Showing posts with label fantasy.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasy.. Show all posts

Sunday, July 30, 2017

The Reaper in the Trunk!

"The Reaper in the trunk!"

The night is really dark and bitter cold,
The candy sour and the movie old,
The car is a beauty from the eighties,
I am Richard on a date with Mercedes.
Can't believe I'm watching this drag
Right after landing with this jet lag,
She fell asleep, there is no one around,
No other viewers, now rain is coming down;
No car roof, I should've brought a raincoat.
Damn this weather, the tickets I bought!
Thought this would be for us a fun time!
My girl, candy, the tickets only cost a dime.
I will go take a look in the trunk for a jacket,
Even though fog is here and the wind is a racket.
Jeez, the noise, is someone in the back?!
Christ!!--  I just saw the Reaper in the Trunk! 


                                    ~ By Asa Rodriguez.

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Saturday, July 29, 2017

The light of the story.


“I think the best stories always end up being about the people rather than the event, which is to say character-driven.”  ~ Stephen King, American author.


As you start to plan a story in your mind, a powerful desire to create rich plot and characters is born, something which can get your interest and burn passionately inside you, to thus motivate you to do your best all the way through the story, from start to finish but to enjoy the creative journey.  A very wise and professional way to do this and be successful at any form of storytelling, indeed emotionally connected, is to mentally personify key elements in that story, to pour and spread yourself in that story; therefore, the most important aspects of that story will be enriched if you write about things and experiences from your own life, and if each character, or at least the main character, has some features belonging to your persona, in order to make the story emotionally rich and real to the reader or audience.  Because there is no more emotion and reality you can talk about than the ones in your own persona and experience.

If you wish to create a character that is really different from you and that has no qualities which can be found in yourself, this is fine also if you have some experience watching people and understanding the psychology of others so you can make this new character pop up in your story; however, your main character (protagonist) will make or break your story, no matter how good the plot is and how much fantasy or action there is, so you will have to extend yourself into this particular character, embody this character in the flesh, know how he thinks and feels, his beliefs and his intentions (you must do this with all characters in your story, but most importantly with your main one).  This is the key to your story’s success, so do not ignore it.

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In the world of film-making, screenwriting mostly (the story’s true creator), it has been stated that invention is often memory in disguise.  And this means that true emotion and connection shall emerge from something you know by heart, perhaps some hint of a experience you had or some trait you have gained from your past.  See, the writer must perform in his mind, be God and be everywhere, rapidly shifting points of view that look at different characters at different moments.  The point here is to create something rich which can really move you and build a passion in you, and at the same time create something which can also move the audience and connect them to you through your work; but, obviously, if you are not successful in this process, it does not matter the wonderful scenarios depicted in your work, your art will suffer and people won’t connect to it.
I have written a screenplay, in early states of production now, called: “Michael Vega: Loose Damned.”  And for the purpose of demonstrating further, I would like to share some lines here.  I have written the main character, Michael Vega, based on me, or at least some traits:

FADES INTO BLACK, we hear rattling of chains and screaming.
EXT. ENTRANCE OF CREEK – MOMENTS LATER
The same disheveled and burned-up man comes out crawling from the quiet waters, breathing heavily while in pain.  He staggers up, looks around confused and lost.
CAMERA FOLLOWS FROM MAN’S POV, right side straight into emptiness, then left side to overlooking empty road.  On post, he sees a sign:

ASHFORD COUNTY LAKE.  HEBER 20 MILES.

Michael (V,O- Voice Over)
           “Hi, my name is Michael Vega.  That much
          I do remember…  And I’m not ordinary nor
          pathetic…”

CAMERA SHOWS HIS FULL FACE AND TORSO NOW, he looks 35 years old, wears the cool black, face significantly scarred.  He limps to rock and sits, sees visions (flashes) of flames and hears chains rattling, cackles and slaves being whipped.  Flashes stop and he agonizes in silence.  Clutches head.


(Side note:  A little explanation.  Notice how Michael is depicted here; this is basically me, because I am also 35 years old now, love wearing black jackets, and Michael also has endured a tough and “hellish” life, just like me in my real life.)

Continues…

Michael (V.O)                       
          “I did something not many do to get here.
          I’m looking for someone.  But this is all
          I will tell you for now, you don’t need
          to know more.  Just remember, I’m not
          ordinary nor pathetic.”

