Into the Stygian Abyss
"And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence."
"Check and mate, my overweight friend," crowed the legendary martial arts master. His befuddled counterpart peered consciously at the checkered board littered with various chess pieces, trying in vain to acknowledge how the defeat actually happened. His rotund face screwed up in irritation as he swiped petulantly at the tangled mass of wild hair framed atop his head.
"You cheated you old geezer! There's no way your rook was there man, there's no way!"
"Don't fight the foe, Samurai, embrace him. If only you would know that it's better for you, if you wish to learn the ways." The cryptic message, obviously aimed to calm the agitated fellow, not only confused him, it also slightly irked him, as per usual.
"Why do you always have to talk like that man? There ain't anyone around to be wowed at your 'status'. Revered you may be dude, but we're the only ones here! And I KNOW that you lick yourself when you think nobody's lookin'!" He finished off that implicit remark with a smug smile on his previously frowning face. Trying to snub the old master once in a while was fast growing to be his favorite pastime. When one is confined to a relatively small space for prolonged periods of time, with no one as company but a famed old cat and the vast expanse of blue/black, one gets to have an affinity for things that would just not be accepted as viable 'pastimes' in the common populace. But then again, he wasn't anywhere near the common populace, and hadn't been for quite some time.
"I do not! It is an affront to my dignity that you would accuse me of such a vile and embarrassing thing."
"Yeah, whatever man."
"Another?"
"Naw, let's have a game of checkers."
"We played checkers all day yesterday!"
"It's a fun game!"
"Only because you revel in your winnings."
"You just don't wanna play 'cuz ya know I'd beat ya."
"Don't disillusion yourself, fat-man."
"Dude, you know that I was the YMCA checkers champ back in the day!" The peculiar cat slumped his head in an open claw, shaking his head slowly while he elicited a small groan.
"The YMCA checkers champ is to checkers as a McDonald's Certified Chef is to fine cuisine."
"Hey! Don't be jealous."
"Right, I'm only a legendary martial arts master, nothing to be proud of there. Wouldn't I like to be checkers prodigy? No wait, even better, a 'Y M C A' checkers champion, that must have been my sole aspiration since I was a small kitten rolling around in my kitty litter."
The corpulent fighter threw up his hands in defeat, giving the cunning feline an angry glare as he went over to the refrigerator to fix himself a late snack. While he was rummaging through the contents of said refrigerator, throwing various food items out onto the makeshift-eating table that both boarders had constructed, the wily cat watched with a strange mix between disgust and amusement at the ever-growing pile of meats and vegetables.
"If you want to attain true spiritual enlightenment and the most superlative martial arts physique, you must pay meticulous attention to your diet, my friend."
"Hey, this is the usual size of my late snack." He gestured distractedly at the enormous bread slices that were being heaped with copious embellishments, while he worked furiously with the remainder of his 'fillings'. He was comically using his long Samurai sword to slice up some cheese. Already a conspicuous trickle of saliva had found its way down his chin.
"That is the usual size of your snack, I agree. But it does nothing to help you to reduce your size."
"I'm not fat, man. I'm very much fit and athletically compatible, if only a slight bit stocky and wide built. Ya know that I adhere to a vigorous training schedule dude, so scurry off my back will ya?"
"I am thoroughly cognizant of the fact that the refrigerator door gets a good deal more exercise than you, chubby."
"Not chubby, thick-boned!"
"How can one be so blind? Have you noticed the growing proclivity of obese humans to attempt to jog around you for exercise?"
"I am a fighter. My mother always said that people like ya are going ta be bothering me with these useless comments. Dude, I got nothing but pity for people like ya who don't know 'well-muscled' when they see them. Larger people are the rave nowadays, or so I hear! Chicks check us out every time. They want men with substance. Tell ya the truth man, if ya stocked up a little on flesh you'll be in on the action as well! Join the fad dude, I won't label ya a 'bandwagon-hopper' if ya do."
