Young Writers Society

I am the Champion of the Angel of Destruction, and I wield a sword of gold when I come to bless those still living with the Gift of Death.
My other half, the Champion of the Angel of Creation, would disagree, say that death is not a gift. But I insist. I have been on the battlefields of many nations, smelled the stench of the dying, heard the men's whimpers as they cried for their mothers and begged their pain to be taken away. I have been to the bedsides of the old, who waited for death's mercy to come. I have heard the wails of the lovers left behind, the wives whose husbands died in battle. I have experienced all of these things, met all of these people, and I have blessed each one with release from their suffering.
None appreciate me. Many fear me. They summon Legend, the Champion of Creation, to send me away. We make one whole, he and I. Legend and Phoenix, the Champions of Creation and Destruction. He cannot banish me. His presence somewhere does nothing but anchor me to that place with greater strength, but his power is enough to keep me at bay. When he does, my body aches and my heart cries out to the souls he “protects” that are begging to rise to their Creator.
Legend. He believes in saving the bodies of the people, but he does not realize the price the soul pays for the wants of the body. Does he not understand, as many humans do not, that the body wants to live, while the soul longs to meet its creator? My purpose is to grant rest to the restless; Legend's purpose is to grant hope to the hopeless. Each of the Champions have his or her own purpose in this world, but I am the only one who understands our existence as such. I know that Legend serves to balance the world, to provide his weight on the opposite end of God's Scales, and as such, I do not interfere with his work.
Yet he always sees fit to interfere with mine. I am no less powerful than he; I am no less a servant of God than he. Can none comprehend that God's will is for men to lay at rest at the end? Can none comprehend that the old must fall so that the young may rise?
Certainly Legend does not. It is truly a sad twist of fate that he, the man I am destined to love, is destined to be my enemy, my undoing, destined to love another. As a man, he understands nothing of the true workings of the world; he fancies himself on the side of Good, and I on the side of Evil, though he calls them the side of Lightness and the side of Darkness. I know the Champion of Darkness. Belisario is no more Evil than Gabriell, the Champion of Light. Their places are far apart, their purposes different. Only different. Neither is better or more necessary or more Good than that of the other.
I do not understand what makes me Evil other than the fact that I oppose Legend and Gabriell as Belisario's right hand.
But yet, it is not only Legend and Gabriell who deem me as Evil. Ransom, Moss, Orphea, all of Gabriell's Champions call me Evil. Even Eroica, who has more Darkness in her than almost any other Champion, gives me the name Evil. What makes me more Evil than her? I have equal parts of Light and Dark in my heart, so what unbalance leads me to the side of Evil, if Darkness determines Evil? And, at that, why does Darkness make Evil? The flames of Hell look very bright to me.
Belisario has led the human Champions of the Dark Angels for years, bringing us from the freezing streets of Ramera, lit by the light of a thousand windows we could look in but never pass through, to the warm, dim halls of the Seardouutian courts, where we were treated with honor and respect due to the Champions of Angels, fed and clothed, kept safe. Belisario, the Champion of Darkness, was the one who picked me up from the ground when I fell in the streets of Ramera. He protected me from the roving gangs and slavers. His heart is full of darkness, but I have never seen Evil in his heart. I am the Champion of the Angel of Destruction; I see these things.
Once, while we lived in the port city of Allendomera, the city policia found a gang of men slaughtered, knifed to shreds in a strange sort of decimation. Belisario, the oldest of our group, was charged with the murders – rightfully. Word quickly spread across the world of a boy whose dark, Evil heart could destroy ten men at once. But he did not kill them in cold blood. The men had cornered us, prepared to tear young children apart for trespassing in their gang's territory. Tell me that Belisario's heart is full of Evil simply because he saved the lives of five children. You will not convince me.
But as word of Belisario and his “troupe of demons” spread to the ends of civilization, our other halves – the Champions of the Light Angels – decided we were a threat, worthless in the eyes of God. We became criminals to be hunted down.
They treated us like enemies, so we met on the battlefield.
Belisario disappeared for a few hours before the battle began. As his right hand, it was my duty to find him, as I did in the dark confines of a cavern. He has always loved cool, dark niches; before he came to Allendomera and met the rest of us, he was a slave in Ramera's Great Desert. I took a seat beside him and spoke his name. “Belisario.”
I needed to say nothing more to bring his eyes to mine. I was shocked to see his tears. The fearless leader we had come to admire had not cried before, at least not before me. He was not the stoic hero I had always believed him to be. Despite his Darkness, despite all the business of Angels and Champions, Belisario was still just a man. “Phoenix,” he said. His voice was hoarse.
