#armageddon fiction

[weebywritingblog]

Flower of Hell Backstory Summary:

Ten years ago, the world fell into ruin. An enemy that had gone unknown to mankind for centuries emerged from the shadows and, through both force and guile, brought human society to its knees.

Vampires. Undead creatures with otherworldly magical abilities that are much stronger and much faster than humans. Even with all their advancements in weapons and technology, they could not stop their advance.

Feebly, humanity struggled as this enemy bore down on them. Countries collapsed under the weight of a war that could not be won, reducing the survivors to a single unified militaristic state in the hopes that they could resist their inevitable destruction.

With each death, a new enemy was born. For those who were slain would rise again as vampires devoid of any memory of their past life and ravenous for the blood of their former allies. It seemed humanity faced its extinction…

Desperate to find a way to fight back, several groups of scientists began dipping into the occult. At first, nothing seemed to work, but commonly accepted logic wasn’t helping, so they kept pushing deeper and deeper. Then one day, one of their rituals actually worked. A summoning circle that with the right combination of symbols actually brought forth a denizen of Hell.

The creature’s power was evident simply from being in its presence, its glowing eyes bore into the souls of all who looked upon them. It simply had one thing to say before it vanished back through the circle: “finally.”

It wasn’t long after this that the flood gates were opened. Dozens of demonic entities began to be summoned, and while initially humanity planned to use them as soldiers to fight back, they quickly came up with a counter-offer: the souls of their soldiers in exchange for the power to fight back. An offer humanity found it had no choice but to accept. And while the abilities granted by the demons required training to put to use, humanity finally had hope. For now the vampires were not the only ones with magical abilities.

With the acquisition of these powers, the war became locked in a stalemate. The two sides war against each other furiously. Each losing and claiming territory like trading chess pieces.

Asuna was once a young human soldier, being tossed about in the chaos of this war. She had pledged her soul to a demon and fought for her home and family with all her heart… but now, she is a newly risen vampire. Despite her pledged soul, she was claimed by the Vampiric horde as the pet of an infamous vampire, the Lady Carmilla.

What this means, no one knows for sure, but although dead, Asuna’s journey has only just begun….

[leftbluebirdthing]

The Final Collapse

THE FINAL COLLAPSE

Is AI Deceiving Christians?

How AI Is Misleading Christians…

Proof AI Is Deceiving Christians

Should Christians Use AI?

American Christian Exposes The Real Danger Of AI

American Christian Forces AI To Expose Its Real Purpose

1 John 2:18

"Children, it is the last hour, and as you have heard that Anti-Christ is coming, so now many Anti-Christs have come. Therefore we know that it is the last hour."

There is no doubt that we’re in times of confusion and uncertainty. Many would even say the end times or as John calls it, “the last hour”.

Some bible scholars say that this verse references the rise of AI,

And Christians have been shocked by the woke anti-faith bias of Chat GPT

Unfortunately, the truth is far more sinister…

AI’s influence is rapidly spreading around the world in disguise.

And most people are blissfully unaware.

Or perhaps already corrupted by its “touch.”

If you’ve ever had a bad feeling about artificial intelligence,

Perhaps it is God’s way of warning you that

AI is NOT here for what you think…

Blinded by the trillion-dollar profits,

Big Tech has no idea of what it has unleashed upon the world.

And they may have already lost control of their own creation.

This short documentary exposes 5 shocking facts misguided tech gurus are desperately trying to hide…

Therefore, it could be scrubbed off the internet at any moment.

Click the book below to watch the video:

THEFINALCOLLAPSE.COM

[hezzabeth]

By the year 3856 animals are a myth. Insects however are incredibly common. Due to the colonization of the solar system there are also many mutant off breeds. The Phoeben Scorpion is native to the terraformed moon known as Phoebe. Over the centuries it has invaded our moons and satellites. The Phoeben Scorpion has a colorful candy like appearance.They are considered to be a delicious and popular snack food.

