Lolol.Icantwrite
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- Nov 29, 2025
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Hi everybody! I'm pretty new to ScribbleHub, and really wanna publish a story (I promise I don't write like this in my works, so dont worry)
It's my first ever attempt at writing, I don't have anyone to ask in my personal life, and I want to know if my writing style is good before I actually start the series on here.
Its a dystopian story, and I know I might have to work on being more descriptive. I want to leave my first chapter here (which I might need to make longer), so I can get feedback and see if there is anything i need to change.
I tried not to info-dump, so naturally there will be things that won't make sense until the second or third chapter. But if i did info dump it would be good to know. I want this story to be great. Maybe even something I can publish when im older :)
Please be completely honest :)))
Nyxara wanted her dead.
She had faced the humiliation of losing a fight in the Underground before, but never quite this badly. Fighting in the Underground was akin to a humiliation ritual. Nobody ever won, not truly. If you won one fight, you kept going again and again until you physically couldn’t do it anymore. All who lived in the Void were practically born with an ever-worsening melancholy. The endless fights were meant to sate it. The smell of blood from her nose clouded her nostrils as she jabbed at her opponent with her fist. She fought her hardest, ignoring the belittling cries of the audience, but it was no use. As her opponent dodged and parried her blow, she fell to the ground, her face a mess of blood and bruises, her hands raw and aching from sparring the Underground brute.
The Coliseum was an underground fighting lair, made of stone, and whatever material was left after the war. When the mass majority of a civilization's population is wiped out, it is difficult to maintain technological perfection. The Coliseum was an example of that unfortunate technological setback, and looked more like an exhibition showcasing ancient art than a modern underground fighting ring. With stone walls covered in graffiti, rusting iron decorations that held no technical purpose, and clay bricks uneven in their make, it was simple to see why the place was so overrun with brutes like Tamsin Lynnr.
Tamsin fought like a beast untamed. For such an oaf, she was competitive. Her blows always had to be harder than that of her opponent’s. They had to be more precise, more focused. Deadlier. As Nyxara dodged said blows, her mind wandered to what would happen if she could get Tamsin to lose her control. A few well timed words and counter hits, and she would have her laying on the ground, giving Nyxara perfect permission to show what she could really do. Prove herself. But she needed an excuse to use her advantages. Prove that a Wildblood could make something of herself too.
Yet the rules of the Coliseum were strict. No weapons, no ability enhancing technology, and no uses of advantageous genetic attributes.
Not like that rule applied to Brawns. Those oafs could never turn their strength off.
As Nyxara tried fending off Tamsin, she continued to trip and stumble. Relying on her speed was the only reason she was still mostly unharmed. With Tamsin’s genetic super-strength, it was like a kitten doing her best to ward off a lion. Of the same family, but of different species altogether.
No matter how unfair the rules were, they were strict. There were even scientific barriers to prevent people from using warp drives to teleport into the Arena to help a contestant. Nyxara had always thought such a measure to be unnecessary. That technology was only accessible to the Guardian Initiative.
“PAY ATTENTION!”
Tamsin bellowed at Nyxara, noticing her dazed expression. She felt insulted that the smaller fighter wasn’t even paying attention to the fight, and with a decisive blow, knocked Nyxara to the ground with a punch to the jaw that sent a ringing through her ears, and knocked her over the out of bounds line.
“Eliminated!”
The announcer called for Nyxara’s elimination from the fight as the crowd roared for her opponent, the Brawny brute who had defeated her. As Nyx spat blood to the ground in annoyance, she glared at Tamsin Lynnr, who was sporting a smug smile. She had known Tamsin for years, her family being of importance to the Guardian district, and Tamsin’s was to the Underground. Their fights always ended in a concussion or a broken bone of some sort. But this fight was different. This was the first fight of the Reaping season. A season the Initiative commemorated to remember their “Pureborn brothers and sisters”. Tamsin was a barbarian in every sense of the world, as most people not from the Underground found the Brawns to be. Tamsin turned to exit, leaving Nyxara to her humiliating defeat, when a particularly derelict looking Brawn threw a dagger into the ring, yelling Tamsin’s name with fanatical devotion. Yelling for Tamsin to kill the scrawny intruder.
