Dreaming.

[kongurous]

Small white wisps of snow fell daintily from the heavens, accentuating the slow, cold wind and overcast night. Thick black clouds blocked out all but a white splotch of color off to the north, where the only moon of the planet Pollux had risen this particular night. Few other people walked up and down the sidewalks lining the equally busy street, crossed by a footbridge which was a good 10 feet above the height of the typical car.

Large but certainly not in charge, being fairly short among his own kind stood a man alone in the middle of the bridge, leaning on the handrail, looking down the street at oncoming cars. He fidgeted slightly, checking his digital time piece. It read 03:29 local time. He breathed in deeply and let out a warm cloud of breath that quickly dissipated in the air and wafted behind him on the wind.

As the clock read 03:30, the man stood up and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and made his way across the bridge. Another minute passed, a neon sign flickered, and the man finally looked up towards the sky. He ignored the strange script the neon signs used, which most certainly was no dialect of Gothic he knew, and saw tiny pinpricks of light through the clouds.

He smiled and chuckled softly as he stepped into an alley lined with the homeless seeking insulation from the biting cold. Drawing a small pistol, he shot four of the bums and the rest cleared out in quick order. He dropped the pistol and opened a dumpster at the back of the alley, where he’d hidden his armor.

Stripping off his outer layer of local clothing, which amounted to a simple cotton shirt and blue denim jeans with cotton socks and black shoes of some synthetic material, he went through a heavily practiced routine, putting on the massive plates and connecting the seals of his armor in less than five minutes. He checked the pistol in the holster already strapped to his armor’s leg, he found it had ammunition. His other weapon, a massive adamantium chainaxe covered with a linen tarp, was strapped to his back.

Placing his helmet on his head and locking it into place, his armor now completely sealed off from the outside, a green light covered the helmet’s visor. A welcome screen, written in High Gothic, quickly flashed before fading to a view of the outside through his visor. The Heads-Up Display noted that the local time was now 03:38 local time. In seven minutes, this world would change forever.

The man stepped out of the alley and looked up again, with decidedly less ease than before when he was unarmored. The pinpricks of light were now star-sized and becoming even brighter. Sirens wailed off in the distance, presumably in response to the shots that had been fired. The armored man decided that now was a good time to get moving, so he turned towards the moon and began walking down the sidewalk.

Passing several stores and restaurants, some open and some not, he wondered what kind of society this world had. His only experience with it had been the previous week that he’d spent scouting out military concentrations and cities around the capital. He’d marked all of them that he had found, and he was thorough, and it had been decided that the best plan of attack was to have a five-front assault on the capital region. Still, he hadn’t spent time to learn the customs or the language or the people of Pollux. He only knew it was an Imperial agriworld, one that was small enough to be low in technology and insignificant but one large enough to feed his warband.

The team assigned to the capital city, also called Pollux, was Fourth Squad, lead by a man only known as Tybalt. He was a great man with an even greater beard, an even greater temper, and an even greater gut that his armor barely contained. He was a former Space Wolf and had a great capacity for alcohol and violence. He’d been in the warband since its founding a hundred years prior and was one of three surviving members of the original one hundred, along with the commander of First Squad and Fifth Squad.

Lord Longinus and First Squad were charged with the primary base of the planetary defense force a few kilometers west of the city on a river, Second Squad had the south flank of the capital city to keep people from fleeing in that direction and to keep a counter attack from emerging there. Third Squad was hitting the power generators for the military installation and capital city on the north side, Fourth Squad was capturing the city center and Fifth Squad was held in reserve in case any other squad failed in their task.

The pinpricks from earlier were now approaching the size of the moon and could now clearly be seen diverging in direction. The one going towards the direction the armored man was heading in had to be Fourth Squad and so he picked up his pace.

He checked the clock. 03:43. Two minutes.

He leaned into a full out sprint, sending all 363kg of his mass down the sidewalk at unnatural speeds. Heavily filtered and stale air flooded into his lungs with each pump of his legs, his breathing in synchronization with his running.

03:44.

He willed his legs to carry him further, going even faster. At least he saw that the drop pod carrying Fourth Squad was coming down near him and the man moved to the outskirts of the city center, which was a great and wide square. The pod would be coming down in the northeastern quadrant and would move into the capital building to sever the head of the resistance.

03:45.

