Spiral Knights - Of Scarred Shields and Swords

Of Scarred Shields and Swords - Fanfic (Suspended)

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Thu, 01/21/2016 - 22:59

Paginated

Chapter I: Easy Out
Compound 62, Depth 24

I vaulted over a large tree-like corpse of a Lumber that only moments ago had been menacing us. The Lumber didn’t budge as I resumed my dead man’s sprint. The air all around me was sizzling with bullets and fire. The explosions weren't exactly helping the situation, with shrapnel and chunks of wood raining on me. The small army of Gremlins chasing us are shouting threats and curses.

You could say I was in a very uncomfortable situation, and truth to be told, I was actually in a less desirable place. It wasn't really that bad though, just keep running in front of that Crimson Scout rookie. I'd be fine in the time it took me to run four kilometers.

I started noticing that this might actually be a really bad situation the moment that the grizzled Scarlet Scout's vitals went black in less than ten seconds. I turned my head just in time to see the Scarlet Scout kid stop. He then fired a sustained burst from his Autogun. He was cut down within seconds. He actually managed to get whacked by an axe-wielding gremlin. Probably not the most glamorous or heroic way to go, but still a pretty quick one.

"Idiot," I thought.

"You got that right," my comm crackled. The statement was accompanied with a chuckle. Apparently I have been thinking out loud.

The man in question, the only remaining member of Golem Squadron, was in fact, my oldest friend. Not because I had met him particularly long ago, but because he had managed to survive for the longest.

I didn't bother answering him. I kept running as fast as possible while tossing my Super Shard Bomb supply at carefully timed intervals.

Two minutes later, I finally emerge from the mess of machinery of a Compound. In front of me was a two-hundred-meter stretch of land that was devoid of anything other than dirt, craters and corpses. Just over the two-hundred-meter mark there was probably the most imposing looking trench to have ever been built in the level. This level at least.

I stopped for a fraction of a second to make sure that my friend was still with me. A white and yellow blur against the dull red, grey and yellows of the compound. The mob is still chasing us. I hadn't gone more than one step when the whole air in front of me exploded.

Technically speaking, it was only the oxygen in the air that exploded, but when a large area in front of you explodes, you can't really worry about the technicalities. I dropped to the floor and happened to land in a very muddy crater that was halfway filled with water. The water appears to have some blood mixed in. Hell, it still creeps me out when I think about that redder-than-normal water.

I finally dared to raise my head above the rim of my comfy-yet-creepy crater. The first thing I saw was that the trench line in front of me had been reduced to rubble. I turned around and noticed that the compound several meters behind me was greatly reduced in density. Mortarfires don't usually miss when they perform long range bombardments in support of their thwackers, but this time they managed to both eliminate the army chasing me, and the army waiting for me without actually managing to land a single first-degree burn on me. Well, truth be told, I'd probably get some nasty blisters in the back of my neck, but I was feeling quite triumphant right now.

I stood up and managed to lift my Blackhawk up to my shoulder. The moment was then interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Always a showoff aren't you?" said Wulfric, my oldest friend for the past three years and it looked like he would still hold that honorable position for a little longer, even if little longer meant forty-five more seconds.

I looked behind me and broke off my pose. Then shot a stumbling gremlin that was missing his right arm. It went down with a single shot.

"You wish you could look as good as I do right now, Wulfric."

He chuckled and gestured at his semi-wrecked armor. "You got that right," he retorted with a heavy dose of sarcasm in his voice.

I chuckled. We then simply started trotting towards the wreckage of front line. We walked carefully on the patches of loose rubble that didn't slide too much. The fifty-meter-thick strip of wreckage and then another hundred meters were crossed before we stopped at a tree stump. I crossed my leg over my knee and pulled out my combat knife. I scraped off the already-sticky slime off my boots. We kept walking without a sound for a while longer in silence.

I managed to smile at the thought of a relatively safe elevator evac to Haven and a quick debriefing and report writings. We'd be drinking milk in Mew Bar at Schizophrenia Guild Hall within two weeks.

Unfortunately it was never that easy, and this time was no exception. I heard the grunting noises of thwackers and the high pitched squeaks of knockers about thirty feet in front of us.

Wulfric and I both dropped to a cave that was formed by a thick tree root. Those thirty seconds were probably the longest thirty seconds of the past three and a half months of my life.

Shortly after I heard the regular thumps that only a thwacker could make. They were elegant yet somehow managed to sound rough. Gremlins were a warrior race through and through. The thumping stopped and I almost squealed as the two legs of an Darkfang thwacker suddenly appeared right in front of me. The legs stood still for a few seconds and I could almost picture the gremlin turning its head and sniffing the air, sensing that something was wrong. I then saw around six knockers and two menders appear in front of the gremlin.

I glanced at Wulfric. He nodded at me and I moved my gun as noiselessly as I could. I brought it up and changed the Blackhawk's setting from regular fire to charge. Thankfully, it didn't click.

I pushed my back to the floor and launched a kick at the knee of the gremlin. I don't know if it broke, but it brought the furry warrior to the floor. I fired into the body of the gremlin. Meanwhile, Wulfric strafed the lesser minions with his Grim Repeater. He managed to knock down one knocker and both menders. I turned and checked the area to our backs, the elevator was supposed to be that way.

Wulfric killed the remaining knockers with well placed bursts. We resumed our march. This time it was different, as our guns were up and ready. We crossed some sort of hedge that was acting as a wall between the trees and found ourselves in front of at least fifty gremlins. Lumbers included.

Wulfric and I jumped backwards as plasma and fire rippled above our heads and slid towards a thick tree as soon as we landed.

I glanced at Wulfric. "You do realize we're dead?"

He simply nodded as he heaved his large gun. We stayed there for a few moments. The tree started to disintegrate and splinter with the intense heat of the scorchers' flame. It was probably on fire already, but I barely noticed any of it.

"Count your rounds?" I suggested. "Count your rounds," my squad-mate acknowledged.

We left our cover, guns blazing to meet death in the face. Unfortunately, we didn't get that honor, as the ground in front of us and under the gremlins ballooned up and cracked. Through those cracks came flames. Only moments later, I felt the shockwave hurl me into the same tree we had been using as cover. It wasn't like in those action movies, where people fly into objects. It was more like a shove. A shove that managed to collapse one of my lungs and possibly turned one of my kidneys into mush.

My vision darkened just as I saw an elevator in the distance. As it got closer I thought to myself that it would be fine and I could just fall unconscious. I'd wake up a few days later with a new kidney and a re-inflated lung, ready to jump into the fight again.

Unfortunately reality didn't meet my expectations. The pain kept me awake. I watched as ten Recon Rangers dismounted from the elevator and stabbed the surviving gremlins. The two Lumbers was cut down by two knights with Khorovods. Finally, two knights, one of which was a very pretty medic with pink Blazebreak Helm carried me onto a stretcher. Wulfric was limping and being helped by two other Recon Rangers. I rested my head back and felt my helmet being taken off and a breathing masked attached to me. I looked at the unending dark hole of the elevator shaft and could feel it moving upwards before I finally managed to slip into unconsciousness.

Man, getting blown up sucks.

Author note: If you're wondering, Wulfric and the narrator (Kasteel) are the members of the Recon Rangers, and yes, their weapons is better than the Rangers that shows up when you use a flare. I like to think the Flare Rangers as a new ranger who is learning the ropes, which explains why they always bring the Autogun, even in a Vanaduke fight.

Sat, 01/23/2016 - 00:22

Thinslayer

@Paginated

The writing is pretty good, but the first person narration feels awkward. There's no way a person observes & remembers things in such detail, and the constant repetition of "I" makes him seem a little arrogant. If you must write from that perspective, do try to minimize the use of "I." Also consider sneaking in descriptions of the narrating character, like looking in a mirror, getting complimented by another character, etc. I had no idea what kind of person I was during the story, which was kind of annoying.

