Progress on the spin-off

Its looking really good right now, pretty pumped up to get this out there to you guys. I wanna get a cover commissioned for it before I publish it on any of the websites, but would you guys want to read the rough draft I have so far for it? It needs some polishing of course and I'm going to completely re-write the beginning, but I'm vibing with it so far and I wanna know if it vibes with you guys too. 

Also, I am collabing on this project with my wife in google docs (She writes as well) and its been pretty fun so far, so if some sections seem like they aren't quite my style, well that's why. Alright, gonna paste the rough draft here below if you want to read it, tell me what you think!

Chapter One: The Summoning

Malek took a long swig of his bourbon, the familiar burn washing the sobriety right out of his throat as he stumbled through the cobbled streets of Stronheim. The darkness of night had blanketed the various inns and stalls surrounding the city's central market, all save for the sections illuminated by orange torchlight. Other people moved through the darkness as well, some stumbling along as Malek himself did while others moved with strong, sober purpose. Stronheim’s night life was just as lively as its day life after all, as was the nature of a city this size.

By the Fae how long had he been out here? Last time he had checked the sky, it was the morning… The drinking has gotten out of control, he knew that, but failing his exam had pushed him to this. He’d never be accepted into Laela University now, they have never allowed a single retry, not in their thousand years of existence. You either pass and eventually become a Master, or you fail and fade into obscurity as a menial… and his fate as of receiving his test results was that of a menial.

It couldn’t have been a question of his ability, surely. Malek had been the most talented in that pathetic pool of competitors, able to conjure all three of the Runes of Summoning. This feat had only been accomplished a dozen times throughout Laela’s history, speaking to Malek’s overwhelming potency. It had been the written test that he’d failed, not the applicatory one. He briefly considered if he’d been sabotaged, deciding that was most likely what had happened. It was impossible that he had scored low enough to fail, he had known every answer to each question on that accursed parchment.

…Yes, the more he thought on it, the more it made sense that he’d been set up to fail! One of his rivals must have found a way to swap one of their inferior test’s for Malek’s! Who could it have been though? Could it have been Hugo, or even Marsh? Those two third-rate summoners have always had it out for him, clearly envious of Malek’s superior talents! Well, he would show them… he would show both of those fools. A malicious scheme soon took form as he stumbled his way out of the market and back to the tavern in which he’d taken residence, a sick tooth-filled grin twisting his expression into a sickening leer.

He’d summon a three-rune beast of war, and set it upon their families! It would be difficult to finish their time at Laela knowing that their putrid peasant families were torn apart! And Hell, might as well set it upon the university as well, what did he have to lose? If he was lucky the monster would slaughter his foolish testers along with the other undeserving swine who’d been accepted over Malek. They should have been able to tell that the test had been rigged against him, they brought this fate upon themselves.

He stumbled up the stairs, slurring his evil promises for all to hear. Thankfully, none of the patrons seemed to be able to understand what he was saying. Even if they did, he didn’t care, for they would die too. Everyone should die. Once he reached his door, fumbled at the handle until finally it opened, Malek stumbling inside and slamming it shut behind him. It was time to begin.

He may have lacked the education necessary to control the summoned creature perfectly, but Malek was supremely confident that he’d be able to figure it out on his own. Once the summoned beast was under his will, his plan would be set in motion. He cleared the center of the chamber of any detritus cackling madly before he began chanting the incantation. The room soon began to glow an ominous shade of red, underlighting his rapturous face as he put his talents to work.

What would it be? A chimera, a drake, an iron lion? He would have to see…

…

…

…

Hoplite twenty-two planted his foot firmly in the blasted concrete before unleashing a powerful haymaker into the jaw of the Yugoro opposing him. The jaw of the ape-like alien shattered beneath his gauntlet, knocking its head back and rattling the foul brain within its skull. One of its four arms lashed out in retaliation, a mass of dark-furred muscle seeking to knock Hoplite to the dirt. Not many of the Final Kinds races were capable of withstanding such a blow from a super-soldier, but Yugoro were capable of shrugging off almost anything as long as it wasn’t fatal.

With that in mind, he drew his Sectis from its sheath, driving the blade deep into the monster’s temple before twisting the hilt. Once the brain was properly pulped and the body had seized up, Hoplite withdrew his knife, stepping away to allow the alien’s corpse to fall face-first onto the concrete. It made a satisfying plop as its head rebounded off the stone, the twitching mass now dealt with, he turned away, sheathing the Sectis once more as he scanned his surroundings.

A ping of bright blue illuminated the darkness of the loading bay, outlining everything within, down to the smallest insect. Of course, the illumination was redundant, his natural night vision made darkness a non-issue. Now that he’d shut off the power, it would be simple to finish his mission. The Final Kind’s forces would be hard-pressed to find him, in this blackness he was all but invisible, and that was before he enabled his suits cloaking.

He bumped his chin, feeling the familiar dull hum in the back of his helmet that indicated that the Sicarius suit was operational. His armor may not have been nigh-invulnerable, like thirty-seven’s Phalanx suit, but the Sicarius was completely untraceable compared to thirty-seven’s fridge-suit. The exterior of the suit completely hid not only his presence, but also his body temperature, the Kelvinite piping matching ambient temperature.

