Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
The Inevitable Conclusion

"Please . . . please, my love," he said, still clinging to the ideal that loved each other, that his was a requited love when he didn't even really love her. He just really wanted to believe he did, and Malice had no love of anyone outside herself. "Please . . . I beg of you . . . reconsider."

"Reconsider?" Malice repeated, in outraged tones. "You deliberately disobey me, and, now . . . now that you know what step must invariably come next, you dare to request that I reconsider?!"

The new twelve behind her hadn't a clue as to what she was talking about, as neither did the ten behind Lus-Stl. But Lus-Stl himself was all too aware what fate had in store for him. He was far beyond the initial shock of it. He couldn't deny it. Being angry about it was pointless, as was being depressed about it. He was trying to bargain for his life, even though he knew that would be a futile endeavor. But if you were this close to being murdered in such a callous and heartless way, wouldn't you try to beg for your life?

"I beg you, my love," he said, still clinging to the fantasy like a child clings to a familiar blanket. "Please. I can still be of use to you. Please . . . don't."

"Be of use to me?" Malice repeated again. Her tone indicated great scorn and greater cruelty. "You've just proved how untrustworthy you are when given a little leeway! You just proved how incompetent you are at following my most basic and simple instructions! You just proved how shortsighted you are when you didn't take the time to fathom my incredible . . . displeasure at such disobedience!"

Malice would not stand for insubordination. She killed Abomination for it. She mutated Mega Maul and Rumor for it, then disposed of them unceremoniously when she felt that they had outlived any usefulness. She never had any lasting attachment to anyone. The only one that came close was Cataclysm, her ancestor. And, yet, he treated her with the same sort of disregard that she treated the Kandidorians. You'd think that she would have learned from that experience and grew as a person -- but that's just not what and who Malice was. She took the name of "Malice", after all.

"You know that this would be the consequence of disobedience, Kryptonian," she said, coldly. She actually seemed to be savoring the moment, sadistically waiting to activate Lus-Stl's stasis collar. But she knew soon Cloak would gather his sense again, and interrupt her enjoyment of Lus-Stl's suffering. He was such a spoilsport in that way. "Suffering could be your teacher -- but I really don't want to take care of that mess."

She smiled, and it was the moment that Lus-Stl had been dreading, the moment that Malice was drawing out as long as she could, the sadistic monster.

"Please," he pleaded, "don't."

"It's your own fault, Kryptonian," she said, waving her glowing hand at his collar, activating it. "Maybe you'll learn compliance in the next life -- assuming you even get one!"

The death was excruciating. It was prolonged. It was unbearable to endure, it was unbearable to watch.

"Malice! Stop this! Stop this now!"

"Quiet, hatchling." Malice snapped. "Lines need to be drawn, and lessons need to be learned."

"You consider committing murder just 'teaching a lesson'?" Cloak demanded angrily, despite already knowing the answer. Angry at himself for standing by and just being a bystander by allowing this murderous action to take place.

"Don't be foolish, Cloak," Malice said. "It's just a Dweller. That doesn't constitute murder."

She spoke as a human would if they had just killed a spider. As if that life was inconsequential and meaningless. As if he wasn't a thinking, feeling being with hopes, dreams, and aspirations of his own. Granted, they were as misguided as Ab's was, but Ab was able to reform, and, as far as Cloak was concerned, be redeemed. But it was far too late for Lus-Stl, who's writhing on the ground stilled. Cloak could actually feel his breath growing more and more shallow.

"Just because they're not Walkers, Malice, doesn't mean that this isn't murder," Cloak said. "They're thinking, feeling beings. Not something to be discarded when you've had your fill of their presence. They're not expendable little toys for you to play with and break at your leisure. They're people."

"Oh, stop being so sanctimoniously righteous," she said, dismissing everything he had said. "You're guilty of dismissing the opinions of these Dwellers, too. Maybe you fancy yourself a leader? Pah."

"You don't understand anything," Cloak said.

But he had an ulterior motive to keep her talking, as he resisted an urge to look to his left, roughly seven o'clock. No need in drawing her attention to it.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Pay No Attention to the Speedster Blur

Cloak was supposed to keep Malice talking, to keep her notice on himself. That way Cerulean could remove the collars and GH could provide musical distraction. Or musical accompaniment, whichever was needed most and it was at his own discretion, which may have been a foolish decision, given GH's penchant for . . . unpredictability.

"Your depravity knows no bounds, Malice," Cloak said, subtly hoping to keep her talking. Hopefully, this would save everyone from their collars. Yes, he was aggrieved and dismayed with the Kryptonian's death . . . but that was going to be his inevitable end when allying with Malice, who saw Dwellers as beneath her, and should be subservient to her whims. Unfortunately, this wasn't an uncommon attitude amongst those in his species. Especially the ones that are analogous to the generation that the humans call "baby boomers".

"Depravity?" she snorted. She was falling into her monologuing groove. Cloak hoped she wouldn't have realized yet. "Dwellers are not worth such concern, Cloak. They're negligible and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. You waste your time and energy playing with them on this mudball."

But Cerulean was running to a distinct problem that he hadn't encountered with those four collars. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't finagle the locking mechanisms on the collars. No matter just how many permutations he went through at top speed, and any time he lingered on one increased the time he would be discover.

"If it's so inconsequential to you," Cloak said, trying get her to continue to monologue, "then why stay? Why come up with these various schemes? Surely, you have far more important things to do than to, as the humans say, than to 'troll' me?"

"Because it's entertaining," she said, nonconcernedly, "I would of thought that that was obvious."