Ignoring the flaws of the first-person scope, though, it's pretty well-written. The story immersed me in its world. I could get a solid picture of who was doing what and where they were doing it. You also seem to be good at writing the stuff that happens before and after the action, evoking feelings of tension, camraderie, and such like. The action itself is lackluster, though. The key here isn't *what* happened in the battle per se, but how the battle makes a person feel. You remember the emotions, the quick decisions, the moments that decided life & death. You don't remember "putting three rounds in an unshielded gremlin," you remember "nailing one" before "checking escape routes." You don't remember whether the gremlin broke its knee when you kicked it, you remember the crunching sound it made.

I wish I could offer better-quality feedback. Hexlash is really good at this sort of thing.

Sat, 01/23/2016 - 01:26

Paginated

@Thinslayer

I intended to make Kasteel to be an likable douche, and with him being a Recon Ranger for several years, he is entitled to believe that he is one of the best of what Spiral Order has to offer. After all, the Recon Rangers DOES have an high morality rate and get sent in hazardous missions frequently. And as this is my first official fanfiction, I decided to start with a chapter that belongs in middle of a storyline to see what reactions I could get to tweak my writing skills. Consider this chapter as a bit of a "preview", because next chapter would go back to the beginning, roughly... let say, some years before Morai Wars. Which gives me some room to develop Kasteel's character and come up with some content for Morai Wars. And yes, eventually, I will revisit this chapter, and "redux" it with some new content, and some details altered slightly.

Sat, 01/23/2016 - 02:31

Midnight-Dj

Le critique?

I intended to make Kasteel to be an likable douche, and with him being a Recon Ranger for several years, he is entitled to believe that he is one of the best of what Spiral Order has to offer.

However, Kasteel fell short on the entitlement, just because he experienced death more times than others does not grant him the right to look down on others. In fact, conflicts can hone of man's character and through it, some men can become great and have what it takes to respect new soldiers like a father would look upon his sons with pride.

Of course kasteel fell to the second category, he decided to abandon those things he held true before his life as a ranger, and with it, he abandoned his humanity(or Spiralmanity?) and devolved into a mere machine that carries out orders and genocide.

Sat, 01/23/2016 - 12:01

Paginated

@Midnight-Dj

I understand how you can see Kasteel that way, although, let say that Recon Rangers don't get it easy as us normal knights do. Suppose that they go in missions with ONLY one emergency revive and that's it, and after the emergency revive, death is permanent. This could be an underlying reason why Kasteel and other veteran Recon Rangers usually views other branches of Spiral Order except perhaps Scarlet Scouts and some Guardians with contempt. And keep in mind that this is only a single chapter, smack dab in middle of a storyline I'm building. As I mentioned in my response to Thinslayer's commentary, I will be going to the beginning of the storyline for second chapter, where Kasteel's personality would be quite different.

Sun, 01/31/2016 - 15:47

Paginated

The Real Beginning

Chapter II: Raised by a Grandfather
Planet Isora
Eight Years before Morai Wars

I saw a white flash and a dark shade moving quickly. I felt a searing pain and was instantly knocked out.

I opened my eyes, every movement bringing pain. My hair felt wet and my femur felt shattered. It probably was too. I didn't know at the time, but I had also cracked four ribs and broken three fingers in my left hand.

I am not entirely sure how, but my ten years old body somehow managed to break the vehicle's cracked window, climb through it, and then collapse on the highway. I leaned on the undercarriage of the family vehicle, which was now turned sideways and sported dents all over the framework and started crying. There wasn't really anything else that could be done. I was too little, in pain, and my parents were possibly dead.

The crying stopped because it caused even more pain. A man descended from a large truck. He was babbling and looked even worse than I did. He was the one that had hit us. He asked me if I was ok, then started cursing when he saw the damage. He called emergency services.

"What have I done? I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…" The trucker broke down. He covered his face and sobs could be heard. Then everything went dark. Sirens wailed far away.

When I next woke up I was in a hospital bed, almost all the pain gone, just a weird stinging in my left side and a mild headache. Sitting in a chair to the side of my hospital room was grandpa Agis. My dad's father. His usually hard eyes were red with tears. He laughed, but it was a sad laugh. He hugged me and didn't let go.

When he finally let go. He slumped back into the chair. "What happened?" I asked.

"You were in a car crash," he was avoiding the topic.

"Where's mom and dad?"

"They're…" his voice broke and he stopped. I started crying.

"Your dad is gone," his shoulders slumped and he took a deep breath. "Your mother's alive, but she's in a coma and the doctors say she probably won't wake up anytime soon." He was crying now. "I'm glad you're ok."

Before I knew it I was on a Spiral Order ship on the way to Fort Nightfall, located in the huge city of Olympia. My uncle happened to be a Spiral Order drill sergeant. He used to whip rich boys into something resembling real knights. I used to think that that made him softer than other drill sergeants, but it turned out that he was a real ass. He just managed to intimidate his recruits into not making any sort of contact with their rich parents.

At first I hated him for being the way he was. I actually hated him for everything. Making me move a gazillion miles away from home and into a city with nothing in it other than military stores, and tourist traps. The countryside wasn't interesting either.

Grandpa Agis had made me leave my home and my mother. He had made me leave my friends and even my planet. It took me years to understand why he requested that transfer away from home.

Despite all this multi-legitimate reasons to hate my grandpa. I hated him the most for a different reason. Actually it was more like a bunch of other reasons bunched up into one. My life was as hard as a boot camp. Literally.

Wake up at 4:30 AM. Run the track for half an hour before the recruits woke up. Clean my room. Take a shower. Get breakfast. Go to classes. Help the cooks at the mess hall. Study time. Run the track for another fifteen minutes with uncle. Historic battles discussion with uncle. Dinner. Bedside reading (mostly classics and war novels). Bedtime.

It was a tough life, but it probably saved my life many times afterwards. No, scratch that, it definitely saved my life a bunch of times.

As an orphan (or the next closest thing), I was troublesome. Fights with kids my age were frequent whenever I left the base, and more than a few times I had been shot at for trespassing into restricted areas. I have to give credit to my grandpa, he never gave up on me. Sure, he spanked me like crazy and gave me the most unusual punishments for a pre-teen. Cleaning all the weapons and armor in the armory and polishing his office floor was a common occurrence for those first years. I eventually got better, but that didn't mean that my life got any less hard physically-wise.

By the time I was thirteen I was already at the shooting range whenever the recruits were running their mini-marathons. I was actually pretty good with the Super Blaster. By the time I got to the age of fifteen, I was running drills with my uncle's recruits. Unfortunately, the rest of schedule was still there, with shorter time slots and a later bedtime to allow for more physical work. The best part of my day was probably being in the kitchen with the cooks, besides being able to munch on something whenever I wanted to, there was Tirel, a large and burly cook that was from Cukson. The city that used to be home. I remember that he had a talent with knifes. In fact, whenever we had free time in the kitchen, we would start a knife throwing contest, usually it was between Tirel and another cook named Cookie. Eventually, we all got into it, and they taught me several basic grips and throwing techniques.

My relationship with my grandpa had gotten better. The life was as normal as possible for an orphaned child living in a military camp with his grandfather. Hell, I even managed to pick up some girls at the bars in some of the bars in Nocturne, the capital city.

Then I turned sixteen. Grandpa was already expecting me to join the Spiral Order Academy, but he was still sad that I would be leaving his side. With one of the most awkward farewells in the history of man, I boarded the ship to the Spiral Academy.

