Debut

It’s finally here! Yay! My website is launching soon and I can’t wait to share it with all of you.

That means that GODKILLER is premiering soon too! On March 25th!

So, what is Godkiller?

Godkiller is the first season of a series I’ve written called Chronicles of Death! Chronicles of Death takes influence from some of my favorite media, Zelda, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, etc. It follows the journey of Katya Harbinger, a former military general, as she travels throughout her homeworld of Lupinaio to kill the New Gods- Kings and Queens ruling over Lupinaio with an iron fist. Their greed has become so consuming that Lupinaio itself is crumbling. An ancient demon, Vrana, one of the original creators of Lupinaio, has gifted Katya with pact magic and a holy sword. Follow her as she travels to save the peoples of Lupinaio and those she loves: her niece and nephew.

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And it’s March 7th which means it’s time for another writing prompt. Join me, won’t you?

Here’s the rules:

Set a timer for 10 minutes and write. It can be anything! Just write. Don’t overthink- just write. Hell, it could be a fictional grocery list, just do it. The prompt will be listed below (followed by my submission for it). If you do join me and decide to post it, please send me a link either here or on social media! For real, my contact info is everywhere on this website, I made sure of it.

March 7th, 2023

Destroy

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Destroy

His nails were filthy, a dark gray line beneath the usually clean edge. A thin layer of clay coated his hand and as he wiped the back of one over his forehead to keep the sweat from dripping below his brow. Clay smeared across his skin.

Khadrim was usually meticulous. The kind of man who took care of a mess immediately after he’d made it. But this room? This room was special. It was the only place where the mess didn’t matter. Where it didn’t matter what evidence of his existence he left behind. The only place where he truly felt comfortable to let go of his usual need to control the world around him.

Skilled hands molded clay as he crouched low to the tremendous mound that he’d been shaping for weeks. It was a rare passion of his, to create something from nothing, something that he had not excelled at when he’d first begun. Hard work had gotten him to this point and sculpture was a point of pride for him- a man who took pride in very little. Hands lost in the clay, he focused on his work, a work that was finally coming together.

For all the gifts that he’d been granted by his curse, his grasp of the arts was by far his favorite. He’d give up all the others if he only had the chance to keep one. The intellect, the strength, none of it compared. Every instrument he’d learned to play sang with emotions he was incapable of expressing otherwise. Each pencil revealed parts of him he didn’t know existed.

Creation was pure.

And it balanced the scales of his normally destructive life.

Wherever he went things went wrong. Collapse and ruin haunted him, following him like a shadow. People who made the mistake of fondness for him died. Animals too. Khadrim was safer hidden away, creating things that could not be killed. And if his art were destroyed the world would not be worse for it.

Beneath the layers of clay were bruised, beaten, and bloodied hands, the marks of a warrior. But here they worked magic. Here they were delicate and careful. Here they gave life. From this shapeless mound he would build something from nothing.

Khadrim was quiet and careful. He made himself invisible so that the world would forget him. When the world remembered he was there, awful things happened and he did not wish to be the cause of any more destruction. He would silently do as much good as he could without credit. It was a lonely life, but it was the kind of loneliness that Khadrim had learned to live alongside. A small price to pay for the safety of others.

The statues he left behind however, those would not be forgotten. They were grand. Sometimes twisted, sometimes beautiful. Sometimes they were created in memory of those who had foolishly loved him and had been punished for it. He had never been worthy of their love, had never desired it, and yet they had loved him.

The very least Khadrim could do was make certain they were not forgotten. He would leave them behind in abandoned places. Every so often he caught wind of one being found on the news, a mysterious sculpture found. Silly conspiracies had spread like wildfire about their creation. The truth was far more ridiculous than the conspiracies were.

Sitting back on his heels, Khadrim admired the vague form of the statue. It would eventually be a young woman, a woman who had deserved a better memorial than she’d been given. He smiled. A rare smile.

Wiping his hands on his black shirt, he left his work.