Memoirs of a RAFian

[guitarhero01234]

Damn. Right in the feels there

[Cloak]

I thought I'd just flesh him out a bit . . . considering . . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Bargaining Ghosts

Cloak was beginning to get concerned. How long had they been down here? How stupid of him to allow himself to lose track of time! It could be have been two, three, four days already! Realm Walkers were not like Andalites in the fact they did not have an internal clock that they can use to track time perfectly. No, they were as flawed as any human in this aspect.

When the gray mist heralding the arrival of spirits of some obscure or obvious emotion or aspect came, Cloak was less than enthused to entertain it. His temper was already stretched dangerously thin and taut, ready to snap at any point. He tried to be calm, collected, and composed but it wasn't all that easy, especially under this kind of duress.

The fact it turned out that the gray mist decided to solidify into the most irritating, annoying ghosts imaginable. The kind that tried to desperately bargain and beg for things. Most them were begging to be returned back to life. Even begging to "wear" their bodies for a while, just as long as it took them to leave the cavern.

After a few moments of this grating bargaining and begging, Cloak, despite himself, lost it.

"NO, YOU MAY BLOODY NOT!!" he roared, a tiger's roar intermingling with his voice. "NO YOU CAN NOT!! NO! NO! NO!"

When this did not end the infuriatingly persistent chatter, Cloak roared so loudly that loose dirt tumbled down from the ceiling. He didn't care. He was passed that point. The duress had gotten to him, and he couldn't help but come forth, though it was an amazing feat in and of itself that he didn't go all "Wrath of the Avatar" on everyone.

"The answer is still no," Cloak said, regaining his composure, while breathing heavily. "Now . . . GET LOST!!"

But that wasn't enough for them get the picture, so Cloak (surprised that Shadow had stepped in to help -- she was annoyed by them as well) began to tear them apart aerokinetically. Then Demos and Phoenix ignited them, which surprised Cloak -- he didn't think that the mist was flammable.

But he hadn't lost sight of the goal. He said, "Let's get going."

***

"Hmmm . . . I may owe them for doing that," Melinoë said.

"What?" Malice said, briefly dropping her sycophantic manner. Melinoë did not appear to take notice. Indeed, her eyes never left the viewing orbs, her head never turned to even acknowledge Malice's presence, which made Malice's demurred, subservient act all the easier.

Yet why Malice was doing this at all, playing the stooge, was still unclear. She didn't seem to get anything out of it, either. There had to be a reason that she would debase herself like this, as she would never do it unless it serviced her in some way.

And Melinoë would seem to be oblivious to it all.

"I never did like those spirits personally," Melinoë commented, ignoring Malice's outburst with a dismissive recklessness. Malice quickly returned to her subservience facade, capitalizing on this.

"Yes, Lady of Ghosts," Malice said, playing to Melinoë's ego. And she had an ego of considerable size -- one could even call it "unbelievably bloated".

"But, intriguing, still," she said, thoughtfully, "they will soon overtake my umbraraptors. I wonder how they will work to undo what they have done."

"Ms. Melinoë?" Malice said, very careful not convey the annoyed anger she felt. She did not like the route that Melinoë was taking in this now. Malice would have to very subtly influence and manipulate her into the more appropriate reaction.

If Melinoë turned on Malice, what would need to be done would be clear. Malice would do what she did to Collector, Gamesmaster, Abomination, and countless others. She would kill the immortal goddess.

[redtailedsaffa]

Uh, but she's kinda immortal.

[guitarhero01234]

Come on, Saffles, when has that ever stopped anyone?

[Cloak]

Or maybe there's more to it . . .

Anyway, new book ideas.

• Book DCCCIII: "Until Daylight" -- A few RAFians must deal with Blackwood Wendigos.
• Book DCCCIV: "The Mad Majin" --The RAFians must deal with an insane Majin.
• Book DCCCV: "Ins and Outs" -- The RAFians must deal with a bodiless, centuries-old sorcerer.
• Book DCCCVI: "Pierce's Night Blights" -- A toddler must deal with creatures called Night Blights.

I don't think that I repeated or rehashed anything. Tell me what you think!
New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Wailing Address

The Peter Pans had lapsed into untalkative lethargy. They were approaching being utterly catatonic far too fast as Kelly would have light as night fell with rather sudden abruptness.

Kelly didn't stop her ministrations, but it seemed that all she could do was simply slow the process of deterioration, not stop it. She didn't like that her healing abilities were limited in this way.

If they . . . if they . . .

Well, if the inevitable happened, Kelly would take it very hard. She would have been very hard on herself in any of them were . . . were . . . were lost. She had to be able to more to stem this! She had to be able to do more!!

