Chiaroscuro

[NicTei]

This is where Chiaroscuro will appear.  The prologue will be up in a little bit of time.  Don't worry.  I'll stop talking like everything I say matters now.

This is a board for Chiaroscuro, a story I started to work on not too long ago.  I'm going to be posting the chapters in their entirety, so this may be a time consuming thing to read.  However, I'm trying to make it seem as short as possible by making it good-quality writing.  You can return the favor, readers, by leaving kind comments and compliments.

Oh yeah, I just remembered something: 

Pumpkins rule.

CLICK ON THE CHAPTER TITLE TO VIEW IT, OTHERWISE SCROLL DOWN
Contents
Prologue:  The War (see next post)
Chapter 1:  Doom and School.  They Go Together.
Chapter 2:  Enlisting
Chapter 3:  The Sound of Thunder
Chapter 4:  Mana
Chapter 5:  Horrible Homunculi
Chapter 6:  A Requiem for Ser

Chapters Written
Chapter 7:  Impossible
Chapter 8:  What in Blue Blazes?
Chapter 9:  Scars
Chapter 10:  Let's Go!
Chapter 11:  The Goblin King and His Vassal


Chapters In Progress
Chapter 12:  Oh Boy...

Book Status
Passed away.  August 14, 2008-November 09, 2008

[NicTei]

   In the land of Terris-Naezera, there was a terrible war.  The forces of good, the Cryxians, fought hard against the humans, who campaigned against the Cryxians for command of the world.  During the course of the war, however, a faction of Cryxians broke their people’s laws.  They were cast aside, known from then on as the Haetans.  For centuries, the Haetans lay in the pit they were cast into, hating their former brethren and scheming against them.
 
   Finally, they were presented with an opportunity.  The commander of the Cryxian army, the noble Lord Michaeus, entered the battlefield.  If they were to launch a sudden attack in the middle of the battle, they would be able to kill Michaeus, as long as he was distracted by the humans.

   Their plan was a success, and as Lord Michaeus realized what was going on, he was slain by the Haetan leader, Bezeran the Wicked.  The Cryxians withdrew from the war, and the humans gained dominance of the world, going so far as to rename Terris-Naezera ‘Earth.’  But, the Haetans weren’t through with the humans. 

   They stalked through the human cities at night, whispering things into the ears of those half awake, and corrupting the dreams of those who slept.  Of course, those deeds were the most gracious they would carry out in the night’s cover.  The worst deeds were noticed, and brought to the attention of the world, now run by humans. 

   The humans realized their folly, and attempted to reconcile with the Cryxians.  However, the Cryxians were nowhere to be found.  They had fled when they realized what the Haetans were doing, creating their own, secluded world with rudimentary technology.  They had named this world after their lost paradise, Terris-Naezera. 

   Wanting nothing to do with Earth and its humans, Terris-Naezera hung above the Earth, as if mocking its inhabitants.  All the while, the Haetans ravaged the people of the human-ruled world, killing, torturing, and worse, all as they pleased.  However, there came a light among the people, making the Haetans cringe in fear, hissing at this shining beacon.

   A Cryxian had remained on Earth, and bore a son with a human.  This son’s name was all but lost, simply called Light.  The Haetans cowered before him, hiding in the darkest crevices of the Earth, where no light dared penetrate and forsaken souls cried out in anguish.  But still, this Light followed them, making sure to put an end to their reign.

   However, the Light was never seen again, having disappeared with the Haetans.  No matter how the humans searched, they could not find their hero.  So, a great tower was built with the consent of the Cryxians, reaching up to the skies, and connecting with Terris-Naezera, a fitting memorial to the half-human, half-Cryxian hero that fought so bravely against the Haetans.

   And for a while, all was well.  But, as all things must, this time of peace came to an end.  The Haetans, horribly changed by their time in hiding, returned to the surface of the world, once again hoping to conquer the world and the human race that ruled it.  The people waited patiently, knowing that their hero would come. 

   However, though centuries of war against the Haetans ensued, the Light was nowhere to be found.  It appeared that he had failed in his noble quest.  The Haetans were back, and he was apparently dead.

[NicTei]

I know that it was a short prologue, but it was actually the original prologue for Dungeon Spawn.  Wierd, huh?

[Chinaren]

Quite interesting NT, though you need to watch your tense, it swings back and forth to past and present a few times.

Oh, and your sig-link isn't working! 

[NicTei]

“Boooorrrrrrrring!” called out a voice from the back of the class.

   Chiaroscuro rolled his eyes.  Even though it wasn’t the greatest subject in the world, he liked World History class.  Learning about the Cryxians, the Haetans, and the war was always interesting for him.  It was second only, in his opinion, to Mana-tech classes, where the students learned to control Mana via machinery. 

   Mana was the energy that resided in all living beings, both large and small.  It was said to be a gift from God.  Of course, that was when the limits of its uses were healing and curing.  Now it had taken on more dangerous uses, such as replacing the bullets in the guns that had been recovered from the ruins of Old Earth.

   Old Earth is what we would call modern day civilization.  There were cars, guns, computers, televisions, and many other things created seemingly to get the inhabitants of the earth to turn obese at a rapid pace.  Now, however, because of the war with the Haetans, Old Earth had been completely wiped out when they obtained nuclear weaponry.  It had been like this for the last twenty-five years, happening eleven years before Chiaroscuro was born.

   The ruins of Old Earth were once-great, old cities, mostly overrun with plants or sand, depending on the region.  Because of the change in the landscape, strange and powerful creatures, mutilated into existence by the Haetans, had moved into the ruins.  Compared to these ruins, an active volcano seemed like a daycare center. No one entered the ruins unless they had a death wish, and no one that entered seemed to ever come out. 

   However, scientific expeditions often got in and out without much harm, not entering the deepest parts of the ruins.  When they did so, they came back with tales of horrible creatures, and often with two types of souvenirs; either scratches or dead bodies.

   When they were lucky, though, they found old firearms called guns, and even managed to bring back automobiles on occasion.  But they were rare, with only the rich possessing them.  If you went into the ruins yourself to get one, you were either an idiot or brave, depending on the results.

“Hey, Chiaro!  Time to go!” a voice called.

   He looked up to see Nort, a friend of his, beckoning to him from the doorway.  He looked, around and was shocked to see that the classroom was empty, save for himself, Nort, and the teacher.  He quickly gathered his things and raced out the door.

   A sudden pain erupted in his chest.  He started to hit the floor, but caught himself, not wanting to make a scene in the hallway.  He stumbled for the bathroom, which wasn’t too far away.  Everything seemed to be going in slow motion for him, but the pain finally stopped when he got to the sink.  He was clutching it so hard that his knuckles were pale white. 

   He looked into the mirror, hoping that his pain wouldn’t be visible on his face.  The long white hair that hung down to the middle of his back was matted to his face with sweat, the black patches seeming darker with perspiration.  His bright blue eyes hid his agony well in their abysses of secrets, telling no one anything.

   When he was sure that the pain had passed, he stood up, shaking slightly.  That was the second attack that week.  They were occurring more often.

   The bell rang, bringing him out of his thoughts.  He cursed and started to sprint out of the bathroom, running for his next class.  He knew he was too late, but it would be better to show up looking like he had been running than seeming like he had been casually strolling through the hallways.

[c|s]

   When he entered his classroom, the teacher stopped what he was saying and turned to look at him.  He gave an apologetic smile, but the teacher wasn’t amused.  He pointed to a seat next to Nort, and the Chiaroscuro wasted no time in getting there.

“Where were you?” Nort whispered when he sat down.

“Um…bathroom?” Chiaroscuro replied half-truthfully.

“Did you fall in or something?  Geez!  Class has been on for ten minutes!”

“Oh, shut up!  Like you’ve never been late before!” Chiaroscuro shot back.

“Whatever you say, Chiaro!”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that!?”

“What, ‘Chiaro?’  Well, what should I call you?”

“How about calling me by my name:  Chiaroscuro!”

“No way!  That’s too long!  What about ‘Ros’ or ‘Scuro?’  Or even ‘Roscuro?’”

“Good lord, no!” Chiaroscuro replied.

“Mr. Decieve!  Would you and Mr. Shawson like to share something with the class?” the teacher asked, still as stern as ever.

“Um, no sir!” Chiaroscuro replied.

“Well then, open your books and read the entire first chapter out loud to the class.  No, not the reading books; I’m talking about your physics books.”

   Chiaroscuro looked at the physics book.  Just one chapter took up over fifty pages, with small print.  So, with a groan of disbelief, he picked up the book and opened it.  He tried to hold it up, but it weighed a ton.  Balancing it with his knee, he began to read.

“Physics is a course…”

[c|s]

   In the main office of the Defenders, a group that fought against the Haetans, the Defenders’ leader, Lord Yuen, was carefully reading through the battle and scout reports of his field agents.  So far he had lost around 1,000 good men to the Haetan menace, and the people of Earth were reluctant to join in on the fighting.  He brushed his long, golden hair out of his face, his brown eyes poring over the reports in boredom.

“Sir!  A survivor from the Third Regiment is here!” one of the guards standing outside of his door announced.

“Very well; send him in!” Lord Yuen assented, stacking up all of the reports and setting them on the top corner of his desk.

   The survivor stepped in, and Lord Yuen started his observation process.  The man was wounded; his leg was bound heavily with bandages and he used crutches.  He could see apprehension and sorrow in the man’s eyes.  There was no regret in his gaze, which ruled out him being a deserter.  His head was bandaged, but tufts of golden hair stuck out from between the bandages.

“And you would be?” Lord Yuen asked, indicating that he should give his name.

“O-oh, um…I’m Sirrick, sir.”

“Sirrick.  Okay then, Sirrick, what did you want to see me about?”

The wounded soldier seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then suddenly realized something that appeared quite urgent.  “Lord Yuen, sir!  Reports have come in of Bezeran the Wicked appearing in the field of battle!”

   Lord Yuen stood straight up, his chair rocketing backwards.  Sirrick, startled, almost fell backwards.  Lord Yuen had a grave look on his face.

“Are you sure of this, Sirrick?”

“Yes, Lord Yuen.  He killed my regiment and left me for dead…” Sirrick replied, a terrible memory sweeping over his face.

“That will be all, Sirrick,” Lord Yuen said quietly.

   As Sirrick left the room, Lord Yuen slumped down into his chair with his head in his hands.  He, like everyone else on Earth, had hoped that the Light had managed to kill Bezeran, the most horrible of the Haetans.  But, it appeared that he had failed at this as well.  Now they were almost surely doomed.

[c|s]

   It had taken Chiaroscuro and Nort until the end of the class period to get through the long physics chapter.  When the bell finally rang, the other students seemed to wake up, jolted by the bell.  They raced out of the classroom as fast as possible, with Chiaroscuro and Nort in the lead.  It had been their last class of the day, and they were eager to get out of the school building, if only for the rest of the day.

“So, Chiaroscuro-no, there’s got to be a shorter way to say that-anyways, what’re you doing after school?” Nort asked, jogging to keep up with his friend.

“I’m probably just going to mess around in the woods, or something.  You know, do something fun!” Chiaroscuro replied.

“Why don’t you stay inside?  I mean, the Haetans are getting closer!  Or didn’t you listen to the H-Tracker data?”

“Hey, those reports come from and old piece of machinery that they supposedly fixed up.  Can you really trust it?” Chiaroscuro asked.

“Well…” Nort answered, reluctant to ignore the reports.

“I used to hear stories about the older machines, computers, television, cellular phones, from my dad’s friends.  They didn’t sound so great.”

“Well they were just stories…” Nort protested.

“You could apparently watch ‘adult’ materials just by clicking on a couple of things; that doesn’t sound like a great invention, if you ask me!”

“Well, whether or not that’s bad is a matter of perspective…” Nort replied without thinking.

   Chiaroscuro and Nort stood there in silence for a moment, Chiaroscuro looking at Nort as if he’d just ‘come out of the closet.’  Finally, Chiaroscuro returned to his work of putting his things in his backpack and hauling it out of his locker.  He then closed the metal cabinet and locked it, turning the padlock setting to the number zero as he always did.

   He and Nort parted ways, Nort heading further into the school and Chiaroscuro walking straight towards the doors.  He felt a slight tremor in his chest and stopped instantly, waiting for the pain.  The pain, however, was absent.  So, he kept walking, stepping out the doors and into his temporary freedom.

[c|s]

   Lord Yuen was in the war room barking out orders to his officers and subordinates.  In between rounds of orders, he kept looking back at the map on the table, moving units around and then brushing them off of the table in frustration, starting all over again.  Finally, he slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone stop and turn to look at him.

“There’s just not enough time!” he muttered.

   He noticed that everyone was looking at him and cleared his throat.  He stood back up, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair as he left the room.  He needed to do some serious thinking.  So far, the Haetans had seen almost every ambush he had set up.  They had countered his counter-attacks, and even gone so far as to send his troops back in various states of mutilation.

   He stalked down the hallways, fuming over his lack of soldiers and the reluctance of the people.  As he passed by the portraits of his predecessors, he felt nothing from them.  There was no inspiration in their gazes.

[c|s]

   The next day at school, as Chiaroscuro was walking down the hallway, he heard the sounds of a fight up ahead, just around the corner.  He started to walk faster, confident in his abilities to stop a fight, and upon rounding the corner he found that it wasn’t a fight, but a beating.  In the middle of a circle of boys was a smaller, skinnier boy, his blonde hair dirtied by lint from the floor and his eyes scrunched together in pain.  He was curled up, taking the blows with yelps of pain.  However, no one stopped them, though there was a group of girls protesting against it.

