PN PREQUEL: Shades of Sanguine

[_Zephyre_]

With a flick of the wrist, he strikes,
The blade shatters the silent night






Shades of Sanguine
Written by _Zephyre_
Fictional universe canon by MAIET Entertainment

© _Zephyre_ 2007

This work of authorship, whether partial or in its entirety, may not be posted anywhere else on the Internet other than www.gunzfactor.com without the author’s consent. Any number of individuals who wish to publicly display this work anywhere else on the Internet or otherwise for any reason should contact the author for permission.

Disclaimer: This prose is set in the world of GunZ: The Duel. However, no official permission was obtained before the writing of this prose. I do not own the names Axium, Astra, Travia, Ilys, Nico, Maxwell, Walcom and so on, and they probably belong to MAIET Entertainment. GunZ: The Duel is property of MAIET Entertainment.
All characters within this prose and their distinctive likenesses belong to me. This prose is purely fiction. All characters in this prose are fictitious. Any resemblance of the aforementioned characters to actual people, living, dead, or not yet born, is purely coincidental.

Note: This prose contains multiple parts that depict violence and gore to a certain extent. Though they are not especially disturbing, if you are not prepared to view such material, please do not read the prose. Reader discretion is advised.


A lone horse, unceremoniously left tied to a dead tree in the otherwise green and grassy expanse of the Skerna Plains curiously eyed its rider from a distance as the latter scaled a completely vertical wall. He was difficult to make out in the darkness of the night, primarily due to his choice in the colour of his clothing – matte black, and darker than midnight. Progress was slow as dark figure struggled to find cracks in which he could use as foot- and handholds, slowly inching his way up the wall in the distance. It reminded the horse of a spider. It liked spiders. They made interesting, albeit small snacks back in the stables. It licked its lips. Then, it let its eyelids droop as it fell into a peaceful slumber once again.

***

I finally found footing within a crack on the uneven surface of the section of the ancient stone wall I chose to scale. Gingerly, I slipped the tip of my booted foot into the crack, well aware that if I encountered any form of hostility in this undignified position, this mission would probably be my last. Using the crack as leverage, I finally pushed myself high enough for my fingers to grasp the edge of top of the wall. I pulled myself atop the wall – even rougher and more weathered than its vertical surface, and was greeted with the sight of an ancient, now ruined arena. No, this was no Imperial Battle Arena. Axium takes better care of that. My survey the immediate area was cut short as I found myself slipping forward. I fell.

Before I slipped, I noticed that the outer walls that formed the perimeter of this time-worn complex were lined with lit torches. What I did not notice, however, was the torch below me until its bright flame flicked past my face, its heat with it, barely missing my head as I fell past it. If it wasn’t for the balaclava that masked my face, I probably would have lost some hair. I flipped over so that my feet were pointing towards the stone floor below, then I hit it in a roll. Quickly regaining my footing, I silently brought myself a few steps forward before laying prone on the edge of the stone surface. Below me, a set of dirty gray stairs stretched outwards, leading down into the sandy, unpaved ground below – the heart of the arena. There rested an ancient labyrinth formed by walls of ebony stone. Above it, at the arena’s perfect centre was a decorated circular platform of primarily the same colour and material, seemingly suspended in the air. The entire complex was built around that single platform, as if in emphasis of its presence. I wondered what significance it meant when this place was still used for its primary purpose. Perhaps it was once a viewing platform for bored and work-weary leaders to watch apathetically as gladiators battled for their very lives below. But even people with little military training would notice that the platform is far too open to attack. Or perhaps they just didn’t care. The long bridge that linked the platform to the ruined structure behind it seemed insignificant in comparison. Something like that could not hold out like that on its own, even with the bridge connecting it to the structure. Not at that length. Especially not after being left at the mercy of the weather for years. There was magic at work here. I could feel it.

