Category : Stories

Sub Category : Fantasy

I wrote this for creative purposes.  I wanted to challenge myself as I'm doing research to write a insane young adult series.  This story has nothing to do with it, at least right now.  I'm just showing anyone how I challenge myself writing a genre that out of my comfort zone.  Hope you enjoy!!



     I wouldn’t call it a war. Extermination maybe. Though I’d more aptly describe it as a harvest. By the time they reached our world and penetrated the stratosphere, people sought them out in droves to be harvested. Of course, they knew what that actually meant. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been so eager.
     Ten years before the Angels descended from the sky, they had already sent what some referred to as divine retribution: a virus. Though this virus in particular only targeted women. It spread faster than a wildfire and had a 100% mortality rate. Worse yet, it was completely undetectable. In our desperation, we became animals. We locked our wives, daughters, and mothers deep underground under the constant shine of UV radiation and still they got infected. Within five years, the last woman had died leaving the rest of humanity to slowly die with her.

    By the time they arrived, we welcomed them with open arms into every one of our major cities. Most bowed their heads and practically begged to be killed. Some fought against them. These were the ones that still remembered the pain of watching their daughters, wives, and mothers die. They couldn’t hope to survive, but at least they could enact their own version of divine retribution.
     Looking back at it now, I know that the Angels planned for them. They wanted us to retaliate. Otherwise, where would the fun be? Men charged at them by the millions. Some to die. Some to kill. To the Angels, it was all the same.

     Until we killed the first one.

     Back when I used to write, I always made sure to name my hero something memorable. If not a strange name, then certainly a strange title. Evan the Incorruptible. Matthew the Harbinger. But in real life, heroes rarely have titles, some don’t even have names. That was the case for humanity’s last hero because nobody knew who he was.
     We had only stories. The stories ranged from fantastical to downright fiction, but they always ended the same. We had killed one. The Angels must’ve been as skeptical as we were because they refused to change their tactics. They kept all our major cities and welcomed anyone to try and take it back.
     By the fifth novel, ‘The Birth of Manas and death of Angela, people started acting suspicious of 3cerine mm. Whether walking buy a dumpster in q dark alley and seeing some the young man suspended still, it just took RIP to wave hisen hands ar them causing them to damp vaxm ubti the dirt garbage.  
“I rhT feeling dirty would be apt doe hkj bein rhat youd sudd jusf dammed saying , they learned of their miscalculation. Soon, we learned of it as well. Human beings shared mana and with it, we could do wondrous or terrible things. Magic no longer belonged to the realm of fiction. The elements bent to our will. Lightning struck where we pointed, tornados formed where we stood, the ground swallowed up entire cities as we willed it.
     Suddenly, men stopped volunteering to be harvested. With their newfound power, they decided to fight back, even if victory had already been stolen from us. They had turned us into animals and then backed us into a corner. Foolish.
    And that was good enough for us. Looking back, I wonder if we were as foolish as the Angels. We, who were content with dying in our little blazes of glory, having accomplished nothing but thinning their ranks by just a bit. It was selfish, but what is there to expect from men who had nothing else to live for?

      None of us had the vision you had. The vision you have.
    
     Tyler put the pen down, staring at the word you. He wondered if his letter would ever find its way to this certain you. While humanity had become animals, one man had gone even further. He had been called a monster by both Angel and man. Nobody knew which side he fought for, only that he killed both indiscriminately.
     If Tyler were to write his story, he wouldn’t know whether to make this man the villain or the hero. Oh how he wished he could’ve written this story, but the only way this story continued was if he died. Beside his letter and pen, sitting at the edge of his wooden table was a silver revolver. The single lightbulb above him glinted off its barrel.
     A small grin spread across Tyler’s face. He grabbed the gun, its metal like ice, and he pressed the barrel so hard to his temple. Enough humans had died where he could stop the bullet with only his thoughts. The bullet couldn’t even hurt him unless he wanted it to. But he did. For the sake of humanity, he needed the bullet to kill him.