Instinctively, I reached towards him, taking him in an embrace. In Ramera, the people embrace; even strangers hold one another for a few brief moments after speaking. Unlike the Angel of Destruction, my embrace can do no harm. I held him to me, resting my chin on top of his head. Belisario is only taller than me by a small amount, perhaps a hand's width. But to see him in tears, feeling his sobs as they rocked his slender, starved body, to see my hero in such a way felt like so very much to handle.
After a long time, his tears subsided. By that time, his head had slipped from resting on my shoulder to lying in my lap. He turned his face up to look at me, pushing himself up into a seated position. “Whatever happens today,” he said quietly, taking my face in one hand, “someone I love will be hurt.”
Like me, Belisario was in love with his other half. I do not blame him. Gabriell's beauty radiates with the strength of the sun, and that is the curse of the Champions of the Dark Angels: loving those who do not return our love. I understood his pain; the Champions of the Light Angels claim to be merciful, but they could never feel the empathy for men we have come to grudgingly accept. “I know,” I murmured to him in reply. His eyes were so dark and entrancing. “Belisario. For us, there will be no victory. Either the family we have formed will fall, or we will destroy the only reasons we live. Why are we fighting on?”
He stared at me helplessly, at a loss for words. I had never seen Belisario helpless before. He had always been our pillar of strength. “To show the world,” he said finally, the familiar strength returning to his voice with each word. “To show them that we are God's Champions as well. To prove we are Champions of Angels, not Devils.”
Tears welled up from my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks, making tracks in the dust that had collected on my face. “You are my Champion,” I said softly.
Belisario's face twisted, as though holding back his own tears, and wrapped his arms around me.
Together, we returned to where we had begun, with the other Champions of the Dark Angels: Viridian, Champion of Chaos; Maverick, Champion of Freezing; Tegan, Champion of the Sky; Iliana, Champion of Stone. We had been together for years, known one another from childhood. And so, together, we prayed to our patron Angels for strength in the face of those who prayed for our undoing.
The battle was only beginning. The war for our honor was reaching the end.
We crossed the battlefield, littered with the bodies of countless soldiers, and I tried not to shudder as I felt the souls of a hundred men screaming for their pain to stop. My hand wrapped around the hilt of my golden sword without my realization. There was a thick mist on the field, disorienting all of us. Belisario walked half a step ahead of us all, grasping my arm to keep me close.
Through the fog, the Champions of the Light Angels appeared. Each one glowed with ethereal light, a gift of Gabriell's, clean and perfect and beautiful, the image of an Angel's Champion, the evidence of their noble heritage in their aura, their carriage. We, Champions of the Dark Angels, were worn and dirty, a ragtag bunch of street thieves who were considered unworthy even of baptism. I understood why they thought us Evil. With the oceans of differences between us, how could we ever have hearts as good as theirs?
“Gabriell,” Belisario called. His voice was beautiful, but the foreign Champions of the Light Angels thought of his accent as strange and clumsy. It was – in their own strange and clumsy language. “Will you recognize the Champions of the Dark Angels as your equals?”
Their leader, a beautifully pale, blonde woman dressed in white, pulled a small mirror from her belt, holding it in her small hands for a moment before tucking it away again. “We will never accept the Devil's Champions as equals!” Her voice was strong and self-assured. She held a lsword, the companion to Belisario's dark blade. I saw Legend at Gabriell's side, one hand at her back. I gently slipped my arm from Belisario's grasp and mirrored Legend's gesture.
Beside Gabriell, Eroica drew an arrow back on her elaborate ebony bow; its tip lit ablaze as she took aim. Maverick drew his own bow in perfect reflection of his other half, aiming at her, the tip of his arrow icing over. It caused Eroica to pause, her dark eyes narrowing. She looks almost like one of us with her olive complexion, as though she belongs with the Champions of Darkness, as Maverick's beige skin makes him look like one of the Champions of Light. Iliana grimaced, and we heard the stones in the ground shifting at her will. Moss, her perfect opposite, would hold down the stones with the roots of anything nearby. The battle was matched evenly, with no difference in strengths. Belisario was right: our battle will not end well.
“Then we will prove our equality in battle,” Belisario responded in a strong yet warning tone, offering them one more chance. I was the only one who heard the sadness in his voice. I looked to our opponents, and I felt my heart split in two.
Of all the Champions, I have spent the most time searching for God. I am the only one of the Champions who has ever seen God, and I could see Him again. His image was projected on the shining countenances of the Champions of the Light Angels, and He was crying for them. I looked to either side of me, but His image and His tears were not on any of the Champions of the Dark Angels.
Why? Why must God cry for His Light Champions, but never shed a tear for His Dark Champions? For years, we have fought to do His will, to do what He has ordained for us to do. For years, we suffered because of the roles we played for His plan. We are a part of the world He created, so why won't He love us the same way He loves His Champions of Light?
We are a part of His creation, too...

