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Well, I'm not done here it appears. I've been holding onto this for a little bit but I am going to start writing when summer starts so I figured I'd give you something to look at while I wait to be released. I've not really edited so there are errors about. Try not to hate me for updating after six months of nothing it's just how I work. Oh well, we'll see how this goes... again.




Door 20: The Strip

“I’ve always lived in darkness. Back in the city I was denser than this. Back there where I got my starts in this business. Back there when I thought friend was a word you could take seriously. Back there what was stolen from me…” Church suddenly stopped musing to himself. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely noticed the blinking lights of an arriving elevator not more than several hundred feet ahead.

Careless. He didn’t think of hiding, no, that’s how to look suspicious. The doors opened and out stepped a man, no, he immediately noted the stride too graceful and the features too delicate to belong to a man, the thin black suited figure was surely a woman. She looked familiar, a face from the file no doubt. They passed each other without a sidelong glance, then she spoke.

“Sharpe.” She came to a complete stop as she spoke letting her black dress shoes come to rest just feet away from his, now static, rubber soles.

“Iron Maiden.” He replied without looking back.

“You pass.” She smiled and turned to look at his back causing her long coattails to flutter and drag through the air. He slowly followed her lead and turned himself about as well.

“Or fail if you look at it from my perspective. However, someone of your stature might find that a bit hard.” He said tilting his head up slightly to get a better look at her face.

“Funny as ever Life Stealer.” She remarked with a cold mocking laugh.

“I hate fighting.” Was his reply.

“Is it the fighting or the losing?” She continued jeering as she adjusted the red flower on her lapel.

“They seem to go hand in hand with me.” He simply answered.

“Well I’ll at least make it quick.” Her gloved finger drew a pure black scorch mark against the decorated paper of the wall; as she dragged it along lazily curls of dark smoke following it‘s arc through the air reached the man‘s nostrils as the delicately thin index finger was brought to mark him.

“I’ll bite.” He said making a half snapping motion with his teeth.

“Just like a dog.” She smirked. Almost instantly there was a rush of air about them. The woman barely seemed to move but Church was tossed back almost before he had time to release his weapon from it’s resting place. Midway through the air however he did summon the mystical arm and drove it into the floor and let it act as his podium. He spread his arms and dropped a red flower crumpled into a shadow of its former self. He grinned, or rather smirked, with his head held high and his eyes looking down his nose at the suddenly infinitesimally small opponent.

“Damn those false starts.” He said sardonically. The woman made no reply but she rushed forth twice as fast as she’d thrown him, but even before she’d moved he was out of the way of her incoming strike. “No good man or rather girl, hard to tell with the suit ya know?”

“Dress code’s a bit of a bitch that way.” She struck again.

“That’s why I freelance.” He slipped away like a piece of silk on the wind. They eyed each other for a moment before resuming the intricate dance of offense and evasion. “So why are you still around here after being burned?”

“How’d you know about that?” Her eyes narrowed momentarily from bother confusion and curiosity.

“We’re not playing questions, a simple reply works fine.” The small man smirked, even through the flurry of blows directed at him and the complexity of his own evasions his speech and expression never once changed to show any amount of difficulty.

“I don’t think it’s really any of your business. However, even though I never knew you very well after you were discovered as a traitor to the garbage men I still didn’t want to believe you were the Life Stealer.” She admitted with an ironic grin.

“I’m pretty sure the false flag was torn up pretty well. You’d have to be a friend of mine to believe in me after that, no?” He scoffed as another blow sailed past his face.

“It’s more that I always assumed you were more honest than the rest of us.” She parried his strike easily but still no matter how close she got to him it was as good as chasing smoke he was always able to find an escape route no matter how improbable the situation.

“I couldn’t say the same of you. I should have had you marked for a burn since day one.” He returned with a acerbic tone.

“Why’s that?” She laughed as if they were having a normal civil conversation.

