Hi, this is my first entry ever for the contest. I just wanted to say a few things before you read this. First, even though she won't read this I wanted to thank my Girlfriend for helping me proof read and edit this little adventure. Next, this is actually part of a much longer story line I've been working on since I was 16 (I'm 24 currently) , but his is the first time I've committed anything to paper, so to speak, so please be gentle with your comments. Finally, I think I stretched the limit of PG-13, but not much: there is referances to excessive tobbaco use, some drinking and vaguely graphic violence.
Oh, and good Luck to everyone else. Please enjoy. Thanks
Moving towards the barn his team was as professional as silent death can be. They were the Elites; Hunter-Killers, squad 3. Up ahead, a bunch of amateurs who thought having heart meant they stood a chance. They didn’t. Flariety and Johnson swung in first, from the back, waiting until Madison and O’Riealy opened fire from the front before picking off the distracted amateurs. Lucky ordered the two remaining members of his squad, Mich and Landon, forward; they tossed in a couple of the louder, more explosive grenades from their arsenal and, with Luck as point man, swept in to level anyone stupid enough to have not gone down with the grenade. A quick survey revealed twelve dead, four soon to be dead and all seven members of the squad alive. So far it was routine work. Good work, hardly an exercise, as routine as any other assignment. Things began to change when Flariety noticed an exit the rest of the squad had missed leading to beneath the barn. Lucky casually dropped a grenade down it as he lit a cigarette. It’d been an amateur move on his part, but it made his squad laugh, and he looked like a bad ass. After the briefest of trembles from below, he and his boys, and Johnson, slid down the ladder to the basement below. Blood covered the walls. Limbs lay scattered about. Standing in the center was a lone Karniat. Even as Lucky raised his gun to fire, the Holyless bastard ran forward and grasped Flariety through the ribs, lifting him up and slamming him into the closest wall. It used what remained of his corpse to bash Lucky back, knocking him out.
He woke up screaming every curse he’d ever heard in any Realm. His fingers squeezed a trigger that wasn’t there, trying to shoot an enemy he’d killed over a year ago. Cooling sweat clung to him like sickly dew. Bile stung the back of his throat. Lucky had had the dream again. He hated it with the sort of inevitable passion usually reserved for relatives. But like the family he’d never had, he couldn’t rid himself of it. Drinking himself to sleep didn’t work, and the more mystic answers were garbage as far as he was concerned. Besides it was as much memory as dream, and nearly always cutting off at the same point where his recollection turned red with flame and blood. He doubted there was a priest or confederate who worked cheap enough to cover both products of a troubled psyche. Rolling over on the cheap, straw filled mattress, he grabbed at the half gone bottle of rum and took a grimacing swig from it. Sitting up he lit a cigarette and tried to guess the time. Judging by the gibbous moon’s glow he figured it for an hour or two until dawn. Something deep down and caustic stirred at the sight of the silvery orb. Standing up, he casually circled his room: one window with eastern exposure, a small three drawer dresser that he’d pushed in front of the thin wooden door, and four thinner walls that let the sound of every fart, moan and cry through. It was a stereotypically perfect place to lay low. He knew that anyone looking for him would have to go through a thousand such places to find him. Blowing out his smoke in casual rings, he continued to gulp down what passed for rum around here. He knew he wouldn’t get drunk, he hadn’t in eighteen months, but the familiar burn helped soothe him. Lucky picked up the gun he’d fallen asleep with from up off the floor and glared at it. He was an expert marksman, had mastered three different martial art forms and once even killed a guy with a spoon. But this thing, it was inside of him, in a place he didn’t know how to fight. He didn’t mind the way it made him feel weak as much as he hated having no way to deal with it. Laying back down he let the rum slowly slide the room into darkness.
An hour and a half later, woken by the sun’s rise, Lucky felt a dim relief that he hadn’t had the dream again that night. The fuller the moon got the worse the dreaming. Looking out his window at the slowly ascending sun, he could see the silvery outline of the moon; it was only a night or two from being completely fat and golden. In the back of his soul something chuckled. Lucky lit his first cigarette of the day and ignored it as best he could. When he’d been squad leader he could have himself and his gear ready for a combat situation in under three minutes. Exile had slowed him down to three and a half minutes. He knew he could do better, but it was a chore trying not to stick out too much in these back-water realms. An assault rifle, flak jacket and low grade explosives tended to draw unnecessary attention in places where people still used bows and arrows to hunt. The key was to be discrete without losing any of his equipment. An amateur would assume that just throwing a poncho on or wearing a cloak was enough, but Lucky knew better. A cloak was a good start, but carrying his heavier gear in an unobtrusive, yet easily accessible bag, having loose clothing to hide the light guns in and being familiar with the universal knife were the what separated amateurs from experts. It cost him thirty seconds most days, but it was a price he was willing to pay. Smoking out the small window of his rented room, Lucky considered his next move. He’d been in the Border Town of Reilto for nearly a week and a half now; it was time to move on. One of the many things keeping him alive had been his intimate knowledge of Karniat methodology. He knew they’d wait to discern what exactly he was, after which they’d attempt to classify him according to their Holy Tiers and at some point, possibly a week or a year after the whole process began, they’d try to hunt him down. Nineteen months had passed since he went A.W.O.L and he knew by now what constituted as looking for him. Wanted posters more than likely plastered every wall in every city and town in Karniat-controlled realms. Before too long he knew those same posters would find their way into Border Towns like this, and his face would be recognized in the Realms that over lapped in them. Growing a beard and letting his hair out would only get him so far. That really only left him one option; try to make it to a Realm opposed to Karniat rule, and make a life for himself there. He remembered hearing somewhere that mercenaries made decent coin. It was much, but it was a plan. Only he wanted information about what was happening to him. All he knew now was that he didn’t know enough about what was happening to fight it. He was a soldier, and a good one at that. He knew the best weapon any soldier had was his mind, and fighting an enemy you knew nothing about was suicide. It was a cliché, but like most of its ilk it was true. He tried convincing himself that just surviving was enough. Tried to lay low, not get killed or noticed but he knew it wouldn’t be long before whatever was inside him got loose. A chill ran up his spine at the thought of all that red. He shook himself out of his reverie. Flicking his butt out into the street, Lucky shook a fresh smoke from his pack. Lighting it he considered the little bits he did know. He got better faster, shook the small stuff off easily too. He remembered coming to that first time, covered in blood and a muck he could only describe as puss, snot and gross; since then he hadn’t been able to get drunk. He figured his body must be shrugging off tobacco too, because he smoked like a chimney and still craved more. There were the insidious hints, dark urgings he felt in the back of his mind. Finally he had noticed the sharpness in his senses; they weren’t just stronger than before, they were focused and enhanced. He could smell fear and taste anger, others seemed sluggishly slow, leaving small wakes of in their passing. It was disconcerting at first, but he’d grown comfortable with the advantages by now. The best he could figure was that the Karniat who’d killed most of his squad had done something to him. It was the only way to explain what he’d done, what he could do. They’d been told a Holyless was there, that it was a violent Karniat, but what kind exactly hadn’t been clear. Lucky knew that besides being able to transform into and summon their Karniats, some of them could also manipulate and control them as well. Maybe it manipulated something in him. In the darker part of himself the thing that had awoken that day stirred a little at the thought. “What?” Lucky whispered to himself. The only reply he received was another faint stirring, a vague prodding. It was different than the others he’d been ignoring, almost urgent with the subtlest hints of anticipation. Outside his hallway, the floor creaked. Reviewing his memories, he only now recognized the silence that had been settling around him while he’d chain smoked and navel gazed. He cursed himself for being such a freaking amateur. He should have noticed the lack of traffic on the street, how people were only exiting the cheap tenement. Whoever was outside must have come in from a back entrance, but evacuating people meant they had a reputation to keep. He figured he had less than two minutes before they burst through his door, guns, arrows, spells or whatever in the hells they had, blazing. It only took him forty-five seconds to get himself ready. Losing the cloak and the rest of his obfuscation he positioned his weapons. Two short katanas behind his back, a shotgun between them; sidearms at his waist and on his right ankle; a sheathed knife on his left leg. As he slung his submachine gun over his shoulder he braced his assault rifle. Lucky ignored the thing in the pit of his stomach that stirred with the thought of bloodshed and grinned: he might have let his guard down for a second but he knew these were amateurs he was dealing with. It was actually three minutes before they tried kicking in the door. It moved less than an inch. To its credit, the cheap dresser he’d put in front of it didn’t fall over or break. Lucky shot a line of fire, about a meter off the ground, just above the top of his pathetic barricade, and was rewarded with several screams and a few meaty thuds. Just under the smell of gunpowder he could taste the blood. Someone gave the order to scramble, return fire. Like the amateurs they were they aimed for where they would have been standing, shooting wildly at chest height. Rolling to the side opposite the opening in the door, Lucky waited. Of course one of them tried to peer around the door. He was rewarded with three bullets through his head. Lucky didn’t notice the predatory grin that slit across his face as the weight of the corpse forced the door the rest of the way open. One of the amateurs was thought he was smarter than the rest; a grenade rolled into the room. Lucky jumped onto the mattress and rolling away from the inevitable, he pulled the mattress onto himself. The problem with throwing a live explosive into tiny, cheaply made wooden room is that it speeds every splinter into shrapnel. Even under the densely packed mattress the roar was deafening, and he felt countless slivers of wood and debris cut into his skin: the cries outside gave him an idea how badly it’d gone for his opponents. He remained under the mattress, listening to the amateurs stomp in and look around for him. The bomb had shattered the window, but of course they assumed he’d jumped out of it. He felt the room go quiet as one of the more clever ones among them noticed how lumpy the mattress seemed, the sudden silence speaking volumes. Once they’d all surrounded him, just as he anticipated, one of them reached to lift it up. Idiots. Lucky leapt up with a roar, opening fire in a low, wide but tight arc. Only one amateur was left standing. He fumbled with his gun, slick from blood. Lucky grabbed him by the throat and threw him through the remains of the doorway. Bloodlust and that dark calling inside him demanded he storm out, urged him to violence and destruction. Looking at the gurgling form in the hallway in front of him, his vision blurred red at the edges. Forcing himself to breathe and focus, Lucky appraised the carnage. Compared to what he was packing, all these amateurs had was junk; The ammo wasn’t even compatible. Judging from what they were wearing they must have been local law enforcement. Fodder for the “better” troops downstairs. He could hear them forming up at the bottom of the stairs, trying to decide if they should surge up or smoke him out. “Amateurs,” Lucky hissed. “Look,” he shouted for them to hear, “I’m throwing down my weapon. Please don’t shoot I’m unarmed.” Lucky scooped up one of the guns off the locals and let it clatter down the stairs. Before it hit the bottom he leapt through the ruined window. Tumbling on impact, he threw one of his few grenades into the small lobby where the local militia was puzzling over the gun. He was yards away when it exploded. The darkness urged he stay and fight, that he kill and maim. It wanted him to dance in their blood. And Lucky wanted to too; he hadn’t had that much fun in a while, but he knew it was a matter of chance, especially against amateurs like that, before a stray bullet found its way somewhere vital. Swallowing his pride Lucky slunk down the back alleys, away from the violence that sung out for him.
