Chapter One: Trudging Through the Ashes

The Lich King's plague of undeath had spread through the Capital City. From there it had gone into the outskirts of Lordaeron. The forces of Lordaeron were shocked and disheartened by the loss of their beloved King. Soon they were scattered by the ravenous undead warriors. The undead ranks swelled with the population of Lordaeron City. Stratholme was finally abandoned after long fighting. The troops tasked with watching over it withdrawn to defend the heartlands. It was not long before the undead moved in to begin setting up operations within Stratholme. The dead soon began to walk the land again.

The full-scale mobilization which Arthas has initiated was now put to full use. Militiaman and standing soldier alike found themselves fighting to hold back the undead. But things soon got worse. The long-dreaded withdrawal of the high elves from Lordaeron picked up speed. The gates of Gilneas which had for a time been opened were closed shut. Thoras Trollbane still offered no aid. The reinforcements from Stormwind were delayed by an unexpected uprising of gnolls.

Lordaeron had been abandoned. What had once been the greatest nation of all humanity was in a few short weeks reduced to a shadow of its former self.

Prince Arthas, meanwhile, had not yet been seen…

Dark times had come to the Alliance.

Night fell over Vandemar. The town guard walked their patrols, a sense of fear about them and their hands close to their weapons. Lord Uther had been close-lipped on the subject of what had happened in the Capital City. No one had been able to get a word from him on it. The most he would say was that Prince Arthas may have been changed by his time in Northrend. The men glanced warily upon the path, seeking any sign of the undead that now prowled the wild lands. Disappearances had become more common of late, and everyone was on edge.

'I hate this waiting,' said Johnson a militiaman, 'I've killed undead before, in Anderhol. But it's this damn waiting that kills me. I'd take an army of abominations for it to end.'

'I hope you don't have to make good on those words.' said Jove. 'Let's keep up our patrol, and keep your eyes open.'

As they walked a silence fell over them. 'Where has Lord Uther got to anyway?' asked Johnson suddenly.

'I heard he's gone to make sure that damn necromancer Kel'thuzad won't be resurrected. A couple of other paladins went with him.' said Jove. 'It's nothing to worry about, the paladins can handle anything. I just wish we knew what happened to Prince Arthas, or even Princess Calia.'

'You remember how high everyone's spirits were a few weeks ago?' asked Johnson. 'We'd heard that the Prince had defeated the demon. The one responsible for this whole mess. He was a hero, everything looked like it was going to end happily. I mean, sure, the lands still blighted and there are always ogres and trolls to fight, but it was something. Now it's just... nothing.

'Nothing but an uneasy peace in some places, soon to be broken by my tell.'

'If you can call this peace.' noted Jove. 'You remember Sir Malory, don't you? He was there at the fall of the capital, or so I hear. But he won't say a word or anything to no one.'

'You don't suppose he's protecting someone?' asked Johnson. 'The Cult of Damned could be anywhere. Around a corner, doing their laundry in the river. They were drawn from every level of society you know. And not all of them look the part.' He looked at an empty house as they passed it. 'There used to be five brothers living there, I remember.'

'What happened?' asked Jove who had only recently come to town.

'One of them died at Harthglen, cut down defending the Prince right before Uther arrived. Another went out to Northrend with the Prince. The third was conscripted by Uther with the recent mobilization. The other two are in the town guard.' He sighed as they passed a tree. 'I just hope their mother doesn't lose any more sons before the end.' He paused to look up at the trees blackened and withered boughs. Its leaves were being shed little by little. 'Remember how this place used to look in the fall?'

'I haven't been here before.' said Jove.

'No not just here,' said Johnson, 'I mean Lordaeron. The trees swaying in the wind looked like fire, and the pathways coated in leaves were great. I never really appreciated it, until now. Now it's all gone. The priests can restore the blighted ground some, provided we get rid of the curses. But the trees they say need time to heal on their own.'

Johnson and Jove passed their watch, lamenting the fall of Lordaeron. They were completely unaware of the dark forces mustering upon a nearby hill. It was just a few miles from their position. There was a shrine of raised stones which had once been a site for occult meetings. Later the Cult of the Damned had used them. Kel'thuzad had spoken there many times. No foot soldier now dared set foot in that place without orders. It was an unspoken agreement among men, brought on by the darkness which seemed to cling to the place.

