Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

The story or the new book ideas?

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
A Sensible Shadow Smack

With a sheer crack mighty power, Cloak began to pursue the Spirit-Drinker with reckless abandon. He flew after it, rather Vegeta-like, unaware of the increasing risk of destablizing the whole of the sewers and, thereby, the city atop it. He had become phenomenally narrow-minded, overcome with his emotions.

"Uncle," Shadow repeated. Then her face became very determined.

Cloak sped along, nearing the turn that the Spirit-Drinker took. Cloak was determined to make the creature pay for its crimes. To make it knos the pain that it inflicted. But, at th moment, this was just a jumbled, tangled thought in his head without any real clarity or focus.

He would have taken the turn, too, had Shadow not interceded to stop him. She pulled back her hand when he was within range, and delivered an unholy smack that caused the very air to rush away from the two momentarily.

"Will you SNAP OUT OF IT?!" she demanded. This lead the conscious RAFians to be dumbfounded into silence.

"Wha . . ." Cloak sais, as if coming out of a reverie.

"Uh uh." Shadow said, very firmly. "You're not getting out of this so easily. You need to stop losing control every time that I'm in danger. I'm a big girl! I'm a Master of the Elements, too! You said so yourself. You can't just lose control like that!"

"I --"

"No, Uncle." Shadow said, more serious than Cloak had ever seen her. "This has really gone on quite enough."

Cloak was being lectured by an eleven-year-old*! Okay, in Dweller time, she was actually closer to 110 of their years, but that's beside the point.

"Uncle, you cannot just fly off the handle like that," Shadow said, allowing her concern and weariness to show through. "Do you realize what could have happened if you continued? This entire sewer network could have collapsed! That would cause the city above it to sink into the ground. You would not have only killed the RAFians down here, but countless number of Dweller lives would have been claimed as well."

Cloak was ashen-faced now. How could he have not seen this? How could have allowed himself to become so overwhelmed by his emotions that he was blinded to this simple fact? Cloak was ashamed, but he was always ashamed when he came out of that state.

"Another thing, Uncle." Shadow said, voice gentle and caring. Cloak had suddenly seen, quite unintentionally, how similar Shadow was to her mother, Cloak's elder sister. "If you did manage to kill it, how do you kniw the spirits, the life-force that it consumed would not disappear from the realm of life with it?"

Cloak said nothing for a bit.

"Just trust me on this one, my not-so-little Shadow," Cloak said, with a hint of affection his voice, "it will."


*In the terms of the story, she's eleven and won't be twelve until the books have a Roman numeral M in them somewhere (very ambitious). In reality, she's 14.

[redtailedsaffa]

I think even if I somehow meet Shadow IRL I'll have a hard time seeing her as anything other than 11.

[Cloak]

She might not be too pleased with that, though. I mean, think about it, you're 14 and people keep thinking of you as a little kid, would you like that? But . . . but it think my foot somehow had gotten into my mouth, and I must extricate it.

So, in the interim, here's a new chapter.
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Indigestion

The Spirit-Drinker fled to a deeper part of the sewer that was eerily similar to Killer Croc's domain in "Batman: Arkham Asylum". It easily crossed the floating squares of wood that made tentative plateforms without even causing the boards to sink very much, if at all, in the water.

It fled very deep into the dank, dark, and cold sewers. It was the type of environment it thrived in, but it could not find solace in such a comforting place. It could not find peace in the fact that it fed. It usually held some kind of enjoyment from when it fed, in a joyous way that some would classify as "psychotic", that is if it was, indeed, truly sentient. It seemed to be, but it could just be near-sentient.

It had never felt this way before. It had never, ever felt as if it's survival was in jeopardy. That it could possibly lose its life to anyone's choosing but its own. This new feeling, this fear -- it didn't like it much. It hated the feeling with all the hatred of any Red Lantern, with more hatred than the Entity of Hate itself, the Butcher (which was still trapped in the Red Lantern Battery).

It was suppose to cause fear! It wasn't supposed to feel it!

Then it felt something else it never felt before. It wasn't fear, it was more physical, in a way. It was like a malady, one of which the Spirit-Drinker was seriously unfamiliar with. It's legs felt slow and heavy, and it's eye's color dulled. It was feeling . . . ill? How could it be feeling sick? In all it's millenia of life, it has never felt an illness, a sickness, or a single malady! Was this somehow connected to the fear it felt for the first time a scare number of moments ago?

How does any one put up with fear? Was this what it inflicted on others? Wait . . . what did it care of others? They were nothing but food. Nothing but nourishment. They weren't any more important than that. They weren't! None could stand against it. None, except --

It coughed.