I made out a group of people at the end of the labyrinth, and within that group, my prey. From the way there were positioned, I could tell that they weren’t of the same faction. For this mission, I was briefed only about who my targets were and their combat strengths, including those with them, nothing else. But that would be sufficient. I looked upwards at the open night sky, then shifted my gaze behind me at the same torch that had nearly set me on fire moments before. My eyes shifted back towards my prey - deep in discussion and completely oblivious to my presence. Then, I unslung a sniper rifle from my back and took aim.

***

A lone horse, unceremoniously left tied to a dead tree in the otherwise green and grassy expanse of the Skerna Plains stirred slightly in its sleep. Then, a loud gunshot resounded thickly into the night. The sudden burst of sound jerked the horse awake, causing it to swallow most of the accumulated saliva within its mouth suddenly and at once. The horse’s dim, animal eyes flicked open as it began to choke on its own salivary fluids. A mild coughing fit overtook the mount. Then, with a clear throat and once again thinking of spiders, it fell asleep again.

***

My sloppy entry so close to the torch would definitely have cast sizeable shadows across the area. Perhaps that was how they knew I was here. At least one of them did, anyway. Now they all knew of my presence, and not one of my assigned targets was dead. The brute of a man that lay dead before me barely counted as a target. His death meant little to the mission, only serving to stain the wall behind him in shades of sanguine. The torch that had almost set me on fire earlier had saved me. Perhaps it was more of a double-edged sword, quite unlike what I previously thought. Still, I didn’t know how he had managed to sneak up upon my position, but I was lucky to have noticed his shadow, even while peering through the targeting scope of my weapon as he approached. If I hadn’t, the massive axe he held would have cleaved me cleanly into two. But it was my sniper rifle that lay in two upon the cold stone floor. I had rolled onto my back when I noticed the brute’s shadow, then I shot him on instinct. I did not have time and could not draw my sword from my lower back in that position. All I had was the rifle to deflect the falling axe. If I knew that was going to happen earlier, I should just have charged in through the main entrance, guns blazing instead of attempting to take a more stealthy approach.

But now I have to focus on the matters at hand. The anarchists – my enemies, my prey - were probably flanking my position by now. But I couldn’t see them yet, and that probably meant they couldn’t see me, either. I brought myself up into a crouching position, and then unsheathed my katana. Its blade slid free of the oiled interior of my scabbard in almost total silence. I felt the sword’s familiar weight in my hands once I gripped it by the hilt, marvelling momentarily at the way the firelight played off the blade I had affectionately polished to an almost mirror-like sheen days before. I uttered a spell chant into two extended fingers of my left hand, allowing the eldritch words to roll off my tongue with practised ease before touching my feet with both fingers in rapid succession. Then, I launched myself into the air.

***

A lone horse, unceremoniously left tied to a dead tree in the otherwise green and grassy expanse of the Skerna Plains experienced a nightmare. It dreamt of spiders. Not the kind it enjoyed eating, but rather, the kind large enough to swallow it whole. There were many of them. And they were eating it. The horse whinnied and bucked. Then it broke off into a wild run, but it didn’t get very far. The thick length of rope securing the mount to the dead tree snapped taut, and the frenzied animal was violently jerked backwards. It fell on its side but quickly pushed itself to its feet. Fully awake now, though with its diminutive animal brain experiencing difficulty in differentiating dreams from reality, it hastily scanned its surroundings with its monocular vision. Satisfied that there were no giant spiders present, the horse lowered its head. Then, with a little more difficulty than before, it went to sleep.

***

I sailed high into the air, far above the stairs that led down into the labyrinth below as the entire expanse of the arena played out before my eyes. It was almost exhilarating, with the wind rushing past my face, my sword gripped tight in my right hand and the speed of my ascent. Best of all, I spotted the people that were key to the success of this mission scattered throughout the arena, and because of the torches that lined the immediate area, they were not protected by the darkness of the night.

Unfortunately, neither was I.

