Going Out for a Bite

(When I was younger, I had a neat little name for my short stories. I loved calling them sandwiches. Short story sandwiches. Had a nice ring to it. This was also an exercise I did a bunch when I first started writing just for fun and to practice. I would browse fantasy or science fiction wallpaper sites, and use any one that caught my eye and do a one to two page story focused on that image. Super fun exercise! It’s a good way to get inspiration and really just have a good time writing. Url included for reference.)


The thunderous roar of the Goliath shook the ground. Each step caused the cracks in the surrounding canyons to widen and fissure. Some were ready to crumble at any second. The Kush trees wiggled with their gelatinous offspring. 

“You’re not going to wear armor?” my partner, Dillion, said. 

He directed the camp, and his eyes narrowed when I climbed onto my eggshell colored horse. The saddle shifted a tiny bit as I double checked my compact hilt attached to my belt. 

“Nope,” I said.

I’ve never worn armor. Never needed it. Never wanted it. It set off my balance, it wrecked my horses gallop, and it didn’t look nearly as intimidating.

A man roaring towards an army wearing nothing but his weapon and his cape. That was a story for the ages. 

I tightened my boots, pulled the laces taut so they wouldn’t fail me. Both feet slipped into the rains. The horse breathed out, connected to me via telepathy. He understood the route. And was just as prepared to die as my crazy ass. 

This was my graduating moment.

Dillion laughed, “You’re such a show off.”

I brushed my luscious, glorious, magnificent black hair aside and popped my neck. 

“Wouldn’t be fun without a little drama,” I said. “I’ll just be a couple minutes.”

My horse rushed forward at my command. Through bends and several smaller ravines, the next turn would lead to the battlefield. 

I could already feel the deeper stomps and clanking of the enemy battalion. 

“Here we go, buddy.”

The horse sped up in excitement. I palmed the hilt of my weapon and drove my spirit through the mechanisms. It crackled with electricity and the surrounding metal embedded in the ground and mountains rushed to build me a sturdier blade. 

The gathered ninth metal sharpened and perfected itself until the tip was skimming the dirt, melting any rocks it touched into a steaming magma. 

The blade bellowed cosmic force. I gorged myself on that meal. My skin turned deathly white, my muscles bulged, and my tusks became weapons of gold. 

We rounded the corner and headed straight for the army. 

And the Goliath. The four legged behemoth, face covered in natural armor plating, galloped between forces, never stepping on a single soldier. The storm followed behind with drudges of lightning that zapped between its curved tusks. 

I couldn’t help but grin. Probably the largest grin I’d ever done. 

Mainly because I loved lying to my fellow warriors. I always projected the field that I loved showing off. That I didn’t need armor or any additional help or siege weapons–no, none of that cheating bullshit. 

The truth was I wanted to provide as much support to the enemy as possible. Five hundred soldiers and a Goliath, I wanted to give them the advantage. My anonymous messages and donations beefed their forces.

Because they would need as much help as they could get. 

They were at a disadvantage. That’s how good I am. That’s how strong you become when you devour other Goliaths. 

After the twentieth, or twenty-first, I forget, I gained this compact shape. 

And the Goliath ahead of me was just another meal. 

Manipulating all seven sides of the war brought joy. It brought purpose to my own life. It brought food. 

It brought power. 

Just not to the side they wanted. 

The reason I was so excited:

This was my fiftieth Goliath. 

Which meant it would be my time to counter attack. 

All seven kingdoms would learn to fear me, and me alone.

All was the life of an entity born to bring extinction.

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