them.
A print out of a military document from :icondarkdrake0: EVOlution series.
Vial of Ariciur blood.
Dragon Shadow Council Summons from :icondrakeagle:. Not sure for which event, there's a chocolate milk stain over it.
Griffen Feather.
Porta-balls. Most of them are in reality large machines and vehicles compressed into a small sphere the size and weight of a tennis ball.
The Prophecy of the Three from :iconkeelen6:. I imagine it means something bad.
Crystal Blade Smithing using White Dwarf Forges, chapter fourteen has an extensive instruction on how to forge Obsidianite blades.
Terragonia from :iconnyrawrites:'s 8-Bit Reboot.
Werewolf Street Races. Think :iconaj-lethal:'s team in Shift.R webcomic.
Brain in a Jar. This one is self explanatory. Why do I even have a brain in a jar? That's a good question.
Gamer Magazine with a review of Vernia from Spit, written before the transhuman bug. :icongadzooooks:'s brainchild.
A very late birthday present for :iconkettouryuujin:. I can never tell when his birthday is. Could have something to do with time travel.
Coldplay Piano Music for :iconarakod-qirian: who, last I heard, was learning to play the keyboard. If memory serves. Could be the Guitar.
History of the Tower: 52nd edition from :iconrobinton:'s Dragonclaw. And no, they didn't have it in english.
Finally, :iconzykedragon:'s birthday is today, or tomorrow. Depends on the Time Zone. I wrote myself a little reminder for the...
Wait. It's not Friday... why did I put Friday? Did I get the day of the week wrong? I did I get the month wrong? I can't believe I got the month wrong. Wait... I'm Late!

Chapter one: Subject to Change

An ivory claw made another line in the cement wall. Another meal. Another day. He really couldn’t remember why he bothered. Some feeble attempt at keeping count how many days passed since his captivity. How many days since he lost his humanity. How many days waiting for freedom. He figured they couldn’t keep him caged up forever. He figured he would get too big for the cell, like he did with his clothes, he was already too tall to stand upright anymore. He’d just keep remembering faces, voices, places, until he was out of this place.

Los Angeles was quite on that particular day. Nate Phillpe scored the winning touchdown as his school cheered for the young half-back’s victory, and his team mates lifted him up in celebration. Everyone but Kyle Bates, the team’s quarterback, and his buddy and the star lineback, Victor Roads. Neither of them looked happy. Unknown to Nate, there was a scout from the collage football league in the stands today, and nether had preformed well in this game especially when Kyle got benched after spraining his ankle, while Nate practically lead the team into the next round, and a football scholarship could go along way.

It might have also been that Nate was Kyle and Victor’s former victim of their torment, until Freshmen year of high school when he started to shoot up quickly, and joke in the classroom with the coach passing by the door lead him to be drafted into the football team. And hitting the weights and field regularly also added some lean meat to his bones, meant that the two had to look elsewhere for victims.

That included his best friend Greg, but Nate stood against both of them, resulting in a fight. After that, their coach and the school’s principle made it very clear that was never to happen again. That and they couldn’t risk Kendall kicking their butts again. Their pride couldn’t take it the first time when she helped Nate.

Both his friends, Greg and Kendall stood on the side of the field, both of them were ecstatic for him, meeting him on the sidelines. Greg Bennet wasn’t an active indervidural, you could tell from his slight heavyset build and pale skin. He preferred to stay indoors and play video games while Nate leaned towards outdoor activities. His curly red hair, slight overweight and short hight would have made him a frequent target of abuse if Nate hadn’t taken it for him, and then stood up for him in High School. Next to him, was Kendall Rosalind. They had known each other since third grade when Kendall moved to Los Angeles from Boston, the brown haired, hazel eyed young girl that looked so lost and out of place in the elementary school halls.

Greg greeted his best friend with a raised fist. “Sick game Nate. You creamed them.” Nate returned the fist bump grinning like mad.

“Well done.” Kendall said, her excitement more restrained. There was a deep red blush spreading across her face.

“Phillpe! Hit the showers!” The coach yelled at the boy after the field cleared of all the players, but Nate.

“We’ll wait.” Greg assured him as Kendall’s phone rang.

“Hey Dad.” Kendall answered as Nate walked into the locker rooms. Inside, he was meet by cheer and praise from his team mates before he showered and changed into his street clothes. As he left, he noticed Kyle and Victor’s eyes watching him. Almost antagonising him.