[_Zephyre_]

I was quickly greeted by a hail of gunfire as I reached the apex of my jump. The sound and speed of the shots were undoubtedly from a rifle of Maxwell origin. I allowed most of the bullets to travel past me as I descended. Those that came my way were quickly dispatched by the enchanted metal of my katana. With a free hand, I unholstered a pistol from my side. I raised it towards my attacker – a gangly youth who appeared to be just barely out of his teens - then I pulled the trigger. His comrades around him were just beginning to take aim. Whether I hit my mark or not, I did not know, for the dark walls of the maze below quickly rose to conceal the gunner from my sight.

I holstered my pistol and landed in a combat crouch, my fingers still wrapped around the hilt of the sword in my right hand. My refined sense of hearing then told me there was someone approaching from my right. I quickly rose and turned on my heel, grinding into the dirt and sand of the floor in the rotation, sword at the ready. Another of the anarchists approached me, but this one appeared considerably older than the last. On instinct, I scanned the potential threat over. He sported a shock of unkempt jet black hair and a goatee on his aging face. The streaks of gray that lined his hair served as an accentuation of his age. He stepped towards me in a casual gait, the hem of his trenchcoat playing lazily across his ankles. As his clothes shifted in the wind, I spotted a pistol belted at his waist. The trenchcoat looked familiar, though. Especially the fiery patterns and colours it was adorned with. He was a member of a prominent anarchist faction…

Iron Crow. The heart of the anarchists. My sworn enemy.

With stern determination etched upon every line of his face, he approached, yet with a mild swagger in his step. Then, he paused about half a dozen meters from me and, with a flourish, drew a weapon that had rarely seen practical use ever since the Industrial Cataclysm – a traditional longsword. Why he didn’t just draw his handgun to attempt attacking me from afar, I did not know.

Longswords were one the standard melee weapons for the general infantry of Axium before the Industrial Cataclysm changed the nation as we knew it. After the revolutionary technological developments that followed, weaponsmiths themselves discovered new ways to create better swords. The result was lighter, single-edged swords made of folded metal, making the entire blade more durable and the cutting edge more resistant to wear. This eventually led to the curved katanas that many chose to use today.

Yet this man carried a weapon commonly seen as inferior to those used today. Then he bowed at me. A formal duel. Foolish. This place isn’t the Imperial Battle Arena. And still the anarchist then stood at the ready, carrying an old weapon that possessed both simplicity and strength.

But, in the end, it was still a melee weapon.

I drew a pistol and sent a bullet into his face. He had no time to react before the bullet made contact with his forehead. I recognized all too familiar sounds as the bullet penetrated his skull and tore through his brain, littering the ground around the anarchist in blood and gore. Only then did I realize that I was only briefly aware of the sounds of shouted orders all around me before. The cacophony of footsteps all around me grew louder. I turned and ran before the corpse even hit the ground, escaping that section of the labyrinths before the anarchists arrived to sweep the area with gunfire.

“Matthias is dead!” came a voice behind me.

I reached the end of a wall.

“There he is!” someone else pointed out.

I rounded the end of the wall, placing it between me and the anarchists.

“Fire!” ordered another voice.

I felt the bullets ricochet off the wall behind me as I planted my back against the solid surface.

“Stop!” ordered the voice again.

With trained precision, I thrust my katana back into its scabbard.

“He’s already gone!” the first voice stated.

I reached up towards a concealed slot of my left sleeve with my right hand.

“That way!” someone suggested.

Four razor-edged throwing stars rested between my fingertips.

“Be careful!” an anarchist advised.

The footsteps grew louder. I let fly with the shurikens. They sliced through the air towards the headed direction of the approaching anarchists. Three of the thrown projectiles stuck to the ground, with their sharp edges pointed outwards as if daring anyone to step on them. One shuriken buried itself in a man’s neck. A fountain of blood followed, showering nearby anarchists in the dark, cohesive liquid. One of the shurikens embedded in the ground pierced the foot of another anarchist, who promptly screamed, and fell. It didn’t matter if the blade didn’t immediately kill him. The shurikens were laced with poison.

But I had no time to watch him fall. By the time the anarchists had spotted me, I was already halfway up the wall, drawing another pistol with my free hand. One foot after another, defying gravity, I ran up the vertical surface of the wall. The moment my foot reached the top edge of the wall, I kicked off.