He bumped his chin again, feeling himself elevated by half-an-inch from the ground. The miniature anti-gravity generators installed in his boots were completely silent, allowing Hoplite to move freely without having to worry about his footsteps giving him away. It was unfortunate that he’d become visible again, having to face hostiles head on was not his way, but the suit could only maintain all three of its functions for so long before it shut itself down…

Hence why Hoplite had to brutalize the Yugoro at his feet instead of employing his more quiet methods. Killing was best done silently after all, at least in his line of work it was. Being on the front lines sounded exciting, but this was his element, Lord Jyn had known as much the instant he had lain eyes on Twenty-Two. His left eye twitched as the thought of Jyn… wait, what was he doing?

He blinked in confusion, scanning his environment once more before it came back to him, the mission. He needed to clear out this complex of Final Kind scum, and it needed to be done fairly quickly. There were over a thousand hostiles in the complex and he had only twelve hours to remove them, one way or the other. Why had he forgotten that? Something… something was wrong with him, he’d need to report it to a superior as soon as this mission was completed. A Hoplite had to perform at peak efficiency, always.

And so, he went, creeping through the blackened halls of this contested factory with blade drawn, painting the walls and floor in brilliant shades of red, purple, and blue as he slaughtered any alien he found like pigs. When the xenos began to travel in groups hunting for him, he started stringing up severed body parts for them to find, increasing their anxiety as their former comrades were turned into brutal effigies of gore. His time in Darkwatch had proven incredibly beneficial in teaching him psychological warfare, he admitted grudgingly to himself.

Eventually, he began deliberately disabling his invisibility, only for brief instants in the corners of alien eyes, making the Pugs scatter in terror as their Yugoro overseers scrambled to reassemble them for combat. Pugs were the easiest to terrify, clad in simple plastic armor and diminutive in size, these elephant-skinned freaks with their disgustingly large bug-eyes took no effort for him to instill fear in them.

Yugoro took more effort of course, massive in size and steely of heart, getting them to buckle down in terror was something that could actually be enjoyed. It was an art form, taking down their squad mates one by one before leaving them to scramble through the halls, screaming as he rattled piping and shook vents, completely invisible to their senses. Were aliens superstitious of ghosts? It was possible he supposed, not even common humans were above such strange beliefs.

If that belief was present here in the Final Kind’s forces, all that could do was aide him. He repeated this through the night, ambushing chittering creature’s speaking through their wrist bound comms mid-conversation to remind their compatriots that they were not safe here. His objective wasn’t to kill all hostiles -even though that would be preferred- rather, it was to scare them out into the open, where they thought they’d be safe.

That would be when they’d be struck by artillery, as soon as he gave the signal over his comms to indicate that the majority of the Final Kind’s forces had evacuated. He didn’t understand why they didn’t just mulch this factory, it was old and rickety, a hundred years out of date. Why the brass wanted to salvage this place was beyond Hoplite, but frankly, he didn’t care. His orders were all he needed, that, and the urge to paint these gray walls with Final Kind blood.

At the tenth hour, it was done, all it took was a hundred casualties at his hands and the rest had scattered like rodents into the dawning light of this planet's sun.

He bumped his chin to enable his comms, and with a sickeningly wide smile, he said “Clear for bombardment.”

The words were hoarse coming from his throat, his vocal chords unused to speech. He stared out across the barren rocky wasteland outside the complex, seeing the fleeing forms reduced to mist as they reached a suitable distance from the building. His black visor darkened further in response to the bright light of the blasts, shielding his eyes. He bumped his chin once more to ask for further orders, but the words never came out of his mouth.

A strange fog seemed to have rolled in, a faint green tinge, quickly encasing him in its glow before all became blackness around him. What was this, some kind of new bio-weapon? His filters would be able to remove any toxins before it could affect him, and even if it could, his body could likely resist its effects.

This darkness was strange though… he couldn’t see through it at all. He had perfect night vision, this simply couldn’t just be fog. Had something occluded his visor? He wiped at it, but the darkness still remained. He couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face, what was going on? He bumped his chin, scanning his surroundings to see that he was now inside of a box-shaped chamber.

What in the world?

“Akamalash!” He heard a distinctly human voice shout, “Zula ash un coland!”

…

…

…

The summoned creature was even more spectacular than Malek had imagined. He barely held back a gleeful chuckle as the metal monstrosity reared back into a towering humanoid shape. Blocks of iron shaped like armor covered the creature’s body, light wavering around it like a wraith. Patches of multicolored liquid covered its hands and body, resembling blood. A faceless head slowly examined him.

To complete his full control of the otherworldly being, he would need a blood seal. Otherwise, the creature could be disobedient or unknowingly weaken its tethers from this new reality. But first, he would judge how sentient this thing was. He held out his hands, palms out, and asked, “Oh Great One, welcome to my world. Are you a demon or object of wanton destruction? If so, your services are highly valued.”

Its head turned to the right and left, scanning the room. It said something softly to itself, some sort of wobbly, harsh jumble of consonants and hisses.