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Fenris
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 Posted: Mon Sep 14, 2009 11:39 pm Post subject: Dog-CYCLE 4 |
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WARNING: CONTAINS LANGUAGE AND VIOLENCE.
Prelude
Scented Room
by Fenris
This isn't home.
The walls are strange. Bare. Scarred. And the light? The light comes from nowhere but everywhere at the same time. As if the walls, floor and ceiling themselves are the source of illumination.
You stand up and the world turns upside down. Bile rises in your throat and the pressure in your skull that woke you up before now threatens to consume you. Whatever you last ate spills onto the floor, covers your bare feet.
Your stomach. Your chest. Your throat. Everything burns. More bile comes, mixed with red. Your throat's on fire.
As you stare at your vomit covered feet, you notice scarlet drops falling onto your toes. Shaky fingers touch your nose and comes back tipped with red liquid.
"It's awake!!!"
The voice. It's metallic. Fake. Bitter.
A standing black rectangle appears in the wall in front of you. Creatures in white come through the door. They have horrible masks. They have one clear eye with two dots underneath it. They're coming for you. Gloved hands cautiously reach towards you.
Bile. More vomit. Your chest inflates and breath rushes out of your mouth. The inside of it tastes nasty. Where are you? What's happening?
"Alright, he's pretty shaky. Be careful."
"Fuck that," snarls a second being.
There are four of them. All big. Brutish. Towering above your shaking frame.
The one who spoke last steps forward. Its gloved hands are balled up in trembling fists. Its angry. Why is it angry? You back away. You didn't mean to vomit. It just came out. Somethings wrong. Try to tell them. You try to tell them.
Animal sounds. Incoherent. Snarling and gasping. They don't understand you.
The Angry One takes another step, its whole frame shaking. "Get the fuck over here you piece of shit."
"Miles!" The remark comes from the tallest. His huge form lumbers over to stand next to the one who spoke first. The Calm One.
"Don't! Just. Don't," hisses the Angry One. "I'm not treating this...thing like a damn guest. Richard is dead because of him!"
"Richard was an idiot! He knew better then to approach it! Just restrain him GENTLY and bring him to the doc."
The doc? No. No, you will not go. This is not your home. This doc will not take you there. They need to go away. You don't feel well. This isn't right. Go away. Go.
"Ah its mumbling again," says the Last One. "God, it looks like Rich."
"You little fucker," Angry One snarls.
He lunges at you. Lurches. Moves like a ferocious animal. But slow. So slow. Go away. He needs to go away. You take a step back and Its clawing hands miss your forearm. What is he trying to do.
"Stop moving!" He dashes towards you and strikes you.
The blow? You barely register it. A small tap on the chin. The fear that pulses in your chest? Oh yes. You register that.
The Angry One is screaming. His glove is now ruined. Torn and twisted into something unnatural. Red fluid leaks out and dribbles onto the floor like saliva. And the smell. Its intoxicating. Metallic. Fresh. Clean. Oh the smell.
"Shit! Shit! Get Max out of here! Its smelled it!" The Calm One is panicking and the Tall One is dragging the Angry One out of the room.
No. No. He smells so good. There's not enough of it though. You can barely scent it now. The wonderful aroma. More. You must have more.
The Last One doesn't have time to cry out. These thin and pink of arms of yours? They must do something. You grab its horrible head and shake it. Its screaming something. You can't understand it anymore, there's a roaring in your ears that drown out everything.
Make the smell come back.
Shake him more. He'll bring the smell, the scent.
He's still screaming. He's not stopping. The others? They just stop and stare. The Angry One is gone. Only the Tall One and Calm One are there. Oh yes. The Last One. He's here but screaming. He won't shut up.
Make him shut up.
Shut up. Shut up. Stop. Shut. Up. QUIET!
There's a wet cracking sound and your hands are suddenly warm and moist.
"Oh God," the Tall One whispers.
Yes. There is again. The scent.
It smells like home.
Last edited by Fenris on Tue Nov 17, 2009 11:20 pm; edited 7 times in total
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Traveller
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| Posted: Tue Sep 15, 2009 6:32 am Post subject: |
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um...wow...wasn't what I was expecting first thing in the morning as I tried to wake up with a cup of coffee...
But good...very descriptive and I look forward to seeing what comes next...
I think we are some sort of werewolf type creature that they (the doctors) are trying to reverse back to human form. They have partially succeeded (hence the little pink arms) but the were-creature is still locked inside...Man, I hope we escape...T.
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Tue Sep 15, 2009 2:28 pm Post subject: |
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It sounds as if maybe we're a dog, or more likely a wolf, that has somehow been put in a human body... or was it? The pink arms did throw me for a moment... something more is at work here. The mind was too aware really to have been an animal's. It recognized the language, but then again, it had a primal nature as well... hmmm...
My only little niggly point:
What is he trying to do?
I saw some others as I was reading it the first time, but when I tried to find them again I couldn't.
This was an interesting introduction. I'm on board to see where it goes.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 1:16 pm Post subject: |
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Whhooooa! *shudders*
I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.
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snow tiger
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| Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 1:34 pm Post subject: |
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Dude!!! Awesome!
The whole time i was reading this, i wasn't just reading it, i was in it.
I was it.
You're very descriptive and i like that. I also like the way you seem to dangle the information needed to complete the understanding of this Chapter right in front of us, baiting us.
Awesome beginning.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 10:49 pm Post subject: |
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Ha thanks guys. This will be a good thing to work as i get PT and GMS.
Next chapo with a decision point is coming soon.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 12:38 pm Post subject: |
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Ah I'm sorry i'm sorry but no DP for this one either  couldn't think of one. But next one for sure!
Cycle 1
Dog Tired
by Fenris
There’s a dripping sound. Like the last drops of rain after a storm. Each clear wet sound makes your ears ring. You lift your head up, eyes closed. The scent wafts through you like expensive perfume and you bathe in it. Longing for more. Never wanting it to go away. Oh God. It’s been forever.
Suddenly, something interrupts your euphoria. The violent sounds rip you away from harmony and send you back. Back into chaos and noise. Why must there always be noise?
And then? You feel pain.
Pain like you has never felt before. But that’s because you’ve never felt it. Or have you? Its glow is familiar, almost like an old friend. Or a bitter rival. Pain, an ancient acquaintance.
With that final interruption, your euphoria is completely gone and the room spins back into view. This white room.
