Hey folks!
It's your friendly neighborhood BlackRaven__. So, guess what? I dug up my first novel from the archives. Yeah, it's been gathering dust for a bit, but I figured, why not give it a facelift? Time for a little rewrite action!
If you've already been through the saga,( till the point I actually wrote that is) no worries. I'm just sprinkling in some new stuff, not flipping the whole script. Promise.
Hope you're down for the ride. Happy reading, y'all!
Cheers,
BlackRaven__
P.S: This might take time as i would need to rewrite it all, and edit it again. However i would be Changing the names the chapters and the new rewritten chapters would have a Re attached at the end of it. ;)
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Steven - a name echoing through the ordinary tapestry of life. Yet, there was nothing ordinary about his existence. His slender frame hinted at days of deprivation, as if sustenance had eluded him for an eternity. Jet-black hair, accentuated by a few defiant red strands, framed his face, and his black pupils bore a faint red tint, an enigmatic touch to his gaze.
His attire, if it could be called that, barely surpassed the definition of clothing; it clung to him like a collection of sewn-together rags. Grime marked his face, and exposed patches of his body hinted at a life of perpetual struggle against the unforgiving elements.
Amidst the shadows that enveloped him like an old friend, Steven found himself questioning the seemingly endless darkness. "When is this going to end?" he pondered aloud, the words lost in the silent symphony of the slums. As if in response to his plea, the abyss surrounding him shifted, morphing into a tableau of change he was helpless to influence. Each time, it replayed before him, a relentless cycle of transformation that echoed his deepest uncertainties.
His journey into this desolation had commenced at the tender age of six, a time when joy still danced in his parents' eyes, and in his own. The memory lingered, a poignant contrast to the harsh reality now etched into his existence.
His memories, a haunting illusion in the abyss, painted a scene of warmth and innocence. In that dream, he held hands with his father to the right and his mother to the left. The expressions on their faces mirrored a happiness that felt like a distant echo. A wistful smile played on young Steven's lips as he contemplated the alternate reality that might have unfolded if not for the cataclysmic event known as the Star Fall.
The mere notion of an untainted life was a recurring theme in these dreams, an exercise in futility as familiar as the dreams themselves. In those bygone days, his hair hadn't been tinged with defiant red, nor had his pupils possessed that ominous crimson tint. The change had been thrust upon him, an unwelcome consequence of mana poisoning triggered by the falling star.
As the dream looped through its well-worn course, the setting shifted. The idyllic scene unfolded with Steven, a carefree child, and his parents enjoying a simple outing near their home. Laughter filled the air until a cosmic spectacle interrupted their joy—a shooting star, initially a distant twinkle, rapidly expanded into a colossal entity, its luminous dots growing skyscraper-sized in mere moments. Steven, then just a child, stared up in astonishment, captivated by the celestial display that would forever alter the trajectory of his existence.
The serene night sky transformed into chaos as if the heavens themselves were unraveling. Stars cascaded from above, yet the fleeting wonder swiftly gave way to a nightmarish reality. A colossal, skyscraper-sized spacecraft dominated the skyline, its ominous presence casting a dark shadow over the landscape.
Suddenly, a black beam, punctuated by crimson particles, lanced from the massive vessel, carving through the air with lethal precision. Its impact ignited a cataclysmic conflagration, reducing everything in its path to ashes. Panic gripped the onlookers as the world crumbled around them, the very fabric of their reality torn asunder.
In the midst of the chaos, Steven's mother, sensing the impending danger, swept him into her arms, joining the frantic exodus. The ground quivered beneath them, a seismic tremor that sent shockwaves through the fleeing crowd. As the earth shook, chaos ensued, and those attempting to escape stumbled and fell.
In a desperate attempt to shield her son from the impending fall, Steven's mother, with maternal instinct aflame, collapsed to the ground, her body forming a feeble barrier against the harsh impact.
Dread enveloped Steven as he glanced over his mother's shoulder, glimpsing the nightmare unfolding behind them. In his mother's protective embrace, he witnessed a humanoid creature, adorned with two menacing horns protruding from its head and three eyes that glowed with crimson intensity.
This extraterrestrial being emerged from a capsule drop ship, wielding a weapon that eerily resembled a gun. With ruthless efficiency, it discharged blasts, indiscriminately striking those unfortunate enough to be in its vicinity. Simultaneously, it manipulated a spherical metallic object, radiating an otherworldly glow, casting an ominous sheen across the chaos.
A surreal dance of destruction ensued as the alien flung the metallic sphere through the air. To Steven's horror, one of these orbs landed perilously close to his parents. The sphere pulsated with a foreboding red light, its flashing intensifying as it approached a crescendo. A rapid beeping pierced the air, reaching a feverish pace before unleashing a torrent of red gas and crystalline fragments that scattered in every direction.