"Don't you want to watch the next log and find out how it ends?" Brigadeiro asked.

"It probably ends the way all fairytales do, with the Duke taking one look at Dityaa and falling madly in love! Just like everyone else," Revati said, pressing the side of her bangle, causing it to turn off.

"Not everyone falls in love with your sister at first sight, I didn't," Brigadeiro said, shooting Revati a sly, knowing look.

It was the same knowing look that he had given her on a bridge at sunrise, in a tent during winter, and once under fireworks. A warm, dark-eyed look that would have made a weaker person tremble at the knees.

"That's because you imprinted on me the second I saved your life, like Phoeben scorpions," Revati shot back.

"Phoeben scorpions?" Brigadeiro had to ask.

"You know, the scorpions on the Phoebe satellite, the ones that imprint on their mates and then end up starving to death," Revati said.

"Are those the fried ones they sell in coffee shops with the cupcakes?" Brigadeiro asked with a small grimace.

"Yep, the more sick with love they are, the sweeter they taste," Revati said, shutting her eyes and savoring the taste of the scorpions.

Brigadeiro held up his hand for a moment and quickly licked it.

"Well, look at that, I taste just like sugar," Brigadeiro winked, and Revati rolled her eyes.

"You really are ridiculous," she replied, and he took her hand, holding it up to his lips.

"And I bet you taste like dark chocolate... not quite as sweet as me," he said before his lips grazed her knuckles. Revati felt herself glance upwards into those familiar eyes, and Revati blushed.

……

Nine minutes past midnight. Brigadeiro's room was filled with pale blue moonlight. Revati was twenty-one years old.

She had, of course, fooled around on the road before. A few times in her tent, sometimes in the middle of a forest. On one memorable occasion, one thousand feet above Mars' surface with the aid of hover boots.

Never in a bed, however. Never with a person who actually fell asleep next to her afterwards. Brigadeiro was a decent sleep companion; he didn't snore and he stayed on his side of the bed. Revati had to admit his back curved down in a way that she rather liked. Still, it was nine past midnight. Revati got off the bed and walked towards the window. The garden's shadows reminded her of her father's inky blue hair. The tables and chairs outside had long ago been abandoned. Someone was darting across the lawn, trying their best to stay in the darkest shadows. The person was heading towards the kitchen house. In Revati's experience, people with nothing to hide didn't even notice shadows. Revati tiptoed to her backpack and grabbed her trusty pants. Sliding into them, she felt the way she always did, like a warrior heading out to meet her destiny.

Everything was quiet and still. The front door of the kitchen house was flung wide open, something that would never happen in Olde Landon.

Pecan was actually asleep on the path next to the door, cuddling a giant inflatable apple. Revati crept lightly inside, her feet barely touching the floor, her weight being carried in her hips. Something was making a faint shifting sound in the rose room.

Revati reached into her left pants pocket, pulling out the tiny container of mushroom tent spores. Carefully and ever so gently, she crept into the rose room. Someone was stooping over Dityaa, and as far as Revati was concerned, that was all she needed to know. Revati undid the top of the container and blew the spores towards the figure.

Within seconds, the fungus blossomed and twisted, wrapping itself around the figure who was now gasping in horror. The rose room suddenly filled with light, and the figure fell to the ground like a caterpillar, half stuck in a cocoon. It was Paulette.

[thehauntedrocket]

Vintage Paperback - Android Armageddon by Robert Tralins

Pinnacle (1974)

[chernobog13]

I would love to see a new Buck Rogers film/series - live or animated - where designs like these, and others similar to what were seen in the original comic strips, were used.

