Good day to you all. This time, I've decided to write a story in my native language first and then translate it into English. Here's an excerpt from the beginning: I need to know:
1) If it is readable.
2) If I overexplain or overdescribe stuff.
3) If Ruda feels too scummy and Rustam is too cowardly (since they are one of the main protags of the story).
Edit: Is it that bad? No need to mince words; if my writing is so terrible, then feel free to say so. I'd like to know the general idea. It's better than nothing.
1) If it is readable.
2) If I overexplain or overdescribe stuff.
3) If Ruda feels too scummy and Rustam is too cowardly (since they are one of the main protags of the story).
“Forward, bastards! Get into position!” A kick to the shoulder sent Rustam headfirst forward, and he slid across the floor. The kid struggled to get up, miraculously slipping out from under the feet, trampling him.
Panic reigned on board. The guards handed out simple, small-caliber weapons to the slaves and drove them through the corridors to the place where the walls were bent. Months of beatings and abuse had done their job, and the desperate people did not even dare to think of resistance. Men and women, Normies and Mutants, formed a circle, raising their weapons with trembling hands.
Behind them, panels rose up, and Rustam pressed himself against the nearest one, peering over it in horror and clutching his shotgun to his chest. He was lucky; a week ago, one of the bastards who had burned his village dragged him into a tunnel to get ‘acquainted.’ He got acquainted with a sharp piece of pipe that Rustam had stabbed into his belly. Then he used it to smash the bastard’s head, and by some miracle, his masters rewarded him for this deed with oversized armor and weapons belonging to the deceased.
To Rustam’s left and right were teens his age, newbies, as the raiders called them. Their lives were worth little, and any disobedience led to death. Just yesterday, Yura was boiled alive in a reactor for refusing to shoot a man whose legs had failed him. But at least they were no longer beaten for no reason and were given nutritious food instead of the shitty broth consumed by slaves.
Everything had lost its meaning. Pa and Ma had always taught Rustam to care for others and be honest, but when the beasts in human form visited their village, none of that saved any of them. Rustam survived, afraid and trembling, obeying and closing his eyes to the surrounding cruelty. Even the death of his brothers and sisters from starvation no longer touched him. The boy wanted to survive and dared to hope that he had a ticket to the future, that he could escape one day...
And now this had happened. Nothing was going as it should have. He would never be free of this nightmare.
One slave, a girl named Sylvie with a mop of brown hair, took a step back, her mouth agape with fear as the screech of tearing metal rang through the wagon. Strangely, Rustam thought it was coming from above, rather than from the ‘boil’ that continued to swell in front of them. Sylvie screamed when she saw the sparks and slag falling from the wall. The boy smelled smoke.
The hand grabbed Sylvie by the scruff of her neck, jerking her into the air and turning her face toward the twisted grimace of Overseer Daulet. Tumors from frequent work with a leaking reactor covered his obese body, almost covering his swollen eye, and a predatory clicking mechanical pincer replaced his right hand from the elbow down. Locked in unending pain, the supervisor adored venting his sadistic temper on others.
“If you don’t want to be cannon fodder, you’ll play the role of a warning pancake,” Daulet exhaled, spitting out sticky saliva with each word and raising his pincer to strike.
Rustam turned before he even had time to think about what he was doing. He didn’t know Sylvie; they had barely exchanged a few words, but her appearance, her thin ribs pressing against her skin, and the color of her hair reminded him of his little sister. I won’t let this happen again. This time, I... I can do it! His finger pulled the trigger, and the pincer moved with inhuman speed, protecting his twisted face from the shotgun pellets. Several pellets ricocheted off the guard’s armor, and another owner knocked the weapon out of Rustam’s hands.
“We have a hero here, Daulet!” the bandit snorted. Rustam grabbed the knife from his belt and stabbed the man in the leg, but the blade snapped against his greaves. The bandit shoved the barrel of his pistol into the boy’s mouth, breaking part of his upper tooth.
“I thought there was a rod in it. All this new generation is such soft-hearted, snotty-nosed trash. Shoot this meat…” The shot interrupted Daulet.
The boarders did not wait for their machines to cut a clean circle. They kicked the weakened section of the bulkhead, knocking it down, and immediately opened fire. The first round sheared off a piece of the falling section and struck Daulet’s helmet, knocking it off his head. The bulging swelling under the helmet burst, flooding the man’s left eye with a disgusting-smelling, sticky yellow substance.
With a crash, the first of the intruders burst inside, and time slowed down for Rustam. He saw the master’s finger moving at a crawl’s pace, pressing the trigger, and twisted out of his grip. I won’t die. I won’t die here, no matter what. The boy thought, opening his mouth as wide as possible so that the corners of his mouth cracked.