CAMERA PULLS OUT AND FADES IN TO BLACK, all silent except for rattling chains and screams of pain.
EXT. PAVED ROAD – SAME DAY
CAMERA FOLLOWS MICHAEL’S POV, only his heavy breathing and pained grunting are heard.  Straight view of the overlapping empty road, we see nothing but pavement, clear skies and side empty fields for a while.
CAMERA’S ANGLE CHANGES DRASTICALLY, now we see the road and his ominous shadow limping for drama scene, exhausted, about to…
6.
CAMERA SHOWS HIS SIDE BODY COLLAPSING, then zooms to face on the ground.  Centers on eyes squinting and bleeding blood.
CAMERA PULLS OUT AND FADES IN TO BLACK, all silent except for rattling chains and screams of pain…


Magic Book.”
Characters, plot, subplot, tension;
All human experience, emotional connection.
What does magic have to do with storytelling…??
Well, it is all about creating worlds, human compelling.
And why does it have to be richly character-driven…??
Because rich characters create that world, that is a given.
Great movies show and then tell, never the other way around.
Excellent novels free the mind to dream and become spellbound.
I find stories and things coming alive wherever I look,
As soon as I wake up I get lost in my magic book.
~ By Asa Rodriguez



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The genius of storytelling.


 
 
 
 
 
 
 


“The fact of storytelling hints at a fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection.  Where there is perfection there is no story to tell.”  ~ Ben Okri; Nigerian poet and novelist.







Storytelling is, plain and simple, ALWAYS, a performing art. You cannot be a great storyteller if you are not able to build great scenarios in your mind’s eye and specifically direct the scenes with protagonist and antagonist.  You could be a professional writer film-maker, actor, or any other, but you will never connect with any audience at a deeper human level, or bring extraordinary success to your life and craft, if you cannot arrange and control these creative energies in your mind to design incredibly moving scenarios as a great performer.   
Steven King, Spielberg, Leonardo da Vinci, Mozart, they all present this creative power of performing in their minds, they arrange and position every scenario, whether is a moving picture or a still picture–it is all a story, because if it is not a story then it won’t create really deep emotion when the viewer or listener enjoys the art form.

In order to be truly creative genius, real talent which gets to the heart of the public, and, obviously, to the heart of the creator in the first place, there must exist face-to-face experience; however, this experience of the genius creator is not merely the experience of the outer environment, but it is the experience lived in the moment and created by the incredibly powerful mind’s eye.  The performance in the mind of the creator must be pristine and real, it must engage all your emotions and take over the very essence of your cellular composition, and it must feel like you are really there in the scenario and it must answer the questions you open with each movement in your mind; because if you cannot answer those questions, then, the public will not be able to answer them later, they will just walk away due to no deep human connection, specifically due to no INDIVIDUAL CONNECTION.

Extraordinary storytelling is mainly the direct or indirect sense of tension between storyteller and listener/ public, it does not matter the form of storytelling and it does not matter the genre of the story.  See, storytelling is the profound understanding of when tension is growing, remaining leveled, and when it is slackening; hence, if you are not keen or master of this process, chances are, you will not be very good at expressing yourself and connecting to people through the great art of storytelling, even though your intentions and wishes to connect may be heartfelt. 

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Storytelling is seizing the imagination of the audience in a subtle and/or unsubtle way, but always swiftly keeping tension and opening questions in the mind of this same audience, and this art is also connection through the screen, painting, or piece of writing.  That’s all it is.  Raw and uncut, flawed and human; because extraordinary storytelling gets close to life and we must take from it something to elevate the human spirit or to at least give us some meaning of something important to us.  Flawed and human, raw and uncut, I said, because human life itself is flawed as well; therefore, whoever seeks perfection in their art is not a true artist, due to true art being life and life being true art.

In this great art of the human experience, digressions and elaborations, your own twist and turns and individual mannerisms, are welcomed and suggested always; but, and you must pay attention to this very well, first you have to make sure the audience is hooked by the promise of something to come or some form of tension already created.  You as the creator and master storyteller cannot assume that the reader or audience will be as interested as you are in your art form, so you must project a deeper experience with some form of tension first, and once they are involved emotionally or hooked to your story then you can elaborate crazy characters and twists and turns.  This is the golden rule of all genius storytelling. 

