Florence meets Maggie. Or rather…they’ve already met. And last time Florence checked, Maggie was dead.
Warning: Contains a Graphic Haunting
Chapter 2 – Horrid Sounds by Rock Kitaro
Florence gets an uneasy four hours of sleep before waking up in a cold sweat. It’s just a few minutes past midnight. Her throat is parched but it’s the discomfort from her drenched blue nightgown that prompts her to open her weary eyes. She doesn’t get up right away. She’s too tired. The AC is set to 70 degrees on an already frigid November evening but her bedroom feels moist and warm. So she lies there, contemplating if she should try and sleep through it.
It isn’t until she raises her knee that her heel drags along the bed. She feels an alarming puddle of fluids as if her foot was sinking into a soggy sponge mattress. She sits up, whipping off her sheets with a frantic gasp before the cracking bones in her back reminds her of her age. Shadow stripes from the window blinds line across her face as she sits on the edge of the bed, planting her balmy feet to the wooden floor.
She wipes the bangs from her forehead with a puzzled look. The beads of perspiration once there was now gone. She reaches over and slides a hand across the sand colored bed sheets. It’s dry. She checks the dent in her pillow. It too is dry.
After a soft confusing chuckle, a relieved Florence lies back down and pulls the sheets over her body. As soon as she does, a thousand fingers rush up from the mattress desperately trying to grip at her flesh from her shoulders down to her ankles in a straight line like a tidal wave approaching the shores of her body. The fingers stay submerged under the bed sheets but violate her with the unnerving strength of a groping maniac trying to peel at her wrinkled skin.
Florence gapes open with a groaning shriek. Entire hands jolt through the sheets to wrap around her legs, slithering, grabbing, closer and closer up her thighs like a determined molester on a mission. In a frantic struggle, Florence’s thrashes herself off the bed.
She lands in a hard thud before crawling to the wall. Her heart’s racing. She’s crazy-eyed and panting like a jarhead in boot camp. The patio light goes dim. She reaches for the lamp on the nightstand. It’s not working. The digital clock says zeros in all slots.
Suddenly, the entire house begins to tremor. Rocks grind with the loud tenacity of a jackhammer on cement. The wooden floorboards crack and splinter as they shift and bend upward of their own volition. The walls contract, popping streams of chalky white plaster like water bursting from a pool. A web of cracks stretch across the windows and the bed sheets bulge as if a monstrous anaconda was emerging, slithering from one corner of her bed to the other, slowly approaching Florence.
“AAAAAAAAACK! NO!”
The defiant shout comes from the other side of the closed bedroom door. It was a deep bass-heavy voice, hollow and it echoes. Splintering bangs boomed one after another. As if someone was pounding a nail gun into the floor.
“NO! NO! AAHAAYAK!!! OW-HOW-HOW-HOW!!!”
Florence’s imagination takes her to a dark place where murky death invaded and demanded her attention. All of her worst fears consume her at once.
The screams get louder, more desperate, more dire. The hard mechanical pumps of the nail gun were driving sharp metal into someone’s flesh. She hears it, the tearing of tendons, the wet patter of blood splattering on the floor. The harsh guttural cry was from her husband… Her husband! Florence recognized the voice to be that of James Leach crying out in agony.
Here, we’re introduced to the prestigious King Mark of Tintagel. Morgan interrupts his annual conference, begging the king to send an emissary north to rescue Gawain. While King Mark is sympathetic, there’s one person who stands in Morgan’s way.
23-year-old Tristan is the Champion of Cornwall, the strongest fighter in the kingdom and an unspoken big brother to the youngsters. In Tristan’s own words, “I’ll not risk the lives of my men based on the whims of a mistempered brat playing at alchemy!”
Of course, Tristan should have known better. As if Morgan’s about to accept “no” for an answer.
Chapter 2 – The Lion of Dumnonia by Rock Kitaro
“Aria” by Susumu Hirasawa –
“YOU, SIR, ARE A COWARD!”
“I DARE YOU TO SAY THAT AGAIN!”
“EVERYONE SIT DOWN! NOW!”
“YOU CAN’T REASON WITH THESE MEN! THEY’RE NO BETTER THAN ANTS WITHOUT A CAUSE!”
“I GOT YOUR CAUSE!”
