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Wednesday, July 17, 2019

HOW THE GODS KILL: VII



art by Prince Satyrn


   The creature, red and clumsy like a lobster, bucked against her in vain. Ariachne applied just enough pressure to let it feel the chitin bend just so, pushing against the soft mesh of tissue that made up its body. Its remaining antenna wriggled uselessly against her palm, the stub of the other one shivering and spurting green ichor. Pivoting one hand on her thumb just so, she wrapped three fingers around the antenna and bent it just enough to drive her point home.

   "Tell me, or I break the other one."

   The Shaum stopped moaning and stayed perfectly still. Slowly, it stopped clattering its claws and let out a long, slow hiss just so the woman would know that he was beat. The woman had descended on them with a pack of Hounds, broken the assembly lines, and caught the conspirators in the act of loading the Voidcraft carriers bound for off-world.

   The Shaum foreman fought and ran. After all, he bore the secret knowledge of every basethe rough position of every single insurgent encampmentinside his tiny mind. When cornered, he attempted to take his life like a good soldier. But he had been broken, just like all the rest.

   "Ostaneeesss" the foreman hissed through the pain. Ariachne bent the stalk further, to make sure. The foreman squealed like a larva, repeating the name over and over.

   Ostanes, the prison planet. The place where the unwanted of the Dominion were sent to toil and scheme in the shadow of the Sun, packed tightly near the planet-core, doomed to live out their days in maddening proximity without hope of escape.

   From the thoughtscape of the Other, a new image emerged, unbidden. An image of the newborn homunculus, bursting from the clay top of the hissing tabernacle, smooth skin dripping with bile, his forehead wreathed in Azoth-flame. How appropriate: the Red Lord, cast in Sol's flame. Despite herself, the woman trembled with newfound delight, without any urging by the Other.

   "Lady Logos?" the Alpha of the escorting Hounds stammered. "How shall we proceed?"

   "Burn this place. Burn him as well," Ariachne said, shivering with delight even as she snapped the foreman's antenna in a single motion, tossing it without a second thought over her shoulder.

    "And find me a sun-barge."


⛧


   Hopping from an inter-system trireme and commandeering an officer's quarters in the Dreadnought Radetzky, the woman flashed her credentials at a greenhorn captain of a Novarra-class prison transport Voidcraft that made the routes from Vemana to Ostanes. The man looked her over, half-recognizing her from the Imperial stills but mostly wondering about her purpose out there, at the edges of the Empire, the place where only the mad and the terminally unwanted would ever dare to go.

   For two weeks, Ariachne subtly glided through the prison ship. To pass the time, she suffered the company of political dissenters and free-thinking zealots on their way to their off-world gaol, before making planetfall. From there, clad inside an asbestos-lined exo-suit, she walked the short distance from the Hellmouth that led into the prison-hive all the way to the Zenta Basin where the sun-barge had waited, according to her instructions.

   No sentries had been posted around it. No effort to secure it had been made. The golden, refractive surface of the barge shone like a newborn star, reflecting the scorching rays of Sol above. Even through her protective gear, the woman could feel her perspiration turning into vapor in a matter of moments, fogging up her visor-slits.

   By the time she had finally trudged across the hard earth, the sand long since fused to black glass along the shore of what a billion years ago had been a sea brimming with life, Ariachne's skin had become red and raw in places. Inside her helmet, her hair had become cracked and ashy from loss of moisture.

   To keep herself busy during the launch and the slow trek as the sun-barge prepared to slingshot the perihelion, she allowed herself the pleasure of wading into the Other's borrowed memory. They no longer fought each other for this privilege. Now that the traitor was at hand, they had little left to fight over.

    In those long, quiet moments of perfect melding, Ariachne and the Other realized that they weren't all that different, after all. Trapped in the same body, they had both somehow learned to love the traitor; sharing the same mind, they had both also come to hate Him with a similar, fiery intensity. In this compromise, they had negotiated the specifics of their hate. The Other hated Him for abandoning her, for leaving her to be broken and twisted into a weapon that his enemies would drive into his heart and destroy Him forever. Ariachne hated Him for his hubris, the waste of his godlike potential. For this, they would kill Him.