“Let him go! Now! Let him go!” screams the Tall One.
He’s pointing an object at you. It’s a tool with a silver sheen. Its metallic glow is menacing and inviting. Smoke comes from the hollow end and you glance down at the sizeable hole in your chest.
“Now!”
You comply. The scent has grown stale. Along with the limp form in your hands.
You watch the body fall and cock your head to the side. Did you do that? The man’s horrible face is no longer distinguishable with the red, pink and white hues that blend together to form a grotesque art. Art. You’re an artist. And apparently, a hated one.
“Ah fuck! Fuck!” moans the Calm One. “Allister, what the hell are we gonna do??”
Allister, the tall one.
Allister snaps his head back towards his companion. Scared. Angry. Scared. “We’re going to contain the situation! It’s not complete yet. Look at it! We’ll be fine!”
Contain? No. You will not be staying here any longer. You walk forward, shaky on these new legs that carry you. You snarl in frustration. You have no grace, no simplicity. These jerky movements are disgusting.
“Stop right there! In the name of-of Jesus Christ!”
Allister grits his teeth. You can hear his molars grinding in that fragile jaw of his.
His jaw is hidden somewhere. “Jason do shut up,” he growls.
They are wearing masks! Of course! No wonder their faces are so unnatural. So incomplete. You laugh. How silly. Why would one try to hide his face?
“Why the hell is it laughing!?” screams Jason. “Where the hell is the Father!?”
Time to go. This is tiresome. Everything here makes you so tired.
You start for the black gate but Allister moves to stop you. The burly monster that towers over you like an elder is trembling as he stations himself in front of the door.
No. No.
You rush forward. He doesn’t seem to notice; his eyes barely move to track your procession. Or maybe you’re just too fast. Either way, his body goes rigid as your hand punches through his barrel chest.
The scent wafts into the air like a new morning. But you are not deluded. You know this is not home. But you will find it.
As your hand searches his chest cavity you make note of the fragile wet things inside. The red liquid leaks through the wound like a beautiful waterfall. Water pouring from a fleshy pitcher. His body jerks and twitches as you wrap your thin hands around something straight and hard.
His spine.
Yes, it’s all coming back now. The water is blood, the fragile items are what’s left of his organs. And now you have what makes him stand tall.
With a jerk you tug at it and he screams.
The noise stops as soon as you rip the vertebrae through the hole you made in his chest.
The smell of vomit pollutes the heady perfume and in the corner of your eye you see Jason double over.
Leave. You need to leave this dirty place. The body flies through the air as you toss it aside. Just as you’re about to step through the gate, a force slams into your chest.
The breath leaves you and your throat works to retrieve it. The room spins once again and the back of your head slams into the wall behind you. Something cracks.
You or the wall.
A slight figure steps from the blackness. Dark mirrors framing his face and long hair spilling past his shoulders.
“Never fear boys. Daddy’s here.”
The white room goes black.
++
“Shit.”
Father Clark kneels over the mutilated bodies of Frank and Allister. With swift motions he closes the wide eyes of Allister and repeats the motion over the remains of Frank’s face. Muttering, he examines the room from his lowered position.
Jason is a blubbering mess in the corner. Rocking himself back and forth. His white hands clutch the prayer beads and cross that Father Clark had wordlessly handed to him.
The holding cell is no longer empty. Men in lab coats and gas masks have flooded the place. The bed is gone and the only thing remaining of the incident is the indenture in the wall opposite of the door.
“So, what do you make of it dear Father.” The voice is old and whispered. Like old parchment rolling into a scroll.
“What I make of it? Stupidest thing you’ve done yet, Samuel.”
Dr. Samuel Jenkins laughs. His cracked voice becomes for a moment, lively and young. “Yes, well, we both knew what we were getting into.”
Father Clark glances at the two bodies. “Yeah well, most of us did.”
Dr. Samuel sighs and crosses his arms. The suit he wears wrinkles with the action. “When will it wake?”
“It? You mean that forsaken child of God that killed your two employees? Oh, I’d say in an hour or so.”
Samuel coughs. “Yes, well. We’ve now taken the precautionary measures.”
Clark frowns as he stands. He overshadows the good doctor by a good two feet.
“You should have listened to me in the first place.”
Samuel waves his hand dismissively. “Well, we were mistaken.”
“A stupid mistake.”
The doctor sighs and watches his men pick up the sagging bodies and slip them into black bags. His gray eyes track them as they exit the room. For a moment he looks mournful but then his resolve steels his eyes.
“Well?”
“I assumed that when we transferred it into a corporeal form, that it would be just as weak as one of us…mere mortals.”
Clark snorts and walks over to the hole in the wall. His fingers lightly caress the indenture. “It was trying to leave.”
“Impossible. It was clearly Written that it would stay put unless ordered otherwise. It knows the Rules. It’s been around long enough damn it.”
Clark shook his head, his long hair shifting as he did so. “No, good doctor. I think we’re dealing with a case of amnesia.”
“Excuse me?” says the doctor incredulously.
“I can barely believe it too. And even with a case of forgetting the Rules, it should still be bound by them.”
“But it was not.”
Clark nods his confirmation. “This could get complicated.”
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 12:49 pm Post subject: |
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Wow.  Hurry up with the next one!
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 1:24 pm Post subject: |
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| It would be difficult to have a DP at this juncture because we still have no friggin' idea what's really happening here. This captures the feel of form emerging from chaos and is really quite excellently written. It gives us just enough information to make us ask twice as many questions. Nice. Keep it up Fenris!
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Klafarius
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| Posted: Fri Sep 18, 2009 5:26 pm Post subject: |
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Interesting. Very Interesting. Can't wait for the next Chappy!
_________________
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Fenris
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| Posted: Mon Sep 21, 2009 10:07 pm Post subject: |
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Cycle 2
Azazel
by Fenris
“Clear!”
Alex’s spine arches into the air. His sweat and blood covered chest pushes itself up, swelling as if full of life. It was quite the opposite. The doctor curses as his eyes take in the same information as it had several minutes ago. Flat lining.
The young boy’s limp body sinks back into the hospital bed. Blood leaks from his forehead like a broken faucet and it pools around his head in a disturbing halo. A broken arm rests distorted across his stomach and his second arm is missing layers of skin. It looks like he had been flayed alive.
The doctor puts away the pads in a resigned fashion.
