Camelot Dimension 360 Chapter 10



The Long Winter

Written by Author

Daton L Fluker

Flemish Translation done by

Kenyo Wells



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The immaculate Nishoif Forest bases under the rising sun… Snow caps the tops of the trees. Complete silence abducts the pressing comfort of the woodlands. A herd of deer stir their way down a gluttonous pathway leading into the rest of the dark forest. The Nishoif forest also has other unique names given to it by epic kingdoms, which grew frequently in the past.

Some of these kingdoms have been lost to great battles, or Mother Nature has destroyed them from surges of natural disasters. However, none of the kingdoms dare phantom toward the center top of the planet, where the nights are longer, and the days are colder.

These unique pine woods are known as The Forgotten Forest, The Center of Death, The Mighty Nightmare, and The Bloodshed Sanctuary.

No man has left these woods alive. Well, one man did. Cogan captured Prince Eloving from The Bloodshed Sanctuary.

The Odxithons have appending pride. They bury the thought that any human could make it through such a kismet struggle. Nevertheless, the Odxithon Kingdom moves every new day. They stay in the Center of Death. The kingdom migrates to the darkest area of the Forgotten Forest. Odxithons need the coldest weather on Minaera to subsist because of their perplexing bloodline.

The forest is positioned on a tormented mountainous area. This further exaggerates the definition of rocky. A rocky area pertains to the infinite shadow of large rock-mountains. It’s not just a rocky domain. Humans on Earth or Minaera have no unique name for land uniquely shaped with the bounty of a supernatural pretense.

Some of the areas are craters made from the onslaught pour of meteoric catastrophes. The Ocean flows through the mountain range freezing over during the darkest hours of the night. Volcanic activity sequentially shapes the land with never-ending affliction. Strange unique creatures who are enmeshed in the bounty of Mother Nature’s crevices are sometimes immediately extinct by frequent tragedies.

The Galactic ship feathers over the river expanding through the forest into the ocean. The ship holds Eloving, who is the new avidity of the colony. Castles of ice deliberate in the center of a secluded mountain range erupting in the middle of The Forgotten Forest. The only way into the city is to climb the steep sides of the Mountains’ cliffs. The Odxithon Kingdom shouldn’t exist to the rest of the planet. The circle walls give the ice-city an imperfect hiding place. Once the sun is fully ablaze, the city will melt. The area will become a lake, and any resemblance of the city will be a lost consciousness.

Inside the Galactic Ship

The silence inside the Galactic Ship isn’t the best awakening tool. The Odxithon soldiers and Eloving sleep peacefully in their cubicles. Tiny hexagon shapes at the top of the ship open up dispersing oxygen from the outside into their sleeping quarters. The Odxithons open their eyes, except for Eloving. The tanks electromagnetic bottoms help stimulate new growth faster in their T-cells.

T-cells have the local mapping of every cell in the body. When a child grows, he or she has extra electricity flowing from the brain to stimulate growth. However, within adulthood, the body of any creatures’ electromagnetic energy hovers. When stimulated with electromagnetic energy the body can grow entire limbs. Animals such as lizards have tiny bodies, so they produce more electromagnetic energy than the body can use. Because of this, the body grows damaged body parts. Eloving’s body has fully repaired itself. The electromagnetic unit turns-off. Eloving opens his eyes.

In the center of a frozen mountain range shall be the only place to hide a city of shadows. In the middle of the coldest place on Minaera, a city grows like a rose bush from out of the cracks of a deserted teardrop. An area which supposed to be constricted from development, rises from out of the thicken horrors of the night. Nothing exists in our universe that can fix a nightmare. A nightmare has to repair her, him, or it-self. Unsystematic-shaped buildings sparkle like diamond shelves; they rake a superlative radiance into a half lithe sky. Contriving egregious structures unknown by man’s mechanics, the alien architecture subscribes the idea of intelligent energy. An ice sculptor would take imaginable amounts of time to carve a building this size from out of ice. However, the Odxithon kingdom has 19 towering structures designed meters apart. Flying around the city, the space craft is dwarfed by Odxithon’s gargantuan size. The alien space craft soars away from Odxithon. What an incautious waste of time. The sea assaults the floor of the city, along with the on-sloth of melting barriers.

Hovering over the river, flowing into the forgotten forest, the space craft plunges into the irrigation. It vanishes under the hoar-frost and ice.

Cutting into the valley, Odxithon offspring play near the iced river, the same river which the alien spacecraft went under. The children are smaller than the average-size male. With the agility of their fathers, they abandon their playground fostering into the windbreak. The forest hushes. Hitting the slowly moving planet, darkness precedes the sunlight. Shrubbery from epic periods of confinement peeps from out of the melting snow. Emerging into the land, the sea softens the basin; taking blocks of ice downstream were it can melt at sea. Furthermore, mountains make fresh water all year round. The lowest point of the floor will rebuild its-self, but other parts will be drowned out by sea water. Few creatures can live in this environment except for creatures that migrate toward fresher biomes.

