Spoiler! :
It was unprecedented. In 2153, after ninety-five years of work, mankind had found a solution to overpopulation. The crowd awed and shouted as it lifted. The first city to exist above the ground. The first flying city. Massive fans, powered by small uranium rods, kept it aloft.
Many scientists had considered the idea of a floating city impossible, but here it was. And it was one hundred and fifty by one hundred and fifty kilometers, the largest city in the world. Nearly thirty billion people were watching as it defied logic, lifting up the most weight ever lifted by a man-made machine. For every five hundred meters it climbed, it sent a signal back to the ground to indicate that it was safe.
Meanwhile, ten thousand workers equipped in full radiation suits refueled the fans with uranium rods. Takeoff was the hardest part, as the fans were not only supporting the city, but also lifting it. A new rod was needed every five minutes.
At eight kilometers above sea level, the city slowed its ascent, staying level at around eight thousand and one hundred meters. One worker, refilling the last fan on his shift, began sweating. He quickly grabbed a rod and rushed to the refilling centre, shoving the rod into a small tube. Normally, he would double check to make sure it was in all the way, but he was too excited. He began the loading cycle, and as the small tube began to shut, it banged against the rod. The worker rushed over to see what was happening, and saw a tiny crack in the rod. He jumped back, unsure of what to do.
The rod exploded, detonating all the other rods in the room. Onlookers below cheered when they saw a small explosion, thinking it to be fireworks celebrating the successful launch of the city. The cheers quickly turned to screams when the explosion spread, obliterating the underside of the city and leaving only a one hundred-meter thick wall of concrete between the city and the empty air.
When the city hit the ground, it was chaos. The explosion killed almost everyone in the area instantly, raising a wall of dust into the sky. It was like the mass extinction sixty-five million years before, only brought on by man and not nature.
Those who survived the event clustered near major cities, and, as radiation levels lowered near ground zero, made their way to the fallen city, where buildings had weathered amazingly well.
Many scientists had considered the idea of a floating city impossible, but here it was. And it was one hundred and fifty by one hundred and fifty kilometers, the largest city in the world. Nearly thirty billion people were watching as it defied logic, lifting up the most weight ever lifted by a man-made machine. For every five hundred meters it climbed, it sent a signal back to the ground to indicate that it was safe.
Meanwhile, ten thousand workers equipped in full radiation suits refueled the fans with uranium rods. Takeoff was the hardest part, as the fans were not only supporting the city, but also lifting it. A new rod was needed every five minutes.
At eight kilometers above sea level, the city slowed its ascent, staying level at around eight thousand and one hundred meters. One worker, refilling the last fan on his shift, began sweating. He quickly grabbed a rod and rushed to the refilling centre, shoving the rod into a small tube. Normally, he would double check to make sure it was in all the way, but he was too excited. He began the loading cycle, and as the small tube began to shut, it banged against the rod. The worker rushed over to see what was happening, and saw a tiny crack in the rod. He jumped back, unsure of what to do.
The rod exploded, detonating all the other rods in the room. Onlookers below cheered when they saw a small explosion, thinking it to be fireworks celebrating the successful launch of the city. The cheers quickly turned to screams when the explosion spread, obliterating the underside of the city and leaving only a one hundred-meter thick wall of concrete between the city and the empty air.
When the city hit the ground, it was chaos. The explosion killed almost everyone in the area instantly, raising a wall of dust into the sky. It was like the mass extinction sixty-five million years before, only brought on by man and not nature.
Those who survived the event clustered near major cities, and, as radiation levels lowered near ground zero, made their way to the fallen city, where buildings had weathered amazingly well.
Chapter 1
Spoiler! :
He watched as the groups collided, men screaming in agony as their lives flashed before them. He ran in, aiming to gut an unsuspecting enemy with his hand-crafted weapon, which was much like a spear but fully iron, double sided and with two tips perpendicular to the main tip on either side. As he closed in on the man, his foe spun around, countering with a similar weapon, but with only one blade on each side. The two held their pose for what seemed like a long time, neither gaining an advantage, until the younger man rushed back, attempting to catch his seasoned foe off guard.
It didn't work. Noticing this, another soldier shouted out a warning to the young fighter, "Adrian, look out!"
Adrian barely reacted in time, his foe stabbing forward in an underhanded thrust. Adrian looked around, seeking some advantage against this powerful foe.
He was in an alley, two tall skyscrapers on either side, ravaged by time and worn down. Adrian hooked his fingers into a crack and leaped up, his legs catching on a windowsill. He looked down at his stunned opponent, smiling as he leaped down, weapon poised to impale the man on impact.