   Chiaroscuro leaped into action.  He took his bag off of his shoulder and started to swing it around, scattering the boys as he got closer.  He got into the middle and hoisted the boy up.  However, he was pushed away by the victim.

“I don’t need your help!” he shrieked, running away with a slight limp.

“What are you doing, you ‘tard?” yelled one of the boys that had been beating on the kid.

“Hey!” Chiaroscuro replied, his eyes obtaining a dark look.  “You don’t know what affect you’re having on him!  No one does!  For all you know, he could have emotional issues!  If he commits suicide, it’s on your hands!”

   The boys looked at him like he was growing another head.  For a moment, he was sure that they were going to beat him up.  But, they just turned away, shaking their heads.  Chiaroscuro lifted his bag back onto his shoulder and walked away.

   Unknown to him, the boy that had just been beaten up was sitting by himself in a darker corner of the school.  As he nursed his injuries, he began to plan.  Dark plans were made in that dark corner, plans that would cause those that crossed him to rue the day they were born.

[c|s]

   In a chamber similar to the corner in which the victimized boy made his plans, there was a much darker force making much darker plans.  Lesser living creatures shuddered in its presence, only to be struck down in moments.  This force expressed a cruel glee at the demise of the poor beings.

   The beings that could only be Haetans surrounded it, bowing low at its presence.  It conveyed an order mentally, and they immediately obeyed disappearing from the chamber in a variety of ways.  It was time for them to move out.  They were the great Haetan Overlords, and they were going to crush this world.

[c|s]

   A solitary figure wandered around the Old Earth ruins, the tall skyscrapers half buried in the sands.  As it got closer and closer to an ancient store, it shoved itself through the rusted-shut door, searching the various shelves for anything that would quench his thirst.  A sand cloak fluttered around it as the door closed, scraping shut against the wind, sand, and rust.
 
   He placed his goggles on his forehead, running his hand through his bright brown hair.  His green eyes searched for water, soda, even oil.  Well, probably not oil, but it would be better than wasting away in this accursed desert.  Finally, after what seemed like an agonizing search, he found what he was looking for; a cooler full of water.  The cooling units had long run out of power, but the insulated glass case had kept most of the cool air inside, even after centuries.

   Lifting his hand from his cloak, he smashed the case with the butt of a weapon that had been thrust into his belt; a revolver.  He grabbed the first bottle and started to greedily suck it down before remembering that he had to take his time on the water.  He didn’t want to use it all up.

   Holding onto the bottle, he looked through the shelves, searching for some sort of food.  Up by the counter he found small, shiny packages that he thought could be candy.  The label on the wrapper said ‘Trojans.’  He unwrapped it, and proceeded to unfurl the object inside, but was disappointed to find no candy whatsoever.  He tossed both the piece of rubber and its wrapper over his shoulder, disappointed.  That was when he saw it.  An entire rack of unopened candy.  He shot over to that rack faster than he thought he could move.

   He tore the wrappers off of generic brands of chocolate and taffy, devouring them as fast as he could.  When he couldn’t eat any more, he lay down on the floor, propped up against the counter.  There was a loud roar outside, and his hand flew to his revolver, cocking the gun in a fluid motion.

   He got to his knees and looked out the window behind the counter.  Outside, searching for food was a lioness.  The man laughed.  The lioness was a fool to be out at this time, no matter how close to the outskirts of the ruins it was.  There was a loud bugling sound, and he knew that he was right.  He held his gun ready and ducked down behind the counter.

   There was another, slightly muffled roar, and the sound of wind hitting the ground as the giant, decaying bird took off with the lioness.  The man laughed, twirling his gun around on one finger, despite the fact that it was cocked.  He pulled the bullets out and dry-fired the gun, muffling the sound by covering the tip with his cloak, and then put it back into his belt with the bullets back inside the revolving piece.

   A sudden noise made him stop and listen.  There it was again!  There was a scraping noise coming from behind the door to the back room.  He wearily pulled his gun out from his belt and cocked it again, holding it forward as he kicked down the door.  The first zombie to pour forth from the door caught him by surprise, but he blew off its head with his revolver.

   More and more zombies were coming in through the door, and with desperation he began shooting them down and booting them out windows.  They wore a variety of clothes, from ancient tunics to the uniforms that the store clerk was sure to have worn.  The banging of the revolver hurt his ears, but he kept going, firing bullet after bullet with decent aim, not missing but not always killing the zombie with the first shot.

   When the click of an empty chamber sounded in the empty store, he paused for a moment.  The zombies, however, continued coming, moaning and salivating, so he used the butt of the gun as a weapon, bashing the zombies’ skulls in as they came closer.  He began to tire, but there were fewer zombies, and they were the slower-moving ones that hadn’t gotten to him fast enough.  So, he took a short walk to the corner of the store.

   This move seemed counter-intuitive, but it was actually quite smart on his part:  none of the undead would be able to get behind him, and he’d be able to shoot them down as they came.  He loaded the revolver again, and then raised it.  There were six loud bangs, and then silence.
 
   Dead bodies littered the floor, and the man knew that the Scavengers would be coming at any minute.  He put the safety on his revolver to the ‘on’ position and put it back in his belt, moving quickly to the door of the store and out into the street.  He saw the silhouette of the pack coming closer and ducked into the nearest building.

   Bad move.  It was a women’s restroom, and there was a zombie sitting on the toilet that he didn’t notice until he had locked the door.  With limited time, he searched for the gun as the zombie got up with a creaking noise.  It was within inches of him when he finally liberated the gun and blew it’s head off, spattering the walls with gore.  He knew that the Scavengers would smell the decaying flesh and come for it, so he quickly tossed it out of the door and slammed it shut.

   His entire night was spent sleeplessly in that womens’ bathroom, holding his revolver close and jolting at every pounding on the door from the Scavengers or worse.  He finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, where only one thing surfaced in his mind.  His name.
Punk.

[c|s]

   The victimized boy had since made up his mind.  He was going to carry out his plans.  But first, he would need some help.  He picked up a small, black book labeled “Observations” and flipped through the hand-written pages, smiling dangerously as he jotted down names.

His plans would not be thwarted, and everyone would see that he was not a ‘wimp.’

[NicTei]

Okay, Part Two is up; I just realized that Part Two would be too short to be an actual separate post, so I added it to Part One.  I'll just edit the title of Part One so that that 'Part One' is gone.

Part Two starts after the sentence that reads:

   'Dark plans were made in that dark corner, plans that would cause those that crossed him to rue the day they were born.'

Just so you know what you have and haven't read before.  Chapter two is coming, probably in seconds.  Hang tight!

 

[NicTei]

   Chiaroscuro had no idea what would be going on at school that day, and wouldn’t know until it was too late.  Neither would anyone else.  Well, a couple of people would know, but they wouldn’t be doing anything about it any time soon.

   To get back to the story at hand, Chiaroscuro was walking down to school when he was stopped by a cry for help.  It sounded to him like a younger child screaming.  He knew that there were certain Haetans or otherwise terrible creatures that could mimic the sounds and voices of other animals and people.

   So, he cautiously proceeded towards where he had heard the cry.  It sounded out again; panic was now clear in the voice, so he started to run.  When he came upon the scene, he was astounded and frightened.

   Standing on a basketball court had to be the strangest creature he had ever seen.  It was bipedal, like a human, and its forearms were long and skinny, almost skeletal.  On the end of the hands were scythe-like blades, gleaming in the light.  Its legs were just barely thicker than its arms, and its toes were also blades.  On its back was yet another blade, sticking out like a shark’s dorsal fin.  The final blade was on the back of its neck, which was a far as its body got.  There was no head.

   At first Chiaroscuro thought that it had been decapitated, but there was no blood, the top of the neck was smooth like a mannequin’s, and it didn’t seem dead.  He then looked for the person who had cried for help.  It was a little girl, crying and holding onto a cut on her arm.  It didn’t seem deep enough to be life-threatening, but was still bleeding.

   Standing in front of her, with a knife, was a person that Chiaroscuro was constantly talking to, though she always ignored him or threatened him.  Her hair was dyed white, and was cut shorter than any other girls, or Chiaroscuro’s for that matter, but was still longer than was necessary.  It was combed down on the sides, and also styled so that it swooped back at the ends, sticking out.

   There was eyeliner around her eyes, which were changed yellow with her contacts.  She wore a white sweatshirt with black tribal designs all over it, the zipper hanging open and revealing her black T-shirt, which had skulls-and-crossbones in random places all over it, the bottom of the shirt barely covering her stomach and hovering over the top of her black jeans.  The hand holding the knife was gloved with an open-fingered glove, which Chiaroscuro knew extended up her arm until the elbow, a rudimentary arm warmer.

   She held the knife towards the creature, and it hadn’t moved so far.  He noticed a slight cut just above the blade on one of its arms.  It was oozing a strange green material, which Chiaroscuro assumed was its blood.

   He rushed over to the little girl, who was still holding the laceration on her upper arm.  He sighed, upset that he was wearing his favorite T-shirt.  He looked around in desperation, ashamed that he wouldn’t give up just one sleeve for an injured child.  Seeing nothing, he almost tore off his sleeve, but the girl in front of him pulled off her arm warmer and tossed it to him, covering up her arm with her sweater’s sleeve.

   While she made sure that the monster didn’t move, Chiaroscuro took the arm warmer and wrapped it around the cut, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.  He tied it and told the little girl to keep holding onto it, and then instructed her to run as fast as she could and not to look back.

   When she was far enough away, he stood beside the other girl, facing the creature.  She snorted when she saw that he wasn’t going to run, but also acknowledged that where he’d be running would be where the little girl was running; both schools were on the same block, with a suspended walkway connecting them.  If it saw her while tracking him, it would likely go after her, as she was slower and smaller, not to mention wounded.

“So, Ser, who’s your new friend?” he asked casually, not taking his eyes off of the creature.

“Shut up and run, ‘Chiaro!’” the girl muttered.

“Why does everyone call me that?” he asked, setting his backpack on the ground.

“Why do you keep talking to me?” Ser shot back.

“Touché…” Chiaroscuro muttered.

   The creature roared, somehow, and started to run at the two bickering teens.  Chiaro saw it coming and dodged under the first blade swipe, preparing to hit back, but felt a pain in his chest again.  He collapsed to the ground, cursing inwardly at his idiocy.

   These attacks occurred randomly, and, after every second attack, when he exerted himself.  This kept him from getting good grades in Phy. Ed.  And, what was worse for him was that the third attack always made him cough up blood.  And this was his third attack.

   On his hands and knees on the ground, he started to retch, his head lurching forward as he tried to keep the blood inside.  But his efforts was in vain, and with one final convulsion, he found himself kneeling in a pool of his own blood.  He coughed forth blood a couple more times while the monster’s attacks were stopped by a rather annoyed Ser.

   Sensing that the worst was over, he stood up and wiped his mouth on his arm.  He looked at the blood in distaste.  Then, he looked back at the monster, a bored expression on his face.

“You do know that if we don’t finish this up, we’ll be late for school, right?” he mentioned to Ser.

“You freak!  You just threw up blood and you’re worried about getting to school?” Ser replied, an incredulous look on her face.

   The monster, as if to remind them it was there, slashed at them again.  Chiaroscuro and Ser both ducked under the swipe, some of Chiaroscuro’s hair being sliced by the sharp blade.  When he stood straight up again, he had a confused look on his face.

“Wait…how does this thing eat?” he asked, scratching his head.

   As if to answer, a line that he had thought was on old battle injury opened up, revealing a lopsided mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.  Ser glared at Chiaroscuro and he shrank back a bit.  Ser’s tone was one of annoyance when she spoke.

“You just had to ask, didn’t you?”

[c|s]

   Back at school, Yorn was already working on his plans, though the day was young.  He had found the first person on his list.  He had requested a word with her, and when she entered the room he took her to, he turned out the lights and shut the door.  She immediately ran for it, but he was standing there and caught her.

“You sick freak!  Let me out of here!”

“Oh, I think not!” Yorn replied.

“What do you want?” she cried.

   He put a hand over her mouth and led her into the middle of the room.  Well, what he assumed was the middle of the room; he couldn’t see any better than she could.  Then, he let her go.

“I assure you; I only want to talk.”

“Then why are the lights out?” the girl asked, sounding slightly calmer.

“We’ll just see how you respond…” Yorn replied.

   He spent the next ten minutes talking to her.  She already had low self-esteem, due to the fact that she was always pushed around and had no friends.  He filled her mind with dark ideas, giving her dreams that would not be hers.

“But, what am I thinking?  That plan couldn’t work, could it?” he ended, turning on the lights and opening the door.

“I…I…” the girl seemed lost for words.

“Yes?” he asked, taking a step towards her.

“I’ll do it.”

He started to smile.  “Excellent.  I’ll bring by the ‘materials’ later.  Remember; we move out on Friday.”

   She nodded, and then left, wondering if her dreams really would come true.  Yorn just stood there laughing.  Of course he wasn’t going to make her dreams come true; she was just a pawn.  An easily led pawn, and was now under his control.  It would be after she got the materials that he’d give her the ultimatum; back out and die, or stay in and live.

   He stopped laughing to himself and moved on.  He crossed her name off of his list as he walked.  That was one down.  Still, there were more to go, so he’d be a busy man for a while.