But she couldn't. Her hands were, figuratively, tied. She was already doing as much as she could in this, and didn't know what more she could do for the Peter Panned RAFians.

What could she do?

"Please hurry," she murmured, as if the shadow-seeking RAFians could hear her.

***

"Is that all that wailing really necessary?" Sam asked, covering his ears.

"WHAT?" Helen asked, her hands clamped over her ears.

It did not do much to raise Cloak's mood. The waters of the Cocytus did not show them moments of lamentations in their lives, like most of the rivers previously. It just wailed loudly, which apparently could only be heard by the living.

It was an irritating distinction.

"Ugh," he said. "Let's hurry up and clear this place. We have got to be getting close to those Shadow Stalkers."

"You don't know that, though," Demos said, who seemed not to mind the wailing. Demons were apparently immune from its irritation.

"Don't try me, demon," Cloak growled testily.

"But you don't." Demos persisted.

"Cloak and Shadow can Earthsight --" Helen began.

"Since when does shadows, like the Shadow Stalkers themselves, have weight?" Demos pointed out, seemingly unaware of how maddening the Cocytus's wailing was becoming. "If I remember the events with the Spirit-Drinker correctly, Cloak could barely Earthsight that thing."

"Immaterial," Cloak said, nettled. "Shut up, and let's get a move on."

[redtailedsaffa]

That pun. "Immaterial". Hehe.

[Cloak]

And an unintentional one at that. Now, since I'm posting this now, the next one will hafta be atter work tomorrow.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Depression and Dupes

They continued on, expecting to either come upon the river of sorrow, Acheron, or being besieged by more spirits. They were still on a ticking clock. Each tick, each tock,  each second was another bullet fired against them.

Cloak really did not like time crunches. They were stressful and made him anxious. And moody. And testy.

Suddenly, the gray mist curled around them again, and this greatly irked the Realm Walker. The gray mist coiled and shifted and formed into images of times of great depression and sadness in the lives of the respective viewing RAFians, and Shadow. Cloak was feeling thoroughly irritable -- in his relatively short life lived this far, there had been many . . . too many instances of depression in his life.

So bad it was, that, in some cases, he had considered suicide . . . believed wrongly that no one would have ever missed him if he did . . . but Shadow, though she did not know it, had saved him from that fate. He found himself unable to commit the act . . . because of her, because he didn't want to hurt her emotionally as he himself had been wounded. He could not do that to her. He simply could not.

He felt so alone in those days. Isolated. He still spent each night hoping that he would simply just not wake up in the morning. He found himself tired of life, tired of being belittled and debased on a constant and consistent basis. When persistently called something over and over again, you eventually come to believe it, even if it's simply not true. He was the most defeated person in the world . . . he . . . he . . .

"ENOUGH!!!" Cloak roared, taking a stance as if he was a Saiyan going Super Saiyan. He calmed and collected himself before he could lose control of both himself and his powers. But his anger had dissipated the mist, and the others had had similar reactions, as they saw things that made them depressed -- even Demos.

"Let's hurry up and get this over with," Cloak said, moodily.

"Agreed," Phoenix replied, rather wearily.

***

"Impressive," Melinoë said, in a cool manner. "If I must say."

"O Queen of the Shadow Stalkers, you sound as if you're coming to admire them," Malice said, in a rather Umbridge-like way.

"They've surprised me, it is true," Melinoë said, not looking at Malice. She did not notice that Malice was taking some materials deftly and without being seen. Melinoë continued without interruption, "Most in their shoes would have given up and returned to their homes by now, and allowed their loved ones to perish. There is usually a limit to how much a person is willing to do for someone that they claimed to love, to care about. These beings have not. They have lasted until well past nightfall, and still the continue onwards. They will overtake my Shadow Stalkers at any point now."

Malice said nothing, as she was already working on her next deadly scheme. Melinoë didn't seem to notice or care about the Realm Walker's silence.

"My Shadow Stalkers may not even make it to me," Melinoë observed aloud. "Thereby the shadows may not be turned into my subjects, as only can I turn them, if I think them worthy. The shadows might returned, and, on the surface, this may not seem to be a productive use of my subjects' time, but it may prove to be a valuable learning experience. For.me."

Malice, unseen by Melinoë, rolled her eyes as if to say, Thank you, Ms. Late Exposition.

"This shall be interesting, I think," Melinoë commented.

"I think we can agree on that," Malice said, too quietly for Melinoë to hear.

