Writing progress comparison

[Kureshi Ironclaw]

I recently rewrote a short story I'd originally written in high school with the intention of making the rewritten version the new prologue to my novel, Prophecy of the Vengeful. I found it interesting how much my writing has changed and improved, so wanted to make a thread showing a comparison between the two and encourage other writers to do the same.

I'll post both versions and do a little breakdown of what things I decided to change, then hopefully you guys will give feedback about what you like and share something of your own. The point of this is to reflect on how our writing has evolved and show that even if practice doesn't make perfect, it makes better.

So here it is, probably seven years old now, The Field of Flame. (Disclaimer: this was written with a 1000 word limit for a local writing comp, but I doubt being allowed to use more words would have made it any better)

Spoiler

The first cold wind of autumn rose off the northern seas, blowing south onto the broken archipelago where Jezioc’s great hall had stood only yesterday. The wind ripped brine off the ocean’s surface to spray it over the small island where Horriobeth stood facing north; it smelt of tears, and it had good reason to. Corpses, palely lit by the rising sun, littered the waves like autumn leaves; Horriobeth could recognise most of the soaked cadavers.
            The wind raced past Horriobeth, whipping his dark hair about and flinging spray into his eyes. Out of the wind, in a quick blur of motion that seemed to materialise from nowhere, stepped Daena in her cloak that appeared to be made of clouds. Horriobeth’s hand went instantly to the long dagger at his belt.
            “You will get your chance to use that,” Daena said brusquely, “but not on me.” She looked south. Horriobeth’s eyes followed to look over the shattered islands to where the dark shadow of Gathrond rose belching black smoke into the sky; bright lights flashed around the mountain and the sound of distant explosions echoed from it. “If you wish to get off this island and save your country-men I suggest that you put your arms around me now. Jezioc has a plan to defeat Damoc and he needs you.”
            “Why would Jezioc or any of you Fíkn-Irrentura[1] need my help,” Horriobeth growled.
            Daena rounded on him, her eyes a fearsome blue. A gust of wind whipped her silvery hair around her face, which was undeniably beautiful. “Don’t be petulant you stubborn fool!” She snapped, “We are not so different from you as you seem to think. Damoc may yet destroy the whole world if you do not come right now!” As Daena spoke, a swirl of dark storm clouds coalesced in the sky above the island and thunder began to growl faintly from them.
            Horriobeth glanced at the clouds; flickers of lightning were darting about within the gathering tempest. He considered for a moment and then took his hand off his dagger and wrapped his arms around Daena’s slim waist; her wrath was not something he wanted directed at him. She nodded approvingly and told him to hold on tight; Horriobeth tightened his grip on her waist, pressing his body close to hers.

            A fierce wind ripped at Horriobeth and suddenly the archipelago was a rushing blur beneath him. He looked forward and saw Gathrond rushing up to meet them and then, as quick as it had begun, the flight was over and he and Daena were standing on the mountain’s stone slopes.
            As Horriobeth let go of Daena he inhaled a clod of ash and began coughing. Gathrond shook violently and his ears were battered by the loudest sounds he had ever heard as huge torrents of fire exploded into the air from further around the mountain’s curve; the air seemed to be made of pure heat. Daena turned to him and shouted, “Damoc is a little further around the mountain.” She pointed to the torrents of fire. “He is invulnerable to any of our powers now but if you can stab him with your dagger he will be hopeless for as long as the wound still bleeds. The rest of us will distract him so that you can get close.” Then with a blur she was gone. A moment later lightning began striking around Gathrond.

