Story of the Radiant Abyss (just starting, WIP)

Flash
Dark
Pain
Feed
Pain
Dark
Sleep…



Flash
Pain
Dark
Scream
Pain
Feed
Pain
Darkness…


Flash
Bright
Feed
Pain
Scream
Pain
Hurts
Screaming
Why
Pain
Darkness…

Flash
Pain
Feed
Movement
Below?
Pain
Thrashing
Flailing
Pain
Words?
Meaningless
Darkness…

Flash
Pain
Sight
Haemonculus
Below
Azh...
Azhdahak?
Talking
Died
Brought back
Pain
Feed
Pain
New Body
Grow
Pain
Darkness…

Guhh... I wake once more, my uncovered nerves shrieking in constant agony from the slightest of stimulations, the seeping of blood from my incomplete veins, the caress of breath from my screams. Azhdahak, my bonded haemonculus, labours below, flensing the muscle from what appears to have once been a human.
He hears my screams, and looks upwards, grinning below the skin stapled over his face to act as a surgical mask. Nodding to me, he returns to his work, and I slip into welcome nothingness once more, my body rebuilding itself more and more each cycle. This time, I dream...

Interesting perspective. There are few tales of the Haemonculus constructs. As to which construct it is... well that information eludes me (I assume you intended this).

You have not given me much to comment on honestly, almost to the point where I can't decide if I like this story. The only thing that is motivating me to continue is the premise that I have never seen explored. However note the word almost. Teasers like this are enough to get me engaged into the subject without destroying the atmosphere of confusion and curiosity. I am genuinely interested in how this plays out.

As for any actual criticism, there is only one I can think of, which is in the 5th clump of random thoughts. When you say "Haemonculus below" the number of syllables alone threw off my rhythm. The same thing occurred with his name (albeit names always throw off my rhythm in conventional literature). If you can find a way to slowly ease up to random thoughts of more and more syllables, then the two lines would help the flow of the story better.

Yeah, I know it's not much, but I haven't had much chance to write recently, with a death in the family, and a few job applications, including to the military. Suffice to say, I hope to write more soon, and just to answer a question, the "construct" in this story isn't a wrack/groteque, or anything, but the currently-regenerating body of an Archon, being brought back from the dead.
I've got some ideas on what to do next, probably a "dream/memory" of the battle in which he was killed.

Aroshamash wrote:

...regenerating body of an Archon...

What! Now you have disappointed me

Ok not really, now I'm just more curious

Well, I had included the lines "dead", "brought back" and "new body" among the ramblings of his reforming brain. Subsequently, I've also changed those two lines that didn't quite fit, changing the "Haemonculus below" to two seperate lines, and the name of the Haemonculus only being successfully thought/remembered on the second try.

I really like this Aroshamash. I think it would be better if instead of you using the one-liners in the beginning you went into maybe intense very short sentences describing what was felt.

Interesting.

I got that it was some guy being regenerated, eventually. Though my first thought was that it might have been the sightless perspective of an Ur-Ghul, which would have been interesting.

Good story.

This is one effective and chilling story. The only thing that screams to be added is one sentence at the beginning:
I dream...

Just so everyone knows, I do plan on adding more to this, hopefully soon. I just need to decide whether to have him die on the battlefield, or in Commorragh (not that those can't be one and the same...). Plus, a cookie to whoever figures out where I got the name of my Haemonculus, Azhdahak. I actually try to be as subtle as possible with my references, rather than the usual ham-fistedness GW seems to like.

Zoroastrian mythology?

Well, close enough. The Tzimisce Clan in Vampire: the Masquerade love their flesh-shaping, and Azhi Dahaka was a title for their founder. Maybe I might change the name a little, remove the 'k'.

Aroshamash wrote:

.....The Tzimisce Clan in Vampire....

I would hug you if I could. That just brought back a flood of nostalgic memories. Almost ten years ago. Hot summer nights. A cross gaming bash of Werewolf, Mage and Vampire.

Xelkireth wrote:

Aroshamash wrote:

.....The Tzimisce Clan in Vampire....

I would hug you if I could. That just brought back a flood of nostalgic memories. Almost ten years ago. Hot summer nights. A cross gaming bash of Werewolf, Mage and Vampire.

Hehe. Well, you really can't go past the Tzimisce for a Haemonculi comparison. They've basically got the exact same desires and personalities, only one group are vampires, and the other are vampire elves. Sadly, I never really got to get into any Vampire. It seemed pretty fun, even if the setting was a little depressing (bet that's something you haven't really heard a 40k fan say before!).

I played a Khan-breed Bastet. A shapeshifting were tiger. It was a blast. And no, the comparisons are really similar.

A scream cuts through the air, and I shudder as the sympathetic connection with my developing "safety" is pushed back into my subconscious once more. It is an... odd feeling, going through your daily motions, all the while feeling a tickling at the back of your thoughts, the motion of a flailing half-limb, the screaming of unformed lungs, knowing all the while that your limbs are fully formed and healthy, your lungs capable of proper speech. It is a small price to pay for a safety net though. In this city, you can never be overprepared...

I snap back to my own consciousness, standing in an oubliette within the mansions of the Kabal of the Radiant Abyss. The walls are pearlescent white marble, a slab of the same material laying in the centre of the room, illuminated by a single globe of sun-fire. I do so love white colouration for my 'entertainment' rooms, for the red of the blood contrasts in such a delicious way that always gives me some excitement.

The figure truly screaming lies on the slab below me, roughly bound with his limbs splayed wide, thorn-rope cutting into his bare skin. I shudder once more, this time through the drinking of his pain, this time a glorious feeling. His name, if he can be considered to deserve one, was Saronagh, a mere Warrior, nothing more than a pawn, yet within his own mind grand enough to consider a coup against me. Of course, he was drastically mistaken, which is why my blade now caresses his skin, drawing exquisite carvings across his flesh, one of many blades selected from a variety of shelves and trays lining the walls.