The cherub fighter received a blank gaze from his long-time friend and master, whose features had contorted into a pitiful look as his claw tightened marginally on his wooden stick. "Samurai, I wouldn't touch your issues with a forty-foot pole."
The frivolous argument between the two came to a halt when the ancient cat, wooden stick still grasped firmly in one claw, reeled back in astonishment. His eyes opened wide, but before he could emit even a single word of warning, the entire dwelling of the once famous martial arts master, who was accredited to teaching arguably the best fighter in the Universe—Son Goku—the ropes at an early age, exploded in a brilliant flash of light and a deafening boom. Thick black smoke billowed out from the ruined niche underneath the 'Lookout Tower', and an ominous visage of a cloaked figure stood before it lazily, a palm outstretched.
***********************************
"Holy…What the hell?!" The Guardian of the Earth hurriedly threw on his cloak and scurried noisily out, grabbing his wooden cane—the only reminder of the deceased/incorporated Guardian of before—in the process. He exited the palace-like building the Guardian was entitled to reside in and strutted out on to the relatively large courtyard, his astonished gaze settling on the dark figure running in panic towards him. The figure's turban had been slightly dislodged off his head, resting at a peculiar angle and partially hindering one big, round eye.
Mr. Popo, who was usually a bastion of patience and of even better reason, was at a loss for words when he halted in front of the small Guardian. Dende wisely let him catch his bearings, and only when his labored breathing had evened out did the Namek inquire about the present circumstances.
"Mr. Popo?" Dende had known from a reasonable amount of experience of being Guardian, including the horrific Cell catastrophe seven years ago, that events perceived to have the potential of jeopardizing Earth and its inhabitants had to be dealt with in the quickest and most efficient manner. This need for efficacy was prompted all those years ago when Cell had unexpectedly appeared and achieved his perfect state with relative ease. From then on he had vowed to be more prompt in his, and the Z-fighter's, response to such threats.
"There seems to be a fire underneath us! Oh Dende, there's too much smoke coming out. I can't see a thing. Oh no!" The man was considerably disconcerted, straying from his usual demeanor, and was flailing his dark arms about frantically to emphasize his point.
"What was that explosion? Any ideas?" Dende decided to take the initiative and remain as calm as possible, seeing that becoming unnecessarily agitated would create even more problems.
"Oh my! I was just watering the plants and I heard this deafening boom! It was unreal, and the whole Lookout literally trembled! This is not good."
"Calm down, Mr. Popo. I see someone coming in the horizon, it seems to be Piccolo." He had discerned the identity by the white cape billowing about behind the distant figure, courtesy his enhanced eyesight.
Piccolo, his identity now clearly evident, flew straight towards the other two residents of the Lookout Tower. He came to a sudden halt right in front of the duo, his aura blazing spectacularly around him in a prominent display of power and speed. Both Dende and Popo acknowledged him by throwing identical looks of curiosity mixed with anxiety, a little relief was also evident in the pair at the sight of the powerful Namek-jin. Piccolo wasted no time in formalities, quickly giving them a curt nod and immediately asking the question both knew was coming.
"What happened here?"
"An explosion. No idea what or more importantly, who, caused it. Happened a couple of minutes ago." Dende was unusually quick to reply, not giving Mr. Popo a chance to continue his apprehensive babbling that would waste even more time.
Piccolo instructed the two to stay put while he scouted the explosion site for any clues, and more pressingly, survivors. He was aware that the thick black smoke was coming from the very niche that Master Korin and his disciple, Yajirobe, had resided in for more than ten years. Paying no heed to the scorching flames that had ignited during the blast, Piccolo kicked away fallen debris and giant concrete slabs in an effort to find any traces of the two fighters. Even though he had maintained minimal contact with both, their relations had always been cordial and Master Korin had been a good friend of Kami back in the days of old.
