I decided to call it Destiny/Truth and make it a series. But here's the first chapter, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

This story has been written before. It’s the cycle of time that some adore, but most despise. War can cause incredible turmoil to the ones on the defeated side, but it brings out the physical strength and intelligence from everyone caught on the brink of their death. The times of peace are much less costly. However, one can develop far too many weaknesses when enjoying even the simplest matters of a day. War and peace must coexist to balance out the sanity of the universe. I want war, and I also want peace. I need someone who is willing to take on the burden of stirring war amongst the stars, but I also need another passionate enough to balance the tyrant they stand opposite to. In the end, all I want is progress.
The city is absolutely beautiful from the sun’s view. Light reflects off clear windows of high rise buildings. The entire city radiates cleanliness, and dulcet sounds emanate from its depth, filled with all the heartbreaking beauty of a soloist playing the oboe. A more terrestrial view reveals details contrary to the birds. Thousands of people throng the streets and every possible corner the streets have to offer overflows with humanity. The horns from condensed traffic drown out any peace of mind within the downtown area. The sides of the buildings are coated with graffiti, and not the presentable kind. Most of the corners have a coffee shop, stuffed with people. Some are reading the newspaper, while others would rather watch the news.
In a city filled with millions of different people, there is only one of interest. Inside one of the most beautiful high rise buildings in the city, lofts are available on the uppermost floors for the very wealthy. Forgotten is the antiquated concept of having a wooden table with a centered vase and pictures surrounding it. The loft is what a loft should be. The only piece of identification at the entrance is a small, brushed-steel plaque inscribed with the name “Calenean” over the doorbell. The hallway entrance, bathed in blue, houses multiple screens on each side displaying anything the user wishes, whether it be the news, weather, sports, or scenes of nature. But this morning, the walls are silent.
The hallway leads into a fully automated great room. The windows tint at the touch of a button or with a verbal command. The furniture pleases the eye with its myriad shapes despite the simplicity of its color. The entire set faces a wall which upon closer inspection reveals itself to be a wall-sized dedicated television. A slim circular staircase in the same room leads directly into an open bedroom above. A solitary, south-facing window lets light shine through onto the bed. The light doesn’t seem to bother the occupant, since he refuses to get out of bed.
Several moments pass. Finally Mr. Calenean shoots out of bed, as if late for an appointment. After launching off the bed, he heads for the bathroom to shower. The blinding morning light penetrating the window obscures his facial features.
He heads into the bathroom, getting ready to shower. From first glance it’s apparent that tidiness is critically important to this man as the entire bathroom is arranged with almost military precision. The floor shines brightly, as if no foot has ever trod over it. The towels are set in descending order, from bath towel to hand towel. Surprisingly, the toilet seat is down. The toothbrush is perfectly placed next to the paste.