-+-+
You wake up in complete darkness. Sage black is all around you, hiding the world from view. You’re standing in a large circle of light, illuminating the marble floor underneath your feet. There is no breath of air, no whisper of the wind. Nothing at all.
“Azazel.”
The voice comes from nothing. It comes from everything.
“Azazel, God of War. Why have you stooped so low?”
The voice is sad. Sympathetic. The voice of a mother.
“Who are you?” Your mouth forms the words, but your tongue does not lift them
into the air.
“Have you forgotten us?” The voice is many. They are angry, Sad. Happy. Everything at once.
“Have you forgotten us, Beast of Fourteen Faces?”
“What are these names you call me?” Low and high hisses. But no words. But They understand you all the same.
“Names. Titles. We could call you high angel. General of God.”
Suddenly, a form rushes from the darkness. The black edge of the world clings to his shoulders like a trail of smoke. His face arrives inches from your own. But he has no face. Instead all it has is a smooth mass of flesh. Like the marble at your feet.
“But that was a long time ago, oh Goat Keeper.” The voices are still all around you. “Why do you bow to those who bind you to their will? A tool and a dog to their whim.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please! Explain!”
“Do not feign ignorance with us, bastard dog of God! Stupid hound of Hell!” The voices sound like explosions of sound. Roars and screams howl in your air like a desperate symphony of suffering. Then silence.
The being moves so fast you cannot avoid it. Long nailed hands grip your jaw and squeeze. Pain like never before crackles through your body like lightning. You gasp for air. For life.
“He does not lie,” whispers a single voice.
“A knowledge giver never lies,” says another.
“He simply does not remember,” goes a third.
The voices go silent and the Faceless One cocks its head at me.
“Oh Azazel how we envy you.”
“You never will miss the light of Heaven.”
“The feel of the clouds.”
“The love of God.”
They all sigh as one and several come to wracking sobs. Then, hisses of rage.
“No. No god now. Only man.”
“Pitiful.”
“Hypocritical.”
“Deceitful.”
“Lustful.”
“Man.”
“Then again, so are we.” The dark space is filled with raucous laughter. The sound of metal on metal.
“Why are they like that? I only remember little things. Like what is what. I know what a man is. I know what a demon is. An angel. I know of a god.” You pound your chest. “But I know not of me!”
The Faceless One leans in close. You would smell his breath, if he had one. Suddenly, the gray mass of flesh staring at you starts to twist and writhe like serpents wrapped in a pale cowl. And then a face appears. It is of a woman.
A beautiful woman. Luscious lips are complimented by startling blue eyes, a pert nose and best of all, a long tongue. It flicks from her lips and tastes the air. It reaches out and slides across your cheek, sending shivers of revulsion and desire down your thin frame.
“Oh Azazel. How can you forget humans?”
“Irony at its best. The one who teaches,” the being rushes into your face again, once again faceless. “now forgets.”
“I don’t understand! What are you!? Who are you!?”
The Faceless One shrugs. “We can hold you here no longer. But, we’ve made a way for you to escape.”
“Escape?” You remember the tall man with the long hair. “Ah.”
They all chuckle. “You cannot traverse in your state. So, we’ve provided you with a…”
“Vessel,” says the Faceless One. The pale flesh where his mouth would be has split open. Blood runs from the makeshift mouth. Tatters of skin cling to the flat gray lips like dead worms.
“You are to stop them.”
You shake your head. “Stop who?”
“The ones who would bring down God.”
The Faceless One forces his mouth onto yours and you taste wet iron.
++
You wake up in the dark. You’re getting tired of this. Tired of the black always greeting you like an unwanted friend.
It seems you’re in some type of box. Your hands feel the small world around you. Cold and metallic.
Abruptly, you’re pulled forward but the cold steel underneath you doesn’t move against your skin. With a breath of air you’re plunged into a world of light.
“Shit!” So that’s what you sound like.
“What the fuck!?” exclaims a second voice.
There’s screaming and something is knocked over onto the floor. The crash jolts you out of your nausea and you blink back into focus. You sit up and feel the cold gust of air hit your face. Your eyes adjust to the light. You’re in a morgue. How you know that is beyond you. You had just been pulled out of a drawer.
You peer down. There’s a woman lying on the floor. Unconscious as far as you can tell.
You slide off your cold bed and settle onto the ground. You’re on sturdy legs. No vomiting either. This is good.
It takes a few moments for you to come into terms of walking again. You work your arms and neck, lifting them high into the air and twisting them to and fro. This vessel. It’s nice. You feel so much better than before. Now, to see what you look like.
Ignoring the form sleeping on the floor, you step over her and proceed to the next mirror lying above a sink and a set of tools.
Black hair compliments dark eyes. Very pale though. Your hands graze the five o clock shadow that plagues your skin. Your eyes travel down south, taking in the well formed chest, the smooth abs. You raise an eyebrow at the appendage between your muscled legs. Male. You’re a male. You glance back at your face.
Quite handsome too by the looks of it.
You glance back at the woman on the floor. She’s a doctor or at least tries to appear the part. Probably the director of the morgue.
“Who the fuck are you!?”
You slowly turn to take in a shocked young man about your height. Small glasses frame his face, contradicting his burly form. He’s dressed in a blue nurse’s outfit and plastic gloves cover each hand. Your eyes narrow at the gloves.
“I said what the hell are you doing man!? Why are you naked?!”
His eyes travel to the still slumped form of the doctor. They widen. “You son of a bitch!”
He starts towards you. Prepared for conflict.
“Wait!” you say. “I haven’t done anything.”
He doesn’t stop.
“My name is!” Wait, what is your name? Your mouth opens to say “Azazel” but what comes out is, “Alex!”
“I don’t give a shit!” and a large fist swing into your line of vision.
--------------------
Yaaaay, I finally finished it. Lol, but ya this one will have a DP! Speaking of which,
What does Alex/Azazel do?
Fight back?
Try to reason?
Run away?
Kill him?
Etc.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 12:16 am Post subject: |
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Pin him down and demand information!
Very good chapter. 
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 1:22 am Post subject: |
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Well this was a little gem to discover this morning! As others have already said, this is very well told so far. Layer upon layer of intriguing details mostly devoid of explanation, but teasers dropped to keep us hooked.
