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End of Year News (December 2017)

Thu Dec 28, 2017 3:57 am by Adrian

(It's been one year since I made a news thread, oops)

Merry Christmas/Festivus/whatever holiday you do or do not celebrate!

2017 was a pretty busy year IRL for most of us - according to forum statistics, our busiest month was in June with 1671 total posts, meaning our post rate has been a little …

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Forum Bug

Wed Dec 28, 2016 3:18 am by Adrian

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Just a news, update test. Trying to get this thing to work.

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Anaphora: Pariah

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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by Athena Lionheart on Fri Nov 13, 2015 9:40 am

Writing is Cruelty Bearer confirmed OMG
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by WritingBookworm on Sat Dec 19, 2015 3:24 am

Woo! It's finally here! *Wipes a bunch of sweat from face*

This chapter's special; it's the longest one, and my favorite. However -- this is also the darkest one. I don't think it's way too bad, but I do feel like this does need to come with a warning, just to be safe. But then again, it's also the climax, so it's also probably the most epic chapter. Very Happy

Chapter 8: Son of Vandor

For a second, I can’t even register what happened.

I blink, and then squint, like I’m having trouble understanding foreign. Then my eyes enlarge, brimming with terrified realization as the sight slowly sinks into me. No . . .

Oh my god, no.



Abraxas rips his sword out of Quintus’s chest, leaving Quintus to drop his staff and crumple to the ground. The General looks down upon his fallen opponent and smirks, satisfied. Just like that, he turns and begins to stalk away from the sight.

I clamp a hand over my mouth. By the skies, it’s just like Mom. God, he’s going to die just like Mom --

It’s then that I stop. Because I abruptly remember something.

I’m a Compassion Bearer. I can heal.

I stare at Quintus all those yards away, slowly but surely bleeding out. Then I look down at the palm of my hand.

For so long, I was taught that these hands were destined to bring torment. And for a while, they did. But they can also heal, repair what has been damaged --

And perhaps, they can even change fate.

My hand clamps into a tight fist.

And then I take off, racing at the speed of light straight toward Quintus Randall.

Maybe Quintus already accepted that he would die when he made the decision to fight Abraxas. Maybe he was completely ready to sacrifice everything just so I could escape.

Except my mom already did that. That killed her. By the skies, she’s dead now. She’s not coming back, and I would give anything to just see her smile again. But I can’t, I just can’t, and I never can. What happened to Mom is something I can never change.

But I can change this. I will change this. I will save Quintus.

I skid to a halt once I reach the Strength Bearer’s side. His skin is graying into death, with his eyes closed and his breathing faint. The worst part is the blood: blood seeping from his deep wound, blood soaking his shirt, blood slipping down his body and pooling around him in the grass and there’s blood blood bloodbloodbloodblood so much blood --

The sight sears itself into my memory, rendering me completely frozen. Then I gulp, kneel down next to him, and place my hands over the wound.

A bright golden light blooms from my palms, so vivid and blinding that I have to look away even with closed eyelids. I summon all of my empathy, every last ounce of compassion, and freely pour it into the healing.

I think of Quintus. I think of his solidarity, and of all of the faith lying beneath the exterior of strength. I think of the way he was willing to risk his life for a royal brat he hated. I think of the ways he has risked his life, and how, at the end of the day, is more than ready to see the best in people.

In turn, I think about the best in him.

The emotion flows out of me like a great waterfall. I let myself open my eyes . . . and nearly collapse with relief when I see his wound beginning to close.

I allow it continue --

Only to gasp when white-hot pain pierces my nerves.

I clamp my eyes shut, fighting to regain common sense throughout the agony. Swallowing down a scream, I try reopening my eyes . . .

“I see. You really do have a penchant for recklessness, Lucian.”

I look up to the returned Abraxas Blackthorne. The expression on his face is one of faint amusement.

“Or perhaps it’s simply loyalty,” he continues. “I would say a bit of both. Regardless . . . I could have been wrong. Maybe you’re unlike your father after all.”

There’s no time for this. Not when Quintus’s life is on the line. I relocate my hand to his chest, silently begging for him to live. He can’t die, and Abraxas can’t win.

Yet more pain bursts inside me, electrifying my every nerve. I don’t even bother trying to look tough anymore, and briefly shout in pain.

Breathless, I look down at Quintus. I look down at the wound he bears -- at what Abraxas did.

A faint drop of disbelief touches upon my chest.

At what Abraxas did.

The drop of disbelief dissolves and sizzles into anger.