Appearing from out of the river, Eloving leads a perfectly triangle shape formation. Protecting their long begotten prince, the aliens emerge from out of the water wearing full body armor. Eloving sends a message to the Odxithons hiding in the forest.


“After I talk to my father it’ll be time for us to change spheres. Odxithons, this city was supposed to have moved months ago. So I need everyone ready to leave within the hour.”

The civilians chatter. The woods fill with Odxithon mental activity. The roar closes down; one of the senators, for the people, opens a conversation with the prince.


“The climb is treacherous. No other Odxithons are in the city, except for your father. What if you die? Who will command our people?”


“This place is falling apart, and it’s warm enough for a human force to invade our borders. Keep impelling until everyone is safely aboard the ships. One of my commanders will take charge of the colony if I fail my father. I came this far; I’m not turning back yet.”


“Most of us don’t want to follow the reign of another predecessor. If you die, then we will surely separate. Some of us are older than those who are in command of us. We need you sir. I beg for the sake of our people, please don’t go.”


“Before I take charge of the kingdom, I would need my father’s blessing. If I die within those walls, do whatever you have to do to survive. I can’t fully lead if I don’t receive answers from my father.”


“We understand your highness. But this isn’t what he would have wanted.”


“What do you mean? Why did he keep me locked up for all those years? Why didn’t he give these important messages to a messenger to pass them along to me? So you don’t tell me what my father didn’t do. This is exactly what he wanted.”


“I’m sorry that we cannot stop you from feathering the mountain cliffs. Your father is dying, and he is mad. Take care, my royal highness. Move swiftly. Day breaks soon, and more water will fill the inside of the subsequently to be lake of a melting remembrance.”


“Now don’t you worry about me? Get those civilians to safety.”



The inside of the forest violently enrages with screams bursting from hundreds upon hundreds of Odxithons. After Prince Eloving and his escort make it onto the basin of the forest, groups of Odxithons, by the thousands, plunge into the river. While going under, none of them process back to the top. They’re vanishing into something under the water. Towering over the peaks of the Mountain, one of the tall skyscraper ice-buildings plummets to its demolishment, shaking the mountain and causing a slight avalanche.


“This is as far as we go sir.”




“These are your father’s wishes. Until he completely perishes, we will follow his instructions.”


“I understand. Go back to the ships. Protect the colony. If I don’t comeback, please don’t make war among yourselves. Let them go peacefully.”


“Yes sir.”

The Odxithons standing around Prince Eloving halts. They watch as he disappears into the thickened of the forest.

Camelot Checkpoint 576 Hours Later

Prince Matchbox retires to his quarters still broken-up about the events that took place over the last few days. He finds out members, who were trapped in town-hall with him, weren’t the only ones breakfasting on human remains. He can’t punish anyone of them without sticking a sword in his own heart first. The only ones he could blame for this mess are already dead. Conversely, wholly, one-deserving-punishment at a time…

Town Hall warms from the inside. The sunlight fervors through the windows; the day everyone anticipates, has already come.

Soaking in his undeveloped heart, Prince Matchbox vacations in the blackest corner of the room. Imagine living with these facts. He had to eat his lover’s heart. He is not only heartbroken but also heart absorbed. The people of Camelot follow a leader rocking rolling with the Angel of Mersey. A leader in his early twenties; he has seen enough death and misery to last the rest of his life time. A soldier already dead from the obstruction of a diluted society; nightmares exist in his disoriented past.

Urgently needed by King Matchbox, the messenger-boy storms through the doors…

Investigating the room, the boy has his eyes peeled on the darken area. He knows someone is in that part of the room. Not disturbing the shadows, he watches as butterflies take control of his body. After a few minutes, he decides to do something comforting. Closing the blinds on the windows, the boy stands in the darkness for a few seconds then turns back to the part of the room with the excess energy flowing from it.


“Boy. Thank you.”


“You’re welcome my Lord. I understand that you urgently needed to send a message to the console.”


“Yes. We need to discuss the rules of our kingdom’s neutral contract. I need you to leave at once. I’ll be two days behind you. I need you to tell them that I’ll be having the meeting in-person.”


“Sir… Why don’t you wait a couple of months? I hear talk of war between two nearby kingdoms. We need to know where their strategic attacks will be before we send any troopers pass the battle points. We don’t have any observers to capture a necessary cardinal scope of the area. We could be riding into traps.”


“We’re already behind schedule. We were supposed to talk to the console earlier. I’ll move faster if I ride alone. If we make any mistakes, then one of our allies will do far worse things to the kingdom, then any of our enemies will do.”