Sunset found Lucky in the last place he expected to be, the Sunless Empire. According to the Karniat dogma he’d heard since they’d adopted him, Vampires were Unholy. A core tenant to the philosophy was that all things contained an inherent amount or lack of Purity. Most things (rocks, tree, and most animals) simply Were; they lacked the Purity to be considered Holy, but weren’t filled with the Evil that deemed them Unholy. The Karniats were, for the most part, considered Holy. Those with truly mythic Karniats, the likes of angels and griffins, were considered Awe-Holy, or so Pure they were almost deities. Vampires, being undead, fell into the Unholy category by default. If there was a Realm the Karniats wouldn’t extend their reach to, it was here. Lucky had managed to sneak onto a caravan passing along the Border, but had been forced to walk the rest of his solitary journey. It was probably better he was alone, since he’d run out of cigarettes hours ago and was ravenous. The Sunless Empire was actually a misnomer; the sun did rise and set daily, the days were simply shorter than those of most other Realms, lasting only six or seven hours even in the height of summer. The capitol city rose like a jagged ache in the center of the Realm, rending the sky from the network of caves and quagmires that bore its ugly weight. Though no one ever mistook it for a mountain, the stagnant heart of the Empire was visible from anywhere inside the Realm. The small icy range of mountains that rose from the otherwise featureless savannah looked insignificant next to the murky shadow the city cast. Lucky had been fortunate to find a small copse of trees a day or so journey from the scar he saw before him. What sparse game he’d found was greasy, tough and virtually tasteless. The small fire he’d started provided little warmth and less light. He would have literally killed for a beer and tried not to think of the genocide he was willing to commit for a cigarette. Forcing himself to ignore the nearly full moon above him, Lucky attempted to settle into a miserable night’s sleep.
Flashes of violence surged around him as he struggled to regain control. The few light bulbs that had lined the basement were shattered, emitting spastic sparkling bursts. Gunfire cut through the darkness. Lucky was certain he saw Mich’s face roll by. O’Riealy was folded in an unnatural angle in some corner .Madison could be heard sobbing somewhere out of sensory range. Just left of him were Flariety, Landon and Johnson. Trying to stand, it took him a beat for the fog to clear and realize that he was pinned under half the weight of O’Riealy. Pushing aside the twin impulses to sob and vomit, Lucky thrust the bulk of his dead companion off, and tried to get a bead on the Karniat. A thin haze of gun smoke fogged the room. Space was impossible to determine. The eruptions of light, coupled with its speed made it seem like there was more than one of them. Lucky heard Johnson shriek from somewhere to his left. There was a lull that followed that made Lucky want to cry. Somewhere closer than he felt comfortable with the Karniat laughed. Lucky felt its hot breath on his neck. He felt himself leave gravity and the air gasp from his lungs. He tried to yell for his team to fall back, cursed himself for not doing it sooner. In front of him, green eyes glowed.
Lucky realized three things simultaneously as he woke up. First, was that he had seen four eyes that night, one pair on top of the other. Further, was the unsettling realization that it had been his reflection, hazing in the smear of memory and blood. The most important fact, however, was that he was not alone. Having woken with a start, he went immediately for his gun, and aimed it at the darkness sitting at his feet. Silhouetted in the nearly full moon’s light it giggled. “You have exactly three seconds to tell me who you are and what you want.” Lucky cocked the gun, further emphasizing his point. The thing at his feet stood up and took a slight bow. A long, slim knife extended from its right hand. “Heh. Who? Who, who, who? Like a little owl.” The shaded voice lilted and warbled. “The who’s inconsequential. Just like a gun without bullets, heh.” Standing straight up with a slight flourish, it tilted its head towards Lucky’s gun. Lucky futilely depressed the trigger, cursing the way he’d let himself be made to look like an amateur. Throwing the gun, he reached for one of his melees, a rock or anything he could use to defend himself with. Whatever it was flew at him faster than he could see, a blur of shadow, and pressed the razor-edged knife to his throat. “Heh. Little demon boy’s got a short temper.” Lucky felt fairly certain whatever it was digging its knees into his chest was a he by this point, and his breathe stank. It smelled like rot and blood. He didn’t need the inky voice to tell him what it was. A vampire. “Heh. Ha ha. Once, but not now.” This close Lucky could make out the jagged features for his attackers dead face; sunken gold eyes, taunt leathery skin, and jagged broken teeth. Only his canines were intact, long ivory things that glistened in the moon’s light. “But that’s a long story. No time, and too much to do.” His voice evened out, becoming almost cordial. “If I let you up, do you and your little pet promise to play nice?” “Yes,” Lucky gulped, trying not to let the knife’s blade slice into his Adam’s apple. “NOT YOU!” The vampire roared at the top of its capacity. He sat up, pointing the knife at Lucky’s chest. “It. That. The thing. YOUR DEMON.” He voice scraped against Lucky’s nerves. Lucky felt something inside himself flutter. He felt a discomforting sensation, foreign and eerie; the invisible something inside agreed with the vampire. A shiver he wished he could control ran up his spine. “Heh. Okay. Sweet. You agree to play nice too? Little lucky soldier? Demon lad?” The vampire twirled a little as it asked in its sing-song voice. Nodding, Lucky sat up and appraised his assailant. He wore sneakers sockless, ripped shorts that looked like they’d once been pants, and a shirt with more stains than original material under a dirty, blackish duster. Lucky couldn’t see any armor or where the vampire had hidden the knife. “Good. Good. Good.” The vampire muttered, almost to itself. “You asked who and what, but you wonder why, and even considered what again, right? Wrong? Right. Ok.” He straightened up, and made an effort to dust off his clothes. “Who is Jakobe. Mad prophet, crazy cutter and dues ex vampira.” he mocked his head in an overly serious bow, “The agent of darkness and shadowy truth speak seeker. And you” the vampire lifted its head, and pointed a pale bony finger at Lucky. “Heh, You are the what I want.” Jakobe smiled at the end of his little speech. It almost hurt to look at the thin lips stretched so wide. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a cigar…” With a slight twist of his wrist, Jakobe produced a pack. Lucky swiped it out of his hand as quickly as the vampire had pounced on him. Fumbling through his pockets he grasped his lighter and lit it. “What do you want with me?” he exhaled. Jakobe made a raspberry and shook his head. “Wrong question. And no, I have no intention of dinner now. I don’t eat any more. Or sleep. It gives me more time to pursue… other interests. Heh. No, what you wanna ask, what’s buzzing around in that little head of yours, is ‘what in the Nine Hells is this guy? And what’s this demon he keeps babbling about?’ heh.” He smiled again as Lucky raised an eyebrow at the uncomfortably accurate imitation. Cautiously Lucky moved back over towards his gear. The clips to his guns were arranged in a neat pyramid that lay inside a triangle made from his swords and knife. His bag hadn’t been touched however. He set about relighting his campfire, eyeing the obviously unbalanced vampire as he did. “Do I actually need to be present for your rambling monologues?” he asked, the small sparks giving birth to flame for his campfire. “Or should I come back when you make sense?” The vampire continued smiling his broken, unnerving, jagged smile. “I’m not talking about your internal demons. But I’m guessing being an orphan turned killing machine can, heh, do that to you.” He squatted down on his heels, his uneven voice dropping low and fugitively, “I’m here to talk to you about that dark demon inside you. And how you can bring him… out to play.” His smile broke into an emotionless laughter that ripped through the night. “How do you know all this?” He’d rarely encountered vampires before, but only in a couple of skirmishes. He’d studied them a little, though. “I thought only the Vampyres read minds. But they’re supposed to be winged demons, and extinct.” “The lords aren’t all dead, but I know that ‘cause I do.” He opened his arms wide, “Vastly infinite cosmic knowledge, all the webs that fate tangles and the cross hairs of destiny,” he dramatically dropped his arms and raised his squeezed right pinkie and forefinger up, “all fogging up a dead man’s skull. I was a prophet before I died, and now I’m a dead prophet. Heh.” “Fine. What demon are you talking about? Is that what this thing…” he hesitated, unsure exactly what he was asking. “Is whatever’s been happening to me demonic? Are you saying I’m possessed? Because that sounds like a load of bull to me.” He threw his butt into the fire. It fit, in a way. But if that was the case it meant what had happened wasn’t his fault. If he had a demon inside it had to have been placed there. “Heh. Little soldier. Poor little soldier boy. A big bad dragon ate your family. Did you know that? In a little village in a little realm, a dragon went to town. Heh. Only one left was a Lucky little lad. Ever wonder why? Ever question how an eight year old only remembers flames ‘n’ fury? Heh.” That irrational smile; a happy corpse who lacked emotion. His words, that smile, pushed Lucky down into the dark corridors of seldom used memories . His recollections of early childhood were fractured at best. He knew he’d been raised somewhere rural and humid; a farm or something. He thought he might have had a few friends, maybe they were siblings. He remembered playing with them. And his parents. His dad was just a hazy face lost with the fade of time. But his mother. He could see her crying face, surrounded by flames, bathed in a full moon’s light.