   The chymical reaction had finally settled, their Rebis achievedalchemical matrimonybinding them together until the end of time. Under the rosy glow of the sun's rays, filtered through the tinted glass of the sun-barge's cockpit, Ariachne Logos was reborn.  She was a gestalt born from hate, its veins bubbling with bile. Together, they had blossomed into a wolfsbane configuration. Glowing in their shared malice, their every pore fit to bursting with poison. But the best dosage, the smooth stinger that would fell the Red Lord...this, they had planted in the most vicious of places.




Click Image below to read 
Part VIII, the conclusion of
by Konstantine Paradias & Edward Morris

only on the FREEZINE of
Fantasy and Science
Fiction 


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Archive of Stories
and Authors

Callum Leckie's
THE DIGITAL DECADENT


J.R. Torina's
ANTHROPOPHAGUS


J.R. Torina's
THE HOUSE IN THE PORT


J.R. Torina was DJ for Sonic Slaughter-
house ('90-'97), runs Sutekh Productions
(an industrial-ambient music label) and
Slaughterhouse Records (metal record
label), and was proprietor of The Abyss
(a metal-gothic-industrial c.d. shop in
SLC, now closed). He is the dark force
behind Scapegoat (an ambient-tribal-
noise-experimental unit). THE HOUSE
IN THE PORT is his first publication.

Sean Padlo's
NINE TENTHS OF THE LAW

Sean Padlo's
GRANDPA'S LAST REQUEST

Sean Padlo's exact whereabouts
are never able to be fully
pinned down, but what we
do know about him is laced
with the echoes of legend.
He's already been known
to haunt certain areas of
the landscape, a trick said
to only be possible by being
able to manipulate it from
the future. His presence
among the rest of us here
at the freezine sends shivers
of wonder deep in our solar plexus.


Konstantine Paradias & Edward
Morris's HOW THE GODS KILL


Konstantine Paradias's
SACRI-FEES

Konstantine Paradias is a writer by
choice. At the moment, he's published
over 100 stories in English, Japanese,
Romanian, German, Dutch and
Portuguese and has worked in a free-
lancing capacity for videogames, screen-
plays and anthologies. People tell him
he's got a writing problem but he can,
like, quit whenever he wants, man.
His work has been nominated
for a Pushcart Prize.

Edward Morris's
ONE NIGHT IN MANHATTAN


Edward Morris's
MERCY STREET

Edward Morris is a 2011 nominee for
the Pushcart Prize in literature, has
also been nominated for the 2009
Rhysling Award and the 2005 British
Science Fiction Association Award.
His short stories have been published
over a hundred and twenty times in
four languages, most recently at
PerhihelionSF, the Red Penny Papers'
SUPERPOW! anthology, and The
Magazine of Bizarro Fiction. He lives
and works in Portland as a writer,
editor, spoken word MC and bouncer,
and is also a regular guest author at
the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival.


Tim Fezz's
BURNT WEENY SANDWICH

Tim Fezz's
MANY SILVERED MOONS AGO

Tim Fezz hails out of the shattered
streets of Philly destroying the air-
waves and people's minds in the
underground with his band OLD
FEZZIWIG. He's been known to
dip his razor quill into his own
blood and pen a twisted tale
every now and again. We are
delighted to have him onboard
the FREEZINE and we hope
you are, too.

Daniel E. Lambert's
DEAD CLOWN AND MAGNET HEAD


Daniel E. Lambert teaches English
at California State University, Los
Angeles and East Los Angeles College.
He also teaches online Literature
courses for Colorado Technical
University. His writing appears
in Silver Apples, Easy Reader,
Other Worlds, Wrapped in Plastic
and The Daily Breeze. His work
also appears in the anthologies
When Words Collide, Flash It,
Daily Flash 2012, Daily Frights
2012, An Island of Egrets and
Timeless Voices. His collection
of poetry and prose, Love and
Other Diversions, is available
through Amazon. He lives in
Southern California with his
wife, poet and author Anhthao Bui.