In such a short story, you were able to create enormous amounts of emotion, and attached me to the characters, even though I hardly knew them. For that, I want to congradulate you.

I didn't find any gramatical mistakes in your piece.

I loved the point of view in this story. I would be interested to see the same story from a Champion of the Light Angels. I was a little confused at the difference between a Dark Angel and a Champion of the Dark Angels.

Other than that, beautiful.

-Sea-

Wow! That was great! Intense ending lines! Really sticks with you after you read them.
I didn't have time for a whole line edits review so I'll just stick to the general stuff.

The Goodness

I liked the internal dialogue of your MC. It had a good, strong narrative voice.

Great emotions! You had a lot of intense scenes of feelings and I agrea with Sea. I was very attached to your characters. I felt bad for your MC, how at the end he seems so lost and unhappy.

Stuff that Could use a little tweaking

Info Dumping: I noted that the beginning of your story (about half of the entire piece) you explained everything. I got a little lost like Sea. I would start out with the dialogue between your MC and Belisario and weave all the information about who they are and why they're fighting etc. into the rest of the story. It will be much more interesting if you do it that way.


Other than that, well done! Keep up the good work! PM me if you have any questions.

Wow, that was good. I liked the way you set up the Champions of the Dark and Light Angels, and the duality that existed between them. You might consider breaking the explaining up a bit though, to prevent info-dumping. The only thing that really sticks out at me is the issue of who is right or wrong in this situation. I find it hard to believe that all of the Champions of Dark know that they are right and that all of the Champions of Light only think that they are right. Why is this? Why might they think that the Dark Champions are evil, minus the fact that the things they represent are seen by humanity as evil? In matters of the supernatural, things are able to be put in matters of good and evil.

Other than that, this is a solid story. I look forward to hearing more from you in the future.

Hey there xxfourthelement, I don’t think we’ve met before, nice to meet you. ^^

So you’ve asked for a “rip-to shreds” review... and I’m actually rather inclined to indulge you in that. Because, sadly... I didn’t like this much at all. It’s a little hard for me to pinpoint exactly what annoys me about your piece, because something does annoy me – which is kind of a good thing because it made me think about it and I had a reaction to your writing, but it’s for the wrong reasons.

Firstly: This is a glorified rant. Not the whole thing, you start to redeem yourself in the last third of the story, but essentially it is this one person whinging. Yes, it’s a first person recount... but it’s not just that, it’s preachy and lacks any development of the narrative. You don’t step forward at all until you start to talk about Belisario disappearing before battle. Then it becomes a narrative.

This rant, actually, ties in with the feel of the piece because it failed to engage me. I read the whole thing, but it took me longer than I thought it would because I kept having to stop and close my eyes for a second. That sounds really harsh, but it’s true. It’s a matter of the character (who, by the way, I’m not sure is female or male?) being so... guh. I just wanted to say “shut up already... get to the story!” You take so long giving us background for the characters and story that we wonder when it’s going to appear, even if it will. Now, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s awesome you have such a background history to it all, and I love that your main character has such a strong voice and sense of presence, that really, really rocks. The problem comes that while we’re getting background we’re not getting action.

I’d suggest interspersing action with information. Your best element here is the battle, of course, but you don’t give us much there. I think if you extended the battle, the trip to it, and some of the other scenes, you could include information alongside that and have it less “info-dump” like. Stop telling us what Belisario did and show us. When he picks Phoenix up off the street, give us action. “As his hand slipped around my waist I noticed the hard breaks in his nails. He had been on the streets such a long time, they had shunned him first.” – As a suggestion. Here I let description and narrative in as well as some information “they had shunned him first” indicates that they are being thrown out, and that he was the beginning of it. You need to let the reader make some assumptions of their own as well as let slip some important details.

I think the hardest thing for you here, is how to integrate them easily, so it doesn’t look icky and doesn’t muck with the flow. I’m not sure, but I think when you started in first person you forgot that you’re allowed to branch out and talk about things that don’t seem to matter much. Often we get distracted by little things that don’t matter; dirt under nails, the way someone lifts their hand to say hello, the precise motion and angle that someone tilts their head when they want you to repeat something. These things get us a little bit more involved in the story, because we all know people do that. Maybe Eroica bites her lip as she sights her bow? You did it well when you described Legend standing at his leader’s side. Those things can make a story that little bit more alive.

