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About Varied / Hobbyist Premium Member Jay BrauschMale/United States Groups :icondark-fancy-art-page: Dark-Fancy-art-page
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Will you make me free? by subshopautumn

I will admit that I like bondage and have collected it, the prettier the model and more exotic the bondage, the better. Although what I...

Vernal Pool by badchess

Being at this time and for the long term in a rural location, the factors this person feels upon seeing a landscape with no indications...

Katharsis Vol II by CatarsisADiez

Upon coming across this striking visual piece, this artist initially thought it to be an airbrushing or fine painting. As this person a...

Tightness by DecoGoddess

"Tightness" is a visual portrayal of alluring glamour and contrasting black & white. What makes this work a good photo is that it is bo...


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(Contains: violence/gore)
         Given Paige's perilous situation, Mark knew he had to do something next.  He took a couple of cautious steps toward Mr. Bradford, and while trembling much, pointed his revolver at his back.  He thought of his wife and the threat he issued to him before and was not sure of shooting him right away.  The older more bulky man was leaning down and strangling Paige with his bare hands in his rage, and she was audibly gasping for air on the other side of him.  He quickly remembered Warren mentioning his real name to him and shouted it to effectively get his attention.

         "Xavier!" he exclaimed.

         He released her then, whereupon she collapsed to the floor, and abruptly turned around to face him.  "You are too late to save her or your own mate," he said and raised his fist.  

         His action prompted Mark to use the reloaded revolver twice -- too fast.  So, his shots were not square hits.  One bullet just caught the top of his left shoulder, and the other struck the right side of his head at the top of the forehead.  The second shot did the most damage, and the impact of it from only a few meter's distance twisted him around in almost a full semicircle.  Some blood, small bone fragments, and bits of his brain spattered against the adjacent wall, and he toppled onto the floor beside her.  

         Paige put her hands to the sides of her face and let out a loud scream upon seeing what should have been a mortal wound for a typical person.  However, the power of his ring provided for stubborn life-sustaining abilities, as it did previously for her, and he turned and slowly returned to his feet.  Mark was vividly amazed and stood motionless as he glared at him, turned again, and staggered quite fast down the hall and stairway, almost like a zombie.  She regained her emotions, and with emphasis, yelled, "No!  Don't!  He's not human!"

         "Then, what else is he, woman?" he shouted back.  "He still bleeds."

         She coughed.  "He's . . . he's -- "

         "Doesn't matter.  I'm goin' after him before he kills Jolene."

         Mark approached her, as she tried to stand, and another android cyborg attacked from a storage room across the hall from the library he was in with Warren earlier.  Its strength was very intimidating, and it crashed through the side door upon being activated and detecting him outside.  He was sent to the floor with the thing but wisely kept rolling to use its momentum to gain an initial advantage in position.  Thunder boomed from the storm again, and heavy sheets of rain blew as furiously against the windows of the grand place.  He could not tell if it was distracted by the external noise, but he quickly used the time gained to slam his fist hard across its human-looking non-sweating face.  

         The cyborg's face jerked just meagerly, and showed no emotion; the pupils of its eyes remained a steady glowing red, seeing his body in the infrared wavelengths.  It swatted his right arm with a strong blow, and his pistol went clumping a short distance down the hall away from Paige also.  It deduced incorrectly that he would try to immediately retrieve it, and he pushed free and clear of the thing instead.  He was only able to glance at her and get another breath of air, before having it knocked out of him.  The powerful attacker shoved him back hard against the opposite wall after it seized his arms.  He was dazed and grew weaker then but continued to fight out of greater desperation.

         Mark twisted some as it held up up against the wall and delivered aggravating kicks to its side.  In response, it used one hand to apply a vise-like grip to his neck, and his eyes watered as he struggled more to breathe.  He punched it again with his freed arm, but their impacts were abbreviated by the wide angle needed to land the blows and lack of secure footing.  Its six and a half foot tall and almost 300-lb structure was swiftly the superior.  The cyborg applied more pressure to his throat, and before crushing it, his blurred vision saw the thing's head blow away also to the right.  Synthetic blood, tan-colored lubricant, and other oily fluids with some sparks briefly shot out of its gaping neck, and he slid slowly down the wall and shoved it aside with one more arduous effort before resting in a seated position on the floor.  

