Out of Eden: Eden's Lost Skye

Chapter One Preview

Out of Eden is a novel series I have been working on periodically for a few years now and I thought I would share a little of the content to give a deeper overview of the story than just a blurb.

Here is the full working draft of chapter one. Keep in mind that this is a work in progress, so there might be some grammar mistakes and areas that require further elaboration or removal. I apologize if it's challenging to read, but I welcome any constructive feedback. Please share your thoughts or let me know if you found it enjoyable.

In a dingy and damp room, a woman, a girl even; no more than 18, awakens to the sounds of dripping, stagnant water and the muffled sounds of rats scurrying nearby, unseen. A single, ancient lamp swings lightly in the cold, fetid breeze from the corridor; casting menacing shadows through the barred walls of the cell. The girl wearily shuffles on the hard, metal bed, devoid of any form of mattress and only covered with a thin, stained and musty sheet. Wrapping the sheet around her and shivering, she puts one bruised and scabbed foot onto the cold, slimy floor and recoils. The floor is covered in a damp mould, slimy to the touch and sickening. Again, she places both feet on the ground, grimacing from the wounds she reopens, and shakily stands. Tears build at the corner of her eyes from the throbbing pain in her feet and legs, but she steps forward to the front of the cell. Glancing both ways down the empty, lifeless corridor, she bends and picks up the dirty, steel tray, which has a fine coating of dark green slime on the bottom from being slid along the floor from the outside. On the tray; a piece of stale, hard bread and a barely warm, grey broth with specks of dirt floating on the surface. A plastic spoon is on one side of the tray, and a scribbled note on an old torn piece of paper on the other. She retreats to the hard bed and looks at the stale bread and tainted broth before devouring both as quickly as possible, not stopping to remove the dirt from the broth or the small insects feasting on the bread.

Once finished she places the tray to one end of the bed and huddles at the other end with the note in hand and a terrified look on her face. For some time, she just sits and stares at the folded paper, trembling at the very sight of it. Eventually she slowly opens the note, revealing its content, and letting out a quiet whelp before covering her mouth with one hand and tears flowing down her face.

She throws the note to the floor, where it lands atop a small mound of furry mould and refuse, still open and soaked with tears. The hand-scribbled words blurring from saturation can still be made out. She glances at it one more time and her eyes widen before she retreats to the furthest corner of the bed, wrapping herself in the blanket, curling to a foetal position and weeping. The words spinning in her head and tormenting her mind; "Your turn today. Make sure you are on your best behaviour; we have important people coming to see you. You know what happens to those that don't behave on viewing day..."

A few hours pass, the girl doesn't know how long it has been; there is no clock and no references of time in the dark, but eventually, at the end of the corridor an old door swings noisily open and two sets of footsteps pass through, with the door slamming loudly behind them. As the footsteps draw closer, the girl covers her face tightly with the dank blanket and closes her eyes, desperately hoping the footsteps will pass right by. To her horror the footsteps reach her cell and stop, a light shines through the bars; much brighter than the old lamp in the corridor and sweeps the room. "Disgusting", she hears one voice say to the other. "Yeah, well, what do you expect?" the other responds. She lays silent under the blanket while the light continues to sweep the room. It then settles on the bed and the blanket, and one voice grows louder and demands, "You. Let me see your face!". The girl trembles and reluctantly slides the blanket from her face, revealing just her watery eyes. "Now!" the voice demands, more irritated than before. She hurriedly scraps to a seated position and drops the blanket to her lap. "Okay good." the second voice exclaims in a much calmer manner than the first.

Both voices are male, but the girl cannot make out any definitive features of the men in the darkness aside from one seems quite heavy set and tall, while the other is smaller with a large beard and a softer voice. The large man shines the light onto the girl's face and surveys her before turning to the smaller man; "Don't even know why we kept this one; she doesn't seem like anything special". The smaller man moves closer to the bars and stares into the cell silently. The girl notices that the larger male is holding something in one hand, from the dim glow it looks like clothing; white or cream and very simple.

