New Nitron: Prologue

[I think I am here.]

Hello! I've been trying to write something like a book for a while now, I've had all the ideas in my head but I can never quite get them on the page. This marks my first attempt at actually trying to construct a prologue for what will hopefully be a book (I've only ever done short-stories before), so that's exciting! I guess. I'd appreciate feedback, prologues/chapters and the like are new to me. When I was writing this, though, I kept getting the nagging feeling like I was writing a ripoff Reckoners book, since it's meant to be a superhero story. But I guess everyone's first book is a ripoff of someone, right?

So, yeah, the prologue (sorry for rambling). This isn't actually from the POV of the main character, and its meant to be set 20 years before the events of the story. In it, stuff happens. So, yeah, here we go! I've included the prologue itself in a spoiler tag below, and beneath that I've got a Google Doc link in case any of you want to give feedback that way. Otherwise, any sort of comment in this thread would be greatly valued by me. Thanks!

Prologue:

Spoiler

Prologue:

“Come on, get a move on!” Laron instructed the refugees, patting each of them on the back as they walked past, no more than twenty people in this little group of his. He saw families, he saw couples, but most of all, he saw worried people. People who knew life here was ending, people who were smart enough to hire men like Laron himself to escort them out of the city, or the country, depending on how much trouble they were in. They were in a lot of trouble.

Spotting a few people lagging the main group, Laron moved over towards the two, a mother with a toddler clutching her hand. Not crying, surprisingly. “The border’s only a few minutes away,” he said quietly to the mother, patting the toddler on the head and edging the two closer to the main group before retaking his place at the head of it, Jared making way for him. The younger man wore a concerned expression on his face. “Only a little to go now, right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Like, actually? Because the last time you said it was a little while to go I –”

“Yes.”

“Alrighty then. I guess I’m just a little paranoid. The worst mistakes happen just as you’re about to succeed, ya know? I don’t know…” The 25-year-old continued mumbling to himself, glancing left and right like he was a rat in a maze, which he kind of was. These alleys didn’t sort themselves out. But if Laron had got his information right, then they would head right to the border. Freedom.

Resting a familiar hand on Jared’s shoulder, Laron tried comforting the kid. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this.” Then, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, he forced his lips to curl into the smile. It seemed to satisfy the youth for the time being, who nodded, keeping his eyes ahead. He was a good kid, followed orders well, given enough time he might have even been able to –

Movement. Ahead. Raising his hand up in an abrupt motion, Laron stopped the group in its tracks, holding up his Curse 11, a pistol with sharp edges and a fire-rate you didn’t want to mess with. It was his favorite weapon, and occurrences like these made him glad he brought it. An older model, but then again, so was he.

The group approached an intersection in the alleys – they could go either left or right – but Laron didn’t move. There was something ahead, something just around the corner. He hadn’t hallucinated that shadow.

Grumbles sounded out from behind, a father asking what the hold-up was. But they were quiet, and so Laron didn’t pay attention to them. He was used to unsatisfied customers.

But there definitely was something here. Keeping his gun pointed straight ahead, unflinching, Laron was about to charge forwards himself before a figure appeared, walking from the side, facing Laron, palms turned towards him. Taking a tentative step backwards, Laron remained silent as the rest of the group gasped, the men at the front moving to the back now. Jared began mumbling to himself again, eyes wide, gun also raised but not nearly as steady as Laron’s own.

They both knew this man was dangerous. One didn’t wander these alleys alone at night otherwise. That could only mean one thing, and as Laron shared a glance with the man who he was increasingly sure was an Optid, the figure spoke, his voice raspy in the night.

