Goddesses of war, p.1
Goddesses of War, page 1
Goddesses of War
Copyright (c) 2021 Shantung B. Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or sorted in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise , without written permission of Shantung B. Jones
Published by Shantung B. Jones
Editor: Elisha Sums
Cover Art Designer: Rachel Merritt
Goddesses of War
Shantung B. Jones
Contents
Chapter 1
She Enters
Chapter 2
Masa the Weapons Master
Chapter 3
Anja the Bullet
Chapter 4
Gifts from the Grave
Chapter 5
“You Put It on me”
Chapter 6
Age of the Sand
Chapter 7
Gifts from the Grave Deux
Chapter 8
The Awakening
Chapter 9
Masa and Anja
Chapter 10
Alodia - The Collapsed Akin Kingdom
Chapter 11
Raven Revives Shadow
Chapter 12
Vivere the Wind Kisser
Chapter 13
Anja Travels in Thought
Chapter 14
Kaskara, the Enraged One
Chapter 15
Mirage and the Water Dragon Chord
Chapter 16
The Bottomless Pit
Chapter 17
Anja Enters Sexton
Chapter 18
Masa and Kaskara
Chapter 19
Raven Enters Mirage
Chapter 20
Lapetus
Chapter 21
Anja in Lapetus
Chapter 22
The Sad King
Chapter 23
Zaria, Oh Zaria
Chapter 24
Kaskara and Mimi
Chapter 25
Star Blaze
Chapter 26
Revisiting Cassi
Chapter 27
Back in Mirage
Chapter 28
Alodia Again
Chapter 29
Kaskara Feels
Chapter 30
Cavern to the Second Layer
Chapter 31
Hex and Raven
Chapter 32
Ending Calamity
Chapter 33
Ending Calamity Deux
On the Third Layer of Titan
Acknowledgement
The Author
Chapter 1
She Enters
The fire, the blaze, the rage, it still enflames
Here I wage and battle, bedazzle you, my skill no glitch
When my sword bears down with grit, just know that my form is rich
Now watch the switch, gawks as she enters, the golden loc’d badass bitch
City of Wage
“I just need one bullet” was the hushed desperate cry reverberating through Anja’s head while her mind replayed Maman Bello’s lasts words before being consumed in a fiery blaze. Fists clenched so hard, her knuckles turned white.
Standing with her back rigid in the shadows, her demeanor exuded confidence and a quiet elegance. She patiently gazed at the arena. Despite the rowdy audience’s screams, she didn’t lose focus.
A crackling loudspeaker boomed out, “Anja the bullet!”
Ignoring the hisses and boos, the ebony warrior calmly stepped forward into the arena. Medium-sized, gold dreadlocks flowed down from her head to the small of her back. She had a massive broadsword tucked into a black and gold sheath strapped on her back with metal rings encircling each shoulder.
Her gold armor hugged the contours of her tiny waist and angled out into an hourglass shape, cutting off at the mid-thigh and her shoulder blades. It glinted majestically under the bright sun.
Black netting covered her arms and legs where the armor stopped short. The mesh flowed into her obsidian-colored boots. Her neck and clavicle were exposed however, revealing a golden chain with a pendant: a shiny black bullet.
Her dark brown eyes showed no fear as she smoothly pulled her gold broadsword out of the sheath before plunging its tip into the black soil. She placed both palms upon the handle.
Suppressing the flood of memories and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, she whispered to herself, “I am the hope my grandmother looked for.”
Chapter 2
Masa the Weapons Master
Romance and dance with a weapon on my hip
In stance, we prance, courting our swords’ tips
Though our lips are far and our fists pounce faster
You’re my target, signed with love, Masa, the weapons master
Overlooking the coliseum center, an adjacent building towered above. From its flat rooftop, those unafraid of the height could enjoy a clear view of the arena.
Masa looked down. His emerald-green eyes caught sight of the newest fighter. One of his thick, red eyebrows arched up, creasing his tanned forehead, which contrasted with the lush, crimson hair that he kept pinned back. Tendrils danced across his high cheekbones.
“A woman … and one of warrior’s blood? Hmm, while I love to see a lovely woman fight, I prefer they do so with me, while unarmed and undressed.”
The wind, which picked up, rustled his drab ensemble: an oversized, gray gi jacket; a red turtleneck that peeked out; and gray gi pants stuffed into black mid-calf tabi shoes. His tattered outfit showed the wear and tear of someone who had been traveling for far too long.
He lowered to the ground and took a knee. Down below, he noticed how easily the woman whipped her golden sword around with the slightest flick of the wrist. The crowd’s screams echoed as she posed nonchalantly.
Across from her, the undefeated champion of Wage, the Plague, stepped forward. Dark brown leather encased his bloated body, while a matching mask covered his face’s lower half. His skin was pale, almost sickly in pallor; nevertheless, he towered over his petite opponent.