My mythology education is very patchwork, but it seems we are an embodied form of some devine entity. Cerberus (sp) springs to mind at mention of some kind of hell hound, although I would have thought we'd have found the lack of heads odd as our memory returns. How limiting 1 head must feel if we'd come from 3. Something we, as of yet, haven't mentioned.
A quick google of 'Azazel' gives the quote : ..."is the chief of the Se'irim, or goat-demons".
Now Goat demon is sounding closer.
The essence of a demon chief in the body of man... sounds risky. Not sure what these religious folks hope to achieve by it. Whatever organisation they belong to, to cope with the deaths so far with such little concern clearly this is a large but secret project with significant funding. Perhaps high ranking religious leaders hope the demonstration of a demonic being in existence might prove that a god must therefore exist and drive people back to religion. Not the wisest plan maybe, given the deaths so far, but arguably no better or worse than the 'Jesus shops at Aldi' quote I saw in my morning paper.
Anyhoo, back to the current situation and the decision in hand.
Clearly a fight is only going to end badly for our attacker. For now simply restrain him and try reason. We can always refresh our memmory of the scent if he persists his futile attack. I would say simply let him attack, as it sounds like we are more than capable of taking a punch with little concern. But should that happen then the man's anger is likely to very quickly evaporate into fear when the impacts make no dent. If he runs off we lose the opportunity to learn what he might know.
Restrain him and 'borrow' his clothes Terminator-style (the chapter mentions we're about the right height, and he's a little stockier, which should mean the clothes will fit ok). If he proves troublesome, putting him in one of the morgue drawers should keep him out the way.
Happy Writing
_________________
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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Head Eater
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 2:29 am Post subject: |
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Thisssss Sssstorygame isssss mossssst worthy
Congratulationssssss!
_________________
Heads.
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 4:31 am Post subject: |
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| I say he takes the hit at first... then cowers on the floor in confusion. This may open up dialogue with the 'doctor'?
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Fenris
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 2:39 pm Post subject: |
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| Smee wrote: |
A quick google of 'Azazel' gives the quote : ..."is the chief of the Se'irim, or goat-demons".
Now Goat demon is sounding closer.
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Alright Smee! Ha, I had a hard time deciding what demon I wanted, I was aiming for one of the Grigori (Watchers) and so I chose Azazel rather than Sêmîazâz who I didn't prefer.
Indeed, Azazel is one of the top Watchmen and a leader of the goat demons in the desert. I'll be throwing more mythos of Azazel along with demon and angelic counterparts throughout.
| Quote: | | “But that was a long time ago, oh Goat Keeper.” |
See, i try to keep to the bone lol
As for the goat demon vs. dog that will (hopefully) be revealed in time. I like blending demon fact with my own weird demon ideas. Thanks for reading Smee, Thunderbird, Crunchyfrog!
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Tue Sep 22, 2009 5:47 pm Post subject: |
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| There's so few of us on IF these days... we all need to stick together and read each other's stuff as much as possible. If we don't, we'll all lose heart, I'd say.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Wed Sep 23, 2009 8:26 am Post subject: |
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My my, this IS good.
I agree with Thunderbird. Let the nurse feel like he's in power. You might learn something if he only sees you as a whining, sniveling coward who has no idea what's going on. (which could sum you up quite nicely at this point, for all we know)
on a total side note, this reminds me strongly of a movie called Fallen, about a police officer trying to take down a criminal. Turns out the real criminal is a demon named Azazel, who travels through human hosts by touch. Creepy ass movie.
But yeah, superb description and what looks to be an interesting premise. Keep it up!
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Fri Sep 25, 2009 11:37 am Post subject: |
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You snuck that poll in there very quietly Fenny!
...And voted.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Fri Sep 25, 2009 11:46 pm Post subject: |
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Ha ha my bad. Looks like everyone's decided! I'll let the poll run for another day.
Meanwhile, did I bribe someone in my sleep to sticky my story O.o
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Sat Sep 26, 2009 1:29 am Post subject: |
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No you didn't 
Storygames that pass the basic standards (chapter length, spelling, grammar, punctuation, formatting paragraphs) that were used for promotion from NSG, AND the chapters are coming on a frequent and regular basis are being stickied at the moment.
This idea is being tried out as part of the City reorganisation. So until the details have been finalised, enjoy your stay at the top of the forum!
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Fenris
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| Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2009 3:58 pm Post subject: |
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| Poll is now officially CLOSED. I'll start writing out Cycle 3, I'll be make sure to let the readers know more about what's going along, and maybe even a (sexy) new character introduce. Depnds if I want to introduce the main antagonist first or not.
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2009 11:27 pm Post subject: |
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Sorry gonna be a looong chapter! Split into 3 Parts!
Cycle 3(a)
Sheep's Clothing
by Fenris
The fist connects with your chin. It’s an iron hammer banging brittle bone. Your head rolls with the blow in spite of your efforts to stay still and you take a step back. Your legs give out under the onslaught of dizziness; they cave in like old stone pillars. The landing in a heap onto the cold floor is less than artful.
The pain wasn’t there. It should be, it should have accompanied the nausea that swims inside your skull. This is impossible. Taken down by a mere human.
Something is wrong.
The nurse stands over you, hands still balled into fists and a look of shock and pride mixes in his features. You let out a moan.
“W-Who are you,” he demands. His voice is deeper than his features let out. The glasses twitch on his nose. “What are you doing here?”
You sit up into a kneeling position, massaging your “hurting” jaw. “I don’t know. My name is. Alex.” The words are difficult to form at first, but they come to you slowly. It’s like skinning an animal, you never forget.
The nurse’s eyes narrow behind the lenses. “I recognize you.”
“You do?”
The air in the morgue is getting colder. The chill from the vents above seep inside the room like invisible vapors. You shiver. This cold. This chilling sensation. It’s all so new. All so familiar.
Your shivering seems to spark his memory. “You’re from the ER! I carted you here!”
His voice has risen to a higher pitch. It reveals his panic and he takes a step back.
“You’re dead, bro! Dead!”
ER? You cycle through the vessel’s memories. Looting through information as if you’re looking into a filing cabinet. Information about hospitals, IVs, nurses, morphine. These things you don’t recognize at all. It’s been so long.
ER. Emergency Room. A laugh escapes your lips as you rock back. So simple. This world has changed.
“You all right man?” He shakes his head. “Course your not all right. You just woke from the frickin’ dead. Goddamn “Thriller” up in here.” He keeps shaking the blond topped skull. “This isn’t happening. No. No. You just look like ‘im. That’s it.”