“There you are!” Kendall called out, running up to him. “Small problem. My Dad called. He needs someone to make a run to the bank before it closes early today. But if we hurry, we can still catch that movie.”

“Fine. Where’s Greg?” Nate asked before hearing a cry from his friend.

“Get back here Lemon!” They heard Kyle yell as Greg turned a corner. He was followed my Victor and Kyle but stopped when they saw him hide feebly behind Nate. They didn’t hesitate for long as they advanced on the trio.

They ran, not noticing a series of unfortunate accidents that caused them to trip and plant their faces into the floor. They passed a seeing eye dog, the light coloured labrador barking as it ran past them.

The doors of the Miller Connivence Store opened as three tried teenagers stumbled in out of breath and tired from running. The store was fequented by students for before school sugar rush and after school stacking, and the occasional car needing refuelling once in a while. Clyde Miller might have owned the store but also managed it single handedly. Sometimes he ran the till and restocked during the weekend mornings. The middle aged man examined his eldest, and gave her a look of worry.

“Been fighting again Kiddo?” Mr. Miller asked, almost encouragingly while the tone was like scolding a child for throwing sand in another child’s face, despite how much he deserved it.

“Just getting into shape dad. Nothing like a good run around the block while being chased by jerks who think they’re better then everyone else.” Kendall sighed. “So where’s the money.”

Mr. Miller gestered to the back with a nod of his head. “I’ll just get it out of the safe. You guys help yourself to some of the merchandise.” He told the boys, meaning they could take something in return for the innocence. Greg took his favourite chocolate bar, and Nate was about to reach for an energy drink when something caught his eye.

“Vicious Energy Drink: Special Edition Dragon Fruit Flavour. Unleash the beast within.”

Nate picked up a can and studied it more closely. Under the brand name, flavour and slogan was a smiling reptilian muzzle that belonged to a winged reptile giving the reader a clawed thumbs up with one claw, while crushing a can in the other, and sporting a torso of rippled muscle. This was often a occurring theme for Vicious Energy Drinks to sport anthromorthic animals and creatures of myth with over inflated muscles on their products. He figured it was an advertising strategy, not sure who they’re trying to sell to. Never the less, he’s interest was peaked at the flavour. He took the can to the counter where Mr. Miller. 

“Ah. That new product. I only just put it on the shelves.” Mr. Miller told Nate as he subtracted the drink from his inventory. “Enjoy your movie kids.”

“Thank’s Mr. Miller.” Nate said.

“See ya Dad.” Kendall called back. Greg called back with something but his mouth was already stuffed with the chocolate bar. When they left the store, Nate pulled the tab on the can of drink and took a cautious taste. It was sweet. Not overly sweet but a little much for his tastes but running and the game had left him thirsty. He took a long drought from the can leaving it half empty.

The California Union Bank didn’t remain open for long on Saturday. It surprised Nate that it was even open at all on a weekend. He figured it was an unwritten rule of banking that branches shouldn’t be open on weekends or public holidays, and yet, this one was.

The interior wasn’t as inhospitable as he expected. For one, it was air conditioned, giving him an escape from the west coast heat. For two, Greg had found a near by sofa to collapse on while he and Kendall waited in the lengthy line up that waited for an available teller, who did their best to tend to their client’s financial needs. Kendall had stuck Nate with carrying the bag of cash and change while he continued to drink what was left of his drink, getting a little tired of holding the bad and standing in a line. But they were quick to be called to a window and Kendall handed the bag over with the store’s account number.

She was about to take a receipt of the deposit when the gunshots began. Three full automatic machine pistols made themselves known as rapid shots of bullets fired into the air, and into the celling. Nate pulled Kendall to the ground as screams erupted and orders were being barked. A brave security guard drew his weapon, but before he could get off a round, he was pelted with gunfire. His body fell as blood sprayed from his wounds. One thing was made very clear to Nate.

They weren’t going to make it to that movie.

“Stay on the ground!” The leader barked as his two comrades began searching offices and pulling tellers from behind the safety of their glass dividers. “If I see an eye look up. I shot it! Got it!”

“Dude. This is gonna be awesome.” One of the men said as he dropped a duffle bag next to Nate and Kendall. He then noticed the can in Nate’s hand. “You don’t mind man? Great.” He took the drink, without waiting for an answer, but Nate didn’t protest either. His drink was the least of his worries.