What was that? It did not know. It had never coughed before. This had been a time for firsts for it, apparently. It coughed again. It was throatier and deeper this time. And it scared it even more, which seemed to simply exacerbate the waves of nausea. It didn't cough a third time, but retched. Retched so badly as to give foreshadowing of what would happen.

The fourth time was so violent that it accidentally vomited. It did not know what just happened, and the life force it just regurgitated did not stick around to allow it to figure out what just happened. Not that it had any consciousness to it, it was still "asleep", in a manner of speaking.

The Spirit-Drinker dismissed the whole thing, having not noticed the life force escape from its normally ironclad stomach. It was unprecedented, completely and totally unprecedented.

[redtailedsaffa]

Well, my height (or lack of) causes most people to ask me if I'm still in 12th grade, when I'm three years past it.

[Cloak]

Hope that I didn't offend, Saffa.

[spoiler=Behind the scenes note]This another book that I completely rewrote from my initial chapter plans, if anyone's interested. The initial plans had Malice and Abomination (yes, Abomination -- originally he wasn't planned to bite the big one in Book L).[/spoiler]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
The New Wrinkle

The two Realm Walkers saw the something flit by faster than either of them could see. The others saw nothing. Cloak was perlexed at what it could be -- it was too quiet to be a bug, and moved with too much determination to be a simple trick of the light. What could it --

A sudden noise behind them. A gasp.

The two turned and ran towards the others, worried about what would happen now. But this wasn't a bad thing at all.

For it was Aquilai who gasped, and coughed repeatedly, as if dust got into his lungs. His eyes no longer glowed yellow and he was not immobile anymore. He was as he always was. He was no longer a victim of the Spirit-Drinker.

Aquilai struggled to sit up, feeling weakened, although his body was as untouched and pristine as it was before the Spirit-Drinker decided on a cup of Time Lord. He was dazed, dazed, and disoriented. It took him a moment before he could have a single thought that wasn't disjointed or scrambled.

"Wha . . ." he groaned.

"Whoa," Goom said, "take it easy now. Don't strain or stress yourself."

"He looks okay," Hunter said, seriously.

"Still, I'd like to have Kelly look him over." the Goomba said.

"Guys!" Faerie snapped. "Give him some room to breathe!"

"What happened?" the Time Lord moaned as he sat up. He was starting to feel better, and as he felt stronger, the fog of forgetfulness in his mind lifted slowly. He remembered vaguely about what it was like in the Spirit-Drinker's gullet. But that was a memory that wasn't clear because he -- everything that made him him -- was slowly being dissolved. The remnants of the Spirit-Drinker's previous victims were already dissolved beyond recovery . . . it was like being condemned to the belly of a Sarlacc. "Oh, I remember now."

"Rem-- . . . what happened?" Shadow asked, kindly and gently.

"I was Spirit-Drinker puke," the Time Lord said, harshly.

[redtailedsaffa]

Oh no, you didn't.

Haha, love the behind the scenes note. Just shows how you write with the flow.

[Cloak]

Alrighty then! If you don't mind then, I'll put more behind-the-scenes (in spoiler tags) when ever pertinent. And yes, sometimes I have to go "offbook" for some books. And this current book may exceed twenty chapters.

Anyway, I'm currently planning my way through Book CDXX ("Animatronic Animosity").

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Sick With Fear

"It . . . regurgitated you?" Cloak said, perplexed.

"Don't rub it in," Aquilai said, dully.

"That isn't my intent, Time Lord," Cloak said. "In all the information I had on the Spirit-Drinker . . . not once did it mention that it could regurgitate the life forces, the cores, the essence or whatever."

"Why wouldn't it?" Goom asked.

"Yeah, do all species entries in the database need to describe that particular trait?" Faerie quipped.

"Others species don't feed the way a Spirit-Drinker does," Cloak countered without missing a beat.

Faerie didn't have a comeback at the ready as she did not expect Cloak to answer so quickly.

"The point is," Hunter pressed, "how we use this to our advantage?"

"To answer that question," Goom said, thoughtfully, "we must answer another -- what triggered the regurgitate response from it?"

"Illness? Overeating? Eating disorder?" Aquilai said, throwing out suggestions. "Fear?"

"Wait a minute . . . fear?" Shadow said. She looked at her uncle. "It was afraid of you."

"The Spirit-Drinker can feel fear?" Faerie asked.

***

The Spirit-Drinker found that it didn't like this current spot much better than the one with the RAFians. It was too easy, it felt, for the monster, the one that could hurt it, to find it. This spot wasn't safe.

It was a strange feeling, as it never feared for its safety before. It did not particularly care for it, but it would not go away. The more it wanted wanted the feelings to go away, the more they stubbornly remained, like willful, petulant children who did not want to leave a place of play.

It coughed. It ran acrossed the planks.

