Fire

Cometh the King – Amy Hodges-Laurenzo

Year 19…August 30th…

In the desert southwest, the Sagittarius War had been waging for almost a year. The Gamma’s House had become a base of operations for the forces of the Stardust Pack.

Aurora turned six and continued to lend her eyes to the cause as she had a vision.

Though Stardust had an early advantage, losses have been sustained on both sides.

The Ridge Resort…

The location had been left under the control of a young and trusted Enforcer named Jacob Light.

He stood six feet three. His hair brown and so too were his eyes. He wore an Armani business suit this day as he portrayed the part of a manager.

Various ladies of the pack wondered about, serving human guests. The hotel jumped, but some more guests actually came due at sunset by way of the Gulf of Mexico.

The sun sat now…

A large yacht pulled into the larger dock.

Jacob got excited at the thought of how rich the man must be.

He had the best of the harem girls brought down to greet the rich man in question. He sought a great impression to secure the man’s money in full.

The gangplank got sat in place…

But nothing could have prepared the present Ridge Pack for what happened next.

Lycanthropes…

They jumped off the yacht itself.

The guards quickly got torn apart by these seven foot tall or better werewolves. These

Wolves…they got refereed to the world over as the Blue Blood Pack.
These beasts served the Keepers of the Chronostone under the one refereed to now days as…The Shifter King.

As the Ridge Pack troop went down in blood to the Blue Bloods, foot steps got heard on the platform.

This lone male stood about six feet and ten inches. His hair got kept short. The hair of deep dark brown, almost black, blew in the Gulf breeze. His eyes looked to be eternal wolf and yellow.

His toned, ripped, and muscular body had simple attire of a white muscle tee shirt and western style stone washed jeans. Black style western boots sat on his feet. In his right hand resided a twenty ounce Cherry Coke.

Jacob and the ladies got forced to their knees and restrained by the Werewolves. His eyes rose as the figure reached the end of the gangplank and stepped onto the dock. He swallowed, “Holy shit.” Panic began to rise in his voice, “The Wolf King!”

Richter; the Head Alpha of the Blue Bloods, the Shifter General of the Guardians, the King of Shifters, and the Wolf King…he has made it his purpose to bring the awakening shifters, since Raven’s Genesis wave, under a sense of law and keep them from thinking along the lines of being superior to the humans that they shared the globe with.

Richter took a swig from the soda before he spoke. “It has been brought to my attention that your little shit of an Alpha has designs on the country of Mexico and the southwest of the United States.

“Where is Alpha Andrew Tatum?”

Jacob swallowed, “He is…well…”

The Lycan over his shoulder snarled.

Jacob’s voice rose a few octaves in fear, “He’s in Arizona! He has targeted the Stardust Pack near Flagstaff over the Seer Girl.

Richter sighed. This trip apparently was going to take longer than he first thought. “Ladies,

I suggest that you leave here as your wolves now. When the Blue Bloods and I are done here tonight, this location will be erased from all maps.”

Intimidated and with the King’s suggestion, the girls shifted and got allowed to move north along the coastline.

The Resort left behind, began to burn.

Other females fled north as well…running until they crossed the border and into Texas.

As the sun rose, all of the resort burned. The Yacht had left again back into the Gulf.

All over the area, corpses of the Ridge Pack left behind and humans that were in attendance, simply resembled blood smears on the dirt and sand as the whole complex vanished in flames.

© 2025 – Tomorrow’s Light * Coming Soon…*

Ozablaze – Dom Sabasti

A flame, a flower petal. Petals on the wind carrying a message of destruction. The land, once green and prosperous, took on a semblance of hell ablaze. It warmed me to see, and feel, and cause.

The smoke encased me in a robe of pain and loss as I strolled about the field, admiring, smiling, laughing. In fits and spasms, with pops and crinkles galore, the field consumed itself entirely. Yet I blazed.

I was not satiated. Soon, the wandering became tedious. Even the screams that lingered on my periphery held no joy for me. I stopped, and sighed, and sat.

I contemplated for a season, and then another. The air grew chill and dim. Winds whispered at first, day after day, night after night, slowly growing into growls and roars. The elements frenzied about my stoic form, attempting their worst, all in vain. I smiled, almost, before standing. I scanned the cleansed vista. Flat and dusty as far as an eye could see. I added my growls to the wind, hungry for a new phase.

Another season sauntered away leaving the air fiercely mild. And then it began, like eyes opening, dots of green littered my vista. It was utterly hideous witnessing the spawn of the most illustrious witch break through the land I had claimed. 

This is my existence, trapped in cycles, constantly, drifting, fighting unseen forces while attempting to induce my own. She would not rule me again. 

Many emerald eyes opened. Many closed. A chosen few moved on. My gazing intent condensed the season into mere hours. The field was reborn. Thick stalks of swaying amber rustled in the whispering breeze. I was surrounded, engulfed, and incensed. My fire would not burn as it once did. Such is our progress. I yearn to consume whatever she spits at me, yet her power is too great. I am at a loss. Always a step behind.

She mocks me with every sunrise. Every sunset a remorseful reprieve. I am alone at night, mostly. The wind is a persistent, but poor conversationalist. So much useless gibberish, echoes of far off songs dancing on my nerves. 

I am resourceful, if nothing else. I am adept at making the most of what is in front of me. Weeds of life gone to seed. I begin to harvest.

I always have my blades, these extensions of imbued silver. Time to dance. Alright, not so much a dance as more of an interpretive saunter with a honed intent. Severance, that most holy of dark devotion. I cut. I slice. I reap what the bitch has sown. I claim it all.

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© 2025 – Dom Sabasti