Wednesday, 31 October 2012

Camp of the Damned: Prologue

“Never mistake silence for weakness. No one plans a murder out loud”


Sometimes, things just happen. Sometimes, people crash a car. Sometimes, people fall over. Sometimes, people go insane. Sometimes, people decide to kill others.

Trust me when I say sometimes, when things happen, it’s something you don’t want.

I didn’t want this. No one wanted this. No one who heard about it wanted this, but the people involved especially never wanted this. Except for one.

Dear god I wish this had never happened. The camp was the worst thing that could possibly come to anyone’s mind. This camp was hell- No, worse than hell.

This camp cost lives. This camp cost everything

This was the camp of the damned.

So yeah, that was the begining of my horror/thriller. The spirit of Halloween told me to write this. I don't even celebrate Halloween in the slightest.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the start, hopefully more to come with some actual things happening

Friday, 19 October 2012

Stolen: Chapter 2

Took a long time, am I right? I had about 570 words of chapter 2 straight after I finished chapter 1, and was stuck. And tonight, it just came to me. Now I have 1,264 words

This is where it used to be. I'm taking down anything I might consider getting published. 

Monday, 15 October 2012

Heroes of a Super Variety: Chapter 2

This is where it used to be. I'm taking down anything I might consider getting published. 

Wednesday, 3 October 2012

A Strange Killer: Chapter 2- Detectives Detecting


Zathract Mist knocked at the desk, getting the attention of the man in front of him.

The man was sitting, reading a magazine. He looked up at Zathract.

“William Schrienger,” Zathract said.

“Next victim?” the man asked.

“Latest,” Zathract said simply. “Pull up all the details on him. Everything.”

The man didn’t reply. Instead he stood and walked off. Zathract walked back to his office, through the Sanctuary. He was now nineteen years of age. He was actually very close to hitting the surge. But until then, he still could use both his elemental powers and Necromancy. He would be sad when he would have to choose. The choice was clear to him, but still, it was more efficient to have both.

Zathract was tall. He still dressed in black, but they weren’t the same clothes he wore when he was young. He let his hair grown longer, but only slightly. He still wore his black gloves, which kept his Necromancy power. It was his eyes that had changed most of all. The piercing green was now clouded, as if he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t really. He had far too much on his mind.

When he got back into his office, he found the Sensitive waiting.

“You didn’t see this one coming,” Zathract remarked.

The Sensitive, Jay Feiling, nodded. He looked to be in his early twenties. His hair was short and curly brown. His black eyes gave one the feeling of falling down a hole with now end. He was someone who had helped stop more than one attempted murder by seeing the death before it happened. But with this case, he was having trouble.

“His actions are unpredictable. He goes on a whim.”

“We know it’s not a full whim,” Zathract said. He sat on his chair, and looked at Feiling. “He’s picking of Sanctuary staff. First the two cleavers. Then the three detectives. A junior administrator. Now a Repository sorter.”

“True,” said Feiling. “But he doesn’t plan it out. He’s got a list of Sanctuary workers, and if he finds someone on that list, he kills them. It’s almost impossible to say who he’ll kill next.”

Zathract didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked at the folder of the killer. Nixion Strange.

“What was the crime scene like? Feiling asked after a minute.

Zathract looked up. “Three dead mortals, killed by having their ribs cave in on their organs. One dead sorcerer. Skull caved in. It’s just like the others. The target’s head caved in, and the collateral damage have their ribs caved in. It’s his way of telling us who was the objective, and who wasn’t.”

Feiling nodded. “He’s not very precise, is he? He’s going by luck almost. He has no plan.”

“True, but that means we can’t predict his actions any more than he can.”

The man walked into Zathract’s office without knocking, and gave him a folder. It was the details on Schrienger.

“Anything we should know about him,” Feiling asked after a few minutes of Zathract reading over the folder.

“No. It’s as we thought. It’s just random.”

What Zathract didn’t tell Feiling was that he knew Nix was doing this for Zathract. He had no idea why, but it was for him, he knew it.

There was a knock at the door, and a boy opened it. “The Elder Council would like to see you, detective.”

