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Yu-Gi-Oh! Reaper, Chapter Two (Tweaked Version) is Up!


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Throughout various cities across the united states, sightings have been reported of a mysterious cloaked figure who trails black fog behind him as he walks. Whenever he approaches, those who see him become afraid, and criminals run for their lives, dropping ill-gotten goods, or forgetting their victims. The latest city to experience this phenomenon is New York, New York, and this time the mysterious Reaper, as he has come to be called, isn't content to stop with simple street thugs. He and his faceless ally, the phantom Whisper that only he can hear, have taken on a criminal drug ring so powerful that the police didn't even know it existed. But the Reaper isn't a cop, and his methods are unusual, and disconcerting. Somehow the criminals that meet the Reaper directly are propelled into a coma-like condition that doctors cannot explain, or cure. The Reaper may have good intentions, but he is also very, very dangerous. As two police detectives work apart from the rest of the NYPD to locate the Reaper and end his vigilantism, they find themselves completely out of their element as they face an even greater enemy with dark magic beyond comprehention. Can they stand up to this true enemy? What is his connection to the Reaper, and to the Trading Card Game, Duel Monsters? What are this mysterious villains plans for the city, and how can he be stopped?

 

Fear and death must be faced and overcome, and there is no doubt that not everyone will make it through the ordeal alive. The Reaper must unite with his pursuers-in-blue to win the day, but will he be able to survive his final test with his sanity intact?

 

All of these questions will be answered in...

 

 

 

Yu-Gi-Oh! Reaper

 

 

 

[spoiler=Chapter One]


A Clandestine Meeting

Late at night an old sedan turned off of one of Manhattan's many highways onto a worn exit ramp, and drove along a worn, two-lane road into a deteriorating, nearly-abandoned section of the city, so neglected that there were no open shops, and streetlights were few and far between. Its dark color caused it to blend easily with the darkness that somehow managed to even avoid the majority of the light pollution from the city proper, only its loud, banging engine, and the few places where its paint was worn away to reveal the steel metal underneath giving it away. After several minutes, the sedan turned onto a side street, under one of those few streetlights, and curved around behind a shabby office building, overgrown with weeds, and pulled into a broken and overgrown parking lot that was nearly indistinguishable as something apart from the thin forest around it, parking alongside a much newer car. It was a Prius, or something resembling one. The occupant of the sedan didn't know, and he didn't care. He didn't really care about much these days. He opened his door with a loud creak, and stepped out of his car and stood there in the low light for a minute. He looked around, taking notice of a third vehicle, an old 1970's Impala, as he took a few draws from a freshly lit cigarette, dropped it at his feet and pressed it with his toes into the gravel.

The man was what the average person might call middle-aged, but he considered himself to be quite old. You don't see the things that this man has seen without coming to think of yourself as quite old. In all of his years as a NYPD officer and then detective, he'd been worn down. Anything he ever did was because, at this point, he didn't have anything else better to do. You could tell just by looking at him. This was a man who had been thoroughly defeated by life, and he didn't care how obvious it was. He'd lost things. He'd lost people. And he just didn't care anymore.

Despite all of this, however, when the man finally started walking again, he walked with a practiced false confidence. He had a small gut, but otherwise he was still in impressive shape. Standing six feet tall, he had the general build of a quarterback, with a square jaw, and hair which remained full and dark brown despite a slightly receding hairline. He wore an outdated brown blazer and gray slacks over a white shirt and a gray tie, all of which were noticeably discolored and faded. His brown eyes were sharp, falling upon the smallest of details as he walked along the gravel lot toward the overgrown building, and despite the fact that he kept his gaze low, as if he were someone who only looked higher when he had to, and rarely to meet another person's eye, there were wrinkles in the edges of his eyes, the remnants of old smile lines. While most people wouldn't even notice them, they were the kind of detail that, if you did notice them, they would only make you sad, because this man was sad.

The man reached the building, stepping right up to a door in the back and pulled it open. It creaked even more loudly than his car door. He held the door for a moment, took a deep breath, and then in a manner as practiced and as false as his walk, the man forced all of the apathy from his face, replacing it with a façade of impatience and professional detachment, one which he relied upon to keep his colleagues at arm's length, where he preferred them to be. Then he straightened up out of his usual slouch and took a step forward, across the threshold, his feet leaving footprints in the dirt and dust which had long since settles on the floor inside, alongside two other footprint trails that seemed just as recent. Footprints which he noticed, but paid very little attention to, suggesting that he did expect them to be there.

The man followed those other footprints down a hallway, barely lit by the light from the streetlamp out front along the road trickling in through the dirt covering the grimy windows which lined the upper edge of the walls. He could see just well enough to notice when those footprints turned a corner down an interior hallway, where there was no light at all. The man felt his way along the wall, turned once again, toward the front of the building, and discovered a door at the far end of the hallway which was pulled to, but open just far enough to see the light from the streetlamp outside framing it, pointing the way. The man stepped toward the door, his hands in his pockets, his right hand mere inches from the gun still holstered at his side from his duty shift earlier the same day, his left hand inches from the badge clipped to his waist, and he carefully pushed the door open with his foot before stepping into the room behind it.

Waiting for the man in the room were two others. One was older than the man, standing facing toward a large window which overlooked the road out front and, despite being as grimy as the rest, let in considerable light from outside and offered a decent view. He stood behind an old, dust-covered desk that was, along with a filing cabinet and an old broken AV stand leaning against the far corner, one of the few pieces of furniture left within the room. The only other thing in the room at all was a newer model laptop disturbing the thick layer of dust on the desktop.

The second, older man was almost completely bald, with salt and pepper hair, and he stood a bit taller than the first man, but he wasn't in as good a shape. His arms were crossed impatiently. He wore a striped button-up shirt, brown slacks, and a NYPD badge hanging around his neck. The third man was both shorter than both of the other men and younger, with light brown hair and green eyes. He wore crisp black pants and a crisp white shirt and rimless glasses. He was thinner than either of the other men, but mostly because he wasn't as muscular. He wore no gun, but he did have a badge similar to the others clipped to his breast pocket.

"Detective Thompson," the man behind the desk said without turning around, his voice gruff and absolutely serious, "you're late."

"Sorry sir," Thompson said, following the older man's gaze out to the empty street outside, "traffic was a b****."

"This isn't a joke, Thompson," the older man said, turning to face Thompson and the younger man for the first time.

"Really?" Thompson asked, sounding mildly annoyed. "Is that why we're meeting in an abandoned police annex that hasn't been used in thirty-five years, instead of at the office? Is that why he's here?"