He hands the cloth to the smaller man, who takes it in one hand and produces an old key in the other. He opens the cell and steps inside; his large boot leaving slimy impressions on the floor as he steps to the foot of the bed. He drops the cloth on the end of the bed and takes the empty food tray, "We need you to put this on, we need you presentable. Can't have you naked and filthy." He puts one hand into his pocket and pulls a clear bag with a wet flannel inside, which he drops on top of the clothing. "Make sure you wipe your face before we come for you... Get ready now and we will be back to get you shortly." With that he turns and leaves the cell, locking it behind him, and walks further down the corridor. The large male lingers at the cell a moment longer; flashlight still shining on the girl's face and says, "You better be ready when we come back otherwise, we will have a problem and you don't want that, do you?", pausing he then grunts and turns. Just as his image is about to pass the cell he stops and turns his head towards the girl and grins, she can see his menacing smile and teeth in the corridor light, "In fact, I don't mind if you’re not ready, because we take you anyway and if they don't like what they see, I get you..." He turns and walks away, eerily chuckling to himself.

After the men both pass through the door at the opposite end of the corridor, the girl looks down at the simple dress the smaller man left on the bed and the flannel in the bag. With all of her being she wants nothing more than to tear the dress to pieces and scatter it around the dank cell, but she knows that this would just incur more punishment; especially if someone is coming to see her, the punishment would be particularly brutal. Instead, she takes the flannel from the bag and wipes her face of tears and detritus, revealing soft, pale skin, and even in this place, innocent and pretty features. The beatings never reached the face, as this was the important thing to them, the girl had realised this some time ago but had no idea what their purpose was.

She continues to clean the skin on her body, slowly and gently wiping the wounded areas, being as careful as possible not to reopen any more healing wounds. She tries to wipe as much of her back as possible, but she knows that this is the area that has sustained the most punishment, new wounds cover old scars, and she can feel mottled skin with varying degrees of damage from surface bruises to deep lacerations that have old, raised scar tissue covering them. She finishes wiping her skin and wounds the best she is able with the now filthy flannel and picks up the white/cream dress. She painfully slips it on over her back and stands, letting it fall into place, just short of her knees. The dress itself is plain and simple, with thin shoulder straps and a loose fit covering the body, akin to that of a nightdress. Small flowers cover the waist and hem, and a lace ribbon hangs from the back.

The girl sits back on the bed just as the door in the corridor opens again with the returning men. They stop outside the cell and shine the light into the darkness. The girl stands wearily while the men survey her with the light. The smaller man sighs: "See that, is much better", while the other just grunts disapprovingly. "Okay, now that you’re ready, let's go", the smaller man continues, opening the cell and stepping inside. He places one hand firmly around the girl’s arm and leads her slowly out of the cell and into the light of the corridor.

One man stands in front and one behind her now, both surveying her to make sure she is presentable. The larger man bends, pulling another clean cloth from his pocket and a clear bottle of foul-smelling liquid. He pours some of the solution onto the cloth and with a heavy hand wipes the girl’s legs and feet, making her cry out in pain as he scrubs her wounded feet, smiling at her cries. The other man neatens the bow on her lower back and produces a hairbrush from one of his pockets. He brushes the knots out of her dirty, brown hair, bringing tears to her eyes as he pulls through mats, tearing masses of hair as he goes. He continues until her hair is free of knots and mats, he then brushes lightly, leaving her shoulder-length hair straight, and hanging neatly, finishing by placing the flower of a white lily in the front portion of her hair. "Perfect" he exclaims.

Both men seem satisfied with the girl’s appearance and return their equipment to their large coat pockets. The men take each of the girl’s arms and march her down the dark corridor and out the door.