A flurry of voices resonated throughout the immediate area.
“There!”
“It’s really h-“
“What-“
“Get him!”

It looked like both anarchist factions were working together to defend themselves now. Iron Crow and, as the familiar blue biker helmets implied, Blue Whistle. The 'Headache of the Empire'. These anarchists were getting more organized by the day. They were starting to have leaders, growing in both numbers and strength. And they were forming alliances, banding together for a greater purpose unknown to me or the inquisitive minds of the Empire. This I knew from previous operations dealing with these rebels. And perhaps an alliance is what they were here for, as well.

Bullets rained across the wall I had recently parted with. I was already approaching the general centre of the anarchist group from above, upside down. And then, for the anarchists, all hell broke loose. I spun through the air and fired in rapid succession, blanketing the area below in gunfire. Of course, I couldn’t expect to hit all of them. Still, a satisfactory number of them lay dead or crippled on the ground. I completed the backflip and landed on both feet, already in the process of reloading my pistols. A nearby anarchist woman let out a feral roar, and with it came a horizontal slash with her sword directed at my neck.

This was my chance for another attack of opportunity. All of them desperately wanted to see me dead. All of them strongly desired to bring me down themselves. I could effectively turn that desire against them. I nimbly ducked under the blade and halted her arm’s movement at the wrist with my own, still gripping my gun. Then, with my other hand, I smashed the butt of the pistol it held into the elbow of her extended arm, effectively breaking it. The woman screamed in agony from the grotesque wreck of her arm, but her pain would end soon. In desperation, two of her comrades attempted to shoot me, even in this position. They could only gasp as I spun the anarchist into the path of their shots so that they hit her instead. Then I let her slump to the ground, allowing me to holster a pistol and unsheathe my sword. They shot again. I rolled forward, quickly covering the distance between myself and one of the anarchists. As I broke out of the roll, my arm extended, and I thrust my katana through the chest of the anarchist I approached. My other arm extended sideways, pointing a pistol towards a shocked anarchist. I fired. The anarchist fell lifelessly to the ground.

Then, accompanied with a familiar, distinct wet sound, I withdrew my sword from the other anarchist’s body, allowing him to slump to the ground with a soft death gurgle. Now the anarchists behind me had a clear shot of their target and nobody else to hit. I quickly spun around to face them. The swiftness of the rotation sent some of the blood on my blade into the walls.

They were gone.

Within the boundaries of my peripheral vision, I spotted movement. The two remaining anarchists – my assigned targets – were fleeing down a corridor into the massive ruined structure behind the arena. I raised my pistol, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty. I holstered the pistol, drew the other one, and gave chase.

***

A lone horse, unceremoniously left tied to a dead tree in the otherwise green and grassy expanse of the Skerna Plains awakened from a restful slumber. It lazily swayed its head from left to right and blinked repeatedly before raising its head. It was still dark, but the faint glimmer of dawn could be seen just over the horizon. Then it fell asleep again.

***

Taking care to remain stealthy, I silently crept along the darkened corridors after my two targets, concealed by the shadows around me. I was keeping pace with them, stalking them to discover any ulterior motives for their meeting within the complex. I could follow them because they did not and could not cover the tracks they left without wasting extended periods of time. I followed footsteps of blood from the massacre they had left behind. Finally, I ascended after duo up a flight of stone stairs. Glancing upwards, I was aware that the ceiling and much of the upper portion of the building had given away long ago and the sky was open to me. Dawn was approaching.

[_Zephyre_]

I heard a pair of voices gradually growing louder as I approached the top of the stairs. I paused to listen, peering over the edge to watch. One anarchist was pointing an accusatory finger at the other. Funny, I thought they were the best of friends.
“You set him on us, didn’t you?”
“What? We were here to discuss an alliance, not get our men killed together!”
So it was another alliance.
“Oh? My spies tell me that you treat your men like disposable objects!” This one possessed an insinuating tone.
“So you admit to spying on me, then!”

