Sorry to disappoint, but yesterday’s writing scrap wasn’t much of anything at all. Just some fooling around, not a new series. (previous)
It had been rough times, after the roof caved in. The people could not move fast enough, they never saw it coming. After they learned the gravity of the situation, it was already too late. Most predators were mobile enough to move away. A threat less, but the monsters were the least of their problems. The larger part of the people did not survive. Asphyxiation, tumors, insanity. It was a hellhole.
The average lifespan had dropped drastically. Extinction of the humans seemed close, but the population eventually recovered. The survivors and their lineage managed to adept, somehow. The first generation was still fighting it. Later generations had no trouble accepting the stuff into their bodies. Though still seen as dangerous, some deviants even tried to harness its power and use it for what can be best described as “magic”. They were quickly accused of heresy, and though some of their practices sneaked into day-to-day culture, most died out with them.
Years later, a learned man theorized a way to mechanically extract the energy from its physical manifestation. After many unsuccessful attempts, he decided he needed to learn more. Information on the energy its origins had always been sparse, if not nonexistent. Stories on its first appearance filled entire libraries, however, and so the man decided to go to the source.
‘That man was my father.’ Gerald took a moment of silence. ‘We could hear him collapse as he made it over the edge.’ He swallowed, fidgeted with his hands. ‘Please learn something from his, no, everyone’s deaths and make no stupid decisions.’
I think I just worked myself into a huge plothole (that’s what I get for making lore up on the spot), but luckily it concerns something I never intended on explaining anyway. (next)