“Little Worth” written by Daton L. Fluker dedicated to Freddie Mercury


Little Worth written by Daton L. Fluker on August 31, 2010.

Dedicated to Freddie Mercury.

What is this thing that builds and inventiveness but then diminishes away?

Pinus palustris needles bewilders in the forest.

And sadness and hate builds inside the long leaf pine tree.

Life bothers the needles of the tree.

The wind blows green with darken hate.

The ground finds a place for Earth to recap itself.

So does the foundation of life find a way to weld a new garden.

God, I beg you to forgive Adam and Eve and let us venture our souls again.

It’s that one moment that is very sweet to most, but still brutally miserable for others.

Sisters and brothers dream in our garden.

Mothers bear fruit, and the tree of life moves on butchering us fruitfully.

Catch my tears with your rag.

Tape my wounds and whip my ass.

A thousand forever’s forgotten; most are remembered but all is lost.

The most valuable things are given by time.

A kiss a touch and even a smell is given by time.

Appetites grow uncountable.

Greed penetrates kayos.

Art is now captured and not canvassed.

Time tortures dreams but inevitably destroys us.

Nothing is certain not even a perennial source of water.

The emulation to survive has taking away valuable time.

Is this sadness are a regrettable remembrance of forever?


Covenantally written by Daton L. Fluker dedicated to @LZZYHALE and @Pink



Covenantally written by Daton L. Fluker

Dedicated to Lzzy Hale
and Alecia Beth Moore -Pink

We can’t fully understand civilization. When the shadows call, we come running. When the light calls, we hide in its shadows.
To my beautiful world. We should stand, and not understand. We are, we were, and we will be great.
That’s all I need is Mother Nature. When I see her, all the pain goes away. I’ll die happy. I’ll die with love in my heart.
That’s how dark poetry was created. Silhouettes dance on pink walls. An eyeball is amazed by silent music hailing the shadows.
I don’t know everything; I’m a star. I’m broken. I’m not beautiful. But, I know my words can make tears fall down your lovely tear-ducts.
I can play with you my dear. I love beautiful. And I adore ugly. I can love all.
And I will be, even if you don’t believe I am.
God’s Darkness told me that you will love me. That’s why I am.
I will only except more. I’ll never except less! MOIETITY I’ll never except you. You S.O.B! Never!
My nightmare tantrum, “who will stop me?” Me.
“Who will break me?” Me.
“Who will keep me full of energy and passion?” My dear friend, you.
Tears bleed through my heart. Isn’t intelligence given by time, and not by birth? What if a dog doesn’t bow anymore, is it still a dog?
Hatred guides us to glaciers when dark clouds loses their medium of fire. Who cares about bivalence when our soul flies when we’re free?
I told you that you’re beautiful. But, her wrist shatters when her arm breaks the coffee table because of her nightmare sneezes. Her dark hour.
I’ll eat your cookie out baby-doll. Who changes sexual favors given freely for love? As her wrist shatters, my heart breaks.
I dance on the edge. I’m sorry my chest burns with holes. They bleed with sorrow. Who can love me? Who understands my poetic tongue?
I’ve defeated myself because I’ll bow down to her; I will. So the dog is not a dog when it stops bowing its head; it’s haunting the haunted.
Her kisses curve my head. Painted on shelves and burning in fireplaces her touch mildews. She said, “ignore me and when you do see this you’ll cry hard.”
I’m not a poet – “Ha, ha, ha.” I’m just a man. We drew silhouettes on our skin in the darkness. We drank like fish and we made dirty lustful love.
I wanted you to see me naked and on hard. I shall kiss you under jet streams. My words did not speak to you fool. My heart did.
She left me riding on a rocket. Nightmare creatures dance filthy in their borrows as a muse stays hidden in his cave until his dark hour.


Darkness Follows Me by Horror Novelist Daton L. Fluker



Darkness Follows Me
Written by Horror Novelist Daton L. Fluker
Daton’s Twitter
As her beauty rotates, her light glistens and shows us might.
We take from her and she never stops giving. She constantly repeats.
Repeat has made our will stronger. Repeat is a reinforcement. Repeat is what people do to complete common goals. Repeat creates nightmares.
For her, I’ll give my life. Because of her, all roads lead home. All hale Mother Earth.
A heart beams with consternation in the night, while kisses from monsters wither broken impressions in the light.
It started with nightmares. And baby, it will end with nightmares. Please, wipe your heart of tears on my collar.
Do I have to remind you of the stardust we swallowed? Do I have to remind you of God’s Darkness?
Did I not warn you about this 70k prediction? You sexy bitch, did I not comfort you with words blowing devilish concepts of war in your anemic ear?
Voices from shadows divulge horror fun carols on your smothered lips as a luster of jewels spark in your pupils when kisses take out your beaten lungs.
Can’t I be fair like you? Can’t you love my touch, and I be your star for one more day?
I don’t deserve it. But can’t a caress your heart with words?
Did I not fill every hole of you with my dripping tongue? Did I not make love to you under the Planet’s Taris? Did I not care on Valentine’s Day?
Let the dam be dammed.
Mother, lay waste to all my enemies on earth.
Let them know that stardust glows and never burns out. Let them know my sweet darkness.
The war came and took part of my impulse, and it took part of our essence. Did darkness follow me mother?
Wind clusters around shadow caves. When fingertips touch skin, repressed pelts blaze from electrical shock. Demons from my unconsciousness crawl from flames of smoke as ice-cycles jam into my trifling skin. I pray for His Darkness, and I pray for Her Beautiful Light.


