Taker – Prologue


I love the night sky

Hey guys. It’s been a while. Sorry for taking so long to finally post stuff, but I figured that starting with the first day of April I might as well start posting again, right? And don’t worry, the next post for Mansion will be out soon. Anyway, there needs to be some explanation for this. Those of you who’ve been following my blog, you’ve come across the whole deal about a story called Mental which I went through several iterations of writing, and here is the final iteration.

Yes, yes, I’ve decided to finally just write it as a novel instead of trying to be fancy. XP Those of you guys who are not yet frustrated with me for jumping all over the place can go ahead and read this, if you didn’t read the initial post I did for this with my fancy programming. If you did, hang around for a few more minutes and I’ll have chapter 2 of this up, which will be more than what I had posted. 

For those of you who don’t know what this story is about, it’s an adult adventure fantasy story set in a world of my creation. If you’re not sure about my adult policy, check it out over here. This particular chapter had nothing adult in it, but future ones do. Apart from all that stuff, enjoy! 🙂

Chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 56 | 7 | 8ToC

Dark clouds covered the sky. From the blackness overhead a few knife-like beams of moonlight pierced the shadows, illuminating a clearing nestled in a dead forest. On the very fringes of the clearing, sharp silhouettes broke up the loose earth— remnants of an ancient and dreadful battle fought at that very place.

“The last one failed, my lady,” the hooded figure said to the enormous stone creature in front of her.

The creature did not reply.

The figure continued, standing tall and strong. “Don’t worry, I have not stopped trying, my lady. I found a new candidate.”

Again, the edifice did not answer.

“Yes, my lady. It is in accordance with the prophecy, is it not? The seventh Taker shall free the dreaded Arthrulaastan.”

There was no answer.


Later that night, the same hooded figure knelt, cradling the head of a dying man. Cruelly-shaped fingers held a flask to his bloody lips and tipped it. He gulped the fluid eagerly.

“Drink, my sweet one, drink,” the figure said quietly. “Soon all your suffering will pass.”

The flask clattered to the floor, and the man convulsed once before going limp. A sigh from underneath the hood was carried away by the wind.

A claw-like hand reached out from the cloak and waved itself above the man’s face. Black ink crept up from his neck, swirling across his features in mysterious designs before fading into his skin, leaving a light trace of where they had been.

Bending over the prostrate Human, the dark shape whispered, “Now you are truly hers.”

Tours yruly


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