Young Writers Society

In advance, I apologise. This is a massive first draft I have for two major battle scenes and a major character death scene that has been sitting on my laptop for months now, and I've not had anyone read it. If you have the time/ patience, I would love to get a review on how I can improve it so it actually makes sense and anything I could add/ take away. If you want to know anything about context eg. let me know- I'll probably reply relatively quickly. Again, I'm really sorry if this is absolute rubbish and you waste your time on it haha XD

If you could even just review a section and state which bit you're doing, that would be absolutely amazing. Cheers!

There's a lot of combat/ violence and some pretty sad stuff so please don't read on if you don't want to.

The Reckoning

As she peered around the corner, a loud, almighty thud echoed through the hall. Gheythas beckoned her over, gesturing to come quietly with one finger over his mouth. They all gazed at the cathedral’s walls, gawking at its size and beauty- the ceilings must have been taller than two adult red dragons at the very least. Stained glass reached up almost to the top of the building, with scenes of old and new gods littering the windows with hundreds of colours.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The voice from the altar called. Listening to his words echo across the wooden structure, he turned around, smiling with pearly white teeth. He looked about thirty, his fire-red hair a bit longer than shoulder length, dressed in many shades of red and black, his robes more for decoration than actual practicality, with countless layers and chains hanging between his joints. As he swivelled, the red cloak hanging down his back swung in the breeze, seeming to get longer at its tattered ends. “Oh, I apologise. I haven’t introduced myself, have I? Not that you wouldn’t be able to recognise me.” He pointed gracefully towards one of the windows, on which two men clashed weapons, with darkness and light burning around them.

“Huh? Oh, gods. It’s him.” Urbn sighed, his fingers tight around his bow’s string.

“So you’re Moros. Honestly, I was expecting more. Less flashy than your portraits, aren’t you?” Alrec chimed in, smiling gently to himself.

“If you want more-“ he materialised a war hammer from his hand, glowing red brightly, “I can deliver. Fire away, mortals. Try your luck.” His hand outstretched, he swung the hammer in a figure of eight, before summoning a shield of fire around him.

“C’mon, it’s showtime!” Argyll shouted from the back, holding his axe with two hands. he charged to the front of the god, while Xirmia and Urbn took his left, and Gheythas and Alrec took the right. The warlock went aerial, hitting Moros with a one-handed thwack of his staff, then blasted him with a torrent of water, extinguishing the flames around him.

Urbn shot a quick flurry of arrows towards his head, but were batted away with his hand; in defeat, he jumped quickly out the way to give the young sorceress an opportunity. She held darkfire inside of her until her lungs started to burn, letting it fly into him, coughing as the smoke surrounded her.

“Quick, Alrec, while he’s distracted!” Gheythas yelled over at him, giving a boost with his hand to propel him towards the god. With a grunt, he threw both of his shortswords towards the god, hearing a slice as they flew past, leaving deep gouges. As he ran to recollect them from the altar, he was seized by the neck, by a hand covered in barbed wire and spikes. Xirmia could hear as he struggled for breath, squirming, and hitting with his gauntlets. The grip of the taller man got tighter and tighter, and his eyes started to flutter open and shut , his body becoming stiller.

“Alrec!” His brother sliced at Moros with his axe, repeatedly hacking at his armour, hoping to hit through it as the noise drowned out his yelling. “Let him go, you piece of-“ The god smacked Argyll away like a fly; even though the men were the same size, there was a major power imbalance. Alrec dropped to the floor, barely conscious, his hand crawling for the scattered weapons. Overwhelmed by the situation, Gheythas made an attempt to lead the god away from the downed warriors, standing still and clasping his hands in prayer without making a sound.

“What the hell? He’s gone mad!”

“Trust me, it’ll work.” Xirmia said confidently, assuring the ranger. The two ran into the pews, crouching down as Moros walked down the aisle towards him. He let out a deep chuckle, and let down his hammer in a front blow towards Gheythas’ head. As it should’ve hit, a cloudy barrier formed around the weapon, and with his hand, he shot a blast of white energy towards his chest, melting the dark robes slightly and sending him back a few metres.