And then there was the chance that these Kryptonians might decide, of their own volition and their own free will, to align with Malice. However unlikely it may seem, considering all present witnessed Lus-Stl's death, which was just as excruciating to bear witness to as it was, presumably, to experience. But there was no telling how indoctrinated that Malice could have had them. The RAFians didn't know how or wear she was getting these Kryptonians. For all they knew, she was growing them in test tubes.

"Entertainment, huh?" Cloak said, with mock surprise. "So, that's all I am to you?"

"If you're expecting me to launch into a big, villainous monologue, Cloak," Malice said, matter-of-fact, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline. You're right that I do have other things to do."

Then she paused and considered a moment.

"And your little Dweller pet there might as well give up," she said, apparently having been aware of Cerulean and GH the entire time, "those collars will not unlock in my presence."

Cloak glowered at her, which caused her to laugh.

"You are such a child," she said, her laughs giving way to a mirthless, sinister sort of smile. "Do you think such a trick would fool me?"

"If Dwellers are so beneath you," Cloak snarled, anger getting in the way of his good sense as it too often did,  "then why do you have an entourage of them with you?"

GH piped up, "Cloaky, I'm not sure if that was the right way to play that."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Loose Lips, You Know

"An entourage of Dwellers, you say?" she said, slowly, as if mulling the words over. As if considering something that would make Cloak wish that he kept his mouth shut. "Perhaps you're right, Cloak."

Color drained from Cloak's face. His anger had clouded his judgement in a moment of frustration, and he was finding his words being used against him. He should have expected this, but he allowed his guard to have grown lax. He allowed himself to forget how to deal with Malice -- it was practically an eternity since they had to deal with one of her schemes. Cloak saw what would happen next.

"Cerulean!" he barked.

"I'm trying! I'm TRYING!" he said, hurriedly. "But I can't get the rest off!!"

Instead of addressing Cerulean, Malice turned back to Cloak, her Tasmanian devil eyes alight with her namesake. She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if she was mulling this over, instead of having her mind made up already. "Perhaps you're right and I don't need a Dweller entourage. I mean, they are superfluous and no longer really useful, I suppose."

"Please, Cerulean, TRY HARDER!!" Cloak said, unable to help in time. Malice had wisely refrained from using any real metal parts in the collars, despite appearances. The collars were essentially highly durable fabric and a plastic polymer that had an exceedingly high durability. Cloak couldn't sense metal in the circuitry, but if he were to manipulate that . . . that could have unforeseen consequences.

Of course, he could have killed them himself, to prevent Malice from forcing them to die using Kryptonite-based energies. Cloak didn't understand how she did it. He wasn't all that tech savvy, even with Realm Walker tech. The upgrade he gave Parker's armor over a Dweller Earth year ago wasn't even fabricated by him, but a friend by the name of Itemsmith.

"Cloak, I can't!" Cerulean said, admitting defeat. "The mechanisms won't unlatch!"

"Did you honestly think I designed collars that could open or be destroyed in my presence? After that foolish hippo turned on me?" Malice said. Cloak swore that she was savoring this. Savoring his folly. Because it was his, and he would take the responsibility that came with it. "After that sentimental fool and that old science project failed me, when I merged them together?"

"Malice, don't do this!" Cloak said. He never felt so helpless before, and Malice just quickly turned on those that she was so quick to have serve her. It was almost as if she was bipolar or something. "You can't!"

"I think," she said, grinning as if this was all a game, "you'd find that I can."

"Don't," he said, without any real conviction that she'd hear him.

"Too late," she said, with that maniacal smile and twisted enjoyment. Her hand was already up, glowing with her energy.

"Cloak, I -- I can't! There's not enough time!!"

It was too late. All but four of the Kryptonians were writhing around on the ground. Dying a slow, excruciating death. They didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve any of this. And Cloak couldn't do anything to stop it. His hands were figuratively tied, and he hated it. He hated every moment of it. There was no plan, there was no trick, there was no unassailable solution that he had for this. Of course, Malice would recognize his mastery over the Metal element, and have taken steps to prevent him from using it to save the day.

"Malice . . ." Cloak said, holding Gato as she fell. He was inexplicably reminded of Shadow, which deepened his sorrow and grief. And regret. He also felt incredible rage and fury at Malice . . . and himself.

"Cloak," Cerulean said, clearly feeling the same way, "Cloak, I'm sorry. I can't save them. . . ."

"Neither can I," Cloak said.

"Me either," GH said. "But I can make the pain easier for them."

And he played them a somber tune, one that helped them forget the pain, one that helped numb the pain. Not completely, but enough to severely limit the suffering they were undergoing.

The-re, Fo-Ur, Jenn, and Eli-Wo were the only ones not writhing around on the floor, as their collars were only ones that managed to be removed by Cerulean, who now feeling distinctly aggrieved at his failure to get the others' collars off. Those four Kryptonians were stunned into silence and inaction, only dimly aware of this fact. Even children . . . Malice had no compunction killing children . . .

"Y-you . . ." Jenn declared, after all the writhing had stopped. She then charged Malice who looked unconcerned by this, as if she had a yet-unused trump card. "You monster!"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Malice's Rebuttal

Malice looked on at the charge, which Jenn was holding back the true force she could have gone. She wanted to feel the contact, she wanted to witness it. She wanted to see the realization in Malice's eyes that she made a big mistake. Granted, she didn't really know any of these Kandidorians personally, except The-re and Fo-Ur. But that didn't change her disgust and how what Malice did, with the callousness or heartlessness she committed these murders. And she didn't care -- she said it herself. She didn't care, she didn't consider slaughtering them murder. That's all they were to her -- she didn't see them as living, feeling, thinking individuals. She considered herself better than them in every regard.