The other side of the door is another small, dimly lit room with nothing but a chair on one wall and a door to the far end. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper and woodworm. The concrete floor has no surface covering and is littered with dust and dirt. The men sit the girl in the chair and explain that they will be going through the next door shortly when a voice comes over the speaker, and that, in the meantime, she is going to sit quietly and wait. She sits in the hard plastic chair and interlocks her fingers, resting her hands in her lap and bowing her head.

The men retire to the other side of the room and lean against the walls, quietly muttering to one another, none of which the girl can catch with any certainty. She glances up at them; in this light, she can see them more clearly. The larger man is broad-shouldered, with a large black coat covering his arms and chest. He is wearing black jeans, lightly soiled with dirt on the knees and big black boots covering the hem, tied tightly and reaching a few centimetres above his ankles. His face is covered with powerful features; a prominent jaw and chin square his large head and thick lips, drawn tight, form a distasteful expression. A broad nose with large nostrils fills most of his face, with small eyes above, glaring into the distance, crowned with great, bushy eyebrows. A short mass of black hair is wound on his head forming a crude, frizzy ponytail at the back. His dark skin makes discerning any other facial features difficult in the poor light of the room. He stands with his back leaning against the wall; one huge foot flat against the wall, bearing his weight on the other, that is deeply planted into the concrete.

The smaller man on the other hand, to the girl, didn’t seem so menacing. He is a slim man wearing a dark grey hooded jacket, with his hands resting in the pockets. He too is wearing dark jeans, which the girl cannot make out whether blue or grey, also lightly coated in soil stains on the knees. He is also wearing large black boots that are not tied and hang loosely around his ankles. His face is thin but overwhelmed by a large full-faced beard, making his jaw and chin difficult to assess. Thin lips peek through a neatly trimmed gap in the middle of the mass, and a thin, sculpted nose complements his large cheekbones. Above are large, dark eyes that twinkle in the haze, which strangely puts the girl more on edge than the scornful larger man. These eyes seem to pierce through all that they gaze upon, causing her to shudder and look away. His eyes are topped with thin and neat eyebrows, that form a natural frown, and his hair is chin-length, jet-black and unkempt. It hangs wildly but naturally around his face. He too is leaning back against the wall, staring into the ceiling while the larger man mumbles to him.

This tense atmosphere is broken by the smaller man stepping forward towards the girl and staring directly into her eyes, which makes her incredibly uncomfortable and her shoulders shudder. He smiles lightly as he stares at her with his piercing eyes; "You have the most incredible emerald eyes, they glow, even in this darkness." This causes the girl to close her eyes tightly and look away, making the man step back and chuckle, "I see" he says softly and returns to the opposite wall with his colleague, lightly whistling.

A voice breaks the eerie whistling, with a screech; "We are ready for her... Bring her to us!". The voice echoes in the girl’s head with a deafening boom, as the two men step forward and take each of her arms.

They stand her up and step towards the door at the end of the room. The larger man opens the door, and a blinding light fills the passageway, so bright the girl is unable to keep her eyes open, clumsily following the men up the small steps and out into an open stage-like area. As her eyes become more and more adapted to this new light, she can make out blurry objects; people in a dark gallery a few metres from where she stands. She looks around her, there is nothing but a large silver stage and huge overhead lights, illuminating the area where she is positioned.

Frozen she stands still and gazes into the silhouetted crowd, which are chatting to one another cheerfully. Behind her, she notices a large, curtained area, fluttering gently with the breeze. The stage area is bare aside from a square drain, shining in the bright lights. To the sides of the stage is a series of large figures, all dressed in formal attire, standing motionless with arms folded. The men that escorted her stand behind her, covering the door through which she was led. The girl begins to tremble as she wonders what is going to happen and what this is all about.

