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Usurper MrTeapot
Okay, this is my un-named story. I have a habit of writing a half decent introduction but lose it after a page or two. This particlier story is unfinished and never will be complete, I stopped adding to it about 2 years ago.

If you have the time to read it tell me what you think.

(Oh and its not putting it into paragraphs and dispite the times I put spaces in, it hates I can't be bothered. Make do.)

It was dusk and the clouds overhead were a polluted brown from the smoke of a thousand years of industrial poison. There was always a constant spiralling chute of smoke; it was slowly burning the atmosphere making it unbearably hot. The gentle buzz of air traffic could be heard in the skies above, invisible against the clouds.
Black-Guard Kilken stalked the streets once more, he moved between the shadows of each building around him, totally silent. The gentle breeze, created by the intense heat made his cloak whip out behind him; he hissed as he tried to hold it still. Checking no one had heard him, he slipped into another patch of darkness and moved on.
Somewhere an oxygen generator spewed out another burst of the precious gas and at the same time sucking in a host of poisonous toxins from the air. It was unwise to travel the city without a filter mask (unless a slow death was your pleasure), yet Kilken didn’t wear one.
Not needing to breathe meant that he could continue his practise unhampered by weariness or short breath. He emerged from the shadowed patch into the artificial light created by a mobile generator, blocked from view by the warehouse in front of him, in this position he considered himself safe.
The light swooped over him and he cringed, twitching slightly. His long brown hair flew out behind him in the breeze; with a flick he pushed some hair from his eyes and tucked it behind an ear. His skin was pale, and radiated with a slight blue tinge from the unnatural light of the generator. Aside from its colour it was smooth and hairless and his skin gripped tightly onto his cheekbones.
His cloak was again fluttering behind him, the silken material was not the only thing that kept him hidden and therefore alive as he wore other protection. Strapped to his chest was a full plate of Adamantine, heavy and hard but weight was no problem for Kilken. His legs and feet were protected with the same metal; the plates tied crudely with leather straps that would have cut off his circulation if he had blood. Underneath his cloak, across his back, was his prized possession, Harleon - his broad sword named after his first and only love of many millennia ago. At his waist were his twin Gloakens, (which he had named Tist – meaning Blood – and Slarn – meaning Hate) packed with twelve bullet clips and enough ammo to take out even the largest of the Emperor’s armies.
He was what you would have called a Vampire and a member of the Black-Guard, a Coven for the darkest of Assassins and Mage-Rebels. Sworn to avenge the deaths of their brethren at the hands of Priests of the Emperor they stalk the night seeking the most loyal to the false leader and gunning them down in cold blood.
But tonight he had more personal issues to deal with, standing at the entrance of the warehouse he drew his sword firmly gripping its handle wrapped in cloth. The warehouse had a strong iron fence surrounding its perimeter and the door was wrapped in chains, the building itself looked abandoned but looks could be deceiving.
Kilken pressed his middle and forefinger to his temple and concentrated on the gate, within seconds the chains began to glow a dull red as the chains heated. The weight of the metal began to take its toll on the thick chain wrapped around the gate and it began to sag, slowly they snapped and the metal fell to the ground with a loud clang and the gate swung open with a creak.
The Assassin’s eyes darted to a shadow in the window, most likely brought to the attention of the falling metal, and Kilken drew the first of his Gloaken with his free hand and prepared to shoot. He realised suddenly he was still in the open and leapt to roll into the shadows, a trail of bullets flashing past his original position.
Darting back through the gates he made a break for the nearest cover, a stack of old crates ready to be collected, and hiding behind them he squinted as the sound of bullets ricocheted around him, trapped. He knew he was stronger that the mere humans he faced, and knew that he could take down entire legions of the fools but still he was no God and could not dodge every bullet.
He hated using magic to give him an unfair advantage against mortals but this was a time he needed it, there was no other way he could escape from the hiding place alive and still complete his mission. Feeling already sapped of magical energy from the Heat Metal spell he proceeded to cast his second spell of the day.
The bullets continued the thud into the crates and forcing the sounds out of his head he concentrated on the magic pulses around him as they grew within his limbs giving a slight throb in his empty veins. Kilken’s eyes flicked open, drained of colour and slightly sunken into his sockets and he had a quick look around his position before concentrating on another place on the plain.
The world spun slightly, as the drab dark colours merged together in a spiral around him. Each particle of the surrounding air became a mist that swirled viciously around him filling up his un-breatheing lungs with deadly fumes.
The mists cleared and the sound of raining bullets had long ceased to fire, and Kilken had re-emerged in one of the corridors that faced the courtyard. The corridor was charred with ashes and smoke stains, the place smelt foul and any non-careful step would echo loudly alerting the guards to his position. There was an open doorway to his left and further down the corridor was a flight of stairs, on his right led the signs for the elevator.
Kilken breathed a sigh of relief, or its equivalent, and stepped lightly towards the elevator gripping onto his sword and his guns back in their holsters, as the adrenaline pumped into his empty veins.
The elevator was old and broken; the doors were wrenched open and the metal clawed apart leaving large gashes in the sides. All Kilken could see was a snapped cord hanging in the gap. Staring down the shaft he saw a crumpled heap at the bottom with the faint scent of dried blood.
Kilken turned back to the open doorway, he sneaked to the entrance and poked his head around the corner sword in hand. It was just a file room; papers cluttered the floor and desk. Glancing at the nearest of file cabinets Kilken noticed that it might be worth poking around in here after all.
“Rogues and Traitors” he muttered running his finger along the dusty metalwork and wrenching it open he easily snapped the pathetic plastic lock. Shuffling through some of the paper work he found exactly what he was looking for, a thick binder enclosed all the information he needed to discover exactly what he was on this world to do.