Mr. Calenean takes his time in the shower. He rests one hand against the water handle for a few moments and hangs his head down, lost in contemplation. Steam snakes the entirety of the shower stall, blanketing his face and most of his body. Awakening from his trance, he turns the water off, briskly dries himself off with the bath towel, and sets it on the rack again, folding it carefully before doing so.
He strides purposefully into the bedroom and heads to the closet to retrieve his clothing. Despite the cavernous dimensions of the closet, it contains only one set of clothes and a long, silky cloak. First, he puts on a vest-like top of dark grayish hue. There are no zippers and the top is thin. Next, he pulls on his pants which are also dark and somewhat baggy. His pants are long, running clear down to the heel of his shoes, which have the distinct appearance of black high-tops. The shoes are simple in design with the end having the appearance of steel toed boots. Lastly, he straps on his belt, leaving the loose strap hanging down. Dressed for efficiency of movement and comfort, he grabs one last object before leaving. The object appears to be shiny, and Mr. Calenean snaps it onto his belt quickly with practiced movement, and as his hand stretches to close the closet door, his cloak falls in place making identification of the object impossible. Whatever the object, it appears to be extremely light as he handles it with ease.
Mr. Calenean strides confidently out the front door, without even bothering to properly close and lock the door. A few steps bring Mr. Calenean before the large steel elevator doors. He reaches out his left hand to strike the down button and his thumb twists over the ring on his middle finger, so that the face of the ring is aligned properly. The ring is set with a large round stone in the center carved with an unidentifiable script. While the stone is dark in color, the surface appears to swirl with colors of the sea, ranging from emerald green to deep blue.
The elevator doors open silently and Mr. Calenean wastes no time stepping inside. The inside of the elevator is rather dark and lacks adornment, but retains a minimalist beauty, perfectly in keeping with the tastes of the occupant. Mr. Calenean does not fidget as the elevator progresses ever downward. There is no sound other than the slight hum from the elevator as the numbers scroll down. Finally a soft bell rings, and the elevator doors slide open.
It is quite warm outside, and although Mr. Calenean’s outerwear in such weather should be cause for question no one seems to pay any heed as they talk on their cell phones, shout for their taxi cabs, eat their hotdogs or drink their coffee. Nothing deters Mr. Calenean as he walks in a straight path, forcing people to move around him.
As he walks along, a little girl bumps into Mr. Calenean forcing him to break stride. The two stare at each other for several moments, but fear of the man in the cloak finally overtakes the girl as she shouts, “Sorry!” in apology.
Mr. Calenean shrugs in response and begins to walk past the kid. The girl however, suddenly shedding her fear, doesn’t allow Mr. Calenean to pass. She sidesteps in sync with his movements keeping him from proceeding forward. Having no patience for kids’ games, Mr. Calenean stops suddenly.
“Move,” he says in a cold voice.
“Fine!” she shouts.
She steps aside with a petulant look on her face. After taking just a few steps forward, she suddenly spins around on her heel, facing Mr. Calenean. He begins to get an eerie feeling between his shoulder blades, so he slowly turns back to look at the girl. Her eyes seem to glow slightly taking on an

alien appearance as they focus intently on him. An indulgent smile spreads on her young face and her features resolve into an expression entirely too mature for such a young girl, and with the voice of a woman she says, “You’re not ready.”
He’s stunned. His thoughts have splintered into nothing but confusion, and yet within that chaos is the awareness that she has just given voice to his innermost thoughts. A disjointed, “Huh?” escapes his lips.
“There isn’t much time. You know what’s coming.”
Mr. Calenean finally gains control of his thoughts enough to inquire, “Who are you?”
The child merely grins in response. Mr. Calenean takes an angry step forward but is prevented from further inquiry by the protective appearance of the child’s mother. The worried mother directs a withering glance at Mr. Calenean before she grabs her daughter’s arm and forcefully drags her away. The child turns her head towards him as she is being led away and Mr. Calenean searches the child’s face for any evidence of what just transpired, curious to see if there will be another strange outburst. As the child allows herself to be pulled away, Mr. Calenean can hear her mother speak angrily to the girl, “Come here! Why were you bothering that man?”
“But, mom, he was bothering me!”
He turns his head away from the child and looks down at his feet trapped in a moment of indecision. His eyes track a crack in the sidewalk as his mind attempts to assimilate the odd encounter. Having finished weighing his options, Mr. Calenean collects himself. With a shrug of his shoulders he shakes off the entire episode and continues walking. After a short walk, he finally arrives at his destination. Ever mindful of trouble, Mr. Calenean quickly glances up and down the street before entering.
The lobby, like the rest of the city, does not want for occupants. People dressed in suits trudge off to work, clients arrive for appointments with attorneys, patients scurry in to and from doctor visits, and even more suits attend meetings. The lobby area is richly decorated with beautiful oak wood furniture, gleaming with polish. Every table boasts a shiny gold pen, and every visitor has a host to attend him. An impossibly tall waterfall cascades down through the center of the building all the way down into a beautiful glass basin centrally located in the lobby. Couples nestled around small round tables enjoy drinks and appetizers with a discreet team of servers attending to their every need.
Mr. Calenean takes it all in a glance. He spies the only object of interest to him. The building directory is located on a granite pillar off to the left of the entrance. Mr. Calenean intently scans the names as his right index finger scrolls down the chart searching for his quarry. His finger suddenly stops and a smile stretches across his lips as he taps the pillar twice. Mr. Calenean calmly walks to the elevator.
During the elevator ride he allows himself a moment to deliberate as he stares up into the elevator light. Mr. Calenean slowly lowers his head back down and he stands in an almost meditative pose. His stance shows no hesitation, but doubts seem to plague him.
“Do you believe in magic?” he muses aloud. “I do. It’s all around us. From one world to the next, nothing can exist without it.” He pauses his monologue long enough to release an irritated sigh. “You simply choose to ignore it. You engulf yourself in this dream, this... Delusion. You live your life day

