Fabled Tales: Legend (Futuristic Fantasy/Sci-fi)

[Tainted]

Well, lets hope people read this unlike my other story...
This one I've shortened the chapter length from 10 or so pages to 5 or so pages as thats why I think no one had any interest in reading... They saw the beastly 30 pages or so posted and they went "Wowza!" Anyway, I'm trailing off. I present to you the tale of a civil war filled with corruption, poverty and hope...


Fabled Tales: Legend
Records of Lannia’s Civil War

Introduction
“Often I have been told of stories
Legends of myths of fairies and ponies
But all of these fictions come not into fact
They are stories of white, this is one of black”

Think. Now, it can’t be that hard, just focus and close your eyes. Picture a world much like that of earth, a world named Lannia. That’s right, now picture a large country, hmm, we’ll just call it Terre to simplify things. Now picture what you think the future will look like and you might just grasp the idea of what Terre looks like. Large buildings, cars hovering and gliding down the light-filled streets. Picture also two sides of town, a rich side and a poor side. In this society, you are either rich or poor, there really is no in between. The poor people live on the streets and in small houses packed with other poor people. The rich people, the true high rollers, live in utter luxury with all their gold and large houses. The rich side of life is very intertwined with other rich people; they depend on each other to further boost up their financial gatherings. So really, they all form into one union, which they have simply, called Amelirao. The government, and the king of the country run Amelirao, and King Garon Khelsea thinks equality between the poor and rich is a thing that should be considered.
On the other side of the rope there are the poor, and unlike the rich, they do not all form into one group. Instead, they live in several colonies, some small and some large and all of the separate colonies rival not only against each other, but against the rich also. There are too many colonies to name, but I will tell you that our story rests in one of the smaller ones. Most of the names of the poor colonies are savage-like and harsh sounding in order to intimidate their foes. Most colonies also only have one, or if they’re a richer colony, two or three guns. This is because guns cost a lot in this day and age, so really, only the rich possess them in mass quantities.
Sabers are very popular weapons for the rich, if the rich use them. Most of the time they carry them around in a sheath for looks, but most of them train how to use them in their spare time. They are very lightweight and very sharp, unlike the poor melee weapons that consist of swords, daggers, axes and butcher knives.

I’ve kept you thinking long enough; if you do it any longer you might pull a muscle. So I think I’ll start here, with the story of a nation, the story of an ever going rivalry and the story of a civil war…

---
Introductions were meant to be short, crisp and sweet. Now for the real oncoming...

[Tainted]

Entry One-An Ongoing Episode
“Can you even speak of a horror untamed?
Desperation killing as swift as a blade
What would you call it if it were to be named?
War, perhaps, when consequences are made”

A tall, pale-skinned man sat quietly in the remains of an alleyway. His loose, dark black hair hung down over his eyes, yet the rest on his head was tamed fairly well. He breathed out slowly, his breath appearing in the chill autumn night. He wore black jeans that looked fairly comfortable to move around in, and a tight black sleeveless shirt. Overtop of his shirt he wore a large heavy leather trench coat, which was the only thing keeping him warm on this night. He had his face buried into his hands. A pistol sat to the right of him, and to the left of him was a lantern that was turned off. It was almost pitch-black; the only light that illuminated the scene was the small constant flicker of an old streetlight. The man’s head shot up, revealing two cold, bright blue eyes. His face was not necessarily that of a handsome mans, but handsome was a label for the rich. He was just past decent, which was good enough to live, and good enough for him. He brushed his hands on his chest, which had a medium built tone to it like the rest of his body. His name was Zith Andrak and he was one of the less fortunate humans to live on the world of Lannia.

Lannia you ask? Well, you might not know too well of it. It’s a world far beyond the grasps of your humanity, but Lannia is very much like earth would be in another millennia. Just picture your vision of the future, and that pretty much describes the rich sides of town. Tall buildings, floating cars, but the poor side of town… Well, picture the houses of the streets that you live on semi-torn apart and people actually living in them if they are lucky. The less fortunate of the poor live on the broken down streets that used to house cars, but now house only memories of a strong past. Lannia is the whole world, but this particular tale takes place in one of the largest and most powerful countries, Terre. It’d be like a United States of America sort of country, powerful and plenty arrogant.
The king of Terre is the only thing ‘good’ about the rich side of town to the poorer people. The king goes by the name of King Garon Khelsea and he believes in equality between the rich and the poor, which the rich do not agree upon. Frankly, there are more poor than there are rich so you ask: Why isn’t there ever a big rebellion?
Well, there have been plenty. Just some poor people don’t want to get slaughtered so they stay out of it, which is really what started the poor colonial age. The less fortunate people broke up into tons of smaller colonies, instead of living as one… which is what put the rich even further ahead. The rich are lucky; they are one huge union, like the iron fist that runs the corrupted world.