            Horriobeth cautiously crept around the mountain and, passing around a pile of sharp stones, saw Damoc standing on a plateau further down the slope. He was facing out over a field of fire – the Golden Trees that had once stood in Ilírien were now ashes – his black wings were folded against his back and his pointed tail whipped malevolently about him but he still held a human shape. He was pointing his spear and throwing fire onto the ashen plain where Jezioc stood fending it off with his flaming sword; Daena was darting about bringing lightning crashing down at Damoc. Now that Kariadoc was dead, and Ellaen fled into the ocean in grief, it was just the pair of them left to face Damoc unless Faelioc decided to appear – but he had vanished as soon as the fighting broke out nine days ago.
            Behind Jezioc, armies of elves, gnomes, dwarves and men were locked in fierce battle with Damoc’s undead army. Shades were carving screaming paths through the ranks on their skinless horses and monstrous giants under the behest of Gadden and Rolgr rent anything that they came upon; the screams were nearly loud enough to match the explosions. Damoc’s army was coming close to routing Jezioc’s.
            Damoc was wholly focused on Jezioc and Daena so Horriobeth was able to creep up behind him with his dagger drawn. Darting around his thrashing tail, Horriobeth stabbed at Damoc’s back and gasped as black scales deflected the blade. Damoc swung around sending Horriobeth sprawling onto his back, the dagger sailed out of his hands to land out of reach. Eyes holding the hatred of hell glared down at him but Damoc opened his fangs to cackle. He reached down and lifted Horriobeth up by the throat then turned to the field, hissing, “So, the Tu’a[2] cower behind a mortal champion!” His hiss carried over the field like thunder and Damoc’s army erupted with laughter when they saw Horriobeth held helplessly in the air by their master. Jezioc’s face contorted with despair and Daena ceased shooting lightning to gape. Horriobeth felt the point of Damoc’s spear press beneath his chin as he hissed, “I shall enjoy making you my slave, mortal.”
            Suddenly, Damoc dropped Horriobeth and put his hands on his stomach where a Black-Arrow was buried. A blur sped up Gathrond and became Faelioc, clutching a bow. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow and wrenched it out of Damoc’s flesh. Blood and viscera spilled onto the ground when the monstrous triple-barbed arrowhead exited. Damoc screamed grotesquely. He was powerless.

 

---

[1] False Gods

[2] Holy Ones

And here is the new version, written and edited over the course of the last few days. No word limit this time. I don't think I could have done it within the same word limit. (Pasting messed up the paragraphs but I hope it is still readable)

