I wrote a thing, need more opinions

[Amanuensis]

First, some background. This is the rough draft for the Prologue of the first book in a saga about a wide variety of people around the world who gain superpowers after a world-altering event. The character that the Prologue is focused on is not the MC, and probably won't have a POV again for a long time into the series. He is integral to the plot, but on-screen won't be very involved. I decided to use him to introduce the story because apart from this scene it's taking a while for action to develop and I thought it would be a good way to hook readers and give them a glimpse of what's in store. With that in mind I want to ask anyone who takes the time to read this to answer a couple questions for me.

• Does this chapter hook you? If so, what about it grabbed your interest?

• What are your thoughts on the POV character? Do you get any impressions about his alignment? If so, good or evil? What about his target?

• Does there seem to be too much mention of blood (and/or) gore? Enough that it would scare YA readers from purchasing the novel?

• What questions do you want answered after reading this chapter?

• Do you notice any problems / inconsistencies (in regards to grammar or storytelling)?

• Any additional thoughts?

I'll edit in some more questions if anything comes to mind. Keep in mind this is a rough draft and therefore will probably be rewritten with more detail, and likely some things cut out. Oh and, in case you didn't see the tags I'll make sure to bold this warning: There's a bit of blood and some swearing in here. Beware.

 

Thank you, hope you enjoy.

 

For the first time in seven years I let my rage flare within me.

 

Infinitesimal machines ride the cells that circulate my veins, vibrating rigorously to keep me warm despite the cloak of fresh snow I wear to obscure my silhouette against the obsidian sky. I exhale slowly into a thick scarf wrapped around the lower half of my face, occasionally lifting my nose to take in more air but only when their oxygen reserves are depleted and I can no longer hold my breath.

 

Twenty-one thousand six hundred and thirty-nine seconds have passed since I first perched myself upon the highest bough of the tallest tree in front of the Lord’s Fortress. It was midday then, back when the blizzard was at its strongest. Patiently I waited for the storm to calm, clinging to that massive branch as tight as a frightened child might cling to the leg of his father, all the while counting the seconds to keep me focused. Only when the snow stopped falling and the wind stopped howling did I finally open my eyes. By then the sun had long been set, leaving nothing but a bloody, sickled moon to illuminate the world around me.

 

Finding a map of the English palace before the Stellar Renaissance was a simple endeavor. Unfortunately I was unable to obtain any records of the damages, repairs and modifications made to it since then. At first glance it didn’t look much different than the old photographs depicted it, but when I Peered into the walls I discovered that they were no longer made of Portland stone. Instead they had been replaced with a much denser material, forged and painted to look identical to their predecessors. Judging by their molecular arrangement and composition, my guess would be a reinforced steel alloy.

 

I change my focus to the soldiers guarding the perimeter. A total of sixteen men line the rooftops, dispersed evenly in fours across every cardinal wall, all equipped with the same military-grade armor, weapons and thermal uniforms. Not a single man appears fatigued, neither from their constant watch or the relentless cold. In a few moments I understand why. A fifth teem ascends from a stairwell on the western wall to relieve another from their village, counting the seconds until the next group get replaced. I nearly reach nine hundred when four more men arrive, making it a fifteen minute rotation. I wait to make sure the shift is consistent. It is.

 

Four more pairs of guards walk around the fortress, half moving clockwise while the other half move counter. Each pair is staggered to ensure there are always six men patrolling at a time. Before an offgoing pair can take refuge inside, they stop at the ruined memorial of some old queen to meet their relief and exchange information.

 

I Peer through the eastern gate and discover two more men on the balcony above it, one standing in front of a podium and another pacing behind him. Reaching out further with my senses I find twelve guards gathered in the largest room and another man, all by himself, in the westernmost chamber.

 

Two options, then. Enter using the rooftop stairwell or through the eastern gate. It doesn’t take long for me to decide which to take. Though the former would bring me to my target quicker, there are twice as many guns on the roof to worry about shooting at me from behind. That and, unlike the stairwell, I can see inside when the gate is open.

 

I start counting from zero again as I wait for an opportune moment to Leap. I find the monotony of it soothing, much like a lullaby a mother sings to an anxious child. At five hundred and eleven a pair of guards round the northern corner of the eastern wall and radio for their replacements. Another hundred and fifty nine seconds go by before the gate opens to let the two guards outside. I consider Leaping then but one of them pauses and looks back inside. He exchanges a few words with one of the men on the balcony as the gate starts to close. I stay still and keep counting.

