Technomancy

Technomancy. Sounds like something from a bad sci-fi novel. The control of machines by mind alone. I’ve built my whole life around it, and I still don’t know its full potential. There’s a lot of different types of mantic powers, and technomancy is a relatively new one, so as of yet there’s no Dummy’s guide to it.

My first encounter with another mancer left me in awe of their destructive capability. He was a Necromancer, able to summon spirits and bind them to corpses. But that’s not the worst of it, he could force the spirits to inhabit animals – still alive – and inanimate objects, like tables, chairs… and teddy bears. Trust me, you don’t know the true meaning of fear until you see poor little Winnie the Pooh clawing at your leg before taking a hefty chunk out with teeth you didn’t know they had. I had nightmares for weeks and the doctors didn’t believe me when I told them a dog did it.

But how does technomancy work? Well, to be honest I don’t really know. What I do know, though, is that in order to summon your power and imbue it into an object, you have to believe that it will work. I can weld two pieces of iron together, one pointing down the other in front, and believe it’s a gun, and it will work like a gun. I don’t know how, but bullets will emerge from the iron with enough force to split a man’s skull in half. But there are limits. That makeshift gun needs the bullets to come from somewhere, right? So it expends itself, eating itself up until there’s nothing left. I can get an old motherboard and CPU, tape it together and dump it in a cardboard box and believe it’s a computer, but it needs a power cable in order to work.

That’s the weird thing. It abides by the laws of physics in some respects, then completely breaks them in others. If I believed that your computer’s power supply – the one you’re on right now – was going to burn out right now, it would. But I don’t know who you are, so anyone else reading this at the same time will also have a burnt out power supply.

Like I said earlier, there are many different types of mantic powers. It’s fairly obvious that technomancy would be the youngest, considering technology is a fairly recent… well, for lack of better word invention. The oldest is necromancy; death has been coming to us since before we were even human. Then there’s geomancy, the power to control the earth. And I don’t mean just flinging clumps of dirt at someone who pisses you off. There are spirits in the dirt, old, ancient, supremely powerful spirits that necromancy could never hope to tap in to. Combined, you refer to them as Mother Nature, but to geomancers they are mother, father, son and daughter, and they draw upon that power to cause earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis and other awesomely destructive events.

No More

To poor writer schmucks like me, the city provided an endless bounty of writing material. Cramped in my dank one-bedroom apartment in one of the rougher sections of town, sounds of a city slowly dying wafted through the paper-thin walls as I revelled in my solitude. Two floors down the Mahoneys were arguing again, shouting about nothing. Later on tonight they would have the noisiest sex in the building. Next door, Richard was beating his latest girlfriend. Worthless scum. Gave him a hard-on whenever he pummelled the defenceless girls. I could hear her crying and him laughing. Laughing like a monster, one of the many demons that inhabited this city. I cringed and closed my eyes, but couldn’t close my ears. I turned my attention to outside the grime-covered window where the sirens were yelling and people scampered for safety or for freedom. A firetruck, one of many that usually visit this area at around the same time every night, was hosing down a smouldering car, black plumes of smoke rising up and choking the sky. One of the many vandalisms that would no doubt occur tonight.

The police were invading a building across the one-lane street. They’d smashed the door in after shouts of threats and demands were slung between them and the suspects. Then like ants they piled in, flashlights bobbing like fireflies in their hands. Another policeman would most likely die tonight. One usually did.

It didn’t take long for the gunshots to sing out. I’m surprised they hadn’t sounded earlier, in fact. Maybe people were trying to behave tonight. Or maybe they had just run out of people to shoot. Like thunderclaps they shook me and the pen in my hand. I shivered. Such a horrible sound. A sound to signal the extinguishing of another life. The Grim Reaper no longer visits the dying, bullets do.

Richard was still laughing. Sounds from the girl had stopped. My stomach turned and I threw up on the stained carpet. Nearly every night I hear him beat another girl half to death, and hear him enjoy every second of it. Tonight I’d had enough. This is going to end, one way or another. I stood up and went to my closet, reaching and grasping the cool wooden handle of my Louisville Slugger. My heart was pounding madly in my chest, but there was no way I was backing down now. Too long, too long. I stepped out and walked down one door to number 122. I knocked hard, twice, and waited.