A man was pulled from one of the offices and pulled behind the glass dividers, as a sirens signalled the police presence. Nate figured it was the branch manager they were taking into the back. A few seconds later, there came the sound of a single gunshot.

And during this time Nate began to feel sick to the stomach. But that was the least of Nate’s worries. He wasn’t even sure he would live though the day.

“Mikey! Get the explosives!” One of the men yelled. The man that took the drink from Nate picked up the duffle bag. He finished off the drink then dropped the empty can next to Nate’s head.

“Unhand me Nave!” He heard someone yell. One of the tellers was dragging a young woman in by her arm. “Let go of me!” They appeared from the private offices, the teller holding a gun and a badge in his hand.

“What the hell is this?!” The lead demanded.

“She’s a fed.” The teller declared, dropping both items at the man’s feet. “She came in here with her partner twenty minutes ago with a warrant, and her partner’s nowhere to be seen.”

“I came in here alone.” The woman protested. “You saw me enter alone. Why are you trying to fabricate a…” She was silenced by a swift slap to her face and she was forced to the ground.

“Go find this partner of her’s.” The lead told the teller, who then ran off as the lead picked up the badge, and credentials. “Agent Jamie Sweet huh.” 

That’s when the pain started

It took all of Nate’s will to keep from screaming in pure agony. Kendall noticed his face was scrunched up in pain, but before she could ask what was wrong, she heard a set of sicking cracks, and a few brief but unmistakeable grunts from Nate.

“You say something?” ‘Mikey’ said, prodding the boy’s side with the barrel of his gun. Even more pain shot though him. He let out a scream. He felt like he was being stabbed all over, only the knives were pushing out.

“What did you do to him!?” The agent yelled, displaying more authority then the position of hostage allowed her. “Answer me!” The woman looked at Nate, her silver blue eyes meeting the boy’s reptilian golden with slit pupils. In that moment, she could only watch as he fell into pure agony.

“What the hell!?” One of the men, Mikey exclaimed as he watched the boy’s pants ride up his calves, like they were sinking… no. The more he looked, the more he released that the clothes’ owner was getting taller, while his skin took on a deep blue. Had he been looking at the fingertips, he would have noticed the nails falling off, only to be replaced by an ebony claw. The ripping of canvas drew attention to his feet, as they grew long and thin while his toes grew plump and large. The rest of the hostages backed away, while the lead hostage taker struggled to maintain control, not just of the situation, but of his own men. Mikey had his gun trained on the kid, watching as sapphire coloured scales pushed their way out from under the boy’s skin, covering him from head to toe in scaly armour.

When the screaming stopped, it wasn’t because he was no longer in pain, but because he passed out from it. And it was replaced by loud and sicking snaps of bones braking and muscle tearing. A long scaly limb rapidly grew into existence, snaking down the leg of his pants, as his body began to swell, limbs and torso becoming longer, and larger. His face was also changing, his mouth and nose pushing forward, creating a muzzle, a pair of horns made an appearance, appearing from his hair, and continued to grow until they were promenade ivory features. His ears, which had disappeared among the scales were replaced with webbed flaps.

Then with a loud rip, his shirt, that had held on to it’s owner though his metampothious was completely blown apart by the entrance of a pair of large, bat like blue wings. And as a final touch, the creature gave a loud and frighting roar, showing off it’s fork tongue in all it’s glory as flat incisors fell from it’s gums, and sharper, carnivorous ones replaced them.

And it was all over. No trace of Nate’s former species left, instead replaced by a mythological creature, it’s breathing heavy and laboured.

Then in growled. Or it moaned. It was hard to tell as one on the gunmen chose that moment to have a mental brake.

“Shit man! What the hell!?” The youngest gunman yelled, gun still trained on Nate. “A fucking dragon man! I didn’t sign up for thi…” The but of the lead’s gun across his face was all the incentive he needed to shut up.

“Keep it together!” He yelled before turning to Kendall, and taking her by the arm, much to her protests. “Drag it into one of the offices and leave it there.”

Somewhere across Los Angeles, a boy in black walked into a hotel room. A first floor, corner room, right next to a fire escape, with a single queen sized bed, a flat screen TV, laptop connected to the free wifi… and a dead body on the ground.

The boy took note of the body immediately, closed the door, checked the room’s ensuite and went to the body’s side immediately, putting on a pair of leather gloves, covering a tattoo of an Egyptian symbol, the eye of Hours, before turning the body over. The boy’s steel grey eyes glowed a vivid purple, as he consulted the welts and growths on his face.