“Hello,” he said, crossing his arms. Why did he have four guns strapped to his belt? “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Escaping,” Jared spoke quickly, jabbing his gun further at the threat. It only had one shot before he’d need to reload it, but it was a powerful one. “So, you’d better get the hell out of our way, yeah? Before we decide we don’t want you alive anymore, ya know?” He shrugged nonchalantly, but Laron could see he was shaking, a lot. Still, the confidence seemed to surprise the Optid, so Jared continued, taking a dangerous step forward, seeming to recover from his initial fear.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’d better move back. We’re not joking, I swear, we will blow your head off. Clean off, yeah? You want that?”

“Jared…” Laron warned, sensing the atmosphere. Those eyes… the Optid wasn’t surprised at Jared’s prompts, it was baiting him. But for what? The answer seemed to flash into Laron’s head as Jared took another step, taunting the Optid. Tempting it. “Jared!”

It happened too fast for Laron to react. An arm, appearing out of the Optid’s left eye, translucent and yellow, like a pale hologram, extending far beyond any normal human reach, grabbing the gun straight out of an unprepared Jared’s hand and pointing it at Laron, similarly hued arms appearing out of the right eye, until the Optid was lifted upwards, an arm on either side keeping him  about 6 feet above the ground, hovering and grinning.

The group reacted, of course. Not pleasantly, and many tried to run back the way they came, until they realized another Optid was blocking them, trapping the bystanders between these two villains, these two forces.

“Come on,” The first Optid said, waving the gun – Jared’s gun – at Laron. It didn’t need to specify what it wanted for Laron to get the hint, and reluctantly, he gave up his Curse to another one of the arms. “You know,” The Optid said, waving the guns – it was now holding four – at the group. “I’m actually quite surprised you got this far.” He shot Jared idly, and then shrugged.

The Optid kept talking and making its grand speech, but Laron tried to force Jared’s death out of his head and think of a way out. Charge? Way too risky. Convince? Not a chance. Beg? It was the only option that had any merit, but Laron’s self-respect – some would call it ego – wouldn’t allow it. These criminals, these Optids, they were ordinary men and women, yet they tyrannized Laron and his kind. Once, they’d been kept in check, counteracted by other, benevolent, powered beings. But now, the good guys’ grip was dwindling, and crime was increasing at a rapid rate. Too many powerful Optids were turning bad, and no one was stepping up to the responsibility of stopping them. Hence, the constant refugee evacuations these days.

As if on cue, a figure dropped into the stirring group from on top of an alley, his sky-blue cloak brilliantly trailing behind him, for everyone to see. For everyone to marble at.

“No…” Laron was surprised to find himself saying.

Justice was here, pinnacle of good, the face of the law. The driving force opposing the bad guys. A legend.

But instead of getting his usual applause and cheers, no one clapped for Justice. Instead, they all looked at him pityingly, no words needed. For Justice was long out of his Prime, and where once stood the titan of all good now stood a man upwards of about 50 years, his hair greying. Laron couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy.

Back in the Glory Days, back when Optids were celebrated as heroes and no villain ruled longer for a couple hours, way back then, that was when Justice had been in his Prime. Laron had been just a kid when men like Justice had been relevant. But soon, younger villains stepped into their own Prime just as Justice and his comrades had fallen out of theirs. Slowly, the long-lasting organization of heroes Justice had created had crumbled, each hero dying worse than the last. Soon, it was just Justice himself and his closest partners, who got killed themselves. And what did you do when everything you worked for collapsed in front of yours eyes? You continued, tried to bring it back.

Justice stood triumphally in the middle of the alley, an Optid on either side. Technically, Justice was an Optid himself, though, nowadays, the word ‘Optid’ had become synonymous with ‘evil’. But though the hero had once had villains at his feet, everyone knew what was really standing there. A remnant of the past, a herald from a time long gone, a man who just wouldn’t stop fighting. The last strand connecting this world to the once-happy one.

“Justice?” The first Optid asked, genuinely surprised, pointing all four guns at him. “I didn’t think I’d see a relic here.”

“Sometimes the past is the key to the future.”