         As his vision cleared more with each subsequent deep breath, he looked to his left and saw Paige on her feet and holding her ring fist out in his direction.  He coughed again, smiled faintly, and said, "Girl, you got some real attitude."

         Her vacant gaze in concentration turned to an expression of concern, and she replied, "Are you going to be alright?"

         He sat more erect, gave a "thumbs-up" sign, and added, "I'll live, but I sure hope Jolene will.  We gotta find her."

         "We will."

         "Where is Sarah?  Thought she was with you."

         "No," she said and shook her head.  "Miranda was waiting for us in the pool and sealed her underwater in some sort of . . . plastic pillow thing.  Do you have any idea where Jolene is in here?"  

         He paused a bit and then said, "The old guy said she was below only -- in some cylinder.  That's . . . oh, shit!"

         Paige saw a renewed vigor enter him as he grew more excited and concerned, and she helped him to his feet.  He recovered his weapon, kicked the motionless cyborg, and commented, "I wonder if the bullets left in this thing will have as good an effect on him as your ring did with Frankenstein here."

         "How many are left?"

         "Just four.  I only had enough ammo to reload it once after Warren and I met the . . . little welcoming committee downstairs."

         "Really?  Then, why are the pockets bulging in your pants?"  

         He quickly reached in a frontal pocket and revealed an old heraldic-eagle gold coin in new condition to her.  "Can't shoot this."

         She turned her head slowly in disbelief, and he moved beside and ahead of her after pocketing the rare coin again.  They followed the irregular narrow blood trail Mr. Bradford left on the stairs and eventually came to the dim entryway to the basement stairs.  It brought back a memory to Paige -- the descending passage where she was rudely escorted by Miranda to him.  He stopped and said, "Girl, I sure hope he doesn't have another one of his musclemen waitin' for us down there."

         "I hope not either, but being that I have the better potential weapon, I'll lead the way now."

         Paige put a finger in front of her lips to signal him to be silent, and she went onward into the coldly familiar passageway.  With the swim slippers on her feet, she was as quiet as a cat.  When she came onto the third last step, she put an arm out in front of him and stayed beside the right wall in case of a counterattack.  Her pulse quickened as she heard labored breathing, and more thunder echoed into the corridor from above.  With her spine tingling, she crouched down some and finally peered into the centralized basement room, where he earlier proposed a grotesque exchange for her ring, and saw the large table in the middle of it.  Nevertheless, the breathing seemed louder, and she cautiously took two more steps, before bending forward and looking all the way in it to see why.

         Mr. Bradford was standing before the universal power stabilizer in between large opened wooden panels of the adjacent wall, and it definitely did not look like any 20th-century machine.  It hummed and had glowing blue and green tubes going into a rectangular shiny structure from the floor, and there was a complicated frontal panel with many touch-sensitive buttons of various shapes and other unfamiliar protrusions and designs.  An electromagnetic, blue-glowing dome force field hovered and shimmered over a circular elevated mount, where the nine other power rings were placed evenly apart in, and they were kept inert in a broken circle -- so far in front of him.  He appeared wrecked and was either programmed to stay alive by them or independently seeking more power to repair the damage done by Mark's bullets and activate another hidden trap.

         Paige and Mark decided to intervene before their opponent could do more harm, and she entered the large room with her ring fist held out at him.  "This is over, Jack.  It didn't have to be this way.  You had your chances with me."

         He turned some and slowly replied, "History repeats itself all the time, Miss Everhart.  Violence brreeds . . . violence."

         His voice sounded synthetic, almost mechanical, but Mark's was much more demanding.  "Where is Jolene, chump!  I want her back -- now."