“Can we go home now?” a tiny frail voice asked.
Zith shushed the voice and put one finger to his lips. The young boy was not Zith’s, and no one was entirely sure whose boy he was. They had bought him for a small fee to raise him up to be another warrior in their colony. His name was Kib, and that’s all they called him. He had no last name, he had no middle name, so they just called him Kib. Why Kib? It was the first word he said after they bought him at a young age. Kib was about three years of age, but he was very smart for those tender years. He knew when to be quiet, when to talk and such. He was just a very bright boy.
His blonde hair curled slightly over his whole head in a messy fashion. His strongest feature were his big blue eyes that were not at all like Zith’s. While you would think Zith’s could peer right into your soul, Kib’s eyes were just adorable. He had pudgy little hands and feet, both of which were covered up since they didn’t want him to catch a cold. His little button nose still ran a bit, which was normal for living in a broken-down house in the cold fall nights. He smiled big and wide, some little white teeth showing through his open lips. That was one quality that Zith grew fond of, he was never really upset, and he always seemed to be happy. He wore a little pair of light blue jeans with a little dark blue sweater.
Only now could the woman beside Kib be seen, as the light had stopped flickering and had grown to a full glow. She was indeed beautiful, but a different kind of beautiful than what was considered in that day and age. She did not have the blonde curls or the oversized bosoms, but instead she had more of an attractiveness that drew one closer to her. She had raven black hair that remained straight at all times and drifted down her back, with a bit of hair falling over each one of her shoulders. She had a skinny frame, but definitely was not deathly skinny. She was very athletic, although there weren’t many sports to compete in for women on the poorer side of town. She didn’t exactly have the oversized bosoms, like I said before, but they were big enough to get a man to silently undress her in his head. She had a light purple lipstick on and had very dark eyelashes, which went well with her dark eye makeup, which is what most poor women put on since it was the cheapest you could buy. She wore black tight pants with a black tight shirt, since ‘tight’ was the fashion for women and for some guys when it came to shirts. Overtop of her tight shirt she wore a purple leather coat, which was something she could never afford. She took it off of a dead rich woman that had stumbled into the poorer side of town. Her name was Evalyn, and she had been named after the angel of Lannia that brought peace to the world in times of war. Most people called her Eva or made that even shorter and just called her Ev.

“There’s four of them and three of us, and they’re all men…” Evalyn said, eyeing the ground casually.
“Your point being?” Zith asked inquisitively “I sort of analyzed that problem a while ago…”
“I don’t think we’ll make it out alive” Evalyn spoke quietly.
“But we always seem to pull off some sort of miracle, this is just another everyday situation on the streets” Zith replied coolly.
“Who are the people?” Kib asked, he was always asking questions, and he always spoke in a slightly wrong English, as he was only a little child.
“Marauders,” Zith answered “Their colony has twice the population of ours, but does not own any houses. So they’re looking to take ours off of our hands…”
“Where’s the rest of the gang when you need them?” Evalyn sighed in grief. She was one of two women that belonged to Zith’s gang, well, it wasn’t really his but he was high enough up in the ranks to call it his. Zith’s gang was labeled simply ‘Unified’, which described the way the small colony lived. They lived together and worked together as a whole.

“We’re going to have to get back home now. It’s getting late” Zith proposed.
“Agreed.” Evalyn replied steadily. Kib was drowsy, and he looked as if he were about to doze off at any moment.
Zith reached to his right and picked up a pistol. “It’s our only pistol, take care of it, use it if you have to… I’m going to go ahead of you and tell you if its safe to walk or not…”
Evalyn was quiet.
“Trust me,” Zith confirmed.
“I hate trusting you” she replied.
“I was right about the fact that they want to take our house away from us…” Zith said, smiling wryly.
“How are you sure?” Evalyn asked.
“Listen.”

A chuckling of two voices could be heard not far from where the stood. They spoke of killing Zith and Evalyn, then taking the child with them and taking the house with more men. When they were finished talking Zith had guessed at where they were.
“Now if you keep completely quiet we might be able to sneak-” but Zith’s words were cut off, as Kib coughed, and the small cough sent him into a barrage of hacking and wheezing. The two men picked their heads up, and both ran in the direction of the group of three.

Zith turned around, his normally cold face filled with utter disgust, he wasn’t mad at the boy, he was mad because now he had to take out two of them. They were unarmed, which was always a plus. They were both bald, as most Marauders were; it was a custom thing to recognize each other. They wore black leather jackets symbolizing their clan, unlike Zith’s whole gang who wore nothing but their regular clothes. One of them wore black glasses, which must have been for fashion as it was night. They both wore dark blue jeans and black boots, a common trait among most men. The one with the sunglasses was heavily built; the other had a very skinny frame.
Zith reached into his trench coat and pulled out the only thing his hands made contact with, a very sharp dagger. “Old Reliable” was what it had been dubbed from past experiences. Zith drew it out in one movement and brought it to his ear, where he followed his hand forward and snapped his wrist. The blade soared through the air and hit the skinny man in the throat.
“****” Zith cursed. He had originally aimed for the meathead, but at least he killed someone, which was his first objective.
The heavily built man did not halt his charge, unfortunately for Zith. The man roared mightily and swung his fist at Zith. Zith had never been that good of a fighter, and it showed because the man clubbed him across the head with his fist. Zith’s head snapped at such an angle that another man watching could have sworn his neck snapped. Zith fell to the ground limply; his legs and arms showing no movement.