“Obviously not,” the first Optid said, throwing away his guns and landing on his feet. “So, the Justice, eh?” He stepped forward, eye-arms at the ready, eyes glowing a blinding yellow, smiling. “So, are we going to fight, or do you want to stand around collecting dust?” With that the Optid charged, swinging its arms like knives.

Justice dodged each one, sending a punch to the Optid’s gut. Maybe he wasn’t ancient, after all. Laron looked hopefully as people scrambled to leave the alley in the opening the first Optid had made, running to God-knew-where. Laron thought of leaving, himself, but no. He would help. Picking up a dropped gun, he turned towards the fight, and was surprised at how well Justice was doing.

The second Optid had joined the fight too, but every time one enemy would take a swing Justice would use the attack to harm the second enemy, dodging and sliding between his two opponents like a soldier playing with children. The first Optid tried to use his extra arms to an advantage, but Justice would tangle them with each other, and then use the knot to knock out the second guy.

Eventually, the fight ended with the two villains on the floor. Laron looked curiously to them, and then back to Justice, who was smiling to himself. “Not bad for a relic, hey?” He joked, though Laron was still surprised that the villains had lost so easily. Too easy. And if there was one thing Laron knew, it was the worst failures happened just after you thought you’d won.

“Civilian?” Justice asked, stepping forward. “Now that that fiasco is all over, you should pro –”

A garnet-red blast hit Justice in the back, shooting him into a wall in a heap of smoke. Laron immediately looked to the source, a middle-aged, muscular man, a red beanie with a dragon printed on it clasped to his head. As Justice tried to get up – his cloak had absorbed a lot of the blast – the Optid shot another beam, twin lasers shooting out of his eyes before converging into a single, concussive laser, sending Justice to the ground again. Was that blood coming out of his mouth?

Laron rushed to bring his gun up to the third Optid before the first one caught his hand and threw him too the floor, yellow arms smarming around him as the villain stood up, not showing any of the weakness he’d displayed when Justice had ‘beaten’ him. So, it had been a distraction, and a bait. A commotion big enough to lure Justice in as well as a temporary fight to distract him as the main hitter sneaked an attack.

It had worked, obviously. Justice lay on the floor, bleeding, shambling to get up before a smaller beam set him down again, the attacker grinning as he was joined by the other two, one on either side, red eyes flaming in the darkness. The second Optid – he one who had blocked the group off after Mr. Handsy had appeared – wiped a spot of blood off of his lip before engaging his Optium, a power every Optid had, what distinguished them form Regulars, people like Laron, his eyes glowing bright white as he looked towards Laron’s gun, a white aura surrounding it before it pulled out of Laron’s hands, flying towards the second Optid’s face, who caught it before it hit his face. These men weren’t jokes.

Turning towards Justice, who was now leaning against the wall, the third Optid remarked. “Any last words?” He asked, a faint accent on his lips, though Laron didn’t get where it was from. He was bigger than Justice, and he currently had the advantage in numbers, and power. Justice should’ve been scared.

But, no. Justice got himself to stand just as the Optid leader approached, meeting the villain in the eyes. “Last words?” He asked, limping forward. “How’s this for a last word?” The older man pushed the leader in the chest, aiming a punch Mr. Handsy, clearly trying the same moves as last time, but the Optid caught his catch with two of his arms, bending the wrist until it cracked, throwing him into the same wall as before. “Too slow, relic,” he stated as the leader stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

“Leave it,” the grizzled man said as took Justice by the throat, pulling him back and smashing his head against the wall again, still staring at his underling. “He’s mine.” Turning back to Justice, he took a gentler tone, though the spite was still there, seeping through. “Fine,” he said. “You don’t have any last words? I do. The last words you’ll ever hear, that is.” His eyes began to glow bright red, flaming upwards like twin bonfires. Laron was frozen in fear.

“Justice is dead.”