Thompson gestured to the younger detective, who didn't seem to realize that he'd just been insulted. He was too nervous, his eyes darting around, his hands clenched tight at his sides.

"Detective James is here for the same reason that you are," the older man replied. "The NYPD needs you both for something. Something important. Something which must remain off the books, at least for now, hence the secretive nature of this encounter."

"And that is, Captain?" Thompson asked, his tone barely hiding his disinterest.

The Captain hesitated for just a moment before continuing a little hastily, "I've spent some time considering how to handle this situation, and I think that the best course of action would be to simply cut to the chase. I'm assuming that the two of you have heard of the Reaper?"

"The Grim Reaper?" Thompson asked with a knowing smirk on his face.

"No," said Detective James, speaking finally, his nervousness instantly replaced with excitement, "he's talking about the vigilante that's been spotted all over the city, and in several other U.S. cities. The one who's been working his way through the city's drug dealers one at a time. The one who reportedly has special abilities. Those who have seen him say that just looking at him makes you afraid. Muggers and street thugs run scared at the slightest glance."

Thompson looked amusedly at his younger counterpart, "Been reading the tabloids, have ya?"

Thompson laughed, and the younger man frowned, but both were interrupted when the Captain spoke again, "He may not be wrong."

Immediately Thompson was silent, and James looked thoroughly surprised. Both looked the Captain right in the eyes. The Captain began pacing back and forth as he continued.

"You need to know," He explained, "that we actually know much more about the Reaper than we've let on. Myself and the other division Captains, in collaboration with the Mayor, decided early on that we would suppress as many accounts of the Reaper as possible until we understood better how it is that he is able to do what he does."

"So its true," James asked, "he does seem to disappear, and his victims-?"

"Comas," the Captain confirmed, looking out the window once more, "all of them. Every one of the drug dealers and pushers that he's captured. And doctors can't find a cause. He's worked his way through a half dozen seemingly unrelated drug rings, putting any member he finds into a coma, and we have no idea how he does it, or how he gets close to these people, or how he survives it. Rumors of sightings of the hooded figure all over the city all on the same night, at this point, can be chalked up to copycats, and I'm sure there are more than a few, but the truth is something has been going on in this city for almost two months now, something that we don't understand fully."

"But Carl," Thompson said, a disbelieving smile curling his lips, a chuckle finding its way up through his throat, "you can't seriously be entertaining the possibility that this guy has..."

He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Super powers?" the Captain asked. "No, we weren't entertaining any such notion, not until we received this in the mail yesterday."

He held up a DVD Rom. Without a word, he inserted it into the disk drive on the laptop sitting upon the desk before him. It blinked to life, and a video player opened immediately, playing footage of a wide open room with several tables covered in chemistry equipment. Three men were busy cleaning the place out, one of them yelling at the others as they moved around frantically. After a few minutes, all three men stopped cold as dark smoke began to pour into the room. In a way that was made even more disturbing due to the lack of audio, one of the men screamed as the smoke reached him. There was movement within it, as if a person were struggling against another, and, as the other two watched, this first man collapsed, unmoving. The smoke pulled in around him, taking on the shape of a man no larger than James, seemingly made of the smoke itself.

The remaining two men, the leader and the second lackey, drew pistols and opened fire, but the smoky man only dispersed, the smoke curling around the two men, coalescing around the legs of the second lackey, dragging him away into a dark area of the large room, from which he didn't emerge. The third man moved hesitantly toward the dark area, his weapon held ready, unaware of the figure forming from dark smoke behind him. He wore a dark blue cloak and hood, smoke floating around his face, hiding it from view, a black shirt, and black pants, his cloak held in place by a clasp adorned with some kind of round jewel. Hanging from a belt at the figures waist was a set of at least a dozen small knives. Smoke billowed around his feet and legs, lifting him up above the floor to tower over his prey. Suddenly the leader turned in an instant and saw the figure there. Shocked, he dropped his weapon and stumbled back, falling over one of the tables and crashing to the floor. The figure of Reaper slunk forward, smoke rolling off of him, curling around the criminal who was screaming on the floor, terrified.

The leader looked up at the Reaper, as if listening. Then he spoke, flinched, and spoke again, more desperately this time. It only took Thompson a few seconds to realize that the criminal was being interrogated by the Reaper. Finally, after a few more minutes, the dialogue seemed to come to an end, and the criminal seemed to calm down. The Reaper lowered to the floor, smoke still billowing around him, but no longer lifting him up. The criminal picked himself up and moved to run, but suddenly the Reaper was in front of him again. Smoke from under the Reaper's cloak filled the room, and when it dispersed, the Reaper was gone, and the Criminal was on the ground again, unmoving.

"It came with a note," the Captain said, "which simply read, 'I thought it was time that you knew that I am real, and I'm doing your job. I found out today that everything I believed is true, that there is one man residing over almost all drug crime in the city. Maybe you will actually be able to find him before I do, but probably not'. The message was signed with this."
 
He tossed a Duel Monsters card onto the desk. A card titled 'Dokuroizo the Grim Reaper', with all but the last word crossed out violently.

The Captain looked the two detectives in the eye, "I'm going to say this once. Whoever and whatever this Reaper is, we need to know yesterday, and we need to stop him before he does something like this again."

"But sir," James argued, "what's so wrong with letting this guy do what he's been doing? If the rumors are true, everyone he's caught has been found with incriminating evidence either on or in the vicinity of their person. He's succeeded in a couple months at something that our department hasn't been able to achieve in decades. He's like Batman, doing things that the police can't for the greater good."

"Is he?" the Captain asked. "Not one of the people that this so-called Reaper has captured in this manner has awoken yet to stand trial, and we have no way of knowing if they ever will. They don't respond to any stimuli. Medically they're just one step above brain dead. What this Reaper does, whether its supernatural or not, it's illegal, and its quite frankly terrifying, which is why I ordered you to meet me here, and not at the station, and why we're keeping this quiet."

"Keeping what quiet?" Thompson asked indignantly, though he clearly had already guessed the answer.

"The investigation," the Captain responded. "You two will conduct an investigation into the Reaper, but you'll do so completely off the books. Officially the two of you are on probationary assignment. You, Thompson, thanks to your years of antisocial behavior, have been chosen to supervise the field training of one of our tech department's brightest, who, despite this, has no field experience at all, a relationship that the department thinks will do both of you good. You have been given broad discretion as to caseload, using the excuse that such a scenario will offer more diverse training opportunities. Appearance wise the department will seem to be grooming you two for a specialized partnership. After all, up until a couple years back, you, Thompson, were one of the department's very best, most dedicated cops. No one will question your limited involvement in any ongoing investigation under those circumstances."

"And unofficially?" Thompson asked, not even bothering to hide his annoyance anymore.