Clearing away more wreckage and what appeared to be charred remnants of a sandwich, he had found what he was searching for. There lay the lifeless carcass of the famed martial arts master, his severely burned limb still clutching on to scorched remains of a cane. Half his body had been crushed under a particularly large portion of the roof caving in, and the other half was burned so badly that only minute traces of his white fur were visible on his ashen torso. Piccolo silently paid his respects to the departed cat, and continued on through the raging inferno towards the back of the dwelling. Quickly his sharp eyes made out a dark spot against the far wall, and after focusing on the peculiar thing his eyes twitched ever so slightly. There was Yajirobe's frame, slumped awkwardly against the wall with his lifeless eyes staring straight back at the Namek-jin.
Those empty orbs were frozen in horror, the head propped gracelessly on his left shoulder at an angle. A large sword, most probably his own, impaled the portly fighter right through the torso. The sword was imbedded so deep in his stomach that only the handle was visible, and with the wall supporting his back Piccolo could only assume that the sword had sheared the wall as well. There weren't many burns evident on the Samurai's limbs, but Piccolo surmised that the shockwave had hurled Yajirobe back against the far end of the wall and that his sword had impaled him in the process.
With a brilliant spike of his aura, Piccolo shot out his hand in a rendition of an open-palm punch. The resulting gust of wind created by this action quickly doused most of the violent flames scattered throughout the razed dwelling, and he left as quickly as he had entered, leaving the small, inconsequential flames to flicker out on their own. After quickly explaining the situation to Dende and instructing him to keep an ardent watch over Earth, he blasted off towards the domed dwelling in the 439 mountain area to rendezvous with the other two fighters.
Yajirobe had his sword out of its sheath? Could mean only two things. Either he had seen the adversary coming and had it drawn, or they had engaged in combat. Couldn't be the latter, I would have felt the ki. Didn't feel anything, except for the magnitude of the blast. It has to be Seventeen. No ki means Android for sure.
**********************************
"That stupid emotional brat! If he's gone on one of his goddamn 'vigilante' modes again because of that stupid girl, he'll have hell to pay when he gets back! F—king half-wit, he's wasting my valuable time with his petty emotions!" The small but menacing figure was ranting at nobody in particular, but he made sure that his exasperation was fully incorporated in his chiding tone.
"Vegeta! Mind your goddamn language!"
"At a time like this all you can do is bicker?!"
"Shut the hell up both you insolent harps!"
"Was that a threat?!"
"It better not be, if you know what's good for you!"
"Gohan's here." The gruff and deep voice created a distinct disparity between the vociferous squabbling the three people were engaged in hitherto. With all three people's vocal chords competing to outmatch each other in pitch and intensity, that relatively subdued statement suddenly demanded an eerie silence, layered with anxiety and relief.
And sure enough, the pale glow of the pre-dawn night sky vaguely illuminated a worn and haggard frame, hovering wearily with both his arms dangling gracelessly down his side from slumped shoulders. He descended slowly upon the damp grass, finally letting his exhausted feet shuffle him from the clearing towards the sanctuary of his home. His normally cheery and jovial features had been completely drowned out by dejection and tiredness. His very countenance that had been unyielding to adversity and strife during his entire existence was ebbed away, pillaged completely of its verve and had slowly petered away into withered remnants of a hero.
Nobody had bothered to question when Piccolo had joined them at the home, since Gohan was attracting too much of their attention. Piccolo had just found his way back, and had deliberately not crossed paths with the returning Gohan. Piccolo had sensed the doleful vibes coming from Gohan's ki in mid-flight, and decided it wouldn't be too prudent to confront him at this particular moment. Gohan would have to work it out on his own, if he was to ever get that girl back.