Zathract nodded and stood. Normally the administrator would come deliver the message, but after seven deaths of Sanctuary staff, people were panicking. No one could find the killer, and people were afraid. People were deciding to leave, and everyone left were working hard to keep this under control.

He followed the boy to the Elders. If they had made time to see him, they must have something good to say. When he got there, he noticed one of the Elders were gone. Only the Grand Mage and another Elder were there.

“You asked to see me,” Zathract said calmly.

“Hm? Oh, yes,” the Grand Mage said. “Sorry about the boy, our administrator is busy making an arrest.”

Zathract blinked. “He’s arresting someone?”

“Yes. We’re a little short-handed at the moment.”

“But has he ever made an arrest before?”

“No. I’m sure he can handle it though.”

Zathract shook his head, not bothering to argue. “Any reason you called me here?”

“Yes.” The Grand Mage grew serious. “Have you got any leads on Strange?”

“None so far,” Zathract admitted.

“How can he be doing this? He’s an amateur killer.” The Elder spoke up, his voice indignant.

“He’s erratic, and unpredictable. He’s also smarter than he was when he was a child.”

“The thing is, Detective Mist, we’re afraid your judgment on this case may be a little… clouded.”

“My judgment is fine, thank you.” Zathract didn’t show any offense to this on the outside. A few years ago he would have narrowed his eyes and turned this into an argument. But he had to keep his calm.

“Never the less, we are putting another detective on this case with you.”

“I don’t need any help,” Zathract said, letting his fist clench a little.

“I have to insist, I’m afraid. You’ll meet your new temporary partner tomorrow.”

Zathract just walked away. Later on, yes, he would break something. But not now. Now, he just had to keep his calm.


The Grand Mage sighed as his prime detective walked away. He knew he had made the right decision. But he couldn’t help wonder if maybe Detective Mist wouldn’t be able to handle this case, considering his history with the killer.

Monday, 1 October 2012

A Strange Killer: Chapter 1- Bloody Murder

I wrote this in about an hour, with no prior planing or thought what so ever. Impressed? You should be

Nixion Strange stood on the rooftop, looking out into the city. The lights were so pretty at night. The blood on his hands was dried and the murderer in him was calling out for more blood. Nixion let himself smile. Then he jumped off the rooftop.

It was about 40 stories down. Nixion rushed past floor after floor, the ground quickly approaching. He let himself fall, making no effort to slow is dissent. Then, with only 13 stories to the ground, he acted.

He flicked out a cable from under his wrist, which tied itself around a balcony. The device it came from immediately started reeling in. Nixion swung up slightly, and crashed through a window.

He stood. The glass had cut him in some places, but nothing serious. Nixion flicked is wrist back and the cable untied itself and flew back into the device. A recent addition, and Nixion was still working out the fundamentals of using it, but it was astoundingly helpful. Magic usually was.

He looked around the apartment he had swung into. Empty. A shame, it would have made a good warm up kill.

Nixion dusted himself off. He still wore a leather jacket, though his old one was much too small for him now. His hair was longer, and he looked to be in his late teens. Nixion no longer carried a machete. He outgrew the comfort he felt when using it, instead preferring to use his magic to fight. But instead of the glare the used to always occupy his face, he now wore a smirk. Nixion had changed.


The man was walking. That was all there was to it. He was walking. He didn’t enter any of the shops, nor did he seem to be going anywhere. He appeared to be walking, just for the sake of walking. Most peculiar.

He was middle aged, with grey hair and a brown coat. He looked like he was important. His brown eyes were calm. He carried a coffee as he walked down the city street.

This man was a mage. A sorcerer who worked for the Sanctuary. Nothing exceedingly important, but enough to be known by people outside the Sanctuary. Enough to be killed.

The man had no idea that he was being watched. A killer was stalking him, waiting for a moment to strike. But there was no moment. The man hadn’t stopped walking, and in a city like this the streets had people, even at this time of night. The killed was patient, but even so, this was getting annoying.

