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Hi. I'm really new here.
I've been writing for a few years, which has cultimated to a few hundred pages of unfinished work. I write Science-Fiction, since I have such a passion for it. I'm young, but I don't see my age ever getting in the way of my flair. The real problem I have is that there are few people I have around me to talk aboput my work and get feedback from. Below is an extract of one of my novels (I have 2, both a work in progress). It's called Freelancer, and follows the adventures of John, a new recruit of the Freelancer's Guild, as he trains in the Guild and battles the malevolent SCAR. I could really do with some advice, about my style generally and about this piece in particular; it's the introduction of the main antagonist, Overdose, about half-way into the book, one of the turning points in the story.
Hope you enjoy (it's a bit long):
The common room was alive once again. Suffice to say, it was always bustling with activity, but on this particular afternoon it was far more vivid than usual. Jsathu watched it all as he quietly sat in the corner, warmed by one of the light orbs that floated beside him.
It was only natural that they were this way. While Dal and his band of trainee pilots were out, the rest of his division had been given a session of leisure. This was mostly due to the absence of Master Vorn, who had recently left by means of portal transport to pay respects to a dead relative of his. There was no-one but Jsathu himself who could have taken the session, and since the Chairman was having some quiet time, he had no obligation to give his squad any further training today – it had not been asked for, so any teaching would have been voluntary. That meant that it didn’t have to be done, giving Jsathu three hours of down time. Despite being an initiative-filled individual, he would never pass on a good rest. He’d need it, too; he had to take firearms training for Division 2 next. Nightmare. A sudden sense of overwhelming depression set into him. He distracted himself from the thought by scanning the room.
The room was full of Division 6’s recruits occupying themselves with all manner of ways. Atarn card games seemed popular today – Jsathu laughed as some of the humans tried to keep up. His colleagues, Kyrod and Gvannus, seemed interested in the human games. Recruits from all races were playing games from Chess to online RPGs. The Atarn were exceptional at both. Jsathu was watching the irritated humans when the door buzzed softly. Geoff had admitted someone to their chambers. After soundlessly walking over to the door, Jsathu opened it.
‘Good Afternoon.’ The man said. Jsathu knew his face. He ripped his gun from his side, but was far too slow to pull the trigger. The man waved an arm, sent a wave of energy from it, distorting the air. Jsathu was thrown back. It was when he hit the floor that all hell broke loose.
It was hard to tell who acted first; everything happened so fast. The recruits all drew their weapons and opened fire, some panicking and missing completely. Their shots seemed to hammer against an invisible wall. Each burst stopped mid-air, fizzled away and left only a small ripple where it had ceased to be. But in the cacophony of gunfire, the recruits could hardly see any of this. They could hardly see the man walk into the room, followed by several others. Not even Jsathu noticed the man creating the Barrier as he crawled behind an overturned table, joining the deafening but futile attack.
One of the men said something – something old. Ancient, even. Jsathu could hardly hear it anyway. He just kept firing, with Kyrod and Gvannus by his side. Now only a few metres away, the first man that had entered – the one with the staff – stepped forwards. He raised the golden sceptre in his hand like a trophy, shouted something into the air, and heard the shots start to diminish. All eyes were on the glowing crystal above him. He leapt, swung the staff, and smashed it into the ground.
A quake ruptured the floor. Everything seemed to slow down. Then, an explosion. It spread to the entire room like wild fire. The place was torn apart as tables were sent flying, people screaming as it all descended into chaos. The wave of destruction coursed through everything until all was still. Wood burned, and the orbs were dead. The recruits were sprawled around the floor, silent as dead men. They were unharmed, but not a single one moved as the man continued forwards. Even Jsathu was paralysed with fear.
The man strode round the devastation as his entourage watched on from the door. As his staff tapped the floor, it made small shockwaves; little pulses of energy that swept away the dust and debris. Few breathed naturally as he passed them. Soundlessly, he looked at them all, as they all looked at him.
