Sheik
:the:
WELP, I got in the "write-aholic" mood at around 2 AM and I FINALLY wrote the rest of the prologue. Sorry, none of the characters that were signed up are shown in this because... well... it's a prologue that happens hundreds of years before the main story :/
Also, CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM WOULD BE VERY APPRECIATED. I'll admit that even though I love to write, I absolutely hate reading my own work, so it's hard for me to identify whether or not it's good because I'll hate it anyways. So yes, please give some critique. Pleeeease oh pleeease, do it for meeee.
Also, I haven't really thought of a title for Book One (yes, it'll be divided into books), so I'm just gonna leave that... blank...
Rated PG-13 for violence and language and other nasty stuff
The fists pounding on his castle's walls. The bombs decimating his forces. The screams and shouts of hate and despise. They were all signs that they wanted his blood.
“Your Highness, the escape route is prepared,” said one of his men. “We must depart immediately!”
The king sat with his face in his palms, his crooked and bleeding nose pointed to the cracked floor of the castle. His hair was tinted with gray and sweat was pouring down his face. “Quickly,” he said with an urgent voice. “before those peasants come flooding in.” His guards helped him get off his throne and they walked with him across the castle grounds, occasionally stumbling over his torn, purple robe. They eventually arrived at the entryway to a tight iron hallway that led downward underground. Two guards armed with fine, salient blades proceeded with the king as the others went to fight off the riot.
The sounds of chaos coming from outside the walls were slowly gaining momentum, like a snowball rolling down a hill. An astonishingly powerful bomb hit the west side of the castle; the iron cellar was shaken and the king momentarily lost his balance. “Your Highness!” said his guards.
“Keep quiet and keep moving,” the king commanded, his brows furrowed. “We don't have much time to waste.” He took a few steps while leaning against the wall. Then another bomb hit and his knees buckled under him. He keeled over, coughing up blood in a rampageous fit. Dust fell from the cracks that formed in the ceiling. “Urf... to hell with it all!” The frustrated king slammed his fist against the metallic floor beneath him. “I can't... I- I won't die to those ungrateful heathens! I gave them perfection, goddammit! And now, after all I did for them, they turn their backs on me!?”
“Uh, your Highness!” said one of the guards, reluctant to approach him during his tantrum. “We must carry on with haste! We haven't much time before the riot moves into the castle grounds!”
Suddenly, another bomb hit and the horrid shaking returned. The iron ceiling gaped open and piles of debris came crashing down on the two guards. The king wasn't able to release even a small gasp, because in a split second, the world flipped, and he never came to find out whether it was him or the cellar that was upside-down. Then he was reduced to a sick rat because thrown around in a small cage, as the cellar was shaking, shaking like a wet dog, only this time it was getting dust and rocks off its fur instead of just water.
Once the king finally got to his feet, the cellar had been completely transformed. Cracks and faults streaked the iron walls, and massive piles of debris destroyed any hope of escape for him. The king took a step and unintentionally stumbled over the limp, bloody bodies of the two guards, two of the few that still remained loyal to him. The king finally let loose his horrified cry, the cry that nobody could hear. He was alone, alone, alone, and had no chance, not even a tiny window of hope, that he would see tomorrow. In a few minutes, the castle walls would come crashing down, and hundreds upon thousands of furious men would come flooding in. They would search the entire castle for him and they would find the cellar and dig through the rubble. Then they would see him and claw at him, claw at him until only his bones remained.
His heart was beating. Beating, beating, beating, racing, stomping. It was a ticking bomb awaiting its own destruction. “Today I am going to die.” That was the grim message going through his head. “The brittle figure, the one that was once a healthy and proud ruler during this kingdom's Golden Age... The brittle figure, I, will die today... in maybe an hour, or maybe even in just a few minutes.”
“No,” said the king, surfing across a sudden wave of realization. “No... The scepter.”