The bullet tore his mouth and knocked out several of Rustam’s teeth, piercing his entire body with excruciating pain, as if acid had spilled into his mouth. His throat was parched, one ear had stopped hearing, and his head was splitting from a loud ringing. But he was alive. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement from the breach.
“Step forth and perish!” barked a female voice.
A figure clad head to toe in white armor pushed forward. A cloak flapped behind her, catching on the edges of the breach, and behind her, a mist shimmering with blue and green poured in. In its depths, Rustam saw other figures of giants, while the first one was already rushing forward, and on her cloak, or perhaps a robe thrown over her armor, a seahorse embroidered with gold thread shone next to a round symbol.
Without stopping, she jumped over the stunned slaves, denting the metal ceiling with her helmet, in the slit of which danced a green light. Landing behind the slaves, she rushed toward Daulet, swinging her spiked mace as she went. The tip pierced the gorget of the man holding Rustam and pierced it, much to the boy’s surprise.
He was not shocked by the gurgling of the suffocating bandit or by the fact that the hand literally knocked him off his feet, hurling him into the walls behind the other masters. No, the weakness of the raider’s armor surprised him. He remembered how that same armor had allowed the bandits to pass unscathed through the machine-gun fire of his village’s defenders. Raising himself up on one hand, the boy saw a flash of electricity run through the mace.
Daulet cursed, lifting Sylvie up like a shield. The boarder didn’t stop, firing several shots from the pistol in her hand, hitting the bandit’s shoulders and wrist. The plates of his suit cracked but held, and he raised his pincer, taking the crackling mace’s blow on it. With a slight buzzing of the motors inside her armor, the woman dragged her mechanical limb down to Daulet’s thigh and released her pistol.
Instead of falling, the gun took its place on her forearm, and the woman’s fingers, ending in sharp claws, dug into the crack in Daulet’s wrist, eliciting a cry of pain from him. The mace flashed, crushing the head of a bandit who rushed to Daulet’s aid and breaking the kneecap of another when he fired a burst of automatic fire at her. The bandit fell, screaming and clutching his crippled leg, and several notches appeared on the stranger’s thick plates.
“Mercy,” the fallen man managed to say.
“Ha! You took advantage of our hospitality; now down comes the punishing thumb!” The woman raised her foot, ending in a shod hoof instead of a normal foot. She stomped, crushing the bandit’s face and pressing the ruptured remains of his brain into his crumpled helmet.
Daulet’s hand jerked, and he released Sylvie. The boarder pulled her fingers out of her opponent’s wound and shoved the girl behind her back. Taking advantage of this momentary confusion, the raider struck her opponent in the ribs with his knee, forcing her to bend over. His pincer dodged the mace and stabbed into the boarder’s lower abdomen.
Sylvie! Half-conscious with pain, Rustam got up. The girl was still behind the strange woman, and if she took even one step back or fell... Staggering, he gathered all his strength and rushed toward the fighters, ignoring the chaos around him and the flying bullets. Rescue. He couldn’t save his family or himself, but maybe even he... His hands closed around Sylvie’s waist, pulling her aside.
The strange woman didn’t fall. The pincer dug deeper into her body and tried to open, widening the gap. A trickle of blood ran along its blade to Daulet’s grin. His hand slid to the machine gun on his belt and jerked convulsively from the blow of the mace handle to his face. The beak on its lower part tore the bandit’s lip, and he recoiled, pulling out his pincer. He exchanged three blows with the boarder and suddenly turned, sprinting down the corridor, leaving behind two bandits who had come to his aid. The man and woman did not last long. One died under the blows of the mace, and the other tried to shoot the woman, but the bullet flew over her shoulder and hit him in the temple.
Sylvie and Rustam gasped at the blood spreading across the floor, attracting the attention of the strange warrior. She was in front of them faster than the teenagers could blink, her hooves clattering across the floor, and the mace nearing Rustam’s eye, crystal clear despite the fierce battle. His heart sank, and his mouth refused to move. Together with Sylvie, they froze in horror.
“What were you planning to do with her, animal?” hissed the woman.
“Ruda! He’s just a boy!” came a shout from near the breach, and Rustam glanced over there.
The swirling fog hid the rest of the slaves and newbies, and the raiders were either killed or fled. The giant who called out to Ruda was decked out in blue and red clothes and armor decorated with bull emblems. Two of the boarders had arms that were too long, reaching their ankles.
“It’s in their armor, Ney. What, you think teens magically gain the ability to distinguish good from evil when they reach adulthood? It’s incorrigible.”