"You'll be keeping an eye out for anything related to the Reaper which might lead you to his identity, or to the identity of the man he mentions in his message," the Captain answered. "You'll answer directly to me, and you won't speak of this investigation to anyone else besides me and yourselves. The department's stance on the Reaper is that he doesn't exist. First and foremost your responsibility is to make sure that, as far as the public is concerned, that statement remains true."

"This is ridiculous," Thompson said, turning to leave, "I have other responsibilities. Find someone else to chase ghosts."

"There's no one else I'd want for the job," the Captain answered, stopping Thompson in his tracks. "You were once our brightest mind. I think you can be again. If you can find that part of yourself, there's nowhere that this Reaper will be able to hide."

"And why him?" Thompson asked, turning again toward the Captain, and again gesturing toward James.

"Because he believes in the Reaper," the Captain replied. "He's studied all of the rumors, and likely understands the Reaper better than anyone we might have access to under an official capacity. This is happening Thompson. Deal with it."

The Captain turned again toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "You're dismissed," he said. "Your investigation starts tomorrow."

James left quickly, obviously excited by the prospect of seeking the man who he obviously looked up to, but Thompson lingered just long enough for the Captain to say, "No argument's Thompson. Now go, you're dismissed."

Reluctantly Thompson left as well. The Captain stood for several minutes, smoking a cigarette of his own, putting it out by pressing it against the windowsill in front of him. Then he packed up the laptop, and he left as well, leaving behind a seemingly empty room.

Then, several minutes later, after sound of the third and final of three car engines faded into the distance, the shadows in the darkest corner of the room rippled, dissolving into dark smoke, which, for just an instant, formed the shape of a young man in a cloak, before becoming smoke again and disappearing through the gaps in the window frame, into the dark of the night.[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Chapter Two]


Gone Hunting

Dark smoke rolled along the ground, like thick, dark mist, along the old worn road for several yards before swirling upward into the sky and pouring through the air. Despite the fact that, in this form, the Reaper still couldn't move much faster than in his corporeal form, it was still convenient to be able to "smoke out" and move over the tops of buildings. After a couple of months he'd even finally gotten used to finding locations in the city from high above, something which had taken almost a month longer in Chicago.

I'm still not sure what the point was of witnessing that meeting, the Reaper thought.

He waited for a moment, as if expecting an answer to his thought, and then he got one. A whisper in his mind replied, Now you know that they are looking for you.

I left a note for them, complete with calling card, Reaper thought back, of course they're looking for me.

And you, the Whisper countered, know exactly how they are proceding, and who exactly is involved. From this point forward you'll know just what to avoid to protect your identity. After all, that was the entire point of recording your last bust and leaving the message for them in the first place I believe.

On his half-formed, misty face, behind the smoke which obscured it still, the Reaper scowled as he wondered if that was really the reason why he'd left that note and the 'Grim Reaper' Duel Monsters card from his own collection, or if he'd done it for a simpler purpose. He'd have liked to think that he'd sent the disk and the note to be clever and catch his adversaries in the NYPD in some kind of trap, but really, deep down, he'd done it because he was tired of no one knowing that he was there, risking his life. Even if it came in the form of an active investigation into his actions, he just wanted a little recognition, even if recognition wasn't the reason why he did what he did.

Not for the first time, the Reaper wondered about the Whisper in his mind, which he'd begun hearing after a few months of doing this, of moving across the country by night, completely alone, only ever making contact with other humans if it was to scare them off, or use his powers on them. He knew that the Whisper was just a part of his mind reaching out to provide him companionship in his companion free lifestyle, as a way of preserving his sanity. Humans, after all, are first and foremost social creatures, even if the Reaper did hate that fact almost more than the scum that he sought to punish and expose. He didn't mind the existence of the Whisper, though. What he wondered, and worried, about was the Whisper's tendency to rationalize the Reaper's actions. Was his subconsious just seeking to glorify the Reaper's self image, or was he really losing the ability to rationalize his plans and actions without carrying out a litteral inner dialogue with himself first?

Either way the Reaper decided that he didn't much care. He found his dialogues with the Whisper to be helpful rather than a hinderence, and he was still far too elated since his last bust for his worries to matter.

He had a lead. It wouldn't lead him to the ones he really wanted to punish, the ones who deserved it the most, but it was a lead to someone worth the Reaper's time. Finally, after two months of intimidation and investigation, the Reaper would be able to find the man who, for so long, had been resposible for so much of the drug trade in New York, who had ruined the lives of so many people, and dispense the justice that the man deserved. Nothing fatal. While the Grim Reaper is a symbol of death, and the Reaper, the vigilante, was certainly more than capable of killing, he believed that only someone who survives their punishment has truly suffered it. Due to this belief, among other things, the Reaper sought to find as many people as possible who had, knowingly, taken action which endangered the lives of others and bring them the Experience of Death. The illusionary power feeds on the darkness in the heart of the one inflicted with it and shows them punishments suited to their sins. The worst of the worst could still die from it, or at the very least their minds could break under the strain, but in it's essence it was proportionate, and appropriate, and caused no lasting physical harm.

The Experience of Death. It was something which the Reaper had never experienced for himself, though one of his other powers gave him the ability to look into other peoples' minds and see their fears. With this power he had, on a few occations, experienced a few moments of his victim's illusionary punishments before their minds shut down. This had been purely by accident, it had been terrible, and still Reaper knew that those people deserved it.

Reaper flew over the city, swirling around the tops of skyscrapers, weaving along currents, until, after an hour, he found himself spread in his noncorporeal form across the top of a building in east manhattan. He coalesced, forming the small-framed young man in the cloak from the video footage, though he didn't have smoke billowing from below his cape or swirling around his face. Despite how often he'd come to use his powers on a daily basis, they still tired him out over too much time, and he tried to use them as little as possible. So rather than use his powers to blend in with the darkness, or to become dark mist, he crouched down in the shadows of the building's upper edge and gazed two blocks south at an apartment building that was just a bit shorter than his current perch.

That's the building, Reaper thought, but I have to make sure that I have the right person. The goon in the warehouse said that I'd find this man on the eleventh floor in a specific part of the building.

As Reaper counted floors from the first to the eleventh, the Whisper replied in his head, Are you curious how that man knew so specific a location?

 

No, Reaper thought back, it doesn't matter. His will wasn't strong enough for him to be able to lie to me.

 

You don't even know this man's name, the Whisper countered, searching for holes in the Reaper's plan.

That won't be a problem, the Reaper thought back. This drug ring is large enough that there have to be some members left. By now they'll know that I caught up to someone who knew this man's location, they'll alert him, and he'll make a move. When I see him make it, I'll confront him, and I'll pluck his name from his mind along with his fears.