At what that absolute scum did.

And I’m going to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else anymore.

I jump up to my feet and seize Quintus’s fallen staff from the ground. The grip and the touch of the weapon in my hands bequeaths me with a power and confidence that I am finally ready to accept.

I look down at the word engraved onto the staff. Elpis. A word related to hope.

And so with hope in my hand, I do one of the stupidest things I ever do.

I roar and charge Abraxas Blackthorne.

~  ~  ~

His retaliation is immediate. He inflicts another round of pain upon me, though this time, it doesn’t work in the way he expects. Sure, I do stumble as a result, but I don’t fall. After all, he’s used it so many times on me in the past hour that I’m now simply becoming desensitized to it.

And so I keep running until I swipe at his chest. Smirking, he simply steps to the side and takes a step backward. I try closing the distance between us again only to bend when again pain explodes in my body. I only reel over for a second, but it’s enough for him again maneuver himself out of my range.

My chest heaving up and down, I take a moment and watch him, the man who’s simply toying with me for a while. I guess that’s the difference between him and me. He’s just screwing around. On the other hand, I am not screwing around.

I clench the staff like I’m trying to crush it. I catapult myself straight at him.

I slash and slash and slash, my staff whipping from side to side. I advance all the while, and Abraxas is content to let himself step back, back . . .

Until he doesn’t. He draws his sword and, just as I proceed to slash again, uses the flat of his blade to meet my staff, and by extension uses my own weight against me as he maneuvers me to the side.

I thrust my staff forward so fast that I actually almost manage to hit him. I try attacking again and again and again, but each strike is met with a calm block. He’s putting in less than half of my effort into the fight, and yet he’s still somehow winning.

I slash, slash, insert a thrust, slash again, and try feinting to the left only for Abraxas to catch it. Yet still he only dodges, only blocks.

I stumble backwards, gasping for breath. Why the heck isn’t he attacking --

Because he’s letting me wear myself out.

Abraxas’s swing is so fast I nearly don’t have time to block it. It takes all my strength to deflect the blow, and it sends me stumbling back. He swings a second time, a third, and my body careens when I guide those attacks away from my body. He continues advancing all the while, and I’m forced back, back, back . . .

I drop to the ground and attempt to swipe his feet out from under him --

Only to collapse when he inflicts the Cruelty Trait upon me.

I grimace and try heaving myself from off the ground only to succumb to the pain and fall again. Then I swallow, get myself up to my knees, and begin to rise to my feet --

And see Abraxas’s sword coming down upon me.

I rise up and lift my staff up just in time to meet Abraxas’s blade in a lock.

I grit my teeth under the strength of Abraxas’s sword. My knees are already bent, and the General uses it all the more to his advantage as he pushes the lock down lower, lower.

Sweat materializes onto my face. My fingers tighten around my staff, my knees shaking under the weight of the lock.

The wooden staff begins to creak under the weight of the sword.

I press my feet further into the ground. I close my eyes and press my chin into my chest, concentrating holding the lock with every single last bit of my strength, but it isn’t working, it’s not working, it won’t hold --

Then, all at once, an idea comes.

My eyes snap open. They stare at the lock, at the sword beginning to press deep into the shaft of my staff. Then they flicker up to Abraxas’s face.

One chance, I think.

I set my lips into a line. I muster any and every bit of courage that’s left.

I push up against the lock --

The staff snaps in two, and I move out of the sword’s way just in time to rise up and punch the jagged end of a staff piece right into Abraxas’s eye.

I step away as Abraxas staggers back, gasping, his hand darting to the staff remnant lodged in his eye. He doesn’t scream, but his face twists and contorts in a thousand different ways.

. . . Good.

In a strange but not entirely unpleasant way, the sight of him in so much pain allows me to relax. The part of me that had hurt so much after seeing Quintus stabbed through the chest has now received warm balm to heal it. After all, Abraxas does indeed deserve it. This is what he gets after nearly killing Quintus. Even now, he’s only in a very small portion of the pain Quintus must have undergone after being stabbed straight in the chest.

And it will only be the beginning.

I bend my head. I come forward, once more crossing the distance between us.

This is the only chance I have to take down Abraxas, so I use it. He swings his blade at me, but it’s a blind swing, and one relatively easy for me to sidestep. I use his agony to my own advantage as I thrust the second remnant of the staff into his hand.

Due to that, he drops his sword. I collect it. With a wickedly fast slash, I cut a line of red across his chest.