"Now, now, Kryptonian," Malice said. with an almost motherly scold, as she continued to cover the distance, holding back her power. She held back her power for the precise same reason that Cloak himself did. They both were afraid of losing control -- when a being with great power loses control . . . there's usually a lot more pain and grief to go around. "You don't want to do that."

"You're going to pay for what you did, monster!" Jenn roared, as The-Re and Fo-ur hugged each other fearfully and Eli-Wo wondered if he should intervene, despite being afraid to. He turned his attention to the sea of bodies that surrounded them all. He wondered what each of their stories were, and how sad that they all ended in such a way. This was senseless. This was pointless. All this death . . . for what ends did Malice achieve this slaughter?

"Pay?" Malice said, with a girlish giggle, which recalled Dolores Umbridge. "You may want to stop your attack."

"I want you to suffer!" Jenn roared. "I want you to know pain and grief!"

"That's a futile endeavor," Cloak said, quickly. "Malice has never known the kind of pain that you wish to inflict upon her. She's never known guilt, shame, or regret.'

"She's a monster!"

"There's no denying that." Cloak agreed.

"Oh, and you don't want to attack me," Malice added, conversationally, "as you might regret it."

"I won't! I want you to suffer, you monster!" Jenn said,continuing to close the distance. She ****ed her right arm back. She wanted to savor this impact. She wanted to see Malice die from a single blow with her superhuman strength. Jenn wanted to feel the impact, and if she used her full strength, that wouldn't happen . . . she had to pull back, just so she could feel the impact of her fist on Malice's skull.

"Attack me," Malice said, pulling out what appeared to be an Assist Trophy. Jenn stopped her charge at once, recognizing what this item truly was, and terrified of breaking it.

"What's that?" GH asked at once.

"Nothing good," Cerulean replied, noticing all the Kryptonians present, all four of them, trained their eyes on this item.

"Is that --" Cloak said.

"Kandidor, yes," Malice said, as if she somehow foresaw this was how everything was going to go. As if it was because she designed it that way. As if she manipulated all events to this scenario. She hadn't done anything of the sort, but she presented it as if she did. "I found it right in your backyard, wittle Cloaky."

Cloak felt as if his stomach was bottoming out. He never searched for anything when their "Danger Room" became an inoperable, burned out husk . . . he had assumed any bottled cities would have been destroyed in the ensuing explosions onboard Brainiac's ship. . . . Brainiac didn't even survive that explosion, one that he caused at his own unwitting volition. But, apparently, Kandidor survived. Survived atmospheric entry, and making groundfall without so much as a scratch. But that could have been an one-time thing, there was no guarantee that it could survive another blow. . . . And those Dwellers within were not guaranteed to survive its destruction.

"Yes, that's right," she crowed with her namesake, "I hold all the cards here."

The destruction of Kandidor would also be on his head, Cloak felt, and their blood on his hands. Cloak gave a cursory glance around. There were already Kryptonian blood on his hands . . . there was so much blood on his hands at this point. And he felt extremely contrite and remorseful about it. These were foreign concepts to Malice, and she disregarded them with abject disdain and irreverence.

"So," she said, with a devious smile, turned away from Cloak, "whatcha gonna do now?"

[Cloak]

As I was talking with Dino, she pointed out how dark some of the books are, which got me to thinking how there haven't really been any real happy endings in the series. *looks at future outlines* I suppose it's a spoiler to say that trend isn't likely to end.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Malice Loses It

"So . . . whatcha gonna do now?"

Cloak didn't have an answer. Anything he did would risk her dropping the bottled city, or her destroying it in retaliation. Cloak's anger at himself increased -- his own inaction had led to this scenario. Had he learned nothing by the trials that he had to pass to get Destiny's diary? He wasn't being proactive, he wasn't being decisive. And now they were in this impossible situation.

"Oh," Malice said, voice full of cruelty and her namesake as she gloated, "you can't do anything, can you?"

Cloak glared at the back of Malice, who had turned her head to look at him, to gloat. She was loving this. She was savoring this. But it was only a matter of time before she made a move. Cloak didn't know what to expect, but he felt that he was at fault for all of this. He should have known that this would have happened the moment he saw Lus-Stl's collar . . . but he didn't do anything really about it. He didn't prepare for Malice. He allowed himself to drop his guard.

"Your helplessness is delicious," Malice piled on.

Cloak's guilt seemed to be ever expanding. He should have saw this . . . and he didn't. Not even through those frustratingly-vague Truth Dreams! He . . . he should have . . . this was all his fault. . . .

"You are in despair," Malice said. She was clearly enjoying this. She was enjoying this too much. She loved causing Cloak pain. She never seemed to need another reason other than this. It was, as she said, entertaining to her. She was, at her heart, a bully who loved to see the suffering, pain, and anguish of others. "Allow me to deepen it."

Cloak looked at her, allowing Gato's desiccated, dead body to drop to the floor once more. He rose slowly, saying, "What do you --"

Suddenly, her energy flared from her hand, and two sets of mandibles akin to that of a male stag beetles constructed from her own energy clamped down on the bottled city. The points of which dug into the glass-like analogue. She didn't pop it, but she made it clear that she could at her slightest whim.

"Malice, stop!" Cloak said, perfectly aware that this demand was ultimately futile. "You're going too far!"

"Oh, am I?" she said, increasing the pressure on the glass-like dome. It began to crack around the spiked points of her energy construct. "Would you want to see just how far I'm really willing to go with this?"

Cloak hesitated, which caused Malice to laugh raucously and harshly.