When I got there, it was relatively crowded with ten people milling around asking questions to the three Student Council members. Recon, Guardian, Striker, Technician, Biotech and for those who can't make up their minds, Knight. I joined them and started asking questions. I immediately realized that being in the Technicians and Biotechs wasn't my place. I belonged on battlefield, eliminating any threats to Isora, and if the rumors were true, aliens. As the rumors has it, Admiral Field had encountered some unusual sentient yellow goop on an asteroid. Regardless, I was opting to join the Striker, but there was still something missing for me, something new. Knight classes were good enough for me. At least if a Knight showed promise, he'd be redirected to a different military branch in Spiral Order.

How living at harder Spiral Academy could be than living at grandpa Agis' boot-camp anyways?

Author Note: Some of those who haven't read the first three sentences right at the beginning may have noticed that it's not Cradle. Well, of course it's not Cradle, it is Isora, the home planet of Spiral Order. Since we don't know anything about Isora other than Spiral Order and Morai Wars, the content of the planet is totally up to the artistic imagination. The next few chapters will focus on Kasteel's life at the Spiral Academy, then eventually, some of the Morai Wars.

Wed, 01/27/2016 - 03:49

Midnight-Dj

All I can say is, well, the whole first person writing annoys me to no end. And some of the event seems to happen out of sequence, both for the character as well as the story continuity as a whole.

Here is just my re-write of the first few paragraphs:

I still remember that car crash all those years ago. Unlike a Kodachrome fading with time, there is something in this life you can never forget.

I still remember the first time the pain coursed through my body as my hapless body mangled between the safety belt of the now broken family car. Back then, I was naive, never truly thought that a car crash would happen to me, the safety belt saved my life, or what was left of it. The first thing after I woke up from the extreme impact of the crash was crying out to my parents.

"Mom? Dad?"

No response came, time seemed to have stood still as I looked forward into the front seats, the two bodies I once called 'parents' were laid dead right in front of me, with their necks strung out of their shoulder. In the distance, I saw a distressed trucker screaming into the cell phone in tears.

"Emergency? Yeah! Quick! I crashed into a smaller car and gezus! I think I just... kill somebody! They ain't moving! I am not going to jail am I?!"

A dented truck, a man with guilt on his face, it was all too easy to piece together the evidence. I want him dead, I want him to pay for the loss, but I knew, no matter how much I hate, or love, my parents weren't coming back. The doctor's face was almost too easy to read when he sat down next to me the day after the crash, I knew all too well that my parents were dead, although I had the glimmer of hope that one of them survived, survived to take care of me, but then, that hope was dashed too. My mother was in a coma after a crash, through what I heard from the doctor, she wasn't coming back anytime soon.

I was on my own for the first time in my life, the emotion swelled through my eyes as I cried, but deep inside me, a voice urged me to carry on, to become a stronger person. It was then I knew I was on my way to become a knight.

Wed, 01/27/2016 - 08:09

Thinslayer

When to use first person

The first person perspective isn't all that great for an action story. As noted earlier, a person simply doesn't remember everything with the kind of detail needed to support action sequences. It's not realistic. A better option is to write in third person and put thoughts in italics.

However, if you must use first person, I know an excellent way to cut down on the "I" count - eliminate sensory phrases, like "I saw," "I heard," "I felt," etc., and replace them with a deep perspective.

For example:
Instead of... "I saw a man descend from a large truck."
Write... "A man descended from a large truck."
Eliminiates one "I."

Instead of... "Then the darkness surrounded my vision, and just before I fell unconscious, last thing I heard was the wailing of sirens."
Write... "Everything went dark. Sirens wailed far away. Then I woke up in a hospital bed."
Eliminates "my" and one "I."

Wed, 01/27/2016 - 09:15

Paginated

@Midnight-DJ and Thinslayer

I'll try to reduce the amount of first person terms, but I'll keep it in the first person perspective as I originally intended. Keep in mind that this is my first serious attempt at an fan fiction, so there would be some rough ends, although, with your commentary, it could help me to smooth it out somewhat for the future chapters.

Wed, 01/27/2016 - 20:14

Thinslayer

@Paginated

All right, if you're gonna insist on first-person, I'll support you. No more complaints on that front from me.

However, I must ask: Why did you choose first-person perspective for your story? Knowing what purpose you had in mind for it would help me figure out where and how to critique your work. First-person is primarily useful for conveying high volumes of thoughts, feelings, or emotions. Horror, mystery, and romance are good genres for this perspective, since they prize the internal over the external and detailed activity tends to take a back seat. Action, however, is better told in third person, since what is happening is often more important than how anyone felt about it. Thoughts can be readily expressed in italics as needed.

To make your first-person action story work, then, you need to focus on the internal side of the action. What Kasteel is thinking and feeling should be more important to you than what specific combat moves he carried out. In fact, you should probably ditch the combat moves entirely and let the readers figure it out.

Let me show you what that looks like. I'll rewrite the first few paragraphs of your OP with this mindset for this example.
__________

Original:
I rolled over a large tree-like corpse of a Lumber that only moments ago had been menacing us. The air all around me was sizzling with bullets and flames from Gun Puppies and Red Rovers. The exploding Deconstructor bombs weren't exactly helping the situation, with shrapnel and chunks of wood raining on me from every imaginable direction.

You could say I was in a very uncomfortable situation, and truth to be told, I was actually in a less desirable place. It wasn't really that bad though, just keep running in front of that Crimson Scout rookie and I'd be fine in the time it took me to run four kilometers.

I started noticing that this might actually be a really bad situation the moment that one of my squad's vitals went black in less than ten seconds. I turned my head just in time to see the Scarlet Scout kid stop and turn to fire a sustained burst from his Autogun. He was cut down within seconds, he actually managed to get whacked by an axe-wielding gremlin. Probably not the most glamorous or heroic way to go, but still a pretty quick one.

"Idiot," I thought.

First-Person Feelings:
I dropped to the dirt behind a fallen Lumber just as a wave of gunfire sizzled overhead. Shrapnel rained from the sky around me, threatening to punish the slightest movement. And all I got for protection was this lousy tree trunk! Well, that and this Crimson Scout rookie, bless his soul, whose plate armor was a heck of a lot bigger and tougher than the chunk of wood I was cowering behind. A pained cry echoed a little ways away, followed by a sickening crunch; A gremlin cut down our Scarlet Scout.

"Idiot," I whispered. The dam rookie shoulda known better than to just stand there.
__________

In my posted example, I'm focusing on what Kasteel is thinking and feeling. I put myself in his shoes to figure out what he would notice and write about. The observant reader can fill in the blanks as to what actions the protagonist took. Specifically, we can reasonably infer:
*Kasteel had to leap over the Lumber in order to "drop to the dirt" behind it.
*He is uncomfortable with the explosions, shrapnel, and small size of his cover.
*He probably stole a glance at his Crimson comrade. I imagine him feeling comforted at the thought of his strength.
*He would have to turn and look over the tree trunk to check the source of the cry, just in time to see the Scarlet Scout get cut down.

Notice what Kasteel doesn't observe:
*The origin of the gunfire (gun puppies). His back is turned to them; all he knows is that he's getting shot at and that he needs cover.
*The type of bombs that went off (deconstructors). All he knows is that things are exploding and that he doesn't want to be near them.
*The Scarlet Scout's vitals. He's paying attention to his surroundings, not his HUD. The knight's cry is what alerts Kasteel, not his vital signs.
*The Scarlet Scout firing his weapon. Again, Kasteel is busy cowering behind a tree trunk, and maybe returning his gaze from glancing at the Crimson Scout. He's not looking in the Scarlet Scout's direction, and is only alerted when the guy is already dead.

Put yourself in Kasteel's shoes. See what he sees. Hear what he hears. Think what he thinks. Do these things at the same time he does them.

Wed, 01/27/2016 - 21:09

#10

Darkwatck

Now a Question; Will this Youth run into any of the knights made my others in this story line. It would ad a dynamic of what this kid things and add a layer of background for other knights allotted. That is if others are willing to allow you do do that.