The pair of anarchists seemed to have paused to talk- No, to argue just outside the entrance to the bridge leading out towards the suspended circular platform over the labyrinth now towards my right that I had noticed earlier, my presence unknown to them.

“Wait! Listen! The fighting’s stopped!”

Until now.

I leapt towards the wall on my left then threw myself off its stone surface, brandishing my sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. I soared through the air over the stairs, rapidly approaching the anarchist closest to me as he rushed to draw a weapon. I was already on him before he could take aim, however, and I severed the head of my chosen target from his body in a mighty diagonal slash as I landed. Blood spewed from the stump of his neck as his body collapsed sideways. Only one remained, backing away in fear, unintelligible raving rolling off his tongue. He seemed to be experiencing difficulties in unholstering the revolver he wore at his waist. Finally, he ripped it free of its holster, pointed it in my general direction with quivering hands, and fired. With my sword, I sliced horizontally in midair, catching the bullet in its flight, then levelled my pistol with his head.

A gunshot resounded thickly into the early morning, and a weighty thud followed shortly after. My mission was complete.

Then something caught my eye. A small rectangular object rested atop the bridge, softly ticking away at set intervals. A clockwork bomb. Its explosion would take out the bridge, and probably the circular platform this whole area was built around as well. Why would the anarchists want to destroy such things? I did not know, but common sense suggested that it was related to my mission to a certain extent. Bomb defusion was never my specialty, but I was trained in it should the need to do so present itself. I ran the flat sides of my sword across the clothes of a nearby corpse, ridding the blade of most of the blood that bathed it, then I slid it back into its scabbard, as silently as it had left it. I reloaded my pistols and planted them securely inside their holsters, then I approached the explosives and set to work.

***

A lone horse, unceremoniously left tied to a dead tree in the otherwise green and grassy expanse of the Skerna Plains found itself rudely awakened by repeated impatient tugging at its side. Facing east, its eyes flicked open. A magnificent sunrise of astounding beauty reflected off the mount’s bleary eyes. But it could not appreciate its splendour. It peered around to check for the source of the annoying tugging. Its black-clad rider was struggling to pull a traveller’s cloak free from a saddle pocket. The horse remained indifferent. Finally, he pulled it free. He longed to return to his home in Axium, especially after the night’s work, and then he would give a report of the mission to Ramitz. Dark clouds hung thickly in the sky towards the west, indicating rain in the area later that morning. The rider checked his weapons before wrapping the cloak around himself, then he climbed onto the horse and rode off into the sunrise.

The sunrise cast a reddish glow across the ruined arena that morning. Perhaps it was in sympathetic mourning of the lives lost in the brutal massacre the night before.

***

The rain cast a heavy gray fog over the Skerna Plains later that morning. Though it was nothing more than a drizzle, the rain still served as an annoyance nonetheless, and visibility was low. Two hooded figures stood out in stark contrast of the monotonous shades of gray that morning, mainly because of the brown cloaks they wore above their clothing, though they only offered meagre protection from the weather. Both kept a steady pace trudging across the wet grass, slowly approaching the massive slabs of stone that formed the outer wall of an ancient arena, now in ruins.

One of the figures - the taller one of the two, kept a few steps ahead of the other. It was clearly a man, as his bulky build indicated, and he paused once he reached the broad corridor that served as the main entrance of the complex. The second figure caught up with him. This one was shorter, but possessed a lithe and slender frame. This hooded figure was undoubtedly a woman, though she exhibited an air of hardiness and carried herself with a spring in her step that suggested that she would not be caught flat-footed easily. A hardened warrior.

The man turned to her, “Shouldn’t there be people watching the entrance?”
“There should be,” she replied. The man’s eyebrows narrowed. Then, as if on cue, they both drew their weapons. The man drew an Ellan submachine gun from his thigh and slapped a fresh clip home. His companion just unsheathed a polished katana.

“Look,” she said, softly this time, pointing into the arena. The man followed her gaze. Visibility was low, but he could vaguely make out an ebony circular platform, seemingly suspended in the air above the direct centre of the arena.
“Yeah,” he finally said, “It’s still there, too. Something definitely went wrong.”

