Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Fight Back!!

"But you're not a tiger!!!" he snarled. The rest of his pack was evidently forgotten to him now, though Ian Fefnir seemed to realize what Cloak's plan was. But he was browbeaten enough to know not to contradict their father, Abraham. Especially when he was in one of his rages. Such an ironfisted control he had over his pack, over his family.

Cloak had noticed this, but he was waiting. He was waiting to see . . . to be sure . . . until then, he was quite confident that he could handle this ruthless brute. Authoritarians are never loved, but feared. How anyone could enjoy such a role, Cloak would never know. He would never understand the need to have every little thing under your control -- it was a patent impossibility for every little thing to be under someone's control. It would just serve to make someone neurotic or paranoid or both. Why would anyone choose such a life, such a role?

He lunged at Cloak again. Why did he do this repeatedly? Cloak had demonstrated a number of times that this didn't work. Was he just that obtuse or simply obstinate? Cloak was finding it rather difficult to tell now. All his attacks were rather quixotic and impulsive, and so sadly predictable. Cloak wondered idly if the RAFians would have been this patient with this waiting to see if --

He swiped right, Cloak dodged left easily. He then swiped left and Cloak dodged right. It was really simple, paint-by-the-numbers type of fight. However, it would seem as if only Cloak himself was privy to this. Cloak quickly deduced that this guy didn't fight a lot. He clearly wasn't as trained a fighter as he believed he was. If anything, he was a berserker, someone who fights without any forethought or strategy, but just brute strength and nothing else.

"Fight back!" he roared, frustrated.

"And if I should refuse?" Cloak said. And, of course, the alpha, Abraham, had no answer. It was becoming increasingly clear that he could not touch the stranger, but his ego wouldn't allow him to end this battle or tell his children to help him. He wanted to do this, and he wanted the glory all to himself.

He never thought of the one weakness he and his children had. How this whole thing was pointless from the start. No, his enormous ego reigned supreme and his children were too afraid to disobey, or disappoint, or anger their father. His punishments . . . well, they're best not elaborated on in detail.

Cloak had no idea of their human identities, but he knew why the pack refused to go against their leader. It didn't take a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon to deduce that they were afraid and intimidated by him. Cloak could understand that -- he had dealt with that himself. He knew what prisons one's own mind could conjure up, which is why he held absolutely no enmity towards Shanker for fleeing. He thought he understood the emotions.

"Coward!!" the alpha werewolf snarled. "Fight me, like a man!!"

"I am no more a human than you are right now," Cloak said, wondering idly if this man was a Bern Bridges listener. He didn't know why that thought struck him at this particular moment, but it did. Perhaps it was because he was finding this battle rather lackluster. Garrotik, he wasn't.

"Stop talking in riddles!!" he roared.

"I wasn't," Cloak said, truthfully. Funny how obsessive this man could be. He was now obsessed with this fight, seemingly forgetting the entire reason he came here. All he thought about right now was winning this fight, and wiping what he imagined to be a smug smirk from Cloak's face, despite the face Cloak wasn't smiling at all. He was quite literally taking zero enjoyment from this fight.

"What are you waiting for?!"

Cloak ****ed his head, and gave him an incredulous look. "How haven't you figured it out by now?"

[Cloak]

Sorry that this chapter is so late. And I might not post a chapter during the weekend (perhaps letting people just catch up in the meantime), as I have to work two double shifts in a row.

Anyway, new chapter. Sorry for any brevity.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Misgivings

Shanker was still roosting beneath the eaves of this house, shivering. Remember times that he would much rather like to forget. Times that he would like much better to fade away into nonbeing, into nonexistence.

But that was foolish, he scolded himself. This happened. It happened, and nothing he could do or say would change that fact. It happened. He needed to pull himself together. Pull himself together, and leave this place of safety that he had found.

But, after thinking this, he found it much harder to follow through on it. Much harder, as if his very own body was fighting him on this. There was just . . . just so much pain that he associated to that man. Emotional and physical . . .

How can he go back? How could he face that . . . that . . . monster? How could he . . .