With a supersonic rush and a sound only comparable to the sound of a rocket launching, the oversized drop pod slammed down into the asphalt of the city square, leaving a large crater around it. Automated systems popped the doors of pod and out of it sprang nineteen giant warriors with revving chainaxes, bolt and plasma pistols, and a blood thirst matched only by their determination to kill every living thing in the city.

The armored man raised his axe high, pulling the tarp off and revving it seven times. He opened the audio receptors of his armor and yelled out, “Blood for the Blood God, skulls for the Skull Throne! A fine night to slay, Fourth Squad?”

The largest warrior of them all, Tybalt, yelled back, “Blood for the Blood God, skulls for the Skull Throne! It is fine to be reunited with you, Brother Cyrus!”

“Then let us begin our work! For Khorne!” Cyrus, the armored man, yelled at the top of his lungs, augmented by his armor’s speaker system. Lights from apartments around the square turned on as people began to awaken from their sleep. All the better for the killing, in the opinion of Fourth Squad.

The time was 03:47 and each squad was in place. Chanting, “Kill! Maim! Burn!” the warriors of the Warband of Longinus set out to their bloody work, to slaughter everyone on the planet in the name of the Blood God and then pillage the planet for all it was worth.

[Author's Note: First off, thank you for reading my current foray into writing. The title's significance will come later, and expect updates every weekend/whenever I feel like. Feel free to post comments or constructive criticism.]

[kongurous]

[Author's Note: Weekly update no. 1. Takes place one week prior to the events in the first post.]

“Lord Longinus, I’m bored.”

“Shut up.”

“Entertain me.”

“Helvus, just because you are a skull champion of third squad doesn’t make you any more important than others in the Warband.”

“They’re bored as well,” Helvus, unarmored but began and moved in front of Longinus, “hungry too.”

“Well what do you want me to do, feed myself to them?” Longinus then stood from his command chair and walked down the short flight of steps down to Helvus’ level, lightning softly crackling off his power fist as he walked. Even when on the deck, Longinus towered over everyone. When recruited for the Astartes before the Heresy, he had been a tall man and now, as a Space Marine and a Chaos Lord dedicated to the Blood God in full battle plate, he was near three meters in height.

“Find us something to do at least. I hate riding in ships.” Helvus shifted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms impatiently.

Longinus grabbed Helvus by the shoulders tightly and threw him to the deck and raised his power fist. Bringing the augmented gauntlet down in a flash of movement, the chaos lord stopped exactly a centimeter above the skull champion’s nose.

“Well find a way to entertain yourself while I lead this warband. Do you think I do not eat? Do you think I am not bored? I sit on my ass all day looking at stars; you at least have people to talk to. Yes, I am bored. I am hungry as well. I feel your pain but you do not see me complain.”

“You bastard,” Helvus growled.
“What was that?” Longinus shouted back, raising his gauntlet once more.

“Must we resort to violence over such a trivial matter? If you’d look now, you would see that our sensors have detected a planet. The Imperial star map indicates that it’s a small-scale agriworld, Pollux by the looks of it. You know what this means, yes?” Ramses, Skull Champion of the Fifth Squad, said as he stepped into the bridge.

“Why are you here instead of with your men?” Longinus said, not looking away from Helvus and his fist still raised.

“I was bored.” Ramses said and chuckled. Longinus sighed deeply and stood up, giving Helvus a hand as well.

“You should have joined the Thousand Sons, I swear.”

“Not all of us are Terrans, lord.”

“That has nothing to do with it, Cyrus is from Terra and he isn’t psychic. Hell, he was in the Imperial Fists before he became a Berzerker. So, what’s this about that agriworld? Pollux, was it?” Longinus asked as he looked to the sensor panel.

“It probably has food and entertainment, lord.”

“Because they’re going to accept a band of Berzerkers like ourselves.”

“How you became a skull champion, I’ll never know, Helvus. You’re as dense as this ship’s armor. I mean we could raid it, take their food, and sacrifice the inhabitants. Khorne would be quite pleased with our first blood sacrifice being a planet, especially given our lull in activity lately.”

“You raise a good point, Ramses. Still, every world we’ve been to has been defended and we even ran into Ultramarines once. We lost Sixth Squad because we came too close to Ultramar. We should reconnoiter this world first. And please, play nice with Helvus. He’s dumb but he’s smart.”

Helvus simply snorted and left the bridge in a fit.

“Well that worked. So, who do you think we should send to be our eyes and ears? Certainly not Helvus, he’d get himself killed.” Ramses said, moving closer to the chaos lord.