Phoenix's
AGAIN AND AGAIN

Phoenix has enjoyed writing since he
was a little kid. He finds much import-
ance and truth in creative expression.
Phoenix has written over sixty books,
and has published everything from
novels, to poetry and philosophy.
He hopes to inspire people with his
writing and to ask difficult questions
about our world and the universe.
Phoenix lives in Salt Lake City, Utah,
where he spends much of his time
reading books on science, philosophy,
and literature. He spends a good deal
of his free time writing and working
on new books. The Freezine of Fant-
asy and Science Fiction welcomes him
and his unique, intense vision.
Discover Phoenix's books at his author
page on Amazon. Also check out his blog.

Adam Bolivar's
SERVITORS OF THE
OUTER DARKNESS


Adam Bolivar's
THE DEVIL & SIR
FRANCIS DRAKE



Adam Bolivar's
THE TIME-EATER


Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
who has lived in New Orleans and Berkeley,
and currently resides in Portland, Oregon
with his beloved wife and fluffy gray cat
Dahlia. Adam wears round, antique glasses
and has a fondness for hats. His greatest
inspirations include H.P. Lovecraft,
Jack tales and coffee. He has been
a Romantic poet for as long as any-
one can remember, specializing in
the composition of spectral balladry,
utilizing to great effect a traditional
poetic form that taps into the haunted
undercurrents of folklore seldom found
in other forms of writing.
His poetry has appeared on the pages
of such publications as SPECTRAL
REALMS and BLACK WINGS OF
CTHULHU, and a poem of his,
"The Rime of the Eldritch Mariner,"
won the Rhysling Award for long-form
poetry. His collection of weird balladry
and Jack tales, THE LAY OF OLD HEX,
was published by Hippocampus Press in 2017.


Sanford Meschkow's
INEVITABLE

Sanford Meschkow is a retired former
NYer who married a Philly suburban
Main Line girl. Sanford has been pub-
lished in a 1970s issue of AMAZING.
We welcome him here on the FREE-
ZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction.


Owen R. Powell's
NOETIC VACATIONS

Little is known of the mysterious
Owen R. Powell (oftentimes referred
to as Orp online). That is because he
usually keeps moving. The story
Noetic Vacations marks his first
appearance in the Freezine.

Gene Stewart
(writing as Art Wester)
GROUND PORK


Gene Stewart's
CRYPTID'S LAIR

Gene Stewart is a writer and artist.
He currently lives in the Midwest
American Wilderness where he is
researching tales of mystical realism,
writing ficta mystica, and exploring
the dark by casting a little light into
the shadows. Follow this link to his
website where there are many samples
of his writing and much else; come
explore.

Daniel José Older's
GRAVEYARD WALTZ


Daniel José Older's
THE COLLECTOR


Daniel José Older's spiritually driven,
urban storytelling takes root at the
crossroads of myth and history.
With sardonic, uplifting and often
hilarious prose, Older draws from
his work as an overnight 911 paramedic,
a teaching artist & an antiracist/antisexist
organizer to weave fast-moving, emotionally
engaging plots that speak whispers and
shouts about power and privilege in
modern day New York City. His work
has appeared in the Freezine of Fantasy
and Science Fiction, The ShadowCast
Audio Anthology, The Tide Pool, and
the collection Sunshine/Noir, and is
featured in Sheree Renee Thomas'
Black Pot Mojo Reading Series in Harlem.
When he's not writing, teaching or
riding around in an ambulance,
Daniel can be found performing with
his Brooklyn-based soul quartet
Ghost Star. His blog about the
ridiculous and disturbing world
of EMS can be found here.


Paul Stuart's
SEA?TV!