How could he be a coward, like this? How could he just run away from his problems? He was a RAFian for god's sake. RAFians were supposed to be made of tougher, sturdier stuff than this. And he behaved . . . shamefully. Regretfully.

He was here, roosting in the eaves of a long-forgotten house from some bygone era. Growing mold and other such undesirable things due to its poorly maintained status. He was here, hiding at this dilapidated mess of a house, and what was he doing? Cowering. Cowering in fear of someone miles away.

He was a coward, he felt. He was acting like a craven coward. He was allowing his fear to consume him, he was allowing the alpha of the Fefnir clan to hold power over him even when he was not anywhere near present. But that's what a deep-seated trauma can do to someone -- instill them with a paralyzing fear, which Shanker had never truly felt before dealing with the Fefnir clan. Though, if Shanker was truly honest with himself, if was actually a paralyzing terror.

But he was starting to feel disgusted with his behavior -- he had abandoned Cloak! No matter how good Cloak thought he was, there was no way he would be able to battle all eleven at once. Not unless he . . .

Unless he . . . unless he took off his eponymous cloak. That would prove disastrous, especially if that idiot Bern Bridges caught wind of it. Shanker did not want to know just how he would distort and spin this.

No. No, he would have to be a man about this. He would have to stop allowing his fear to consume him. He would have to stop running from this. He had already spent too much time living in fear. It was time that he advocated for himself. It was time to do the hard thing instead of the easy thing. It was time to confront his demons. It was time to confront the alpha wolf of the Fefnir clan.

Shanker pushed himself away from the deteriorating eaves of the house, and opened his chiropteran wings, flapping determinedly to his destination. The destination that he should have never fled from. The place where he left Cloak.

He would have to be strong. He would have prepare himself menrally and emotionally for the likely things that the alpha would say and do. He would have to stand firm. He may not have intended to kill Abel Fefnir, but the fact of the matter is he would still be alive if the Fefnir clan wasn't so dead set on imprisoning him for the mere crime of being a vampire. He couldn't help his nature anymore than they could, and their abject refusal to see it -- well, that was their problem. He was done living in fear. He had done it for too long.

As he flew, he didn't even seem to take in something rather noticeable. How light was racing along the ground and everything above, racing along faster than he. He was so focused on this new goal, steeling himself against what ever the alpha would do, he hadn't even noticed that dawn had arrived. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
What Are You WAITING For?!

"What are you waiting for?!"

"You still haven't figured it out yet?"

"There's nothing to figure out!" he declared, changing tact in a rather comically buffoonish manner.

"Oh, you might as well stop that," Cloak said, with indifference, examining his claws idly. His claws were free from his natural biological corona, so they could be unsheathed from his gloves without irreparable harm to the realm at large.

"Stop? I'm not going to stop this fight until you grow a backbone and fight back!!" he snarled.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," the Realm Walker replied, with a curt sharpness to his voice now. Like a principal disciplining an naughty child. Where he human, Cloak imagined that he would have blanched. "You need to stop trying to intimidate me, Mr. Fefnir. I have demonstrated over the few hours we've been at this that it will not work."

"It works if I says it works!" he roared.

"Then you're as stupid as you look," Cloak said, almost bored. It should happen soon now. It bloody took its sweet time getting here.

"Don't you call me --"

"What did I say?" Cloak sighed, with frustration leaking into his tone. "Your intimidation tactics won't work on me. I have power you can scarcely imagine, but, unlike you, I don't use it to browbeat others to do my bidding. I am not an tinhorn tyrant with a superiority complex."

"What did you call me?"

"Gateburst, Mr. Fefnir," Cloak said, not bothering to hide his frustration anymore, "read a Burstin' book once and a while. It won't kill you, and, who knows, you might learn something."

He just lunged at Cloak again, who easily sidestepped it. He really does telegraph his moves far too easily.

"Oh. Are you illiterate? Did I touch a nerve?" Cloak said, looking beyond the man-wolf and seeing the sky beginning to fade into blue. It was slow and subtle, and unnoticed by the whole of the Fefnir clan.