“Your boss.”

“We had the same superior, don‘t you remember?” Even for only a moment it was clear she let her guard down when she showed genuine curiosity.

“Not that one. This one runs this casino here in The Strip and is the reason why you’re here in my way too, direct orders no doubt.” Church smiled with sickening affectation.

“Bastard.” She swore angrily.

“No idea why you kept with him for so long, but for some reason you stayed with the man this far and all you are is an obstacle that I must remove.”

“Don’t get so full of yourself.” Suddenly the woman in black was smiling. Before Church knew it he’d been circled and only just began reacting when he’d already lost his scythe. A moment later he was breathing heavily and sweating fearfully as he glanced from the bit of cloth in the woman’s hand to the hole in his shirt with the signs of a deep abrasion already clear.

“So that’s how you’ve done it.” The effeminate looking man smirked half heartedly as he wrenched his scythe out of the floor and once again readied himself for battle.

“You’re too late you know.” She replied dispassionately.

“I know.” He sighed and looked . “But I still need to get it back. That most important thing.”

“Just give it up, you can’t even get past me.”

“I know that too, idiot.” Even with his despairing remark Church continued to fly through the air aided by his scythe as she chased him with almost acrobatic series of assaults. Church defended through a combination of threat and evasion rather than actually clashing with the physically stronger opponent in order to maintain his lead of just one step ahead, eternally forcing the next move to bring the battle to an eternal stalemate of offensive and defensive plays for dominance. But it was clear who was better as the Iron Maiden continued to increase her speed with each move even as Church nimbly swung himself around his own movable jungle gym each strike came closer to him as if the steady increment in speed was a form of drawn out torture in itself.

For all his movements and careful plans, he was merely human, a human too slow. Another strike found him. He stumbled, but regained enough balance to avoid the next impact but it wasn’t long before a searing fist hammered him in the chest causing him to gasp pathetically and stumble over himself disgracefully but he continued to try fighting despite the growing difference in power. Soon his ability to evade was all but destroyed and he was caught up in a bloody squall of furious strikes.

When the final blow finally rang out against his body with the heavy bass of the final drumbeat in a march he could feel his skin burning as his back arched over in almost intolerable agony. Church’s eyes came to rest on a dress shoe digging itself into his gut quite splendidly. She released the pressure to stand and survey her work, but that instant where she was retreating was his final chance to advance. And advance he did. “So here we are.”

“Shit.” The woman cursed as she felt the cold black metal press against the nape of her neck and the hot ragged breath of the man before her. Church was standing not an inch from her and kept his scythe supported over her neck with his strength remaining.

“Even if you rip out my guts or my jugular, the scythe will still fall and lodge itself soundly in your neck severing your vertebrae from your skull. I’d call this a queen in check.” He laughed, disheartened at his position knowing it depended entirely on loss aversion and the unwillingness to trade that all humans had but could easily suppress with the proper training.

“I’m just another pawn.” The woman began to raise her hand for the final blow when she felt a prickle in her other arm.

“Of course even if you are slightly less well endowed than I like, I’d never really choose kill a woman as pretty as you.” He made an attempt to smile but only managed a pained grimace as he removed the syringe from her arm, tossed it aside and lowered his blade. “Don’t worry it’s nothing but a fast acting tranquilizer, you shouldn’t be able to move your arms anymore and you won’t have that luxury again for an hour or so. I came prepared for people of at least your caliber.” He said wiping blood from his face.

“You bastard.” She slumped over into his chest with a look of furious defiance even as he slowly eased her limp form to the floor. He man an almost congenial wave and set himself off in the direction he’d been going from the start, then he paused.

“Call me whatever you like. I prefer wanker though. Anyways, I’d best be getting on, you burned up a good bit of my time with your little game there Aria.”

“Come back here!” She yelled.

“No, I don’t think I will.” He mocked without turning. The next plea however behooved him to stop.