"Gohan?! Honey, what happened? What's wrong?" Immediately the frantic mother smothered the teen with numerous hugs and ushered him inside the cozy living room, firmly shutting the door behind her. The chilly wind whipped about noisily outside, causing the windows to tremble ever so slightly and the door to emit an occasional 'tock'. The weather had intensified for the worse, as tiny rivulets of water started streaming down the dull panes of the living room windows. Gohan was still in a state of melancholy despair as his mother quickly sat him down in front of the fireplace and hurried to get him something warm to drink. He wasn't at all concerned with his own well being at the time however; he wasn't concerned with anything at all to be precise. All he did was glance intermittently at the other two warriors, his former mentor and his father's archrival, casting a somber plea of help that neither could oblige.
"There's been a slaying." The laconic Namek-jin's disposition didn't waver in the slightest when all eyes were suddenly turned towards him.
"Wha…? Who?" Bulma managed to stutter, mentally bracing herself for the worst.
"Korin and Yajirobe. Their place underneath the Lookout inexplicably exploded. Both were dead when I got there." As the others, sans Vegeta, reeled back in shock Piccolo continued to mask his features in apathy. Not even the slightest trace of vacillation could have been detected in his gruff voice as he reported the killings.
"Seventeen?" Vegeta growled, unusually affronted by the murders.
"Who else? But for what it's worth, no one saw the culprit."
"But why them? What did they ever do to him?" Gohan's hoarse voice queried, mirroring the stunned look Bulma had etched on her elfin features.
"Think brat," Vegeta spat out with disgust, "What else but the advantage? The Senzu is no use to him, but it is to us."
"No…"
"Where does that leave us?" Piccolo pressed on, temporarily disregarding the shock that impaired both Gohan and Bulma at the moment. It may have been regarded as callous, but what was done could not be undone, and Piccolo had no wish to dwell on remorse right now.
Vegeta was inclined to agree with Piccolo's callous-but-efficacious rationale, "Pretty f—ed up. My recon mission achieved mediocre results. The obvious being that the girl is kept in a top secret HQ of the Syndicate. Before I could extort the whereabouts of the headquarters, they killed him off."
"My mission wasn't much fruitful either. I obtained relatively useless information, only some names. Seems like the Big Five of this group, excluding Seventeen, would be the leaders of the previously different gangs. Don Salvatore, Misamo Yamakazi, Igor Ivanov, Carlos Ortega and The Perronas are all mutually aligned with each other."
"Shit. There's no breakthrough."
"Of course. He's got us pegged. He's always ahead." Gohan's sullen voice inputted, earning him irritated stares from both fighters.
"Boy, stop sulking around like a pathetic human. You are a warrior. If you don't want to act like one for your father's sake, at least, then, act like one for your woman's sake." Gohan's head jolted upwards from its downcast position, his now fiery eyes flittering dangerously between obsidian and blue-green. Vegeta stared straight back at him with genuinely sincere eyes, as he watched Gohan's clenched fist quiver with restrained vehemence. "You are the only one she has left to count on."
As quick as his anger had bubbled up to the surface, it subsided in a flush of realization and remorse. Discarding the haunting images of Videl's torture, or even death, that seemed to be clouding his mind he jumped unexpectedly to his feet and strode towards the door. The wind seemed to object furiously to such a move, as the door rocked loudly on its hinges from a particularly strong gust. Before Gohan had made it halfway across the warm and comfy living room, his mother's shrill voice stopped him in mid-stride.
"Gohan! Where do you think you're going in this weather?" Chi-Chi had returned from her brief detour to the kitchen.
Gohan whipped around furiously to face his mother, an act so surprising that Chi-Chi almost let go of the steaming mug of liquid resting between her palms. "What?! Videl's out there, all alone, having God-knows-what being done to her, and all you can think about is the f—ing weather??!"
"Go…han?"
"I…" His demeanor faltered, and in that moment of weakness the entire potency of his desperate anger lapsed into wanton anguish. "I love her, mom. I…need her. I need to get her back."