“I was thinking we should send the new boy, Cyrus. He’s in Fourth Squad under that excitable bastard Tybalt.”

“Ah yes. Former Imperial Fist and honors his machine spirits. Still quite young, compared to us at least. Something like 137 years, right?”

“Correct.”

“I don’t know,” Ramses leaned against the armored hull and looked into the glowing red eyes of the lord. “he seems a bit green and something’s not right about him. He’s got gifts, you see, but not exactly good ones.”

“Yes, he goes into a trance in battle, that’s why he’s with Tybalt, but it’s not like he’d be a spear head or something. He’d go down, scout the capital city and surrounding area, create discord, maybe start up a cult of like-minded individuals so taking over would be even easier and it would plague the Imperium when they tried to retake it. Seems like a fine way for him to prove his worth to us as well. Besides, with his overall lack of ornamentation, his armor wouldn’t be too obvious and the yellow shoulder could make certain learned individuals think him some sort of Inquisition representative or some such.”

“A fine point, lord. Shall I alert Tybalt?”

“Please do. And don’t tell Helvus, he’d throw a fit. I don’t want to kill him. Not yet at least. And if you can find him, tell Ignatius I need to speak to him. I imagine our skull champion of the Second would want to know about our plans, and we need to plan out how best to assault this world. Tell Cyrus, too, he needs to know.”

“Yes my lord. Blood for the Blood God.” Ramses said and gave a martial salute to the chaos lord.

“Skulls for the Skull Throne, Ramses.” Longinus said, returned the salute, and turned to the control panel of the ship and pressed the button that would tell the navigators to begin the translation from warp space into real space over the world of Pollux.

[RavenCrusade]

Very, very nice. I like the plot as-so-far and enjoy your way of expressing the story. I don't write much, but when I do, I wish I could write in this compelling way. You can be sure I'll be checking back on this thread frequently.

[AzVortez]

its creepy, and it didnt seem like starcraft until the word terran popped up. i was thinkning warhammer for a momment :|
but i like your writing style, very descriptive

[kongurous]

its creepy, and it didnt seem like starcraft until the word terran popped up. i was thinkning warhammer for a momment :|
but i like your writing style, very descriptive

It IS Warhammer. Holy Terra is often shortened to Terra and if you're born on Terra you are a Terran. The humans of the Koprulu Sector in Starcraft are also called Terran as a reference to their origin (Terra, the Latin word for the Earth). And thank you for the compliment.

Very, very nice. I like the plot as-so-far and enjoy your way of expressing the story. I don't write much, but when I do, I wish I could write in this compelling way. You can be sure I'll be checking back on this thread frequently.

You make me happy with your kind words :)

[deltablade]

This is very nice! I think however- you should put in more details on the armor their wearing, what the town looks like, etc small stuff like the such. It would only take a little extra time, but it would make the story that much more worth reading. I'll be watching this story as it progresses. Very nice job Kongurous.



Although.... Space Marine vs. Chaos = even better story. ;)

[kongurous]

This is very nice! I think however- you should put in more details on the armor their wearing, what the town looks like, etc small stuff like the such. It would only take a little extra time, but it would make the story that much more worth reading. I'll be watching this story as it progresses. Very nice job Kongurous.



Although.... Space Marine vs. Chaos = even better story. ;)

I despise cliche stuff (and SM vs Chaos, while classic, can be found everywhere) and I tend to write from the character's perspective and what he cares about rather than a 3rd party viewing the scenes, so anything noteworthy to the character I am attempting to portray will be described and things he doesn't care about will get a bit of detail and that's that.

For example, Cyrus doesn't know the entire layout of the city and he doesn't care. He doesn't much care for the signs in the city or the buildings or cars or anything like that. He just wanted to fulfill his mission, which didn't involve anything in the city except its location and a choice drop location. He already knows what armor his comrades are wearing and he knows what they look like, so why would he need to note their descriptions?

[Protoss_Honor]

Excellent as usual kong. Wonderful style, skillful plot movement, and colorful characters. And that's just from the first two installments. I expect the same, or better in the near future.
In other words, write boy, write! :P


My only complaint, and it is a minor one, the dialogue could use a bit of work, it seems a bit basic and not fully developed, and in someways, it seems almost re-used, as if you copied some of it from another source.

(please take no offense at this, I cannot fully describe my feelings about the dialog, but this I hope gets the point across.)

