Saga
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The sun, a malevolent eye in a bleached sky, scorched the jagged maw of the cliffs that clawed at Mount Olympus. The air, heavy and suffocating, pulsed with the sharp tang of wild thyme, a deceptive sweetness masking a primal stench of pure danger. Sparta, a colossus of scarred muscle and unwavering resolve, Jackson, a whirlwind of coiled power and restless anticipation, and Pandora, her very essence a beacon of fierce, unyielding loyalty, stood at the mountain’s unforgiving base. Their gaze, a desperate plea, was locked on its impossibly vast, shadow-draped heights. Beside them, Perseus, their beloved comrade, lay a broken thing, his skin stretched taut over bone, a pallor of death clinging to him. Each breath, a ragged, agonizing gasp, threatened to be his last.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
Sparta, Jackson, and Pandora stood on the precipice of a forgotten wound, the skeletal remains of the Roanoke colony gnawing at the silence beneath a spectral moon. Pandora clutched a brittle journal, its pages whispering secrets that tore at her voice, a tempest of raw discovery and primal dread churning within her.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The 1940s, a gilded cage of Hollywood where dreams clawed their way into the blinding spotlight, but beneath the veneer, rot festered. Here, amidst the intoxicating perfume of jasmine and the acrid tang of desperation, Sparta and Jackson found themselves ensnared in a knot of intrigue, tighter and more venomous than any screen siren’s poisoned kiss. The city pulsed with the roar of engines and the sibilant hiss of secrets, its opulent avenues a siren song luring the unwary into the encroaching, suffocating shadows where truth was a ghost no one dared to face.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The 1930s Egyptian desert, a brutal, unforgiving expanse, seared under a sun that bled an incandescent, almost otherworldly light across the tortured contours of endless golden dunes. Beneath the sibilant shriek of the shifting sands, a primal symphony of unseen forces, Sparta, Jackson, and Pandora plunged into the maw of yet another audacious quest. The air thrummed with a palpable tension, the stakes not merely high, but inextricably bound to the spectral whispers of history’s most intoxicating siren: Cleopatra.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The raw, unforgiving wind of the Andes clawed at Sparta and Jackson, two souls irrevocably bound to the currents of time, teetering on the brink of oblivion. Before them yawned an Incan scar upon the earth, a skeletal remains of a civilization clawed from the mountain's granite heart. Crumbling stone, slick with the mountain's ancient tears, whispered a thousand forgotten sagas into the howling wind. Pandora, their brilliant, often distant anchor, was elsewhere, lost in her own labyrinth of chronal equations. But her fierce, loyal shadows, her canine bulwarks, were here, their primal instincts thrumming with anticipation.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The crimson dust of Mars clawed at the edges of Sparta and Jackson's vision, a stark testament to their maiden plunge into the unknown. The colony, a defiant scar upon the desolate expanse, throbbed with a frantic energy. Gleaming chrome domes, impossibly fragile against the alien sky, shimmered under the razor-thin atmosphere, a siren song of progress masking a chilling undercurrent of fear. It was a palpable dread, thick as the metallic tang of recycled air, clinging to the very marrow of the place.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The air crackled, not just with the thunder of approaching revolution, but with the raw, untamed energy of temporal displacement. Sparta and Jackson, ripped from the very fabric of their own existence, materialized into the heart of a storm – Philadelphia, ablaze with the fever of nascent rebellion. The city didn't just hum; it throbbed, a living organism pulsing with the clang of reforged metal and the guttural roar of impassioned voices. The acrid bite of coal smoke mingled with the sweet, cloying scent of desperation and the sharp tang of fear, a potent cocktail that saturated every breath.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
In a vortex of raw, unyielding magic, Sparta was ripped from reality, hurtling into a temporal anomaly that violently reshaped the future into a grotesque echo of a forgotten past. Cobblestone, slick with an unknown dampness, clawed at his paws as gaslight, sickly and flickering, cast long, skeletal shadows. The air hung thick with a suffocating blend of nostalgia and an unsettling, palpable dread, each scent a memory and a phantom limb.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
In the abyss of a future so fractured it defied comprehension, Sparta, the temporal anomaly disguised as a corgi, materialised into a reality that clawed at his very essence. He’d braced himself for the sterile gleam of chrome citadels and the thrum of anti-gravity vessels. Instead, his paws, accustomed to temporal displacement rather than solid ground, found purchase on the rough, worn cobblestones of a forgotten age. Gaslight, a flickering mockery of true illumination, bled amber hues onto the street, painting shadows that writhed like captured spirits. The air, thick and cloying, bore the pungent aroma of horse dung and the sickly sweet perfume of baking bread, a deceptive normalcy that masked a deeper dissonance. Yet, amidst this anachronistic tableau, the ghosts of what-was-to-be whispered their secrets – a gas lamp, its flame a steady, unnatural pulse, hummed with an unseen power, a silent testament to a technology woven into the very fabric of this bewildering era.
By Carolyn Patton3 months ago in Chapters
The Man, The Mountain, and The Climb
". . .He keeps climbing because stopping would mean surrendering everything he has built, every promise he swore to keep. The air thins as he ascends, and though he’s given everything—strength, time, conviction—the mountain gives little back. Once, it felt sacred to climb.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 months ago in Chapters
The Nightmare And The Children. Content Warning.
When the children went to sleep, the Nightmare began to play his keyboard. Their bodies slept and all seemed well, but their souls left their bodies and rode on the back of the spiral night dog, up and up the hill to where the Nightmare was playing.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 4 months ago in Chapters