"Shut. Up," he growled. "You talk too much!"

"And you don't think much," Cloak countered easily. "You forget that you -- all of you have a very tangible weakness."

"I have no weaknesses!" he declared haughtily.

"Then you are a fool. Everyone has weaknesses," Cloak said. "And you seem to have forgotten -- the moon. The moon doesn't stay full forever, and it eventually sets when the sun comes up."

The light of the sun raced over the hills and bounded towards them, as the moon began to retire from the day. The clan didn't seem to notice until the last moment that their thick, coarse fur was receding back into their bodies. That their stubby snouts and tufted tails were being retracted into their bodies. That their claws were deforming back into human fingernails, and their fangs were shrinking a deforming back into human molars, canines, bicuspids, and such. Their ears rotating back down their faces and becoming less lupin and more human. And they shrunk back down to appropriate human sizes for their age groups. Their eyes never changed.

Oh, and they weren't exactly wearing the new fall line.

"You -- you tricked me!!" Abraham spat furiously.

"You act like that was some difficult task to do," Cloak said, somewhat contemptuous. "It should have been obvious what I was waiting for."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Cloak's Next Move

"You weren't waiting for daybreak," Abraham sneered, "you just got lucky."

"Yes, yes, tell yourself whatever you need for your little mind to comprehend this," Cloak said, his frustration having translated into benign indifference.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," Abraham snarled. Funny just how much of the wolf carried over to the human.

Cloak allowed himself a mirthless laugh, "You never had the chance, Fefnir. And, more to the point, you could never kill me. Dwellers can't kill Walkers."

"Stop speaking nonsense!" he demanded, clearly unaccustomed to someone not being abjectly compliant.

"You first," Cloak said, with a weary sigh.

"So, what are you going to do now?" he growled, ignoring Cloak's last remark. "Kill me? Take over my clan?"

"I am not like you," Cloak said, voice even. "I would not take any enjoyment out of killing a man and orphaning his children. But, I know know your human identities, your faces. So, you've lost the advantage of anonymity."

"You know our clan's name, though," Ian Fefnir said. He sounded as arrogant and contemptuous as his father.

"And what would stop you from using a pseudonym?" Cloak asked. No answer, but Cloak wasn't sure if that was because he didn't have a smart comeback or if he didn't know what  a pseudonym was. Evidently, Abraham didn't trust the public school system, apparently seeing it as dangerously secular, so he had his children homeschooled and indoctrinated in his philosophy. Cloak actually felt pity for them -- they were the product of an egomaniacal authoritarian who wished to hold power over them forever.

Cloak could easily see this becoming a vicious cycle. Hatred and bigotry always begets more hate and bigotry with the next generation. It was like a virulent disease -- one that can only be cured understanding and knowledge.

"You can't do anything to us," Abraham snarled. He was dirty, his hair caked with dirt and forgotten leaves.

"That actually depends on my disposition," Cloak said. He was disappointed in this man -- whether or not he would admit it, he clearly abused these kids. Perhaps it was because of corporal punishments or . . . more depraved punishments. Cloak could see the marks on them. "And, in all honesty, someone should report you for child abuse, Mr. Fefnir."

"My kids are not being abused," he snarled. Honestly, he was just as much wolf in human form as in werewolf form.

"I beg to differ," Cloak said. He recognized the symptoms in the kids, as he did with Shanker. "You are no father at all."

"Save your petty judgements! Kill me if that's what you're going to do," he demanded. "Otherwise, let me and my family go, you cloaked freak."

"I think I see the root of this," Cloak said, eyeing Abraham perceptively, as the earth sunk back into the ground and the trees distanced themselves again. "You're pathetically insecure, Mr. Fefnir. Worse, you're a control freak. Everything has to be under your thumb, or you're just plain unhappy."

It was at this point when Shanker showed up again.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Shanker's Strength

"What are you doing back here, you murderous piece of --"

"That's enough," Cloak snapped, as Shanker looked stricken by hearing the sound of that voice again, as his resolve seemed to weaken. But, as Cloak placed a supportive hand on his left shoulder, his resolve seemed to strengthen.

