Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXXXI (1,481): "Specter of Fear" -- The Specter of Fear is released.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO:
Maul's Siblings

"What. The. Veil. Are. You. Doing?" Singularity said, when he caught Malice, who was about three-quarters of his height, holding the oblong container that contained the remainder of the fiends, the remainder of the late Maul's younger siblings. She looked as if she was going to shuffle off and plant another one of the dead Maul's siblings at a specific location for a RAFian to come out and fight. And this was what Malice told Singularity in a very cavalier manner, seemingly unaware of Singularity's distaste for such an endeavor and attempting, unconsciously, to garner his approval.

"So," Singularity said, with a snap like a fallen tree branch to his voice, and he apoke to her as he would a particularly slow-witted child, "you've wasted time and energy doing this inane little exercise in futility. You know these creatures don't represent any actual threat to them?"

Malice opened her mouth to begin her retort, but Singularity wasn't done reeming her just yet.

"So, after each of your schemes fail, this is what you do?" he said, his voice full of disapproving dismissal. "Scheme after scheme, failure after failure, you do this to knowingly accrue more and more failure?"

Then he gave her such a piercing glare that plantlife would have withered away before it, but he wasn't using his laser beam eye power. And Malice was lucky that the Omega Sanction was not a power of Singularity. Even Malice quelled at that glare, which she felt quite odd. She was the one that gave the glares, not received them. Yet, she did not know why she felt the need to comply to this being, this gestalt entity, before her.

"It's almost, as if you don't have any intention on winning," he said, voice like an Artic evening. "That you come up with these ridiculous schemes and overly-elaborate plans only for them to be deliberately solved or unravelled in the end."

"Your Hammer scheme failed, too." she said, trying to, in an uncharacteristicall y meek manner, reassert her dominance over Singularity. Only it didn't work -- as she never had any dominance over Singularity to begin with, and she knew it, but refused to acknowledge it.

"I never intended for it to succeed," Singularity said, his tone somehow colder. Yet, oddly charming in the same way. "It was but a mere test to confirm or debunk some of my theories, as well as gathering some valuable intelligence for me. I didn't do it simply because boredom or a need for childish entertainment drove me to act, like you."

Malice, with no swift comeback for once, just rummaged from within the oblong container for another one of Maul's younger, less sentient siblings to sacrifice to the RAFians. There was not as many now, and she was just picking them at random at this point. But Singularity was not having it. He was not having this insubordination.

Malice was surprised when the container was roughly wrested from Malice before she chose a dehydrated orb capsule to use, and she was about to protest, but Singularity silenced her with merest look.

He used his energy laser vision, and flame-breath to annihilate the container and its contents. Maul and his siblings were all gone now. Obliterated to oblivion.

Malice gave Singularity a death glare, only to quell at the glare he gave her. He said, in a cruelly measured tone, "You do not act without my consent again. You do not speak without my consent again. You work for me now."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away. His footsteps echoing behind him.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXXXII (1,481): "Specter of Power" -- The Specter of Power is released.

New chapter.

BOOK CLXXXIX:
SHENECRON'S PETS
CHAPTER ONE:
The Masters Song

Cloak slept, and he knew he was sleeping. He knew he was dreaming. And this dream brought him to Masters Avatar, Guardian, and Sage. His paternal ancestors -- well, three of them, anyway.

Without any preamble, Master Avatar sang, with more energy than Cloak thought he had. It was almost as if this was squash-and-stretch cartoon.

"Heigh ho, do you know
The names of the Nexus diasters
That ushered in the new Masters?"

Master Sage sang, albeit a bit more stiffly:

"Master Avatar was the first, you see.
He and Benign started off our family tree."

Master Guardian sang:

"Master number two would be
Master Progeny, and then number three --"

Master Avatar:

"Master Scholar stayed up to write
A reproach late at night.
So she and her husband had a great big fight,
And she made him sleep on the couch all night."

Master Sage:

"Master Headstrong never had a son
When he fought the War of [untranslated]."