His vision blurred red, veins burning beneath his skin. He wretched his arms forward, bashing the head in front of him. His fist wreathed in flames it still took three blows before the Karniat backed off. The drop to the ground was shorter than Lucky expected. Something kept stinging him in his arms. He pounced on it, instincts he didn’t remember having driving his feet into something soft and fleshy. As he brought his fist down on it he saw Johnson’s face. They let out a joint bellow.
“Heh. Did I touch a nerve?” Jakobe’s tone was inquisitive, cocking his head to the side he scrutinized Lucky. The light from the flames made the shadows around him dance. “Remembering your first moon lit dance?” A harsh wind blew up suddenly sending up a torrent of embers. Lost in the ballet of twin memories, Lucky didn’t notice them land on him or his . He wasn’t aware of how his skin soaked up the sparks, nor how they blistered and seared the equally absent Jakobe.
His mother was crying. He was almost certain he could hear people screaming, but the memory of his mother’s mouth moved soundlessly. Her skin was coated in soot; he could remember it being a pale olive tone when it was clean. She had green eyes, like him. Fire danced behind her, trying to grab her dress and flesh. She was putting him somewhere safe. Behind her, something guttural and violent slit through his memory. It was big and leathery. It stole her away from his sight.
Something new leapt on his back. He could feel his back and shoulders being slit by some new annoyance. Pulling himself out of the muck of Johnson, he tried to grasp at it. The Karniat rushed him, knocking him on his back. There was a squishing and crunching. Jumping to his feet, twisting to look behind himself, Lucky saw what remained of Madison. He turned his face back just in time for the Karniat to punch him in the face. He bit it’s arm, rending the flesh from it even as he drove his own fists into its body. The Karniat screamed, pain distorting it’s already tortured face. Spitting out the sickly tasting flesh, Lucky drove on; fists pistoning, then swinging in wide, furious arcs until it fell before him.
“Oh. I like this part: it’s so… touching. Heh. The loss of innocence.” Jakobe scooted forward, absently letting his matted hair fall across his eyes. Small wisps of smoke swirled up from his smoldering flesh. “Poor, poor little orphan. What’s that festering up from inside?” Embers glistened in his golden eyes, hell fire in halos.
It was someone’s basement, or maybe where they stored their tools. It smelled of moist earth. He gingerly stepped out of it. He remembered thinking he wasn’t going to stay there without his mother. Around him the village was bathed in flames. It’d been a dragon. He’d heard his parents say that. It was vaguely serpentine, at least twenty feet long. He remembered thinking it looked like a crocodile with wings. It had his mother in its jaws. He cried out for her. She was reaching out for him as it turned to face him. Spitting her casually aside, it sauntered towards him.
He continued hitting it, beating it to a pulp beneath his fist. As his fists began breaking through the stone beneath him, he let up. Viscera dripped from his fists as he looked at the butchery around himself. His team, his friends, lay scattered around in broken bits. Slowly rotating in place his eye fell on a mewling, tear streaked Landon. Landon’s gun clicked with each tug at its trigger, devoid of ammunition. Lucky stumbled towards him, extending his arm out he notice their size, the flames dancing across them, for the first time. Landon scrambled backwards, bumping his head on the ladder up. He slipped as he flew up it, only his frantic grappling keeping him from falling.
“Has the smoke cleared from the wreckage? Are all your eyes open? Three and four, kill ‘em some more. Heh heh.” The lunatic was so close Lucky could have felt the dry whisper of his breath if he’d been present. “Ride the wave if you can. Hey!” he slapped Lucky playfully, dead skin charring from the impact. “Can your Demon come out and play?”
Lucky had never known what had happened next. The following day, possibly the one after that, a Karniat patrol had found him alone and crying in the ashes of the ruined village. They’d given him his name then, assuming he’d spared whatever massacre that day by Fortune’s graces alone. But now he could see it, so clearly. The way he’d changed. The battle he’d had with the dragon. He could feel the rage that consumed him as he ripped the head from its torso. His mother, life slipping away from her as they embraced one final time.
Lucky let the scream that had been building up in him out. It sounded like a monster’s roar in his ears. He stopped, panting, feeling another build up inside him. He could sense something else building up too; a pressure and fury like he’d never known before. He let out another sobbing bellow, and felt the pressure go as everything around him lit up with his misery.
His flesh roiled and writhed beneath his skin. Above his eyes, his skin began to bulge and crack. Jakobe slid away from him, ashes from the dead campfire marring his skin ebony. For a tense moment there was only silence and the moon’s glow. Slowly the veins beneath Lucky’s skin began to glow like magma. The slits above his eyes sprouted flames. Laughing with maniacal glee, Jakobe rolled into the grass. Lucky tried to stand up, instead clucking his sides he stumbled and fell. Inside his head the past and the present tumbled. He was a scared little boy, fighting to save his mother; a squad leader without a squad, besieged; a restless fugitive startled by a mad man. He was a man with a demon inside him, a demon that was struggling to break free. It was too much. The wrath in his blood longed to obliterate the world. “NOOO!!!” the world shook with the word. Muscles burst, ripping apart his clothes. Talons and flame erupted from his digits. His bulk cracked the earth as he rose to his feet. Shaking his head, loosing the horns hidden in his skull, Lucky suffered every stretch, tear and explosion of his flesh. He was drowning in the blood thirst. His pain longed for companionship. His rage sought out the catalyst for his change; Jakobe. Stumbling up from the brush, tripping momentarily, Jakobe rose with a feral smirk. They stood like that for an eternity of seconds; the fiery demon and the moon drenched mad man. Twenty yards were closed in three massive strides. Something like shock stole across the undead man’s face as Lucky’s body lifted him by the throat. The embers from the massive arm swirled around Jakobe’s head, peeling away the layers. The grinning skull laughed as patches of meat fell off. A flourish of his arm and seven inches of metal drove into the vice around his throat. “Heh. You are fun.” His voice sounded flat without flesh to reverberate off of. The demon swatted at him, launching him back. “Oh, are we dancing now!” He flit into a patch of shadow as the thing controlling Lucky bound at where he’d been. “Too slow.” Bits of tissues scrambled across his face, knitting itself together. “I could do this all night long.” He flipped backwards as clawed feet kicked up at him. “You.” He stabbed the beast’s side, molten blood oozing from the wound. “Are,” jumping up, he kicked it in the head toppling it to its back. “An amateur.” He pounced on the demon’s chest. “Amateur. Amateur. Amateur. Amateur. Amateur.” Prancing atop his fallen foe he punctuated each pronunciation with kicks and stabs. “You, are a stupid, brutish amateur.” So saying, he slit across the demon’s throat. “Stupid punks always think power and skill blah blah blah.” He stepped off, and sauntered towards the remains of Lucky’s camp. The body behind him withered.
Morning found the two of them sitting across the trampled remains of Lucky’s camp fire. Jakobe squatted on his haunches, muttering incoherent and indecisively to himself. Occasionally he looked at the rising sun and smiled his soulless grin. Most of his face was back. Lucky stared broodingly into the charcoal. The caked blood fell in gentle flakes over the remains of his pack of cigarettes. He hadn’t spoken to the vampire since he’d returned over three hours ago. All he could do was replay the night’s events over in his mind. And chain smoke. His own anger was spent, but he could still feel the sinister thing pacing restlessly inside him. He looked up at Jakobe, not entirely surprised to find the vampire returning his gaze. “I thought sunlight killed your kind, “ he gestured towards the pile of ash and blood at his feet. “Shouldn’t you look like a bigger pile of that?” “Heh. I’m a curious case.” He mimed opening a book.” Jakobe. Noun; former vampire, crazy soothe sayer, and ketchup connoisseur. Heh.” He pretended to close the book. He wretched his neck in a sudden jerk to the side, an awkward cracking followed. He repeated this process with every joint in his body. Feeling a sudden need to be in motion himself Lucky began to assemble his gear. He had is guns loaded and was removing the last uniform he’d stolen when he realized the not vampire was speaking. “This is the story of a little boy, from a little town in a little realm.” He lifted his head up and stared somewhere just past Lucky’s shoulder. “ And Lucky was he, in every senses of such a nonsensical word.” In an eerily serpentine manner he rose, removed his jacket, folded it over his arm and bowed. “You see this little lad was born under, heh, stars auspicious to the humble village.” Stretching out his right arm he grasp a sleeve from his duster. For one distracted moment Lucky smiled at the sight. “Oh, and twice blessed was the child for he had born with his soul another; a Karniat. But there was something… off about this little spirit and it’s boy. Heh.” Holding where a waist would be, Jakobe began to parody a waltz; twirling and dipping as he went. “This Lucky little boy, born under the stars of a hero, sharing a soul with a demon. Oh, the cruel games of fate. So the family called a man highly holy, who did a lowly thing and put the demon to sleep. So it went, the demon dreaming of the boy’s dreary existence; the boy doing, heh, boy things. ‘Til the day came when a dragon came to play.” Lucky had deduced most of what the mad man was babbling about himself, and had been doing his best to ignore the prancing mad man as he assembled his equipment. Securing the last of it, he lit his third from last cigarette. He might of wanted to kill the freak before, but his current antics were at least entertaining. “ And that demon felt itself rouse and killed for the little boy. Bang, boom, whish, the demon, heh, the demon and the dragon danced. And when it was all over the boy, being very stupid (it’s a great likelihood he was dropped on his head repeatedly as a child), assumed all the demon wrought was flame and chaos.” Lucky disregarded the dark gnawing at his soul, disregarded Jakobe’s slow revolutions his way.. “So when the demon went to sleep again the boy put his less literal devils to bed with it. But he lived a life that gave the demon such happy little dreams; murder and murder and murder.” Leaning in close to Lucky, he flipped his coat on again. “You wanna know the funny part though? The stupid boy was wrong as a baby; he fed the demon fire and hate. It’s his demon, not the other way around.” Smiling that dead sneer, he walked on, heading away from the chiseled outline of the city. Moments later, gear settled into familiar places, Lucky made his way in the opposite direction, wishing he wasn’t mulling over the last nights events.