Valentine Kisses by Horror Novelist, Daton L. Fluker


Valentine Kisses by Horror Novelist, Daton L. Fluker – February 8, 2014

The comfort of the weary tongue whispers sugar in my cup, as Casy blows out angel’s dust.
A final darkness calls my ear to her precious voice. I please her. Invisible tears fall down my heartbeats as we make Valentine’s Love.
I lose myself in her eyes. Her hair smells like Chrysanthemum rain. Stay away; your touch will bring me to my knees on Valentine’s Day.
The night find sinners kissing. Sexual favors endures the empty basket filling it with blood. Teeth clenches lips. A mouth bits flesh.
I begged. I told her, I’ll drink anything that came out of her. Terrified of my own faith, I watched her spit waste on the hardwood floor.
The undivided carries me to hell. In the desert, madness circles around dead beast. Nightmares fictions from unspoken memories.
Valentine kisses from a horror novelist. Nightmares carry me to darkness. I’ll kiss you with a lizard’s tongue baby.
The war calls me to bear arms while laying naked in the sand. I lay in shame with no reverence to slow my crossing.
When I saw tears fall from her eyes, it magnified everything. The images stayed inside me for days. It stopped my precious world.
She asked me, “who are you?” And I replied, “I’m Daton L. Fluker baby.”
You confuse me with a customary human. I’m not the same as them. I am your reflection. I am the Muse. I am the nightmare King.
The RPM’s hot. The revolutions per minute could never keep track of the time on my mind.
Once it’s done, all thermometers will perish with the last star.
The nightmares in my head make my eyes draw weary. The knowledge of mercy flows out. My body perishes but my stories live. My nightmares end when time ends.
A city of beast shall not be mocked. They are angels to the slaughter. The shadows deduct me into a cataclysm of abhorrence.
Our feet will give out one day my friend. But at least our hearts traveled in the mist. We spoke words.
Not even planets, stars, or dust lasts forever. However, it’s transformed into rock or crystal that adds a reflection of hardness.
Not everyone, but some of us listen, some of us care, and some of us will design our paths with knowledge learnt from guardians.
It reminds me that we can still transform into stars. It reminds me of faith. Beautiful fire will end when it’s fuel burns out.


Daton L. Fluker’s Twitter Followers’ Love Letter


Daton L. Fluker’s Twitter Followers’ Love Letter
Written by Daton L. Fluker
February, 6th 2014

Daton’s Twitter
Our time is precious. There is never an end. I’m only a man. Hate me if you like. But remember, we loved each other for one perfect day.
Large masses. They accrete with convection. Daton L. Fluker’s army rises with passion, fear, and heartbeats.
A match is lit. Hot oil sears our caps to ball skin. Our jurisdictions are mocked by shadows. Our skin ashe to flames.
Theirs no more beast to barbecue. Freezing ice fills cabinets. Baby, when I’m gone, castle walls tumble to the sizzling dirt.
Some pirates live with their foot to the metal. The law came to take my looted booty away. Bury me with gold in a hole filled with snakes.
Words use to make men cry. If I made a movie, I would make your tears fall so I can catch them on my shirt. You will always be my heart.
What hurled me more than an open flesh wound than a broken heart, is when I looked into my own eyes and said, I don’t remember who you are.
The gloomy sky rains the end.
Be brave my child. Run with the pack. Affirm your faith you bastard! Hold the sword! Fight for love!
Many don’t believe in the hearts of human beings anymore. But, some of us still listen. Some of us affirm our heartbeats. Some of us love my dear.
I send a broadcast.
I can’t write love letters to a stranger in the sky. When time collapse, our tears shall not be kissed by vicious lips.
How can beauty adore snakes? To you I’m filthier than the worms in your garden. My sweet dears, I don’t deserve it, to touch your skin.
References of the dark; beauty in one shape. Metal forged of flowers. The lost art. The nightmare creation.
I thought we were one. However my friend, when you un-followed me, all roads ended for us.


Dishonesty and Honesty

We live in a world of foolery. Of disgust. The lifeless sentimental reasons that make us human, dismantles us.
I can see your way. I know why you do it. You subject people to these consequences because of their prosperity, and of you not being able to provide the most indispensable gifts for yourself and your family.
You lie, cheat, and steal from others for survival. Notwithstanding, your survival became more than getting what you need. Your habits become greed. A pirate…
You’ll never perceive my way of life. In addition to, the more dirt that’s done to the crowds, the lesser you will comprehend of my existence.
Men, women, and children use to oppose their enemies, and protected their families, friends, and countrymen from the wrath of nightmares.
No one can secure a nightmare. A nightmare must fix him, her, or itself.
This is what it means when God says, “the meek shall inherit the world.”
No one will understand why they are being attacked and their lives broken.
So they stop fighting.
You have never really seen hell. You probably believe you live in hell, and that’s why you continuously eat from the flowers there.
It’s sweet now. However, it’s only temporary.
If you play the golden harp, people will be attracted to the shiny metal. If you play the wooden harp, people will be attracted to the music.
Furthermore, people will fight over the golden harp.
However, the wooden one, they can always obtain or make one themselves. This is compared to dishonesty and honesty. God’s watching you.

