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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Woman's Game - 15. Part Two: The Book of Revelations III

The thin light that came through the room she was sleeping in was shining directly across her face. In normal circumstances a light that bright would wake someone but she was in a sleep that was too deep for her to awaken from for a few hours yet.


Her leg twitched as she rolled over in her sleep. The silk night gown rode up her arm revealing her tattoo.


She could hear them talking about her, in this dream world. The doctors. They were speaking about her condition. They had given her everything. Every disease and illness they had.


TB, AIDS, Pneumonia, Osteoporosis, everything they could possibly give her but she never got sick. Never felt any ailment and never was hurt.


They had to try more extreme measures. They imprinted her with her tattoo with those disgusting words. ABNORMAL FAILURE. It was such a pity because she was too perfect for them. She literally had no weaknesses; so they couldn’t act as the playmaker. The Company always had to have control; as they always have done. But no, she was a perfect beast and it injected fear into their hearts.


The Presiding Woman arrived in the dream and stroked her hair. Her body shuffled as she felt the feeling again of her fingers running through her hair. She was so connected to this woman though she never even knew her name.


But then the horrors came. The Presiding Woman raised her arm above her head and stabbed her directly in her stomach. She bled and in her dreams she could remember the pain. It hurt her but she healed.


She was a miracle. She couldn’t in any way suffer from any ailment. She was physical perfection, but wasn’t mentally ready for the society she was going to be thrown into.


But they were running out of time. The Company needed results and they were not going to be able to give them.


The Presiding Woman spoke from above The Shrouded One’s body in the dream, in that old fragmented memory that they should release her. Get her to fend for herself.


The Presiding Woman spoke, ‘I will take her home. Continue testing and when the time is right, I will make it obvious that there is someone in my basement.’


Thus the cycle began. She wasn’t going to age any time soon so there was no risk of death by age. She kept her there for so long until the day The Presiding Woman decided that it was the time.


The dream changed. It was the day of The Shrouded One’s escape. The Presiding Woman entered the basement and unscrewed all of The Shrouded One’s chains and took out a needle from her pocket. She would forget everything.


The Shrouded One shuddered in her dream because it was all coming back to her.


A memory erasing liquid, removing any memory of what has happened. The only reminder would be the ABNORMAL FAILURE tattoo that The Presiding Woman hoped would one day help her to find out who she truly was.


The Shrouded One had been searching for so long for the perfect body and soul and yet, she has known since the beginning, that there would never be anything better than perfection.


Nothing better than her.


The Presiding Woman left The Shrouded One in the basement with the trap door ever so slightly ajar and The Presiding Woman kissed the ring on her finger. She hoped one day that she would come back and would be hers again. Of course, she didn’t move too far way, when the man moved in to save her, he was one of her neighbours. He took her in and nursed her back to full health and fell in love with her.


She would lead a new life, along with the man she loved. They had children, but never a daughter. It was a medical miracle that she was able to have children anyway because of her physical status.


The daughter was the thing she wanted most but all she really wanted was a mother to care for her or the other way around. Little did The Shrouded One that when she was encapsulated in her dreams and the fragments of memory that had been coming back to her for so long, the one that truly cared for her was there all along. She was there checking up on her every step of the way.


The sole responsibility for her safety was handed to the one person that knew her the best.


Her Creator.


The Shrouded One awoke in a panic from her dream, she twisted her body out of the bed and took a glass to the sink. She got a pint glass of water and drank the whole glass in one swallow. It was in her panic that she realised that she wasn’t what she thought she was.


She was a creation of someone else and not through born through natural means.


She knew it was time. She took a death breath and look into the mirror. She was a mess, her hair askew and her mind a muddle of fragments and confusion.


It was time that the world knew who she truly was and that meant revealing herself.


She wanted, no, she needed her creator…


Like an orphaned child, she was desperate for the mother she never had.




The Storm Cage was brightly lit. This was quite unusual considering her prisoners are usually kept in partial darkness in order to turn them insane. A wonderful trick of the mind. Imagine having no light apart from when your food is served to you on a cold plate. Of course, there is the gap under the door but that is minimal in comparison to what everyone else experiences.


They shave your head and give you a stone bed.


If they did that to you and you survived, wouldn’t you consider yourself to be stronger than ever?


The Shrouded One had decided it was time that she got some more answers and her former clones had done no service to her so she decided it was about time she did things on her own.


She had moved The Father to The Storm Cage for a few days, in order to make him desperate. With his survival training however, he was used to extreme conditions and managed to stay sane for the first two days. On the third day, she had him tied to a chair and the only thing she fed him was a single grain of rice.


He was weak and malnourished. He would do anything for food and water. Now, for her, he was at his weakest.


Now would be the time that she would strike.


She was wearing a wonderful number. Black and red lace and see through cloth revealing the most intimate parts of her body. Her stomach, her breast and anything else you can think of. She had ruffled her hair ready for the encounter. But her shroud would be there. Around her head and her face in order to keep her identity hidden. For a short amount of time, that is…


He shuddered in fear and began to tremble as he spoke, ‘What is it?’