He quickly limped over to the piles of debris that blocked the way to the castle. “The scepter!” The king repeated the words. “The scepter! The scepter! The scepter! All I need is that scepter... and I will live to see tomorrow!” The king began tossing aside rocks, but more kept falling down. “Dammit! I need to get through!” He clawed through the rubble, tossing more and more aside, but he was making no progress whatsoever.
“So a scepter, huh?”
The king froze.
“Haven't seen one of those around here. I wonder where it could be.”
The king slowly turned around and recognized the blond-headed man in green. He was slim and wore green garments, and had a sarcastic look on his face. “...Beta.” The king took a shaky breath. “Give... Give me that scepter. Now!”
Beta was twirling that very gold-and-crimson scepter above his head. “Don't mess with me, Pops. Really. Why on earth should I give this lovely, glimmering item- that's probably worth a lot- to you?” Beta laughed as the king grimaced. “Oh, the irony. We are on the top of the ladder now, Pops.”
“Why, you little...” The king seethed in hate. “I- I gave you life! I am the one who gave you your godly self!”
“And you enslaved us!” Beta hit the butt of the scepter against the floor. The king had a look of disbelief and confusion on his face. “Keep forgetting that, huh?”
“Mark my words, Beta! I will condemn you endless suffering for backstabbing me!”
“And who has the scepter?” Beta smirked. “You're lower than the lowest worm now, Pops. You have no power over us anymore.”
The king cringed. In desperation, he charged at Beta, swinging his fists wildly. Beta nonchalantly sidestepped before a foot came crashing to the side of the king's head, throwing him to the ground. All that came to the poor man's senses were a loud, almost disturbing cracking sound, and burst of red. The breaths he took were shaky, coming in quick, short gasps. He found himself lying on the cold, wet floor. He looked up and saw an imposing form towering above him.
“Alpha!” said the king, falling back. In front of him stood a buff man in a golden coat and hat. His eyes shimmered like twinkling stars, dancing around in his head. He bore a face that showed of not only leadership and guidance, but of disappointment.
“Glad you could come on this delightful occasion, big brother!” Beta welcomed, arms opened wide.
Alpha gave a sigh of irritation and pushed Beta to the side. “...Far from delightful, Beta.” He turned to the king. “You. I've been thinking... We've been thinking about what to do with you. And we believe we have reached a reasonable solution.”
“So you're gonna do away with me, huh,” said the king, looking back down at the bloody floor. Only when the oceans dry up would he dare challenge Alpha- the first of his godly creations, and the most powerful of them all- and that the only choice he had was defeat. “Just... just get it over with. Come on; I'm right here. Just do your thing.”
Alpha looked down on his father with pity. “You're a waste,” he said, getting the message out simply. “You thought you were doing something great to your kingdom, but in the end, you were really just corrupting the world.”
“Just shut up and get to it already,” said the king, depressingly dragging his fingers against the ground. “You're wasting time.”
Suddenly, something erupted in the king's stomach as another foot flew at it. “You spoiled rodent!”
“Gamm-” the king's surprised voice was cut off by another painful kick.
“Alpha! Big brother!” The man in dark robes turned to his older brother. “You must be blind to not see! This rodent created us only to torture us! He deserves-” Gamma kicked the king again, with even more powerful force. “-suffering!”
The king still remained alive, shivering in the pool of his own blood. Every bone in side of him ached in agony, his skin screaming for it to stop. Gamma prepared another strike, his mouth in a sick, curved grin.
“Gamma, enough!” said Alpha, grabbing his arm. Beta followed and took the other, and together they pulled him against the wall. Gamma grumbled and succumbed to his brothers' power.
“Now, where were we?” Alpha walked back over to the king, who was still lying hopelessly on the floor. “Ah, yes. We were going to execute our solution.”
“Just... just kill me already. The pain... I will go insane if you don't just end my life right here, right now.” The king gazed up at Alpha with pleading eyes.
“You're pathetic.” Alpha spat on his father. “And that's why I won't let you die.”
“What?!” cried the king, eyes wide in terror. “I- I don't understand! I don't serve any purpose in this world anymore! Just end me! Please, I beg of you!”