Them Little Rascal Haters

Them Little Rascal Haters

I promised to write a blog about haters. I told my Tweeter friends that the hater blog, I’m planning to write, will be about 1000 words and it still wouldn’t even slice the cake.
I don’t really know why I’m wasting my time writing this blog. I’ll try my best to use derogative language.
First off, lets talk about the haters, who look at a person follow count on Twitter then block them without even saying hello. Or even, like in my case, my account shoots up about 1,000 followers a week “http://twitter.com/datonflukers.” o(^_-)O.
I have wonderful conversations with my followers, and I try my best to answer as many replies as I can. However, these type of haters don’t notice hard work. They drink extreme amounts of haterade juice.
This form of hating is egotistical hating. The individual believes he or she is better than everyone esle and that they should have more followers than their friends.
These type of people need thralls for friends. A thrall is a vampire slave or a fart sniffer.
No matter what a friend does for egotists, egotist haters need bondage slaves who shower them with riches and wipe their asses after they praise the porcelain.
They have the, “what do you call that shit?” Oh yeah, they have the nobility complex.
If you like an artificial intelligent compass stuck up your ass, and you adore when someone commands you to move in a certain direction, please, never gainmore than 200 followers and follow the egotist. You’ll be a perfect cadet for hire. Meaning you’re selling your ass for a low price. Maybe $1.99 or 0.55 cent.
The next type of hater I’ll talk about is the recluse hater or another name for this type of hater is a weasel.
They look for the bad in people. They always need to find something wrong with someone. The recluse hater doesn’t like when people curse, they don’t like smokers, they don’t like violent media, they prefer to have a “Mr. Roger’s friend.” No offense Mr. Rogers. I love all your work, and have watched many of your shows as a child.
Lets get back to the recluse hater. You ever saw the movie, “The Dark Knight Rises” where Bruce Wayne becomes a recluse from being over exerted from crime erupting in Gothic City?
That is what a recluse hater has become. Instead of living like bats, however, they live like weasels.
If a faction of people is to loud or a man or woman says a curse word or even if that individual smells a little mundane, they’ll get up and change their seats. Or they’ll make smacking noises with their gums. They give no respect for someone who is indifferent from them. They’ll block you in a heart beat if they see porn, dirty words, or impassionable talk about asses in their Twitter timeline.
I don’t even like having conversations with recluse haters because no one will ever live up to their standards. If you say something wrong, they’ll try to make you feel bad every single time.
They’ll go to extreme lengths by quoting what you said then just vanishing from your friend list.
I like being who I am. My personality changes. Sometimes I feel happy, sad, arrogant, sleepy, tired, or bored. That’s natural to feel different emotions. A recluse hater, on the other hand, operates with one gear. That gear is happy. So kiss my ass happy bastards.
I had to find a word for another type of hater I’ve experiences during my time spent on social media sites. This type of hater is called a misanthrope hater.
They just hate people period. Either they hate all men or they hate all women. These sick bastards hate someone because of their gender. I’m not talking about sexual preference. I’m describing pure and offensive hate. Another word you might call these type of haters are bitches.
I wouldn’t leave my cellphone laying around on a coffee table when you’re in a coffee cafe and have to go use the restroom. When you come back, a misanthrope hater might hack your phone and download your personal information, trying to fuck your perfectly good life-up. People serously act this way. I seen it a million of times, people accounts are hacked by people who’ve they trusted with their information. These hater’s don’t give a shit who they got to hurt to get a head. Actually, at first they can come off as pretty nice people. They’ll get you courted, after you’re hooked, they’ll jam a rusty arrow through your heart. I’ll beat the hell out of a son of a bitch-ass misanthrope hater. Excuse my French.
The next type of hater I’ll talk about is the head shaker. You just want to wring the fuck out of their collar. You literally want to grab them by the shirt and choke the shit out of them with their own clothes because of their encrypted personalities. These head shakers only believe in main stream media. They’ll never enjoy master pieces from local artist or authors. They don’t believe that real people could create magnificent works of art.
Head Shakers need updated special affects to enjoy any media. They’ll actually make fun of amateur writers. I had some one tell me before, “You’ll never be a published author because you’re a poor Black Man.” Another person told me, Black People didn’t know how to use computers.
If a person doesn’t realize that they are head shakers, they can become a misanthrope hater, not by choice, but because of their social behavior (being interested in certain media, and who they desire to create this type of media). So I say to the head shakers. I’m a publish author. So please kiss, my Big Black Ass.
Another type of hater I really enjoy being around is the competitive hater. They’ll actually try to compete with everything you have done. They’ll even go out of their way to learn the information that you already understand. The competitive haters get extremely agitated when they can’t out perform you, and will usually, use all their energy in their brain to counteract your steps.
Nothing is wrong with a little competition. Competition helps us grow, and these type of haters could be great friends. Nevertheless, you have to clearly comprehend that these competitive friends are competing against you, so that you can play their game (s). If you don’t like competition, please, don’t get to close to competitive haters because they’ll try to show you off or steal all the talents that you may possess.
Never give a competitive hater important information that would help them without any helpful information in return. They’ll never in a hundred years explain how they are rising successfully.
So that’s about a thousand words. I hope you can appreciate what I have to say about Haters. Have a great day.
Daton L. Fluker

Camelot Dimension 360 Chapter 10



The Long Winter

Written by Author

Daton L Fluker

Flemish Translation done by

Kenyo Wells



PRESS TO GO BACK TO Camelot Dimension 360 Chapter Selection



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.

Camelot Dimension 360 Chapter 9


The Long Winter

Written by Author

Daton L Fluker

Flemish Translation done by

Kenyo Wells



PRESS TO GO BACK TO Camelot Dimension 360 Chapter Selection



The previous week, during the court-martials in the mid-city of Apollo, Lord Erickson sits at the supervisor’s desk worrying about his mysterious guest. Torches’ flames preserve the city lights from being drowned out by total darkness. The thick clouds glare upward. The snow storm buries everything in the city. Lord Erickson’s Lieutenant plots his bottom down on top of the table.


“Why didn’t you kill them? They lie about who they are! Those stories are only mythical! There are no such things as aliens!”


“Why should I kill innocent beings? It’s not the way I’ve trained this regiment. They’ve confessed to their crimes. Let them be. Besides, what if the legends are correct? Who will you answer to when you kill one-of-their-kind?”


