Wicked_Fiction

Marvelous Meditations #14

Nathan jolted awake in a pitch-black room, gasping for air as if he’d been drowning in his sleep. His heart raced in his chest, the echo of a dream slipping away like shadows at dawn. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that clung to his skin.

Another nightmare.

They always came more frequently, more vividly, the closer he edged toward death. Thi...

Marvelous Meditations #13

The gates of Ryker’s Island loomed ahead, their imposing structure casting long shadows under the midday sun. Maria Hill, clad in the dark, tailored suit of a Homeland Security agent, walked briskly toward the entrance. Her steps were purposeful, her expression stoic, but beneath the calm exterior, her mind churned with the details of a decades-old mystery.

It had ...

Marvelous Meditations #12

The Foreigner's kicks came in relentless succession, each one a brutal hammer against Nathan’s battered body. His ribs felt like splintered glass, and his lungs burned with every ragged breath. Life was slipping away, inch by inch, yet his mind remained sharp, focused. His eyes scanned the chaotic landscape through the haze of pain and blurred vision, searching desperately for anything he cou...

Marvelous Meditations #11

The night air was thick with tension, the kind that settled in the gut like a lead weight. The town, bathed in an eerie half-light from scattered streetlamps, seemed unnaturally quiet. It was a calm that promised violence.

From the shadows of the encroaching treeline, the Foreigner's voice boomed through a megaphone, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Silvy! I know you’re in t...

Marvelous Meditations #10

The night air was crisp, carrying with it the faint crackle of the nearby fire. Walking outside, Nathan scanned the quiet encampment. His eyes quickly landed on Silvija, her silver outfit and hair gleaming like a beacon against the dark backdrop of the ruins. She was seated on a weathered bench near the fire, her sharp profile illuminated by its flickering light.

He approached her, his bo...

Marvelous Meditations #9

Nathan sat in the peculiar space, his back pressed against the trunk of a withered tree that loomed over a dry, cracked riverbed. Everything around him was steeped in shades of black and white, as though the world itself had been drained of life. The air was heavy, carrying the metallic tang of decay, and the ground was littered with corpses—men, women, and children alike, their empty eyes st...

Marvelous Meditations #8

Nathan jolted awake, the faint creak of footsteps on the stairs below slicing through the stillness of the church’s bell tower. His grip on the sniper rifle tightened instinctively, his body tensed. The moonlight streaming through the shattered window barely illuminated his surroundings, but his ears confirmed what his eyes couldn’t see—someone was coming.

Before he could move, a gr...

Marvelous Meditations #7

The roar of gunfire echoed through the night as Nathan stole a glance at the rearview mirror. Three vehicles were in pursuit, their mounted guns spitting lead in relentless bursts. The flickering muzzle flashes illuminated the grim determination on the faces of their attackers.

“How’s it looking back there?” Nathan called over the cacophony, his voice strained but steady.

Silv...

Marvelous Meditations #6

The bustling streets of New York carried on as usual, the hum of car engines and the distant chatter of pedestrians creating an urban symphony. Leaning casually against an unmarked van parked near the curb, Nick Fury adjusted the synthetic mask concealing his face. The disguise was seamless, giving him the appearance of an unassuming middle-aged man with a slight stoop.

A newspaper was he...

Marvelous Meditations #5

The wind howled as Nathan descended through the darkened sky, the hum of his parachute blending into the night. He adjusted his night-vision goggles, the world below lighting up in a hazy green. Silvija drifted nearby, her movements precise, a testament to her years of experience. Nathan glanced her way to ensure she was in position, then refocused his attention downward.

The radar facili...

Marvelous Meditations #4

Nathan adjusted the high collar of his synthetic leather raincoat as he stepped into the armory, his boots echoing faintly against the concrete floor. The air inside was heavy with the scent of oil, gunpowder, and metal—a familiar, almost comforting blend. Behind him, Rick followed, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, his expression one of muted amusement.

Nathan headed directly...

Marvelous Meditations #3

The storage unit was a cramped, dimly lit space that reeked faintly of old metal and oil. Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of collected trinkets, tools, and equipment.

On one, a dusty collection of souvenirs sat—small reminders of jobs gone by. A cracked lighter engraved with a forgotten crest, a leather-bound journal stained with blood, and an old pocket watch that di...

Marvelous Meditations #2

Nathaniel stepped out of Phineas’ shop, glancing down at his weathered wristwatch. The hands ticked steadily, as reliable as the routine he had built for himself. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and started walking, blending seamlessly into the tide of New York pedestrians.

At the intersection, a traffic mirror caught his eye. He turned slightly, pretending to adjust...

Marvelous Meditations #1

Auhtor: you got the draft, and now you got the full first chapter.

Do tell me what you think.

...

Nathaniel Cross sat on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots with slow, deliberate movements. The dim bulb overhead flickered, casting shadows that danced across the cracked walls of the room. His clothes were simple but purposeful—a dark jacket with reinforced stitching, bla...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #76

Erik leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing across his lips as he looked at Serana. “So much for the vitality of the undead,” he quipped, shaking his head in mock disappointment. He held up his bottle of mead, the amber liquid catching the last rays of sunlight. “Drink?”

