The Plague.

Discussion in 'Terraria Literature' started by Super Luigi Brothers, Nov 1, 2012.

  1. Well, gotten the inspiration over one year of loooooong pondering, slacking off, and just generally not writing, I've decided to start up a somewhat... different Terraria fanfiction. Enjoy! I suck at making titles :mad:!
    WARNING: This isn't scary, well yeah, it's not, but if don't like detailed gory scenes then I really dunno if you should read this. Trust me, it'll get more... detailed as time goes on. But then again, everyone loves details, right? ;-)
    P.S: Don't forget to leave a comment, and like if you well, liked it! And if you really liked it, and want to see more, follow me( Oh my god) for more content! Stay tuned!

    Prologue
    Jack Simons, a young eight-year old boy, woke up from his sleep with a fright when a scream of agony shattered his slumber and brought him awake. He wasn't overly worried; There was supposed to be a Blood Moon that night. However, when he looked outside, he saw a whole different procedure than what normally happened on Blood Moons.
    He didn't see the village guards patrolling the outer walls for monsters.
    He didn't see barricaded doors, and sandbags piled up as walls.
    What he did see, was hell. Hell at it's very worst. As he peered over the ledge, he saw corpses, blood, and guts splattered all over the town like some sort of sickening party decorations for some festival of the living dead. Jack saw one of his neighbours, Ms. Bennett, on the ground, screaming for help as her husband fell down upon her with a merciless glare. Jack watched with fascinated horror as Mr. Bennett swooped down upon her and opened up a hole in her head. The undead creature gurgled happily as it tore away the gooey flesh surrounding the brain. The zombie scooped out pieces of the brain, and began to eat it.
    Jack turned away from the window, shaking violently. He felt sick, the kind of sick you get when you see something that causes you to throw up. He ran to the toilet, and hurled the contents of his stomach up. As he finished, he looked into the glass of the medical cabinet, and noticed he was crying.
    Jack turned to go downstairs, where he hoped he would find his mother or father and they would protect him from the undead. But, life isn't fair, and this was no exception. As he entered the kitchen, his parents mutilated bodies were lying on the table and floor. Jack's father had often joked about cutting up his mother as she nagged him a lot, but this was no time for that sort of dark humour. He nudged his mother, hoping this was all some sort of horrid joke. Judging by the blood and guts dying the wall a dark red, it wasn't.
    He ran. Out the front door, onto the main street. Several of the undead sensed prey, and began to limp after him. Jack screamed as one grabbed his arm, but he wriggled out of it's grip and ran for the gates of town, knowing it was hopeless, but looking for some sort of hope. When he arrived, a horde of zombies had already gathered at the entrance, devouring several unfortunate guards. They ignored Jack, the guards were richer pickings. The gates had been overrun, and the town had gone to hell.
    Jack knew his situation was hopeless before he even went to his kitchen. He kept running, and the undead kept shuffling after him. It wasn't very long before Jack ran out of steam and got a stitch. He had never been the fittest boy for his age, and it was proving to be a large disadvantage as the undead never seemed to tire, constantly following him at the same, monotonous pace, despite the fact many of their limbs were hanging by threads, or had fallen off completely. Jack sighed, and turned to face the oncoming horde.
    "Come get me, ye bleedin' eejits!" Jack's last words were brave, but was all false bravery. As they drew closer, he managed to get a good look at them. Blood-red eyes, faces with pieces of brains and guts stuck to them, deformed hands, legs, and bones. Most importantly though, was the smell. They smelt downright awful, a gut-wrenching stench that made Jack want to retch and vomit. It was like being in a tank full of sewage, only in this case, rotten body parts. As the undead fell upon him, Jack emitted a pitiful sob, and then screams of agony and pain, as the undead clawed at his skin, ripping it open, plunging bloody hands in to grab a piece of an organ, or the sweet, gooey brain within the head.
    Then, as all things eventually come to, he died.


    Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End
    Conor looked down into the dark, mossy undergrowth. He had dropped his sword into it, and was getting rather angry as he couldn't find it for the life of himself. Conor threw a torch down, careless of what could light aflame. He smiled triumphantly as he spotted the burning torch next to his sword. Conor slowly crawled down and retrieved his lost prize. Before he turned to leave, he crushed the torch in his boots.
    Conor's sword had always seemed to be with him. He went everywhere with it, did everything with it. It was a long iron broadsword, and since he had got it at the age of ten, it was love at first sight. He had long since customised it, sharpening the point, decorating it with what few valuables he could find. Conor's birthday was due in several days, and he was estatic over the fact of possibly getting a new sword. He was going to be fourteen, which would be his last year before he was shipped off to the most brutal warrior school in all of Terraria.
    Conor finally crawled up out of the hole, and lay on the ground for a minute. He got up, and brushed himself off. He was in a forest where he normally went hunting, only today he had forgotten his bow. Besides, he couldn't find any game today. He sighed, and began cutting a path through the leaves and vines. Eventually, he saw the brilliant blue of the sky and the white of the clouds. Not being one to wait, he took off at top speed, arriving at the gate to the town in less than a few minutes. He looked up at the walls, where his father was looking down on him with curious, angry eyes. He yelled at Conor.
    " What the hell are you doing out of the town?! The curfew is still in effect you know!" Conor shrugged, and his father sighed.
    " Alright, we'll discuss this after dinner. With any luck, all you'll get a few whip cracks on your back." Conor's father proceeded to open the gate for him, and as Conor looked inside, it seemed everyone was getting set for the curfew. He turned to his father, who was climbing down the ladder.
    " What's all this for?"
    " Well, you heard about what happened in Adona, didn't you?" his father replied.
    " Uhm... Yeah. Wasn't there a big zombie infestation there? Like, they were eating the brains and guts of the people who lived there?" Conor grinned darkly, imagining a picture of a zombie pouncing upon an unfortunate terrarian, clawing the skin open to eat the hot, sweet organs within. His father scowled at him.
    " I doubt you'd be laughing if that happened to you. This is serious, but we're trying to keep things running smoothly here. Now, come on, we're late for the meeting." Conor looked slightly confused.
    " I thought they took place in the morning?"
    " This is an exception. It's an emergency." He grabbed Conor by the collar and half dragged him through the town, eventually stopping at the town hall, a grand building made of white stone and marble pillars. There was already a big crowd there, so this meeting was bound to be very long. Conor sighed. He decided he would make a break for it as soon as he got away from his father.
    " You go on ahead, I'll catch up to you in a second. There's some business I have to take care of very quickly." His father turned into one of the side streets, followed by another turn. Conor couldn't have asked for a better chance to leave. He ran through the cobblestone streets, taking a few shortcuts via alleyways and very narrow gaps only somebody with a thin figure could slip through. Eventually he arrived at his house.
    Conor's father was a high rank in the town government, and as a result they lived in a big house with a large pool out the back. As for Conor's mother, she was a well-respected chef in the town who had bright blue eyes and hair as golden as the sun.
    As Conor retrieved the spare key from the clay pot hanging by the door, he heard a familiar voice shortly behind him. It was his friend, Sean. Sean was a tall, thin figure who had long, black hair that when the wind blew, it would go into the air like a flag or a dog wagging it's tail. Conor smiled, as Sean came up to the porch, breathless from the running.
    " Whew! Good thing I found you, or else I'd be listening to some boring lecture about what to do in the case of a zombie attack." Sean panted, hacking up phlegm onto the ground.
    " I'll tell you what to do; Put your head in your hands and kiss your captain's-quarters goodbye!" Conor laughed, opening the door. Sean smirked, following him inside.
    " Been ages since I've been in your house, forgot how nice it was. I want a house like this when I grow up." Sean sighed, admiring several paintings in the hall.
    " You'd probably work in it." Conor giggled, and Sean scowled at him. Conor raised his hands defensively, gesturing a 'sorry mate'. Conor's house was quite luxurious on the inside too. It had a state-of-the-art kitchen, a warm sitting room, an expansive library, a wine cellar ( Conor had once tried to steal a bottle of wine. He ended up rather tipsy and threw a rock through his neighbour's window) , a fresh water mechanism that worked, and several big bedrooms. Conor had never really appreciated any of this, spending most of his spare time in the great outdoors hunting with his bow.
    Conor went into the kitchen, where his mother had left dinner boiling while she was at the meeting. He sniffed the air, hit with a smell of disgust; They were having lamb for dinner tonight. Conor hated lamb. Sean laughed, noticing Conor's disgusted expression.
    " Well, have fun eating that. We're having pork tonight."
    " Lucky... I'd catch myself dinner, but game seems pretty poor today." Conor sighed, unaware that the loss of animals in the area was a sign of bad things to come.
    " Hunting is icky, you get all bloody and messy from it." Sean pulled a face. Sometimes Conor wondered how he and Sean had ever became friends in the first place. They were essentially complete opposites.
    " There's nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty." Conor said, remembering what his father had said to him a long time ago.
    " ... Uhm, right... Wanna go out to the Place?" Sean asked. Conor thought for a moment. The Place was a place Conor and Sean set up two years ago. It was where the pair hung out, played games, and generally where we had most of their fun together. It came about a few years ago when their town had found a good cave nearby, and launched a mining expedition. Short story, none of the miners returned, and the whole fuss turned it into a ghost story that the miners souls haunted the caves. When they were told that, being the eleven year-olds they were, they went to check it out.
    It was boarded off when they first arrived, with "Keep Out" lazily painted on the old wood. It wasn't exactly very sturdy, so Conor and Sean managed to break their way in using their swords. It was a deep cave, good indeed. When they returned, armed with torches, they set to work in a clearing a small bit below ground level. They made a sort of hangout, setting up pillows and makeshift sofas. As time went on, development became more serious. They brought food, water and entertainment down; The cold atmosphere was perfect for storing supplies. They brought down more supplies, and on their thirteenth birthdays, they finally began walling up the area, adding some proper lighting, tables and furniture. With a fireplace, it was quite warm, even in winter when it snowed and weather became bitter.
    "Yeah, sure. Let's go." Conor nodded, and headed out the front door. They stuck to less-used streets, in case somebody they knew spotted them. By this time, the sun was setting, turning the sky a bright orange colour. They arrived at the heavy, wrought-iron gates of entry, and set to opening it. Sean pulled the lever, and with a heavy groan, the gates slowly opened. They had no problems, most of the town was out at the meeting. As they left the village, they had no idea they were being followed by someone who had seen them go to the Place before, and who's curiousity had gotten the better of them and decided to follow this time.
    As their feet trudged through the moist grass, they struck up a conversation about the zombies, which kept them occupied until they arrived. They looked up and down before they entered, for signs of intruders. It was all normal; The small hill rising over the cave was untouched, the wood wasn't damaged, and most importantly, the entrance was still covered up by leaves, moss and fallen trees.
    " Yeah, everything's intact, let's go inside." Sean confirmed, and Conor followed his lead as he crept through the small gap in the blockage. It was cold as they entered, and both of them shivered slightly, but as they navigated our way down through the winding passage, they were gradually hit by a wave of heat. The cave was a good insulator, and the torches still burnt brightly, giving off a warm, welcoming aura.
    " I think I'll spend the night here." Conor yawned, crashing down on one of the small armchairs they had brought down there.
    " Your parents don't care?" Sean looks up, lighting the fire with two pieces of flint. Conor laughed in response.
    " Heh, they really don't care where I go half the time, they don't even know about here." As Conor finished, Sean grinned triumphantly as the sparks from the flint created a small flame. He feeds the small flame several sticks, and the fire slowly grows, as if growing up at an incredible pace. Conor went to the water cabinet, and got themselves clay mugs to drink out of. Sean nods appreciatively as Conor poured him a drink from the flask. They sat in silence for a small bit, staring into fire, pausing occasionally to take sips from their drinks. Between the cackling of the flames, the pair heard loud bangs of thunder from outside. The echoes emitted by it bounced off all the walls, amplifying the sounds to make them sound much closer than they really were.
    " Seems like we're in for quite a storm tonight." Conor commented, Sean nodding in agreement. " All the more reason to spend the night down here."
    " I'm going up to have a look at what sort of storm we're in for." Sean said, clearing his throat. He stood up, and began climbing back up to the surface. He peered out through the blockage, and looked up at the sky. Seemed like it was going to be one hell of a storm they would endure tonight. He heard loud bangs of thunder, and he jumped slightly, sighting lightning in the distance, not a great distance from the town, which he could see faintly outlined in the near distance. As another flash of lightning struck, in the split second of light, Sean saw several figures standing at the gate, scratching on the iron; They were the undead.
    Sean's mouth formed a perfect 'o' shape, and as more lightning struck, there seemed to be more at the gates, snarling, scratching and growling.
    Sean quickly hurried back down to Conor, who by this point, had opened a book on swordmanship techniques. Conor noticed Sean's panicked expression, and let him explain that the undead were attacking the town, and there was large hordes gathering at the gates.
    " By the lords of the underworld, are you serious?!" Conor gasped. Sean nodded grimly.
    " We... We gotta stay here, the town is too dangerous." Conor managed to keep a calm head, despite the fact he could very possibly be dead in several hours. " Alright, here's the plan. We have to stay here, cover up the entrance, and have an escape route ready, okay?" Sean nodded, who was visibly shaking and scared. Conor proceeded to see the spectacle himself, only by now, the gate seemed to be taking a beating. Once the gate was overcome, the town would be finished. Conor began blocking the entrance with large sticks, branches and items of furniture that would hopefully buy them some time if the zombies attacked. As he did this, Conor realized he and his friend were at an advantage. There was a large system of caves that ran after the Place, in which they could hide and perhaps find another way to the surface. As his train of thought ended, Conor noticed that the gate had been bashed in dangerously far, and with that, he knew the town would be overcome by the time the night ended. He spared himself the gory sight, looking away from the scene.
    Conor headed back down to the Place, where Sean had been noticably crying.
    " Get some sleep Sean, I'll keep lookout. Don't think I'll be able to sleep after this." Conor said, and Sean nodded. Conor was prepared to stay up all night, waiting at the entrance in case they were detected by zombies.
    ...
    Seven hours later, Conor had passed out from exhaustion. He awoke only when a ray of bright, yellow sunshine shined through a tiny crack in the blockade and assaulted him in the face. He shook his head irritably for a moment, trying to remove the ray from his face as if he was in bed. For a moment, he remained like that, until it finally dawned on him; He was alive. As if in disbelief, he looked down, finding himself in good health. Then, his face darkened, remembering about the town. He looked out, scared of what he was about to see...