Her imagination runs wild with speculation as to what might be her fate but is suddenly shattered by the same voice echoing through the large theatre, "Okay, here we have a treat for you all. This young girl is one of our most innocent, therefore only those with the deepest pockets will get a chance with her... Should we begin at one million?". A pause and then a hand is raised in the crowd. "Okay, we have one million, will anyone make it two?” Another hand raises, "Good, we have two, any further?" A few seconds of quiet pass, then another hand. “We have three million, are we all done?” The voice pauses momentarily then continues. “Going once… going twice…” a hand raises, stopping the countdown and a voice follows "Four million.” “Wow, four million ladies and gentlemen", murmurs fill the room as the loudspeaker voice continues "Going once... Going twice... Sold to the big spender in the second row. Congratulations sir". A small round of applause erupts in the room as a single figure stands from the crowd. "I see that you are a newcomer to our little gatherings" the loudspeaker states, "If you would make your way to the stage area, we will process your payment and give you your prize." The standing figure shuffles through the masses and makes his way to the edge of the stage where one of the well-dressed figures hands him a small box, on which he places his hand and utters words the girl cannot hear. “Wonderful, sir, your payment has been accepted. Now would you prefer a private or public setting?”

The figure remains silent for a moment and looks on into the crowd. Voices call from the stands “public”, “do it publicly, nothing better!” At this, he confidently turns and faces the girls shouting “public!” “Excellent choice” the loudspeaker calls. “Now if you would follow the gentleman closest to you, he will get you suited up.” The figure disappears, following one of the attendants out of sight, leaving the girl standing in front of the roaring crowd, completely petrified by everything. All her emotions drained and no thoughts in her head, just completely paralyzed.

Time stands completely still, and everything moves in slow motion as the girl scans the silhouetted figures cheering in the crowd. Their voices become nothing more than white noise in her haze. Her thoughts turn to escape, but none of her muscles are responding, she can’t even open her mouth to cry. The overhead lights become a skyline as whiteness fills her vision. She is standing alone in a void, devoid of anything. Bright light fills everything around her, isolating her. Her muscles respond and she screams out, but there is no noise. She sprints, trying to flee, but the white emptiness continues all around her. Eventually, she collapses with exhaustion, drained throughout her entire being. Huddling in a ball, she pants thoughtless, motionless.

A flicker in the distance breaks her from her despair, slowly pulsating like a beacon. As if just gazing upon it, she is filled with renewed determination. She scrambles to her feet and takes off as fast as she can towards the salvation.

As she closes the distance, the simple flickering changes to a pinprick of royal blue, glowing in the heart of the distortion. The blue grows in intensity and the girl slows in admiration. “Beautiful” she hears herself say. She is now at a walking pace and feeling almost content, until something in the blue catches her eye. Something’s in the centre as if the light was coming directly from it.

She squints and strains her eyes, attempting to make out the object. A person… A woman; standing boldly, watching her. The girl continues her approach; details are hard to make out in the glow, but she sees the figure stands with a proud and strong posture. She is leaning on something in front of her and gazing right at the girl. “Her eyes” the girl gasps; the blue glow is emanating from her eyes.

She stops a short distance from the apparition and just stares at her eyes, the unblinking ocean blue eyes that instil confidence. She tries to speak, but again, nothing happens, so she just watches in wonder.

Suddenly the blue begins to flicker and shrink. No, the girl shouts in her mind, don’t go. She can do nothing but watch as the glow reaches back to the figure. Was that… a smile? She was convinced the figure smiled at her in the fading light. The figure didn’t move, yet a voice was in the girl’s head, speaking softly and reassuringly. “Remember the invocation…” it says in a distant tone.

I don’t understand, the girl tries to reply but before she can even try to open her mouth the figure closes her eyes and turns away, slowly walking into the fading light, then disappears and the girl is left in the white void, alone.

She recounts what the figure had said to her; remember the incantation, what does that even mean? She thinks, but she is broken from the thought as a hand grips her shoulder tightly, sending a shockwave of pain through her collar.