 

I skip twelve hundred and twenty three to offer a silent prayer instead. I’m not sure if I believe in an afterlife, but decide it’s the right thing to do regardless.

 

At twenty-seven hundred and forty-six I decide it’s time. A sudden overcast has drenched the courtyard in shadow, and before the offgoing patrol can walk through the gate they yell something up to the guards inside and take a break to share a cigar. It starts to close and, just as it reaches a third of the way shut, I imagine myself crouching on the dark hardwood floor beyond it and Leap.

 

One second. All it takes is one second and I’m there. Between being sprawled out on a branch covered in fresh snow and crouching inside the foyer dripping with moisture there’s a lone moment of darkness and weightlessness. Instantly I am aware of the shape of everything in close vicinity of me, which doesn’t appear to be much. I had known that the Global Coalition sold most of the Royal Family’s belongings after they died, but I didn’t realize that meant everything. Two centuries worth of antiques stripped away and auctioned off to rich collectors.

 

To my surprise one of the guards on the balcony has already recovered from his awe and hefted his rifle over the railing to aim for my head. I Leap just as he pulls the trigger, only a few feet forward this time but with the image of me standing up, staring at the ceiling, in the back of my mind. The bullet impacts the floor where I was crouching before and splinters the wood. Now that I can see the ceiling I’m already picturing myself hanging from one of the water sprinklers. By the time the guard aims his rifle at me again and fires I’ve already Leaped, watching the scene unfold from above.

 

“What the hell was that?” the gate operator asks his companion, voice trembling with fear. I decide to kill him first to make sure he doesn’t gather enough wits to open the door and let the men outside in.

 

Before the armed guard can respond I draw my katar from its sheath on my right thigh and Leap, imagining myself standing behind the operator with my left hand on his shoulder and my other arm cocked back, ready for the kill. I plunge the blade deep into his brain through the back of his skull, killing him instantly.

 

I see the second guard turn and point his muzzle at me in my peripherals. For an ordinary man I can’t help but be impressed by his reflexes. I can tell they’ve saved his life many times before. Sadly they’re no match for my own abilities. I turn my head to the side slightly, enough to take in the details of his stance, and imagine myself lunging at his knees with my left arm angled upward to sweep his rifle aside. The unexpected force of my assault knocks him backwards and casts the rifle out of his hands. Fumbling, he grabs for my arms and tried to bring me down with him, but I keep my head up and Leap so that I’m standing above his head when he hits the ground.

 

A swipe later and his throat is weeping red. He struggles to breathe, eyes dimming and face paling as the blood loss drags him towards unconsciousness. If I had a name to give him this would be the moment I whispered it in his ear, that we he could at least die knowing who it was that killed him. I don’t.

 

Seventeen seconds. That’s all it took to kill these men from when I first Leapt into the Fortress. Such a short amount of time to end a couple lives, especially if you consider they both survived for decades before meeting me.

 

Noticing that the other guards have begun advancing I can’t help but wonder how long it will take for me to end them all.

 

I Peer across the Fortress and see the guards divide themselves into three groups of four, the first taking the stairwell up as the other two enter the south and west corridors respectively. The man in the Music Room, however, remains perfectly still. Knowing the coward that he was I’m curious why he hasn’t started to flee.

 

I sheathe my katar and take the pistol from the guard at my feet. I’ve never been fond of guns, but whenever I have to wield one I always make sure it’s a sidearm. I’m not familiar with this particular weapon but when I Peer inside it I find that there’s a round in the chamber and thirteen in the magazine. Plenty of ammunition for what needs to be done, assuming the guards up top don’t abandon their positions. I expect the worst and take a second magazine from a pouch on his belt.

 

Instead of letting them reach me I decide to confront the men approaching from the south corridor first. Rather than Leap into the hall I charge right into the middle of it and fire the pistol at the closest guard, not bothering to sight in. The shot hits the floor a few feet too short, but I don’t really mind. My intent wasn’t to hit the man, just draw all their attention to my position. I wait until the guards open fire before I Leap.

 

In the blink an eye I’m gone and behind the rear guard, pistol pressed to his temple and left arm around his chest to catch his soon-to-be dead weight. I pull the trigger and his brains splatter across a marble pillar on my left. He slumps into me as I turn, placing him between me and the next volley to act as a shield.