Here, unseen by anyone save the birds, and one other, there arose a mist of green that covered the standing stones. The mist rose higher and higher until the whole shrine was obscured. Then a shadowy figured emerged from the mist. One whose face was known to all the men and women of Lordaeron. He was not as he once was, the Prince of Lordaeron. His once long golden hair was white as snow, his skin was pale, his armor black as night. In place of a hammer, he held a long runed sword and he stood where he was, gazing around.

'What trickery is this?!' He said in a snarl, motioning with Frostmourne.

Then he caught sight of a figure, clad in red with corpselike skin and wings like a dragon. The creature had eyes that glowed with an unholy light and was unmistakable. A dreadlord. Fury coursed through his blood. Arthas marched forward, brandishing the sword in his hand, which gleamed wickedly. Memories of a time before now coursed through him, filling his veins with a hatred he had not felt in a long time.'Mal'

'Mal'ganis, I don't know how you survived but I will-'

'Calm yourself Prince Arthas,' said the Dreadlord in a methodical tone, 'I am Tichondrius, like Mal'ganis I am a Dreadlord. But I am not your enemy. In fact, I've come to congratulate you.'

Arthas halted in place. The hatred which had moments ago consumed him now fell away. It turned cold within him as though it no longer mattered. It didn't matter that this creature likely held some part of Mal'ganis' schemes. It didn't matter that he once would have slain this being without the need for a personal grudge. Nothing mattered. An idle curiosity sized him.

'Congratulate me?' asked Arthas, a tone of disbelief in his voice.

'By killing your own Father,' clarified Tichondrius, 'and delivering this land to the scourge. You have passed your first test. The Lich King is pleased with your… enthusiasm.'

'Yes,' said Arthas, tone becoming dead as his blue-green eyes fell upon the sword in his hand. 'I've damned everyone and everything I've ever loved in his name. Yet I still feel no remorse. No shame. No pity.' And it was true, though he knew he should feel those things.

'The runeblade that you carry was forged by the Lich King and empowered to steal souls.' explained Tichondrius in satisfaction. 'Yours was the first that it claimed.'

'Then I'll make do without one.' resolved Arthas. He was not nearly as affected by the Dreadlords words as he should have been. He could not conjure up any self-righteous indignation. 'What is the Lich King's will?' That was all that mattered, really.

'The Cult of the Damned must be rallied once again.' replied the Dreadlord smoothly. 'Many of the acolytes have been in hiding amongst the populace. Once you've gathered them, I will give you further instructions.' He motioned with one hand, and out of the trees there came a low snarling. Several dozen creatures made their way into view, ones that should have been Arthas' had

They had maws with many sharp and broken teeth, and hands with massive razor-sharp claws. Long tongues were lolling from their mouths as they came before him and awaited orders. 'These creatures are the front line fighters of the scourge. These ones will serve you well, though they will not be sufficient to overwhelm the enemy on their own.

I expect you will need speed and stealth more.'

Arthas reached forward with his mind, seeking to control the creatures. He sensed their thoughts. They would obey him, kill for him, devour the flesh of his enemies for him. They looked forward to it. Yet Arthas felt an odd reluctance to use them. If he brought them he would have to kill and slaughter. 'I don't need them, Dreadlord.' he said 'I will gather the Cult of the Damned without killing anyone.'

Tichondrius looked at him in surprise. 'An amusing concept, however, I think you will find it impossible. You should take what support you are offered.'

'There is only one creature I need for this task,' said Arthas 'and it is here.' He outstretched one hand in a gesture of summoning. A black mist arose, and out of it rode a skeletal horse adorned in heavy armor that hardly encumbered it. It pulled to a halt before Arthas and the Prince petted its thin mane, before pulling himself onto its back. He pulled back the reins and the horse reared up, kicking at the air with skeleton hooves. 'Ride Invincible, show us your haste!'

He rode away into the forest at breakneck speed. Invincible navigated too and fro, dodging through the trees with ease. As he did so he sensed the powers around him. Darkness hung very heavy over Lordaeron. The trees themselves seemed to whisper with the lamentations of the damned. Through the blighted landscape, he rode until he came into places of civilization. A long time ago he would have been relieved to see the village now beneath his gaze. Its lights would have been comforting, the sight of armed guards assuring him he was near safety.

