Isn't it canon Simurgh attack on Australia? If it is the case that means it should be night in Boston and it should be fully powered Maria. Since there weren't any signs of total mobilization Endbringer attack isn't local which means Canberra as most likely option.
A child's play
- Thread starter ic3shard13
- Start date
- Crossover
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Whew I finally caught up to the story! Thanks for the update, and keep up the good work!
Also Echida has stupid regeneration and nonstandard physiology. Maria could've worked exactly as intended and Echidna could've regen tanked it.
- Location
- The Mooooooooooon!
Its...
A conceptual attack, no?
Therefore it should ignore biological regeneration?
It conceptually bypasses defense and tears the victim up from the inside. This normally is incredibly lethal for most lifeforms, but would understandably fall short against a target that can survive catastrophic organ destruction. It is not the literal imposition of the concept of death. Jack does not have King Hassan or MEoDP levels of killing hax.
MWKillKenny84
Lurking from the Trauma Switch.
- Location
- Vado Ligure
Furthermore, at this point Echidna is more Shard than 'Noelle'. Hell, for what I know at this point of time Echidna is more the Shard that believes itself to be Noelle than Noelle proper.
Said this, does a Shard even count as females for Maria The Ripper's activation conditions?
Suture 9
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It was further than we imagined.
We looked back: our world, our memories, were just like the tip of an iceberg of another crystal formation.
There wasn't any sound or any smell, and even what we sensed with our touch and eyes was too strange to be true. Did it mean all those dreams we had happened here?
It was very lonely, and for a moment, we felt that stupid desire to jump down, the one people tended to have when on the edge of a precipice.
We continued walking until suddenly we were on the green and black formation. It was clear it had to do with Miss Militia: facets of the being glowed like her power, and there was a connection between our world and this.
The thing was huge, and it was alive in a way we didn't understand, similar to a growing stalagmite.
We could see farther bridges that extended to other lights in the distance, but the connections were much less defined, like threads of a spider web.
What looked like stars in the sky must have been other crystals, and so the big cluster that shined like the sun.
Suddenly, the plane shifted downwards like a funnel, and the slope became so slippery we had to use our knives like pegs to prevent our fall.
The place we stabbed twitched and shook, but we held on.
A green and black bolt of energy hit us in our back, but we endured.
We watched down and held back a sob.
If this place was purgatory, what waited for us down below was hell: a growing and malformed hub of crystals that broke and collided in smaller shards, before mixing like a sludge. It stunk of death, and it was the closest place where different souls existed.
If the other crystals were life, what was there was a tumor that threatened to grow and overwhelm the surrounding space.
Adding salt to the wound, the green and black place I was on was shifting towards that dead abomination. We wouldn't have been surprised if our little, comfy hell was falling as well.
A bolt struck us again, followed by one, then another. We gritted our teeth and bit back the pain, but we eventually lost.
As we fell, we saw our world fall as well.
We crashed, and it crashed without a sound. From that giant crystal, a shard budded off, destroying a carriage, streetlamps, and some uncaring people of that Victorian time.
We felt lesser, and we ran back to it.
As we moved, we regarded our surroundings.
There were lots of souls here but like the rest of this sickly hub, most of them were wrong: angry, full of hatred, and multiplying like ants.
They were naked and translucent, reflecting the strange lights of the abomination, and they seemed to mutter curses, pieces of advice, and wishes.
A few were frightened and lost, and their pleads sounded like prayers.
All of them were anchored to the ground, as the crystal slowly grew to cover them.
They weren't a lot, a hundred at most, and seeing how large everything was, it wasn't a coincidence we fell here.
We felt the ground try to engulf our feet.
We struggled to fight it off, and like needles, crystals pierced our skin, as if they were drifting our souls apart.
We had no choice, but to use that power. We mastered the twisted delicious wraiths to come to us, and we fed.
We held back a laugh. We never felt better. If everything else hadn't been oh so damn scary, we would have a field day in this place.
As more and more self-loathing and bitter souls came forward, we noticed that the abomination seemed to calm down, as if it was breathing in his sleep, until we managed to break free.
Our place looked safer.
In other words, eating souls was, if not a solution, at least a temporary relief.