A piercing agony shot through Steven as a crystalline shard found its mark in his right collarbone. The pain, intense and immediate, seemed as if searing hot metal shards had been thrust into his body. The unforgiving crystals embarked on a relentless journey, tracing a diagonal path from his left collarbone to the right side of his chest. The crystal's progress resembled a hot knife cutting through butter, mercilessly melting its way through bone and flesh.
A guttural scream, filled with an anguish that transcended mere physical pain, erupted from Steven's lips. Tears streamed down his face as the excruciating torment overwhelmed him. In that harrowing moment, the universe seemed to collapse into the singular, searing pain that consumed him.
Amidst the cacophony of his own screams and the chaos surrounding him, Steven's ears caught a familiar voice. His gaze shifted to his fallen mother, lying on the ground beside him. Blood streamed from wounds on her head and mouth, painting a gruesome tableau against the backdrop of destruction.
"Steven, son," she uttered with a mixture of love and pain, "your mommy and daddy love you. Go run and survive." Her words, a poignant farewell, hung in the air, laden with the weight of a mother's love and the harsh reality of impending loss. As she spoke, a heartbreaking mouthful of blood spilled from her lips,
In the face of his own anguish, Steven pushed aside the overwhelming pain to reach out to his fallen mother. A quick survey revealed his father lying lifeless nearby, a crystalline shard deeply embedded in the back of his skull. Despite the gravity of the situation, Steven's mother, with hands stained in her own blood, mustered the strength to turn her gaze towards him.
Her eyes, brimming with affection and undying love, locked onto her son's. Tears welled up as she stared into his eyes, a poignant testament to the profound bond they shared. In a desperate attempt to ensure his survival,
She attempted to convey something, but a surreal barrier seemed to muffle her words. It was as if an unseen force had pressed the mute button on the world, her lips moving in silence. Steven, fixated on his mother, strained to comprehend her unspoken message, a sense of helplessness tightening its grip on him.
In the disorienting silence, a sudden, piercing scream jolted him back to reality. "GO RUN!" his mother's voice shattered the stillness, the urgency slicing through the eerie quiet. The command spurred Steven into action, snapping him from the surreal moment as he tore his gaze away from his mother. The impending darkness, symbolized by the shadow behind her, urged him to heed her desperate plea.
"Bzzzz." The haunting sound reverberated through the air, and Steven's world shattered. A hole appeared on his mother's forehead, and with a horrifying finality, she crumpled to the ground. A paralyzing wave of panic and shock gripped Steven as he beheld his mother's lifeless form, the harsh reality of her sudden demise leaving him frozen.
The alien loomed just behind Steven's mother, a chilling presence with the pistol pressed against her head. Steven, trapped in immobilizing dread, tore his gaze away from the alien's eyes, only to confront a nightmarish reality at his feet—a pooling amalgamation of his own blood intermingled with that of his parents.
His eyes widened in horror, sweat beading on his forehead, and his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The room, if one could call it that, stretched above him, a surreal patchwork of metal scraps and makeshift fabric covering its windows. The doorway consisted of a large piece of wooden plywood, a feeble barrier that separated him from the unknown beyond.
In the wake of this harrowing scene, Steven lay on the cold, makeshift floor, staring up at the crude ceiling. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at him as he grappled with the aftermath of the alien onslaught.
"That dream again," he muttered, his voice carrying the weight of haunting memories as he rose from an improvised mattress within what he colloquially referred to as his Hut. Stepping outside, a gritty reality confronted him.
As he looked out the outskirts of the city sprawled before him, resembling a sci-fi slum that bore the indelible marks of post-war desolation. His "Hut," as he fondly called it, stood amidst a clutter of makeshift dwellings pieced together from salvaged metal scraps and repurposed materials. Dilapidated structures leaned against one another like weary sentinels, reflecting the haphazard resilience of those who sought refuge within.
The scene unfolded—a juxtaposition of advanced technology and societal decay. Drunken figures, draped in tattered garments, stumbled through the debris-strewn streets, their movements a chaotic ballet of survival in the aftermath of extraterrestrial conflict. The air was thick with the acrid stench of neglect, a testament to the forgotten corners of the city, where the remnants of civilization clung to existence.
Above the ramshackle rooftops, the towering skyscrapers of the city gleamed with a cold, indifferent brilliance. Advanced vehicles hummed through the air, a stark contrast to the grounded struggles below. The slum echoed with whispers of a forgotten war, where alliances between species crumbled, leaving behind a fractured world where the marginalized bore the brunt of the aftermath.