“Then tell me! Tell me why you came back here!”

“Why do I steal from your boss?” He turned to look at her frustrated, humiliated, struggling face and replied evenly. “I’ve had quite a bit stolen from me, I’m just returning the favor.” He paused as if he was finished but then thought better of it and added a small addendum. “But you know… no matter how much of it I steal… my pride, I still have none of it left. Hah ha hah ha hah ha hah ha…”

-

“You bastard.” Callum swore as he continued down the long hall. He recognized that he was in a large resort hotel, an upscale one at that. Perhaps it was even a whole world devoted to the concept of a hotel. That’s all the worlds in Escher were, caricatures, representations of their real world counterparts, existing as ties to the real world between the great deserts of uncultivated existence. He came up to the elevator and took a deep breath. There was no way of knowing which floor Church had gone to so there was nothing to do but choose a direction and guess how many floors. Though Callum didn’t know exactly what he’d intended on doing to the man when he found him but he was sure enough that he had to move forwards. He decided to go up and pressed the button and waited.

Soon the elevator arrived and opened its doors to convey him to what he hoped was Church. But it was once the doors closed behind him that things went wrong. The elevator started going down and refused to open its doors until the elevator had passed the point where the hand marking the floors stopped at the lowest level insisting that’s where it was. Even then Callum was unsure as to whether or not he should go out, but since there was no way back up with the elevator refusing to take commands and no other door out he gripped his weapon and exited the booth.

He stepped halfway out of the elevator into what seemed to be a foundation level basement, and before him stood a tall man with a rather large bulky looking duffel slung across his shoulders. The man motioned for him to come all the way through to doors into the dark basement level. He hesitated momentarily but thought better of remaining still.

“So what the hell do you want?”

“No way to greet a stranger kid. Thought your parents would teach you better.”

“Patronizing is an ugly color.” Callum said, bitter sarcasm threaded through his words.

“Well prison pallor is a worse one. I hereby arrest you by the authority vested in me by the Escherian States Garbage Men.”

“So you’re the ones that Daniels and Church told me to look out for.”

“John Daniels and Church Sharpe will be placed under custody at a later time, you’re the top priority according to the higher ups kid.” The statement was enough to momentarily stun Callum, and it showed.

“Oh, you didn’t know that? Tisk tisk.” He wagged a finger playfully. “Well I’ve gotta bring you in now, so quietly, or loudly?” The chainsaw roared to life. “Clear.”

“I was on a tight schedule as things were so I don’t have time to play with you.” Callum glared dangerously before commencing his attack. The man calmly grabbed the blade of the chainsaw with his right hand and Callum heard the grinding of metal on metal as he finally realized the man’s entire arm was a robotic prosthetic. “Shit.”

Callum leapt back and took up a defense where he was. The man smiled and dropped the duffel to the ground with a loud metallic thump. Then he leisurely stooped, unzipped it and withdrew a large metal arm with deadly sharp claws and several other sleek adornments. Then the man grasped the stump of it with his right arm and Callum couldn’t take advantage of the opening for his shock kept him rooted as the monolithic arm slowly slithered over the prosthetic like a gigantic glove. Mere moments later the man was flexing his new razor-like fingers and looking oddly pleased with himself.

“Alright kiddo. Time to fight.” Suddenly the man’s face was deadly serious and his voice was stern and dispassionate. Callum stepped back instinctively when he felt the new aura wash over him like a cold mist, but he still kept his stance firm and kept looking forwards at his target.

“Screw you. I’ve got places to be.” Callum muttered to himself as he initiated his attack. His movements weren’t the same amateurish stumbles they once were. His gait was clipped down to the barest minimum necessary steps like a marathon runner trying to conserve energy but maintain speed. When the blades of the saw met the talons of the gauntlet Callum saw for the first time that the total length of the armor greave was over thrice the reach of his saw and the power behind it was even more impressive. Not only had the machination halted, but the blades struggled to continue revolving futilely as they were held in place by the spindly bladelike fingers that betrayed not even half their strength by their look. “Shit.”

