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Second Attempt

  On the first night of the week long darkness, Maklevien dipped a piece of cloth into the bucket of paint he had prepared and blackened the metal skin of his cheek, right under the left eye. The paint covered more than the metal though, since its shape was intricate; as if scars of a two clawed beast connected through tiny streams of blood. Other Symorratics in the hall watched the process carefully. “We want our metals like the night,” Maklevien declared. “It’s time to embrace who we really are.” Sailyn, standing beside him, got the stained cloth off his hand and did the same thing to her Sanesenum, which covered half her neck and collarbone. “We are going to infiltrate the Cavebris palace.” Maklevien delivered the punchline. The crowd in the underground hall rumbled in anxiety, with questions boiled down to “Why?” “This is suicide mission,” said a young member of the party, Sanesenum on his back hidden by the loose shirt. He was the one who pushed a guard into the wall...
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Magic System

  There are big glassy boxes; once you put someone inside, they will have a clone outside with superpowers. Many of the participants die, due to having inner colors out of the 3 main colors. Powers vary depending on which color of smoke manifests from them. And each power can be used separately. Before activating power mode, a cloak appears on them correlated with the color of the smoke they used. Once someone is put inside, it will take days until the clone is created outside. Waiting for the participant to inhale all the smoke and turn it into the color they have. Obsidian boxes can only support the 3 main colors. But fulgurite boxes can support any color except the 3 main colors. Tektite glasses, can bring out the dead and make you immortal. Boxes are kept in otherworldly chambers and have a call to use them. The call is constructed with the box while it’s made. The call can make it disappear, appear, and even shatter itself. The one who knows the call will inevitably pass the...
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First attempt

 Prologue The dungeon was dark and damp, the stones black and cold. It was a large rectangular space under the earth with stairs circling the walls, leading Zefor lower and lower beneath the surface of his palace. He had a torch in hand which merely helped him see the next step his feet needed to land on and heat his face. To his left, was the pervasive combination of mist and darkness within an empty space, to which the more he stared down, the woozier it got. Surely no amount of fire could help one see where it ended. If the earth’s core had a path to reach, these stairs might have been it. Throughout his life, imperial or fore imperial, Zefor had been lucky enough to witness a lot of oddities, a lot of challenges; the cut on his back traced like rubber from his right shoulder to his left flank was one of the many results; not feeling fear while walking in this massive unknown to meet the man of hundreds of years ago was, well, a reason to prefer the arduous way of hell over th...
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