Master Guardian:

"Master Watcher's colossal nose
Was bigger than Pinocchio's."

Master Avatar:

"master Bravado was number six
And it's his uncle's butt he kicks,
And learns to play politics.
Then Master Valor's the one that the elements pick."

Master Guardian:

"Master Batty, number eight,
Had a one-term shot as chief of state."

Master Avatar:

"Master Slider, how do ya praise?
That guy was dead in thirty days!"

Cloak raised an eyebrow, but was ignored as the song continued.

Master Sage:

"Old Master Playful, he gave people pause."

Master Guardian:

"And after him came Master Jaws."

Master Avatar:

"Master Ambition liked to smoke,
His breath killed friends whenever he spoke."

Master Sage:

"Right now, really nifty,
Master Horn's in."

Master Avatar:

"Young and fierce was Master Swift,
The man without a chin."

Master Guardian:

"Followin' next a period spannin'
Four long years with Master Chilvery.
Then the south starts shootin' cannons
And we got a Civil War."

Then all three sang to the tune of "I Wish I Was in Dixie":

"A war!
A war down south!"

Master Avatar:

"Up to bat comes old Master Unnamed."

Master Guardian:

"There's a gal who's really thinkin'!"

Master Sage:

"Kept the Nexus from shrinkin',
Saved the ship of state from sinkin'!"

Master Guardian:

"Master Lotsa's next,
She had some slight defects."

Master Sage:

"The Council each would impeach --"

Master Guardian:

"And so the elements now elects --"

Master Avatar:

"Master Gila, we will grant,
Would scream and rave and rant --"

Master Guardian:

"While drinkin' whiskey, although risky,
'Cause he'd spill it on his pants."

Master Avatar:

"It's [untranslated] and the Council would gloat.
But they're all amazed when Master Crimson, dazed,
Wins by just one vote."

Master Guardian:

"Master Cozy someone really hated
'Cause he was assassinated."

Master Sage:

"Master Guardian gets instated.
Many years later, she faded."

Master Guardian:

"For Master Nibble, really fat,
Elected twice as a diplomat.
Then Master Bright, and, after that,
It's Master Loyal up to bat."

Master Avatar:

"Master Foresight charged up Overlooking Hill."

Master Sage:

"And Master Wool, she gets the bill."

Master Avatar began:

"In [untranslated], Master . . ."

The three sang in unison:

"Mooooonochrome, son,
Takes us into Nexus War I!"

Then there was a brief military cadence, which Cloak found that he didn't care for.

Master Avatar:

"Master Razorback, he does fine."

Master Guardian:

"It's Master Silverback next in line."

Master Sage:

"And then in [untranslated],
The market crashes and we find --"

Master Avatar:

"It's Master Support's big debut.
He gets the blame and loses to --"

Master Guardian:

"Master Speedy, Master who
Helped us win in Nexus War II."

Master Sage:

"Master Seeker, weird little speaker,
Has a long life, and when he's done --"

Master Avatar:

"It's Master Howl, who's got the power
From [untranslated] to [untranslated]."

Master Guardian:

"Master Glider, he got shot,
So Master Web takes his spot."

Master Avatar:

"Master Worker, he gets caught
And Master Strike fell down a lot."

Master Sage:

"Master Tailstrike liked camping trips."

Master Avatar:

"And Master Pinch's speeches' scripts
All came from famous history quips,
And Master Copper said, 'Read my lips.'"

"What is this all about?" Cloak asked, before they could continue onto Master Whirlwind.


SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=oc3xTj3g9QQ

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXXXIII (1,483): "Specter of Shame" -- The Specter of Shame is released.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
A Pet Project

Shenecron paced around his "little" palace in Hell. Unlike lower demons, he could leave and return at will. It wasn't really a prison for him as it was to them. He never really pondered on this, as he'd much rather devote his time and energy into other, far more rewardiing pursuits. There was nothing to be gained from delving into his own past, his own history.

