Winner 2013

So it's done! I finished my Nano2013 this Tuesday. 50274 words. :D And I still cut one scene short so I still need to write out how the Knight are going to break into Malbourne manor. Why? I won't say ;)

I know there's so much work left to do with it, starting with actually going through it with autocorrect. Then there's fixing up all the repetitions, making sure there's enough action and enough room between action, making the characters more relatable by adding more insight into their feeling as such.

But as a manuscript, I'm feeling ok about it. I'm especially proud how enfuriating I've managed to make out of Matty. Also Emma is turning out great. Blake is fun and cool. Ali is even cooler. But Audrye needs some more substance...

But here's a sneak peek:

***

The noise was almost deafening here in the garage, until his ears adjusted. The blams from Blake, firing his guns. The running footsteps of a Pawn. The panting of Alistair, leaning on her heavy two-handed sword.

The light-bulbs on the ceiling popped out one by one, as Nigel quickly drew more energy. He was filling a hole inside him now. He was an empty shell, and he would fall on the floor and shatter when he would let go of the final drizzle of magic. So he couldn't let himself run dry. Not until this was all over.

He fired a bolt of lightning at the black-clad man, startling him. Nigel didn't dare to stop, so he just kept on charging towards Pawn, jumping over the hood of the white Mini still parked here, boosting his every step with a jolt of his magic. With every breath, he drew more in, from an ever-wider area.

"Willoby! Get out of there!" He heard a deep voice boom. He couldn't obey though, he needed to stay moving.

He crashed straight onto Pawn, knocking the man down. He blasted energy from his palms, the force of it throwing him into a somersault and rolling. He felt sharp pain as his flesh hit the floor. His skin was cut from several places. He tried to push himself up again, only to have that pain surge through his hands as well. Biting his lip so that his mouth was filled with a rusty taste of blood, his tastebuds savouring every drop of it, he pushed past the pain. Shards of glass dropped from his skin, back onto the floor. His bare back shivered as cool autumn winds blew, ripping his black hair. Pawn had broken in through the glass corridor.

The black man had gotten up as well and now turned towards Nigel. He was so tall, and with the wide shoulders looked like a giant next to the frail-bodied hacker. The man raised his katana, to strike down the frenzied half-naked mage and didn't notice the movement behind his back.

Alistair was running with soft steps, as if floating on the ground. The hem of her nightgown flapped against her cocoa coloured thighs and her blond hair flowed behind her. With a smooth continuing movement, she swung her heavy blade, using the momentum of her charge for extra power to her attack. The hum the sword made when it cut through the air sounded like a roaring waterfall to Nigel's ears.

The blade cut deep into the side of Pawn, who didn't even flinch. The man simply turned, grabbing the cross-guard and using it to pull the girl closer. He was making a move for the Queen.

"Let go! Alistair!" Nigel croaked, surprised that his throat could even make a sound. He merely hoped that the girl would do as ordered, grabbing the tip of the sword. The blade was still connected to Pawns bare flesh and through it now surged a lethal amount of electricity. Nigel's nostrils were filled with the smell of burning, nauseating him, but he wouldn't let go. He emptied every ounce of magic within him to make sure that Pawn would fry.

He fell on his knees, the tump sending up waves of pain. He tried to hold himself up by leaning on his hands, his head hanging between his shoulders. The stench was too much, and he tried to vomit again, but his stomach was already empty, leaving him gagging. It was too much to even keep his eyes open. Every muscle he knew to have spasmed as they were giving up all at once.

Someone grabbed him, holding him upright. He clinged to last remains of his consciousness, fearing that if he let go, he would again slip into the all-coloured world of nothingness and everything at once. He concentrated on the little things: his head resting on something soft, a hand stroking his hair, the cool breeze on his skin, the stinging cuts on his palms.

"Willoby, where's Emma?" That booming voice again. Must be Blake, although he had never heard the American call the soldier anything but 'the boss'.

"Nigel?" called a softer voice, right by his ear. He forced his eyes to open for the slightest of a crack. Blond hair was moving in the wind. Audrye. She was holding him. He wanted to touch that hair, that fleeting vision, but his hand wouldn't move.

"Can't you do anything?"

"He's exhausted, can't you see? Healing would only make it worse."

"I don't see how this could get any worse."

The voices echoed in his head, disjointed for their sources.

"Where did he come from, anyway? The man looked like a freaking monster."

"I'm sure Matty and Emma will follow soon."

"They better."

Checkmate.

Wait. What was that?

The Game Ends When The King Dies.

Where did that sound come from?