It retched. It turned, and continued to run across the planks.

Then, with a wet, sick sound, it vomited up two more essences. It padded along the bricked ground, paying no mind to the two essences it had vomited up (which deftly and rather haphazardly found their way back to their rightful homes of Phoenix and Nina). It just continued to try to run from the fear, ignoring the impossibility of such an endeavor. It's mind had no time for hunger right now when its very survival could be at stake!

It ran to a couple of wrought iron bars that blocked the sewer ways from an old semi-abandoned subway terminal.

[redtailedsaffa]

Fear as a disease... hmm. There's some deep meaning in there somewhere.

[Cloak]

Perhaps.

[spoiler=Behind the scenes snippet]I actually got this idea (and this book is a loose parody of it) from this episode and this episode of the 90s series "X-Men". Granted, I did take some liberties.[/spoiler]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Subway Shenanigans

This subway stop was rarely used anymore, as it opened up nearby the abandoned warehouses where Malice once made her headquarters for a time, before her Tasmanian devil instincts told her to uproot and move elsewhere. The subway tunnel was within brisk walking distance, about a twenty-minute walk.

The fear clinged to the Spirit-Drinker like a deer tick to a white-tailed buck. It looked this way and that, as if the powerful monster that actually hurt it might come barreling out of the end of the corridor. This caused it to hyperventilate a bit -- another sensation it had never experienced before, as it was unclear if it even respirated -- its belly and gullet began to churn most painfully uncomfortable. Then the excruciating squeeze of the gut and it vomited up the last surviving essence (which returned to Parker).

The Spirit-Drinker managed to burn through the iron bars, which took a lot of energy, which is why it doesn't employ it very often. It would have feed again before long, the other reason why it was rather impracticable to employ this ability, but it would worry about that at a later date. When the worrisome creature was dead or simply no longer a threat.

But that joyous time was not this present time, and the danger still remained, paramount in its mind (or lack thereof). Its hunger could be satiated later. There will always be later. There always was a later. There would never be a time when there wasn't.

It looked around this semi-abandoned subway station, it was cleaner than it should have been from its disuse. The Spirit-Drinker heaved, but vomited nothing this time. Its previous victims had succumbed to it and ceased to exist.

It deftly stepped over the third rail -- the live third rail -- oblivious to its existence. It was cautious, afraid -- and the novelty of it did not wear off -- afraid of the beast who managed to hurt it. Millennia of life, of stealing life, and never had it come across a creature who could hurt it. Who made it fear for its life, who made it question the abject certainty of its survival.

What kind of creature was it? What kind of creature could possess the kind of power this creature did?

"You were right, Shadow," a voice said, "it did choose the righthand passage."

Oh no! The monster!

[redtailedsaffa]

The brief mention of Malice made me realize we haven't seen her in a while.

[Cloak]

Oh, she'll show back up in the series. Uh, eventually.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Trapped

Shadow was gracious enough to not say "I told you so", but it was obviously quite tempting for her. Her simian instincts could the better of her just as easily as Cloak's feline instincts could, it was a common thing with Realm Walkers. Not many, if any, Dwellers were aware of this, however.

The Spirit-Drinker recoiled visibly and obviously at them. It looked around, desperate for a place to escape. The place was open, very much like the area where April O'Neil got mugged in the first Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie, only with slightly more debris. The subway trains sometime passed through this station, but they very rarely, if ever, stopped here. The Spirit-Drinker and the two Realm Walkers were no real danger of being ran over, standing on the tracks.

The Spirit-Drinker acted without thinking, and charged down the tunnel right behind it, only to crack its head on an invisible barrier that blocked its path.

"Oh, whoopsie," Faerie said, in mock apology, "oh, dearie me, I must have accidentally put down that magic barrier. So sorry!"

The Spirit-Drinker shot its tendrils from its mouth at her, only to have them splayed upon the barrier. It retracted them back into its mouth while giving Faerie a mutinous, ruinous look. Then it felt a chill go up its spine -- assuming that it had one of those. It knew the monster and the small one were watching it.

It knew enough that it couldn't target the small one without incurring the monster's wrath. It was trapped on all sides. There was no escape. The monster and his cohorts had seen to that. And it felt afraid. It was strange, too. It did not feel fear when the Shi'ar captured it, it felt anger, annoyance and hunger.

This was remarkably different from that occasion. This was one being that did not fear it, but hated it instead. This was not the way things should be, the tables were turned.

"This had gone on long enough," Cloak said, his feline tail flicking rather close to the third rail. He knew it was there, and was entertaining a thought. "Beast, you are a monster. You are a demon. There only one way to protect the world from the danger you present."