“Damn… man’s got some power.” Alrec muttered, wheezing as he spoke. He turned to his brother as he sat up, going on to kneel beside him. “Argyll? You in there?” Gently, he shook him by the shoulder, turning him over onto his back, with a struggle. “C’mon, wake up.” He shook him again, with more power, gazing up and down his battered form. His face was cut all over from Moros’ gauntlet, blood dripping from his nose and forehead in a stream. “Come on, you’re scaring me, Argyll, wake up.” He sighed, then pounded his stomach with a clenched fist, making his eyes shoot open. Coughing and spluttering, Argyll put a hand to his ribs, giving his brother a foul look.

“Was that necessary?”

“Hey, you’re awake now, at least. You okay?” Alrec reached over and flicked Argyll’s hair away from his face.

“Been better. Stings like hell- you better be grateful ‘bout how I just saved your arse.”

“Trust me- beyond words.”

“Impressive. For a mortal, your power is… extraordinary. What are you?” Moros stepped back onto two feet, picking his hammer back up with a slow grace. “I feel bad killing you. You do seem like one of kind.” His feet leaving the floor, he summoned hundreds of spectral arrows around him, and flicked his arm in Gheythas’ direction. The warlock put his arms up in a cross, making a crystalline shield in front of him. As the arrows hit, they slowly chipped away at the conjuration, the occasional one hitting a spot on his legs and arms. 

He winced as they dug into his skin, drawing blood, all while his protection faded away. Urbn shuffled down towards the end of the pew, Xirmia shaking her head at him in disapproval, reaching out to stop his from leaving. He shrugged her touch off, and ran across to Gheythas, shoving him aside into the middle of two pews, taking a few arrows to the shoulder as he hit the floor.

“Darksight, you bloody idiot…”Gheythas said from behind, mumbling as he clambered up to his feet as the firing ceased. Urbn winced, feeling his eyes start to well up as the pain started to burn.

“How about a thank you first?”

The two Aeron brothers had stood up, weapons in hand- they gave Gheythas a nod, before they started to attack Moros. Argyll dodged and countered every slam from the battle hammer, and Alrec pierced his exposed skin, eventually going into a fistfight against him, having the advantage of being agile- every hefty punch was avoidable, and he returned the blows with sharp kicks. Gheythas threw his staff across to Xirmia, who was still cowered, and smiled. “You know what to do, kiddo.”

She nodded, taking the weapon, and running into the middle of the aisle. With her eyes closed in concentration, she exhaled deeply, holding the staff horizontally, and channelling energy into it, crackling at the ends. As it started to rumble she reverted to an offensive grip, shouting, “Over here!” Unstable, darkened lightning exploded from the staff, circling all around him in a storm of darkness. Alrec pushed his brother out the way, watching in awe. Once it had cleared, Moros was gone from sight.

“No. There’s no chance it’s over. Not that quick. That wasn’t it.” Alrec muttered.

“He’s a tricky one.” Urbn still sat on the floor, his eyes wrenched shut. Gheythas ran over to him, examining the wound in his shoulder.

“We need to get you fixed up. Anyone have a bandage or something?” Xirmia nodded, throwing a dark, musty-smelling scrap of fabric to him.

“Should do the trick.” She smiled awkwardly, coming over to the two. Urbn watched in pain as Gheythas pulled out the arrows from his shoulder, holding in a small scream.

“Sorry, kid, I have to.” He tied the makeshift bandage tight around the gouge, making sure it wasn’t too loose. “Look after him, you three. Okay?” He declared, picking up his staff while pulling the arrows from himself, still walking.

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Argyll chimed, walking after him.

“I need to find Tyr. Now. Xirmia, when did he tell you to run?” He turned his head towards her, where she still sat by Urbn’s side.

“It was… Tenebris. That was it. Tenebris threatened him to battle, there were others too. Dad, you have to find him. I think he’s in trouble.” He stood silently, taking in the information with a serious look on his face.

“I’ll be back soon. Be careful, okay?” Gheythas ruffled Xirmia’s hair, smiling at her kindly before running off towards the doors.

“I really hope he gets there on time.”

