by Marc Mulero
Everything in their cells began to quiver - prison bars cracked and crinkled, walls waved, and the saline in Dendrid’s IV sloshed around to prove that nothing was still.
“Let me out, let me out, let me out!” the cellmate yelled.
The alloy around them twisted and ruptured, only to be forced back into position by Hiezer advancements.
His focus swiftly became acute – that strange instinct innate within him – his brain analyzing the pattern of reconstruction as intricately as a jungle cat counting the steps of its lunch. Bars widened and tightened, swaying more and more uncontrollably. For minutes he watched while the man whispered prayers to himself, until finally, an opportunity presented itself.
With one quick push in limber contortion, he bent past the bars and escaped his cell.
Perhaps my time here has finally expired.
He turned to the thorn that had been stuck in his side, who was scouring to maintain his sanity.
Destiny reveals itself… so satisfying to discover such a clear road. All I must do now is follow it.
“Save me!” the man pleaded, while Dendrid walked to the ever-shifting cell. The half-blind prisoner scrambled over to the bars. “Release me, Mentis Shade, release me from this hell.”
Dendrid’s lids appeared heavy and his eyes, cold. Irises spun in a circle before unwinding again, following the erratic movements of his prison mate’s bars. It was hypnotic in some perverse way, if not for the noise. “Release you,” he considered coolly. “Alright.”
In a flash, he reached forward, dislocated his own shoulder to bend in a way that prevented him from losing his arm. Another shout, this time because a handful of the man’s scraggily hair was in his grasp, then the head attached to it jerked forward between the beams like a child who got stuck between the spindles of a bannister. They made eye contact for the briefest moment… if this is what the prisoner meant by “Release me,” his face didn’t show it. It instead told a story of immediate regret - mouth open, lips quivering, drool dripping. What was there to say? Nothing.
The beams bent again, this time ripping his soft flesh. Crack, crack, crack, went each of his upper vertebrae like popped crab legs. And just like that, his lift was swiftly ended, leaving Dendrid with a loose skinned head and a bucket of blood at his feet.
“My sentence has ended,” Dendrid whispered as he dropped the head of his cellmate and ran for the door.
“Our decision to stay on foot may be the end of us both,” Asura said, rushing into the inner city of Clestice with Jason following closely.
Whatever Senation huts remained buckled inward, shabby metal clanking as it crashed, as they crumpled, disappearing into the ground. Even for gods, the scene was daunting, where one look around told them that their whole world was funneling into quicksand… or at least that’s how it appeared. Vision shook from tremors - that feeling from spinning around in place too many times. Hearing, too, was stolen. Underground roars made it almost impossible to make out the words of another for nearly a minute straight.
This was a retelling of the first Global Quake. All the descriptions, all the stories, it was the same. A live reenactment. Then out spat rocks, so high that it became solid rain on their way back down. A hard, welting shower that thumped onto the floor to kick up clouds of filth in the same fashion. This place was a deserted, dissolving wasteland made to feel like a collapsing dream.
“Death is only a temporary setback,” Jason spoke. “Fostering our connections is what truly matters. And to do that, we must draw the mystic far away from the source, our island. It’s us that he wants, so stay the course.”
“Your feeble body is infecting my mind. My thoughts are devolving into a more linear state. I would carve you out if I could,” Jason spoke with malice.
“I’ll cloud your every move, you prick,” Eugene shouted. “You murdered my friend and poisoned Jen’s mind. I may be trapped, but I’ll haunt you for the rest of my days.”
Jason laughed aloud. “Asura is and always will be under her own free will. I am a god, and so is she.”
The tremors traveled to their location, rumbling the ground at their feet.
“We must do this now, Asura,” Jason declared. “Let us lure this rat out from the shadows.”
Asura’s red eyes glimmered at the thought. “Split up and whatever happens, regroup at the western edge. We have a jet waiting for us when we’re clear.”
The two broke into a sprint in opposite directions to execute their plan.
On cue, their stalker materialized from within the dust, revealing himself. Orin - his cloths lying still amongst chaos, sword whispering with Cryos hymns, eyes locked on the woman who played the Sins for fools. If there was someone that had to be tracked down, it was her, and Jason knew it.
The reincarnated god smiled wickedly, thrilled that the attention was off of him, turning it into a perfect opportunity to test his new talents. And so he slung Eugene’s rifle from his back and aimed at Orin’s chest.
“Thank you for these instincts, they are… empowering,” Jason thought.
The rifle kicked and a high caliber bullet took flight. But this wasn’t Jason’s arena. There were no glowing phantasmal whips formed from his blood, no tricks, just physics and metal. Too easy. Orin swiped his ancient blade, leaving a lingering Cryos trail that propelled the bullet straight back and causing Jason to dive for cover.
It didn’t matter that Asura’s partner had failed, for she’d already seen enough to know that would be the case, and so she initiated an attack of her own. If this was going to work, to force the anomaly away, it would take both of them to do it. All muscles tensed to spew the power circulating within her. And then came a bloodcurdling shriek to announce her pain. The ground cracked at her feet, followed by vines of swirling smoke that coiled like snakes in Orin’s direction.
