The colours of indigo and amber bled into the clouds and the night sky. A burning sensation would have flooded through almost all bodies. Aisha stood motionless in the desert sand, loosely holding her staff. It was a strange staff, made of the finest branch from the Ancient Forests. Upon its top was a gleaming white gem, an invisible energy searing slowly through the wind. A strand of her purple hair fell into her vision, yet she pushed it away. A faint rattle swam unhurried through the air, faintly burying itself into the druid’s mind. She turned, and saw sand slowly rising above a hill of yellow. The sand slowly rose, evidently a cloud of sand being kicked up by something. Then it appeared. The old steel grille of the van rattled with an old, rusty sound. Its wheels were almost flat, and its main body was torn and scratched and rusted. It practically had no roof, as it had folded backwards in an accident that it was a pile of frantically twisted metal barely hanging off the back. It finally got to Aisha, the sandy and dusty red complexion of the carpet-like coat quivering in the wind. The rattling stopped, and the handbrake made a sickening crunch. Its dirty windows rolled down, and a short, portly man with messy brown hair to his ear tops with a bald patch, pale skin and yellowy-brown clockwork spectacles with green glass lenses. He wiped off the new sand from the glass and spoke, his thick lips sending saliva everywhere.
“We found it, ma’am!” the man said as Aisha took a step backwards to avoid the sickening spitfire of spit.
“Bring it out then, Toaden,” Aisha snapped impatiently, already tired of Jim Toaden’s idiocy. He got out, practically waddling over to the centre of the sand. His grey waistcoat flapped the dust away sluggishly, and he bent down, placing a pristine red and gold box onto the ground. No dust lay upon it. It all flared away and disintegrated. A tall person, possible about six foot, climbed out of the passenger seat, a flamethrower in his hand. He was slender, a dark blue mask wrapped around his nose and mouth, black goggles obscuring his eyes. Neat blonde hair matched his shirt, a grey jacket wrapped around his chest. Aisha, the tall man and Toaden stood in a triangle shape around the box.
“You know what this means, gentleman and…” she said, then turned to Toaden, “man.”
Toaden spoke up. “Icthe mesano respia!”
Aisha, Toaden and the other man started speaking the same words repetitively, and the gold rims and patterns of the box illuminated delightfully yet ominously.
“Let the flames burn it, Reln. Let them burn it,” Druid Priestess Aisha shouted over the oncoming winds.
Reln, the tall man, went over to the decrepit truck and pulled out a plain grey tank of gasoline. He walked to the box and took the lid off. The gasoline rained upon the box, drenching it thoroughly in dripping gold cider-like liquid. Then he took back the flamethrower and yanked the trigger. Flame enveloped the box, red ash spitting through the air. Reln stopped, the box ablaze.
Aisha, Reln and Toaden laughed.
The age of the nightmare has begun. Then the box exploded… in an inferno of pure white.
“We found it, ma’am!” the man said as Aisha took a step backwards to avoid the sickening spitfire of spit.
“Bring it out then, Toaden,” Aisha snapped impatiently, already tired of Jim Toaden’s idiocy. He got out, practically waddling over to the centre of the sand. His grey waistcoat flapped the dust away sluggishly, and he bent down, placing a pristine red and gold box onto the ground. No dust lay upon it. It all flared away and disintegrated. A tall person, possible about six foot, climbed out of the passenger seat, a flamethrower in his hand. He was slender, a dark blue mask wrapped around his nose and mouth, black goggles obscuring his eyes. Neat blonde hair matched his shirt, a grey jacket wrapped around his chest. Aisha, the tall man and Toaden stood in a triangle shape around the box.
“You know what this means, gentleman and…” she said, then turned to Toaden, “man.”
Toaden spoke up. “Icthe mesano respia!”
Aisha, Toaden and the other man started speaking the same words repetitively, and the gold rims and patterns of the box illuminated delightfully yet ominously.
“Let the flames burn it, Reln. Let them burn it,” Druid Priestess Aisha shouted over the oncoming winds.
Reln, the tall man, went over to the decrepit truck and pulled out a plain grey tank of gasoline. He walked to the box and took the lid off. The gasoline rained upon the box, drenching it thoroughly in dripping gold cider-like liquid. Then he took back the flamethrower and yanked the trigger. Flame enveloped the box, red ash spitting through the air. Reln stopped, the box ablaze.
Aisha, Reln and Toaden laughed.
The age of the nightmare has begun. Then the box exploded… in an inferno of pure white.
So this an adventure / sci-fi novel in the style of TV seasons. There will be 5 episodes a season, every episode having either 1 or 2 parts.
It's about a group of kids who find different-styled gadgets that can summon ancient spirits they can morph into.
Kinda like Ben 10.
They fight aliens, and some people on Earth (druids). And monsters. And human villains. And spirits. And supernatural entities.
The aliens/monsters get here because... well you'll find out
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