    Chapter 2: Ground Zero.
    The town was motionless, as though not just the people had died, but the town itself. No noises of guards getting ready for a day of work, no busy bustling noises of the street, no commanders shouting and yelling orders. Everything was completely silenced. From the safety of the cave, Conor noticed all of the outer walls had been stained red with blood, and organs. He slowly felt tears welling up in his eyes, but shoved them back down. He returned to Sean, who was awake by now, sitting in a chair eating dry bread and a cup of unrefrigerated milk.
    " Town's gone." Conor said lamely. What else was there to say? Sean remained silent for a small bit. Then he spoke up.
    " I wish to pay my parents a final goodbye." Conor nodded. He wished to do the same. They walked up and out of the Place, towards the town where they had lived their whole lives.
    As they approached the town, they got the uneasy feeling that they were being watched by someone. When they turned around though, there was nothing except the silent earth and occasional howl of the wind, as if it too was mourning for the deaths in the town. They entered, crawled over the gate, and looked. Everything was either destroyed, damaged or coated in the organs, corpes and blood of the citizens who had once lived there. Sean broke the uneasy silence.
    " Split up and do what we have to do. Meet back here when you're ready." Conor nodded, heading down the avenue that led to his house. The route was devastated. Although the battle was hopeless, the clashes between humans and the undead were not all one-sided. Several of the predators were lying on the streets, brains spilled out of their rotting heads. Conor smiled, finding a large pile of the undead outside a shop window. The owner was Andre, often known as Andre Automatic, due to the large array of guns he had in his shop. It was no suprise he put up a long fight. Kicking aside several empty ammo shells, he kept walking at a brisk pace.
    Eventually he arrived at his house. It didn't look overly damaged from the outside, other than the bloodstained exterior. As Conor did a more thorough examination, he noticed all the windows had been smashed, the front door had been knocked down completely, and a small blood drip was flowing from one of the windows. One of the zombies must of cut themselves on it. He pressed on into the house, where he instantly recoiled from the smell. A strong scent of blood was in the air, causing Conor to gag slightly. He slowly pressed on, more cautious.
    When Conor entered the kitchen, he saw the sight he had prepared himself to look for. His dead parents. Only parents was wrong. Conor could only see his father there. He examined his father more closely, shocked at what he saw.
    A long, bloody knife was impaled in his father's head. The wound was still fresh; Blood slowly flowed from it, a dark, scary red. Conor felt tears welling up, but he shoved them back down into the dark prison of his concealed emotions, which he had kept down for a long time. Shaking his head, Conor grabbed hold of the knife. He gave it a feeble tug. Nothing. Conor pulled harder, still no results. The knife was obviously impaled deep into the skull. He used both his hands, pulling backwards. Conor gave a shout of suprise when suddenly, the knife released it's hold and came free, yanking large amounts of his father's brain from the head. Conor screamed as he was splattered by a small chunk, leaving a trail of blood down his face, and then hitting the ground with a disgusting squelch. He looked at the knife, dumbstruck. Although the knife was covered in blood, Conor saw a rather distinctive mark on the metal. It was a symbol depicting a potion and a person. Making no sense to Conor, he put the knife in his pocket, there was more important things to think about. He continued his search of the house, which was suprisingly untouched. The only area where any sign of a struggle had occured was the kitchen, where his dead father's corpse was on the table. His mother was nowhere to be found, however. No blood, no anything. It seemed a mystery to Conor, clinging to the slim chance that she was still alive.
    Conor left the house to regroup with Sean, who was already waiting at the meeting place. He looked rather grim, a hard, cold expression on his face. He was the one to break the silence.
    " We should leave town, I think." He pondered.
    " Yeah, the town is dead, leaving us the only ones here for miles around. I'd imagine there'd be a fight between who gets the last pair of brains." Conor grunted. Sean's face twisted into a frown.
    " I don't know... They might have moved on, going for the next town over." Conor pondered over this theory. They barely knew anything about the new threat of the undead, leaving them relatively defenceless in terms of a strategy. " Well, I'd say we take a gamble. Get some supplies together, pick a direction to travel in, and hope we don't get our brains cracked open." Conor growled. " Search the town, gather supplies. Meet back here in several hours, I'm going off to the Place to gather up our stuff." Sean nodded, and began walking off, searching each house thoroughly, in the hopes he would find something useful. A weapon, food, water, anything to help them. Conor climbed over the rubble of the gate, feeling increasingly nervous, getting that 'I'm being watched' sensation. He drew his sword, the noise of the friction created by the sheath and metal giving him a bit of confidence. He roared into the distance, " Show yourself!" , returned only by his echoes. Increasingly frightened, he ran in the direction of the Place, where it's protection would make him feel safe. As he began the climb down, he heard something giggle in the caves far beneath him. It sounded like adults and children laughing. The noise, amplified, created a huge course of chanting, echoing off the walls again and again.
    Keeping his cool, Conor proceeded to gather up supplies, taking food, fluids, and other items he thought would help him and his friend. Putting the booty into a large rugsack, he began the climb back up, painfully slow due to the weight. Eventually, as his hand grasped the top, Conor smiled triumphantly, pulling himself up. Breathless, he lay for a minute, until he got back up and crawled out of the cave, vunerable, afraid. He wasn't able to get to town quickly, the weight was majorly hindering him, keeping him from going anything quicker than a slightly slow walk. The feeling came back. Conor desparately tried to go quicker, but his eyes went wide and he froze in his tracks when a sinister, menacing voice that seemed extremely familiar whispered in his ear, " Oh, hello." Conor gave a shout of suprise, and whirled around, but it was too late. The figure footsweeped him. Conor fell like a ton of bricks, the weight of the bag proving to be too heavy. As he struggled to get up, the person had already pinned him, holding his arms down, leaving Conor in a very difficult position. He jerked his head up, the figure obviously hadn't been expecting such an attack, and screeched in suprise as Conor headbutted him( Her, it?) in the nose. He glared up into the now bloody face of a person he knew all too well...
    Although now dripping blood from the nose, Conor saw that the figure was his uncle Andrew. Andrew had been living in the town since Conor was six years old, but Conor had never really been close with him in any sort of way, reasons being Andrew was cruel, mean and generally an ass to him. He was anti-children material, although he didn't look it; Friendly blue eyes, shiny brown hair, casual clothing of a green jumper and blue jeans.
    Conor proceeded with his struggle, pulling his arms out of Andrew's grip. Andrew got off him, picking Conor up by the collar.
    " Out of all the people I know, it has to be you that I'm stuck with." Andrew growled at him.
    " Stuck with? You are in NO way, coming with us." Conor returned the attack. Andrew seemed puzzled.
