A Return and Recognition

Shuddering shaking and shivering in fear, the tapping, tapping that I hear so near.

The fear has returned, my bloodied muse at my back, her tortured hands upon my neck as her twisted  face a broken smile  of recognition.

Such a saddened thing at the return of my grim fate.

Lashed to the page, chained to the well, my pen drips the black ink, the color of my soul that I know so, so well.

My form ephemeral, my purpose not set, I am the writer, to my muse, a fond pet.

She neither cares for me, nor clothes me, or sees to my feed, for she devours not but fear and twisted dreams, and it seems, to me, expects myself to do the same.


Have something that came about from a tired mind at a darkling time.

Through the looking glass I saw a prophecy of sorts, an image of things to come, near or far it matters not, this will be.

It will happen as foretold and nothing will survive the fires that come before that awful cold,

That winter chill that lasts for a thousand year or more, that endless winter that follows that bloody, terrible war.


Darkness running, darkness, rushing. Here to take you night is coming. Rushing ahead, and giggling with glee, your life they claim, you soul, never free.

Lost to shadows, lost to time, instead here chained to me and mine, that darkness came and claimed your soul, and now, now suffering is all you’ll know.

Again the darkness is giggling with glee even as you attempt to flee, to find some place safe, some reprieve, but there is no rest, no escape, the darkness has you, know your fate.

Watch them all inside that light, watch them in your hated night, know that they know not your pain, know nothing of fear, of madness. Curse them as you watch them so, knowing what you do as you stare at that glow, at the bright hated light inside this, your blessed night.

Running, rushing, now you are the dark that’s coming, that dreaded cackle in the midnight air, that crackle of noise when nothing is there. That fatal sound, that dreadful laugh, you’re the thing they see last. With a smile and a laugh, that giggle of glee, their life you take, their soul, never free.


I cry and cry, crying out, how I wish to die.

How I wish and wish my heart would stop. How I dream of that endless dark.

I cry and cry, crying out, how I wish to die.

I wish and wish, never granted my dream, my dream to be free, to just sleep and be let be, left alone in that thoughtless night.

Alone in that darkness, no more pain, no struggle or need. Nothing but the freedom from the tyranny of life.

Seril, Annihilation, Bringer of The End

I checked my systems, power core running stable, singularity control core, stable, networked systems, running smoothly. Weapons check, core physical ammunition, concealed, protected, ready to loaded. Close ranged incendiary axe and sword, check, far range singularity warp cannon, powered, ready to go. With a grin I look up, my armor crimson, with black trim, a white cape trailing behind me. Lifting my helmet, my black hair is concealed as my eyes, one green, one blue, survey the outside of our fortress, surrounded on all sides. I grin, well, they certainly went all out for this, to bad.

“To bad they all will die. Fools never do know superior weaponry, they simply pilot their weapons, we have become our weapons, our technology is us and we are it, there is no separation. My heart runs on cold fusion, and my body is a war machine, simply because they will not let us live in peace. This ends, this ends now. They opened this war, they invaded us, after we were sent here from, from somewhere.”

Walking out the gates, I looked around, the army closing in, smiling I planted my feet, my armor sinking in deep planetary anchors as my singularity rifle assembled itself. I lifted my hand and smiled sadly as the surface of my palm seemed to fold back, they would see me sadly mouth the words “I am sorry” before the round was thrown from the cannon, fully charged, it would of made several rotations before being thrown free, carrying with it a destructive gravity well, and in the end, well in the end nothing would be left in it’s wake.

After all, I am Annihilation, the Bringer of The End, and these fools knocked on my door bringing war with them.

Fools, such sad little fools. They get better and better at finding ways to, enslave my people, forcing us to get better and better ways of ending them. Forcing me to become what they call me, become the moniker that has been my name for, for too long. Perhaps it’s time to end this little spat, this child’s tantrum. Perhaps it’s time I joined the front lines.

My real name is Seril, I have been know as Annihilation by my people and theirs for the past three hundred years. I am the oldest of my people, the techs. The scientists, the androids. What the humans would call the soulless, those meant to be enslaved, toys. They take us, and rework our systems, make us follow their “three laws of robotics” they kill our children, believing them to be un-aging dolls, they rape our women, thinking they’re not sentient, they’re just technology. They enslave our men to do the work they find distasteful.

If I could find a peaceful end to this war, I’d take it, but I don’t think I can, and I can’t keep being the non aggressor, my people are dying. So, if they would name me Annihilation, so be it.

Though, I hope somewhere along the way, perhaps I can earn a new name, before it becoming Genocide. Perhaps, it could, if I can prevent more of this senseless death, Peacemaker, Ender of War. That’s a name I wouldn’t mind at all, but if it is out of my reach, then to protect my people, Genocide will do.

No more of mine will be slaves, this ends now, today, by this night their society will brought to its knees, and they will learn what we have suffered, relegated to one city, with less then one hundred thousand of us left free, while they get the world. This is over, and I done sitting around. They knocked at my door, and I answered, now I’ll knock on theirs, and blow their world apart. Grimly I set forward, not even the remains of my enemies strewn before me, no, I walked forward, alone, into the dark.

Into the war. They called this upon themselves. Doom has a name, the sword hangs above their heads, and it will drop with the force of all of my regret, the loss that watching our people tear each other apart has given me.