I throw it aside just as Abraxas summons his pistol to his hands. I rip the second staff remnant out of his first hand and plunge it into the other.

And then, once his pistol has been dropped and he has finally cried out in pain, I drive the staff remnant into his ribs.

That does it. Abraxas drops to his knees, caught in a haze of pain. He tries lifting one hand, as though to focus his energy to causing me pain, but now even he can’t concentrate.

I take his shoulders and shove him down to the ground. Now effectively pinning him to the ground, I ball my hand into a fist and deliver a punch to his face.

That’s just the first time I hit him. I form a fist with my other hand and punch him with that too. Then I punch him, again and again and again and again until I’m completely slugging him, screaming and battering him until I’ve drawn blood --

It’s only when I hear his nose crack that I stop.

I withdraw my fists, flexing the fingers on one of my hands as to ease the sudden soreness in them. As I do so, my eyes latch onto something -- the other remnant of the staff, still deep in his eye.

I decide that the some of torture lessons Father gave me didn’t completely go to waste when I twist the staff remnant. It’s slow, at first, but abruptly I jerk it clockwise much harder.

A short cry of pain comes from him. I let go, erecting my spine so that I sit tall.

Kill him.

The thought is small, soft-spoken. I stare at Abraxas’s face, laboring for breath. I blink once. Then again. He . . . he does deserve it.

My lips form a snarl. He almost killed Quintus. He deserves it. He’s suffered, much to my pleasure. Perhaps it’s time for him to pay the ultimate price.

Kill him.

I rip the bloodied staff remnant from his eye. It’s still sharp enough to puncture a chest. Sharp enough to kill.

I remember what he did to Quintus. I flare my nostrils. Trembling in sheer fury, I lift the remnant high above my head, eager to slam it down into the General’s heart.


I take a deep breath and roar as I begin to bring it down upon him --

Only to stop when I hear laughter.

I look down. It’s Abraxas. He’s the one laughing. He’s bloodied, bruised, and quite possibly about to die, and yet he’s laughing.

“Well well.” His words are garbled, no thanks to the blood filling his mouth. “It seems . . . the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree after all. Like father, like son.”

I stare at him and furrow my eyebrows. Wait . . . what is he . . .

My breath fades into oblivion when I realize what he's saying. Suddenly, everything is a thousand times colder.

He lifts his head, as though to close distance between us. His one good eye does not stray from mine.

“I admit, I had my doubts for one moment. I wondered if you really had lost all cruelty.” His lips slither into a smile. “But no. I was right about you. Underneath the compassion, you truly are a son of Vandor.”

It really begins to register then -- Abraxas’s face. The face of the distinguished General is splotched with already-forming bruises. Blood streaming from his eye and lips trickle past his crooked nose and down his paling skin. It is a perfect canvas of black and blue and white and purple and red: a masterpiece of my own making.

I drop my weapon. I get up to my feet and step away, horrified.

I did that. I did that.

I stare at Abraxas, still attempting to comprehend it. Then I lift my hands to my face, drinking in the bloodstained fingers and bruising knuckles.

What have I done? By god, what have I done?

I turn my hands over, my eyes still searching them as though I can somehow hold salvation as well as wickedness. I thought I lost all of my cruelty. I thought every bit of it vanished when I got the Compassion Trait. But it didn’t. It’s still there.

. . . And it always will be, won’t it? Not just cruelty, but hate, greed. It’s not just in me. It’s in everyone. It’s everywhere. Even if Acritudo crumbles, even if nations fall and governments turn to dust, these concepts will always remain.

For a long moment, I can’t move. Then I look over my shoulder, desperately searching for Quintus.

I see him. He’s regained consciousness, and though he still clutches his chest like he’s in pain, he’s sat himself upright. He almost seems a little confused, blinking slowly as though to make sure it’s me he’s seeing.

My throat constricts. I swallow, too ashamed to look away from him. How much did he see?

I hear coughing behind me.

I lower my hands and look back to what’s in front of me.

Abraxas is slowly beginning to heave himself up into a sitting position. I almost wonder if he’s going to stand, but then he only reels over and coughs out blood onto the grass.

And as he does it, I swear I catch a spark of fear in his eye.

That’s when I think I begin to understand. Not sympathize, but understand. I recognize that, in the end, he had just about as much at stake as Quintus and I did. His wife had brought dishonor on his family, and capturing me was his one and only shot to restore it not just for himself, but for his three children. Now that he’s failed . . . now that he’s missed his one and only shot . . . well, Vandor Zeidan doesn’t exactly give third chances. If he goes back to Acritudo, he too will have death waiting for him.