His form was magnificent. Flawless perfections, as if from a dream, were in abundance on his elegant frame, with his face – long and austere – animated as a statue, skin reflecting the dim light. His hair – magnificent hair – was deeply black, well cut, and spoke of the sophistication that his attire further displayed. The stern man wore a dapper suit, long but tight to his slender build, with the whitest shirt and the reddest tie. Below were trousers that no light escaped. They draped from his torso so that no unwelcome fold or crease could be found. Different were his shoes, which had a blindingly reflective finish. Yet, the greatest and most audacious aspect of the man was his pair of sunglasses, affixed to his face as if magnetised. They were black, very thinly cut, with diamond veins running through the frame like snakes meandering wildly across his face. Any educated eyes would see that they were solid gold. Axunian gold. Very expensive. The lenses were scratch-less, stainless. Brilliant in their darkness. They were abyssal. Endless. They captured the gazes of the people and snared them so that no-one was looking away. No-one could avert from his presence.
‘Your guard.’ His voice pulsated into their ears. ‘Your door. A poor model. Very simple. Or it might be his... age. Yes, probably.’ His spoke deeply, but sharply. His mouth made little movement as he formed words. ‘I’m sorry for the abrupt nature of this visit. Formalities – I could hardly warn you. Please accept my apologies if I have interrupted your... fun.’ He surveyed the room again. A table snapped as it burned, collapsing onto the floor. ‘Also, forgive my rudeness. I have failed to introduce myself before causing all this mess. Although, that is partly your administrator’s fault. He believed that the best course of action for my presence here would be his own death. I don’t like people pointing those things at me, as you should well know, Master Soldier D’Vall.’ He pointed at Jsathu’s gun, which had broken into five pieces. ‘Some of you know me. Some will have heard rumours. Whispers. Others of you will have no clue as to who I am. I don’t blame you; the Federation likes to keep dark Ancient warlords under wraps. My name is Overdose. A title, to be sure, but it suffices. I administrate, run and lead the Separatist Coalition of Ancient Rogues. Or, for those of you who us differently, SCAR.’ A thin smile spread across his face. ‘Now, I believe I have got your full attention.’
He stopped for a second, to let his words sink in. He continued with gusto.
‘SCAR. We are the force that no-one wants to admit; the shadows that no-one wants to see. Although the Federation promotes its dominance of the galaxy, it is really SCAR who has it by the throat, as many of you know. I need not bore you with our history – the present is far more... important. Our movements of late would warrant a typical civilian to see us as a myth. A fable. A little nightmare for your children. But we have been waiting, letting the galaxy rebuild after the wars of the Heretic. But we have waited enough!’
Yes. Waiting. Jsathu had known SCAR from the moment he had become an Elite. All the Elite knew SCAR. They were like the guild; a coalition of people with great power, and great abilities. But they only wanted to spread anarchy and chaos. And now they were returning. Jsathu couldn’t see the future, but he dreaded it. Dark were the days when SCAR had dominance.
‘Back in the glorious days of our old reign, when we had been in full power over all that lived and breathed, it had been the Ancients who had stopped us, reduced our power and quelled our fire. They did not enjoy our company. But now, the Ancients have left HALO. The Federation’s move for the Greater Powers’ independence was a bold one, and at first it had paid off. The Ancients let the galaxy be, and control passed to the Atarn and the Katorians, and the other civilizations that entered the Federation. But while the Ancients are away, their old enemies will play...’
He tapped his staff on the ground in vivacious action. ‘We are SCAR! We have long had control over all, and we are slowly reinstating our reign so that once again, our name shall be the only one on your lips. The Separatist Coalition is moving. That is the purpose of my visit. To tell you. To inform you. To warn you. I have seen this place grow; this ‘house of heroes’ as some say. To be frank, I have... enjoyed its image. It is amazing what one powerful Ancient can do in his spare time. The Chairman obviously has a lot of care for this galaxy. But do you really think that he made this place so that you lot could show off your fancy skills and prance about, slaying dragons and rescuing damsels in distress? Don’t you understand the real meaning of this? Of the Guild? You!’ He pointed his staff at Teresa. ‘Do you know why they want you? Why they are training you? Why they wish to invest so much in all of you people?’ He paused. ‘Well, answer me!’
Teresa only said, ‘No.’