Here it came - what he’d been waiting for. Orin twirled his blade and flashed Jason a knowing smirk before he was engulfed. Through a fog, his appearance began to alter before their very eyes, where the mystical man morphed into a state that Jason was familiar with, right before he faded out of existence.
I’ve faced you before, old man. I know your tricks and can see your path before you take it.
The rifle shifted positions to aim at Asura’s post, awaiting the reappearance.
“You are a wicked flame to be snuffed from this world,” Orin’s voice boomed as he returned behind Asura.
Jason’s crosshair was already placed on the temple of his stalker, and this time it would work. It had to. Orin was distracted, hands full.
“Orin isn’t immortal… he will die. He will not return, he’ll just float away into the dust of nothingness.”
Just as he pulled the trigger, just as the bang began to ring, so too did Eugene’s voice. It rang within Jason’s head so loudly, echoing so intensely, that he stumbled back, off balance and out of position.
“No!”
His aim was displaced just enough so the bullet sparked against blade instead of flesh, tossing the ancient weapon from Orin’s grasp just before his attempt to cleave Asura.
It was still a blessing for her, one that she used to duck, scramble, hurry away from his path and mask her existence within her smoke.
Too much was happening. The earth then fractured beneath them, separating them – another blessing. Thick dust flowed into the abyss beneath their feet as the gap widened.
“If you ever interfere with our progress again, I’ll ravage her with your body and make you watch in silence,” Jason threatened to Eugene.
Orin’s cloudy eyes gazed intently into the distance, watching the threats escape him, knowing the chase was done for now. There was nothing left to do, and so he swiftly turned his back, snatched his blade from the ground, and paced calmly away amidst the devastation surrounding him.
Mulderan heard the world crumble around his precious city. The screams hadn’t the slightest effect on his reflective meditation, for his arrogance was impenetrable, and the
fear expressed around him was all wasted energy. He knew the future of his kind was bright, an existence that was to extend far beyond this temporary phase. Nothing could stand in his way. And so he retreated inward, to a memory that took place long ago, one that commenced his true reign:
The black and golden capes of the Hiezer regiment were motionless, the faceless bystanders looking on nervously as the triumphant sociopathic new order made its rise into power. Heavy hearts befell the chosen highlords, while the consequences of their decisions began to take hold right before their eyes. They all wore regal masks that could be excused as ritualistic, when in fact it was a choice of cowardice. A decision to hide behind their failures when they were needed most to correct them.
Orin Grenich was roughly hauled by his first born, past his old friends and new betrayers, plodding forward peacefully despite being nearly choked. His green eyes bore into the souls that hid behind rich helms, the onlookers, the cowards. He evoked fear in his presence, even now, with no power but for his image. All knew this was treason, all knew this was injustice, but it was going to take hold all the same.
Wrapped in tailored formal attire, his death suit, he was dragged toward the cliff of the mountain top, tapered hair flowing while closing in on the ledge.
“You are your mother’s son, my boy,” Orin spoke, “bound by your own psychosis, allowing it to lead you to such despicable acts.”
Mulderan pushed his father forward with a straight face, hearing his curious words.
“You will shape the Hiezers into an elitist colony, promoting forceful death with failed experiments. You will shatter a golden vision that has worked to rebuild this world. Have you learned nothing from the side of good?”
Mulderan held his father by his white hair, yanking it upward to force him to stand straight over the vast precipice. “Say what you will, father. My burden is already at a maximum. I was the one who predicted this Quake, if you recall. That, along with various other fulfilled visions, have validated my choices. There is one absolute that will change under my rule - the deserving will survive and humanity will not become extinct, even if the cost is great.”
“I truly have failed you, my son,” Orin admitted, peering off the sharp ledge to a bottomless fall, not offering any inkling of fear.
His father’s words were his last offense. So clueless, Mulderan thought… a lifetime of being pushed to the wayside, and now you consider me? Good. I’m glad to have gained your full attention.
The high-altitude winds whistled at them, played with their hair, begging the family to get on with their ritual.
The world has endured your schemes to a fault. Now, they will hear mine. Mulderan shoved his arm forward over the vast canyon, holding the weight of his old man by only the grip of his hair. He mouthed a silent goodbye with a certain satisfaction…
“Now, let’s see if the great Orin can fly.”
He let go.
One glance over the cliff ensured that Orin’s death was certain – arms spread, legs together, suit rippling from wind. No screams. None. It was as if he chose to jump on his own accord, or at least that’s how it looked.
Mulderan offered a sniff of finality, chin raised. The burden was lifted. Finally, he was free to turn and face his electors, to begin his reign.
The Highest Lord returned from the memory and opened his eyes to find himself atop a giant orb, watching the ground below him shatter in a quaking frenzy. The sphere was unmoving, even as its base was thrown from side to side; it provided him safety while the world around him fell.
We will survive this unscathed. Humanity will not succumb to weakness.