He let loose, firing his laser directly in Justice’s face, dropping the headless body. The old hero was gone, the last stand had fallen. If things had been bad now, things were going to get a lot worse now. The sheer symbolism of it, Justice being dead, it would spark a new era. Laron couldn’t move, a fist clenching his heart, strangling him internally. It really happened.

“What do we do with him?” The second Optid regarded the catatonic Laron, eyes fading from glwing white to a normal brown.

“Leave him, Avalon.” The leader said, exiting the alley, Mr. Handsy trailing him, Optium also disengaged. “He’s nothing. Pond scum, at most. Justice is dead, that’s all that matters. Come on.”

The second Optid, Avalon, stayed, taking one last glance at Laron before skulking back to his comrades, leaving Laron alone in the empty alleyway.

The alleyway with Justice’s body.

Link:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PA0GG3PG99bRQ8o5Zgcrhb8RTyXJEPU3KOOmawMcUz0/edit?usp=sharing

[+Sorana]

Hello =)

first of all: thumbs up for writing the prologue and for having the courage to post it here.

Yes it reminded me of the Reckoners, but well, every superhero story somehow reminds me of the Reckoners. But I also got the feeling, that you're approach isn't the same, and that you can move your story in a direction that won't feel like Reckoners 2.0. But after reading the prologue I simply don't know enough of the setting to really judge that. But if you want to bounce a few ideas back and forth just contact me.

I added my feedback to the text itself in red, see the spoiler box below. I hope you can understand it, and that it isn't too much and that it helps you. When I give something to my beta I ask her/ him to simply comment everything, and that's what I did here. Because even if I don't agree, I always value their opinion. If you have any questions please ask.

Spoiler

“Come on, get a move on!” Laron instructed the refugees, patting each of them on the back as they walked past, no more than twenty people in this little group of his. He saw families, he saw couples, but most of all, he saw worried people. People who knew life here was ending, people who were smart enough to hire men like Laron himself to escort them out of the city, or the country, depending on how much trouble they were in. They were in a lot of trouble.

Spotting a few people (gave me the impression that more than “only” a woman and her child lagged behind – maybe try something like Looking over the group he saw a mother with a toddler lagging behind. Laron moved …) lagging the main group, Laron moved over towards the two, a mother with a toddler clutching her hand. Not crying, surprisingly. “The border’s only a few minutes away,” he said quietly to the mother, patting the toddler on the head and edging the two closer to the main group before retaking his place at the head of it, Jared making way for him. The younger man wore a concerned expression on his face. “Only a little to go now, right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Like, actually? Because the last time you said it was a little while to go I –”

“Yes.”

“Alrighty then. I guess I’m just a little paranoid. The worst mistakes happen just as you’re about to succeed, ya know? I don’t know…” The 25-year-old continued mumbling to himself, glancing left and right like he was a rat in a maze, which he kind of was. These alleys didn’t sort themselves out. But if Laron had got his information right, then they would head right to the border. Freedom.

Resting a familiar hand on Jared’s shoulder, Laron tried comforting the kid. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this.” Then, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, he forced his lips to curl into the smile. It seemed to satisfy the youth for the time being, who nodded, keeping his eyes ahead. He was a good kid, followed orders well, given enough time he might have even been able to – During the last two paragraphs you described Jared as a “young man”, a “kid” and then a “youth”. I feel like you should decide what he is. He can be a “kid” or a “youth” to Laron, but then maybe write something like “although 25 he still acted more like youth than a young man”, to make him feel younger than his described age. But like this I read the whole paragraph again and tried to find out where the kid came from. Even when Laron is a lot older, at 25 the description “young man” fits best in my opinion.

Movement. Ahead. Raising his hand up in an abrupt motion, Laron stopped the group in its tracks why do they stop when he holds up his hand? Did he tell them to do that? It’s a typical military gesture, but you describe them as helpless refuges, they shouldn’t know about it, or if they do, they should act slower, maybe stumble, one or two don’t realizing that he tries to gesture something, … , holding up his Curse 11, a pistol with sharp edges and a fire-rate you didn’t want to mess with. It was his favorite weapon, and occurrences like these made him glad he brought it. An older model, but then again, so was he.

