Rahvin

Just an intro for now - more will be added as I write it. Any comments would be very helpful. And yes, I know it's overdramatic. It's meant to be. Don't worry, the actual story won't be written like that.














Flames engulfed the horizon, consuming all in their flickering, scorching whips. Their mad crackling choked the air, drawing all sound from hiding and silhouetting it on a backdrop of death. In the distance, crumbled, twisting structures toppled, their battered, broken supports finally giving way.

The very air seemed to sweat, the sickly stench of death, old and new, overpowering the senses. Corpses lay where they had died, thousands upon thousands of bodies strewn throughout the gutted remains of the city. Weapons lay silent, keeping vigil over their dead owners.

Thick, writhing streams of dark blood slithered down pitted, destroyed streets, drawn by the rain, flowing slowly into stained storm drains. Even the grey sky was tinged with red, and every roaring rumble of thunder seemed as a cry of an enraged god.

A lone figure stood in the midst of all this, and smiled.

The figure was immense, clad in battered armour the colour of dried blood. Steel-grey skin emerged from under the armour where it had been rent and torn from impacts and damage. A single tall, curved spike stabbed upwards from one bulky shoulder plate, spearing above the figure’s head. Talons closed around the thick hilt of a huge broadsword, its blade mottled with deep red shadow. Twin scabbards protruded from behind his shoulders. Crimson eyes looked out from a heavy brow. Long, grey hair whipped in the wind, writhing, directionless.

Rakralis Wrath stood, alone and victorious, and smiled.

This city had once been the fulcrum of a nation, the thriving centre of a deluded populace. It had been heavily defended, thousands of soldiers prepared to fight to the death in defence of their home. It had been a desperate fight.

But one that they could not win. The Immortals ruled in this city now, regents over a charnel house, lords of a morgue. The mangled wrecks of tanks and artillery lay upturned in the streets, bodies piled high around them. Death had come for them, unleashed from Rakralis Wrath’s waiting hands.

His thoughts were interrupted as a sleek, blood red transport sliced through the clouds, headed towards his position. He could sense another of his kind aboard. The transport was unmindful of the harsh winds as it looped gracefully down to land a dozen metres from him, settling down roughly on scorched landing gear.

From it stepped a warrior. His armour was the colour of bone, and was heavily damaged. Huge gouges ripped their way down the thick plates, and black blood glinted within. Both the single scabbard at his shoulder and the holster at his hip were empty. The war had not been lenient on Karvoth Ruin.

Rakralis stepped forwards, “Greetings, brother Ruin. We are victorious once more.”

“Victorious,” nodded Karvoth grimly, “but at no small cost.”

“No small cost, Karvoth? When the last bastion of our enemies lies destroyed at our feet?”

Karvoth grimaced. “Then you have not heard? Vorkan Fear is dead, annihilated by the mortal armies. Seven becomes six, and the Immortals are proven false.”

“And so our brotherhood dwindles,” Rakralis said. “As I had always known it would. Seven cannot destroy a world with no loss. Now we six rule all, and what challenges will appear? There is nothing left to oppose us.”

Karvoth ran a slender hand across a bent spar of steel. “The world itself opposes us, brother. Though we have destroyed its inhabitants, it rails against our unnatural flesh. We were a mistake, Rakralis, a terrible mistake that has come back to haunt its creators a thousand times over.”

“A mistake, you say?” said Rakralis. “If we were a mistake, why are we perfect? Are we not the chosen sons of destruction? We have so outstripped mortal men that we are as an entirely new species. No, we were no mistake. Weapons, perhaps, but our creation was intentional, brother.”

Karvoth nodded silently, accepting Rakralis’ conclusions.

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HippoHead

dramatic, but it can be that - because its post-apocolyptic.
im wondering how an entire novel can be made out of this. gimme some more.

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Murder Me

118,073 words into novel: 'Nocturne'. Click above to read the first chapter!

Otto Ray Sing

The Hippo is right, but the statement should read, Gimme lots more-lots and lots more.

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Cefor

Hehe, sounds like you have some fans

Cool, and pretty good writing as usual Rahvin. Grammar was ok I think.... nothing really jumped out anyways and that's the important thing.

Cefor

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Knowledge is Power

Rahvin

Thanks guys. Glad you all like it! There may be a slight delay on the next part/s, though, since there's a competition on, with a chance of publication and 200 quid at stake, so I'll be devoting some time to that, at the expense of some of my other stories.

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A-L

yeaaaah! i liked that, really my kind of story! Hope to see you post more.

Industrial

It's interesting. I don't know the sentences sometimes come off as awkward with so much detail it's like a sensory overload. heh. I guess some people like that kind of stuff though.

Overall I thought it was good though. I would like to see more however.

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That's just more ammo for my arsenal.

Rahvin

Cheers guys. Industrial, the sentences were sort of designed to be like that (way over the top epic-ised description and such), just for the prologue - to set a suitably dramatic opening, kind of. Later parts (when they're done and up) will be far more 'normal' prose.

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Cefor

Aww there was me thinking that you had posted another part even though you said you are concentrating on the Comp... which competition is it?

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Knowledge is Power

Rahvin

The Black Library one - Heroes of the Space Marines. Their site has all the details.

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