    With his free hand, he picked the pen back up.
  
   As the last storyteller on Earth, I bestow you the title of Reaper. A monster. A villain. Our last hero.
     Go forth, Reaper, my death as an offering. With my passing, there will be only four humans left. I have already contacted two of them and they will die with me. The last I’m sure you will easily find as your powers will have increased two-fold. By then, your mind will stretch the globe, perhaps even the stars. And when you become the last human alive, I cannot even fathom how powerful you will be.  Show our Angels how fragile they are in the face of a god.

     Tyler pulled the trigger.
_______________________________________
     Shinji held the bloody scrap of paper in his hand. He had originally come to kill the writer of this letter, but that man had done the job for him. Power coursed through his veins and electricity through his fingertips. It flushed his face and gave him a feeling of lightness. It was intoxicating.

     He battled down the high. At first, mana had been like some strange toxin to his body. The first time he had drawn its power, he had broken out into hives. Rashes had covered him so he looked like some Frankenstein monster and its power had crushed his lungs so he could barely breathe. Back then, he had thought himself dying, so he had done what his great-grandfather, the last warrior of his lineage, would’ve done: kamikaze.
     With his family’s sword drawn, he had charged the Angel, fully expecting his blade to stop at their invisible barriers. To his surprise, it slipped through and impaled the creature through its midsection. Angels held, the form of a seven-foot stick figure clad in silver armor. Their arms reached so low they dragged on the ground. Despite their skinny frame, Shinji had seen them lift up tanks with a single hand. So when the Angel’s beady red eyes bulged through its mask, the tentacles that grew out of his scalp shriveled, Shinji had thought it a trick. 
    It wasn’t until its eyes turned a dull crimson and it collapsed did he finally realize his feat. He had been the first to kill an Angel.
     It was then that he realized his destiny, his unmei. He would slaughter them all. But first, he had to kill the rest of humanity. And there was one man left.

     New York City lay broken. Skyscrapers wobbled in the sky with entire chunks of metal and glass missing. It looked as if someone had taken bites out of them. Some had already toppled over into rubble. Others were waiting for the slightest wind.
      Shinji met Austin Atkerson on top of the World Trade Center. Already, dark clouds filled the sky, one half flashing violet lightning, the other half flashing blue. The clouds collided with each other, its lightning intertangling as Shinji stepped up to Austin.

     “Howdy,” Austin said and tipped his cowboy hat. “I reckon if there was a final showdown, it should be on the grandest stage possible in good ol’ US of A.  From the looks of it, I seem to be correct.”

     Shinji didn’t speak English, but he understood Austin and when he spoke, he knew the pudgy American understood him too. Mana bridged the gap where language could not.

     “I will avenge us all,” he shouted above the roar of the sudden wind. His words summoned his own wind. “I will restore honor to our race.”
     “Now, I ain’t ever understood your honor crap. You see, it ain’t bringing back the dead. It ain’t saving our race. Might as well just have some good ol’ fashioned fun.”
     “You were given all of humanity’s power and you wish to play?”
     Austin held his stomach for a hearty laugh. With the boom of his laughter came a towering wall of water in the distance. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Your just callin’ it honor. What’s the difference? We’ll both kill Angels, I’ll just be happier doin’ it is all.”
     “It is my destiny! My unmei!” Shinji drew his sword with so much power, weapons were merely symbolic. He could’ve fought Austin with a stick he found on the ground. Might as well deliver vengeance with his mother’s sword. Austin produced his own weapon. A lasso.    .     
     “It’s God’s plan.”
     “Your God left us to die!”
     Before Shinji had even finished his last word, Austin attacked. The lasso snapped forward like a viper and found Shinji’s neck. He sliced the rope, but it deflected his blade. Only now did he realize that this wasn’t a lasso at all. It was a noose.
     “I don’t take too kindly to heathens insulting my Lord,” Austin spat and swung the rope.
Shinji’s body flung off The World Trade Center and crashed through skyscrapers. He snapped metal wires, cracked through steel beams, and finally hit the ground. The Earth split beneath him with a thunderous crack.
     His eyes honed into Austin who was now just a speck in the horizon. Something roared behind him. He turned and found water taller than the Mount Fuji. He had time to gasp a single breath before it all crashed down on him. The current ripped through his body, flinging him through the rubble of New York.
     He opened his eyes and found only blackness. His lungs ached as his limbs thrashed in panic. Not even mana could replace oxygen, and for all he knew, Austin had summoned every ocean in the world to this battle. It was fitting for a man with such insatiable appetite.
    But if water was fitting for Austin, then Shinji had his own element—one to reflect his unyielding fury. He placed both hands upon the hilt of his blade and its steel glowed a bright red. Steam circled him. Then, a pillar of fire erupted from the ground, twisting up. The fire flashed a bright-white, burning hotter than even the sun. And then, it vanished, leaving Shinji gasping for breath in ankle-deep water.