[c|s]

   Punk woke up the next morning clutching his revolver tightly.  There was nothing outside the door, as he found when he opened it.  Even the corpse he had thrown out that night was gone.  All around the site were strange footprints made in blood.  They were the footprints of the Scavengers.

   He shivered, but kept going.  He kept his gun ready, knowing that he’d have to go even further into the Old Earth ruins before the day was through.  He made a note of his current location, just across from the store that still had quite a bit of water left.  He stood there staring at it for a moment, and then ran in and grabbed a couple of pieces of candy.

   As he walked, he broadcast his presence by chewing noisily on the hard candy, the crunching noise echoing around the ruins.  He knew that it wasn’t a wise strategy against the mutated things that the Haetans had brought with them out of the pit, but at the same time knew that it would keep away the more natural predators that hung around the area.

   He had almost forgotten what he had come here for, but after a moment’s hesitation, he remembered and kept going.  If he wasn’t out of here with his objective complete in forty-eight hours, he was going to be in trouble.  So, he hurried his pace, already aching for more candy as he finished off the last piece.

   It was then that he crossed the line.  All vegetation stopped, almost on one straight, perfect line.  He was about to step into the territory of the monstrosities that the Haetans loved so much.  A mistake here meant death, but he knew that his objective was still a ways away.  But compared to the entire ruins area, it was right on the fringe.

   The ruins he was in right now used to be one of the large mega-cities in the states.  It had been hundreds of miles across, with cars zooming in and out of complex highways and parking structures.  His objective lay a mere three miles in.  It was one of the largest hospitals of the Old Earth, serving more than 50,000 patients at a time.  Of course, this also meant a great likelihood of zombies.  Many, many zombies.

   He held his gun tight, whirling around at the slightest sound.  He couldn’t allow anything to get behind him, or it was all over.  He could feel his heart pounding, and his breathing was deep.  There was nothing but silence in this area, which made it all the more unnerving.  Any time he saw something flying overhead, he ducked underneath something.  Whatever was in the sky, it wasn’t a bird.  One of these times he saw a lioness’ head fall from the sky as a ‘bird’ flew over.

   He was beating himself up for starting to lose his wit this soon in the ruins; only those who could keep their nerve were able to survive, or so the stories said.  If he were to panic, he would be dead in seconds.  Even now he could see them; they stalked him as he moved through the ruins.  They were the abominations that wanted only one thing:

Human flesh.

[c|s]

“So, what are we going to do?” Chiaroscuro asked Ser, still staring at the being in front of him.

“Well, it was your stupid idea to come over here, so don’t ask me!  I think I’m going to run for it!” Ser replied, putting the knife away and starting to bolt down the sidewalk.

“Hey!  Get back he-oh, whatever!” Chiaroscuro pouted as she ran around the corner.

   The monster watched her go, but then turned back to Chiaroscuro.  The mouth twisted into a smile as it started to attack him.  Chiaroscuro couldn’t help but laugh, even though he was barely dodging the slashes.

“You think that just because I puked up some blood over there means I’m weak?  You think you’re the predator?” he asked the beast.  “Well, I’ll have to show you different!” he added with a twisted smile.

[c|s]

   Seconds later, he was standing over the form of the monster, which had been torn in half.  He look almost apologetic as he watched its muscles spasm in death, like a Harvestman’s*.  He picked up his backpack turning back to the halves of the creature.

“Well, sorry you had to die like that; I just didn’t think it was very fair how you were underestimating me like that!  See you-well, no I won’t!” he said as he ran as fast as possible down to school.

   On the deserted basketball court, the halves of the monster continued to twitch.  In its last moments, the creature had wondered what was going on.  But, knowledge of what Chiaroscuro had done was lost to the rest of the world as it died, at least for a little while.

*Harvestmans.  Yuck.  Look them up on Google or something.  You’ll see.

[c|s]

   Yorn had since recruited more people than he had expected; he hadn’t had to threaten anyone yet about revealing what they were asked to do.  He had gone after those of the student body that had been continually tormented by everyone else, and those that were alone or angry with the rest of the world.  Add in the insane kids, and he had quite the following.  In fact, with how many people he had with him now, he might just have to move the date of his plan up, passing out the ‘materials’ on the day it happened.

   He started to weigh the options in his hands and decided on Thursday, the day after tomorrow.  Of course, he wouldn’t make this final until he had everyone on his list either checked or crossed off.  And, since he was aware of the locations of the last ten people, he knew that he’d have the time.

   He whistled a happy tune as he walked down the hall, spinning his keys on one finger.  They had all agreed to his plan, but he thought that only a couple of them would truly be up to it.  Still, he didn’t have time to make sure; he was eager to get his plan into motion.  They wouldn’t see it coming and the sooner the better.  It would have a bigger impact on the school, and he just loved impact.

[c|s]

    Chiaroscuro barely got to school on time; the doors were closing as he entered.  He heard them lock behind him, and the Vice Principal was glaring at him as he made his way to his first class.  Since it was all the way across the school, he had a long walk ahead of him, and was late for the second time since school had started, and to the same exact class.

“Mr. Decieve!  How nice of you to join us!” the teacher growled.  “Would you like to read from the Physics book every da-!”

   He stopped when he saw the blood on Chiaroscuro’s arms and knees.  He cleared his throat and pointed to the seat beside his friend, Nort.  Chiaroscuro took the seat gladly, wiping his arms with a tissue when he got back there.  Nort’s eyes were bulging when he saw the amount of blood on the tissue, but a glare from Chiaroscuro stopped his cry in his throat.

   The entire class was extremely boring, a major let down from the fight just previous to his run to school.  Because of a strange, random schedule, different classes were arranged at different times of the day, with only lunch and recess staying in the same place.  No one knew what class they had right away until they checked their MRPO, or ‘Mana-Run Personal Organizer.’  All students were provided with one; the cost coming out of their tuition.

   It was automatically updated with their schedule for the day when the teachers sent out the signal on their own, larger model MRPOs, which more or less resembled a flat-screen computer.  Chiaroscuro had always wondered how they worked, and learned just the previous year:  they pulled in the Mana from the air and converted it to the energy that powered the small console.

   In the opinion of the survivors from the Old Earth, the technology of today, though scarce, was actually better than the old technologies.  And, with the advancements by the scientists and rumors all over the world, they were close to getting the World Wide Web back online, with almost all of the data that was stored on the multiple servers restored.

   Chiaroscuro was brought out of his thoughts by the bell.  He got up and raced to the door, seeing that his next class was listed as Mana-tech.  His project at the moment was a synthetic limb that would be infused with Mana to run and feel like a real limb.  Of course, compared to the other projects, his was small-scale.

   As he ran down the hallway, he saw Yorn talking to another boy that he had seen beaten up before, a strange look on his face.  He wondered if he should stop for a moment to listen, but decided against it.  This would be a mistake that would come back to haunt him for quite some time.

[c|s]

“Are you really going to…to…” the boy asked Yorn.

   “Yes, my friend.  And you could help!  All you need to do is accept the offer.  There are already quite a few more people; you’re the last on the list.  Whether or not you accept is up to you, but I tell you this.  It goes down tomorrow, with you or without you, and I cannot guarantee your safety!” Yorn replied.

There was a sudden dark expression on the boy’s face.  “And you’re promising me that they’ll pay?” he asked softly.

“Yes, of course!  But I wouldn’t have any control over that; you would!” Yorn assured him.

“Fine.  I’m in!” the boy said after a while.

“Excellent!  You’ll receive the materials tomorrow before school; just remember to show up over in the woods beside the practice field so that we can get them all handed out.”

“By the way, how many people are in this?” the boy asked as he started to walk away.

“Well, with you, there’re twenty-four.”

   The boy’s face went pale.  He mouthed something to himself, and then looked back up at Yorn.  There was a slight fear in his eye.

“That many?  But that’ll be-!”

“Yes, I know!  That’s the point.  Do you want to back down?” Yorn asked.

“No.  Never!”

“Good.  Tomorrow before school!” Yorn reminded.

“Got it!” the boy answered as he ran off to his next class.

   Yorn laughed once more.  All of his pawns were in place; though he had refrained from asking one.  He was too pure a soul to be asked to do this, though he had had his share of beatings, verbal abuses, and the like.  He had left out Chiaroscuro.

[c|s]

   Punk was on the verge of a mental breakdown.  He had shot up countless windows and jutting rock structures, seeing the shadows of the monsters that hunted him.  His pace had become an all out run, and yet the creatures still didn’t attack.  They were waiting for a complete and utter breakdown.

   But he wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction; no, he was going to try and calm himself down.  He leaned against a wall, starting to do deep breathing exercise to calm down.  Then he started to get the feeling that you can only get when something is watching you, or standing right behind you.  He started to turn around, a terrible dread awakening in his stomach.  The wall he was leaning on was covered with eyes, stony lids opening as he stood there. 

   With a yell he started to run from the eye-covered wall before realizing that he had just sprinted past the hospital.  He ran back, holding his gun so tight that it hurt.  Now was the critical time.  He had to get through the hospital and into the computer room, where he’d have to fix the mainframe and await instruction.

   Between the doors to the hospital and there, however, there could be things that he couldn’t even hope to imagine in his darkest dreams.  As such, he stalked slowly down the dark, once white hallways, his gun outstretched and his finger quivering on the trigger.  There was a moan, and he barely got the zombie before it got him, its head spraying all over the walls as a loud bang sounded from Punk’s revolver.

   He could tell right now that he wasn’t going to last.

[c|s]

   Classes had ended for the day.  School was out and Chiaroscuro was free, at least until tomorrow at 8:10am.  But he’d worry about that later.  For now, all he was concerned about was getting home.  He had some homework to do, and after that came his usual after-school activity:  writing.

   Of course, all of that came after his visit to the church, where he’d go through his usual Confession and Absolution.  He knew that the Pastor would be in; he was the Pastor.  He was always at the church, either running through a hymn or working on his sermon in his office.

   The church was on his way home, so he stopped in right away.  He pushed through the doors into the sanctuary, wondering if Pastor Johann would be in there.  But, the silent chamber was empty.

   He went to check the next place, but Pastor Johann’s office was empty.  There was, however, a note on the door.  The summary of the note was that Pastor Johann was sick, and wouldn’t be in for a while.  Rather upset that he wouldn’t be able to go through Confession and Absolution, he walked out of the church.

   As he walked home, he appreciated the complete silence.  There were no cars traveling on the streets, no children playing in the yards, and no signs of life around him, other than the squirrels and birds.  Everything was tranquil.

   The cold breeze foretold of the coming fall, causing Chiaroscuro to shiver a little.  Then, as soon as it had come, it was gone.  The only way it could get better would be if it were winter, with a thick blanket of snow on the ground.

   But he took what he could get.  His walk was all too short, ending as he reached his house.  He unlocked the door and entered, tossing his backpack to the floor under the table.  After trudging up the tan, carpet covered stairs, he opened the door at the end of a long hallway.  There was another, smaller flight of stairs, which he cleared in two steps.

   Then, he lay down on his mattress, looking out the large window that stretched up from the floor and covered half of the ceiling.  He could see that there was a large wall of storm clouds coming in the way of the town, and he smiled.  That would look amazing on the windows, and he loved the sound of a thunderstorm.  Without knowing it, he drifted off into a deep sleep, happy thoughts on his mind.

[NicTei]

Okay, I know the last one was a bit long.  The reason?  That's for me to know and you to find out.
...
Alright, I'll tell you.   I have decided not to post this one in parts, like Chapter 1:  Blah Blah Blah [Part One].   Instead, it'll be full chapters.  I know, you may get bored with the really long ones , but the longest one I've got so far is only 4900 something, I think around 4930 characters.

Bear with me; if I see that people aren't really looking at this one because of the length, I may just do something about that.

Next post won't be coming for a bit; I think I'll post Chapter 3:  The Sound of Thunder when I finish *spoilers* Chapter 6:  A Requiem for Ser. 

Muhahahahahahahaha!

Until next time, PARTY!!!

 

[Chinaren]

That's pretty good NT.  Only one comment really:

But he’d worry about that later, a decision that he’d regret.

I'd not put that second part in.  It's not fitting with the rest of the style, and the reader will find out for themselves later anyway. 

For the chapter length, I find long chapters do put people off.  I'd recommend posts of no more than about 2000 words. 

[NicTei]

Yes, I've heard the '2000 word recommendation' from someone else, too.  But, I also think that if I can make my writing good enough, it can captivate the reader so that the long chapter doesn't put them off as much.  I'm hoping that I can make this story good enough that the readers don't care about the length of the chapter, but the content.  In my opinion, that's how writing should be.
...
Okay, now that that little speech is over with , Chapter 6 is eight pages long, which is almost to my minimum number of pages.  It's almost finished, there are some events that I still need to stick in there , so hang on!  Chapter 3 may be coming your way today, guys!

 

EDIT (4:53 by my clock):
Okay, Chapter 3 isn't coming your way today.  At least, I haven't planned on uploading.  I may or may not, depending on whether or not I think I should be adding daily.  I finished Chapter 6, but maybe I should take a break on posting just so I can get farther ahead, and work on my other books?  Well, whatever.  The way it looks, Chapter 3 is coming sometime tomorrow or next week.

[NicTei]

   Chiaroscuro was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud blast of thunder.  His first thought was that someone was breaking in.  He searched for a weapon, but found nothing.  Then, realizing that it was just the storm, he sat back in bed and watched the show.