"Don't tell me to --"

"Shut up," Shanker said, voice steady and unafraid. This took Abraham aback, unaccustomed to anyone he had cowed and browbeaten into submission telling him to shut it. "You know very well that your son Abel would still be alive if you had let me leave the forest."

"Liar!" Abraham said. "You could have left at any --"

"You are the one lying," Shanker cut across him, quickly. "Lying to me, to your children, and, worse of all, to yourself. You never had any intention on letting me leave. You did everything within your power to keep me imprisoned there. Crosses, garlic, and whatnot over all borders except the entrance, where you would enter when you transformed to hunt me in your own little private reserve. You beat me, cowed me into staying, utilizing psychological warfare --"

"Which makes you like of actual fighting skills somewhat disappointing," Cloak muttered. When he realized it was audible, he said, " Sorry, sorry. Please proceed, Shanker."

Shanker continued, "You used psychological warfare on me, made me question my self-worth, not as a vampire, but as a thinking, feeling being. Granted, this might have been mitigated if my maker hadn't decided to up and abandoned as if turning me was just a fling, but that's neither here nor there. What I did to your son -- Abel, wasn't it? -- I did in a moment of desperation to escape my torment."

"That didn't make it right!!" Abraham argued. Shanker wished that he hadn't caught him after the transformation. He didn't look as intimidating, and he . . . he wasn't all that appealing to look at, especially considering that he was dirty and he wasn't . . . well, let's just say, he wasn't exactly looking like a runway model, right now. "You could have left well enough alone!! Everything was perfectly fine before you murdered my favorite boy!"

Cloak chanced a glance his children's faces -- mostly their eyes. He saw a familiar flick of resentment in them at these last three words. Though Cloak would not profess to be an expert on human expressions, he was certain they were feeling resentment to their father, much like he had when living with his mother, Ursa. They weren't unfeeling to this overt favoritism, then. Unsurprising, as Abraham was not a good father by any stretch of the imagination. They only complied and capitulated due to fearing extensive and brutal punishments.

They needed to be taken away from him, but he convinced them if anyone outside the werewolf community knew their true nature, they would be killed. And with the likes of Bern Bridges and the Knights of Humanity out there, it wasn't exactly untrue.

"Yes, I did," Shanker said, earnestly and sincerely, "but you present it as if I took a vindictive, savage, sadistic pleasure in it. As if I fed on him. But I did not. I did not enjoy it at all. If anything, it was more of an accident than anything intentional. I regret the actions I took, I really do. I wish I knew of my vampiric powers of transforming myself into mist or a bat, at the time. But I didn't. I was a young vampire, a neophyte. I didn't know what I could and couldn't do at the time. I hadn't any guidance on the finer points then. Does it make it right? No. But it happened, and nothing can change it."

"Killing you will --"

"Oh, will you stop it with that?" Cloak said, his impatience now overt. "Killing anyone in blind vengeance won't make you feel better. Only the naive and the stupid think that. Your son is gone. Gone! Killing Shanker won't bring him back to life. It will not. Give up this petty obsession -- if you ever succeeded, you won't feel better. You feel empty and hollow. And miserable. Your goal, in the end, is pointless. You don't care about prevent future deaths, your aim is solely selfish and all about you."

"You don't know what --"

"I know more than you do, Fefnir!" Cloak said, his temper flaring up. "I am at least two hundred of your years older than you, and I have evidentally learned far more than you have in that timeframe."

"Liar! You a hu--"

"Say that I'm a human one more time, and see what happens." Cloak threatened, his amber eyes now golden-scarlet suns. His children drew together, actually afraid of Cloak now, realizing just how much restrain he had already demonstrated. "I don't want to orphan these children, innocent to your crimes, but keep prodding me, werewolf. Keep pushing."

Abraham actually recoiled. Though he'd never admit it, because it'd ruin his tough guy reputation, he was afraid. He could sense the power from Cloak, and it eclipsed his own. Unbeknownst to Abraham, this was but a fraction of his power. However, Cloak calmed himself, returning his amber eyes to normal.