Maybe you’re right. Aren’t you the least worried about where they actually came from? They could have been ordered by Lord Spolylosys to venture into our domain. They could be demons.”

Leith doesn’t believe in Spolylosys or Trilyonois. He masquerades the idea. Nevertheless, his battalion believes in the kingdom of Trilyonois. He only swears by what his father and mother indoctrinated into his mind during his youth. His beliefs conceit the concept of reincarnation. He has to feign the Camelot ideas and methodology. We transform our bodies and minds from the dawn of our first breath to the enhancements of our final steps. Meeting Elizabeth confirms his religious beliefs. Souls change; however, they eventually find their way back home.


“I killed more than my share of men in my life time, so I truly don’t care if Spolylosys comes after me or not! If I fight him on this world, then I won’t have to do it when I die. My spot is already reserved for me. However, you, on the other hand, should bring me more prisoners. If you kill a couple more, then you’ll have your permit to live there too! So stop wasting valuable time!”

The lieutenant stands up.


Bring the next scoundrel! You heard me, get a man in front of this desk immediately!”

Unexpectedly, a loud roar expands from out of the woods. It echoes back a hundred times louder.


What was that?”


You know exactly what they are; did you not witness them with your own eyes?


I’m not sure what they were. I’m just happy they’re gone.”


Another snow blizzard will eruct over the forest. The night isn’t over yet. Whatever they’re up to, might infringe terrible things in our direction. I hope they leave as far away from this place as they can travel. Unexplained things exist in this world. The battle is never over. Even so, be careful not to bet to fast.”


I’m not afraid of a good fight. My discomfort comes from the idea that we might encounter something that we cannot battle.”

Eloving’s Journey Back Home

Eloving leads the run. The other Odxithon paces behind him; they move at full velocity. Their eyes are trained to the darkness. Their particular skills to see beyond the shadows give them the ability to feel through the blackness with their imagination, the sound of their cries echoes through the woods. They design mental maps of the area.

They have the capability to utilize sonar signals, which calculate their surroundings every time they scream aloud. The sound is a terrible shrieking noise; nevertheless, it’s effective for seeing in the dark.

Conversely, these weren’t the extra echoes heard in the city. Large trees reach up into the atmosphere touching the sky with their lifeless branches. It’s freezing in every direction. The midnight eerie place proceeds with unimaginable revulsion.

The trepidation of their trot slows. Shadows appear among the quiet tree saps, which bustle with spirits in all directions.

Eloving and the other Odxithon horary to a complete stop, the snow instantly clears. Many miles to their front, moonlight seeps into the cracks of the trees. Eloving turns to his left. Shadows dance in the moonlight. He turns to his right. A body of something crosses through his open eyesight. The air smells natural. A petite fog rings between the skyline and the forest. Snow caps the ground.

The unfitness of the mulch never loses its ambience, even after hundreds of years of ice shadowing the area’s hiding place. The spirit pulsation stops.

The fog thickens in front of them and an assembly of shadows ambitions them to go forward. The spirits dance in sequence. The white fog spears into the midnight eerie. Eloving wants to catch the spirits. He yells out to the dispersion of the smoke. Something answers him back with a sequence of noises.

Eloving and the other Odxithon take off chasing after the fog. The more rapid they run, the farther away the phantom runners move. The first screams echo together with the other creatures’ calls. Aggression invades peacefulness.

Envision emptiness then a sudden boom of sonic behavior. The inside of the forest in-animates their screams. The loudness blades through the void, piercing the atmosphere.

This training session would be a brutal punishment to any man’s body. Running through the arctic forest naked, would put a toll on someone’s organs, let alone at the speed their traveling. The further they run, the faster their metabolism speeds-up. The temperature in their blood pummels hot similar to a locomotive coal engine. It burns with a furious rage.

The Rabbit-dust springs away as the Odxithons chase after it through newer sections of the forest.

Triangular paths of trees procure downward. They will bow forever waiting until their majesty appears a foolish waste of time. The queen will appear, but not in the form of sustenance. She’ll appear as natural disasters, wiping waves of historical storms through a treacherous reunion.

Making succinct bashing noises, their hoofed feet smash at the muddy foliage. It’s like a small cavalry anticipating the frozen ice underneath a lost battleground.

Phantoms to the left and phantoms to the right move into the Odxithons’ path. The speculation of energy screams shoots through the silence.

The rabbit-smoke in front of them halts. They run forward into the fog. The other Odxithon doesn’t come out the other side. Eloving freezes three meters behind the irregular precipitation.

A different Odxithon stands in front of him. He wears a chest-plate, a helmet, and holds a lightweight sword. His lower body is uncovered and hairless. The encounter appropriates centimeters away from each other.

With a highly sensitive nose, Eloving can smell the aroma of other Odxithons in the area. They were the spirit creatures running the outer perimeters. Eloving and the new Odxithon scream to the top of their lungs in each other faces.

They calm their breathing. Closing their eyes, they transfer thoughts telepathically.

Eloving’s chest ventilates firm, while he catches his breath. After all, he has been locked up in an underground dungeon for three decades. He’s a little winded after the run.


“Eloving your father is passing away. He needs your comfort. He wants to talk to you.”


“Why hadn’t anyone tried to save me? It has been more than three decades since my capture.”


“Your father knew that you would escape around this time. He didn’t want us to make a connection with the humans. We’re not supposed to exist to them.”


“But I’m the prince of the colony. This doesn’t make any apparent since to me. It’s truly far away, and I’m too weak to travel that far without food and rest.”


Don’t worry. 20-miles away, the galactic-ship feathers over the tree tops. It’s hidden aside from human eyes. If we hurry, we can make it to your father before he passes. Sir, are you ready?”