You don’t get his slang references. There’s still much to learn. Much to focus on. You still aren’t even clear on why your even here. Ridiculous. This whole scenario is absurd. And this room. It smells like death, but so stale.
“Please, could you tell me where I am?” The tremors in your voice do wonders.
“You mean you don’t remember? You’re in Mercy General. Downtown.” The nurse takes off his glasses and wipes them clean on his shirt. You can see dried blood near the collar. He’s muttering to himself. His voice goes in and out as you try to pick up what he’s saying.
This human’s particularly resilient. Most men and women of Earth would have screamed in panic now. But you notice the toes of his feet are pointed away from you. You follow his gaze. The red telephone.
“Look, I’m going to get Doctor Collins on the phone and then get security. We’re gonna get this all sorted out,” he says in what he thinks is a reassuring tone.
His hand reaches out to pat your pale shoulder. He can’t be allowed to call anyone. Not right now. You can already hear the female doctor on the floor stirring. She’ll cause trouble too.
The nurse gasps as you seal your cold fingers around his wrist. He tries to tug away, your forearm doesn’t even move. He’s not going anywhere.
His breathing accelerates. His heart. It’s so loud now. Thumping against his ribcage like a wild animal that needs to be free. The man’s too scared to even strike you.
“Let me go,” he hisses. Panic layers his voice in sharp layers.
“Wait, you have to tell me things,” you say mournfully. You’re scared tone is almost comical in this situation. “What city am I in? State?”
“Um-um,” he’s almost shrill now. “Sacramento! Sacramento, California! Let me go!”
“You must be sympathetic,” says your voice. “I’ve just woken up in a cold coffin, naked, alone, and barely knowing my own name.”
“I don’t care!” he squeaks. His fist finds itself back into labor. The knuckles pound again and again against the side of your face. You can feel pressure on your temples and cheek. Pushing down, and then giving up. A frightened percussion of blows.
“What condition was I in when I came into this ER?”
“I can’t remember!” He’s starting to sound like a prepubescent girl. You let go of his wrist and falls back, clutching at it.
“Please be sympathetic,” you whisper. The muscles making up your face try to contract into a smile. It comes back twisted. A grimace if anything.
Either he’s too scared to go for the phone or he really does feel remorse. Either way, he stands to his full height. Trying to bear over you like a stone tower over dead grass. His heart’s still pounding. You can feel it pumping blood to fuel his adrenaline.
He opens his mouth to speak.
“Uhhhhh,” goes a third voice.
“Mary?” He rushes past you. Completely forgetting you in the wake of a being with breasts and shaved thighs.
Mary is just waking up. Her head is probably aching, throbbing with pressure. You don’t turn to look but you can hear him helping her to her feet. There’s a rustle of cloth, her jacket. You feel eyes staring at each you. Then she screams. Again.
The urge to silence her is enormous. It’s so agonizing. The sound echoes inside your head like it’s an empty cavern. Forever bouncing off the walls of your new skull to flush out any coherent thought. All it would take is a quick tug at her neck. The vertebrae would snap the spine would mangle as the sharp bone cut into it.
“He’s supposed to be dead!”
“I know I know,” consoles the nurse.
“No, he’s dead! He came out of the freakin’ drawer, Conner!”
The time for curling on the slabs of tile has long passed. You make a show of shakily getting to your feet.
“Please help me,” you ask. “I don’t know what’s happening!”
The doctor settles down. She’s confident with the tall male by her side. “You’re not dead?”
You expel a large amount of oxygen against your hand. You smile. “See?”
“Alright, alright.” This doctor is coping well. You can’t help notice her sizeable bosom straining against the buttons of her shirt. Something about those.
“We should call security,” whispers Conner. “Just in case his dangerous.”
“His lips bleeding, did you do that?”
What? Bleeding? You hadn’t noticed that. Your fingers lightly touch your lip and they come away with small stains of red. Strange. You wouldn’t have known unless you saw yourself. This body can be injured. Interesting.
“Did you?”
“Ya, knocked him flat out,” Conner states proudly. The need to wipe the pleased smile off his face tempts you.
“Then you can handle him,” Mary says firmly. “I can’t have security come in and cart him off. This is a major discovery! He was dead when I first opened the drawer. Dead and mutilated! Now look at him!”
They stare at you like a cage animal. An unwilling specimen in their studies.
“I need information,” you say slowly. “About me. I’ve seem to have…forgotten.”
They confer with each other for a moment. A phase of fleeting glances, biting lips, and sweating brows.
“Fine,” Mary says, breaking the heavy silence. “I had your file somewhere. But you can’t go anywhere. Or Conner here,” she waves at her friend, “Will have to knock you down again. Understand?”
You blink. “I’m not an idiot. Get the medical files.”
She pauses, not sure what to say. It’s like she’s discovered a talking monkey. It’s amazing how humans can so easily alienate one another. You watch her make way to an old filing cabinet made of rusting iron. Conner watches her too, but less in a studious manner and more in an infatuated gaze. Poor fool.
Mary comes back, her long legs and heels clicking against the stonework underneath. A doctor wearing heels. Unusual, but not uncommon. Wait. You’re confusing the real world with this vessel’s memories of pornography. Real doctors don’t wear heels. Not serious one’s anyways.
You come back into focus, just in time to catch her reading off your file.
“Alex Tesh. Age: 19. You’re Caucasian, ummm,” she scans the rest of the file. “You live on 1324 Hartwood Drive, Roseville.”
She nods. “Yes, you came here with multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdominal area. One arm had been broken, the other skinned.” She glances at you, as if the last piece of information should have sparked a reaction. Your face shows nothing. Her eyes narrow and she goes back to reading.
“It’s a rather new gang thing, apparently. Anyways, after three tries of failed resuscitation, the doctor pronounced you dead. They carted you here since your family was unable to be contacted. There was no wallet, keys, or cell phone in any of your articles of clothing.”
“Sounds about right,” Conner confirms. He’s not looking at you anymore. Instead, his attention is focused on an object down Mary’s shirt.
Something’s bothering you though. This doctor. This Mary. Something’s not fitting here. A sense of “wrong” just emanates from her, like a tangible cloud of volatile perfume. Only you seem to feel it, Conner certainly doesn’t.
She closes the file with a snapping sound. Uncharacteristic of a thickened fold of paper.
“So your name is Alex?”