Now it held an implicit threat to him. And though he knew they were his enemy, he was surprised at the suddenness of the change. Those lights in every window were a threat. A watchful eye meaning him harm. He rode towards it, down the path at a trot. As he did so a man garbed in the black robes of an acolyte of the cult of the damned stepped before him. Memories flashed through Arthas' mind of striking them down in battle. Though he had never seen him before, he wondered if the man would hold a grudge. Arthas would.

To his surprise, the man bowed his cloaked head and clasped his hands as if in prayer. 'Greetings, Great Lord,' He said in a submissive tone. 'our master, Kel'thuzad, told us that you would come.'

The necromancers name rang through his ears like the tidings of doom. 'Kel'thuzad?' asked Arthas incredulously. 'How could he have known that-

'Be wary, Master.' the man cut him off with a warning. 'If the townsfolk see you or your undead minions, they will call the local guards to stop you.' Then, before Arthas could say he didn't have any undead minions, he raised a stone. The Acolyte was surrounded in green mist, and moments later he was gone. Arthas stared at the area where he had been mere moments before. He contemplated recent revelations. Yet there was nothing for it but to continue onwards, and hope to learn more later. The Prince of Lordaeron pressed on and the sound of his hoofbeats came clean and clear. He entered a small town which had been built by the river. Riding into the midsts of the town, he looked around.

He saw a number of villagers milling about, and some he knew to be on his side, though he was not sure why.

He, at any rate, looked human so it should be a simple matter to bypass them alone. Even as he approached, however, some of them looked up at him in terror and fled. It was then that Arthas recalled he was a skeletal horse, an unfortunate oversight on his part.

'Help!' cried a villager. 'The undead have returned! Guards!'

The man rushed across the town square towards the guard house. Arthas raised Frostmourne. It would be the essence of simplicity to slay the villager where he stood and prevent him from seeking help. Yet something stopped him, he wasn't sure what. Instead, he turned his horse and rode back in the direction he sensed one of his quarry's. The man he saw looked normal, like the sort of person ready to be anyone's friend. As soon as he looked upon Arthas' face he knew him at once. The cultist raised his hearthstone and teleported away in moments.

Arthas had never gotten a hearthstone. As the Crown Prince of Lordaeron he'd rarely had occasion to leave the Kingdom. He'd always been home. He felt a tinge of bitterness about that. The doors to the guard house were thrown open, and the guards rushed out, but too late! Arthas turned Invincible and galloped away before they could come within fifty paces. Leaving the town behind him, he rode along the side of the river until he reached a house before the crossing. There he found another acolyte, who removed a hearthstone.

'I bow to your will.' said the acolyte and he was gone.

Arthas turned Invincible with a thought and began to cross the river. The waters were icy cold with the approach of winter and reached up to the horse's haunches. On some level Arthas realized he was freezing cold, and yet he did not mind it. The undead steed pressed onwards without relent, and soon Arthas came to the other side. As he made his way onto the path, he stopped, for he felt a presence. A phantom-like specter appeared out of the trees and made itself known. Arthas knew what it was at once without knowing how.

'I have need of your abilities, little shade.' he said, and he directed it forward to the path ahead.

'All shall be revealed.' replied the Shade.

Some unseen presence guided Arthas as he learned to watch through the shades eyes. It made its way through the wilds into a country, dominated by a single barracks at the center of a farming center. He was not learning by instinct. No, he felt as though he were being guided by some omnipotent force which worked through him. Only a few times before had he felt that. The shades eyes revealed there was a patrol of footmen. They made their way in circles around road. The patrol was led by a soldier in captain's armor. He halted periodically at each point to examine things.

There was a lumber mill. There several out of shape city folk were being put to work. And also a place where a number of people were fishing. Both areas held a member of the cult of the damned. Finally, there was the farming center, One where a number of villagers were watching the grain. Ensuring that no one came to taint it. Despite himself, Arthas was impressed. Lordaeron had adapted since his efforts against the scourge. That he was about to make their efforts, and by extension, his own, for naught held an irony which wasn't lost on him.

He couldn't quite regret it. It was odd really.

Arthas directed the shade to continue following the Captain as he passed him. Arthas followed them for a time. Then turned aside towards the river where he had seen villagers fishing. Even as his fellows fled in terror around him, the acolyte dropped his line and bowed.

'My life for Ner'zhul!' he proclaimed.