He thought this, despite doing that precise thing in order to manipulate his potential "clients" into signing his contracts. (Funny how they never seem to read the fine print, and almost always take him at his word.) It's amazing how just a little misdirection, a little reframing, and a little manipulation usually succeeds in getting clients to sign, when e wording and rhetoric of each contract is immensely against their farvor, with several loopholes that Shenecron can exploit with gratuitous abandon. None of his clients have ever been able to fight back against his contracts -- they were always ironclad.

But the fun in it was watching them try. Try and hope, try and hope, try and hope -- only to inevitably fail and forfeit their souls, usually, to him. Each mark -- er, "client" -- required a bit of methodical study and intimate interrogation to find the best way to craft the contract to sucker them and benefit him. But that's the fun of it. Waiting them to try and fail, to watch the hope slowly drains away, or when they think they have one over him, when he was playing twelfth-dimensional chess, and was already three or four steps ahead of them.

He couldn't really put his finger on which parts of this he liked best, but he was exceeding good at it. So much so, he actually had a surplus of souls. He only kept the real prizes in his little hidden garden, and the other souls were kept in bauble-sized soul jars, which he could wear as jewelry if he had an inclination. He reveled in this unexpected wealth, but he found himself . . .

Dissatisfied. He had all a demon could ask for. Easy entrance and exit to Hell, at his very whim. Abundance of wealth. No one to order him to do anything. A feared name in mortal realm. And yet . . .

He paced around the room, with an irritated, anxious stride, takin it in, as if he hadn't seen his room before. The floors and walls made of hellfire-cured and decoratively placed obsidian and acanthite, polished to a pristine sheen. The fixtures were made of Stygian ironwork, though, which still complimented the "edgy demon lord" aesthetic he was going for nicely. The room alone pretty much screamed opulence, and was somewhere between a sitting room and a bedroom. But, since demons had no need for sleep, there was no bed upon which to sleep. There was comfortable chair upon which to sit (acanthite and ghostly white velvet), and a couch (obsidian and blood red velvet) upon which to recline. And the room wasn't particularly small -- it was about the size of a moderately-sized hotel room, if not a tad larger. But this was one of the smaller rooms in his over-elaborate Hell-home.

He continued to pace along the floors black as darkness and shadows, wondering why he was in such a foul mood at the moment. He was being waspish and testy, and he couldn't put his finger on why he was feeling such a way, until he realized he was miffed at Demos. It was an old sore point, his little half-brother.

His scowled deepened the more he thought of him, Demos. That little twerp never had any proper demonic pride, Shenecron thought angrily. Rubbing shoulders with mortals and half-angelic slime -- behavior unbecoming a demon, let alone a Prince of Hell. It was irritatingly embarrassing. The stupid little brat was under the impression that he was "bettering" himself by doing these ings that Shenecron thought were utterly, utterly shameful. Mortals were nothing more than tools, means to an end, or mere playthings to inhabit and enjoy hedonistic pleasures in. And tricking them with contracts that they mistakenly believe that they are in favor of was just nothing but a favored pasttime. That was as much worth as he saw in them, despite coveting their souls as a form of Hellish currency.

There was hypocrisy in this worldview, of course, but, as with all hypocrites, Shenecron failed to see any hypocrisy in these assertions.The concept of him being wrong was as foreign to him as Earth was to Mars. Shenecron stopped pacing around, his humanoid draconic form dressed in a strangely stylish silk Armani suit (something that Demos also had a taste for) as he planted his hands upon his dresser, wear he kept the other suits of a similar caliber, neatly folded and extremely well-cared for.

"I must teach him how to have proper pride," he decided, standing up straight, brushing some debris that seemed to have sought out his suit's right lapel. He spoke in a very Seussian, Grinch-like manner. It was almost as if he was animated by Tex Avery. " But how? "

Then he thought back to his garden, then his spare souls. Then he got a very nasty idea, a pet project, if you would. . . .

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXXXIV (1,484): "Specter of Guilt" -- The Specter of Guilt is released.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
Truly Scary Face

Shenecron went through his excess, disposable souls to find a particular one. He tapped into but a fraction of the Octoessence's collective powers, the ones they forfeited to him when they hadn't bothered to read the fine print on the iron-clad, verbal contract. He used it to generate an empty shell, a body made for a very special occupant.