With overwhelming force, she is spun around into the face of one of the men who escorted her earlier, breaking her from the void and back to the present. The smaller man is still smiling menacingly at her and takes her arm. Although she tries, in her weakened state, she offers little resistance, and he drags her toward the back of the stage. A cold, hard object snaps around her neck, just big enough to allow her to properly breathe. “Now stay here”, the larger man says to her, chuckling deeply. “Well, it’s not like you have much choice anyway.” The girl reaches to her neck, feeling the metal shackle. She follows the curve to the back where a notch rattles with her movements. Turning, she sees that she is attached via a long chain to an anchor point on the floor of the stage. She attempts to pull the shackle apart with no success, so instead, tests the allowance of the chain, which allows her to reach any part of the large stage but no further.

Why let me move around the stage? She thinks. What is this all for? She backs herself into a corner at the edge of the stage and huddles tightly, trying to anticipate everything.

A crackle on the loudspeaker causes her to jump to attention; “Okay ladies and gentlemen, our lucky winner is ready; please give him all the encouragement he needs.” The crowd erupts into a loud cheer and applause as the shadowed figure steps onto the stage from a side door, now dressed completely in black overalls and balaclava.

 The black figure approaches the girl, his face completely covered apart from a small slit where dark eyes protrude. "Now you have your position, this gentleman has your choice of weapon”, the loudspeaker breaks over the applause. Another, well-dressed figure steps onto the stage carrying a large metal case which he places at the feet of the black figure, unlatches and retreats the way he came.

The black figured man bends and swings open the case, a look of admiration on his face as he gazes at the content. His eyes lift and meet the girls with a menacing desire, as he reaches inside. He stands slowly and slides the case away with one foot, revealing a katana like sword in his right hand, which he holds above his head and turns to face the crowd. The crowd roar at his triumphant pose and the girl cowers where she stands.

“Here. Wouldn’t want it to be over too quickly”, a voice says to the girl and a large hand brandishing a simple, wooden practice sword thrust in front of her face. She glances up to see the smaller man that brought her in, staring at her with satisfaction. “Gotta give them a show”, he continues, gesturing for her to take the sword from him; which, reluctantly, with a trembling hand, grasps the handle and he releases. “Now get up.”

He pulls the girl to her feet before disappearing through a nearby doorway, slamming it shut behind him. Her entire being is telling her to drop the sword and try to run for it, but the jingling of the chain reminds her that is futile; and that she would need to try and stand up to whatever comes her way.

“Main event time is upon us again”, the loudspeaker announced, “Take your places and begin when ready. Remember, anything goes.” The crowd quietens at the announcement and the black figure turns to face the girl, sword hanging from his hand, glistening in the overhead light as he shuffles towards her. She grasps her sword in both hands as tightly as she can, holding it up just in front of her. She knows it is little in the way of defence, but it was all she had, and it was better than nothing and waiting for the figure to strike her down; after all, she didn’t know whether he was going to make it quick, everything was telling her that he wouldn’t, that he would make her suffer.

In those few seconds, she realises that it’s not what’s going to happen that’s destroying her, it’s the waiting and anticipation she can’t take.

Suddenly the black figure breaks the silent tension, lunging forward towards the girl, screaming like a wild animal. His sword swinging down connects with the girls practice sword with such force, jolts of vibration run up her arms, wood splintering with a sickening crack. She recoils with the force of the blow, sending her stumbling back. The sword ripped from her hands, crashes to the floor and bounces out of reach. She is defenceless and knows that the next blow will likely be the end.

The figure moves slowly toward her, panting heavily behind the mask. Anger and malice can be heard in his breath as he lifts the sword once again. From the corner of her eye, she can see the practice sword just a few paces from her and she knows it is her only chance to reach it. She tenses all her muscles in anticipation of the strike, ready to throw everything into reaching her defence. Her breathing slows, focussing on this life-or-death manoeuvre.