“Ready as I ever will be. Follow behind me. My legs may give out. I’m still pretty weary of my time spent in the dungeon.”


“Ok sir, we’ll be behind you!”

The commander takes off his chest-plate, handing it to Eloving. He gives him his sword then runs into the outer perimeter of the woods.

Eloving is alone fastening his armor. The armor is special made for their kind of species. It instantly snaps in place. Glancing up, seeing the many miles of blackness, he closes his eyes so his imagination can make a mental map of the area. Gripping his sword, he points it toward the ground.

His firmly fit muscles lump out of his arms as he screams. The other Odxithons answer back.

Taking off into the darkness, Eloving loses control over himself. His mental map misplaces a tree root, which bulges out from under his first steps. He trips; his forward momentum slams him into the tree.

The commander’s breastplate protected him from injuring himself. Eloving hasn’t used telepathic mapping for over thirty years, so he’s a little rusty. The accident made him angry. The extra adrenaline in his body causes him to run faster. He picks himself up then wails out an awful sound. He re-sketches his mental analogue.

Taking off like a rocket, Eloving pushes forward with all his strength. The trees in front alter movement. It’s more of a plausible projection stalking him in the immense woodlands. It’s like being in a daydream with twilight creatures running meters away. He was born to sprint in the obscurity of the night, and now he is free to storm the submissive terrain with his forceful pace.

The light from the three moons comforts his path, but the faces on the moons heckle as he jumps into the air doing a frontward flip over a patch of thorny bushes. Landing on his feet on the other side of the bushes, his knees give out. He tumbles to the icy dirt.

The Odxithon tails keep them balanced. However, he and the other captured Odxithon have a tougher time than the rest of them because their tails have been hacked off. His Commander comes from out of the intelligent darkness towering over him. He mentally transfers thoughts.


“Sir, are you ok?”

Eloving doesn’t say anything, his adrenaline sky rockets. Thrusting to his feet, all he can think about is getting back home to speak to his father. The last time he and his father talked, his father was extremely ill.

Eloving forces out the animal which contents his heart, instead of his intellectual abilities to get him through this. He screams out a terrible yowl.

The Lieutenant moves back into the shadows. Eloving takes off through the woods, breaking awesome speed limits. Something, not sure what it was, has cut into his thigh rod muscle; now his emerald blood spills over the forest foliage, making a trail for any carnivorous creature to follow.

Sadly, his heart begins to give out, and he feels himself losing momentum. Falling to his knees, he slides into a large tree. The shadows stop with him. He anticipates thoughts to them.


“Give me some water and something to eat. My energy is failing.”

Two Odxithons spear through the shades carrying food and a camel-pack filled with water. They give him dried snails. Sitting there, they observe him while he eats. He devours the snails and gorges down the water. Taking the camel pack, and his sword, they disappear into the thick brushes. Eloving has more flexibility since he lost the extra weight. When he rises up from off his knees, he feels injuries relinquishing through his body. His hips teem with pain. The skin on his knees is scraped down to the bone.

He screams out an awful sound. It disturbs the silence of the peaceful woodlands. Slowing his speed, he is concerned about his injuries. His legs might give out if he doesn’t take caution to his pace. The darkness withdraws a mysterious panic in his heart. He closes his eyes to see the mental map. Being around humans so long has shattered this ill-individual-component to not appropriately function correctly.

When we stop using our writing or speaking abilities, then we lose context of what we have learned as a child, so it’s true that practice makes perfect.

Suddenly, he stops. The commander conceives thoughts to him.


“Sir we have to keep going. We only have 10 more miles. We need to finish this.”


“Wait, something is wrong.”

Eloving screams to the top of his lungs.


“Something is wrong. Everyone stop! Those trees have moved. They aren’t there anymore?”


“Sir, I believe your technique isn’t working accurately. We need to get you to the checkpoint. Let me take the lead, so we won’t run into anymore trouble.”


It’s not that. I can make a measly 10-miles. But something is out of place. Let’s stop for a while, until I figure this out.”


Sir, we have to keep moving. Your father will die soon.”


Don’t you think I know that? It was his foolish rules, which kept me in danger all these years. I’m not sure I’ll be living, if we run another 30 miles. What’s going on? Hello. Commander, are you there?”

They lose mental connection, then his men all scream at once.

Then they shut-up. Eloving tries to correlate a mental connection, but none of the Odxithons answer him back. No more shadows bustle to his right or left. They have disappeared.

He pictured this situation in his mind, but none of his comrades believed him. He’s searching for them, excluding the fact that he can’t scream aloud until he knows exactly what’s happening.

The roots of the trees give him charitable guidance. He goes in the direction of the trees which vanished in mid-darkness. He investigates the problem because this is the only way to figure-out what happen to everyone. He partially understands the problem. He mapped out a small diagram of this area. His mind slowly pieces it together. He turns back and walks into the other direction.

He associated his mental thoughts with the evidence that he was prolonging all this time. The first tree root he touched has been scratched to splinters. The forest floor is soft. His nose has detected some chemical fluids in the air. These fluids can only come from the body of one deadly adversary.

His anticipation only leads him to disappointment because the more he feels the dirt, the longer his greatest fears authenticate. The footprints of the creature’s offspring peeve into the ground like thousands of little spikes. He has new reliable information, which he doesn’t want to be true, but it is. He can hear the creatures breathing now. One of his soldiers barely makes a mental connection with him, but the soldier does get his point across.


“Sir, get out of here. They’ll make it in your direction pretty…”

He’s cut off.

Everything dies down for just a second then there is a lot of activity in the trees’ brushes. Millions of flutters cumulate from a distance. The sounds are coming in hordes. Eloving screams aloud.