We hoped it helped outside as well.
We started examining the souls around us.
A man that looked like Poise.
One of the cops at the crime scene.
A pretty girl, somewhat familiar.
One of the guys we killed in the mother's chamber.
And finally, Hannah. Her face was in deep thought, as she muttered words we couldn't hear.
We wanted to hug her: we felt so alone. But her wisp was so fragile.
There wasn't a choice. We broke Hannah out and guided her back to her crystal.
Like before, we reached that place as if following the logic of a dream, a change of scene in which distance and time didn't matter.
We willed an icecream cone into existence, and when we failed, we pinched our cheek.
Were we the ones dreaming?
We shook our head and gently landed Hannah in her place. She disappeared in motes of green and black lightning.
Something told us she was going to be ok.
We walked back to the other souls, who were already multiplying, even if at a much slower rate.
We killed those just born, already filled with hatred.
We freed the others and sent those back to our world, where they fell asleep.
We explored the land until we found the center point. It was something akin to a homunculus, but its body wasn't made of flesh, but the same blood-red crystal substance of this plane.
Whatever the circumstances led to her creation, she was perfectly sculpted, and her upper body looked exactly like the mother, no, the monster that engulfed us.
She was lying on a makeshift altar, like a corpse ready to be dissected.
We summoned two scalpels, the blades looming over her rib cage.
We dismissed them. We were being mastered, and it wasn't the command seal. This place didn't make sense at all, yet something was making us understand.
What was the point of all these metaphorical images?
We bit our lips until we drew blood, we closed our eyes and walked back.
We opened our eyes, and we found ourselves in front of the altar.
The sun in the sky shined stronger than ever, and the urge to act came back stronger than ever.
It eerily felt like right after the locker, somebody that wasn't yet us acting against the wishes of our whole.
But the souls in our world were asleep: we ordered them so.
The girl looked so peaceful, around the age our old Big Self would have been if Jack's summoning didn't happen.
Around the altar were thirteen faces sculped on it, whispering words nobody could hear.
She was the new Butcher: it was the only thing that made some sense.
But she must have been monstrous even before becoming the next Butcher. This place felt diseased.
The golden light shone much brighter, and we covered our eyes.
It was hypocrite, but leaving her to this fate sounded worse than death.
We stabbed and took her soul.
The body stood still like a statue.
We walked back to our world and let the girl rest on the ground with the others.
From the top of the White Chapel, we saw a ray of sun hit the abomination.
We woke up in the middle of a park.
The world was chaos. People were screaming and running with their lives.
A patch of grass burned in a reddish fire that smelled like sulfur, an inhuman howl filled the air, a tree trunk sailed over us, a giant bubble blocked a pair of troopers, before the rapid strafe of a machine gun popped it, letting them out.
We turned towards the shooter. Miss Militia, she was safe.
And she was pointing her weapon at us, before lowering it.
"Ghostchild."
We adjusted our bandanna. Darn, it stunk. "Miss Militia."
We saw a child appear behind her, and we rushed. We summoned all of our knives, but one was missing.
Miss Militia shot, and warm blood spilled on me from behind.
We threw three scalpels, and a naked man that looked like Poise took the figure in his arms: the scalpels bounced on him without leaving a scratch.
Militia turned and used a flamethrower.
The man died amidst flames without even blinking.
"Ghostchild!"
It was Grinder. His hammer was bloody, and his costume had his fair amount of scratches, but he looked alright.
He fired his gun, shooting a mix of nails and junk that splattered the figure, rendering it an unrecognizable mess of flesh.
Another huge howl shook the air, and I turned to its origin.
The new Butcher didn't resemble anything human, as it thrashed on the ground. Its flesh was twisting and churning, releasing more and more unfinished bodies, missing limbs, organs, or having animal parts.
A girl missing her right arm and part of her head stumbled forward before exploding in a fire.
A woman without skin released bubbles shields as she breathed shallowly.
A man without eyes added heaps of dirt upon heaps of dirt. He teleported himself on the pile, but he quickly fell down and cracked his head.
A girl started muttering words we couldn't remember.
The Butcher teleported in an explosion behind us, we moved to shoot it, but Grinder stopped us. "It has Butcher's danger sense."