“Sydney Centre. This is Indigo-Steorra Five Delta Seven. I have a DOA in custardy. Inform the undertaker to prepare DOA for integration." The boy spoke into his phone, listened to the response and eyes widened in shock. "What?! I was there two seconds ago!"

Vicious - Ch 1
Chapter two: Vicious - Ch 2

This one's been nagging at me for some time now. Old setting, but a new direction.

Chapter One: Jumper

“You listen to me you sorry excuse for a multicellular organism. You killed those people to put my acquaintance in a frame. Your either incredibly brave, or clinically stupid. I don’t care which. All I care about is that I’m going to beat you to half to death with your own limbs, cut out your liver with a spoon, shove your heart up your ass and decorate the town with your entrails. And I’ll make sure you stay alive though the whole experience.

“I’m going to call back. The girl is going to answer. My first question ‘Are you hurt?’ If she answers yes, or if I even think she’s lying, I vanish, and you won’t even see me coming until it’s too late. Why? Because it’s in my nature. If your not scared now, then I know your clinically stupid.”

The line went dead.

Kathryn Stoic looked at the phone confused, while her kidnappers looked at it scared. In the past week she’s known that kid… no. She didn’t know him at all. The same kid that didn’t even flinch when a werewolf grows out of frustration, remained clam when her best friend was on fire, got along with everyone but the resident jerk. He just threatened a man who helped a serial killer escape a federal prison, and sided with Fletcher.

‘Who are you?’ Kathryn asked a very determined boy only days earlier in the woods. His face then turned from stoic to entertained in a blink of an eye.

‘Blake Steorra.’ He answered smoothly.

‘I know that.’

‘Then why did you ask?’

‘What’s a commonwealth agent? Is that an Australian fed?’

‘No. A Commonwealth Agent’s jurisdiction is a lot larger then a fed’s.’

She wanted to press the subject, but never got the chance. Ever since those new kids came to Heartland, normalcy was but a distant sweet memory.

One Week Earlier…

He let the neck tie hang around his neck, the knot hang just below a stainless steel ankh that hung from a chain, and an emerald tie clip securing it to purple shirt with the outline of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. It was tucked into a pair of green, camo patten cargo pants with a magnetic black leather belt and stainless steel buckle. Over his attire was a black button up shirt with a silver, seven point star pin on the collar.

The duster was hanging behind the door of his closet, but it was like losing a second skin. It had been his armour, and companion though out his long life. He scrutinised his appearance further, steel grey eyes that held almost ancient wisdom, nordic pale skin that refused to pick up colour, brown hair that was constantly messy and windswept, and sharp cheekbones that gave his face a gaunt and thin shape. He traced a finger down his left check, down a thin, discoloured line that went from his forehead, crossing his eyelid, and down to his chin, almost invisible to casual observers.

Hanging from the sun visor was his I-Dent card, declaring the owner to be Juvenile Commonwealth Agent, Blake Steorra, Caucasian Human + Fairy, residing in Sydney, born on 27th of June, 29 Commonwealth Era. Human. He described the word as an insult to his very existence, but at the same time, allowed himself to define it. Adventurous, noble, enduring, determined, resourceful…

Cruel… Capable of monstrous things…

And capable of becoming something monstrous.

His digi-Pilot beeped, reminding him of why he was here and now. He lifted the visor back into place, took his phone from the console, his backpack from the passenger seat, and opened the door, leaving the metallic black Subaru Impreza, opening the hatch to retrieve his ‘luggage’ from the car. Closing the hatch, he then turned his attention on possible bystanders. When none could be found, he shifted his attention to the wrist mounted computer, and with a series of commands on it’s touchscreen, the car beeped, and began to rapidly fold up on to itself until a purple sphere, no larger then a tennis ball, remained. He just picked up the ball, and dropped it into the larger pocket of his backpack before making his way towards a sign that read ‘Heathland North High School; Go Wovles’ lit up in the early morning dark with a cartoon humanoid wolf in full football kit and a banner decorating the Heathland Wolves to be the State Champions of 2014.

It was a noise that made him stop. In a blink of an eye, he drawed a weapon. At first it was a stainless steel sword hilt with an onyx gem in the pommel, and in a flash of purple light, the cross-guard extended out, and a blade of obsidian like black crystal extended out a full yard, the waxing near full moonlight gleaming of it’s point.