“I’ll do anything you ask of me. My loyalty is with the crown. However, your highness, this mission is suicide. No matter what direction we travel, we’re going to be caught up in chaos.”


“Get out of here! If you don’t want to do it, then find me someone else who will. If we fail, after that, everything our forefathers fought so hard to preserve will parish along with these desecrated lands.”


“You’re not thinking correctly. I just told you that I’d do it. However, I want to know why? Why don’t you let everyone go their separate ways?”

Lord Matchbox rushes from out of the shadows then stands face to face with the messenger. He’s shirtless and seems to be dirty from sleeping on the dusty floorboards.


“After this I’m done. I’ll give the people the freedom to choose their own direction. Right now, we must save them from the console. They hold the true power. ”


“I understand sir.”

Placing his hand on the messenger’s shoulder, the king redeems his words.


“I’m sorry I yelled. However, you have to leave, and you have to leave now. A horse is being prepared for you in the courtyard. You ride, and you don’t stop riding until you meet the console. Now go!”

Rushing from out of the doors, the messenger doesn’t look back. Lord Matchbox disappears into the shadows.

Midnight at the Camelot Checkpoint

The closer one gets toward equity, the calmer our personalities become toward immersion. Who dares fill a pot halfway when only one-quarter of it will be distinguished as the filler? What are going through most of the civilians’ minds are suicidal thoughts because of the fatuous crimes they commended upon their countrymen and family members.

A hot bowl of water simmers on the King’s table. A meeting will erupt soon between the lieutenants and the higher ups. Matchbox should have had this meeting weeks-ago. However, he sobbed most of his time away hiding in the sanctuary of Town Hall’s overcast.

The room burns hot as the temperature rises passed unwanted levels. The water bubbles while cooling. Conversely, not by much… It steams the room with resistible amounts of heated precipitation.

The stench from the filthy deeds done in this room catches the air into two forms. One: as its true form, pure ugliness. Second: as an image embalmed in the body only viewable by the human heart. Terror pedals deep into the king’s chest, causing him to go into a state of restricted thought. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had to leave in a couple of days, he probably would bury himself in a pitiful time loop remembering his family’s undesirable night.

His body withers. He rations his meals, keeping himself fed enough to at least suck in sufficient air to sleep in terrible agony. He needs to feel the pain, the only reality he is seeking to know.

Opening it, the undernourished king walks to the window. His chest patters hard. He hasn’t moved as a man for the last few weeks. He crawled about on all fours, pushing his head into the cracks of the walls like an ostrich anticipating that strange and mysterious night. Fresh air hasn’t seeped into the room since the messenger came to visit yesterday morning.

He covers his eyes from the awesome glare. On the far side of Camelot, the Black Forest may need a new knick name. It’s truly amazing that trees could hibernate for years but still carry the essence of life. It’s a soulless place awakening from the dead.

The Black Forest blooms from out of a fifty year ice age. Sunlight reflects through the trees. Animal migration hasn’t beamed its glow on the land yet. Potholes (filled with water) give a sequential living environment to plant and insect life. Sugar suckers bore into the bark of trees collecting the sweet sap it contains. These bright green creatures are bigger than hands. Sugar suckers make excellent meals for predators, yet to show an existence in daylight. Their plump little bodies have enough protein to keep a predator happy for a few hours.

Grabbing a sugar sucker, a bird swoops down lifting it toward the treetops. Ambushed, hundreds of sweet suckers leap onto the bird, dragging it into the inveiglement. Like most of the animals living in the ice bound areas, the sweet suckers collected a desire for subsistence. The suckers rip into the bird’s feathers. Tearing tissue from its body, they create a bloody pulp of flesh and bones, which will soon be completely devoured.

Matchbox shuts the blinds then humbles back to the floor. Darkness consumes him. Earning for the night, he’s terrified of his own faith. Daylight advances through the cracks, boring chunks of light into the silent horrors. The king’s sword branches in the center of the table. The heat enkindles the air causing the temperature to reach undesirable levels. No matter how much he cooks, the feeling of loneliness surfaces and reality overwhelms him.

The King’s Table

Lieutenant Swordsman, Daniel Gonesh, The Master Archer, John Kuckus, and Mayor, Leith Erickson pose around the King’s table as Lord Matchbox sits hidden in a remote area.

The guests wear their battle uniforms. Even though they are in uniform, they still look like peasants. The army hasn’t taken a bath since they made it back to Camelot weeks ago. They smell bad, and their wardrobes are filthy. The only way someone could take a nice peaceful dip into cleanliness, is if they go into the dark forest and jump into the river. Furthermore, no one has the audacity to leave the checkpoint, considering the fact that the citizens must heal from their mental illnesses first.

Folding their arms, everyone stares into space desperately gazing into nothingness. The shutters are open. Daylight presses through the window-panes. No joys dispersing through, only uneasiness.

Maybe insecurity is a better interpreter to define this atmosphere.