We held back: "Where are the others?"
"Slapdash is doing search and rescue. Accord is using Firefly and his team to keep the threat contained."
We blinked. "Accord?"
"He knew of Echidna, but he didn't know she became the Butcher. He says she cloned a stranger," he continued explaining as we ran to the perimeter.
We grimaced.
Thankfully, we encountered little resistance from the clones.
Miss Militia and we weren't exactly in our best shape, and Grinder was struggling to keep up.
He swore, clicked a button, and threw the hammer in the ground. Like a piston, the head ignited and emitted a volley of fire, scorching the ground around it.
"Accord said to give no quarter," he explained.
Militia didn't buy it. "Ghostchild, carry him."
He protested: "What? No!"
It didn't take too much to catch him.
"Let me go! This is ridiculous!"
We giggled.
"There's nothing to laugh about," No-fun Grinder said.
We heard another roar in the distance.
A man with a goat head suddenly appeared in front of us.
Grinder pulped him with his gun.
Miss Militia looked surprised. It wasn't easy to be faster than her with weapons.
He shrugged.
A volley of fire rained from the sky.
"What the fuck are you doing in a princess carry, leader?" our team flyer asked.
"Fuck you, Firefly," Grinder shouted back. "How's Slapdash?"
"Resting. She broke an arm while evacuating a civvie," he briefly explained as he flew away.
It didn't take long to find the 'perimeter.' It was a hastily constructed wall made of pieces of junk, trees, cars, a bus, streetlamps, and furniture, all burning.
"Alt!"
Grinder shouted: "L-M 601!"
The troopers lowered their weapons.
We were assigned to healing duties. Hours spent in blood and disgusting smells, but it didn't matter. The medical course showed its worth.
A part of us hated doctors. We remembered being torn apart from the warm and the cold scalpels cutting flesh.
But as long as it made us and those close to us live, it was worth the painful memories.
"Scion killed the Butcher," the words spread, with a mix of awe and fear.
He didn't show to Canberra, after all, even if it was a 'victory'.
The burning and half-melted angel statue in the barricade seemed to mock us.
The Teeth were gone, and so were many minor players in the game, like freaking Gumball.
Of the Travellers, the lone survivors were a crippled girl and a boy with a slight changer power.
People argued for the Birdcage.
Once everything finished, Miss Militia took our hands and guided the two of us back home.
"What happened?" Hannah asked.
"You won't believe us."
"We are the only ones the Butcher threw out," she stated, with her ever-annoying calm no-nonsense tone.
"You are not our Master anymore!" we shouted. "You said we would be safe in the Wards! We want an out!"
"Probation-
"It doesn't matter. Kill us if you want to try, but if we have to fight like that again, we want an out. Tell the PRT to throw us in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and we'll play the little good child!" we argued.
Somehow, we were in flesh again, but our hair was only white. We wanted to shave it all.
"Okay."
"Okay?" we mumbled.
"I'll ask. There's a summer camp for Wards, you know. You can hear the experience of 'bumfuck no-where' heroes."
Those cheeky films didn't lie?
"And what are you going to do?" we asked.
She explained in two words: "The same. This work never ends."
We rested our head on the table.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
We took a moment to find the right words to not be sent to the asylum. "Some Master effect, an illusion that first seemed like our place, then powers."
"Powers?" she wondered.
We continued to look at the wood of the table. "Crystals, huge crystals. We found you and other people on a cluster of them that was wrong: it broke and shatter in pieces, but was held together like with glue. We brought you to your power, and you disappeared. We took the other people to our world, then we found the latest Butcher, this Noelle girl, and killed her."
We waited for a response, a denial, a laugh, but nothing came. We looked up.
She looked lost for words.
We looked back: our world, our memories, were just like the tip of an iceberg of another crystal formation.
There wasn't any sound or any smell, and even what we sensed with our touch and eyes was too strange to be true. Did it mean all those dreams we had happened here?
It was very lonely, and for a moment, we felt that stupid desire to jump down, the one people tended to have when on the edge of a precipice.
We continued walking until suddenly we were on the green and black formation. It was clear it had to do with Miss Militia: facets of the being glowed like her power, and there was a connection between our world and this.