***********************************
"Geez, you'd think a guy that has pretty much nothing to do would tidy up once in a while." Krillen was referring to the carelessly discarded clothes and various other objects that littered Seventeen's cabin in the woodlands. Everything from clothes, books, empty bowls, rotting morsels of meat, several sheets of loose paper, and even urine stains marred the serenity of a log cabin out in the wilderness. Krillen was about to query the reason for the bowls, and the food (He also had doubts about the urine), for an Android living alone in an isolated area. He had only begun to open his mouth when in a flurry of activity, something sleek and furry growled dangerously and sprung onto him before he could raise his defenses. Feral growls and frantic yelps filled the clammy air of the desolate cabin, as Krillen tried helplessly to fend off his four-footed assailant.
"Stop playing around Krillen," his wife chided lazily, grabbing the wolf by the gruff of his collar and restraining him.
"Playing around? That thing nearly bit my nose off!" Krillen exclaimed animatedly, dusting off his flowery yellow Bermuda shirt in mock agitation.
"What nose?"
"Eighteen!" The former monk glared at his wife, who returned a small smirk, as per usual. "You said it was 'cute' just two nights ago!"
"I was merely practicing appeasement."
"Oh, so you wanted to get down and dirty faster, didn't you? I can understand," Krillen immediately had an infuriating self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. His wife grew slightly redder, if that was possible for a cyborg, as she glowered at her spouse.
"You flatter yourself too much, honey."
"And you do too. Especially when you're in one of your thong moods." He finished off the seemingly innocuous remark with a sleazy wink, loving every minute of his wife's growing discomfort.
"Krillen!"
"The truth can hurt, babe."
"So can this," and she unceremoniously smacked him upside the head.
"Ow!" Krillen tried to muster up the oh-so-famous Son pout, but his comical hair and rotund face couldn't emulate the sheer persuasiveness of a moping Son. It ended up in a rather amusing cross between a disgruntled midget and a dejected orphan look.
"Come on, Krillen. Stop fooling around, this is important. We need to find my brother." Eighteen effectively put a stop to Krillen's usual penchant for comic relief, as she surveyed the cluttered room with calculating scrutiny. No sign of her brother, and they didn't even have the added luxury of sensing his ki to pinpoint his exact location.
"Well, obviously he's not here. Perhaps he's spending the night elsewhere," he winked at her again, and she sighed in frustration at her husband.
"I know he couldn't do those things, even if Gohan was sure of himself. We've outgrown that stage now!"
"Maybe that's what you want to think, Eighteen. Maybe you want him to find the closure you found. Maybe you're hoping for too much too soon."
She turned her pained eyes to her husband's, whose calm orbs returned her a sincere look of understanding.
Her voice cracked, "He…I admit, he has had problems with this new lifestyle. But…murder? No, no, no. He's not a reckless murderer anymore Krillen! No, not anymore! Not after…not after all we've been through, not after Marron."
Krillen moved closer to her and let her embrace him tightly. Despite the awkward hug due to their height discrepancy, the impact of his consolation remained intact. He gently rubbed her back and soothed out her blonde hair, letting her sniffle lightly on his shoulder. Even she, deep down, was still human. Still prone to human emotion and human despair.
"Shh…It's okay. We don't even know what has happened. It's too quick to jump to conclusions, honey. Maybe things were just a big misunderstanding, and we'll all go back to normal and pretend this never happened."
"Easy for you to say," came her muffled response.
"No. That's where you're wrong. It isn't at all easy for me. It isn't easy for me to see you in so much pain, to watch you suffer in anguish because you don't know what's going on. I never knew what I really wanted when I first met you. But, I know, it was never this." He hugged her tighter and smiled morosely when he felt her hold tightening too.
"Look, let's not be discouraged so easily, hmm?" Krillen gently pulled her back and gazed at her glossy eyes, kissing her softly on the lips and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. She nodded mutely, "Let's just search for anything helpful, and go back, okay?" Again, she nodded, but this time giving him a small smile to assure him that she was fine.
"Right. I'll go check around outside, see if I can find anything of interest. Why don't you look through some stuff in here and we'll go from there."
"Yeah, that seems logical."