"You know, Cloak, this is why you're weak," Malice said. "You treasure all the wrong things. These Dwellers? Their little lives are meaningless. They barely live for a decade, and you've gained an attachment to them. How pathetic."

She increased the power and pressure of her energy constructs, making the cracking more severe.

"Stop this, Malice!" Cloak said, afraid to interfere, afraid of making things worse. "You don't have to do this!"

"You see yet?" Malice said, grin sliding from her face. The cracks in the glass-like structure began to fracture and fissure as Malice tightened her construct's grip. "This is what makes you pathetic. You have enough power to split this planet in twain, and what do you do with it? You squander it protecting these unworthy, filthy Dwellers. And why? Because they're your . . . what's that term . . . friends? Who befriends insignificant peons who have no real use and often prove to be disappointments?"

"They only disappoint you because you treat them like cannon fodder," Cloak argued, going through daring plan after daring plan in his mind, before dismissing them for one reason or another. He couldn't see a good, salient way to free the bottled city . . . and clearly there were people in there, judging by the looks on the faces of Jess, Eli-Wo, The-Re, and Fo-Ur. "Because you treat them as beneath you, rather than equals."

"They are puny, worthless scraps of disgusting matter," Malice said, snidely. "They could never be our equals."

"And that attitude is why you will never understand," Cloak said.

"Oh, I understand perfectly, little Cloak," she said. "Even with all your power, you're still weak!"

"Disregarding life doesn't make you strong," Cloak said. "And preserving life doesn't make you weak."

"Oh, really?" she said. He didn't like the way she said that, and neither did Jenn.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Wait . . . WHAT Exactly Happened Here?

"Oh, really?"

Cloak felt his heart sink and nestle firmly into his stomach. He realized what she was going to do only a split second before she did it. It was like everything was moving in slow-motion and his body and reaction time seemed to be even slower. He hated this feeling, as if he was submerged in molasses on a frigid day.

Malice increased the pressure on her construct until the dome of glass-like material shattered into pieces. But that wasn't it, she reformed the construct into what resembled a hydraulic press. She slowly pressed it down upon the city, smashing it before Jenn could react. There was no question to it now. Kandidor was gone. The forgotten bottled city belonged to the annals of history now, where it would still be summarily forgotten.

"You . . . you . . . you killed them," Jenn said, utterly stunned with shock. "Everyone . . . everyone gone . . ."

"Malice!" Cloak roared, on his feet now. He was conflicted, at first, about what needed to be done. But now . . . he realized he should have done to Malice what he done to her ancestor, Cataclysm so long ago. "You didn't have to do that!"

"I know that," she said, not bothering to look over him, instead of choosing to fiddle with something in her cloak. Cloak would later hate himself for being so slow on the uptake. "I did it because I wanted to."

"Where's your humanity?" Cloak asked. He genuinely wanted to know. "What the Veil happened to you to make you this way? What the Veil happened to you to disregard life in this way? What the Veil is wrong with you?!'

"You . . . you monster!" Jenn said, charging forward again, eyes full of tears. Everyone she knew, friend and adversary, was gone now. Dead. Everyone in Kandidor was under artificial red sunlight, they didn't have any powers. They were helpless. And now they were dead. Everyone, other than The-Re and Fo-Ur, were gone. She would never see them again. She would never be able to laugh with . . . to cry with . . . to comfort . . . to love with them again. "Monster!"

Cerulean was quicker on the uptake than Cloak, whose mind had frustratingly become sluggish and turbid. He would wonder idly if this was a drawback from what he did to Destiny's diaries or possibly some sort of affliction from it. Cerulean seized GH by the arm, and sped away, at top speed. GH thought it was like suddenly having a seat belt strapped onto him, and having a roller coaster rocketing him backward. And he wasn't a particular fan of roller coasters, especially backward roller coasters.

Cloak didn't see this happen, his mind was struggling to cope with just what could have possibly happened to Malice to make her this way. Was she born this way, or was it something environmental to shape her into this monster? She was an octogenarian. She had eighty years -- eight hundred, using the same calendar that the RAFians use -- in which to be shaped into this . . . this thing before him. Something had to have happen to her, as Cloak resisted the idea that someone could be born this evil, this callous, this heartless.

"I will kill you myself!" Jenn said, eyes still full of tears. She ****ed a fist back for a blow, and it was then that Cloak's muddied might snapped back into clearer focus. He suddenly realized what Malice intended to do, and he was in no position to stop her. There was that rather inconvenient time slow-down at this, and Cloak cursed this loudly, as he watched Malice's cloak's hood come down, as Jenn closed in on her. Watched as the cloak fell and coiled around her feet.

Then her corona was now unfettered, and began eating away at reality itself. Jenn was the first victim of this, as well as the desiccated corpses on the ground. Eventually, it reached Eli-Wo, The-Re, Fo-Ur, who rushed to try to save Jenn. Soon . . . all the Kryptonians were gone as fabric of reality itself looked as if someone took a lit cigarette to it.

Cloak immediate put the two into an energy bubble. He managed to react just quickly enough to save reality from Malice's corona. Reality itself would be able to repair this burn rather quickly. Had he not managed to act sooner, it might not have, and their would be a hole in reality right here. He didn't know if the Dwellers would have been able to perceive it or not, but he would.

"Well," Malice said, putting on her cloak and latching it back up, "that was fun."

Cloak dropped the energy bubble, and reality had restructured and repaired itself in that small a timeframe. Reality could be surprisingly resilient when it came to Realm Walker coronas.