The boy’s eyes dared what ever it was to make a move.

A cat ran from the bush, a bell connected to it’s collar ringing as it ran down the main road. Blake sighed as the blade retreated back into the hilt and the cross guard fold back in. The hilt was returned to the inside pocket of his over-shirt before he continued on his way.

Heathland, Washington. It was one of those small towns where everyone knew everyone, with only two major sources of income. The mine and the federal prison. The area is rich in coal, which is the primary resource used to generate electricity on the planet, though the town’s major source of power is the Skyline Dam, that was built sixty years ago. Then there’s the prison, some ten miles or sixteen kilometres down the main road from the high school.

There has been a resent escape, a serial killer by the name George Madison, nicknamed the Seattle Butcher by the press, vanished from his cell last week. First he was there, then he vanished by morning. Almost as if he vanished into thin air. A passing teenager knew better however. Glenn Kame could count on his claws the number of ways a man could vanish without a trace. Matter to Data conversion, teleports, diminutional shifting… a that’s before you factor in the arcane. He’s heard of every scientific method of vanishing acts from Clair Weli’sol, his steady girlfriend and mate, with contributions from Blake, Zane and Joey until the alpha lycan called for a stop during movie night before the resident mage had more to say. Thankfully, Jamie agreed with Glenn and kept her contributions to herself.

At least until she is certain her arts are involved.

In the meantime, here he was in the parking lot of Heartland North High School, leaning on his modified electric blue charger, waiting in the cool summer morning. The sun had yet to rise, and already bus bay was bustling with sophomores and junior students, chatting animatedly in their little clicks, their luggage by their side, heading into the school proper, passing though metal detctors.

Summer Camp. Glenn scoffed at the two words. The reason he was even going was because of a fault in reality. Still, it’s been a while since he felt like an actuarial teenager, rather then a secret agent pretending to be a teenager. He had to be at least a decade or two older then he looked, thanks to a mixture of dimension jumping and anti-aging medication. He looked in the side mirror of his charger, his amber eyes looking back, along with the Ta Moko on the right side of his face, the chiseled spiral tattoo, part of his Maori heritage was a reminder of where he came from. And even if it wasn’t visible in his ‘wolf form,’ it’s chiseled textures could still be felt under his fur. He could remember the day he got it. The day his sixteenth birthday.

“Excuse me sir.” He heard someone call out. “I’ve lost my werewolf. You wouldn’t happen to have seen him.”

Glenn turned to see a brown haired boy with grey eyes with a grin that said ‘Do it, I dare you.’

“He’s about eight foot tall, two hundred and seventy pounds. Plays guitar, drives that exact car. You know, he’s not going to like you leaning on his paint job.”

“You’re looking at him princess.” Glenn chuckled.

“You better be, or I’m going to turn you inside out for the princess remark.” There was a hint of malice in his voice that made Glenn flinch. In all honesty, he could if he wanted to. Hell, Glenn saw first hand the unleashed power of a half fae. No mercy. No control. Just pure, unbridled rage. He laughed, a genuine laugh knowing he was likely one of a few people who could get away with calling him that with a little more then a punch to the shoulder, or flick to his ear.

“I thought Clair would be with you.” Blake pointed out.

“She’s driving too.” Glenn reminded. “Remember. She needs the Nissan for her equipment.”

“Right. I remember offering the glade… You’re the only one here?”

“Zane went to stretch his wings ten minutes ago. Koraian’s already inside. Jamie said she would be riding herself up there. And Parker…” Glenn was interrupted by a large pickup driving past and parking next to the Charger.

“Isn’t coming?” Blake finished.

“He’s coming.” Glenn growled. “Clair has to wait for him to make sure the private branch is working. Something about the firewall.”

“I get…” There was a high pitched screech as… Blake guessed was someone keying someone else’s car. Both boys turned to see Jacob Fletcher, smiling with his dirty, discoloured teeth in plain sight. Blake grimaced as he knew what was about to happen next.

“Sweet Emergency.” He cursed as he grabbed the collar of Glenn’s shirt in an attempt to stop him from murdering a kid.

“You Jerk! I’ll kill you for that! I’ll rip your bloody throat out!” Blake tuned out the rest of the snarling teen’s threats and insults.

“Glenn. Calm down. You’ll just satisfy his need to entertain himself.” Blake tried to reason with his enraged friend. Somewhere in the back of his head, he hoped he wouldn’t need to knock him out before he really lost control.

