Here is an ongoing story I have been writing for the last month or so. Currently, we're on the sixth chapter.
It started before November but since I enjoyed the potential story, and characters I decided to try and complete it as part of NaNoWriMo. Although, here we are in December and I'm still working on it.
Currently, I have a feeling the Eighth chapter will be the final one, however, it could go on a bit longer than that depending on how things unfold.
Slowly, the pain drifted away. What was once excruciating, became bearable. Shortly after that, M'Trada felt as though he hadn't been injured at all.
His movement was still slow, and he felt stiff. The memory of how he felt was seared into his mind, and from that, he felt that he was just unconsciously being careful not to cause himself any more harm.
Gunfire was still present, all around, and beyond that, the shouting was everywhere. Both sides were roaring at each other, and their words were echoing from the large area.
The dust had started to clear, and he could see the place fully. Around them were makeshift barriers, and debris. Old machinery by the look of. Many of the retinue were ducked behind it, and returning fire at unseen shadows. Bodies piled high, mostly malnourished waifs. They too were being used as ramshackled defenses.
None of it was here before. Or was it? He wondered. Maybe it was always here. But, he could not help feeling disorientated by how the place looked now. A lapse in time may have occurred.
"How long was I gone for?" He asked the Mulu, Meeha, the one in charge of this place.
"You?" The Mulu looked around absent-mindedly. "I don't know. I couldn't tell you how long we've been down here fighting these scumbags." He started to laugh. It wasn't a joyous, instead, it was maniacal. Desperate.
"Who's winning?" M'Trada asked him. The Mulu was flying high, and smiled at the question.
"We are. We always win." He said. "We're winners. That's why we're not the ones down in this pit. That's why we're better armed and armoured. That's why I can continue to rule, long after everyone uprising." He started to laugh even harder than before.
"That's right! His excellency is known as such." Gael sniveled from over the Mulu's shoulder.
"Gael understand how things are." The Mulu said as he patted the man on the head. An act that invoked much pleasure in the broken Human. It was bizarre, to say the least, and M'Trada was left feeling more uncomfortable with each passing moment he spent with these people. It would be worth it, he knew that much. "Well Trisken, are you ready for battle? Or, do you need more meds?"
"I think I'm ready." M'Trada lied. In actuality, he didn't want to fight these people. He didn't think he was even that capable, but there was little choice. He knew he had to at least show that he was trying to help.
He stood up as straight as his fused scales allowed him, and he unholstered his pistol. It wasn't the best weapon in the world, but it had been his main firearm for as long as he could remember.
Ducking, to walk more comfortably. Limping to the forward defenses. He could hear cheering from the Mulu, and that gave him the push to continue.
As he reached the barrier, he slumped against it on his right side, and slid to one knee. Numb to any and all pain.
Mounting himself on the barrier, he raised his left hand and started firing. There was nothing there; nothing that he could see. M'Trada just wanted to seem as if he knew what he was doing. Some he fired blind, some he poked his head up to have a look. Nothing. He peeked up once more and saw a shot from the distance. It was way off and hit the ground in front of their position, but he saw where it came from. He aimed. Hands unsteady, he tried to regain control of himself. Waiting for a moment to watch. Taking a breath. Fire. One shot flew at the position the shot came from, and while he was ready, he let off another three. All of them landed near where the shot came from, but there was no confirmation of a kill.
The noise continued. The shouting continued. The gunfire continued. After the first few shots were let off, M'Trada found it much easier to fire. Soon, things slowed down, and the returnfire was almost non-existent.