    " There's more of you? Brilliant, we could fo-" Conor cut him off. " There's only my friend Sean." Andrew laughed.
    " Heh, I bet you couldn't last more than half an hour out in the night. You need me, face it." Conor proceeded to start a furious rant about how they had survived the last night, how they were perfectly capable of minding themselves. Andrew only laughed even harder, calling it dumb luck and saying ' You two couldn't last the night even if you were armed with weapons for kingdom come!' Conor remembered about Andre Automatic's gunstore. It would be worth a look if Sean hadn't already done that. Conor's face twisted into a sly smile. He suddenly swung his left leg up, right into Andrew's groin.
    " Right in the crown jewels, 'buddy'." Conor winked, as Andrew lay on the ground moaning. He picked up his rucksack, and continued his slow walk back to town. Andrew would no doubt be after him, but for the moment he was okay. He continued onto town, throwing the heavy bag over the rubble, and then climbing it. His back was aching, as he realized he wouldn't be able to carry all of this very far every day.
    Conor eventually arrived back at the meeting place they had arranged, where Sean was perfectly organised. Among the supplies they had obtained were two katana-style blades, a large flask of water made of animal skin, a bow with some rather blunt arrows, some bread, a half-pig courtesy of Sean's house, a few long since burned out torches, and a full chicken. Combined with Conor's share of things, Sean reckoned they had enough food to last them the rest of the month, which would hopefully be enough food for them to get to a safe haven. Time was becoming precious, the sun high up in the sky, slightly past noon. Conor explained his encounter with Andrew, and that he was probably the one who was giving them that ominous feeling. Sean laughed when Conor told him he whacked him up in the groin, despite their perilous situation. They both decided privately they would get their kicks in any way they could.
    " Right, so, what's the plan? Staying at the town is a particularly bad idea, if the dead become undead from last night." Conor pondered.
    " Yeah, I mean, you've seen the way zombies operate." Sean agreed. " But what direction should we go? More towns have been taken over, so maybe we should just stay here." Conor shook his head furiously.
    " No. I'm not taking that chance if they haven't moved on and if the dead here return to life, we're seven big, bloody shades of screwed." Sean muttered to himself.
    " ... Not like we have much of a chance anyway", out of Conor's earshot. Conor continued to talk. " I'd say we head south, to the jungle. North would be ideal, but you know the deal in the Ocean of Sand. ' A fight for survival, every moment is like walking on knives.
    If we head east, we go for the Regasean Icelands. We aren't equipped for those sort of harsh temperatures, they go... pretty far down off the scales. What we really need to do is find a stronghold. There would be my best bet, but we can't get there as it is.
    West. Nobody in Terraria has ever gone too far west. It's meant to be something like paradise on the other side, according to myth." Conor finished. Sean looked puzzled.
    " The other side? What's inbetween?" Conor shivered slightly, shook his head, and looked up.
    " The corruption."
    Chapter 3: The first night is always the worst.
    Sean knew nothing of the corruption, so Conor gave him a brief rundown. Sean listened intently, eyes widening whenever Conor said something gross.
    "... And then when you're helpless before them, they take your soul." Conor gave a dark grin. Sean pulled a face, and then became serious again.
    " So, the question is... What direction do we go?" Conor pondered for a moment, before coming up with an answer.
    " We go south, where the jungle will hinder both us... and them." Sean shook his head firmly.
    " North. If we can get past the desert, then we should be safe. On the other side... Big, thriving cities. We should head there." Conor shook his head again.
    " Exactly the place for zombies to strike. Down south, there's a large jungle. We could use it to shelter. Don't be stupid with that sort of big equals safe assumption." Sean wasn't convinced.
    " Fine. You go south to your jungle, where you die. I'm gonna take a chance and head north. Gimme some loot." Sean commented finally, reaching for Conor's rugsack. Conor backed away protectively.
    " Splitting up will only put us in more danger than we already are. I mean, it's alre-" Conor gasped, looking up at the sky. Sean followed his gaze. The sun. It was setting into the west, dying the sky a bright pink-orange colour. Conor looked at Sean, met with a gaze of panic.
    " W- What the hell should we do?!" Conor cried.
    " U- Uhm, b- back t- to the, the Place!" Sean roared, making a dash for the cave. Conor squealed, not able to go as quickly due to his heavy handicap. By the time he reached there, the sun had nearly disappeared completely from the sky. He threw the bag in first, and dived through, and Sean began patching up the gap with branches, rocks, leaves, anything to stop hell from getting in. Conor clambered down onto the ground area, laying all their stuff on the ground. Sean's weapons would come in handy, the katanas he had found in town would be of benefit, along with his bow. Conor slowly looked up, where Andrew was sitting casually on one of the lumpy, uneven rocks. Conor gave a roar of outrage.
    " What the bloody hell are you doing here?!?" Andrew shrugged.
    " Surviving, maybe? Anyways, you need me, so long as I carry this." Andrew, slowly pulled something from a holster, making a slight metal sound. It was a gun. Conor looked it up and down. It was truly a beautiful piece. It was a long, sleek, and shiny piece of metal. A handgun. Conor recognised it from the display at Andre's shop. Andrew must of taken it while him and Sean were arguing.
    " Right, so, you ready, kiddo?" Andrew smirked. Conor nodded, breath taken by the gun. "Let's head up to where your mate is." and they began climbing using the small footholds. Sean seemed to have the situation under control, the entrance blocked very well. Suddenly, there was a heavy shower of loud growls, howls, and roars and shouts, none of which sounded humanic. The first night had begun.
    Andrew took the position of chief general, loading the handgun. Conor pulled his sword out, katanas laying close by in the case he lost his weapon. It didn't occur to Conor that he had no idea how to use those sort of dual-handed weapons; The heat and adrenaline of the moment meant that Conor cared about nothing but surviving. Sean drew several knives which Conor hadn't noticed from his shirt pocket, ready to fling them into the bodies of anything that crossed them. Sean's bow would not be much use here; It was far too cramped, leaving the bow a bad weapon at such close range.
    A growl at the entrance. Then a scratch. Then a roar. Followed by a scratching for several seconds. And then, a thump. Several heavy blows whacked down on the entrance, continuing in quick succession. The barricade wasn't lasting very long. Judging by the speed it was being dissembled at, it would be just over ten minutes before they broke through. The group would have to stop them before that happened.
    A finger pushed it's way through the wall of defence, waving and throbbing frantically. Conor stared at it for a moment. It was a digusting brown-greenish colour, dry pus staining it a dull yellow. He didn't have very long to examine it, Andrew took aim, and blasted it off with a single shot. The dismantled finger fell to the ground with a squelch. Andrew crushed it beneath his feet.