“Yes,” you say warily. Something is off. Very off.
Her voice takes on a teasing tone. She leers at you with a sardonic smile blessing her smooth features. “Sure about that? Sure you not called something else?”
“Positive.”
Conner is in another world. His eyes are glazed and a spot of drool speckles the corner of his lips. His eyes are gazing at nothing and whenever Mary speaks, he seems to smile like a drunken fool.
“Come now. We both know that the body is just a vessel.”
Shit.
End Part 1
Last edited by Fenris on Wed Sep 30, 2009 11:36 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2009 11:32 pm Post subject: |
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Part 2!
Cycle 3(b)
Lobby Rumble
by Fenris
The soft soles of your feet grip the tiled floor as you back away. She’s still leering at you; her blue eyes have now gone dark. There should be a sparkle there, a twinkle of life. But all that’s left is an empty darkness, a hollow end. Is that what you look like?
“Tell me, love. Angel or demon?” her voice is a sing song quality. Very pleasant. Very dangerous.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say. Playing dumb is all you’ve got right now. You don’t know how strong she is.
“Don’t fuck with me,” she snarls. Her calm demeanor is gone. “We came and took vessels at the exact same time, at the exact same room. I just couldn’t get a good look at you before I took Mary here.”
You watch the option of “ignorance” flit away on an invisible wind. “If you don’t know, I’m reasonably sure you’re not supposed to.”
A long tongue slips through her thick lips like a snake coming from its burrow. It slowly licks at her upper lip. You feel a stirring in your loins. Her dark eyes flick downward and a truly amused smile brightens her face.
“How nice,” she whispers. “Well, I suppose in the end it doesn’t really matter. You’re either for the purpose, or your not.”
The what?
She becomes a blur and she’s gone. Conner just stands there, his drunken look still very much there. You watch him closely, anything to give away he’s about to change for the worse.
“Boo.”
A familiar sensation spreads across your chest and you look down. It seems a hand has sprouted from the center of your chest. You stare at the bloody appendage. What is it doing there? That’s not right. It feels like there’s warm water running down your stomach. It feels nice.
Then the sensation, the pain, brings you back into focus. It’s not a lot. Nothing to make you tilt back and roar. But you do anyways. You’re back arches and the veins of your neck strain against the prison of your skin. The breath rushes out of you along with the terrible cry. Your scream invigorates you. You can hear them now. The clashing of spears, the hollow announcing of maces against shields. Your real child. Your genius. Your war.
“A screamer, eh?” hisses Mary.
She pulls out her hand kicks your lower back. Your spine should snap but it doesn’t. The wind seems to whistle a tune as you sail through the air and slam into the steel wall of the dead. It crumples under the impact. The bodies inside are bent and twisted back out of proportion. A few topple out as their coffins slide out.
You stand. There’s a kink in your neck. You crack it and step out of the ruined city of wall and metal.
Mary stands facing you, her back to the exit. Her right arm is covered in blood. Your blood. Rather, your vessel’s blood. You try to peer down at the hole she made, but it isn’t there anymore. The hollow place is gone.
She rushes at you again. But poor Mary is no longer a blur. You can see her coming, a wicked smile marring her pretty face. Poor Mary. She reaches out, towards your neck. She intends to rip your throat open. She intends to watch you kneel before her, clutching at the escaping air as you cease to breathe. She wants you to kneel down in a pool of blood.
No. You do not kneel.
Just as she reaches you, you strike her across the temple. You can see the ripple it sends across her face as her head partially caves in under the force. Her neck bends at an awkward angle and you can see a bit of white and pink under the new opening in the side of her neck.
She flies to the side, swatted to your right like an annoying fly. Power courses through your frame, charging your body with a new kind of electricity. The wall where you sent her explodes in a shower of dust and concrete. The crumbled pieces pepper the floor like hail and a cloud of smoke hides her from view.
You wait. Mary isn’t dead. You hope she isn’t. It’s been so long since you’ve played. Since you’ve had the least bit of fun.
She steps from the curtain of smoke. Her neck has been twisted a 180 degrees. She’s now looking at the crater she made in the wall while her body faces you. Is it in the shape of her form? You should go and see later. When this is over.
Her clothes are barely hanging onto her curvy form. Her business pants barely cling onto her wide hips the lab coat is gone, leaving only a shirt that’s hardly even there. A red bra. Fashionable.
You watch as she reaches up and twists her head back into position. The bones crack. And snap. And pop. Just like the cereal. You laugh.
“You think this is funny, bitch?” she snarls. Her face isn’t pretty anymore. Most of the skin in her left side has been shorn away, leaving only the bleeding muscle and bone underneath. It’s caved in slightly. “I’ll rip you to pieces! No fucking angel is getting the best of me!”
Angel? Hardly.
She launches herself at you. Abandoning caution into the wind like she’s leaping into the arms of a lover. You embrace her. And she knocks you both through the left wall. Bricks and cement shower over you. You tussle. And bite. And twist. It’s like passionate sex.
You punch her in the stomach and her organs inside liquefy. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her teeth commence surgery of your jaw and she throws you off of her. An explosion of force shoves you upward so fast you barely have time to register the ceiling breaking off across your back.
Azazel has reached the lobby. There’s screams of confusion. Screams of fear. The screams of pain come from the floors above. The cloud spilling from the hole you made covers the lobby, sending the elderly coughing to the floor and the healthy running for cover. Humans always abandon each other in times of panic. Then mourn after. Curious.
Why did God ever love them?
Selfless little beings. Always running about, thinking nothing of their fellow man. And the few that do, they tend to die horrible deaths. The eternity of the comedy of God.
You stand and debris falls off of you like water from a shower. This is fun. This is what you were made for.
The lobby is a lot bigger than the morgue. Chairs decorate the far walls that smoothly turn into several hallways. The reception desk is in the center of the room, a small staircase leading up to it like the entrance of heaven. Did heaven ever have stairs? You can’t even remember. It saddens you. It’s been too long.
Mary announces her arrival with a shriek. Stupid thing to do. She flies out of the column of smoke like a bat out of hell. So appropriate for her. She comes at you with the force of a wrecking ball, a tiny avatar of pure destruction. You snatch her from the air by the neck and slam her into the carpeted floor.
The breath leaves her. And Mary trembles just as the thick slab underneath groans from the blow. Good. She should tremble. All should tremble.