Before he could successfully make a mental map, a large proboscis discharges from the top of the trees directly into his chest. The acid melts his chest-plate. The proboscis pulls him 5ft into the air. However, he successfully unsnaps the breast-plate plummeting to the ground. He hits the solid foliage hard. Jetting to his feet, he runs into the woods toward the ocean.

He pushes toward the ocean as fast as he can. He’s shuffling a deck of cards that he doesn’t want to play. He is dealing with an insect family named the Culicidae or better known as the fly. When grown to adulthood, these creatures can grow larger than trees, but still have the ability to move super fast. While hopping over shrubbery, and staying away from dangerous obstacles, Eloving keeps his eyes tightly shut, so he can get a good image of where he needs to go next.

He makes a mental image of his troopers’ locations. Some are in trees. Others are engraved in pieces scattered throughout the forest. Those creatures have published his soldiers’ gruesome fates. The insect babies feed on their blood, sucking their bodies drop-less. One soldier was brought to the treetops. When Eloving screamed upward, he notices tiny holes puncturing every living cell in the soldier’s body, along with the bigger holes from their partially developed brothers and sisters. When the Culicidae are old enough, their mandibles shoot from their faces like swords, and the tips of them have teeth sharper than small razor blades.

A Culicidae mandible pierces through the dead soldier’s chest-plate. It sucks his heart clean of fluids.

No time to reminisce; he cuts through the forest like a lightening demon but the masses of insects are keen on his trail. His arms infest with miniature Culicidae creatures. They move in a clever system that follows a certain order as they slowly ingest his skin. In a circular pattern on his arm, they chew into his skin bursting every blood vessel in their path. Before they become humongous creatures bigger than trees, they’re born tinier than parasitic creatures. They can devour a cell a second. Batches of them will soon injure his skin to an un-repairable state.

Eloving must make it to the ocean. Hopefully, they’ll die-off if he dives into the frozen mother.

The trees closer to the ocean thin-out, the wind whines while Eloving breaks through them with a breathtaking pace. His momentum is two times of that of a locomotive-steam-engine.

Five miles away from his destination point, he sniffs the creatures’ aroma and replays their movement. It’s like running through a nightmare toppled with darkness, looking at a glass of milk in front of you then closing your eyes remembering where it is. The mind is a strange tool; we use certain concepts for different projects.

3.5 miles away from the ocean, Eloving runs through the pitch-black-darkness with his eyes shut. Images flutter through his mind.

He feels the temperature changing. The smell of the sea nears. He’s out of breath breathing in short puffs. His visualization slips from his short-term memory causing him to scream to make another mental atlas.

No one is driving the bus; his heart fails in deep contempt. Stopping because of what is in front of him, Eloving tumbles to the forest floor. The spider branches clap together as his terminal ending bristles out of proportion. Eloving lays face first in the icy dirt, a few meters away from the ocean. The baby Culicidae catches up with him. Millions of them cut into the pores of his skin with their mandibles.

Protecting his face, and covering his eyes, he visualizes the mother creature standing directly in front of him. She blocks his path to the ocean. Her long pairs of legs bend over like falling trees seeping into her bulldozer-mesothorax. The hair from her legs reaches out, which could, at the present moment, be confused for branches. Her long wings clear as glass, grip her banded abdomen unrecognizable at first glance.

Her burning respiration sings over him. He knows he is done for. The smell of the acid in her stomach is frightening. It’ll instantly melt him. No hope for him now, he falls to his annihilation.

Wait, she makes a large ferocious noise. Heat expands all around him. The forest catches on fire. The creature creates enough sound for him to make a mental image of her attacker. Lasers shoot into her abdominal. He opens his eyes. There is enough light to see. However, he shouldn’t have done that. Some of the smaller creatures attack his eyelids. If he doesn’t do something immediately, then he might lose his eye-sight. Hovering over the tree tops, an alien-space-craft glides toward the battle front. It’s a large metal ship with no sails, or a foreign spell, which has no movement and no sound. The ship protects him, but if Eloving doesn’t get the hell out of there, then there will be nothing left to protect.

He keeps his eyes close, but he can feel her babies crawling inside feeding on his eyelids. He pushes himself up, but like a swarm of bees, they coat his back with a sheet of living bugs drinking his blood.

Some of them shake off, but they retaliate, flying around to the front of his body, which is dispersed in dirt. Limping as fast as he can toward the water, his adrenaline builds; every step he takes propels him faster. However, his body aches and he hears the consistency of wings fluttering around him. The ocean is in view. He hears the water; the visualization is stunning.

The water is clean. Cause of his memory visualization capabilities, he can see meters under, by just hearing the sound of the water crashing against the bank. In the middle, a big glacier blocks the sound from things behind it. He made it inches away from the water, but his struggle isn’t over yet. Eloving still has all those bugs eating away on him. Thousands fly around him, and thousands more have successfully infested through his skin. Some of them blanket his back: It’s a sheet of skin made of creepy-crawlers. He can’t open his eyes because they ate holes through his eyelids. He doesn’t waver the moment; he runs then dives into the water.

Under The Ocean’s Floor

It’s below freezing. He dives deep as he can. The insects solidify and fall-off in patterns. They scatter away from his body. The hemoglobin in Eloving’s blood is a strange mixture, which protects him from the arctic water. The colder the temperature, the hotter his blood becomes enraged. When he opens his eyes the smaller-bugs inside gel-up then dusk into the water.

Every pore of his skin bleeds out. Tiny holes–large enough to see in the water–cover his entire body. Tons of infestations under his armpits and neck have been consumed to a bloody-pulp. He is so lucky. He almost got ate a live.

He hears voices in his head, “Sir, are you ok?”