Instead of encountering soft flesh, his blade went horizontal at the last second, just preventing Adrian from slamming into the man's weapon, raised horizontally above him. The man stumbled back, and then rushed forward, spear tip leading. Adrian slapped his weapon across his foe's, pushing it harmlessly wide, and reversed his momentum to stab the man in the face with the one of his spear's side-tips.
When the man fell dead to nineteen to the other side. The remaining attackers rallied around Adrian, amazed by his work against such a powerful foe. Adrian's father, the leader of their small clan of fifty-three, ran up and hugged him.
Later that night, the clan gathered in the small courtyard that their homes surrounded. Whenever a boy turned sixteen, it was his duty to make a kill in single combat before he was considered a man and could sit on the clan council. It was like this for most of the medium-sized clans; a combat-based system where warriors could voice their opinions openly before a chieftain, who would decide what was best for the clan.
Adrian listened as his father listed the items recovered from the battle, mostly food and clothing. As the list went on, Adrian noticed that there was very little food, and what their enemies had was low quality or falling apart. Although he did not understand the significance of this, he knew it was important. The alley had been clear for weeks, and the nearest clan was too small to risk an attack. All Adrian could think of was the possibility that there was a new clan in the area.
His father went on. “And because of this, I propose we send scouts to find out where these men came from and what clan they are. I will be sending our best scout as well as my son, who has proven himself a great fighter. I hope that, whatever you find out, you both make it home.” He sat down.
The scout stood up and began to speak. “Chieftain Gunthor, I respect your decision. But for a task as important as this, I think I will need someone with experience. I know your son is skilled, but he is also very, very young.”
“If you get into a fight, he will prove his worth.”
“Yes, Chieftain.”
It didn't work. Noticing this, another soldier shouted out a warning to the young fighter, "Adrian, look out!"
Adrian barely reacted in time, his foe stabbing forward in an underhanded thrust. Adrian looked around, seeking some advantage against this powerful foe.
He was in an alley, two tall skyscrapers on either side, ravaged by time and worn down. Adrian hooked his fingers into a crack and leaped up, his legs catching on a windowsill. He looked down at his stunned opponent, smiling as he leaped down, weapon poised to impale the man on impact.
Instead of encountering soft flesh, his blade went horizontal at the last second, just preventing Adrian from slamming into the man's weapon, raised horizontally above him. The man stumbled back, and then rushed forward, spear tip leading. Adrian slapped his weapon across his foe's, pushing it harmlessly wide, and reversed his momentum to stab the man in the face with the one of his spear's side-tips.
When the man fell dead to nineteen to the other side. The remaining attackers rallied around Adrian, amazed by his work against such a powerful foe. Adrian's father, the leader of their small clan of fifty-three, ran up and hugged him.
Later that night, the clan gathered in the small courtyard that their homes surrounded. Whenever a boy turned sixteen, it was his duty to make a kill in single combat before he was considered a man and could sit on the clan council. It was like this for most of the medium-sized clans; a combat-based system where warriors could voice their opinions openly before a chieftain, who would decide what was best for the clan.
Adrian listened as his father listed the items recovered from the battle, mostly food and clothing. As the list went on, Adrian noticed that there was very little food, and what their enemies had was low quality or falling apart. Although he did not understand the significance of this, he knew it was important. The alley had been clear for weeks, and the nearest clan was too small to risk an attack. All Adrian could think of was the possibility that there was a new clan in the area.
His father went on. “And because of this, I propose we send scouts to find out where these men came from and what clan they are. I will be sending our best scout as well as my son, who has proven himself a great fighter. I hope that, whatever you find out, you both make it home.” He sat down.
The scout stood up and began to speak. “Chieftain Gunthor, I respect your decision. But for a task as important as this, I think I will need someone with experience. I know your son is skilled, but he is also very, very young.”
“If you get into a fight, he will prove his worth.”
“Yes, Chieftain.”
Spoiler! :
The two of them ran down the alleyway they had fought in last night, tracing their enemies’ footprints back.
Adrian looked around, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He turned to the scout.
“Marcus, do you feel that?”
The experienced scout turned to Adrian and nodded, then put his finger to his lips. He slowly began walking towards an open door at the side of the alley.
“This was closed after the battle,” Adrian whispered.
“Yes. And where is the body of the man you killed?”