“Let’s go in,” the woman said, starting forward. Her companion’s hand landed heavily on her shoulder.
“Wait,” said the man, “Shouldn’t we get backup? You know, in case-“
“And waste time having to come back here again?” the woman interjected. The man remained silent.
“Let’s go,” the woman said, taking a step forward. Then she paused.
“Carefully,” she said, then started forward again.
“Carefully,” agreed the man.

The hooded woman paused again. She turned towards her companion.
“What now?” the latter asked.
“Look, watch my back, and keep me within sight. Got it?”
He nodded, growing increasingly worried. Various possibilities on how things went wrong boiled in his head. They rounded a corner, weapons at the ready.

The foul stench of decay assaulted their nostrils. The woman narrowed her eyebrows and brought her free arm up to her face to fend of the wave of nausea that almost overtook her. The man coughed and retched as bile ran up his throat, but he fought the nausea off in time. Battered and bloody corpses lay sprawled across the area, damp with rainwater.

“What the hell happened here?” he asked in shock, well aware of the futility of his asking. His companion didn’t reply. Instead, she was knelt over a corpse, examining it. The man continued, voicing his thoughts out loud, “You don’t think they fought, do you? No, if they did, the bomb still would have went off. Unless someone did something to it. But that’s not right. We were supposed to be forming an alliance with Iron Crow! We had the same goals in mind!”

He paused only to watch his companion move to another corpse to examine it, “But I guess a fight is possible, with that Iron Crow leader being the thick-headed, egocentric kindergarten reject he is, but still-“
“Trebor, shut up!” the woman finally spoke. She rose to her feet and pulled down her hood, revealing the fine features that adorned her tanned, heart-shaped face. Her ponytail was a wet mess in the rain and wind. Trebor stared at her in silence. She stared back, squinting in attempt to keep the rain out of her almond eyes. The man opened his mouth to speak, but his companion quickly cut him off.
“I know he’s just a lowly thug at heart, a coward, too, but we need all the help we can get. Iron Crow is the largest anarchist faction in Havani.”
“But with leaders like that…” Trebor’s voice trailed off.
This time, it was the woman’s turn to stare at him in silence.
“…Is it true, then, that anarchy is a revolution?” he finally said.
Moments passed.
“Yes.”

The duo turned to gaze at the dead for a moment. The woman finally said, “Look, we have to head back and report this to the Havani Council immediately.”
“Gosh, Rachel,” Trebor said in reply, “You’d think I’d have figured that out after the corpses.”
“I know,” Rachel said. “But this,” she gestured at the scene of death and decay around her, “This looks like the work of the Pistol Ninja.”



~ fin.

[Nosedagger]

Added to listings.

[_Zephyre_]

I'm a little concerned about the reply-to-view ratio.

[Scuba]

ok... the story has a good idea to it, but the writing isnt very good.

you should reread it, and change some things around.


heres a few examples imo.

I slipped the tip of my booted foot into the crack

theres no need to say BOOTED FOOT, it just sounds bad.

I slipped the tip of my boot into the crack

this does fine.


another thing, is the

A lone horse, unceremoniously left tied to a dead tree in the otherwise green and grassy expanse

really dont need that in front of every time you go back to the horse, its like you switch to the horse, say that, then go back to the main character and explain the entire surroundings from start to finish even though he hasnt moved.

the top part seems sort of.. rushed if you ask me.

though starting it out from the horses perspective is an interesting start to a story :P


the action scenes are also pretty straight foward, and decent thought given to them.

Though, you really should have gone into a decent fight with the iron crow man, because you gave him so much explanation, which isnt needed for someone yer gonna KILL off just as he's introduced. thats like explaining every character's clothing in a short story who takes one shot at the main character, then dies.

the dialogue is pretty good though at the end.

[Wixern]

I like the action-scene descriptions. I also like the use of the "I"-perspective; something which tends to bother me in other stories, but used correctly here.