Zith could only faintly hear the scream of a woman. Inside his head he raced to get himself up to help Evalyn, but he could not move. He knew it had not been his muscled foe that was picking on her, for he was still kicking Zith’s gut.
Evalyn’s shrill scream filled the air again. Another man had approached her with a butcher knife. Her right hand searched rapidly across the ground but to no avail, she could not find the pistol that Zith had given to her. Then there was a loud bang. She looked to her left and saw Kib, the boy that was soon to be asleep before was now crying and in his hands he held the pistol.
Evalyn was scared to death for the boy. Had he shot himself? As if he had he surely would die. When she lifted her head up to look at the man who held the butcher knife she noticed he had quieted down considerably. His mouth was gaped open and he gasped for breath. He collapsed to his knees and his right hand shot to his stomach in obvious pain. His chest hit the cold pavement stone and his body twitched once and only once, then his head drew up and collapsed to the ground again. He had died. Kib had shot him. The recoil of the pistol, although small for a full-grown person, must have scared the child to death. Evalyn picked the child into her arms and rocked him back and forth while watching Zith get killed. She knew she couldn’t do anything, which was the worst part about it, her getting up could result in her own death and she knew that Zith would not like her to risk her own life.

“Come on, risk your own life now…” Zith said in his head. “C’mon Evalyn, I’m dying here.”

Finally the man stopped kicking Zith. Zith could no longer feel his stomach or chest. He managed to pull himself from the ground and he met the man that had knocked him down. He stepped eye to eye with him and looked him down considerably, all the while waiting for the brute to hit him again.
Evalyn gasped briefly, she had pricked her finger on something lying on the ground. She drew her finger up to her mouth and sucked on the tip. She then reached down beside her and noticed a discarded sword, it was rusted and the center had rotted considerably and was no longer present. She picked it up and skidded it across the pavement.
All the while Zith watched her through the corner of his eye. As soon as the sword skidded into a place that he could reach the man thrust his fist at him. He ducked backwards and let himself fall, bringing his right foot up to meet the man’s crotch. The man keeled over in pain and Zith picked the sword, and himself up off of the pavement. Zith drew the sword up over his head and stabbed it into his foe’s stomach.
The brawly man screamed and then fell limp. He had also died. Zith drew the sword from the man’s corpse and placed it in a sheath that he always wore on his belt. One of the men in his gang was quite a good weapon-smith, and he would know how to fix it up.

Zith began to walk back to Evalyn.
“Got them all.” Zith said proud “We got them all.”
Then a loud gunshot was heard, and the moment it was heard Zith’s eyes opened wide. Blood blew from a small exit wound near the edge of his stomach. It had almost just skinned him, but instead pierced its way through the edge of his gut. Evalyn screamed, but acted quickly and immediately shot into the distance where the bullet was fired. She heard a loud groan and then a collapse to the ground followed by eerie silence. Zith twitched in pain. Beaten, bruised and shot, he was prepared to face death.

He got up. Despite the pain raging inside of him, and his bruised bones cracking at nearly every step, he got up. He walked towards where the gunshot was fired and Evalyn, still carrying Kib who had now fallen asleep, followed his slow pursuit of the attempted killer. When he arrived at the dead body he found it to be a normal Marauder, but what he had used to try to kill Zith really puzzled him. It was a sniper rifle, a UHI series as well. If he had fired a sniper rifle at such a close distance, roughly twenty-five yards, it should have left the exit wound the size of a tangerine, but it hadn’t.
Only a little bit upset at the final outcome, Zith picked up the sniper rifle and slowly began a torturing walk back to his house, and Unified’s house of residence.

* * *

The next day Zith awoke sourly. He had been patched up a lot, but the wounds and battle fatigue still hit at him like a weight lifter with a sledgehammer. The new rifle acquisition had given the whole gang an extra gun, and a good one at that, which was always a plus. It was also the morning to introduce Kib to the rest of the members of Unified. Kib had only ever seen Evalyn and Zith before, and they were only two of six members. Most of the members were rarely around, but everyone was present that morning. Zith joined everyone else in the room that they ate in. Nobody was eating, as they thought breakfast to not be that important.
“Well, Kib, I guess its time you met the rest of the members of Unified. You’ll be the tenth member if we choose to induct you.” Zith began.
Kib nodded and smiled showing his baby teeth quite a bit.
Everyone was gathered around a cherry-oak half-crescent table, of which had seen better days, and Zith and Kib stood at the flat end of the half-crescent.
“You’ve already met Evalyn, but I’ll introduce you to the other female member of Unified.” Zith pointed to a busty woman wearing a red tube top with blue trim around it. She was also wearing light blue shorts, which wasn’t very casual for the cold nights of autumn, but she always had the most blankets at night anyway. She had fiery strawberry-blonde hair and luscious lips. Her eyes were a dark green color, but they changed colors every once in a while. Her hair was up in a messy bun and two strands of unattended hair hung over her forehead. She wore eye makeup that only highlighted her features, not boasted it further. She also wore dark mascara. She wasn’t all that tall, but fairly tall for a woman. She was five foot seven, or around there at least. It didn’t quite compare to Zith’s six feet, or Evalyn’s five foot nine, but it was still fairly high. “Her name’s Patrycja, and she’s here mainly because she needs protection from the world outside. Of course, we don’t mind at all…” Zith’s eyes fell below her eyes “But she’s been pretty essential to the group at times.”