Adrian turned around and tried to find the spot where he had fought and killed the man. The only bodies he could find were of the obviously inexperienced soldiers that had died in the fight. But his father had killed most of them, and there were no axe wounds from his large battleaxe on the corpses.
Adrian turned back to Marcus and started to say something when several figures dropped down from the second floor of the building they were about to enter. The two scouts took out their weapons and backed away from the figures. The corpses got up and revealed themselves to be alive, waiting to ambush the scouts.
Marcus yelled and rushed towards a grouping of about four men, catching them off guard and stabbing two with his rapier before they realized what he was doing. Several of the men clustered around Marcus as he frantically tried to get away from the growing horde.
Adrian threw one of his three throwing spears at a man between him and Marcus. When the man dropped down, several of his companions turned their attention to Adrian.
Adrian threw his second spear, and another man fell dead. Right as one man raised his crude sword to strike him, Adrian threw his final spear, going through the man to kill a second behind him.
Marcus stabbed one enemy in the chest, then turned around to parry a stab from another enemy. As the horde continued to grow, Adrian, with his custom made spear, impaled a man about to chop Marcus in half. Marcus nodded his thanks as the two of them ran into the building.
“We have to get back to the base!” Adrian gasped, picking up a spear poorly thrown at him. He turned around and threw it back, taking comfort in a piercing scream.
The two scouts ran up flights of stairs, leaping over missing steps, until they reached the top floor. They ran to a window and, not pausing, leaped out. Marcus landed at the window three stories down on the building adjacent to the one they were in. Adrian, younger, lighter and more agile, jumped into the window above Marcus, did a flip back out the window, and swung into the floor Marcus was on.
Marcus looked at Adrian, surprised by his agility.
“It’s called luck,” Adrian said, running down the hall.
Marcus shrugged and followed, hearing shouts as the men chasing them realized what they had done. Several seconds later, the shouts turned to screams, and then silence.
The two scouts were almost at their camp when they heard chanting. They rushed up to a window and saw more than two hundred savages repeating what their leader was saying. And what he was saying was bad news for any civilized people in the area.
Adrian and Marcus turned around and started walking away, when the doors on both sides of them opened and several men jumped out. They started to flee, but a spear caught Marcus in the leg.
Hearing his scream, Adrian turned around and threw a spear into the group, slowing them for a moment while he started to pick up Marcus.
“Leave me, Adrian. Go back, warn the others!” Marcus moaned when he felt Adrian start to lift him.
The two of them locked eyes. A tear formed in Adrian’s eye as he turned around and began to run. He heard a cry of pain when the group reached Marcus, but wiped away his tears as they fell to the ground.
The group took a shortcut through a small room, getting in front of Adrian and blocking his path. Adrian threw his second spear and ran back the way he had come, aiming at a window at the end of the hallway.
As he neared the window, he heard screams. There was a battle going on outside this window, and Adrian knew who was fighting.
Down in the street, forty of his clan members were fighting back a large moving mass of bodies and torn clothes. Gunthor ran across the line, hacking through enemies with his large battleaxe.
Adrian leaped out of the window, breaking his fall with a spear and a tall man. He swung his spear counterclockwise, then clockwise, then counterclockwise again, dropping all the men near him to the ground.
Gunthor, seeing his son in the midst of the enemy ranks, charged forwards, leading two other men through in a wedge. Adrian worked his way towards them, rejoining the main group and fending off the marauders with his spear.
Chapter 3
Three hours later, the battle was over. Hundreds of attackers had died, and the defenders lost most of their fighting force, bringing their numbers from fifty-three to nineteen. The battle had been a disaster.
At the clan council that night, Gunthor stressed counterattacks to prevent their enemies from regrouping.
“If they are given a chance to strike us while our defenses are down, they will take it!” He shouted, “Therefore, our only defense lies in attack!” The courtyard erupted with cheers from nearly everyone.
“We have seven battle-ready soldiers. What hope of victory is there?” Everyone looked at Adrian, digesting what he had said. “Father… if we fight them, we will die.”
“You would have us sit here, waiting for them to attack?” The incredulous Gunthor reasoned.
“No.”
Gunthor looked at Adrian, realizing what he meant. “You wish for us to leave our ancestral home.”
Most in the older part of the gathering gasped.
Adrian stared at his father. “Yes. If we stay, they will just come back to kill us. We stand no chance against them!
Adrian looked around, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He turned to the scout.
“Marcus, do you feel that?”
The experienced scout turned to Adrian and nodded, then put his finger to his lips. He slowly began walking towards an open door at the side of the alley.