As he disappeared into green mist. Arthas departed before the guards could react, heading south along the road. There he found a number of acolytes and several villagers who fled in terror from him. He was beginning to become annoyed with these wretches. Though he scarcely paid their words any heed. However this time his escape was not to be so clean, for the guards came upon him in force.

Their swords were out, and the Captain slashed at his throat as he reached him. Arthas parried the blade and broke it with one strike. Then he rode away into the night, leaving his enemy upon the ground, alive.

He was faster than the guards. Before long he had escaped them and was making his way around the barracks which stood at the center of the road. On he traveled, as the guards gave up the chase. Finally came to a number of small farmsteads, just out of harvest. There people once again looked up in terror and ran, calling for the guards.

All save a few, who raised their hearthstones.

'We bow to your will.' And they were gone in green mist.

Arthas turned and rode away, even as a knight rode from in front of the barracks, sword, and lance held high. 'How could you murder your own Father?!' He asked in horror and rage as he rushed him.

Arthas did not dignify him with an answer. He didn't know the answer himself. He fled onwards, escaping into the night. He made his way along until he came to a large lake that stood directly before a great town. The town was walled with stone, but the gate was open. Yet many knights and footmen stood guard before they numbered more than he could handle on his own. For a moment he remained unsure of how to proceed, for he had not counted on such security. Then an idea occurred. While he could not enter the gate, he might well be able to slip past it without alerting the enemy. There might be another way in. He called forth the shade to scout ahead for him. It made its way along the wall, and through a patch of forest which had been left standing.

The shade moved unseen and went along the wall until at last, it came to a place where the wall ended, and the trees began. But there was a gap in the trees, large enough for a horseman to ride through, into the town.

Satisfied, Arthas slipped past the guards. Then he entered the town before they could catch any sight of him. Almost at once he came across a cultist, who seemed to have been waiting for him. He bowed, removed his hearthstone, and was gone. He made his way through the streets like a shadow, avoiding the gaze of the townsfolk. And wherever he went, those who served the Lich King paid heed and used their Hearthstones. Then, when he had finished his work there, he rode onwards up the path.

A man stood before him on the road. 'Seek out the local graveyards. Those buried there will serve you well.' He intoned, before departing via hearthstone. They were single-minded, weren't they?

For his part, Arthas paid no heed to the graveyard as he rode by it, for he did not need undead for this. He meant to make good on his word, after all. Finally, he came to the third town. Unsurprisingly in these dark times, the gates were shut tight. As he approached Frostmourne gleamed. Arthas knew that they would be no obstacle. Even so, he found himself riding past the gates, into the countryside beyond. He was not quite sure why he chose to do this. Only that it occurred to him that some of the Cultists might have been hiding in the farther reaches.

As he marched onward, he came across a small mining town, guarded by a knight. There, peasants were busily mining gold to pay for the war. Arthas watched with a certain nostalgic fascination for a time. Finally, he drew in for a closer look.

Then there was an all too familiar ringing of bells. On reflex, Arthas looked to command the peasants in battle. Then he remembered that they were no longer his subjects. His mind flashed back to the bells which had played in his honor. That rang when he had entered the City of Lordaeron. That range when he had driven Frostmourne into his Fathers neck, even as he moved to greet him. He felt... something, for that.

His mind returned to the present, for as the bells echoed the peasants rushed to the Town Hall. At the same time, bandits rushed out of the trees of the nearby forest and attacked with axes and small shields. Arthas had not been successful in wiping them out. Yet the peasants would be left unguarded. The bandit's path was barred by a lone knight, who met them alone in the battle. His sword sang, as his spear was driven through one of their hearts. The Bandits rallied, confident in their numbers. Yet the knight did not fight alone for long. The villagers of Lordaeron were no longer defenseless. Much had changed since Arthas and Jaina had journeyed along the King's road. The peasants had heeded the calls to arms and rushed to fight their attackers with axes and shields.

The ensuing fray was vicious, and Arthas realized that now was his chance to slip through. However, he found that he could not depart this place. Not without making some contribution to the conflict. It had never been in his nature to let villagers be assaulted by bandits. Though his nature had changed, he did not like leaving loose ends. Raising Frostmourne, Arthas rode towards the edge of the fray. He beheaded the bandit's leader. The man's head soared from his shoulders, and as he died the bandits fell into chaos.