“ENOUGH!!!”
All class and decorum went out the window hours ago. Spit flew from beards and bugling eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their skulls. Ambassadors from over thirty volatile kingdoms had convened at Tintagel Castle. It was the final week of August. For eight years, this “Council of Gold Clovers” congregated in an annual attempt to resolve differences with diplomacy. With the honorable King Mark presiding, the initiative was supposed to spark hope for a greater future.
However, as of late, the council had turned into nothing less than a competition of who could talk the loudest. Empty words and false promises were passed out like playing cards in a pub. Their resolutions were always unrealistic and there was a running joke that the only reason why people kept coming back was to gorge themselves on the food.
The throne room was large enough to shelter an army of 2,000, yet for some reason it felt congested. Over 150 disgruntled knights, barons, and chancellors had broken from their assigned tables and were now separated in conspiring huddles as if anarchy was in the works.
The day started with everyone dressed in their second-best suits, but by noon, they all looked like sweaty peasants from having stripped off their outer garments. Collars and capes of all colors were discarded like dismantled decorations. Spilt wine lined cracks of the floor. Daggers were driven through tables. It was as if a tornado had ripped through the room and the look on King Mark’s face was priceless.
Mark, the King of Tintagel, just sat there on his gold throne with his head held up by his fists. The black banners hanging above his dais displayed the sigil of fifteen gold coins in an upside-down triangle.
Four knights in full metal armor stood behind the king with their hands resting on the pommel of massive swords. Sixteen servants waited in the wings, ready to tend to the king’s every need. Unfortunately, what the king really needed was some sense of civility, not these animals looking to exert their dominance.
In spite of his position and the veneration bestowed upon him, King Mark’s appearance was far from impressive. He was nearing fifty, shorter than most with a potbelly, bristly hair, and a thick black beard that concealed whether he was smiling or not. Perhaps King Mark’s most endearing feature was his sympathetic gray eyes. He was relatively soft-spoken and hardly yelled, even on the battlefield.
To his left was an empty chair reserved for his wife. However, the queen passed away decades ago and King Mark had yet to remarry. The chair to his right was occupied by the Lord Chamberlain, Sir Cador, a no-nonsense taskmaster. Cador was also Duchess Igraine’s cousin by blood and a strict but doting father to the sixteen-year-old Constantine.
The bickering was unbecoming but everyone knew the topic of discussion would produce such reactions. The main grievance on the tip of everyone’s tongue was the ceaseless terror by the Hibernians.
Unlike Britannia, which was fractious and split with a myriad of formidable warlords, Hibernia was a singular powerhouse of unified clans just beyond the Celtic Sea. It was home to some of the deadliest warriors the world has ever seen. She was a seafaring nation, ruled by a matriarch whose fame and reputation was almost revered and worshiped as the pharaohs of old.
Her name was Iseult, Queen of Hibernia. She benefited from the division and strife amongst the British, fighting for the kingdoms that paid the most. In her web of lies, Iseult orchestrated a number of political murders and framed rival generals, effectively pitting them against each other like pawns on a chessboard. The blood money was steady revenue that made Queen Iseult one of the wealthiest women in the world. She’d promise loyalty and discretion but at heart, the Hibernians were loyal only to Hibernia.
During Iseult’s near thirty-year reign, Cornwall has remained Hibernia’s main rival. Back in the day, King Mark had some powerful allies on his side. Big names like High King Uther, Duke Gorlois, King Leodegrance and even the sorcerer Merlin. But due to a series of unfortunate events, Duke Gorlois was murdered, Uther died, Merlin parted ways, and Leodegrance had to defend own kingdom against legions from an usurping King Vortigern.
Hoping to capitalize on the chaos, Queen Iseult launched a massive siege upon Tintagel Castle. King Mark prevailed in his defense but it cost him dearly. Two thirds of his army was devastated and thousands of villagers loss their homes in the crossfire.
That was nearly sixteen years ago. Queen Iseult’s hatred never faded. Systematically, she’d send hunters across the sea to kidnap sons and daughters from indiscriminate villages. They were brought back to Hibernia and forced to slave labor.
Bereaved parents fell to their hands and knees begging the courts to do something, anything to bring back their children. It was a reoccurring nightmare. To date, all sixteen rescue attempts were crushed at sea. The one vessel that managed to reach Hibernia’s shores fell prey to a massacre that was so barbaric it was omitted from the scrolls.