Alpha crossed his arms. “What would your life be if I let you die? Pointless. I believe... We believe you need a second chance.” The king raised an eyebrow. “That is, a second chance at life. Come on out, brothers and sisters.”
Out of the dust they came, out of the dust came the other twenty-one Half Gods, the other twenty-one of the king's creations and children. Epsilon, Omicron, Sigma and all the rest were there, all gathered under the same roof.
“What- What is going on?!” the king cried. “What do you mean, 'second chance at life'?! What do you plan to do with me?!” The next series of events were ultimately the most bizarre things to have ever happened to him. As all twenty-four Half Gods chanted in unison, he felt himself being risen from the floor and layed down upon a floating bed that could be felt but not seen. “Answer me!” the king snapped. “Stop it- please!” A golden light was born from under him, shining outwards horizontally among the Half Gods; the pitch of their chanting rising simultaneously.
Then suddenly, the bed under the king vanished into thin air, and the king fell, not onto the floor, but through it. He felt his body vaporizing as he was dragged into a vortex of colors, one that spiraled like a radiant dragon. The chanting slowly became more muffled; an unrecognizable force was pulling away the king's bones from under him, and then his insides and his skin, and eventually his blood poured out into the whirlpool, transforming everything into a nightmare-inducing dim of red.
Not only did the king feel his body slipping away from his grip, but also his identity. He was feeling every emotion possible, and at the same, he felt nothing. He was no longer who he was, but a mirrored reality of his own subconsciousness and self-perspective.
But he was still falling. Falling, falling, falling into the abyss of unfaltering panic.
It was an overload. He couldn't take it much longer; he felt his psyche screaming for an end to the fall, but he was already about to explode into clouds of stardust that would implode into the being of nothing.
Then he could see. He could hear. He could feel. He could smell. He could taste. He was no longer falling, and his body was still intact. Relieved of the fear, he exhaled and looked down.
But it wasn't his body. The body he was in was small and smooth.
He was an infant. He was a baby boy.
None other came across his mind than that thought; he was young. And he was someone else.
His eyes rolled and his mouth lolled as he fell backwards and quickly drifted off into blissful slumber.
Also, CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM WOULD BE VERY APPRECIATED. I'll admit that even though I love to write, I absolutely hate reading my own work, so it's hard for me to identify whether or not it's good because I'll hate it anyways. So yes, please give some critique. Pleeeease oh pleeease, do it for meeee.
Also, I haven't really thought of a title for Book One (yes, it'll be divided into books), so I'm just gonna leave that... blank...
Rated PG-13 for violence and language and other nasty stuff
Heavenly Shine
Book One
Prologue
The fists pounding on his castle's walls. The bombs decimating his forces. The screams and shouts of hate and despise. They were all signs that they wanted his blood.
“Your Highness, the escape route is prepared,” said one of his men. “We must depart immediately!”
The king sat with his face in his palms, his crooked and bleeding nose pointed to the cracked floor of the castle. His hair was tinted with gray and sweat was pouring down his face. “Quickly,” he said with an urgent voice. “before those peasants come flooding in.” His guards helped him get off his throne and they walked with him across the castle grounds, occasionally stumbling over his torn, purple robe. They eventually arrived at the entryway to a tight iron hallway that led downward underground. Two guards armed with fine, salient blades proceeded with the king as the others went to fight off the riot.
The sounds of chaos coming from outside the walls were slowly gaining momentum, like a snowball rolling down a hill. An astonishingly powerful bomb hit the west side of the castle; the iron cellar was shaken and the king momentarily lost his balance. “Your Highness!” said his guards.
“Keep quiet and keep moving,” the king commanded, his brows furrowed. “We don't have much time to waste.” He took a few steps while leaning against the wall. Then another bomb hit and his knees buckled under him. He keeled over, coughing up blood in a rampageous fit. Dust fell from the cracks that formed in the ceiling. “Urf... to hell with it all!” The frustrated king slammed his fist against the metallic floor beneath him. “I can't... I- I won't die to those ungrateful heathens! I gave them perfection, goddammit! And now, after all I did for them, they turn their backs on me!?”