For the first time in who knows how long, all I heard was silence.

Then footsteps, and the door creaked open. Richard was standing there, tall and lean and muscular, built like a boxer. Before the surprise could even register in his eyes, I butted him in the stomach with the handle of my bat. He exhaled sharply and stumbled back, and I walked in, raising the slugger over my head as I went.

Richard won’t be hurting anyone else, anymore.

A Proposition

“What are you planning now Baek?”

A large, burly form was crouched on the cobbled road, Baek’s gaze on a small group of travelling merchants. He remained immobile but for his beard, which quivered slightly in the breeze.

“Shut up and look.”

Oren did so. The merchants were talking animatedly, and although Oren couldn’t hear the words, he could see the expressions and the gestures made. At least one of them was angry, and the other was reciprocating that anger with anger of his own. There was a third who seemed to be trying to play the peacemaker of the group, but to no avail. Unintelligible words carried over the large crowd in the market, and more than a few bystanders had stopped to watch the scene unfurl. Even the guards, who would no doubt have been more effective at keeping the peace than the flustered third merchant were watching, trying very hard to keep the grins off their faces. Must be a slow day.

“Maybe we should get closer.”

“Why on Earth for?”

“Well to find out what they’re arguing about. Seems like a bit of fun.”

Baek stared at Oren for a moment, then smacked him over the head with a plate-sized palm.

“You idiot.” Baek began as Oren rubbed the back of his head. “Why would I be interested in a couple of fruity fat gold sacks and their petty arguments? No, look at this.” He pointed to the crowd gathering around the trio and at the strangely empty stalls that lined the plaza. No, not empty, unattended. He suddenly realized what Baek was referring to. The merchants are causing the perfect diversion for some quick-thinking opportunists to fill their pockets with merchandise.

“We work on different sides of the plaza, you take the west, I’ll go east. Hopefully, only one of us will be spotted and chased, and the other can continue robbing. Sound plan?”

Oren nodded, practically salivating at the prospect of so many unprotected stalls. They quickly split up and made their way to their targets, looking as inconspicuous as possible. Then, while the merchants got red in the face from yelling so much, Oren began looting some jewellery and silks from the first stall, owned by a pompous arse of a merchant from the deep south. The next stall was adjacent to one that was still manned by a bemused merchant, so Oren skipped it and moved to the next. The merchant snatched Oren’s arm before Oren could even think about moving away, and stared at him. He then pointed to a stall with gold and purple lace lining the canopy, and a generous amount of precious raw stones scattered on the table.

“Here’s one Teran. Clean out that stall for me please.” He spoke in a strange drawl, as if he was drunk, but Oren pocketed the Teran and grinned. “You’re a fool for paying me for something I was going to do anyway, but thanks stranger.” The merchant smiled back.

“It’s good to be sure. Besides, I may have some use for you later. Where may I find you?”

Oren debated telling him the district he and Baek operated from, but quickly quashed that notion. “No, I’ll contact you. Tonight.” The merchant nodded and sat back, teeth like a crocodile’s and eyes that flitted from one side of the plaza to the other.

The eyes of a dangerous man, Oren noted. A dangerous, ruthless man.

Faranorn

“What about him?”

The man gestured to a picture in front of him. The thrum of the warp engines guided by the Emperor’s astropaths reverberated through the gargantuan ship’s cockpit. The picture was of an Imperial sergeant, his hair a short, ice-blue Mohawk and he was in mid-swing, clutching a vibrating power sword.

“His name is Danith Teraco. The Faranorn Terror. He was sergeant of a small squad of guardsmen in a defensive force fighting against a misdirected Salamanders assault army led by Vulkan H’Stan himself. After withstanding the force of the Salamander commander’s flamer, they were assaulted and all his squad was destroyed.”

The man grunted. “So what’s so special about him?”

“Well… you have to understand that Vulkan was already wounded at this point, sustaining a lasgun shot in the arm. But after duelling with Teraco, Vulkan… he succumbed to the bite of the Faranorn Terror’s sword. He wasn’t killed, but it was enough to put him out of combat for a good while; his wounds were grievous. And even though the Salamander’s crushed the Imperial Guard, the head of the assault was cut off and it ground to a halt.”