“That Highborn does not belong in the Underground!”
The man said the title in such contempt, that it sent Nyxara rolling her eyes. She was not a Highborn, she was a daughter of a Warden. Yet a whole world away from the populous of the underground, they all suffered together in the world they called The Void. The man took no notice of her annoyance though, as he cheered and his companions joined him. And at that moment, it seemed that Tamsin had made up her mind.
A menacing look of utmost satisfaction crossed her face as she picked up the dagger, and everyone seemed to share one collective gasp. After all, there was a reason why weapons weren’t allowed in the Underground Coliseum.
“Crap.”
Nyxara fled instantly as Tamsin came running for her, intending to use her power of extraordinary strength to proper use. There had been hostile tension between them for far too long, and for a Brawn, that meant battle. In a moment, Nyxara had turned and harnessed her shadows. As swirling orbs of darkness surrounded her arms. People gawked and murmured, knowing what this was. Unsanctioned fights rarely happened in the Underground, and when they did, they were always a spectacle. Not many people walked away alive from them. Especially when one of those fighters was a Wildblood. Nobody ever wanted the Wildblood to win a fight.
People murmured about Nyxara’s powers, analyzing the capabilities, like people always did with Wildbloods. Murmurs echoed around the room as the words “Wildblood”, and “Freak” were tossed around, referring to Nyxara, but Tamsin ignored them, focusing on her battle. Tamsin charged headfirst for Nyxara, ignoring the subtle weakening of her strength that all Brawns felt upon certain levels of exhaustion. She punched recklessly, swinging both arms with frantic determination, determined to either win victorious, or…to kill. In all truth, both were perfectly synonymous. Tamsin had no doubt in her mind that Nyxara would die that day.
“Your bones will be a nice decoration for my mantle, Wildblood.”
Nyxara couldn’t think of anything but those words as she frantically used her shadows to prevent Tamsin’s blows. As Tamsin swung her arms and legs once more, Nyxara stumbled, giving the bigger opponent the opportunity to stab Nyxara in the thigh with the dagger bestowed upon her by the adoring audience member.
And the Coliseum went silent as Nyxara let out an ear-piercing scream.
Unable to properly use her shadows in such unthinkable pain, she barely dodged a blow to the ribcage, and parried a blow to the chest, but it was no use. She would lose. She would die. And if she died, she would be seen as just another Highborn Wildblood who couldn’t prove herself.
Who wasn’t worthy of her family name.
This was the thought that echoed in her head, occupying her mind as she thought her last moments were to come. Long before she heard a blood-curdling scream, and the cries of members of the audience. Long before she saw that eerie masked figure with an aura as cold as ice, as his arm wrapped in that forbidden piece of technology. Only Wardens could use them, and even that was a stretch if they were not of the Inner circle of the Guardian Initiative.
In a split moment, there was a sharp crack. And Tamsin dropped to the floor, her eyes sickeningly lifeless. Nyxara watched, wide eyed as Tamsin Lynnr’s head lay on the floor, her head twisted in an impossible angle. She looked up as her eyes widened and she scrambled away from the cloaked figure, the palms of her hands bruising with the urgency of her retreat, as her eyes flit from the cloaked man to Tamsyn. Lifeless.
Dead.
The cloaked figure who killed her walked closer, the sound of his boots echoing in the quiet Coliseum, his hood hiding whether his intent was murderous, or of some other abhorrent variety. The warp drive he must have used to teleport into the Coliseum was there on his hand, unimportant at the moment. As if the renowned, rare technology he had used to kill Tamsin was of no importance to him. People murmured about what the man could want. About how he had access to technology only the Guardian Initiative did. What his goal was. Nobody ever knew when it came to the scum that lived in the Void.
