The apartment is rank. Filth is everywhere, from the old pizza boxes on the coffee table to the old shirt that hung from the ceiling fan. The place was condemned. Rick didn't care. Why should he? The place hadn't been touched in years, except for the old homeless man to whom the shirt first belonged to. He was no more. Almost all of the appliances were broken or had been stolen ages ago. The bomb had left New York this way. That day had changed the world. Specials fighting each other. Government Officials fighting for the truth. Humans just fighting to survive.

Ricky "Rick" Berry has the latter. He had found this dump and killed for it. Something that he had to do more frequently since the explosion. He sighed and turned back to the last few things in the room, most important being the television set and the ratty couch. He sat down of the couch, shifted to lift the spring out of his butt. He had used a set of pliers he had found in the only drawer in the house the turn the TV to the news. He ran his fingers through his unkempt black hair. It fell loosely to one side, covering one eye just enough so he could see. What he saw both interested and disgusted him. The Disciples were speaking. The 5 heavily robed figures stood on a mound of rubble, addressing a large crowd of intermingled Humans, Special, and Agents. Ricky had seen these guys a lot since the explosion. He kneeled in front of the television, his bare knee poking through the hole in his jeans. He turned the volume up. He peered intently, hanging on their words, hoping to find a clue for the Resistance.

"To True Believers and the Unborn both, we are here to led and teach. My brothers and I came to save what is left of this place for the Penance. I wish of you to join us, and give Rebirth to the Unborn, to heal their wound or to swiftly strike them down. I speak all languages, know all that you say. I hear the cries your souls emit and the moans your tattered hearts give. The cold north wind has sent to drift on my ears, and I come to silence them with a light given to me by the Almighty. Now I hear confusion calling, and I shall cast him off. I am not Christian, for the Almighty asks nothing of us about religion. My name as given by him is Parikh. In your speech, you ay call me Virgil. My brothers have names of which your ears have not heard, but we shall not present ourselves as such. We will say of which your ears hear and your tongues can replicate."

The man named Virgil stepped back, his hand sweeping over the men beside him. One stepped forth and threw back the hood that had covered him. He had platinum hair, held back in a ponytail. His features were soft, easy to look at. He smiled at the masses and called to them.

"I am Hiram. I hear the flirting tongue of the plants and animals. The soft whisper of wind between the leaves of a tree is to me, a song of joy. I am but one of the Almighty's disciples, here to banish your fears."

He stood next to his brother Virgil, and smiled at another of the so-called apostles. He stepped forward, also removing the hood or the long, black velvet robe they all wore. It was a woman; her long red hair blew in the wind. She had kind eyes and an innocent smile.

"My name is Julia, and I hear the language not spoken. Your fears, anxieties, you plans, I hear. Your secrets are safe with me. I am here to cleanse and to wipe your sorrows away."

She stood near Virgil, and smiled at him. He returned the favor, He nudge the fourth of the quintet. As the fourth approached, he withdrew his hood. A man with short brown hair and glasses stood there, shielding a large book in his hands.

"I am Wilson. I am, well, the one of the written word. I can see and create life out of text. Well, you know our mission statement already, so that's it."

He stood next to the only hooded disciple left. The last stepped forth and underneath the hood was a man of 23, with black hair hanging about his face. He stepped forth, and gazed at the crowd. He stood there. Julia rubbed her petite hand over her brow and nodded to Virgil, who stood next to him.

"This is Ezekiel. He has control; albeit very loose an unhandled control, over spoken word. He doesn't like to speak, for fear something bad will happen. To him or others. We will be going now, for the Almighty is forever waiting for the Unborn to come, and we are forever in his debt and service."

Virgil looked at Ezekiel and nodded. Zeke dipped his head and mumbles something and the group disappeared.

Rick turned off the TV. He sat for a few minutes in shock. Who were these people? Why are they really here? He stood and walked to the door, and sighed to himself.

"Man, these Special get weirder by the second."

He walked out of the building, ducking low and bolting across the street. He slipped the cover off of a manhole, and dropped to the darkness. The sewer water soaked the bottom of his jeans but he trudged along. He went to a brick, moved it, and tabbed on the wall behind it three times. It slid back to reveal the Crossroads, one of the hubs of the Resistance.

"Man, it's good to be home."

Pretty good, especially since this is your first fic. Then again, "Nightmares" was Sunni's first fic, and DDS2 was my second(no one read my first, "Quake", but Scars liked it!)

Very good to see that your RP talent transfers into writing fics so smoothly.

Now...MOAR!