The man went silent as he examined the picture for a moment. He picked it up and passed it to the taller, older man standing next to him. “So he’s the one who felled Vulkan. Impressive. What about him?” He pointed to another picture, this one of a man wearing the signature fatigues of Faranorn’s forces, a cool blue with red marking decorating the fringes. His right hand was enclosed in a standard-issue powerfist and his face seemed etched from old granite, chipped and worn in places.

“That is Sergeant Grigori Leonidas. The Lion. During a combined assault by Khorne and Nurgle traitor marines, a greater daemon waded its way through many hapless guardsmen, wrecking havoc behind enemy lines. But it finally met its match against the Lion and his squad. Even though he lost many veteran troopers, by the Emperor’s will he felled that ungodly beast. I hear he has since been promoted to Platoon commander. Along with Teraco, in fact.”

“Interesting…” A techpriest, a member of the mysterious Adeptus Mechanicus, entered the room, brushing his hands lightly against the adamantium hull of the ship. He was humming incantations under his breath, prayers to the dead Emperor and his undead spirit. He was continuously blessing the hull, warding it from chaotic intrusions and protecting it from the tempestuous unpredictability of the warp.

“And her? Who might she be?”

“She… she’s a ghost. There’s no recorded name, no DOB, nothing. We don’t even know her rank. All we know is that she appears at every major battle out of nowhere, launching a destructive demolition charge that’s almost certain to vaporize her targets and more often than not disappear again under a hail of retaliatory gunfire. By all accounts she should be dead countless times over but… no body is ever found. However during a skirmish between the Imperial defenders and Ork invaders, she managed to assault and destroy a half-strength squad of Boys before tying up some Killa Kans and soon after vanishing into thin air.”

“Interesting…” The man repeated, resting his chin on his steepled fingers and gazing out at the chaos storm they were sailing through. “Very interesting…”

I’m Sorry

I can see her crying again, down the bottom of this bottle. She’s cursing me, telling me how much of an animal I was. How I didn’t deserve to call myself a man. She’s screaming and yelling in the apartment we once owned together. I was getting angry, the alcohol in my blood boiling and raising my temper. I shouldn’t have, but I did. She’s on the ground now, crying and nursing one side of her face. I stand above her, numb with shock. I did it, and I don’t know why. I instantly regret it but it’s too late, far too late. She crawls back on her feet and spits at me, but I don’t retaliate. Somehow I manage to wrestle that rage down and push it out of my mind. That’s when I realize the emptiness that has gripped me. In the absence of my own anger, there is nothingness. I’m nothing more than a vessel of rage and that realization almost sends me to tears. She hits me back in the face, claws me with her manicured nails. I’m angry again but I still don’t attack back. I’ve done enough damage, it’s time for me to receive my punishment.

I try to apologise, but my slurred speech, thick with the night’s heavy drinking just angers her further, and she picks up her coat from the dinner table and leaves, slamming the door so hard behind her it shakes a picture of us free from the wall and it shatters on the linoleum floor. Silence so sudden it shocks me grips the dingy apartment, the final resting places of all our dreams. She deserved more, anyway. She was like a white dove cooped in a cage with a ball and chain attached to her leg. I felt like that ball and chain. Now she’s free of me and for all the depression and anger that night had caused, for an instant I feel almost happy.

My hand starts shaking. The bottle in front of me is empty. I reach for another and pop the cap. I guzzle nearly half and place the bottle gently on the table. But my hand’s shaking so much I knock it down and spill amber fluid everywhere.

It’s as I was sleeping when the buzzer sounds. I stumble up, head pounding from the liquor and head to the door. Maybe she’s coming back? No, it’s not her. It’s the police. I swallow my fear and my urge to run. There was nowhere for me to go. I let them in and in a minute they reach my front door. I open it and they walk in. That’s when they tell me the news. She left in such a fit of anger… it looks as if she lost control of the car and wrapped it around a tree. Died instantly. I feel as if someone just took an ice cream scoop and cleaned out everything under my skin. The policeman’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the end of a long winding tunnel. She’s dead.

The police leave and I reach for a bottle.