The blade comes swiftly, swinging towards her shoulder, the steel glinting, carving through the air. In one fluid motion, the girl shifts her weight and spins backwards on the balls of her feet. She avoids the main force of the swing, but the tip of the blade cuts deep into her back during her evasion, sending pain through her whole body, she manages to dive towards the practice sword as the black figure is recovering from the blow. Taking it in both hands, she scrambles to her feet and faces the figure, ready to defend herself. She can feel warm blood running down her back, seeping into the fabric of the dress. The pain causes her to wince every time she moves, but she is ready for the next move.

The next swing flies wildly and the girl is easily able to avoid the contact. She spots an opportunity to strike herself. As the figure is regaining control, she thrusts her wooden blade forward as hard as she can muster, connecting with the man’s shoulder, sending him tumbling backwards and crying out in pain as the blunted end of the wooden sword tears through his flesh. The figure quickly regains his footing; utter wild rage fills his gaze as he surveys the wound.

The tear in the figure's black overalls gives the girl some comfort. She stands triumphantly with her sword outstretched, slightly reddened on the end, proof of her strike. Unfortunately, in her confidence, she relaxes herself slightly, allowing the figure to retaliate. He swipes upwardly towards her, connecting with her wooden sword, ripping it from her grasp and sending it flying off the stage. Before the girl can react, he lunges forward and connects his shoulder with her chest, knocking the breath from her and launching her backwards; landing hard on the metal stage, completely dazed.

The crowd roars as she hits the floor, everything feels like it’s happening in a dream to the girl, she can’t focus, her breathing is hard, and the noises seem distant and lifeless. Slowly her vision darkens until there is only blackness, and she passes out.

Feeding on the cheer of the crowd, the figure struts the stage, celebrating his victory, jeering the crowd on. Suddenly the roars and cheers stop, replaced with gasps and murmurs. The man turns to see the girl standing, her eyes glazed, like she is possessed, staring directly into his stunned gaze. Her arms hang lifelessly by her side, her matted hair covers most of her face, and she stands unmoving. Taken aback, the man doesn’t move, he just looks on in astonishment, both statue-like.

"On my body, I call, with my life I offer, with my soul I sacrifice, come to me my champion,” the girl utters, with a voice not entirely her own.

She repeats the phrase, holding a hand out as if waiting for another hand to lock into her fingers.

The rage that subsided during the man’s stupor returns with such ferocity, that he charges the girl blindly, lifting the sword above his head, and going directly for a killing blow. The girl snaps from her trance and stares helplessly into the fury, cowering as he closes the distance. She falls back to the floor as he reaches striking distance and closes her eyes tightly, waiting for the end. A second passes and she realises that the blow never came.

As the figure swings the sword down with all his might, a dazzling blue light emanates from the girl’s chest, blinding his strike. A clashing of metal-on-metal rings throughout the arena; sending shockwaves through the man’s arms, and a piercing sound through his ears.

The blue light fades and the girl opens her eyes to see the man’s blow blocked by another sword; a sword glowing with a silvery blue power. She traces the blade to the hilt, an immaculately decorated handle with golden filigree. An armour-clad hand grasps the handle tightly; again, adorned with the same regal gold filigree. She stares up to see the wielder of the sword and is blinded slightly, not by any light but by the brilliant golden hair of her mysterious saviour; hair that hangs loosely in immaculate curls, reaching midway down the slender, armour-covered back. Below, a simple, yet elegant, midnight blue fabric runs down the leg meeting glimmering gold and silver battle boots, finished with intricate etchings; all telling stories of their own. It’s her, the girl thinks, the woman from the vision, but how? Below the feet of the mystery girl, the stage still glows, a pattern seemingly scorched into its surface. Everything is quiet, the noise from the crowd has stopped and no one moves.

The warrior stares at the black figure with a fire which causes him to recoil; her burning green eyes sparkled with an intensity, like the deep heart of an immense rainforest. Her stern gaze cuts right through the figure, as if he is nothing; less than nothing.

