The sequel, The Forsaken Empire, was published today on Amazon.com. I'm glad I was able to finish it. I was actually laid off from my job back in September, so I had the time. Hopefully, readers will enjoy it. Below is the prologue to the book. Thank you for all your support!
- - -
This is my story—the death
of my people.
The white-haired woman spoke these words. Not through her voice,
but through her mind.
She stood on the planet, steady and quiet. Slowly, she walked
into the bitter cold and then into the outskirts of the city. If she could have
been seen, she might have appeared like a harmless stranger, simply passing through.
But no. She was here to kill. Her steps moved along concealed.
Perhaps the white-haired woman knew nothing of the people here,
or of the local language. No matter. They would all soon understand.
“The story,” she whispered. The phrase started off slow and
sat in the air, looming in the frigid wind. Then it exploded like thunder and
came pouring forth as the white-haired woman spoke louder, using her own
language—the language of the dead.
Nearby was the audience. There were thousands of them. Thousands
of sentient souls living in a city of snow. Given their very nature, they were poised
to hear and feel the woman’s story. She had moved beyond words and language to the
raw emotions that coursed through her mind. No one would be deaf to it. And so no
one would be spared.
She walked on through the icy street, cloaked in the faux shadows
of machine tech, hearing the innocent scream. She watched as one person after another
heard her tale and then fell to their knees.
The death of my people.
A great and ancient empire that exists no longer.
The cries continued. The citizenry—her victims—convulsed and bled
in their pain. Men, women, and even some of the youth would all bear it. And then
they would fall. Their minds became empty as the trauma turned fatal. They died
by the thousands and were left to freeze in the cold.
The white-haired woman embraced the sight. Her tale was laced
with agony. It demanded vengeance. To her, no one was innocent.
This is my story. The end
of everything. The end of my world.
She finished her words, enduring the fatigue. Her alien eyes wept
in black. She then staggered and dropped to the icy ground; her face looked grief-stricken.
It hid behind a hand, but still the tears came. They drenched her cheeks in streams
of liquid ash.
Next to her was the soul-less machine. He stood by her side, counting.
Fifty. A hundred. Then thousands.
He was analyzing the surrounding death. The machine spoke no story.
Spun no tale. But like the white-haired woman, he yearned for vengeance; his body
was cloaked in the same fabricated shadow.
“Over ninety percent of the population has been affected,” he
bellowed in his calculated and heartless voice. “A near-complete death rate.”
Hearing this, the woman focused and then pulled back. The powers
of her mind receded. The death grip released.
The story has been told. The vast audience has been left silent.
She scratched her face, almost in a daze. The two hands were covered in her own
blackened tears. Rising from the ground, she looked at the dead city. It was now
hollow. Hollow of life.
The woman felt almost the same.
“Are you losing control?” the machine asked.
“No,” she whispered, seeking to silence any doubt. She felt the
freeze and then recalled the bone-chilling cries. She came away tired but content.
“Let them know my pain,” she vowed.
The woman and the machine walked on, and the constructed
shadows hid their every move. They would soon leave this world, having acquired
what they wanted.
But even though they had killed this remote city, there was more
death to be had. The whole galaxy, and then existence itself, would feel their wrath.