         "Being from . . . the future, I predict that her life is . . . forfeit.  Blame your brazen female companion . . . for that, fool."

         "You bastard!" he shouted back and raised his revolver fast.

         "Mark, don't do -- "  Paige sharply said, for naught.

         With anger surging, he fired his weapon three more times at the prevailing older man, and the bullets ripped through his torso and into the mysterious machine to his immediate rear.  Their impact collectively sent him back against the electromagnetic force field, which became breached, and the energy stasis that the rings were kept in destabilized.  Ironically, what Mr. Bradford said about violence became true.  The panel of the futuristic machine actually changed shape some, as if to accommodate the intrusion of his body, and exploded apart afterward as many white bolts of electricity shot wildly forth, to replace the energy dome in a lethal way.

         Paige and Mark flinched and ducked down behind the central table as the mayhem ensued, and the force of the frontal panel detonating toppled Mr. Bradford's further- damaged body backward onto the floor.  They smelled ozone, charred flesh, and more importantly, burning wood, as the heat from the breached power stabilizer ignited the surrounding support frame of the mansion.  Paige turned quickly to Mark and yelled, "Now, look what you've done!  This old place is going to burn like a tinderbox.  We've got to get out of here."  

         "Not without Jo!  Those rings aren't as important as her."

         "Neither is that stash in your pockets, Mark.  I'll worry about the rings.  Just look further down through that side hall into the den over there.  Maybe, she's in another room further on."

         A couple more bolts of electricity shot forth, crackling and branching apart, and grew in size and frequency.  Gray smoke also began to fill the top of the room.  The strange machine was just a little larger from the outside than a grand piano, but Paige wondered if it was drawing energy from the storm outside to compensate for the damage done to it or worse -- overloading the rings from the surrounding energy of the storm to cause their impending destruction and more.  Her female intuition made her feel first that time was ever more of the essence in completing what had to be done yet, including to save themselves, and it was.

         Just before they bolted from the protection of the table, Mark took a hold of her forearm and emotionally said, "Promise you'll help me get Jolene out of here safe, Paige.  Please!  I don't want to lose my wife.  I love her so much!"  

         After a pause, she coughed, nodded, and replied, "Yes, Mark.  I promise.  Just as you've helped and trusted me, I will do whatever I can to help you."    

Continued to Pt. 10.  
         Because Mr. Bradford was confident that Miranda, with her enhanced powers, and the "muscle" of the android cyborgs would be sufficient to eradicate Paige and Sarah after their transference through his pool, he had no other deadly surprises behind the mansion for her to contend with.  The more superficial perilous circumstances she now encountered made up for those that previously cost Sarah's life and nearly took hers, to allow her to gather her composure and focus her emotions.  She expected such conditions to repeat but in different ways soon.  She considered herself lucky to have gotten this far, and tears of anger formed in her eyes when she thought of what was done to Blanche.  As she dried herself with a curtain beside a window, she bore a hostile expression on her face and thought ample justice had been served to Miranda outside.  She continued to feel deepening feelings of vindication for Mr. Bradford accordingly, and with unprecedented determination, moved onward to fulfill it.

         Mark and Warren searched many rooms carefully for Jolene and the other ambulite rings, and they quickly became more amazed at the place.  It seemed so much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside.  They eventually moved up a wide curving stairs into the second floor and found no other items from Warren's time.  Large contemporary paintings adorned the walls between doors, and elegant sculptures occupied corners in passages.  The furniture was also classic, vintage, and expensive in the bigger rooms.  

         As more precious time passed, Mark grew more tense and anxious to find his wife, and Warren became more frustrated with each door opened and not finding the rings.  However, he knew that they would be held together in a more secure special location in the place.  When they went into what was just thought of as a long closet within a spacious library room, Mark let out an exclamation of surprise upon opening one chest of drawers.  "Holy shee-it!" he voiced.  "Look at this stuff.  Must be worth . . . millions."

         Warren noted his excitement and closed the door of the room and approached him.  "Have you found something important?"