"And don't think I'm not going to report you to child protective services," Cloak said, as he and Shanker begun to leave. "They deserve a home where they are loved and cared for -- not seen as some sort of soldier or mercenary in what amounts to a pack of attack dogs. They do not deserve your abuse."

"You can't do that!! I won't allow it!! They are my kids!! They! Are! Mine! I can treat them how I wish!!"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Child Services

KNOCK! KNOCK!

No answer. Just deathly quiet.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Nothing again.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

"Mr. Abraham Stroker Fefnir?" said the woman in a crisp, three-piece lavender suit. Her dark hair was drawn up into a tight bun and her glasses were rigidly square and fit on her face rather strangely. She carried with her a burgundy case folder. "My name is Maia Freeman. This is child services."

KNOCK!!! KNOCK!!!

"You can't have 'em," said a grizzled voice, through the door. The door itself was made from rotting away wood and there were minute gaps in the bottom and side of the door. The tarnished brass knob could be locked, though it was pointless. A well-placed kick would have thrown the door open without much force required. "They're mine. They belong to me."

"Mr. Fefnir, I must ask you open the door," Ms. Freeman said, "otherwise, I will obtain a warrant and have the police get involved further into this manner."

"You can't have them!!" Abraham shouted obstinately. Now he cared about them. But only as property, and he had an increasingly difficult time seeing them as anything but. They were useful tools to have, but he didn't any room in his incredibly selfish heart for anyone but Abel. "They're mine!!"

"Their mothers might say otherwise," Maia said, curtly. "Now open this door, or the niceties will cease and we will play this the hard way."

"My kids ain't been abused. They stay here."

"I haven't said anything about abuse," Maia said, losing patience. "But, since you've basically just admitted --"

"I've admitted to nothing!"

Maia felt a bite of impatience. "Are you going to open this door, Mr. Fefnir?"

"You won't take them away from me! You won't disband my pack!!"

Had she not known about their "lunar sickness" she might have called him out on this BS concept, but as it was, she was aware and had protected herself accordingly. She had an assistant, a beefy-looking dude, to assist her in case Abraham decided to get violent.

"You can't have them!! They are mine to do with as I please!!"

"No, they are not, Mr. Fefnir," Maia said, "they are people with their own thoughts and feelings. And we have it on good authority that you have been abusing them, in addition to not even having legal custody of many of them to begin with."

Which was perfectly true. Many of their mothers were still alive, and Abel's was the only one that had been predeceased at this point. This is why Abraham was so against having them taken away, despite them not being his favorites, as he admitted forthright the preceding evening.

But, in the end, they were taken away from him, and returned to their mothers (who understood their "lunar condition"), and the kids didn't exactly hesitate to stay with their terrifying father. Many of the younger ones burst into tears, as their mothers showed them kindness that they were unaccustomed to. Many, if not all, were going to need therapy after dealing with this.

Abraham, however, was arrested for assaulting the police that had to be called to ensure this transfer. And he had to go to a maximum security place where he was placed in a heavily fortified isolation cell every full moon. All his poor decisions were catching up with him because of his arrogance and vindictiveness.

And no one felt sorry for him.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Sorting

Several RAFians were in the Great Hall of Hogwarts to be Sorted into their Houses. They were all between eleven and twelve, and wore the black school robes. Terenia was at the front of the Great Hall with a three-legged stool and a old, battered looking hat.

The Sorting Hat.

It did its song, but Cloak wasn't really paying attention to it, eager for the Sorting to begin. Eventually, Terenia unfolded the long parchment from which she would read names from.

"Abby," she called, and Abby disengaged herself from throng and went up to the stool. She sat down and had the hat plopped down onto her head. After a moment or two, the hat declared, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Then she went and sat down on the table second from the right, amongst cheers of the Hufflepuffs sitting there.

"Blue!" Terenia called, and Blue followed Abby's example. The hat barely touched his head before declaring, "RAVENCLAW!"

The he went to join the table second from the left, as the Ravenclaws applauded their new member.

"Canicula!" Terenia called out.