[un-pearable]

this may sound hypocritical given i am very much also a superhero fan . but i attribute everything i dislike about the (pre-Dragons Rising) Wildbrain era of Ninjago to the superhero-fication of the ninja. it started with the doom and gloom angle they took post movie but every issue i have with the flanderization of the show can be traced back to seeing the ninja as Marvel-esque superheroes (functioning as cops) rather than mythologic/prophecied folk heroes

[run2yujin]

AESPACORE

[pedroam-bang]

Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (2008-2009)

[texaschainsawmascara]

and I don’t wanna miss a thing

[colonel-crab]

The Last Chancers series written by Gavin Thorpe

13th Legion (2001)

Kill Team (2001)

Annihilation Squad (2004)

Armageddon Saint (2019)

This is a good book series if you want to try out 40k material but are intimidated by the immense 40k technobabble and nonsense in like most of the novels, lol, easy to pick up from an outsider's view

[girlstevebuscemi]

Portrait of Steve Buscemi, 1989

[weebywritingblog]

Flower of Hell

Chapter 1: Reborn

Popping into existence is strange. One moment, she’s nothing, and then the next, she has thoughts, followed by sensations. This isn’t like birth. There’s no pain to her coming, nor even any confusion, just a strange cold feeling at her core.

It doesn’t take her long to process that she’s lying down on her back. Information from her surroundings, both sounds and smells, slowly come into focus. At first, her mind swims, the incoming information overwhelming her brain, but after a while, it begins to mellow out.

With a quiet groan of effort, she begins movement, slowly and carefully pulling herself off her back and propping herself up with her arms. Her breath is strained and a little ragged as she exerts this effort. Minutes pass, her eyes beginning to stir under her eyelids, and finally, she slowly begins to open them.

Her vision blurs as light hits her retinas for the first time. It’s not painful, and the light isn't all that bright. On instinct, she tries blinking it away, resorting to gently rubbing her eyes when that doesn’t quite work. As the world finally begins to come into focus, she finds her brow furrowing in confusion.

The sight spreading out before her is a jarring one. Silhouetted by a sparkling night sky and two large moons is a vast destroyed city. Massive skyscrapers, some still standing with visible signs of destruction, and others toppled over, leaning on other buildings as if asking for help to stay standing. Her spot on the ground rests on a dry dirt hill overlooking one of its many entrances, an empty freeway littered with debris from the buildings. The concrete that makes it up is either cracked or completely destroyed.

She didn’t really have any expectations when opening her eyes, but now that they are, she struggles to understand what it is she’s looking at. The sight of all this destruction… there obviously isn’t anything in her memories to compare it to, but it still feels unnatural. A feeling at the back of her mind tells her the buildings should be filled with light and the streets filled with people. A city should be a sparkling gem in the darkness, but instead, it’s more like an empty tomb.

Soon her gaze wanders from the city down to her own body. As perplexing as the sight before her is, she finds her mind now wondering about herself. From her position, she can see that she’s definitely wearing clothes. A combat uniform, in fact. Urban camo military fatigues, except the only piece of gear she seems to have besides the clothing bit is a holster on her right hip, and there’s even a small handgun resting inside. A quick check with her hand shows she isn’t even wearing a helmet, and despite her mind telling her a soldier should have a shaved head, her hair is almost to her shoulders. Curiously, she pulls a few strands forward and stares at them. Her hair is as white as snow, a fact that almost seems obvious to her now that she sees it.

The fact she’s certain she should have a full set of gear, let alone that she knows a full set of gear exists, does puzzle her for a moment, but she shakes it off and begins pulling herself to her feet. It’s a bit of a struggle, and her legs wobble a bit as she rises, but she does eventually find her footing, her legs remembering their own strength as she feels the dirt crunch a bit under her boots.

In a gentle motion, she instinctively pulls the gun from her holster, looking it over as her fingers fall into place around it as if she had held the little weapon a million times before.

“... A Makarov,” she speaks, her voice barely a whisper as she enjoys the weight of the petite pistol in her hand. “I… guess ‘I’m not sure how I know that’ should just be a catch phrase of mine… This is all so strange…”

She chuckles to herself, and for a long moment, all she does is stare at it. Then, her movements as fluid as a dancer’s, she ejects the magazine to check for ammo. It’s full, and as soon as she returns it to its home, she quickly moves from that to pulling the slide back to check for one in the chamber. The gun is fully ready to fire.