Paul Stuart is the author of numerous
biographical blurbs written in the third
person. His previously published fiction
appears in The Vault of Punk Horror and
His non-fiction financial pieces can be found
in a shiny, west-coast magazine that features
pictures of expensive homes, as well as images
of women in casual poses and their accessories.
Consider writing him at paul@twilightlane.com,
if you'd like some thing from his garage. In fall
2010, look for Grade 12 Trigonometry and
Pre-Calculus -With Zombies.


Rain Grave's
MAU BAST


Rain Graves is an award winning
author of horror, science fiction and
poetry. She is best known for the 2002
Poetry Collection, The Gossamer Eye
(along with Mark McLaughlin and
David Niall Wilson). Her most
recent book, Barfodder: Poetry
Written in Dark Bars and Questionable
Cafes, has been hailed by Publisher's
Weekly as "Bukowski meets Lovecraft..."
in January of 2009. She lives and
writes in San Francisco, performing
spoken word at events around the
country. 877-DRK-POEM -




Blag Dahlia's
armed to the teeth
with LIPSTICK



BLAG DAHLIA is a Rock Legend.
Singer, Songwriter, producer &
founder of the notorious DWARVES.
He has written two novels, ‘NINA’ and
‘ARMED to the TEETH with LIPSTICK’.


G. Alden Davis's
THE FOLD


G. Alden Davis wrote his first short story
in high school, and received a creative
writing scholarship for the effort. Soon
afterward he discovered that words were
not enough, and left for art school. He was
awarded the Emeritus Fellowship along
with his BFA from Memphis College of Art
in '94, and entered the videogame industry
as a team leader and 3D artist. He has over
25 published games to his credit. Mr. Davis
is a Burningman participant of 14 years,
and he swings a mean sword in the SCA.
He's also the best friend I ever had. He
was taken away from us last year on Jan
25 and I'll never be able to understand why.
Together we were a fantastic duo, the
legendary Grub Bros. Our secret base
exists on a cross-hatched nexus between
the Year of the Dragon and Dark City.
Somewhere along the tectonic fault
lines of our electromagnetic gathering,
shades of us peel off from the coruscating
pillars and are dropped back into the mix.
The phrase "rest in peace" just bugs me.
I'd rather think that Greg Grub's inimitable
spirit somehow continues evolving along
another manifestation of light itself, a
purple shift shall we say into another
phase of our expanding universe. I
ask myself, is it wishful thinking?
Will we really shed our human skin
like a discarded chrysalis and emerge
shimmering on another wavelength
altogether--or even manifest right
here among the rest without their
even beginning to suspect it? Well
people do believe in ghosts, but I
myself have long been suspicious
there can only be one single ghost
and that's all the stars in the universe
shrinking away into a withering heart
glittering and winking at us like
lost diamonds still echoing all their
sad and lonely songs fallen on deaf
eyes and ears blind to their colorful
emanations. My grub brother always
knew better than what the limits
of this old world taught him. We
explored past the outer peripheries
of our comfort zones to awaken
the terror in our minds and keep
us on our toes deep in the forest
in the middle of the night. The owls
led our way and the wilderness
transformed into a sanctuary.
The adventures we shared together
will always remain tattooed on
the pages of my skin. They tell a
story that we began together and
which continues being woven to
this very day. It's the same old
story about how we all were in
this together and how each and
every one of us is also going away
someday and though it will be the far-
thest we can manage to tell our own
tale we may rest assured it will be
continued like one of the old pulp
serials by all our friends which survive
us and manage to continue
the saga whispering in the wind.

Shae Sveniker's
A NEW METAPHYSICAL STUDY
REGARDING THE BEHAVIOR
OF PLANT LIFE


Shae is a poet/artist/student and former
resident of the Salt Pit, UT, currently living
in Simi Valley, CA. His short stories are on
Blogger and his poetry is hosted on Livejournal.


Nigel Strange's
PLASTIC CHILDREN


Nigel Strange lives with his wife and
daughter, cats, and tiny dog-like thing
in their home in California where he
occasionally experiments recreationally
with lucidity. PLASTIC CHILDREN
is his first publication.