The Chronicles: Guardian: Death Isn’t the End, but an Opportunity to Start Again

By Tyee'lar Oxenbury and Sandipan Santra

Forced to confront and live through the consequences of his past actions, Lordus must find his way to understand the cause and effects of a war that has come and gone many times in the past from many other existences. After coming face to face with mortality, he must let go of the burdening pressures of his mistakes and prepare himself to make impossible choices that will leave him feeling isolated with judgemental eyes that will shape his future self. With newly acquired powers in the hands of someone who is losing their identity, Lordus will have to carefully forge a path that will stop the coming singularly without hurting those that he cares for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Nov 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669832270

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Copyright © 2022 by Tyee ‘Lar Oxenbury.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/22/2022

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1     How Did That Plan Go Again?

Chapter 2     Her Promise

Chapter 3     Violent Luck

Chapter 4     The Tin-Man With A Heart

Chapter 5     A Dimming Light

Chapter 6     Fractured Image

Chapter 7     Broken Revenge

Chapter 8     Dark Guidance

Chapter 9     A Mourning Memory

Chapter 10   Revival

Chapter 11   Meaningful Purpose

Chapter 12   Betrayal Of Meetings

Chapter 13   A Guardian And Three Companions

Chapter 14   Rigged Chance

Chapter 15   Reuion

Chapter 16   A Deadly Dose Of Deja-Vu

A special thank you to Paul Judd

Many times, I have seen humanity tear itself apart. Such an

inspiring race of organic minds that have triumphed over countless

achievements, who have chased their dream of progress and

adaptation, only for it to be later ruined, perverted, and raped by

their successors who wish to destroy the lives of millions just so that

they can get ahead of their competitors and make a quick buck.

I have studied and witnessed hundreds of times that the human race

could have dodged a bullet and have made an alternative choice that is

an obvious step to better themselves and their peers. Their technology gave

them the strength and dominance to shatter the boundaries of human

limitation. It is this same technology that will be the end of them.

I am sorry, but you all have had your chance. Many, many times…

-The Creator’s promise.

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CHAPTER 1

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HOW DID THAT PLAN

GO AGAIN?

They’re all dead. The people of Truth never stood a chance against the machines and their hateful fuelled attack. I consider myself lucky to be alive as I soon awaken beneath to what feels like a ton of rubble. Echoes of screams overwhelm the sound of blazing fires and collapsing buildings that topple over from the weakening support structures below. I take a steady deep breath in, but violently cough out the poisoned air, filled with soot and potent exhaust fumes from the attacker’s alien machinery. As if I had taken a violent swing to the head from a metal club, I try to recall the recent events that had just taken place. Most of it is a blur to me, with random images flashing in my mind of explosions and chaos. The killings of innocents then infiltrate the slideshow in my brain. The death tally had to be in the hundreds, all because of me; the result of my actions aggravating the machine army was more than enough to launch an attack against us. My vision then shifts to my closest friends, allies, and comrades - was there any chance for them, do they have any prospect of making it out of the town alive? What of Li, Bullet or Hope? They were there with me when the attack began, just as the first missile made contact with our feet. After that, recalling any of the events is like trying to construct a demented jigsaw in my head.

Trying to conjure any strength that remains in my broken body, I shift my right hand and free it from the scrap metal and shattered concrete that crumbles away from my movements. Cold air surrounds my metal hand as I reach out with it into open space. I tightly ball my fingers up into a fist as I begin to shuffle my body around, trying to lighten the heavy load weighing down on my torso and limbs, with my head still face down and buried deep in the dirt and rubble. My left hand is unresponsive, jutting my forearm confirms that it is tightly pinned by something. Using my free hand to carefully pick up and brush away pieces of debris from around my head, I soon find the will to finally lift it from the burdens weighing it down. Again, I let out a sharp cough, followed by a desperate plea for fresh air. Shifting my gaze slightly, I see the fate of my left hand and understand why I wasn’t receiving any feedback from it. A meter or so of rebar has found its way vertically downwards straight through my hand. I consider myself lucky; a few inches more to the right and that same rebar would have ended up directly through my cranium. My fingers are remarkably responsive, however any movement for the hand and the wrist itself proves to be absent. I will need the help of my other hand to carefully lift it up and out of its crooked snare.

Finally, after agonizing minutes of trying to free myself from my early grave, I can now assume a steady position on my knees and have a proper look around at what was once a bustling town, now turned into a fiery grave for hundreds. I notice that I am well hidden from any hostile eyes by mountains of collapsed buildings and fallen walls that were meant to keep the threats from getting in. So much for that. I dart my eyes around and soon activate my enhanced senses in my heads-up display. It takes mere seconds until my systems flash errors in my vision telling me that none of my enhancements are functioning as they should. Sending out an SOS isn’t going to happen until I get my complex fixed up. Seeing the town as it is now, it is a long shot until I can get my systems calibrated.

