Sabsz

This is an excerpt of Chapter One of my novel. The title 'Age of Sin' is bound to change because I think it's kind of lame. Any thoughts on this would be great. Thank you.


Niccolo looked over his shoulder and saw the man again. He had seen this man several times just tonight. It was his bright blue eyes which caught Niccolo’s attention. But the clerical collar around the man’s neck kept it. A priest was following him but why?

The priest was not very discreetly following him, either. His bright blue eyes were locked upon Niccolo. Every time he turned to look at the priest, he was staring back at him. It was strange. It was very strange and brought a chill to Niccolo’s borrowed blood.

He walked on the street, near the venders perched on the side. The street was loud. The vendors called for their customers, the cars huffed on the street. Women howled with laughter and men talked about nothing. He could hardly hear the priest following him but if he listened hard enough – he could.

Niccolo began to walk faster. Again, he looked over his shoulder. Still there. Why was he following him? What the hell was this all about? He accidentally knocked into an elderly Italian woman. He turned to apologize but as Niccolo opened his mouth to speak, her eyes turned round and wide. Her hand trembled.

“Diavolo,” the elderly woman stuttered. “Diavolo! Diavolo!”

He ran into the crowds of Rome, to lose the priest trailing him and to get away from that woman’s screams. Niccolo weaved through the people with a supernatural speed. His dark blue eyes were downcast, and his ears listening for any signs of the priest. He could hear the priest’s footfalls behind him, in time with his own. As Niccolo slowed, the priest did as well.

The man was watching Niccolo closely. Niccolo could tell.

Niccolo Pulcini began to run. The priest struggled to keep up with him. Niccolo could hear his labored breathing. He could hear the rhythm of the priest’s heart beating furiously against his chest.

The priest was wearing black shoes with a steel heel. Niccolo could hear the clops of it against the cobblestone of old Rome. He looked over his shoulder again and caught a glimpse of the priest’s reddening face. Sweat dripped down his face in rivulets.

As Niccolo began to slow and the priest gained on him; Niccolo realized he could read his thoughts. He heard them clearly. He hadn’t been listening before but now he was.

‘He’s slowing. I can now avenge my Church as God has willed me to,’ the priest thoughts wove into Niccolo’s head.

Niccolo slowed down to a walk. He could hear the priest slowing, as well. Niccolo turned sharply into an alley. It was dark and without lights but his enhanced eyes saw through the overbearing shadows. He could see the tiny, red eyes of rats poking their black noses into the garbage. He could hear their hisses and the pitter patter of tiny paws against the cobblestone. Niccolo walked deeper into the alley and shrouded himself in a dark corner.

He saw the priest at the entrance of the alley.

The priest walked by him cautiously. His blonde hair was a shock in the darkness. Niccolo could see his blue eyes bright in the shadows. Those blue eyes that caught his attention. The priest walked slowly, peering into the dark. A cross was held tightly in the priest’s large hands. His thin mouth moved as he whispered to himself.

Niccolo’s supernatural ears caught the sound of the man’s gruff voice. He was praying. The language was neither Italian nor English nor any other language Niccolo spoke. It was Latin. He recognized the pronunciation. Drusilla, his mentor and friend, had the same rhythm to her words. She spoke Latin as well.

The priest whispered the prayer over and over. Niccolo heard the rhythm of his heart again – it was fast in his chest. He felt the hunger. The deep and insatiable hunger that struck him whenever the night was young and men lay unprotected near him.

“Reveal your self!” the priest bellowed. “Do not cower as if a rat! Reveal yourself, unholy creature!”

Niccolo smiled within the shadows. How stupid this priest was. He was not a demon and he was not unholy. He was merely a predator, feeding off the blood of humans. This priest was naïve. If he did come from the shadows, what did the priest expect to do? Scream the holy prayer at him and hope God was on his side?

“What do you want with me, priest?” Niccolo said from the shadows. “Why have you been following me?”

The priest searched for the source of his voice but he could not see beyond the shadows as Niccolo could.

Niccolo unveiled himself and walked where the priest could see his face. The moonlight shined on his face. He stood with the garbage and rats at his feet. He peered closely at the face of the priest. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

He expected the priest to look frightened. He expected him to mutter the Lord’s Prayer over and over as if the angels from heaven would sweep him up in golden chariots. But the priest stood there, his blue eyes narrowing on Niccolo and his face red with fury.