The shell was bore some resemblance to a red-skinned, ogre, with an acanthite-lined, Stygian iron cage-like helmet on its head. This metal helmet had two horns protruding from the sides of it, like the helmet of a viking. The cage's door had six bars, four of which are in the center of the door. It opens upward, as a single piece, and the lock in the very center and bottom of the cage door staying on the bottom. Connected to this cage is its armor, which wraps around its shoulders and goes halfway down the chest. The armor is connected to their back underpants by chains, with a metal waistline matching the color of its armor. Its arms were long and misshapen, with weed-like spikes coming out of them and its fingertips were pointed. It also had a visible belly button. The glow from its red eyes can be seen through its helmet's bars.

The helmet was as much of a precaution for Shenecron as for the soul he intended to install into the demonic shell. The soul belonged to the same species, which was decidedly not human, but a species that Shenecron did not know the name of or the name of their homeworld. But that was superfluous. Unneeded information for what he needed. But he remembered how he managed acquire this soul, and he smiled at the very memory of it, as he installed the soul back into a shell that was a near carbon copy of its old body, which was long since disposed of.

***

His name was Hydus Nebb. And he was alone. He had never met another of his kind, and he had thick, vine-like hair covering his green body. His eyes glowed green between these locks. He was alone . . . he was always alone.

But it was never by choice. He never wanted to be alone. He wanted to hold a significant other close, to feel the love and affection from that person. He yearned for such companionship, and was greatly dismayed every time he did . . . every attempt he made . . . every single one . . . was met with, not only failure, but each prospective partner ran away, terrified, when they saw his face. It was a facet of his species of his kind, but it also worked on other members of his kind. He had the misfortune of being uglier, with a scarier face, than others of his kind.

It wasn't fair, he bemoaned to himself. What had he done to deserve this? Why was he condemned to be so lonely? What had he done? He did his species equivalent to crying, and did so unabashedly. Why feel bad about doing it in such a public, albeit abandoned, space? He lamented as to why he was doomed to be alone forever. He was wallowing self-pity, which had become a common past time for him, sitting on this log, in front of this swampy forest.

"You don't have to be alone," a voice said, at roughly five o'clock to him.

Hydus jumped, and looked around. He had thought he was alone. He felt excitement at the presence of another person, but he also the anxiety of the inevitable fleeing of this newcomer once whoever it is glance its hideous face.

But what he saw was a member of his kind, but with what looked like a horned, spiked tea kettle upon his head. It did not look as if he could see out of it, but that might make it so that Hydus could communicate and possibly have a relationship, he dared to dream. He didn't really care that the person before him had skin that was bleached white, with black underwear-like garment and armor.

"I can make it so that you're not lonely," he spoke again. The voice was subtly intoxicating. Hydus never had a conversation last so long. He was savoring contact with another person. He had been so alone for so long . . .

"I can make it so that no one will fear you, or your face," he said. Hydus scarcely dared to believe him. His breathing became a tad staggered as the implication of this reached him. He didn't want to believe it, for fear of being let down. He . . . he could have contact with others, he could . . . could have friends. Perhaps something more. . . .

"For six days," Shenecron said, his disguise only slipping for the merest of seconds. "Got that? Three days."

Hydus looked crestfallen.

"Six days to find true love, and true love's kiss," Shenecron said, with an enticing tone, "succeed and your new face would be perfect -- permanent. Fail . . . well, just don't fail."

Hydus could see the problems with this, but the offer was far too illecebrous to pass up. Even if he failed, he would know companionship. He would know kinship. He would never be lonely again.

"What must I do?" Hydus said, speaking for the first time.

Within his helmet, Shenecron smiled deeply, as he presented Hydus with a quill and a parchment. "Just sign, and it'll be done."

Suddenly, Hydus's face reversed and it became the most beautiful face by the standards of many species. Hydus was immediately pleased -- newly signed contractees always were pleased initially. Before they realize how Sisyphian their tasks were actually.