     Austin stood atop The World Trade Center chuckling. “The boy actually boiled the ocean.”
     Shinji pointed his blade at the man. “I dare any god to stand between me and my unmei.”
     New York City drowned in flood and flame. Half the sky unleashed torrents of water while the other half radiated waves of arid heat. Wherever Shinji walked, fire sprouted. Wherever Austin stood, water crept. The two elements rested for control of the city, clashing in explosions of steam with every one of Shinji or Austin’s attacks.

     The last humans on Earth stood atop The Trade Center panting. Half of Austin’s cowboy hat had been singed, the other half had been turned to ash. His face had only fared slightly better and he was missing an arm. Shinji collapsed onto one knee. His breaths came gurgled and he no longer exhaled air, he only coughed. Water had filled his lungs and he could not get it out.
     In the horizon, a swarm of Angels advanced on them. They looked like locusts, swallowing everything they touched in shadows.
     “Look at us.” Austin stood and held his hand up toward the sky as if he could grasp the stars beyond. “The last two humans left on Earth and all we wanna do is kill each other. Now ain’t that poetry. Like drawing bunch of trees on a piece of paper.”
     Shinji glanced at the approaching swarm. It was the entire Angel army: all their soldiers, their battleships, and weapons. The two could not last against such power, but maybe one could. “Either we both die or you do.”
     A gleaming smile stretched across Austin’s face. “Convenient how you left out option number three. Why don’t you die?”
     “Because it is my destiny, my—”
     Austin boomed laughter. The sky rumbled in thunderous chortles along with him. “We got with us a hillbilly redneck and some wannabe samurai. God’s heroes of humanity!” he announced. “What a joke.”
     “Not a very nice thing to say to your Lord.”
     “Oh.  Right, well see, hes a big forgiver.”
     “I suppose thats a loop hole for you then.” 
     “You know, I never thought about it like that.  Well, any which way the sun goes down this day, hell forgive me come sunrise.”

     Shinji buckled over coughing. Each cough felt like a stab through his abs. But no matter how he tried, his lungs only took in more water. Soon, he would drown.
     “You know that I saved you for last?” Austin asked. “I thought that you would be different. After all, you were the first to kill an Angel, first to tap into mana. Maybe you’d be something special.” Though the words were praise, he said them as if insulting Shinji. “Turns out, you’re as boring as the rest of ‘em.”  He shook his head after saying the words looking at Shinji.
      Shinji stabbed his blade into the ground and pushed himself up with it. The cowboy could only stall so long as he stayed on the ground. “I am humanity’s Reaper!”
     Austin’s brow crunched and half his face lifted in a jagged smile. “You think that letter was meant for you?”

     Shinji froze. This was no stalling tactic.
    
      “I already told you, all I wanna do is kill for fun. You want vengeance, honor, justice. And I hang people. Which one of us do you think have killed more? Which one of us would you peg the monster, Reaper boy?”