It was easy enough to eke out a miserable existence for himself in Canaan, the torpid seat of the Vampiric Empire. The first few weeks had been tough though. Work was easy enough for an ex-soldier to find among the onyx spires, but it was all amateur stuff. Guard this, kill them, beat him; it paid the rent but that was all. He could feel the dark pressure building inside, hungry for carnage. Part of him wanted it to snap, if only to break the uniformity. It was a new moon out, a hollow phantom in the starry night. The denizens of the city locked their doors tighter on such nights; they were supposed to bring ill fortune. Lucky didn’t believe in such quaint superstitions, strolling the cobblestone streets in near isolation. Inside the hungry thing paced, equally restless. The clicking of footfall behind him brought a smile to Lucky’s face. In between jobs he’d been practicing, looking for a real test. The Karniat’s had placed a bounty on all Holyless, their response to his elusion. A list of the most valuable had been released, his service picture third form the top. After seeing it for the first time Lucky shaved the rough stubble he’d grown and trimmed his unruly locks. All of the next day he could be found in some of the worst taverns in the more dangerous districts. Lucky closed his eyes, listening closely. There were four of them. They had the distinct miasma of sour blood, the faint lack of a heartbeat. Vampires. Inside him the tense thing flexed. One them crept ahead of him, taking a back alley to slip past him. Another stole beside him, the faint whisper of a knife being unsheathed. Amateurs. Lucky’s foot slithered out, tripping the one beside him. The sound of ground meeting dead flesh. Lucky stepped onto the fallen foe, a sudden pivoting and his blunt palm flew into another, the would be flanker. A pleased feeling as he felt the bone inside the nose connect with the brain above. Behind him the whooshing of something blunt. He fell flat, rolling off his first victim. Springing up from his hands, twisting to increase the force of impact, Lucky’s feet landed squarely in number three’s chest. Somersaulting as he landed he felt the blade of the fourth “attacker” slide into his side. His arm came down, twined around the offending limb and straightened. Lucky felt and heard the snapping that resulted. Pulling the knife from his side he shoved it squarely between its owner’s eyes. The two that he hadn’t incapacitated, Numbers One and Three, slowly circled him. Lucky wasn’t entirely sure, but they seemed to be attempting to look menacing. Casually he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his vest’s pocket and put one to his lips. It seemed to offend Number Three who swung his club. Lucky ducked, reached up and grappled it out of his hand. Number Three hadn’t notice Number Two was in his path and promptly fell. Lucky shove the club through his spine. Number One turned to run. A quick flick of his wrist, a sudden twist, and Lucky had his arm twisted behind his back. Lucky punched his supposed assailant in the back, his demon’s strength flowing into his arm. Under the baleful gaze of the new moon’s darkness, the vampire’s face registered confusion. Anguish and torture quickly replaced the sudden shock. Red, ashen tears splattered on the ground before it’s sunken face. Lucky pushed him down, removing the blaze of his fist. The no longer undead man slid to his knees, the torso fell and disintegrated as the fist sized atrophy spread. “Amateurs.” Lucky revealed in the cliché as he lit his cigarette with his fist. Inside him, at the back of his soul, his demon settled comfortably in, waiting for the next opportunity when it would be allowed to come out and dance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- some quick notes to answer a few questions my girlfrind asked when she read this:
*Jakobe is based on a Malkavian (Vampire: the Masquerade), that was based on if the Joker was psychic and almost a decent guy. I made him up about five or six years ago, so it's not meant to invoke Heath Ledger.
*i know squat about guns, explosions or fighting, so if this seems too unlikely chalk it up to lack of knowledge.
*I personally smoke about a pack a day, and Lucky Strikes were the first kind I ever smoked. So that's how Lucky got his name. He's not meant to be a mystical Hulk, but that's how he ended up.
Private Mod Note
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Teroza Veg'Ra, Druidic Archmage :4mana::symg::symu::symug:
Planeswalker- Teroza
{+2}: Reveal the top card of your Library. If a Land card is revealed this way put it into the Battlefield. Otherwise put it into your hand.
{-3}: Put a 1/1 Blue-Green Frog token into the Battlefield for each card in your Hand.
{-11}: For each opponent choose a creature that player controls. Put three +1/+1 counters on and gain control of each creature choosen this way.
{7}
Adherence to Prompt (0-5): You worked all three elements in. 5/5
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): “It was much, but it was a plan.” I think that’s supposed to be, “it wasn’t much…” Also, “He might of wanted to kill the freak before,” should be, “He might have wanted…” The swapping of “of” for “have” is a pet peeve of mine, I admit, but you had several grammatical gaffes in here. 3/5
Characterization (0-10): Lucky is a pretty flat character. He’s a soldier/mercenary, grizzled by the combat he’s so good at. Nothing unique there. He also has a demon inside him. That’s different, but not unheard of. I didn’t really find him compelling, and that made it tough to root for him. Jakobe was a more interesting character, even if his craziness felt a little clichéd and annoying. 5/10
Plot and Structure (0-10): The structure was fine. Your use of flashbacks was effective for the story. I must confess that I’m not really sure what the plot was, though. Lucky apparently wants to be rid of the demon inside him, but at the end, he doesn’t. And even though Jakobe defeats the demon, he doesn’t kill it, and it’s still inside of Lucky. You said this was part of a larger whole. Without the rest of it, I found the plot pretty puzzling and threadbare. 4/10
Style (0-10): “Lucky didn’t notice the predatory grin that slit across his face as the weight of the corpse forced the door the rest of the way open.” (“Slit” should be “slid,” btw.) Of course Lucky didn’t notice the grin—he’s the POV character and can’t see his own face. Why mention it? If you’re going to write in the third person and use a POV character, then that character (and your narrative) are confined to what that character sees, hears, knows, etc. Other than that, your style was OK, but it never struck me as terribly original. The characters don’t feel original, and I guess that spread to the rest of the story. 6/10
Creativity (0-10): I liked the different locales, and the descriptions made them seem very different from one another. I can also tell that you’ve put a lot of thought into the backstory of this character and the world he inhabits. Maybe a short piece wasn’t the best way to show those off. 7/10
Robinightwing: Lucky Devil Adherence to Prompt (0-5): It has a devilish character, and moonlight, both used well within the story. 5.
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): I wish I could give half points, because it's not a 5. But it's not a 3. But it's worse than Daivos's. There's a couple times ... stuff like “A list of the most valuable had been released, his service picture third form the top.” Form instead of from. But you get a 4 for this – it's inherently harder to edit a larger story, after all.
Characterization (0-10): You get to know who Lucky is through his actions, and the characters around him [apart from the nameless guys that are just there to be beaten down] are interesting and fleshed out. You're eased into who the characters are adeptly. 9.
Plot and Structure (0-10): The story is cohesive. It makes sense. You understand why scenes change from one to the other, and it provides a nice picture of the surroundings. There's a couple weaknesses - the first italicized part contradicts what actually happens later in the story. 9.
Style (0-10): The style is perfect for the story: it's descriptive without being overbearing. I sense some flickers of military regements, obviously [from the beginning], and it's all told in a very matter-of-fact way from the main character's perspective. 9.
Creativity (0-10): This story takes what is normally an incredibly boring, cliched scenario – person with dead family taking revenge – and infuses it. I wasn't bored. 9. Total: 45 points I liked it, kept reading when I was just supposed to do a quick glance-over. The story, like all stories ever written, could use tightening up, but it's good. With some editing, I could see it as a lead-in to some kind of large book [as you said it was], though I'm unsure if you can keep the sense of 'old feeling new again' like you do here running all the way through.
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my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Relevance to Prompt: The 3 criterias are easily met in your story. 5/5
S&G: Solid, overall. I found a few errors here and there but all in all excusable. 4/5
Characterization: Your main character seems too inconsistent for me to really grasp. At times he seems devoid of any feeling and emotion, and at others it feels like he should merit the audience's sympathy. Jakobe is a hard sell as well. He seems too stereotypical of the deranged and crazed lunatic. The side-characters were just that as well. 5/10
Plot/Structure: Your story was overty long, and not too rewarding for the length of the story. But, it did have a solid foundation for the structuring, and plot... even if a bit, predictable. 6/10
Style: The style is very solid, and there were some very vivid and well thought-out lines throughout the story. It was probably one of the few factors that made me see the story through. 8/10
Creativity: I'll be brutally honest with you. The story was boring for me, and I had to practically force myself to read line after line. I admit, I'm a hard bargain when it comes to selling something like the Action//Supernatural genre but this was just too long and too much for me. Excuse me for the blatant bias here, but this was a painful read for me. 4/10
Overall: 32/50
I can see it now. Lucky Devil starring Wesley Snipes. I'll admit your story is the only story of the bunch that I didn't give at least two full read-throughs. The first time, I practically forced myself and the second time I just kind of skimmed through. Didn't even bother touching for a third-go. But the style, and the potential is there. I would really like to see something that is not of the Action genre from you. (And nothing too long either, I hope. :p)
thanks everyone for leaving such valuble information.
as i mentioned this was my first attempt, and i've got to admit i was a little worried of feeling like crap after i read the judgings... instead i feel really incouraged and can't wait for the next go round
Private Mod Note
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Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Teroza Veg'Ra, Druidic Archmage :4mana::symg::symu::symug:
Planeswalker- Teroza
{+2}: Reveal the top card of your Library. If a Land card is revealed this way put it into the Battlefield. Otherwise put it into your hand.