The thing was huge, and it was alive in a way we didn't understand, similar to a growing stalagmite.
We could see farther bridges that extended to other lights in the distance, but the connections were much less defined, like threads of a spider web.
What looked like stars in the sky must have been other crystals, and so the big cluster that shined like the sun.
Suddenly, the plane shifted downwards like a funnel, and the slope became so slippery we had to use our knives like pegs to prevent our fall.
The place we stabbed twitched and shook, but we held on.
A green and black bolt of energy hit us in our back, but we endured.
We watched down and held back a sob.
If this place was purgatory, what waited for us down below was hell: a growing and malformed hub of crystals that broke and collided in smaller shards, before mixing like a sludge. It stunk of death, and it was the closest place where different souls existed.
If the other crystals were life, what was there was a tumor that threatened to grow and overwhelm the surrounding space.
Adding salt to the wound, the green and black place I was on was shifting towards that dead abomination. We wouldn't have been surprised if our little, comfy hell was falling as well.
A bolt struck us again, followed by one, then another. We gritted our teeth and bit back the pain, but we eventually lost.
As we fell, we saw our world fall as well.
We crashed, and it crashed without a sound. From that giant crystal, a shard budded off, destroying a carriage, streetlamps, and some uncaring people of that Victorian time.
We felt lesser, and we ran back to it.
As we moved, we regarded our surroundings.
There were lots of souls here but like the rest of this sickly hub, most of them were wrong: angry, full of hatred, and multiplying like ants.
They were naked and translucent, reflecting the strange lights of the abomination, and they seemed to mutter curses, pieces of advice, and wishes.
A few were frightened and lost, and their pleads sounded like prayers.
All of them were anchored to the ground, as the crystal slowly grew to cover them.
They weren't a lot, a hundred at most, and seeing how large everything was, it wasn't a coincidence we fell here.
We felt the ground try to engulf our feet.
We struggled to fight it off, and like needles, crystals pierced our skin, as if they were drifting our souls apart.
We had no choice, but to use that power. We mastered the twisted delicious wraiths to come to us, and we fed.
We held back a laugh. We never felt better. If everything else hadn't been oh so damn scary, we would have a field day in this place.
As more and more self-loathing and bitter souls came forward, we noticed that the abomination seemed to calm down, as if it was breathing in his sleep, until we managed to break free.
Our place looked safer.
In other words, eating souls was, if not a solution, at least a temporary relief.
We hoped it helped outside as well.
We started examining the souls around us.
A man that looked like Poise.
One of the cops at the crime scene.
A pretty girl, somewhat familiar.
One of the guys we killed in the mother's chamber.
And finally, Hannah. Her face was in deep thought, as she muttered words we couldn't hear.
We wanted to hug her: we felt so alone. But her wisp was so fragile.
There wasn't a choice. We broke Hannah out and guided her back to her crystal.
Like before, we reached that place as if following the logic of a dream, a change of scene in which distance and time didn't matter.
We willed an icecream cone into existence, and when we failed, we pinched our cheek.
Were we the ones dreaming?
We shook our head and gently landed Hannah in her place. She disappeared in motes of green and black lightning.
Something told us she was going to be ok.
We walked back to the other souls, who were already multiplying, even if at a much slower rate.
We killed those just born, already filled with hatred.
We freed the others and sent those back to our world, where they fell asleep.
We explored the land until we found the center point. It was something akin to a homunculus, but its body wasn't made of flesh, but the same blood-red crystal substance of this plane.
Whatever the circumstances led to her creation, she was perfectly sculpted, and her upper body looked exactly like the mother, no, the monster that engulfed us.
She was lying on a makeshift altar, like a corpse ready to be dissected.
We summoned two scalpels, the blades looming over her rib cage.
We dismissed them. We were being mastered, and it wasn't the command seal. This place didn't make sense at all, yet something was making us understand.
What was the point of all these metaphorical images?
We bit our lips until we drew blood, we closed our eyes and walked back.
We opened our eyes, and we found ourselves in front of the altar.
The sun in the sky shined stronger than ever, and the urge to act came back stronger than ever.
It eerily felt like right after the locker, somebody that wasn't yet us acting against the wishes of our whole.