Thus, the Council of Gold Clovers debated. They argued. They pointed fingers and accused one another of cowardice.
“Are your knights not brave enough?”
“Where’s your courage?”
“Where were you when my daughter was swept off in the night!?”
“Insolent cur!”
“Arrogant knave!”
“I dare you to say that again!”
“You sir, have no class!”
“To hell with you and your antiquated, highborn sensibilities!”
“Let’s see your tongue wag after I’ve split it with my ax!”
“I have five arrows thirsting for your blood!”
“Then draw!”
“Don’t tempt me!”
“LET’S HAVE IT!”
It was all the same with no end in sight. Duke Guinea slammed his fist on the table every time he felt someone was “missing the point.” The loud bang caused Sir Cador’s shoulders to jerk forward like a pit bull on a leash. King Mark would notice and smirk. The mild amusement was about the only perk King Mark derived from the meetings.
An unexpected knock began to crawl over the overlapping conversations. Initially, no one heard it but its persistence began to annoy the competing speakers. The double doors croaked open.
To the king, Morgan was a sight for sore eyes. As soon as he spotted her in that cotton pink dress he was immediately filled with joy. The cluster of old men glowered down at her as she weaved her way to the throne. She wanted to present herself as a young lady should, humble and modest. But no matter what, she couldn’t stop herself grimacing at the nauseating stench of wine and sweat.
The elderly Florence Leach has a dark secret she’s kept buried for over 50 years. She’s been able to move on, get married, have children and even grandchildren. Then…one day she welcomes Cloud Beaudry into her home. And let’s just say he didn’t come for the tea.
Chapter 1 – Old Smiles
by Rock Kitaro
I should’ve known better. Smiles are so deceptive. Even in her advanced age, it seems wisdom has yet to falter. Still sharp as a whip. Makes things tricky, a bit difficult, but not impossible. Just take notice and tread with caution. For behind those disarming eyes is a tomb fill with secrets. But I’m a man on a mission and I’ve come to dig.
Florence Leach is a longstanding resident of Macon, Georgia. Her children and grandchildren are all of adult age. Each of them well established, either in college or pursuing some profession. The husband, James Leach, died in 2001 not long after the Towers fell.
Those were some depressing times. But from what I heard, the community rallied around her and gave her the strength she needed to carry on. Since then, she’s gone on to publish a number of whimsical children’s books good enough to give Mother Goose a run for her money.
Yes, if she were my grandmother I’d have every reason to be proud of her. Indeed her grandchildren were very proud. In an effort to maintain such affections, Florence made sure to keep her Southern two-story dream house in order.
Her front lawn was mowed recently, groomed, and edged behind a white picket fence. She must have hired a cleaning crew for the five bedrooms and two baths. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the cabinets or the gilded framed portraits adorning the walls. The area rugs were vacuumed, especially the hazelnut carpeting over the staircase. The kitchen had dark hardwood flooring and there was an exquisite dining table that was so polished you could your own reflection.
She entertains me in the formal study with afternoon light flowing through the windows. Silver platters gleam from the China cabinet. The luster fluctuates from clouds moving in and out of the sun’s way. It’s all so very quaint, really.
Before this day, Florence and I had never met. She didn’t know who I was or what I was about, yet she welcomed me in with such zeal. Perhaps it was my well-groomed appearance, my youth, combed blond hair or unblemished tan. Perhaps it was the sincerity she saw in my brown eyes that lulled her to trust and confide in me as so many have done before. She knew I was an agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, but that’s not why she granted me an audience.
Ms. Florence was simply lonely. And I was new. The intrigue was mutual.
Morgan le Fay has a vision. In the middle of a storm, she sees Gawain shackled and bound aboard a slave ship. At last, he’s coming back to Britannia. It’s been four years since she lost him and now she wants him back. But what can a teenage brat known for her mischief do? Who will believe her after all the craps she’s pulled in the past?
PVRIS – Chandelier (Sia Cover)
Chapter 1 – The Vision By Rock Kitaro
“It feels like I’m sinking. There’s a swarm of bees in my stomach. The trickle in my ear is nauseating and for some reason these stupid flashes of light blur the lines every time I come close to making something out. Honestly… It’s all beginning to get very aggravating.”