    " Better be safe than sorry, y'know?" he grinned nervously. All of the sudden there was an incredible crunch from the other side of the barricade, throwing several of the branches off the defence. The undead must of been throwing themselves wildly at it, not wanting to miss the opportunity of a meal. A whole arm punched through, grabbing and twisting wildly like it was some sort of demented rodeo. It was Conor's turn. He gave a battle-cry, and lunged at the hand, slicing at it with his blade. There was a disgusting noise following the impact. A slash; The sword swiping down on the hand. A crunch; The sword had smashed through the bone. A roar of pain and a gross, squishy sound as the hand came loose, falling to the floor. All three of them knew that this easy limb-picking wouldn't continue. Sooner or later, whole bodies of them would break through, trying to get their hands, teeth, and fingers on their organs. It was then when their world went to hell.
    The barricade gave a heavy groan, the damage taking it's toll on it. It gave a shudder, before collapsing, leaving nothing but a pile of rubble and broken sticks between the zombies, and their meals. Everything seemed to freeze to Conor for a moment. He mouthed several dirty curse words, jaw dropped at what he saw. A big horde of zombies. About forty or fifty of them. Hungry. Deadly. Merciless. It was then when he saw a zombie properly, detailed.
    It was a horrifying specimen, truly terror in it's true form. It was a tall, thin figure. It had long, black, matted hair, bloodshot red eyes, blood and... things speckling it's face. It's mouth was drooling. Clothes torn to shreds. Skin was a deathly pale. Wounds covering it's neck and arms. Pus slowly growing out of it. A mucus, vomit-like green colour. Even more disgusting, it had maggots on it. Freakish little bug-resembling vermin. They were inside the wounds, feasting on the delicious, warm flesh within. It wasn't until Conor took another breath that he was hit with the worst feature; The smell. This many rotten corpses was too much for Conor. He stumbled sideways, dropped his sword and threw up. The smell of death and rotting was absolutely repulsive. As he puked his guts up, the undead began to advance.
    The other two were better composed, coughing slightly, but nothing major. Andrew began pumping bullets into the bodies of them, hitting each of them with a powerful blow. The bullets created small sparks of light as they left the chamber, illuminating Andrew's terrified face. He kept shooting, until he ran out, and had to reload.
    Sean was hurling knives mercilessly into the arms, legs and bodies of the undead, splattering himself with gore in the process. He was a natural with all sorts of ranged weapons. His and Andrew's combination was doing quite well, forcing the undead into a small retreat. Being brainless, they continued on, regardless of their personal safety.
    As Conor recovered from his vomit attack, he picked up his sword, beginning to jab and parry at the oncoming attackers. He gave a triumphant whoop as he decapitated the head of one, slashing into the bodies of others. The trio was doing quite well, but the night was young, and they would have to keep this up for at least eight more hours, which was unlikely.
    " Careful!" Andrew snarled, yanking Conor back before a zombie grabbed him. Conor took a quick glance at his sword. It was incredibly bloody, a steady drip of the fluid slowly flowing down it. Andrew was continuing with his steady bullet barrage. Sean gave a curse, running out of knives.
    " I'm outta knives!" He roared, grabbing for the katanas. He gave a hearty battle roar, before jumping right back into the middle of the action, cutting and slicing madly at the zombies. Conor's blade impaled itself straight through a zombie, but he pulled it back out, moving onto the next one. It wasn't until he had landed several fatal blows to a couple of them until he realized something; For all the damage he was doing, none of his attacks were having any proper effect on the dead, just slowing them down. Conor had no time to think, slicing a nasty wound open on one of them. As he continued to focus on this one monster, it looked down, gurgled angrily, and walked on. None of his attacks were working.
    Meanwhile, Sean was going crazy, spinning and flicking his blades around like some sort of circus juggler. He stabbed one of the dead in the neck, causing it to gasp before falling to the ground, down but not out. Andrew was taking the fight to anyone who came at him, bullets shattering their brains with incredible force. His opposition were dying as soon as they looked at him. Conor's swordplay was doing nothing, Sean's attacks were only hindering them, so it seemed the only one doing any real damage was Andrew with his gun.
    The routine was slowly broken; Sean and Conor's swordplay began to go sloppy as they started tiring from the constant strain on their arms, swinging and cutting. Conor gave a heavy sigh, drawing his sword around in a broad arc and making a solid chop down the unfortunate victim. Conor tried to pull his sword out, but it was wedged firmly in the zombie; He couldn't pull it out, leaving him near defenceless.
    Andrew eventually gave a curse, looking down to reload once more, but the ammunition box gave no sound. It was empty.
    " Hey, you two, I'm outta ammo!" He roared at Conor and Sean, looking around for something to use as a weapon. But it was too late, as soon as their main source of firepower had gone, undead began to spill into the cave like some sort of rotting river of disease and body parts.
    " He- Heeeeeeeeelp!" Andrew cried in fear, as several zombies grabbed at him, pulling at his green but now bloodstained jumper. He let loose several brutal punches, all of which were shrugged off. He was pulled into the crowd of mutant humans, screaming, shouting...
    Conor's last view of Andrew was his hand outstretched towards him. Conor could have grabbed the hand, maybe pulled him to safety. But no, there was too many. Conor's view was obscured, as a zombie bit into Andrew's hand, and that was the end of him.
    With one down, Conor began to make a hasty retreat. Sean had been surrounded by zombies; He was standing on a tall rock, although he was safe for the moment, soon they would climb it and overwhelm him.
    " Bloody hell... Conor, d- don't leave me... Please..." Sean's expression was contorted into one of fear and hopefulness, a strange combination. Conor took a step back. They were all going to die. Brave Andrew, who had helped them so far in their survival, and his best friend Sean. Everything seemed to freeze. Conor looked at his friend, who he had known since he was up on two legs. Innocent, carefree. He felt his life flashing back to his days with Sean.
    When he was six, Conor had met Sean at the local school. The rivalship which had began over the spelling of 'Terraria' gradually formed one of the best friendships you could ever imagine. As time went on, they began to hang out with each other more. Sean would come over to Conor, or vice-versa. They would go hunting together, play jokes on people, do everything together. They were almost like brothers. And he was about to die a gruesome fate.
    Conor took a step back. He was being ignored for the moment. He noticed the undead moved like a pack of wolves. Focusing on one target each, instead of an unorganised rush charge, which probably would have ended with several being trampled underfoot, and general confusion. Time flashed back to normal. He began to hear screams, growls and roars. A zombie had grabbed Sean's leg. In response, he naturally kicked out at it. Bad move. More grabbed hold, pulling him down. Another scream. Sean had fallen down into the mob of the undead, the beginning of his end. This was too much for Conor. He gave a howl of sorrow-filled agony, and began to run. Run off into the caves. He was crying, he didn't care where he went, he just wanted to get away from the cave of death. Death, sorrow and sacrifice. He ran on and on, constantly tripping in the darkness of the caves. Eventually he fell over on a large rock, fell down a small chasm, and everything went black.