Aiming it out in front of her, she can’t help but feel a small sense of joy in having the weapon with her. Taking a quick scan of her surroundings, her gun ready the whole time, she realizes that she’s in a pretty empty area. There is a forest in the distance, but it’s far away in the complete opposite direction of the city.

This seems a strange location to be. She can’t help but wonder if someone left her here, or if she came here on her own. The biggest question coming to her mind, however…

“Why can’t I remember how I got here?” She asks, her voice just a bit more audible than before.

She lowers her gun, still keeping it at the ready, then turns back towards the city. A gentle wind kisses her face as she wonders what to do, her eyes rising to the twin moons in the sky. Confusion now twists with anxiety as she suddenly finds herself asking… is there even anyone else? Is she alone in this world for some reason?

Taking in a slow deep breath, she tries to suppress the rising knot in her stomach, then shakes her head.

“No, that’s not possible,” she affirms to herself aloud. “I know it isn’t…”

A determined look falls over her face, and unbeknownst to her, an icy blue glow flares up in her eyes. Wherever she is, however she got here, she’s not alone. She can feel it…

But that feeling is intertwined with a strong chill rising up her spine the second she begins taking her first steps towards the city, and whatever awaits her within.

[oh-my-damn]

Don't Look Up (2021) is the juxtaposition of Armageddon (1998)

But only the former truly represents the actions of humanity. And here's why (an essay LOL)

Armageddon (1998) tackles how the world would handle a meteor hurdling straight to earth to destroy it. Don't Look Up (2021) handles the same issue. Except only the latter actually handles it realistically, considering how the world looks and behaves now (and probably even how a situation like that would realistically have been handled in 1998)

The funny part is that in Armageddon, the meteor is due to land within 18 days of them discovering it. This results in the entire world gathering their forces to try and do everything to destroy the meteor from hitting earth in order to save humanity.

In Don't Look Up, they have months between discovering the meteor and it hitting earth. And what do they do in that time? They initially do everything they can to deny it, and then they decide to try and turn it into a way to make money, in true capitalist fashion. And then they doom the entire earth because they, first of all did not take it seriously, and second of all did not react in time.

It's such a fascinating comparison, though. Armageddon is what we like to think of ourselves - what we like to believe humanity is and would do in times of a crisis. We like to paint ourselves the heroes, no matter how we got there or what happened in the past. Victors Justice is a term that describes this well (the winners dictate history and thus the way it is told). We have always been and will always be the heroes of the story.

Don't Look Up is what we would actually do, have done and continue to do even as we speak. It is the realistic portrayal of humanity. Ignore the issue, believe propaganda, and push it off until the meteor is literally hurdling straight towards us until we have nowhere to run.

And even then, you'll still have people refusing to believe in it, accept it or do anything about it (Covid and the genocides happening globally currently are excellent examples of the delulu state the world lives in)

The juxtaposition is interesting either way. Because does it represent how society and our self awareness has changed for the better? Or for the worse?

Were we always like this? Or did we become this?

[hezzabeth]

The trumpets were old plastic souvenirs painted gold, so the off-key wailing was hardly surprising. A band of disheveled people marched onto the stage, still blowing on the plastic trumpets. Surprisingly, Isabeau was among them, her face displaying a bored, blank expression. They abruptly stopped once they reached the center of the scaffold, the wood creaking under their feet.

A man wearing green tights and a shirt reading "Medieval Christmas market 3345" on it walked onto the stage. His hair had been cut into a peculiar bowl shape with a blunt fringe, and someone had painted red circles on his cheeks.

"All hail Sister Morganna! Conduit of the one true god," the man bellowed in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

“Did you bring your solar flare gun?” Dityaa asked.