[Cloak]

I wonder if anyone has noticed what the gray mist spirits were based off of. Denial . . . anger . . . bargaining . . . depression . . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Nobody Knows the Sorrow I've Seen

Rotiart was feeling down.

Yes, he actually worried about the Peter Pans -- but he could not bring himself to acknowledge this with the others (besides, they'd probably think he was being smart or snarky). But, despite himself, he couldn't help but wonder what if it had happened to him. If had happened to him . . . would the others go to lengths to save him. He liked to thjnk so, but the nagging worm of doubt was already there, eating its way through certainty.

No. He would just have to prove himself. He would just have to show that he was up to scratch. He would just have to show that he could be as useful as anyone else, a valued member of this team . . .

The problem with this was that he was, in actuality, a crap fighter. He was a lousy shot with a firearm. He was all butterfingers with melee weapons. He knew no martial arts and, as such, his hand-to-hand combat was severely limited to limp-wristed slaps and ineffectual kicks. He was basically like Hercule's shameful son when it came to combat.

Rotiart knew this all too well, and he sought to change it. But the question was whether or not his resolve would be strong enough actually stick to this.

***

"That's the last river," Cloak said, "Acheron. River of sorrow."

"So it has the last few M. Night movies in it?" Helen asked, dryly.

"How is that sorrow?" Shadow asked.

"Ever seen 'The Last Airbender'?" Helen asked.

"Eh, 'Dragonball Evolution' was worse." Demos said, with a shrug.

Seeing where this was beginning to head, and he headed it off, "C'mon, guys. Let's not get into circular arguments. You guys can decide whether it's duck season or rabbit season later."

"Killjoy," Demos said, with faux petulance.

The river decided to show them scenes of their greatest sorrows in its reflections. The RAFians only gave it a slight glance before moving on. They were all too aware that they could get too immersed in looking.

They just proceeded forward.

[guitarhero01234]

Ohhhhh, now I'm seeing the pattern!

[redtailedsaffa]

OHHHHH.

[Cloak]

Oh. Apparently not. I'm genuinely surprised.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
'Bout Time

The Shadow Stalkers had no idea that they were being followed. Perhaps, if they did, they wouldn't be so sedate in achieving their objective. Perhaps, if they did, they would have tried to conceal their trails.

But Shadow Stalkers were barely even sentient, with the intelligences that go with it, as intelligence and sentience tend to parallel each other, and go together like peanut butter and jelly.

They continued, almost mindlessly, on their way to their queen. They hurried, in a sedate way, to their mistress, their queen. They only knew that she was able to transmute stolen shadows into more Shadow Stalkers, and that her word, her demands, were absolute and required abject, unwavering obedience.

Suddenly, they were surrounded by green and violet light. Then it was interminged with mauve, scarlet, lavender, and gold. The brightness was almost painful to the Shadow Stalkers, but not quite. They didn't feel pain in the same way fully sentient creatures did, being creatures made, not of matter or energy, but of shadow, of darkness, of the absence of light, of forgotten legacies.

But they could not escape, they could not go to their mistress. They could not add to their number. And there wasn't very many of them to begin with.

"That's far enough," came a tough, commanding voice.

The Shadow Stalkers turned to see the being that they saw as an abomination. The creature of light, and another one, smaller and more demure. Abominations! The both of them!

There were two more, one ensconced in a green aura and another in a violet one. Purveyors of pain! Shadowless!

The last two were ensconced in flame, preventing any shadows from being seen. Heliopaths! Dangerous creatures!

There were no shadows that they could dive into to shadow travel away from here. These six seemed to be aware of that little ability of shadow-travel. There was no escap from them. No escape at all.

"You've stolen something from us that we would really like back," the one with the violet aura said.

The Shadow Stalkers did not understand the concept of theft, in the fact that they did not understand the usual concept of ownership, not really. Though they were protecting their ill-begotten shadows with selfish, Gollum-like devotion, it wasn't really any by concept of ownership.

"And, now, what do you have to say for yourselves?" Sam said, unnervingly imperialistic.

But, of course, Shadow Stalkers cannot speak.

"Give them back," Cloak growled.

The Shadow Stalkers recoiled to the center of the room. There were seven of them.

"That wasn't a request," the Realm Walker threatened.

The Shadow Stalkers didn't react.

"We're not going to be so nice for very much longer."

[redtailedsaffa]

Ooh, epic explosion time!