…
A tempest unleashed hell over the vast turbulent seas. It should have been pitch black, but blinding cracks of lightning stretched as veins for miles. Gale force winds howled like demented ghosts over the abyss. Stone-black waves with white crests moved like snowcapped mountains swaying in restless aim. Torrential rains made visibility poor and the dark clouds appeared to be getting closer and closer as if to smother the earth in her sleep.
It was madness to be caught in such hazard, and yet, there! Cruising down the valley of two massive waves was a single frigate carrying the fate of over seventy souls.
A brave crew of twelve wrestled with the riggings. A bearded captain and his second-mate manned the rudder from the wheel deck. They were approaching the Isle of Man, a massive iceberg of an island responsible for more shipwrecks than serpents or sorcery. Navigating through the veils of heavy rain in the middle of the night should have been next to impossible. Yet, there they were.
Prayers whispered below deck as teeth rattled and toes curled. Deafening blasts of thunder kept everyone wide awake. No one wanted to be asleep should the ship capsize or ram against any number of protruding rocks that breached the surface like siege defenses. Falling overboard or being swept out to sea spelled instant death. It didn’t matter if they held hands or clung to floating chunks of wood. In this deluge, drowning was inevitable.
There was royalty on board, a princess accompanied by three of her maidens. Oddly enough, while the maidens trembled with trepidation, the princess remained poised with a hardened sense of determination. She wasn’t about to let herself drown. Even if the ship did sink, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that she’d find some way to survive. It’d make for a good story and maybe even convince her people that she was more than just some dainty little girl.
Out in the main hold, disgruntled soldiers with broad shoulders and thick beards sat with their backs against the wall. They spat and grumbled all sorts of blasphemies, begging for the worst to be over. Cold water leaked through the cracks, extinguishing all hopes of lighting fires. It was so dark that they could barely see the hands before their eyes. Tormented horses neighed as they struggled to break free. Someone needed to calm them down but no one was willing to risk getting crushed.
And there, past the horses, past the sacks of grain, and gold, and shields, and armor…was a single slave, shackled and chained upside down to the ceiling as if he posed a formidable threat to his masters. Every time the ship jerked, his shoulders would bang against the wooden hull, causing him to wince with intense pain but he never screamed. Nor did he cry out for mercy or ask for help. He was so young, but strong and full of pride that he kept buried deep down inside.
This young slave was dressed like a soldier but marked by a patch of mustard brushed across the chest of his tunic. After slamming against the hull once more, the slave finally opened his eyes. His long hair was brown and curly like that of a Saxon. His skin was olive as if he hailed from the Italian peninsula but those eyes… In his eyes she saw a myriad of herbal hues, mostly jade with a burst of auburn.
Water dripped to his face but the young man didn’t blink. He peered through the cracks, slowly hypnotized by rolling clouds that made it seem as if the ship was already submerged. Lightning struck. He saw it and immediately felt the boom of thunder rattling his core, detonating a migraine he tried so desperately to shake.
It was then that hopelessness crept in. Whatever dignity or confidence once engrained in this young man had deteriorated to the point that he could only think of one thing, one person, a single source of bliss that carried him far away from the pain and sadness. As his jaw slacked and the cool air tickled his parched throat, the young man whispered.
Here’s the issue with Sarah Jeong. For those who don’t know, she made racist posts about white people in the past, and despite this, the New York Times has hired her as an editor. Like the author of this video, I agree that people shouldn’t be fired or have their careers ruined for things they said in the past. People change. They improve. And i’m not on board with the mob mentality.
The problem is…this is the New York Times. Right now, journalists and the publishing industry are taking a beating battling the accusations of being biased and unfair leanings. If you’re in charge of a company like the New York Times, why would you hire someone who clearly has a racist past? And then go so far as to defend her by doing as so many have done, just pull the victim card.
This affects me directly because as many of you may know, I’m an author. Since I was 23, I’ve been trying to break into the publishing industry and have made huge gains. I’ve long since seen how the publishing industry has increasingly become left-wing in their politics. Most of the Literary Agents are women and if you look at their wish-lists, most of them are in search of stories with “strong female protagonists,” stories about LGBT characters, and intersectional conflicts.