Unless his will is strong enough to resist you, the Whisper remarked.

The Reaper paused to consider this. He took the opportunity to smoke down to a lower building closer to the apartment building where the Reaper's quary lived, near the south side where the man's apartment was supposed to be. The Reaper had recently encountered someone who had been, at the time, unique. Someone strong-willed enough to resist the Reaper's power to pluck the basic fears from a person's mind. It had almost cost Reaper the chance to punish the man, as the way into a person's mind to impliment the Experience of Death, or any of the Reaper's other Penalty Games, was through their fears. It was the core of all of the Reaper's most powerful abilities. Then the Reaper had encountered someone else with a similarly strong will, and another. Soon he learned two absolute truths about his abilities: that his ability to pull information from peoples' minds could fail, and that no matter what, no one could fail to tell the Reaper their greatest fears if he met their eyes, and asked them. That was where the Reaper's true strength came from. Despite his moniker, the Reaper was not death, but fear itself, and everyone is afraid of something.

Then I'll skip his name, Reaper thought, ask him his fears, and I'll show them to him, and use his weakened psyche as an in to play a Shadow Game with him. I'll weigh his heart, and when he fails, I'll give him the Penalty, just like I always do.

You've taken down most of this man's empire. Aren't you worried he'll be prepared for your arrival?

I'm sure he will be, Reaper replied, but I'm sure I can handle it. After all what can he do against my abilities? In all of the months that I've been doing this, the only Shadow Magic users that I've come across have been nothings compared to me.

You're getting cocky, the Whisper said in a matter-of-fact way.

The Reaper considered this for a few minutes, and finally replied, Maybe, but I don't care. I'm too close to turn back now. This guy will be on his way out of town any time now. If I don't catch him tonight, I might not ever catch him at all.
 

There was a pause, and then the Whisper, more faint and quiet than ever spoke Reaper's mind, You could just kill him. He would stand no chance if you caught him off guard. Maybe it's what he deserves. He's just like them, and you know it's what they deserve.

 

Reaper didn't respond. This was the aspect of the Whisper that unsettles Reaper the most: it had a nasty habit of voicing his deepest, most hidden thoughts. Not for the first time the Whisper suggested the Reaper simply kill a villain, and this man had certainly done enough to warrant such a reaction. Reaper considered it, really considered it, for the first time since he'd begun doing this, but then he remembered a conversation that he'd had many years ago, and he knew he couldn't

 

No, Reaper thought back simply.

 

The Whisper didn't reply. Reaper barely noticed. He was used to the Whisper disappearing from his mind unexpectedly by this point, and quite frankly he was happy for the relative silence as he staked out the row of apartment windows before him. It was still early in the night, for Reaper anyway, and he didn't mind waiting, not for this kind of prey.

After a wait of nearly two hours, one of the rooms which had been empty suddenly found itself with an occupant. A middle-aged man rushed into the room and began shoveling random essentials from around the apartment into a suitecase. Reaper focused on him. He could taste the desperation rolling off of this man. He was definitely the one that Reaper was waiting for, but you would never peg him as a criminal mastermind. In fact the only thing that anyone might peg this guy as was exactly what he was, according to his subordinant from the previous night: an accountant. In fact, according to the profile which Reaper had spent the last two months building of this man it was his role and his skills as an accountant which had given him the opportunity to do all that he had done. Once he'd worked his way up the ladder in the accounting division of a large enough company, he had free reign enough to doctor the books a bit at a time, funneling the startup money to begin his little side business from company accounts into his own.

From there, Reaper had learned, this man used considerable strategic and calculatory skill to divide his budding empire into cells, which could grow almost independantly, preserving his anonimity, as few in each cell would even know of his existence. This would ensure that the police would almost certainly never find him, as the various cells of his empire appeared from an outsider's perspective to be comepletely separate from one another. No one would ever suspect that they were connected, let alone that a single man presided over them all, almost entirely on his own. Now this man, who had accumulated enough wealth to live out his days anywhere on Earth, had been forced to make his final possible move: to utilize that wealth and build a new life for himself somewhere else where he could never be connected to the crimes of his people, or, he surely hoped, found by the man who he knew was coming for him.

Steeling himself up, Reaper dissolved into dark mist and poured forward, through the air, toward the man's window. The window itself was too tightly weathersealed for the Reaper to squeeze in through it. Even in his smoke form, he still wasn't entirely noncorporeal. He still had to have room to move, and he could sustain harm. So instead of the window, Reaper wove toward an exterior vent and found his way into the building that way. He curlied through the metal tunnel until he finally poured out of the ventilation system in the man's room, completely silent, just as the man turned toward the exit. He reached for the door knob, but just as he was about to touch it, he recoiled. Black smoke had curled around him, rising up between him and the door, and he was too afraid to reach through it.

The man turned and looked back into the apartment. Towering over him was Reaper, standing atop a billowing pillar of dark-colored smoke, smoke pouring from beneath his cloak and hood. Using magic to deepen his voice, and to pull basic information from his the man's mind, Reaper spoke.

"Martin Smith," Reaper said, his voice so deep that it shook the walls, "you have tresspassed on the souls of millions of people by spreading drugs throughout the city, endangering their lives for your own personal gain. For this I will show you death."

Smoke rose up around Martin, curling around his arms and legs. He retreated and spun around to loose his limbs from the misty grip, but he only found more smoke behind him. He stumbed back as the smoke took form, showing Martin old and weak, wearing tattered cloths, begging on the streets: his greatest fears projected onto the mist for him to see played out before him. He saw himself sick, in pain, destitute. With a sharp, quick scream he fell back, toward Reaper, his suitecase falling from his grip and coming open at his side.

"Open your mind to me through fear," Reaper said. The crystal in his clasp began to flicker with amber light as he prepared to make the final move. And then something unexpected happened. Martin rooted through his spilled belongings until his hand fell upon a metal object. In a moment of suprising will, the middle-aged man sprung to his feet and took aim at Reaper with his gun. With no time to move out of the way, Reaper instictually dissolved into his smoke form as a pair of bullets were let fly, passing through him and dispersing his body. Martin took the opportunity and gathered up what he could of his things, threw the door open and ran outside and toward the elevator. Slowly, the Reaper began to come back together, mist building in one place, swirling together, and slowly but surely assuming the solid form of the cloaked young man, fallen to one knee, clutching his stomach. His entire abdomen felt bruised, and he was sure he had at least one cracked rib. Despite this, after catching his breath and picking himself up, Reaper smoked out again and poured back outside through the vents, as Martin had certainly reached the street.