Mulderan calmly clasped his hands behind his back, facing the world’s cries. He lifted his head to see his wife atop her own orb, displaying more angst than she would want to reveal, but finding resolve nonetheless. She nodded to her husband, who returned the gesture.
This press for evolution is more vital than ever a time in history. That’s why I exist.
At that moment, the space between them abruptly dropped before their eyes, putting them in freefall for a fraction of a second. Stomachs lifted into throats, eyes bulging. Fear of the frantic Hiezers crowded atop their own orbs was palpable: “Will we sink?” “Will our city hold”? “The world beyond us is doomed!” Their faces said it all. And then the ground began to swirl like water down a giant drain. Nausea, disbelief - to be part of the second coming of the end. Earth cracked as though it had a skeleton of its own under its skin.
Mulderan, however, was unbothered. He wanted to register this, remember it, this historic instance in history. Confidence at a time like this was something unknown entirely… to know so assuredly that these effects would soon reverse was ridiculous. But they did. He was right. And for the first time to the public eye, amid a sea of gasps, as Mother Nature tried to bury them once more, Mulderan merely laughed right in her face. He laughed. And she conceded.
She was thwarted by hardening material that solidified before their eyes - Hiezer technology tested for generations. It filled in the cracks, molding the ground like there were thousands of workers tinkering at once, a scene that could alter a flock of worried faces into hopeful ones, a scene that proved nature’s contender.
Your wrath will only strengthen us, oh dying planet. I’ve seen to it.
Acknowledgements
To the editor of the Unearthed Series and my better half: Angela Rose. Here’s to the thousand times we thought we were done with this book, and now actually being there. After countless nights of hearing you mutter “What the hell is he talking about?” or “How many times is he going to repeat this word?” or “This scene needs help… like S.O.S.,” it’s exciting to read the final version and have everything make sense. You have the resolution of a Sin commander. Thanks for keeping me honest, and for being awesome.
To the second editor of the Unearthed Series: Alexandria Berardi. I’ve been scolded for writing short sentences, then for long-winded ones, and for some that didn’t even connect… but we got through it! Thanks for being a sorceress of your craft. The Society would accept you if you only had a key…
To the cover designer: James T. Egan of Bookfly Design. Bringing Eugene and Jen (Asura) to life in your artwork will continuously serve as a valuable source of inspiration for me.
And finally, to the readers. I hope you enjoy reading these books as much as I do in creating them. To date, this journey has been legendary, with one humbling lesson that overshadows them all - I’m nothing without your support. Thank you.
Other Books by the Author
BY MARC MULERO
Unearthed
Unearthed: Allegory of Pain
Unearthed: The Forsaken Bond
The Unearthed Series will conclude with Spiral of Silence. For more information, visit: www.marcmulero.com
About the Author
Growing up, Marc Mulero was out of his mind (and perhaps still is). He knew full well that his creative, untamed intellect was divergent from the pack. Ill-equipped with an inability to focus in school and a strong desire to explore, Marc was barely present wherever he was expected to be. It wasn’t until his twenties that he retreated from indulging in the vibrant scenarios playing out in his head and emerged to join the business force, or as he calls it, the Spock-side of this world. So, there he went, earning his master’s degree and CPA license in the process. Surprisingly, he managed to find some enjoyment while experiencing this new chapter in his life.
One winter’s night, in the midst of a bout of insomnia, he heard the sound of a lightsaber beam within his head. Being an avid fan of all things unnatural and missing the colorful world of imagination, he realized that he’d abandoned a part of him that he once valued above all. So, in the spirit of staying true to oneself, he decided to resurrect his passion in the form of a novel. He worked long hours during the day dressed in suit and tie, so that he could relish in scribing his fantasies deep into the night. His tenacity was an attempt to unload one of his stories onto t
he world: a story with depth, intrigue, and complexity, one he’s hoping people will get lost in.
Instagram: m.a.mulero
Facebook: @authormarcmulero
A Note from the Author
My dream is that you, the reader, made it this far, and hopefully with a sense of satisfaction… perhaps even wanting more. Either way, it means everything to me.
To be a full-time author is an uphill battle that is akin to that of the Sins, save for all of the killing and stuff. And to have such a dream realized starts with you. Therefore, I humbly ask… no. I desperately beg that you leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads upon completing the first part of this journey. Please, don’t disregard this, or think your contribution too small to matter, because it’s not. Doing this one small deed is actually the most profound way to help an author gain some recognition in their voyage into the ever-so-vast world of storytelling. Amongst a sea of corporate battleships, best-selling submarines, and wide spanning talent seeking lighthouses, equip this independent author with another oar for his canoe… because with it, he will never stop rowing.
Phew… okay. Now, enough about my dreams. Reader, thank you again for spending some of your most precious commodity – time – on the Unearthed Saga. If you’re interested in providing me feedback directly, or would just like to chat regarding your thoughts on the Unearthed universe, character arcs, story direction, or whatever, feel free to reach out to me on my website below. I would be happy to chat anytime.
Until we meet again. Stay awesome.
Marc Mulero
www.marcmulero.com