“Sariant. Don’t touch minors,” said a Long Arm. Two gilded eagle heads held his dark green cloak decorated with purple stars. Despite the recent battle, there was not a speck of blood or soot on him.
“Yes, Commander!” The mace moved away from Rustam’s face.
“How’s your wound, Sariant?”
“Just a scratch, Commander! Not even bleeding!” Ruda raised her pistol and started shooting into the corridor, hitting a bandit who had peeked out. “Will anyone provide me with a worthwhile dance prior to dying? What, no volunteers? But you were so brave with the villagers!”
“Medics, we have an injured.” The glowing slit of the commander's helmet looked at Rustam. “No, the veil stays.”
“Send me your best so I can grind their bones into dust!” Ruda held her mace over the gash in her armor.
“Commander, don’t think badly of our sister. She’s overly zealous, but her intentions are noble.”
“Dedication is commendable, but excessive posturing creates unnecessary risk,” said the commander. “Sister, you do not treat your raiment with befitting respect.” He glanced at the woman’s tattered robe, covered in blood and soot.
“I'll wash and sew my tabard and cloak upon returning, brother. Can’t fix a life as simply.”
“Hear, hear!” Ney laughed. “My sister’s selflessness inspires me. It would be an honor for me to aid her in such a mundane task. After we exorcise the evil from this den of depravity and find our people.”
“Ney's right!” Ruda said. “The scriptures of Landmeister Yaro teach us not to slacken our efforts when the enemy’s defenses and morale are broken. They have numerical superiority, so there is no need to give them a chance to regroup and take advantage of it. Let us kill the beasts and rescue the prisoners!”
“I concur. However, this time I will lead the charge. Sariants, form up at the rear. Troops, secure our prisoners and let the medics do their work,” said the commander, raising his mace and marching down the corridor, accompanied by four giants. Soon, sporadic gunshots rang out from deep within the wagon.
Someone was moving inside the fog, and Rustam tried to stand up, but the multicolored vapor reached him, enveloping the young man, and he inhaled it. His vision blurred, his body went numb, and the feeling of pain and even concern for Sylvie disappeared. It was just him and the conviction that everything would be fine, that nothing threatened him. Rustam yawned, understanding how exhausted he was, and lay down on the floor. No, it wasn’t the floor; it was his bed. He smelled a fragrance of freshly baked bread, made by his father. He saw the phantom silhouettes of his brothers, sisters, friends, and a white shape looking at him with eyes as red as rubies. Weakness spread through his limbs, and before he fell asleep in this strange haze, he thought he heard his mother’s voice, and tears welled up in his eyes.
Panic reigned on board. The guards handed out simple, small-caliber weapons to the slaves and drove them through the corridors to the place where the walls were bent. Months of beatings and abuse had done their job, and the desperate people did not even dare to think of resistance. Men and women, Normies and Mutants, formed a circle, raising their weapons with trembling hands.
Behind them, panels rose up, and Rustam pressed himself against the nearest one, peering over it in horror and clutching his shotgun to his chest. He was lucky; a week ago, one of the bastards who had burned his village dragged him into a tunnel to get ‘acquainted.’ He got acquainted with a sharp piece of pipe that Rustam had stabbed into his belly. Then he used it to smash the bastard’s head, and by some miracle, his masters rewarded him for this deed with oversized armor and weapons belonging to the deceased.
To Rustam’s left and right were teens his age, newbies, as the raiders called them. Their lives were worth little, and any disobedience led to death. Just yesterday, Yura was boiled alive in a reactor for refusing to shoot a man whose legs had failed him. But at least they were no longer beaten for no reason and were given nutritious food instead of the shitty broth consumed by slaves.
Everything had lost its meaning. Pa and Ma had always taught Rustam to care for others and be honest, but when the beasts in human form visited their village, none of that saved any of them. Rustam survived, afraid and trembling, obeying and closing his eyes to the surrounding cruelty. Even the death of his brothers and sisters from starvation no longer touched him. The boy wanted to survive and dared to hope that he had a ticket to the future, that he could escape one day...
And now this had happened. Nothing was going as it should have. He would never be free of this nightmare.
One slave, a girl named Sylvie with a mop of brown hair, took a step back, her mouth agape with fear as the screech of tearing metal rang through the wagon. Strangely, Rustam thought it was coming from above, rather than from the ‘boil’ that continued to swell in front of them. Sylvie screamed when she saw the sparks and slag falling from the wall. The boy smelled smoke.