But the souls in our world were asleep: we ordered them so.
The girl looked so peaceful, around the age our old Big Self would have been if Jack's summoning didn't happen.
Around the altar were thirteen faces sculped on it, whispering words nobody could hear.
She was the new Butcher: it was the only thing that made some sense.
But she must have been monstrous even before becoming the next Butcher. This place felt diseased.
The golden light shone much brighter, and we covered our eyes.
It was hypocrite, but leaving her to this fate sounded worse than death.
We stabbed and took her soul.
The body stood still like a statue.
We walked back to our world and let the girl rest on the ground with the others.
From the top of the White Chapel, we saw a ray of sun hit the abomination.
We woke up in the middle of a park.
The world was chaos. People were screaming and running with their lives.
A patch of grass burned in a reddish fire that smelled like sulfur, an inhuman howl filled the air, a tree trunk sailed over us, a giant bubble blocked a pair of troopers, before the rapid strafe of a machine gun popped it, letting them out.
We turned towards the shooter. Miss Militia, she was safe.
And she was pointing her weapon at us, before lowering it.
"Ghostchild."
We adjusted our bandanna. Darn, it stunk. "Miss Militia."
We saw a child appear behind her, and we rushed. We summoned all of our knives, but one was missing.
Miss Militia shot, and warm blood spilled on me from behind.
We threw three scalpels, and a naked man that looked like Poise took the figure in his arms: the scalpels bounced on him without leaving a scratch.
Militia turned and used a flamethrower.
The man died amidst flames without even blinking.
"Ghostchild!"
It was Grinder. His hammer was bloody, and his costume had his fair amount of scratches, but he looked alright.
He fired his gun, shooting a mix of nails and junk that splattered the figure, rendering it an unrecognizable mess of flesh.
Another huge howl shook the air, and I turned to its origin.
The new Butcher didn't resemble anything human, as it thrashed on the ground. Its flesh was twisting and churning, releasing more and more unfinished bodies, missing limbs, organs, or having animal parts.
A girl missing her right arm and part of her head stumbled forward before exploding in a fire.
A woman without skin released bubbles shields as she breathed shallowly.
A man without eyes added heaps of dirt upon heaps of dirt. He teleported himself on the pile, but he quickly fell down and cracked his head.
A girl started muttering words we couldn't remember.
The Butcher teleported in an explosion behind us, we moved to shoot it, but Grinder stopped us. "It has Butcher's danger sense."
We held back: "Where are the others?"
"Slapdash is doing search and rescue. Accord is using Firefly and his team to keep the threat contained."
We blinked. "Accord?"
"He knew of Echidna, but he didn't know she became the Butcher. He says she cloned a stranger," he continued explaining as we ran to the perimeter.
We grimaced.
Thankfully, we encountered little resistance from the clones.
Miss Militia and we weren't exactly in our best shape, and Grinder was struggling to keep up.
He swore, clicked a button, and threw the hammer in the ground. Like a piston, the head ignited and emitted a volley of fire, scorching the ground around it.
"Accord said to give no quarter," he explained.
Militia didn't buy it. "Ghostchild, carry him."
He protested: "What? No!"
It didn't take too much to catch him.
"Let me go! This is ridiculous!"
We giggled.
"There's nothing to laugh about," No-fun Grinder said.
We heard another roar in the distance.
A man with a goat head suddenly appeared in front of us.
Grinder pulped him with his gun.
Miss Militia looked surprised. It wasn't easy to be faster than her with weapons.
He shrugged.
A volley of fire rained from the sky.
"What the fuck are you doing in a princess carry, leader?" our team flyer asked.
"Fuck you, Firefly," Grinder shouted back. "How's Slapdash?"
"Resting. She broke an arm while evacuating a civvie," he briefly explained as he flew away.
It didn't take long to find the 'perimeter.' It was a hastily constructed wall made of pieces of junk, trees, cars, a bus, streetlamps, and furniture, all burning.
"Alt!"
Grinder shouted: "L-M 601!"
The troopers lowered their weapons.
We were assigned to healing duties. Hours spent in blood and disgusting smells, but it didn't matter. The medical course showed its worth.