“The power of Christ compels you!”

Niccolo lifted a brow sardonically. “Learn that from the Exorcist, priest? I’m sorry to say that I’m no unholy creature. No prayer is going to kill me.”

“Dare you mock me!”

“Oh, I do dare. Why have you been following me?”

The priest flared his nostrils. “To rid the world of evil. I am Amos the Avenger – I will avenge my church!”

“Do you know what I am, Amos?” Niccolo smiled, the fangs peeking from behind his lips.

Amos smiled to reveal perfect, white teeth though not fanged. “I know what you are and who you are.”

“Indulge me, please,” Niccolo said with a flash of sarcasm.

Amos held up the cross between them like it was a wall of protection. “You were born under God as Niccolo Pulcini. The year was 1901, making you --”

“One hundred and six years old,” Niccolo added. “You’ve done your homework, Amos.”

“God has told me these details. I was entrusted this knowledge.”

“If you say so,” Niccolo said. “Well, I believe it’s getting past my bedtime. I should be leaving. It’s been a pleasure.”

Niccolo turned to leave. The moon above him was full, the moonlight dancing upon the cobblestones. He walked towards the main street but was stopped with Amos’ hold on his wrist.

“You will not leave!” Amos spat and pushed the cross onto Niccolo’s skin. “You will not leave before I have cleansed you of this evil. Vampire spirit, be driven from this man!”

The cross did not burn into Niccolo’s flesh as Amos had wished. It simply left a little red mark from the pressure. Niccolo pushed his arm away and bared his fangs. He pushed Amos onto the floor. The rats scurried from the loud slap of his flesh on the cobblestone. Amos held out the cross. Tears wildly left his eyes.

“Be gone, spirit! Be gone! The cross will weaken you! God, give me strength. Strike down this evil spirit before me!”

Niccolo laughed at him, the fangs becoming elongated. He was hungry but he wouldn’t dare touch this man before him. “You waste words, Amos! God will not come from heaven to strike me down. I am a predator, not an unholy spirit.”

“Lies!” Amos cried as he tugged on Niccolo’s black pants. “Lies! Look at how the rats obey you! You are a demon.”

“The only demon here is you, dear Amos. Stop following me or I’ll kill you.”

Niccolo turned away from the weeping man upon the floor. He walked towards the main road and no grip on his wrist stopped him. As he made his way onto the busy street of Rome, he checked the time on his watch. It was half past eleven. The night was young and Niccolo Pulcini was very hungry.

He would feed and then call upon Drusilla to discuss this meeting.

Sam Winchester

Niccolo looked over his shoulder and saw the man again. He had seen this man several times just tonight. It was his bright blue eyes which caught Niccolo’s attention. But the clerical collar around the man’s neck kept it. A priest was following him but why? (Hope you don't mind a slight re-write here. I hope it helps: Looking over his shoulder, Niccolo noticed the man again, and not for the first time tonight. It was those bright blue eyes which had initially caught Niccolo's attention, but what held it was the clerical collar fastened around his neck. A priest was following him, but why?)

The priest was not very (this word hinders your sentence. It reads much smoother without it.) discreetly following him, either. His bright blue (we already know this) eyes were locked upon ("on" would work better here, I think) Niccolo. Every time he turned to look at the priest, he was staring back at him. It was strange (no need to say "strange" twice here.). It was very strange and brought a chill to Niccolo’s borrowed blood. (I guess we're going to learn about this later?)

He walked on the street, near the venders perched on the side. The street (avoid the repetition and say "it" instead) was loud. The vendors called for their customers, the cars huffed on the street (to make this sentence work, you need a qualifier; i.e., The vendors called for their customers, while the...). Women howled with laughter and men talked about nothing. He could hardly hear the priest following him but if he listened hard enough – he could. (Why would he try to hear the priest following him? With all the noises present, distinguishing the priest's footsteps from them would be impossible. He would have to look behind him.)

Niccolo began to walk faster. Again, he looked over his shoulder. Still there. Why was he following him? What the hell was this all about? He accidentally knocked into an elderly Italian woman. He turned to apologize, but as Niccolo opened his mouth to speak, her eyes turned round and wide. Her hand trembled.