Black-Guard, The: This race of near Vamparic beasts were brought to life back before the Revolution of 3053. The original members of the Order were human in appearance and nature but spawned of a dark blood giving them great power and access to dark magics which the Emperor’s Mages failed to crush. [And it continued after a lengthy introduction of wars and battles against the early Black-Guard. A solution to their power was to drain their bodies of this power giving blood, the Order continued however, in afterlife needing a new method of passing down their bloodline.]
Though their magic was weakened severely new powers and survival methods were unlocked with the Undeath. The Black-Guard hide in the Provenience of your-Salador, a nation of barren wasteland and polluted waters. Many of those loyal have ventured there but the Empire has yet to send a unit guaranteed of survival. [More is told about their homeland, nothing more than facts and figures.]
Black-Guard members are created rather than born, your-Salador contains the last known source of Corrupted blood so heavily guarded and kept secret that not even the greatest of Agents has ever reached its whereabouts.
To induct a new member the HighGuard
[Priests of the Order.] must bathe the victim’s corpse in a vat of the blood watered down with raw magical energy. Members include murdered soldiers of the Empire, outcasts or anyone caught trespassing near your-Salador, and those who wish to extend their mortal life.
It is Ironic however that those who wish to be reborn must first die, heavy scarring is often found over the BlackGuard’s bodies suggesting that their death is through severe blood-loss, the slicing of arteries maybe?