A song comes to mind. It’s a strange thing to come like this. Perhaps her name inspired it.
She struggles but your foot crushes her trachea and shreds her larynx against the long connected trail of bone behind it.
What was the song? Oh yes.
Mary had a little lamb.
Her arms don’t come off as quickly as they should. You’re not as strong as you used to be. She tries to scream but there’s nothing there for the air to travel to.
Her left arm comes off.
Little lamb.
The red paint splatters like a broken pipe.
Little lamb.
The poor receptionist had stood up to get a clear view of what is happening. She winces as a tide of blood bathes her with a fresh scarlet afterglow.
Mary had a little lamb.
Her right arm comes off with a similar effect. Next her legs. She shouldn’t have given you the idea in the first place. “Rip you apart,” was a poor choice of words.
It’s fleece as white as snow.
eND OF pART 2
Sorry, these two parts were on my comp where the the third part is in my USB drive at my grandparents house  so I'll post the third part as soon as I get it :p
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Thu Oct 01, 2009 3:54 pm Post subject: |
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O.o
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Thu Oct 01, 2009 4:17 pm Post subject: |
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Heh, heh, awesome so far! But watch out for some of those typos!
| Quote: | | You still aren’t even clear on why your even here. |
you're
| Quote: | | Her neck has been twisted a 180 degrees. |
Remove 'a'.
I mean, they weren't plentiful but where they were, they were distracting. There were a few moments I got confused, particularly where he had a grip on the 'doctor' and what happened to transition from there. But all in all, this is great! Mixes action with the slow revealing of plot information... Well done! Looking forward to more.
_________________
      
 CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...  
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Klafarius
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| Posted: Fri Oct 02, 2009 8:54 pm Post subject: |
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Awesome Chapter so far Fenris! Kudos to you!
_________________
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Sun Oct 04, 2009 4:21 am Post subject: |
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*Waits eagerly for the last bit*
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Amichan
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| Posted: Sat Oct 10, 2009 4:53 am Post subject: |
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so far so good can't wait till the next part
_________________
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Fenris
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 8:20 pm Post subject: |
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Cycle 3-3
Man in a Suit
by Fenris
There's total silence. You stand over the twitching body, gazing at your work with a mixture of admiration, disgust, and horror. You back away, upturning the piles of rubble that you had fought upon.
You wonder if you should feel something. Remorse? Satisfaction? Or maybe this was how you were supposed to react. Embrace the nothing. Embrace the soothing calm that came with destruction. It is your way. And you know it.
There's clapping. It echoes in the silent hospital, bouncing off the marble walls into a symphony of sharp sounds that grate against your ear.
"My my. That was quite a show!"
You turn. The voice is familiar. It tugs at your memories, but its not all back yet. It bangs against the gate of your mind but you aren't able to let it in.
A man is standing by the entrance way. The pouring rain outside drenching the night air makes a perfect backdrop to his sardonic smile and glinting eyes. It's a man in a suit, complete with the cane and bowler hat. Gray. Lifeless. Dull. The suit doesn't match him.
"Azazel," he tuts. "I'm disappointed. I would have thought a cry of 'hello!' or a sudden rush of violence would have...accompanied...that stare of yours."
You don't have time for this. A sense of urgency has gripped you. You've always hated word games. Always been straight to the point. That's never changed, not in these thousands of years.
"Who are you?"
The man sniffs and shuffles forward. His cane lazily glances against the dust covered floor, making sharp tacking sounds that signal his approach.
He stops just ahead of you and he leans forward against his cane. "Memory loss?"
"Everyone seems to know who I am, but me."
"You don't know who you are?"
You pause. "I am Azazel. The elite of The Watchers. God of war. God of rams and goats."
The man sniffs and waves a hand. "All just titles to you."
"Memories cling to them," you say. Why are you explaining yourself to him? Something in you wants to. Wants to lay your deeds bare. Wants to listen and sit at his feet. Careful.
"Who are you?"
The man smiles. "Straight to the point." He leans back, straightening himself. "You were always the blunt one, Az."
You step forward, threatening. He smirks.
"I am...a messenger."
Your eyes narrow. Who is this fool to come up to you and play games? He's seen what you've done. Seen what you can do. A lesson is in order, and your just the being to teach it.
You lunge, knowing that you're no more than a blur in motion. But your hands, seeking his pale neck, end up only clenching air.
Impossible.
"That's very rude of you," he whispers.
He's behind you.
Before you can turn, you feel a sharp pain in your lower back. Your spine arches and the breath rushes out of your body. The opposite wall, yards away from you, rushes to meet you. Your frame shatters the shale covering and crumbles the cement underneath.
Gasping, you quickly get to your feet. In a moment the pain is gone.
The man stands before you, not inches away from your face. He's smiling. Sharp white teeth crowd his mouth unnaturally so, pushing and shoving for a place at the front. His eyes are a dull gray but menace and mirth makes them glint.
"Don't make this difficult, Azazel."
You relax. It's always been best to strike unexpectedly.
"Who are you?" you snarl.
He leans forward. "Ask nicely."
You remain silent and consider which eye to take out first. He see's your intent as if he's reading a book, as if all your thoughts are being spelled out across your forehead. He laughs at them.
"I am Abaddon."
The name strikes fear. You don't know why but the root is somewhere deep in your chest. It squirms and writhes, shrieking in terror at the name. An uncontrollable shudder passes through your body.
Abaddon smiles. "Yes, now you remember. Or at least part of you does. Everyone knows The Destroyer." He flourishes his hands and twists around extravagantly. "Everyone."
Your head is starting to hurt. This is too much. You need rest. This is what they call a headache.
Abaddon stops spinning and fiddles with his cane. "All your memories will return. Eventually. But that's not important, Azazel. What is important, is who's side you're on."
You consider this. Of course. The purpose that Mary had babbled on about. Perhaps this was your chance to learn more.
"Is there a war going on?" you ask.
The demon blinks in surprise. "My, you truly are in the dark. And so calm about it!"
He laughs and spins his cane between thin fingers. He motions for you to follow him. And the two of you tread an invisible path in the ruins of Mercy General.
"It's not really a war as of yet. More like a," he searches for the word. "Domestic dispute."
You stay silent.
"Its between two factions, my boy. Well, three really. Those who serve The Purpose, those who Oppose, and those who don't give a fuck." He emits a bark of laughter. We pass two orderlies, stock still, in the middle of trading papers.