On a side note: Whatever perspective the author uses is up to them, can't say ya or nay based off ones personal preference for another style, though I personally don't like FPP writing styles.

Wed, 01/27/2016 - 20:57

#11

Paginated

@Thinslayer

I chose to use the first person perspective because I wanted it to be told as an story told by a war veteran, which is why I used the action sequences, as if the narrator is telling an detailed story by remembering many of moves he made, sights he saw, and sound he hears. Although, I could ditch some of them, or modify them to be a little less descriptive. Also, an detail that you may have missed, Kasteel didn't actually use the Lumber's corpse as an cover, he just rolled over it to keep running. There's an important line just after Wulfric's introduction, which is:

"I didn't bother answering him. I kept running as fast as I could while tossing my Super Shard Bomb supply at carefully timed intervals."

There's no mention anywhere where Kasteel stopped running or started after he rolled over the Lumber. I understand that it may not be clear, but I could change "rolled" with other verb that suggests he's on move, such as "stepped," or as you said, "jumped".

Also, this is an detail I actually planned to be in the chapter before the first chapter, that Kasteel and Wulfric, yet fresh out of another hazardous mission as the only survivors of the Golem Squadron yet again, have to work with a pair of Crimson Scouts, (one professional, and the novice), and Kasteel doesn't care about them, as of rivalry between two elite groups is most likely to occur. Basically, this outlined chapter is an mission gone bad and they have to flee from the gremlins throughout the compound to safety.

Wed, 01/27/2016 - 21:22

#12

Thinslayer

@Paginated

So basically, this is a war veteran writing an autobiography some time afterwards, like when he's retired and dreaming about the old days. I actually kinda got that impression after reading your work, for which you should receive kudos. That said, it's not a good way to write this story. The pacing is all wrong. Which leads me to your counter-criticism.

You say Kasteel never stopped moving. This is where the physical structure of your story needs to be considered. After Kasteel leaped over the fallen Lumber, you waited 3 and a half paragraphs to tell the readers that he was still running. The long pause, the three paragraphs of thinking, imply that Kasteel has stopped moving, when in fact he hasn't. The story structure, not your words, told us that Kasteel was hiding behind the Lumber instead of running.

Allow me to offer a few tips on this subject. Short sentences convey speed. Long sentences convey the opposite. If you're gunning for the equivalent of a slow-motion visual, then keep the sentences long and drawn out. If you're gunning for fast-paced, high-octane action, keep the sentences short and skippy.

Example:
I darted for the precipice. Gunfire tore past my shoulder. I reached for my pistol. As my legs pushed off the cliff, I twisted and drew a bead on the mechs below, ready to blow them sky-high with everything I had. A moment later, I hit dirt and rolled. Two shots nailed a mech in the eye. Two more detonated a mech's reactor. The last two forced a mech behind cover. The clip pinged empty, so I dipped back behind the rock. A battery of return fire ripped through the ground. I couldn't help but grin a little as I withdrew a little present from my pack and hefted it in my palm. They had no idea what I had in store for them.
__________

The first three sentences convey high-speed action. The fourth sentence, pushing off the cliff, is more drawn-out, conveying a slow-motion epic leap that ends when the protagonist hits dirt. Subsequent sentences, still short, resume the high-speed action.

Does that make sense?

Thu, 01/28/2016 - 10:52

#13

Paginated

@Thinslayer

Yeah, that does make sense, for the action scenes, I'll try to make them somewhat choppy, and other scenes, a bit slower. And last night, I talked to my Literacy professor, and he gave me some tips on story writing in the first perspective, which is similar to yours and Midnight-DJ's.

Sun, 01/31/2016 - 15:49

#14

Paginated

First Day of School

Chapter III: First Day of School
Spiral Academy, Isora
Two Years before Morai Wars.

The great double doors slammed open. The cadets in the lecture room flinched at the sudden interruption of their conservations. In strode a short man. Once the eyes fell upon him, the room became eerily quiet. For a good reason. The man was a highly respected person in the Spiral Order.

"Now, now, there's no need to salute just because I walked in. I'm not your commanding officer, just your Dean. You, on the 5th row from bottom, third from the left, no, my left, please sit down, you don't have to do that," spoke the highly respected person.

Some cadets lowed their arms and sat down with a bewildered look on their faces. In fact, I think we were bewildered by the words he had spoken.

"As many of you may know, I am General Barca, and yes, I am the dean of this school. No, I am not available, after all, I'm married..." There was a slight pause. "to my job."

Some nervous laughter from some of the cadets. I immediately realized that Barca was trying to reduce the nervous tension in the air. He seems quite friendly and open, it would explain why Spiral Academy had seen so few dropouts since he became the dean.

"As I understand, you all have selected the Knight category. In the academic year, we will assess your skills and talents, then decide where to put you. Just as when I were a student here, I got put into a janitorial position."

More louder and confident laughter from the cadets, myself included.

"Anyways, if you have any questions, it will all be in your introductory packets, which will handed to you as you leave the room. I only have one thing to ask of you, and that is to not hassle me or any of other staff members for autographs, we have done too many of them anyways."

More chuckles erupted from us.

"You all are dismissed, and try to have a good year!"

The cadets started to flow out the door, with me near the end of the mob. When I was near the doors, a hand landed on my shoulder. I turned around and saw that the hand belonged to Barca.

With a sigh, Barca said, "I knew your grandfather, Agis, in fact, he was my squad mate back in the day. I just wanted to warn you to don't feel special just because you grew up at a military base. Any inflated egos in this Academy tends to gets punctured relatively quickly. So I strongly suggest that you make yourself some friends. Alright, you should get going."

I nodded, and walked out the door. Just outside the door was a cute girl with a Spiral Draped Armor, and white Spiral Tailed helmet with a sky blue ribbon. She handed me a package and a key, then walked inside the lecture hall.

The packet had my name on it, and the directions to my room. I slipped the key in my pocket, and started walking. The hallway was filled with portraits of Knights, both old and new. Their eyes seemed to follow my every step. But not like an haunted house. But rather, just because they were painted so realistic that they seemed to be able to climb out the frame if they wanted to.

There were several doors open, revealing the contents and the cadets inside. In one room, a cadet were putting up a poster, while in other, a cadet was disassembling a pistol of some type. One door in particular caught my attention. It was just a plain wooden door, with a metal plaque with the number "58" embossed on it. It was my room.

The brown packet rustled quietly as I fished the key out my pocket and inserted it in the lock. A twist, and a click. The door swung open quietly on oiled hinges. There were two sets of desks, and a bunk bed. The bottom bed has a suitcase on it, so I assumed it was taken. I seated myself at one of the desks and opened the packet.

Inside the packet was a schedule for classes and drills, a rulebook, and an keycard. The schedule was relatively simple and flexible. and the rulebook described several rules, none too strict, but strict enough to be military. As I'm reading the book, the room's door clicks open. I turn around to see an strange sight.

A tall and armored figure entered the room. He looked strong enough to tear me apart if he wanted to. His helmet were horse shaped, with a neon green mane. He then removes his helmet.

"I assume that you're my roommate, I'm Grantz, second year Guardian. How you do?"

Grantz raised his hand, which I took in a firm handshake.

"I'm Kasteel, and I'm Knight for now. It's my first year."

He smiled, "Well, Kasteel, welcome to Spiral Academy! I hope that we would get along very well. And if you need help with anything, I can help, after all, we're roommates!"

His smile was so infectious that it made me smile too. A second ago, Grantz looked like he was liable to murder me, now, he's shaking hands with me and exchanging pleasantries. He's so great with others that I'm sure he would get along very well with anyone in his squad.

"I'm sure we would get along great too."

Looks like it wasn't going to be as bad as I thought.