Spoiler

The first cold wind of autumn ripped brine off the ocean’s surface, spraying it into Rybeth’s face as he stood on a small island, facing south. The water was salty like his tears, though his tears were far cleaner. Corpses, palely lit by the waning sun, littered the waves like autumn leaves, butting against the rocky shores of the countless tiny islands surrounding Rybeth’s own. The skin of the dead men was turning white and puffy but pink still stained the water from their blood. That and mud.
This place had been solid ground yesterday, a sweeping meadow by the north sea, the seat of Jezioc’s Holy Hall. But now it was shattered under the wrath of the gods, a broken archipelago strewn with ruin. White pillars showed fractured amongst the islands, their once pristine beauty now marred with grime.
To the south, across the shattered vista, the sky was black and red. The silhouette of a flat topped mountain belched smoke and flashing lights sporadically lit the clouds. Faintly the rumble of explosions found Rybeth’s ears. Out here in the archipelago, the battle had ended decisively.
Near that mountain it still raged furiously.
The wind tore past Rybeth, wrenching his blood-matted hair out behind him. Out of the wind, in a quick blur of motion that his eyes could not quite rationalise, stepped Daena. Her eyes were wide, her face spattered with ash and gore, and trails of smoke rose off her still smoldering cloak which was half burned away.
Rybeth’s hand went to the dagger at his belt. It had three blades of dark steel, all spiralling to a point.
“You will get your chance to use that,” Daena said, crossing the entire breadth of the island in three brusque steps to look him in the eye. “But not on me.”
Rybeth warily released the dagger’s hilt from his iron-hard grip. “What are you doing here?” He demanded. His voice grated like stones in his throat, still sore from shouting during the battle.
Daena smirked and wiped the back of her hand across her face; ostensibly to clear the gore from her eyes but she only succeeded in smearing it further. “No words of thanks for a timely rescue?”
“Look at what has happened here,” Rybeth growled, gesturing at the soaked cadavers around the island. He knew most of their names. “I have nothing to thank you or your people for.”
Daena raised an eyebrow. “If not for us, you would already be dead, and so much more would be lost.” She stepped closer, jutting her face up towards his, eyes a fearsome blue. She spoke through gritted teeth, stunningly white behind her bloody lips. “Now, if you wish to get off this island and save what few of your countrymen remain, I suggest that you put your arms around me now. Jezioc has a plan to defeat Damoc and he needs you.”
Rybeth turned away from her and stepped to the northern edge of the island, staring out over white-capped waves and a blue horizon. It was possible to forget all the troubles of the world with that sight. No war. No death. Only the tranquil ebb and flow of water as night drew near. “Why would Jezioc or any of you false gods need my help?”
“Don’t be petulant, you stubborn fool!” Daena snapped, her voice accented by a clap of thunder.
Rybeth glanced over his shoulder at her. Hands on hips, halo of storm-clouds congealing in the air above her head, she looked every bit the goddess of storms she claimed to be. Lightning flickered in the gathering tempest above her, but it was no match for the lightning in her eyes.
“Do what you will with your wrath,” Rybeth said coldly. “I do not fear you.” He turned back to face the gentle sea. Let her at least strike me down with this last vision of beauty before me.
The rumble of thunder faded to silence, leaving just the distant echoes of destruction to the south. Rybeth sat on the edge of the island with his legs over the side, his boots just stirring the water.
A light hand found his shoulder some minutes later and Rybeth shifted as Daena sat beside him. She bit her lip as she watched the north sea, dipping her grime-crusted hands in to wash them. She looked sad. It was the first time he had seen such an emotion on her face. Cupping her hands, she lifted water to her face and splashed all the blood from it, leaving her clean bronzed skin to shine in the waning daylight. She sighed and playfully flung some droplets at Rybeth. He grunted as they struck his face.
With the gore cleaned from her face, Daena looked far less like a goddess just come from an epic battle to decide the fate of the world, and more like an ordinary woman in her mid thirties. Her sorrow as she stared at the sea was that of a soldier, profound and deep, but only displayed openly on those rarest occasions of vulnerability.
“We are not so different from you as you seem to think,” Daena said.
“Don’t you see why that is a problem?” Rybeth shuddered. “You’re supposed to be gods.”
“And we are. To those that need us.”
“Where does that leave me? I have no need for gods.”
“Maybe you do,” Daena said with a wan smile. “What has happened here is horrible. You have lost many friends and family, and that is unforgivable. I am not immune to the horrors you have experienced. I have experienced centuries of horrors of my own, perhaps unfortunately to the point that I’m now jaded to suffering; but your pain and anguish are as real as anything I have faced. And as gods, to the people on this world that need us right now, we are accountable for your suffering, and we are doing everything we can to stop it. Damoc the Worldburner must be defeated, but we need your help.” Daena rose to her feet and offered Rybeth a hand.