‘Oh nothing.’ She moved her hand along the waist of her nightgown revealing more of her leg to him. He felt his eyes open wide as he observed her and he was glad. Something had reacted within him but he couldn’t. He was faithful; he couldn’t do it. He tried to control himself.


She put her foot upon the edge of his chair, revealing just that slight little edge of the frills under her skirt. ‘No-one would know.’ She smiled behind the shroud and he felt it pass straight through him.


‘I won’t do it. I can’t do it.’


‘I’m sure you can’. She bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips, allowing him to observe her face for a split second. He recognised her but barely.


He didn’t know. He was clueless. The one thing that he had to stop was the one that he loved…


He knew who she was. Confused and frustrated by his new knowledge his brain went into shut down and he began to weep. She had succeeded. Even the simplest of contact would be the solution to her problems.


She enjoyed torturing him even though she loved him.


The Father, again, was just a toy in her plan. She had weakened as she wanted and it was now true.


It was love that had been holding her back but now he couldn’t stop her.


There was just one creature that was creating limitations for her character and she didn’t know how to stop it.


She felt faint and began to stagger towards the door.


‘Guards,’ she cried out. ‘Take him to an alternative prison. I need to rest.’


The soldiers did as they were told. She was becoming weak and recently all she has needed is rest.


It was as if she was falling apart at the seams…




The soldier was looking down at his hands. He felt something run through him as he dropped the lit torch onto the branches of wood that surrounded the body of the corpse.


The corpse was looking at him with a dead face. He was transferring thoughts of guilt into the young soldiers mind. Of course, he was just like his master. The one that he followed devoutly after being released. He would obey always and when there was no-one to obey, he would follow his own rules.


His own rules led to this. Picking on an innocent solider, who had done nothing wrong, who was just following orders. He concentrated harder as the flames grew around him and influenced the soldier to drop to his knees.


‘Forgive me. Please forgive me.’ The Soldier Boy began to chant. The guilt was truly killing him inside. He felt his mind collapse into itself and then only saw one answer.


The Clone released a surge of power down the connection between them and this forced the soldier boy to throw himself upon the fire, to gain release from the torture that was being enforced upon him.


The Clone laid there. He watched him burn and he enjoyed it…


The Clone felt the flames build around him as they rose over him and they burnt through his skin and his bone. His tissue was like paper, crumbling at the touch of flames. But he was still able to move…


He wriggled around and he felt the pain of the fire and yet, he found that it tickled just that little bit.


He lost concentration on The Soldier Boy and looked back over at him. He watched the skull collapse into itself and over time, the body started to decompose into the flames. The Little Soldier Boy was most certainly dead.


The Clone was so perfect that he could never die…


He began to climb out of the fire, his singed skin giving him pain each time he took a step. But he felt so alive…


Nothing was going to be able to destroy him. Nothing.


His master would be very pleased…


His creator would be proud even those he missed him, since his unfortunate murder by his current master.


Of course, this clone was far more perfect than what they thought he was.


His burnt skin was a perfect image of fear and desolation. Precisely what he wanted. He felt something around his feet. A pool of sorts.


A dark shroud…




Always and Constantly Growing.




The time was five o’clock in the afternoon. The church bells had just rung. A child scurried across the street into her home after a busy day at school.


Of course, there was something wrong. People were gathered in her living room and they were looking down. She tried to push through the crowd but they kept saying things like ‘it will be okay’, ‘leave the room; it is for the best’. The little girl didn’t understand. She left the room without seeing what they were looking at. Reaching in her bag, she took out her favourite teddy bear and cuddled it a little.


One of the older gentlemen came out and asked her into the room. Her mother was laid there…


Her eyes had been bitten out and her skin was mostly missing.


The child burst into tears and ran to her mother’s side. She asked ‘What… Who did this?’


‘The Rats kid.’ Her grandfather answered. ‘They’ve been swarming, attacking the innocents. We have every right to call Martial Law throughout all of the UK.’


‘Dad it’s been Martial Law for weeks. Ever since Parliament fell, our country has been a complete mess.’ The child’s father said; who was knelt next to the mother, grieving. He was lucky to escape with a few scratches.


They had got in through the back door. They surrounded the mother, bit through her ankles and she fell before she even had a chance to defend herself. These rats were incredibly fast and they were growing in number.


She did try to fight by bolting off the door but the rats had super strong teeth that were able to chew straight through the bolts on the door.


So the mother of an innocent child was murdered and the number of murders was growing day by day.


But, at night, when they disposed of their dead. There were no longer funerals, there were too many dead. They would decompose their dead because the situation was far too desperate to seek real funereal help.


There wasn’t much space left in the graveyards after the first wave of attacks…


At night, the vampires would come. The dead were left to decompose but each still had a breath of life contained within them and that was all they needed.


The small amount of life essence to turn them and save them.


The world had changed and the vampires realised this. They had realised they would have to co-exist in order to survive.


Of course, in their minds this was all in the short term.


In the street, a dark figure with sharp teeth looked down an alley. It saw a rat move quickly down towards him and its eyes turned red.


