A Scientific Rejection, Book I: The Making (On Indefinite Hiatus)

Chapter Nine (B): An Element of Fear

A special thanks goes out to Segunda for her gorgeous new cover, and for always encouraging me to continue to move forward with the story.

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Thank you to those of you who have stuck around. I contemplated taking the story down, but then one day it disappeared of its own accord. For any readers we have lost along the way, we'll miss you, but the story must go on.

Chapter Nine (B): An Element of Fear

From his position at the axis of the energy surge Warrick observed the enemy’s retreat, even as his broadsword suddenly seared his fingers with scorching heat. His hand automatically released his grip upon the steel pommel, and he watched in consternation as it inevitably followed the laws of gravity, leaving him bereft of any earthly weapon with which to defend himself against unknown enemies. The giant Origin glanced around, quietly assuring himself that none of his previous attackers were nearby before seeking to locate the blade, only to find that it had vanished from view beneath the billowing flames that now surrounded his ankles in a wide circle. As he tried in vain to visually trace its path, Warrick realized that the fire was beginning to rise. Backing up a step in an attempt to escape the growing conflagration, he stumbled over something that audibly clanged against the hard packed earth. He reached down gingerly, carefully testing the object with his fingertips, and was pleasantly surprised to find that, unlike his broadsword, it was cool to the touch. Tracing it more firmly with his fingertips, Warrick realized that he was touching the hilt of a sword. Quickly, he gripped the pommel and struggled to recover both hand and weapon from the surprisingly viscous flames of fire.

The yellow flames surrounding him gave way to red, and began to engulf his entire form. Warrick closed his eyes, falling back upon the visualization rituals that Mortimus pounded into his head during training. He pictured himself in the familiar setting of the control room, with the valve switch at its center. He quickly gripped the handle with both hands, desperately pushing against it with all of his strength and weight. Emitting a deafening roar, he released his full power to the effort, but the handle remained stubbornly fixed at full pressure, pouring forth additional fuel without his assistance. Realizing that he was no longer in control, Warrick mentally backed away from the switch, and instead focused on his physical being, thrashing his body back and forth in a desperate attempt to release his hand from the base of the inferno, to no avail. Trapped within a whirling, fiery vortex that permitted neither sight nor sound of the outside world, with the exception of a clear view of the ominously gathering storm clouds directly overhead, he was helpless to know what awaited him on the other side. Without warning, the flaming quagmire that now neared his shoulder released his arm from its relentless grip. Taken by surprise, Warrick was unable to halt his momentum as he jolted upward to full height, his right arm swinging overhead like [the arc of a pendulum. As if in response to a preordained signal, a powerful bolt of lightning raced towards the earth to greet the recovered scimitar at its zenith, enveloping him in a blinding white light and giving off a shockwave that reverberated against the confines of his blazing red cocoon and forced the fire outwards into a near perfect sphere. Warrick crashed down to earth under the pressure of the blast as, with an audible roar, the fire fully closed overhead. His last thought, as he lost consciousness, was “What I thought to be my salvation has surely become my doom.”