Hydus's face wasn't deterring other members of his species, but literally attracting them. But their faces affected him. He found himself be beset by females of his species, but he found their faces terrifying. So much so, he forgot the terms of the contract he signed. Soon, the six days were up, and Shenecron came, ditching his disguise and claimed Hydus's soul as his property.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXXXV (1,485): "Specter of Illusion" -- The Specter of Illusion is released.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
First Attempt

Shenecron loved reminisces of these conquests. He reveled in this memory, and all the other memories of innocent people that he manipulated ever so easily with godlike cunning . . .

But he had a task before him that required the use of a minion. A task that he didn't want to sully his hands with retrieval. He intended to teach his half-brother proper demonic pride, whether he liked it or not.

He installed the soul within the husk, which took no time at all. The eyes flared to life, the soul providing a spark of life, of intelligence, of self-awareness, of consciousness. Hydus was now fully inhabiting this husk of a body, with full memory of what went on until the point his soul was extracted from his body (which was now decomposing on his home planet).

"You!" he accused. "You tricked me!"

"Don't speak to me like that!" Shenecron snapped, waspishly. "I still own you!"

Hydus said nothing more, but was clearly fuming about it eyes burning into Shenecron. No one likes being tricked and manipulated that is common place with Shenecron. He knew he couldn't trust Shenecron, but he was still naive. It was a consequence of being alone for so long.

"That being said," Shenecron said, regaining his composure and suave demeanor. This alone was subtly manipulative. "I can give you your freedom back."

Hydus said nothing. He was not so naive to not know that there would be a catch. Otherwise, it would be being optimistic beyond all reason.

"But," Shenecron said, slowly, as Hydus thought that here it comes. "You must finish a little task for me, without hesitation, without reproach."

Hydus waited silently, arms folded. He knew the task would come and he wouldn't have any choice whatsoever. His hands would be tied, any choice presented to him would be a Hobson's choice. Or Morton's fork. Or something like that.

Shenecron was secretly savoring this, making Hydus wonder, making him anxious and depressed simultaneously. This was part of the fun of doing this in the first place.

"You are to find my half-brother, Demos, and bring him back here," he said. Shenecron could have encountered his half-brother at any time, and fried to force proper demonic decorum into him, but where would the fun be in doing that? That would be work. And this way he could show his baby half-brother just how much he was capable of.

"That's it?" Hydus said, unimpressed by the task. Of course, he was expecting Demos to be a child, despite Shenecron not mentioning an age.

"Just a small, simple task in exchange for your freedom," Shenecron said, playing into this obvious misconception. Sure, he could have told him the truth, but where would the fun in that be? Shenecron honestly didn't even expect Hydus to succeed. If he failed to live up to his end of the deal, he would get Hydus's soul back in compensation. So, he had nothing to lose, and Hydus had everything to gain. Then he spoke with a tone like a parent sending their child off to kindergarten, "Off you go, then."

With that, Hydus lumbered out to find his way back to the living realm, out of Hell. Shenecron allowed it, and he was able to see what happened through the husk's eyes, as if he himself was the one seeing it firsthand. It was rather unimpressive and uneventful Hydus getting out of Hell through a small Hellmouth.

But now he had to find a person that he never met, who he didn't know what he looked like, who he didn't know where to find. Hydus was starting to think maybe he he was hasty in his decision to void his contract.

[YeerkSalad]

I always forget, is 1,657 an arbitrary number or do you have 1,657 book ideas already in mind?

[Cloak]

It wasn't an arbitrary. I used to intend to write all those books -- but then life got in the way, and then I started working on a new series (completely unrelated to Memoirs) that I do intend to publish some day. (Thanks to Dino for giving me the necessary encouragement for this.)

I might add a chapter every now and then, but between Beyond the Veil (the series title, though it might change down the line) and taking on even more hours at work, it's less likely I'll get a chapter up in any recent date. Sorry for vanishing without a word, Memoirs is still very near and dear to me.