Agreed

And to think you were worried your fic was gonna be bad...pshaw. Now, mush! *Whips FJ to make him write, tosses some Rocket Sauce his way as payment for good fic*

Chapter 2: The Best Laid Plans

The Disciples stood in the dank tunnel. It smelt of rot, of mold and moss, like a graveyard in disuse. Liquid of unknown origin dripped from the cold rock ceiling. Ezekiel leaned against the oddly smooth cavern wall. He sighed heavily as he felt the lethargy spread through his body, tiring it, as if suddenly drained of all stamina and vigor. Virgil grabbed Ezekiel and held him upright. He shot a glance at Wilson. Wilson shuddered a little, and then drew a thin stiletto out of his robe’s sleeve. He slid the thin blade, an antique passed down from his predecessors, across his index finger. Light red droplets of blood formed. Wilson crafted a circle on the wet and slippery rocks they walked on, words of a morte and ancient language around the scribed around the circle. It shined a faint green color, despite the intensity of the magick infused blood. The rune flashed a bright green. In the flash’s wake left a small fairy creature. She had a bow strung across her back, and a quiver with blue lightning tips belted to her waist. The dress reached her just below the knee, and she placed her hand on her hip, facing Wilson. She had slightly pointed ears, long brown hair, offsetting the green of her dress. She smirked at Wilson and then flew to Ezekiel’s side, gripping his robe. Virgil let go of him, and he leaned heavily on the fairy. She lifted him back up and looked at the group. Julia turned to face the familiar and nodded.

“She wants to know when we are moving, Zeke is a littler heavier on her than us.”

She smiled and starting walking down the slightly sloping path, no pausing to see if the others followed. The fairy followed her lead. Virgil looked at Wilson, a little pale as usual. Wilson waved him off, mumbling something that alluded to the masque he put on of health and vigor. Virgil and Hiram left together, conversing about Master. Wilson left quickly after them, holding his tumbled stomach.

They entered in a sparsely lit chamber, the heavy carved border over the dozen of branching corridors depicting old Latin saying. The only light was cast by candles, half burnt stubs reminisced to each other of their age and long service to the Master. An old man, in the same robe as his disciples, sat on a velvet cushion in the middle of the room. A raised sacrificial tablet, dried and caked blood seeped in the crack’s of the seemingly ageless stone, sat under the man, who seemed to be in a meditative state. The Disciples stood in the entrance and stared at their mentor. He floated a few feet off the air and spun to face them.

“Hello, the Almighty commends your patience and virtues in the task of spreading his word.”

They all cringed a little, for none had adjusted to the visage Master’s face. At least, what remained of it. He had one eye in the socket, the other a large void. He smiled, his jaw muscles tightening. One half of his mouth had no skin, all muscles and bones visible. It reminded most of them of a acid-burn victim, half his flesh eaten away. He was the last of the old Disciples, their punishment swift.

“We must be prepared. For you know what the mortals say about plans.”

Virgil smiled and looked at Master.

“The best laid plans of Mice and Men.”

Ezekiel smiled at the quote, a thing of discussion in their chambers.

“Disciples, you are dismissed to your chambers, for you will need your rest.”

The group dispersed, heading down a tunnel that lead down, to cooler regions in the catacombs.

Let me know whats ye thinks. I could use some feedback.

Feedback? THIS IS GH!

Ok, here's some-

First of all, thanks for the credit at the bottom for my proofreading.

Back when I did DDS2, I was meticulous with credits. But I forgive ya! lol

Speaking of, your short chapters remind me of that fun little venture o' mine and like my old readers, I eagerly await the next bite of this big pizza pie of tasty fic.

The fic-

I've said I've liked it and given you advice on what you should do, and all that on yim. I like it so much that I want to help make it better.

My tips-

1.Shorter paragraphs. Flows better for my eyes.
2.Work some of your magick on the dialogue- it's been stellar so far, but nothing like the Triumvirate riffing back when.
3.That you need a proofreader is troubling...though I had Scars...so pot kettle black
4.You don't use enough senses. We have 5, as well as descriptions and ethereal things. Be poetic when it works for the story.
5.You can see that this comes from an RP background for a couple of reasons. One of which is this instance on plot. That's all good and fine. However, one must balance plot with character development and interaction, or else the plot, no matter how interesting, is diluted by simple characters.

Follow the 5 simple tips and this good fic turns into great fic.

Well, to inform my readers (I have readers????) THe next chapter is at the website in mine or Jerub's signature. Yes, this is my cheap way of making you go there, but the chapter is really good, and you will love it. So....go....now....