“Don’t worry,” Alrec said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “I’m sure he will.”

Wicked Game

He flinched as the sword neared his throat, his head slightly tipping back.

“I’m sorry. This has been fun- but I can’t let you live any longer. His will won’t let me. Time to end this, just one more time. What do you say?” He scowled at Tenebris, pushing the blade away and pulling out his own sword, holding it tight.

“And what the hell did I do to deserve this?.

“I really am sorry. What we have, you and me, is something really special…. But without you, there’s nothing standing in my way to pleasing my master. With that girl gone, her power-“

“Nothing of your plan will succeed! You’re too hopeful. I will do whatever I have to keep you monsters from her. From anyone back there. You hurt anyone like you did to him again, and I’ll take it out on every single one of you.”

He laughed dryly, smacking his hands on his thighs, smiling. “Why don’t you give it a try? We’re all here. All of the strongest acolytes of the Order, about fifteen. Come on! Give your best! Do your worst!” Tenebris swung his sword around his fingers, holding out a hand as a ballroom partner would, leather gloves squeaking with the motion. “It may be our last dance together, this time. Don’t you want to go all out? Better to start the war a hero than wake as a poor wretch.”

“And yet you can’t stomach to face me on your own? Coward.” He swayed his sword towards him, hitting blades immediately as Tenebris parried, slicing out towards him. As sparks flew in his eyes, he broke the hold, turning his body around quickly, going in for a thrust to his shoulder. Luxem swung up his arm, the blow only lightly penetrating through his leather vambrace. A small wince came from him as it dug deeper into his skin, closing his eyes as he flung his arm the opposite way, sending Tyr backwards, and opening an opportunity. Tenebris shook his arm to ease the pain, before thrusting his dagger between the gap next to his shoulder blade, plunging it deep past his undershirt.

“… Go.” Behind the rogue, half a dozen men and women stood clad in the getup of the Elites, each with a different weapon in their hands, but equally bloodthirsty eyes all staring into the paladin. As soon as Tenebris pulled the dagger from his shoulder, they started to advance, the stronger, more barbaric coming towards him first, axes and greatswords at the ready. He stumbled over to his fallen sword, gripping it tightly with both hands, standing in a wait of terror as a large woman wielding a large axe approached him.

She grinned horribly, already lunging out in a series of slashes; most of which he could sidestep and avoid, the odd one bouncing off his armour. The woman looked as if she were about to pull him limb from limb, and that she could possibly do. 

About as tall as Argyll and possibly even wider, her thick arms held a heavy battle axe against her shoulder. The first of fifteen circling around him like vultures, ready to kill him in any horrid way possible. Tyr muttered a small prayer, holding his blade to his forehead as it glinted, the blessing of Alexander running through its metal.

“Come on, boy, I’ve heard good things of yer! Let’s see how long you survive against the Butcherer!”

“Save some for us, for gods’ sakes. At least leave his head on his shoulders, eh?”

Usually, he’d be proud to face up against warriors so esteemed; but confidence was far away, shivering at the thought of so many. They could swarm him at the same time, and that would certainly be the end, but they wouldn’t want to make it quick. The elites would want to drag out his death as long and as painfully as possible, however. So he braced himself for the worst, ready to take it on his chest the best he could.

The woman in front of him bared her rotting teeth again, letting her axe down in a heavy crash right by his head. Tyr could only just avoid it, sliding to the side on the balls of his feet and going in for a slice to her stomach. She backed away, the sharp blade cutting through her tunic but nothing else. Immediately, the woman let her axe sweep, catching him slightly off guard; the paladin ducked under it, an arc of his own weapon lacerating her knees on his way back up. She roared, giving her wounds little attention and charging for him like an enraged bull. This he stepped away from, watching as she ran right past him in a grappling position. He caught her tunic, gripping it tightly with his free hand and thrusting his sword through the back of her chest with the other. Tyr wiped the blade on his vambrace, coating it in fresh blood.