The hand grabbed Sylvie by the scruff of her neck, jerking her into the air and turning her face toward the twisted grimace of Overseer Daulet. Tumors from frequent work with a leaking reactor covered his obese body, almost covering his swollen eye, and a predatory clicking mechanical pincer replaced his right hand from the elbow down. Locked in unending pain, the supervisor adored venting his sadistic temper on others.
“If you don’t want to be cannon fodder, you’ll play the role of a warning pancake,” Daulet exhaled, spitting out sticky saliva with each word and raising his pincer to strike.
Rustam turned before he even had time to think about what he was doing. He didn’t know Sylvie; they had barely exchanged a few words, but her appearance, her thin ribs pressing against her skin, and the color of her hair reminded him of his little sister. I won’t let this happen again. This time, I... I can do it! His finger pulled the trigger, and the pincer moved with inhuman speed, protecting his twisted face from the shotgun pellets. Several pellets ricocheted off the guard’s armor, and another owner knocked the weapon out of Rustam’s hands.
“We have a hero here, Daulet!” the bandit snorted. Rustam grabbed the knife from his belt and stabbed the man in the leg, but the blade snapped against his greaves. The bandit shoved the barrel of his pistol into the boy’s mouth, breaking part of his upper tooth.
“I thought there was a rod in it. All this new generation is such soft-hearted, snotty-nosed trash. Shoot this meat…” The shot interrupted Daulet.
The boarders did not wait for their machines to cut a clean circle. They kicked the weakened section of the bulkhead, knocking it down, and immediately opened fire. The first round sheared off a piece of the falling section and struck Daulet’s helmet, knocking it off his head. The bulging swelling under the helmet burst, flooding the man’s left eye with a disgusting-smelling, sticky yellow substance.
With a crash, the first of the intruders burst inside, and time slowed down for Rustam. He saw the master’s finger moving at a crawl’s pace, pressing the trigger, and twisted out of his grip. I won’t die. I won’t die here, no matter what. The boy thought, opening his mouth as wide as possible so that the corners of his mouth cracked.
The bullet tore his mouth and knocked out several of Rustam’s teeth, piercing his entire body with excruciating pain, as if acid had spilled into his mouth. His throat was parched, one ear had stopped hearing, and his head was splitting from a loud ringing. But he was alive. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement from the breach.
“Step forth and perish!” barked a female voice.
A figure clad head to toe in white armor pushed forward. A cloak flapped behind her, catching on the edges of the breach, and behind her, a mist shimmering with blue and green poured in. In its depths, Rustam saw other figures of giants, while the first one was already rushing forward, and on her cloak, or perhaps a robe thrown over her armor, a seahorse embroidered with gold thread shone next to a round symbol.
Without stopping, she jumped over the stunned slaves, denting the metal ceiling with her helmet, in the slit of which danced a green light. Landing behind the slaves, she rushed toward Daulet, swinging her spiked mace as she went. The tip pierced the gorget of the man holding Rustam and pierced it, much to the boy’s surprise.
He was not shocked by the gurgling of the suffocating bandit or by the fact that the hand literally knocked him off his feet, hurling him into the walls behind the other masters. No, the weakness of the raider’s armor surprised him. He remembered how that same armor had allowed the bandits to pass unscathed through the machine-gun fire of his village’s defenders. Raising himself up on one hand, the boy saw a flash of electricity run through the mace.
Daulet cursed, lifting Sylvie up like a shield. The boarder didn’t stop, firing several shots from the pistol in her hand, hitting the bandit’s shoulders and wrist. The plates of his suit cracked but held, and he raised his pincer, taking the crackling mace’s blow on it. With a slight buzzing of the motors inside her armor, the woman dragged her mechanical limb down to Daulet’s thigh and released her pistol.
Instead of falling, the gun took its place on her forearm, and the woman’s fingers, ending in sharp claws, dug into the crack in Daulet’s wrist, eliciting a cry of pain from him. The mace flashed, crushing the head of a bandit who rushed to Daulet’s aid and breaking the kneecap of another when he fired a burst of automatic fire at her. The bandit fell, screaming and clutching his crippled leg, and several notches appeared on the stranger’s thick plates.
“Mercy,” the fallen man managed to say.
“Ha! You took advantage of our hospitality; now down comes the punishing thumb!” The woman raised her foot, ending in a shod hoof instead of a normal foot. She stomped, crushing the bandit’s face and pressing the ruptured remains of his brain into his crumpled helmet.
Daulet’s hand jerked, and he released Sylvie. The boarder pulled her fingers out of her opponent’s wound and shoved the girl behind her back. Taking advantage of this momentary confusion, the raider struck her opponent in the ribs with his knee, forcing her to bend over. His pincer dodged the mace and stabbed into the boarder’s lower abdomen.