He mentally answers back,

“I’m in really bad shape. I don’t know if I can make it, and it’s dangerous down here. I’m bleeding all over the place. The sea creatures will have their way with me if they pick up my scent. I need to be put in the healing element as soon as possible.”

“We don’t know if your body can take the magnetic-screening. We need to get you closer to the glacier before we try. We don’t want that creature to follow us.”

“I understand.”

Strange creatures live in unaffectionate parts of Minaera. This one is probably the strangest because it attacks only the native creatures. They never show aggression toward the humans, maybe because they don’t like their taste, or because they are not animals from this world. Nevertheless, they really appreciate the flavor of the Odxithons.

Unexpectedly, the space-craft appears over the water. It accompanies his swim, floating overhead protecting him from the dangers that might be in the air.

The sea is billions of miles wide and quadrillions of miles deep. It’s so clean and untouched by waste and pollution that it resembles a mirror image of the big blue sky.

He’s fortunate that the big mountain of ice is only a few miles away, can’t really tell its distance because everything on this planet is so enormous.

He’s in a bit of trouble. His body cramps and his legs are losing thrust, and hunger consumes him. The plankton is as large as fish. He swims toward some smaller plankton. He swallows them whole. The acid in his stomach burns the larva alive.

Throwing some of them down into his gut, energy bustles through his body. Nutrition is the least of his worries. Hundreds of miles to his left, a sea creature sticks his neck from out of the water. It’s high as a skyscraper. When the creature roars, the sound echoes in every direction. Cause of the extra vibration, Eloving closes his eyes. His imagination goes to work. A creature that size can move hundreds of miles in just a few minutes; it is heading right toward him. Eloving hears voices in his head.

“Sir, we will try to stop it. Keep moving toward the glacier.”

Eloving knows he doesn’t have time to respond back; not even in his head. His hips hurt, and his skin is on fire. The extra meal has given him some more energy, but not by much, and seeing that he is in the water helps sooth some of the pain away. His adrenaline sky rockets; every meter his swim becomes sharper. The alien space craft disappears overhead.

The lady Culicidae hovers over the water. Eloving hears her wings flapping. He knows her attentions. She sees with her eyes, and senses predation with the sensitive hairs all over her body. Eloving has only one option, and that is to swim directly downward into the dangerous darkness. She knows he is still there. The scent of his blood bubbles to the top. He vanishes from her sight.

It’s dark down there. He relies on impeccable imagination. Some of the creatures in the sea can move through the water in total silence. Lucky or not lucky, he can see them because of the Culicidae noise overhead, and the big wale creature vibrating in the water from its advancement.

Nothing is dangerous in the area. The greater noise being made, the more he can visualize smaller creatures at the bottom. It’s like watching a black-and-white-motion-picture-strip building in his mind.

At the foot of the iceberg, he still has both problems: the one at his top, plus the one timbering toward his direction. The space craft couldn’t stop it. The big sea creature’s vibrations go quiet. Eloving has no choice; it’s either, get swallowed alive by a large lock nest monster, or be picked apart by a gigantic insect. He makes his choice.

Eloving scours the glacier-walls. Closer to the surface he opens his eyes. The Culicidae shoots a sliding sheath from her mouth. The proboscis goes through his back. It barely misses his heart. She pulls him into the air.

She scales him upward toward the top of the huge glacier. The other creature appears. It jumps from out of the water flying up after them. The sea creature clamps its boulder like teeth on the mother Culicidae middle torso. The creature leaps so far up, that only its tail lay sunk in the ocean. It’s half as tall as the glacier. When it hits the water, a tremendous force rocks the pillar of ice with sonic sound. The monster takes them both under.

The Mother Culicidae’s proboscis slips from out of Eloving’s back. Swimming with them to the bottom, the force of the creature’s dive takes him under. Favored by the current, he’s pushed away from a monstrous downward pull. Spilling out blood every second, Eloving has a big hole in his back, and he is lost in the dark part of the ocean. The pump of his heart puts him in a more dangerous position. Opening his eyes, he can’t use his mental ability anymore. It’s like a light in the tunnel. He swims upward, but it’s too far. He can’t make it. The dive took him miles under. The further he goes upward, the more the tunnel of light increases, but yet, the farther away his trepidation withers. The galactic cruiser appears overhead. Eloving slips into a mental-relapse. Losing his breath, his paddling legs give way. Closing his eyes, Eloving sight flickers out.

Pulling him toward the bottom, smaller fish attach themselves to his open wounds. They eat the rest of what’s left. The space-craft hovers over the glacier. For five seconds, it stays motionless. The bottom slowly opens.

A second metal layer opens. Two Odxithons drip from out of the wall like electromagnetic acid, landing in blobs on the frozen top. After the magnetic shield wears down, the Odxithons roll down the slope of the iceberg. One of them could have stopped his momentum. But yet, both are forcing their slide down the amazing drop.

Reaching the edge, they push themselves up with their tails, leaping away from the iceberg. They scream while scaling down the side of the glacier. They plunge into the freezing water. Taking deep breaths, they dive toward the prince.

They form mental images of Prince Eloving. When they try to communicate with him, they replay the last image he testified to; this means he is fighting, and he is still alive. The intricate sounds of the ocean are tranquil, obedient to the onslaught of the quiet skies. The dive is more bloodthirsty then the creatures plundering in its depths could bear witness. Darkness abates; silence abates. Creatures small and big flutter around them as they search for the final homing-beckon that has just flickered out. They keep diving toward the direction that the last signal came from.

The two Odxithons find Eloving; they grab his arms and tow him upward. They can feel him slowly falling into a death-collage whispering soft demented telepathic thoughts into the cold water’s surge.