I set my lips into a thin line. With a deep breath, I cross over to Abraxas, standing at his side.

He looks up to me. I look down on him.

I squat down and place my hand over the ribcage I stabbed. Warm golden light, though faint, radiates from my hand and begins to heal his wound.

It’s probably stupid, healing him. He’s an enemy, after all, and will likely try and take me down once he has his chance. That’s why I have to be careful not to completely heal the wound. But at the same time, I’m the one that did this. So I’ll also mend it.

I pray that, in this way, I will be unlike my father.

Once I’m satisfied with the wound’s progress, I remove my hand from the ribcage and take a good few steps back away from him. I watch as Abraxas steadily rises to his feet, reclaiming his pistol and slipping it back into its holster. There’s no longer any sadism or amusement when he regards me; there’s only faint confusion.

“Cruore’s always an option, you know,” I say. “You can run, maybe find your children and take them with you. Maybe you’ll be fugitives, but you can survive. You’ll have a chance.” My face hardens. “However, with that said, don’t come near Quintus or I ever again. If you do, and if you try harm either of us, then I swear, I will take your other eye out. Got it?”

Abraxas stares at me. No longer does he seem confused; he instead inspects me closely, and I can sense that he is slowly reaching a conclusion.

“Unfortunately, I believe you would,” he says. “And that is why . . . “

He draws his pistol and cocks it.

“ . . . There is only one option left.”

He lifts the pistol up and inserts the barrel into his mouth --

My eyes go wide. I reach forward like I can stop him. “No no no no NO -- !”


Silence. The world is dark, and slowly I realize that I clamped my eyes shut.

I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to open them. I don’t.

But I do.

I do open them, just in time to watch General Abraxas Blackthorne crumple to the ground, dead.
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by Athena Lionheart on Sat Dec 19, 2015 3:53 am

@WritingBookworm wrote:It’s then that I stop. Because I abruptly remember something.

I’m a Compassion Bearer. I can heal.

The chapter was excellent. I'm just too tired to do more than meme rn
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by Mythie on Sat Dec 19, 2015 7:11 am

Yay Luke! Control that cruelty!
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by WritingBookworm on Thu Dec 31, 2015 9:07 pm

Well, this is it! Thank you everyone for reading and being supportive. It truly means a lot. ^.^

Chapter 9: Light Rises

It’s been three days now.

Three days since my capture and torture at the hands of one of Acritudo’s mightiest soldiers. Three days since I witnessed Quintus nearly die in front of my very eyes. Three days since I viciously attacked a General and witnessed a man shoot himself right before me.

Three days in which I have not uttered a word.

We’ve managed to escape Acritudo by now. After just a bit more traveling around the desert, we arrived in Ars and managed to stow away on a supply ship headed to Cruore. In the darkness of the vessel’s hull, Quintus and I sit across from each other against compact wooden crates, listening to the ocean’s waves beat against the ship.

“Ah.” Quintus closes his eyes in relaxation, savoring a peaceful moment. He looks to me with a hint of a smile on his face. “The ocean is indeed a peaceful thing to hear, wouldn’t you think?”

I stare into the floor. I’m too numb and lifeless to particularly care about anything.

He waits for me to respond. When it becomes obvious I won’t, he sighs and leans back against the wall, another potential conversation wasted.

One still starts.

“Do you think it’ll happen again?”

Quintus looks back at me now that I’ve talked for the first time in days. “I beg your pardon?”

“What I did to Abraxas.” I lift my eyes up. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

“That’s up to you entirely, Lucian. At the end of the day, your choices are yours and yours alone.”

“Then do you think I’ll make the conscious decision to do something like that again?”

Quintus’s lips become thin. The ship tilts slightly to the side, its boards creaking against the waves.

“It’s too early to say,” he finally says. “After all, the main difference between you and your father is not that he is capable of cruelty and you are incapable. The difference lies in what activates that cruelty. Your father ignites cruelty for his own sake. You ignite cruelty for the sake of others. After all, being a Compassion Bearer means you love deeply. Loving deeply means that you will do anything in the name of your loved ones. And doing anything for them means . . . “

He leaves it at that. But I get the message all the same.

“Since it’s in the name of others, it’s very easy to see your version of cruelty as righteous justice,” he says, “and that is why your own cruelty has the potential to be far more dangerous than mere sadism.”