[RavenCrusade]

Thank you, Protoss_Honor, for reminding me about something.
Kong, I do have one large complaint about the story. It'll only be updated once a week.
I don't think I can wait that long, mayhaps you would reconsider?

[kongurous]

Thank you, Protoss_Honor, for reminding me about something.
Kong, I do have one large complaint about the story. It'll only be updated once a week.
I don't think I can wait that long, mayhaps you would reconsider?

It's updated whenever I feel like it or once a week, whichever comes first.

[kongurous]

[Note: Assault Time + Two minutes. Or 03:49.]

Over rolling green hills topped with bright sunflowers and above meadows that seemed to reach the horizon, even into and over the clouds she flew. The fleeting sensation of weightlessness, of flight, of the simple freedom of the air overwhelmed her and filled her heart with joy. As she looked down, something seemed out of place. The green hills seemed there but not at the same time and left an oddly hazy aura. As she blinked to clear her eyes, they morphed into gargantuan, filth-spewing smokestacks attached to immense, ominous factories that emitted an unholy amount of noise.

The ground began to wither and die, replaced by hard asphalt and concrete. The natural green faded to unnatural grey and the stench of industrial waste filled her nostrils. Sulfur assaulted her nose and acid attacked her throat and eyes and so the sensation of flight gave way to the sensation of falling, the heavenly feeling of pure happiness now replaced with fear and confusion.

She looked to and fro as she fell, the air around her turning black and her skin becoming sooty. As she neared the ground, moping and mewling waves of people below her moved into the factories and even more disgusting smoke began to rise. Screams and the sudden stench of blood and revving of engines filled her eyes and nose with intense smells that would offend even the hardest of individuals.

As suddenly as it all had happened, it faded away to the sound of hard breathing, cold sweat, and faint, flickering lights on an otherwise dark ceiling. The curtain on the window right above her blocked most of the light, but she was close enough to see that something was flickering outside in the city square. Rising up in her bed, the girl moved the curtain and looked into the square to see what was going on.

What she saw was indescribable. People were being pulled from their homes by gigantic figures in what appeared to be blood red armor, one of them with a golden yellow left shoulder plate, and torn in two by the figures. Most of them bore large axes with spinning teeth that whirred loudly into the night. The city square’s pavement was slick with blood and entrails.

One of the figures, the one with the golden yellow shoulder, looked up from the square at the girl’s window. Although easily over fifty meters away, his unhelmeted face was very visible as it curled into an evil smile. He raised his left arm at the window, holding some sort of instrument, and made a slight motion. The thing in his hand barked with a bright flash and almost immediately the window shattered and a massive hole in the ceiling above was created from the impact and explosion of whatever it was the man had fired.

The girl’s door flung open as her father stood there, pulling a flak vest over his torso with a flustered and pale look on his face. His lasgun was strapped across his back, loaded and presumably ready to fire. His camouflaged grey helmet was strapped securely around his chin and the grey combat fatigues for urban combat seemed a bit too big for his form.

“Papa, what’s going on...,” was all she could manage, trying to block the light from the hall from her unaccustomed eyes.

“Castor, come to daddy. There’s something important I have to tell you.” He said, crouching to one knee and looking with great focus at his daughter, briefly noting the hole in the ceiling, tattered curtain, and broken window.

She lazily slid out of bed and fought to get out of the tangled sheets, leaving her stuffed animals where they had fallen. She stepped forward and sort of flopped at her father, who acting accordingly and wrapped her in a large, warm, yet very awkward, hug.

“Are you alright?” He whispered hurriedly.

“Yes, papa. What’s going on?”

“Alright. Daddy has to go report to the urban defense bunker a few streets down. What I need you to do is to run to your mother’s apartment and then you two will go to a civil defense bunker. Do you understand?” He said as the sound of wood shattering and glass breaking and people screaming sounded up from below. His eyes bored into her soul, praying that she understood.

“Yes, papa, I know. Will you be alright?” She asked sleepily, still not quite understanding the situation.

“I’ll do my best. The Emperor protects, Castor.” He said with slight relief, the sound of heavy footfalls coming up from the stairs.

“The Emperor protects, papa.” Castor said.

“I love you.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and ran into the hall, lasgun raised and ready to fire and whosoever would step up that flight of stairs.