Safe for some small, already stated mistake, it's a good read. I do hope the horse carries someone important, though, unless you plan to use it in some reference to the main storyline. I can remember a book or two in which such scenes (describing something different happening far away) followed and accented the main storyline somewhat.

I'd like to read the whole thing once it's done.

[Nosedagger]

Alright.

Kind of a disappointment, really. I was hoping for better character development beyond and besides the Ninja's willingness to kill and a horse's anxiety. It lacked depth.

Action was decent, but became less so when it was served raw, with no side dish of surprise or intelligence. I'm not saying that your protagonist was stupid, I'm saying that he his characterization was not significant enough to make me go "hmmm". I suppose this IS a little late(sorry), but it was largely the same in your Pistol Ninja movies. Readers(and viewers) require some measure of intrigue or uncertainty(or surprise) to keep them going.

I also have issues with the horse. The horse played no part in the main story, and shed little light on what readers want to know. All I ultimately got from this little subplot(which seemed more like an annoyance, no offense) was that the Ninja rode a very ordinary horse.

Issues of realism/continuity: PN should have scaled that wall ezpz. Even if a Wall Slash would have been too cacophonic, there's always that Vertical Wall Run.
Nevertheless, PN should have climbed much better. It's already established that he's careful enough to defuse bombs, but he can't hike up a wall without screwing up and falling over?

Also, PN missed that shadows would point to his position? Wut? Like I said, earlier canon doesn't mark him out as any sort of amateur.

Then there's the amateurism of his targets. I don't mind PN p00ning the whole gang without so much as ruffling his hair, but something tells me that the leaders of Blue Whistle and Iron Crow don't stand and bicker when an assassin is kicking ass. At the very least they should have drawn their weapons, had they REALLY been suspicious of each other.

“…Is it true, then, that anarchy is a revolution?” he finally said.
Moments passed.
“Yes.”

Not that I don't appreciate the effort, but I don't see why Trebor would ask that all of a sudden. If I'm reading this right: Trebor thinks that because of poor leaders, the anarchist revolution will fail. If so, then you should have made it a bit more clear.

The foul stench of decay assaulted their nostrils. The woman narrowed her eyebrows and brought her free arm up to her face to fend of the wave of nausea that almost overtook her.

Another thing: If Rachel is such a 'hardened warrior', why is she affected in this way by the sight of bodies?

“Trebor, shut up!” the woman finally spoke.

Losing of composure seemed unwarranted.


Yeah, plenty of shortcomings(or maybe I hyped myself up too much). But there were good points too: shooting the gladiator wannabe was a nice touch as was the extensive vocabulary. If you grab me on MSN I'll go more in-depth, Zephy-kun.

[controls]

Originally Posted by Nosedigger

Alright.

Kind of a disappointment, really. I was hoping for better character development beyond and besides the Ninja's willingness to kill and a horse's anxiety. It lacked depth.

Action was decent, but became less so when it was served raw, with no side dish of surprise or intelligence. I'm not saying that your protagonist was stupid, I'm saying that he his characterization was not significant enough to make me go "hmmm". I suppose this IS a little late(sorry), but it was largely the same in your Pistol Ninja movies. Readers(and viewers) require some measure of intrigue or uncertainty(or surprise) to keep them going.

I also have issues with the horse. The horse played no part in the main story, and shed little light on what readers want to know. All I ultimately got from this little subplot(which seemed more like an annoyance, no offense) was that the Ninja rode a very ordinary horse.

Issues of realism/continuity: PN should have scaled that wall ezpz. Even if a Wall Slash would have been too cacophonic, there's always that Vertical Wall Run.
Nevertheless, PN should have climbed much better. It's already established that he's careful enough to defuse bombs, but he can't hike up a wall without screwing up and falling over?

Also, PN missed that shadows would point to his position? Wut? Like I said, earlier canon doesn't mark him out as any sort of amateur.