“Come, Warlord. One last battle.”
Rybeth wished he was weak enough to ignore Daena, but he was a leader and he had as much a duty as her to end the suffering of his world. He took her hand and let her lift him to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Put your arms around my waist,” she said with a playful smirk. “Don’t let go.”
Rybeth stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her slim waist, pressing his body close to hers. Perhaps because he was now immune to the smell of battle and death, and because that smell clung thickly to them both, he smelled something sweet in her aroma. Daena looked over her shoulder at him and winked.
Then they burst into the wind.
The archipelago blurred beneath them in flashes of brown and blue. The dark silhouette of the mountain and the blackened sky that surrounded it rushed up to meet them.
Quick as it had begun, the flight was over and he and Daena staggered onto the mountain’s rocky slope. Rybeth let go of Daena’s waist and coughed as he inhaled a clod of ash. The air burned in his nostrils and throat, and gouts of fire were bursting from the stones with loud concussions that beat his ears like hammers.
Daena snatched the front of Rybeth’s jerkin and pulled him into a crouch as an enormous rock flew out of the ashen gloom and sailed over their head.
“What is happening?” Rybeth yelled over the noise. Through all the explosions he could now hear steel and screams. The battle was close, but he could not see it through the ash.
Daena leaned close, shouting. “Damoc is a little further around and up the slope. You must get close to him and stab him. Stab him with your dagger. Jezioc and I will distract him. This is our last hope. Already the battle has turned against us.”
“Where are the others? Where is Faelioc?”
“That coward?” An expression of fury crossed Daena’s face. “He fled days ago.”
Rybeth frowned. “Why me?”
“He will sense us if we try,” Daena said with exasperation. “But you are mortal; you may have a chance.”
Rybeth opened his mouth to speak again but she cut him off.
“I must go. Damoc may notice my absence and grow suspicious.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I hope we both survive this. Stay safe, Rybeth. Stay strong.”
She vanished with a blur, leaving Rybeth alone on the slope. Seconds later thunder crashed overhead and white flashes of lightning lit the air.
Rybeth drew the three-bladed dagger and edged along the slope. He would much rather have his sword but it was lost to the sea, like so many things. Jezioc’s gift would have to do.
He crested a rise near some sharp stones and saw movement through the haze. Damoc’s dead servants clashed with humans and Starii on a field of ash and flame. One rushed Rybeth with its jaw hanging loosely from its dessicated skull. He sidestepped and stabbed it through the chest with the dagger. The thing rasped and toppled to the ground its lower jaw finally snapping free and rolling away.
Rybeth forced his way further through the battle, seeking higher ground and relying more on dodging and running to avoid fights. It made him feel like a coward, but a dagger was not the right weapon for this situation.
Shades carved screaming paths through the ranks of combatants, their skinless horses turning aside all blades that sought to bring them down. Rybeth dived out of one’s path. Such foes were beyond him.
Yet I am going to face the Worldburner himself, he thought grimly. Daena and Jezioc were sending him to his death.
Rybeth hauled himself to his feet and found himself face to face — or rather, face to knee — with the towering form of Gadden. The giant general, bastard son of Gorhl the Shatterer, snarled with bloodlust and swung his enormous hammer down. Rybeth dodged sideways and the impact from the hammer striking the earth lifted him from his feet.
He sought to flee, but the giant’s huge strides prevented his escape, the hammer this time narrowly missing him and slamming down across his path.
With a violent curse, Rybeth tossed the dagger to his left hand and with his right hand wrenched a sword free from where it was embedded in a Starii’s chest. In the same motion he swung the blade in a high arc over his head. The sword’s point caught the thick hide of Gadden’s stomach and ripped across it, spraying blood and entrails onto Rybeth. Gadden dropped his warhammer with an animalistic squeal and clutched his ruined gut, but even his huge hands could not stop his insides from spilling out.
Rybeth stepped around the dying giant but heard a furious roar to his left. He spun and ducked under a vicious sideways sweep of an enormous axe. The blade rent the air, taking a few matted strands of Rybeth’s hair with it, then a foot the size of Rybeth’s torso struck him and sent him tumbling away.
He rolled over sharp stones and dead bodies, coming to rest by the body of a young woman — Aradian by her complexion. At some point he had lost his sword, but he thankfully still had the dagger.