"FUN?" Cloaks said, his eyes became golden-scarlet suns as he turned his penetrating glare towards Malice herself. "You commit mass murder and you declare it as FUN?!"

"Well, yeah," she said, flippantly. "It was."

"What the Veil is WRONG with you?!?!" Cloak demanded as the very earth beneath their feet trembled at its master's anger. "How can you be so . . .cavalier . . . about murdering people?!"

"Oh, c'mon, Cloak," Malice sniffed. "They're not people. They're only useful for entertainment, other than that their lives are meaningless and inconsequential and pointless. Their only purpose is to entertain me."

Cloak looked at her, and asked again, "What the Veil is wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," Malice said, annoyed now. "Everything is wrong with you, though. These Dwellers can't even live ten, eleven years old, and if they do, they're so frail and even more worthless than they were before. Why do you have such an attachment to such creatures? You know that they're aren't even going to be around in another ten years, right?"

"Seriously, Malice, what is wrong with you? Disregarding life doesn't make you strong. Callousness like that . . . it may make you ruthless, but ruthlessness isn't strength." Cloak said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," she said, as she Walked away. There was no way for Cloak to follow her . . . she could have just jumped back into this or any other Realm. Cloak was still quite miffed . . . and yet again, he did nothing. He didn't kill her. He killed Cataclysm, but he always hesitated before killing Malice. Why? Why did he not just kill her instead of conversing with her?

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Contemplation and Construction

Cloak returned to the forum, feeling both aggrieved and miffed. What was Malice's problem? Why was she this way? There had to be a reason for it. Cloak resisted the notion that anyone was born inherently malicious. It was surely something environmental. But Cloak came from a traumatic background, and he didn't disregard all life in the Realms.

Although he did disregard the life of that Siren . . . and the eidolans . . . and he did disregard the feelings of Gene, that genie . . . he assumed that he was happier now that he had a life of his own, away from the constant wish-granting that being a genie forced him to do . . . he had loving parents, friends, acquaintances, and family that were all his own now . . . he assumed that he would be happy . . . granted, he never checked up on him, and he didn't know where he was . . .

Cloak chose not to think about those. Yes, he made mistakes. He was a flawed being, as all Realm Dwellers and Realm Walkers are. Flawless beings are an impossibility. Sure, there are those that claim that they are devoid of flaws, but those are just deceptive and untrue boasts. Everyone has flaws. Everyone makes errors in judgement. And Cloak was no different.

But Malice? She was one of those people who assume that she was without flaws, that didn't see any wrong in her actions. No one is always right -- and Cloak felt that he himself is an example of this, but, unlike Malice, he felt remorse for those mistakes. He felt regret for his impetuous actions, and often at that. He often questioned his actions, and often wondered if he was doing the right thing. Malice clearly never stopped to think this, never stopped to consider that she was in the wrong -- or, if she ever did, she just plain didn't care about things like morality or humanity.

Cloak retired to his thread, clearly wanting to be alone. He heard GH talking to someone else, "No, give him some time alone."

Cloak couldn't help but grouse about this. This whole excursion was a massive failure, and it was a massive failure on his part. From start to finish, it was a failure, and it was his fault that it was a failure. He had failed to analyze the situation correctly or thoroughly, so those Kryptonian deaths are as much on his head as they were on Malice's. The only difference was Cloak cared about it. Cloak regretted it. Cloak felt remorse. Cloak felt all the deaths, despite not knowing any of these Kryptonians.

Then there was the bigger error that Cloak found just as regrettable, and just as embarrassing. The fact that they didn't notice the wreckage from Brainiac's exploded ship. The fact that he didn't notice it. This all could have been avoided . . . if they had investigated the debris site more thoroughly. If they even realized their was a debris site at all . . . it was right in their backyard, scarcely two or three miles away from the forum. He again wondered if he was doing more damage living in this Realm, if he was just attracting all this pain, this heartache, and this suffering to these people . . .

It was his fault. It was his responsibility. And he had failed them. Was . . . was his mother right? Was he really a failure? He wished he could talk to Wheeza . . . she'd know what he should have done. She'd know how do this right . . . she know how to lift him up, to tell him that he wasn't a complete failure. She'd know how to keep the despair away, to help him from succumbing to the despondency, from giving in to the dejection that he felt. To keep this abatement he felt in his self-worth.

But she was gone. She was gone and she would not be coming back. He would never be able to talk to her again. . . .

He spent the rest of the night in his thread, in tears, in regret, in remorse.

***

Malice had returned to her hideout, that Cloak never seemed able to find. She didn't know that Cloak had never really tried, and that his Earthsight had a radius. She didn't really care -- he was such a child as far as she was concerned. Her disdain for him actually caring and loving Dwellers as if they were worth something was palpable. It disgusted her -- disgusted her because he didn't have proper Realm Walker pride, in her view. It was probably one reason that she took such elation and joy in causing him pain, in causing him heartache, and making him suffer. It served him right, for aligning himself with these valueless Dwellers, for being unable to see them for the insignificant insects that they are, with their paltry desires and unimportant whining about rights.

She began to construct her next device, which was the only use that those Kryptonian fools served. Now she didn't have to go and collect the parts herself, she had plenty with which to work with. Granted, the parts weren't of Realm Walker quality, but it it will do just fine. She would prove that she was not to be trifled with again. Of course, the device wouldn't affect her or other Realm Walkers, but that's good. She wanted Cloak to watch. She wanted him to suffer. She would enjoy and savor it again.

It was thoughts like that made her really enjoy putting this thing together. She was really motivated to sow discord and inflict pain upon countless others. She smiled broadly at this . . . there were so many ways to accomplish this. So, so many ways . . . she shouldn't have another scheme drought again. She was now back into relevance in that Dweller-loving loser's life. He would never forget about her, especially not now.