“I’m leaving in a few hours. I need the leaders to prepare Camelot’s recovery.”

No one answers. Silence submerges.




“Yes my Lord?”


“You’ll be in-charge of constructing a weapons factory. Find iron, melt it down, and then design tools to rebuild. You’ll be given the Eastern border.”


“It’s an honor sir to be a part of the history of Camelot. I’ll do my best.”


“John Kuckus… Your task is an important one. You’ll be responsible for the lumber factory. Build new homes for the villagers so Camelot can be fruitful again. The town needs the thundering roar of children to fill the footsteps of the falling.”


“Yes sir. We’ll start clearing part of the forest immediately. You have my word.”




“Yes, my Lord?”


“After I come back, I want you to go back home.”


“What do you mean sir?”


“Word gets around fast. Plus, these walls are thin. I can hear the birds tweeting in the forest. I put together the information I’ve been hearing from your soldiers.”

Leith Erickson reaches under the table gripping his sword. Unlike the previous king, he knows the attentions of a desperate leader. He promised his lover and the rest of the lost Apollo that he will return safely. He doesn’t know exactly how much Lord Matchbox knows about the party in Apollo. Conversely, none of the men in the room seem to be able to take Leith in a fist fight. They are tired and exhausted.


“My Lord… Please explain.”


“I know about your father.”

Lord Matchbox walks from out of the shadows. Moving backwards, Leith stands up. Staring at the shell of a man, the new leaders at the table spring to their feet. They bow. The skinny king is thinner than paper. He’s in his early twenties but he resembles and elderly king.


“Leith… Wait for my arrival back from the console. Once I have arrived, go back to your father’s kingdom. There’s nothing else here for you. I have no higher position to promote you. You deserve your own freedom.”


Why don’t you let me go with you sir?


“No! If I don’t make it back, I need you to take everyone to your kingdom and you start over anyway. I called these men hear because they were with you on your journey. I reckon, they know to.”

Walking toward the exit, Lord MATCHBOX pulls his sword from the center of the table.


Yes, my Lord.

Matchbox leaves out.


A broken-horse is packed with food and water near Town-Hall. The sky kindles with light. The essence of Camelot shines abruptly; the future can be erected with hope.

Staring at Lord Matchbox, people stand around the horse. Most of these people witness this young man grow-up in a peaceful environment. The new king is thrown into a predestined battle, which isn’t clearly understandable by most them.

Lord Matchbox cuts the food from off the horse. He yells out into the crowd.


“I don’t need nourishment. I’ll be at the console in a couple of days. Thank you for your concerns.

(Starring at a man in the crowd)

Sir, give me your cloak.”

Throwing his cloak around Matchbox’s shoulders, the man walks from out of the crowd.

The people are nothing more than beggars. They glare into space with their bellies full of bird meat. The cloak camouflages Matchbox. His shiny armor hides from the-likens of a potential attacker.

A man yells from out of the crowd.


“Be careful my Lord.”


“Thank you all. Good bye.”

Mounting his horse, Lord Matchbox rides away toward the Black Forest, which is permeating with the essence of life.

Bursting over the treetops, chirps from flying creatures expand into the atmosphere. The forest’s fog disposes unseasoned odors. Water shouldn’t have an aroma. When frozen air grabs a social link to your lungs then the nervous system makes a virtual assumption of how cold snow smells. Some would say it’s only a breath of cold air. Conversely, death conveys the true definition of frozen precipitation.

Flying to his destination point, Matchbox carries himself in a cautious position. If he expands his journey on the gravel roads then soldiers from a towering kingdom may try to consort his mission.

Getting captured is bad for him; he could be putting the citizens of Camelot in great danger. The clouds in the sky turn to a red and yellow color. Potholes plenty themselves with water from the melting snow.

Moving through the forest, Matchbox squirrels as fast as he can toward the console. He is unperceivable to the ongoing war. But still, traps may be set throughout the forest. When a kingdom needs information from their enemies, they send scouts dressed as beggars.

The rich has no quarrel with peasants, and new kingdoms do not give enough respect to the poor. This type of attitude makes a perfect penetration point for spies to seclude information. Well, most empires understand the abstraction of this idea. The first thing some kingdoms do before they decide to go to war is murder all the poor people in the city; especially, when enough jobs aren’t created to give homage to the increasing population.

Every new day brings an abundance of natural resources. Hundreds of scouts may die before their leaders get enlightened on precious battle components.

With Matchbox’s sixth sense, he notices everything around him. Sullenness declares the woodlands. The galloping horse trots echo through the silent forest. Not only the echoes from the forest sulks the area, but things that aren’t suppose to be there jangle corruption.

Waiting in the treetops, a privateer, meters in the opposing slant, culls his bow back, waiting for the loud animal to cross his path. Matchbox glances upward.