He was already beginning to change. Blake cursed as he watched the fine hair on his neck begin to multiply, while his neck was thickening…

“Glenn. Get a hold of yourself.” Blake hissed as the Lycan continued to swipe at the smiling boy, glad it was too dark to see the multiplying hair or swelling limbs…

“Hey!” There was a shout. Blake prayed to what ever deity would listen to him that it wouldn’t be a native. They went unanswered as Blake watched a group of letterman jacket wearing students approach them. The moment Jacob saw them, he ran off, with two of the jocks on his heel. Blake however decided enough was enough, reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He placed the pouch in Glenn’s face. The effect was almost immediate…

Glenn fell forward in pure euphoria as the transformation practically reached full swing, no longer rage induced, but drug induced. Blake followed, unable to hold up the rapidly changing lycanthrope. He sprung upright and straightened his clothes and various jewellery he wore. Even taking a moment to check that his eyes weren't glowing a vivid bright purple.

“You guys okay.” One of the remaining jocks asked.

“Yeah. Just remembering that it’s illegal to kill people.” Blake said rapidly.

“Uh, Dude. Your going to need a new paint job.” The other, more chubby kid informed them, but nether have noticed Glenn’s disappearance, just a lingering sense of Deja vu in the air. Blake had walked around to inspect the paint.

“How in the name of Stars Above did he manage to scratch that in a few seconds?!” Blake demanded.

“Dude. It’s Jacob. His mission in life is to make even the teachers think twice about coming to school.” The chubby one pointed out. Blake had to work hard to remember their names. He had only meet them once before at the football rally last week. The whole town turned out for that.

He then recalled the Football Team Caption’s name, Mike Rodgers, who had now become aware of the missing boy. “Where’s Kame?”

“Joined the chance with your friends… Cherry Cola and… Tom Cruise Fan.” Blake wished he had something to beat himself half to death with. He had a terrible head for names. “He’ll turn up.”

“He left this behind.” Mike pointed out as he held up… a ring, made from a custom stainless steel alloy that held a high concentration of chromium, along with a hint of silver and mana, cooled rapidly, with three small diamonds deciding the ring into three equal segments, and in between the segments a black crystal, the same his sword was created from.

The ring’s twin sat on Blake’s on left hand until he pulled it off and slipped it into his pocket. In fact, it was one of eight Blake had created for himself and his friends, each of them holding a peace of his core.

He also noticed something about the ring in Mike’s hand.

It was glowing a vivid purple.

There is only one reason a ring would glow in Mike’s grip. Blake cursed in mandarin, and for good measure, Native South Treasuren, Evergladian, High Elven, Contemporary Latin, Greek, Spanish, Germain, Japanese, French, Arabic, and any language he could think was in his grasp, even managing to curse out loud in Dragontongue before something interrupted his long string of mental curses.

The engine of a Triumph Daytona 675 rev though the early morning. It’s rider, clad in synthesised dragon hide leather and a full motorcycle helmet, turned into the school’s parking lot and pulled up behind the charger. She pulled off the helmet and let her mahogany brown hair spill out over her shoulders. She did not look happy.

Jan’ti “Jamie” Sw’et was for the best part an early riser. Mostly, it was a required trait for Sun Elf Farmers to wake up at the crack of dawn to tend to their fields. She retained that trait though out her training as a mage and into her employment at the Arcane Collage in Sydney, and her work as a Juvenile Commonwealth Agent, dealing with crimes of various natures, including the arcane. Her element and craft.

It also tended to call for undercover work on earths, parallel to her new home of Terra in an effort to protect it. Recently, it hadn’t been going overly well. This was because of her hobby. Often, she would find herself going though old alchemical recipes and replicated them to see what worked. It also helped with identifying potions on the Inter-diminutional Black Market. Except for one little vial labelled in an ancient draconic script she was unfamiliar with. Short of getting someone to drink and, and observing the effects, there was little she could do in identifying the vial’s contents.

Now the vial was missing.

She had left it in her library in Blake’s Glade, only to need to entertain an unexpected guest, one of the stoners had overdosed on something and Koriaian needed to detox him rapidly. Somehow, between leaving it in the library to help with overdose, and returning sixteen hours later, the vial was missing, and the Glade’s wards were undisturbed. Had to have been someone who was welcomed by the Glade, a list that included her, and a number of people.