“Diavolo,” the elderly woman stuttered (stutters are usually broken up like this: Di- Di-avolo!). “Diavolo! Diavolo!”

He ran into the crowds of Rome, [trying] to lose the priest trailing him and to get away from that woman’s screams. Niccolo weaved through the people with a supernatural (I think "preternatural" might work better here) speed. His dark blue eyes were downcast, and his ears listening for any signs of the priest. He could hear the priest’s footfalls behind him, in time with his own. As Niccolo slowed, the priest did as well.

The man (you've started calling him "the priest". Don't revert to this. Unless, of course, this is referring to someone else?) was watching Niccolo closely. Niccolo could tell.

Niccolo Pulcini began to run. The priest struggled to keep up with him. Niccolo could hear his labored breathing. He could hear the rhythm of the priest’s heart beating furiously against his chest.

The priest was wearing black shoes with a steel heel. Niccolo could hear the clops of it against the cobblestone of old Rome. He looked over his shoulder again and caught a glimpse of the priest’s reddening face. Sweat dripped down his face in rivulets.

As Niccolo began to slow and the priest gained on him, Niccolo realized he could read his thoughts. He heard them clearly. He hadn’t been listening before but now he was.

‘He’s slowing. I can now avenge my Church as God has willed me to,’ the priest thoughts wove into Niccolo’s head.

Niccolo slowed down to a walk. He could hear the priest slowing as well. Niccolo turned sharply into an alley. It was dark and without lights (not sure if this is necessary) but his enhanced eyes saw through the overbearing shadows. He could see the tiny, red eyes of rats poking their black noses into the garbage. He could hear their hisses and the pitter patter of tiny paws against the cobblestone. Niccolo walked deeper into the alley and shrouded himself in a dark corner.

He saw the priest at the entrance of the alley.

The priest walked by him cautiously. His blonde hair was a shock (not sure what you mean here) in the darkness. Niccolo could see his blue eyes bright in the shadows. Those blue eyes which had caught his attention. The priest walked slowly, peering into the dark. A cross was held tightly in the priest’s (you don't have to keep saying "the priest" if we know who it is. "his") large hands. His thin mouth moved as he whispered to himself:


Niccolo’s supernatural ears caught the sound of the man’s gruff voice. He was praying. The language was neither Italian nor English, nor any other language Niccolo spoke. It was Latin. He recognized the pronunciation. Drusilla, his mentor and friend, had the same rhythm to her words. She spoke Latin as well.

The priest whispered the prayer over and over. Niccolo heard the rhythm of his heart again – it was fast in his chest. He felt the hunger. The deep and insatiable hunger that struck him whenever the night was young and men lay unprotected near him.

“Reveal yourself!” the priest bellowed. “Do not cower as if a rat! Reveal yourself, unholy creature!”

Niccolo smiled within the shadows. How stupid this priest was. He was not a demon and he was not unholy. He was merely a predator, feeding off the blood of humans. This priest was naïve. If he did come from the shadows, what did the priest expect to do? Scream the holy prayer at him and hope God was on his side?

“What do you want with me, priest?” Niccolo said from the shadows. “Why have you been following me?”

The priest searched for the source of his voice but he could not see beyond the shadows as Niccolo could.

Niccolo unveiled himself and walked where the priest could see his face. The moonlight shined on his face. He stood with the garbage and rats at his feet. He peered closely at the face of the priest. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

He expected the priest to look frightened. He expected him to mutter the Lord’s Prayer over and over as if the angels from heaven would sweep him up in golden chariots. But the priest stood there, his blue eyes narrowing on Niccolo and his face red with fury.

“The power of Christ compels you!”

Niccolo lifted a brow sardonically. “Learn that from the Exorcist, priest? I’m sorry to say that I’m no unholy creature. No prayer is going to kill me.”

“Dare you mock me!”

“Oh, I do dare. Why have you been following me?”

The priest flared his nostrils. “To rid the world of evil. I am Amos the Avenger – I will avenge my church!”

“Do you know what I am, Amos?” Niccolo smiled, the fangs peeking from behind his lips.

Amos smiled to reveal perfect, white teeth, though not fanged. “I know what you are and who you are.”