Leaping from off his horse, he escapes to a neighboring branch. He departs into the brushes. The intruding vindicator has his concentration on the creature. Because there’s no one to motivate the horse to go forward the animal slows to an almost complete stop.


“I saw someone on that horse. Where are you at bastard?”

Devouring green leaves from shrubbery growing in the forest, the horse stops.

The scout climbs down. Nose to nose with Matchbox’s horse, the man fishes the area with his eyes. The wind, bird chirps, and insect noises flow through the atmosphere. The sequences of noises can be peaceful, but when hate motivates someone then peaceful sounds are annoying rambles.

The horse is stout, but not in any state to be for royalty. It’s not a racing horse. This particular kind of horse has short stubby legs, and its body is built for one purpose, domestication.

Closing all his attention on the horse, the scout lowers his weapon. If he knew he was touching a king’s horse, he would probably high tell it out there as quick as he can. If he’s not in the heat of battle then only kings have the right to kill kings.

Matchbox heels behind his adversary. Without paying attention to detail, he swings his sword, wasting no time beheading the scout. Maybe he could have explained himself to the scout, and considering his circumstances, he probably would have let him passed. Nevertheless, Matchbox has no time for silly games.

Without cleaning his sword, he springs back on his horse. He progresses forward.

A Deadly Decision

A poisonous area in the woodlands appends in Matchbox’s path. Only particular plants grow in these devilish pollutants. The trees in the area thin out. The raid of death captures the land like a picture perfect clump of serial hatred. The feathering trees are not the only continuance giving off poisonous gases. At the bottom floor of the forest, pathogens disrupt the growth of plant life. Only certain creatures dwell in its bosom.

Poisonous snakes, colored dark as the intelligent energy, boost the surroundings with abstract life. The area is dull; the wind turns directions when passing this place. No matter how hot the days get, the temperature stays cold; the ghostly look charcoals blackness.

The area is referred to as a magical circumference. It circles around exotic stories hidden in its clutches. Conjuring concepts build the audacity of power this majestic place buries.

Matchbox bellows with mixed emotions. His belly flips inside out. The destructive thing he done a while back haunts his journey. Nine out of ten, the scout had buddies waiting for his return in the forest. Matchbox didn’t have a chance to completely conceal his destructive actions. When a war starts, lieutenants need valuable information to build a strategic attack toward opposing empires. Conversely, horse tracks are easy to track in the marsh. Ironically, he didn’t consider hiding his tracks. A doom party might be heading his way.


“I should turn back and go around this evil place. But if I do, they will surely catch me. If I don’t, the immersing bastards will follow me until I’m hung from a tree by my ears.”

He waits for a few seconds. Horse trots are heard in the ionization of the quivering shadows. Because of the lack of sleep, his eyes shutter back-and-forth like a pediment swinging cement. If he fails, he’s going to hackle and crack, and not into pieces, but into dust.


“I’m hungry. I have no chance in a fight. If I go through this part, I’m dooming myself. My immune system may not have the strength to ward these pathogens. If I don’t do something then who wins? Them…? If they follow me they’ll die too, if I make it through then I win. Colt, keep going!”

Slapping his horse on the bottom, they scamper through the Death Trap.

Cancerous pathogens immediately take effect to their blood systems. His horse has enough immunity to fight the seclusion of viruses, pathogens, and poison off for a little while. No matter how much the king hits the horse’s bottom, the horse seems not to react to Matchbox’s taunts. Because of its buckling knees, the animal will be on his ass groveling in the dirt. Matchbox is lucky if the animal doesn’t buck him off. Both he and the creature are going into a mirage state of thinking. The trees hackle sweet devilish sounds in their ears. Meters away from the deadly zone, some of the airborne pathogens already took effect. Conversely, the tread to the outer entrance isn’t that far. But still, even if they make it through to the other side, they’ll have to wait until the symptoms of the poison wear-off. Well, if the venomous snakes don’t decide to follow their path. The wind becomes an oracular energy carpeting the air with sounds of fear.

Havoc takes is path in the minds of the two travelers. Tree limbs move like arms waving at them, and some reach into their direction. The trees are trying to pull Matchbox from off his horse. The horse is frightened; its trepidation speeds up. However, it spoons to an almost blinding halt.


“Why don’t you stay with us?”


“You’ll never make it through. The ending point is only death. How dare you think that you are better than us? Your invalidation will never see light.”


“Colt, move now. Don’t listen to them. We can make it through.”

Lord Matchbox talks to his horse as if it could answer him back. He has completely lost his mind. Soon his nervous system will blank out, and his grip will fathom. He’ll fall off his horse. But the horse might as well fall over first. It’s not walking in a straight path. It may be even turning back around into the opposite direction.


“They are right sir. We have no chance. We should go back and except our doomed faith.”


What do we do when challenges are amongst us? Do we let the darkness win or do we shine?”