“Of course I did! I never go anywhere without it,” Revati snapped back.

Revati had never seen Sister Morganna up close. During her childhood visits, Sister Morganna was a distant figure. Glimpses of her gloved hands could be seen waving from the castle windows. Every summer solstice, she would lead a parade across the park, carried by men in a gold and white carriage. Through the mesh curtain windows, her shadowy figure could be seen shifting about. Now, Sister Morganna was walking across the scaffold boldly and freely.

She was dressed in a sky-blue and emerald dress, with a thick red and golden scarf covering her scalp, the ends trailing down her shoulders. Slowly, she turned toward the waiting audience, and Revati gasped. Sister Morganna's skin was the same color as fresh lavender. A single round, circular eye glanced about—an eye that could see and understand everything, even things that had yet to be—an eye that could glance into the very nature of people.

“She’s an alien!” whispered Dityaa.

It was an eye that could read minds; no wonder she had successfully started a cult.

“Technically, she’s a human from a faraway planet,” Revati hissed back.

The "faraway planet" was the closest the solar system got to actual aliens. Over a thousand years ago, a group of scientists set off to colonize Pluto. Obviously, they vanished, the ship sinking into the darkness of space. Three hundred years ago, their descendants returned. They were, of course, different.

Sister Morganna calmly walked across the stage and raised her hand.

“Praise be to Marduk, son of the sun, radiant is he,” Sister Morganna said.

“Radiant is he,” the crowd echoed, their expressions blank.

“Who’s Marduk?” Hissed Dityaa.

Revati merely shrugged, completely confused.

“Today we bring forward two heretics, those who smother the great transition,” Sister Morganna said, gesturing towards Bridgadeiro and Aurora.

“Heretic? I don’t even understand what I did! All I said was 'Bless Goup' when my new friend sneezed,” Bridgadeiro argued, nodding at Aurora.

“And I didn’t do anything! I swear,” Aurora cried.

“Goup is a lie! A false prophet created by an ancient snake oil seller,” Sister Morganna said with a small, tight smile.

“False prophet? The rainbow mat of crystal light has been proven to work! It balances your mind, body, and spirit,” Bridgadeiro smiled, and Sister Morganna turned to him, her one eye slowly blinking.

“I can see you standing on that mat, praying to the dark,” she whispered. “Your brother, he drowned, didn’t he? On that hot summer night? You cried and prayed! You think it was her that brought him back,” she added, and the smile dropped from Bridgadeiro’s face.

“She did save him! Goup saved him,” Bridgadeiro said, and Sister Morganna shook her head.

“Oh, you’re a true believer... you poor little boy,” she sighed. “Some gods are lies, but Marduk is true and ancient. My people have lived on his surface! We have been blessed with his gifts! Praise Marduk,” Sister Morganna said.

“Praise Marduk,” the entire crowd screamed, including Revati, who found herself clapping her hand over her mouth. Sister Marduk had hijacked her vocal cords.

“Now repent and embrace Marduk or sacrifice your light to his glory,” Sister Marduk cried.

“I repent! All hail Marduk!” Aurora cried, bursting into tears.

“Well, I’m not repenting. Marduk is just another name for your home planet that blew up centuries ago,” Bridgadeiro said with a small shrug.

“Very well,” Sister Morganna said. Revati sighed, pulling out her solar gun and setting the final charge to maximum.

“Oh, you’re not going to…” whispered Dityaa, and Revati nodded, pulling the trigger.

The solar flare hit the stage in a blinding loop of ultraviolet light. Sister Morganna screamed, flying upwards and landing face-first in the crowd, her body twitching.

“Praise Marduk! This must be an omen!” Aurora smartly yelled from the stage.

The crowd, no longer under Sister Morganna’s control, began to scatter in all directions. Some stumbled towards the fallen leader, striking her with whatever they could find. Others pushed and shoved each other, stumbling over cobblestones.