Christmas with the Family

Christmas does funny things to you. It’s a day where all your worries, stresses and anxiety are swept aside by festive celebrations and locked up tight in a time-release safe. In the lead up to the holiday shops start closing, tradesmen refuse to return your calls and the whole country generally shuts down one plumber at a time. We had planned to go to my cousin’s place in Flemington for the day, where we’d be treated to a lamb spit roast and some chicken skewers. At about midday we got ready, dressing the kids, dressing ourselves and more or less making ourselves look pretty. What was amazing though, was the fact that we actually left on time! Usually on Christmas or on other days that can be used as an excuse for family gatherings, by the time the older child stops complaining that he wants to watch the Simpsons, and the younger one just generally stops complaining, and in the middle of it all we are somehow able to get a decent pair of clothes on, it’s about one hour after what time we had agreed to be there. And that’s before the one and a half hour trip to actually get there.

Which was why with no small amount of amazement we all piled into the car at about two whole hours in front of schedule and braved the Christmas roads in order to see the family. I say ‘braved’ not in the sense that there are so many hoons and reckless drivers out on Christmas, but more in the sense that a wayward traveller braves an abandoned house haunted by restless spirits. Geelong was dead. Well, more dead than usual. We drove through the city centre without a single car in our way, nor with any parking spaces filled. With the carparks empty and the streets deserted the roads resembled more like that of an old western town, complete with trash whirling in the air and a tumbleweed bouncing across the road. Well, I exaggerate with the tumbleweed. Nonetheless, with the roads cleared and the traffic lights favouring us we made record time, even with the constant fear that police were lurking around every billboard and bush.

When we finally reached my cousin’s place we were met by a classic Christmas scene; family gathered around a dining table discussing the year’s events and generally having a good time. But as I got closer I realized that it was just the wives with their children gathered around the table discussing the year’s events. The fathers were downstairs, poking the charcoal smouldering underneath the slowly turning spit roast and talking about – of all things – cars. After assuring us the spit roast would be ready in about half an hour we sat and chatted about all manner of things, mainly cars and buildings and properties and ‘how’re the renovations holding up?’

Half an hour passes in a hurry and my stomach reminds me that it’s more than happy to start digesting itself.

Another story excerpt…

The months of travelling, the anguish and the terrible loss; it had brought me here. An island uncharted by any map, surrounded by the Sea of Frost. Stepping on to the cold, sandy shore as the water lapped the edges felt like I was no longer in the realm of the living. The trees, tightly pressed together and looming high above me looked like gaunt, angled guardians, waving in the breeze with branches like arms outstretched, beckoning. Or warning. I stepped forward, feet making lumpy footprints in the damp sand. The wind picked up, perhaps another warning. But I could not stop now, not when I was so close. Moonlight trickled down from a full face, but it seemed to be swallowed up by the trees, the rocks, the beach. Unnatural darkness clung to this island like a fog.

I reached the treeline and the wind whispered unintelligible words in my ear. The trees really were tightly compacted; I wouldn’t be able to press forward without brushing up against a thin trunk all the way through. But I walked in nonetheless; trees were the least of my concern. I tried lighting my torch, but the wick was damp from my trip over the sea. I would have to be guided by my vision alone, made much easier by the hunter’s amulet. I walked for what seemed like hours and was grateful for the lack of flame. The denizens of this forest were plentiful, but seemed to know where I was looking, and flitted out of sight the moment I turned to look at them. The fire from my torch would no doubt have agitated them.

Eventually I reached a small clearing in the forest where I could feel the wind again. The clearing led to a rickety wooden bridge that spanned a deep canyon. I approached slowly, and the bridge swayed silently in the breeze. Swallowing a growing knot of fear, I placed one foot on the wooden boards, and it creaked. In the silence of the forest, the creak was loud. I cringed but continued to cross, placing one foot after the other and making slow but undeniable progress. When I was halfway across the wind picked up, as if it was trying to throw me off. The bridge swayed more and I gripped the frayed handrails with whitened knuckles. But I continued walking; slowly but surely the creaking boards allowed me to cross without trouble and soon I was safely on the other side. Behind me, the bridge was still, the wind no longer rocking it wildly. I sighed and pressed on into the forest, trees welcoming me into their skeletal arms.