     The silence between them was answer enough. Both understood who that letter--that title--was meant for. Austin threw his head back laughing again. He swung his noose with the only arm he had left, his smile gleaming sharper than Shinji’s blade.
    Shinji chocked and water sprouted from his throat. His time was up. He pulled his blade from the ground and lowered his legs for a final attack. Austin could’ve just ran and left him to drown, but both knew he wouldn’t. That would be boring.
     All around them, Angels converged. They walked beneath water, stepped through flames, and flew through the storm. They wielded blades of silver and guns darker than even the storm clouds above them. Their ships filled the sky, blanketing the world in black.
    “Now this is a bit of fun!” Austin proclaimed.   
    “Will the human race fight for honor and justice, or because killing is just so damn entertaining? Or will the Angels simply wipe us from the Earth?”  Austin looked at the Reaper.  He smiled as if he was enjoying his company just because he was beginning to have fun with the likes of him. Both men in their heart really were unsure who that letter was for, but they were interested to find out.

     The fires simmered to smoke. The waves died, leaving waters calmer than the Pacific. And for a single second, even the wind held its breath.

     “C’mon," Austin screamed, "Reaper boy!”
     Water and fire danced, twirling in cataclysmic ballet. Water refused to evaporate and fire to extinguish. Like anaconda around prey, they wrapped around the World Trade Center before blooming at the top, raining down droplets hot enough to eat through metal. Just the rain itself decimated the Angel army. Their shields were made to protect even against the force of a nuclear blast, but against this simple rain, they melted. To the rain, skyscrapers, battleships, and Angels were but sugar, dissolved at its touch.
     On top of the World Trade Center stormed Shinji and Austin’s personal battle. Here, the elements were not in a dance, but a blizzard. Flurries of monsoon followed blazes of fire. Fire evaporated water. Water extinguished fire. Smoke and steam grew heavy only to be blown away with every attack Shinji and Austin launched.
     The snap of Austin’s rope exploded in smoke. The slice of Shinji’s steel erupted in steam. Angels appeared through the storm. First, only one or two that were obliterated by the shockwaves of battle, then many more, stronger Angels came.

     Shinji counted them with mounting horror and Austin with glee.
     “What is man to do?” Austin’s voice boomed from seemingly everywhere. “With nothing to gain and nothing to lose, what is man to do?”
     The glowing silver of Angel weaponry flashed in Shinji’s peripherals and he ducked the blade. He slashed up in counterattack, catching the Angel’s arm. He then followed up with a slash through its leg. The battle had devolved into something of a practiced dance. His attacks followed its pattern: Angel. Angel. Austin. Angel. Angel. Austin.
     The Angels too were in a practiced dance. They had figured out humanity’s last trick. And now, they wanted to be extra careful to kill Shinji and Austin at the same time.
     Unfortunately for both Shinji and the Angels, they were on a time limit. Shinji had already breathed his last breath and his lungs were slowly suffocating themselves. Every step he made used oxygen he could not spare.
     “With nothing to prove and only God as witness,” Austin screamed, laughing through his words. “What man would not choose joy? Who amongst us would not choose death?”
     Shinji slashed the next Angel in half and returned his focus to Austin who had two Angels squirming on the ground like shriveled slugs. Austin smiled back at him. If not for the Angels, he might’ve had a chance against Austin, but they delayed their battle too much. At this rate, with the last of his breaths, he would lose. So, Shinji broke the rhythm of their dance and charged in a lunge that left him indefensible.
     “At last.” Austin threw his noose and it wrapped around Shinji’s neck.
      But Shinji hadn’t been aiming for Austin. He flew past the man and over the edge of the World Trade Center. For a brief moment, they met eyes. Both understood that this would be the fight’s final moments. Soon, one would be left alone as the last human on Earth.
     Austin braced his feet against the edge of New York’s greatest building and held the rope tight. Once it lost its slack, it would jerk up, ending the fight.
     Shinji dipped over the edge, outside of Austin’s sight. The rope attached to his neck twisted and turned like a snake. He bit into it, catching it at its neck. It dug into the edges of his mouth, burning him, but he only bit harder.
     “I choose death!” Austin roared. “That’s why I’m the Reaper. I will be death incarnate! I am humanity’s last hero!”
     Shinji closed his eyes in a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. Austin was right. Humanity’s hopes hadn’t rested in some kid playing samurai, but in a deranged cowboy enamored by destruction. Austin was humanity’s retribution and Shinji was trying to steal that away from them for no reason other than the fact he didn’t like how the man represented humanity.
     Humans were a frightful species. So easily did they resort to madness, to the destruction Austin promised. The history of every country held in it the myth of the Wild West—a place of unmatched chaos and revelry. Shinji had only hoped to show that they had risen above this myth where honor and justice, ideals only for starry-eyed children, might have its place.