Second: A note on the names. “Gabriel” is traditionally spelt with one “l”. And, I’m sorry, but “Maverick, Champion of Freezing;” < Champion of Freezing is the lamest title I have ever heard. xD Really, it just sounds silly. Champion of water, or ice, or... anything else, really, but “freezing” just sounds a bit silly.

In the way of these titles that they have... they’re long and cumbersome. You use them a lot at the beginning of your piece and this is noticeable because they’re clunky, hard to read, and in general a bit of a pain.

Third: Your start line did nothing to me. To be completely and utterly (rippingly) frank with you... I whimpered when I read it. “I am the Champion of the Angel of Destruction, and I wield a sword of gold when I come to bless those still living with the Gift of Death.” It is clunky, wordy, and in general... uninteresting. I read it and though. “zomg no, not one of these.” Which it turned into. Another fallen angel tale.

Fourth: You switch tenses here and there, which is an issue only because we lose sight of whether the main character is recounting or describing, you know? We don’t know if it’s present action or past event. This makes us confused about how we should feel about the event. If it is in present tense then we worry for Phoenix’s life, if it is in past tense we pity Phoenix for knowledge of something we do not have.

Fifth: I mentioned this at the start of my little rant... but this is preachy. The whole “why me” whinge of it and the “God cries over them” just feels so... put on, like a major act. To be honest, I don’t feel at all for your character. I just want him/her to go away, you know? It’s a constant whinge to read, which is odd, because it doesn’t need to be. And I think if you implemented the expansion of the battle and integrated a lot of this stuff, it would be much better.

So, was that a “rip it to shreds” review? I hope I’ve not been too harsh or mean at all. I do think this has massive potential, but as is, it needs a lot of work. If you do alter this in some significant way, give me a holler in my thread or whatever. I’d love to read it.

Much luck.

*Hearts* Le Penguin.

I suppose the point of the story was to indicate that death and darkness are integral parts of the universe, and despite being underrated, are not necessarily evil or less wholesome as they are made out to be.

No grammar mistakes, so that's good. I don't really have any suggestions to give, the story seemed professional to me. Good work!

Man, I did not like this. I'm sorry, really, I am, but this is just info dumping. I always say that fantasy doesn't work when you're preoccupied with explaining the mythology of your world and the backstory. Look, I'm all for creating cool worlds. I don't like fantasy much, but I do like that whole aspect. I just don't want it spoon-fed down my throat, you know? Look at this paragraph:

"But yet, it is not only Legend and Gabriell who deem me as Evil. Ransom, Moss, Orphea, all of Gabriell's Champions call me Evil. Even Eroica, who has more Darkness in her than almost any other Champion, gives me the name Evil. What makes me more Evil than her? I have equal parts of Light and Dark in my heart, so what unbalance leads me to the side of Evil, if Darkness determines Evil? And, at that, why does Darkness make Evil? The flames of Hell look very bright to me."

That's just name dropping there. I, as a reader, do not care about Ransom and Moss and Orphea. Truthfully, I don't care about Gabriell the Champion of Light's army, or how his whole hierarchy works. I wanna see character development, dialogue, actual scenes with things happening. This is just ranting and explaining. And worst of all, you chose the worst aspect of your story to rant about. Instead of talking about feelings of alienation and, I don't know, low self-steem because everybody hates these demons or whatever they are, you chose to talk about... I don't even know. You do discuss the fact that everybody hates them for no reason, but you should elaborate. But truth is, I could chop this up to 400 words and it'd make the same amount of sense.

And your guy is such a cry-baby! If I were God I would've created a stone-cold motherf*cker, you know? Some feeling-less John Holmes, Preacher's Saint of Killers type, John Wayne, Pulp Fiction's Winston Wolf kinda guy. Just a machine. Why create a guy who would whine so much, specially when his job is killing everybody. Seriously. And anyways, yeah, like Penguin said, your character is "guh." I know he's a "Being of Darkness" but why does he talk like a guy reciting poems in a crappy 60s café? is sentences are long, he tries to sound poetic but ends up sounding silly. I men, some of these sentences are just too goddamn long. Seriously.

I wish I could be more helpful, but Le Penguin said most of the stuff I would say anyways. I agree with him. Keep writing!

This was a really enjoyable story, though quite short. I loved the meaning behind it. It was quite interesting and very philosophical.
I couldn't find any mistakes and I can imagine this story developing into a much longer, thicker version with many twists and turns if you wished. The characterisation was beautiful and incredibly proffessional. Especially when it is such a short story.

Overall I really did love this.
Good Luck!