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Doom of the Lunafector

lightgel
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
An archer, a carpenter, a Tarzanian, and finally a business owner of a shop that makes everything needed to build homes and towns. Everybody knows him, Mister Enoch Wakan. But do they know him? The man follows a routine: 1. Count to four when a rooster calls in the morning. 2. Eat his breakfast from the motel kitchen 3. Go open his store and wait for his employee until 9h30 4. Leave for the woods to gather wood and work on his craft 5. Finish and lock up, eat, sleep, and repeat. But that changes, one night when he dreams of a revelation that forces him to return to the past he swore to never return to. An inquisitive hunter looking for an elf girl, an elf girl with a destiny to rule, and Enoch being the guide toward the girl's journey to get to the capital of O'karas to seek help and an alliance. This story will be about an ancient, lost, and dead society of hunters who serve nobody, are commanded by coin, and are hated by all. This is the story of the calls of doom, Lunarfector. The story is inspired by Game of Thrones, shadow slave, Lord of the Mysteries, and finally Inertia: Beneath the Stairlit Veil. This place is influenced heavily by dark fantasy... You have been warned.
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Chapter 1 - PROLOGUE CHAPTER 1: Face of human enjoyment

I wish my birth meant more than this spectacle. I look at the assembled crowd, which continues to chant:

 "Hang her hang her hang her"

 The chant subsequently shifted to "hang," as a young woman dressed in a torn-out dress that exposed more of her body was being executed today for adultery, I believe.

I was looking at the young lady who was praying for her life to be spared, and my ear vibrated as the cries turned into cheers. Everyone appeared delighted.

 What's with all the smiles? Why are they glad when someone is killed?

Wasn't it nice to be with your family? Isn't it delightful to adore your wife just as she is with you? Isn't it great that your mother reads you a bedtime story?

I pity their children.

 I chuckled inwardly, a controlled expression on my face, my eyes glaring as keen as a blade. Why am I asking such a thing? Wasn't I designed to hold feelings like pity that make me human? Is it not human to laugh and cheer at someone's death? So, what emotion did I need to feel at this time to completely blend in?

 I guess I'll never know. I walked slowly back from the masses as the priest spoke a prayer that made me feel like my world was slowing down as I focused on the words:

 "Heavenly Mother and Heavenly Father, we assemble to witness your judgment be passed.

"We look to you for wisdom; we thank you for this beautiful day and the right to be men and women in your creation."

 "Seek retribution for what your child has done to one she pledged to love and be with."

 "We were told to love as you loved us, we crave for justice and judgment to be passed by your hands and guidance."

 "Mother and father of the heavens, we seek a sign of entry and exile for this soul."

The audience repeated the prayer, crossed their hearts in a trinity, and said in unison:

 "We live, strive, and unite."

 When I heard the last statement, I turned into a corner and grabbed an arrow quiver and a bow. I hunkered down in the building's shadows, taking careful movements and peering around to see if anyone was gazing back.

 'Who am I kidding? No one will look here. The allure of public entertainment is irresistible, and diversions can be difficult to avoid.

I took a deep breath as my gaze stayed fixed on the girl going to be hanged and the noose around her neck, tears streaming down her cheeks as she glanced up at the sky. I drew an arrow from my quiver and pulled the bow's string back with it, tightening it and preparing it to be released, before exhaling and letting go.

 The arrow whistled as it raced through the air toward the rope, cutting through it with sheer force and penetrating intensity.

The rope was cut loose in front of the priest, and the young girl and the crowd's eyes lit up with amazement. I took out another arrow and fired at the lever next to the priest, releasing a trap door. The young lady fell through, leaving the audience in shock.

 Before the priest could see where the arrow had come from, I crouched in the corner and closed my eyes, telling myself:

 'Remain unnoticed.'

I exhaled through my nostrils and quickly drew out another arrow, turning toward the corner for a better view, and aiming at the bottom compartment of the stage where the priest stood before letting loose again. The arrow pierced the blank of wood with its metal tip. Many may believe this was a miss, but one thing is certain:

 'I never miss when it matters.'

A roar echoed throughout the small town as a giant monstrosity sprouted legs from the compartment and stood, carrying the stage with the priest on top. I laughed as I blew out a sharp whistle as the now-stage with legs began to move, as yells of fright were heard, and everyone fled in all directions. I stood in the shadows, watching with an amused expression, and thought:

"Come on, why fear humans? Aren't you entertained, my darling humans? The fun had just begun. I watched the stage run with its four legs guiding the way as a wake of destruction followed, accompanied by roars and shouts from the town.

***

Outside the town.

 A luscious green field has become a torrent of destruction after being trampled. A monster of unknown origin left prints on the field, as well as trails of splinters from wooden blanks and sections of the stage in the distance. A young woman was startled awake by distant echoes of shouts and screams. She opened her eyes and stood, looking about, puzzled, patting her body and face in amazement:

 "I am alive."

"Not for long." When she turned to see where the voice was coming from, she saw a man with deep brown eyes, ebony skin, and an overall with a quiver and bow, an arrow ready to be pointed at her. She lifted her hands, horrified, trembling with terror, basic instincts prompting her to beg, and before she could say anything as she sought to plead, she heard the man say:

 "Duck"

She did so rapidly, and the arrow flew and penetrated the skull of the priest, who was aiming for the woman's head with a sharpened wooden stick, but was greeted with an arrow that went straight through his brain. Died and fell to the ground, leaving the grass and earth saturated with blood.

The young lady stood there stunned and perplexed as she turned to see the man of the cloth attempting to complete what he had begun. With her hands raised, she turned to see the man looking at her intently, an arrow at the ready on his bow. They stood there in quiet for a while until the woman expressed her gratitude:

 "Thank you, mister."

The overall man tilted his head slightly and thought:

 'Oh no, how should I respond? I assumed she would not wake up until I got her to the train, but she awoke alone with a letter and money telling her to get a regular life away from here. Now that she is awake and thanking me, what should I do? What do I do? Oh, silly me, simply answer as a human. Wait, what are humans supposed to do again to greet? Oh, I know.

"You are welcome, lady," the man said, relaxing and motioning for her to join him. She hurriedly followed behind. After a minute of stepping in, the wind blowing over the woman's hair, she asked:

 "Pardon me sir, but what be you given name?"

 The young man paused and looked at her with his motionless expression, as his thoughts went a little haywire:

'Oh, heavens no, that is the last thing I want to be asked,' Her eyes were wide. Wait, are those eyes sparkling in jittery anticipation of my name? Oh, no! Oh well, if I'm going to take her away from here, I'll need to tell her my name. To be honest, I never give those who don't know my name my identity, not my soul property, which is my name.

 He groaned and said:

 "No need-to-know lady, I am just a woodsman, that's all."

 The prologue has ended.