The group approached an intersection in the alleys You wrote that he stopped them. So if they move again I would add, that he decides to continue to the intersection, and in the next sentence you write that he doesn’t move. If you want to express that they stand not far away from the intersection, then I would change approached to stood before, or maybe had approached – they could go either left or right – but Laron didn’t move. There was something ahead, something just around the corner. He hadn’t hallucinated that shadow.

Grumbles sounded out from behind, a father asking what the hold-up was. But they were quiet, and so Laron didn’t pay attention to them. He was used to unsatisfied customers.

But there definitely was something here. Keeping his gun pointed straight ahead, unflinching, Laron was about to charge forwards himself before a figure appeared, walking from the side, facing Laron, palms turned towards him. Taking a tentative step backwards, Laron remained silent as the rest of the group gasped, the men at the front moving to the back now. Jared began mumbling to himself again, eyes wide, gun also raised but not nearly as steady as Laron’s own.

They both knew this man was dangerous. One didn’t wander these alleys alone at night otherwise. That could only mean one thing, and as Laron shared a glance with the man who he was increasingly sure was an Optid, the figure spoke, his voice raspy in the night.

“Hello,” he said, crossing his arms. Why did he have four guns strapped to his belt? The questions feels a bit off to me. I have no idea if an Optid is even human. So four guns seems a lot, but the significance, of the fact that he has four guns was completely lost on me. A suggestion Laron eyes the man suspiciously, noticing the four guns strapped to his belt. (and now I would add a bit of information: An Optid didn’t need for guns. Or maybe nothing more like: there was no reason to carry four guns // or you just leave it with the first sentence and let the reader wonder why the four guns are important in Larons opinion) “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Escaping,” Jared spoke quickly, jabbing his gun further at the threat. It only had one shot before he’d need to reload it, but it was a powerful one. “So, you’d better get the hell out of our way, yeah? Before we decide we don’t want you alive anymore, ya know?” He shrugged nonchalantly, but Laron could see he was shaking, a lot. Still, the confidence seemed to surprise the Optid, so Jared continued, taking a dangerous step forward, seeming to recover from his initial fear.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’d better move back. We’re not joking, I swear, we will blow your head off. Clean off, yeah? You want that?”

“Jared…” Laron warned, sensing the atmosphere. Those eyes… the Optid wasn’t surprised at Jared’s prompts, it was baiting him. But for what? The answer seemed to flash into Laron’s head as Jared took another step, taunting the Optid. Tempting it. “Jared!”

It happened too fast for Laron to react. An arm, appearing out of the Optid’s left eye, translucent and yellow, like a pale hologram, extending far beyond any normal human reach, grabbing the gun straight out of an unprepared Jared’s hand and pointing it at Laron, add a full stop here, to give the reader a moment to breathe a progress the fact, that the man is a non-human being similarly hued arms appearing out of the right eye, until the Optid was lifted upwards, an arm on either side keeping him  about 6 feet above the ground, hovering and grinning. Only one question: how? The thing has arms, scary arms. But if these arms keep him in the air, I think you should describe how. Does he grab at a house and lifts himself up, does he push himself off the ground? It was hard to imagine and follow what was happening here. And you should mention, that his left eye grows another arm, because the one he grew at first still holds the gun.

The group reacted, of course. Not pleasantly, and many tried to run back the way they came, until they realized another Optid was blocking them, trapping the bystanders between these two villains, these two forces. Give yourself a bit more time here and remember that we mostly share Laron’s pov. Describe the reaction a bit more than “not pleasantly”, maybe a bit like: Laron heard a scream behind him, feet shuffling as the refuges tried to get away from the Optid. A few seconds later a scream: “Another one”. Cursing he shot a look over his shoulder and saw another creature approaching them, trapping them in the alley.