Author Note: First time I wrote this, a blackout had occurred, and two and half hours of work was erased. However, I already had a outline in my mind so I kind of improved it. During the blackout, I took the liberty to take the other two chapters and edit them. I hope that I reduced enough first person terms for it to be considered decent. Did anyone expect that Grantz would be Kasteel's roommate? Nobody? Ah well. Bonus points to anyone who correctly guesses who the girl (whom handed Kasteel his package) is?

Sun, 01/31/2016 - 17:11

#15

Fiquel

...

I have a bias against this, as I usually do not like extra stories about stories. I prefer to create my own world, and I suppose I am selfish in that I want to horde the world of Spiral Knights to myself. Anyway, here is my feedback:

Some of the interactions between characters are unrealistic, but only appear so when you try to put yourself into the scenario. Ex:

---

When he finally let go. He slumped back into the chair. "What happened?" I asked.

"You were in a car crash," he was avoiding the topic.

"Where's mom and dad?"

"They're…" his voice broke and he stopped. I started crying.

---

How the narrator able to think clearly after waking up in a hospital? Just try to put yourself into all the scenarios with slight personality changes.

Fri, 02/12/2016 - 18:23

#16

Paginated

Chapter 4: Specialized Weaponry

Chapter IV: Specialized Weaponry
Spiral Academy, Isora
One Year and Six Months before Morai Wars
(Note: Italics indicates personal thought.)

I woke up feeling surprisingly well rested. I glanced at the clock. It was about mid-morning.

“The hell?”

We hadn't woken up more than thirty minutes after sunrise since we had arrived at the academy. I was surprised, but I wasn't about to complain about being allowed a few more hours of sleep.

"Then what are you complaining about?" came from the voice a few feet away.

"Nothing, I was just wondering what we are still doing here"

I sat up and glanced around, then stood up and got dressed. With a yawn, an thought of the last six months popped up. I was given a Brandish to train with, it wasn't bad, and it felt just right for me.We had trained extensively with swords and shields, and many a training dummies had been hacked and sliced to pieces within these months. Grantz had contributed to nearly half of the total with his Leviathan blade. Seeing him in action was quite terrifying. Once again, I'm glad he's actually a friendly guy.

"Rise and shine ladies!" yelled a voice that wasn't Steuben's. Sergeant Steuben, or as we liked to call him, “The Bulldog,” was the drill instructor my hallway was assigned to. He seemed to enjoy brutalizing us, and at one time, he gave a cadet a potted tree to carry for an entire week because the cadet forgot to bring his sword to a drill.

I turned to face the source of the voice and was mildly surprised to see the General. I hadn't seen him more than a couple of times since his welcoming speech. Even then it was just short chats with Steuben about our progress. The only time he had talked to me in person was when he told me his dead great-grandmother could do push-ups better than I could.

We all stood at attention immediately. Well, at least the ones that weren't still in dreamland, but those were given a warm welcome into reality by Steuben shocking them with his electric baton. We had even given the baton a nickname, but it wasn't really all that nice. We had laughed in the night picturing the sergeant sleeping with his baton by his side.

"Listen up soldiers," he started. Did he just call us soldiers? "Today we start advanced training!”

Yep, he called us soldiers, not sissies, recruits, dirtbags, infants, sauropods, bugs, grunts, farmboys, imbeciles, idiots, slack-jawed, dogs, or any other demeaning nickname. For the sake of myself I'm going to ignore that he called us ladies when he walked in.

Wait, advanced training? That's gotta be good right?

And it was. At least when compared to Steuben’s fitness programs. We left our beds and walked into the courtyard. There were six trucks out there and we were actually allowed to hop on them. They drove for thirty seconds to the west side of the camp. I think it was a really mean joke of sorts, first time we're allowed to hop onto vehicles, we're taken to a place that would've taken less time to get to by foot.

Well, **** you, sir. I could picture myself saying that to Bulldog, but I knew I would never do that, or anybody else would, for that matter.

We got of the trucks, all 120 of us. I had never been to this side of camp, as there wasn’t any spare time to do some exploration.

We left the camp through a gate in the fence. There was another truck over there waiting for us. I could make out targets in the distance. This was a shooting range, as rudimentary as any other, but we had all the space in the world.

The Bulldog hopped up on the truck. "Soldiers, congratulations, you are no longer recruits and you have managed to survive through the toughest six months of your lives." Steuben nodded, mostly to himself. "You all now know how to run away, and to fight when necessary, but you sissies will have to learn how to use specialized equipment that costs five times your future paychecks." He signaled to the driver to open the door to the cargo area. As he did so, the drill sergeants started unloading some pretty heavy-looking crates.

I smiled at the thought of what might be in those crates.

"Now for the bad news…"

You've got to be ****ing kidding me.

"…the bad news is that we have a shortage of food in camp, so you will need to earn it. Those targets you see down range are have numbers on them, they might look like hit-scores, but in reality they are credit-producing magical papers. The number you hit, the amount of credits you get.

"Can't we use our own credits captain?" said a poor sap who wasn’t actually paying attention.

"No, the Spiral Order has phased out old credits in favor of this new magical ones."

"Wait, what, really?" said one of the cadets.

No one even answered him, the guy next to him simply hit him in the back of the head. He didn't say anything else. By that time all the boxes were off the truck and placed at regular intervals along the firing range.

"Move out to your drill sergeants."

"Sir!" we all said at once as we snapped at attention. The fear of doing one-handed pushups if we failed to answer now ran deep in our blood, courtesy of Steuben and his evil minions.

"Ok," roared Steuben. "You heard me, we are suffering from a shortage of food right now, so you each need ten thousand credits for a meal. Any additional credits you may gain won't count and will be donated to the brothels your respective mothers work in." This was actually pretty light for our sergeant. He was probably running out of insults.

The Bulldog pulled out an unusual-looking gun, it was green colored and looked slightly skeletal, as if it was missing some parts. On the underside of the barrel, there appeared to be a bracket for certain attachments.

"Now these are Elemental Blasters. It is currently on use by the Biotechs, but the captain here managed to get us a few crates worth of them. They are the standard firearm of the Biotechs, and despite the fact that we are Knights and you are training under me, we will use this as it is deemed easier to operate and you maggot-heads probably couldn't handle an Super Blaster," that was actually a pretty nice one.

I made sure to pay attention as Steuben explained how the gun worked and did my best to remember the names of all the parts it had. I succeeded in the obvious ones, but it would be a while before I got down most of them right.

Steuben put the blaster aside and pulled out a rather large black and purple gun. "Now this bad boy here," started Steuben, "is one of my personal favorites. The Dark Chaingun. It fires thirty 6mm odorless and searing rounds at high speed. It is the standard issue sidearm to the Strikers and Recons, it can…"

He went on and on about the virtues and disadvantages of the pistol as I did my best to keep up.

Next, he pulled out another blaster. I raised my eyebrows a little bit. It was colored blue on the frame, and the barrel was grey. Despite its similarity in form as the Autogun, it seemed different to me. Maybe because it had needles protruding from the cylinder.

"This is a Needle Shot. This little baby fires 9mm rounds in what I would like to call a very accurate manner. It has a six-shot clip and can be fired quickly, and be charged. It can take the head of a baddie at up to 800 meters…" The lecture was listened-to extra carefully for this one.

The sergeant then proceeded to pull out weapon after weapon, including a Haze Bomb, a shotgun, and a sniper rifle among many others.

He explained the workings of each one carefully and taking his time. He even asked us questions when it seemed like we were not paying attention. Skinner, one of the minions, then proceeded to demonstrate how to fire the weapon, how to reload them, and how to fix a jamming.

While he was demonstrating how the sniper rifle worked we heard a loud boom and turned to see an explosion down range.

"And that, gentleman, is how the Nitronome works," cried out triumphantly one of the drill sergeants for one of other groups.

