Hey guys.

Guess what? I'm not dead. But I've looked back at what I've done.

Only one thing sprang to mind: "holy shit, what was I on when I wrote this?"

So that's why this exists now.

Ladies, gentlemen, helicopters of all stages, I bring to you:

Legend of Ender: REWRITTEN.

You may be wondering, how did all of this get to this point?

Well, sit down, and let me tell you a tale.

It's a long goddamn story, so you just sit tight and listen to this sonnet of betrayal, time travel, superpowers, loss and general mental breakdowns.

It began, as all good stories do, with an island. Floating in space.

What, were you expecting it to be not in space? Tough luck, that's where it is now.

It's this massive yellowy-coloured thing, floating out in orbit around [PLANET NAME REDACTED], in the middle of ass-nowhere, Paradox Space, I guess.

So, let's zoom in, take a look at whatever protagonist may be budding here. Maybe jump a few years back in time too.

Okay, there's our protagonist.

No, you dumbass, not that one. The guy behind him. The guy in front is going to die pretty soon, but nobody is supposed to know that yet.

Alright. The stage is set.

Let's begin our tale.

A young boy wandered the streets of Einur (Yes, that's what the city is called. Deal with it.). This city was somewhere in the south of whatever this mysterious yellow island was. And by 'south' I mean 'the bit facing towards the planet'. He wasn't especially tall, standing just shy of five foot eight in stature, and with a pair of massive purple goggles strapped to the top of his head. He was rather plainly dressed, with a black shirt and matching trousers, and a dark grey shirt and darker trenchcoat over the top. Nobody paid any mind to him, of course: this was typical fashion around here, everybody owned a similar coat, each with their own detailed cut and coloured trimming.

An interesting note about this society is that there are different blood colours, but only as a technicality. All the colours are shades of purple, from lavender to magenta to royal, all the way to the deep, dark purple of our apparent protagonist. This dark shade marked him as a member of one of the more… disliked families.

This family was the Nightblades.

Nightblades were most known for their vast knowledge of other worlds. Or, as the other Clans put it, their capability to spout meaningless bullshit from off the tops of their heads.

Like I said, people don't really like them.

This particular young man's name was Ender, and he was the second son (first, if you don't count the dead older brother) in what was to be the last of the Nightblades. Eventually. Unless you're counting any post-canon developments that may occur.

Ender himself was fairly average. He was decently strong, able to haul obsidian crates like anyone his age (i.e. with only mild difficulty), and had a mild aptitude for magic, as his bloodline did. His weapon of choice ended up becoming twin blades, simply because he saw no need for defence when he could simply finish his opponent at whatever pace he felt like, be it fast or slow.

But one thing set him apart from so many others: a small scar, on his right hand, shaped like a three-pointed star. This scar was reminiscent of some old magic. Ancient, even. There was another who had a matching scar, but she was gone. Long gone, and he would likely never see her here again.

She had been his best friend. His only friend, once.

Then he met Palacen.

Herocryphe Palacen (who was generally just referred to as Palacen) was a picture-perfect example of his clan: strong, brave, and loyal to a fault. He would sooner end his life than let a friend come to harm. And said friend he found in Ender. The most popular kid ever, hanging out with one of the most rejected and overlooked guys anyone had ever attempted to avoid laying eyes on. It was enough to make heads turn, at least for a while.

At the time, Ender was following Palacen to the Council Chamber. The Council was short a member due to his brother's recent death, and Ender was the next most qualified candidate. Or something to that effect.

He was brought before the dragon. The council stared down at him.

And with a roar, the dragon spewed darkened clouds around him, which slowly solidified, condensed into something small, round, and tangible. And only just small enough for him to hold it in one hand.

It was a small, purple orb.

As he reached out to grab it, he noted how it glowed with the same strange colour that made up his blood. It was a most curious occurrence, but he paid no heed to it, being only thirty-five-thousand (one year on the yellow rock lasts about 12.5 Earth minutes - this time measurement system will almost certainly never be used again) at the time. He had no idea what he was getting into.

He made contact with it.

In an instant, years' worth of knowledge flooded through his system. He instantly learned how to fight, how to lead, how to find, and how to destroy. Pure, unrelenting power coursed through his veins, being greedily absorbed by every part of his body, raising his inner strength higher than anyone had thought possible for someone like him. A liquid courage poured through his veins, steeling his nerves and lubricating his brain.

Then, as quickly as it had started, it was already over. The orb looked at him with a steely determination. It lay there, cold in his palm. A faint electrical tingle pulsed through every once in a while.

The dragon began to speak.

First came the standard "welcome to the ranks of the council" talk, and after that was the "don't do stupid shit" talk. He'd heard it all before. More than once.

Then the dragon looked Ender dead in the eyes. There was something he wanted to say.

But it was at that moment that the fire nation Order attacked.

There was a massive shockwave, and the wall of the chamber collapsed.

In the hole were standing four figures. They were all clad in armor, and wore strange masks.

The first was tall, and muscular. Even though his face was obscured, you could feel the enraged snarl on his face from a mile away.

The second was a medium height, and very thin. He clearly didn't excel in physical combat, but he exuded an air of well-founded egotism.

The third was clearly female, and stood readily poised with a tall, white sceptre. Ender's newly-found instincts made it very clear that that stick was a bad stick.

But it was the fourth that drew his attention. Clad in dark gold plate mail, with a mask shaped like a horror. His eyes, barely visible, seemed to glow with a strange, eldritch power. It was as if this fourth member was possessed by something far more powerful than anyone could ever have imagined. He spoke in a smooth, deep voice, with a dark, demonic undertone to it.

"Hello. Time to die."

And it was at that time that all hell broke loose.

And… that ends exactly where the original first chapter did! Look at how much better I've gotten!

Up from 146 words all the way to over a thousand!

I have tweaked/will tweak a few bits of lore here and there, to fit with what I've been secretly been noting down without any of your knowledge. I also moved it up to a T rating, so now I'm allowed to swear a bit more.

And then, of course, PLEASE let me know whether you think that I should continue rewriting this, and if you have any suggestions for plot improvements then I'd be happy to listen!

In any case, it's time to end it as we always do.

Ender OUT!