“Uh, your Highness!” said one of the guards, reluctant to approach him during his tantrum. “We must carry on with haste! We haven't much time before the riot moves into the castle grounds!”
Suddenly, another bomb hit and the horrid shaking returned. The iron ceiling gaped open and piles of debris came crashing down on the two guards. The king wasn't able to release even a small gasp, because in a split second, the world flipped, and he never came to find out whether it was him or the cellar that was upside-down. Then he was reduced to a sick rat because thrown around in a small cage, as the cellar was shaking, shaking like a wet dog, only this time it was getting dust and rocks off its fur instead of just water.
Once the king finally got to his feet, the cellar had been completely transformed. Cracks and faults streaked the iron walls, and massive piles of debris destroyed any hope of escape for him. The king took a step and unintentionally stumbled over the limp, bloody bodies of the two guards, two of the few that still remained loyal to him. The king finally let loose his horrified cry, the cry that nobody could hear. He was alone, alone, alone, and had no chance, not even a tiny window of hope, that he would see tomorrow. In a few minutes, the castle walls would come crashing down, and hundreds upon thousands of furious men would come flooding in. They would search the entire castle for him and they would find the cellar and dig through the rubble. Then they would see him and claw at him, claw at him until only his bones remained.
His heart was beating. Beating, beating, beating, racing, stomping. It was a ticking bomb awaiting its own destruction. “Today I am going to die.” That was the grim message going through his head. “The brittle figure, the one that was once a healthy and proud ruler during this kingdom's Golden Age... The brittle figure, I, will die today... in maybe an hour, or maybe even in just a few minutes.”
“No,” said the king, surfing across a sudden wave of realization. “No... The scepter.”
He quickly limped over to the piles of debris that blocked the way to the castle. “The scepter!” The king repeated the words. “The scepter! The scepter! The scepter! All I need is that scepter... and I will live to see tomorrow!” The king began tossing aside rocks, but more kept falling down. “Dammit! I need to get through!” He clawed through the rubble, tossing more and more aside, but he was making no progress whatsoever.
“So a scepter, huh?”
The king froze.
“Haven't seen one of those around here. I wonder where it could be.”
The king slowly turned around and recognized the blond-headed man in green. He was slim and wore green garments, and had a sarcastic look on his face. “...Beta.” The king took a shaky breath. “Give... Give me that scepter. Now!”
Beta was twirling that very gold-and-crimson scepter above his head. “Don't mess with me, Pops. Really. Why on earth should I give this lovely, glimmering item- that's probably worth a lot- to you?” Beta laughed as the king grimaced. “Oh, the irony. We are on the top of the ladder now, Pops.”
“Why, you little...” The king seethed in hate. “I- I gave you life! I am the one who gave you your godly self!”
“And you enslaved us!” Beta hit the butt of the scepter against the floor. The king had a look of disbelief and confusion on his face. “Keep forgetting that, huh?”
“Mark my words, Beta! I will condemn you endless suffering for backstabbing me!”
“And who has the scepter?” Beta smirked. “You're lower than the lowest worm now, Pops. You have no power over us anymore.”
The king cringed. In desperation, he charged at Beta, swinging his fists wildly. Beta nonchalantly sidestepped before a foot came crashing to the side of the king's head, throwing him to the ground. All that came to the poor man's senses were a loud, almost disturbing cracking sound, and burst of red. The breaths he took were shaky, coming in quick, short gasps. He found himself lying on the cold, wet floor. He looked up and saw an imposing form towering above him.
“Alpha!” said the king, falling back. In front of him stood a buff man in a golden coat and hat. His eyes shimmered like twinkling stars, dancing around in his head. He bore a face that showed of not only leadership and guidance, but of disappointment.
“Glad you could come on this delightful occasion, big brother!” Beta welcomed, arms opened wide.
Alpha gave a sigh of irritation and pushed Beta to the side. “...Far from delightful, Beta.” He turned to the king. “You. I've been thinking... We've been thinking about what to do with you. And we believe we have reached a reasonable solution.”