Powering him to the surface of the water, one of the Odxithons takes a syringe he’s holding then shoots the accelerated protein into Eloving’s chest. They pull him to the glacier. About 30 seconds of hitting the abrasive current, Eloving wakes up. It’s fortunate that one of the Odxithons could speak. The other one can communicate only telepathically.

“Sir, hold on to my back. I will pull you up the glacier. Hang in there; we’re almost to your father. You did it.”

Eloving appearance is not recognizable. One of his eyelids has been eaten in half, plus tiny holes infest all over his face, arms, and body, and a big hole reaches through his stomach exiting out of his back.

Those years locked up in the dungeon made him appear smaller than the other Odxithons, also considering the fact that his tale has been chopped off. The Odxithon, with only mental capability, licks out his tongue like a lizard grabbing a plankton larva in just seconds then rolling it back into his mouth. He swallows it.

They swim back to the glacier. Hundreds of miles away the locnest monster appears. The Odxithons communicate telepathically.


Amathon, you’re stronger than me, but the prince needs someone who can continue speaking to him. I can make the climb, but I need you to offset that beast’s pace to give me and the prince some closure time to get into the ship. I believe this glacier can’t take one more pounding from that monster.”


I understand.”

Amathon takes a spiky-fish swimming by then slits his arms. Eloving and General Horath maintain toward the glacier, which is now cracking in half from the immense on slate of the current.

Amathon disappears under the stampede of the rushing-waves…




Yes sir.”


We’re counting on you. Be careful.”

Making it to their destination point, General Horath and Prince Eloving climb the glacier. General Horath speaks to Eloving.


Sir, hold on with all your might. I need to move quickly upward, and my aggression may knock you off my shoulders. We don’t have time to do this again. Once the monster figures out that he’s not catching Horath, he will be a bit angry, and want to take the rest of his rage out on this glacier.”

General Horath closes his eyes. The sonic roar dispersing over the ocean takes flight in his imagination. He can see every crevice swelling from the side of the glacier, including the gigantic crack racing slowly up the middle. Eloving grips on to Horath’s neck.

Horath clasps onto the hard ice, pulling him-self upward. With the extra weight on his back, he resembles a man climbing the wall, but with one befuddlement. Adrenaline bucket’s down through his veins. Every move he makes; paces him further to his occurred-point.

The gigantic monster vanishes under the water. Totally confused, it appears again. Just because something can swim hundreds of miles in minutes don’t mean that everything it felt before will be in the same location. When its head pops-up, anyone could tell that it’s at a loss of direction. Horath is doing a good job implanting his blood in the water. Conversely, the monster has two choices. To continue to chase the phantom swimmer, or head toward the glacier where he can smell Prince Eloving’s wounds saturating the wind’s current. The monster makes its choice, but who knows its choice? Vanishing under the water, it dives deep.

General Horath and Eloving make it to the top of the glacier. Everything is quiet. However, the mental map in Horath’s mind tells him differently.

Genera Horath

This may kill you. Nevertheless, we must try. The magnetic screening will pull you upward. Your open wounds will give you excruciating pain. That monster is heading straight toward us. We only have one try, when you’re up in the ship; I will jump back in the ocean. Don’t worry about me and Horath. We are strong enough to make the 300-mile trip back home. Blink twice if you understand.”

Eloving blinks twice.

General Horath sends a telepathic message to the ship.


Do it now!”

Eloving begins to percolate. He says in a low tone.


It hurts.”


You can do it sir. Think about the soldiers we lost today. How would they feel if you gave up at this point? Fight it.”



Eloving rises toward the entrance of the ship. He struggles but finally gives in. He lets the force pull him inside.

The glacier rocks violently. General Horath runs and jumps, scaling down the wall. The glacier cracks in half. Holding him in his mouth, the monster grabs General Horath in midair. Spitting him out, a piece of the glacier smacks the monster in its throat. Horath hits the water then dives under. He’s wounded but not that bad. It’s a good thing he’s wounded, because now he can continue luring the monster away from the glacier.

The Ship rises from out of the monsters reach. The monster slips from off the broken glacier back into the water. It seems to have retreated but not heartily. It’s following Horath’s bloody scent.

It’s cold inside the Galactic Ship. The metal layers are positioned quarter inches apart in a hexagon pattern. The walls, the bottom, and the top are similar to a bee hive, except the floor has a flatter service. The roof of the ship and the walls are rounded and steep enough for climbing.

A dim light comes on. Eloving is in the storage area. Dispersing a poisonous gas into the room, some of the hexagons at the top, open up in wavey-patterns. Baby Culicidae were dormant in Eloving’s wounds. The poisonous gas wakes them up. Clawing their way out of his wounds, the Culicidae swarm about. A swift jolt of air pulls the insects into a vacuum. They’re sucked into the ship’s wall. A hole opens up on the left side. An Odxithon scales down the wall breaking for Eloving. He puts his hand on Eloving’s chest then examines his body.

He searches around the room for any Culicidae that might have escaped the vacuum’s draft. The Prince’s chest meshes up-and-down. He’s still alive. The floor on the other side of the room opens up. A casing rises from out of the metal bulk-head. It’s a breathing unit. Pulling Eloving toward the iron container, the Odxithon takes the mask out of its casing. Putting it on Eloving, the mask cements to his face.

The big hexagon shape door slides open on the left again. The Odxithon exits out.

The floor raises Eloving into the air. A hole at the top opens. The panel takes him up into a glass chamber. Sleeping in other chambers, some Odxithon soldiers colonize in glass-rectangular boxes. They have breathing mask on. Their entire bodies are diffused in liquid.

Eloving’s chamber is empty. However, it begins to fill with a protein healing element. Eloving closes his eyes, falling into a deep slumber.

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