“That’s what you’re in now kiddo.” He said casually tossing Callum back into the wall by the elevator where he’d entered. The black haired boy groaned in agony as he felt the impact and continued as he felt his body begin to give out in protest of his standing. Still he pushed past the pains and injuries and refocused himself on the target. A target that won in speed and power not to mention the element of surprise. Callum swore and dashed forwards once more, this time he stopped and hung just outside the reach of the talons by his reckoning. There he assumed a defensive position and waited for his enemy to move.

It was risky but it would definitely elicit some information that he hadn’t got beforehand. The man stared blankly at him for a second then stepped forwards with a wide swig, it wasn’t going to hit. Halfway through the swing he changed its direction and jammed his claws into the ground, Callum was thrown for a second. In that second the ground beneath him exploded throwing him along with chunks of rubble away from the mechanically armed man. “So you like it?” He asked after he saw Callum was still alive under the pile of rocks that had fallen on and around him.

“Heat.” Callum cursed.

“That’s right, this baby can superheat anything in a contiguous area of around three meters in a second, the explosion was the concrete unevenly breaking apart chemically because of the intense application of that heat.”

“So I just need to cut off that arm to beat you.”

“Easier said than done man.”

“Nope, I can do it, I’ve seen what you can do pretty well.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“We’ll see.” Callum scoffed at the man’s confidence and ran in again. This time he didn’t attack straight off or wait to defend, he instead dodged off to the side opposite the arm and feinted from there to get him to block that way and circled behind the man to strike at the base of the arm where it still left the prosthetic unprotected. There was a sound of metal grinding as the man stopped the saw with his clawed hand again by reaching around his body and blocking from an angle impossible to imitate with a real arm.

Callum pressed the charge against the thick forearm guard hoping to at least damage it. The man quickly shoved him away revealing a faint scar on his armor. Callum frowned at the superficial damage and attacked again using a similar feint and strike maneuver to similar effect. Thought it was slow and ineffective it was all he could do to get in at least a little damage.

“You’re a quick little bugger but if applied myself a little you’d be paint on the walls. Why don’t you give up before I have to take a limb?”

“Because I don’t like you.”

“Well looks like you only want one leg.” In a flash his arm had covered the gap between them and the palm was glowing, already prepared for another superheated burst when it began to close over Callum’s leg. Callum cursed as he pulled himself free at the cost of a few deep gashes in his calve. The man took no notice of his failure and continued to slash at his opponent almost uninterestedly as the blood splattered all over the floor and support beams. Callum staggered back weakly as he felt the claws shredding his flesh and freeing rivers of blood as it did.

“Fuck.” Callum swore as he continued to attempt counterattacking as he was painfully forced back by the constant pounding and tearing of the vicious gauntlet. “If I could only get past that arm and hit him!”

“Well you can’t?” Suddenly the man’s expression had changed, he noticed now that his arm was scratched all over, small *****s that shouldn’t have made a difference seemed to strike fear into him. It was in that instant that Callum counterattacked. The man reacted but it was too late the teeth of the saw had already torn into his shoulder by the time he extricate himself. He looked at the wound for an instant to gauge his situation and sighed with relief.

“What the hell was that?” Callum asked almost mockingly but still betraying his genuine curiosity.

“Nothing.” The man retorted harshly before resuming his attack but not without additional caution, caution that allowed Callum more breathing room even if he was getting fewer chances to even strike at the arm. That was it. The arm was delicate, it was not a lock weapon and thus was bound to be an earthly material and couldn’t possibly be as strong as the saw. It made sense except that the scratches shouldn’t have alerted the man to it, it must have been something else but still if the arm is in danger then that’s the thing to attack Callum thought. Callum roared as he brought his full strength down on the bulwark or defense that the arm provided but he didn’t allow himself to be repelled, he kept the pressure on despite the fighting, struggling and flailing of his opponent.

