Malachi Westbrook
Stories (3/0)
Death of the Old Blood
Imaru stood at the entrance of the cave as the sun set behind him. Anjou was waiting for him, breathing fire into embers that burned before him, and his axe was planted in the ground beside him. Imaru looked upon his father, the memories of their last encounter flashing in an instant before his eyes. He didn’t have Hal’Maci’s power to help him here, but he didn’t need it: this time, he was ready.
By Malachi Westbrook2 years ago in Fiction
Prologue
A void. Darkness was all Imaru perceived for miles upon miles. An empty, black, and infinite void that consumed all that dared to stand within, in more ways than merely one. It consumed one’s mind, drained away their sanity… corrupted their very spirit.
By Malachi Westbrook3 years ago in Futurism
Tales of the Usa’ii
Sixteen year old Urami Venatari awoke from yet another nightmare in a cold sweat. He quickly calmed his nerves, then surveyed his surroundings as he was trained to by his father. The room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight that flooded in from the balcony. Uru Sunai and Ashina Nayi were sleeping peacefully just on the opposite side of the room from him. He was still at home. He detected no foul odors or toxins in the air. He heard no one creeping in the shadows. Which meant they were relatively safe. Urami let out one more breath, then donned a pair of black trousers, dark shoes, and an ornate, black robe with golden designs etched into the seams and stepped out of the room through the massive, ornate doors that led into the palace halls.
By Malachi Westbrook3 years ago in Futurism