“Where’s the line, then?” My voice remains flat and hollow. “Where’s the line between rightful justice and cruelty?”

“Now that,” he says, “is something you’ll need to decide for yourself.”

I swallow and look down. “There’s really no point in trying to change the world, is there?”

“Lucian -- “

“Because cruelty will never go away! Greed or hate won’t, either. Say that, somehow, we topple Acritudo.” I laugh bitterly; the idea seems so preposterous now. “Heck, maybe, maybe, we even manage to bring down Avaditas and Aspernor, too. Even if the nations and governments go away, the Negative Traits themselves won’t. They’ll always be there, in some form. And then the cycle might just repeat itself even if we do come out victorious. So what’s our reason to fight if the concepts will never vanish?”

“Well, who said that completely extinguishing the Negative Traits was the reason to fight?”

I pause. “What do you mean?”

Quintus laces his fingers together. “I admit, I struggled with this myself for a time. But think about it. Could we know happiness if we did not know sadness? Could we truly know what victory feels like without ever getting knocked down?”

“I . . . I guess not.”

“Exactly. Positivity and negativity, good and bad, light and darkness -- they are two sides of the very same coin. One cannot exist without the other. There is no selflessness without greed, no love without hate, and no compassion without cruelty.”

Quintus takes a deep breath. “The point of fighting, I believe, is not to get rid of those concepts entirely. In small measures, they may actually be healthy, and to create a world utterly devoid of them may actually be doing the future generations a disservice. But the world is unbalanced. What has become the law is not acceptable in the eyes who genuinely seek to do good. What has become my own reason for resistance is not to make the world perfect and utopian -- it is simply to make it better, and restore it to a fair and just order.”

“Dang.” A corner of my lip rises, creating the barest trace of a smile. “That’s deep.”

“You’re the one who asked, Lucian.”

The smile widens. “True.”

And just like that, the weight that the past few days have created begins to lift. It’s by no means gone entirely, and it still lingers with each breath I take. But maybe there’s a chance to heal. I have a belief that these next days will be kinder.

It’s a fact acknowledged that darkness will never go away. But light won’t, either.

I know that now. I’m just not sure others do . . .

So I’ll never take a life.

The idea is rather sudden, and one that catches me off-guard. But I turn it over, look into it. I acquaint myself with it. The more I do, the more comfortable I am.

In the end, I decide to commit it to heart.

I’ll never kill anyone. To prove to others that kindness and humanity remain, I will never kill another person, even if this coming revolution calls for war. At the end of the day, every soldier in this struggle is a human being, with entire lives, hopes, dreams, and families accompanying them. It’s best to treat them as such. I’ll prove that we’re better than the governments. I’ll prove I have nothing in common with Vandor Zeidan.

I know what I fight for now. I know how I’ll fight for it.

I think of an aging man, sitting right across from me. I think of three children, left behind in Poena. Two, a boy and a girl, have hair as red as fire. Another’s is as black as the darkness she has at last surrendered to.

With them in mind, I know that, whether they be Trait Bearer, or sadist, or somewhere in-between . . .

I know that by fighting to make the world a better place, I will repay the ones I love.

“Hey. Quintus?”


“Thank you.”

“For what?”


~  ~  ~

I don’t think I ever appreciated sunrises until now.

But then again, no one could ever get this great of a view in Acritudo. From atop the hill, it’s easy to see the sun slowly ascending from the mountains, spreading tender hues of gold, lilac, and rose far across the sky. The sun casts its perfect glow upon the land, giving light to the slender trees and ripe green grass. It’s an eden of its own, untouched by civilization.

Right here and now, after having gotten off the ship and evading basic Acritudoni border security, I breathe in the rich life of the land.

“Wow,” I say to myself. Cruore truly is beautiful.

In its own way, I guess the breathtaking view reminds me of what the world can be -- and what, in some ways, it already is. The light is beautiful, and I’m going to spread it.

I close my eyes, bathing myself in the sun’s tender rays.

A new dawn has come. In it, I have found my true self.

I open my eyes and turn to Quintus, who stands just a few feet behind me.

“I’m ready,” I say.

The End

But with every end . . .

. . . comes a new beginning.

VER 91ST, 9,994


Deep in the heart of the Putro desert, a helmeted figure clad in black tread through the sea of sand, unperturbed by the fierce winds swirling around them.

Miles away, a girl by the name of Therese Zeidan stood upon a balcony overlooking the distinguished city of Poena. Proudly the city stood, serving as a shining example of order to the nations. Yet still Therese stood rigidly, facing the city in a military uniform just as dark as the unadorned waterfall of raven locks that tumbled down her back.