"Wipe those smiles of your faces, we'll get to that when we need to." Steuben's voice distracted us from the pyrotechnics.

"Ok, now each one of you grab an Elemental Blaster," he ordered us.

I lingered a little longer than necessary and stared longingly at the Needle Shot for a few seconds before Bulldog yelled at me to move my rear end, which I promptly did while saying 'yessir' and 'sorry sir.'

I stood at the edge of the designated shooting area and aimed at the closest target. It was perhaps fifty yards away.

"Fire!”

I fired, hitting the target right in the middle of the 10 score ring. I had shot my grandfather's Blaster once before, which was basically a downsized version of this, so I wasn't prepared for the recoil; but smiled as I saw that I had hit the center. Maybe I'm a natural marksman, I thought.

With the next shot, I missed the score rings altogether, hitting the target's "arm" and proving myself wrong.

With more shots, I gradually got better and managed to cluster my shots close together.

"Huh," Ramsey, whose room is right across the hall, said as he looked at my latest hole-riddled paper target. I kept on shooting and after burning through six clips, we were ordered to switch to the Dark Chainguns. I picked it up and managed to stay a few seconds staring at the Needle Shot. Suddenly, I fell to the ground in a heap.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" yelled Steuben as he shocked me again. I stood up and managed to stand straight. "Sorry sergeant!"

"STAFF Sergeant."

"YES STAFF SERGEANT!" I shouted. "SORRY STAFF SERGEANT." Just to be sure. I picked up the gun and went back to my position.

"Serves you well," said Ramsey.

I stayed quiet.

After a few minutes of nothing but gunfire, someone shouted "Kasteel, get over here!"

I turned around to see Skinner holding a rifle for me he tossed it. I almost dropped my gun to catch the Needle Shot. I had to stop myself from squealing with glee while I put the safety on the Dark Chaingun and gave it back to the sergeant.

I grabbed the appropriate ammunition and went to my spot.

"Try for the 750 meter mark's head," suggested Skinny.

I located my target through the scope. I sighed and squeezed of a round. It hit right outside of the eight point ring.

Skinny nodded and went back to checking on the rest of the cadets.

I kept on firing, most of the needles hit the mark. This gun fired beautifully, there was little to no recoil.

After two magazines, I started feeling adventurous and decided to switch to charged burst. I kept on firing with the same accuracy achieved so far, still no severe recoil to throw off my aim. It could even fire two or three bursts in a row without sacrificing too much accuracy.

As my gun clicked empty I turned to Ramsey, stroke a pose, and asked in a seductive tone, "Jealous?"

"Oh, piss off," he said, but he was visibly trying hard not to laugh.

Around noon, I was sweating and could barely stand up, but at least I was having some fun. I had not switched back from the Needle Shot in the whole time since it had been handed to me and the targets were riddled as far back as 1200 meters with 9mm holes.

Ramsey had been handed a Pummel Gun, but wasn't really doing that well, his strong point was the Dark Chaingun, he could fire long steady bursts and keep them within a two inch radius.

I was surprised by Jonah, had I not known he is the second year cadet, (he certainly didn't look like it) I would've been jealous. He was switching through weapons and hitting home with surprising accuracy. He was by no means a sniper, or even a marksman, but he was the best shot here.

I was ordered to switch to the Pummel Gun, which I grudgingly did so, and found out that it was nearly as accurate as the Needle Shot, but it had a hell of a lot more recoil. After a few clips spent, we were ordered to cease fire.

We were then marched to the mess hall, where we were fed a healthy dose of goop. It looked like it could go alive any moment and attack us. It certainly tasted like it too, but it had all the necessary calories, proteins, vitamins, etcetera that a Knight would need. It seemed that they had forgotten about our new "credits", they probably just said that to make us sweat a little. Most of us had met the 10,000 point mark. If you spent half a day shooting, you were bound to hit something.

I swallowed my goop down as fast as possible as to avoid the taste. We then did an hour and a half of drill before we were sent to bed.

Next morning, we were woken up at the usual time. Which was before the night could be considered morning, and made to march while carrying our rifles in addition to our rock-filled backpacks and armor.

We only ran five kilometers, and when we returned we were immediately sent back to the firing range. I resumed my training with the Needle Shot, occasionally switching back to the Pierce Blaster. We only stayed there for an hour this time, then we were sent to the courtyard and taught how to clean our pistols. We were told that the guns we had been given for range training would now be ours. We would keep them, care for them, nurture them, and a bunch of other weird stuff that came from Skinner's mouth.

Cleaning a gun is an annoying process to learn, especially the assembly/disassembly part. You have to get it right or else the gun won't work. Luckily, the Pierce Blaster was designed for a quick field strip, so we all had it down by the end of the lesson.

We then had lunch, ran, fired our weapons, ran, cleaned our pistols, and ran some more. In that order. We were tired, but only normal tired, when we got to our rooms.

We fell asleep soon, trying to take in as much rest as possible.

Author's Note: Well, this beauty certainly took a while, in fact, this it was originally a half of a chapter I typed up. Before I decided to was better to just slice it in half, it had totaled nearly 4 thousand words. This one is instead, is over 1.9 thousand words. I'm pretty sure you guys would be happy about reading two thousand words instead of four. A some of new characters have been introduced, but they're just filler characters. Maybe not for Ramsey and Jonah, but maybe so...
Anyways, I seem to be getting into writing more better, so expect some more chapters of this size! :P

Sun, 02/28/2016 - 16:35

#17

Paginated

Chapter Five

Chapter V: Hidden Bulldog, Crouching Sergeant
Spiral Academy, Isora
One Year and Six Months before Morai Wars

"Welcome to hand-to-hand combat training!" yelled Bulldog.

We were standing at attention in the courtyard, the other groups had been sent to the firing range, the ditch, or simply made to run. We were simply listening to our instructor, which was, unsurprisingly, Sergeant Bulldog.

"What happens when you lose your weapons?" he asked. "Which I'm sure you miserable excuse for Knights will certainly do more than a couple of times."

No one answered.

"Well, you use your knife." While he said that he produced a large knife from seemingly nowhere, although I knew that he had it tucked into the back of his pants. Neat move, Bulldog.

"Hand-to-hand combat is…" he asked. "Anyone?"

No one said anything.

"It's when you fight with your hands for combat you idiots!"

I could tell he was enjoying this, for that matter, so were Skinner on the other side of the courtyard, watching us.

"What about the knife sir?" this was Sasha asking.

“Now don't get smart with me, you filthy maggot."

Hand-to-hand combat is meant as a last resort way to neutralize an enemy. At least that's what sergeant Bulldog told us. He went on about the doctrines, definitions, variations, uses, and origins of hand-to-hand.

I'm not entirely sure why he even mentioned origins, we all knew about the Isorian Monks that had existed a long time ago.

As Bulldog rambled a 'soldier' yawned. He tried to stifle it, but it was too late.

"Weinberg!" yelled an angry sergeant. "Get over here! NOW!"

Weinberg did so as fast as he could.

The sergeant ordered to step right in front of me. I could make out Skinner laughing at the scene. This can't be good.

"Hit me," he ordered Weinberg.

"Sir?"

"You heard me!"

Weinberg hesitated a little before taking a combat stance. I saw his stance and wished I was someplace else, this was going to be embarrassing. Weinberg then threw a right cross.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, Bulldog grabbed Weinberg's fist, then his elbow, and threw him into the ground. The large man dropped the unfortunate recruit in a matter of seconds. The recruit suddenly found his arm in a nasty-looking lock. The defeated man cried out in pain as his arm was twisted. The sergeant waited five seconds before releasing him.

Nice knowing you Weinberg.

"So, as you can see, it can be very useful to know how to turn an enemy into a pile of flailing limbs without weapons."
"You, you're next!"

Oh ****.The sarge was pointing at me.