 

Of course I’m gone when the bullets actually start flying. It’s obvious these men have no experience fighting someone like me, as I manage to pull this tactic off again and again until all of them are dead. Meanwhile I count another twenty-five seconds, bringing the total up to forty-two.

 

Glass shatters on my right, forcing me to Leap behind cover. The guards across the quadrangle cease their fire, though when I Peer at them I still see them standing there with their barrels pointing in my general direction. I peek around the edge to get a look into their hall so I can Leap, but before anything registers one of them fires at my face and I throw myself back to safety.

 

Two of the men take turns shooting at my back as the others take opposite halls to trap me in on all sides, as if I’d give them the chance. I imagine myself on the western end of the corridor looking out across the quadrangle and Leap. They don’t notice and continue firing. It takes two seconds too long for my vision to adjust to the darkness in between us, granting the guard approaching on my left enough time to reach the corner and throw something around it. It lands at my feet but I don’t bother to look down, nearly ready to Leap.

 

I vanish but not before the flash grenade bursts at my feet. Even in the empty void I can feel my retinas burning. When I leave it all I can see is white. I try to Peer through the heat but can’t see a damnation thing.

 

Still, I can feel the space around me and recognize the shape of a man bent over as he reloads his rifle. I place the pistol against the nape of his neck and let a bullet take him to oblivion.

 

Unsure if it was the pop of the primer igniting or the splash of blood that gave me away, I have no choice but roll over my shoulder as the other guard turns to face me, his finger still depressing the trigger, spewing rounds wherever he points it. In my haste I drop the pistol but recover by drawing my katar as I rise to a knee, using it to sever the wrist he’s using to support the barrel of his gun. He drops the weapon with a scream and clutches his forearm, as if a tight grip alone could stop his limb from bleeding. I put him out of his misery by driving my katar into his jugular.

 

With no immediate threat left I attempt to restore my vision by rubbing my eyes through their lids with the palms of my hands. My reprieve is cut short by the sound of a gunshot and the sensation of a bullet piercing my bubble of spatial perception. I turn my body just in time to make sure it misses my heart, then allow the momentum to take me to the floor. I’m able to see the faint outline of the wooden panels underneath me but anything further than I can grasp is a discolored blur.

 

“Peter, turn back,” a voice cracks over one of the dead guard’s radio. “Bastard just killed Matt and Sharky, but I think he’s blind and he’s got a bullet in his chest. Go check to see if he’s still alive. I’ll let the boss know and meet you there shortly.”

 

The transmission ends, followed by the brief response of static. Peter doesn’t seem the talkative type. I hope that means he won’t scream in my ear like the last guy when I kill him.

 

I blinking furiously. Each time I do my vision seems to get a little better. I glance down at puddle of blood forming around my left shoulder. It’s been so long since I last got shot that I forgot how irritating it is to sense something foreign lodged inside me. If I could I would reach into the hole and pry it out right now, but Peter is getting close and I can’t have him thinking I’m awake.

 

Listening intently, I analyze the footsteps resounding around the corner. Slow and methodical, and not a hint of hesitation. I count some more as I wait to spring my trap.

 

Sixty-five. Peter looms over me and puts the muzzle of his rifle to my head. He applies pressure – hard – as he caresses the trigger, likely contemplating if he should just check if I’m alive by putting a hole in my head.

 

Sixty-six. Peter sighs slings his rifle to the side, unholstering a pistol not too different than the one I used to kill his friends moments before.  

 

Sixty-seven. Peter squats and rests the gun on my temple while his free hand probes my neck for a pulse.

 

Sixty-eight. “Peter!” his radio shrieks, causing him to jolt. “Shoot-“

 

Sixty-nine. I flick my eyes open and Leap to the furthest point I can see, no time to look any further than a couple feet or imagine myself in a position other than what I’m in now. “-him!” the warning finishes and Peter pulls the trigger. Before he can point the gun at me again I spin on the floor, using my blood as lubricant to help me along, and kick his ankles out from under him. He falls to his knees as I throw myself onto mine, sliding my left arm around his neck and grab his chin. Across the hall I imagine myself cradling his severed head in my hands, not much differently than a nanny might hold a baby.

 

After I Leap I stare into his eyes, hazel and brimming with horror. His lips part to make a sound but nothing comes out. I drop him before he gets too much blood on me.

 

“Peter!” the radio booms. “Peter?” … “storm.”