She looked at the device that she was crafting. Fortunately, she was still quite mechanically competent, especially for what the next part of her scheme would entail. But the thing was only half-finished. She would have to continue to work diligently until the device would be completed. Then . . . then the next part of her fun would began. Her fun would began anew.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Fire Wave

Cloak was dispatched to a prototype munitions plant. He felt disgusted. He always disliked firearms and munitions, finding them horribly uncivilized. Granted, he didn't espouse this view around his RAFian friends, like Parker or Hunter, who held an interest in them. But this? This entire factory was superfluous and completely unnecessary, and a waste of money. It felt wholly not worth the funds.

Cloak proceeded further into the abandoned facility. And, within minutes, he discovered why the facility was no longer in use. There was molten . . . something that flooded the floor. Something that was once fiery and incinerating to the touch. But, now? Now it was cooling into some sort of slag, a hard carapace that was safe for him to walk on without too much discomfort.

This was the easiest way to bypass the conveyor belts which were still mindlessly, yet half-heartedly assembling war machines. Cloak was tempted to take it out -- but he didn't really feel like opening that can of worms at the present moment. He just found their power source -- and deprived them of it. Ending this production of this supposedly abandoned facility. He ran along, atop the slag, to a large dropshaft, which he dove down.

Being a cat, he landed on his feet and he quickly took inventory of his environment. Then he proceeded onward, allowing his feet to Metalsight the environment around him. He only stopped momentarily when the ceiling before him gave way, and the burned skeletal remains of a human arm and hand tumbled down. Was the owner of this arm a victim of the fiend? He didn't want to consider that. He moved onward, ignoring the scaffolding that. He took notice of two secreted bundles of vegetation, one high up and hidden behind in a secret compartment while the other was on the slag ground. Both showed signs of being burned, almost as if the fiend got a high for doing so.

He climb up a wall, using his Mastery of Metal to cling to the element and allow him to push himself upward. Then he pulled himself into a large tunnel, and followed it to four compressors. They were easily dodged, and Cloak didn't see the point in fighting them when he didn't have to. Then he dropped down another dropshaft, which led to a massive room with a massive confusion of pipes, painted yellow for some reason.

Beyond this room was the fiend's nest. The room was massive, though the ceiling was rather low considering the width and length of the room, and had a large conveyor belt on the floor. The fiend itself appeared to be an anthropomorphic Palaeoloxodon naumanni, with rather minimalistic clothing. It looked like an anthropomorphic elephant with twisted tusks that measured between seven and eight feet long, a subcutaneous fat layer and long fur. But, instead of a right hand, it had a flamethrower instead. It stood about two and a half feet taller than Cloak, but Cloak wasn't intimidated. It had green sclera and purple pupils.

He tried to manipulate the conveyor belt beneath Cloak's feet, but he wasn't about to have any of it. He stood upon an energy disc, and his face set. Cloak probably should haven't been taking out his anger on this fiend, but that's where this was headed. The fiend glared at Cloak as if it thought that this was cheating. It jumped up -- which was amazing, as elephants cannot jump due to the way their feet are, so Cloak supposed it was due to its more humanoid stance. When it landed, Cloak could still feel the impact, despite being hovering about a quarter of an inch above the ground.

Then it globbed a gooey, flammable substance at Cloak, which missed and landed on the conveyor belt, and the fiend roared, changing the direction of the conveyor belt. It took its flamethrower "hand" and tried to ignite this oily compound. Cloak wouldn't allow it, firing a funnel of wind towards the fiend. This seemed to damage the creature, and Cloak took notice that it seemed to be the creature's weakness.

When it jumped over him, Cloak fired a powerful vertical whirlwind around him, damaging the fiend further. From there, Cloak continued his attacks. He was almost ruthless with the way he was attacking, and only when he was done, he wondered. Was he really all that better than Malice, considering what he just did?

***

Demos called it a "Pyropaleoloxodon naumanni". Demos didn't give a reason for its creation.

***

Malice wasn't paying any attention to this fight, and only had it on as background noise. She was so close to completion . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

BOOK CLXXVIII:
DULLSVILLE
CHAPTER ONE:
Spoiler -- It's Not Gunter

Aquilai traveled to an abandoned antarctic military base. It was quite cold, and Aquilai had to admit that he didn't really like it. But if it really got too bad -- he still had his TARDIS, in its pendent form. Aquilai arrived outside the abandoned facility and the weather was, fortunately, clear. The climate wasn't, admittingly, not to the Time Lord's liking. He had use his Breath of Fire technique to make sure his body temperature didn't drop too much.

Aquilai proceeded forward, climbing a small icy hill and descending it. Then he climbed a small ledge, and proceeded forward. He walked down a small icy hill, down a ledge, then up a small slope to the abandoned facility proper. Then he walked carefully down the sloping, uneven ground. He was displeased to discover that it wasn't any warmer in here. He used his Breath of Fire technique before moving on.

When it evened out, he continued forward, finding the flooring not encrusted with ice. He wasn't sure if that was reassuring or not. Then he hopped a ledge, and walked down a ramp and up another, moving upwards through the sinewy pathways. He went up a dropshaft with his firebending, and when he reached the landing, he saw a pair of disembodied human legs frozen in ice. He wondered if this was a victim of the fiend -- but he thought this facility was abandoned. . . .