   Lightning flashed and thunder boomed at levels that rattled the walls.  Still, he was as calm as ever.  This house had stood through a tornado, with the windows intact.  A simple storm wasn’t going to hurt it in the least.

   He felt well-rested, and wondered what time it was.  Stunningly, the clock already read in at 7:00 a.m.  He scrambled out of bed and yesterday’s clothes, pulling out a thick, gray long-sleeved shirt that had three slashes through each sleeve.  Before he put that on, he searched his wardrobe for under-armor.  Finding a nice crimson one, he put it on with a pair of jeans, slipping the shirt on over it.

   He ate a hurried breakfast, which still took about ten minutes.  He got a poncho from the kitchen cabinet and put it on over the other two layers.  Then, grabbing his bag, he headed out into the rain, his walk down to school brisk, but relatively dry.  He thought he saw someone duck into the woods beside the practice field, but wasn’t sure; he had only caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye.  Shrugging it off as the result of the battle yesterday, he entered the gray-stone building, a sudden sense of dread filling him.  He thought it was just the feeling that all students got on a Wednesday at school, but if he had known the real cause, he would’ve either run home, or into the woods.  In reality, he shrugged this off as well, proceeding into the school as two other people ducked into the woods behind him.

[c|s]

   Yorn watched Chiaroscuro stop at the door and look as one of his new ‘friends’ ducked into the cover of the foliage.  Thankfully, he hadn’t seen anything.  He was still clear.  He looked back at the other twenty-one students in the cover of the trees, each wearing black like they were instructed when they were told of the change of plans.

“You’ve all passed around the guns?” he asked.

   There were twenty-four hushed replies, the final replies coming as the last two crept into the brush and caught the guns tossed at them.  Some of them were automatic, others were just handguns.  It didn’t matter how they were dispersed; they were all going to be used for the same thing anyway.

   As thunder boomed and echoed, and lightning flashed, Yorn glanced over the two dozen students in front of him.  They were all slightly wet, cold, but there were looks of grim determination and anger on almost every face.  There were only a couple who looked unsure, but he didn’t care.  If they got in the way, the others would surely take care of them.

“So, our plan is to go through the door just over here at the end of the woods.  All you have to do is shoot out the cameras, and we’ll be inside in an instant.  After that, the plan goes to you.  Do what you want, use your shots how you want, but remember that you have limited ammunition.  Does anyone want to back down?” he asked.

   One of the boys raised his hand.  Without a word, Yorn raised his gun and pulled the trigger.  The boom was covered by the thunder, but the effect was the same as any other time.  The boy fell, clutching his stomach and groaning.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

   The only others that had had doubtful looks on their faces before were now absolutely petrified.  He repeated the question, with his gun level at the girl whom he had recruited first.  They all shook their heads, and he smiled.

“Good!  Now move out!” he growled.

   They all spread out through the woods, taking up positions where they could get rid of the primitive external cameras, the only ones on the school.  Yorn was the last one to leave, looking at the boy.  Then he left, leaving the boy to die without so much as a “Sorry.”

[c|s]

   When the first gunshots sounded, Chiaroscuro thought that they were just thunder.  But it was when he really stopped and listened that he knew what they were.  He immediately hurled himself towards the door, slamming it closed.  He turned off the lights and pulled the shades, indicating for everyone to move to the back corner.

   At first, everyone looked at him like he was insane.  But after they heard the glass on the doors shattering and the first reports ringing down the hallways, they silently panicked as they shot for the corner.

   The class he was in was just a floor above the door.  However, by the sounds of it, they weren’t coming up the stairs.  At least, not the ones who were shooting.  He didn’t know if anyone was standing outside the door, but he watched the light under the door, to see if there were the shadows of feet.

   Seconds passed into minutes, the teacher angrily urging him to get in the corner with everyone else.  Still he watched, praying that no one would come to their door.  So far so good.  He thought that they would be fine.  Of course, this didn’t last long.

“Chiaroscuro, get over there!” Ser whispered angrily, getting up and shoving him.

   Gunfire erupted from outside the door, peppering the wood with holes and soon getting through.  Students screamed, and the gunfire stopped.  Chiaroscuro, who had hit the floor immediately, was unhurt.  So far, no one else had injuries.

   But, their luck had pretty much run out.  The shooter had heard the screams, and he kicked down the door.  He hadn’t bothered to put on any mask or facial cover, and everyone could see that it was Yorn and the boy Chiaroscuro had seen him talking to earlier.

“Ah, ‘Chiaro!’  I debated on whether or not to recruit you for this, seeing as how you’ve received less-than-endearing comments about…well…everything about you.  You’ve been insulted about everything, and no one seems to care.  So,” Yorn said, circling a wary Chiaroscuro, “what do you say?  You can have my second pistol, and you can exact your revenge!”

“Okay, first of all, don’t call me ‘Chiaro.’  Second of all, where did you get all the guns?  Third of all, it will be a freaking cold day in hell before I try to make Swiss cheese out of my classmates!” Chiaroscuro replied, venom in his voice.

“The guns came from my cellar; it’s a rather old house.  And, since you insist on your path…” Yorn replied, his voice trailing off.

   He nodded to the boy.  Before Chiaroscuro knew what was happening, the boy’s gun was leveled at him, but his hand was quivering.  Chiaroscuro gulped in fear.

“Now, we both know you don’t want to do that…” he said, putting his hands up and slowly stepping towards the boy.

   With an annoyed sigh, Yorn stepped over to the boy.  He slipped his finger through the trigger guard, on top of the other boy’s finger.  He pulled back, forcing the trigger in.  Chiaroscuro braced himself for the pain as a deafening bang sounded throughout the room.

[c|s]

   Finally, after grueling hours of walking around searching for a map or something, he finally found one.  He had shot at and crushed dozens of zombies; he was now using his Mana as bullets to conserve actual ammunition.  However, it was having a tiring effect on him.  As he read the map, he blew the head off of an approaching zombie.

   When he was sure of where he had to go, he started off in that direction.  He now had to conserve energy and ammunition; there had been numerous probes sent into the hospital in the years past, and the ones that had made it to the main control room had encountered some sort of energy field that fried their circuits instantly.

   There was only one energy that he knew of that would do this.  Evil energy.  When properly tuned, evil energy, or ‘Black Mana,’ was able to knock out almost anything electronic or biological by just being there.  So he knew he had to be careful.

   But running through the hospital without shooting up everything around him didn’t sound like much of a plan; if a zombie got too close, he wasn’t sure that his physical attacks would do it.  He had crushed zombies with his boots, but it was tiring work.  Still undecided, he started through the halls, gun at the ready, but constantly being put away.

This was no way to get through enemy territory, he decided.

[c|s]

   Lord Yuen had awoken that morning feeling refreshed, but no amount of sleep would be able to shake the feeling of dread in his stomach.  There weren’t enough soldiers to fight the war, and no one would sign up.  The thought made him cringe, but he still got his armor on and reported to the war room as soon as he could walk straight.

   He went over complex maneuvers, but the simulator always came up with the same result; Bezeran kills them all in seconds with Haetan Mana techniques.  To Lord Yuen, this didn’t seem like victory.  The only option at the moment seemed to be surrender.
 
   But that is not an option, he reminded himself.  For what seemed like an eternity, he toyed with ideas in his head, maneuvers that should work, but wouldn’t.  Then, a revolutionary idea struck him.  He stood straight up and bolted out of the room, a grim grin on his face.  He had this one chance, and if he failed, all of humanity was as good as dead.

For the world’s sake, he must prevail!

[c|s]

   Chiaroscuro couldn’t believe what had just happened.  He had been waiting for the pain of a bullet tearing through his chest, but nothing happened after the bang.  Aside from ringing ears, he was unhurt. 

   Ser, on the other hand, was bleeding from her side, where she had been hit as she jumped in front of Chiaroscuro.  A small gasp escaped her, and Yorn laughed, pulling the trigger again.  Ser convulsed as she was hit in the shoulder, and then collapsed to the floor.

   Chiaroscuro watched her fall, shock on his face.  All the while, Yorn was laughing like an insane man escaped from the asylum.  Then, he erupted.

   There was a cold, vicious glare in his eye that no one had ever seen before, and he seemed like an entirely different person; berserk, enraged, and, quite frankly, scary.  Yorn staggered backwards, but hit the door.  Chiaroscuro’s frightful glare locked onto Yorn’s eyes.

“If she dies, I will tear your beating heart from your chest!  You will become her pallbearers to Hell!” he roared.

   Yorn looked scared for a moment, and then smirked.  He took a step up to Chiaroscuro and looked him straight in the eye.  He spat on the ground at the berserk kid’s feet.

“You say she’s going to Hell?  Well that’s not quite right!  Wouldn’t you think she’d go to Heaven?  After all, she apparently means so much to you!” he said, not taking his eyes off of Chiaroscuro’s.

   Chiaroscuro’s enraged persona disappeared completely, leaving no trace.  But there was still a fiery rage in his eyes when he looked at Yorn.  His reply was full of venom:

“To put it in my way, she hasn’t expressed any desire to believe in God.  That would put her in the general ‘Hell’ section.  I’ve taken it upon myself to change that, since I’ve got the opportunity.  And because all of you heathens aren’t doing a thing!”

“Heathens?  There are plenty of people here that claim Christianity as their religion!” Yorn replied with a laugh that Chiaroscuro was beginning to hate.

“Ha!  If they really were Christians, wouldn’t they be trying to help her to believe instead of insulting her about it?  Wouldn’t they have turned you down on your offer?” Chiaroscuro replied.

   Yorn thought for a moment, and then shrugged.  The air seemed to get colder, and whether or not it was the imaginations of the students or actually Chiaroscuro’s rage was something that no one cared to find out.  Right now, they were pulling Ser out of the way; they had a feeling that things were about to get extremely ugly, extremely fast.

“It doesn’t matter.  You’re all dead anyways!” Yorn replied, taking a gun and shooting at Chiaroscuro again.

   However, he wasn’t where he had been before Yorn glanced away to pull the gun from his belt.  Instead, he was right in his face.  There was a crushing pain in his gut, where Chiaroscuro’s fist was firmly planted.  The impact threw the would-be killer into the wall, knocking him out.

   Chiaroscuro feigned a lunge at the boy, and he screamed.  He dropped the guns and ran, the smell of urine following him.  Chiaroscuro fell to the ground beside Ser.  She was coming to, staring at the ceiling.

“Ch-Chiaro…scuro?” she muttered.

“Shut up!” he whispered back.  “Talk and you’ll waste energy!”

“Just…get to the walkway…before they do…”

   Chiaroscuro’s heart froze.  The walkway.  He had never thought about that.  If they got through there, they could be killing the children…

   The rage was building up inside him again.  He felt another attack coming on, but he didn’t care; all that mattered was stopping them from killing the innocents.  He was on his feet in a flash, almost out the door.  He turned, looking back at Ser, who was still bleeding badly.

“Don’t worry; we’ve got her!” Nort assured him.

“If you let her die…” Chiaroscuro started.

“Yes, yes, I know.  You’ll tear out my heart or whatever.  No go!” Nort snapped.

   Chiaroscuro left the room, forgetting to pick up the discarded gun.  Nort tried to stop him, but he kept running.  He was determined to get to the suspended walkway faster than anyone else, with or without a gun.

[c|s]

   Punk looked around.  He was sure that the computer room would’ve been scarier.  Instead, it was clean, white, and empty, save for the computer set right in the middle of the room.  His gun still ready, he pulled a small electronic object out of his sand-cloak.  He looked for a primitive connection port called a ‘USB’ connector and pulled the cord out of his MRPO-like object.  He placed the end into the USB port and hit the ‘power’ button.

   The screen on the computer and on his own portable object both lit up.  There were many options in small print on the portable’s screen, but he managed to get through them.  He read aloud as he went along, hoping to calm himself down.

“Restart?  Uh, yeah!  Hack mainframe?  Um…sure.  Why not?  Reconnect to the World Wide Web?  …Okay, this is just stupid.  ‘Yes for all.’  That should do!”

   There was a dangerous sounding whirring noise, but everything started up just fine.  There was a second screen inside the first screen.  He had been told that this was called a ‘window.’  But it looked nothing like a window. 

   He sighed and called in to his superiors.  The ancient phone made a ringing noise for a couple minutes, and he nervously played around with his revolver.  Finally, someone picked up.

“Hello?  Is this Punk?” a voice asked.

“Yes.  I’m in; I’ve got the computer, or whatever you called it, up.  However, I have no idea what to do.”

“Oh, if there’s a window up, just press the button on the keyboard that’s labeled ‘Enter.’  That should do it.  We’ll attempt to connect over on our end.  There’s a chopper waiting for you, if you can get to the top of the hospital.”

“A ‘chopper?’  What’s a ‘chopper’?”

“Oh, right.  We’ve not told you about that.  Basically, it’s a machine that flies through the air using enormous propellers.”

“Well, that clears it up!” Punk replied sarcastically.

“I assure you that it’s quite safe.  You’ll be no safer on the ground.  I’m hanging up now.  Good luck!” the voice said.  There was a click, and the voice was gone.

“Great.  Flying machines…” Punk muttered as he put the phone away.

   He found the button labeled ‘Enter’ and pressed it.  There was a loud beeping noise, and he almost shot the console.  Then, the screen went black for a moment, but suddenly came back to life. 