A part of us hated doctors. We remembered being torn apart from the warm and the cold scalpels cutting flesh.
But as long as it made us and those close to us live, it was worth the painful memories.
"Scion killed the Butcher," the words spread, with a mix of awe and fear.
He didn't show to Canberra, after all, even if it was a 'victory'.
The burning and half-melted angel statue in the barricade seemed to mock us.
The Teeth were gone, and so were many minor players in the game, like freaking Gumball.
Of the Travellers, the lone survivors were a crippled girl and a boy with a slight changer power.
People argued for the Birdcage.
Once everything finished, Miss Militia took our hands and guided the two of us back home.
"What happened?" Hannah asked.
"You won't believe us."
"We are the only ones the Butcher threw out," she stated, with her ever-annoying calm no-nonsense tone.
"You are not our Master anymore!" we shouted. "You said we would be safe in the Wards! We want an out!"
"Probation-
"It doesn't matter. Kill us if you want to try, but if we have to fight like that again, we want an out. Tell the PRT to throw us in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and we'll play the little good child!" we argued.
Somehow, we were in flesh again, but our hair was only white. We wanted to shave it all.
"Okay."
"Okay?" we mumbled.
"I'll ask. There's a summer camp for Wards, you know. You can hear the experience of 'bumfuck no-where' heroes."
Those cheeky films didn't lie?
"And what are you going to do?" we asked.
She explained in two words: "The same. This work never ends."
We rested our head on the table.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
We took a moment to find the right words to not be sent to the asylum. "Some Master effect, an illusion that first seemed like our place, then powers."
"Powers?" she wondered.
We continued to look at the wood of the table. "Crystals, huge crystals. We found you and other people on a cluster of them that was wrong: it broke and shatter in pieces, but was held together like with glue. We brought you to your power, and you disappeared. We took the other people to our world, then we found the latest Butcher, this Noelle girl, and killed her."
We waited for a response, a denial, a laugh, but nothing came. We looked up.
She looked lost for words.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I managed to finish the chapter before the end of the month, few!
I have to thank Bloodborne for some lovely imagery.Grinder Poweder Keg expy
Next chapters will be an interlude about Brockton, the Travellers and Butcher's fight, and some other metashardysical non-sense.
I have to thank Bloodborne for some lovely imagery.
Next chapters will be an interlude about Brockton, the Travellers and Butcher's fight, and some other metashardysical non-sense.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Ehm. The Court present the evidence:
In other words, it wasn't night,
Norr
Misophist
- Location
- Any chair
Because Miss Militia remembers her trigger event, and the vision of vast crystalline worms therein.
Or killing the Butcher, while normally a spectacularly bad idea, had a very different effect this time.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Being put in danger in general.
This seems a bit strange. I thought after Taylor bit it she was mostly Jack with some Taylor colored paint slapped on. Jack doesn't exactly have safety issues, and as we can see for the last several chapters she has been wanting to engage in dangerous conflict. Or at least chafing horribly wrapped up in the Wards' bubble wrap.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Well, it's not so clear cut. She's a kid throwing a tantrum.
The problem is the type of danger she faces. OG Butcher, the E88 are 'human-like' challenges, and she wasn't on the defensive.
The problem is when the other side isn't 'playing fairly'.
And what she wants and what she says aren't the same
You, uh, you know Australian currency is called dollars, right? XD
- Pronouns
- She/Her
USA currency has coins in Bet World. Or at least Wildblow said so
I mean, so do most countries? AUD comes in coins, at least it did while I was there although that was nearly a decade ago.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It was just a joke, I didn't specify which country's money I was talking about and it is one of the most useless AU trivia between Wildblow's Earth and ours, so I understand the confusion.
Um? I am confused...
So, what did she kill in the shard-space? I'm assuming it is shard-space?
So, what did she kill in the shard-space? I'm assuming it is shard-space?
- Pronouns
- She/Her
She effectively removed all souls of the Butcher, and freed the souls imprisoned by Echidna that the shard used to make da evil clonez.
LostArchivist
Sane, unfortunately.
- Location
- The State of Confusion
Who exactly killed the Butcher? Who is "Shion"?
I had thought that was Jackie, but they said it was someone else (but was that a coverup)?
