Fragments of Ash Vol. 1 (Urban Fantasy)

Chapter One: Melchiezedek

Ada walked through the dark misty streets of The Factory. To most, it was perhaps the most imposing and terrifying place in all of Melchiezedek; she didn't care. She shivered. Her heavy, hooded robe did little to protect her from the cold and it was difficult for her to see anything with her long, dark hair fluttering in front of her face due to the chilly wind. The rising mist of the night did little to help. With her exotic olive skin and soft features, she betrayed the look of the local people used to such weather. Despite her hardy nature, Ada was taken aback by the commanding stature of the cold and stale metal structures that towered above her, they were rusted over and had a shimmering, white frost that made the district seem further desolate. Nothing but factories upon factories upon factories. Ada tried to ignore the constant hum on the ground below, it was most likely from the automated feeding tubes, but her gut told her something more sinister lay beneath her feet. This was the first solid tip in months on where her mother would be, she'd tried to shed the shock of learning the woman she was looking for would be roaming around a place so grim and desolate.

Ada was looking for a church of some sort, a relic of the past. A relic from when the children of the moon once questioned why their lands floated on oceans of mist, why the continents were separated by smoke the colours of pink and blue, and why the islands hung so steadfastly on what should have been empty space. Still, it seemed unlikely that there'd be one hidden somewhere amongst these modern day monoliths that had so readily decided to defy the laws of the Church.

It was the first time she'd roamed these lands, and she was tiny, humbled by the fearsome scale of the capital. An industrial scrapyard of titanic buildings and all-encompassing factory districts.

Melchiezedek, a Nation of Iron and Steel.

Meanwhile, two beasts of war dashed across the Factory rooftops. One, a monstrous creature of the night, the other, a hardened warrior with the resolve of a bloodhound.

Eleanor, the aforementioned, tried her best to not let her prey know she was on its tail - with almost twenty five years of experience as a warrior behind her belt, it wasn't a difficult task for the battle-hardened soldier to keep up the pace. She was chasing a disgusting creature, a silhouette of the grotesque in the cold moonlit night, it scrambled across the factory rooftops with its prey in its mouth. It was biting down on a helpless young woman, she was screaming, moaning, wailing in pain.

Eleanor regretted not saving her yet, but the creature was heading to its nest, this was her chance to slaughter a whole family of them, save lives and make a fair bit of cash in the process. Somewhere in the deserted Feeding Factories the creature would return to its home, and that's where she'd strike. Whether there were ten, twenty, or fifty of them. She'd take them out.

Eleanor kept her distance, the beast was slowing down. She could see its figure more clearly now. Matt grey skin, bulbous eyes, a muscular, almost human figure, the creature stood at least ten feet tall; perhaps what was most noteworthy was its mouth: large, sharp fangs designed for nothing more than to tear raw flesh from bone. Disgusting.

The creature finally stopped. It had landed on the rooftop of a small church.

A church? Eleanor had no idea there was one tucked away in the Eastern Factory district. It sat, hidden meekly amongst the rusted metal buildings, towering fumes and billowing smoke.

The creature jumped in through the broken rooftop. Eleanor hopped from the platforms of the factories and carefully leaped through the same opening. She landed gracefully onto the altar. The light of the moon shining through the building's stained glass window gave ample visibility for both the creature and his captive to see her in all her glory. She was painted with a rainbow of colours from the window, a beautiful image planted on her from the intricate patterns on the glass, but her jet black locks and sturdy stature were impossible to overpower. The woman who was captive, bloodied, broken, trembling on the floor changed her tone from that of despair to relief; she recognised the aging but legendary warrior immediately.