I don’t know how much longer I wandered in that forest. It felt like time was swallowed up by the trees just as easily as I was. It was still night, and the moon was still high in the sky when the trees finally relinquished me from their grasp, and I stumbled out onto a huge grass meadow, its colour an eerie silvery white by the light of the moon.



Another stream of conciousness…

I don’t know what to write, my mind says. Is my mind me, or is it another being? I’m looking at my desk and seeing the usual. Headphones. A contact list for tradies and subcontractors. That will come in handy next year when construction finally begins. My first building project, I’m looking forward to it. Maybe I can finally start earning a decent amount of money, save up and go to Japan again with Tam. That would be nice. There’s also a sticky tape dispenser here, don’t know if that’s relevant. Then again this is a stream of consciousness so nothing is really relevant. Christmas jingles are slowly but surely getting on my nerves. We have too many Christmas toys here, and they- wait, never mind, it just turned off. Sweet, sweet silence. Not including the TV blaring Greek talkshows in the background, or my mum shuffling about upstairs trying to clean the house. I have to mow the lawn after this, and the only reason I’m getting out of it is because I’m writing this. So I’ll milk it for as long as I can. My mum just called out to me, I didn’t hear what she said, so I said replied with ‘what’, and she seemed to have deduced that I wouldn’t be able to help her from in the office where I was. Thank God for that.

Oh great the music has started again just what I needed. It’s Paris’ fault but I really can’t be angry at him considering he’s just a baby. Funny thing, to have two siblings at least 16 years younger than you. Puts everything into a different kind of perspective. I’ve always wondered what it would be like or what I was missing out on by not having any siblings. All my friends have at least a brother or a sister, some even more, except for me up until I was 16. Then everything changed. Well not everything, but lots of things. Now I was no longer the centre of attention, and I loved it. I could waste my time on the computer and my parents would be far too busy to tell me off. Of course that’s not a great reason for wanting a sibling but it sure was a perk. But now I can’t imagine a life without them.

Garage door just opened. Wonder why? Should probably go see what dad is doing after I finish writing this. Hope the dog doesn’t escape, though that dog never escapes. It’s too timid. This worry is just a remnant from when Max was still alive. Ah Max, I miss him. He was a good dog, if a bit temperamental and moody. He was mine and he was with me since the beginning of primary school. So it was a bit of a shock to lose him so suddenly, even though he was getting old. The music just stopped again. It was really getting on my nerves. Who invents such stupid toys anyway? Kids don’t like it, adults only put up with it because they think it’s ‘cute’. Anyway, word count reached, until next time.

Solar Surfing

“Ready?”

The star burned with a dying intensity in the silent expanse of space. We were at least ten L-minutes away but it was about the size of a beach ball, pulsating an angry red and orange as it burned the last reserves of its fuel.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

Jaren grinned. “You’ll love it, trust me. Just think of the stories you’ll tell back on Mars.”

“Of how a maniac nearly got me killed?”

“Exactly.”

The star throbbed, then flashed brightly, so bright that even through the ship’s solar visors Jaren and the others had to shut their eyes.

“It’s begun. Twelve minutes thirteen seconds and counting.”

Tara punched in a new set of coordinates in the ship’s computer. The computer beeped once in acknowledgment and Tara turned to face Jared.

“So you’ve done this before, right?” She asked.

“Sure have. In the Jana System. Whole system was going up in flames, swallowed up by Radigast, the red giant. I was hanging around near the planet Tenter, which had been evacuated hundreds of years ago. Radigast continued to grow, feeding on everything in its path, but eventually it ran out of steam a couple of planets down.”

“Ten minutes remaining.” Tara interrupted.

“Plenty of time. Anyway, when it stopped, that’s when it began eating itself up, and that’s when it began.”

Jaren turned and gazed out the front window. The star still burned, though it was nothing but a shell. A brilliant sun, providing heat and life to so many planets in this system is about to be extinguished forever, replaced by…nothingness. A black hole that would consume anything that wandered too close. And this was occurring a lot more often these days.  Even Sol, the original sun, was nearing its death. And for all our medical and technological advances, there was no way to prolong the life of a dying star. Soon Earth would need to be evacuated, along with Mars and Titan and the Moon… soon we’ll be a race with no home.