Then there's the amateurism of his targets. I don't mind PN p00ning the whole gang without so much as ruffling his hair, but something tells me that the leaders of Blue Whistle and Iron Crow don't stand and bicker when an assassin is kicking ass. At the very least they should have drawn their weapons, had they REALLY been suspicious of each other.



Not that I don't appreciate the effort, but I don't see why Trebor would ask that all of a sudden. If I'm reading this right: Trebor thinks that because of poor leaders, the anarchist revolution will fail. If so, then you should have made it a bit more clear.



Another thing: If Rachel is such a 'hardened warrior', why is she affected in this way by the sight of bodies?



Losing of composure seemed unwarranted.


Yeah, plenty of shortcomings(or maybe I hyped myself up too much). But there were good points too: shooting the gladiator wannabe was a nice touch as was the extensive vocabulary. If you grab me on MSN I'll go more in-depth, Zephy-kun.

You pretty muched summed up what I was gonna say.

[Junji]

lol ^ haaha
omg a wall of text..good

[_Zephyre_]

Originally Posted by Scuba356

theres no need to say BOOTED FOOT, it just sounds bad.

Noted. I knew "booted foot" sounded weird. D;

Originally Posted by Scuba356

really dont need that in front of every time you go back to the horse, its like you switch to the horse, say that, then go back to the main character and explain the entire surroundings from start to finish even though he hasnt moved.

It must be noted, however, that only a large portion of the first line of the horse scenes remain similar. The entire anxious horse fiasco was aimed towards giving the thing a more quirky feel, but I guess that wasn't carried out effectively enough.

Originally Posted by Nosedigger

I was hoping for better character development beyond and besides the Ninja's willingness to kill and a horse's anxiety. It lacked depth.

Action was decent, but became less so when it was served raw, with no side dish of surprise or intelligence. I'm not saying that your protagonist was stupid, I'm saying that he his characterization was not significant enough to make me go "hmmm". I suppose this IS a little late(sorry), but it was largely the same in your Pistol Ninja movies. Readers(and viewers) require some measure of intrigue or uncertainty(or surprise) to keep them going.

Which, in a way, stays true to the trilogy, really. Lacking depth, pumped with random, hard-boiled(lol movie pun!) action. Mainly. Either way, there's not much space for character development here. Not without spoiling portions of the trilogy intro which I believe some of you may have seen. The prime turning points of his life would be being handed to the military for conscription and the entire run-in with Ramitz's plot.

Originally Posted by Nosedigger

Issues of realism/continuity: PN should have scaled that wall ezpz. Even if a Wall Slash would have been too cacophonic, there's always that Vertical Wall Run.
Nevertheless, PN should have climbed much better. It's already established that he's careful enough to defuse bombs, but he can't hike up a wall without screwing up and falling over?

Like you said, wall slashing would probably have kicked up too much noise. But A wallrun can only bring you so far. The intended height of that was was exactly that of the bottom of the Ruin map to the top of the external wall. Assuming the wall didn't have many foot- and handholds in the first place, I doubt he should've climbed better. Again, I guess I failed to establish that early on when it was needed. Anyways, I think this is pretty apparent, but being careful enough to defuse bombs doesn't have much to do with being careful enough to hike up a wall without screwing up and falling over. Except in carefulness, probably. Which was what he was trying to maintain. Until the top. And, to further weasel my way around that, the bomb could've been the really simple sort. The "LULZ DRAMATIK CUT DIS WIRE W/ < 1 SECOND LEFT" type.

Originally Posted by Nosedigger

Not that I don't appreciate the effort, but I don't see why Trebor would ask that all of a sudden. If I'm reading this right: Trebor thinks that because of poor leaders, the anarchist revolution will fail. If so, then you should have made it a bit more clear.

I guess I didn't imply that strongly enough. Anyways, that was in reference to guobin2's sig.

Originally Posted by Nosedigger

If Rachel is such a 'hardened warrior', why is she affected in this way by the sight of bodies?

Nausea. Have you smelled a wet, decomposing corpse before? Multiply that with the number of dead in the arena.



Anyways, thanks, everyone, for the feedback. I rather appreciate it.