Chapter 1
Directionless
He stood at the precipice of a large cliff, observing the land stretched out before him. The wind tore at his coat, whipping it about in any direction it pleased. Weapons held the coat fast to his upper back; a rifle and shotgun rested in brown leather holsters that were strapped horizontally across his back, for easy access for his right hand to withdraw the weapons when the situation demanded it. His right hand rested on his machete's handle, fingers drumming softly to no particular beat. The machete was still holstered on the back of his belt, hidden by the large brown overcoat he wore.

He scanned the area below him, scanning for anything that might be a sign of trouble, whether it be a plume of smoke or the distinct crack of a firearms discharge. He detected nothing.

He returned to a small camp he had set up in the public bathroom nearby, disarming his numerous traps he had set up so he could make his way through. He entered the bathroom and heard a shuffling noise: something was in here. His hand instinctively grasped his machete, ready to withdraw it at a moment's notice.

An odd growl sounded from behind one of the grimy stalls. He approached the stall in question and took a deep breath. A kick slammed the door open, revealing a grotesque ghoul with strips of flesh hanging in tatters. The face struck out at him the most, near blank eyes, gnashing teeth, and the stretched muscles.

It was damned ugly.

With a howl, it leapt at him, clawing at his chest leaving bloody streaks through his shirt. The machete was out of the equation now; the ghoul had closed the gap between them too quickly. He lashed out with his elbow, bolstered by a spur he had attached to the elbow of his coat.

The blow knocked the ghoul back a step, a slash lined with blood traced where the blade had ripped its flesh. The ghoul howled with agony.

Wasting no time, he went to draw his machete again. He managed to almost unsheathe it when the ghoul shoved him against the wall. His hands instinctively reached for the ghoul's throat. Realizing the threat he posed, the ghoul pulled him from the wall and threw him to the ground.

He slid on the wet, slippery floor and instantly the ghoul was on top of him, clawing his at his face. He decided to try his luck with the spur again, but the ghoul had learned its harsh lesson and evaded the strike. The filthy claws went for his eyes, but a jab to its face stunned it momentarily. He shoved the ghoul and it flew backward, sliding on the slick, grimy floor.

Instead of going for the machete, his right hand dipped for his sidearm, a powerful magnum. He rushed on the draw and fired hastily; his shot missed and destroyed one of the sinks. The ghoul recognized the power of the firearm and scrambled for purchase on something to aid it on gaining its balance.

He had the magnum up now and took steady aim.

The ghoul managed to make a leap at him from the other side of the restroom.

He fired once.

The ghoul's body landed next to him, its head was blown into chunks, most of which landed in one of the remaining sinks.

He holstered the magnum and slid to the floor, exhausted by the conflict. He cradled his head in his arms and breathed deeply.

Another howl pierced the air.

You shouldn't disturb a ghoul when its on the toliet.

Good writing no doubt, but no story was presented if it was supposed to. Whatever the case, I can't deny the writing itself and help but congradulate you.

Cool opening, looking forward to more.

The howl was his own, and it echoed throughout the small bathroom.


Killing is never easy.


He cradled his head and got a ahold of himself;controlled his shakes. A small sob escaped him. Killing ghouls was all too similar to a similar pest in his homeland: The Pitt. Being raised in that hellish landscape had toughened him, made him stronger than most. Because of this, he was chosen to make the runs in the steelyard, gathering steel ingots, and killing trogs. Trog killing was considered a great hunt, or a euthenization, depending who you were talking to.

Call it what you want, but killing your family isn't easy, even if they have been transformed into ravenous animals.His family slowly succumbed to the contamination, changing into trogs, one by one, his parents falling last. His mother's last words had been "Eddie please," she handed him a pistol and tried to stay still as her body contorted and changed before his eyes. A single shot rang throughout the entire city; he had killed it. But had be murdered his mother, or slain a monster? He was haunted by this question ever since.

Eddie escaped the Pitt that night, crossing the perilous bridge that joined them with the rest of the world, looking back once sorrowfully. Ever since, he had kept to himself, scavenging things like his weapons and coat. Being raised in the Pitt, he had repaired his fair share of machinery and he easily fixed his weapons and mended his clothing.

Eddie snapped back into the present and wiped the tears from his face, the past only brought pain. Eddie collected himself and made ready to depart from the filthy restroom. Casting one final glance at the corpse of the ghoul, he left.

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Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, I had to write a short story and this story got sidetracked. Expect this story to be updated and added to.
Thank you for the feedback, and keep it up!
(Also I wrote this whiile posting, so there may be a few typos atm)