The first scream ripped through the sultry stillness of the night. Ariadne spun around, her knee-high boots kicking up obsidian dust. Her hands instinctively clutched the hilt of her weapon – a ceremonial dagger, gleaming in the fiery light of the twin moons suspended above the world of Thalasia Prime. The obsidian desert stretched endlessly around her, punctuated by pillars of jagged stone that clawed at the sky like broken fingers. And there, looming above the horizon, a colossal temple – its spires encrusted with molten-red jewels that pulsed like living hearts.
Ariadne’s outfit was an anachronistic blend of practicality and theater. A skintight garment of shimmering black and red latex encapsulated her lithe frame, the split motif echoing her dualistic nature – chaos and control. Twin pigtails framed her pale face, one side dyed raven black, the other blood red. Though her crimson gloves hinted at danger, there was something almost playful in her daring smile. Around her, floating orbs the size of her clenched fists reflected the desert’s searing glow, refracting it into kaleidoscopic patterns of red and black hues. They moved as if alive, orbiting her form like tiny mechanical satellites.
The scream came again. This time, Ariadne recognized its source: the caravan she had left behind under the pretext of scouting ahead. Her pulse quickened, and she darted forward, the weight of her dagger comforting against her palm. The air was heavy, thick with the metallic tang of danger. Her boots crunched against shards of glass-like sand, and her ponytails whipped against the wind like banners of war.
The Caravan Massacre
When she reached the caravan, everything had already gone wrong. The once-majestic procession of nomads and traders, draped in glittering silks and armor made from crystallized obsidian, was now a tableau of chaos. Silent corpses lay scattered across the sand, their jewels and wares glinting in the moonlight. The beasts of burden, massive six-legged creatures with shimmering ebony scales, lay in grotesque stillness, their throats torn open.
Ariadne’s hand brushed against the orb closest to her shoulder. It responded with a faint hum, casting a pulsing red halo over the bodies. Her stomach churned. She had seen death before – her line of work demanded it – but the savagery of this attack was unlike anything she’d encountered. Then, the orb buzzed, pulling her sharp gaze upward.
Perched atop one of the caravan wagons was the attacker. He was tall, skeletal, cloaked in what looked like living shadow. His eyes burned like twin suns, erupting with a cold, predatory light. In his hand, he held a weapon that glinted with a liquid sort of darkness – a blade forged from a material Ariadne did not recognize.
The Duel
He lunged without warning, his speed unnatural. Ariadne barely sidestepped the arc of his strike. The black blade sang as it sliced through the air, missing her by mere inches. She retaliated with a sharp twist of her dagger, aiming for his exposed flank, but he twisted like liquid smoke, evading her attack effortlessly. Around her, the orbs sprang to life, darting through the air, emitting low-pitched hums that harmonized with Ariadne’s quickened breath.
“You’re late to the party,” she quipped as she circled him, her voice a mix of defiance and bravado. Her heart raced, but she knew better than to show fear. “Spill it – who sent you?”
The attacker did not reply, though the glimmer of a grin cracked his inky face. In the eerie silence that followed, Ariadne caught her reflection in one of her orbs, her black-and-red armor gleaming under the twin moons. One crimson pigtail fell over her shoulder, a contrast to the pale, determined set of her jaw. She hadn’t dressed for stealth, but that wasn’t her style. This man would learn that the hard way.
The battle raged, a deadly dance of strikes and counters. The attacker fought like a phantom, his blade hissing through the air, while Ariadne moved with the precision and agility of a circus acrobat. When his strikes came faster, she redirected her orbs with flicks of her fingers, sending them spinning toward him, their surfaces crackling with charged energy.
One orb found its mark, slamming into his chest and recoiling him backward into the jagged remains of a wagon. He stumbled, momentarily disoriented, and Ariadne seized her chance. With a fierce battle cry, she lunged forward, her dagger slicing through the shadowy substance of his blade. To her surprise, the weapon disintegrated, evaporating into nothingness.
But before she could finish him, the attacker let out a low, guttural laugh. “The Red Wraith,” he said, his voice thin and metallic. “They were right about you. But this is only the beginning.” His body shimmered, became translucent, and then dispersed into the air as though he had never existed.
Ariadne fell to her knees, her chest heaving, the intense heat of the desert pressing down on her. Around her, the orbs dimmed, their energy spent. She gritted her teeth, wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, and cast a glance over the ruined caravan. Survivors were nonexistent. She was the last.
The Temple Beckons
With no time to mourn, she stood, her determination hardening like forged steel. Turning toward the distant temple on the horizon, its molten jewels pulsing in time with the ache of her heartbeat, she narrowed her eyes. Whatever called her to this wasteland – whatever had orchestrated this massacre – awaited her there.
“You wanted chaos,” she muttered to no one in particular, gripping her dagger firmly as the orbs reignited, hovering protectively by her side. “Let’s see how well you can handle mine.”
Silhouetted against the glow of the twin moons, Ariadne began her march toward the temple, the red-and-black of her outfit stark against the endless obsidian sands. Around her, the desert seemed alive, whispering secrets that had long been buried under its obsidian crust. But Ariadne was no stranger to secrets. And she was here to uncover them, one way or another.
The temple loomed ever closer, its spires twisting like the claws of a beast eager to tear into the heavens. Whatever awaited her inside would either break her or immortalize her name across the stars. Either way, she wouldn’t go quietly.
And chaos was her favorite tune to dance to.
Genre: Dark Fantasy / Sci-Fi
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Red and Black Latex Harley Quinn Cosplay Costume: Bold Ideas for Your Next Look
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
1 comment