Sir… We shine.”


“Yes. We burn, and we burn brightly.”


“I understand sir. Hold on.”


“Comeback to us…”


“Turn back now. You’ll never make it through. You belong to us.”


“You know what I like the best about being poisoned?”


“Shut up you foul animal. Bring your master to us now.”


“No matter which direction you go, you’ll still going to die. Sir, hold on.”


“No you can’t do that. Comeback!”

Matchbox’s vision shutters on and off. He’s falling to sleep. The horse turns around and takes off full speed into the opposing direction.

After a few meters, it tumbles to the frozen dirt. Matchbox is flung off its back. Black fog circles around them. They fall into an unconscious catnap.

The Fairy Fury

Doom has surely found Lord Matchbox. His horse is gone. The black fog circles him. Even though the forever day has captured this part of Minaera, the forest is dim. Because of the fifty years of darkness, the dirt would still be frozen. However, Matchbox can’t feel anything. He doesn’t see much. Uncovered, he stands in the open medium, floating through space.

The only thing he could feel is the quick putters of his heart-beat. Coming from the treetops, a light’s perilous deformation, hidden as a raindrop, sprinkles clear. It encourages the introduction to the other-side. As he looks down toward his feet, he sees a torn up version of himself. He’s fully clothed, with venomous snakes encompassing in every direction.

A pigment of light, no bigger than a fingernail, displays essential beauty. The light endorses itself as a female.

Her skin is made of blazing fire. Her long-red hair oscillates as it drifts in the bubble of light she’s in. No matter how fast she falls, her anatomy isn’t affected by the impression of gravity. Within seconds, the tiny light creature dances over the dyeing body of Matchbox.

She suspends over his face docking between his eyes.

He doesn’t feel anything. Not the coldness. Not the pain. He’s in a state of bliss. His worries and his biggest fears shadow in the pump of his blood. For the first time, he’s free of the ailments of his previous life. He feels no pity for the other Matchbox lying in the cold excrements of the forest. His final worries will be relieved once his heart tapers out. His heart-beat slows; his spirit levitates from the ground.

She kisses the tip of his nose. Matchbox’s spirit shimmers. A force pulls it back to the forest floor. The angel of light dispatches herself into his chest. His spirit flickers out.

Matchbox lies on the ground; he opens his eyes. The black fog is gone. He leaps to his feet bending over in excruciating pain. Venomous snakes crawl on the foliage next to him. He sees his horse roaming through the forest. Conversely, he doesn’t have the strength to move. The only thing his body consumed in the last 24 hours was pathogens, and poison. Even though a mysterious faith woke him up, he’s going to fall right back to an oblivious catnap. His immune system wonders. His stomach cramps. He may be digesting himself.

The memory of his kingdom stirs in his mind. Hope for his people will die with him. His nervous system kick-starts… Facing toward the death trap, he bellows in the cold dirt. He knows he made it through. He closes his eyes.

A soft hand touches his cheek-bone. Matchbox attempts to speak.


“Who are you?”

Skirting from his mouth, his words are muffled out with blood.

A soft kiss on his jawbone follows a sensation of distressful kindness. He’s already frightened to die, but having a witch flock over him anticipates that his soul will venture into a dark domain.


“I’m the fairy Princess Kayla. My father wants me to find a ruler to take his thrown. He’s dying. I’m not here to harm you. I came to take you with me. Once you’re in my kingdom, your soul will never leave. But I’ll give you two choices: to live free of human problems or to go back to an obnoxious existence.”


“But how…?”


“We have to make love. You must accept your faith. If you stay, you’ll be my conqueror. You’ll rule with me as king. We’ll live forever together. If you leave, and ever comeback, then you’ll be my slave for almost infinity; do you except one of my offers?”

Blood streams from out of his mouth. His chest bone is cracked in three places. A couple of his fingers are turned upward. He can’t scream because his lungs are working against the flow of body fluids dispersing inside. His face bounced off the cemented foliage, now he’s barely recognizable. He would sell his soul to the devil to make the pain go way. He answers.


“Yes. Help me. I need to leave to save my kingdom.”

Blood skirts out of his mouth as he speaks.


“A fairy’s slave; how bold of you. You’ve been marked. Once we finish here, leave and never comeback. If you do, then you’ll have to pleasure me until I find another one to replace you. Shake your head if you understand?”

Responding to the fairy’s dismay, Matchbox shakes his head affirming his choice.

His heartbeat is listless swinging in an unconstitutional incline. His eyes stare at her but they don’t respond to grasping actions. He stares passed her, passed the wind-break, and passed the increments which make up the consciousness. His heartbeat tinkers out; the last of what he knows will soon pass through a juncture stage. He’s dyeing slow.

Lingering face-to-face with him, the princess gazes into Matchbox’s blundering range of vision. The touch from her fingertips corrupts his system causing his heart to reactivate.

