Glados X Chell Novels & Stories

Ally gushed and sounded a little pissed. “Thank you for coming Ally.” I manage a weak watery smile as my tears continue to fall. Connor clears his throat behind me and Ally instantly eyes him from head to toe. Giving me a wink they move towards my boss. “Ally Malloch, best friend, surrogate sibling and bodyguard, and you are?” Ally always finds a way to teeter on the edge of hostility without being outright offensive and I love them for it. “Connor Williams, boss, chauffeur and friend if Olivia will have me” He shakes Ally's hand and smiles.

mumbled Matt as he nibbled some chips. “They were known as the strongest magi in the history of all creation!” Xander added. “Sadly, there has never been any record of a known sourcerer in existance, aside from the Golden Prince of legend, and the last known Ravant, Lady Chantrell Ravante, just passed away last week.” The room fell quiet as they paid their respects to the deceased registrar. It was only broken by a soft chime. Mar took out her cellphone and looked at Dorin after reading the message on the screen.

I looked through the heavy, six-inch-thick Starved Iron glass of the vault door. Standing perfectly still in the dead center of the chamber was the Obsidian Chassis. The matte-black void metal was entirely deactivated, stripped of the glowing purple kinetic lines that had once terrified the Mariana Trench. It was just a shell now. An empty, impossible shadow locked behind glass. "Do you think we will ever need it again?" Elara asked, stepping into the chamber from the spiraling stone staircase. She wore the tailored gray wool coat of the active Grandmaster, her polished iron staff resting easily on her shoulder.

Like old blood and memory. Penelope whispered, “This isn’t Velvet. This is something beneath Velvet.” Isolde stepped forward. At the end of the hallway stood a red-lit glass panel. A scanner. Penelope approached first, tried her encrypted Velvet chip. Nothing. Isolde held up the chip from months ago, the one from the Host. A soft beep. The door slid open. And the world inside shifted. The corridor was bathed in crimson glow walls padded, floors silent beneath their boots. Screens blinked along the sides, flickering surveillance from every level of Velvet’s aboveground floors. None of them live.

"Glaucus, please. We have bigger problems at hand now." Lars frowned upon the interaction. As he fought in the air, Lars kept his eyes on this Glaucus fellow who was truly the mightiest among other depthdwellers. Glaucus was wielding a polearm weapon, shaped like a cross made of jagged blades. Any Chimeras that fell from the midair attack was left at the mercy of Glaucus' imposing cross.

She jumped and spun into the air, knocking one of the villager on the head before she landed on the ground smoothly. "They're replicas," Chloe told them. "Don't hesitate. Let me face Mai alone." She transferred her hold on her sheathed sword to the other hand and moved again in a blinding speed. "She's..." Neptos drew his sword in front of him. "She can see through the Auræ." He then attacked the shadows with his broad sword. Ciaran and the others followed his lead. Chloe hacked and smacked the replicas of the villagers with her sheathed sword, her glowing heterochromatic eyes were focused only on the standing Mai Lou. The spider elf was grinning. His eight hands were holding different weapo

and chaotic that the Dilation Field sputtered. The black-and-white world cracked. Color flooded back into the cockpit as the Aurora tore through the "Film Reel" and burst into the neon-lit 1980s zone of Midtown. The Neon Gauntlet The 80s zone was a nightmare of low-resolution polygons and laser-fire. Mimic "Enforcers" on light-cycles raced along the sides of the skyscrapers, firing beams of solidified light at the glider.

Massive, horizontal gears the size of cities turned slowly above us, their teeth gnashing together with a rhythmic *thrum-clack* that felt like a heartbeat. Green steam billowed from floor-vents, smelling of copper and ancient, sunless earth. And everywhere I looked, there were the Reapers. Not the terrifying monsters we had fought before, but **Shells**. Hundreds of thousands of translucent, glass-like bodies hanging from hooks on a conveyor belt, waiting for the Architect-King to strike the anvil and breathe life—or code—into them.

"Glenn! You’re acting like a common assassin for the very men who would see our lineage burned to cinders! Drop the blade!" Glenn doesn't even flicker. He doesn't look at me like the boy I grew up with, the boy who stood by my side during the harsh winters, the one who shared rations when the storehouses were empty. His face is a mask of granite, carved from the same cold, uncompromising stone as the Grand Wolf Assembly he now serves. He charges, his sword hissing as it slices through the stagnant air. It is a blur of lethal, practiced speed, a testament to the brutal training the Assembly forces upon its elite guards.