Being a master of storytelling is more than just creating art in the professional life, but it goes to the everyday life of the human being as well, for stories are all around us and they are what make human experience of value.  As a master storyteller you will connect deeper and create opportunities for yourself, motivate yourself and others to reach whatever is of importance, and emanate a sense of love into the world.
Because, remember, storytelling is life itself, and life is storytelling itself.
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Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Love, magic, and the immortal warrior.

                                           
                                               “Love, magic, and the immortal warrior”

                               I WAS JUST MORTAL... 

My kingdom lost and buried,
My heart and mind poison carried;
So I dared follow the lonely path,
The violent and destructive inner wrath.
In times where magic had taken all possession,
Family, friends, wise teachers and all connection,
In my life there was not any hint of hope or light,
Or even a romantic and noble poem I could recite.

In my madness I was blind for needed I to make him fall,
My feet hurt, my mind exhausted, but he would pay for all;
And then it happened for a vision of perfection my eyes beheld,
She upon a tree smiled and my heart was instantly compelled.
My wrath quelled for a time because there was magic in the moment;
Her voice, her beauty, her aura, she connected with my torment.

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I was a wretch swallowed and haunted by violent visions of the past,
She saw it in my eyes, in my broken spirit, and she didn’t need to ask.
The connection between us grew, we engaged in conversation for hours,
She became my partner and she, to my surprise, held great powers;
I needed her love and her aid in such quest so we were one and the same,
We shared personal experiences, made meaningful love, expanded the flame.
Then I learned deeply her ways of hating the same evil-spirited foe,
Her family and village utterly ravished under his dark magic and twisted law.

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Once we planned and analyzed with precision our steps to follow,
We ready were to attack, we penetrated the fortress and his hollow;
However, powerful light and dark forces, great magic met,
His dark soul was ready to conquer us and we fought a real threat.
Yes, we almost died, I was beaten badly and she severely wounded;
But light and love finally won, hell took him, and it concluded.

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I took her swiftly into the woods and treated her wounds with deep love,
Aloe and guava leaves, she was cured, angels sang to my ears from above;
Then we ate and got merry because we remained together,
For ever and ever, warriors in love, Sir Alketas and His Lady Saether.

I WAS IMMORTAL NOW.


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Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Moving things...

 

Territory of England, year 1349.  In some godforsaken open field, mud-filthy, where darkness is everywhere.  An unknown hero lies bruised and beaten almost to a mere pulp…



Mind_Control_2

But I did it!  Did I…??…  Yes, I am most certainly sure of it.  In the middle of it, or the end of it.  I dunno, it’s all a blur… or most of it is.  But I was there, and my hands, they were on fire.  I thought that my whole bloody arm was about to burst into the same essence of hellfire itself.  My other arm was rather fine, until it happened.  But my head, it was spinning, rushing like a million demons, and it was burning.  Although not burning like my hands, but it was–it was cold, too cold…??

I cannot even feel it now.  Bathed in blood and guts, can’t feel pain and I don’t know if I am dead or alive, covered in clouds of darkness.  But what really happened…??  Is it within me..??  Some kind of transmutation, as someone surely calls it…??  Energy, isn’t it?  …Well, isn’t it?!…  Magic..??  Boldly the demon vitality rules the outside lands of Wessex, it causes terror on many, but it is good to many more.  At the service of my most noble Lord King, I know this…  The mud is cold now, like my head was…  But I cannot rid myself of these torturous images, it is like some insanity taking over.  See, I moved things.  Men were flying across the polluted air…


Hours earlier, amidst the blood showers and wretched screams of death, the unknown hero wields his sword with beastly mastery…




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Chink!–  I guess I am fighting my enemies with no thought; because thinking is great to be used before war, to plan for it, or to plan a specific move during war.  But, the master taught me, absolute focus and power on the actual battle is reached through a state of no thought; because thought confuses you, it makes you doubt yourself, it compares your strength with the opponent’s, it makes you fearful and weak…  Chink!–  The blades collide in mid air, guts spew like volcanoes in eruption, blood and unknown liquids shower me.  The great obscenities of war surround me.

Absolute focus and power, the mind must be elevated, always in the moment, move with mastery through the moment but don’t strain yourself over it; flow with it, be one with it, and no past or future should rule the mind of the warrior but the moment…  Chink!–  “Living in the moment shall set you free,” master Kundu said.  And I am moving now, but how I move is not relevant; however, moving is, life is movement, “You are life, my son,” he said.