Masa could see the arrogance in his stance and sang softly to himself with a lopsided grin, “He doesn’t know what I know.”
“Dad!”
He snapped back his head back, a brief look of guilt spread across his face. He pressed his fingers to his lips before pointing to the arena.
Though just a child of only twelve years, Mune was not amused. Unlike his father, he had a serious nature. His appearance made this all the more prominent in the stark contrast between his midnight black hair and light skin.
He was wearing an all-white waxed cotton ensemble that looked neat. His long-sleeved top, which he cuffed around his neck, looked somewhat majestic despite being lightly streaked with black soil. His equally white boots tapped lightly across the roof shingles as he walked to his father’s side. He leaned forward for a glimpse of the coliseum’s arena before gazing hard at the profile of Masa’s scruffy, unbothered face.
“We don’t have time for this. We are on a manhunt, but I bet you're checking out that female fighter.” His eyes shifted back to the arena and squinted. “Oh, so she’s from the Akin tribe, a dark warrior, eh? Is she the one?”
Masa nodded with eyes fixated forward.
A deafening siren cut through the air. Mune crouched down and covered his ears. The battle had begun.
Masa mused, “The Plague has no chance.”
He blinked twice and got up before flashing a carefree smile at his son.
“Let’s go!”
He motioned with his head behind him to the right before going ahead.
The boy stuttered, “Y-Y-You don’t even know who’s going to win. Aren’t you curious? The Plague is huge!”
Having leapt down to the nearest ridge, Masa was no longer visible. “I already know!”
“What? How?” Mune gazed back, only to catch sight of the empty space where his father had been but a second ago.
Just then, the crowd gasped and went silent. Mune whipped his head back to the arena. His mouth gaped open upon seeing the undefeated champion laid out on the ground. The woman sauntered off into the shadows as if nothing had happened.
Chapter 3
Anja the Bullet
I hunt, a tortured soul this beaten sword shall never rust.
But be careful with my savagery, this warrior craves blood, she lusts.
I always thrust, faster than wind. Born from pain, Anja’s a bullet.
So, ashes to ashes and dust to dust, if on this blade you should say, pull it.
Anja took her time leaving the arena. The disgruntled crowd, who had expected a grand show of the champion crushing her to dust, jeered loudly, but that didn’t faze her. It did, nevertheless, annoy her that the rowdy chants were in favor of a cannibal who fed on his fallen opponent. In particular, he considered children, preferably from her tribe of dark warriors, a special treat as he believed they gave him power.
Once inside the halls of the coliseum, she strolled by with an air of royalty past any who sneered at her. Her menacing aura had a polarizing effect. Many of the contenders shuffled out of her way. In the hushed, dark halls, the only sound was her sword clanking against her armor.
Anja didn’t belong specifically to the dark warrior tribe, but because of her deep skin tone, she was a part of it by blood. Still, she had never met any Akin nor had she claim ed to be one. After all, she belonged to no group, and she desired no companionship. In fact, solitude and battle were her constant companions.
A fire had been blazing deep within her soul. It was an anger that could not be quelled, a pain that would never be eased and a thirst for battle that was never quenched.
Her boots were tinged with the blood of her fallen opponent as well as the man who had tried to bar her from the arena — He had spat in her face as he dared to say she should be a “battery.” This was an insult specific to dark warriors, that their life was only of value when they powered a Matrine tower, a structure that protected each city and regulated its weather.
She swiftly walked out into the expansive open area. It was full of booths for food, colorful cloth, weapons and gambling. A large score board was nailed to the outside wall of the arena. Nearby was a stand where contenders would receive their winnings. The young attendant fidgeted as they pulled her reward out of a locked box.
Anja brushed past, casually ignoring them.
A young boy, with matted hair and a face sullied with dirt, ran up to her and bowed to one knee as he handed her a heavy, dark cloak. Without stopping, Anja snatched and hung it across her shoulders in one fluid motion.
The spectators whispering loudly and milling around stopped in their tracks. Even the gambling attendant hesitated to take any more bets. The muffled stomping of her boots on the soil had given advance warning.
Anja simply continued on her way into a dimly lit corridor. It was then the murmurs evolved into threats and became bolder the further she went. The sound of her steps crescendoed on the corridor’s stone floor.
As the exit came into view, the rank smell of urine and body odor seemed to permeate the wet walls surrounding her. It engulfed her senses, prompting her to hold her breath.
When a shadowy figure stepped out in front of the exit, she threw her cloak off her back and eased her hand toward her sword without skipping a beat. She broke out into a run, sliding across the ground as she unsheathed the broadsword. Her body still sideways, she tilted forward. Once in range and nearly beneath her opponent, her sword struck upward, tip aimed at the jugular.
In response, the man pulled out a whip. With a flick of the wrist, it wrapped around the tip of her blade and hardened. It stopped the sword, which left them at a standstill as they stared at one another.