by day oblivious of what lies beyond. Why? Because you accept your fate. You accept to be beneath it all. You refuse to believe in something great. That is why. That is why-”
“Ahem,” the elevator host clears his throat in an awkward attempt to interrupt Mr. Calenean’s esoteric speech, fearful the man might be suffering from dementia. “Your stop, sir.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Calenean replies.
As he walks out of the elevator, the host shakes his head as he mutters, “Weirdo,” under his breath.
Mr. Calenean steps into the reception area. There is nothing but a desk and two sets of doors. There are no chairs, not even behind the receptionist’s desk. There is nowhere to go, except through the two sets of doors to the left and right. It is difficult to move the eye away from the desk as it is constructed entirely of gold, as if the richest man in the world works beyond the doors, and his receptionist is exactly what one would expect. A beautiful young woman of average height with pale skin and perfectly groomed hair wearing a neat suit stands comfortably behind the desk as if she were created in conjunction with the desk. She is one of those women who is forgotten the moment she is no longer in sight, despite all her beauty. Mr. Calenean explains to the receptionist that he has a meeting with the man named on the gold plate. She nods her head in response to his statement and explains to Mr. Calenean that he is welcome to enter the office beyond at any time through either set of doors.
The receptionist fills the silence by saying, “Can I offer you a beverage, sir? I would be happy to prepare you a drink if you like.” Mr. Calenean walks to the doors on the right without responding.
While the office beyond is enormous, it’s utterly devoid of light. This office in its profound blackness is almost the antithesis of the lobby and its sparkling bright beauty. Only two pools of light exist in this space. One source of light comes down from a small light in the ceiling which acts much like a spotlight illuminating only a small round portion at the entrance of the room. The other light comes from a small lamp which sits on the desk. The darkness in the room is so oppressive that the light is only able to illuminate the hand of a man while he writes at the desk.
The man pays Mr. Calenean no attention, as he continues filling out some business paperwork. Mr. Calenean cautiously takes a few steps forward, in an attempt to draw the man’s attention. He must be writing something important since he refuses to drop the pen.
“I really do admire you,” the man says. No matter that his sentence is simple, the man’s voice is so peculiar it is rather difficult to pay attention to his words.
“How so?” Mr. Calenean replies.
“Every time I think I’ve killed you, you’re ready to fight again. How you still have the energy to teleport from planet to planet following me is amazing. Why do you keep fighting?”
The man’s voice, Mr. Calenean realizes, sounds fused. His voice sounds as if two men were speaking, with one voice overlaying another, or perhaps the voice of a man and, possibly something else. Mr. Calenean stares on, wondering why he actually does keep fighting. “Destiny.”
“No,” the man snaps at him. “Destiny was our first battle. Now you’re just lost. You need to accept the truth. Truth makes death a much easier process. Do you even remember our first battle?”
“I remember every second of it,” Mr. Calenean snaps, staring at the single source of light above. “But it’s different this time. I don’t know why, but I know it’s different this time. I know you die, Ezyel, here and now!”