She followed suit as the other two before her. The hat rested on her head for a few minutes before declaring, "HUFFLEPUFF!", and she went off to join Abby and the other Hufflepuffs.

"Cloak!" Terenia called out. Cloak walked up and sat down on the stool. Then the hat was put on his head, he heard a small voice in his ear, saying, "Hmm. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice spate of ambition, now that's interesting . . . .so, where shall I put you?"

It was the Hat speaking, of course. It was using Legilimency, but Cloak didn't know how he knew that. Sure, he did some reading before coming to Hogwarts, but he didn't think that he retained anything. He also was well aware that he was becoming a hatstall.

"Hmmm . . . better be . . . RAVENCLAW!!" Cloak took off the hat, and joined Blue and the other Ravenclaws.

"GH," Terenia announced. He went up to get sorted, and was disappointed when the Hat decided to put him in Hufflepuff despite his protests. He joined the table and sat by Abby.

"Hunter," Terenia announced. Hunter went up, sat down on the stool, and had the Hat placed on his head. After a few minutes, but less than five, the Hat declared him a Gryffindor as GH watched, somewhat disconsolately, as Hunter joined the Gryffindor table at the far left of the Great Hall.

"Quaf," Terenia announced. She bounded up to the stool, full of nervous excitement. The Hat was on her head for at least a full two minutes before it declared her a Ravenclaw. She headed over to join Cloak and Blue at the table.

"Saffa," Terenia announced. She walked up to the stool, and sat down in a most dignified way. Only to slip off the stool briefly, as the Hat was place on her head and decided that she should go to Ravenclaw.

"Visser :3," Terenia announced. He walked up, hiding his nervousness, though his anxiety showed. The Hat decided on putting him in Slytherin, and he went to sit on the table on the far right.

"Xeno," Terenia announced. He walked up and was quickly sorted into Ravenclaw. And with that, the Sorting was done -- and Cloak woke up.

"What the actual Veil?" he muttered. "What's the deal with these dreams?"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Dusty

"Ugh."

Helen was dispatched to a dump -- that's dump in the literal sense, as in the place where refuse ends up -- and she wasn't too thrilled by it. Even if she had to deal with one of Demos's little fiends. Why was she, specifically chosen for this job?

Oh, well. Might as well get it over and done with.

It was scanned to be in the center of this mess. Helen had her Star Sapphire violet aura around her. It helped block the unholy stench from all this garbage. How anything could survive, much less thrive, in this smelly locale, she didn't know. She checked her scanned coordinates.

"Oh, of course," she muttered, unhappily. Then she plunged into the muck, despite really not wanting to. When she came out she found herself in one of the dump's facilities, set deep into the ground as the place has apparently a shifty foundation, she guessed. Then she got to a compactor area somehow.

"And I gave Parker grief for acting stupidly," she muttered to herself, using her ring to escape this trap. She felt glad that she always made sure to recharge it before going on a mission.

It wasn't long thereafter that she found the fiend in an oddly spacious room, devoid of garbage. Almost as if it ate all of it . . .

The creature was roughly the size of a child, with no real head, its face being right between its bulky, pale orange shoulders. It had no mouth, unless the humongous air duct-like structure above its human-like eyes counted as an always open, always gaping mouth. It had brown sclera and black irises, set into a smooth, purple face, with what appeared to be a coil of wires beneath this. It had black upper arms, and pale orange forearms. It only possessed a black left hand, ringed by four spikes or horns qt the wrist, as the other was an arm cannon of some sort. It had a pale orange torso with a darker orange abdomen. Its pontoon-like feet and lower legs were bulky and pale orange, with wiry, white thighs.

"Lemme guess," Helen said, "garbage eater?"

This just alerted it to her presence. It began to suck in air, like a vacuum, through its air duct-like mouth. Helen kept her distance and this attack proved ineffectual. After it stopped, she immediately blasted with three concussive blasts from her ring, all hitting.

But it was not down. It threw several balls of what appeared to be condensed and compacted dust at her, which she dodged, but split in four directions which dodged as well, as they didn't have homing capabilities.