Sure enough Reaper spotted Martin almost immediately, ducking into an alleyway. Reaper bore down on him, but this time Martin was prepared. He had his weapon ready. He turned to take aim and fire again as Reaper appraoched, but this time Reaper was ready, too. Before Martin could get off a single shot, Reaper swept up one of the knives hanging from his belt with the smoke billowing from below his cloak and thrust it forward, lodging it in the gun's barrel. Martin tossed the gun away as smoke billowed around him once more. He looked around desperately, and reluctantly he reached behind his back and removed something from a pouch at his waist. Reaper assumed it was another gun and threw another knife to diarm him, but the knife was deflected in a flash of silvery light. In Martin's hand was a small gunmetal-colored chalice, encrusted with small blood red jewels, with silver Egyptian symbols etched into it in a band around the outside. Martin smiled, "I cant believe that actually worked. The guy I bought this thing from said it would react to another magic item and give me powers, but I didn't beleive him. Let's see just how powerful this thing really is."

The Reaper was surprised to encounter a Shadow Item so powerful that it could work so effectively even in the hands of an amateur. He'd dealt with Shadow Items before. They were charms, trinkets, and even weapons, forged with inherent magical ability by ancient cultures. Designed to tap into and amplify a form of fate-bending spiritual energy that exists in some quantity or another in the soul of every person, they allowed their bearers to cast spells. Some, like Reaper's amber-colored charm, even bestowed more specific and intuitive abilities on those who wielded them. Suddenly Reaper came to startling realization. A man who, like Martin, had lived such a dangerous second life without coming to any harm, must have quite a large reserve of this magical energy. In his hand any Shadow Item would be a dangerous implement of destruction, and Reaper could feel that this Item was quite powerful in its own right as well.

 

Lost in thought Reaper didn't react in time when Martin, high on his new-found abilities, lashed out. He was inexperienced and unfocussed, but he had raw power on his side. Soon Reaper found himself expelling dense streams of black smoke from beneath his cloak, pushing back against a wave of red light from the Chalice's gems. He pushed against his target's magic with the force of his will, edging ever closer to his full strength, looking for a way in, to reconnect with Martin's mind.

 

Do not hold back, said the Whisper again in the back of the Reaper's mind. Rip his spell apart, even if it means ripping him apart in the process.

 

Straining and desperate, Reaper almost listened. The flashing of amber light from the charm in his clasp grew even more intense, and the smoke from beneath his cloak began to overwhelm the other man. Any moment his spell would break, and there would be nothing left of him at all. Then Reaper remembered again, a voice and a face of someone important to him many years ago, and of ideals shared, and he pulled back. In that moment the Reaper's spell was broken. He might have died himself, but at the last moment he dissolved into smoke again, and his form was only blasted apart temporarily. His vision was overloaded, and his head began to spin. Reaper wasn't sure how long it took him to recover, but in that time, Martin escaped. There was no way to know where. Defeated for the first time since he had began fighting this fight, the Reaper had no choice but to give up the chase. He fell to his knees again, allowing himself to feel the full impact of his injuries. He remained that way for several long minutes before standing tall, dissolving into smoke, and curling upward into the air, leaving the site of his failed confrontation behind.


Several streets down, Martin Smith ducked into another alley between two dilapidated buildings and turned a corner, pressing his back against a wall. He stopped and took the opportunity to look back the way he'd come to make sure he wasn't being followed. He let out a relieved laugh as he realized that he'd managed to escape the inescapable. He kissed the Chalice still in his hand and turned toward the exit of the alleyway, ready to step out onto the street, blend in with the late night crowd, and make his way to the airport where he would catch a one-way flight to his new life. Instead he found himself face-to-face with a figure in the darkness. Even shrouded, it was clear that this figure was significantly different from the Reaper. He was taller by several inches, his head framed by the sillouette of long, ragged hair, and in his left hand he carried something that glinted like metal. Martin moved to lift his Chalice to defend himself again with its magic, but there was a flash of movement at the mysterious figure's left side, and suddenly Martin's hand simply wasn't there anymore.

"You have something that I need," the figure said in a raspy, maniacal voice. He stepped forward, the object in his left hand raised. In the moments that followed, Martin Smith's screams could be heard echoing several streets away, until they suddenly died. In the ever-present din or city noise, no one took much notice, and the Reaper was already too far away to hear.[/spoiler]


So yeah, this is yet another spin off of my Yu-Gi-Oh! DF series, linked in its most up-to-date version in my siggy. I'm going for a dark and damaging kind of thing with this one. Will I succeed? Probably. Will I do a good job of it? Probably not. Dark isn't really my thing, but I think I've come far enough as a writer to give it a try. This is just in the developement stage, and average time between chapters will likely be greater than the average time between chapters of my other fics, but this story will be important to understanding my darkest character, Max, in the upcoming final book of my original series.
 
Enjoy!
 
 

As many chapters as possible will be posted here

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  • 1 month later...

I hate to say this because I know it's going to sound like a plug, but take a look at my Fan-Fic (D-Accel) for some ideas.  I'm 65 Chapters in and there's heavy inspiration from things like Bleach and other animes that tend to be pretty dark.  It might at least give you some sort of ideas.

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I hate to say this because I know it's going to sound like a plug, but take a look at my Fan-Fic (D-Accel) for some ideas.  I'm 65 Chapters in and there's heavy inspiration from things like Bleach and other animes that tend to be pretty dark.  It might at least give you some sort of ideas.

 

Thanks for the tip, I'll check it out. I need to get back into the community here anyway. Thinking about it, I may have actually read some of it a while back. The name seems familiar.

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Thanks for the tip, I'll check it out. I need to get back into the community here anyway. Thinking about it, I may have actually read some of it a while back. The name seems familiar.

 

It's been around since June, but the only reason I recommend it is because people have commented that it's much darker than the average YGO story, so I figured you might be able to get some ideas.

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It's been around since June, but the only reason I recommend it is because people have commented that it's much darker than the average YGO story, so I figured you might be able to get some ideas.

 

Perfect, darker than the average Yu-Gi-Oh! story is just what I need. Thanks again.

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  • 7 months later...

Trying to update each of my threads, to either announce their continuation or close them down for good. This is still on, but the more Iwork on it, the less it ends up being a Yu-Gi-Oh! story and the more it ends up being a character study of Max. There will be one duel at the end, but it will be more a story-telling device than anything else, and there is a very good chance that it will exist in an alternate ending form only. The story, however, still has strong roots in Yu-Gi-Oh! lore, so it keeps its title. Hopefully I can get the first chapter up within the next two weeks.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Blugh, it's taking so much longer to update these than I'd hoped, but really that's just because my computer is so filled with malware that it won't even start up properly, making typing for any length of time very inconvenient. In keeping with my desire to keep potential readers up to date by updating these threads even if I have no new content to post, I want to say sorry, and that I assure you all that if my computer issues cannot be sorted very soon, I will find another acceptible way to post updates.