Mr. Calenean pulls his hood back, finally revealing his face. The three scars running vertically along the left side of his face testify to the fact that Mr. Calenean is a seasoned fighter. He’s clearly gotten Ezyel’s attention since the pen has dropped from his hand. The man slowly pulls his hand away from the light.
“You know nothing,” Ezyel says in a calm tone. “You’ve become uninteresting. I promise this time you will disappear along with this world.”
The room is completely silent; a pin drop could be heard even if it fell only inches from the floor. Mr. Calenean’s eyes are focused past the desk, off into the darkness. He won’t, or can’t, blink even for just a moment. In the next instant, the desk flies towards Mr. Calenean. He reacts instinctively, ducking to dodge the massive desk by only a hair’s width. The desk shatters on the wall behind him, and Mr. Calenean reaches for the object attached to his hip, a silver sword with a gold sinuous strip curving the length of it. Purple and gold lines adorn the handle, while a black leather cord is strategically wrapped around the handle, functioning as a grip.
Mr. Calenean does not dare take his eyes off the area where the desk used to sit. He squints into the darkness hoping to identify a shape or movement before it is too late. After what seems to be an eternity, he quickly raises his eyes to scan the area above. He curses under his breath as the takes note of the enormous black dragon descending into the light, with his wings flapping very slowly, just enough to keep him elevated. The transformation was quicker than expected. There is no trace of humanity in this creature, and although there is no external evidence of a human being inside the dragon, Mr. Calenean knows that the man behind the desk and the dragon are in fact the same being. The dragon’s smile, if it can be called such, is menacing, and the teeth are as black as the rest of him. His massive tail is as long as his body, tapering down to an extremely sharp end, perfectly suited for skewering. The tail moves agilely, making it a death sentence to even attempt to go near it.
This battle doesn’t seem to be their first, but it will be their last, as they intend it to be. The two never take their eyes off each other. Mr. Calenean is in an offensive stance, with his left leg bent forward, ready to lunge at his enemy. A moment of silence is shared between the two. Mr. Calenean suddenly launches himself towards the demon, ready to take Ezyel’s neck with a single swipe of his sword. Ezyel casually blocks the attack with just his wrist, and swiftly retaliates with a swing from his tail. Always on the alert, Mr. Calenean dodges the swipe by kicking off Ezyel’s shoulder. He comes back down atop Ezyel with a downward thrust of his sword. Ezyel grabs the sword, and gets a hold of Mr. Calenean by the neck.
After a brief struggle, Mr. Calenean manages to free himself, landing safely back on the ground. Ezyel throws the sword back at him. Mr. Calenean becomes frustrated, ready to attack Ezyel again, who at this point, has been rendered invincible. Heedless to the futility of his endeavors, Mr. Calenean readies himself for another attack. Suddenly everything goes pitch black, and time itself seems to cease. A trace amount of diffuse light coalesces close to where Ezyel hovers, rendering an outline of his body visible. Ezyel’s wings, along with the rest of his body, have frozen in place.
“I’ve waited so long for you.”
“Huh?” Mr. Calenean is shocked, completely unaware of what has happened. “Who are you?”
“You aren’t ready.”
He is almost offended by the woman’s comment. “We’ll see.”