 "On my honour, with my life I pledge, no one shall harm her,” she passionately declares to the figure as she, in one motion, lifts his sword with her own and forces him backwards, stumbling. Disregarding the figure, she turns to the girl, offering a hand to her. The girl’s eyes widen in shock and bewilderment as she dumbfoundedly stares at the bare hand. A hand which is there but not there. The elegant armour rounds off at the base of the elbow, covering, what must be, an amputation, but the arm continues, A spectral arm: a translucent, glistening blue light emanates from within it.

The girl is reluctant, but she glances up to the face of the woman and suddenly becomes more relaxed. Gazing into those radiant, green eyes, fill her with a confidence she doesn’t even know was within herself. She stretches out her own hand and takes the spectral palm in her own. The warrior offers her a small, yet reassuring smile before gripping tightly and pulling her to her feet.

“Stay behind me, I’m getting you out of here” the warrior assures her. The girl can do nothing but nod and follow the directions. She takes a step back, hesitant to release the comforting grip. "Watch out” she heard herself call, but the warrior had already reacted, releasing her grip and pivoting around to block the incoming strike.

The strike is sudden and violent, yet the warrior easily deflects, stepping forward into the figure’s unguarded torso and taking a handful of the overalls, pulling him close to her face. They are now so close; that their noses are almost touching. For a moment the warrior says nothing, she just stares into the man’s eyes, seemingly paralyzing him on the spot, then she speaks just loud enough for him to hear. “If you value your pitiful excuse for a life, you’ll back off now.” She releases her grip and pushes him back. He stumbles but regains his footing quickly. Glaring at the warrior’s calm face and demeanour fills him with intense rage. He wants nothing more than to smack the smirk from her face for embarrassing him in front of everyone. "What is this?” he screams, “What kind of place is this? No one said that I had to go through this one".

The arena remains quiet, and the loudspeaker doesn’t respond. “Don’t you dare dictate me. I do what I want, when I want” he yells, charging the warrior. His fury causes his strike to be wild and uncoordinated, making it easy for her to avoid. With a graceful step, she lunges forward at the figure and slices; cutting through the man’s blade like it was a simple toy. The glowing blue edge of her sword simply slides through; the metal of the figure’s sword folding back on itself, offering virtually no resistance. Small sparks glint from both blades, dancing and disappearing in the light. Her swing continues and connects perfectly at the base of his balaclava, passing clean through the nape of his neck and emerging clean behind him. The warrior elegantly swings her sword around to a battle-ready stance and glares at the man with no emotion, but an overwhelming sense of intensity. A shock of disbelief scores the man’s eyes as his brain frantically tries to make sense of what had happened. His eyes dart from side to side and he tries to make a sound, but there’s nothing. His mouth doesn’t move, and his head won’t turn. His eyes widen and freeze in place as his head slips from his shoulders, clattering and bouncing off the edge of the stage. His body continues to stand motionless for a moment, as if unaware of what had happened until it falls into a lifeless heap at the warrior’s feet. The sword he had been holding, clatters next to him and reverberates a hum of vibration.

Screams erupt in the theatre; terrified guests trample over one another in the desperate scramble to escape. The figures at the side of the stage stand like statues, staring, mouths agape waiting for some direction. Then the loudspeaker cracks with a hoarse voice; “Kill her you morons.” As one; they all rush towards the warrior from every direction; pulling pistols from their holsters and creating an arc around the girl and the warrior.

Instinctively, the warrior steps in front of the girl, shielding her. She takes her sword in both hands and drives it down into the steel of the stage just as the guards open fire. The sound of gunshots echo through the open space but nothing reaches the warrior or the girl, as if they are all firing blank rounds. If not for a slight distortion in the air after each shot; like the ripple when a stone is dropped into still water, the girl would have believed that the guards were genuinely not using real bullets.

