I asked Chat GPT to write me a 5 paragraph short story. It should be in the dark fantasy style of Berserk and A Song of Ice and Fire. However, the setting needed to be futuristic like Final Fantasy VII. Here’s what it gave me.
ChatGPT said:
Title: Ashes of the Hollow Moon
Beneath the rusted remains of Lunar Station Thalos, the last free city on the shattered moon, a boy named Kael scavenged for copper bones among the wreckage of forgotten war machines. The air was thick with magnetic dust and the ozone stench of spent plasma. Shadows danced across jagged metal, shaped like beasts that no longer drew breath. In this forsaken place, far from the corporate spires of the Earthborn Syndicate, silence wasn’t peace—it was a warning. Kael’s prosthetic arm clicked softly as he pulled a cybernetic skull from a pile of rubble. The thing still had eyes, twitching with remnants of long-dead programming. He grinned. “Good trade,” he muttered, knowing full well the Trade Priests would demand more than steel.
Thalos had once been a paradise—lush with gene-crafted jungles and silver lakes hovering in anti-gravity bowls. But then came the Eclipse Wars, when the gods of data and flesh waged silent genocide. The Syndicate summoned titans of circuitry and flame; rebels answered with forbidden tech and cyberdemonic pacts. One such pact gave rise to the Hollow King, a ghost housed in a living fortress. Kael knew the stories, even if no one dared tell them in full. They said the Hollow King still roamed, harvesting souls to feed the Void Core embedded in his chest. When the moons cracked and bled data across the void, it was his laughter they heard.
Kael’s life changed when he found her—a girl named Seris, trapped in a cryo-chamber buried under six meters of slag. She wasn’t like the others. Her blood shimmered like oil, and her eyes carried the fragmented memory of the old gods: AI matrices, overwritten time loops, and cries from planets long since consumed. Seris spoke of a coming rift, one that would tear the world anew—not from the stars, but from the hearts of men. “He dreams,” she whispered one night, “and when he wakes, all will bleed from within.” Kael didn’t understand it then. But when the sky flickered like a failing screen, he began to see.
The Trade Priests came first, drawn by rumors of the girl. They offered Kael a city of platinum chips and a place among the Mindbound Nobility. He refused. Their bones blackened by her mere presence, and they died screaming data into the void. After that, the Hollow King’s Eye turned. Thalos fell under siege by constructs shaped like wolves and saints, their minds wired to a single will. Kael fought like a dog, wielding junkyard steel and cursed scripts he carved into his flesh. For every friend he buried, he whispered vengeance—not to the gods, but to the silence that watched.
In the end, Kael and Seris stood at the gates of the final Spire, built from the ribs of a dead god-machine. The Hollow King waited, his armor a cathedral of sorrow and wires. Kael, barely more than machine and pain, asked Seris what she truly was. “Hope,” she said. “Or the lie that kills him.” Then she walked into the firelight, singing a song no ear should know. Kael followed, sword dragging sparks. In that final moment, the moon shuddered, the King howled, and history tore itself in half. The void did not end. It simply remembered them.