“I can already see.”
The woman is gone. Time continues. Ezyel realizes Mr. Calenean is going to attack again.
“Futile,” Ezyel says. “This ends now…”
Ezyel spreads his wings completely, as they now face upward and flap with enormous strength. A white shroud of light with purple electricity covers Ezyel. Mr. Calenean must cover his face or be blinded by light. He simply stands there, knowing nothing can stop the attack now. Everything around Ezyel becomes absorbed, and Mr. Calenean himself is being drawn in. The voice comes to him again, but time continues, “One more chance.”
“I don’t need you!” Rufus shouts.
“I can help you, but I need to know now. All my energy will be expended. Tell me now!”
Mr. Calenean takes a final look at Ezyel. Judging by his swift decision, the attack is more than capable of wiping everything around the monster. “Fine!”
He is abruptly yanked downward. Mr. Calenean feels as though he is falling in an endless black hole. After some unknown period of time, several planets rush toward Mr. Calenean. So many worlds of different colors, people, and wildlife pass by him as he continues to plummet. He is being pulled along much too quickly for him to make out any details. Everything zooms past before he can get a clear picture. For unknown reasons, he slows down at one planet. Suddenly the planet tilts up slightly and rushes towards him. Just as Mr. Calenean begins to fear he will be crushed against the surface of the planet, it stops. He notices a child standing atop a bridge. Fires rage all around the child, filling the forest with smoke. The young boy is holding a sword, barely able to stand. The boy grasps the sword with his life and a wild look of anguish and fury envelopes the boy’s face as he runs towards a white light.
“Wait!” Mr. Calenean shouts as he observes the kid.
He tries to reach out for the boy, but grasps nothing. An unseen force reaches around Mr. Calenean’s waist and he is pulled extremely hard at a much faster rate than before. Every breath he has ever taken has been expelled from his lungs, but the force drags him relentlessly down, down, down. It feels like he’s travelling halfway across the universe. A small light begins to appear in the distance, looking like it’s his destination. Mr. Calenean cannot slow down at any rate, and slams into a field of flowers, knocking him unconscious.
The flowers are all rich in color, from violet to bright red. Even the darkest purple shines brightly in the sunlight. The field of flowers is surrounded by a forest of tall, thick trees. In the background are mountains as high as the sky can reach, with clouds passing around them. The roar of a waterfall can be heard in the distance but the only visible evidence of the waterfall is a cloud of mist. About twenty feet away from the field is a small wooden house, with a windmill rotating next to it. The front porch to the house is very short. Walking just a few steps on the porch would force a visitor inside the house. A single wooden chair on the porch rocks freely along with the wind.
Mr. Calenean has been unconscious for several minutes. A girl walks towards him, stopping just before hitting his elbows. She leans over him with her hands on her knees. She observes him in a very curious manner, but careful not to not touch him, as she already spotted his sword. Mr. Calenean begins to blink. He finally wakes up.
“Hi!” she shouts in a high, cheerful tone.
He wasn’t ready for that. “What?” He can barely think, much less do anything more, like talk as he is still trying to recollect himself from his abrupt landing.
“Hi?!” she shouts again in a confused manner.
“I heard you.”
“Oh. Sorry.” The girl bites her lip, fearful she has offended her visitor.
Mr. Calenean begins to get up, staggering. Struggling to maintain his balance he drunkenly stumbles all over the flowers that were once all in harmony.
She glares at him, furious. “You’re on my flowers!”
Mr. Calenean shakes off what seems like a headache from the fall. Even in his haze he cannot help but notice the girl’s distress over the demise of her flowers.
“What’s your name?” Mr. Calenean asks.
“My name?” She seems a bit confused and swiftly sprints into her house. Scratching his head, Mr. Calenean observes her behavior in confusion and then awe as she stands before him once again just a few moments later. “Zellie!” She exclaims.
He nods in response and immediately takes stock of his surroundings. Apparently buoyed by her pronouncement, Zellie smiles and cocks her head to one side and politely inquires back, “You?”
“Me what?”
Her face crumples. He understands her question, but doesn’t care to answer. He does not even pause in his investigation of the area, and some of his annoyance at being so directly questioned leaks into his voice as he answers, “Rufus.”

I'm sorry, I got bored in the opening paragraph. I picked a couple of sentences out of the rest and I think it sounds quite professionally written. I'm not a professional writer (though I'm trying to learn), but as a reader, nothing gripped me and held my interest.

Edit: Oh, you're missing a storyline too. I have no idea what the story is about and why I'd even want to read your story.

Not many people are going to slog through the wall of unformatted text.

You need to SHOW not tell. Don't blah blah blah to us about how war can cause turmoil but it brings out the strength in people, show me that. Make me care about a character that demonstrates the turmoil, and the strength.

Cut this in half.

At the very least.