Posts Tagged ‘Vincent Crampton’

Fishing Swiftly by SpooningFairy on DeviantArt.com

Pondside, Mitsuo gripped his bamboo pole. Not a bite.

A soft tread from behind. Ronin bandit!

“Nothing here to steal,” said Mitsuo, not turning. “Haven’t even caught dinner.”

The footsteps neared. Mitsuo sighed. “Please. You’ll disturb the fish.”

The rasp of steel on scabbard.

Mitsuo rolled, a blade clipping his earlobe. Mitsuo spun the fishing pole, parrying another slash. The pole snapped. Mitsuo jabbed upward with the bamboo. The bandit grabbed his throat, croaking. Blood gushed from his windpipe. He splashed backward into the river.

Mitsuo watched bloody ripples rock the reeds. At this rate he’d never catch a fish.

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Red Mantis Leader by nJoo on DeviantArt.com

Osculating an octogriff’s pedipalps. Bucket list, check!

However, its butyraceous secretions mimicked pheromones of its prime predator, a hermaphroditic mantoid. After ingesting the octogriff (and my chelipeds), the mantoid mounted me. Its mandibles nibbled my neck, stimulating my coiled embolus, which I thrust in its bursa. We copulated violently until my apical sclerite broke off – ensuring I’d be its sole mate!

It spun me, its claspers roughly gripping my uropods, and penetrated my cloaca with spined hemipenes, depositing millions of fertilized eggs in my abdomen.

Now parasitoid embryos gnaw my swollen insides for breakfast.

Practice safe mating. Cloak your embolus.

Collision Course by madfox43 on DeviantArt.com

I sigh.
Francine pops out of a waste disposal unit with a freaky alien mask.
I choke.
“Did I?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
Francine tells me a joke, a good one. I feel thirsty.
“What’s with you, Jack?”
“I must actually be dying of boredom.”
She smirks. “So even dying’s boring?”
“It might be the only exciting thing left.”
“I’ll cheer you up!”
Rolling my eyes, “Please, don’t try.”
She smiles. “Let’s—”
Alarms!
Our hands touch.
Boom! The sound of roaring metal!
I watch another ship tear into ours. It’s about to obliterate my face!
The hull looks dull.

Her Fall by moroka323 on DeviantArt.com

From behind, I cut her a wide, red smile – so angry was I that she had dared call me rogue. She is the daughter of my Lord’s enemy. Her blood now paints my forearm and leg. She exhales her last through folds of flesh parted by my blade. Blood-flecked spittle sprays, and the sound echoes in my mind. I am dead once word of my failure reaches the King. He’ll have my head boiled and spiked outside his gate, a warning to others about self control. There’s no place to hide. With one swift slash, two lives have ended.

King slayer by Suzanne-Helmigh on DeviantArt.com

The siege lasted a fortnight. Now, all had perished except them. He had escorted the Earl, Countess and the boy up the north tower steps. Before dawn, rhythmic pounding and Germanic shouts foretold their doom. Now, a barbarous roar as the tower door below crashes inward.

Sir Gareth of Sussex waits. Across the stone room, the royals cower in a dark corner. The grunts and growls grow louder as they ascend — shouts Edmund doesn’t understand but knows they mean death.

He spreads his stance, gripping the longsword with both hands. The first is nearly decapitated, but there are so many.

Carrion Crow – MtG by AaronMiller

Jacques awoke amongst scattered bodies. His head throbbed where the mace had struck. Nearby, a crow alit on a dead soldier’s chest, plucked an eyeball, just like Laura would pluck vine-ripened grapes. His hand squeezed bloody muck. He envisioned the rich soil of his farmland. He grabbed limbs of the dead, pulled himself forward. He’d crawl back to Laura.

A boot stepped in his path. “Where you heading, mate?”

“Please,” said Jacques, touching the boot.

“Got a live one ‘ere, Sarge,” called the boot.

“Cap’n said no quarter.”

“Sorry mate,” said the boot, grinding Jacques face into the muck.

Regicide by thomaswievegg on DeviantArt.com

The door was jammed. He could hear noise inside. Sounds of struggling, of fighting. His heart pounded against his ribcage, eyes watered and dampened his cheeks. The village was in flames at his back, townsfolk screamed into the sky, cursing, wishing, regretting. The King’s death rattle sounded like a siren through the thick wooden door and he stopped thrusting his shoulder against it. It was over. He looked down at his blade, sopping with crimson, and his lips turned down — a bandit who once broke bread with the king.

Mud Pool by CBasco on DeviantArt.com

“Boy! Give me your hand,” ordered Sir Ballard, knee deep in bog mud.

“You gave me your hand yesterday,” said Haymuth. “Across my face.”

“For impudence.”

“For defending my sister’s honor.”

Ballard’s waist disappeared. “Your sister was a whore.”

“She was a maiden yesterday morning. By noon, a harlot. By evening, a corpse.”

Ballard’s breastplate was engulfed. “I did not kill her.”

“Your lust did.”

“Fetch a rope!”

“My sister used the rope. When I regained consciousness, she was swinging from a rafter.”

“I should not die like this. I’m a knight. Chivalry …” Ballard’s head disappeared.

“… is dead.”

Desert of blood by Idriu95 on DeviantArt.com

Thugs burst from dunes, gripping curved blades.

Surrounded, Keila turns slowly, remembering rough games played with her brothers – hide and seek, ambush, wooden swords – a girl against aspiring squires. They taught her well. When they went to war, she followed.

The thugs circle; Keila crouches. Winds kick up. She lifts a handkerchief over her mouth, raises a blade and small shield. The thugs become silhouettes in swirling red dust.

She spins like a djin, blade biting through the shrieking desert wind.

The winds die. Dust settles.

Keila stands alone, parched. She gulps water from her wineskin. The dunes gulp blood.

Krampus by DamaraCarpenter on DeviantArt.com

Nick’s sled came in hot. He cranked the parking break, slid, and bounced off a snow-covered Caddy. His engine stalled. Nick tried the starter. It howled like a dying cat.

Down a dark alley, two headlights illuminated.

“Krampus!” said Nick, punching a dashboard panel. It dropped open, revealing a joystick and scanner.

A flaming demon sled squealed from the alley. The driver thrust his horned head out the window and screamed “Nicholas! It’s my night!”

A blip approached the scanner center. “You’re under the missile-toe, bitch,” said Nick, firing the button.

“Your one liners suck!” Krampus wailed, before vaporizing.