They were slaughtered by the organized peasants. For his trouble, Arthas found that the Militia's wrath now turned to him. They rushed after him, led by the Knight, and he fled into the forest. The peasants gave up the chase. Yet the knight was another story. Wherever Arthas rode the knight followed. He guided Invincible onwards through the woods. As the shadows lessened around him the morning approached.

Branches tore at his violet cloak, only to be batted away by Frostmourne. The hoofbeats of the Knight's horse could be heard from behind him always. Every time the Death Knight glanced back, his enemy was still there. Such a race had not been seen in many years before or since as the two riders plunged through the woods. Finally, it seemed to come to an end, as a vast stretch of underbrush came up between the two warriors.

The underbrush beside him was thrust aside. The Knight was there, aiming his blade for Arthas heart. Frostmourne beat it down. They were now riding neck to neck. Their swords flashing in the morning light, moving faster and faster. It only dawned on Arthas how much weaker he was than before. In Northrend, he would have slain this man in an instant. Yet as his light burned out and darkness crept in to take its place the trade had not been equal. Like Lordaeron, Arthas was but a shadow of what he once was.

The knight's lance passed his neck by inches. Arthas broke it in half with his sword, then tried to slash the man's throat. The blow proved too shallow. Then the knight's horse slipped upon a loose stone, and he fell downwards into the dirt. Arthas rode onwards. He hoped that the man's horse had not gotten hurt beyond healing. He doubted that the Knight was dead, however.

All too soon he was gone, and he reflected that he would probably never find the answer to that question.

On he traveled finding himself drawn south away from the core path, to a little house hidden in the woods. A man was standing there, with his wife, peering into the darkness. Had he been expecting Arthas? His wife looked concerned, and as Arthas approached she looked terrified. She fled into the house, but the man did not follow. He raised his hearthstone.

'My life for Ner'zhul.' he intoned, and he was gone in the green mist.

Arthas remained standing there for a moment or two. His gaze turned to the windows and saw that the man's wife watching through them. After a moment Arthas turned his horse and made his way on into the darkness. He was driven by the same force he did not understand to press on further into the woods. The Cult of the Damned had been drawn from the people of Lordaeron. He'd known this, of course, but it had never dawned on him just what it entailed. To convince people to leave their friends and family. Possibly to even sacrifice them to undeath, Kel'thuzad must have been very charismatic. Even in death, the necromancer continued to surprise him.

He was dragged from his musings as he saw the light of a campfire up ahead, and as he rode onward, he saw a woman bound in nets. She was a member of the cult of the damned, he could tell and a rather pretty member at that. Around them were a number of bandits, clad in brown armor with axes near them. Some held javelins. Bucklers were on their off hand and they were speaking among themselves. He wondered why the bandits were keeping her alive.

'So when are we gonna break in this bitch?' asked one.

'When the others get back from slaughtering those villagers.' said another. 'We'll teach those prissy paladins to relocated them here. We ain't starting without em.'

'Aw come on, let me have a go at her. I'll let you all go before me when we get to the main event.' said the other.

Ah, that was why. A surge of contempt went through Arthas as he readied Frostmourne. 'You won't be alive long enough to learn their fates.' he said, voice as cold as Northrend. His voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

The Bandits picked up their weapons and looked around fearfully. 'Who said that? Where are you, ya coward!'

Arthas let them sweat for just a moment. Then urging Invincible forward he surged through the trees and raised Frostmourne. The knowledge of a powerful spell entered his mind unbidden, and he unleashed it. Death coil. The terrible spell dreaded during the second war now cast upon one of these wretches. He screamed and died in moments, as the others attacked. Two spears surged through the air but he deflected them. Then Arthas descended on the last axe-wielding bandit. The man raised his shield to block. Frostmourne slashed right through it and split the man in half. Two more javelins shot at him. One was deflected, another plunged into Arthas' shoulder, sending him from his horse. He ignored the pain. It was nothing, and rose and leaped over the campfire to cut down the javelineer responsible. Then he turned on one foot and hurling Frostmourne through the air to plunge into his last enemies heart.

The sword gleamed in relish of its bloody victory as the slain's souls were absorbed. Arthas made his way over to the body and removed Frostmourne. For a moment he felt a surge of frustration at his apparent weakness. Then he made his way over to the cultist and cut the net. 'Are you all right? You're safe now.'