 

Oh, and yeah, I know I toot my own horn a lot, but I really think this one is turning out to be really good ;)

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  • 4 months later...

Proudly I say BUMP!

 

For after months of talking about it, the first chapter of Reaper is finally up for all to see! Let me know what you all think. This is a very different style of writing than what I'm used to doing, and I'd really appreciate some feedback...

 

You hate it, don't you? I knew it, you guys hate it...

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Ok, so as promised, I've given chapter one a read. This is the first thing by you I've read, so I come in with no prior knowledge to the series this is suggested to be related to or any rep; so hopefully this should be impartial. And hopefully brief and concise:

 

First of all, seeing that this has been something that has been a year and more in the planning, hearty well done on sticking with it and getting something out there and I salute your resolve and determination. Especially given this site your electing to post on.

 

However... the opening paragraph sets off on a bad foot, and for one glaring reason. For some unknown reason, you decided to use the term 'worn' or 'worn down' FIVE times in quick succession in there, including three times in one single sentence, less than fifteen words apart. And then it appeared again in the next paragraph. You might think this is picky, but repetitive description is bad to start with, but to keep using such a dreary word over, and over, and over, AND over, just immediately put me in on a downer and in a mindset of "Oh god this is gonna be hell." I know it won't be that bad, because the rest of it was actually written okay and was decent if obviously dragged down setting, but y'know. Just a quick glance back over and a use of a thesaurus would have improved that start so much.

 

Moving on; characters. We have four main characters, introduced. Thompson: who is a 'badass cop on the edge who doesn't play by the rules' decribed as 'sad' and as 'defeated by life' (and as WORN DOWN!!!), yet he is also physically well-built ish in his description and walks with a confident stride. This seemed a bit contradicting. Once he follows into the dark abandoned building (for some reason this experienced detective has come here and not thought to bring a torch, which seems odd), I'm for all the world expecting him to be shot, but instead he meets with his colleagues. So I'm as confused as our down and out yet confidently moving Thompson now, but we'll stick with it, into the even greater confusion caused by a complete mess of the physical descriptions of his two co-workers.

 

Waiting for the man in the room were two others. One was older than the man, standing behind an old, dust-covered desk that was, along with a filing cabinet and an old broken AV stand leaning against the far corner, one of the few pieces of furniture left within the room. The only other thing in the room at all was a newer model laptop disturbing the thick layer of dust on the desktop.

The second, older man was almost completely bald, with salt and pepper hair, and he stood a bit taller than the first man, but he wasn't in as good a shape. He faced toward a large window which overlooked the road out front and, despite being as grimy as the rest, let in considerable light from outside and offered a decent view. His arms were crossed impatiently. He wore a striped button-up shirt, brown slacks, and a NYPD badge hanging around his neck. The third man was both shorter than both of the other men and younger, with light brown hair and green eyes. He wore crisp black pants and a crisp white shirt and rimless glasses. He was thinner than either of the other men, but mostly because he wasn't as muscular. He wore no gun, but he did have a badge similar to the others clipped to his breast pocket.

 

The way it goes in one paragraph to describing the first guy, only to get quickly interupted by describing the room. Then it goes back to this character we started on, and immediately in this same paragraph goes into describing the third guy after a bit of how he was standing, I just got in a tangle here and had to read it twice to pull them apart. I was reading 'he had light brown hair' and thinking hang on you just said he was bald and... yeah... I'm probably, well actually almost certainly guility of doing the same thing when introducing two characters at once and maybe I was just reading too fast but... yeah as a reader and trying to give advice and other people may have had issues.

 

As for the plot, so there's an evil vigilante running (or gliding, I guess) across America terrorising drug dealers and dropping old school YGO calling cards. This seems cool. I like. Although it seems odd that there is footage of this such encounter. I assumed it was security footage that had been obtained since it was never described, but that seems dumb on the crims part. So the reaper set up a camera? Shrugs, no big deal. The decision on no audio was good, as it kept things creepy and slick. And now we have our Bodie and Doyle thrown together because the boss man Cowley doesn't like the police getting shown up The Reaper is a valid concern, and they leave in the three cars where once only two were mentioned and...

 

... DUN DUN DUN!!! THE REAPER WAS THERE ALL ALONG LISTENING AAAAAAAHHHH!!!

 

So; the story, I like a lot. But the actual writing was disappointing for me and let it down a bit, given you seem to have been here a while. Lack of actual card games doesn't bother me in the slightest. No offence and I hope I haven't been rude or mocking or anything. I just try to be a little light-hearted. But yeah, I'll try to get to chapter two at some point. :)

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Ok, so as promised, I've given chapter one a read. This is the first thing by you I've read, so I come in with no prior knowledge to the series this is suggested to be related to or any rep; so hopefully this should be impartial. And hopefully brief and concise:
 
First of all, seeing that this has been something that has been a year and more in the planning, hearty well done on sticking with it and getting something out there and I salute your resolve and determination. Especially given this site your electing to post on.
 
However... the opening paragraph sets off on a bad foot, and for one glaring reason. For some unknown reason, you decided to use the term 'worn' or 'worn down' FIVE times in quick succession in there, including three times in one single sentence, less than fifteen words apart. And then it appeared again in the next paragraph. You might think this is picky, but repetitive description is bad to start with, but to keep using such a dreary word over, and over, and over, AND over, just immediately put me in on a downer and in a mindset of "Oh god this is gonna be hell." I know it won't be that bad, because the rest of it was actually written okay and was decent if obviously dragged down setting, but y'know. Just a quick glance back over and a use of a thesaurus would have improved that start so much.
 
Moving on; characters. We have four main characters, introduced. Thompson: who is a 'badass cop on the edge who doesn't play by the rules' decribed as 'sad' and as 'defeated by life' (and as WORN DOWN!!!), yet he is also physically well-built ish in his description and walks with a confident stride. This seemed a bit contradicting. Once he follows into the dark abandoned building (for some reason this experienced detective has come here and not thought to bring a torch, which seems odd), I'm for all the world expecting him to be shot, but instead he meets with his colleagues. So I'm as confused as our down and out yet confidently moving Thompson now, but we'll stick with it, into the even greater confusion caused by a complete mess of the physical descriptions of his two co-workers.
 