And when he touched his hand to Nyxara’s head, no one dared utter a word as he teleported them both out of the Underground.
It's my first ever attempt at writing, I don't have anyone to ask in my personal life, and I want to know if my writing style is good before I actually start the series on here.
Its a dystopian story, and I know I might have to work on being more descriptive. I want to leave my first chapter here (which I might need to make longer), so I can get feedback and see if there is anything i need to change.
I tried not to info-dump, so naturally there will be things that won't make sense until the second or third chapter. But if i did info dump it would be good to know. I want this story to be great. Maybe even something I can publish when im older :)
Please be completely honest :)))
Nyxara wanted her dead.
She had faced the humiliation of losing a fight in the Underground before, but never quite this badly. Fighting in the Underground was akin to a humiliation ritual. Nobody ever won, not truly. If you won one fight, you kept going again and again until you physically couldn’t do it anymore. All who lived in the Void were practically born with an ever-worsening melancholy. The endless fights were meant to sate it. The smell of blood from her nose clouded her nostrils as she jabbed at her opponent with her fist. She fought her hardest, ignoring the belittling cries of the audience, but it was no use. As her opponent dodged and parried her blow, she fell to the ground, her face a mess of blood and bruises, her hands raw and aching from sparring the Underground brute.
The Coliseum was an underground fighting lair, made of stone, and whatever material was left after the war. When the mass majority of a civilization's population is wiped out, it is difficult to maintain technological perfection. The Coliseum was an example of that unfortunate technological setback, and looked more like an exhibition showcasing ancient art than a modern underground fighting ring. With stone walls covered in graffiti, rusting iron decorations that held no technical purpose, and clay bricks uneven in their make, it was simple to see why the place was so overrun with brutes like Tamsin Lynnr.
Tamsin fought like a beast untamed. For such an oaf, she was competitive. Her blows always had to be harder than that of her opponent’s. They had to be more precise, more focused. Deadlier. As Nyxara dodged said blows, her mind wandered to what would happen if she could get Tamsin to lose her control. A few well timed words and counter hits, and she would have her laying on the ground, giving Nyxara perfect permission to show what she could really do. Prove herself. But she needed an excuse to use her advantages. Prove that a Wildblood could make something of herself too.
Yet the rules of the Coliseum were strict. No weapons, no ability enhancing technology, and no uses of advantageous genetic attributes.
Not like that rule applied to Brawns. Those oafs could never turn their strength off.
As Nyxara tried fending off Tamsin, she continued to trip and stumble. Relying on her speed was the only reason she was still mostly unharmed. With Tamsin’s genetic super-strength, it was like a kitten doing her best to ward off a lion. Of the same family, but of different species altogether.
No matter how unfair the rules were, they were strict. There were even scientific barriers to prevent people from using warp drives to teleport into the Arena to help a contestant. Nyxara had always thought such a measure to be unnecessary. That technology was only accessible to the Guardian Initiative.
“PAY ATTENTION!”
Tamsin bellowed at Nyxara, noticing her dazed expression. She felt insulted that the smaller fighter wasn’t even paying attention to the fight, and with a decisive blow, knocked Nyxara to the ground with a punch to the jaw that sent a ringing through her ears, and knocked her over the out of bounds line.
“Eliminated!”
The announcer called for Nyxara’s elimination from the fight as the crowd roared for her opponent, the Brawny brute who had defeated her. As Nyx spat blood to the ground in annoyance, she glared at Tamsin Lynnr, who was sporting a smug smile. She had known Tamsin for years, her family being of importance to the Guardian district, and Tamsin’s was to the Underground. Their fights always ended in a concussion or a broken bone of some sort. But this fight was different. This was the first fight of the Reaping season. A season the Initiative commemorated to remember their “Pureborn brothers and sisters”. Tamsin was a barbarian in every sense of the world, as most people not from the Underground found the Brawns to be. Tamsin turned to exit, leaving Nyxara to her humiliating defeat, when a particularly derelict looking Brawn threw a dagger into the ring, yelling Tamsin’s name with fanatical devotion. Yelling for Tamsin to kill the scrawny intruder.