I walked towards him and stood in front of him. This time we were both given some thin gloves to protect our hands with. I stood in front of the sergeant, he offered me his fist and I bumped it, we both immediately took a fighting stance.

My stance was a little bit looser and I was on the top of my toes, while the sergeant had hunched over and taken a guard more akin to a boxer.

I kicked at his leg. He lifted his own leg and my shin collided with his. Pain flared up, but was quickly repressed. The sergeant threw a quick jab, hitting me square in the forehead. I managed to absorb some of the blow. With a quick uppercut to the stomach, he appeared to be surprised by the way he opened his eyes, or maybe he just needed some air.

I managed to dodge his punch and swing, then struck his ribs with a quick hook. He kicked at the face. The kick was blocked with both of my hands. But as soon as his shin bounced of my hands, his other shin up rammed up my ribs.

How can he kick so fast? The thought was quickly interrupted as another kick brought me to the ground. I quickly swiped the sergeant's feet from under him. He fell as I managed to jump on top of him. I started pummeling away, but he blocked most of blows. Just as I thought everything was going well, I felt something in my back. Suddenly, Bulldog had caught my neck with his legs and flipped us. Steuben grabbed one of my arms and bent it backwards using his legs as levers. I felt a stinging pain all over my arm. I couldn't breathe well as his legs were squeezing my trachea. An attempt to escape the lock resulted in an increase of pressure on my arm. Eventually I simply tapped out.

I stood up and shook hands with Bulldog. I was slightly embarrassed, but not overly so. The sergeant went on to explain the virtues and mistakes of the fight, praising me (or as close as he could get to praise someone anyways) for my speed and strong punches, but pointing out the mistake in me not knowing any locks, throws, or grabs.
In fact I think his exact words went something like this:

"Well little mister here can punch better than most five year olds can, he also moves faster than an Arcadian slob, but only slightly. On the other hand, he has no idea of how to fight on the ground, his lack of knowledge in grabs is a shame to all knights. I know ducks that can do better ground combat than him!" I didn't know what to think at the time, but it wasn't such a mean insult, and other than the fact that it was probably one of the stupidest similes ever, I felt moderately good about myself.

The sergeant then proceeded to teach us the basics of hand-to-hand. He taught us grabs, throws, and all the necessary things to make your hands weapons, by the end of the week, we could all fight pretty decently. Fourteen straight hours of combat training will do that to you.

After a week of intensive bare-handed combat, our meeting in the courtyard was slightly different.

"Knives!” No one moved. "Since you can now fight at the level of blind and crippled five-year-olds, I will now move on to showing you how to use sharp and pointy implements," he told us.

I think he was proud of us.

"A knife is a very useful tool, it can be used to cut and slash, as well as to stab, carve, gouge, scratch, hit, pummel, dismember, torture, scare, and a projectile weapon."

He explained us the art of knife fighting, much like he did with hand-to-hand combat. He produced two knifes, a thin one with a blade of weird make, it was apparently balanced for throwing as well as cutting. He then showed us a knife that was slightly over a foot long. It was a dagger or a downgraded machete. Your choice. As he finished showing us the details, he called for a volunteer.

No one was stupid enough to take the dare.

"Kasteel, you just volunteered!"

He might’ve still had a grudge from when I knocked him down first day of training (long story). Last week's fight probably didn't do much good to his feeling towards me either.

"Sir," I said as I walked towards him. He handed me a mock knife made covered with rubber.

Resisting the urge to smile, after all, I'm good with knives.

I switched it around so that the blade was facing backwards and the sharp edge pointed outside.

Bulldog grabbed it in the exact same way I did. I took up a guard, using my knife was in as a deterrent.

We started spinning around each other, and threw a few feints, measuring each other. All of a sudden he kicked my thigh. It hurt like hell and surprised me. But I managed to dodge an upwards slash. I deflected his knife hand. Then I launched a slash towards his neck as his knife hand flew upwards. I stopped my strike an inch from his neck and smiled triumphantly.

"I got you, sir."

He smiled at me. He pointed his own weapon pressed against my stomach. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. We were re-enacting the most clichéd scene in knife fights ever.

"Nicely done Kasteel," he complimented.

He actually complimented me, and with a smile in his face at that. At the time I thought I was going to go into shock.

This next week went much like last, with us learning the techniques needed to master knife fighting. Once we were done with basics, we started another routine, this one mixing out weapons, hand-to-hand, and knife training. Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the next months, other than the fact that our numbers got ever smaller, due to some cadets’ inability to handle Steuben’s training. We even had a training session with sniper rifles, but I was apparently too impatient to become a sniper, so I was allowed to keep using the Needle Shot.

Eventually, we were forced to do firing on moving targets and firing while moving. The sergeants rigged various scenarios in which we would clear a building while shooting at targets that popped every now and then.

We were all issued whatever weapons we were proficient with the most. I was lucky enough to get one of the few Needle Shots. I also had my pistol. We were then given two knives. A small machete and a throwing knife that were meant to be used as a last ditch effort.

Ramsey had gotten a shotgun in addition to a Dark Chaingun. Jonah had gotten the good ol' fashioned Super Blaster and he was quite happy with it. The only guy in our barracks that had been issued something different was Sasha, who had gotten a grenade launcher in addition to a Super Blast Bomb.

That night, we kidded around with each other and with our weapons, which had to be stored in our weapons locker. The knives were kept inside our trunks, which were now looking a little fuller. "Hard to believe we've been here eight months already," mentioned Jonah.

"Hard to believe there's only sixty of us remaining in Steuben’s ‘loving’ care," I said.

"Hard to believe you guys are so ****ing gay!" Ramsey shouted from a few couches over.

I nodded at Jonah, and we both sprinted at him. I tackled him while Jonah secured his arms, and we beat him up a little, mostly slapping him with our open palms.

"Get… the hell… off me!" he complained. After a few seconds we complied while most of the population in the barracks laughed at him. As we let him stand back up, he dusted himself with as much pride as he had left, and entered his room then shut the door.

As I lied down on my bed, I looked at the ceiling above me and thought of all the great moments we had spent here. I couldn't come up with more than three or four, one of them was being issued real guns, the other was a particular night when we were allowed to sleep for more than three consecutive hours, and that one time when the cooks had prepared lasagna for us.

It was actually really sad that those were the only big moments for me in the last seven months. Usually it would've been scoring with a girl or winning a bar fight. Maybe even something vaguely related to acing one of grandpa's tests. I sighed while thinking back at my sad life. I closed my eyes, trying to take in as much sleep as possible while doing my best to ignore someone's noisy use of a smuggled techpad in one of the rooms.

Author Note: If you have been wondering why I didn't post this chapter right after the last one, it's because I have been building up a stockpile so I could feed you guys more whenever I feel like it. Anyways, a quick warning, the next chapter gets some more action, and some time-skip action.

Sun, 02/28/2016 - 16:34

#18

Paginated

Chapter Six

Chapter VI: War Games
Spiral Academy, Isora
One year and a month before Morai Wars

The rain was hitting us hard. It was almost sideways and it stung whenever it hit my unprotected face and forearms. Not to mention, the ground was quite muddy and slick. Oh Isora, you and your funky weather.

"Movement right," Ramsey warned.

Jonah and I shifted our aim to the right, the rest of the squad didn't bother.

We were in the War Games Arena. It were quite huge, large enough to hold, maybe, an entire city.

Suddenly, there was flashes, and we quickly took cover. The training rounds was whistling overhead. Jonah opened fire. We were playing a simple game of elimination. The last squad to survive was the one that won. The only problem was that there were six squads all fighting each other. It was some sort of massive free-for-all.

By now there were only ten people per squads, so there were sixty knights in teams of ten shooting at each other. Right now, we was under fire by one of those teams.