Through it all, Bridgadeiro stood, completely confused, his hands still tied behind his back. People pushed and shoved, stumbling over each other and tripping on the slick cobblestones. Revati fought through the tidal wave of chaos until she reached the scaffold again. Bridgadeiro was staring down at her, completely transfixed.

“Did you just save my life again?” He asked.

“Yes!” Revati replied, climbing up to the scaffold.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen! He said it so quickly,” Aurora said as Revati began to undo her bound hands.

“It was pure instinct!” protested Bridgadeiro.

The crowd was starting to swarm towards the stage like ants around a sugar cube. From above, Revati could see the smoking, twitching form of Sister Morganna.

“What are they doing?” Bridgadeiro asked, and there was a faint creaking sound as Isabeau joined Revati.

“They’re probably going to kill her; none of them wanted to worship an ancient Babylonian god!” Isabeau said and then she smiled. An actual smile. “I can talk normally again! She’s really gone!” Isabeau cried with delight as Aurora pulled her hands free.

“She’s gone!” Aurora echoed, grabbing Isabeau. Revati watched them kiss for a fraction of a second before politely turning her head.

“Did she really control all these people with her mind? Why would she do that?” Bridgadeiro asked as Revati began to undo his constraints.

“The tornado and the second invasion messed a lot of people up,” Revati merely replied.

“You seem fine,” Bridgadeiro replied, and Revati chuckled.

“Trust me, I’m not fine,” Revati said firmly. Life on Baker Street before the tornado had been hard. But there had been drawing lessons with her father. There had been fairytales with her mother. There had been tea parties with Dityaa. Dityaa.

“Where’s Dityaa?” Revati said as Bridgadeiro tugged his hands free. There was no telltale flash of Snow White silk in the crowd. Everyone was dressed in shades of green and mud brown.

“She was out there before,” Bridgadeiro said, gesturing to the bottom left corner of the courtyard. Revati jumped swiftly off the scaffold, ignoring the pain searing up her ankles. People were pressing in from all sides, shrieking, laughing, and, in some cases, singing. A blur of purple skin and red fabric passed her head on outstretched hands.

“Did you see a girl in a white dress?” Revati screamed in general; no one answered, and the crowd pushed her forward. People were spilling out of the courtyard into the laneways. Someone had decided to start looting the shops. Revati felt herself thrown against a wall, crushed face-first into the bricks. A hand grabbed hers, calloused, well-worn fingers gripping her wrist.

“I saw her at the end of the crowd! This way!” Bridgadeiro ordered her.

“You’re helping,” Revati gasped; something hot and red was trickling down her cheek. Revati was bleeding.

“Let the crowd push you forward; don’t fight it and try not to stumble,” Bridgadeiro said firmly, still holding her hand. The crowd surged and pressed in. Revati could see nothing but gleeful faces, smell nothing but hot, foul sweat.

Then suddenly, the crowd began to break into pieces, trickling away like water. They had reached the back wall of Medieval Faire. There was a hole in the wall. A massive hole. Beyond the hole lay the freezing wilderness of Mars. People were climbing out of the hole, running into the cube-shaped snow. One of them was Dityaa, spinning around and dancing with the Duke of Io. Dityaa spotted them and waved happily.

“They’re all going to freeze to death,” Revati realized, marching to the hole.

“It looks like some of them had enough to steal jackets,” Bridgadeiro added. Revati and Dityaa rarely left the park. When they did, Amma always made them wear her old protective gear. Dityaa seemed oblivious to the cold. It was almost as if the Duke's love was covering her in a warm, sacred light.

The escaping people were beginning to join in with their dancing.

“Look! He was waiting for me outside the wall,” Dityaa yelled, resting her head on his shoulder. Revati stepped closer to the wall. Revati let go of Bridgadeiro’s hand and carefully climbed through the hole. The freezing winter of Mars blew around her, fighting against the park's atmospheric heating system. Snow began to blow around her chest, and Revati felt flushed and dizzy.