This battle scene between SIXTEEN different combatants draws on for a small eternity so I'm going to leave out the majority of it hahahaha

“What a performance, my friend…” Tenebris came over to the paladin, who knelt catching his breath, “fifteen of the greatest, strongest warriors in the land. All dead by your sword. I have to say, any pity I had for you is now gone.” The man braced his hand on Tyr’s shoulder from behind, his cold presence making him shiver. He looked down at his hands, at his armour, covered in dents and the blood of the dead beneath him. Heavily, he sighed, averting his gaze quickly from Tenebris behind him. “What would they say if they saw what you’ve done?”

“It was to protect them.” The paladin spat out quickly, going up to his feet, blade tight in his hand.

“What a terrible excuse. You could try harder to at least make your lies feasible.” He pulled his greatsword from the ground, holding its great mass with the strength of one arm. Tyr suppressed a snarl, keeping the rage boiling up inside him down forcefully. The rogue gracefully circled him, eyeing him down like a hawk to prey. “I hope you enjoyed the warmup. But it’s time for the main event.” With a sneer, he held out his hand towards his opponent, his dark hair framing his sharp jaw.

“You’re a monster, Luxem.”

“Oh, I take pride in it.” Tenebris grinned sharply, his reddish eyes boring into the paladin like daggers.

“Exactly why I need to end your sorry life.”

“You fool… you don’t see it, do you? Me and you are the same. Men with motives, things to fight for; enough innocent blood on our hands. You treat me as if I am some freak, one that deserves to be hated in every respect. But you have never looked upon yourself.”

“Bastard. I treat you as you deserve.” Tyr snapped back, approaching him with his teeth bared.

“Then I shall do the same for you. Each man for himself, until all of our blood is spent. A monster must die to one of his own kind for it to be fair, Tyr.” Tenebris brought his sword to his chest, readying it for battle.

“He bloody will.” The paladin hissed, mirroring his opponent’s movement. “Ready yourself.”

He wrestled the rogue to the floor, a foot pressed hard against his chest and a hand tight around his throat. The other searched for the blade at his side, easily ripped from its weak sheath with little effort.

“Put that down, you fool, you do not know of its power-“ he shouted, raspy as his lungs caved in underneath heavy boots. Tyr only smiled back at him, kicking Tenebris under foot as he walked back away from him. The sword was beautiful, shining with a deathly glow in the midday light, its hilt ornate and laced with gold through its dark tones; but it had to be silenced.

He gripped hard, one hand on the base of the blade, sharp edges cutting into his hands, the other around the hilt, and shoved its tip into the floor. The blade shattered in a second, falling into hundreds of pieces on the floor, his blood mingling between the shards. Tenebris shouted out from below, his voice a howl of pain as he reached out for the paladin, now free with a dagger at the ready.

“BASTARD! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE! You’ve doomed us all, you fool…” his hand wrapped around his neck, the other attempting ferociously to get through the gaps in Tyr’s armour. The paladin managed to catch most of the attempts before they were plunged into his skin, though one managed to penetrate his side. With a grunt, he shoved the rogue away, returning with a blow of his own towards the rogue’s thigh, ripping through hard muscle as he retracted the broken blade, leaving the two recoiling in pain for a moment. Tenebris held the wound, watching hopelessly as blood spilled from his hands and down his trousers. 

Collecting himself, he lunged towards the paladin’s arm, holding him by the wrist, a dagger stuck between the vambrace and gauntlet. With his free hand, he wrenched it from his skin, lashing out at Tenebris blindly as the rogue tried to rip the dark blade from his tight grasp, fingers clawed. The paladin tugged away, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder and a click of bone as the rogue’s grip faltered, the blade falling to the floor. Tyr’s head started to spin, a faint feeling washing over him painfully, realising the arm wilted to his side, joints weak and useless.

Shit.

Justice

Tenebris smiled back at him, the shattered blade in his hand, ready to strike. He stumbled, his legs shaky as he reached for the sword at his side, unsheathing it with a hiss. It pained him to realise his strength was fading, as he struggled to hold up his blade to his chest. The rogue ran up towards him, clashing swords and circling around in a spray of sparks, breaking Luxem’s guard to go in for a thrust to his side. 

