Essence [DNF Novel] 'Detonation, Limit' Prologue
I can't move. My body feels frozen in the air. Facing the powerful man in front of me, I have no chance of winning. "Don't… don't kill me…" he half-crouched on the ground, fear gathering into cold sweat, sliding down his pale cheeks. "Drip… drip…" The terrified youth lifted his head, his lifeless pupils shrinking violently. "Please… don't… don't…" he begged with a hoarse voice, trembling. "Drip… drip…" That cold person towering above him stared indifferently at him. That limp, ant-like existence. He slowly raised his hand. His withered, pale arm emerged from the wide black robe. A pitch-black sword gleamed with a dark light, the tip pointing right at him. Invisible murderous intent sliced through his skin like a knife, and blood seeped out. "Drip… drip…" The boy's eyes suddenly blurred. His body felt like a lump of rotten mud, he lowered his head, and tears poured out in big drops. "Don't… don't…" he pleaded mechanically. A gust of wind brushed past his head; he blankly lifted his head and saw the color of death. The sword tip gleamed with a blood-red strange light, pointing at his chest. With a bang, the noisy world instantly fell silent with that sound, and his body flew backward lightly, the man and his sword slowly shrinking in his vision. His chest felt icy, and hot liquid streamed down his face. What is that splattering red liquid? There's no time to think about it. The boy crashed against the wall like a puppet with broken strings, falling apart. His neck was soft and hung down to his chest. Strange, why can't I move? What he saw was a huge void, its edges black, like burnt flesh. Flesh? Ah, so this is my chest. The boy thought, his pupils gradually dissolving in his mind… "Drip… drip…" The sound of some red liquid dripping seemed to echo in his ears. The man watched all this expressionlessly and turned to leave. "Tick… tick…"
Replies (10)
I can't keep writing a novel for too long. I can write a little in one afternoon. I'll post it in several parts, more later.
I think that if you find it difficult to write, and you have a talent in this area, you can improvise, write short stories, and you can also develop a unique style.
I neither grab the front seat nor just pass by, I don't sit on the bench or occupy the floor, I only want to gain experience. I didn't understand before, I always read posts without replying, and never improved my level or gained experience. Now I get it. Since replying to posts can level me up and earn experience, and leveling up requires experience, I just copy this sentence, flood posts, and grab experience ←_←
This was suddenly a kind of impulse and inspiration, but it became uninteresting after writing for a while.
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