Sylvie! Half-conscious with pain, Rustam got up. The girl was still behind the strange woman, and if she took even one step back or fell... Staggering, he gathered all his strength and rushed toward the fighters, ignoring the chaos around him and the flying bullets. Rescue. He couldn’t save his family or himself, but maybe even he... His hands closed around Sylvie’s waist, pulling her aside.
The strange woman didn’t fall. The pincer dug deeper into her body and tried to open, widening the gap. A trickle of blood ran along its blade to Daulet’s grin. His hand slid to the machine gun on his belt and jerked convulsively from the blow of the mace handle to his face. The beak on its lower part tore the bandit’s lip, and he recoiled, pulling out his pincer. He exchanged three blows with the boarder and suddenly turned, sprinting down the corridor, leaving behind two bandits who had come to his aid. The man and woman did not last long. One died under the blows of the mace, and the other tried to shoot the woman, but the bullet flew over her shoulder and hit him in the temple.
Sylvie and Rustam gasped at the blood spreading across the floor, attracting the attention of the strange warrior. She was in front of them faster than the teenagers could blink, her hooves clattering across the floor, and the mace nearing Rustam’s eye, crystal clear despite the fierce battle. His heart sank, and his mouth refused to move. Together with Sylvie, they froze in horror.
“What were you planning to do with her, animal?” hissed the woman.
“Ruda! He’s just a boy!” came a shout from near the breach, and Rustam glanced over there.
The swirling fog hid the rest of the slaves and newbies, and the raiders were either killed or fled. The giant who called out to Ruda was decked out in blue and red clothes and armor decorated with bull emblems. Two of the boarders had arms that were too long, reaching their ankles.
“It’s in their armor, Ney. What, you think teens magically gain the ability to distinguish good from evil when they reach adulthood? It’s incorrigible.”
“Sariant. Don’t touch minors,” said a Long Arm. Two gilded eagle heads held his dark green cloak decorated with purple stars. Despite the recent battle, there was not a speck of blood or soot on him.
“Yes, Commander!” The mace moved away from Rustam’s face.
“How’s your wound, Sariant?”
“Just a scratch, Commander! Not even bleeding!” Ruda raised her pistol and started shooting into the corridor, hitting a bandit who had peeked out. “Will anyone provide me with a worthwhile dance prior to dying? What, no volunteers? But you were so brave with the villagers!”
“Medics, we have an injured.” The glowing slit of the commander's helmet looked at Rustam. “No, the veil stays.”
“Send me your best so I can grind their bones into dust!” Ruda held her mace over the gash in her armor.
“Commander, don’t think badly of our sister. She’s overly zealous, but her intentions are noble.”
“Dedication is commendable, but excessive posturing creates unnecessary risk,” said the commander. “Sister, you do not treat your raiment with befitting respect.” He glanced at the woman’s tattered robe, covered in blood and soot.
“I'll wash and sew my tabard and cloak upon returning, brother. Can’t fix a life as simply.”
“Hear, hear!” Ney laughed. “My sister’s selflessness inspires me. It would be an honor for me to aid her in such a mundane task. After we exorcise the evil from this den of depravity and find our people.”
“Ney's right!” Ruda said. “The scriptures of Landmeister Yaro teach us not to slacken our efforts when the enemy’s defenses and morale are broken. They have numerical superiority, so there is no need to give them a chance to regroup and take advantage of it. Let us kill the beasts and rescue the prisoners!”
“I concur. However, this time I will lead the charge. Sariants, form up at the rear. Troops, secure our prisoners and let the medics do their work,” said the commander, raising his mace and marching down the corridor, accompanied by four giants. Soon, sporadic gunshots rang out from deep within the wagon.
Someone was moving inside the fog, and Rustam tried to stand up, but the multicolored vapor reached him, enveloping the young man, and he inhaled it. His vision blurred, his body went numb, and the feeling of pain and even concern for Sylvie disappeared. It was just him and the conviction that everything would be fine, that nothing threatened him. Rustam yawned, understanding how exhausted he was, and lay down on the floor. No, it wasn’t the floor; it was his bed. He smelled a fragrance of freshly baked bread, made by his father. He saw the phantom silhouettes of his brothers, sisters, friends, and a white shape looking at him with eyes as red as rubies. Weakness spread through his limbs, and before he fell asleep in this strange haze, he thought he heard his mother’s voice, and tears welled up in his eyes.
Edit: Is it that bad? No need to mince words; if my writing is so terrible, then feel free to say so. I'd like to know the general idea. It's better than nothing.
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