I have no complaints about that. These are the cards I’ve been dealt. So I accepted the challenge and rose to the occasion, producing stories with a strong female protagonist that tackle many social issues. I’ve seen books published with horrible proses and age-old tired premises. These make the best-seller lists. They make the bestseller lists based on advertising, online marketing, and reviews. Therein lies the rub.
The New York Times is one of the most influential entities when it comes to that advertising and the reviews. Yes, some conservative authors have made it onto their lists, no doubt much to their chagrin…but its a small percentage. And if companies like the New York Times are hiring editors, basically the gate-keepers to commercial success, with clearly racists, misogynistic, gynocentric ,…basically anyone who has proven that they can’t possibly be perceived as fair and impartial…what’s the point?
That saying comes to mind. “If you’re so smart, then why aren’t you rich?”
To me, the answer is clear. It’s because I’m not willing to do “just anything”. I won’t stoop to bashing others for shock value, I won’t pander to an audience and contribute to the illusion that’s continued to keep the young and impressionable blinded from the truth. And more importantly, I won’t jeopardize one of the few things I actually love about being alive. And that’s writing about what I want, because I want to.
That’s why I’m so glad I’ve been able to reconnect with my heavenly father. In my twenties, I was so distant from him. I cared so much about being seen as great and wonderful in the eyes of “the world.” But I’m not part of the world. Ever since my parents embedded me with a Christian foundation, I never have been, no matter how much I tried to run from it.
The Lord is my salvation, my shield, my king, my shepherd, my judge, my refuge, my fortress, my vindicator, my creator, my deliverer, my healer, my protector, my provider, my redeemer.
Thank you Jehovah for stretching out your wings and bringing me back to the fold.
Well, Rock! If you endeavor to do what is good in God’s eyes, then why do you care about the New York Times and Sarah Jeong?
…I never said I stopped caring. I still want to be a published author and until the day I die, I won’t give up on that dream. But I no longer care “so much”. It isn’t a priority. Now, I seek first the kingdom of heaven. If you don’t know what that means, send me a message and I’ll happily point you in the right direction.
Morgan – Age 17: Ever since she was a kid, Morgana or Morgan has had magical powers, abilities that no one could ever understand. Being the youngest daughter of Duke Gorlois and Duchess Igraine, she was expected to grow up a lady of the court but her heart was too wild for all that. Rebellious, spiteful, and stubborn, the only one who seemed to accept and appreciate Morgan was Gawain.
When the Hibernians abducted Gawain, they essentially stole one of the few precious things she could say she loved about her childhood. With each day that passed without him, Morgan’s hatred and resentment grew. Soon after, she was shipped off to Lake Avalon where she was trained to master her powers under the tutelage of Vivian. There, she learned how to speak to animals, cast spells, summon fire, and cook up an array of concoctions. Her potential as an enchantress surpassed Vivian herself when she demonstrated an unbridled ability to peer into the past.
Morgan is known for her dazzling purple eyes, dark hair, and near permanent resting bitch-face. She has a personal Percheron horse named Vebby and she’s the younger sister to the Lady Elaine and the Queen Morgaus. Also, Morgan is loud. Like…really loud. She can’t help yelling when she speaks.
Gawain – Age 17: In a dark world where nearly every kingdom is plagued by death and destruction, everyone seems to think the virtuous Gawain will one day be pivotal in restoring peace and prosperity to Britannia. This burden…it lands heavy on the lad.
You see, when Gawain was nine, Duke Gorlois convinced his eldest daughter Morgaus to adopt Gawain and his little brothers, Gaheris and Agravain. While she was initially appalled by the thought of it, one glance at the three boys instantly melted her heart. Gawain knows how fortunate he is and it’s been a chip on his shoulder ever since. No matter what, he has to do the right thing, to honor Duke Gorlois and protect the nation of Cornwall.
That’s easier said than done when you have two little brothers who can’t seem to stay out of trouble. And then there’s Morgan. Even though Gawain was adopted into the family, a special bond cultivates between the two. At the age of 13, Gawain was abducted by the Hibernians and forced into a life of slave labor. And it seems, even the Hibernians can’t help but find something special about Gawain. It doesn’t take long for Princess Isolde to take Gawain as one of her personal attendants.