“That Highborn does not belong in the Underground!”
The man said the title in such contempt, that it sent Nyxara rolling her eyes. She was not a Highborn, she was a daughter of a Warden. Yet a whole world away from the populous of the underground, they all suffered together in the world they called The Void. The man took no notice of her annoyance though, as he cheered and his companions joined him. And at that moment, it seemed that Tamsin had made up her mind.
A menacing look of utmost satisfaction crossed her face as she picked up the dagger, and everyone seemed to share one collective gasp. After all, there was a reason why weapons weren’t allowed in the Underground Coliseum.
“Crap.”
Nyxara fled instantly as Tamsin came running for her, intending to use her power of extraordinary strength to proper use. There had been hostile tension between them for far too long, and for a Brawn, that meant battle. In a moment, Nyxara had turned and harnessed her shadows. As swirling orbs of darkness surrounded her arms. People gawked and murmured, knowing what this was. Unsanctioned fights rarely happened in the Underground, and when they did, they were always a spectacle. Not many people walked away alive from them. Especially when one of those fighters was a Wildblood. Nobody ever wanted the Wildblood to win a fight.
People murmured about Nyxara’s powers, analyzing the capabilities, like people always did with Wildbloods. Murmurs echoed around the room as the words “Wildblood”, and “Freak” were tossed around, referring to Nyxara, but Tamsin ignored them, focusing on her battle. Tamsin charged headfirst for Nyxara, ignoring the subtle weakening of her strength that all Brawns felt upon certain levels of exhaustion. She punched recklessly, swinging both arms with frantic determination, determined to either win victorious, or…to kill. In all truth, both were perfectly synonymous. Tamsin had no doubt in her mind that Nyxara would die that day.
“Your bones will be a nice decoration for my mantle, Wildblood.”
Nyxara couldn’t think of anything but those words as she frantically used her shadows to prevent Tamsin’s blows. As Tamsin swung her arms and legs once more, Nyxara stumbled, giving the bigger opponent the opportunity to stab Nyxara in the thigh with the dagger bestowed upon her by the adoring audience member.
And the Coliseum went silent as Nyxara let out an ear-piercing scream.
Unable to properly use her shadows in such unthinkable pain, she barely dodged a blow to the ribcage, and parried a blow to the chest, but it was no use. She would lose. She would die. And if she died, she would be seen as just another Highborn Wildblood who couldn’t prove herself.
Who wasn’t worthy of her family name.
This was the thought that echoed in her head, occupying her mind as she thought her last moments were to come. Long before she heard a blood-curdling scream, and the cries of members of the audience. Long before she saw that eerie masked figure with an aura as cold as ice, as his arm wrapped in that forbidden piece of technology. Only Wardens could use them, and even that was a stretch if they were not of the Inner circle of the Guardian Initiative.
In a split moment, there was a sharp crack. And Tamsin dropped to the floor, her eyes sickeningly lifeless. Nyxara watched, wide eyed as Tamsin Lynnr’s head lay on the floor, her head twisted in an impossible angle. She looked up as her eyes widened and she scrambled away from the cloaked figure, the palms of her hands bruising with the urgency of her retreat, as her eyes flit from the cloaked man to Tamsyn. Lifeless.
Dead.
The cloaked figure who killed her walked closer, the sound of his boots echoing in the quiet Coliseum, his hood hiding whether his intent was murderous, or of some other abhorrent variety. The warp drive he must have used to teleport into the Coliseum was there on his hand, unimportant at the moment. As if the renowned, rare technology he had used to kill Tamsin was of no importance to him. People murmured about what the man could want. About how he had access to technology only the Guardian Initiative did. What his goal was. Nobody ever knew when it came to the scum that lived in the Void.
And when he touched his hand to Nyxara’s head, no one dared utter a word as he teleported them both out of the Underground.