“Come on,” The first Optid said, waving the gun – Jared’s gun – at Laron. It didn’t need to specify what it wanted for Laron to get the hint, and reluctantly, he gave up his Curse to another one of the arms. “You know,” The Optid said, waving the guns – it was now holding four – at the group. “I’m actually quite surprised you got this far.” He shot Jared idly, and then shrugged. Add Laron’s reaction here. Maybe let him look over, let him feel something.

The Optid kept talking and making its grand speech, but Laron tried to force Jared’s death out of his head and think of a way out. Charge? Way too risky. Convince? Not a chance. Beg? It was the only option that had any merit, but Laron’s self-respect – some would call it ego – wouldn’t allow it. These criminals, these Optids, they were ordinary men and women, yet they tyrannized Laron and his kind. All right, you can describe them as ordinary, but then you have to explain, why he believes growing arms out of one’s eyes is ordinary. Your reader is completely new to the setting. So if everybody can do this, or has a power or something like that, then you have to tell that now. Or at least hint at it now. Once, they’d been kept in check, counteracted by other, benevolent, powered beings. But now, the good guys’ grip was dwindling, and crime was increasing at a rapid rate. You describe the good ones as “beings” and as “guys”. The first word hints at something supernatural, the second one places them on the same step as the refugees. I would advice to decide for one of the two. Either they are human beings, or they are something so strange that he has no other word than “being”. But they can’t really be both. Too many powerful Optids were turning bad, and no one was stepping up to the responsibility of stopping them. Hence, the constant refugee evacuations these days. Makes sense and hints at a larger problem. I like that

As if on cue, a figure dropped into the stirring group from on top of an alley, his sky-blue cloak brilliantly trailing behind him, for everyone to see. For everyone to marble at. It’s dark. Why can they see the colour of his cloak?

“No…” Laron was surprised to find himself saying. I would simply describe his reaction here. Let him gasp, let him stare. That’s more powerful that the single word.

Justice was here, pinnacle of good, the face of the law. The driving force opposing the bad guys. A legend.

But instead of getting his usual applause and cheers, no one clapped for Justice. Instead, they all looked at him pityingly, no words needed. For Justice was long out of his Prime, and where once stood the titan of all good now stood a man upwards of about 50 years, his hair greying. Laron couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy.

Back in the Glory Days, back when Optids were celebrated as heroes and no villain ruled longer for a couple hours, way back then, that was when Justice had been in his Prime. Laron had been just a kid when men like Justice had been relevant. But soon, younger villains stepped into their own Prime just as Justice and his comrades had fallen out of theirs. Slowly, the long-lasting organization of heroes Justice had created had crumbled, each hero dying worse than the last. Soon, it was just Justice himself and his closest partners, who got killed themselves. And what did you do when everything you worked for collapsed in front of yours eyes? You continued, tried to bring it back.

Justice stood triumphally in the middle of the alley, an Optid on either side. Technically, Justice was an Optid himself, though, nowadays, the word ‘Optid’ had become synonymous with ‘evil’. But though the hero had once had villains at his feet, everyone knew what was really standing there. A remnant of the past, a herald from a time long gone, a man who just wouldn’t stop fighting. The last strand connecting this world to the once-happy one.

“Justice?” The first Optid asked, genuinely surprised, pointing all four guns at him. “I didn’t think I’d see a relic here.”

“Sometimes the past is the key to the future.”

“Obviously not,” the first Optid said, throwing away his guns (which ones? The ones in his belt, or the ones in his hands?) and landing on his feet. “So, the Justice, eh?” He stepped forward, eye-arms at the ready, eyes glowing a blinding yellow, smiling. “So, are we going to fight, or do you want to stand around collecting dust?” With that the Optid charged, swinging its arms like knives.

