No. 247 with No. 378

A war-field. There are turret set ups everywhere. It is a decoy. The three which make up my unit hide in the high tower. The enemy arrives, landing in ships, driving-up in vehicles. Wait til the whites in the eyes, then we fire. Purple gun waste, red-plasma sprays. Explosions spread the masses. No longer can we hold out. Jumps through the temporal shift----------- Clad in white, stormtrooper-esque. Equipped with a digital hammer with tea leaf extract in a ball soaked club. Astral pictographic planes wire frame the establishment. The Tron-scape lays out behind the alabaster halls. Every window diving into anothers mind, every door an escape into my own. Shouts from behind...I go flush with a walled corner. I fall back into the shadow-port. I fall. I land. I roll. I smell a sour stench. Flip the light switch. A whir. Wrong switch. Walls fall. Glowing figures in the dark. A scorpions nest. I dodge and roll. The glowing Delilah prances my way, a tangle of unshaven legs and manicured points. She embraces with a snap, thuds with her club. I side step and return the favor. I run for fractal land. I fall------------------------- I dream: "The 400 left for dead with nothing but the sea and Ark. There will be a day when a new hundred will join them. Rising from the sea, guided by the Frogfish . The lost of Atlantis. The ghosts of the sea, given flesh. Fire. Shouts and cries. Cold. Rumblings from the sky. Laughter of the first-class. Shapes and forms in the water. Shadows in the deep. Sinking. There is no blessed silence. There are the screaming images of words--bubbles rising from familia." I wake: Sirens. Night. Rumblings from the upper decks. I race to the door. The halls are wet with slime. A demon stands at the foot of the stairs. Painted face, bones and teeth decorating his skin. I slide to meet him and butt his head with my tridents side. I climb to the upper deck. Cool air wails in my ears, while cries spray me in the face. The wind angers the blazing fire. The water stained with pale forms. The numbers halved. The weak ousted. Demons everywhere. I fight as many off as possible. The safety bar splinters from the side and knocks me into the water. We are lost. My people. Places switched by demons. But, the sea is merciful. There is an island. We make camp. Food and shelter. For a month we live peacefully. Then the demons arrive. They come "peacefully" ask us to submit or die. They wish for everything we worked for. I refuse. I speak to their leader. Pale blue skin. Veins wrapped about his body like jungle vines. They seem to suck the very life out of him, feeding his strength with his own. A self-propelling beast. He carries an elongated heretics fork. He challenges me. We fight. I dash him with my Trident. He swings and stabs at air. Sluggish and full of meat. I am too quick for him. I catch him at his throat. He smiles a smile. I push the tines deeper into his pulsating throat. Blood black as tar oozes down the pole. He speaks to me in spurts and burbles. I twitch and jostle the weapon. He stabs. Above my stomach, below my sternum. Pinches my ribs together, twisting the his prongs. Both weapons retract and retreat on both sides occurs. They will return. In the night: my love is poisoned. She births a child in my dreams and when I wake she is dead on the rocks near the camp of Demons. I kiss my child and then place it on her mothers cheeks. Rose-tones return to her flesh, the baby is cold, but alive. A mark on her cheek: A red Gothic print A.  I do not know what this means.