    Chapter 4: Alone?

    Conor had been lying unconscious in the chasm for the best part of six or seven hours. As he slowly came to, he was instantly alerted to a pounding pain in his head, several flesh wounds cut open on sharp rocks. His right hand was almost certainly useless, with a dislocated thumb sticking out at a demented angle, causing him quite a lot of pain. As Conor flexed his fingers, he instantly regretted the decision. His fourth finger on his left hand gave a loud crack; It had been in bad shape when he fell, flexing his fingers seemed to break the joint loose completely. He gave a cry of agony. He was alone in the dark. No way to see. No way to see what was in the darkness. Conor felt himself breaking into a nervous breakdown, unable to get the picture of Sean's face out of his mind. Conor would have died too, but to die a warrior's death was a noble death.
    But no, he had ran. It was his fault they were all dead. Now he was alone, in this barren shell of a country named Terraria. He sat in the dark, screaming and cursing wildly. The screams returned. Mocking him, telling him it was all his fault. Conor clutched his head, roaring 'STOP IT! STOP IT, PLEASE!' but there was no stopping what he had created. The echoes danced around him, teasing and cursing him.
    For a moment, a split second, Conor's eyes flashed a red colour. He gave a roar of fury. The echoes finished. Conor breathed in and out, not knowing what the hell had just happened. But the roar had stopped him in his tracks. It hadn't sounded much like him at all. However, it had knocked him out of his state of self-loathing. He wasn't able to do much with broken bones.
    Eventually, Conor settled on making a plan. He would feel his way through the dark with his hands, and if he was lucky he would find something to help him. He walked blindly forward, eventually hitting the cold, rock surface of the wall. It was smooth here, easier to keep by the wall. He tripped and stumbled constantly, and nearly fell down into large holes of darkness and death.
    After what seemed like an entire era, but couldn't have been more than an hour or so, Conor spotted a burning torch. He winced at first, the unexpected light source hurt his eyes. But it was most certainly the best place to aim for. He began to go into a fast walk towards it, but it was tricky; Parts of his body were in incredible agony, and he couldn't manage a very fast pace.
    Eventually he arrived, warming himself by the warm flame. As he looked around, he noticed it was next to a large, wood cabin. The wood was scratched and slightly worn-down, the results of monsters trying to get in. Conor found a door at the back, pushing it open. It gave a heavy creak, sticking in place, it hadn't been well-oiled. He gave it a more forceful pull. If Conor had been at full strength, he would've been able to do the task, but he was feeble and weak right now. Frustrated, he grabbed the torch, and lit the door on fire.
    The flames slowly devoured the door, licking and cackling at the delicious meal. Conor found a spot where it wasn't burning, and pulled the door off it's melting hinges. He pushed the burning door aside, letting the flames go out; It was a cold atmosphere and nothing could burn brightly for so long. Conor snuffed out the few remaining flames trying to catch on the wooden cabin, before going in.
    It was a rather dim sort of lighting. A few chain lanterns hung from the roof, giving off an ominous green style of light. Conor looked around. This was definetely a strange find. He looked into the corner, seeing something gleaming. It was a chest made of solid gold.
    Conor gave a gasp, before running over to it, his feet making an alarmingly loud creaking noise on the wood. He began to pull it open. The chest moved easily with his push. Inside, Conor analysed what was in it. At first he saw nothing but an empty bottle. As he zoomed in on the plain sight, he noticed something in it. There was a cloud in it. A cloud, trapped in the confines of the bottle. Thinking it was odd, he put it in his bag. Conor zoomed around to examine the rest of the contents. Some arrows, a small stack of throwing knives, and some gold bars. Conor whistled. He had never seen solid gold before. Now there was eight bars of the stuff right in front of him.
    Conor had been surprised to see the gold at first, but now his mind was focused on how it had gotten there in the first place. This was the cave where the mining expedition had gone wrong, which was a large possibility. He couldn't think of any other logical explanation. As time went on, he began to wonder what to do next. He was in extremely bad physical condition with his pounding headaches and smashed bones. It felt like every ten seconds a stick of dynamite was going off in his head.
    He sat in cabin for about an hour, before mustering the strength to go outside it. Using the torch at the door, he looked around the cavern. It was of decent size. Conor could see the bottom; There was water reflecting clearly in the torch. As he looked down, he noticed the pool would ripple and become unsettled every now and then. Conor closed his eyes, listening intently for every little small sound. In the practically deathly silent confines of the cave, even the sound of a pebble dropping could be heard. He heard nothing at first except his breathing, but as his hearing continued to focus down on a single noise, he began to hear.
    A tiny plop as a drop of water fell. A miniature thud as a small rock shifted position. This wasn't what Conor had been looking for. He listened on for another few minutes. He was about to give up when he heard an extremely faint constant noise. Even over the sound of a footstep, it was crushed. He homed in the noise, visualising what it could be. As it continued to go on, Conor eventually found the noise he had been looking for; The sound of a roaring river.
    It was so far away, it could barely be heard. But Conor figured his best course of action was to follow the river upstream, until he found it's opening point at the surface. Sure, he was safe down underground, but there was very little to be obtained other than the near-zero chance of finding one of the cabins. No food. Water would be plentiful, but without some sort of food he wouldn't survive the month. Conor drooled over the thought of food. A delicious chicken. Roasted on a cooking pot. Conor remembered several weeks ago, the smell of it cooking. The mixture of smells from the kitchen was mouth-watering. When he managed to eat his mother's delicacies, the food literally melted in his mouth. The crisp edge on the chicken was his favourite part. The dinner tasted like food sent from paradise. After it, Conor would usually go outside for a final hour, before going to bed. His warm, comfy bed.
    Conor didn't want anything but to put his head down and go to sleep, but he knew that if he did, he would be too weak to wake up by the time he was fully rested. He pushed himself on. With a groan, he began gathering together everything he needed. When he was ready, he began slowly scaling down the cave towards the roar.
    Walking. Walking. Stumble. Swear. Walking. Walking. Tripping. Grunt. Get back up. Walking. Talking to himself. Groan of hunger. Rub belly. Stop. Look around. Yawn. Keep walking.
    This process repeated itself for the better part of two hours before Conor saw any real signs of life in the cave. The river was a real beauty. Several metres wide, roaring currents, a clear, transparent colour. It was roughly a metre deep; Easy to stand in. Conor stuck his leg in, in case he'd be swept away by any unseen currents. The water was rough, but not bad enough to sent him sweeping away into the blackness. Conor looked down the river. Black nothingness filled his vision, the light from his torch not extending far enough. This system of caves was empty. He had encountered no form of life in the caves, and he was slightly scared; There had to be some sort of reason why this was. He leaned down over the water, cupping it in his hands and beginning to drink, ever alert. The water was deliciously cold. The drink brought Conor back to his senses as he splashed it on his face.
    After a short break, he began moving again. Heading upstream, where he figured if he followed it, he would come to rest near a mountain or somewhere. He began to slowly trudge up through the water, grunting or moaning to himself about how his life had gone to hell in the space of two days. Conor suddenly stopped, thinking for a short moment. If two days ago had been the day it all started... Conor released a tear from his eyes. Today was his birthday. His fourteenth year alive. Would he live to see another? Or was he doomed to die a gruesome death like Sean and Andrew?
    He began walking again, deep in thought. He nearly veered off the river into a cave at one point, but stopped himself as he noticed the coldness below his stomach. He had been walking for what seemed like an age. At one stage he wondered whether he would ever get out, but that was dismissed. He was confident he would reach the surface soon.