The next person at the table was the only black man of the group. He was very short but you could tell he was sly by just looking at him. He flashed a bit white toothy grin and looked at Zith.
“Tell the boy about me, will you?” he laughed.
“I’m getting to that, you thief,” Zith snapped.
“Thief? I only do my men a fair trade. Thieving is not what I do, I prefer to call it trickery, if you consider that a better word.”
“It’s the same no matter how you say it, Clive, stealing is stealing” Zith retorted.
Clive had very short dark black hair. He had brown eyes and an almost flat nose, with large nostrils. He had the look of a sophisticated man, and it showed off with the way that he acted—but he could easily lose his mentality and resort to using other methods of getting his way. He was about five foot five in height, very small for a full-grown man, and he had a very slim build. He always ate the most of the bunch too, which came to get people thinking where the food went. He wore a white sleeveless shirt that was worn tightly to his chest. Along with that he wore black joggers pants and a robe for survival in the cold. He was a master of dagger throwing, and had taught Zith many a trick. Clive propped his feet up on the table.
“That’s Clive, Kib.” Zith said, motioning to the black man.

Next in line was a brawly bearded man. He looked to be in his mid-forties and wore a smug grin on his face. He had a trim brown beard and brown hair to his shoulders. His beard was not fuzzy, like most men’s beards, but it was just like the hair on his head—that was if he let it grow long, which he never did. His beard and hair both had traces of gray in them, which was the only sign of age that could be seen. He was muscled heavily, ripped and toned quite well. He wore a thin armor chest-plate, which he forged and made himself out of an old woodstove door. The chest-plate was full, and had a back to it, which was why the iron was so thin on it; it was a sacrifice he had to make. He wore nothing under this chest-plate and wore simple tan merchants pants. He also wore brown sandals that matched the color of his hair perfectly. He wore big gloves made of chain mail that covered his rough hands. He was only three inches taller than Zith, which made him rest at a tall six foot three.
“Just tell the boy my name, no need to analyze me!” the brawly man said roaring into laughter, he always enjoyed a good laugh—even at the most uncomfortable times. He was always there to cheer people up, which people respected him for.
“That man is Dominious.” Zith spoke, answering the built mans comment.
“Oh, by the way, Zith” Dominious began “I fixed up the sword you had in your sheath. I made it a lot lighter; it should be like wielding a saber now. I cut out the center, following the trace of the outline of the blade. But don’t worry; I left enough on the outside so that it won’t break as soon as you strike somebody with it. I also took all of the rust off and applied a new coat of steel.”
Zith nodded his head in approval, he didn’t know what else to say. Dominious was always remarkable at things that he liked doing.
“Oh, and a new grip-efficient handle. I made it myself,” Dominious added on with a big, cheesy grin. Dominious put forth is huge hand and shook Kib’s little frail hand.

Zith turned to the last man at the table. He was six foot eight, a beast when it came to men. He was very hefty, yet he only wore a large pair of black jeans with a belt that had a buckle made of pure gold. He had killed a rich man for it, but no one dared to take it off of him, even the sly Clive. This last man was the leader of Unified, and he founded it with Zith a while ago. Zith proceeded to bring in Evalyn and Clive while he brought in Dominious, possibly the greatest find. No one really brought Patrycja in, she just found them by fate.
“And introducing this stocky, definitely powerful leader of Unified commences all the people you have to meet, Kib. His name is Willow.”
Dominious raised up a glass that he had been drinking out of “Let us drink towards the oncoming of a new man to Unified!”
Everyone else raised their hands or their glasses, depending on if they had one or not, and cheered in a resounding “Hail!”

[classy_cat18]

Whoa. I normally don't stick around long enough to read Non-Pokemon fics, but your fic is one of the few that keeps me reading! I guess it's the short attention span. You describe the scenery and characters well. I knew you'd come up with a winner! Keep it coming!

[Tainted]

Thanks a lot, I really appreciate reader's posts whether it be them saying how much the liked it or them saying it sucked. I need Mr. Pikachu to give me a crapload of constructive criticism...

[Craig]

its okay ,but the parts where you described them were a bit boring.. but atleast they are over now..

coolies, i'll definitely keep reading.

