Rules: go to page 7 of your WIP, skip to the 7th line, share 7 sentences, and tag 7 more writers to continue the challenge. Although, like Jules, I don't feel right "tagging" others.
I have multiple works in progress, so here they are. You can also tell that I have a tendency to rather long sentences:
Challenges of the Deeps (Arenaverse 3):
In all directions were almost uncountable alien figures – bipedal, amorphous, multilegged, tentacular, floating – moving into or out of the Gateways, meeting with each other, avoiding others, and passing eventually out of Transition through a great archway into Nexus Arena proper. A Milluk – the same species as Vengeance Leader Selpa'A'At – was walking with spidery elegance alongside a sluglike Shiquan; a massive Daelmokhan's semi-saurian body maintained a slow, dignified pace in order to continue a discussion with one of the Blessed To Serve. A dozen dozen other species, all intermingling, talking, gesturing, moving in a dazzling and, Ariane admitted to herself, somewhat intimidating array of diversity and mystery.
But the very sight sent a thrill through her soul, and she knew she was home. She felt the grin spreading across her face as she stepped forward and headed down the ramp. "We're back, Arena," she said.
Welcome back, Captain Ariane Austin, said a quiet, yet some how profoundly powerful, Voice in her head, a Voice she had heard a few times before: the voice of the Arena itself, or whatever intelligence hid behind and within the nigh-omnipotent Arena.
Princess Holy Aura (first in The Ethical Magical Girl series, hopefully):
Steve goggled down at the slightly oversized rat with its overly-shiny white fur, tiny golden crown, sitting on his hind legs and regarding Steve with a far too knowing look and holding what looked like a star-shaped brooch. "Become what?"
"Mystic Galaxy Defender, Princess Holy Aura," Silvertail repeated calmly.
The repetition of the ridiculous phrase left Steve speechless. He would have laughed, but the situation was not, in fact, funny; instead, he stood there, rubbing his broad face and feeling the never-quite-eradicated five o'clock shadow rasping on his palm, looking around at the monstrous, eyeless corpses scattering the alleyway around him, trying to grasp everything that had happened.
As the ebony bodies began to evaporate like dry ice in the slanting sunlight breaking through the clouds, the ludicrous words finally bounced back into his consciousness. "ARE YOU COMPLETELY BLIND?"
"While ordinary white rats do often have vision problems," Silvertail replied primly, "I can see far better than you – into the soul, in fact, as well as more mundane spectra."
Demons of the Past: Retribution (third in Demons of the Past, a space opera with Weird Stuff)
Understatement indeed, Vick's telepathic voice said. Given what we have learned, bringing one into the center of the Vmee Zschorza might simply be aiding in the destruction of the Meld. Still, this leaves the problem of how to prove the existence of a bodiless, mind-controlling parasite – or, perhaps, of Viedraverion, the being currently going by the name of Shagrath.
"That's true. If we proved he existed – as the monster we claim he is – our other claims would probably be given weight, too." She thought about it a moment. "But again, I can't see how we could actually do that."
Choosing the Players (The Spirit Warriors, volume 1)
Xavier blinked himself slowly awake. A room he didn't recognize. Carefully fitted stonework, painted in a pattern of sunset colors that made the room feel warmer, comforting. A soft bed under him, one that smelled new-washed. His head was slightly elevated, and looking ahead he could see the wall, also of stone with a polished wooden door – currently closed – in the center.
Just tightening his gut in preparation for sitting up warned him that was a terrible idea. A wash of sharp, ripping pain screamed at him to lie back down! He did so immediately; his training with Shihan had taught him to listen to what his body told him, and there obviously wasn't any emergency right now that justified taking chances.
French Roast Apocalypse (Fall of Veils 1, writing this with Kathleen)
He'd be in the center, with the pendant held overhead in the proper position. Around the pentagram he drew runes, and placed small candles at the tip of each point from his travel bag. The candles represented the souls he'd be channeling to cast the ritual.
When finished, he studied the diagram. He was a poor artist, but the design was simple enough to pass, and his inherent mystical talent would make up for the minor deficiencies.
Deliberately, carefully, he stepped into the center of the circle, and lit the candles. The moon was almost at its apex, and the shadows around him crawled and shivered from the faint breeze rustling the trees above.
The Adventure of the Reluctant Detective (short story for the anthology Alternate Sherlocks; technically this one is done but I still may have edits to do depending)
"'Mr. Holmes,' she said without preamble, 'I am assured by certain people of my acquaintance that you are to be absolutely trusted, even in cases of extraordinary nature and sensitivity.'"
"'It is essential to my profession that I am completely discreet and reliable,' I returned. 'I solve cases which the police may not, and this often involves me in events of most peculiar and singular nature.'"
"'This is most assuredly such an event, and one of great horror as well,' she said, and the way in which her voice nearly broke conveyed the stress she labored under.
"I then assured her that I was entirely at her disposal and encouraged her to speak.
"She had returned to the estate following her father's death, and had remained as details of the inheritance, which was divided among the three daughters, were worked out. There were apparently some irregularities with the accounts that drew out the proceedings.
I have one other in progress, but it hasn't quite reached seven pages yet!