    He stopped for breaks every hour, drinking the cold water. He wished it had been food. It was so familiar to him, yet it was mythical in such a situation as his. Time was running out for him. He began to stop for breaks more frequently, and he had to rest for longer too. Death was slowly overwhelming him. He was dying of hunger, and although he could go on, eventually he would kneel over, and be able to do nothing but lie on the ground, waiting to die.
    He had nearly abandoned hope completely, until he saw a glimmer of light in the far distance. He blinked, and blinked again. Was he hallucinating? The hunger pains were causing him to see... things. But no. This was real. The river went upstream to the light. Conor smiled triumphantly. Making use of certain resources he hadn't known he had, he pushed himself to get up to the light. He began to run towards it. After mere seconds, he had pushed out of the cave, out of the dark stomach of Terraria. He raised his arms in triumph, embracing himself in the sunlight.
    Conor only began to study his surroundings after he got over his moment of triumph. He looked around. The area looked fairly normal, some trees, bushes, the usual deal. It was in such a place as this where it looked like the attacks had never happened. No undead there to scare him. Conor began to climb a tree, wondering where he was.
    The view from the top was brilliant. In the far off distance, he spotted a massive lake that stretched nearly as far as his eye could see. It was shining brightly in the morning sun. To his right, he saw a set of mountains gradually climbing from his location. He covered his eyes with his hands, looking off in the general direction of the sun. The grasslands gradually turned into mush, muck and mud as they went on in this direction. Conor was no genius on geography, but he figured it led to the jungle. He pondered for a while, wondering what his next course of action would be. His train of thought was cut short when a sharp pain erupted from within his stomach. He was still starving.
    At least on the surface he stood a chance of getting something to eat. He had no bow, just his sword, so hunting down something might be tricky. He crouched behind a rock, waiting for something to pass by. He didn't have to wait long. Roughly five minutes after his initial hiding, a big, rather stupid looking rabbit lumbered by. Conor fell on it without mercy. He dashed up behind it, severing it's neck before it had a chance to run. Conor examined it more closely. It was a clear white specimen, well-fed and big-eyed. He was actually more than well-fed. He was more... chubby than anything. Conor wasted no time cleaning the rabbit. He shivered, plunging his hands into the guts of it. He shouldn't have to deal with this sort of thing. Being alone sucked.
    After the cleansing, Conor began to look for the most important element; The fire. The area around him was dry, but he had nothing to cut down a tree with. In the end, he settled on pulling a few thick branches off trees, trying to create a spark using two sticks. It was tricky. The spark didn't catch the stick often, and when it did it often snuffed out quickly. Conor gave a curse, trying twice as hard now. Eventually a small flame cackled into life. He gazed, dumbstruck at the flame, before scrambling to feed it the branches and leaves he had gathered. The light caught. He had started a fire.
    Conor grinned again. It was in times such as this that you had to appreciate the things you took for granted before. Conor then started to cook the rabbit, making sure it cooked correctly on all sides. If he didn't, parasites might get into the food, and poison it. Conor took the rabbit off the makeshift stove. It smelt nice. Not his mother's standard, but it would suffice. He sniffed it again, shrugged, and began to dig into it.
    An hour later Conor was fed and quenched. All he needed now was shelter. No makeshift area would work, zombies would decimate it within the night. He stared at the fire, occasionally poking it with a stick for more warmth, wondering what to do next. He was cut short, when he heard a voice. Conor froze. Had he just heard someone? He heard it again.
    " Hey! Kid!" Conor scrambled up, pulling his sword. His mental state wasn't doing so good now that he had nothing to do. He began to dwell on the incident at the Place again. Sean's screams, Andrew making a final grab for him, him running awa... No. Conor would do it later, when he was safe. If he ever was.
    Chapter 5: When it all goes south.
    Conor gazes uncertainly into the distance. There was a small group of people making his way for him. They walked too normally to stumble and throw up like zombies. Conor grabbed his sword, looking more closely at them. At the lead, there was a man who looked friendly. He gave Conor a wave as he came closer. Behind him, there was a burly, large man who's muscles seemed to bulge out from under his bloody navy shirt. He was carrying a dangerous looking spear, which was almost as long as him. Beside him, a third. He was an old geyser. Conor reckoned he looked over eighty or ninety years old. His cloak was torn and ripped, and his legs were shaking like jelly. He seemed to be on his last legs, coughing and wheezing dementedly. At the back of the group, there was a woman. She had shiny brown hair, which seemed to blow in slow motion in a slight morning breeze. She was carrying a heavy looking shotgun, but she handled it with ease.
    Conor clutched his sword uncertainly. The group came to a stop ten or so metres from him. The friendly man spoke first.
    " Hey, uh... kid. You alright?" He spoke with an edge of suprise. After all, he was out in the middle of the Terrarian countryside by himself. Conor shook his head dumbly.
    " I'm not doing the best. Everyone I know is dead. I might as well be dead." Conor mumbled. The man shared several glances with the group, before he walked up to Conor. He put his arm around his shoulder, in a comforting but somewhat awkward motion.
    "What's your name, boy?" He spoke gently, as if talking to a puppy or a kitten.
    "Conor. It doesn't really matter though." The man forced a smile.
    "Well, Conor. You're in luck. We're here to help you, okay?" He continued on at a rather boringly slow speed, explaining who they were. Conor listened intently; There was nothing else to do.
    The lead man was an average enough guy called Ryan. He had been out hunting at the time of the breakout, and his family were all dead. He had wandered aimlessly before grouping up with the brute force of the pack, Terrence. He was an incredibly street-tough fighter, who had been living out in the countryside, picking fights with man... and beast. His brutal looking spear had been sharpened to the point where merely putting your finger on it would draw blood. The shaft was well-worn, and the whole weapon was covered in a thin layer of dried blood. Before meeting Ryan, he had no idea that the apocalypse had happened; Out in the middle of the countryside, people were fairly rare to see, aside from the occasional village or cottage.
    The third in the group, the old man, was called Hortimer. He was the one who looked useless and slow, wobbling on his twig-like legs. Ryan and Terrence had found him at the edge of a village, standing in front of a pile of dead zombies. They hadn't asked questions at the time about what the hell had happened, but the rest of the group seemed to avoid him, like he was... different in some way. In fourth, there was the woman. She looked rather comedical to Conor. She was young, and quite pretty. However, the shotgun and the cold gaze in her green eyes gave her the appearance of what Conor thought looked like a snake. Her name was Carly. She had come from a wealthy part of her town. Her father had been a successful gunsmith, and as a result, when the infection broke out, she was... well ready, you might say. Upon closer examination, Conor noticed the pack she had on her contained several more guns, their barrels looked deadly, and vicious.
    " You get all that kid? You looked pretty absent-minded to me." Ryan looked down at him. Conor nodded quickly, wincing slightly as his broken fingers cracked. Ryan followed his pained groans, looking at the visible bones sticking out of his flesh. Conor hadn't even looked at it; Too focused on staying alive. Now that he was with others, Conor allowed himself a long gaze at his wounds.
    Conor blinked as he looked at his hand. His middle and fourth finger were sticking out of his flesh. The red blood around it was as obvious as an elephant in a small room. The blood had dried in, but the bones looked awful. Out of the skin, they were a grey-white colour. Conor felt himself about to throw up, but he swallowed the vomit back down, not wanting to appear weak at the sight of it in front of this many people.