Aquilai proceeded forward, jumping over two chasms, and then another. He climbed over a ledge, and proceeded toward what he assumed was deeper into the facility. But, after dealing with series of uneven ground and series of ledges and he found himself outside the facility. Well, that wasn't what he expected at all. And there were these strange, short pillars. Whatever purpose they served, they didn't appear to be serving it now.

He came to what appeared to look like a biomechanical igloo, and he jumped on it, before leaping over a chasm. Then he could go through a cave or above it, Aquilai chose the upper path, as the cavern looked like it was full of chasms. Atop, he saw two destroyed biomechanical igloos . . . with a cache of frozen fish in each one. This perplexed Aquilai, but the Time Lord decided to not question it. He moved on, jumping over a hole, and going over slight, sloping hills here and there. There were also chasms here and there, and he had to dodge rolling snowballs.

He jumped a ledge, and jumped a chasm beyond it. He walked uphill, climbed up a ledge, and continued to walk uphill, to what appeared to be a silo of some sort. This was the fiend's nest. The fiend appeared to be an anthropomorphic penguin standing between five and five-and-a-half feet tall. It had black sclera and purple pupils. Instead of having vestigial wings, like other penguins, it hat human-like arms ending black hands. It was black and white -- countershading for camouflage in normal penguins. It had a thick layer of insulating feathers, like other penguins,

When the fiend saw him, it immediately vomited a small shot of ice, as if it came from a shotgun. Aquilai quickly used firebending to get rid of it, and he took his stance. Then it breathed a frosty breath, creating two penguin sculptures of ice. Then it leaped to the ceiling of the room and created a blizzard that blew Aquilai backward. It also sent these ice sculpture penguins sliding at him. He blasted them away with a concussive wave of fire, and he dodged the fiend from landing on him. Aquilai suspected that it weighed more than your average penguin, considering it was somewhat larger -- although Aquilai didn't have much to judge it by, as he's never met a penguin.

Then the fiend slid across the floor at such a velocity that forced Aquilai to jump over it, using his firebending to propel himself a good enough distance away from it's sliding attack, which bounced off the walls in this small, enclosed, silo-like room. Then the fiend started up this attack pattern again, with not very much variation at all.

Aquilai decided that he needed to be a bit more proactive. He began to use his firebending to press his attack, and the penguin fiend's slide was the only thing that could penetrate the RAFian's offensive defense. But soon enough, Aquilai ignited the fiend at least seven times before . . . before the job was done. It was something that had to be done.

Aquilai left, choosing not to dwell on it.

***

Demos called it a "cryospheniscus". Again, he didn't give a reason for its creation.

***

Malice continued to obsessively work on her special little device.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
Well, This Was A Bit On the Nose

"Why don't you leave me alone?" Cloak demanded, to a dream construct of Malice. "And why don't you leave RAF and the RAFians alone?"

"But you don't understand, m'dear," she said, affably. "They need me. YOU need me."

"Now, RAF needs improving.
It's just too impossibly odd.
Someone needs to get some changes moving,
And I'm just the woman for the job!"

She moved aside, and there was Lus-Stl, strumming what could be a guitar or an absurdly-large ukulele, Cloak couldn't tell. But the sight of him made Cloak truly realize that this was a dream, and was now a lucid dream.

"Now, don't you ever wonder about RAF, lad?
How everything's upside down?
The RAFians are so crazy in their RAF, lad.
They don't know that it's turned around.
Everything's all askew.
But I could change a thing or two.
And . . ."

The dream construct of Lus-Stl vanished as Dream Malice continued.

"Don't you ever wonder about RAF, lad?
How everything is so confused?
Everything's disorganized in RAF, lad.
There should be just a few strict rules.
Everything's turned around.
Someone needs to TONE IT DOWN!!
And . . ."

Cloak felt as if that was a hint. But a hint to what? Then he realized this was part Truth Dream. Those frustratingly vague things he occasionally got.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if RAF, lad,
Were underneath a metal dome?
The traffic would be minimized in RAF, lad,
With everyone banished from this home!
Lands and creatures well in hand.
We'll make the colors MUCH MORE BLAND.
With everything at my command.
When I'm the queen of everything, lad.
When I'm the queen of everything, lad."

At this point Cloak woke up, and it was now up to him to try to parse together or parse apart what this dream was intended to mean. These Truth Dreams are far too subtle, and yet, they probably think that they're being incredibly obvious.* It was frustrating . . . it was frustration beyond frustration at this point. How hard was it to be more straightforward? Seriously!

Cloak was starting to be a result as contact with Destiny's diary, despite not reading it. He destroyed it, after a moment's hesitation, and Destiny and her place vanished for him, apparently inaccessible now. Not that he would have wanted to go back there. Ever. She may have been his paternal ancestor, but that didn't mean that she didn't intimidate him. And he thought his mother was the only person he ever truly feared. She hadn't anything on Destiny.

***

Malice had completed her little machine. She smiled deviously with its completion. It was like a large blast furnace, all the wires and such covered perfectly with powerful paneling made from a vibranium, adamantium, zoodeitium, and N^th metal alloy. Only breakable by a ferrokinetic. Apparently, this was necessary considering what this device was designed to not only contain, but siphon from the area around it. It didn't have a finite radius. Once activated, its effects would extend further outward until the entire planet was consumed and subsumed by its effects.

She called it the chromatoraptoris generator, generating a chromatoraptoris wave. And soon, very soon, she would activate it. And it should work like she designed it to, as she wanted it to work.


SOURCE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ThzGN9Qv5Y

* Yes, this is a reference to me writing Memoirs, when I fear a twist I write is too obvious and readers constantly assure me that I'm not being obvious at all.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
The Chromatoraptoris Wave

"Enough building tension," she cackled, "time to get this underway."