[mr_pikachu]

I normally don't do reviewing by request, but since there's only one chapter, I figure it shouldn't take too long. Okay, since you specifically asked me to come and criticize, I figure I can be a bit more open than I sometimes am. :D

Alright, I'm going to start from the top, and make notes of things as I'm reading, so as not to forget any points I feel could be better. First of all, avoid using similar words closely to each other. "Breathed" and "breath", for example, may need to be altered so that one is different. Heck, you could even call it oxygen, just so long as you don't say "the breath of oxygen," which would completely defeat the purpose of changing it anyway. Also in the first paragraph, I'm not sure about "mans" having an apostrophe or not. I know the rule about pronoun possessives not having the apostrophes, but I'm curious as to whether this could be an exception. That'll give you something to check on over your spare time. Your description seems a little too direct. It's extremely hard to avoid, but it's better to include description more within the story than to say everything about the setting kind of like "He was... It was... He wore..." etc. I struggle with that myself, so you shouldn't feel bad at all. It's just a suggestion, anyway.

You might not want to make so many comparisons to our world. In the context of this story, it might be better to just describe things as if they are perfectly normal than to make so many references. You could just talk about the thriving upper class and the dirt-poor lower class, the setting people live in, etc. You don't need to include references to our world. Oh, and try not to switch tenses; when you started talking about the King (and continuing throughout the third paragraph) you began using the present tense. Watch out for that! Many a good fic has been caught up in the perils of tenses! Also, are you planning on putting a full line between every paragraph, or just where you think it is important? Because there are some inconsistencies there.

Ooh, okay, you might want to edit a bit of the description of the woman. In case you hadn't noticed, you started eight consecutive sentences with the same word: "She". Definitely not a good thing. Also, with your quotes, when you're quoting speech directly, you should always have a punctuation mark at the end of the quote. For example, “I don’t think we’ll make it out alive” Evalyn spoke quietly. should have a comma at the end of the quote. If you don't continue the sentence with something like, in your example, "Evalyn spoke quietly," then end the quote with a period.

The sentence Zith turned around, his normally cold face filled with utter disgust, he wasn’t mad at the boy, he was mad because now he had to take out two of them. should have a semicolon or a period to separate the two thoughts: his disgusted face and his reason for anger. The way it is now leaves it as a run-on. Also, the description of the Marauders - They wore black leather jackets symbolizing their clan, unlike Zith’s whole gang who wore nothing but their regular clothes. - can have the word "whole" edited out, as it is an unnecessary part of the description.

The sentence As if he had he surely would die. sounds a little wrong. You might consider taking the "as" out, for two reasons: 1. It is unnecessary, and 2. it makes the sentence start out with a sort of "As if!" sarcastic tone, which is not what you meant at all.

You might want to consider varying your saying a little more; you've used "which was always a plus" twice in this chapter alone. Try to avoid repeating sayings, and just describe things normally if necessary.

Once again, in the description of the other members of Unified, you're using the same pronouns repeatedly to begin sentences. It's not so bad when they're used within the sentences, but you should try to avoid using the same beginning repeatedly.


Now, believe me, this is a great story, I'm just really, really good at nitpicking when I want to. :D You've got a lot of excellent features: a realistic setting, a strong plot already developing, and characters who are true to both the setting and the plotline you seem to be creating. The action scenes are great, other than a few minor errors here and there. The descriptions aren't half bad either; you should be commended both for taking the time to think up these things and for putting out the extra effort to write about them. I've seen too many fics that are all action, no description. Many writers could learn a great deal from this example. Also, I like the originality in writing a short, four-line poem at the beginning of each chapter. It sets the tone for each entry and quickly distinguishes your fic from the rest. Your writing style in general is fascinating, something that many writers never can develop. All in all, you've done an excellent job so far. I hope you continue to write this fic.

Okay, there's your "crapload of constructive criticism", if that's what you want to call it. Anyway, good luck! I'll try to keep reading! :wave:

[Tainted]

Wow, thanks. Unlike most past criticizers you at least write what you liked about it as well...
Thanks a lot, I'll get to working on most of those points. The point to description I thought might have been needed to really grasp the feel of the characters early on, rather than introducing it subtly throughout the story.
Of course, the things you liked are things I'm focusing on boldly, plus, this is a very rough draft. Description and *** kicking: my two main objectives. Character development is somewhere up there too.

I definately agree with your criticism now that I look back on what I wrote. And of course, if I ever finish it, I'll get it edited by someone and then go through and make a good copy... Which is something I've never got a chance to do with any of my stories yet...
*curses at his laziness to finish anything*

Anyways, I'd like to thank you once again. If you could continue to read and point out further mistakes, or just tell me if I'm going in the right direction or not, that would be great.

Chapter Two should be finished in two days at the latest,
Zak Hunter

[Otto=ottO]

Dude, it's anyway, not anyways. Practise your grammer and spelling in your posts, it might help.

I told you about the double words and sayings together in Neverwest. I think you gave me the same crap answer. As well as something about yuo could edit, or you could write another chapter. I think I took write another chapter.... Maybe you could write another chapter. Well, all my critisism has been sucked out. He did do a post almost as long as the actual chapter, so I hope that helped you as much as you said it did. Anywho, good new fic... well, another new fic anyway.

[Tainted]

Not quite as long as the actual chapter. Practice makes perfect, Otto, dear.