[Cloak]

Not so fast, Saffa. Now, since I'm posting this now, the next chapter will probably be after work tomorrow -- probably early in the morning for you, Saffa, and afternoon for you, GH.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Progress or Lack Thereof

Rotiart began his training to become a better fighter. He told no one, and the only one who knew anything was the training sim computer. More than likely a foolhardy and reckless decision, but Rotiart wasn't in the habit of thinking these things out, led by his own arrogant impetuousness and his pompous demeanor. Yet his deep-seated insecurities remained, and he believed if he went to the others for help, it would being admitting weakness, and he refused to be that weak. Though he would acknowledge that he isn't the strongest in combat, that's one reason that he was always quick to run away.

And his training scores tended to reflect that.

In the projectile-firing sim, out of ten targets, four of which were actually stationary, he got zero of them. Though he did get close to one of the moving ones. But it was a sheer accident and completely unintentional.

In the hand-to-hand combat sim, he was seriously trounced by the lowest level opponent. It was an embarrassment, but you had to hand it to the kid. He just got up and tried it again. He had never been this active, having preferred to loaf around and snooze on the job. And, yet, he decided to do it at a time that no one would notice.

The other RAFians were much too worried about the Peter Pans who were beginning to stop being responsive. There was much worry about them, and Rotiart's self-imposed quest to better himself could have been seen as him being petulantly selfish, something he had been accused of beforehand. But Rotiart, like everyone else (usually), has layers, and he doesn't allow others to see beneath the outermost layer of a pompous jerk, as a way to protect himself, as a way to insulate himself.

Also, the fact that he was majorly failing at the simplest levels of the sim was another factor. Especially because Parker always trains with these things at level fifty or so, and Cloak does too (at least when he consented to even use the training sims at all -- they tended to bore him easily).

He was easily disarmed in the melee combat training sim. He was disarmed within minutes -- even quicker than Lion-O and the Sword of Omens. Rotiart wasn't daunted, though. He grit his teeth, and set his resolve. He would not be useless anymore. He would not be worthless anymore. He would not . . .

He would prove himself. Prove himself to the others. But, most importantly, prove himself to himself.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Parting of Ways

"Interesting," Melinoë said, as if she was a merely a television viewer. "I did not see that coming. They have my Shadow Stalkers thoroughly and perfectly trapped. I would not think it possible."

She chuckled, as if she were watching a bloodsport and she had ice in her veins. And, quite apparently, she liked talking aloud and monologuing. She was clearly unware of the glaring weaknesses of such proclivities, as Malice was apt to exploit at the earliest convenience. Melinoë also liked to have her ego stroked, as Malice proved this whole time.

But, soon enough, Melinoë began to allow suspicions to get the better of her when she heard a slight scraping noise behind her. She actually had the bright idea to actually turn and look at Malice, tearing her attention away from the viewing orbs.

"What do you think you are doing?!" she demanded, in scandalized tones.

It was Malice's turn to not look at Melinoë as she went about collecting Melinoë's possessions that she required for her next scheme. She was not ashamed of the now-blatant theft.

"I SAID, what do you think YOU ARE DOING?!" Melinoë demanded, with an indignant stamp of her foot.

"Procuring what I require," Malice said, having instantaneously dropped the sycophantic manner. She spoke in a cold, clear, blunt tone of voice. If Melinoë was taken aback by this abrupt change, she didn't show it.

"Well, put it back!!" she demanded like a rich socialite speaking to the help. "Put it ALL back!! Right this instant!"

"No."

"What?" This actually took her by surprise. "What did you say to me?"

"No. It's what people say when they mean the opposite of 'yes'."

"I KNOW what 'no' MEANS!!!" Melinoë shouted, outraged.

Malice was indifferent. She shift her weight a bit and moved to leave.

"You GET back here! RIGHT NOW!!! You GET back here, and put them BACK!!"

"No."

"YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME, YOU MISERABLE MORTAL!!"

"Mortal?" Malice said, conversationally. "You mean, 'human', don't you?"

Malice turned around and walked sedately toward her without any fear whatsoever. This actually unnerved her. Unsurprisingly, as it would unnerve anyone.

"Permit me to . . .educate you, then." Malice said, her cloak making mincing motions, rather like a guillotine. "I am not a human. Nor am I goddess -- not one of, heh, your caliber, anyway. My name is Malice."

"Ugh!"

Malice had ran her through with an energy blade. Like how she killed Collector. And the Realm Walker once known as Abomination. And Gamesmaster.

"This . . . isn't . . . possible," she gasped. "I . . . am . . . immortal!"

"Immortal, eh?" Malice said, savagely. "Then why are you dying?"

There was no response that Melinoë could make to that as she collapsed into gray mist. Melinoë was effectively dead. Malice left without any regard or remorse for her actions.

[guitarhero01234]

The dialogue between these two was the best part of this book so far. Awesome work