The Duke was dressed in the same outfit from the night before. The same thin jacket and trousers. Up close, his blue hair was a little too shiny. Up close, Revati could actually feel heat wafting off his body.

“The Duke was waiting for you… outside in that outfit?” Revati asked suspiciously. Dityaa’s expression froze for a moment as if considering this.

“Sissy’s right! Let’s get out of the cold, darling; I have so much to tell you,” smiled Dityaa. The Duke held up a hand. The tip of his finger turned blue.

“Ah, the sister,” he remarked, reaching towards Revati. His eyes glowed with the brilliance of true Ai, and darkness prevailed.

Here's the revised text with corrected spelling and grammar:

True, jet-black, soothing darkness.

For Revati, who spent most of her nights lost in nightmares, it was actually comforting.

In fact, Revati felt herself sink into it.

The darkness was as soft as the mattress she once slept on.

“Oh, don’t sink into it, Dimpy. It’s not time for that,” her father’s voice whispered in her ear.

Dimpy.

Revati was Dimpy, Dityaa was Rinky.

Jay would draw pictures of them flying across the stars with wings.

Dimpy and Rinky; the sisters were so close they could be twins.

“You’re not real. You died, and your consciousness is in a plastic box,” Revati muttered.

The darkness was warm and sleepy, lulling Revati into nothing at all.

“Some of me is in that box, but scientists don’t know everything. Some of me is also in you, in your sister, and in your mother,” her father’s voice said.

“And I’m guessing I’m dead?” Revati whispered.

“No, you’re just recovering from a traumatic brain injury. Someone has placed a standard issue healing pad on your forehead,” Jay’s voice replied soothingly.

“And how do you know that?” Revati groaned doubtfully.

A distant, tiny light had appeared in the dark.

A pinprick that seemed to strip away things.

“Dimpy, you know I was a nurse! Relax, your glia cells are busy repairing themselves. Look, they move like fireflies,” her father said.

He was right; more dots of light had appeared.

They buzzed around gently.

For a moment, one of them flashed, lighting up everything.

Revati, in that second, saw a much younger Dityaa handing her a doll.

“I remember that doll. I bought it the day Dityaa was born,” her father said.

“Dityaa tried to give it to me after we buried you. I told her I’d take the book of fairy tales instead,” Revati remembered.

“Once upon a time, in the ancient kingdom of Mithila, the earth yielded a miraculous gift. A baby girl was born. She was discovered in a furrow by King Janaka and named Sita. As she grew, her grace and beauty were matched only by her wisdom and strength of character.

One day, Rama, a prince known for his valor and virtue, won her hand in marriage by stringing the mighty bow of Lord Shiva.

Soon after the wedding, Rama and his best friend were exiled to the forest. Sita, full of devotion, followed.

The forest was dark and full of dangers.

The most dangerous being was the demon king Ravana,” a woman’s voice, the voice of the maternity droid, whispered.

The lights were growing stronger, and Revati remembered something.

“Dityaa’s in trouble,” Revati realized.

“Yes, she is,” her father replied.

Revati’s mind was so bright she could see her father.

He looked younger than what she remembered.

He was dressed in the blue protective outfit Amma kept packed away.

Standing next to him was a woman.

A familiar woman cloaked in a fuchsia and green saree.

“You’re the lost princess,” Revati realized, and the Princess nodded.

“Wake me up, wake me up, and I will find my daughter,” the Lost Princess insisted.

[horrororman]

Notable films that were released on September 24th...

#TheHandsofOrlac (1924)(Berlin).

#HenryPortraitofaSerialKiller (1986)(Chicago International Film Festival).

#horror

#TheGoodSon (1993).

#WarlockTheArmageddon (1993)(US).

#TheForgotten (2004).

#ShaunoftheDead (2004)(US).

[thehauntedrocket]

Vintage Paperback - Armagedden 2419 A.D. by Philip Francis Nowlan

Ace (1962)