{-3}: Put a 1/1 Blue-Green Frog token into the Battlefield for each card in your Hand.
{-11}: For each opponent choose a creature that player controls. Put three +1/+1 counters on and gain control of each creature choosen this way.
{7}
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Oh, and good Luck to everyone else. Please enjoy. Thanks
Moving towards the barn his team was as professional as silent death can be. They were the Elites; Hunter-Killers, squad 3. Up ahead, a bunch of amateurs who thought having heart meant they stood a chance. They didn’t.
Flariety and Johnson swung in first, from the back, waiting until Madison and O’Riealy opened fire from the front before picking off the distracted amateurs. Lucky ordered the two remaining members of his squad, Mich and Landon, forward; they tossed in a couple of the louder, more explosive grenades from their arsenal and, with Luck as point man, swept in to level anyone stupid enough to have not gone down with the grenade.
A quick survey revealed twelve dead, four soon to be dead and all seven members of the squad alive. So far it was routine work. Good work, hardly an exercise, as routine as any other assignment.
Things began to change when Flariety noticed an exit the rest of the squad had missed leading to beneath the barn. Lucky casually dropped a grenade down it as he lit a cigarette. It’d been an amateur move on his part, but it made his squad laugh, and he looked like a bad ass. After the briefest of trembles from below, he and his boys, and Johnson, slid down the ladder to the basement below.
Blood covered the walls. Limbs lay scattered about. Standing in the center was a lone Karniat. Even as Lucky raised his gun to fire, the Holyless bastard ran forward and grasped Flariety through the ribs, lifting him up and slamming him into the closest wall. It used what remained of his corpse to bash Lucky back, knocking him out.
He woke up screaming every curse he’d ever heard in any Realm. His fingers squeezed a trigger that wasn’t there, trying to shoot an enemy he’d killed over a year ago. Cooling sweat clung to him like sickly dew. Bile stung the back of his throat.
Lucky had had the dream again. He hated it with the sort of inevitable passion usually reserved for relatives. But like the family he’d never had, he couldn’t rid himself of it. Drinking himself to sleep didn’t work, and the more mystic answers were garbage as far as he was concerned. Besides it was as much memory as dream, and nearly always cutting off at the same point where his recollection turned red with flame and blood. He doubted there was a priest or confederate who worked cheap enough to cover both products of a troubled psyche.
Rolling over on the cheap, straw filled mattress, he grabbed at the half gone bottle of rum and took a grimacing swig from it. Sitting up he lit a cigarette and tried to guess the time. Judging by the gibbous moon’s glow he figured it for an hour or two until dawn. Something deep down and caustic stirred at the sight of the silvery orb.
Standing up, he casually circled his room: one window with eastern exposure, a small three drawer dresser that he’d pushed in front of the thin wooden door, and four thinner walls that let the sound of every fart, moan and cry through. It was a stereotypically perfect place to lay low. He knew that anyone looking for him would have to go through a thousand such places to find him.
Blowing out his smoke in casual rings, he continued to gulp down what passed for rum around here. He knew he wouldn’t get drunk, he hadn’t in eighteen months, but the familiar burn helped soothe him. Lucky picked up the gun he’d fallen asleep with from up off the floor and glared at it. He was an expert marksman, had mastered three different martial art forms and once even killed a guy with a spoon. But this thing, it was inside of him, in a place he didn’t know how to fight. He didn’t mind the way it made him feel weak as much as he hated having no way to deal with it. Laying back down he let the rum slowly slide the room into darkness.
An hour and a half later, woken by the sun’s rise, Lucky felt a dim relief that he hadn’t had the dream again that night. The fuller the moon got the worse the dreaming. Looking out his window at the slowly ascending sun, he could see the silvery outline of the moon; it was only a night or two from being completely fat and golden. In the back of his soul something chuckled. Lucky lit his first cigarette of the day and ignored it as best he could.
When he’d been squad leader he could have himself and his gear ready for a combat situation in under three minutes. Exile had slowed him down to three and a half minutes. He knew he could do better, but it was a chore trying not to stick out too much in these back-water realms. An assault rifle, flak jacket and low grade explosives tended to draw unnecessary attention in places where people still used bows and arrows to hunt. The key was to be discrete without losing any of his equipment. An amateur would assume that just throwing a poncho on or wearing a cloak was enough, but Lucky knew better. A cloak was a good start, but carrying his heavier gear in an unobtrusive, yet easily accessible bag, having loose clothing to hide the light guns in and being familiar with the universal knife were the what separated amateurs from experts. It cost him thirty seconds most days, but it was a price he was willing to pay.
Smoking out the small window of his rented room, Lucky considered his next move. He’d been in the Border Town of Reilto for nearly a week and a half now; it was time to move on. One of the many things keeping him alive had been his intimate knowledge of Karniat methodology. He knew they’d wait to discern what exactly he was, after which they’d attempt to classify him according to their Holy Tiers and at some point, possibly a week or a year after the whole process began, they’d try to hunt him down.
Nineteen months had passed since he went A.W.O.L and he knew by now what constituted as looking for him. Wanted posters more than likely plastered every wall in every city and town in Karniat-controlled realms. Before too long he knew those same posters would find their way into Border Towns like this, and his face would be recognized in the Realms that over lapped in them. Growing a beard and letting his hair out would only get him so far. That really only left him one option; try to make it to a Realm opposed to Karniat rule, and make a life for himself there. He remembered hearing somewhere that mercenaries made decent coin. It was much, but it was a plan.
Only he wanted information about what was happening to him. All he knew now was that he didn’t know enough about what was happening to fight it. He was a soldier, and a good one at that. He knew the best weapon any soldier had was his mind, and fighting an enemy you knew nothing about was suicide. It was a cliché, but like most of its ilk it was true. He tried convincing himself that just surviving was enough. Tried to lay low, not get killed or noticed but he knew it wouldn’t be long before whatever was inside him got loose. A chill ran up his spine at the thought of all that red.
He shook himself out of his reverie. Flicking his butt out into the street, Lucky shook a fresh smoke from his pack. Lighting it he considered the little bits he did know. He got better faster, shook the small stuff off easily too. He remembered coming to that first time, covered in blood and a muck he could only describe as puss, snot and gross; since then he hadn’t been able to get drunk. He figured his body must be shrugging off tobacco too, because he smoked like a chimney and still craved more. There were the insidious hints, dark urgings he felt in the back of his mind. Finally he had noticed the sharpness in his senses; they weren’t just stronger than before, they were focused and enhanced. He could smell fear and taste anger, others seemed sluggishly slow, leaving small wakes of in their passing. It was disconcerting at first, but he’d grown comfortable with the advantages by now.
The best he could figure was that the Karniat who’d killed most of his squad had done something to him. It was the only way to explain what he’d done, what he could do. They’d been told a Holyless was there, that it was a violent Karniat, but what kind exactly hadn’t been clear. Lucky knew that besides being able to transform into and summon their Karniats, some of them could also manipulate and control them as well. Maybe it manipulated something in him. In the darker part of himself the thing that had awoken that day stirred a little at the thought.
“What?” Lucky whispered to himself. The only reply he received was another faint stirring, a vague prodding. It was different than the others he’d been ignoring, almost urgent with the subtlest hints of anticipation.
Outside his hallway, the floor creaked. Reviewing his memories, he only now recognized the silence that had been settling around him while he’d chain smoked and navel gazed. He cursed himself for being such a freaking amateur. He should have noticed the lack of traffic on the street, how people were only exiting the cheap tenement. Whoever was outside must have come in from a back entrance, but evacuating people meant they had a reputation to keep. He figured he had less than two minutes before they burst through his door, guns, arrows, spells or whatever in the hells they had, blazing.
It only took him forty-five seconds to get himself ready. Losing the cloak and the rest of his obfuscation he positioned his weapons. Two short katanas behind his back, a shotgun between them; sidearms at his waist and on his right ankle; a sheathed knife on his left leg. As he slung his submachine gun over his shoulder he braced his assault rifle. Lucky ignored the thing in the pit of his stomach that stirred with the thought of bloodshed and grinned: he might have let his guard down for a second but he knew these were amateurs he was dealing with.
It was actually three minutes before they tried kicking in the door. It moved less than an inch. To its credit, the cheap dresser he’d put in front of it didn’t fall over or break. Lucky shot a line of fire, about a meter off the ground, just above the top of his pathetic barricade, and was rewarded with several screams and a few meaty thuds. Just under the smell of gunpowder he could taste the blood.
Someone gave the order to scramble, return fire. Like the amateurs they were they aimed for where they would have been standing, shooting wildly at chest height. Rolling to the side opposite the opening in the door, Lucky waited. Of course one of them tried to peer around the door. He was rewarded with three bullets through his head. Lucky didn’t notice the predatory grin that slit across his face as the weight of the corpse forced the door the rest of the way open.
One of the amateurs was thought he was smarter than the rest; a grenade rolled into the room. Lucky jumped onto the mattress and rolling away from the inevitable, he pulled the mattress onto himself. The problem with throwing a live explosive into tiny, cheaply made wooden room is that it speeds every splinter into shrapnel. Even under the densely packed mattress the roar was deafening, and he felt countless slivers of wood and debris cut into his skin: the cries outside gave him an idea how badly it’d gone for his opponents.
He remained under the mattress, listening to the amateurs stomp in and look around for him. The bomb had shattered the window, but of course they assumed he’d jumped out of it. He felt the room go quiet as one of the more clever ones among them noticed how lumpy the mattress seemed, the sudden silence speaking volumes. Once they’d all surrounded him, just as he anticipated, one of them reached to lift it up. Idiots. Lucky leapt up with a roar, opening fire in a low, wide but tight arc. Only one amateur was left standing. He fumbled with his gun, slick from blood. Lucky grabbed him by the throat and threw him through the remains of the doorway.