         "A heck of a stash of treasure.  Lots of jewelry, necklaces, and gold coins."

         "Gold is an important element of my power ring.  Perhaps, Xavier stole these to melt down and manufacture more rings.  Not a bright idea to take very rare ambulite to a diamond cutter, but I wouldn't put it past him," he informed.

         "Even that would be a crime, considering the beautiful condition of these things.  These coins date from the beginning of the 19th century."  

         "He might also keep the rings in there to disguise their importance to us.  Keep looking, and let me know if you find them."

         As Mark slowly opened a second drawer, Warren moved past him and turned to face the opposite wall.  There, he saw more shelves -- a top one occupied with a neat row of quart-sized canisters of concentrated bio-gel.  One out of the six in the row was missing, the one used on Blanche, and the applicator gun rested upright deeper in the darkness in an adjacent corner.  The folded capture bags rested on the lowermost shelf, where another was taken and used to ambush Sarah.  He knew also that she would never place all potential weapons and offensive materials in one area, as there were plenty of other items that could be used to kill them from the current time.  

         When Warren turned about, he saw Mark putting precious stones and some of the larger coins in his pants pockets and quietly said, "What are you doing?  Are all people in this age more concerned about acquiring material wealth any way they can?"

         "Nope.  I'm just figuring on taking a big tip from this dude for kidnapping my wife."

         "She should be of the greater value then, along with your own weapon, in getting her found and secured.  In my age, expression and order are of greater importance."

         "There is order here too, man, and I got my gun to help insure that."

         Warren nodded affirmatively.  "As I have seen, but Xavier has more dangerous capabilities yet.  What if we do not retrieve your mate?"

         "Then, he's dead meat," Mark promised while glaring at him.  "Any war is like a surgery on your body.  The necessary one gets rid of a cancer before it gets worse, and that Xavier guy is IT."  

         "I understand that well enough.  That's why me and Sarah returned to this time.  Let's go."

         Mark pocketed two more gold coins, and they departed the narrow room.  Warren peered outside the library first before they moved back into the arterial hall.  After proceeding further onward almost thirty more seconds, they heard footsteps approaching from the rear and swiftly scurried around a corner at the end of it.  The sounds became louder, even through the muffled noise of the relentless storm raging against the outside wall and roof of the grand residence, and just after the other person stopped, Warren cautiously peeked around it, turned back to him, and whispered, "It is Xavier himself, the greatest criminal fugitive of my time.  Stay here."

         "Bull-shit, man!" he replied and patted his sidearm in it holder.  "I've got a big bone to pick with that guy."  

         "Very well, but I lead.  The risk is too great for you alone."

         While standing before another door next to the library room, Mr. Bradford did notice Warren's swift receding movement at the end of the carpeted hall with his peripheral vision, but he did not act fast to deliberately try to alarm him.  He already knew that both of them were in the place somewhere but not exactly, until now.  He just continued to act casual, nonchalant, as if inspecting the lock and doorknob a bit, and lumbered slowly the other way.  However, it was his intention to draw them out in the open, and the strategy worked.

         Warren moved toward Mr. Bradford as quietly as he could, but he carefully judged his distance to the rear with each step counted.  Mark followed from a greater distance but was not as quiet, and both of their footsteps soon invoked uncertainty.  After more very tense seconds, he finally clenched his fist, turned about fast to surprise them, and shot a strong energy pulse in their direction.  From just several meters away, his impromptu aim was accurate but forthcoming, and Warren raised his ring hand barely in the nick of time to deflect the blue-white blast apart into many blazing flashes.  However, its impact knocked him backward and down onto the floor.  Mark also hit the deck wide-eyed and very astonished.

         "Thought I'd be an easy score?" he sneered.  "Let me give you another taste of what I can do."