Much good it will do, he thought as he saw another giant charging towards him. Rolgr, Gadden’s brother. The bigger and meaner of the two.
It was at this point that most people would pray for some sort of salvation, but the only gods that Rybeth knew warred on this field. And they were not the sort he wanted to pray to.
He heaved himself to his feet, steadying himself to meet Rolgr’s charge — and his death — when lightning flashed from the burning sky.
It struck hot against Rolgr’s chest, blackening the skin and slowing his approach. Then it struck again from behind, then the side, all powerful blasts of blue power. But battle-rage was upon Rolgr and the lightning seemed like little more than a nuisance for him. He stomped closer to Rybeth, his eyes fired with the lust to avenge his fallen brother, and raised his monstrous axe.
With a yell, Daena blurred out of the air and landed on Rolgr’s shoulders, wrapping her legs around his throat and pressing her hands to his temples. The giant dropped his axe and sought to wrench her free, but he was too slow.
Blue lightning flashed in Rolgr’s eyes and he dropped like a stone, his body shaking the earth as it struck.
Daena leapt from his shoulders and landed in a crouch in front of Rybeth. “What are you doing?” She screamed over the battle. “Get up the slope!” She pointed up and to her left into the gloom. Far up through swirling smoke Rybeth thought he saw leathery wings.
A narrow beam of red-hot fire shot from the direction she was pointing and struck her in the side. She cried out, spinning from the force of the blast, and fell clutching the smoking wound.
“Daena!” Rybeth roared, rushing to her side.
She grimaced, waving a bloody hand to ward him off. “I’m… fine. Go!” She tried to rise but barely got to her knees before collapsing onto the stone, panting and squeezing her eyes shut.
“You’re hurt, Daena.” He tried to examine her wound closer but she batted his hands away again.
“Get the hell out of here,” she hissed. “Up the slope. That’s a goddamn order!”
Rybeth hesitated as Daena shuddered on the ground before him. More beams of fire shot past him, burning trenches through Jezioc’s army. A wave of fire arced from the opposite direction and Rybeth ducked as it blazed overhead, his face inches from Daena’s. It was splattered with as much gore, if not more, than before she had washed it on the island.
“Don’t die,” he said through gritted teeth, clutching her shoulder tightly.
Her answering smile was pained as he turned his back on her and sprinted up the slope.
He swung wide, cutting across the mountainside instead of straight towards where the beams of fire were coming. If Damoc got even one sight of him, he would be dead before he knew it.
His lungs ached, clogged with ash, and he coughed again. The source of the fire beams was to his right now and falling behind him. He was further up the slope than Damoc and the smoke was shielding him from view. He curved around and came skidding to a halt behind an outcropping of rock, heaving with breath.
Damoc was silhouetted below him, black wings folded behind his back and pointed tail whipping about malevolently. He faced the battle on the field, blasting fire from his flaming spear.
A violent gust of wind swirled the smoke high into the sky, clearing the air in front of Damoc and sending the foul god stumbling back several steps. The battlefield, now visible, was strewn with corpses but Damoc’s dead still raged at the frail pockets of mortal resistance.
Jezioc King of Gods marched out of the battle towards Damoc, the black smoke swirling away from him to give clear line of sight. His white battle robes were stained black and the glass sword he wielded had only a frail blue light illuminating its blade.
“Damoc!” He shouted, his mismatched eyes blazing with divine fury. “Let this end now!”
“You are a coward, Jez!” Damoc screamed back. “This needs to be done but you are too weak to do it!”
“What you want is not worth all this death!”
“And that aberration in your hand is?” Damoc fired at Jezioc but Jezioc deflected the blow with a swipe of the glass sword.
“I will give you one chance,” Jezioc hissed. His eyes just barely flicked to Damoc’s right, over his shoulder to where Rybeth was perched.
Damoc stepped forward and levelled his spear. “I don’t care. Shades, to me.”
Three shades leapt out of the smoke, flanking Jezioc. Gesturing with the sword, he raised a sharp spire of stone from the mountainside which impaled the one closest to him, then ducked under flames blasted from the remaining shades’ hands. Slashing overhead, he severed the hands of the second shade and thrust his palm out, blasting it back down the mountain. It landed with a crunch and did not rise.
The third shade blasted again with a thick cloud of fire and Jezioc gestured with the sword to raise a stone barrier, huddling behind it. The shade rounded the barrier, still casting flame, and Jezioc had to spin and raise more stone to protect himself until he was encased in a thick rocky shell. 
The shade continued to feed heat into the flame, turning it from red to blue.
The stone exploded outwards, shredding the shade to pieces and Jezioc lunged up the slope. The shining blue light in the blade of the glass sword was frail and thin, and Jezioc was still several strides away from Damoc, but it’s point was aimed straight at the Worldburner’s chest.