Bloodlust and that dark calling inside him demanded he storm out, urged him to violence and destruction. Looking at the gurgling form in the hallway in front of him, his vision blurred red at the edges. Forcing himself to breathe and focus, Lucky appraised the carnage. Compared to what he was packing, all these amateurs had was junk; The ammo wasn’t even compatible. Judging from what they were wearing they must have been local law enforcement. Fodder for the “better” troops downstairs.
He could hear them forming up at the bottom of the stairs, trying to decide if they should surge up or smoke him out.
“Amateurs,” Lucky hissed. “Look,” he shouted for them to hear, “I’m throwing down my weapon. Please don’t shoot I’m unarmed.” Lucky scooped up one of the guns off the locals and let it clatter down the stairs. Before it hit the bottom he leapt through the ruined window. Tumbling on impact, he threw one of his few grenades into the small lobby where the local militia was puzzling over the gun. He was yards away when it exploded.
The darkness urged he stay and fight, that he kill and maim. It wanted him to dance in their blood. And Lucky wanted to too; he hadn’t had that much fun in a while, but he knew it was a matter of chance, especially against amateurs like that, before a stray bullet found its way somewhere vital. Swallowing his pride Lucky slunk down the back alleys, away from the violence that sung out for him.
Sunset found Lucky in the last place he expected to be, the Sunless Empire. According to the Karniat dogma he’d heard since they’d adopted him, Vampires were Unholy. A core tenant to the philosophy was that all things contained an inherent amount or lack of Purity. Most things (rocks, tree, and most animals) simply Were; they lacked the Purity to be considered Holy, but weren’t filled with the Evil that deemed them Unholy. The Karniats were, for the most part, considered Holy. Those with truly mythic Karniats, the likes of angels and griffins, were considered Awe-Holy, or so Pure they were almost deities. Vampires, being undead, fell into the Unholy category by default.
If there was a Realm the Karniats wouldn’t extend their reach to, it was here. Lucky had managed to sneak onto a caravan passing along the Border, but had been forced to walk the rest of his solitary journey. It was probably better he was alone, since he’d run out of cigarettes hours ago and was ravenous.
The Sunless Empire was actually a misnomer; the sun did rise and set daily, the days were simply shorter than those of most other Realms, lasting only six or seven hours even in the height of summer. The capitol city rose like a jagged ache in the center of the Realm, rending the sky from the network of caves and quagmires that bore its ugly weight. Though no one ever mistook it for a mountain, the stagnant heart of the Empire was visible from anywhere inside the Realm. The small icy range of mountains that rose from the otherwise featureless savannah looked insignificant next to the murky shadow the city cast.
Lucky had been fortunate to find a small copse of trees a day or so journey from the scar he saw before him. What sparse game he’d found was greasy, tough and virtually tasteless. The small fire he’d started provided little warmth and less light. He would have literally killed for a beer and tried not to think of the genocide he was willing to commit for a cigarette. Forcing himself to ignore the nearly full moon above him, Lucky attempted to settle into a miserable night’s sleep.
Flashes of violence surged around him as he struggled to regain control. The few light bulbs that had lined the basement were shattered, emitting spastic sparkling bursts. Gunfire cut through the darkness. Lucky was certain he saw Mich’s face roll by. O’Riealy was folded in an unnatural angle in some corner .Madison could be heard sobbing somewhere out of sensory range. Just left of him were Flariety, Landon and Johnson.
Trying to stand, it took him a beat for the fog to clear and realize that he was pinned under half the weight of O’Riealy. Pushing aside the twin impulses to sob and vomit, Lucky thrust the bulk of his dead companion off, and tried to get a bead on the Karniat.
A thin haze of gun smoke fogged the room. Space was impossible to determine. The eruptions of light, coupled with its speed made it seem like there was more than one of them. Lucky heard Johnson shriek from somewhere to his left. There was a lull that followed that made Lucky want to cry.
Somewhere closer than he felt comfortable with the Karniat laughed. Lucky felt its hot breath on his neck. He felt himself leave gravity and the air gasp from his lungs. He tried to yell for his team to fall back, cursed himself for not doing it sooner. In front of him, green eyes glowed.
Lucky realized three things simultaneously as he woke up. First, was that he had seen four eyes that night, one pair on top of the other. Further, was the unsettling realization that it had been his reflection, hazing in the smear of memory and blood. The most important fact, however, was that he was not alone. Having woken with a start, he went immediately for his gun, and aimed it at the darkness sitting at his feet. Silhouetted in the nearly full moon’s light it giggled.
“You have exactly three seconds to tell me who you are and what you want.” Lucky cocked the gun, further emphasizing his point. The thing at his feet stood up and took a slight bow. A long, slim knife extended from its right hand.
“Heh. Who? Who, who, who? Like a little owl.” The shaded voice lilted and warbled. “The who’s inconsequential. Just like a gun without bullets, heh.” Standing straight up with a slight flourish, it tilted its head towards Lucky’s gun. Lucky futilely depressed the trigger, cursing the way he’d let himself be made to look like an amateur. Throwing the gun, he reached for one of his melees, a rock or anything he could use to defend himself with. Whatever it was flew at him faster than he could see, a blur of shadow, and pressed the razor-edged knife to his throat.
“Heh. Little demon boy’s got a short temper.” Lucky felt fairly certain whatever it was digging its knees into his chest was a he by this point, and his breathe stank. It smelled like rot and blood. He didn’t need the inky voice to tell him what it was. A vampire.
“Heh. Ha ha. Once, but not now.” This close Lucky could make out the jagged features for his attackers dead face; sunken gold eyes, taunt leathery skin, and jagged broken teeth. Only his canines were intact, long ivory things that glistened in the moon’s light. “But that’s a long story. No time, and too much to do.” His voice evened out, becoming almost cordial. “If I let you up, do you and your little pet promise to play nice?”
“Yes,” Lucky gulped, trying not to let the knife’s blade slice into his Adam’s apple.
“NOT YOU!” The vampire roared at the top of its capacity. He sat up, pointing the knife at Lucky’s chest. “It. That. The thing. YOUR DEMON.” He voice scraped against Lucky’s nerves.
Lucky felt something inside himself flutter. He felt a discomforting sensation, foreign and eerie; the invisible something inside agreed with the vampire. A shiver he wished he could control ran up his spine.
“Heh. Okay. Sweet. You agree to play nice too? Little lucky soldier? Demon lad?” The vampire twirled a little as it asked in its sing-song voice. Nodding, Lucky sat up and appraised his assailant. He wore sneakers sockless, ripped shorts that looked like they’d once been pants, and a shirt with more stains than original material under a dirty, blackish duster. Lucky couldn’t see any armor or where the vampire had hidden the knife.
“Good. Good. Good.” The vampire muttered, almost to itself. “You asked who and what, but you wonder why, and even considered what again, right? Wrong? Right. Ok.” He straightened up, and made an effort to dust off his clothes. “Who is Jakobe. Mad prophet, crazy cutter and dues ex vampira.” he mocked his head in an overly serious bow, “The agent of darkness and shadowy truth speak seeker. And you” the vampire lifted its head, and pointed a pale bony finger at Lucky. “Heh, You are the what I want.” Jakobe smiled at the end of his little speech. It almost hurt to look at the thin lips stretched so wide.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a cigar…” With a slight twist of his wrist, Jakobe produced a pack. Lucky swiped it out of his hand as quickly as the vampire had pounced on him. Fumbling through his pockets he grasped his lighter and lit it. “What do you want with me?” he exhaled.
Jakobe made a raspberry and shook his head. “Wrong question. And no, I have no intention of dinner now. I don’t eat any more. Or sleep. It gives me more time to pursue… other interests. Heh. No, what you wanna ask, what’s buzzing around in that little head of yours, is ‘what in the Nine Hells is this guy? And what’s this demon he keeps babbling about?’ heh.” He smiled again as Lucky raised an eyebrow at the uncomfortably accurate imitation.
Cautiously Lucky moved back over towards his gear. The clips to his guns were arranged in a neat pyramid that lay inside a triangle made from his swords and knife. His bag hadn’t been touched however. He set about relighting his campfire, eyeing the obviously unbalanced vampire as he did.
“Do I actually need to be present for your rambling monologues?” he asked, the small sparks giving birth to flame for his campfire. “Or should I come back when you make sense?”
The vampire continued smiling his broken, unnerving, jagged smile. “I’m not talking about your internal demons. But I’m guessing being an orphan turned killing machine can, heh, do that to you.” He squatted down on his heels, his uneven voice dropping low and fugitively, “I’m here to talk to you about that dark demon inside you. And how you can bring him… out to play.” His smile broke into an emotionless laughter that ripped through the night.
“How do you know all this?” He’d rarely encountered vampires before, but only in a couple of skirmishes. He’d studied them a little, though. “I thought only the Vampyres read minds. But they’re supposed to be winged demons, and extinct.”
“The lords aren’t all dead, but I know that ‘cause I do.” He opened his arms wide, “Vastly infinite cosmic knowledge, all the webs that fate tangles and the cross hairs of destiny,” he dramatically dropped his arms and raised his squeezed right pinkie and forefinger up, “all fogging up a dead man’s skull. I was a prophet before I died, and now I’m a dead prophet. Heh.”
“Fine. What demon are you talking about? Is that what this thing…” he hesitated, unsure exactly what he was asking. “Is whatever’s been happening to me demonic? Are you saying I’m possessed? Because that sounds like a load of bull to me.” He threw his butt into the fire. It fit, in a way. But if that was the case it meant what had happened wasn’t his fault. If he had a demon inside it had to have been placed there.
“Heh. Little soldier. Poor little soldier boy. A big bad dragon ate your family. Did you know that? In a little village in a little realm, a dragon went to town. Heh. Only one left was a Lucky little lad. Ever wonder why? Ever question how an eight year old only remembers flames ‘n’ fury? Heh.” That irrational smile; a happy corpse who lacked emotion. His words, that smile, pushed Lucky down into the dark corridors of seldom used memories .