Serana arched an elegant brow, her crimson eyes flicking from the bottle to Erik. “Not unless you’ve...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #75

The alchemy room was a modest space, newly completed but already brimming with purpose. Shelves lined the walls, laden with ingredients—everything from dried herbs and powdered minerals to vials of ichor and bottled venom.

A small hearth crackled in the corner, casting flickering shadows over the cluttered workspace. At its center stood a sturdy table, atop which Florentius busied himse...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #74

Isran’s face was a storm of emotions—anger, defiance, and frustration all warring for dominance. But resignation finally settled over him like a heavy shroud. His jaw clenched, and he exhaled sharply through his nose before muttering, “Talk.”

Erik smiled, a slow, toothy grin that carried all the smug satisfaction of a cat cornering a mouse. “Will do,” he said lightly, his tone...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #73

The glow of the firepit cast long shadows across the grand hall of Fort Dawnguard. Its flames crackled steadily, the only sound breaking the quiet rhythm of footfalls echoing through the stone chamber. The fortress's central hall was a cavernous expanse of cold stone, lined with heavy oak tables, weapon racks, and the occasional trophy of a slain vampire mounted on the walls. The smell of fresh...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #72

Breya’s spirit flickered erratically between her spectral form and her possessed body, her jaw tightening as her unease turned to sharp anger. "This is insane! You’re insane!" she spat, her voice shaking with disbelief. "You’re just taking everything anyone’s ever called cursed or forbidden and just… slathering it on me?!"

Erik didn’t respond immediately, his focus unwavering ...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #71

Watching his undead thralls march down the path leading deeper into the Dwemer ruins, Erik's gaze shifted back to Breya. His fingers flexed absently, already anticipating the delicate intricacies of the ritual ahead. The process to raise her as one of the undead would not be quick, nor would it be simple.

Time was a resource best used wisely, and his undead could spend it scouring the rui...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #70

Erik stood in the cold, still air of the Dwemer ruin, his eyes locked on Breya’s specter. Her translucent form shimmered with a faint blue glow, her edges flickering like a dying torch. Her face bore no mask of mindless rage nor the hollow stare of those spirits trapped by regret. Her gaze was clear, sharp, and unwavering. She was aware — fully aware — and that, more than anything, troubl...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #69

The metal doors let out a slow, echoing groan as Erik pushed them open, his fingers brushing against the cool, dust-coated surface. The air that greeted him smelled of stale metal and oil—an ever-present tang of old Dwemer ruins.

He stepped through cautiously, eyes scanning every inch of the hallway ahead. His gaze immediately landed on the subtle, telltale signs of danger. Pressure pla...

Draft: Meditations

Author's note: this is something that's been stuck in my head for a while. It's not a chapter, and not even a proper draft, but maybe a snippet. I just thought I should write it down, and once that was done, I just had to share it with you all. Anyway, it might not be anything more than a draft, or well, a snippet, so yeah, do tell me what you think if you decide to give it a look.

Yes, I...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #68

Opening what felt like the hundredth door, Erik stepped through and paused, his boots scuffing softly against the metal floor. Before him was a veranda, which granted a view of what could only be described as a workshop.

The air was thick with the sharp tang of oil and metal, underscored by the faint, ever-present hiss of steam escaping from the network of pipes lining the walls. Gears tu...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #67

Crouching beside the heavy, rusting gate that barred the small storage chamber, Erik carefully maneuvered the slender pin in the keyhole. His other hand steadied the handle of the knife he had jammed into the lock’s slit, the blade acting as an improvised tension wrench.

He tilted his head slightly, his ear waiting for the faint click that signaled progress. ...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #66

Hours had passed in a haze of constant motion, the clang of metal and the hum of magicka filling the halls of Avanchnzel as Erik and his companions fought through an endless gauntlet of Dwemer automata. Erik wiped sweat from his brow, his gauntlets glinting faintly in the dim, flickering light of ancient, self-sustaining lamps.

Now, he stood still, observing yet another memory unra...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #65

The golden doors creaked open with a metallic groan, revealing yet another tight, dimly lit tunnel. Erik stepped inside, the cold, damp air brushing past him as he moved deeper into the Dwemer ruins. The faint hum of machinery whispered through the stone walls, a reminder of the ancient, still-active mechanisms hidden beneath the mountain.

The tunnel curved and twisted before final...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #64

Heading toward Riften’s gates, Erik strode through the dimly lit streets with Geri trotting dutifully behind, his small paws pattering softly on the cobblestones. His mind drifted to all manner of thoughts, but his posture remained calm, almost casual as if the world itself couldn’t shake him.

He was nearly at the city’s exit when a familiar, surly voice cut through the air.<...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #63

Erik sat back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the door of the Bee and the Barb as Karliah and Brynjolf slipped into the Riften night. His expression was one of quiet satisfaction, the faintest trace of a smile curling his lips. The deal was struck, and he had secured the promises he’d hoped for.

To Erik, the prospect of eliminating Mercer Frey was nothing more than a whim�...

Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #62

The Bee and the Barb was alive with its usual bustling energy, the murmur of voices blending with the clinking of tankards and the occasional burst of raucous laughter.

Erik sat at a corner table, his back to the wall, nursing a flagon of spiced mead. At his feet, Geri happily gnawed on a generous chunk of venison, his small tail wagging in contentment. The warm glow of the hearth ...