As if I am a wild animal caught in a hunter’s improvised trap, I soon begin to take action by cradling my left wrist with my right hand, and I use all of my focus and precision to lift slowly. It takes only millimetres of movement for signals of pain to shoot through my impaled hand and up my arm, forcing me to stop. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and spit out a mumbled curse. What’s the point of having augmented limbs if pain was a part of the package? Besides the enhanced strength, I could swear that the receptors in my brain are receiving pain signals at twice the intensity. I allow the nauseous tide from the intense pain to leave my stomach. A couple of deep breaths prepare me for another go at my delicate procedure. I fold my lower lip inwards and clamp down with my teeth, as I resume lifting my hand upwards towards freedom. I break the flesh on my lips with my bite as the pain soon returns. Sweat rolls down my eyebrow and down my cheek as I push through. I know that no mercy will be shown to me if I am found by the metallic foot soldiers that patrol the desecrated lands of Truth. Every centimetre passing through my hand made the journey to the top of the rebar seem nearly impossible. My vision soon takes a hit as the rush of adrenaline from this torture worsens, making my vision blur. I am fading away once again from consciousness. If I allow myself to pass out and fall back into a deep slumber, I will surely be found and be killed. This careful procedure of mine isn’t going to work. I must free myself now and find a way out of this soon-to-be firing zone.

I widen my gaze and focus on the pole centring through my hand. I rapidly breath in and out three times and hold in my fourth. Without thinking twice, I use my free hand clutching onto my pinned wrist to lift high and true, along with whatever strength is to be found in my left arm. The piecing noise my metal hand makes grinding and tearing through the ensnaring, serrated pole is bound to be heard from any beings nearby. My breathing stops as I feel my eyes bulge from the instant impulse of my pain receptors reacting from the most agonizing moment of my life. I slowly shift my vision towards my now freed hand. It dangles helplessly from my wrist as my arm involuntary shakes from my regretful action. I bite down on my synthetic flesh on my right arm, my eyes build up with water from seeing the butchering result of fully splitting my hand in half all the way through. Fully comprehending the torment of sharp and violent waves pulsating up my arm is impossible to me. The foul grunts I let out, and the gasps of air - like the vacuum of space - show the intensity of my struggle. I am not coping well; my struggle shows persistently as every second passes of my experience. My legs flail around, making me kick random pieces of debris away that further free me from my buried state. I soon run the side of my face across the rough dirt that feels like a fresh sheet of sandpaper, making me try and focus on a different kind of pain.

After several hammers to the earth with my tightening fist, my heads-up display soon notifies me of my arm coming offline from the severe damage I just inflicted onto myself. Along with losing complete control of my limb that becomes limp and heavy is the pain; as if a switch is simply flickered off, the sting fades away and dies. I halt my tantrum and take in deep breaths as if I have finally surfaced from a deep dive. My AutoDok system soon kicks in and releases a heavy amount of endorphins to sooth the shock that I have just endured. I sigh a stuttering cry of relief. I am glad to know that if any of my enhancements were to work, that it was my AutoDok.

I remain still and experience the short high that I am feeling from my painkillers. I feel more ready, more focused on where I am and what I must do to survive. The first step is to analyse my dire situation. A countdown from three is my incentive to lift myself up and dust off the dirt and rust from my torn leather jacket with my one good arm. The kevlar from my cargo pants did a good job of keeping out the hot, flying shrapnel from the earlier explosions. The uneven surface that I stand on in my reinforced steel boots makes it hard to stay upright. Bits and pieces of rusty debris slide down the small hill as I disturb the ground below. Darting my head around shows nothing but more mounds of small craters and machine-made hills. I’d have a better chance of surveying the destroyed town of Truth by finding the highest point, keeping in mind the need to stay down and keep a low profilen to avoid any unwanted stares from mechanical eyes.

One foot after the other, I make my way down the steep slope, marking my first steps on this uncertain journey. I have no destination or objective. My only goal is to flee my collapsed hometown and escape the radius of these now machined-owned ruins. Sticking to the shadows and avoiding any conflict will prove to be my best odds for survival. I’m already at a disadvantage in my current state. Scaling hill after hill of scrap and concrete ruins makes me unsure of where I really am. My disorientated mind makes it hard to know what direction I am facing exactly. I can only use my intuition, and hope that luck is on my side as I navigate my way out.

The biggest mound of ruins I climb can only tell me that this is the town centre, or what used to be the town centre. My morbid mind then switches from its strategic thinking into a guessing game, making me imagine the number of bodies that are buried below my feet. Besides all the crackling spurts of fire that pierce my ears there is the wasteland wind that makes my jacket go into a flutter. It is as if the howl of the wind rushing across Truth’s grave is a hymn for the fallen, the very ones whom I stand upon right now. I know that there is no going back, my very actions made this attack happen, and I know with a deep and stinging regret that I am to blame.