With a loud crash and an even greater yell, an unhelmeted, wild-eyed man in armor with spikes topped with skulls along the trim of his shoulder plates and polished brass Chaotic symbols adorning his armor with a single golden yellow shoulder plate, the rest of his armor being stained blood red, ran up the stairs with a gigantic pistol in his left hand and a gory, whirring chainaxe in his right. Drops of blood dropped from the edges of the axe and the teeth gave off a bloody aura with his white-pale face stained in crimson.

His slack jawed appearance belied his nature and the man shut his mouth and swallowed. He gave a wicked grin and leaned forward slightly. His chant started first as a murmur but quickly grew into a full out yell of “KILL! MAIM! BURN!”

Indeed, he may have done just that but something seemed to snap in his head as he looked at the cowering little girl who couldn’t move an inch. His glazed eyes were replaced with exuberant yet obviously confused blue eyes and the girl finally began to run the opposite direction.

She ran. She ran as fast as she could, first round the corner, and then down the other set of stairs. She didn’t even care about meeting her mother, she just ran. She found a fire escape stairwell and entered it, taking those stairs down with more care so as to not fall. Reaching the bottom and bursting through the door into the early morning air, the smell of death assaulted her nose as she ran away from the carnage in the town square.

A unit of Guardsmen ran past in formation lead by their Commissar who wore a power fist with a bolt pistol. He gave the girl an odd look but didn’t stop the pace and kept going as Castor returned the favor and her flight continued.

Over the din of battle, the ground shook and an immense, bright explosion landed in the city square. Half the apartment complex that Castor lived in had collapsed almost immediately and the shockwave threw debris about and sent people sprawling.

Castor took cover in the nearest depression she could find, a recession ditch that curved downwards to a grate leading to the sewers. She hurriedly went down the slope of the ditch and rested against the grate, attempting to find some sort of order in all of this madness. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing but reality had decided once more to make her day even worse.

She felt motion to her side and as she opened her eyes to see what it was, she froze in fear. A golden yellow shoulder plate, a blood red chest plate. A pale, white, specked-with-blood face.

A surprisingly confused look at said face.

“Er, hello. Where am I?” His accent and language, while decidedly Low Gothic, was not local. She almost thought it sounded Terran.

The girl slowly gave the armored man a look over and saw letters scrawled across bottom trim of his yellow shoulder plate.

The letters spelled out “Cyrus.”

[RavenCrusade]

Very, very nice.
I'm liking the story more and more so far, I especially enjoyed the last installment, with the story from the girl's perspective.

[kongurous]

[Note: Again, one week and a day prior to assault time. See if you can spot a pattern.]

Crimson

One single word that could describe so many things, and so applicable to the surroundings: crimson. Cyrus saw crimson carpeting, peeling crimson paint on the walls, crimson lights, and a crimson lamp with crimson shades on a crimson walnut desk with chairs with crimson padding and a crimson leather chair behind it. He supposed it was some sort of poor joke or an overwhelming reference to the affiliation of the warband’s god, which would have explained the gigantic brass symbol on the ceiling, but put it aside in his mind. Thinking could be done later.

For now, the Lord, wherever he was, needed to see him. Taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, he cleared his throat and listened for sounds.

The leather chair behind the desk spun around and its occupant, even sitting down, was immense. Easily two and a half meters tall, even in sitting position, the Lord had his fingers steepled before him and an unholy glow to his eyes. A disproportionate amount of muscles were apparent, even in the low red light, in his arms and torso and it was as if his neck did not exist but was simply an extension of his bulging bodily physique. His face was wide with a squared off jaw and large, almond-shaped, hooded eyes that seemed to have a glazed green hint to them with an outline of a dark, barely noticeable shade of red. A pair of glasses with a brass frame and surprisingly untinted glass sat upon his nose and propped up in his legs was a giant tome covered in writing with some sort of leathery binding.

He placed his bookmark and effortlessly closed the book and sat it about his desk. With a better view of the cover, Cyrus found that it had been bound in… human skin. Carved directly into the flesh was a set of old letters but definitely some of Gothic. It was blocky with many lines flowing to and fro and it seemed as if great care had been taken to ensure its accuracy. Still, at his angle, Cyrus could not make out what it said.

“You are Cyrus, correct? The newest member in our brotherhood?” The Lord began, removing his glasses and setting them, closed, upon the book. His voice, not at all congruent with his large body, was light yet firm.

“Yes, er, milord. I am he.” Cyrus said, awkwardly at first but moved in stride as he went on. His lapse in confidence was momentary but noticeable.

“I see. What legion are you from originally?”

“I am from the Imperial Fists Fifth Company, Lord.”