Justice dodged each one, sending a punch to the Optid’s gut. Maybe he wasn’t ancient, after all. Laron looked hopefully as people scrambled to leave the alley in the opening the first Optid had made, running to God-knew-where. Laron thought of leaving, himself, but no. He would help. Picking up a dropped gun, he turned towards the fight, and was surprised at how well Justice was doing.

The second Optid had joined the fight too, but every time one enemy would take a swing Justice would use the attack to harm the second enemy, dodging and sliding between his two opponents like a soldier playing with children. The first Optid tried to use his extra arms to an advantage, but Justice would tangle them with each other, and then use the knot to knock out the second guy.

Eventually, the fight ended with the two villains on the floor. Laron looked curiously to them, and then back to Justice, who was smiling to himself. “Not bad for a relic, hey?” He joked, though Laron was still surprised that the villains had lost so easily. Too easy. And if there was one thing Laron knew, it was the worst failures happened just after you thought you’d won.

“Civilian?” Justice asked, stepping forward. “Now that that fiasco is all over, you should pro –”

A garnet-red blast hit Justice in the back, shooting him into a wall in a heap of smoke. Laron immediately looked to the source, a middle-aged, muscular man, a red beanie with a dragon printed on it clasped to his head. As Justice tried to get up – his cloak had absorbed a lot of the blast – the Optid shot another beam, twin lasers shooting out of his eyes before converging into a single, concussive laser, sending Justice to the ground again. Was that blood coming out of his mouth? When Laron was able to get a look at the face of the hero, he saw blood dribbling out of it.

 

Laron rushed to bring his gun up to the third Optid, but before the first one caught his hand and threw him too the floor, yellow arms smarming around him (full stop) as the villain stood up, not showing any of the weakness he’d displayed when Justice had ‘beaten’ him. So, it had been a distraction, and a bait. A commotion big enough to lure Justice in as well as a temporary fight to distract him as the main hitter sneaked an attack.

It had worked, obviously. Justice lay on the floor, bleeding, shambling to get up before a smaller beam set him down again, the attacker grinning as he was joined by the other two, one on either side, red eyes flaming in the darkness. The second Optid – he one who had blocked the group off after Mr. Handsy Why does Laron know how the third one is called?  had appeared – wiped a spot of blood off of his lip before engaging his Optium, a power every Optid had, what distinguished them form Regulars, people like Laron, his eyes glowing bright white as he looked towards Laron’s gun, a white aura surrounding it before it pulled out of Laron’s hands, flying towards the second Optid’s face, who caught it before it hit his face. These men weren’t jokes. I would leave the power away. Or I wouldn’t explain why he can do it. And the difference between Laron and the Optids I would explain earlier, when you explain the whole good guy/ bad guy stuff. In the middle of the fight it’s a bit to much to follow.

Turning towards Justice, who was now leaning against the wall, the third Optid remarked. “Any last words?” He asked, a faint accent on his lips, though Laron didn’t get where it was from. He was bigger than Justice, and he currently had the advantage in numbers, and power. Justice should’ve been scared.

But, no. Justice got himself to stand just as the Optid leader approached, meeting the villain in the eyes. “Last words?” He asked, limping forward. “How’s this for a last word?” The older man pushed the leader in the chest, aiming a punch Mr. Handsy, clearly trying the same moves as last time, but the Optid caught his catch with two of his arms, bending the wrist until it cracked, throwing him into the same wall as before. “Too slow, relic,” he stated as the leader stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

“Leave it,” the grizzled man Who’s that? said as took Justice by the throat, pulling him back and smashing his head against the wall again if he isn’t even looking I would try to make the gesture even more random: without even looking at Justice he smashed his head against the wall, his eyes focused on his underling, still staring at his underling. “He’s mine.” Turning back to Justice, he took a gentler tone, though the spite was still there, seeping through. “Fine,” he said. “You don’t have any last words? I do. The last words you’ll ever hear, that is.” His eyes began to glow bright red, flaming upwards like twin bonfires. Laron was frozen in fear. Too weak. Try to add anything more, his heartbeat, cold in his bones…

“Justice is dead.”