"Of course! After all, who's calling the shots here?" He inquired with a sly smile, "Moi." He jerked two thumbs in his general direction as Eighteen grinned fondly at him.
"You're such a goof."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Krillen winked at her again and strolled outside into the fresh air, squinting slightly to make his way past the porch and onto the grassy yard. The scarce illumination made Krillen's scouting mission a little bit more irksome, but he ambled along the dirt and grass whistling a catchy tune as he inspected the perimeter of the cabin. He had inspected his way towards the back of the cabin, until he felt a soft zephyr tickle his nose milliseconds before something solid impacted it. His relatively small frame hurtled at breakneck speeds towards the forest area, before he collided headlong against a giant oak, snapping the hulking tree right where his skull smashed into it.
Not expecting any late night sparring sessions, Krillen's level of awareness was set only to casual and he hadn't even the barest of opportunities to spike his ki and defend himself. Ignoring the piercing pain coming from his nose, cheekbones, and skull, Krillen sprang up and tried in vain to set his guard before his mystery assailant could attack again. He noticed a little too late that a bright ki blast was careening towards his face very quickly. With a burst of extra ki, he attempted to maneuver himself out of the fatal trajectory of the blast but fell slightly short. The supercharged projectile seared entirely through his left leg, probably cauterizing the exposed flesh jutting out from the gaping wound. With an aggrieved howl Krillen's physique impacted the Earth, blood flowing out despite the burnt edges of the wound.
His blurry vision registered a dark figure, shrouded completely by an obscuring cloak, stand over his downed body. The apparition looked oddly like the Grim Reaper, an unsettling image to say the least. He swore that he could literally feel his veiled face smirk derisively as he stared down at him. Krillen whimpered slightly in pain as the mysterious form extended a palm in his direction, snorting in contempt while he floated ten feet in the air. "For all your efforts. You are still merely negligible amongst the masses. Shame it had to end this way. Farewell, brother." The outstretched palm emitted a brilliant yellow beam, aimed straight at the ex-monk's heaving chest. As soon as he fired the blazing ki blast, another one collided with his hand changing its trajectory barely enough so that the brunt of the enormous blast impacted the cold hard Earth beside the fallen Krillen. The explosion was intense, the shockwaves easily tossing Krillen's torn physique aside like a rag doll caught in a tornado.
"Krillen!!!" Eighteen screamed in horror as she caught a glimpse of her husband's body being flung nearly fifty feet by the explosion. Ignoring the shrapnel that was whizzing past her at astounding speeds, she literally broke the sound barrier by propelling herself towards her husband's body at full throttle. She landed quickly beside his broken and bleeding form, tears stinging her pale eyes and clouding her vision.
"Krillen. Oh shit. Oh f—king shit!. Krill…please," she choked out, cradling the head of her love in her lap as she tried to revive him. "Speak to me. Speak to me dammit!"
Tiny droplets of tears splashed on to Krillen's bruised and bleeding face, and his features stirred ever so slightly as his one good eye slit open barely to acknowledge her.
"H…hi," he attempted to smile, but his cheekbones and jaw were smashed completely by the combined effects of the first punch he took and the giant blast he endured at nearly point-blank range.
"Oh Krillen. You're bleeding too much. I have to get you out of here." She frantically soothed out his hair and kissed him on his forehead, gently gathering his battered body into her arms and lifting off. "Hold on. Just hold on." She flew as fast as her husband could take in his current condition, heading directly towards Satan City.
********************************
Damn, she we forgot about. Can't detect her, can we? No matter, we can detect the strongest of them, and that's all we need. That bald midget cannot survive that blast we gave him could he? He has to go, only way to phase her out of the picture for a while. We'll have to monitor them too. Hmmm…
Gohan? Interesting. Why is he heading towards Satan City? He had just come back half an hour ago, hadn't he? Did he figure something out?
Could be that he has deciphered some things we wish to keep hidden. The boy has remarkable perception skills, I need not remind you.