But what--what is it?!  It is calling to me!  But not voices, something bigger, more expressive, more direct in my being.  Shit!–  I can’t stop it.  Chink!–   It flows through me!  It rattles my head!  This godforsaken land, the mud, the clouds of dust, the unrelenting monsters of war.  They keep coming at me.  And I can’t stop.  AAAGGHH!!–  The pain!  I am on my knees, imploring and fighting my enemies at the same time, blood coating me still, my skin torn and bleeding.  The air is cold and screaming in my ears, entering my head, making it all mush!  GGOODD!!!–  What is happening?!  Is my mind, is not…  My hands.  Jesus!–  How am I doing that?!  Am I…  Could it be a dream…??  My enemies are being tossed aside and backwards, here and there without my involvement.

Bloody hell?!–  What is this?!  Some kind of magic??  And–And my head, it–it  bursts!  Woah!–  Am I–Am I moving away from the ground??  It does not seem real.  But it feels real.  But emerging not from out there, emerging from within me…  I can see something coming at me now, like a thousand banshees speeding through the severely polluted air.  It is a form, a shape, a solid object!  What the hell?!–  I cannot move!  Or float out of its way!  And in the midst of all these misery from battle and the loud noises of the swords and hatchets connecting with steel and also bare flesh.  Death below me. 
The massive stone flings at me!  And–And I BLACK OUT…
All is mind. Human evolution dictates how the mind behaves through time; your desire does not, and that is why your mind cannot move things by itself… yet. It takes a HIGHLY ELEVATED mind to do amazing things which are now the stuff from the movies you see. But all is real, nothing is fiction for the forces behind evolution…

Friday, July 14, 2017

Freedom of The Muse.



The position of the artist is humble.  He is essentially a channel.”  ~ Piet Mondrian; Dutch painter.


Many people who try writing creatively, even so-called “experts”, or any creative pursuit which involves great muse and motivation from the subconscious energies of the human being really, made the mistake of thinking more and using freely flowing imagination less.  And I suspect this is the main reason people have designed this “Writer’s Block” that is affecting most of the world’s creativity process.  Intelligence is a tool we have to criticize and analyze, to discern what is good and what is not; however, intelligence is just that, a tool, and shouldn’t get in the way of deep and great creativity, or in the way of the wonderful creative process which emerges from beyond our intelligence or intellect–i.e., which emerges from beyond the conscious, analytic mind of man.

See, the creative process involves forming wild and fantastical images, sensory, emotional and highly intuitive data in your mind’s eye; so, this must be richly loaded with free range of colors, ideas, textures, environments, situations perhaps outside of what is “normal”, etc., and therefore there is no room for the rigidity of analysis or critics–because analysis or critics may destroy the rich creativity.  Creativity must run free and inspirational, not be tied down to a certain way of society or to a rule of creation aspect.  See, using psychology and some ideas extracted from the world of thought and shape we all know is fine to give some structure to the creation itself, but this structure means limitation and rules, so the real creativity comes before all structure and rule take place, and it does not come to your mind forced by you.


The process is not something you force like you force a thought created by a desire, but it is crucial to understand that you have to sit down and free your mind from the imposed rules and expected shapes of a narrative and characters; so, do not worry about what is strategic and real when you create a story or a character, specially when writing a screenplay (because screenwriters are mostly tied down by structure and rules), because that can come later when doing the editing work.  First you have to lose yourself in imagination, lose all inhibition and fear of messing up, without the impositions of your mind criticizing and analyzing your every mental move.  Respect the uniqueness of your higher mind (the subconscious) by letting it create apart from the noise and constant chatter of your monkey mind (your conscious).

A highly creative story is about emotional connection, perhaps of fantastical themes depending on the genre, it is about designing a new paradigm and way of experiencing in people; so, if the writer created with impositions and rules, then, the “magic” for people reading the writer’s work is gone, the substance made out of your deeper imagination is gone, marred by the rules and impositions your analytical mind has created.

Have this mentioned thought in mind whenever you sit down to write anything creative, or whenever you paint, because if you do so it will save you a lot of mental energy being wasted and stress being pushed into the process.

io

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Hell On Earth!