Lightning shot from the sword and took Damoc in the chest. Rybeth leapt from the outcropping as the god yelled in pain.
He landed on Damoc’s back, clutching the protrusion of a wing with one hand and stabbing towards the soft flesh of the god’s neck with his other. Damoc’s wings unfurled, lurching him sideways but not quite lifting him off the ground with the extra weight. The jolt erred Rybeth’s strike and the three-bladed dagger glanced harmlessly off the thick black scales of Damoc’s shoulder.
Damoc reached around and grabbed Rybeth with taloned fingers, wrenching him off his back and holding him in the air by his throat. 
Rybeth heaved himself forward, stabbing at Damoc’s exposed stomach. If the dagger had instead been a sword it would have found its mark, but Damoc smacked it aside just inches away from his flesh, shattering Rybeth’s knuckles and sending the weapon hurtling away.
“So,” Damoc hissed, his baleful red eyes boring through Rybeth and his fangs parting in a grin, “the gods cower behind a mortal champion.”
To the side, Jezioc still stood poised with the glass sword. Its blade was now dull and grey. His expression flickered with what may have been fear and he looked towards where Rybeth’s dagger had landed.
“Don’t even think about it, Jez.” With his free hand, Damoc levelled his spear at Jezioc’s chest. Jezioc froze.
“Kill me and be done with it,” Rybeth rasped through the tight grip around his throat. He spat in Damoc’s face.
The god glared but then glanced to the side as if distracted. Rybeth followed his gaze and saw a blur speeding up the slope. The blur materialised several yards away into a black-clad man with sandy hair, standing with a bow drawn and trained on Damoc.
“Fael—”
Damoc choked into silence as the arrow took him in the gut. Rybeth dropped from his hand and struck the hard ground, scrambling backwards. Faelioc marched up the slope, past Jezioc, as Damoc fell to his knees with his hands to his stomach.
“You traitor!” Damoc howled.
Faelioc grabbed the shaft of the arrow protruding from Damoc’s belly. “I was never on your side.” He wrenched the arrow free.
Damoc screamed grotesquely as his blood and viscera spilled onto the ground, torn out by the viciously barbed arrowhead. Down on the field his dead servants fell dead in truth and the shades ceased fighting, clutching their heads. Damoc sagged onto his back, his spear tumbling away down the slope.
Jezioc shoved past Faelioc and throttled Damoc. “Look at what you have done here!” He roared. “Look at what you’ve made us do! Have you no care for anyone but yourself!?”
“I only wanted to go home,” Damoc gurgled, staring at the sky. His lips were frothy with blood and a red pool was spreading around him.
“You would find no welcome there,” Jezioc hissed, standing but keeping one hand firmly on Damoc’s collar. “And you,” Jezioc turned on Faelioc, “where the hell were you?”
Faelioc was unperturbed by Jezioc’s wrath. He held up the gore covered black arrow. “I went to get this. Do I get no thanks for saving the day?”
Jezioc scowled and turned away. “You could have done so much more.” He began dragging Damoc up the slope by the collar. Though still conscious, Damoc did not resist. Dark blood trailed out beneath his limp legs.
Rybeth searched on the ground for his dagger and found it amongst some stones near where Damoc had fallen. He looked warily at Faelioc then followed Jezioc up the slope. Though the battle was over, he still had business with the King of Gods.
Starry night had come in full when they finally reached the top of the mountain and stood at the lip of a crater filled with liquid fire. Damoc, pale-faced from blood loss, still shuddered in Jezioc’s harsh grip. The rest of the gods had ascended the slope to join them.
Faelioc stood holding Damoc’s spear a wary distance from Jezioc. Tessael walked up uneasily and joined him. Daena limped up with dark-haired Anaeya — who looked like she was about to fall asleep on the spot. Her midriff was wrapped in bandages but she smiled as she approached.
Four gods. That was all that remained of Jezioc’s supporters, with Karmal Hammerfist dead and Lamnyth fled into the ocean in grief. It should maybe only be counted as two; Rybeth knew Jezioc’s alliance with Faelioc and Tessael was tenuous at best. Nivenya was also notably absent, but with her talent for vanishing she could be nearby and just not want to be seen.
Daena approached with Anaeya and embraced Rybeth. “Thankyou for what you did today.”
Rybeth grunted, patting her lightly on the back. “My actions mattered very little in the end.”
She released him from the embrace, looking over her shoulder and scowling at Faelioc with distaste. “It mattered that you tried. We could not have relied on him to do what he did. He would have just as easily maimed Jezioc if the battle had been going the other way.”
“I am not made for battles between gods.”
Daena smiled but Anaeya interrupted them. “You are injured, Warlord.”
Rybeth held up the shattered knuckles of his right hand. The throbbing pain had faded to the back of his mind. “This? This is fine. You’re exhausted; don’t trouble yourself.”