   There was a crest on the screen now, and nothing else was happening.  He recognized the crest as that of his employer, and figured that everything was okay.  Having completed the majority of his mission, all that remained was the hardest part; finding the source of the evil energy and eliminating it.

   He had been anxious to do this at first, thinking of nothing but the recognition this would get him, but now he was more concerned about his life.  Whatever was here appeared to be quite powerful, and he didn’t know if his gun would be able to get rid of it.  For the first time, he considered that it might be stronger than him.

“But how big could it be?” he wondered out loud to assure himself, using some of the more famous last words.

[c|s]

   Chiaroscuro was regretting having left the gun at the room.  He was only halfway down the second floor hallway in the east-wing, and he was halted by a barrage of gunfire.  He was fed up with it; he was wasting valuable time.  He would have to find another way around.  He bolted down the hallway, back towards a set of stairs to the third level.

   He ran up the stairs, and was pleased to find that there were no gunners in sight.  But just when he thought he was safe, a person holding a gun appeared around the nearby corner where a bit of wall jutted out.

   It was a girl, and there was a frightened look on her face.  She pointed the gun at Chiaroscuro, trembling.  There were slight tears in her eyes, and Chiaroscuro could tell that she didn’t want to do this.

“Just put the gun down!” he said, stepping closer at a slow pace.

“B-but he’ll…he’ll…” the girl sobbed, backing up.

Chiaroscuro looked deep into her eyes.  “Put it down.”

   The gun dropped, hitting the ground and going off, shooting the window out of one of the nearby doors.  The girl had collapsed to the ground, her legs falling out from under her.  She was crying, repeating “He’s gonna kill me!” over and over again.

   Chiaroscuro pulled her to her feet and opened the door she had shot.  There was a class sitting inside, looking fearful.  He made her sit down, telling the teacher what had happened.

“Well, I’m afraid that she’ll be charged for being directly involved in all of this…” the teacher started.

“I’m sure there’ll be another way in this case; she was too reluctant.”

   He didn’t wait for a response.  He was out of the room as soon as he finished his sentence.  He picked up the gun that the girl had dropped, checking the ammunition left.  To his misfortune, there were only two bullets left.  Still, it was something.

   He kept going down the hall, trying to remember where the suspended walkway was from here.  There were stairways on each level leading to the main part of the walkway, which was on the second level.  The stairway from the top was off to one side, and separating it from the stairway down to the first level was the door from the second level, leading straight to the walkway.

   No one knew why there was a walkway here, but guessed that it made things easier when it came to having the smaller kids coming to the high school, and the older kids go to the elementary school, such as sports events and emergencies.  Whatever reason it was there, it also posed a danger in this situation.  The moment the gunners got across, the children would probably scream, giving away where they were.  That would be the end.

   He couldn’t allow that to happen.  With the gun hanging at his side, he ran down the hallway.  He racked his brain, trying to remember which stairway he had come up, and where the walkway would be.  It shouldn’t have been that hard to remember, but when there were guns going off every few seconds, it was hard to focus.  Especially when the aforementioned gunshots were getting closer to where he assumed the walkways were.

   He hastened his pace, and soon found that he was correct.  There was a group of gunners facing down some teachers, who were fighting a losing battle with Mana-tech.  As teacher after teacher went down, Chiaroscuro leaped into action.  He fired at the gunners, aiming below the waist.

   One went down, but his last bullet missed.  Since he had never really thought about focusing his Mana into a gun, there was no way for him to fight back now.  He hurled the gun as hard as he could at the next gunner, but she just caught it, laughing coldly at him.

“Perhaps you’d like to try that again?”

“Not as much as you’d probably like to try and pay attention to the teachers again!” Chiaroscuro replied just as cold.

   Before the gunner could react, the teachers had tackled her to the ground.  They took away her weapon and restrained her with ropes.  All the while she was screaming in protest, shouting every curse imaginable at Chiaroscuro.  He ignored her, making sure that the staff members were okay.  Some of them weren’t.  Some of them would never be.

   He closed the eyes off the deceased teacher, muttering a prayer for his soul.  Then he stood, rage once again surrounding him.  He had never been fond of the teacher, seeing as how he was always the one that had made him read from the largest book he could find, but he never wished death on anyone.

   He started down the hall again, heading towards the nearest gunshots.  He kept his determination about him, remembering that Ser’s life hung in the balance.  He was going to make the gunners wish they had never accepted Yorn’s offer.

[c|s]

“Oh crap!”

   Punk had realized why no one ever asked how big an enemy could be.  Every time you asked, your enemy turned out enormous.  At the moment, he was looking at the tallest blob he had ever seen.

   What he assumed to be its flesh was a sickly gray color, pulsating as people’s faces appeared in it, popping up at random.  Screams erupted from it, and as he watched it grew a head.  There were various tentacles hanging off of the head, slithering around.  Its eyes were big, pale orbs set into a fleshy, collapsed head.

   Two, bulky arms followed, but no more limbs protruded.  It started to jiggle, and the smell of rotting flesh emanated from it.  Punk thought that he was going to vomit, but managed to choke it down.  He aimed his gun at it.

“Um…listen.  I don’t want to shoot you, mostly because you’ll probably explode all over me like a balloon.  And I’m sure you don’t want to eat me; I’ve got sand all over, in my hair, my boots, and on and on.  Eating me would be like eating a sandwich with actual sand in it.  So if you’d move, it’d save us both the trouble!” he said, trying to reason with it.

   The giant monster seemed to consider the offer for a moment, not moving a muscle, excluding the faces on its stomach.  Then, it raised a finger.  Out of nowhere, a wave of energy shot out, nearly taking off Punk’s head.

“Well then, I guess it’s time to burst the balloon!” Punk muttered, cocking the gun.

[c|s]


   The moment he was shot at, Chiaroscuro knew that, no matter how strong his rage was, he wasn’t going to get anywhere by rushing the gunners.  He either had to retreat or ambush them.  However, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to think straight through the haze of anger that clouded his mind, and also figured that they’d be extra cautious.

   So, with a bitter feeling inside, he turned and ran for the room where he had left Ser.  He encountered no problems, though he did find at least one more casualty; it was a kid from his own grade.  He had been shot in the back, apparently running for help.  This spurred him on.  The last place he had seen this kid was in the classroom he had first left, so that could only mean-

BANG!  BANG!  BANG!

   Three gunshots fired in rapid succession at him.  He dodged behind a corner, feeling one of the bullets graze his cheek.  The part of the hallway he was in was slightly T-shaped, with a small corridor leading to an entry.  He rolled across the hallway, narrowly missing being shot once more.  He tried to peek around the corner, but three more gunshots chipped away at the tile just above his head.

   He stood against the wall, breathing deeply.  He had no way of moving around the hallway; there was a lack of cover.  Any attempts at rushing the shooter would result in abject failure.  He heard footsteps and realized that the shooter was coming closer.  He only had one shot at this…

[NicTei]

Well, not that anyone's reading this because of chapter length , but here comes another one!

 

[NicTei]

   Punk was in a tight situation.  But, unlike Chiaroscuro, he was the shooter.  And unlike the shooter, his prey was taking the bullets.  But he wasn’t going down.  Wherever the bullets hit, the flesh punctured and thick green liquid slopped out.  If that wasn’t bad enough, it smelled terrible.

   Punk pulled his sand cloak up over his nose and wiped his eyes, which were tearing up from the stench.  He repressed the gag reflex and continued firing.  Then, the worst sound he had ever heard came from his gun:  the click of an empty chamber.

   Realizing that it would be stupid to conserve Mana at this point, he poured it into the revolver, firing it as bullets.  These were a little stronger than the metal slugs, though he knew his superiors would be quite angry at him for losing all of the ammo.  And still he got nowhere.  The monster just spewed liquid at him, barely missing his head.

   He tried to focus on his Mana to make it spread, but he wasn’t that experienced with it.  Instead, he got a rather large bullet.  He got a lucky shot, though, and it tore off the monster’s head. 

   That was when it exploded.  Corpses flew out of its bulbous shape, getting up instantly and attacking Punk.  He kicked at them and fired, but there were just too many.  Just when he thought he was going to be killed by the swarming undead, there was an extremely loud rattling noise.

   A large machine with something spinning at high speeds, and there was an apparatus on the bottom of the front of it that was almost continually flashing.  Punk soon realized that it was a gun, firing faster than even the automatic guns he had seen elsewhere.  It was mowing down the undead as it strafed around the building, finally coming to rest on the top of the hospital.

   There was a man inside wearing goggles and a helmet of a kind he hadn’t seen before.  Without a faceguard it seemed rather impractical.  He started making strange hand signals and mouthing words to Punk.  He looked at him in utter annoyance, then pointed the gun at him.

   The pilot understood and simply waved him closer.  The noise when he got closer was deafening, and Punk’s ears were already in pain from the noise of his revolver.  He opened the door and got into what he assumed was the chopper.  As they lifted off, he was tossed a helmet.  At first he had refused, but after a while he decided to put it on; he was getting a headache.

   They flew around for a bit, and Punk was amazed at the scenery down below.  The Old Earth ruins he had been in were centered on a large, circular nucleus; it was a large domed building, with strange, vein-like apparitions climbing up the sides and top.  Finally, they touched down on the outer roof of building Punk’s superiors worked in.  It was time for his report.

[c|s]

   Gowny was sure of himself; the boy with the white hair with black patches was hiding behind a wall, and all he had to do was aim his gun around the corner and shoot.  It was almost boring, this task of his.  He hadn’t had any real agenda, but mowing down the other kid as he sprinted out of one of the classrooms had been fun.

“Oh, come now, boy!  You’re gonna get killed in the end!” he said as he rounded the corner and fired.

   However, he didn’t hit anything.  On the contrary, there was a horrible pain in his groin.  He looked down to see Chiaroscuro’s heel buried in the fork of his legs.  He tried to fire as he collapsed, but Chiaroscuro wrestled the gun out of his hands.  The last thing he felt for a while was a sharp pain on the back of his head as Chiaroscuro slammed his own gun against his skull.

[c|s]

   Chiaroscuro was just glad that his plan had worked.  He assumed that if the gunner had been Yorn, he would’ve seen the ducking maneuver coming and fired at the floor while standing around the corner, just his gun extended around the wall.  He now had a new weapon, but didn’t think that he would need it.  Still, he kept it in his hand as he stepped into the classroom.

   He was met with a scene that could only be described as utter horror.  Yorn was back up, and almost every student in the classroom had a nonfatal, yet still obviously painful, gunshot wound.  In the middle of the blood, Yorn was laughing, holding his gun to Ser, who was now standing, barely conscious but holding a knife at the shooter.  There was a cut on his cheek, which explained the blood on her blade.

“Well!  Look who decided to show up!” Yorn exclaimed as he saw Chiaroscuro.  “And just in time for you to see this!”

   With a loud bang, Ser went down clutching her ribs.  Chiaroscuro yelled and raised his gun, but Yorn countered it by hauling Ser to her knees by her hood and holding his gun to her head, the muzzle buried in her white hair.  He had a second gun aimed at Chiaroscuro.

“Pull the trigger on that, and either one of you dies.  Maybe even both!” Yorn said, looking crazier than ever.

“You really are a sad little boy, aren’t you?” Chiaroscuro muttered.

   Yorn shook Ser by the hood, causing blood to splatter onto the floor from her wounds.  Chiaroscuro’s smirk faded quickly, turning into alarm.  His gun faltered slightly.  There was another loud bang, and Chiaroscuro feared that Yorn had pulled the trigger on Ser.  The pain in his left shoulder told him different though.

“See?  Look out for someone and you’ll get hurt!” Yorn sneered as Chiaroscuro dropped the gun in surprise.

   Chiaroscuro had a forlorn look on his face as his left hand dangled uselessly by his side.  But, his next actions surprised Yorn.  He raised his right hand and shook the sleeve of the gray shirt down further, past his wrist, and then pulled the under armor back with his teeth.  He then threw it down to his side, his fingers in a clawed position, bent like hooks in towards the palm.

“What?  Are you going to ‘rip out my heart?’” Yorn asked sarcastically, aiming both guns now at Ser, whose breathing was starting to get a little deeper, more labored.

“No, I’m going to show off some Mana control.”

Chiaroscuro’s reply startled Yorn.  “What?  Mana?  Impossible!”

“That’s what you say!” Chiaroscuro shot back.

“Alright, it appears that you need to go through the laws of nature again,” Yorn said in annoyance, “so here we go.  Humans cannot, without Mana-tech or a proper medium, such as a sword, staff, or some older guns, use Mana in any way shape or form unless extremely difficult training is undertaken.  Only those of Cryxian or Haetan lineage are able to manipulate the flow of Mana. 

“Of course, that’s just the textbook paragraph.  As we all know, there’s the occasional human born with the inherent ability to use Mana right away, but they’re usually characterized by strange features, such as weird markings, or discolored eyes or hair.  And the occasional deformation.  Your hair dye, however, isn’t following anyone!” Yorn finished with a snort.

“Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but there’s just one thing.  This isn’t dye.  You’re right though; this isn’t the reason I’m able to use Mana!” Chiaroscuro replied, starting to focus on the Mana in his body.

“Oh?  Then what is?” Yorn asked, cocking both guns.

“Well, I don’t know, but I seem to have a bit of an affinity towards Cryxian Mana Techniques…” Chiaroscuro replied, his voice trailing off.

   Yorn’s jaw nearly hit the floor.  He was torn between keeping the guns on Ser and turning them on Chiaroscuro.  He just stood there, his hands twitching dangerously.  Chiaroscuro was glaring at him.