The pain is too intense. He wants to buckle his knees into his chest, but his body is still broken. Blood infiltrates his lungs, filling it like a balloon. Matchbox gradually catches consciousness just to be allured back into the blackness of death. Gazing into his eyes, the princess’s fairy dust puts Matchbox’s nervous system on a bed of roses. It’s like his entire body has been shot with pampering amounts of cocaine.

Kissing him, Kayla cooks up Matchbox’s eyes. They roll into the back of his head, causing him to sink into colossal pleasure.

Drinking the secretions from his mouth, she engulfs the blood from his lungs. She nurses the crowning drops from his lips with the tip of her tongue.

His body sears with heat. Her digestive system summits to great temperatures, absorbing nutritious fluids, which snickers corruption in his respiratory track. Putting him in a blissful state, his lungs heal. The concubine has complete control over all his senses except for one. Matchbox has control over his heart. He doesn’t fight the fairy’s magical seductive channels. He wants to make love to her more than she wants to induce him to stay. Reforming its tissues, the lungs purge a healing cycle. Princess Kayla passes compassionate kisses on his fingers. The bones in his hand turn to putty, re-attaching to the ligaments. His joints snap back into place. It’s more like a bewitching pain. It percolates with charming captivating intensity. She rips open his shirt, kissing down his chest. Her tongue digs deep into his heart touching his soul.

An Unavailing Cross Road

Matchbox wakes from out of a blissful sleep. He felt like he was in heaven on two occasions: when he was dead, and when he was being raped by the evil fairy princess. His body reposes on a bed of leaves brought together with black fairy sorcery to keep him from feeling the cold foliage underneath them. He believes he is alone. With his lingering armor near the left handle of his resting place, he’s stark-naked on the forest floor.

The trees scorch with silence. The only sound whooping through the fractured tree-lines is the constant whinny rumbles of his feeding horse. It eats some delicious truffles from some tree roots. Well, delicious to a hungry horse. How close they are to the Death Trap, the truffles could still be poisonous. However, just like Matchbox, the horse is protected by a strange magical barrier.

Fully healed, Matchbox’s body and mind break-out of a comforting spell. He wants to hop to his feet, but he lies chasten in total pleasure. He didn’t notice Kayla slipping back into the bed of leaves with him. She appears out of thin air. Matchbox doesn’t have time to react to her sudden movement. Her soft hand wraps around his jawbone pulling his lips toward hers. She buries her tongue into his mouth, and he accepts it. She pulls away from him.


“This is your last chance. Stay with me, don’t leave. It’s truly difficult to find kings, who cross The Death Trap.”


“If you wait for me, I’ll come back to you. I need to help my kingdom get pass these detrimental times. After I save them, I’ll have no issues staying with you. Please let me help them.”


“You don’t understand. I can only do this pure magic on you once. After you leave here, you’ll be corrupted with human irruptions. Your body will only be imperfect.”


“Stop talking in tongues. What do you mean imperfect?”

Matchbox is getting impatient.


“Can’t you see? You want be my equal then. You be nothing more to me than a peasant.”

She pokes him on the forehead. He faints.


“Go save your humans. But hear this announcing curse, don’t ever comeback to me. If you do, I’ll make you feel pain. You’ll have to serve me until another king frees you from your condemnation.”

Matchbox wakes up a second time. He’s all alone. He’s fully dressed. His horse grunts. It’s still eating the truffles between the tree roots.


“How could this be?”

He has no crick or creek in his joints. His belly is full of a dainty feast. He doesn’t remember putting his clothes back on.

Kayla stands bare-naked on the outskirts of the forest with black tears streaming from her eyes. She ghosts back into the shadows before Matchbox could settle his eyes on her.


“You made your choice. Now go!”

Matchbox springs to his feet. Being inflicted with so many injuries, one would believe that he doesn’t have physical stamina to jolt to his horse, but he does. He hurdles the animals back.

He takes one last look at the Fairy’s portal then pulls the neck of his horse into the gloomy seduction of the woodlands. Riding away, he never looks back.

My Father’s Secret

Peering down into the white labyrinth, Prince Eloving stands on top of the cliff’s edge readying him-self to fall into the pit of the mountain over flowing with debris and liquid. As the sun brightens, the fog’s shadow thickens. Envisioning the mist with his sonar ability, sound doesn’t bounce off moist walls as impeccable as it should. Conversely, the precipitation consults every turn, extracting a further darkness. The vapors rise above Eloving’s shoulder-blades sending a distant coldness snaking up his backbone.

The wind misery impairs his ability to see passed the constructed charts outline in his mind. He needs to jump to fancy his father’s suffering madness.

Furthermore, the rushing water down below, will rip into him like a bulldozer leveling a small city block. The waves from the water are violent, washing the inter-core of the mountain into the briny deep.

