Major Disclaimers of Grand Disclaimer-ness
1. Yes, I do seem to be starting another fic. Perhaps there will be a few scattered screams of angst on that point, although the fact that I'd better just rate this R right off to be safe probably means that a lot of poor souls reading Backdraft and whatever other unfinished fics I have that people read won't see this at all. But, just in case, I'm not close to done with Backdraft and I do have a couple of chapters to edit and put up pretty soon. On other fronts . . . I'm afraid I gutted Horde and Confessions of a Kitty to make FSFF and this continuation, but maybe, one day, Walk on the Wild Side will have its final chapter.
2. This really isn't a proper "new fic." In fact, it's a direct continuation of Falls the Shadow, Falls the Flame from the last chapter before the epilogues on. I didn't really like how the supposedly finished FSFF ended and neither did anyone else. So this is my attempt to end it properly. Which still means it'll be long. Probably at least fifty pages (yes, that's an arbitrary number).
3. As you probably guessed, this isn't going to make a whole lot of sense if you haven't read Falls the Shadow, Falls the Flame first. Probably no sense. I was thinking of writing a synopsis . . . but I'm not sure I can. It's that weird.
4. This is rated R for violence. I mean violence, folks. That and freaky thematics. There may be some mild sexual inneundo, but it will remain mild.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whee.
Here we go.
Let's backtrack. Let's backtrack to shiny blood that glows with B-movie radiation. Let's backtrack to devils that die. Let's backtrack to guns emptying their bullets in and through your guts. Let's backtrack to screams, let's backtrack to pain that courses so hard that it cancels itself out and reverts to a tinged numbness. Let's backtrack to a final explosion that starts at your forehead and quivers for a half of a half of a half of a second before screaming darkness just above the nape of your neck.
Let's backtrack to death.
At least, what would be death in any world with the slightest sense of cleanliness and ecology. There's a certain point when everything from whales to sparrows to sweet little bunnies to Forges has to give up its space to some other organism. If only to keep the clutter down. It's just not aesthetic for Bambi to be tottering around without certain vital organs. The poor dear has to die so we don't have to look at him any more. You bury the remains or let them rot -- sooner or later, there won't be anything left but a few stray bones so brittle that they'll crumble under the slightest pressure.
So let's backtrack again. Let's backtrack to the promise that the chittering voices that call themselves my Ancestors (with a capital A, mind you) made that, if I woke up from Death Number 1 to save this pocket universe from its unsuitable maker, I'd be free from her. And all that entails, my friends. That means I would not be here. It means I would be properly dead. Really really dead.
I mean, why shouldn't I be dead? Someone explain to me why I am still thinking despite that, in all fairness and light, I shouldn't have enough of a brain for anything of the sort. Let's repeat to ourselves over and over the truth about short range gun shots.
Let's also repeat to ourselves the truth about making deals with strange voices. We all know that's never a good thing. We all know about Faust, the silly man. We all know he signed in blood. If you stretch the metaphor a little, so did I. Quite a lot more blood than Faust used, granted, but the same basic idea.
I dunno, though. I felt pretty well like I was dying there for a second. Way to get your hopes up. Even before the happy she played target practice with me, I could have sworn my body was breaking down in the most basic sense. You know, it didn't feel right. At all. We're not even talking about the odd and visible physical side effects like transparency, although that was pretty creepy in and of itself. We're talking about little flickers of internal flame banking up between ribs and between bones and sinews and whatever else. Spontaneous combustion has nothing on this.
But here I am. Somewhat colder. I mean, of course. Have no option to be otherwise. Any hotter than I was and there wouldn't be a cinder to kick around (pun unintentional, really). It's not as though I'm feeling chipper enough to get up on my heels and dance. Not even quite chipper enough to blink.
I'm still alive and I can't help but have this odd little feeling that this just isn't going to end.