‘No. Of course you don’t. They whisk you away to their fantastical world; show you the majesty of their power with grand displays and great works of heroic brilliance. They welcome you, they feed you, and they provide for you for the rest of your life! Ha! And you do not even know why. You have no clue as to your real purpose. You think that you will be like the Hypernet channels say, killing evil monsters and saving the cities and starships from certain doom, but you know that this is a façade! A sham! And why?’ This was rhetorical; he pointed at no-one. ‘Because the truth is dark. The truth is terrible. The truth is what they don’t want you to know! The truth-‘ he stopped, readjusted his sunglasses. ‘The truth is simple. You are chosen, bred, trained, to fight us.’ He paused once again, as if for some reaction that never came. Everyone was still paralysed, not a soul moved an inch. ‘The Chairman picked you to be his weapon. The Ancients will not help, so he steps into the fray. He has a blind hope that he can make you into his soldiers! He wants warriors to stand by him as he goes to war. But you have seen us now. This-‘ he gestured to himself. ‘This is what you shall come up against. This is what he wants you to fight. And my little display is only a modicum of the true might of SCAR. They say we spread anarchy and chaos, but we are united in our goal. Together, we cannot be stopped. And so I return to the purpose of my visit . To warn you. To give you my advice. Stay away from SCAR. Do not come up against us, or we shall move against you, and all you know. The more you resist us, the faster we will act – the quicker we shall move on this... place. For a long time the Guild has settled in with us and grown among us. Continue, please! Continue fighting monsters and saving the galaxy! Continue in your delusions of grandeur. Just remember this; when you see us at the door, move aside. Do not fight us. Do not fight me. There are many tales of those that have waged war with SCAR. None of them are told first-hand. But this should not deter you from your own goals. I wish not to frighten anyone! I only want you to know where you stand in the galaxy. You are not the new age. We are. When we come, welcome us. Resist, and you shall perish. Understand that anyone who puts themselves in our path will cease to be. All obstacles must be removed; we can make no exceptions. So enjoy yourselves! Fight the good fight! Win fame and glory! Just be humble enough to... avoid us. I t is quite simple, really. You do not want enemies like us. SCAR has no time for fools.’ He raised his hand, and a glass of water appeared in it. He drank it fast, and threw to empty vestibule behind him. It disappeared before it hit the wall. ‘There. I think that just about covers it. I have only one more question, which I shall pose too... you.’ His staff met Kyrod’s head. He motioned for him to stand. ‘Thank you. Now tell me, which of these is John Kolhagen?’
Kyrod did his best to compose himself. ‘John? Oh, he’s away.’
‘Away.’ Overdose mumbled. ‘Away?’ This was louder.
‘Err... yes...’
‘AWAY?’ he boomed. His face contorted into a malicious mask. He took his staff, roaring, and it began to glow, elongating and turning icy blue. He was a picture of anger. Of pure rage. He thrust the staff at Kyrod, who was retreating backwards and had managed a few feet. The second he saw the crystal, he stopped.
Out of the staff came a beam. It froze the air. A pillar of shining ice erupted, striking Kyrod in the chest. He screamed.
‘Kyrod!’ Jsathu tried to move, but Gvannus stopped him. The unholy blast spead from his chest to his entire body. It turned every flake of rocky skin into ice. Every blood cell, every organ, even his armour became ice. Still roaring, Overdose swung the staff, as the once still recruits were now crying out in shock. The ice smashed into a thousand shards.
Kyrod was no more.
‘No!’ Jsathu now moved as Overdose edged away. He bent down, staring into one of Kyrod’s frozen eyes, as if he was still alive. Jsathu couldn’t move. He just froze. The only things moving were the tears down his cheeks.
‘Hmm...’ said Overdose. ‘Didn’t mean to do that. Oh well. He was going to die some day. They all do.’ He and his people left. The door closed shut.
A moment passed by, slowly. It stretched itself long, as if it might snap. Nothing moved – even the air felt still. It took a long time for life to begin again.
Jsathu crouched over Kyrod’s frozen remains. Gvannus went to his side as some of the Freelancers shared in his agony. There was no joy in that room. After a long time, Jsathu stood up, ambled over one of the walls, and cried out in anger. The dent his fist made was irreparable. Gvannus said something to him. It didn’t help. Nothing could.
In the corner of the room, there was Teresa, huddled behind a scorched table. Most of the Freelancers couldn’t see her; they ignored her as they went to Jsathu. Her eyes were closed. Her body was shaking. Her tears were the last to end.
I wrote this recently, which is why I picked it. I'm finding it really hard to present Overdose as a dark yet spontaneous character.
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