A few pages on and Kilken found nothing more than what he had already been told. Searching the other cabinets he couldn’t see anything else of interest and proceeded towards the stairs, sword drawn.
Silently he moved up the stairs, there was a commotion outside as the sentries discovered his disappearance. If they were expecting a Black-Guard Assassin they would have been prepared for such magic usage, now he was certain they’d know who was trespassing.
Upstairs he stumbled into a brightly lit room, more a small hall than a room. From end to end along the walls it had shelves filled with rows of lit candles of all colours and shapes. The floor was of carved marble, very smooth and even Kilken found it hard to walk silently upon it. At the very end of the room was a raised pedestal with a single glowing piece of chalk like rock, flanked by two towering statuettes of the Empire Guard in their long overly decorated robes and battle gear.
Each of the statues clutched to their chest a letter or scrolls to his chest, possibly a seal of honour or contract to the Emperor. Their other hands were held open infront of them, used by the owner of the room as yet another candle stand. As Kilken got closer to the first of the two statues he saw that they were entirely made of painted glass with real gems carved into the glass which shimmered when a shadow passed over them.
Kilken would have darted into a shadow and retreated if there was place or time to go. Drawing slowly his sword and clutching one Gloaken he moved to where he saw the shadow move.
“Hold it foul beast,” a voice spat at him with disgust, Kilken turned and saw an old man dressed in monks robes walking slowly towards him, head bowed slightly. The candles cast a long shadow across his face under a large hood; both his arms were tucked in opposite sleeves.
Kilken slowly held his sword out directly infront of him and waited until the Monk was almost pressing his chin against the blade, his other hand held the Gloaken Pistol at his hip.
“Not one for talking, alright then. I will start. Lower your blade and we can trade information, then you can be on your way.”
Gritting his teeth into a snarl Kilken re-adjusted his grip on the sword hilt and used the flat of the blade to lift the Monks chin up into the light, the Monk not struggling in the least, as the Black-Guard lifted the Monks hood fell right back. The candlelight flowed across the Monks skin and into his eyes, for a second his eyes flashed red and rotated.
“Robot,” the Black-Guard managed to mutter before the Monk pulled back with lightning movements. Withdrawing his hands from his sleeves the Monk pulled out twin blades attached to his palms. With a flick the blades glinted in the candlelight just before the monk darted towards the Black-Guard with a menacingly programmed look on his face.
Kilken managed to get two shots into the chest of the Robot before it was upon him, one of the bullets passed easily through the metal and out the other side causing no real damage to it and the other ricocheted off of a thick chest plate.
The Robot Assassin swiped at Kilken’s face with one his palm blades barely missing as Kilken threw his head back allowing the blade to hiss over his upturned face and the Black-Guard replied with a swipe of his own weapon which re-bounded off of the metallic hide of the robot.
Leaping away from Kilken the Assassin slashed at the Black-Guard’s chest leaving an unbleeding cut an inch deep through the Adamantine and into his own flesh his second blade pulled back ready to thrust into the still heart of the Black-Guard.
Kilken threw, with all his force, his Gloaken at the Robot’s blade. The pistol smashed into the fist and shattered the blade at the base. The Robot didn’t register that one of its weapons was rendered useless and so still tried to thrust at Kilken who easily grabbed onto its arm and, shifting his weight, threw the robot to the floor several feet behind him.
The Robot skidded across the marble floor and smashed into a bookcase of scrolls and various leather bound books, which fell to the floor. The papers went up in flames as a candle licked part of the clutter and soon the fire engulfed the shelf. Spreading from the paper to the shelves the fire raged and burned.
Kilken walked slowly towards the small bonfire both Gloakens now retrieved and drawn pointed at the fire. For several minutes he stood there looking deeply into the swirling colours as inks burned and boiled and smoke began to form on the walls behind.
A bead of sweat ran from Kilken’s forehead, across his cheek and dripped to the floor. The heat wasn’t a usual problem for the Black-Guard but never had he fought someone who really challenged him and he doubted that it was over just yet.
Sure enough something began to move in the flames, a shape rose into a full stand and the Robot’s shape became clear against the smoke behind. As it came into better view Kilken saw all the monk’s robes had burnt away leaving a charred shell of the robot assassin almost glowing from the heat. It’s eyes were demented, rotating and blinking randomly, as well as shudders from the body itself; suggesting that some of the wires had welded together or been damaged.
Kilken began to walk backwards, shooting as he stepped. The Assassin moved slowly towards him allowing the bullets to deflect off him, but several bullets ripped through it tearing off parts of it’s arm or chest plate but the Robot didn’t falter.
Behind, the fire grew larger as it spread across to other shelves and up large curtains hung on the walls towards the wooden beams in the ceiling. The wood from the shelves cracked and the flames grew higher as the blaze began to grow out of control. The flames had crept up to the ceiling beams and brought a lot of flaming rubble to the floor blocking the doorway.
Kilken lined up a shot to the head of the Robot and on putting pressure on the trigger, his hand wavering slightly as he followed the Robots trudge towards him. Pulling on the trigger all that came was a click. A warning that the clip was empty.
Dropping the Gloakens he pulled out his sword and with a fluid movement threw the hefty blade spinning towards the Robot. With the force of the throw the blade cut straight through the metallic monster severing it’s head at the base of the neck. The skull of the Robot hit the floor with a clunk and rolled towards Kilken. The eyes rotated up to look at the BlackGuard before finally shutting down. Its knees buckled and it came crashing to the floor, finally stopped.
Gasping a sigh of relief, Kilken moved cautiously to inspect the machine. It was really ‘dead’ this time, he gave it a kick to roll it over onto it’s front. Something caught his eye and he crouched down to get a better look at it. Wiping the ash from its shell he saw imprinted numbers which he recognised straight away.
The 5 numbers and two letters were his BlackGuard Unit Number, given back during the large field battles between the Emperor’s fanatical army and Kilken’s own troops. He shook his head disappointed, now he knew why he was here. Apparently there was Corruption even within Corruption fighting people. He was sworn to always fight the Emperor and his followers because of their lies, deceit and total dominating of the world yet how could he when he seemed to be the target of his own people.
Reloading his Gloakens and sliding them back into his holsters he retrieved his Sword and made for the large door on the opposite side of the hall. Each step echoed loudly over the cracking of fuel feeding the fire, each step slow and controlled as the BlackGuard pieced together parts of his past. All the clues were there and he wasn’t smart enough to have spotted the obvious traps, the Assassin was as subtle as a gunshot to the head yet he still failed to see in time.
Forcing open the heavy braced oak doors Kilken stepped inside. It was a small room for such a large door with only a grey stained carpet, a table set for two and at the far side a Throne made of stone. And on that throne sat a man well known to the BlackGuard.
the lil' pie fairy
write more! i want to know who the man is, this is the best kind of story biggrin.gif
Usurper MrTeapot
To be honest it was so long ago I can't remember how I was going to end it. I might finish it after my exams.
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