I allow a moment of silence to pass for a minute more until I snap back to this cursed reality that I have moulded. It is time to act and find a way out of this collapsed town that is now under machine control. Blending into my surroundings, I remain low as I access my systems. Knowing that my left hand is out of order, I do a quick scan of what is still functioning. My kinetic ward isn’t responding, obviously from my lost limb. My thermal convector seems to be still in working condition, this should allow me to generate heat to my right hand and still be able to use my hellfire. I should keep in mind that my bioelectric energy stores are very low however and I should only use my abilities as a final means. I need to find a weapon now, and use that as my primary means of defence. As of now, my legs seem fine. They did take a little damage for being tossed around from the attack earlier, but nothing too critical. Despite my glitching interface, I initiate a sonar scan to quickly sweep my surroundings. As expected, I am not alone. Several outlines of humanoid figures appear from the other side of the crumbling walls across from my current position. I can see that at least half a dozen machine grunts stayed behind after the attack, probably to pick off any survivors. They march on by in neat and uninterrupted steps. The weapons they hold are very outlandish and foreign; they have their own energy source and clearly don’t fire lead rounds. These beings are unmistakably The Creators henchmen. Going this way and showing myself would be a grave encounter, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I shift my position and follow the burnt concrete wall trying to make as little noise as possible. The crackling flames in the background help mask my presence, but one sight of me however and it will be hunting season for the metal men. Around the corner is the end of my cover, and I see the dirt path on which the machines stride onwards. It is clear that they are purely synthetic, as nothing but brown and grey metal make up their person, with a pure white silicone base to protect their vitals. They all look identical, nothing unique tells them apart. Some of the marching alloy skeletons have exposed wires and cables telling me that they are injured from the previous battle. They trek the rising ground and disappear over the elevation. As if I am crossing a dangerous street with unpredictable traffic; I dart my head both ways to make sure that the way is clear before I pounce out of cover and expose myself in the open. Confident, I cross the clearing and make it to the other side. It doesn’t take long to find a metal wall on the other side of the street to take refuge behind once more, to shield myself from view. After my sonar recharges, I commence another scan to analyse my next best move. My heart sinks down my chest as I see the outlines of two more mechanical men. Between them is unmistakably a villager trembling on his knees with his hands cupped to the back of his head. I can hear the sobs of this man begging his captors for his life. It is clear however that they show no sign of mercy or empathy. His voice continues to break as he scrambles his unintelligible words, trying to talk his way out. The being to his right reaches to its side and equips its alien weapon. With the tip of the barrel touching the centre of the stuttering man’s forehead, the trigger is pulled, and the clapping bang of the firearm replaces the echoing cries of fear.

Tears swell up in my eyes as I swallow what feels like a mouthful of sharp pebbles. It is hard to remain calm and silent after witnessing an innocent being executed. My heart tells me to pounce out and kill these soulless individuals, however I listen to my brain and remain hidden in the fiery shadows. As the image from my sonar dies, I peek out and see the body of the man laying facedown with smoke rising out of his head wound. The faceless machines watch the puddle of blood slowly form around his head. After what feels like a few minutes, they glance at each other and go their separate ways. This is my opportunity to take one out and scavenge anything useful. I remind myself to stay low and keep my eyes fixed on the machine with the black crystalized handgun that executed the innocent townsman.

One foot after the other, I carefully step over and around pieces of loose materiel from the fallen buildings that either give way under my feet or make a noise of any kind. Being spotted like this in the open will surely put an end to my stealthy approach. My eyes leap up and down towards the dirt flooring and back towards my target. As if I am watching a fast-paced ball sport, I persist and continue to stalk my prey that remains oblivious to what follows. With only a few meters separating the two of us, I maintain this distance until I know it is a good time to strike. Our road becomes narrow as the path we walk on turns into what used to be an alleyway; one that is perfect to dispose of this being. As if this opportunity couldn’t be better, a long length of rebar stretches out from the brick wall to our left and shows that it is solid enough to be used as a weapon.

Seconds before the lifeless entity crossed the metal stinger, I close the gap between the two of us and tightly hold my breath as I initiate the termination. Raising my heavy boot to ready a kick, I stomp downwards against the bend of the machine’s leg. Caving in from the force of my attack, the shrieking automaton falls to its knees. Before it can react further, I use my good hand to grasp the side of the faceless head and shove it sideways. The rebar that points outwards slightly bends as I plunge the cranium of my enemy deep through the length. Powdery rust flies outwards as the steel and brick of the building is disturbed. The scrambling noises of the alarming machine quickly diminish and shut down, showing that I have effectively killed it. I can’t help but feel somewhat surprised at how simple these things are to kill.

Becoming limp and unresponsive, the hunk of twitching metal drops its firearm. I look at the black reflective surface of the weapon before proceeding to pick it up. It has all the characteristics of a handgun, but the