…The  morphing shapes  were  many as  they  trailed behind  the  ominous shadows  of  the  tunnel,  they squiggled  and  portended what  could  be held  for  them; and  they  maintained a  steady  pace, together  in  a line,  believing  in themselves  and  keeping to  their  wits.  And  as  they  kept  moving  forth, background  screams,  machine guns  and  explosions blasted  the  stagnant air  of  the underground;  but,  however, they  did  not waver  or  halt pace.
And they  encountered  voices and  echoes,  most of  them  making  no  sense  to them.  And  they  heard  cackles  and shuffles,  both  nigh and  distant.  And there  was  not  any  normalcy,  logic  or  sanity  in what  reached  their ears.  But  they knew.   They  knew something  was  coming and  they  had to  be  prepared for  the  worst!
The dilapidated  and  rusty handrail  attached  to the  tunnel’s  wall,  then  shook  abruptly and  wouldn’t  stop!  Something  was  definitely afoot.  The  air  rippled  around  them!  Pockets  bloated  the  space  among  them!  Blop–  Blop–  Blop– The  liquid  sludge  next  to them  carried  splashes  and  currents  like  someone  heavy  quickly approached!
And  so  it  happened  that  they  witnessed  a  fairly  distant  light,  and  this  light  was  bright  and  powerful,  and  it  emanated  a  subtle  yet magnetic  pull  that  rippled  the  air and  caused  the  tunnel  to  seem  smaller  and  daunting.  And  they  understood what  this  light  was,  even  though it  was  the  sole  meaning  that  ripped  the  very  core  of  their  fear.
It  was  obvious  this  was  their  main  way  out—as  in  the demon’s  route  out of  Hell!—and  that  is  why  they  were  here  searching  for  them.  They  had  to  seal  this  portal.  They  had  to  succeed.  Otherwise,  chances  were  grim.  Very  grim.  Final,  in  fact.  And  the  risk  was  high,  for  this  wasn’t  a  normal  scenario  by  any  means.  This  was  the  big  leagues.  And  the  time  to  act  was  now.  See,  for  centuries  this  threat  to  humans  had  been  averted,  not  given  any  thought  whatsoever;  oceans  were  calm,  earth  was  stable,  God  watched  over  us,  Satan  tempted  us,  man  reigned  his  own  territory  and  progressed  as  per  own  choice  and  own  will.  But  now  things  were  chaotic,  and  called  for  a  more  substantial/abrupt  approach.  The  Gates  of  Hell  had  been  opened,  and  they  had  to  be  shut.  They  had  to  be  locked.
So  as  this  went  on  with  might,  they  stopped  pace!—  Suspense  climbed  and  razor-sharp  fear  started  to  creep  up  their  spines.  The  core  of  the  mentioned  light  exploded  in  front  of  them!
“Umm.  Gu—Guys,  what  is  going on?”  Kristin  drawled  in  between  grinding  teeth.  “Who—??  Or what—??”
Raphael  and  Praopethuss  kept  vigil,  eyes  following  every  potential  subtleness  in  the  stagnant  air.
“Shhh,”  shushed  Jimmy.  “Gimme  your  hand.  They’re  coming.”
“Who’s  coming?”  She  was  gripping  his  hand  as  hard  as  she  could.
STOMP!  STOMP! STOMP!
“Jimmy,  make it  visual  for us,”  Raphael  said.
Jimmy  struggled  to  loosen  the  grip  she  had  on  his  hand,  then  proceeded  forward.  “Okay.  I’ll  see  what  I  can do.”
STOMP!  Jimmy  stepped  in  front  of  the  group,  sensed  his  surroundings,  knelt,  and  began  physical  contact  with  the  eerie  tunnel.  STOMP!  His  mental  connection  quickly  surged  through  his  arm,  out  his  hand  and  into  the  ground—it  covered  a  large  patch  and  made  it  tremble  slightly,  then  it  interlaced  and  mixed  with  the  air,  it  cleared  simple  view  and  checked  for  any  constructs  in  it.  Ripples  exploded  in  small  gusts  of  air.  But  they  saw  nothing  alarming,  not  any  hidden  demons  or  constructs.  STOMP! STOMP!  But  something  kept  coming,  nonetheless.
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“Sorry.  Nothing,”  he  added.
STOMP!  STOMP!  STOMP!  STOMP!—
“Keep  your  guard!”  Praopethuss  shouted.
And  the  air  vibrated  slightly  and  the ripples  kept  surrounding them.  Thus,  it  grew  and  grew.  And  seconds  gripped the  nerves…
. . .