“I knew it! You are afraid I’ll hurt this arm!”

“So what? It’ll take less to kill you than this arm!” It was an obvious bluff. His voice was tremulous and timorous, even though Callum couldn’t decipher what it was the man was now seriously afraid of something. Before Callum could reply he felt heat beneath his feet and looked down in time to watch the ground beneath him explode sending large chucks of concrete at him. Before he could even cry out in pain he saw the metallic blue arm sweep him into a support with a thud. He groaned dully and did not move.

“You scared me for a second. I never thought that there would be a lock that could beat the anima barrier on my arm, that saw just tore through it.” He sighed and made to collect his target when he felt a pulse of raw murderous intent wash over him. He froze and saw a gleam of red emerge from Callum’s now darting mad eyes. “Oh shit.”

Just hold me for a few minutes. Just hold me.

It was a bit disappointing/uncomfortable. But the point is I won the bet. Silly people, everything fits.

I have. Only once though.

This is going to end in increased elasticity.

Agreement .

So different. It's weirdin' me out man.

Though I have zero experience in this style I'll try to keep away from the idiocy that is sure to ensue if I act like I know what I'm writing about. I liked the textures and shadows. Everything seems to actually follow those laws of physics and whatnot. I'm not sure if this is true but I feel that the school children scene could be slightly better if the angles on the building actually had a vanishing point to slope the roofs more harmoniously, but since this is a sketchier type style rather than a finished painting or something of that ilk the building wasn't as important since it wasn't the focal point to begin with. Even though he has his back to us I feel like the old man had the most personality out of all of them and though it was one of the simpler pieces it looks good and shows a stylized but paradoxically real kinda feel. Some other man was my favorite one overall because for me it basically epitomized everything I can't do and what the more realistic style should look like in general. I'm gonna stop it here because I feel like I've already said something stupid along the way and don't want to repeat that.

This is like everything I've seen you post here, but better. Still you need to work on fleshing out faces and making them more three dimensional and more importantly distinguishable from each other since everything looks like the same basic template with slightly different hair and eyes. Your hair also needs work, but overall this is good.

I missed your body.

I find it funny that the sitting one and left one have the same neck length and the right one has the shortest neck. I can see the small head thing though.

I feel I shouldn't have to repeat that this is a sketch as by that merit shall never be clean or finished but I just did.

I never practice, you know that.

I never practice, now you know that.

That is a really good sketch, it exhibits knowledge and ability in drawing far beyond the average and it looks pretty cool too.

Everything needs work, not a lot or anything major but it all needs work. The nose bothers me in particular because it looks so odd. Look to past art in all styles that depict the human figure for help. It's not bad looking I suppose but it is unpolished and unrefined which will only be remedied by practice.

You set a bad example for the children. Talking about this kind of thing in public, have you no shame?

I won't express the depths of my disdain for your premise because I'm not gonna be an ass and judge you purely on that. As Atlas pointed out your grammar and spelling are broken and confusing at points and your characters are two dimensional, barely on that second dimension. Main character needs to have actual thoughts and observations in the first person, things that give you a sense of time and place other than here in this room in a house in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors, or skies, or roads around it. Other characters need to have quirks and personality traits not just bits of AIM level conversation. The biggest weakness I see here is probably the style, which is not very good. It's highly inexperienced and thrown together feeling; everything is so utterly generic and empty of a personality and flavor(god I hate using that word in this context even though it is the one thing I can think of) that you come off as a bland "me too, me too" kid that can't come up with a single thought of his own without basing it in a world he's read about not two months before. So as bad as this all may sound I believe you can keep going with this and improve, but you need to be more self critical and you need to strive for better or you will never improve.

I have concluded that every post generated since Xaldin's was the work of machines that were designed to kill my buzz.

I know I can do better, just give me another chance!