“Lady Zeidan.”

Therese turned to the military captain, regarding him with eyes as sharp as icicles. “What is it?”

In turn, the captain proffered a clean, slender, manila folder.

“Your next mission.”

The figure advanced through the sands, calm yet undaunted. They came closer, ever closer, until at last they could discern a faint outline slowly revealing itself through the sandstorm. It was a simple outline, rounded at the top.

The outline of a tombstone.

Inside the folder were an array of printed informational documents and glossy photographs, undoubtedly taken from one of Poena’s many security cameras. The photos, naturally, caught Therese’s attention first. A tall, lean man stood in the shadows of an alley in one, and other featured the same man walking away from a building endowed in flames.

“A Trait Bearer,” the captain said from behind her. “One that’s been stirring just as much trouble as the Church of the Song did.”

Therese did not look up from the file. Her face, rare to crack a single smile nowadays, remained impassive. “What is his name?”

“They call him ‘the Renegade’.”

At last, the figure stopped their trek upon arrival at the tombstone. There was no engraving or writing upon it -- nothing to indicate who had been buried deep into the ground. But that didn’t matter, because the figure knew who rested there.

The figure reached up and removed their helmet, revealing the diamond-shaped face of a young woman. The wind allowed chin-length strands of black to lash out against her cheeks as she led her gaze up to the scorching sun.

She squinted up into the blaze before her eyes trailed back to the grave. She lowered her helmet to her side, fitting it to her hip, and gradually crouched down in front of the tombstone.

The young woman stretched out her free arm and rested her hand upon the grave of her fallen parent. Gingerly she stroked the smooth stone, as though to establish a connection with her parent once more.

The girl swallowed, her vivid green eyes welling with tears. She clamped her eyes shut and lowered her head, refusing to allow anything to see her pained expression.

“You’re not to take on this Trait Bearer alone, either. While you’re indeed being given command over this operation, you’re to have a partner.”

“And who is my partner?”

“Someone with just as much reason to hate Trait Bearers as you do.”

When she reopened her eyes, they were as hard as steel.

She launched up to her feet, unsheathed the longsword strapped to her back, and slammed it into the ground in front of the tombstone. She did not move, becoming an unflinching tower even as the swirling sandstorm tore at her skin and threatened to rip her apart.

Then, in the middle of the spiraling rage of sand and wind, Alexis Blackthorne, daughter of the late Abraxas Blackthorne, lifted her head.

The captain was dismissed, leaving Therese to look down upon the files of the Trait Bearer. This was a Trait Bearer she would catch. A Trait Bearer that would feel the full force of the government. A Trait Bearer that would pay.

He wouldn’t be the last.

Therese clenched her fist, crumpling one of the documents in her hand.

This Trait Bearer, this ‘Renegade’, did not stand a chance. In the end, his defeat would be but a mere stepping stone to her ultimate goal -- to the one Trait Bearer she swore to kill.

Therese Zeidan looked up, her own cruel resolve alight in her eyes.

On that day, two different hearts made the same oath.

An oath against the one Zeidan that had brought their respective lives to ruin.

An oath of vengeance.

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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by Athena Lionheart on Fri Jan 01, 2016 12:59 pm

AAAHAHHHHH IT'S FINALLY FINISHED! This story was so friggen' great, Writing! I absolutely cannot wait to see what you do in Vengeance! Very Happy
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by Mythie on Fri Jan 01, 2016 1:04 pm

I don't really have any words but you are wonderful.
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by Salphirix on Fri Jan 01, 2016 1:58 pm

I'm excited for everything else you have coming c:
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by WritingBookworm on Thu May 19, 2016 5:31 pm

Yup, this thread is being briefly brought back from the dead. Why? Because I thought this would be the best place to say this.

Anaphora: Vengeance has a release date! Therese Zeidan's sidestory will come out on Thursday, June 2nd (the equivalent of Ver 75th), with a plan to release one chapter every week from then on out.

Hope you'll enjoy it!


[Infinity's Row: Interlude l Anaphora: Pariah l Infinity's Row: Uncontrollable l Anaphora: Vengeance]
Currently Reading: Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli
Currently Playing: Doki Doki Literature Club
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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

Post by Wishie on Thu May 19, 2016 9:02 pm


when i realized i hadn't actually updated myself on pariah i did and oh my gosh oh my gosh writing you are amazing

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Re: Anaphora: Pariah

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