 
The way it goes in one paragraph to describing the first guy, only to get quickly interupted by describing the room. Then it goes back to this character we started on, and immediately in this same paragraph goes into describing the third guy after a bit of how he was standing, I just got in a tangle here and had to read it twice to pull them apart. I was reading 'he had light brown hair' and thinking hang on you just said he was bald and... yeah... I'm probably, well actually almost certainly guility of doing the same thing when introducing two characters at once and maybe I was just reading too fast but... yeah as a reader and trying to give advice and other people may have had issues.
 
As for the plot, so there's an evil vigilante running (or gliding, I guess) across America terrorising drug dealers and dropping old school YGO calling cards. This seems cool. I like. Although it seems odd that there is footage of this such encounter. I assumed it was security footage that had been obtained since it was never described, but that seems dumb on the crims part. So the reaper set up a camera? Shrugs, no big deal. The decision on no audio was good, as it kept things creepy and slick. And now we have our Bodie and Doyle thrown together because the boss man Cowley doesn't like the police getting shown up The Reaper is a valid concern, and they leave in the three cars where once only two were mentioned and...
 
... DUN DUN DUN!!! THE REAPER WAS THERE ALL ALONG LISTENING AAAAAAAHHHH!!!
 
So; the story, I like a lot. But the actual writing was disappointing for me and let it down a bit, given you seem to have been here a while. Lack of actual card games doesn't bother me in the slightest. No offence and I hope I haven't been rude or mocking or anything. I just try to be a little light-hearted. But yeah, I'll try to get to chapter two at some point. :)


Thanks for the review, Bahamut! Thompson's character is pretty difficult to write. I was trying to get across that he is worn down, but he still acts the part of a strong cop and keeps up appearances to keep his colleagues off of his back about it, even though he isn't fooling anyone, hence why I said he is "clearly worn down" and the like while calling his confident walk "practiced". I used to be really opposed to going back and editing my material on suggestion, but I've since gotten over my pride and am now happy for feedback. If you have any idea how to improve Thompson's characterization to fit the intent let me know. As for the description-related stuff, yeah I know I struggle with that. I have an issue with balancing description and pacing that I'm actively working to improve upon. If you have any specific suggestions in that regard as well, again, please let me know.

I also specifically focused on certain aspects of Thompson's character here, as the rest, the more specific ones, will be addressed later through his relationship with James, and later Reaper. I'm not very good at balancing dual locations and storylines, but it's something else that I'm working on, and I'm hoping that I can pull something like that off here, as Thompson and James (but Thompson mostly) are intended to be just as important as Reaper to the story itself.

I could also probably benefit from a thesaurus...

Anyway, thanks again for the review. Feedback is how writers grown, and, sadly, there is far too little feedback on this site anymore these days.

 

Oh, yeah, I did completely forget to describe Captain Cal's car on the way in, didn't I? I should probably fix that...

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Thanks for the review, Bahamut! Thompson's character is pretty difficult to write. I was trying to get across that he is worn down, but he still acts the part of a strong cop and keeps up appearances to keep his colleagues off of his back about it, even though he isn't fooling anyone, hence why I said he is "clearly worn down" and the like while calling his confident walk "practiced". I used to be really opposed to going back and editing my material on suggestion, but I've since gotten over my pride and am now happy for feedback. If you have any idea how to improve Thompson's characterization to fit the intent let me know. As for the description-related stuff, yeah I know I struggle with that. I have an issue with balancing description and pacing that I'm actively working to improve upon. If you have any specific suggestions in that regard as well, again, please let me know.

I also specifically focused on certain aspects of Thompson's character here, as the rest, the more specific ones, will be addressed later through his relationship with James, and later Reaper. I'm not very good at balancing dual locations and storylines, but it's something else that I'm working on, and I'm hoping that I can pull something like that off here, as Thompson and James (but Thompson mostly) are intended to be just as important as Reaper to the story itself.

I could also probably benefit from a thesaurus...

Anyway, thanks again for the review. Feedback is how writers grown, and, sadly, there is far too little feedback on this site anymore these days.

 

Oh, yeah, I did completely forget to describe Captain Cal's car on the way in, didn't I? I should probably fix that...

 

No problem. Yeah, that sounds about right for his character. If you hadwritten it like that he tried to hide it, but didn't very well or something, it might have made more sense at the time. I know rewriting stuff is hard and feels like a waste of time, I haven't changed anything in Ice Queen in terms of what's actually printed although it changes a bit beforehand, because you get in a state of constantly rewriting old stuff with every conflicting comment and not doing anything new. Plus then when you finish you look back on chapter one and think 'my word how far I've come or what' :) thesaurus.com is what I use.

 

Ha ha, you know somehow... I guess the little Prius was James' :lol:

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No problem. Yeah, that sounds about right for his character. If you hadwritten it like that he tried to hide it, but didn't very well or something, it might have made more sense at the time. I know rewriting stuff is hard and feels like a waste of time, I haven't changed anything in Ice Queen in terms of what's actually printed although it changes a bit beforehand, because you get in a state of constantly rewriting old stuff with every conflicting comment and not doing anything new. Plus then when you finish you look back on chapter one and think 'my word how far I've come or what' :) thesaurus.com is what I use.
 
Ha ha, you know somehow... I guess the little Prius was James' :lol:


You're right about the Prius. Also, you mean just say something rather than imply it?

Lol but no, seriously, I think I did say somewhere that Thompson's behavior was to keep others at arm's length, which was supposed to indicate that he was hiding the truth. Still that is something else that I know I have trouble with: I often imply too much and say too little. I'm working on that, too.

I was also thinking about what you said regarding overuse of "worn". I was trying to make an obvious connection between the worn out place and the worn out man approaching it and went overboard. I'll have to rework it.

 

*EDIT*

 

Reworked the opening a bit, as well as the clunky description that you mentioned in your initial review. I now describe Captain Carl's car as I always intended to, used a couple of synonyms in place of a few instances of "worn", and reordered some of the descriptive stuff to flow better (I hope). Lemme know what you think.

 

*EDIT AGAIN*

 

I also went back and reread my second chapter, looking for areas which might have room for improvement based on the criticism that I've already recieved. Let's just say I need to stop typing at 2:30 in the morning. I think it's a little better now, though.

 

Something that I've been doing lately in my main fic is leaving a bit of commentary on each chapter to make clear what the specific intentions for the chapter were. Maybe that's something that I should consider doing for this fic as well. For example, the first chapter obviously set up the story and tone, and introduced one of the main characters, Detective Thompson, while the second chapter introduced us to the Reaper, establishing his state of mind and the rules governing his abilities.

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You're right about the Prius. Also, you mean just say something rather than imply it?