He felt the metal pierce through flesh, a strangled scream coming from his throat as the paladin forced his sword further into him. Tenebris wrapped a hand around the blade, pulling it from his body with little effort, and using the momentum to kick Tyr in the chest. He staggered, pulling the shield from his back to guard from the rogue’s large sword as he slashed and slashed, wrecking the surface of the metal.

As a heavy attack hit, he lifted up his shield, throwing it to the side and opening an opportunity to hit out at him. The paladin thrust out at his shoulder, but the attack was easily dodged, and returned with a wide slash to his chestplate; doing little damage, but bringing the two into a fistfight as Tyr grabbed the large blade and tossed it aside, as well as his own. The rogue landed a solid punch to his head, his opponent then kneeing him in the face, both of them bleeding from the nose. With his fist tightly clenched, the paladin went into land a few blows to Tenebris’ face, missing a few and giving an opportunity for the rogue to elbow him with a sharp, armoured plate, once in the side and another time in the face. 

Tenebris pulled his dagger from his belt, piercing through the skin on the paladin’s other shoulder, the serrated dagger plunging deep. Through gritted teeth, he seethed, picking his sword up from the ground and slicing numerous times at him, cutting through the leather armour like ribbon. The blows each deeply wounded the rogue, but it didn’t show, his face undeterred as Tyr plunged his sword into his stomach. A small burst of energy curled up in Tenebris’ fist, and he hurled it towards his opponent, not doing much other than scarring his armour, until he planted his hands on the paladin’s shoulder, fire raging from his fingertips.

At first it felt like nothing, only a small flame curling around his arms, until it gave way to an unbearable heat, spreading through his armour like a chain reaction about to burn him alive. Tenebris’ hands clawed at his chestplate, until the weakened, hot metal gave in and tore under his strength. 

Sluggishly, he managed to shove off the rogue, recovering for a second before unsheathing the dagger from his belt, going to thrust it between his shoulder and chest, though countered by the twist of his wrist and a headbutt that floored him. His body was thrown across the cold floor, and he felt himself wince as his bleeding wounds stung, causing pain all over, almost blacking out before the presence above startled him.

Tyr tried to sit up, but the rogue’s hand caught his arm, his weight keeping his legs down as if he were bound. One knee braced on his stomach, Tenebris punched again and again at the paladin’s face, causing bruises and cuts all over from his worn gloves, his attack not ceasing, even for a breath. He could feel his form going numb, the only remaining feeling in his face as it blazed with pain. Weakly, he managed to break his hand from the rogue’s grip, using it to push him off balance; and the momentum to shove him off completely. He forced himself to stand on shaking legs, looking exhaustedly at Tenebris through bloodshot, tired eyes.

“Please, Tenebris… please, I need to get out. Just stop…” he thrust his sword into the ground, using it as a weight to keep him steady. The blood dripping from his forehead was running down his face onto his neck, a few drops of it staining on his battered armour. The rogue grabbed him by the neck, but his body was too weary to resist, not even to stop his grip scratch past him. His legs went numb, shaking under the usual weight of the armour and weapons on him.

“You’ll have no pity from me. You see the blood on your hands? The fallen warriors below your feet? You murdered every single one of them, all because of your bloody honour. Maybe I had some regret against hurting you; but I’ve lost it all.” Tenebris sighed, bringing his body closer towards him. It felt almost like an embrace, and in his exhaustion he took it kindly.

The paladin bowed his heavy head when he put a hand over the wound in his shoulder, watching it ooze over his wrist. Tenebris grimaced, shaking his head lightly as he wrapped one arm around Tyr’s back, holding him. He gripped his opponent’s sword tight in his free hand, quietly cursing himself.

“It ends here. And I’m sorry it has to.” His voice carried a certain concern and regret that was very much alien to his tone, and the rogue’s eyes seemed quite pained as he looked at him, so empty. “I’m sorry, Tyr.”

As the blade ruptured through his chest, his mind went blank.

The End

How is it I feel... nothing?

His vision started to blur, relying on his hearing to decipher the scene as Tenebris let the sword clatter to the floor, walking back with a stumble. As the man laughed, he could make out his face, just as he vanished from sight, a hollow expression twisted in a sort of horror. He put a hand to the deep wound in his chestplate, pressuring against it with his fingers desperately to stop the flow. Tyr let out a heavy sigh, fumbling for the sword to his side as his senses started to ebb, longing for the cold touch of the steel in his hands.