He let loose, firing his laser directly in Justice’s face, dropping the headless body. The old hero was gone, the last stand had fallen. If things had been bad now, things were going to get a lot worse now. The sheer symbolism of it, Justice being dead, it would spark a new era. Laron couldn’t move, a fist clenching his heart, strangling him internally. It really happened. I would first describe Laron’s reaction, and then let him draw the conclusion that things will be worse in the future.

“What do we do with him?” The second Optid regarded the catatonic Laron, eyes fading from glwing white to a normal brown.

“Leave him, Avalon.” The leader said, exiting the alley, Mr. Handsy trailing him, Optium also disengaged. “He’s nothing. Pond scum, at most. Justice is dead, that’s all that matters. Come on.” I’m not sure about this. They seem awfully self-confident to leave an eye witness. “Let him live to tell tale?”

 

The second Optid, Avalon, stayed, taking one last glance at Laron before skulking back to his comrades, leaving Laron alone in the empty alleyway.

The alleyway with Justice’s body.

 

 

 

 

[MetaTerminal]

I don’t have time to analyse it too in-depth, but it looks great!

I liked the action, especially between Justice and the Optids, although I think there’s definitely more room for exploring how they work and what they can be used for. It’s a good idea, one definitely inspired by the Reckoners, so you’ll have to be careful not to mimic it too closely. You’ve got enough unique ideas to make something of your own, though.

In terms of things that need to be improved, I think the setting could’ve been outlined a bit better. They’re in some alleys, but what are these alleys like? Can they hear the scampering of rats, the slight drip of water, a rustle of wind? The smell of mould, brick, Optid arms, decomposing corpses? A few evocative sentences can do a lot to set the scene in the audience’s mind.

Also, Laron seems to be omniescient during the battle, predicting the Optid’s feint. If Justice, with undoubtably much more battle experience than Laron, didn’t see it coming, Laron shouldn’t have, even if Justice is past his prime. Laron’s reactions should also be outlined a bit more. When Jared dies, you might want to describe what he feels, short of ‘he feels sad’. When they are trapped by the Optids, how does he feel about that? Laron almost seems aware that he’s going to be rescued, when he probably shouldn’t be. If the Optids are as dangerous as you describe them, the appearance of one should be a distaster, and the appearance of two should be a calamity (pun somewhat intended).

There’s definitely room for improvement, but you’ve got an excellent start.

[I think I am here.]

Wow, thanks, you guys! I really appreciate you having the time to look over my stuff, and your feedback is definitely helpful to me and things I could improve on.  Thanks!

Sorana, I really appreciated your in depth feedback in my story, almost line by line! And MetaTerminal, thanks for your overall opinion, with certain examples. I believe it’s important to have a little of both.

At the risk of repeating myself, thanks!

Edited August 19, 2018 by I think I am here.

[+Sorana]

5 hours ago, I think I am here. said:

Sorana, I really appreciated your in depth feedback in my story, almost line by line! And MetaTerminal, thanks for your overall opinion, with certain examples. I believe it’s important to have a little of both.

Gladly. When I was finished I worried a bit if it was too much. I'm really looking forward to whatever you write next be it the first chapter, or a second prologue. Tough I would recommend to write the chapter. Finishing is more important than revising, in my experience.

[Life&Death]

Finally read it. Sorry it took me a couple days. 

Feedback.

The fact about arms coming from his eyes kind of confused me. Are they small enough for the thickness of the arm to fit in the eyes? Or are they full sized?

Sorana did a much more detailed run through of it, most of which I agree with. 

 

Overall, very nice job. It hints at a very fun fantasy world built into it. I want to read more.