“This was closed after the battle,” Adrian whispered.
“Yes. And where is the body of the man you killed?”
Adrian turned around and tried to find the spot where he had fought and killed the man. The only bodies he could find were of the obviously inexperienced soldiers that had died in the fight. But his father had killed most of them, and there were no axe wounds from his large battleaxe on the corpses.
Adrian turned back to Marcus and started to say something when several figures dropped down from the second floor of the building they were about to enter. The two scouts took out their weapons and backed away from the figures. The corpses got up and revealed themselves to be alive, waiting to ambush the scouts.
Marcus yelled and rushed towards a grouping of about four men, catching them off guard and stabbing two with his rapier before they realized what he was doing. Several of the men clustered around Marcus as he frantically tried to get away from the growing horde.
Adrian threw one of his three throwing spears at a man between him and Marcus. When the man dropped down, several of his companions turned their attention to Adrian.
Adrian threw his second spear, and another man fell dead. Right as one man raised his crude sword to strike him, Adrian threw his final spear, going through the man to kill a second behind him.
Marcus stabbed one enemy in the chest, then turned around to parry a stab from another enemy. As the horde continued to grow, Adrian, with his custom made spear, impaled a man about to chop Marcus in half. Marcus nodded his thanks as the two of them ran into the building.
“We have to get back to the base!” Adrian gasped, picking up a spear poorly thrown at him. He turned around and threw it back, taking comfort in a piercing scream.
The two scouts ran up flights of stairs, leaping over missing steps, until they reached the top floor. They ran to a window and, not pausing, leaped out. Marcus landed at the window three stories down on the building adjacent to the one they were in. Adrian, younger, lighter and more agile, jumped into the window above Marcus, did a flip back out the window, and swung into the floor Marcus was on.
Marcus looked at Adrian, surprised by his agility.
“It’s called luck,” Adrian said, running down the hall.
Marcus shrugged and followed, hearing shouts as the men chasing them realized what they had done. Several seconds later, the shouts turned to screams, and then silence.
The two scouts were almost at their camp when they heard chanting. They rushed up to a window and saw more than two hundred savages repeating what their leader was saying. And what he was saying was bad news for any civilized people in the area.
Adrian and Marcus turned around and started walking away, when the doors on both sides of them opened and several men jumped out. They started to flee, but a spear caught Marcus in the leg.
Hearing his scream, Adrian turned around and threw a spear into the group, slowing them for a moment while he started to pick up Marcus.
“Leave me, Adrian. Go back, warn the others!” Marcus moaned when he felt Adrian start to lift him.
The two of them locked eyes. A tear formed in Adrian’s eye as he turned around and began to run. He heard a cry of pain when the group reached Marcus, but wiped away his tears as they fell to the ground.
The group took a shortcut through a small room, getting in front of Adrian and blocking his path. Adrian threw his second spear and ran back the way he had come, aiming at a window at the end of the hallway.
As he neared the window, he heard screams. There was a battle going on outside this window, and Adrian knew who was fighting.
Down in the street, forty of his clan members were fighting back a large moving mass of bodies and torn clothes. Gunthor ran across the line, hacking through enemies with his large battleaxe.
Adrian leaped out of the window, breaking his fall with a spear and a tall man. He swung his spear counterclockwise, then clockwise, then counterclockwise again, dropping all the men near him to the ground.
Gunthor, seeing his son in the midst of the enemy ranks, charged forwards, leading two other men through in a wedge. Adrian worked his way towards them, rejoining the main group and fending off the marauders with his spear.
Chapter 3
Three hours later, the battle was over. Hundreds of attackers had died, and the defenders lost most of their fighting force, bringing their numbers from fifty-three to nineteen. The battle had been a disaster.
At the clan council that night, Gunthor stressed counterattacks to prevent their enemies from regrouping.
“If they are given a chance to strike us while our defenses are down, they will take it!” He shouted, “Therefore, our only defense lies in attack!” The courtyard erupted with cheers from nearly everyone.
“We have seven battle-ready soldiers. What hope of victory is there?” Everyone looked at Adrian, digesting what he had said. “Father… if we fight them, we will die.”
“You would have us sit here, waiting for them to attack?” The incredulous Gunthor reasoned.
“No.”
Gunthor looked at Adrian, realizing what he meant. “You wish for us to leave our ancestral home.”
Most in the older part of the gathering gasped.
Adrian stared at his father. “Yes. If we stay, they will just come back to kill us. We stand no chance against them!