With shaking fingers, his palm made contact with its hilt, wrapping around the blue wraps gently; it settled him slightly, and he managed to strain himself onto his feet. He gazed down at his hand, crimson spilled over metal and dark fabric in intricate patterns and pools, wincing at the sight, the dizziness, the sickening throb in his head getting worse the longer he stood.

A loud thud rang out from in front him, proceeded by the sight of a large wooden door being slammed with great force against its hinges. From inside the doorframe, the warlock bolted out, smiling with relief as he saw Tyr standing there, almost as if he were awaiting his arrival with open arms. He ran up to him, immediately enclosed in the paladin’s hold, returning the embrace with a slight delay.

“Tyr, by the gods! You’re-“ The paladin started to weep in his arms, looking to his face in both pain in sorrow. His legs began to shake, a once strong body now slowly breaking apart in his anguish. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

Gheythas had but seconds to react as his knees stumbled fully, caving in to the weight of his own armour and falling to the floor, only just caught by Gheythas’ arms. He held his crying face gently, smiling back to calm him through every aggrieved jolt and spasm of his bones.

“Gheythas… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I got you. Just stay with me.” The warlock spoke softly near his ear, his arms holding just enough strength to keep him close towards his chest; just enough to keep him awake, mindlessly stroking his hands through his crimson-stained hair to give him some other feeling than his burning pain. “Remember, you promised Xirmia we could sit under the meadow’s willow tree for a while, and watch the sunset, just us.”

“I could never- forget.” A groan of pain wrenched from his raspy throat, and he gripped hard onto Gheythas’ hand as more tears streamed down his bloody face, body writhing. He hated every second of it, seeing him so weak, so helpless, and he wanted to tear every moment of pain away and make it his if it spared the paladin peace. Through his haze, he slumped slightly, shoulders dropped and loose.

“That’s it, stay with me,” he ran a hand gently down his face, wiping away bloody tears with Tyr’s own hand clasped over his, “we’ll go home soon. You can rest, we both can, and we won’t have to worry.”

The light inside him faded substantially, and he was barely hanging on, his eyes dull; his chest barely rose and fell with raspy, shallow breaths, and every moment he tried to cling on to life, it only went swifter.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

“Never again.” He smiled, and with a small pang of both happiness and sorrow, the dying man did the same as his eyes started to flutter. The grasp around his wrist was faltering, faltering dearly now.

The pain in him was taking over, Gheythas could feel as he tried to hold on for longer, grasping at the warlock as if he could save him; because if anyone did, it could’ve been him. His eyes never left his face, taking in every last thing he could, every last sensation, and every last moment was spent smiling towards him. Softly, he kissed his forehead, brushing away the sticky, bloody hair from his features. “That’s it. You’re okay.”

Gheythas felt the weak grip in his hand falter, fingers slipping away before resting on the cold floor, utterly still.

He held the paladin’s face, a stab of pain hitting his chest as he looked into his dead blue eyes; he knew those eyes so well, but nothing lay behind them now, and he could never again meet their gaze. Crying, Gheythas closed his eyes with a soft touch. His skin was getting colder, the blood staining his face drying against its pale canvas. It was then Gheythas felt himself start to quake all over, the stinging of his eyes rolling down his cheeks.

He was glad that none saw him in that moment, when every inch of his being was wrecked with an uncontrollable feeling. Every second more he spent next to the lifeless shell of him sent him deeper into madness. It was horrible how much he just wanted to crash and burn right there, and fry every single nerve in his body; just to end the emptiness, the fatal horror inside. 

He felt as if he were about to scream, wanting to tear himself apart from the inside, to end everything just so he could be with him. But he couldn’t. Not now, when the weight of everyone’s survival rested on his shoulders. It was the last thing he could do for those he loved, so he’d have to endure the pain, if not just for their sake. He cradled the paladin close to his chest, crying over his body with deep sobs stuck in his throat, subtly rocking himself from where he sat.

“I’m sorry.”