With a roll, I moved to a large boulder while paint splashed all around me. Our squad managed to take cover from the ambush intact. I looked around to see that there were only six of us in here, the remaining four were probably flanking our attackers.

"Draw their fire," ordered Jonah, our unofficial squad leader.

With us firing in short bursts, all of the muzzle flashes in distance seemed to slacken slightly. It went on for about five minutes until we heard cries of surprise from the ambushers. We rushed their position while they were in chaos by our flanking team. In seconds, they were all knocked out by our tranquilizer-infused paint.

I nodded at my squad mates. We were clad in a mix of Cobalt armor of varying quality, they were old leftovers that our captain gave us for practice. Jonah did a quick check of our squad and declared that there were no "wounded."

As we moved on, I smiled to myself. It was the second day of this war game, we hadn't gotten any intel on the status of the other squads, but we knew that Five was done for, as we have taken them out. Four was at 30% strength at least, and One was two men down.

We moved up to a position that had been marked in a rough map of the area. It was an abandoned building on top of a small rocky hill, it would make a perfect position for the duration of the exercise.

We arrived at our objective a few minutes later. We checked every rock twice for any booby traps that could take out some of our numbers. When we were satisfied that the place was clear, we set up inside the small building. It had only one floor but it had some broken windows that were quite nice for shooting. Apparently we were not the only ones with the great idea of setting up here, as the walls outside and inside of the building were covered in red and yellow paint from training rounds.

That building fell under attack once again. Two hours later, we were under attack by Squad One. We could handle them, since there were only eight of them, and they were surprised to find us already there.

Holding my fire, I scanned the crowd for the leader. I ultimately found him, because he was the only one shouting stuff at others. Within three seconds, three training rounds slammed into his helmet, knocking him out.

Squad One fell into confusion as we peppered their position. It didn't last long though, since a moment later our machine gunner, a skinny fellow whose name I managed to keep forgetting was hit in the back of the head.

I turned around and saw a different squad charging towards us. With a curse, I opened fire on them, bringing one down and hitting another in the leg. The rest took cover, the one with the wounded leg didn't. I waited for someone to go help him. It didn't take long for an idiot to take the risk, and they were promptly eliminated.

"Kasteel! What the hell is going on?" asked Jonah.

It's the goddang Squad Three," I spat through my teeth.

Those guys were hardcore. They had managed to kill our gunner, which in turn allowed the guys from Squad One to shoot down two of our men. It turned into a desperate situation at that point. Soon it was only Ramsey, Jonah, and I left. Ramsey somehow managed to eliminate the rest of Squad One before being hit himself by one of Squad Three.

Jonah closed the door and placed a chair on it. He looked at me and then looked around with an bewildered expression. When it finally seemed like he had found an option, the worst imaginable thing happened.

"Ok," he started. "Kasteel, here's what we will do…" his chest exploded in a burst of red as a round made contact with his armor.

"Ouch," was all he had time to say before the tranquilizer-infused paint took effect

"Sniper rifles, ****ing sniper rifles!" I screamed at no one in particular. "No one gave us sniper rifles." I spotted the sniper about 700 meters away, then quickly took him out with three quick bursts. He hadn't even bothered with cover.

There were now only three members of Squad Three left. They were nowhere to be seen. I was now scared. It's not a nice feeling when you're facing superior forces by yourself, even if said superior forces are only armed with high speed paint.

Before I had time to even think, my world went white with a sudden and very loud bang.

"Flashbangs!" I yelled as I blindly fired my Needle Shot at the general direction of the door. "No one gave us ****ing flashbangs!"

As the pain in my eyes and ears receded, I heard the clicking. My gun was empty.

I opened my eyes and was surprised to see two Squad Threes on the floor, splattered with paint and another one kneeling, with his hands covering his head. It was Grantz.

I smiled as I drew my sidearm. I raised it and right before I had time to fire, Grantz threw his gun at my face. I dropped my pistol in reflex and suddenly all the wind was knocked out of me as my roommate tackled me. He punched me twice in the jaw before pulling out his Calibur. I punched him in the nose and grabbed his sword hand. If that training sword touched any vital part of my body, its sensors would immediately declare me as dead.

With an immense effort, I managed to keep him from stabbing me. He punched me twice before switching his free hand to push down on the sword. Now it was only inches from my neck. I started panicking. I flailed my legs like a madman, which managed to make Grantz lose some of his balance. By quickly stretching my free hand, I managed to grab my Pierce Blaster With a jerk, the barrel of Pierce Blaster ended up facing point-blank to Grantz’s chest. With two shots, he promptly went limp.

That was it. I had won.

"That's right, you mothers!" I yelled out triumphantly, and left the building while kicking and punching the air in triumph.

I don't think I had ever felt that happy in my life.

I had managed to knock out most of Squad Three by myself, even when they had surprised us from the rear. Granted, we should've posted some sort of sentry to prevent that from happening, but we had still won. I turned around only to find myself face to face with the last Squad Three. I had forgotten to account for him. Now that I think of it, I shouldn't have been so surprised, after all there was absolutely no information about them. My smile faded from my face into what must've been record time.

I immediately raised my hands.

“Mercy?" I said, not really expecting any.

He just smiled while he shook his head, and ever so slowly, he raised his Super Blaster, and fired a single round. The paint splattered on my chest, and my vision went dark.

I woke up in the medical bay, still paint-splattered.

The doctor was sitting in a chair next to me, reading some book about poetry. I sat up and shook my head.

Where is…"

"Mess," he cut me off. He hadn't even raised his head.

Mean doctor.

I then packed most of my armor into a bag designed for the purpose, then headed towards the mess hall.

There were a burst of roaring laughter before I even got in. Well this can't be good. Turned out it wasn't good. Not for me, at least.

For some reason, there was footage of me being shot. It was from the guy who tagged me. He must've had a helmet cam in working order.

"No one can beat Kasteel the Great!" I heard myself screaming like a maniac.

I face palmed at how stupid I sounded. I'm never going to speak again.

The phrase was welcomed with laughter from everyone in the mess hall. That meant everyone in the whole camp was laughing at me, drill sergeants, captain, and other staff included.

A man turned around and called out to the others to turn.

"Here be the one and only!"
Everyone laughed while I was being shot on camera.

“Ha ha, very funny,"

They all teased me for a while, but I mostly ignored them by eating some of the meat. It tasted like plastic, but it was better than a piece of goop that tasted like plastic. After a while, their jibes subsided and they went back to their business.

"You'll never hear the end of this you know," said Grantz as he sat down next to me.

"I am aware, thank you very much."

He laughed, then ate his own meal.

The Bulldog, who had left a few moments after I came in, walked back into the mess hall with a hurried pace.

He went towards the holopad that had been playing my shameful moments from the war game. I thought he was going to start playing it again, but luckily he pulled out a chip then inserted another chip.

An Communications officer popped up on the holopad. A very good looking officer at that.

"Sarge, I appreciate the intention, but I do not want to watch this with other people around," said one knight from Three.

"Shut up!" yelled Bulldog. The soldier complied.

"It's not what you think, you idiot," I could hear another man of Squad Three saying.

There was an audible chuckle amongst us cadets.

The video started up, and it described that a sizeable percentage of Isora’s population have decided to create their own government, as they declared Spiral Order as an evil government, and should be destroyed.

"Gentlemen and ladies, the video might not say so, but we are facing a potential war," stated the Bulldog. His face inscrutable.

"This means your training just got harder."

No one said anything, if anything we snapped at attention and saluted.

"Sir!”

Sat, 03/12/2016 - 15:47

#19

Paginated

On the subject of Suspension

I'm suspending this fanfiction until the issue revolving OOO being let go by Sega is settled, and OOO's situation have stabilized.
I sure hope it won't go down anytime soon.

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Of Scarred Shields and Swords - Fanfic (Suspended)