29 – Battle
Edoma had broken at least a few ribs, and might have even punctured a lung. If she could get free to paint a ward, then she might be able to heal herself, but time was quickly running out. The massive stone pinning her down was slowly crushing her.
She could hear Peoh saying something, but it was all jumbled words in the midst of unbearable pain. Saega still thought Edoma believed in the laws of magic and wouldn’t perform magic without a runestone. But desperation caused her to jettison them. Her trembling fingers drew a ward over the stone across her body. She couldn’t see, so she hoped that that the ward was drawn well enough to throw the stone, rather than increase the force with which it was crushing her.
She allowed a
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She smeared her hands with her blood and then began smearing the wall with it. She drew a ward so that used a similar outer circle to the protection spells, but the three inner circles were copied directly from the bonds. The product was an amalgamation of the two that used the strengths of both. There was a beauty to the synthesis of the two magic, one she didn’t have the time or headspace to truly appreciate. She removed more lifeblood from herself, and staggered. She would die if she used any more without a runestone. Energy crackled around the surface of the ward, and the wall shimmered. The illusory magic dispelled from the wall, revealing a plain window.
She scrambled over to Peoh and inspected the bonds again. There would be no cutting them without a soulblade. The bonds were fastened to a sconce that didn’t look too secure. She hung from it, pulling with all her weight, but the thing didn’t budge.
“Go without me,” Peoh said. “You can come back later.”
Edoma frowned. She appeared to be out of choices. She ventured over to the window and peered down it. The drop was three-stories. At least the room wasn’t at the top of the spire. Still, she would at least break her ankles if not worse from the drop.
A faint roar came from somewhere in the sky. There was no sign of any scynnfol, nor the red mists of rabisu, but she quickly hid from view. Damn her luck. Nothing seemed to be going well for her.
Again, the roar
The topics “Can You Use that Word in a Sentence,” and Racial Representation is significant throughout the book Long Division written by Kiese Laymon. The characters in this book will have to face racism and learn to defy racial representations, especially during the scene of the quiz contest. Overall, this essay will tackle the importance of language in the book Long Division and analyze the actions of the characters and the emotions they display. This essay will examine the words written and the racism experienced during the period using the two sources and research made to understand the importance of language in racism. Long Division, the book written by Kiese Laymon is an intriguing and gripping novel. It starts off with the main character Citoyen “City” Coldson a fourteen year-old boy; he participates in a nationwide televised quiz contest. However noticing that the contest is extremely racist, his outburst on stage goes viral. Shortly, City moves to live with his grandmother. He’s been given a book, before leaving, titled “Long Division”. The main character of the book has the same name as City yet it is set in 1985. A young girl named Baize Shephard has been missing in City’s new community. Yet, when Baize Shephard appears as a character in City’s strange book, both stories link and converge together. Citoyen “City” Coldson and LaVander Peeler are the only two black participants in the “Can You Use that Word in a Sentence” contest. There were many scenes that
Glancing toward the bridge window, she noticed the captain’s chair wasn’t bolted down. Walking over, she grabbed the chair and began smashing it into the door. After a few minutes of swinging the chair and uttering a number of colorful metaphors, she collapsed, exhausted. She was going to die here. There was no way out of this.
Hot tears spilled down Amaimon's cheeks, hot blood down his back. As he leaned forward he felt a distinct, painful burning on his stomach. He hissed in anguish, his skin sizzling and peeling away. He pulled back for a moment, brushing away the holy water he had forgotten with his shirt sleeve, not caring that his shirt got bloody or that he tore at the already injured spots on Amaimon's back roughly. Mephisto sped up his own healing, forcing the injuries to heal fast that they really should have been. He pressed forward away, containing his brutal assault. His eyes closed as he fell back into rhythm, the wood creaking as he rocked both of their bodies.
The stone was cold and I could feel the pain swelling up inside. I took a step towards the edge, I thought to myself, “One more step and the worries would end…” if only it was that easy.
A new wave of icy fear overcame her. She banged on the wall so hard, she thought her hands would bleed. "Help anyone please!" she cried out, hoping someone would hear her.
Meanwhile Jessica was trying to find another way out of the building. She could see an opening in the window, so she sprinted over there and opened it fully. She stepped on the edge of it shaking. She could see to the left of her
However, my hand is soaked in blood and there is no hint of mother arriving to bandage. I’m short of time, I grabbed the cure medicine has quickly as possible and jumped through the window with no thought about getting unconscious or breaking my bones, though I managed to keep myself awake until I reach my house. The last bit of strength was left in the effort to knock on the door and collapse in warm arms of my mother.
Asaji’s hands raked down her temples while unable to escape her own madness. Untrimmed fingernails scraped long red streaks down her
The superorganism’s magic solidified into chains that bound Kate into a haze of pain and exhaustion. Kate tried to lunge upward, but the weight of the forces pinned her. She howled a scream that was utter silence outside the suit whilst she convulsed.
“The Assault” by Harry Mulisch is a fictitious novel with a basis in reality, specifically the reality of World War II in Amsterdam. It tracks to story of Anton Steenwijk, whose family was killed by the Germans as a retaliation against the assassination of a Nazi collaborator and police officer, Fake Ploeg. Anton Steenwijk was the only one out of his family of four to survive, and he constantly fights to keep these memories buried through years of practiced repression. Despite this, every now and again, his past is brought to the forefront of his mind by the appearance of characters from his past. Mulisch plants this novel on a historical foundation, allowing it to be an
The creatures, giant paw pinned her against the silver wall, she screamed out in agony as it seared her flesh. She latched her fingers around the creature’s arm and tried forcing it to let her go to no avail because the moment it released her, it sank its sharp teeth deep into her neck. Adelaide cried out in pain, she gazed upward to see her parents frantically trying to break the witches protective dome around the arena.
Her jaw was a'shattered, held together by wire. She couldn't even weep because of the pain.
Taloned hands grabbed him from behind, blood red nails digging into his flesh as Evelynn emerged from the shadows. She was far stronger than she looked, and forcibly turned his head to expose his thick neck. Her grasp was ice-cold, as if warm blood no longer flowed in her veins, and her fangs were inches from his jugular.
When a reader first starts reading the story, it seems as though everything that these soldiers carry is completely normal because their “necessities [are] P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wrist watches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tables, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military Payment Certificates, canteens of water” (O’Brien 97). These are the items that any soldier in any war would need to have in order to go into war; but further in, the reader learns, “the soldiers also carry stories: stories that connect ‘the past to the future’ (40), stories that ‘never seem… to end’ (83), and stories ‘that swirl back and forth across the border between trivia and bedlam, the mad and the mundane’ (101)” (Calloway 249). Here, Calloway’s repetition emphasizes the hardship the soldiers go through resulting in these stories that they carry. Each significant item that a soldier carries shows their inner self and who they really are, it shows the sides of them that they cannot possibly show during the time of war.
She ran to the middle of whatever was still standing in her house and started to cry. She got on her knees and thought that everything that was once hers was gone in an instant. She cried and cried, until she found no more use. Then, once her eyes started to clear up, she spotted something.