Eat me with your sarcasm,
Zak Hunter

[Tainted]

Fiction ala write. Served brilliant, delicately cooked and with a hint of flavor.

This chapter's supposed to go a little fast. It'll come together a bit more in the third, I have a few suprises in hand.


Entry Two-Left Behind to Weep and Think of Brighter Days
“Life, like a deck of cards you play in hand
I shall call you the player
Yet with every ace of spades you draw
I shall dub thee a manslayer”

The wind whisked dreadfully through the air, howling like a sailor with a stubbed toe. With the wind came the rain. It didn’t rain all too much on Terre, but when it did rain, it poured. Tonight wouldn’t be too bad of a night, though, for some at least. Zith, along with a few others, would be going on a small trip to a pub. There was a bare-knuckle boxing tournament going on, and for once, the prize was quite high. Everyone knew Zith wasn’t much of a fighter, but he was wild and took drastic measures when it came to fights. Which would normally put him in good and bad situations. Each man was allowed to bring a coach if they wanted, and a woman to watch from up close. Zith and Willow would be competing, while Zith chose Dominious to be his coach. Willow chose nobody.

“And my lucky lady” Zith said floridly. “His finger sifted throughout the room. No, not you Clive, I’m sorry. Yes, you, Patrycja!”
Patrycja got up slowly, playing along. “Me? I can’t believe I won!”
Zith kissed her outstretched hand gently and then put his arm around her waist, casually walking outside. Willow walked behind the two of them, and Dominious brought up the rear.

With them gone, they left Evalyn, Clive and Kib alone. They began a night of enjoying silence and watching Kib sleep, which he did very quickly after Zith and the rest had left. Silence seemed to echo in the semi-abandoned house as water droplets continuously ticked on what left of a roof they had. Wind blew gently through Evalyn’s hair every once in a while, until she had given up on trying to go to sleep.
“I’m going for a little walk,” Evalyn whispered to Clive. He sat with his legs crossed and his head bowed down towards the ground. He did not look up; he simply nodded and waved his hand gently.
“Be careful,” he advised.
Evalyn did not reply.

Zith stepped casually into the circle of sand that had been set and cleared for the bare-knuckle boxing tournament. Sand was used a lot at these sorts of outings, as it was rather good at soaking up blood. Zith raised his hands up in the smoke drenched air and flapped his hands back and forth a few times, boosting the crowd’s spirit. The audience cheered and yelled, raising beer mugs and tankards of ale.
A fat announcer with a grizzly stubble beard sat behind the announcer’s desk. He held the microphone tightly as if he was a child and it was his lollipop. He smiled, hiding behind the shadows of the dimly lit bar.
“Welcome Zith Andrak, third time combatant here at the pub. He has never made it past the first round yet, but you all know him for the way he executes his maneuvers!”
“What maneuvers?” a large brawly wrestler barked. He had an under bite like a bulldog and had cauliflower ears from previous years of fighting. He was fat and had an orange beard that was short and hung closely to his face. His head was bald, and what dim light shone in the room reflected off of his orb-like scalp. His nose had been broken in two places before, as the evident bumps on the man’s bone showed. His teeth were rotted and his tongue flickered like a snakes. “I’ve beat this man in the first round twice before, and I’ll beat him again!”
The crowds roared and whooped loudly.
“And a long time favorite, three time winner, Billiate ‘The Bear’ Stevens!” The chubby announcer spoke wildly, raising his voice as he carried the sentence on, holding the final ‘s’ on Stevens to bring it to a stunning climax.

The tournament held only eight people that night, only one of them had never fought in a bar match before. That man was a young lad named Othen, and even at the age of 16 he showed a strong promise to fighting. He looked very sharp, but more a quick fighter than a strong one. He was competing in the match after Zith’s, and he would be fighting a man with an iron grip, Archaisis. The match after that was Willow’s, and the person he was fighting had not shown up yet, but he went by the name of Zechariah Hunter. Then lastly, the final match would house two old-timers, both very experience, but not as sharp as the rest of the combatants.

Billiate had a very open stance, his legs were spread further than his shoulders and his knees were bent quite a bit. His arms were spread wide, his fingers bent inward slightly as if he were gripping a baseball bat. He snorted like a bull, which told everyone that he was ready to attack. Zith stood upright, his knees only bent slightly. His legs were at shoulder-width and his right hand rested close to his chest, while his left was out to defend.
Zith had always wondered why people even called it bare-knuckle boxing. Sure, there was a lot of slugging going on and nobody wore gloves, but it wasn’t all straight punches. Lots of kicks, tackles, and a whole busload of moves you wouldn’t see on the rich side of Terre.

“Come get me, you youngling’!” Billiate taunted, flashing a rotten toothed smiled. Zith wasn’t that young, he was twenty two or so, around there, nobody really kept count of their age after ten. There wasn’t any time in the fast-paced world of pain to keep count of your age. Billiate looked about mid-forties, but appearances could be deceiving in the poor side of Terre.
Zith smiled. That little smile pushed Billiate so far off the edge, that, well, you can’t believe how much a little smile could piss someone off so much. Billiate charged, head down, ready for a huge tackle. He lunged forth and Zith sidestepped, pushing both hands on the bear’s back. The champion of the last tournament fell face first into the sandy ground. He got up, angry as ever, spitting out sand and wiping what was left of his teeth with his tongue.