He glances at them. "Freezing time. Wonderful perk."
"How can you do this?"
He shrugs. "You can do it to. We can't hold it for long. I just need to get us up to the roof." He nods towards the stairs.
<> <> <> <>
You can hear the sirens below. There's a mass of people surrounding the hospital. Ambulances, white and black vans, police cars of all sizes, and curious onlookers.
You and Abaddon stand on the very edge, staring down at the milling insects far below. The rain makes a pleasant sound. It soothes you, relaxes your itching nerves and growing tension. It's so peaceful. It reminds you of something yet again. It's comforting, familiar.
You blink.
Yet it brings a sadness you don't want to accept.
"I miss the rain," Abaddon whispers. "I mean, it rained in hell. Acid though. Not pleasant."
The demon chuckles and looks up to bare his face against the downpour. "Reminds you of Home."
Ah. Yes. Home.
"Abaddon, please explain more."
He's silent. You understand and you wait. The both of you just stare into the entanglement of glass, stone, and steel that make up this city. The rain makes everything more bearable.
"The Purpose is simple. Bring down our Father."
You nod. This seems normal.
"The Opposition of course is, protecting the Father on his sprawling throne."
"So, its fight against our feathered brothers then."
Abaddon sniffs and eyes a low flying bird coming in your direction. "Not quite."
"Then what?"
"It's a mix now," he says. "There's been another major rebellion. Now it's abominations and the blessed fighting, well, abominations and the blessed," he sighs and examines his pristine nails. "Apparently, some unknown angel decided he could do what Lucifer couldn't.
More collected to his cause. To his story. And he slowly rose in power. Hell, he wasn't even a seraphim. An arch. Just a lowly cherub or something. But it's changed. So now, angels and demons fight against more angels and demons."
"Something out of a comic book," you remark.
"I suppose God thinks its amusing."
"Who's side are you on?"
Abaddon shrugs and a good sized waterfall spills off both shoulders. "I just don't give a fuck."
You frown. "Then why did you come to retrieve me?"
Abaddon smiles, his brilliantly white teeth almost sparkle. "Whether you remember it or not, I owe you a large favor. And I plan to make it up to you by letting you on a little secret."
"Which is?"
"Which is you are all going to die. Like, right now," says a female voice.
The man in the gray suit stiffens and then snarls in frustration. You both turn, swiveling on your heels smoothly despite being balanced on a thin ledge.
A group of men and women glare at you. Six to be exact. They're vessels of all races. A black men, two Asians who look like a couple, two white old men, and a Mexican businessman in a shredded suit and tie.
"Yo! Down here, bitch!"
Your eyes travel downwards, well past your adversaries waists to rest upon the leader. Who happens to be a rather tiny girl in a ballerina uniform.
The little girl glances down and leers. "Nice dick."
She smiles. She has teeth that would make wolves proud.
Last edited by Fenris on Tue Nov 17, 2009 10:07 pm; edited 3 times in total
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Fenris
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 8:24 pm Post subject: |
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IM SORRY ITS OVERDUE!!!!
So, DP is generic, kinda the same as the last one and well, ya. I know, I know. Lame right? Well as the story moves forward you"ll get to the more story defining descions! Including which side you want.
Yay
So, DP!
What our, or rather you and Abaddon to do? React hostily? Try to reason peacefully? Leap the fuck off the building and hope you sprout some leathery wings and fly?
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 10:00 pm Post subject: |
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Ouch.
My best advice it to simply follow Abbadon's lead. He actually KNOWS what's going on. You don't want to attack in a situation that could be negotiated, or try to negotiate in a situation where doing so would only give the other side a head start.
Abbadon is more likely to know who these people are, and their position in relation to the two of you. So just copy what he does.
Interesting plot as well. Though i have to ask, why would any demons fight for the Father against a rebellion? What motivation do they have?
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Amichan
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 10:28 pm Post subject: |
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not bad but it seems like that you left us at a cliff hanger but with no real dp but that is my opinion
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Smee
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| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 10:52 pm Post subject: |
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Another fun read this morning. There's some odd parts in there, I would recommend another read through and edit.
I think Deady has made a very good point... Abaddon knows the situation.
But given the little girl's opening line... 'you're all going to die'... I think we can infer enough to know these guys ain't friendly.
Knee to the face seems like a good opener 
Happy Writing
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 10:21 am Post subject: |
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I think it's fairly obvious why some demons might fight with God. Chance of promotion - chance to show they've changed, and that he should really forgive them. And because God's probably pretty hard to beat, so they don't think it's worth the effort.
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Klafarius
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 12:26 pm Post subject: |
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I can sum up my opinon into 4 words.
It's ass kicking time!
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Fenris
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 2:26 pm Post subject: |
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Lol, catchy line.
lo siento if this final piece had seemed a bit rush. Because it totally was. I had to retype everything but when I had finished it, I was unhappy with it. Originally, Azazel was supposed to meet Gabriel, not Abaddon. But I changed it.
EDIT: Fixed all the grammar mistakes and sentence confusions 
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 3:00 pm Post subject: |
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Well, I don't think he's going to find out what Abaddon's secret is or what the favour was that Abaddon wants to return, right at that very moment.
Kick Ass time just about sums it up, I can't see what else they can do. Not sure they're going to be able to reason with them!
I guess the little girl's physique will be very deceptive. Probably not best to go for her first. Tackle the six first.
Alternative suggestion:
I don't know much about these creatures and I don't know whether they can dump their vessels and go find another. If it is not too crazy an option, can they just... um... jump off the ledge?
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2009 8:33 pm Post subject: |
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Well, role-playing wise, he'd attack. I still wonder why he struck at Abaddon before even having a clue who Abaddon was. So, in staying in character, he'd welcome the fight.
BUT, I agree he should follow Abaddon's lead here... more as a tactical decision.
Your writing is so good in parts that some of the missed edit points I find really striking. Look out for those 'Your, You're and To, Too"s. They screamed out at me quite loudly, though there's a lot of things I could equally point out that you're doing brilliantly. Keep up the good stuff. I like the theme so far... right up my alley! That said, it definately needs more expanding on, though you seem to be pacing the revealing of information just right to maintain a heck of a lot of interest... well done there.
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CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...
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Smee
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| Posted: Tue Nov 17, 2009 5:15 am Post subject: |
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*Stamps feet awaiting a new chapter*
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