"Tell me, 'brother'... do you know why you lie here?" I ask, and yet the ungrateful cur gives only silence in response... "It's because you simply cannot keep a secret!"

With this, his eyes, once so unfocussed from hours of pain, snap up to look at me, hatred marring his already damaged features.

Circling the table, I continue correcting the scum. "You see, you cannot aspire to leadership without knowing when to withold the truth, and when to seek aid. Unfortunately for you, you chose to seek aid in those you laid with, it seems. With that, another word of advice! Boredom takes the best of us, but the nobility must have standards, dear 'brother'! Lying with a mon-keigh? Why not simply go to a haemonculus and ask them to make you some organic sludge, and lie with that? It would be just as primitive, cause less of a scandal, and would be less likely to 'accidentally' let something slip about overheard information. They do have such low pain tolerances, you see." Finally, a reaction from him. He tries to protest, but his lack of a tongue saves me from having to listen to more of his worthless protestations.
"It was barely a cycle under my care before it broke. I didn't even have time to have any true enjoyment! You, on the other hand... you will provide much more amusement..."

Reaching the foot of the table, I reach for something out of Saronagh's sight, enjoying the panicked moments of anticipation as he dreads what I will bring. When he sees what it is, he doubles his protestations.
"I take it you know what this is, then?" I lean over him, pulling my face close to his, drinking in the fear-stink that he reeks of, and press the point of the pyramidal object into the flesh of his left palm, pushing aside bone to penetrate his hand, and take a moment to savour the scream of agony. "It's the Kailiss, 'brother'. You uncultured fools might know it as a soul-trap, a much cruder, direct way of naming it, much in the style of your beloved mon-keigh, it seems."

As I talk, the Kailiss begins giving off flashes of dark green corposant, dancing like licks of flame around it, as it draws Saronagh's soul from his body. "It gives such exquisite pain, does it not? I've never had the chance of having one implemented upon me, although I do so enjoy the pleasure I gain from it. It condenses the essence of a being, you see, turning the consumation from a long, steady affair into a sharp burst, heightening the emotions in the process. If you hadn't failed, you might have experienced it for yourself, but such was not to be!" With a sharp twist, I remove the kailiss, leaving a gaping wound in his palm, cauterised by the flickering corposant.

I back away from him, smiling all the while, as a chill down my spine signals my fun is to be brought to an end. "Now Saronagh, surely by now you must be wondering why it's me doing this, and not a haemonculus, yes? That answer, unfortunately for you, is about to be answered..."
The sun-fire flickers, getting steadily dimmer, as hoarfrost begins to form on the floor and walls, freezing the spilt blood solid. As the light flickers out for the last time, a hiss is heard on the edge of the senses, and unlight spills into the chamber from a growing portal on the floor.

Before my eyes, arms too long for an Eldar reach out and flashing with balefire, fold down on themselves to grip the edges of the hole to pull the body of a Mandrake upwards into the room. I twitch, the sympathetic connection coming forwards again, but I recover and bow to my guest. One must play the civil host, after all, no matter how distasteful the guest.

Eyes still looking to the floor, I greet the shadowy figure. "Honoured Kirrik, in payment for debts owed by the Kabal of the Radiant Abyss for services rendered by your kin, I present the agreed bounty, the hearts-warmth of a warrior born". I must admit it, even if not publically, as useful as the shadowkin are, I cannot help but feel unsettled in their presence...

Looking upwards, I look upon my guest properly for the first time. Skin so black as to absorb light covers the body, broken only by shifting sigils and the ever-changing facial features so distinctive of the Mandrakes. The... thing seems to pay no attention to me, and draws a talon along the jaw-line of a whimpering Saronagh. Without eyes, it stares down at his broken face, studying his form. When it speaks, its voice, its unvoice is not heard, but felt.
"This is not acceptable. This gift is damaged!" I'm not sure whether it is unease, or the simple presence of the Mandrake, that makes me feel like the temperature just dropped even further. This wasn't supposed to be how it went!
"N-no, honoured Kirrik! His essence is whole! He fulfills the bar-" I never finish.


...Blood flows over my lips. I look down, and a blade has pierced my heart, held by a second Mandrake behind me. Far away, another being shudders in sympathy, this time the connection reversed. As the blade is ripped backwards, I fall to my knees, as Kirrik slices a talon across the throat of Saronagh, killing him instantly, the balefire across the bodies of the Mandrakes flaring as the essence leaves the broken host. Once more, the unvoice whispers inside my head. "You are undamaged, so we claim your heart-warmth to rightfully fulfill the bargain. The broken is taken as compensation for the insult of trying to break our agreement. With this, Aroshamash of the Radiant Abyss, our business is done."
The unvoice grows fainter, my essence fleeing my destroyed husk, into the gaping maws of the Mandrakes crowding over my body.

This wasn't meant to be how it went...
In a far-away chamber, a completed body stirs.

They were meant to accept the traitor...
A haemonculus floats upwards to assist the revival.

I... I cannot, I will not die here...
I...

they...

they cannot...

hate-kill-stab them! No die! No die! No...


...
...
...


I wake

I don't like first person stories much, but this was decent. The smaller font is hard to read. I know it's probably meant to be that way, but I'd just italicize it maybe.

I'll try italicizing it, but I'm trying to keep the thoughts of the dying Aroshamash seperate from the waking "clone".
As for the first person, I don't know why, I just prefer writing my characters in that way, even if it makes it a little harder to fully flesh things out. It just helps me get into the characters head a little more.