 

I blink my eyes once more to clear the last of the fog from my vision, then check my already-healed wound. Great. I’ll have to cut it back open later to remove the bullet. I Leap to the end of the corridor, facing south. The man over the radio bursts through a door ahead of me and sprints for the stairs. I imagine myself just beyond him, katar held in front of his face. When I Leap he runs his eyes straight into my blade. He tries to pull away but I grasp the back of his head and slowly pull him closer as I count each agonizing second out loud.

 

“One for blinding me,” I say as he reaches for his sidearm. I knee him in the groin so that he clutches at it instead. “Two for shooting me,” I continue as I press my katar in deeper, making sure to stop when the tip nicks the brain. “And three for thinking you could get away,” I mutter as he whimpers, push the blade in further until he wails, then thrust it all the way through so that he does silent and his body slackens.

 

I Leap so that I’m standing in the doorway to the room he just exited, katar held at side and wet with gore. His body hits the floor with a loud thump, grabbing the attention of the man inside the Music Room. He leans against a piano, left arm draped lazily over its lid. His blond hair is brighter than I remember, though he still wears it long with the bangs swept back. Other than that, and the fact that he’s dressed in a nice suit rather than a pair of scrubs, he looks exactly the same. Gaunt, weathered and frail. And yet he grins at me like we were once friends.

 

I step forward to examine the room, ready to Leap at the first sign of danger. A crescent shaped wall curves behind him, scarlet curtains concealing five windows, each separated by pillars dyed a rich violet. Hanging above the center of the room is a giant chandelier, gilded in gold and glistening with gemstones, each of its candelabra branches seated with a slender stick of burning wax. At either side of the room vanity mirrors are set into the walls, facing and reflecting one another infinitely.

 

“They asked me to liquidate this room’s decor as well,” the man began, drawling thickly, “but I refused. I needed somewhere to feel myself, I told them. After all, how could any man be expected to live and work in a manse as large as this, utterly barren of substance, without going insane? We debated it for days but eventually, thankfully, my stubbornness prevailed. I couldn’t care less about the portraits or the literature. But this beautiful creature right here?” he knocked on the piano. “You do know how much I love music, don’t you? Especially the classics! And if I do recall… yes, your tastes were not much different than mine. Would you like me to play you a song?”

 

“No,” I say, tired of listening. His grin falters when he glances at my katar.

 

“Straight to business, then, eh?” he laughs weakly.

 

I Leap so close that I could kiss the man. All I can see are his deep, azure eyes. He jumps when I appear before him and takes a step back, but my left hand is behind his head and clenching his hair tightly. When his gaze finds mine I slip my katar into his gut; angled perfectly to breach his ribs and pierce his heart. The man lets out an exasperated sigh, but to his credit doesn’t flinch or cry. But then his lips twist to form that cursed grin of his again and I know that something is wrong.

 

When did his hand find the back of my head? Was I so blinded by my anger that I didn’t even notice him slip it into my hood? I try to pull back but I can’t break free. Not from his iron grasp or his unwavering stare. He reaches into his pocket and takes something out of it. I sense the shape of it, long and cylindrical, tipped with something razor thin. And then it hits me. A needle. Right in my neck.

 

He knew I would come, even knew how I’d kill him. But why not tell his guards about me, about what I could do, or how to fight me? Unless they did know… the flash grenade. But why not set a trap for me sooner? One that didn’t mean killing him, too.

 

A flood of exhaustion washes over me and, noticing my weakness, the man lets go. My own grasp loosens as my left arm droops to my side. Still grinning, he steps back to free my blade from his chest and I notice that it’s not even bleeding. But how? I could feel it cut through him.

 

“Thought you were the only one who could survive certain death?” he asks me but I can barely hear the words. I watch his flesh begin mending itself the second my katar clatters to the floor.

 

If I make a sound when I fall I can’t hear it, for my mind is already gone.

 

 

[Master Elodin]

This is good, but there are 2 main things about it that I don't like.

1. The conflict of there being another guy like the prologue POV character really seems like a main character problem. If that other man is the main character, it would feel strange to have the POV change to the enemy of the current POV character midfight.

2. The POV character suddenly turns from a Szeth-like figure to a bloodthirsty murderer. This character change without warning is jarring.

[Tyson]

The danger of first person is that everything can become blow by blow.

 

I done this...I done that...I feel this...I think that.

 

You began to slide into that pattern as the prologue progressed. Strong opening, nicely paced and smooth transitions between action points. Good concept and a good first attempt.

 

Just watch your sentence structure.