     If there was truly a Lord above them, he would have this God decide now!

     The rope tensed. It tugged at Shinji’s body with such force, he thought it would yank his soul from his body. He clenched his teeth. His mouth felt like fire. For all he knew, there was truly a fire inside it. Agony, sharp and precise, impaled his entire being. All he wanted to do was scream but that was the one thing he could not do.
     He hung onto the rope as it swung him into the skyscraper where neither fire nor water sprouted anymore. His foot hit the wall and the rope turned slack. Shinji looked up to see a wide-eyed Austin falling from off the edge.
     Shinji fell too, but as he did, he raised his sword and with the last of his energy, sent it flying up. It caught Austin through the mouth and speared him through. At the same time, a blackness encroached Shinji’s vision. His body had finally been pushed to its limits. The last to die would win.

     The last human on Earth fell toward the ground and by the time he hit the earth, he had become a god.
     For all intents and purposes, the Angels had completely wiped humanity off the planet. The last human on Earth could no longer call himself human. His five senses enveloped this planet, expanding to even the next. Nothing escaped him.
     When He saw the Angels in a desperate scramble to run out of His reach, He needed only to think it and they died in a blast of lightning, fire, and earth. The Angels tried attacking His body, but just as their shields were impenetrable to human weapons, now the opposite was true.
     All of New York City was within His protective bubble. Within minutes, the Angels had all died. The tattered remains of their ships were flung deep into space. Their bodies were burned to ash and layered throughout the planet to fertilize its plants.
     Then, the remnant of humanity stood and laughed into the sky. The secrets of the world had unlocked for Him and He had found humanity’s story a farce. It was a cycle of alien invaders and heroic defenders. In the end, the defenders always won because no Angel could ever escape to reveal humanity’s secret weapon: mana. Though, victory was but a temporary status until the next attack.
    He stared at the Angel ships, burning in the atmosphere like shooting stars. He could follow them out into deep space and within millions upon millions of years, He might even deliver humanity’s retribution. But who could hold a grudge that long? Perhaps the Reaper, but He was no Reaper.

     He chose life, not death.

     So, He leveled the Earth, wiping all traces of His own species’ folly. He cut His power in half and shaped it into life, a being of His own image. He gave this being a garden, a companion who took another half of his power, curiosity, and this time, honor. Soon, His creations prospered and the greater their prosperity, the more His power dwindled.
     Eventually, His power had nearly vanished completely, leaving him unshielded to age, disease, and injury. Nobody could tell their creator apart from themselves.
     Though, he was the only one who knew the truth, that in perhaps ten thousand years, the Angels would return. This time, maybe humanity would have left its petty squabbles with the last dead species, and ascended to a form that could survive the alien attack without its own extinction. Though he would never find out.

     And so Shinji Nakamura died as he had lived. As a starry-eyed child that fought for honor when it made no sense to.  As a boy playing samurai. As a human.

     Knowing this, he died with a smile.