         The much older bulky man put his ring fist forward, as Warren was swiftly regaining his orientation, and concentrated with a mean gaze.  The ambulite worked as he desired, and a polygonal energy cage surrounded him next, it's edges glowing yellowish in color.  He took another couple of steps toward him, to shrink the thing some, and Warren braced for an impact while hovering inside it: a wise decision.  Mr. Bradford abruptly opened his hand, and with a quick wave, sent his trap careening fast against the wall at the end of the passage away from him.  Mark shook and rolled aside, as it smashed into many ethereal fragments with his daring companion, which glistened and sublimed shortly to nothingness, leaving no traces.  

         "And now for you, meddler!" he snarled.

         Mark jerked his head about from the incredible scene and looked directly at him aghast, expecting death next.  A fleeting thought of Jolene went through his mind then, and his fear turned to defiance, but he did not go for his weapon.  Words came out of his mouth instead.  "Okay, man.  You got me too.  I'm dead, but just let my wife go."

         He rose his clenched fist, with his ring sparkling, and gloated.  "Ah, yes, your pretty wife.  She is in a cylinder below as an insurance policy to my safety, security, and plans for the future.  In time, she will also be a fine test subject for Miranda to experiment on.  You are thus no longer relevant either."

         He extended his fist, but before he could use it, a powerful blue-white beam shot into the adjacent door frame above and a little beside him from the rear.  Sparks and burnt splinters of wood burst forth from the point of impact, and he flinched and protected his face and head.  When he turned around, Paige was at the top of the stairway, and she said, "My turn, you bastard."

         Mr. Bradford donned a sly expression on his face, and replied, "Well, well, Miss Everhart.  It is indeed a surprise.  I thought Minerva and my formidable cybernetic constructs would have eliminated you and your partner from this conflict.  I'm sure that you will not elude her for long."

         "You're right, Jack.  I left her out in the storm."

         He raised his large hands as if to surrender, as Mark slowly got back on his feet, and replied, "You appear to have me at a disadvantage, Paige.  What can I say, sorry about your sister?"  

         "Where did you put her?" she shouted.  "Miranda told me out there what you parasites did.  I'll kill you, kill you!"

         He played her surging emotions carefully but well.  As she shook both of her fists at him and took a couple steps closer, he wiggled his fingers to promptly levitate her off the floor.  "Huh?  What are you -- "

         "Just like magic, isn't it?"

         Fear replaced better judgement as she struggled to maintain coordination, and a multi-sided crystalline prison materialized all about her after he subsequently pointed his right finger ahead at her.  She barely had time to inhale deep in surprise, before being held immobile within it.  Her mouth remained partially open, and only her attractive eyes showed greater distress, as she could not exhale.  He heard movement behind him and warned, "I wouldn't try to do anything foolish, meddler, or you will see how well-connected this ring is to the others and how many pieces this gorgeous young sprite can disintegrate into also."

         "Let 'er go, man.  I'm not gonna do anything," Mark loudly pleaded.

         "You most certainly won't, but I will," he assured.  "Observe."

         He rotated his ring hand, and Paige's rigid enclosure slowly turned about in a full circle in the air before him.  She followed the motion with her eyes and hoped she would not lose consciousness and suffocate in it.  With her hands out and long legs meagerly apart, she resembled an exquisite shapely artifact inside light-blue amber.  When she was facing him again, he confidently said, "I win.  She was an impressionable opponent.  Don't you agree, meddler?"

         Mark made a sound, trying in vain to find the right words to further intervene with, before exhaling loud in frustration.  Then, Mr. Bradford elevated his ring hand, and as he began to clench his fist to deliver the ultimate deathblow to Paige, all the lights in the place suddenly went out.  An intense bolt of lightning struck the top of the mansion, and a tremendous crash of thunder sounded afterward.  The energy equilibrium of the other rings and his was altered, along with his concentration, and the inescapable trap she was in disintegrated.  When the lights blinked on again, she was gasping for air on the floor before him, and he growled, "Blast it!  You have more lives than a black cat, Miss Everhart.  No matter.  You're time here is -- "

         When she struggled to her knees and put both hands on the floor in front of herself, he finally noticed that she was wearing two ambulite rings, the one Blanche gave her and the one she took from Miranda.  He put his hands down in despair, shook his head increasingly with tears welling up in his eyes, and became insane with anger.  "No!  No!  No!  Not my most . . . precious Minerva," he cried.  