  2. ( Reserved for story )
  3. AyeAye12 Paladin

    Ew.

    I LOVE IT!!!!!!!

    And I love the title xD

    This is brilliant, you had better continue this or I will jack your shups up.
    Super Luigi Brothers likes this.
  4. Monta Herpling

    Love it! Keep writing ;)
  5. Haha, thanks. I've always been a person for reading this sort of dark, gory type of stories. Playing a lot of Left 4 Dead 2 and Slender probably helped a bit with it too. o.o
  6. The complete Chapter 1 is now up! Stay tuned for more on the weekend!
  7. walllster Piranha

    Love it! : )
  8. AyeAye12 Paladin

    Heh, Connor seems to be one delinquent xP

    I like the chapter!
  9. Barely any of my characters are... normal. Most of them are screwed up in one way or another xD

    Thank you! =D
  10. Mr.Person Moth

    I love how people write whole friggin' stories here. : D

    Very good job, Luigi!
  11. Awwww, thanks. It means a lot =)
  12. Kizuna Dark Caster

    Wow. So very detailed!! (unlike my crap writing ^.^,) It seems lately I've ended up reading a lot of books and online stories with a lot of bad stuff happening... But don't mind me, I loved it, absolutely awesome.
  13. Raddion Blazing Wheel

    very good story, i hope you continue it, if it where a book id pay for it xD, btw, you kizuna is the one who showed me your story
  14. Sorry for the lack of updates guys, school's been happening, homework's gotta be done, the usual >.> There'll probably be some more tomorrow and Saturday though.
  15. Awesome! I am probably the fussiest reader in the world but this was awesome. You should feel accomplished :3
  16. Jaguargirl Devourer

    I find your lack of updates...disturbing.
    Had to be done, but now heres Someone Else with OT!
    It's pretty good. I really liked your other one with SLB and the evil dark spirit inside him. It was cool.
  17. Monta Herpling

    I finally got to read more of the story.. I really like it and expect great to come from this, but I had one sentence I disliked:
    "He just thought it was a bad day. He was wrong." I mean.. Foreshadowing is okay, but that just broke the tension. From this sentence on, you could easily tell what would happen next :C
    Enough criticism tho.. Can't wait for more :>
  18. True, true. Come to think of it though, you could sorta predict what was gonna happen Conor from the moment you finish the Prologue. When it'll happen though, you've got a point there. I'll make a note to fix that and prevent it from happening again later on, when things really start heating up ;)
    Anyway, good news! Update to Chapter 2 has been made, where the plot slowly thickens more and more... And wowza, mostly nothing but positive comments so far. Seems more people than I thought enjoy reading gross stuff :3
    Monta likes this.
  19. thelastflame50 Umbrella Slime

    I bet 50 pokos that the person is his mom.
  20. Monta Herpling

    "You feel an evil presence watching you."
    I bet she secretly is the Eye of Cthulhu.

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