“You know, maybe this is the beginning of the end?”

Jaren turned and raised an eyebrow.

“You know. The end. Of us. Of space, of the Universe. How many more systems can we run to? What if we can’t discover a way to travel intergalactic? We’ll be doomed to die in the Milky Way as suns all across space just… die.”

Jaren shrugged. “What makes you think other galaxies are faring any better? Maybe we haven’t come into contact with an alien race because this is exactly what happened to them? They ran out of planets?”

Tara shivered. “Two minutes remaining.”

“Turn 180 and prep the board. Warm up the rifters too.”

The ship turned silently and the dying giant slipped away, like a sun setting without a rise. The thick adamantium board attached to the underside of the ship shifted and lowered slightly. The large engines began to hum.

“One minute remaining.”

The ship rocked suddenly as the preliminary wind struck it. “Maximise radiation shields and thrust dampeners and brace yourself. This is it!”

The ship stopped rocking, until finally without a sound the full force of the solar wind escaping from the dying star hit the angled adamantium board and propelled the ship to speeds in excess of three hundred kilometres a second. The acceleration wasn’t instant thanks to the dampeners, but it was enough jolt heads back and throw anyone unwary off their feet. Jaren yelled in excitement.

“What did I say! Incredible!”

Tara had turned a pale shade of green and Jaren grinned again. “Activate the rifters before we’re torn apart.” He winked and Tara nodded.

Without a sound or a blink or flash of light, the ship vanished, swallowed entirely by the blackness.

Demon Hunters

We’d tracked Denuriel to the slums of New York, where the commission buildings housed families torn apart by the prevailing drug and gang culture. The city had tried to clean up its image, fixing some of the houses and providing an opportunity for employment to many of the people who resided here. But the stench of despair and resignation hung in the air and had attracted many unscrupulous denizens of the Underworld here. Denuriel was the fifth, and he was also by far the strongest. A prince of Hell, ruler of the Upper Circle Two. He was a demon of lust, and one of the most dangerous because of it.

The father was blessing me and Matilda, the only two members of this strike force. There were only two of us because this was a demon from the second circle, and any more or less and the mission would almost certainly fail. The other members – Rolf, Jonathan, Stefan, Marie, Julietta – remained behind on alert, in case we did not succeed. The priest hummed a religious chant. It was the Lord’s Prayer. I felt the presence of God and smiled. Matilda smiled too, or at least I think she did. We were both wearing face masks and filters just in case Denuriel was a plague-demon variant. The priest finished chanting and I flicked the safety off my modified H&K MP5. Matilda did the same. I gave the priest brief nod, and he bowed his head. Together with Matilda, we entered the derelict building, its walls peeling and rotting. The smell would have been horrible if we weren’t wearing the filters; there were dirty clothes stained with faeces and urine piled in one corner and I could feel the aura of despair cling to me through all my body armour.

We progressed up the stairs as silently as we could, towards the source of demonic activity. The higher we climbed the more the filth increased, and the stronger the presence of Denuriel became. After a few more flights of stairs, we reached the top level, and an image of utter depravity assaulted all our senses, even through the masks. There were men and women sitting blankly on top of a bloodstained floor, dressed in nothing more than rags and silently chewing on what seemed to be one of the many dismembered body parts scattered around this level. The walls were pulsating in our augmented vision, throbbing with an ungodly energy that was only made visible because of our inauguration into the Militant Chapter. They were carved with runes that projected a fierce amount of energy, but in amidst it all I could see the demon we were after, standing casually at the far end of the large mess hall, though I could not make out his shape.

I signalled Matilda to halt and she did, though I could hear retching as she took note of the full depravity of the scene. As we drew closer, though, the people that were sitting blank-eyed suddenly snapped into focus, and they glared at us with a furious bloodlust. They picked themselves up off the ground and charged with an inhuman wail, teeth bared and eyes wide. I raised the MP5 to my shoulder and Matilda did the same. Then with an utterance of Luke 23:34 – Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do – I pulled the trigger and riddled their bodies full of blessed bullets.