Anaeya shook her head and grasped his arm, her gold-flecked eyes allowing no argument. A dizzying sensation coursed through Rybeth’s body and when he blinked his knuckles were whole again. He nodded his thanks but Anaeya only grimaced, rubbing the base of her skull.
Jezioc coughed, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. He stood coldly by the crater’s edge, facing his companions. “Ti-Aeven?” He asked.
“Slipped away when things turned bad for her,” Anaeya said wearily.
“Reminds me of someone,” Jezioc snapped, looking pointedly at Faelioc. Faelioc sneered.
Damoc spat a gob of blood onto the stones. It was lost in the vast pool of red around him. “Enough of your theatrics, Jez. Do you mean to kill me?” He glanced at the dull sword in Jezioc’s other hand.
Jezioc looked down at Damoc. “You deserve far worse than death. This place will not be safe for us after what you have done. We will be hunted.”
Damoc laughed, spraying bloody spittle. “Then perhaps even now I have won and you have failed.”
Jezioc frowned. “Do you have anything else to say.”
“Only that I hope one day you will see this world as I do, and then you will decide to save yourselves. You were all my friends once and I do not wish you to suffer here.”
“How poignant.” Jezioc threw him backwards.
Damoc toppled backwards, spreading his wings in an attempt to stop his fall. He was silent as he dropped but when he struck the lava, he screamed, and continued to scream until it filled his mouth and dragged his smoking form under.
Jezioc stood facing the bubbling lava, breathing heavily.
Tessael stepped forward. “That will not kill him, Jez. He will regenerate even as he burns away. It will be agony for him. Forevermore.”
“I am counting on it.”
Tessael pursed his lips and stepped back. “You should throw the sword in too. I never should have made it.”
“No,” Jezioc snapped, spinning back around. His enemy was defeated but he still did not seam at ease.
Anaeya approached Jezioc and put a hand on his face. “Jez, you need to calm down. The battle is over. The war is over. We can have peace now. We can be happy again.” For a moment it seemed like Anaeya’s words broke through Jezioc’s cold exterior but the moment of tenderness was fleeting.
“This is not over,” Faelioc said. “Ti-Aeven escaped. Do you think she will accept defeat so easily? This will piss her off even more.”
“I will deal with that,” Jezioc said through gritted teeth. “She won’t get far alone.”
“And what if Damoc escapes from this torture?” Tessael said.
“I trust you will be able to prevent that,” Jezioc retorted.
“No prison is inescapable. A future may come where he is free again.”
“If such an unpleasant future arrives, we will deal with it. We are gods. We accepted this responsibility.” Jezioc spun and finally acknowledged Rybeth’s presence. “And you, Warlord, I thank you for your efforts in the battle. Why are you still here?”
“I want you to leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes,” Rybeth snapped. “You have caused nothing but horror since you arrived in these lands. All this pain and death is at your feet. How can you expect me and my people to worship you when all you’ve brought is ruin? You are no saviour. You are no god. And I want you out of this land. Forever.”
Jezioc’s brow furrowed, his mismatched eyes — one ordinary green, the other filled with numerous tiny pupils within the iris like a Starii— considering Rybeth. “Your people need us,” he said. “Damoc would have killed you all without us.”
“Damoc came here with you,” Rybeth snapped, drawing the three-bladed dagger. “Do you remember why you gave me this dagger, Jezioc?”
“As a sign of good faith between our people,” Jezioc said slowly. “So you could kill me if a moment came where you felt I was overstepping myself.”
“That moment is now.”
“I was naive to make that deal—”
“Have you no honour?” Rybeth cried, throwing his hands into the air. “If you truly would claim to be a god, keep your word, Jezioc. Leave these lands and do not return, or I shall kill you right here.”
Jezioc squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered, whether with guilt or rage Rybeth could not tell. When he opened his eyes they were red. “This makes me truly sad, Rybeth. I had envisioned a future of us working together to make this world better.”
“Will you leave?” Rybeth stepped forward.
Jezioc held his hands up calmly. “I will go. But please, let me go at dawn. I would like to watch the stars tonight.”
Rybeth sheathed the dagger and nodded. “That I will allow.”
He spun and began marching back down the mountain, but Daena caught him by the arm.
“Stay, Rybeth,” she said. “Watch the stars with us. I will tell you all about them.”
Rybeth sighed. He wanted nothing more than to go home. To be with his friends and family. But he no longer had a home to go to. There was nothing for him anywhere. It was all destroyed.
“I will stay,” he said, returning with her to the peak and lying beside her to stare up into infinity. All he had left was to try to make a new home. Make new friends. Perhaps a new family.
The stars shone overhead; some colourful, shifting and wheeling through the air. Rybeth sighed, allowing tension to leave his body. The war was over. The gods were leaving.
The world would be able to heal.