She was very distraught, but none the less, still had the script to go on, and her sources and translation charms were forcing her to research the topic more widely. But a week of research and nothing to show for it. She considered one of her contacts in the Arcane Collage, or elsewhere in the Physical Realms.

She would have to consider her options while they were at summer camp, pretending to be ordinary human teenagers while investigating a possible breach in reality. A week in this town already told her that the population was afraid of something.

Something in the shadows.

She turned into the school parking lot with her customary expression of unhappiness to see the most percale speckle. Blake standing next to the charger with two… what did they call the game again? Not Rugby, the other name. Baseball? Or is that what they call cricket in america? She called them baseball's for the moment. One of them was holding an Obsidianite Ring. It was glowing.

“Have we got a problem gentleman?” She asked. She noticed Blake was missing his ring. “What is he doing with your ring Blake?”

“Yeah. That’s mine.” Blake pointed out. “Thanks mate.” He held out a hand and the boy placed the ring in his palm. The boy nodded to Jamie.

“Sweet ride.” He pointed out.

“Thank you.” Jamie nodded.

“Where’s your luggage?” Asked a boy she didn’t notice until now.

“On its way. Where is Glenn?”

“About to kill someone for putting his name and two body parts in the same sentence.” Blake said while winking.

“Really?” Jamie questioned walking over to where Blake was standing. “He is going to… Holy Hungus.”.

“Yep.” Blake popped.

“Who spells head with an ‘i’? Fletcher? Really?” Her only answer was silence.

“We should get going.” One of the ‘Baseballers’ pointed out as two of his friends came back, having long lost Fletcher, but even he needed to come back at some point before they departed. Someone very powerful in the Education Department decided to make this year’s trip a compulsory part of their curriculum.

“Go on ahead. We’re still waiting for Clair and Joey, and I think Zane is somewhere.” Blake waved off, noticing that Mike had a limp as he walked away. And there were fewer students outside, so few that they heard someone make a touchdown landing behind them.

“What did I miss?” The orange dragon asked them.

“Just some minor details.” Blake answered as he snapped his fingers. His eyes flashes a vivid purple as the familiar sense of deja vu washes over the three of them.

The dragon managed to see the message carved into the paint before the flecks of paint returned to their original spot and joined together. It was like nothing happened.

In reality, nothing did.

“Your technique is almost flawless.” Jamie pointed out to her pupil. “Only a hair out of place.”

“My hair’s always like that.” Blake complained as his eyes returned to their steel grey colour before he turned to the eight foot tall dragon with burnt orange scales, wearing teal hoodie, and a pair of brown jeans, both with additional sleeves for his wings and tail. “Good early morning flight?”

“You should try it some time.” The dragon said lightly, with a smile on his half muzzle. Blake rolled his eyes at the crack at his fairy heritage.

“I’ll take that under advisement while you find a nice princess to kidnap.” Blake grumbled. “Actually, better idea Zane. Help me with wolf boy then you two can go terrorise some villages.”

“Wait. What did happen to Glenn?” Jamie asked. Her question was answered by Blake opening the back door. A large black werewolf spilled out from the back seat, remains of Glenn’s blue shirt still hanging feebly around his arms and torso. His cargo pants however had resisted the change, by design rather then luck.

Jamie spotted a familiar looking pouch in his claws. The smell coming from it almost burnt her nostrils. She was well aware of what it was. Silver Poppy. She retrieved the pouch from his claws and closed it.

“You drugged him?” Zane questioned.

“It was either that or let an enraged werewolf tear apart someone’s throat. And I know he’ll never forgive himself.” Blake answered. “And he was shifting anyway. There, there. Just let those lycanthrope neuroses just ooze on out of you.”

“So who’s going to wake him up?” Zane asked.

Heartland Hunters: Ch 1
Three Guesses Who.

Another Inter-diemntional mystery for Blake, the Town of Heartland, colourful, quite and it's youth are about to get a shake up. Between the stoners finding something they shouldn't have, werewolf hunters in the sheriff's department, a demonic ritual, a girl playing with fire and an escaped convict, things are only getting started.

As Always, Comments Welcome


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AJ-Lethal Featured By Owner Nov 14, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the membership, man!
NyraWrites Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thanks for the cake badge and the premium membership!
Arakod-Qirian Featured By Owner May 23, 2015  Student Writer
woah dude you didnt have to give me a premium but thanks!
Robinton Featured By Owner May 16, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the premium membership! :)
Darkdrake0 Featured By Owner Dec 27, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the premium membership blake
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