'It is you...' she said, her voice filled with awe. 'I... I never thought I would live to see the day of your coming my lord. I am at your disposal.'

'It is not in my nature to leave anyone in the clutches of such filth.' said Arthas. 'For now, go to the place of meeting you have been told of. We have much work to do.'

'My life for Ner'zhul.' She said with a blush.

Creative, weren't they?

With that out of the way, Arthas gripped the spear in his shoulder and drew it out with a wince. The pain was only momentary, and before his very eyes, the flesh began to knit itself. He felt stronger now. Much stronger, actually, and he liked the feeling. He had the impression that he would be better able to control his power.

He spent a day recovering from his wounds sustained against the knights and the bandits. When the sun had fallen, and nightfall was again upon them, he mounted Invincible and rode away.

This time he took a roundabout way through the woods. He did not want to confront the village he had faced before. He did glimpse it from afar. The villagers were recounting the story of their battle over a fire with some friends. Despite himself, Arthas smiled though he felt nothing. By the time he found his way back to the gate he had passed a full day had come and gone, and it was dark once more. Arthas halted before the gate. Then he looked once again at the sword in his hand, gleaming joyfully, and shrugged. He attacked. Once! Twice! Thrice! He struck the gate, and with each blow, it splintered and twisted until it fell apart before him and he rode forward.

Even as he did so a man rushed forward to meet him. Behind him were armed guards. 'I bow to your will!' he called, raising aloft his hearthstone, and he was gone.

Arthas did not bother to fight the guards. He recognized at once that the time for stealth had altogether passed. Now his only choice was battle or speed. The Prince of Lordaeron chose speed. Like a bolt of lightning, he sped through the streets. Frostmourne was held aloft, and most that beheld him fled in terror. Yet some raised their hearthstones in salute. The guards could not lay hand or blade upon him.

He found a place where cultists were being prepared to be burned at the stake. Slipping past the guards hacked their ropes apart and freed them. In the chaos, they slipped away. From every street, soldiers rushed in the commotion to see what was happening. Riding towards one group, Invincible leaped high over them and landed beyond them. The guards turned and gave chase as he rode onwards. On and on the chase continued. The guards tried to stop him, but at last, his business was complete.

He knew now that all he had come here to collect were now safely away. Riding away, he urged Invincible into a gallop and launched them both right over the wall. He landed on the road beyond and was away. The enemy did not pursue him further. He was easily able to get past those who remained between him and his destination.

He was victorious.

Arthas Menethil was a man of his word.

He had been sent into the bastion of his enemies power to recruit the Cult of the Damned. And he had done so without killing a single innocent. If anything the people of this region were safer than they had been... The Cult was removed and the bandits had been wiped away. The humans whispered and multiplied and rebuilt their civilization. Tichondrius found this result… distressing. However he had achieved his objective, so he was disinclined to question the matter.

Now the two of them stood upon a hill. The cultists below them were chanting worship. Their hands moving as they performed eldritch ceremonies. The Dreadlord turned to Arthas after a moment. He spoke:

'Well done, Death Knight.' Tichondrius said. 'The cult is nearly assembled.'

'Lordaeron lies in ashes.' said Arthas. 'What good are these cultists to us now?'

'They will aid you in your next undertaking.' replied Tichodrius, in a patient voice which belied his irritation.

'And what's that?' asked Arthas, straight to the point as always.

Tichondrius smiled and it was not a pleasant smile. 'You will go to Andorhal. There you will recover the remains of the acolyte's former master. The Necromancer, Kel'thuzad.'

At these words, the Death Knight looked more than a little disturbed. This did not bode well.

Authors Note:

So so begins my rewrite of Mercy of the Damned. Well, not a rewrite, but an editing process that is more extensive than before. As things stand the various chapters are just too long. So I've decided to split some of them up.

I'm also removing the needless Author tracts at the end of the story.

Suffice to say this is based on a playthrough of Path of the Damned where I went out of my way to spare everyone I could.

Written after fully going through the chapter:

JESUS CHRIST this chapter was a mess. Whole paragraphs repeated themselves multiple times. There were dozens of run-on sentences. The descriptions were overblown and redundant. And I still consider the final product subpar.

I guess I should be glad my writing has improved. But I can't see how anyone could have gotten hooked on the Mercyverse with this as a first chapter.

Peace out,

Lord22