STOMP!  STOMP!  STOMP  STOMP!—  It  kept  coming  and  echoing  louder  and  louder,  stronger  and  stronger  until  they  saw  the  humongous  shapes  and  silhouettes  that  sent  chills  to  their  spines  and  electricity  to  the  back  of  their  necks.  They  were  humanoid-looking  beasts  of  fairly  large  size  each!  They  came  at  them  like  a  pack  of  wolves  at  the  very  sight  of  their  blocking  stance!  They  wouldn’t  budge—and  so  it  felt  like  the  clash  of  titans  right  in  the  putrid  tunnels  had  started!
They  carried  their  sharp  claws  and  agility,  superhuman  strength  and  concentrated  evil.  Taking  advantage  of  it,  two  of  them  quickly  had  leapt  and  were  now  ferociously  attached  to  the wall  like  slimy  slugs;  and  their growling-and-harsh  sounds  were  piercing and  intimidating,  but,  as  it  were,  they  would  not  cause  an emotional  determent  in Raphael  and  his  Sentients.
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They  drooled  and  emanated  a  foul  stench  that  increased  sickness  and  terror,  their  physical  moves  were  calculated  and  unexpected,  and  they  came  up  the  liquid  sludge  as  well  as  directly  in  the  path  they  were  currently  on.  These  demons  and  Hell  creatures,  Raphael  and  the  rest  knew,  had  come  out  of  the  bright  light,  the  portal  connected  to  Earth  directly  in  the  sewers.
And  one  of  them  came  rushing  atop  Jimmy!  Sluussshhh-Sttaaack!!  Its  slime  was  overpowering  and  disgusting,  and  Jimmy  felt  bathed  by  it,  almost  swallowed  by  it.  “Get him off me!  Get him off me!”  He  tried  setting  himself  free,  writhing  and  punching  at  the  beast,  but  its  tentacles  were  too  strong,  fairly  sticky  and  full  of  mucosa.
Kristin  and  Raphael  fought  ferociously  to  disentangle  Jimmy  and  free  him  from  the  hideous-looking  creature,  but  to  avail  of  nothing.
“Guys,  look!”  Praopethuss  pointed  out  in  back  of  him.  “Over  there!—”
Through  the  darkness  of  the  smelly  tunnel,  in  between  the  splashing  of  beasts  and  the  measurement  of  the  chaos,  someone  came  running  and  jumping  from  the  tubing  attached  to  the  sewer’s  domed  ceiling—a  familiar  shape,  a  light  of  hope  at  that  exact  moment.   And  so  Johnny  came  dashing  and  leaping,  averting  demons,  and  monkey-bar-dangling  with  perfect  precision.  He  was  so  precise  and  fast  with  his  punches  and  dagger  thrusts  that  he  annihilated  the  mentioned  Hell  perpetrators  on  the  spot.
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Johnny  landed  right  next  to  Jimmy  and  the  slimy  creature,  then  pierced  the  blade  firmly  into  it.  “That’s  my  brother,  you  Hell  Spawn!”  A  powerful  light  filled  the  creature  and  it  began  to  crack  like  porcelain!  Then  there  was  a  sudden  burst  of  juices  and  gelatin-like  flesh  and  innards  that  ejected  all  over them!
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Jimmy  could  now  barely  see  through  the  light  but  heavy  skin  of  gelatin-like  substance.  “Damn.  Johnny,  that  was,  um,  that  was  quite  an  epic  entrance.”  His  hands  wiped  off  the crap  from  his  eyes.  “…And  thanks.”
“You’re  welcome, bro,”  he  said  behind  a  grin.  “Now,  let’s  give  them  the  kinda  hell  they  came  here  for.”
“Good  to  have  you  back,”  Raphael  stated.
The  monsters  were  now  attacking  from  everywhere  and  anywhere,  and  the  team  was  firmly  standing  their  ground;  loud  shrieking  and  overwhelming  screaming  were  now  tearing  up  the  air  around  them,  sending  pure  adrenaline  into  their  bloodstream.  And  so  these monsters  were  leaping  violently  atop  them.  They  averted  their  jumps  and  thrusts.  Johnny  managed  to  pierce  many  of  them  using  his  trusty  and  powerful  dagger—which  would  cause  its  victims  to  bleed  to  death  instantly!
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And  there  were  blinding  explosions  and  light  that  shielded  the  beasts’  attacks,  for  Raphael  and  the  rest  used  great  power  and  strength  from  their  inner  auras;  and  Johnny  would  block  their  hell-raising  wrath  with  the  mighty  dagger,  which  continuously  would  pulse  and  emit  powerful  and sizzling  light…