“Let me put it this way:  you kill her, I tear off your head.  You leave her alive, there’s a chance I won’t let this loose,” Chiaroscuro said, indicating the faint glow that was visible on his right hand. 

“You’re bluffing!  You know nothing of Cryxian Mana Techniques!  You’re simply manipulating the minimal amount of your Mana around your hand to give the impression of an actual technique.  You’re such an amateur!” Yorn said, forcing the guns closer to Ser’s head.

“Really?  Watch me!” Chiaroscuro spat.

   The Mana that was gathering around his hand increased exponentially, and Yorn jumped, one gun going off and almost hitting Ser.  The Mana jumped at this, and Chiaroscuro was straining to limit it.  Right now, he was just in the initial stages of the technique.  As soon as it was into the second stage, it would balance out.

“You’ve got this chance to back down, Yorn!” he said, his voice barely above a mutter.

“I repeat that to you, ‘Chiaro!’” Yorn answered, cocking the gun again and keeping it trained on Ser.  Her breathing was ragged, and this only caused the technique to gather faster.

“Fine.  You’re not backing away, then I guess we’ll have to see what’s better; a fast-flying lead slug, or a Cryxian Mana Technique!” Chiaroscuro shouted, the berserk glare from earlier back in his eye.

   The Mana around his hand stabilized, and turned the same blue color as his eyes.  It started to trail up his wrist a little, the extensions looking like feathers off of an angel’s wings.  He drew it back and started at Yorn, the Mana Technique held at his eye level and aimed towards Yorn, who was shaking as he stared at the Mana on Chiaroscuro’s hand.

“So, I see that you recognize this!  I guess when you spend your time dreaming about revenge, Mana Technique guides and logs are an imagination boost!” Chiaroscuro observed, the glare not wavering.

“St-stay away from me with that!” Yorn said, panicking as he backed away from Ser, yet still had his guns pointed at her.

   Chiaroscuro had waited for this.  He strafed as fast as possible to Yorn’s side, the guns moving with him.  He then charged in a straight line for Yorn, but veered off in a different direction at the last moment.  Yorn had no time to react, and felt a sharp pain in his side.  He saw Chiaroscuro’s hand, from the wrist up, protruding from where his kidney used to be, the Mana still glowing around it. 

“Angel Bite,” Chiaroscuro whispered into Yorn’s ear.

   Chiaroscuro tore his hand out, ignoring Yorn as he screamed and collapsed.  He rushed to Ser’s side, turning her over.  She didn’t look good.

   Her breathing was barely audible, and she was undoubtedly unconscious, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open.  He opened her sweater to get a better look at her wounds.  She was bleeding badly from the ribs and stomach; it didn’t look like she’d be able to survive without immediate attention.

   There was a groan from the corner.  When Chiaroscuro looked up, Nort was crawling over to where he was kneeled beside Ser.  He finally stopped, collapsing to his stomach on the other side of her.

“You’re not hurt badly, are you?” Chiaroscuro asked hurriedly.

“No, just too dang tired.  I think someone hit me with a tranquilizer.  Or a tank.  It doesn’t matter.  All I know is that she’s going to die…” Nort replied, getting to his hands and knees.

“But…”

“No, trust me.  My dad’s a doctor, my mom’s even better.  She’s screwed.  All you can do now is read her final rights and hope God listens.”

“Just shut up!” Chiaroscuro snapped, placing his hands on Ser’s wounds, maneuvering his left hand with his right.

   He started to feel for the Mana within him again, though it was nearly gone.  He didn’t know if he’d be able to do this or not, but he was going to try.  He sent his Mana into her, and when it was in, he searched out her feeble Mana.  His intention was to activate it as he activated his, speeding up the healing process. 

   It was a technique that he had read about; it had never been tested.  It worked well on pencil and paper; the only possibly inconvenient outcome was the person receiving the Mana becoming dependant on the other’s Mana.  That was a risk that he was willing to take, though he thought that Ser might look at it differently.  But at this point, it didn’t matter to him.

   He started to pour his Mana into her, working as quickly as he could.  He heard sirens outside, and new that either the police or the ambulance had arrived.  But he could also hear footsteps coming closer, and guns cocking.  It appeared that some of the other gunners were coming.

[c|s]

   Lord Yuen’s plan had failed miserably.  He had thought that surrendering to them and planting explosives in their ranks would work.  Instead, he had to watch as his soldiers were force-fed the explosives.  He also had to watch as said explosives went off while they were still in his soldier’s stomachs.

   A large being that he thought could only be Bezeran the Wicked was rapidly approaching him.  He had his sword outstretched, aimed at Lord Yuen’s chest.  He drew it back, and Lord Yuen closed his eyes, waiting for the pain.

[c|s]

“Nort!  Close the door and help me with this!” Chiaroscuro yelled.

   Nort slammed the door shut and locked it.  He kneeled down on the other side of Ser, just opposite of Chiaroscuro.  He looked at Chiaroscuro, awaiting directions.

“Put your hands on her as well, and push your Mana into her!” Chiaroscuro directed.

“Are you crazy?  I can’t control my Mana yet!” Nort complained.

   There were gunshots outside the door, and the wood started to splinter. It was weakening from the previous bullets fired through it.  Chiaroscuro was starting to panic a little, but he calmed himself down.  Losing his cool would result in Ser’s death, as well as his own. 

“Alright, there’s no time for proper coaching.  Here,” he said, putting his hands on Nort’s, “we’ll try this.  Now can you feel that?”

“Yeah!  It’s like something’s draining my Mana!” Nort said, grunting a little.

“Okay.  Focus on that feeling and keep it going if you can.  Only stop when you’re on the verge of collapse!”

“Wait!  What’re you going to do?” Nort asked when Chiaroscuro got to his feet.

“I’m going to get them all!” Chiaroscuro replied as an Angel Bite materialized on his right hand.

   The door burst open and gunners started to pour in, and Chiaroscuro flew at them, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted.  There were flashes of blue as he swung at the shooters with the Angel Bite, and spurts of red as the Angel Bite connected.  Shooters went down screaming as they were hit by Chiaroscuro, and members of the S.W.A.T. team came in through the door down the stairs, moving into place and incapacitating shooters with shots to the legs or arms.

   Finally, the shooters were all down, wounded by either the Angel Bite or the S.W.A.T. team’s bullets.  The Mana around Chiaroscuro’s hand faded, the technique disengaged.  There was a sudden, loud ‘bang,’ and Chiaroscuro felt an immense pain in his side, coming from the back. 

   As he fell, his vision fading, he saw Yorn standing up with a gun in his hand, clutching his side.  There was still a defiant grin on his face as the S.W.A.T. team took him down with their gunfire.  Chiaroscuro’s last movement was turning his head to face Ser, and then all went black.

[c|s]

   Punk was now sitting in a room with a large table, tearing into a plate full of delicious food.  The people around him had their faces hidden in shadows, but he didn’t care; all that mattered to him right now was some good food.  He had to subsist on freeze-dried food while on his mission, and it was terrible compared to the well-cooked, spiced chicken he was wolfing down now.  Along with the chicken was a nice pitcher of milk; he had refused their alcohol, claiming “One glass, and I’m gone!”

   The figures around him watched as he ate, some in disgust and others in amusement.  When he finally finished, he wiped his face with his sleeve and burped loudly.  They started to talk, but he held up one finger.  He chugged the pitcher of milk down in as little as three gulps.  He then burped one more time, this one louder and longer than the first.

“Did you like the food?” one of the people asked sarcastically.

“Well, it wasn’t pig slops, that’s for sure!” Punk replied, leaning back in his chair and grinning.

“Glad you’re impressed.  Now, on to the next service you can provide us…” one of the figures said.

He was interrupted by a female voice.  “Oh, he’s had enough for now!  Can’t we send in Desperad?” she asked the man who talked first.

“Desperad?  I thought he was on another mission at the moment!” the man replied.

“Nope, I’m here!” called a voice from the doorway.

   Punk spun around in his chair to face his comrade, and rival:  Desperad.  He was Punk’s height, with long white hair and pale silver eyes.  He wore strange robes at all times, white as his hair.  On his back was an object roughly the size of a golf bag, though it was quite different than a transport case for game things.
 
   There was a large, circular area on the back, hanging by his right side.  That was the back of the massive gun.  On the other end, covered by a tarp of sorts, Punk knew there were seven massive barrels, each firing a bullet as large as his fist.  They all rotated like a Gatling gun, shooting at high speeds.

   Of course, for practicality, a revolver similar to Punks was thrust into his belt, though the handle was covered with white leather, and the metal was polished to a fine silver shine.  He hardly ever used it, preferring to end things quickly with the seven-barreled monster on his back.

   Desperad stepped fully into the room, taking a chair from the corner and pulling it up beside Punk, who wheeled away slightly.  There was silence in the room for a moment.  Then the first man resumed his speech.

“The next mission is a bit of a doosy.  You’ll be taken to the northern region of the U.S., tracking down the main computer for that region.  Your objective is to get all of the servers online.  When you’ve got that complete, you’ll have the crucial servers online to get the World Wide Web running once more in the States.  Dismissed!” the man concluded.

“Ha!  No pressure, Desperad!” Punk teased as Desperad got up from his chair.

“I don’t think you understand, Punk,” the man cut in, “When I said ‘you,’ I was talking to the two of you.  This will be a joint mission.”

   Punk nearly fell out of his chair, and Desperad stopped in the doorway.  As Punk got up, Desperad turned around to face the people.  Both had identical looks of disbelief on their faces.

“I have to do a mission with…with…this!?” Desperad asked, indicating Punk.

“And I have to attempt a mission with this snooty overachiever?” Punk asked, pointing to Desperad with his revolver.

“I’m not going to hear any of your arguing!” the man barked.  “You are to head out for this mission immediately!  Now gentlemen, I believe I dismissed you!”

   Both Punk and Desperad bowed low, and then turned to leave.  They clashed at the door, both trying to get out before the other.  Finally, Desperad shoved Punk out of the way, following after him.

[c|s]

   When Chiaroscuro awakened, he felt exhausted.  His Mana was nearly depleted, what with the Angel Bites and trying to heal Ser.  He looked over to the stand beside his bed, expecting at least a card.  However, both it and the windowsill were empty.  There were no gifts for him, no cards.  Nothing.

   The sinking in his heart went by unnoticed, the sedatives taking action once more and taking him from consciousness.  As blackness closed in, he fought to stay awake, but to no avail.  In moments, he was asleep again, no worries on his mind.

[c|s]

   He awoke once more, this time to stay awake.  There were still no cards, but he did have a visitor:  Nort was sitting there watching him.  Chiaroscuro sat up, ignoring his body’s screams and the alarms on the Mana-tech to which he was hooked up.  He tore the IVs out of his hands and reached for his shirt, which was absent.

   Thankfully, he still had pants on and was able to get off of the gurney to get his under armor and shirt.  After those were on, he looked around, as if making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.  He hadn’t, and he left, Nort following him in disbelief.

“But…your wounds!” he protested.  It was true; there was a bandage on his back and shoulder, pain shooting through his body every time he took a step.

“What about them?” Chiaroscuro grumbled.

“Well…never mind…” Nort answered, withering under Chiaroscuro’s tired glare.

“Just go home.  I’m fine.”

“If you insist…”

   Nort left Chiaroscuro alone, heading for the nearest exit.  He kept walking down the halls, going for the ‘Critical Condition’ ward.  He had a feeling that Ser would be there.

   The first challenge he faced was the set of stairs that led down a level.  That was living hell.  Each time he descended a step, it was as if he was being shot all over again.  When he finally reached the second level, there were tears in his eyes and he felt as if he had been creamed by a tank. 

   He pushed through the door before realizing that there was a Mana-tech Elevator just to the side of the stairs.  The next challenge he faced were the nurses and doctors in the hallway.  Because he had been brought in with most of the people in critical condition, they all knew that he was in no condition to be walking around.

   He argued with them until they grew tired of trying to get him back to his room and left him to his own devices.  He staggered around the critical condition ward for a while before finding the correct room.  Ser was hooked up to almost every machine imaginable, along with a blood-transfusion bag.

   The sight of her with an oxygen mask, multiple IVs, the blood, and various pumps made him go slightly numb.  He was disturbed by this; he had been sure that there was no emotional attachment to her other than trying to save her soul from eternal damnation.  He guessed that was it, but before leaving he did one thing.

   He reached into his shirt and drew out a jeweled cross necklace and pulled it off.  His history with the necklace made his hand hesitate slightly, and he almost returned it to his neck.  But, he regained control of his hand and placed it on her bedside table.

   Without so much as a backward glance, he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

[c|s]

   There was a sudden jump in Ser's heart rate, but that returned to normal.  Then, at long last, all was quiet in the clean white hospital.

[Chinaren]

Woo!  Another long one.    I'll catch up with this when I have a little more time.

[NicTei]

Okay then, China!  I'll refrain from adding chapters until you're caught up; let me know when you're finished.  I check this and Bebo daily (with few exceptions), so I'll be one of the first to know.

 

[Chinaren]

Good stuff NT.  Just a few things I spotted on my journey though:

“You’re not hurt bad, are you?” Chiaroscuro asked hurriedly.

'badly'

The clashed at the door

The should be 'They'

  Without so much as a backward glance, he left the room, closing the door behind him.  There was a sudden jump in her heart rate, but that returned to normal.  Then, at long last, all was quiet in the clean white hospital.

