Hello, all.
Here again to update you as to how things are carrying on. In brief, well. I'm sitting at just over 130k words with a goal post set at 400k. It's difficult to boil down the plot of something that length in a single sentence, but if I was want to do so, it would be this: "An outlaw tries to raise his wife from the dead by following in the footsteps of a madman." Straightforward though that may sound, I can assure you that nothing is as it appears on its face. There are lies. Lies told by the Amydrahl, a universe-ruling Cult that hoards technology, knowledge and the bodies of its followers. Lies told by our heroes, who are on a mission to stop the Cult reformatting reality. And lies the man caught in the mix, Siro Kull, has told himself as he tries to navigate the bizarre universe called The Shine. Below is a short snippet from a recently written chapter that encapsulates this. Three silver oceans that reflected nothing. Stillness so absolute, they seemed frozen in time. Depths behind glass that escaped form. Where they met, infinity began. Eigengrau shimmered with pale dots and swirls slipping through myriad mirrors. Instinctively, Siro raised his hand even as his HUD adjusted to the incoming wave of light. It screeched towards them like the front of an exploding star flattened into the sides of a prism. Spinning glass sang behind it, their pirouettes performed without string or hinge. Ever-gasping Void inhaled through them, carrying the light into utter emptiness with a sound of clipping scissors. In its wake, collisions of colossal hammers beating like drums. The end of the triangular tunnel continued its lazy rotation around a metallic heart as they followed Muruu on. Siro had been looking for a chance to ask him about his birth since walls had parted on the inner hull. He opened a private channel when they stopped to rest at the bulkhead to this tunnel, but closed it when the words stuck like tar to the lining of his throat. His was the position of being caught between curiosity-tortured ignorance and truth-inspired dread. In the same thought, he’d assure himself that knowing would complicate his situation more than improve it and remind himself that such answers had the potential to solve his most deep-rooted questions. The closer they came to the Tower, the more he was sure that everything was connected. Glimmer. Gloom. The Shine. And somewhere in the middle, him. He fucking hated that. Why treat him any differently? Nature-- be it ruin country, outer space, or the rotting swaths of rock festering with Lensing residue-- respected no organism. Death pushed everything forward. But not him. He lived. The last standing from two mission failures. In his mind, the cause of both. That he was caught in the undertow of some sick plot carried out by absentee gods or disembodied values brought to life by collective thought-- it made him want to eat lead just to spite them. He had only ever wanted one thing. To be worthy of that woman who gave life substance. But keeping that promise… It was like trying to squeeze coal into a diamond. All it got you was dirty hands. Looking forward to showing you all some more in the future. For now, it's back to writing. Best, MB
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AuthorHailing from Seattle, Magnus Blackwood is a metalhead, amateur strongman, cape/cloak advocate and microbiologist who's been writing sci-fi since 2013. His stories focus on weaving horror and occult elements into futuristic hellscapes with a magical twist. Archives
February 2024
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