The Justiceers - Part Four: Chapter Three
the next chapter in my forthcoming novel
The Justiceers
by Daphne Garrido
Part Three: The Will to Choose
Part Four: Prefinished Business
4.3
This universe was ‘going to learn something’ if Miriam Lightfoot and the Valkyrie had anything to do with it.
Time had become her weapon.
Lobbed backwards to the beginnings of the universe, outside means of her control, earning the seat of Captain’s in the eternal vessel of conquest, she’d become wrath itself. With everything stolen from her, and the cruelty with which it had been done, she was ‘fucking over it’.
Arthur had left her to die, as despicable as the rest of this forsaken galaxy — even more so, with all of which he could have been capable, how completely and without expectation she’d offered herself — truly an embarrassment to that light she’d known inside him.
Miriam had become a monster in her loss and the horrors wrought upon her. This God was more apt at compartmentalization than any being would ever find themselves again.
She had known exactly what she’d become, and Miriam ‘didn’t give a shit.’
There was a space she’d stow horrors inflicted — a little furnace to burn them up, more fuel for the fire — allowing her to become fiercest warrior in the galaxy, twisting her guts, flaming her heart, dying always from the inside.
Miriam launched every fighter she had.
She’d worn out half the flight-squad the night before, some of them were probably still shaking in their legs, and there was hope she might lose a couple more because of it this fight.
Her flight team was composed entirely of biological men — weakness was not permitted — she was done being disappointed by ‘cunts’.
These erotic gatherings in worship of her godhood were a common tactic for weeding out the weaklings. A good fuck should get you ready to fight, is what Miriam believed.
This ‘fucking bitch’ was going to pay.
Miriam had been alive now for six-thousand years, quite literally beyond human, she’d not sleep. Augments to her physical form through highest technology allowed her to achieve more than others could ever imagine.
The weapons in her fingertips could end worlds.
Her life bath — unlike any other — made for and by a God. Blood magic infused with every part of this ship, itself an organic being, its ichor intwined by the flowing veins of dead.
This universe had taken her only love so incredibly long ago.
Arthur Katrinus, a coward of a man who’d left her to die in the underground of Grammaton. It was in that place, as she was being drown by a most calloused and hateful soul, where the rage and power flowing through the Goddess Miriam Halafax had become, found herself so sent through time.
The Valkyrie was a ship of death from origins unknown, existing before the beginnings of this galaxy itself, a horror birthed from such mysterious and evil forces of energetic dominion.
Miriam had only found herself become its captain, the God she now was, because of blindest luck, her body dropped into a war-zone — the civilization in the midst of destruction, cities aflame, a darkness in the sky.
Her brutal conviction to survive had won the approval of those who’d meant to destroy her, impressed so by the dispatching of their own comrades at her hands, the relentlessness she had because of her foolish desire to make it back to that most undeserved man.
Arthur never once made her feel loved how he always should have; not a single time. She’d made it all up herself in blindest wanting.
If he could only see her now, she’d make that little twerp cower to her godhood, that same she’d wished to help him find in her naivety. The rise to Captain had been a fastest endeavor for Miriam Lightfoot, burning her former name in the truth of her power, letting go of those lies that bitch had told herself so long.
This was who Miriam was always meant to be.
That reason she had so long felt herself staring towards the future, was because she’d been meant to chase it like she was now, pouring lies into her heart to get her here.
Now, it was only pain she wished to create, sharing back what this universe had offered her with such abundance, teaching those living in their little bubbles of comfy denial a hardest truth — they were nothing compared to her, and they never had been — their place in this galaxy, was an allowance she’d bestowed, and she was now revoking it.
This slow descent to madness had come from millennia spent alone, with idiots, every pathetic one thinking they were special. Each day had seen Miriam lose more of herself, always further from the light she’d known herself to be, and more like the devil she was made into by the cowardice of others.
The day Miriam Lightfoot lost her soul, was the same she’d let herself forget Arthur Katrinus’ face.