Princess Isolde – Age 21: Isolde of Hibernia has the type of smile in which you’d never know whether she was impressed or just mocking you. With crystal blue eyes and golden blonde hair that beamed like rays in a forest, Isolde’s beauty was famous far and wide. As the only daughter of the all-powerful Queen Iseult, Isolde was born into a life of luxury, surrounded by some of the fiercest warriors the world’s ever seen. Her confidence is compounded by her own skill as negotiator. She’s used to getting what she wants. Also, she’s somewhat of a masochist.
Tristan – Age 23: The Champion of Cornwall, the Lion of Dumnonia, Tristan has many names and they’re all well deserved. Not only is he King Mark’s favorite, he’s the strongest warrior Tintagel Castle has ever seen. Golden haired and handsome, Tristan is doted on by all the ladies. However, he has the eyes of someone who’s stared death in the face one too many times. As a child, he lost his parents to the Hibernians during one of their many raids.
Ever since Gawain and Morgan were children, Tristan has taken on the big brother role even though no one’s asked him to. Thus, Tristan has always been a thorn in Morgan’s side, always getting in the way of her plans, thwarting her plots. It seems Tristan is just about the only one who isn’t afraid to put Morgan in her place. And of course, unbeknownst to Tristan, the battle isn’t over until Morgan says it is.
Gaheris – Age 15:Younger brother to Gawain and Prince to Queen Morgaus and King Lot of Lothian and Orkney. Gaheris is the cool, level-headed brother who will one day grow up and become the most handsome knight in all of Britannia, a Casanova of sorts who’s also a sharp-shooter with the bow.
Gaheris’s good looks obviously draws a lot of envy from other men, but no one is dumb enough to come at him with feared swordsmen like Gawain and Agravain by his side. And aside from that, Gaheris is a natural born skeptic who hardly ever takes things at face value. When he was younger, Morgan possessed his dog to drive it off a cliff. Ever since then, Gaheris has doubted her motives. Even when she’s telling the truth, Gaheris knows she’s only telling enough of the truth for it to still remain a secret.
Agravain – Age 14: Youngest brother to Gawain and Gaheris, Agravain prodigy swordsmen and natural born athlete. Impulsive and prone to fights, Agravain is the type to throw-down now and ask a few question later. Thankfully, Gaheris is always there to keep him on a leash. Agravain knows this and doesn’t mind.
Everyone’s heard of at least one ghost story. Well, try living it every day of your life. That’s s what Cloud Beaudry’s had to do.
The voices of screaming victims, the apparitions of relentless killers have tormented the man ever since childhood. And after the death of his mother, Cloud embraced his ability to communicate with the departed and enlisted the help of vicious young ghost named Maggie. With Maggie by his side, Cloud is able to digs up secrets from the grave. And anyone who gets in his way just might find themselves haunted to death.
The bodies of five abducted majorettes are discovered on the old abandoned plantations around Augusta, Georgia. One girl managed to escape, only to die under mysterious circumstances in police custody. This all happens in the hometown of GBI Agent, Cloud Beaudry. He knows the Black Community won’t stay silent. Time is of the essence and Cloud is determined to get to the truth.
As much as he’d like to devote all of his deductive prowess to the case, several factors stand to distract him.
For starters, Cloud has to work with Det. Mark Griffin, the same detective who botched his mother’s homicide five years earlier. Transferring into Cloud’s unit is the brilliant Jessica Arroyo, an old flame who could easily discover his paranormal secret if he lets his guard down. And finally there’s Maggie the unfriendly ghost. Cloud promised to avenge her 1959 murder and there are still names on her hit list. Maggie’s growing impatient.
Everyone’s heard of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. But what if I told you that before they were the shining examples of chivalry and virtue…they were a bunch of hot-blooded youths ready to sword-up and throw down with the best of them. And in a dark world where nearly every kingdom is plagued with death and destruction, Britannia is fertile to give birth to legends.
17-year-old Morgan le Fay is strong-willed enchantress who knows she’s destined for greatness but feels shackled by the expectations of being borne a lady of the court.
Her only friend in the world is the self-sacrificing, Gawain, an adopted prince who everyone seems to think will be the next Spartacus. However, four years earlier Gawain was abducted and enslaved by Hibernians, the sworn enemy of Cornwall.