“Indulge me, please,” Niccolo said with a flash of sarcasm.

Amos held up the cross between them like it was a wall of protection. “You were born under God as Niccolo Pulcini. The year was 1901, making you --”

“One hundred and six years old,” Niccolo added. “You’ve done your homework, Amos.”

“God has told me these details. I was entrusted this knowledge.”

“If you say so,” Niccolo said. “Well, I believe it’s getting past my bedtime. I should be leaving. It’s been a pleasure.”

Niccolo turned to leave. The moon above him was full, the moonlight dancing upon the cobblestones. He walked towards the main street but was stopped with Amos’ hold on his wrist.

“You will not leave!” Amos spat and pushed the cross onto Niccolo’s skin. “You will not leave before I have cleansed you of this evil. Vampire spirit, be driven from this man!”

The cross did not burn into Niccolo’s flesh as Amos had wished. It simply left a little red mark from the pressure. Niccolo pushed his arm away and bared his fangs. He pushed Amos onto the floor. The rats scurried from the loud slap of his flesh on the cobblestone. Amos held out the cross. Tears wildly left his eyes.

“Be gone, spirit! Be gone! The cross will weaken you! God, give me strength. Strike down this evil spirit before me!”

Niccolo laughed at him, the fangs becoming elongated. He was hungry but he wouldn’t dare touch this man before him. “You waste words, Amos! God will not come from heaven to strike me down. I am a predator, not an unholy spirit.”

“Lies!” Amos cried as he tugged on Niccolo’s black pants. “Lies! Look at how the rats obey you! You are a demon.”

“The only demon here is you, dear Amos. Stop following me or I’ll kill you.”

Niccolo turned away from the weeping man upon the floor. He walked towards the main road, and this time no grip on his wrist stopped him. As he made his way onto the busy street of Rome, he checked the time on his watch. It was half past eleven. The night was young and Niccolo Pulcini was very hungry.

He would feed and then call upon Drusilla to discuss this meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I highly enjoyed the middle and end parts. I think you got into your stride there. The beginning was slow, but I can understand that. You were setting the pace. A few things here and there, but the story flows nicely. One thing I would say is to avoid saying "Niccolo" and "the priest" too much. When we know who you're talking about, "he" is fine.

One other thing: Drusilla. I don't know if you're a fan of Buffy, but that was the first thing I thought of. I envisioned her. I'm not saying change the name, but just a little food for thought.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed this.

Sam.

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Sabsz

Thank you so much for your critique.

I will take in mind everything you have said.

I've seen Buffy like twice, and the only character I ever remembered was Buffy and well Spike. But anyway, I had no idea there was a Drusilla on that show either. That puts a damper on things. I really liked that name. Maybe I'll change it.

And about the legitimate Latin, I believe it is. I take Latin in school and those words are legitimate. And I looked the prayer online on a prayer website. I could always bring it in to school and ask my teacher if this is real Latin if I'm not sure.

Well to answer your question, in my universe vampires have very enhanced senses. When very powerful, a vampire can pick sounds in a crowd and single them out. And Niccolo is very powerful due to the one who created him. He's doing that now. I think I'll clear that up a little.

Again, thanks so much!

-- sabsz

Sam Winchester

Thank you so much for your critique.

You're welcome.

I will take in mind everything you have said.

I've seen Buffy like twice, and the only character I ever remembered was Buffy and well Spike. But anyway, I had no idea there was a Drusilla on that show either. That puts a damper on things. I really liked that name. Maybe I'll change it.

Drusilla was Spike's sire. She was a very pale, black-haired woman (type Drusilla: Buffy into an image search) who always wore white. I think if you're going to do a vampire story and you use that name, people are going to compare her to Buffy's Drusilla.

And about the legitimate Latin, I believe it is. I take Latin in school and those words are legitimate. And I looked the prayer online on a prayer website. I could always bring it in to school and ask my teacher if this is real Latin if I'm not sure.

I've read works (not on here) where people have made up Latin words!

Well to answer your question, in my universe vampires have very enhanced senses. When very powerful, a vampire can pick sounds in a crowd and single them out. And Niccolo is very powerful due to the one who created him. He's doing that now. I think I'll clear that up a little.

Ah! I'd forgotten that he was a vampire.

Again, thanks so much!

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