They stared for an extended amount of time and then moved on.


They were true enemies…


Yet they would not wage war upon each other for neither party could ever become large enough to win.


Oh the art of planning for warfare…




They descended down through the layers of building and stone.


She had managed to settle herself down into her Storm Cage. She still hadn’t wiped the blood from her mind and the emotion of truth was flowing through every single one of her veins.


They descended past the reception area of the building, practically unnoticed in a haze of confusion.


Her life was at peace; despite the emotion of truth running through her system. She laid back on the stone bed and looked up at the blank ceiling. She now understood what her prisoners had been going through and how she felt under the dark haze of the Storm Cage and the way that it influenced the sanity of so many. The emotion of truth was taking over her. But she would not allow it. She strode confidently out of the Storm Cage and into her chamber where she sat on her throne and waited. She was the girl who waited now. She waited for something to come…


They entered her chamber and watched her lay back. They were hidden in an alcove. She was entirely at her peace point and the boys were about to be releasing her from her ‘personal utopia.’ Ash moved forward towards her as she heard him step on the stone that surrounded the area.


This footstep awoke her from her trance and she instantly assumed her dark shroud around her entire body.


‘It has been a long time.’ The Shrouded One spoke.


‘Yes. It has. Now we have come to claim the skulls.’


‘Why on earth would you want them?’ She felt her shroud growing and it elevated her from her throne and down in front of the boys. Her shroud formed a long dark dress of despair. It was at its darkest it had been in such a long time… Over a thousand years in fact.


‘To stop you.’


‘My boy. Hundreds have tried before. I have been collecting them over time. I’ve killed so many and I’ve aimed for perfection. Perfection becomes me. Now be a good boy and hand over the skulls.’


The Mental Patient also charged forward and spoke. ‘You can’t have them.’


‘You!’ Her shroud began to seep into the area around her. The shroud projected her body towards him. The Blue Dragon extracted from the hands of The Mental Patient and created a great barrier.


‘Now. There is no need for violence. This calls for a game.’ Ash spoke.


The barrier was too weak. The barrier broke and The Mental Patient was consumed by the darkness. Ash checked The Mental Patient’s pulse… There was none.


The Shrouded One laughed. ‘I don’t need to fight you. I finally have what I have needed for years. The Four Red Skulls. Easy things to find really. Three murders. Such fun. All I need is the dial.’ The Shroud grew around her and like a great black arrow she was shot towards the platform which explained the meaning of each of the skulls to her. She swiftly placed all four of the red skulls onto the board.


Ash moved as fast as he could to get towards her but it was too late. He was thrown backwards by the pool of shrouded darkness that had begun to gather. He was on the floor next to The Mental Patient when the worst thing possible happened…


From the roof of the chamber, a thin pinprick of light seeped through. When the light hit the ground a beast began to grow from the purity of the light. It had great white wings and it stood at around 8 feet tall. Its face resembled an angel… Something that had been seen by every creature, but only at one point in their lives. Their creation… It was so graceful and streamlined. It had no mouth or nose or eyes. Only a dip where eyes should be.


‘Now. I will show you what true power is.’ The Shrouded One’s Shroud threw her into the light of creature that was formed. She felt her body begin to react. It was reacting badly.


‘You will not work, this time.’ The Creature began to speak.


Ash looked up in awe and asked The Question. ‘What are you?’


‘I’m a bringer. I bring light into this world. You.’ He looked at the body of The Shrouded One that it was consuming. ‘I provided you a son to cause good in this world. But he was removed from existence and he lies on the floor before us. You took him from life and allowed him to breathe no more and this is simply unacceptable.’


The Light Bringer gracefully flew towards The Mental Patient, leaving The Shrouded One in suspension. ‘With my breath, I bring life…’


The Mental Patient gasped for air as he returned to this life.


‘I give life through my thoughts.’


Ash felt a rejuvenation in his soul. Something was new… Fresher. Stronger.


‘Then you. Most heinous woman. I have spread your message. The message of ‘Come To Utopia.’ They will come and they will die. Such a pity. I will now move each of you to a new place. New surroundings. Your own personal Utopia. This Utopia will be seen as a freak disturbance of the peace. This will be called a miracle but only the four of us will know the truth.’


He released The Shrouded One from her suspension as she fell to the floor and stared up in fear, waiting for what he would inevitably say…


‘We all know the truth. The boy that will never die will return. He will be here for your soul and no-one will stop him. Hide. Hide from him now. I know the game and I know it well. It will be played but not now. I am a message. A message for you all. I bring light but the darkness is spreading. The Bringer of Darkness will rise and you will fear for your souls. I will give you time and space. Prepare for the worst…’


The room plunged into darkness. It had begun. There was nothing in the room. Nothing left…


There was only the platform. The platform where only an imprint of the four skulls that were placed upon it was left…


Utopia was now truly born; bigger and darker than before. It was born out spite, hatred and second chances.


The Woman’s Game had finally been won.


Or was it drawn...?

Copyright © 2013 Johnathan Colourfield; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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