She fired four more concussive blasts from her ring, and slayed the creature, hopefully putting it out of whatever torment or savagery state that it was in. But this was mostly thought about in this way to make her feel better about herself, as she made her way back to the forum.

***

Demos called it a "dasutosapien". He apparently designed it for sanitation purposes, being able to consume and digest garbage. Demos wouldn't answer what it would digest the garbage into -- and, frankly, no one really wanted to know.

***

"It was just so dusty about it," Malice crowed. But the term she was looking for was "salty".

[Cloak]

New chapter.

BOOK CLXVII:
SHE'S BACK! A DINO STORY
CHAPTER ONE:
Sulk and Skull

Cloak had arrived at the graveyard. Or boneyard, whatever you want to call it. They place was eerily similar to the elephant graveyard in The Lion King.

Though he never really mentioned it to the others, but the fact that Dwellers always left more behind than a cloak when they perished -- it still perplexed and disturbed the Realm Walker. His kind only left behind their cloaks as they faded away into death, as they went Beyond the Veil.

This seemed almost sacrilegious, in a way, despite Cloak not being religious at all. It was just so . . . so alien to him. Then again, it should make sense, as all of the Dwellers here were aliens to Realm Walkers, technically speaking.

Anyway, Cloak followed the ridiculously winding path between gravestones and their marked graves. He kept Earthsighting to where this fiend was. And he kept "seeing" boxes, littered everywere, buried underground. Thank the First Light that he couldn't "see" what was inside them. He rather not know, though it was obvious.

Soon enough, he came to the center of the area where he saw it. The creature basically looked like a naked Papyrus from Undertale, lanky and thin, with human-like eyes, with dark orange sclera and black irises. It also had skulls as shoulder pads, and his right hand was retractable into an arm cannon of sorts. It was just a foot or two shorter than Cloak. It had silver bracers and grieves on its limbs and long, pencil-thin neck.

When it became aware of Cloak's presence, it did nothing. The two just eyed each other. It only moved when Cloak made the smallest and subtlest of movements. It retracted its hand into its arm cannon, and then it shot a calcified bullet, which Cloak deduced to be bone. It did this several times, forcing Cloak to the defensive.

When Cloak shot a concussive blast of his energy out (mainly to test what defensive measures that it would take), the two skulls on its shoulders blocked it, and began to orbit him like Orbitars in Kid Icarus. They continued to orbit around it as it folded its arms contemptuously.

Overconfidence. An extreme liability in any fight. Overconfidence has a way of leading to both hubris and making foolish mistakes. But all of these fiends have proven to have lesser intelligence than Maul. Many of them seemed incapable of speech.

"You really think that you're hot," Cloak spoke a Realm Walker expletive here that didn't really translate, "d'you? Well, then . . . let's see how confident you are -- when you can't see me!"

And Cloak raised a cloud of what appeared to be dust, but it was really fine, powdery earth. The creature seemed confused and disoriented by this tactic. But after being hit upwards of seven times by it, when the dust cloud inexplicably decided to condense part of itself and strike the creature. Only then to disperse back into the cloud. After seven strikes, it was all over.

The creature was dead, and Cloak took his leave.

***

Demos called it an "osteosapien". Demos had intended for him to be a horror attraction, but no one believed him, and he admitted he was designed for combat.

***

"What a thick skull," Malice mused.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
Kill the RAFian

"I say we kill the RAFian!" Buffoon said, as a group of Walkers consisting of sheep, mice, and other assorted anthropomorphic animal forms sang:

"We're not safe until he's dead.
He'll come stalking us at night.
Set to sacrifice our children
To his monstrous appetite!
He'll wreak havoc on our village,
If we let him wander free!"

Buffoon took charge. Which was to say he demanded to be the boss, as he sang:

"So it's time to take some action, boys!
It's time to follow me!
Through the mist, through the wood,
Through the darkness and the shadows,
It's a nightmare, but it's one exciting ride!
Say a prayer, then we're there!
At the threshold of a forum,
And there's something truly terrible inside!
It's a RAFian!
He's got fangs, razor-sharp ones!
Massive paws, killer claws for the feast.
Hear him roar! See him foam!
But we're not coming home
'Til he's dead!
Good and dead!"