Anja slowly stood up and briefly studied the stranger. She quickly surmised who he was from his fiery red hair and the rumored tales.
“Masa the weapons master,” she uttered, only to be met with an excited look and a nod.
His lean physique belied the strength of his hold. A lazy grin spread across his face as he scratched the scruff on his chin.
“Anja the bullet, for a second there” — he cocked up an eyebrow as he looked down at the blade just inches from his face — “I had thought that maybe you didn’t like me.”
She squinted her almond-shaped eyes while maintaining a stoic expression. A click sounded as her left hand pulled out a small pistol from the hidden enclosure on the top center of her sword handle.
Aiming squarely at his face, she said, “Oh, but I do.”
Chapter 4
Gifts from the Grave
A gift that entwines the rights that are mine
But there’s a fine, as I suffer with grief
And bequeath this fury that’s unleashed
Just release the pain of the grave
And let us cave in the fear that can’t save
City of Cassi - Mining Town
Sprawled out in a bear crawl position, Rock ignored the large droplets of rain bouncing off her ebony-hued skin as she studied her surroundings. Atop the roof of one of the only two storage units in the city, she was straining to hear the strange growling that had drawn her over in the first place.
These units housed energy stones for those who relied on them to boost their energy manipulating powers or as some called it, a “shift.” Between the two neighboring units ran a wide muddy pathway that descended into the dark mines behind her. Black, metallic walls lined the path and culminated into a locked metal gate.
While scanning the area, Rock tilted her body slowly. Eventually, her eyes fell upon the housing area a hundred yards or so ahead of her. The gray, multilayered block of flats stood five levels high with twenty units on each floor. Yearning to dry off, she stared at hers, which sat on the third floor.
Thick tendrils of her waist-length, coily black hair were plastered to her face in an intimate embrace with her high cheekbones. In one sharp sweep of her fingers, she wiped her hair away in annoyance that she had forgotten to braid it back. Her large, dark brown, almond eyes blinked rapidly due to the raindrops falling on her curly lashes.
As was usual in Cassi, the dreary, wet day featured ashen clouds that blocked all sunlight and dumped down buckets of rain. The chill in the air belied the spring-like season they were scheduled to go through.
Cassi’s Matrine, who like all other Matrines used their shift to control the weather, didn’t seem to care much for following schedules. In fact, this one seemed to prefer the rain, which poured down nearly every three days. The once arid, city of stone, once nicknamed “Rock Town,” had become a slippery, dangerous mass of mud and puddles.
***
Matrines were dark warriors or Akin. More specifically, they could be anyone with deep-colored skin who showed deftness in manipulating the energy particles of Titan. As a result, they were handpicked to be the “guardian” of a chosen city or town and control the atmospheric energy. From inside their designated towers, Matrines also protected the city — this was but one reason why they were pejoratively called a “battery” — by erecting a barrier to keep out Titan’s wild lightning. Outside of the cities in the wilderness, this natural phenomenon exhibited the terrifying power to instantly kill and disintegrate any unprotected human.
***
Rock held her breath as she waited for another instance of the strange sound. She was greeted solely by the pitter patter of the rain. Failing to find her target, her eyes drifted over to the Matrine tower, which stood near the city’s entrance.
“Should I become a Matrine and guard this city? After all, Matrines were essential for humans to survive, at least on the top layer of Titan.”
She frowned at the thought of living in a tower for most of her life. In fact, usually Akin could live to be two-hundred-fifty, and Matrines would spend at least two hundred years in a tower before being replaced but were never seen again. There was talk they lived a life of luxury — being served hand and foot, access to any food, item and anything else of their choosing, outside of a companion.
“Two hundred years is a long time to be alone though. And the ability to regenerate cells through energy manipulation dries up over time and the body rapidly withers up. The sudden trauma of such a drastic change can kill you. From what I’ve heard, most normally wander out into the wilderness for a painless, instant death from a lightning bolt.”
Forcing herself back to the present, Rock shivered in her oversized, long-sleeved, gray coverall as a light breeze flew by. She was drenched and covered in mud. Her always soiled coveralls was her everyday attire; she wore it daily while helping in the mines. Many of the stones they mined were bought by the people of Lapetus, a city of affluent “holders” — pale-skinned people whose ability to harness and control energy was trivial at best when compared to the Akin.
Lapetus, however, flourished with native plants from old Earth and tamable wildlife. The massive city of skyscrapers required multiple Matrines to power its barrier.
On the other hand, Cassi, the humble little city to the far southeast, boasted very little natural vegetation. It was practically barren.
Rock couldn’t understand why plants didn’t grow in her hometown, seeing as it had been watered plenty since her birth twenty-four years ago, which coincided with the current Matrine’s start of tenure.
Food in Cassi was cultivated in a nursery tended to by one of the scientists named Dayo. He was a quiet, humble genius, though prone to momentary bouts of boasting. He was also the only other Akin in Cassi besides Rock. This led to them being best friends.