His father’s voice parrots from out of the secluded roar of the rushing water.


“My son, come to me.”


“I’ll surely die if I jump. Father, please, let me go back to our people. This is madness, even for an Odxithon?”

Nivolore stays quit, he doesn’t answer him back. Eloving has to make a choice, and he must do it soon.

Either, he must head back down the side of the cliff, or jump into the pitch black shadows.

An avalanche will surely flatten him, but he might survive the fall. The waves fabricate disturbing noises, and the ice falling from off the skyscrapers are proscribing a fatal medicine. A part of the cliffs will tumble down with the rest of the hoar-frost and gravel.


“Answer me father… Do you want me to die with you? Do you want your legacy, your father’s legacy, and the patens you kept so long with the humans to perish with the rest of this era of Odxithon?”

He waits a few seconds, but still no answer. The rising sunlight in the east penetrates the mind’s imagination. It sits their burning a hole into the grim-faced architecture.

He makes his choice.


“Father… You are foolish. This frantic idea that you have will cost you your only living son’s life. If I make it to you, then this nonsensical obligation will only further disrupt the continuous growth of our nation. You may be daft into thinking that this is an imperfect idea to validate my reign. However, father, your unstable actions will cause me my life. I’ll see you on the other side.”

He leaps into the white mist. He falls to the depths of the climbing sea water. The heavy blocks of sharpen ice and rock grounds him up before he passes under the freezing teardrops of hate.


Prince Eloving swims through the corridors of his father’s ice palace. The entire circumference of the castle gushes with gallons of melting sea water. If it wasn’t for Eloving’s ability to see with mental images, he would be in pitch darkness. The cracking ice above him will soon cave in. The floor of this monstrous mansion will collapse soon. The only way to get out of this inundated prison is to climb upward.

Eloving opens his eyes. His chest pricks with pain. The images inside of his mind haven’t given him an absolute way out. He’s running out of air. Nevertheless, his eyes see what his mind cannot map out. A bleached ray shins from the far end of the shrinking canal. He can’t swim as fast as he should, because of his injuries. He doesn’t know how serious he’s hurt. The lost consciousness he’s floating in, is proscribing his gambled destiny.

Swimming passed the boulders of ice, Prince Eloving moves into his father’s chamber.


The inside of his father’s chamber and its outermost elements are filled with air. The sunlight shines from the top of the huge skyscraper. It’s miles upward, and the walls of the building are cracking, while part of the ceiling falls from the sky banging to the floor. The loud noise will soon jerk a sonic spell off the inclining structure. Moreover, the melting floor might cause the entire building to debacle. The falling white ice above looks like heaven crumbling to hell.

Eloving’s father glass catacomb yokes him inside a large pillar of ice. He’s floating inside a healing agent which keeps his heart from puttering out.

Eloving and his father transfer thoughts, but barely.

Eloving’s left arm has been scraped clean to the shoulder-blade. One of his eyes is missing. He must have lost his body parts on the dive. He would be in scrutinizing pain. Conversely, the coldness keeps him vigilant. He knows he must make it to the roof before he’s trapped under thousands of kilos of ice with his father. They begin their discussion.


“I’m glad you came my son.”


“I don’t know if I can make it out of here. I’m hurt bad.”


“You have proven your worthiness. A ship will enter here, and take you away before the walls crash in.”

Prince Eloving falls to his knees. He has no more energy left in his body. His wounds persist to bleed-out.


“Why did you bring me here father? Why didn’t you help me escape the human dungeon? Why did you carelessly wait until the new day came, and allow your people to almost be smothered out by relics of a crumbling city? Father have you gone mad?”


“We don’t have much time my son. It’s your mother, and your brother. They are still alive.”


“But father, how do you know this? They were gone for more than 80 human years? How could they still be alive?”


“I’ve officially broken the intermissions with the humans. Your mother contacted me. A kingdom called “Fear” captured them. I saw her in a dream. They have been force to tailor alien weaponry.”


“What should I do father?”


“Save your brother and your mother. Erupt war on the humans. Destroy Fear, and demolish any other kingdom which stands in your path.”


“I understand.”


“You’re king now. Lead your….”

The king passes from existence before he can finish his last sentence.


“Goodbye father.”

The top of the towering structure disperses debris from above. The building slowly caves in on itself. Pieces-of-ice powder from the bulkheads. King Nivolore’s death acted as a trigger point.

An alien space craft shoots down into the fragmented canopy. Eloving is pulled upward. His armor is caught in an electromagnetic cull. Still meters upward, the alien space craft instantly summits near the core of the room. It engulfs Eloving, pulling him inside of the ship. The spacecraft spirals upward out of the collapsing structure. The ice walls bury King Nivolore under buckets of hailstone; the last remembrance of Eloving’s father condemned below a sugary grave.

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