The Walkers sang:

"Kill the RAFian!
Kill the RAFian!"

Buffoon sang:

"Screw your courage to the sticking place!"

The Walker sang, unaware of the irony:

"We're counting on Buffoon to lead the way!"

Buffoon, the mongoose form Realm Walker, sang:

"Call it war, call it threat,
You can bet they all will follow.
For in times like this, they'll do just as I say!"

A small serval Realm Walker whose name, chosen or given, was unknown sang:

"There's a RAFian running wild, there's no question,
But I fear the wrong monster's released."

The other Walkers sang:

"Sally forth! Tally ho!
Praise the First Light and here we go!
We don't like what we don't understand.
In fact, it scares us,
And this Master is mysterious at least!
Save your children and your wives
We'll save our village and our lives
We'll kill the RAFian!"

Meanwhile, at the forum, the RAFians were milling around, when GH (on communications duty) noticed the oncoming army and alerted the forum, and went to find Cloak, having recognized the invaders as Realm Walkers.

The RAFians sang, as they prepared for a battle that they would very likely lose, singing:

"Hearts ablaze, banners high!
We go marching into battle,
Unafraid, although the danger's just increased!"

Meanwhile, the mob of Realm Walker sang, as they began to batter Code Avalon:

"Raise the flag, sing the song!
Here we come, we're fifty strong,
And fifty Walkers can't be wrong!!
Let's kill the RAFian!"

Meanwhile, in Cloak's meditation spot on the forum grounds, GH had entered it. GH said, "Pardon me, Cloak --"

"Leave me in peace," Cloak muttered. He didn't want company. He was still brooding over the preconceived notion that he shall never see Shadow nor Faith ever again.* And feeling shame that there may be nothing he can do to stop --

"But, Cloak!" GH persisted. "The forum is under attack!"

"Kill the RAFian!
Kill the RAFian!"

"What should we do against these Walkers?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter now," Cloak said, getting up and marching toward the forum's gate. "Let them come. They shall regret it."

It was at this point Cloak woke up. But, unlike the Potter-themed dreams, this was different. This one felt like it was warning him of something -- but it didn't make sense. Shill's Council had already made their play. That was over.

But, then, what could it mean?


Source Song: https://youtube.com/watch?v=4nEiNxr4NpQ

* Based on a real fear of mine. Reasons of which will be disclosed at my discretion.

[Shenmue654]

Ehehehe. : 3 AWESOME, a Beauty and the Beast parody song. ?

Hope Cloak's going to be okay...: [

[Cloak]

Funny you should say that, Shen.

I'm very not okay right now -- I found out at work that my aunt, in Memoirs as Wheeza (see the "Epic Yarn" book) . . . passed away. I'm still in tears as I write this. As such, Memoirs is now on hiatus. I need some time . . .

[guitarhero01234]

I don't blame you whatsoever. I know how much she meant to you, and seriously,take all the time you need. I'm here to talk if you want to

[Shenmue654]

!!!!! Noooo.

Cloak, I'm...I'm sorry. We may be Internet acquaintances, but...I'd like to believe we're all there for you. Should you need us.

[Cloak]

Thank you, both of you. Your support means a whole lot to me.

We had the memorial service and my mother was there. She tried to talk to me, some codswallop about something Wheeza told her to tell me. If she wanted to tell me something, she would have done so herself, and not asked the one person she knows that I will actively never reconcile with (Memoirs readers will already be aquainted with why) to do. My mother was just trying to manipulate me, I know it, which is why I immediately rebuffed her and would not return to the main atrium of the church until my other aunt, my mother and Wheeza's youngest sister, came and got me, promising me that she'd leave me alone.

My mother burned that bridge, and I don't want it mended -- she is a very toxic, abusive person. I've seen both her public facade and her darker side. I hope I made that very clear to her that I do not want her in my life.

Anyway, I might start working on Memoirs again soon, as it is my therapy and the shock has worn off. A little, at least.