Finally, the man walked into an apartment block. Nixion Strange, the killer, waited a minute, then walked up to the door. The lock was broken. Nixion grinned. This was all too easy. He walked inside and got into the elevator. He inspected the buttons. The thing about old elevators like this was that you can tell what the last button pressed was. Nixion pressed it again.

When he got to the third floor, for that was what floor the man was on, he got out. This was the hard bit. Nixion looked at the floor. It had been raining earlier that day, and the man surely had wet feet from walking. But so did everyone else who had been outside. There were twelve doors on this floor. Three could be counted out, because there were no wet footprints leading to them. Nixion walked to each of the remaining nine doors and put his ear to them. Only five doors had any sound inside. Two more doors could be knocked out, because Nixion could hear a TV. The mage didn’t believe in modern conveniences like television. Three doors left. In one was a shower running. The man could be showering, but for what reason? In another were people arguing quietly. Nixion had no idea if the man lived alone. In the last door was the sound of a kettle. The man had just drank a coffee, would he need another one? Never the less, Nixion chose that door first. He didn’t want to have to kill two people for no reason, especially if they were mortals. They tended to scream. And Nixion had no wish to walk in on the man showering, if he did live there. He would choose that door last.

Nixion tried the handle. The door was unlocked. Mages tended to be paranoid and he doubted he would leave his door unlocked. It was too late to stop now, so Nixion walked inside. A young woman was there, pouring a cup of tea at the other side of the room. She looked up as Nixion walked in. She opened her mouth, but quicker than a fox, Nixion flicked his wrist and the cable tied around her throat. She managed a strangled scream before Nixion got to her and killer her by caving her ribs in. He checked the rest of the rooms, but no one was there.

Next Nixion got to the door with the people arguing. They were still talking in a low volume to one another, but Nixion could tell when people were angry. He used to be angry all the time. He tried the handle, but it was locked. The voices fell silent. Nixion tapped the back of his hand, and a symbol he had got someone to put there pulsed. Nixion put his hand to the door, and it unlocked. He burst in silently, immediately aiming for the two people. Neither of them were the man he was looking for. One of the people, a young man, opened his eyes wide and stepped towards Nixion. He sidestepped him and reached for the woman, tapping her and also caving her ribs in. He turned back to the first man just in time to see him aim a punch. Nixion blocked up and stepped closer to the man. The man opened his mouth to scream, and Nixion killed him, the same way he did with the last two.

Nixion walked back into the corridor. He wasn’t being very lucky. He started towards the third door when he heard someone cough from the door next to the dead arguing couple’s apartment. This was one of the doors which there were no footprints to. On an instinct, Nixion put his ear to the door. He could hear the sound of someone writing with a pen. It was one of those people who pressed too hard and made a lot of noise. Than the man inside coughed again.

Nixion frowned. When he was following the man before, he heard him cough. This cough amazingly similar. Then it hit him.

The mage could be an elemental. He could have kept the water of his shoes when outside, or dried himself when he got inside at any time, from the entrance to the elevator. Nixion cursed himself for his stupidity. Three mortals dead because Nixion didn’t think. Not that Nixion cared, it was just it was a needless waste of time. Nixion tried the handle on this door. Locked. He tapped his symbol and pressed his hand to the door. It unlocked.

Nixion walked inside, where the mage was standing from his desk.

“Don’t bother screaming,” Nixion said.

“I wasn’t going to,” the mage said, frowning. “Who are you?”

“Your killer.”

The mage said nothing. He didn’t move and he didn’t speak. Nixion stood there for a moment, then calmly walked towards the sorcerer. He was only a couple of meters away when the man pushed the air and sent Nixion staggering back. Nixion got his balance and rushed the man, knocking his hands away and grabbing his throat. He shoved the man into the centre of the room. For a moment the man was gasping, on his hands and knees and looking at the floor. Then he jumped up and clicked his fingers, summoning two flames. But Nixion had moved to behind the mage and grabbed the back of his neck, causing the man to lose the flame and fall to his knees again.

Nixion grinned. He put his other hand to the man’s head, and imploded his skull.

Leaving the man as he was, Nixion walked back to the elevator. Three dead mortals were the price of the mage’s death, he reckoned.

He couldn’t wait until Mist saw this one.