It's me DogKama, and the reason for this topic is to..well.. tease an upcoming one-shot I'm currently working. For me its a weird feeling since the last time I posted a story was from our MGU.com days(before TMM) and after such a long break felt the need to contribute once again. The one-shot won't be any NSFW content or ecchi MG story, instead it will have more of a deeper thought behind it. I'm not sure what it is I'm trying to do other than try something different than the norm; once I figure out what exactly that is Ill let you guys know.
Instead of posting one solid wall of story, I'm going to post snip its averaging around 1,500k -2k words that will eventually make up the entirety of the story. I can't make any promises but I'm going to try to push for 2k word segments every Friday, realistically I say it will likely be about every two weeks or so.
Part one, Scrapping the bottom
► Show Spoiler
The last few weeks had been a troubling but rewarding experience: long grueling marches, days of moggy rain and mud, pitiful resistance, food spoilage, and the deadly uncertainty of our mission. A suicidal strike into the heart of demon controlled territory in a righteous quest seeking redemption.
Lords know we need it.
Looking over my shoulder, to the finest examples of human sin and misery riding horseback in lines of 4 was an odd, yet mystical sight. Each one having been in some form a convicted man of the Church and realm meant for the gallows or the rotting crypts they classified as prisons. A sentence meant break a man's will while he wasted his last humanity prying for the Chief God to find it in his heart, to grant them mercy for their crimes and bestow a quick death upon them.
Instead we received what could be considered a sword against the throat. Either way death would claim us in the end.
I had talked to some of the others, my sin brothers and each weaved a similar tale much like my own; festering rot and shadows wormed into their souls and muscle when an angel appeared before them. Her tone welcoming and soft as a warmed wine, bitter and barely tolerable to stand, but quelled the aches of their flesh.
“Come sinner. I offer a most righteous cause to end your torment.”
Needless to say none had known what cause she offered but to leave the shackles and despair behind was like giving gold to a beggar.
Myself and many more like me found ourselves being taught the basics needed to wield a weapon and march over several weeks in preparation for the upcoming chance to cleanse our sins. A major battle was brewing just over the border of the Demon Realm near the town of Url’n Ylva and this dirty mob was to lead the assault. To do this we were given dull blades, decrypted bows, worn leather armor, and the finest plates and chain armor afforded (ignoring the dents, cuts and patches or rust) of course.
Only the best equipment is provided for The Order’s newly raised and minted Broken Wings Century.
We were not but apprentices giving journeymen work, but that mattered little in weeks’ time. Until that time we found our days consisting of endless marching till the bottoms of our feet simply disappeared. We said little during those long marches, less of fear and more because we’re simply too exhausted to open our lips, while the dryness of our scaly throats killed any lively words there might have been. But if one can claim any good from that miserable slow death, I would say it were the sights.
Golden seas of wheat for days calmly bending to the angel touches of divine breezes as the simple path we followed trailed through it all. Sparsely did we ever see another soul on the path, even less tending to the fields brewing up the sensation (to me at least) that we all had crossed into the Other Realm. No birds greeted us and only the muddy sounds of blistered feet shambling over the dirt offered any noise to the wondering mind, and this did nothing to end my raising dread.
Maybe I should have stayed in my dank cell with the rotted stray... At least in confinement one couldn’t walk let alone stand if they wanted.
Even as the nightshade fell over us at the end of each trek, there’s neither rest nor time for the development of the condition. Those sinful souls we’ve come to associate as friend are herded off into pins of tents with a single torch in the center to offer the only source of warmth and light. We’re kept separated but together to prevent the gathering of such corruption in a single spot. So the vets, the knights, with the faultless armor and whistling swords are given the task of watch for any danger, external and internal that may threaten our camp.
Nothing ever outright threaten us, but one or two men do turn up missing the next morning, yet this is waved off as desertion or examples of hell taken the truly wicked from us by command of the Celestials. We all take these reasoning’s as truth from the heart but I feel only to avoid the other alternative... mamono attacks.
We all started praying frequently from that day onward.
The marches continue but develop into something different than they were once before. Our baby feet are use to the brittle ground and have grown near as tough a hide one would find from an ox. We march more erect, looking far into the horizon than before and I must say its much better than staring at the bloodied dirt; rhythm has taken to our ears as the shambling crypt crawlers grew into a pleasant sound only a mother could love. We weren’t marching alone anymore, but as one single body with a single purpose.
I felt it with each pump of my heart while basking in the radiating glow of my peers. We all felt it, we all knew the man next to us felt it, but to fine and feel pride was a new experience. One I swore startled me for the first time but quickly grew to relish its presence while those around me admired me for it. This new feeling was infecting us and our saviors must have noticed this and for the cat tails and near daily purging of our corrupted minds started growing fewer and far between.
Somewhere around the eleventh sun rising a cry went out from the top and rippled through our very formation until violently dying in the rear.
Our troop slowed to the point we felt more a gliding over the compacted dirt than actual walking, but still we keep on moving. Always moving, never stopping until the sun above had waned far behind us to sink below our heads. The air had changed, taking a childlike playfulness as it weaved in between our lines grasping our fingers with its cold hands; a few made fists to fight its touch but most of us, the desperate ones who couldn't fight this playfulness just staggered on unbothered. A little cold is but a tickle to the acts of life we’ve experienced.