Watch yoru POV.  If you're following one character, then you should only show what he/she see's.  Here he's left the room already, so the last bit he wouldn't know about.  Maybe make it so he sees that before he leaves.

Waiting for the next one now...

[NicTei]

Alright China; didn't expect you to be on so late!  (Well, it's late here...)

Anyways, thanks for pointing those things out.  I've found them and fixed them, and I'll probably upload the next one tomorrow.  Just finished chapter 9, and saw your message as I was going to add chapter 10 to the 'Chapters in Progress' category.  Anyways, by the time you look next, it'll probably be updated.

Keep reading!!! XD (please)

 

[NicTei]

   That next morning, Chiaroscuro awoke in more agony than he had ever felt in his entire life.  His body screamed at him, as if it had been in Hell for the duration of the night.  He didn’t feel like getting out of bed, or even moving in general, but he did it anyways.

   The moment he took his first step out of bed, he wished he had stayed in the hospital for recovery.  Upon getting home last night, he discovered that he had been in the hospital roughly eight days, and he should’ve remained there another twelve to recover even halfway.  He cried out, falling back onto the bed, which put him through even more pain.

   His voice had left him; he was suffering too much to even form words.  All he could see for a while was the color white, and when his vision cleared he was still on his bed with his legs dangling off the edge.  Bracing himself for the pain, he swung his legs up onto the bed, crying out once more when they hit the mattress, despite how soft the fabric was.

   He was alone, and quite helpless.  When people asked where his parents were all the time, he told them only this:  “They are on a trip at the moment; likely a mission trip.  It’s obviously taking longer than expected.”  And that was what everyone accepted.

   However, he found himself wishing that they were here with him; he needed food, and he couldn’t move at all.  Yesterday and last night, the anesthetics had still been working slightly, which decreased the amount of what he could only describe as pure torture.  Now, however, they had worn off, and he experienced uninhibited anguish.

   He longed for sleep, but even the slightest twitch kept him awake with a mild stinging sensation.  It wasn’t painful, but it was far from comfortable.  Against all odds, he finally fell asleep, terrible dreams assailing his mind until morning came.

[c|s]

   A cold, gray morning greeted Punk when he awoke in his camping site.  He got to his feet and stretched, aware that Desperad was already making breakfast over a fire.  He stumbled to the blaze, blinking until his eyes would stay open.

“Okay, what’s for breakfast?” he asked.

“This repast is not for you!” Desperad replied, biting into a piece of fish in a sophisticated manner.

“Repast?  What is this, the nineteenth century?” Punk grumbled, searching his pockets for any leftover candy.  When he figured out that there was no candy in his pocket, he let out a loud scream.

Desperad leaped to his feet, searching for the danger.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, hand on the large gun on his back.

“I have no candy left…” Punk muttered.

“Oh, you and your overactive sweet-tooth!  You scared me half to death!” Desperad snapped.

“What?  You were worried about my well-being?” Punk shot back.

“No, I just figured that if there was any danger nearby, I’d want you closer to use as a human shield.”

“Get bent!” Punk retorted, starting to pack up his things.

   Silence then ruled the campsite.  They finished packing up and set off, heading to the ruins that were visible in the morning’s dim light.  The helicopter, which Punk still did not trust, had dropped them off within 10 miles of the northern Old Earth ruins.  Unlike the ancient town Punk had intruded upon just days ago, this quiet place was devoid of sand.  Instead, ice was its blanket, hiding it underneath its blanket.

   They had traveled the first five miles immediately after being dropped, and were now on the last five miles.  Once they had entered the city, however, it would be a different story.  They would face things ranging from frozen zombies to reanimated snowmen.

“So what do you think we’ll have to fight at the end of this little mission?” Punk asked, breaking the silence.

“Does it matter?  I’ll kill it anyways!” Desperad replied curtly.

“Oh?  You’ll kill it?  What about me?” Punk asked.

“I assume you’ll be dead!” Desperad answered, stopping suddenly.

   There was a strange sound on the wind, as if it were calling out to them.  Desperad strained to hear it, but it was gone.  He started onwards, but stopped once more.  There was an increasing pain in his chest, and blood started to force its way out of his throat.  He hit the ground, trying to hold it in, but to no avail.  It seeped out of his clenched teeth, staining the frosty grass.

Punk, alarmed, kneeled down.  “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Oh yes, I just puke up blood for the fun of it!” Desperad muttered sarcastically as another load of blood spilled from his mouth.

“Do you need to rest?  We can set up camp, if you-!”

“No!  We proceed as planned!” Desperad interrupted, getting to his feet and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

   He started to head towards the frozen ruins in the distance.  Punk watched him go, astounded.  He looked back at the large amount of blood on the ground and his knees weakened.  Deciding that it was best not to look any longer, he jogged to catch up to Desperad.

[c|s]

   Had Punk seen the morning that Chiaroscuro awakened to, it would’ve seemed familiar.  It was just as gray and cloudy in Chiaroscuro’s location as it was in his.  But Chiaroscuro awoke in a slightly different condition and context:  he was in a house, and he was in agony.

   He groaned as he rolled to the side of the bed, the movement and vocalization sending sharp pains through his body, cutting through the haze of sleepiness that still hung over him.  He ignored it as best he could; it was slightly better than yesterday.  He got out of the bed and started for the stairs to the lower level.

   However, when he took his first step on the largest stairway, reaching from the attic landing to the first floor, bypassing the second floor entirely, he started to suffer another attack.  That, added to his current condition, sent him tumbling down the stairs.  When he hit the final step, the floor, he cried out in anguish.  He was sure that all of his neighbors, as well as everyone in the streets, could hear him.

   Tears poured down his face as the sharp pains continued.  Finally, they subsided, only to resume as he got to his feet and staggered to his kitchen.  He tried to reach for an energy bar on one of the shelves, but the stretching caused yet more suffering.

   He settled for an apple and a glass of water.  However, this was another bad choice of his:  the moment he bit into the apple, the now-familiar pain shot through his jaw.  He kept going, more intent on satisfying his hunger than avoiding pain.

   The apple only left him hungrier, but he decided that eating more would wait.  He slowly and painfully staggered to his living room, where he was even slower to sit on the couch.  The moment all movement stopped, he felt fine.  After a while, he began to convince himself that the pain was just a dream, and that he had fallen asleep on his couch a couple days earlier.

   He shot to his feet and screamed once more, realizing that the pain was not, in fact, a dream.  When he fell back onto the couch, he nearly screamed once more, but his throat was too hoarse to make any sort of noise.

   There was a sudden pounding on his door.  There were yells with it, and he recognized the voice as Nort’s.  He tried to get up, but he couldn’t bear to suffer the pain again.

“Chiaro!?  Are you in there?” Nort yelled.

“Just come in!” Chiaroscuro snapped.

   There was the sound of the doorknob turning, followed by the sound of force being exerted upon the door, but nothing more than that.  No creak as the door opened, or draft created by its swinging.  Chiaroscuro groaned; the door was locked.

“I think it’s locked!” Nort yelled into the window on the door.

   Chiaroscuro mumbled something about a key and got to his feet, waiting for the rush of pain.  Surprisingly, there was no pain.  He thought he saw a slight light about him, but shrugged it off as an effect of head-rush.  He walked to the door, unlocking it and letting Nort in.

“What?  I thought you would’ve been stumbling around!  I’ve got your painkillers right here!” Nort exclaimed, surprised.

“Well, I don’t know how, but, and believe me here, I’ve been…healed…” Chiaroscuro replied, looking at the bottle in Nort’s hand.

   Something about the label was off.  As Nort moved away, he stopped him and turned him around, reading the partially hidden label.  Then, with a yell, he shoved Nort away.  Nort caught himself, a scowl on his face.

“What tipped you off?” he asked.

“What tipped me off?  The fact that the label says ‘potassium cyanide’ is kind of a clue about the contents of that container!” Chiaroscuro yelled out in disbelief.

   They glared at each other for a moment, Nort fingering the lid of the poison.  Then he hurled it at Chiaroscuro and took of down a hallway.  Chiaroscuro knocked the small plastic container out of the air and hurried after Nort.

[c|s]

   Lord Yuen was still alive.  Bezeran, for purposes known only to himself, had left him alive.  He had stopped his sword right at Lord Yuen’s throat, the cool metal resting on his flesh.  He could feel from just the slight contact that the blade was unbelievably sharp.

   Bezeran pulled his sword back and placed it in a sheath on his belt.  Lord Yuen looked him over as he got to his feet.  He didn’t look like much.

   He was a bit taller than the commander, holding his head high with a snobby, and evil, air surrounding him.  His armor wasn’t too special, save for two blade-like extensions on the back.  Black hair stuck out from his head as if afraid of the person it grew on.  A similarly colored beard was growing on his chin, a mustache above it making it a full goatee.  His cold red eyes looked Lord Yuen over in the same fashion that he was being looked over.  He didn’t seem impressed either.

   He motioned Lord Yuen to follow him, and though he tried to resist moving, he felt as if he were being pulled along.  Bezeran kept glancing back at Lord Yuen’s sword.  When Lord Yuen realized what he was looking at, he instantly tried to draw it from the sheath to strike down the Haetan leader, but it wouldn’t budge from the sheath.

“I think you’ll find that rather hard to extract!” Bezeran the Wicked said.  His voice was soft, unlike anything Lord Yuen expected.

“What are you playing at?” he growled at the Haetan leader.

   There was the distinct sound of swords coming from scabbards behind him as the Haetan soldiers following him drew their blades.  Bezeran glared at them and they returned the swords to the leather sheaths.  Finally, they came to their destination.

   Now Lord Yuen was impressed.  He had expected a torture chamber, or a prison.  Instead, he was in a smaller chamber that had only one item in it:  a table.  On the table were two plates at each end, two expensive-looking chairs set behind the plates.

   Bezeran sat at the far end of the table, indicating that Lord Yuen was to sit down as well.  When Lord Yuen sat down, the Haetan leader clapped his hands, and two doors materialized on the sides of the chamber.  More Haetans entered the chamber, pushing carts with silver platters on them.

   They set down the platters, opening them to reveal a steak for Lord Yuen and a disgusting-looking amalgamation of what Lord Yuen hoped was beef and lamb-chops on Bezeran’s platter.  He dug in, showing off a voracious appetite.  This was a contrast to Lord Yuen, who nibbled on the steak.

“You’ll find that it’s quite delicious, Lord Yuen.  No poison, either.  If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have stopped my blade earlier!” Bezeran said, breaking the silence.

   Lord Yuen took a larger bite, and then another larger bite.  He found no sign of poison; he had been trained to detect slight levels of poison as a part of the requirements to become the leader of the Defenders.  He finished it just after Bezeran finished his own plate, though he didn’t have blood on his face like the Haetan leader did.

“Now that I have fed you, I believe you can do me a favor.”

Lord Yuen looked up as the Haetans poured him some wine.  “What?” he asked, as if not hearing what Bezeran had said.

“Join us.”

   The offer was as simple as the two words it had been made in.  He couldn’t touch the wine for a moment, then realized that he direly needed something alcoholic.  He drained the glass in one gulp, then signaled that he wanted some more.

“Oh, I don’t think you need that!” Bezeran said, stopping the waiter.

“Why should I join you!?” Lord Yuen suddenly burst out.  “All you do is kill, mutilate, and destroy!”

Bezeran looked amused.  “Yes, but think of the power it takes to cause all of that destruction!  You humans haven’t stopped us in centuries, and the Cryxians aren’t showing signs of helping!  Why not join the winning side?” he asked, sipping his wine.

“There are more important things than power!” Lord Yuen replied, a little calmer.

“Such as?” the Haetan leader asked, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Well…um…” Lord Yuen fumbled.

“If you say ‘love,’ I swear I will put your head through the table!” Bezeran replied frankly.

“I was going to say justice!  Peace!  The welfare of mankind!” Lord Yuen replied sternly.

“So you’ll abandon power over a useless sentiment?” Bezeran asked, almost sounding shocked.

“You abandoned sentiment for power a long time ago; surely someone asked the same question of you?” Lord Yuen replied.

   Bezeran’s face turned into a horrible scowl at the mention of his fall from Cryxian society.  He got to his feet, the table disappearing.  He strode towards Lord Yuen, wrath in his eyes.

“Those fools didn’t know what mistakes they were making!” he hissed at the commander in front of him.  His eyes seemed to glow, and Lord Yuen could only cower in his presence.

Bezeran saw what effect he was having and smirked.  “Actually, I have a fitting position for you, whether or not you want it!”

   He snapped his fingers, and the Haetan guards in the room closed in on Lord Yuen.  They carried him to a chamber marked, in blood, with an ‘X.’  As the door closed, Lord Yuen’s screams could be heard for miles around.

[c|s]

“Nort!  Why would you do this?” he asked when he got to a landing that split into four different doors.

“You really think I’m Nort?  How precious!” Nort’s voice replied.

“Then who are you?” Chiaroscuro asked, focusing his Mana to his hand.

“I don’t think you need to know!” the voice called out.

   Chiaroscuro pinpointed the door the noise was coming from.  He kicked it down and entered, the Angel Bite already flaring up on his right palm.  He realized where he was, and he felt rage building inside him.

   He was inside his parent’s bedroom.  This was where the Nort imposter was hiding.  He looked around the room, not seeing the fake.  Then, by pure chance, he saw, in the mirror, the imposter coming out of the closet behind him, a syringe in hand. 