Lol but no, seriously, I think I did say somewhere that Thompson's behavior was to keep others at arm's length, which was supposed to indicate that he was hiding the truth. Still that is something else that I know I have trouble with: I often imply too much and say too little. I'm working on that, too.

I was also thinking about what you said regarding overuse of "worn". I was trying to make an obvious connection between the worn out place and the worn out man approaching it and went overboard. I'll have to rework it.

 

*EDIT*

 

Reworked the opening a bit, as well as the clunky description that you mentioned in your initial review. I now describe Captain Carl's car as I always intended to, used a couple of synonyms in place of a few instances of "worn", and reordered some of the descriptive stuff to flow better (I hope). Lemme know what you think.

 

*EDIT AGAIN*

 

I also went back and reread my second chapter, looking for areas which might have room for improvement based on the criticism that I've already recieved. Let's just say I need to stop typing at 2:30 in the morning. I think it's a little better now, though.

 

Something that I've been doing lately in my main fic is leaving a bit of commentary on each chapter to make clear what the specific intentions for the chapter were. Maybe that's something that I should consider doing for this fic as well. For example, the first chapter obviously set up the story and tone, and introduced one of the main characters, Detective Thompson, while the second chapter introduced us to the Reaper, establishing his state of mind and the rules governing his abilities.

 

Well, as you probably know there's a balance between showing and not telling and being too outright, and also being too vague and not making things plain obvious enough, so I know it's difficult to judge and get right and I regularly don't. Some things that are obvious to the writer might not be as easy for the reader to pick up as they intended and need to be highlighted or explained a bit more, but done in a natural storytelling way than a narrative of telling rather than showing. I'd say giving sutble hints at stuff is only good on specific occasions. But tbh mate it is hard and at the end of the day we're all amateurs and we're all just doing this for a bit of fun so the margins should be appropriately wider for our level.

 

Nice car for for Chief Inspector Cowley by the way.

 

Yeah you did mention that, but I picked it up later in the description. Having read the rewrite of the opening it's much better, particularly Thompson's character building, although one of the two 'worns' could still be taken out from the first sentence and just replaced by something like 'much travelled/much used/old/run down' or something, in my opinion. Just words like 'worn' can pass onto the reader if used especially in excess. I actively will not used the word 'bored' in any writing if I can help it for the same reason, else I'll be giving some sarky punk a free run for a comment of "yeah he's bored and so are we!" :) But yeah its a minor preference at this point and otherwise the edit was good man.

 

Will have a look at chapter 2 when I can. As for the commentary/notes thing, well yeah, I'm unsure. Can't say I've ever seen it used to pass comment tbh so whatever works for you. Joys of this format of writing over publishing finished books I guess is the discussion as you go along.

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  • 2 weeks later...

So I went back and re-read my second chapter again. I've really been hung up on how to proceed with chapter three, which is a pretty important chapter in the grand scheme of the story, and it's been hampering my other writing efforts on other sites. After re-reading the chapter, I know what the problem is. I plan chapters three and four to be fairly exposition-heavy, but I haven't alluded yet to any of the things that will be revealed. So I reworked large portions of the chapter to remedy that. Anyone who reads the chapter, particularly anyone who has also read the previous version, please comment and let me know what you think.

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Has just read the amended version, having not read the original.

 

For the most part is awesome. I liked the plot and the way it is building up nicely. All the explanation and backstory made sense. I like this dark vigilante (and so far faceless, which is also good) character, and his interaction with the Whisper is interesting and adds to a warped kind of development much better than just thinking to himself. His magical powers also seem fairly balanced, and now he is no longer the villian but more the anti-hero, he's been immediately made to be physically quite small after the impressions in the first chapter, and also seemingly mortal and fallible, which is good and right.

 

Think the language used around Reaper's scenes particularly early on seemed a bit... I dunno... a bit casual, given the circumstances and the tone. For example; Reaper refering to his attacks as 'busts' seems a bit... off, for him. Maybe. Also the last scene with Martin and the mystery baddie, although a nice shock after I thought he had got away and largely well done, something about the villian also didn't sit right with me. Might have been the maniacal tone, maybe made him a bit generic, but then my thoughts would have been him being darker and gruffer and that would be even more generic probably. So... I dunno.

 

But as far as I'm concerned very largely awesome. I shall await Chapter 3 with baited breath.

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Thanks BV. I have to admit that I did a lot of second guessing as I wrote this chapter that I really expected more negativity. It's true that the artist is often his own harshest critic, I guess. I plan to expand on the mystery villain a lot over time, so I purposefully left him pretty nondescript at this point, and as for Reaper's casual tone, Reaper is pretty casual because he quite simply is in denial over just how crazy his life is and treats it too lightly, illustrated by how comfortable he is communicating with a voice in his head which is most likely a schizophrenic delusion.

 

Fun fact: I have so far been trying to type these chapters first draft and edit them on the computer, as opposed to my old strategy of writing them on paper, editing those papers, and then typing the end result, and I gotta say typing everything seems quicker and easier but it just isn't, at least for me. I mean I ended up going back and changing the "final" version of this chapter twice. I don't know if this is the case for everyone, but it certainly is for me.

 

Other fun fact: I totally had to go look up the spelling of schizophrenia for this comment, and it makes me feel of the embarrassments :(

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  • 3 weeks later...
  • 2 weeks later...

It's definitely coming. I've rewritten it at least a dozen times, and I'm currently in the process of stepping back and letting some ideas come to me. I think I've said it before, but Chapters Three and Four are integral to the plot, and getting them right is critical. I also don't have as much free time as I used to.

 

But it's coming. Soon.

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It's definitely coming. I've rewritten it at least a dozen times, and I'm currently in the process of stepping back and letting some ideas come to me. I think I've said it before, but Chapters Three and Four are integral to the plot, and getting them right is critical. I also don't have as much free time as I used to.

 

But it's coming. Soon.

 

A dozen times? In its entirity?

 

You seem a perfectionist bordering on the OCD :o

 

I would say although I understand the need to wanting to get it completely right, but there comes a point where you get too bogged in it and just need to post something, or you'll be stuck forever (I get stuck after 1-2 proofreads/edits, although I'm doing that for usual several chapters at a time). Especially given the amount of audience and response here just doesn't warrant anyone making that much time and investment.

 

However, if you are writing it for you and to hell with everyone else, then do what you feel is best and make it as good as you feel happy with.

 

I look forward to it still though.

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  • 2 months later...

Nice to see you start writing again, really gave me the motivation to revamp my old project(Fighting Edge) with a whole new cast and background.

 

 

You're writing certainly improved dude, I've read each of your fics again recently, and lets just say the feeling hasn't changed from when I first started reading them

 

keep up the good work

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