I had thought that was Jackie, but they said it was someone else (but was that a coverup)?
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Shion is a typo for Scion I sometimes make because I'm distracted.
The weird trip freed the souls from Echidna/Butcher's hellspace, but since the shard was still alive, and Butchidna is way way more shard than human, it could continue to live and make clones, even if it was 'malfunctioning'. In short, Jackie removed the mind(s) behind the beast, but Scion dealt the death blow.
State of the story
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hello everyone!
First thing to say... I'm not dropping this story: it isn't in indefinite hiatus.
Second, as I had been rereading from the start, yikes.
It needs editing. It gets hard to follow who's talking.
It needs at least a chapter or two between Menja's(Fenja?) death, to make the transition to Ghostchild's death more believable. Even implying that Coil managed to find her somehow, with Lisa's help in another timeline, or thanks to his minions.
The backlash with 'oh, you tried to kill a Ward, here come to a new city, where you'll be free to interact with other Wards, just because we believe what you said about Miss Militia's seal' is too high.
A bit too fanony in places. Lisa spilled her guts(eh) about her past too fast, Clockblocker is mostly a pun machine.
Noelle happens too abruptly(stop running, mind! Don't chase scenes you find cool, if they don't make sense!)
So it obviously needs a rewrite?
Nope. I don't have the patience for a rewrite. It will stop my writing juices for all of my works. I can rework a chapter or two, but a full rewrite is a no.
I'll edit it when I'll have patience.
But, I'll continue this story. It had many good parts that I liked, because I'm a genius.
The dialogues between the characters, the ambush in the PRT building, how Ghostchild died at the end of the chase, the awkwardness between adults and teenagers acting like adults, and many little details.
It won't be a perfect story, but I'm happy with that. This is fanfiction, where I use the tools of other worldbuilders, the characters other made, to make my little playground. By this, I don't mean fanfiction is inherently worse than the original, and there are a lot of better writers than me who write fanfiction, but it is less time and patient consuming than writing a story from the ground up.
Plus, it brings a wide audience that already knows more or less what's going on that can tell you the twenty ways a logical and rational Taylor can kill Scion with a butter knife provide feedback. And even if I don't like all the comments, even if I lose some readers, even if sometimes people want to be right no matter what, when I'm right we can get confrontational, I enjoy that.
Now that I put a wall of text, I'll tell you that you won't see a chapter by Christmas, even if I said otherwise in a comment in Twisted Tails. I want to do this without rushing, now that I feel I became a bit better at writing.
First thing to say... I'm not dropping this story: it isn't in indefinite hiatus.
Second, as I had been rereading from the start, yikes.
It needs editing. It gets hard to follow who's talking.
It needs at least a chapter or two between Menja's(Fenja?) death, to make the transition to Ghostchild's death more believable. Even implying that Coil managed to find her somehow, with Lisa's help in another timeline, or thanks to his minions.
The backlash with 'oh, you tried to kill a Ward, here come to a new city, where you'll be free to interact with other Wards, just because we believe what you said about Miss Militia's seal' is too high.
A bit too fanony in places. Lisa spilled her guts(eh) about her past too fast, Clockblocker is mostly a pun machine.
Noelle happens too abruptly(
So it obviously needs a rewrite?
Nope. I don't have the patience for a rewrite. It will stop my writing juices for all of my works. I can rework a chapter or two, but a full rewrite is a no.
I'll edit it when I'll have patience.
But, I'll continue this story. It had many good parts that I liked,
The dialogues between the characters, the ambush in the PRT building, how Ghostchild died at the end of the chase, the awkwardness between adults and teenagers acting like adults, and many little details.
It won't be a perfect story, but I'm happy with that. This is fanfiction, where I use the tools of other worldbuilders, the characters other made, to make my little playground. By this, I don't mean fanfiction is inherently worse than the original, and there are a lot of better writers than me who write fanfiction, but it is less time and patient consuming than writing a story from the ground up.
Plus, it brings a wide audience that already knows more or less what's going on that can t
Now that I put a wall of text, I'll tell you that you won't see a chapter by Christmas, even if I said otherwise in a comment in Twisted Tails. I want to do this without rushing, now that I feel I became a bit better at writing.