   At the last second he whirled around, slamming the Angel Bite into the fake’s chest.  His hand went all the way through, pinning ‘Nort’ to the wall.  He squirmed around, and then fell limp.  Chiaroscuro pulled his fist from the fake before realizing a disturbing fact:  there was no blood.

   He had just impaled what he took to be a human, or a Haetan, through the heart, but there were no bloodstains.  Then, as the body started to wiggle, he realized what was going on.  It fell apart, each piece becoming a small, humanoid figure.  They were all homunculi.

   He screamed and started to stop on them, trying to kill them before they could use and Mana Techniques.  He got most of them, but he saw a couple getting away.  He chased them around the house until he was sure he had killed them all.

   As he passed by a stairway to get back to the living room, he saw a fast movement out of the corner of his eye.  He whirled around just in time.  The last homunculi had been waiting on the stairs and leaped off the railing, hugging a syringe that was too big for it.

   Chiaroscuro swatted it out of the air and onto the floor.  He stomped on it and ground it into the floor.  He swept up the remains of all of the homunculi, complaining about the dust they turned to when squished.  With the remains all cleared up, he finally flopped back down on the couch.

   Just as he was getting comfortable, there was another knock on the door.  To be more accurate, it was more of a ‘thud,’ like someone falling against it.  He opened it and found Nort lying on the step, bound and gagged.  He ripped the duct tape off of his mouth and helped him get untied.
 
   Nort thanked him and quickly left, his face turning red from his helplessness.  Chiaroscuro shut the door once more.  Unbelievably, the moment he sat down there was another knock on the door.

“WHAT IS IT!?” he screamed from the couch.

“Um…delivery?” a timid voice replied.

   He sighed and opened it once more.  There was a man standing there in a suit, a government emblem on his chest.  Though he was obviously a government worker, he didn’t seem very confident or tough, like the stereotype.

“And?” Chiaroscuro asked.

“Well sir, are your either of your parents home?” the man asked, twitching and running his fingers through his red hair.

“No.  Can I take a message?  Or a bill?” Chiaroscuro asked.

“No, but you can take this!” the man replied handing him a flat, suitcase like object.

“What the heck is this?” Chiaroscuro asked, opening it up.

“It’s a laptop.  The World-Wide Web is supposed to be up and running quite soon, and the government is handing these out free as a celebration.  And, since the servers will run on Mana this time around, there is a likelihood that Internet services will be free…” the man explained hurriedly.

“So they expect the younger generation to know how to use this?” Chiaroscuro asked, looking at the keys and buttons assembled on the lower part of the laptop.

“That’s why I wanted to know if your parents were available; they should know how to use it.”

“Well, thanks!” Chiaroscuro replied, shutting the door and locking it.

   He went up to his room and set the new object on his bed.  He had heard stories about the World-Wide Web from the older people in the town.  Apparently it was quite the invention.  But, as all things do, it came with a downside.  It spread corruption in the form of pornography and other things.

   There had been a large debate on bringing it back, and apparently they decided to revive the Internet.  For free.  Being too young to have ever seen the internet, he didn’t know where he stood on the issue, though he figured that if there were adult materials there it was a bad place.

   He felt his MRPO start to vibrate in his pocket and realized that he was getting an update to his assignments from school.  He turned it off, figuring that he could pass off as injured for another week at least.  But, he also wanted to be there if, no, when Ser returned, so he started to get his things ready.

   When he finally stopped and had the time to think, he realized that he hadn’t quite figured out what had taken away all of the pain.  In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever find out.  But that wouldn’t keep him from trying to find out.

   He suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched.  He felt the Angel Bite beginning to charge as he turned around slowly.  There was a large, humanoid head peeking in his window.  It was a Giant Homunculi.

“Great.  If they’re not bad enough small, they’ve got to be huge.  Perfect!” he muttered bitterly.

   He started up a spiral staircase that lead to a small, flat space on the roof that was boxed in by a railing.  He got onto the railing and looked at the enormous alchemic creation.  He took a large leap, landing on the homunculi’s head.  He started to slam the Angel Bite into the clay-like substance that the homunculi was made of.

   It reached up and grabbed him by the leg, holding him in front of its face.  He hung upside down, his arms crossed over his chest. Then, he drew back his Mana covered hand and thrust it into the homunculi’s eye.

   It fell back, holding its face.  Chiaroscuro circled around it, looking for the  alchemic symbol that would be its weakness.  He finally found it in its left armpit.  For the final time, he drew back the Angel Bite and shoved it through the emblem, making the homunculi explode.

   He stood there for a moment, covered in dust, and then started to sneeze.  When his nasal passages were completely clear, he finally stopped sneezing.  Then, annoyed, he went inside to get cleaned up, leaving the dust on the ground to blow away into the forests that lined his backyard.

[c|s]

   The moment Punk and Desperad had entered the city, the entire mood changed.  There was a silence that didn’t seem breakable, as if all sound was swallowed up into a void.  Desperad’s hand was on the back of the large gun on his back at all times, ready to whirl it around to shooting position.  Punk’s finger was on the trigger of his revolver, which he pointed at anything that moved.

   They were five miles in, within shouting distance of the Server building, when all Hell broke loose.  Zombies came out of every alley and crevice, and snowmen popped up from the ground.  Punk started firing at them, but Desperad just stood there, laughing.

“What’s so funny!?  Have you finally lost it?” Punk asked as he fired.

“No,” Desperad replied, tearing the tarp off of the barrels, “they’re just so pathetic!”

   He spun the gun on his back around so that the barrels faced forwards, hanging down at his hip.  There was a metallic ‘click’ as the firing mechanism got ready.  The monsters stopped their onward motion, staring at the seven-barreled monster that faced them down.

“Bite, Hydra!” Desperad commanded.

   There was a sucking noise as Hydra pulled in the Mana surrounding it.  Then, with a thunderous sound, enormous bullets tore through the snowmen and undead, scattering pieces of them everywhere.  Punk watched in astonished horror, eyes as big as dinner plates and mouth wide open.  He had seen Hydra in action before, but it seemed stronger, more devastating.

“So, what do you think?” Desperad asked when all of the enemies were gone, either torn to shreds by the gunfire or retreating behind the buildings.

“I gotta get me one of those!” was all Punk could say.

[c|s]

   The fact that he had been attacked by many small, and one giant, homunculi was bugging Chiaroscuro.  He had called the local authorities and informed them of the attack, but it still nagged at him.  What did he have that they wanted?  They were usually in the service of an alchemist, but they were thought to be extinct, the arts forgotten.

   He pushed the thoughts off of his mind as best he could and went for a walk, aimlessly wandering around the neighborhood.  He felt a slight restraint on his waist when he took a deep breath of the cool air and realized that he still had his bandages on.  There was another, more comfortable bandage on his left shoulder, the white linen soft on his damaged skin.

   He stopped and peeled the shoulder bandage back, expecting no blood or signs of his wound.  However, there was still a large, gaping hole.  Somehow, though he didn’t feel it, he still had a gunshot wound on his shoulder.  He put it back in place and kept walking, not watching where he was going until he found himself in front of the hospital.

   He climbed the stairs easily now, as if he were a new person.  As he opened the door, the draft blew around his hair, carrying the scent of disinfectant he disliked so much.  He walked up to the reception desk, trying to ignore the stifling aroma of antiseptic.

“Yes?” the receptionist asked.

“I’d like to see Ser…um…”

   He was embarrassed.  He didn’t know her last name.  How bad would this look to the receptionist, who looked at him, waiting for the patient’s surname.

   A commotion in the hallway saved him.  He looked down the white corridor and saw, to his astonishment, that Ser was coming, ripping the IVs out of her arms as she walked.  She was stepping slightly, but quickly, occasionally wincing when she hit the floor harder than intended, which caused sharp pains in her side.  She saw him and started to run towards him, her eyes wide open with fear.  To his astonishment, his necklace was around her neck.

   Out of nowhere, a male nurse stepped in front of her, sedating her with an injection.  As she collapsed into his arms, Chiaroscuro rushed in to help.  When he got to her, she was still fighting the drugs.

“Don’t…don…t…homun…cu…Haetan…”

   That was all she managed to say before she finally surrendered to the drugs.  The man hoisted her up onto a gurney and started to wheel her back to her room.  Chiaroscuro followed him the whole way, having heard the last word she had said.  Haetan.  It was a foul word, never spoken as a joke, at least not in good taste.

   Even infants seemed to know what the word represented, for it was said that when you spoke the word ‘Haetan’ in front of a newborn, their heart would skip a beat.  Chiaroscuro had never been around a newborn, or even dared to utter the word ‘Haetan’ without a reason, so he didn’t know if it was just a rumor, or if there was truth to it.  He stayed for a while with Ser, only leaving when he realized that the drugs would keep her asleep, at least overnight.

   He left the hospital, not noticing the looks the staff gave him, or the fact that the male nurse that had been handling Ser started to follow him.  However, a doctor stopped the man, and Chiaroscuro walked free.  He stepped back into the sunlight with the resolve to come back tomorrow and see what Ser was trying to say.

[Chinaren]

Yoiks!  Another long one, I'll catch up when I have a bit more time NT.

[NicTei]

Whenever you've the time, China!  Against my better judgement, I've posted a couple of chapters on Bebo, just so I can get some reviews on a scale of 5 stars.  Not that difficult to do here, I know, but it's a little easier to see on Bebo.

Anyways, thanks for sticking with it this long!

 

[Chinaren]

Yah, sorry I've not done this yet, I've not had quite as much time as I thought.    I'll make an attempt to do at least one chapter today!

[NicTei]

Hey, don't worry about reading it ASAP.  Reading is supposed to be fun, not a chore!
...
I just said something really smart there!  I'm going to copyright that phrase.

 

[NicTei]

Hehe, today I'm leaving early for the greatest place I know of.  Duluth.   I love it there, with the enormous lake, the boardwalk, the enormous lake...did I mention the enormous lake?  

Anyways, that's why I won't be writing for a good portion of the day, if at all.  

On a seperate note, I have an idea for an Interactive Story, and I want some feedback on whether or not I should go for it, or if I should just stick to what I've got.   Comments, everyone!

 

[Chinaren]

Reading is supposed to be fun, not a chore!

That's true, but you also asked for a crit, and that does take a bit more time.  Anyway, didn't get around to it yesterday, 'cos I started playing Spore and it kinda sucked me in.  I did go from a single celled organism to ruler of the planet though!   

Anyway, I'm going to be out today, and then work tomorrow  so it may take a bit longer...

Have a good vacation day though.

[Cutypie]

How do you write stories on Bebo?  Nice story NT.

[NicTei]

There's a link at the top of the page on Bebo when you log in titled 'Explore.'  If you click on the arrow behind that, there will be a drop box that appears.  Inside said drop box is a feature called 'Authors.'  If you click on that, it will bring to to the Author's page, where you can register your books and read other people's work.

Hope that helped, Cutypie!

And congratulations on becoming ruler of the planet, China!   I saw Spore yesterday while on vacation, but I don't have the right platform for it.  I did pick up Dark Cloud though.  That sounds like fun.

 

[NicTei]

I'm afraid I lost the will to write this little story.  I got a review that was a horrible blow to my psyche, though I know that the reviewer really meant well, and she's respected author in her own right.  As soon as I figure out why that review is bothering me, perhaps I can move on to write more, but I think I'll stick to one that I actually know that everyone can get through.  Good ol' Masquerade. 

And since I posted this story, Chiaroscuro, on Bebo, I think I'll post Masquerade here, just so I can get longer reviews.  Phoenix mixed Tome and Bebo by writing as much of the review on there as she could, then finishing it here, and I know that Saint does the same, but I don't want to make people go all the way to Bebo and then come back here to write a crit.

I think I may take this story down, as well as my plea for crits on it, until I can get my head straight about this one again.  So, sorry if anyone really wanted to see where this was going, but I think you may be waiting a while, and if I do post, it will probably be radically changed.

Once again, sorry guys!

 

[Chinaren]

I know a bad review is a blow to the ego NT, but don't give up.  Just go away and look at the comments as objectively as possible and ask yourself:  'Do they have a good point?' 

If so, then ask yourself what you're going to do about it.   

However, remember that, at the end of the day, a review is just one persons' perspective.  You don't have to agree with it!! 

[NicTei]

I looked at your comments and asked myself if you had a good point.  I guess you do.  However, I just couldn't get over the fact that this story, which showed so much promise and potential, was given a three.  I know the reviewer didn't intend this to happen, which is what frightens me.  Have I become so used to the successes of Masquerade (which I'll be posting here shortly) and Dungeon Spawn that I'm unable to stand anything less than a four?  I sincerely hope not!

If I can take nothing less than a four, then what have I to learn?  Will Chiaroscuro be abandoned as readily as Religious War and the others that started my writing career?  Once again, I sure hope not!

I don't want to end up some pompus writer that can't take a penny's worth of criticsm (if I spelled that right.  I'm in a haze right now).

 

[NicTei]

I think I'm going to start working on this again.  I know that I'll need to think about this more at one point, but I figure that I'll just repress whatever it is about the review that bothers me.  And, in future news, I have a mental breakdown in which I tear off my clothes in a book store and run around screaming "Redrum, redrum!  Get me out of the hedge maze!"
...
...
Riiiiiight.

Anyways, here comes another chapter.  This may be a shortlived spell, but who knows?