         Mark did not know how safe it was to attack him, and Paige looked up and said, "How does it . . . feel, old man?"  

         Mr. Bradford let out a primal cry, lunged forward like a rabid animal, and seized Paige by the hair.  Her eyes squinted, and she winced in pain.  He pulled her up more and ominously said, "You despicable wench!  You have interfered with my plans for the last time.  You're life is worth far less than the trouble it has caused.  I'll destroy every meddling molecule in your body -- now."  

Continued to Pt. 9.  

          Another long winter gone, and I am wind-battered and a bit more achy.  However, the good Lord, Allah, the Fates, or whatever continues to enable me to create -- slowly.  One recent mermaid troubles line art took eight evenings to do.  I also was able to save 4 out of seven kittens from freezing to death in the past season, as the "brood" got sick late last year.  I should come first, but NOT to North Dakota, as they have taken away my MedicAID coverage "under" the ACA in late January.  That was my 400th month of recording the auroras in this cold thankless place, and I made my 9,400th observation & sketch day of the Sun in March.  Also close to 20,000 more aluminum cans scavenged just to give most of the $$ to the county / state GOVT. for property taxes that most fools here like to pay.

          What of my next goal here?  I am now over 170 deviations beyond "fulfilling" #1,000.  I am in the 9th (out of 11) long fiction thriller stories that I wrote in the 1980s, with "Time Bombs" and "Danger and Despair" FINALLY uploaded after extensive editing.  A TOUGH endeavor!  The last portion of this story is called "Vindication" already done, but again, the editing and uploading, time permitting (along with the working of this old machine).  I don't know YET how many parts it is, but I suspect more than ten.  Those will be "ladder rungs" for me to help reach deviation #1200 in here, followed by 8-10 photographs (the usual?).  Until I outline the "Vindication" thus, and know exactly how long it will be, I will just colorize more completed line arts.  Two down, and at least two more to go.  We'll see.  It's high time I do some sort of fan art too, a WhiteOwl or Crimson "Superheroine" problem, IF any of them approve.  Thanks to my followers and favers for your patience.  This "stuff" isn't easy to do in my late 50's.  Sure wish I had a flag counter yet.  Till later . . . 

  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: Spring Birds
  • Reading: Twitter Tweets
  • Watching: C-span in the morning.
  • Playing: Outside (at last)
  • Eating: Cold Cereal
  • Drinking: Water


Nightwalker50's Profile Picture
Jay Brausch
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
A sky blogger, related data gatherer and astronomy educator that likes natural history and space exploration. Of coarse, savors the night sky and enjoys views of pretty women underwater and / or in shiny material & attire. Doesn't drink, smoke, or do any drugs. Weird, huh?

Current Residence: Western ND
deviantWEAR sizing preference: XL
Favourite genre of music: easy rock
Favourite style of art: Pop Art
Operating System: Windows XP
Skin of choice: Smooth & sensual
Favourite cartoon character: Batman


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cardinal1chunder Featured By Owner May 17, 2015
thanks for the fave :)
dark-columbia Featured By Owner May 17, 2015
Thank you for faving mermaid me <3
Nightwalker50 Featured By Owner May 17, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Nice eye-contact with the camera.  Next time, bubbles?
dark-columbia Featured By Owner 6 days ago
Thank you :) I don't know yet, underwarter Pictures are so difficult XD
slamm345 Featured By Owner Mar 5, 2015
Thanks for faving!
Equiliari Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2015  Professional Interface Designer
Thank you for the :+fav: :)
LlamaFreedom Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2015
And a llama for you. :P (Lick) Also, can you throw the llama love my way and give me one too? :) (Smile) I'd surely appreciate it. :D (Big Grin)
slamm345 Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2015
Thanks for faving!
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Jan-N-Diam Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2015
cherryTOONtkx4yFw by Jan-N-Diam 
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