All the guards empty their magazines into the rippling, invisible wall until only light clicks from the triggers remain. They look at one another, confounded. This is when the warrior strikes.

She moves so fast, that the guards have no time to react, and they go down, one by one in a fluid motion until none are left standing. The screams from the crowd begin to fade as the final audience members leave the arena. The two men, who brought the girl in, stand helplessly by one of the side doors. The larger man suddenly smirks and nods to the smaller man, then points his gaze to the girl, unguarded on the floor and nods again. The smaller man realises what he’s suggesting and reluctantly nods in agreement. Taking quiet strides, the larger man moves forward toward the girl until he is within grabbing distance. He drops to one knee and swings a large arm and hand around the neck of the girl, pressing his palm hard to her mouth. A dull squeal lets out, almost inaudible and shy tries to struggle but his other arm wraps around her waist and lifts her so her feet barely touch the ground. He is easily able to overpower her, dragging her backwards toward the door where the smaller man is waiting. For a moment, his grip slips, and the girl is able to connect one of her flailing legs to the hard surface of the stage. A dull thud echoes quietly, yet enough for the warrior to notice. In a single motion from her position at the final guard, several strides away, she swings around on the hilt of her sword and lunges forward, connecting her phantom fist to the face of the larger man with such force, that a shockwave runs through his face, rippling and distorting his features. His arms swing out, releasing the girl to fall but the warrior’s outstretched arm catches her in place, and she jerks her away from the lurching man. His head rocks back and his feet give out, leaving him falling as a ragdoll, backwards, meeting the concrete wall behind him. He slides down leaving a bright red smear behind him and lies lifeless on the floor.

The smaller man, seeing this, scrambles to open the door of the stage, fumbling the key in the lock and just as he manages to turn the handle and swing the heavy door, his hands are sliced clean from his body, leaving them still gripping the handle tightly. He steps back, wide-eyed in shock and surprise, staring at the spraying wounds where his hands used to be. His body yet to react to the pain, his mouth agape, the warrior plants a heavy, armoured boot into the small of his back, thrusting him forward, sending him tumbling down the metal staircase. A crack resonates through the hollow stairwell, amplifying the sound as he falls. He sprawls at the last step lying motionless at the bottom. The warrior stands at the doorway watching as the heavy door slowly swings back around and clicks shut.

“Don’t think this is over,” the loudspeaker roars; “I’ll never let you leave.” The warrior walks back to the centre of the stage and glances up at one of the cameras mounted along the lighting rail. Her eyes glow a deep, alien green as if she sees through the camera to the voice on the other end. She says nothing, just stares. A few seconds pass, then a shriek crackles through the speaker followed by a pop, like that of a water balloon bursting, and then silence. The girl and the warrior are alone.

The theatre stands silent, and the girl is slumped to her knees sobbing into her hands. The warrior kneels in front of her and lifts her head to meet her gaze. "I am here to free you; I heard you call to me". The girl looks up at the warrior through bleary eyes and stares blankly at her. She then begins to cry once again and lunges forward at the warrior. She embraces her which takes the warrior off guard, and she falls back to a half-seated and half-laying position with the crying girl on top of her, arms wrapped around her neck. She smiles and returns the embrace, "It's okay, cry, I'm not going anywhere."

After some time, the girl releases the warrior and returns to a kneeling position in front of her, "H... How... How are you here? Wh... Who are you?" she stammers. "I am your champion, you summoned me here with the incantation, my name is Skye, what is your name?" the warrior explains. "I... I... I don't know... I... Can’t remember..." The warrior looks at her with a warming expression and smiles; "Hmm, well, I have to call you something, everyone needs a name, how about… I call you Eden?" "Y... okay..." she wearily replies. Continuing her warm look into the girl’s eyes, Skye tells her "It's going to be okay Eden, I'm with you now. You're going to be fine!" Eden looks back into the comforting eyes of her rescuer and feels an overwhelming sense of relief and belonging. "I believe you," she says softly...