Spurred by a prophetic vision, Morgan defies the king and treks into enemy territory to get him back no matter the cost and she’s not alone. She tricks Gawain’s little brothers the violent Agravain and pretty boy Gaheris into coming along. And Tristan, the Champion of Cornwall, is about ready to wring her neck when he finds out she escapes the palace.
After clashing with the likes of Vikings and conniving kings, the upstarts finally rescue their prize but the battle was far from over. Morgan’s world comes crashing down when it appears that Gawain has fallen for one of his captors, the beautiful Princess Isolde.
Consumed by rage and betrayed by her own magic, Morgan unleashes a treacherous scheme that sends Cornwall headlong into the throes of war. And in spite of all her deceit, designs, and destruction, Gawain still loves her. His duty as an older brother and heir to the throne demands he hold her accountable. In the end, Gawain and Morgan come to the same conclusion. If they can’t live with each other, one of them has to die.
It’s Christmas Day, the final day of the movie shoot. Again and again, beautiful girls tempt Majestic even though his conflicted heart longs for Sailor Jupiter. After Majestic is caught kissing someone else, Sailor Jupiter erupts in a violent rage. In her eyes, Majestic is nothing but poison trying to destroy the Sailor Scouts from within. It’s the last straw and once against the star-crossed lovers comes to blows. However, something unexpected happens. An untapped power is unlocked.
Chapter 5: Love Bites and a Final Blow
That night, everyone went to our house to have dinner. We got to know Ben a little bit better. He was a pretty cool. A little too cool. I couldn’t imagine why Ken was so disappointed and I didn’t want to make any assumptions. Serena seemed especially enthralled with Ben. So did Chris. Ben and Dad also seemed to be getting along. Probably because of Ben always talking about how men do things.
After about two hours of talking and laughing, I started to get bored. So I silently slipped away and went to the garage. There, I played my drums, a cadence to “As Long As You Love Me”. It sounded pretty good. After about fifteen minutes. Amy came outside.
“That’s a nice song.” She told me.
“Thanks. I liked the songs you guys made too.”
She giggled as she approached. “I had no idea you knew how to play the drums.”
“Yeah well, Chris and me have been playing music since I can remember. HE even knows how to work the turntables.”
She laughed, covering her mouth every so bashfully with the back of her dainty hands. I could see she was coming on to me and the heat rushed from my chest. Next thing I knew, Amy came and sat down over my lap. Her perfume was intoxicating and my heart rate was out of control. I couldn’t believe it. I must have had the dumbest look on my face.
With the conflicts squashed between Majestic and Sailor Jupiter, G-Force and the Sailor Scouts are finally able to finish their movie together. However, Majestic soon learns that Chris’s future doesn’t just depend on their success in the entertainment industry, he’s also depending on Ken and Ryu’s help in future battles. Turns out, Chris comes from a clan of Mortal Kombat warriors with the powers of Sub-Zero…. He’s destined to become Sub-Zero.
Chapter 4: Sub-Zero
The first week of the movie shooting went well. The second week started off good…but ended with a fight between Serena and me. I had enough of her complaining and gave her a piece of my mind. Ken intervened with a kick that bruised my ribs something fierce. Ken…he was usually a cool dude, but I saw from his eyes that he’d mess up anyone who messed with Sailor Moon.
Ken also started teaching Chris and I proper Shotokan Karate. He taught us to utilize the body in self-defense. His style used an array of kicks and powerful punches as well as these crazy acrobatic moves.
Our schedule was hectic. It was hard to ever find time to relax and just have fun. Chris found it easy to have fun, while I’d focus on training. I remember Chris throwing water balloons at the girl one time. He could always be depended on to lighten the mood.
Every morning since we started shooting the film, Chris and I would run as fast as we could to school as part of our training. During class, we’d do push-ups as quietly as we could without disturbing everyone. Chris out would tire out and quit before me. But I was more determined.
From three to eight, Chris and I would join the other cast members to film the movie. At about seven, mom and dad would occasionally visit us on the set and serve us dinner. When I got home, Chris and I would spar for a while, using techniques Ken taught us. Of course, Chris would pucker out early so I’d have to practice by myself. I didn’t stop until Dad made me. The next day we’d wake up and do it all over again.
Stage In The Sky 