“Imperial Fists, eh? Haven’t seen them in many, many years. Somewhere around ten thousand, I believe. At any rate, what planet are you from?” The Lord leaned closer and sat his elbows on the desk.

“I am from Holy Terra from the province of Tarraconensis in the archdiocese of Madrid. My father made swords for the Imperial Guard and the Imperial Fists, my mother was a sergeant in the 512th Cadian Rifles. My father was a local; my mother was a one-night stand from a visiting regiment because their commander had to report to Terra.”

“Interesting. That answered my next question. Alright then, I’ve heard you have something of a gift from the Blood God.”

“What about it?”

“Tell me about it. What does it do?”

“Well, lord, I don’t know personally but I’ve talked to people who do. When I get into a fight, I go completely blank. According to my brothers-in-arms, I go into this mode of supreme brutality, strength, and skill where I do my damndest to get as close to the enemy as I can and then tear them asunder. It was because of this ‘defect’ in my gene-seed that I was pulled from the battle companies and placed in reserve. I left the Imperial Fists because they didn’t trust me and dedicated myself to the one person who would trust me; Khorne. When I’m not in the trance, I’m a perfectly normal person. I need to eat, sleep, and breathe like everyone else. I have my own opinions and life, but when I get into a fight… it’s like a dream. I prefer to think of it as a nightmare, though.”

“I see. Such a gift is indeed valuable but I wonder how much of a liability it makes you. Perhaps you could perform a service for me.”

“Anything, lord.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It has come to my attention that we are low on supplies and truly the blood god has decided to reward us for we have arrived over a planet with the food and supplies that we need that is poorly defended and ripe for the slaughter. Not only would we get supplies, but we would have a suitable blood sacrifice for our god as tribute for his reward. However, as pious as I am, I am not a fool. Charging into combat headlong without any plan or intelligence is foolish, and because you show no overt signs of corruption when in a peaceful setting and because you are, and I mean no offense, shorter than everyone else and fit in better, I believe it would be a wise plan to send you planetside to do some Intel for it.”

“What does this mean, exactly?”

“You would deploy one week before our invasion on the capital city of this world. You would acquire recent maps of the area, the positioning of guard posts, the locations of the planetary defense forces’ bases, main highways going into and out of the city, the locations of food stockpiles, and the locations of armories. You would then proceed to sabotage highways going into the city in any way you see fit as well as finding the locations of the main power generators for the city and surrounding area. Once all of that is completed, you would simply wait for our assault to take place and you would join up with Fourth Squad.”

“It sounds like you’ve put some thought into this, lord.”

“Indeed I have, Cyrus. Do you accept?” Longinus leaned in closer, his eyes searching Cyrus’ face.

“I would be a fool to decline, Lord. I shall prepare my armor and weapons for transport.” Cyrus said proudly.

“Good, good. I want you to pack your weapons and armor but when you land, stash them carefully so you do not attract attention. You have until this time tomorrow to fully prepare. When it is time to depart, report to the aft hangar bay. Champion Ramses will give you more information, should you require it. He is a valuable resource, make use of him or he will be bored.”

“Understood.” Cyrus rose and gave a disciplined martial salute.

“Blood for the Blood God.” Longinus replied, returning the salute.

“Skulls for the Skull Throne.” Cyrus said and quickly turned and left.

[RavenCrusade]

Just curious, are you still doing this Kong?
I liked it alot, and I was hoping you'd continue.

[kongurous]

Just curious, are you still doing this Kong?
I liked it alot, and I was hoping you'd continue.

I'll catch up one of these days.

[Nostradamus]

I despise cliche stuff (and SM vs Chaos, while classic, can be found everywhere) and I tend to write from the character's perspective and what he cares about rather than a 3rd party viewing the scenes, so anything noteworthy to the character I am attempting to portray will be described and things he doesn't care about will get a bit of detail and that's that.

For example, Cyrus doesn't know the entire layout of the city and he doesn't care. He doesn't much care for the signs in the city or the buildings or cars or anything like that. He just wanted to fulfill his mission, which didn't involve anything in the city except its location and a choice drop location. He already knows what armor his comrades are wearing and he knows what they look like, so why would he need to note their descriptions?

This is all well and good but for the benefit of the reader it would be better to include more description. It helps the reader connect with the story and immerse easier. Not that the story isn't fantastic as it is. It is just that setting is an essential part of any story and it could be used to your advantage (i.e. plot development, key areas etc.)