He charged forth again in the same attack. Zith knew he couldn’t pull off the same move again so he pushed off of the ground with his right foot, leaping slightly. Sand kicked up behind him and his left foot stepped on Billiate’s lowered head. Zith pushed off again, but this time with his left foot. The beautifully timed and powered attack rendered Billiate face first into the sand, again.
Billiate was enraged. He charged again, but charged more upright. Zith was frozen in his tracks, if he moved Billiate would simply follow him and execute a strong tackle. Zith readied himself, squaring down more and moving closer to the ground. Billiate had met Zith, and shoved forth his right shoulder. Zith acted quickly and dropped to a kneeling position. He wrapped his arms tightly around the back of Billiate’s kneecaps and thrusted his back to the floor. Billiate swung with Zith, smashing his head just on the outside of the sand pit, hitting the concrete floor. Zith quickly rose to his feet, standing a safe distance from his opponent. Billiate got up ever so slowly, his head streaming with blood. The crowds cheered Zith’s name wildly, thrusting their mugs and tankards of ale, mead and beer towards the skies.
Billiate took one disgusted look at Zith and then fell forward onto his knees.
“Finish him off!” Dominious yelled from just outside the circular sand pit. He had been quiet for the whole match until now, as had Patrycja, but she was still quiet.
Zith thrusted his right foot forward, kicking the side of Billiate’s head. Billiate hit the ground in a resounding thump, kicking up sand with his fall. Zith shot one arm up into the air, screaming out a cry of victory. The bar went silence for a second, and then cheered all at once, replying to Zith’s win. Billiate could only look up from the sand and grind his teeth together, his body hurt too much to do much else.

Zith, Dominious and Patrycja all enjoyed the next fight, which was surprisingly short. The new kid, dubbed Othen, nearly killed his opponent Archaisis. Othen surprised everybody, as they thought he would be a quick fighter rather than a strong one. The audience was hit with the fact that he was both quick and strong, and he murdered Archaisis. Willow approached Othen after Othen’s match and consulted him about joining the brotherhood. Othen looked like he could easily be a very strong asset to Unified. Othen accepted quickly, and like all new recruits, he was given the night watch job. He didn’t seem to care too much, but then again, not many new recruits did. They were just happy to finally find a place to fit in.

“Clive…” Evalyn’s desperate voice called out from outside. Clive could only see her shadow peeking through as he lifted his head to meet her voice.
“Yes, Ev?” Clive asked smoothly.
“Please step away from the baby and put your hands up into the air. Please do it.” Evalyn asked.
“But why-”
“Please, Clive. Oh, god please.” Evalyn pleaded.
Clive had to wonder why she wanted him to do so. He complied and fearfully raised his arms into the air. The figure of Evalyn stepped through into a bit of light, where it could be seen that a predator stood behind her. It was a Marauder, and he held the point of a knife to Evalyn’s neck. Another Marauder stepped through the door behind the first, holding a cocked shotgun. It didn’t matter how sly of a move Clive did, it would end in Evalyn’s death. If he took out the man behind Evalyn, the guy with the shotgun would blow him to pieces. Clive wiped his left hand across his nose.
“I’d die for that girl.” Clive whispered to himself. A single tear ran down his cheek as he sneezed loudly.
“Hands back up!” shouted the man with the shotgun. He stepped in front of Evalyn and pointed his gun at Clive. Clive had immediately put his hands up after he had sneezed, but he had a trick up his sleeve. Literally.

Clive slipped the dagger from his sleeve and threw it past the man with the shotgun. The man immediately saw the attempted attack and pulled the trigger on his gun, a loud blast and then a groan of pain. Evalyn screamed as the dagger ran past her ear and hit the man behind her in the throat. He choked and spat up blood over Evalyn’s shoulder. Evalyn began to weep, but she held her composure. She ripped the dagger out of the dying man’s throat and took aim at the man with the shotgun. She threw it with little expertise, but managed to land the blade in between the man’s shoulder blades. Kib awoke and shuffled his feet, slowly come to stand beside the collapsed body of Evalyn. She rested on her knees, which were spread out wildly on the dirty paved house floor. Blood quietly without a sound came to meet at Kib’s shoe. He patted Evalyn on the back, noticing her insane weeping. He showed really no sign of any emotion at all.
“There, there” he said in his baby-voice, patting her on the back rhythmically.

A chill breeze passed by Evalyn slowly. She had regained her composure after a long hour of straight weeping; one could assume she had nearly run out of tears to weep. “What a man,” was all she could think. “What a man to give up his life for a foolish little girl like me.”
She picked up Kib and ran off into the night towards the bar, tears beginning to stream down her face again…

She burst into the bar panting heavily, she noticed the large leader board accompanied with slide-out names. Willow and Othen were competing for the final. Apparently, Othen had beat out Zith in a long grueling fight. It was only grueling because Zith wouldn’t give up, no matter how one sided it was. Hell, some people thought that Othen hadn’t been hit anywhere but his arms, which he used to block Lance’s strikes.