“So you're gonna do away with me, huh,” said the king, looking back down at the bloody floor. Only when the oceans dry up would he dare challenge Alpha- the first of his godly creations, and the most powerful of them all- and that the only choice he had was defeat. “Just... just get it over with. Come on; I'm right here. Just do your thing.”
Alpha looked down on his father with pity. “You're a waste,” he said, getting the message out simply. “You thought you were doing something great to your kingdom, but in the end, you were really just corrupting the world.”
“Just shut up and get to it already,” said the king, depressingly dragging his fingers against the ground. “You're wasting time.”
Suddenly, something erupted in the king's stomach as another foot flew at it. “You spoiled rodent!”
“Gamm-” the king's surprised voice was cut off by another painful kick.
“Alpha! Big brother!” The man in dark robes turned to his older brother. “You must be blind to not see! This rodent created us only to torture us! He deserves-” Gamma kicked the king again, with even more powerful force. “-suffering!”
The king still remained alive, shivering in the pool of his own blood. Every bone in side of him ached in agony, his skin screaming for it to stop. Gamma prepared another strike, his mouth in a sick, curved grin.
“Gamma, enough!” said Alpha, grabbing his arm. Beta followed and took the other, and together they pulled him against the wall. Gamma grumbled and succumbed to his brothers' power.
“Now, where were we?” Alpha walked back over to the king, who was still lying hopelessly on the floor. “Ah, yes. We were going to execute our solution.”
“Just... just kill me already. The pain... I will go insane if you don't just end my life right here, right now.” The king gazed up at Alpha with pleading eyes.
“You're pathetic.” Alpha spat on his father. “And that's why I won't let you die.”
“What?!” cried the king, eyes wide in terror. “I- I don't understand! I don't serve any purpose in this world anymore! Just end me! Please, I beg of you!”
Alpha crossed his arms. “What would your life be if I let you die? Pointless. I believe... We believe you need a second chance.” The king raised an eyebrow. “That is, a second chance at life. Come on out, brothers and sisters.”
Out of the dust they came, out of the dust came the other twenty-one Half Gods, the other twenty-one of the king's creations and children. Epsilon, Omicron, Sigma and all the rest were there, all gathered under the same roof.
“What- What is going on?!” the king cried. “What do you mean, 'second chance at life'?! What do you plan to do with me?!” The next series of events were ultimately the most bizarre things to have ever happened to him. As all twenty-four Half Gods chanted in unison, he felt himself being risen from the floor and layed down upon a floating bed that could be felt but not seen. “Answer me!” the king snapped. “Stop it- please!” A golden light was born from under him, shining outwards horizontally among the Half Gods; the pitch of their chanting rising simultaneously.
Then suddenly, the bed under the king vanished into thin air, and the king fell, not onto the floor, but through it. He felt his body vaporizing as he was dragged into a vortex of colors, one that spiraled like a radiant dragon. The chanting slowly became more muffled; an unrecognizable force was pulling away the king's bones from under him, and then his insides and his skin, and eventually his blood poured out into the whirlpool, transforming everything into a nightmare-inducing dim of red.
Not only did the king feel his body slipping away from his grip, but also his identity. He was feeling every emotion possible, and at the same, he felt nothing. He was no longer who he was, but a mirrored reality of his own subconsciousness and self-perspective.
But he was still falling. Falling, falling, falling into the abyss of unfaltering panic.
It was an overload. He couldn't take it much longer; he felt his psyche screaming for an end to the fall, but he was already about to explode into clouds of stardust that would implode into the being of nothing.
Then he could see. He could hear. He could feel. He could smell. He could taste. He was no longer falling, and his body was still intact. Relieved of the fear, he exhaled and looked down.
But it wasn't his body. The body he was in was small and smooth.
He was an infant. He was a baby boy.
None other came across his mind than that thought; he was young. And he was someone else.
His eyes rolled and his mouth lolled as he fell backwards and quickly drifted off into blissful slumber.
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Good luck with that chapter, btw.