Cloak's face remained inscrutable, as, in the back of his mind, he questioned this tactic and his conclusion. Sentient or not, was he truly in the right? Was he becoming as ruthless as Malice? Was he losing his innate pacifism?

If they allowed the beast to escape unharmed and unmolested, it would be a potential six billion victims for it to snack on. It would be unconscionable to allow it to escape. Immoral. Unforgivable.

But it still gave Cloak pause, though he did not show it outwardly. How many wars, in countless realms, were started over a question morality, which is inherently subjective? Did they really have the right to judge creatures based on how nature made them? But that brought into question whether Spirit-Drinkers are borne of nature or some other process. Cloak did not know. He did not know enough of these creatures.

Did he have the right? The right of the judgment? The right of making such a decision?

But there was no choice. It was him that the creature feared. It was him that possessed the burdensome power, the heavy hand to do the deed. It was a choice of one life for billions of others.

There was no choice.

[redtailedsaffa]

It's interesting to notice how as we go further and further into the books Cloak is forced to make the death call more and more.

[Cloak]

Yes, [spoiler]and it probably won't be the last.[/spoiler]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
The Third Rail

Cloak's flicked his tail toward the third rail. He was still considering his idea, but hesitating. He didn't like that he always seemed to be using his abilities to kill. He knew it had to be done, for the sake of the people on the surface and the people of this world, but it would weigh on him. Like Cataclysm's death at his hand.

"Shadow, no!"

But Cloak's warning came out too late as his niece's impetuous nature got the better of her and she fired two pulses of mauve and lavender energy. It missed the Spirit-Drinker very narrowly, but it had the decided drawback of drawing the beast's attention to the third rail. It gave it a wide birth.

"You were taking too long!" she countered. "This would have never been ended by just standing there, doing nothing!"

"I was waiting for the auspicious moment to present itself," Cloak said, the merest trace of a growl in his voice.

"When? January?"

Cloak held his tongue, forcing the counterargument to die there. The plan would have to be accelerated. Cloak forced himself to push aside his indecision and forced himself to act with deliberation. There was no choice.

It would not simply step on the live rail, aware of the potential danger it posed. Yet it did not fear the rail. It was really arrogant, in that respect. But that very rail was instrumental in Cloak's plan, with a method he has never tried before with the technique.

In any case . . . there was a backup plan.

Cloak touched the third rail with his tail and, instead of being electrocuted, he redirected the electricity up his tail, up to his stomach, divided it to travel up his arms and out his index and middle fingers of both of his hands, and fired the electricity in a concussive electrical pulses. His aim was more accurate than his niece's due to his time with the RAFians.

It had to be done.

He had to harden his heart. Ignore his questions of rights, of right and wrong, of possible repercussions and consequences. There was no time for it.

It had to be done.

Cloak deftly flicked his tail away from the rail, and the concussive blasts ended without their source. And Cloak saw that . . . it worked. The Spirit-Drinker was no more. Cloak wondered how Conductoids did this, he felt rather hollow inside. But whether that was from the exertion or the act was unclear.

[redtailedsaffa]

I was watching the episode where Iroh redirects lightning just yesterday.

[Cloak]

Before I start this chapter, I want say -- sorry, GH.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Guitarhero's Rousing Song of Heroism

"Superbreath can come in fire, ice, or really bad.
Shrinking's a power, but it's kinda mad.
Shapeshifting into a snake can give folks quite a fright,
But only your heart will win us the fight!
There's portal creation and astral projection,
Telekinesis and dead resurrection.
With mind control, you're on a roll,
And -- if you're lucky -- flight!
But only your heart will win us the fight!
Who are you?
Just a man, or a superman?
The man we turn to with the plan!
Who are you?
Just a man, or a superman?
The man we turn to make the stand!
There's time travel, stretching, or even wallcrawling.
A sonic scream helps you with your Banned brawling.
Fists of steel can make you feel a heightened sense of might,
But only your heart can win us the fight!
Who are you?
Just a man, or a superman?
The man we turn to with the plan!
Who are you?
Just a man, or a superman?
The man we turn to make the stand!!"

Guitarhero was a bit out of breath when the song ended.

"What," Cloak said, "was that?"

"I call it," Guitarhero said, still obviously out of breath from singing and marching in place and whatnot, "'Guitarhero's Rousing Song of Heroism'!"

Then he noticed the rather lackluster effect it had on Cloak.

"You don't look roused."

"GH," Cloak said, "that's because it has nothing to do with what I'm feeling."

Cloak stopped because he realized his tone was far harsher than was his intent to be.

"Look, GH, I understand and appreciate the sentiment behind it, but I'm gonna need some time to my--"

"RAFians to the auditorium," Yarin said over the intercom, "briefing in the auditorium."

"Aw, Veil."