His recollections of early childhood were fractured at best. He knew he’d been raised somewhere rural and humid; a farm or something. He thought he might have had a few friends, maybe they were siblings. He remembered playing with them. And his parents. His dad was just a hazy face lost with the fade of time. But his mother. He could see her crying face, surrounded by flames, bathed in a full moon’s light.
His vision blurred red, veins burning beneath his skin. He wretched his arms forward, bashing the head in front of him. His fist wreathed in flames it still took three blows before the Karniat backed off. The drop to the ground was shorter than Lucky expected.
Something kept stinging him in his arms. He pounced on it, instincts he didn’t remember having driving his feet into something soft and fleshy. As he brought his fist down on it he saw Johnson’s face. They let out a joint bellow.
“Heh. Did I touch a nerve?” Jakobe’s tone was inquisitive, cocking his head to the side he scrutinized Lucky. The light from the flames made the shadows around him dance. “Remembering your first moon lit dance?” A harsh wind blew up suddenly sending up a torrent of embers. Lost in the ballet of twin memories, Lucky didn’t notice them land on him or his . He wasn’t aware of how his skin soaked up the sparks, nor how they blistered and seared the equally absent Jakobe.
His mother was crying. He was almost certain he could hear people screaming, but the memory of his mother’s mouth moved soundlessly. Her skin was coated in soot; he could remember it being a pale olive tone when it was clean. She had green eyes, like him. Fire danced behind her, trying to grab her dress and flesh. She was putting him somewhere safe. Behind her, something guttural and violent slit through his memory. It was big and leathery. It stole her away from his sight.
Something new leapt on his back. He could feel his back and shoulders being slit by some new annoyance. Pulling himself out of the muck of Johnson, he tried to grasp at it. The Karniat rushed him, knocking him on his back. There was a squishing and crunching. Jumping to his feet, twisting to look behind himself, Lucky saw what remained of Madison.
He turned his face back just in time for the Karniat to punch him in the face. He bit it’s arm, rending the flesh from it even as he drove his own fists into its body. The Karniat screamed, pain distorting it’s already tortured face. Spitting out the sickly tasting flesh, Lucky drove on; fists pistoning, then swinging in wide, furious arcs until it fell before him.
“Oh. I like this part: it’s so… touching. Heh. The loss of innocence.” Jakobe scooted forward, absently letting his matted hair fall across his eyes. Small wisps of smoke swirled up from his smoldering flesh. “Poor, poor little orphan. What’s that festering up from inside?” Embers glistened in his golden eyes, hell fire in halos.
It was someone’s basement, or maybe where they stored their tools. It smelled of moist earth. He gingerly stepped out of it. He remembered thinking he wasn’t going to stay there without his mother. Around him the village was bathed in flames.
It’d been a dragon. He’d heard his parents say that. It was vaguely serpentine, at least twenty feet long. He remembered thinking it looked like a crocodile with wings. It had his mother in its jaws. He cried out for her. She was reaching out for him as it turned to face him. Spitting her casually aside, it sauntered towards him.
He continued hitting it, beating it to a pulp beneath his fist. As his fists began breaking through the stone beneath him, he let up. Viscera dripped from his fists as he looked at the butchery around himself. His team, his friends, lay scattered around in broken bits. Slowly rotating in place his eye fell on a mewling, tear streaked Landon.
Landon’s gun clicked with each tug at its trigger, devoid of ammunition. Lucky stumbled towards him, extending his arm out he notice their size, the flames dancing across them, for the first time. Landon scrambled backwards, bumping his head on the ladder up. He slipped as he flew up it, only his frantic grappling keeping him from falling.
“Has the smoke cleared from the wreckage? Are all your eyes open? Three and four, kill ‘em some more. Heh heh.” The lunatic was so close Lucky could have felt the dry whisper of his breath if he’d been present. “Ride the wave if you can. Hey!” he slapped Lucky playfully, dead skin charring from the impact. “Can your Demon come out and play?”
Lucky had never known what had happened next. The following day, possibly the one after that, a Karniat patrol had found him alone and crying in the ashes of the ruined village. They’d given him his name then, assuming he’d spared whatever massacre that day by Fortune’s graces alone.
But now he could see it, so clearly. The way he’d changed. The battle he’d had with the dragon. He could feel the rage that consumed him as he ripped the head from its torso. His mother, life slipping away from her as they embraced one final time.
Lucky let the scream that had been building up in him out. It sounded like a monster’s roar in his ears. He stopped, panting, feeling another build up inside him. He could sense something else building up too; a pressure and fury like he’d never known before. He let out another sobbing bellow, and felt the pressure go as everything around him lit up with his misery.
His flesh roiled and writhed beneath his skin. Above his eyes, his skin began to bulge and crack. Jakobe slid away from him, ashes from the dead campfire marring his skin ebony. For a tense moment there was only silence and the moon’s glow. Slowly the veins beneath Lucky’s skin began to glow like magma. The slits above his eyes sprouted flames. Laughing with maniacal glee, Jakobe rolled into the grass. Lucky tried to stand up, instead clucking his sides he stumbled and fell.
Inside his head the past and the present tumbled. He was a scared little boy, fighting to save his mother; a squad leader without a squad, besieged; a restless fugitive startled by a mad man. He was a man with a demon inside him, a demon that was struggling to break free. It was too much. The wrath in his blood longed to obliterate the world.
“NOOO!!!” the world shook with the word. Muscles burst, ripping apart his clothes. Talons and flame erupted from his digits. His bulk cracked the earth as he rose to his feet. Shaking his head, loosing the horns hidden in his skull, Lucky suffered every stretch, tear and explosion of his flesh. He was drowning in the blood thirst. His pain longed for companionship. His rage sought out the catalyst for his change; Jakobe.
Stumbling up from the brush, tripping momentarily, Jakobe rose with a feral smirk. They stood like that for an eternity of seconds; the fiery demon and the moon drenched mad man. Twenty yards were closed in three massive strides. Something like shock stole across the undead man’s face as Lucky’s body lifted him by the throat. The embers from the massive arm swirled around Jakobe’s head, peeling away the layers. The grinning skull laughed as patches of meat fell off. A flourish of his arm and seven inches of metal drove into the vice around his throat.
“Heh. You are fun.” His voice sounded flat without flesh to reverberate off of. The demon swatted at him, launching him back. “Oh, are we dancing now!” He flit into a patch of shadow as the thing controlling Lucky bound at where he’d been. “Too slow.” Bits of tissues scrambled across his face, knitting itself together. “I could do this all night long.” He flipped backwards as clawed feet kicked up at him. “You.” He stabbed the beast’s side, molten blood oozing from the wound. “Are,” jumping up, he kicked it in the head toppling it to its back. “An amateur.” He pounced on the demon’s chest.
“Amateur. Amateur. Amateur. Amateur. Amateur.” Prancing atop his fallen foe he punctuated each pronunciation with kicks and stabs. “You, are a stupid, brutish amateur.” So saying, he slit across the demon’s throat. “Stupid punks always think power and skill blah blah blah.” He stepped off, and sauntered towards the remains of Lucky’s camp. The body behind him withered.
Morning found the two of them sitting across the trampled remains of Lucky’s camp fire. Jakobe squatted on his haunches, muttering incoherent and indecisively to himself. Occasionally he looked at the rising sun and smiled his soulless grin. Most of his face was back.
Lucky stared broodingly into the charcoal. The caked blood fell in gentle flakes over the remains of his pack of cigarettes. He hadn’t spoken to the vampire since he’d returned over three hours ago. All he could do was replay the night’s events over in his mind. And chain smoke. His own anger was spent, but he could still feel the sinister thing pacing restlessly inside him. He looked up at Jakobe, not entirely surprised to find the vampire returning his gaze.
“I thought sunlight killed your kind, “ he gestured towards the pile of ash and blood at his feet. “Shouldn’t you look like a bigger pile of that?”
“Heh. I’m a curious case.” He mimed opening a book.” Jakobe. Noun; former vampire, crazy soothe sayer, and ketchup connoisseur. Heh.” He pretended to close the book. He wretched his neck in a sudden jerk to the side, an awkward cracking followed. He repeated this process with every joint in his body.
Feeling a sudden need to be in motion himself Lucky began to assemble his gear. He had is guns loaded and was removing the last uniform he’d stolen when he realized the not vampire was speaking.
“This is the story of a little boy, from a little town in a little realm.” He lifted his head up and stared somewhere just past Lucky’s shoulder. “ And Lucky was he, in every senses of such a nonsensical word.” In an eerily serpentine manner he rose, removed his jacket, folded it over his arm and bowed. “You see this little lad was born under, heh, stars auspicious to the humble village.” Stretching out his right arm he grasp a sleeve from his duster. For one distracted moment Lucky smiled at the sight.
“Oh, and twice blessed was the child for he had born with his soul another; a Karniat. But there was something… off about this little spirit and it’s boy. Heh.” Holding where a waist would be, Jakobe began to parody a waltz; twirling and dipping as he went. “This Lucky little boy, born under the stars of a hero, sharing a soul with a demon. Oh, the cruel games of fate. So the family called a man highly holy, who did a lowly thing and put the demon to sleep. So it went, the demon dreaming of the boy’s dreary existence; the boy doing, heh, boy things. ‘Til the day came when a dragon came to play.”
Lucky had deduced most of what the mad man was babbling about himself, and had been doing his best to ignore the prancing mad man as he assembled his equipment. Securing the last of it, he lit his third from last cigarette. He might of wanted to kill the freak before, but his current antics were at least entertaining. “ And that demon felt itself rouse and killed for the little boy. Bang, boom, whish, the demon, heh, the demon and the dragon danced. And when it was all over the boy, being very stupid (it’s a great likelihood he was dropped on his head repeatedly as a child), assumed all the demon wrought was flame and chaos.” Lucky disregarded the dark gnawing at his soul, disregarded Jakobe’s slow revolutions his way.. “So when the demon went to sleep again the boy put his less literal devils to bed with it. But he lived a life that gave the demon such happy little dreams; murder and murder and murder.” Leaning in close to Lucky, he flipped his coat on again. “You wanna know the funny part though? The stupid boy was wrong as a baby; he fed the demon fire and hate. It’s his demon, not the other way around.” Smiling that dead sneer, he walked on, heading away from the chiseled outline of the city. Moments later, gear settled into familiar places, Lucky made his way in the opposite direction, wishing he wasn’t mulling over the last nights events.
