Chapter 7: A Matter of Perspective

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Log #760: Biology

A new creature, most likely a new species of Shade, was encountered three days ago while clearing out the Ismira-Viscor Route. Unlike any other, however, this being displayed a far more developed intelligence. It adapted within seconds to our weapons, retreated when it was sustaining too much damage, and summoned smaller Shade to distract us while it fought from a distance. It somewhat resembled a dragon from human mythology, with four massive black claws connected to the body by muscular, purple-scaled legs. Two arm-like appendages extended from its sides, with opposable claws on each; those were used for grabbing, smashing, and even increasing running speed. The tail ended in a sharp spearhead, and was long enough to swipe across the entire battlefield in a single swing. Two piercing yellow eyes glared out from its skull, and the dimensions of the snout were similar to that of a horse. The most terrifying part of the beast, classified as a Dragiant, were its wings. Two dark purple bat-like wings stretched out from its back, unfurling at a wingspan of over fifty meters! Not even high caliber bullets could pierce the leather skin, and it was a miracle the thing was taken down at all. We have yet to discover a second Dragiant, but its mortality alone makes it unlikely that it belongs in the same ranking as Ptoma Tyrannos.

-General Shura Averin

0010 BPE


I looked down at my hands, curled them into fists, and released a pent up sigh. Grabbing a comb, I began to methodically brush my golden hair, listening only to the sound of the comb sliding through the silky thread. In front of my bed, on a tall cabinet, a picture of him rested.

I wasn't sure what it was, but something about that boy was so distracting, so detaching. When I gazed at the portrait of the two of us, side by side in a park, I felt so comfortable, even though having others around always managed to unnerve me. He was different, somehow.

I snapped out of my trance, and decided to finally change into some nightwear. It was already eleven at night, and I was still in my combat suit. Despite my getup, it only took a few minutes to change into simple pajamas: a purple silken shirt with blue night pants that stretched past my heels. I placed Mom's jewel on the cabinet carefully, and plopped onto my bed on my back, overlapping my arms over my head.

Another sigh escaped my lips.


Your pathetic lips.


Whenever I thought of him, I thought about my brother, and what he would've thought of what I had become. I didn't visit the grave very often, mainly because I didn't have the courage to. Sometimes I thought about doing it, but I always ended up sparring alone in my backyard instead. Father always said I was the best fighter in my age group, since I fought with a passion greater than any other. He was always saying how proud of me he was, or at least whenever he actually spoke to me. Growing up without any friends, I didn't have any socializing skills, and even my family began to feel distant when I was as young as eight.


You can't feel bad for yourself; it's not like you know any other lifestyle.


Closing my eyes, an image of him faded into view, as if to quell my unease. My weary mind gratefully complied. My breathing became shallower, my limbs numbed, and I could sense my mind slipping away into the night: alleyways lit by souls in search of hopes and terrors that either reflected the past or designed the impossible. Wonder, horror, confusion, hate, envy, love, happiness; they were not words in this world, but feelings. Feelings that mangled and fused, creating a scenery both beautiful and awful, depending on the state of mind. That, and whatever was eaten for dinner.

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