Woah boy, a lot has changed.

Let's start with what I decided to keep. Aside from obvious aesthetic elements and plot beats from it being the same scene, there wasn't much I really wanted to keep aside from some key pieces of dialogue and some descriptions that I liked. Still, my prose is clunky in the original and I reworded what I did keep to make it all flow better.

Onto differences.

My focus for the rewrite was largely on characterization, which was something I was very inexperienced at seven years ago but consider myself fairly capable with now. I wanted to really pull the reader into Rybeth's head and use that to ground the entire scene. As a result of being firmly within Rybeth's head the gods also have more human characterization, and the attempt at an epic and lofty tone in the original was replaced by one much realer and grittier - much more in line with my current style. I spent further time to develop the chemistry between Rybeth and Daena, and to set up characters that have an impact in the later story.

Without really needing to be conscious of it, my writing became more show-y instead of tell-y and this expanded the word count dramatically. The sequence with Rybeth moving through the battle was a function of showing the battle and having Rybeth intimately interact with it rather than observe it. It also gave me the opportunity to raise the stakes by having Daena injured. I think there is a bigger sense of urgency because of this.

The Deus ex Machina involving Faelioc is an issue from the original that carries into the rewrite, but it is a moment that is canon to the world so I saw it more as a limitation that I had to make work. The first fix was to add a little bit of foreshadowing so the audience was at least partly aware that Faelioc existed before he appeared. The second fix was that Rybeth's character arc for this scene isn't complete when Damoc is defeated, so the scene could not end at that moment like it did in the original (though it ended there mostly because of the word limit in the original). Damoc's defeat ends the central conflict, but Rybeth's arc is not complete until he convinces Jezioc to leave during the denouement, because his motivation from the beginning was always to be rid of the gods. Hopefully this makes the scene's resolution a bit more satisfying. If it doesn't, let me know. I'll try to fix it.

That's all the significant stuff I can think of at the moment, but I'd like to mention some things I don't love about the rewrite compared to the original.

The biggest thing is that the rewrite is long. I like the flow of it as a whole, but it is very long for a prologue that is mostly full of characters that are rarely seen in the later story. Another thing is that I'm worried the denouement is too long, though it is the part of the scene most full of important setup for the later story; the early stuff with the battle is mostly spectacle to set the tone. Perhaps I should have tried harder to mix the spectacle with the setup.

I think that's all I can manage right now. It would be awesome if some other people could post something similar to this. Perhaps give rewriting an old scene a try; it doesn't have to be as long as this, maybe just a page of two. You'll be surprised by how much you have improved.