It was easy enough to eke out a miserable existence for himself in Canaan, the torpid seat of the Vampiric Empire. The first few weeks had been tough though. Work was easy enough for an ex-soldier to find among the onyx spires, but it was all amateur stuff. Guard this, kill them, beat him; it paid the rent but that was all. He could feel the dark pressure building inside, hungry for carnage. Part of him wanted it to snap, if only to break the uniformity.
It was a new moon out, a hollow phantom in the starry night. The denizens of the city locked their doors tighter on such nights; they were supposed to bring ill fortune. Lucky didn’t believe in such quaint superstitions, strolling the cobblestone streets in near isolation. Inside the hungry thing paced, equally restless.
The clicking of footfall behind him brought a smile to Lucky’s face. In between jobs he’d been practicing, looking for a real test. The Karniat’s had placed a bounty on all Holyless, their response to his elusion. A list of the most valuable had been released, his service picture third form the top. After seeing it for the first time Lucky shaved the rough stubble he’d grown and trimmed his unruly locks. All of the next day he could be found in some of the worst taverns in the more dangerous districts.
Lucky closed his eyes, listening closely. There were four of them. They had the distinct miasma of sour blood, the faint lack of a heartbeat. Vampires. Inside him the tense thing flexed. One them crept ahead of him, taking a back alley to slip past him. Another stole beside him, the faint whisper of a knife being unsheathed. Amateurs.
Lucky’s foot slithered out, tripping the one beside him. The sound of ground meeting dead flesh. Lucky stepped onto the fallen foe, a sudden pivoting and his blunt palm flew into another, the would be flanker. A pleased feeling as he felt the bone inside the nose connect with the brain above. Behind him the whooshing of something blunt. He fell flat, rolling off his first victim. Springing up from his hands, twisting to increase the force of impact, Lucky’s feet landed squarely in number three’s chest. Somersaulting as he landed he felt the blade of the fourth “attacker” slide into his side. His arm came down, twined around the offending limb and straightened. Lucky felt and heard the snapping that resulted. Pulling the knife from his side he shoved it squarely between its owner’s eyes.
The two that he hadn’t incapacitated, Numbers One and Three, slowly circled him. Lucky wasn’t entirely sure, but they seemed to be attempting to look menacing. Casually he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his vest’s pocket and put one to his lips. It seemed to offend Number Three who swung his club. Lucky ducked, reached up and grappled it out of his hand. Number Three hadn’t notice Number Two was in his path and promptly fell. Lucky shove the club through his spine. Number One turned to run. A quick flick of his wrist, a sudden twist, and Lucky had his arm twisted behind his back.
Lucky punched his supposed assailant in the back, his demon’s strength flowing into his arm. Under the baleful gaze of the new moon’s darkness, the vampire’s face registered confusion. Anguish and torture quickly replaced the sudden shock. Red, ashen tears splattered on the ground before it’s sunken face. Lucky pushed him down, removing the blaze of his fist. The no longer undead man slid to his knees, the torso fell and disintegrated as the fist sized atrophy spread.
“Amateurs.” Lucky revealed in the cliché as he lit his cigarette with his fist. Inside him, at the back of his soul, his demon settled comfortably in, waiting for the next opportunity when it would be allowed to come out and dance.
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some quick notes to answer a few questions my girlfrind asked when she read this:
*Jakobe is based on a Malkavian (Vampire: the Masquerade), that was based on if the Joker was psychic and almost a decent guy. I made him up about five or six years ago, so it's not meant to invoke Heath Ledger.
*i know squat about guns, explosions or fighting, so if this seems too unlikely chalk it up to lack of knowledge.
*I personally smoke about a pack a day, and Lucky Strikes were the first kind I ever smoked. So that's how Lucky got his name. He's not meant to be a mystical Hulk, but that's how he ended up.
Planeswalker- Teroza
{+2}: Reveal the top card of your Library. If a Land card is revealed this way put it into the Battlefield. Otherwise put it into your hand.
{-3}: Put a 1/1 Blue-Green Frog token into the Battlefield for each card in your Hand.
{-11}: For each opponent choose a creature that player controls. Put three +1/+1 counters on and gain control of each creature choosen this way.
{7}
Adherence to Prompt (0-5): You worked all three elements in. 5/5
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): “It was much, but it was a plan.” I think that’s supposed to be, “it wasn’t much…” Also, “He might of wanted to kill the freak before,” should be, “He might have wanted…” The swapping of “of” for “have” is a pet peeve of mine, I admit, but you had several grammatical gaffes in here. 3/5
Characterization (0-10): Lucky is a pretty flat character. He’s a soldier/mercenary, grizzled by the combat he’s so good at. Nothing unique there. He also has a demon inside him. That’s different, but not unheard of. I didn’t really find him compelling, and that made it tough to root for him. Jakobe was a more interesting character, even if his craziness felt a little clichéd and annoying. 5/10
Plot and Structure (0-10): The structure was fine. Your use of flashbacks was effective for the story. I must confess that I’m not really sure what the plot was, though. Lucky apparently wants to be rid of the demon inside him, but at the end, he doesn’t. And even though Jakobe defeats the demon, he doesn’t kill it, and it’s still inside of Lucky. You said this was part of a larger whole. Without the rest of it, I found the plot pretty puzzling and threadbare. 4/10
Style (0-10): “Lucky didn’t notice the predatory grin that slit across his face as the weight of the corpse forced the door the rest of the way open.” (“Slit” should be “slid,” btw.) Of course Lucky didn’t notice the grin—he’s the POV character and can’t see his own face. Why mention it? If you’re going to write in the third person and use a POV character, then that character (and your narrative) are confined to what that character sees, hears, knows, etc. Other than that, your style was OK, but it never struck me as terribly original. The characters don’t feel original, and I guess that spread to the rest of the story. 6/10
Creativity (0-10): I liked the different locales, and the descriptions made them seem very different from one another. I can also tell that you’ve put a lot of thought into the backstory of this character and the world he inhabits. Maybe a short piece wasn’t the best way to show those off. 7/10
Total: 30/50
My Eternal Cube on CubeTutor| |My Reject Rare Cube on CubeTutor| |My Peasant Cube on CubeTutor
I used to write for MTGS, including Cranial Insertion and cube articles. Good on you if you can find those after the upgrade.
Adherence to Prompt (0-5): It has a devilish character, and moonlight, both used well within the story. 5.
Spelling and Grammar (0-5): I wish I could give half points, because it's not a 5. But it's not a 3. But it's worse than Daivos's. There's a couple times ... stuff like “A list of the most valuable had been released, his service picture third form the top.” Form instead of from. But you get a 4 for this – it's inherently harder to edit a larger story, after all.
Characterization (0-10): You get to know who Lucky is through his actions, and the characters around him [apart from the nameless guys that are just there to be beaten down] are interesting and fleshed out. You're eased into who the characters are adeptly. 9.
Plot and Structure (0-10): The story is cohesive. It makes sense. You understand why scenes change from one to the other, and it provides a nice picture of the surroundings. There's a couple weaknesses - the first italicized part contradicts what actually happens later in the story. 9.
Style (0-10): The style is perfect for the story: it's descriptive without being overbearing. I sense some flickers of military regements, obviously [from the beginning], and it's all told in a very matter-of-fact way from the main character's perspective. 9.
Creativity (0-10): This story takes what is normally an incredibly boring, cliched scenario – person with dead family taking revenge – and infuses it. I wasn't bored. 9.
Total: 45 points
I liked it, kept reading when I was just supposed to do a quick glance-over. The story, like all stories ever written, could use tightening up, but it's good. With some editing, I could see it as a lead-in to some kind of large book [as you said it was], though I'm unsure if you can keep the sense of 'old feeling new again' like you do here running all the way through.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
5/5
S&G: Solid, overall. I found a few errors here and there but all in all excusable.
4/5
Characterization: Your main character seems too inconsistent for me to really grasp. At times he seems devoid of any feeling and emotion, and at others it feels like he should merit the audience's sympathy. Jakobe is a hard sell as well. He seems too stereotypical of the deranged and crazed lunatic. The side-characters were just that as well.
5/10
Plot/Structure: Your story was overty long, and not too rewarding for the length of the story. But, it did have a solid foundation for the structuring, and plot... even if a bit, predictable.
6/10
Style: The style is very solid, and there were some very vivid and well thought-out lines throughout the story. It was probably one of the few factors that made me see the story through.
8/10
Creativity: I'll be brutally honest with you. The story was boring for me, and I had to practically force myself to read line after line. I admit, I'm a hard bargain when it comes to selling something like the Action//Supernatural genre but this was just too long and too much for me. Excuse me for the blatant bias here, but this was a painful read for me.
4/10
Overall: 32/50
I can see it now. Lucky Devil starring Wesley Snipes. I'll admit your story is the only story of the bunch that I didn't give at least two full read-throughs. The first time, I practically forced myself and the second time I just kind of skimmed through. Didn't even bother touching for a third-go. But the style, and the potential is there. I would really like to see something that is not of the Action genre from you. (And nothing too long either, I hope. :p)
as i mentioned this was my first attempt, and i've got to admit i was a little worried of feeling like crap after i read the judgings... instead i feel really incouraged and can't wait for the next go round
Planeswalker- Teroza
{+2}: Reveal the top card of your Library. If a Land card is revealed this way put it into the Battlefield. Otherwise put it into your hand.
{-3}: Put a 1/1 Blue-Green Frog token into the Battlefield for each card in your Hand.
{-11}: For each opponent choose a creature that player controls. Put three +1/+1 counters on and gain control of each creature choosen this way.
{7}