But as the darkness grew somber, so did the cold and soon we could not ignore it much longer. To dull this new sensation I found myself focusing on the little pin pricks of light that specially surrounded us, never too far to blend with the night and yet close enough to illuminate the odd tree. I heard whispers just a squad length behind, as a regular told a few to look forward and ignore the dancing display all around us. Instead of taking his word, they fought back and questioned it; to which he ended that trait when he mentioned fairies.
Not once after that moment did my desert eyes ever leave the back of the head in front of me.
Lords know we need it.
Looking over my shoulder, to the finest examples of human sin and misery riding horseback in lines of 4 was an odd, yet mystical sight. Each one having been in some form a convicted man of the Church and realm meant for the gallows or the rotting crypts they classified as prisons. A sentence meant break a man's will while he wasted his last humanity prying for the Chief God to find it in his heart, to grant them mercy for their crimes and bestow a quick death upon them.
Instead we received what could be considered a sword against the throat. Either way death would claim us in the end.
I had talked to some of the others, my sin brothers and each weaved a similar tale much like my own; festering rot and shadows wormed into their souls and muscle when an angel appeared before them. Her tone welcoming and soft as a warmed wine, bitter and barely tolerable to stand, but quelled the aches of their flesh.
“Come sinner. I offer a most righteous cause to end your torment.”
Needless to say none had known what cause she offered but to leave the shackles and despair behind was like giving gold to a beggar.
Myself and many more like me found ourselves being taught the basics needed to wield a weapon and march over several weeks in preparation for the upcoming chance to cleanse our sins. A major battle was brewing just over the border of the Demon Realm near the town of Url’n Ylva and this dirty mob was to lead the assault. To do this we were given dull blades, decrypted bows, worn leather armor, and the finest plates and chain armor afforded (ignoring the dents, cuts and patches or rust) of course.
Only the best equipment is provided for The Order’s newly raised and minted Broken Wings Century.
We were not but apprentices giving journeymen work, but that mattered little in weeks’ time. Until that time we found our days consisting of endless marching till the bottoms of our feet simply disappeared. We said little during those long marches, less of fear and more because we’re simply too exhausted to open our lips, while the dryness of our scaly throats killed any lively words there might have been. But if one can claim any good from that miserable slow death, I would say it were the sights.
Golden seas of wheat for days calmly bending to the angel touches of divine breezes as the simple path we followed trailed through it all. Sparsely did we ever see another soul on the path, even less tending to the fields brewing up the sensation (to me at least) that we all had crossed into the Other Realm. No birds greeted us and only the muddy sounds of blistered feet shambling over the dirt offered any noise to the wondering mind, and this did nothing to end my raising dread.
Maybe I should have stayed in my dank cell with the rotted stray... At least in confinement one couldn’t walk let alone stand if they wanted.
Even as the nightshade fell over us at the end of each trek, there’s neither rest nor time for the development of the condition. Those sinful souls we’ve come to associate as friend are herded off into pins of tents with a single torch in the center to offer the only source of warmth and light. We’re kept separated but together to prevent the gathering of such corruption in a single spot. So the vets, the knights, with the faultless armor and whistling swords are given the task of watch for any danger, external and internal that may threaten our camp.
Nothing ever outright threaten us, but one or two men do turn up missing the next morning, yet this is waved off as desertion or examples of hell taken the truly wicked from us by command of the Celestials. We all take these reasoning’s as truth from the heart but I feel only to avoid the other alternative... mamono attacks.
We all started praying frequently from that day onward.
The marches continue but develop into something different than they were once before. Our baby feet are use to the brittle ground and have grown near as tough a hide one would find from an ox. We march more erect, looking far into the horizon than before and I must say its much better than staring at the bloodied dirt; rhythm has taken to our ears as the shambling crypt crawlers grew into a pleasant sound only a mother could love. We weren’t marching alone anymore, but as one single body with a single purpose.
I felt it with each pump of my heart while basking in the radiating glow of my peers. We all felt it, we all knew the man next to us felt it, but to fine and feel pride was a new experience. One I swore startled me for the first time but quickly grew to relish its presence while those around me admired me for it. This new feeling was infecting us and our saviors must have noticed this and for the cat tails and near daily purging of our corrupted minds started growing fewer and far between.
Somewhere around the eleventh sun rising a cry went out from the top and rippled through our very formation until violently dying in the rear.
Our troop slowed to the point we felt more a gliding over the compacted dirt than actual walking, but still we keep on moving. Always moving, never stopping until the sun above had waned far behind us to sink below our heads. The air had changed, taking a childlike playfulness as it weaved in between our lines grasping our fingers with its cold hands; a few made fists to fight its touch but most of us, the desperate ones who couldn't fight this playfulness just staggered on unbothered. A little cold is but a tickle to the acts of life we’ve experienced.
But as the darkness grew somber, so did the cold and soon we could not ignore it much longer. To dull this new sensation I found myself focusing on the little pin pricks of light that specially surrounded us, never too far to blend with the night and yet close enough to illuminate the odd tree. I heard whispers just a squad length behind, as a regular told a few to look forward and ignore the dancing display all around us. Instead of taking his word, they fought back and questioned it; to which he ended that trait when he mentioned fairies.
Not once after that moment did my desert eyes ever leave the back of the head in front of me.
Also, there is no such thing as a copy and paste comment, unless you actually do it anyway. xD Besides, even the tiniest comments can make a person very happy. If you actually read it, why not leave a few nice words or your own opinion of the writing? 
This is why I can't read most stories on here.