The fight between the two was nearly over, the audience standing up proud waiting for the climax. Willow appeared to be tired, and Othen on the other hand looked as fresh as he had when he entered the tournament.
Willow swung one massive fist towards Othen. Othen leaped to the right, the fist striking the sand with a hollow thumping sound. Othen struck Willow in the side of the head with a kick, and then ran behind him. When Willow swung around to hit Othen, he ducked and struck him in the stomach with a quick and immensely strong blow. Willow keeled over in pain and Othen, having seemingly no respect for the leader of his new brotherhood, continually kicked Willow in different spots. Willow eventually gave him, throwing both of his hands into the air and making an X with his arms.
“And the winner of our tournament, the underdog from the beginning—Othen!” the announcer cried. The audience, completely astonished, hooted and hollered until their voices began to die out on them.
Evalyn had only just found Zith in all of the confusion and yelling. She approached him casually, until Patrycja caught her eye. Patrycja moved in on Zith like a wolf moving in on a rabbit. She threw her arms around Zith’s neck and looked up into his eyes. She then leaned forward and met her lips to his. Zith accepted boldly, holding on for a couple more seconds until they had finished.
Evalyn’s mouth dropped. Her tears, which had recently just subsided, began to pick up again. She ran outside, leaving Kib who had began a short walk over to Zith. Othen spotted Evalyn running away and he caught up to her.
Othen wasn’t quite as old as Evalyn was, he was three years younger, but he still thought he had a chance at calming her down. Maybe not with his looks, but he definitely had a lot of charm to his persona.

His white hair caught glimpse of the moon’s light. His red eyes cut through the air, staying put on Evalyn’s figure. His face was pale and had a certain aura to it; it was just something that attracted women to him. He just looked great. To males he was just another guy, just somebody that looked like and fit in with everybody else, but to women, well, it was a totally different story.
He approached Evalyn slowly and kissed her calmly on the cheek. She collapsed onto him, her head weeping silently on his shoulder. The moon stayed full, and the impenetrable gaze of its rays beat upon the two. They stayed in the same position, never moving, until Evalyn fell asleep soundly. Othen picked her up into his arms and kissed her on the neck gently, proceeding to walk back to the Unified household.

What they discovered upon their arrival was not something of a cheery kind. The dead bodies of three men, Clive being one of them, startled them deeply. The period of mourning only lasted a few minutes, however, as dead people was not a thing to remember on Terre. There were plenty of dead people and if everyone remembered them all the time they would forget they were living.
Zith picked the shotgun up from the ground. It was a very modernized shotgun, pump action and it fired nine shots of slugs before you had to reload. It wasn’t automatic, which rendered it a bit less costly on the market, and it required a pump after every fire.

Zith looked past the gun to the body of Clive. He had never liked Clive as a brother, but he had always felt closeness towards him. With this new Othen kid, though, Zith felt as if they had been born brothers and then separated. He thought Othen felt the same way about him, as they both seemed to share a silent bond.
The man in the black leather trench coat gazed across the room to Othen, who wore no shirt and black slacks. His white chest was flawless, for a man who fought a lot you’d think he would have a scar here and there but no. Othen looked back at Zith, their eyes locking temporarily. They both nodded in unison then approached Clive. They put his stiff arms carefully onto his chest. After doing that, they both proceeded to pick him up and carry him outside. Zith began digging and Othen went back inside due to his tiredness. He fell asleep on a discarded mattress in a small, windowless room of the house and he dreamt haunting dreams of death and fiery hell-spawns.
Zith had buried Clive by morning, and by then he was so tired he could pass out. Patrycja greeted him outside and placed both of her hands on his shoulders, massaging him gently. Zith dropped to a one-legged kneel and reached into his trench coat. From there he pulled a single black rose, withered in its age. He dropped it onto the grave and bowed his head in sympathy.
“Oh, brethren. Your ways were too devious to be even called trickery; your help to us lived and breathed us, filling us with enough oxygen to live. By spawn of the brotherhood, I give breath unto your soul and wish it the best of luck in the afterlife. We know you would care less for us to whisper casually about the pleasantries to heaven, so I will stick it plain and simple. Everyone’s going to hell, just try to enjoy it.”


* * *
Preview of Entry Three:
Who does not deserve to breathe upon mortal men? Can you name someone that dares be so differant that even looking upon him can strike fear into your eyes?
He can taste the fear in the air, his eyelashes blinking like that of an immortal. For he is nearly immortal, and he feeds upon souls.

Will the eater of souls wrought pain upon Unified? Or is it simply an obstructive metaphor to confuse you into thinking something differant while I apply a cliffhanger that keeps you thinking?
You decide.
Coming soon, Entry Three.
Same bat time. Same bat channel.

[Otto=ottO]

I always have a hard time replying to your chapters. I don't know why I always feel so content afterwards. So, really, I don't have anything to say aboot this chapter.