Of course. The blitzkrieg will have started now, no doubt. Maybe he's heard of it?
Unlikely. If it were so, then assuredly the rest of them would have been on their way also. Why Vegeta and Piccolo still remain at the mountain area, and why Son Gohan is making his way back to Satan City is what we must calculate.
Based on that blubbering fool's lingering ki, Eighteen is taking him to Satan City as well.
Son Gohan is nearly there. It'll most probably take her not more than ten minutes to arrive there. Maybe she'll rendezvous with him?
Highly improbable. She has been at our place with her husband the entire time, remember? There's no way she knows where he is. She hasn't met him since those three fools went out to look for her and she and that husband of hers came out to look for us.
Commendable observation. Then, we'll tag along?
Affirmative. The Satan City blitz must be supervised as well. It gives us good opportunity to keep an eye on him and those two as well.
It'll also give us a second opportunity to finish what we started here.
Yes. The midget must go.
***********************************
(A/N—I know, there's no use in explaining. So, well, if there isn't any use, then why try? Next chapter is going to be the 'climactic', errr, well, climax. Heh, that was a misnomer if there ever was one. Not much to say, not much to do, so I'm going to go straight into listing some good stories. Oh yeah, much hyped 'props' go to both ShaggyDiz and Psycho Ann, who've pre-read this chapter and well, made fun of it.
Angst and Cliffhangers (Sage and Psycho Ann respectively)—'Parable of the Eagle'. Well, both have ongoing projects, both have an immense following, so what is there left to do? Why, pair up of course. Truly an Unholy Fusion of two very talented authors (Or as they like to dub themselves, 'authoresses'. Bah, the women's movement.) This bears all the marks of something truly great, and Sage's riveting characterization and emotional elucidation coupled with Ann's intuitive and often off-the-wall Alternate Universe ideas and you have something that can't go wrong. It's in its initial phase of development (One chapter out so far), but I've read the rough copy script of what seems to be several chapters and it is one amazing, bumpy, not to mention creative, and thoroughly well-written story. You don't need to be a fan of their work, or the genre, or even the frigging pairing of Gh/Vi to be convinced to read this. Too good.
Perrin—This dude had one of the most interesting story starts I've ever come across. Not only did his story 'Dreams' immerse me right off the bat, geez, it never let up. Truly a bummer that he has probably abandoned it after three chapters, albeit three very long chapters. I wouldn't have mentioned him if those three chapters weren't worth as much, and sometimes more, than completed stories on this site. Check it out.
Now, two recommendations by two brilliant authors of whom they feel are aspiring writers on this site (I put my Ode to the Youth back a couple of chapters, and now it's their turn).
Animefan2017 (Recommended by ShaggyDiz)—Fred (ShaggyDiz) thinks that this author has got what it takes to formulate a compelling story, given the right amount of constructive feedback and her will to learn. Keep an eye on her, and her story 'The Wretched Life of our Hero'.
The Wraith (Recommended by Psycho Ann)—Ann has nothing but praise for this dude, who's actually her beta reader/ creative consultant. He pre-reads, and he helps get her out of tight corners she may have stuffed herself into. He has tentatively started a story, or more of a prequel/preview to Ann's much touted 'Predator and Prey', and it seems to be very interesting. Check out 'The Lies we Know', pretty cool stuff.
Now, to leave you with some one-liners. This time though, you'll get a rare treat into the inner working of Fred's (ShaggyDiz) and Ann's (Psycho Ann) minds. Yup, I've deliberately pulled these lines out of context to distort its meaning. It's the 'Canadian' way. ;x
"I smoke fish. And turkey. Smoked trout is just yummy."
-Psycho Ann
"All right…So I'm a nice guy and a heartless bastard. How's that?"
-ShaggyDiz
"No, don't run away, come here. I'm not going to hurt you—that badly. Come here…"
-Psycho Ann
"Trading tips on how to write sex scenes??"
-ShaggyDiz