She activated the generator-slash-container. At first, it appeared nothing happened. But that was because she was in a monochromatic place, and she deliberately made it so that it wouldn't affect Realm Walkers. Not that it could in the first place, having come from Dweller-made components, but she would always make that exception, because biometrics are a bit more difficult with Realm Walkers than it was for Dwellers, as they didn't have DNA and their bichromatic energy was hardly a good metric to use, not to mention that she didn't have any of those sort of components.

She watched through the same orb she watched all the fiend fights through. And she watched as the chromatoraptoris wave extend a few inched beyond the generator in all direction, than it grew to a few feet. The white diamond and white pearl powering was hopefully powerful enough to cope. It grew to a mile radius in all directions. One mile became two. The two miles became four. Then eight, then sixteen, then thirty-two.

She watched with delight as the effects did precisely what she wanted. The color of the world was being drained, being siphoned off and contained within the generator. Everything was in grayscale around her, everyone affected by the wave. The only one who wouldn't be affected other than herself would be Cloak, and she smiled when she thought that he wouldn't have known how to deal with this. He would scramble to save this worthless world. He really wasted too much energy in doing such, but she was secretly glad that he did. That's what made these schemes fun.

He saw that these Dweller's personalities were changed as well. All verve and personality was lost with the color. All worry, surprise, sorrow, shame, schadenfreude, sadness, remorse, regret, pride, pleasure, passion, outrage, love, joy, interest, hostility, hope, happiness, grief, frustration, euphoria, enthusiasm, embarrassment, distrust, despair, curiosity, contentment, confidence, awe, annoyance, angst, affection, anger, anguish, anticipation, boredom, contempt, courage, depression, disappointment, disgust, ecstasy, empathy, envy, fear, gratitude, guilt, hatred, horror, humiliation, jealously, loneliness, lust, panic, pity, rage, rejection, resentment, saudade, self-confidence, shock, shyness, feelings of suffering, trust, and wonder were gone. All gone. All that was left was apathy and the more mundane aspects of personality. Their openness to experience was now rather mediocre.  Their conscientiousness was now middle of the road. Moderate agreeableness. Middle of the road extraversion.

They were all emotionless and had the blandest of personalities. All color leeched from them. And the wave was still expanding. The color was gone, the verve and excitement of this planet was gone. Some might have said this was a good thing, others wouldn't like it at all, being forced to live such a bland existence -- unable to feel anything, unable to nonconform. They were now unable to feel anything but neutral about all issues, no matter how outrageous.

She was going to make the whole world bland and boring, without any verve or conflict or substance. Some might have seen this as idyllic and desirable, but most would not advocate such a loss of one's self -- no personality, no feelings, no opinion. Sure, they may have been perfectly aware of their surroundings and such, but they now would greet everything with an apathetic indifference.

One had to ask just how well Malice thought this through. The only reason she was in this realm, by her own admission, was for entertainment. It was almost as if she didn't really expect this to stick, and she was planning something different . . .

***

Odie Michaels was living on the fringe. His only family would not take him back, as even they had had enough. His mother would not take him back, as he couldn't get a stable job -- none were what he wanted to do. His work ethic left a lot to be desired, and he was too proud to take what he would consider a menial job. His ego wouldn't allow it, wouldn't allow the humiliation of such work. He was far too prideful, even if such menial jobs paid reasonably well (they didn't). He had grander visions of himself.

Of course, this all ended with that "Dark RAFians" fiasco. His pride was the least of his concerns as he had evade and escape those that he recruited in his faux RAFian group, the group he had hoped to supplant the RAFians. All these grand plans of his, all his great preparations -- all snuffed out and collapsed in on itself in one fell swoop. His life went in the crapper from that day forward. His grand "Captain Michaels" disguise was ripped off him, and ripped away. They saw his real face . . . it was all over when they saw his face.

He spent his days recently living as a vagrant, mentally unstable, and homeless. He hoped that living as such, being so slovenly and dirty, he would be overlooked. Not only by society but by those he promised big paydays to be his "Dark RAFians". With money that he did not have. Perhaps that was a poor decision on his part, but he would never admit it aloud or to himself. He was incapable of admitting fault, though he would acknowledge that the "Dark RAFians" fiasco was a mistake and poorly executed. He lamented silently at the lost of everything that he had, lamented his more capricious actions. In his weaker moments, he wondered why he was bothering to keep himself alive . . .

He had his back turned when the chromatoraptoris wave swept over him. As the color left him, he felt his fear vanishing. His fear, guilt, shame, all of it vanished from him. He was only dimly aware of this, as each and every quirk of his personality, and every last thing that made him an interesting person was wiped away, leaving him feeling apathetically indifference. The facade that he was putting on was quickly and immediately abandoned, as Odie no longer felt the fear that he needed the disguise. His mind felt so muddy, bleached clean of any emotion or personality quirks. He was now rather bland in terms of personality, and he wasn't the only victim of this.

***

Rotiart was still working on his next grand scheme for revenge. They had abandoned him. They had left him for dead. They didn't even bother to look for him! He wasn't dead! He had never died. At least, physically. Emotionally, he had died inside when they abandoned him. He thought he was improving himself, making himself a better person. Thought that he would earn a place amongst these people he thought would be his friends. . . .

He should have known better. He should have known better than that. He should have realized that they would never be his friends. He would become a threat to them instead. But he wasn't there yet, he still needed preparations.to accomplish this. He never thought about just how he survived that attack from that snake-man. He didn't bother to understand that, all he knew, all he remembered that he did. And that the RAFians never came back for him. They left him. They left him to die from his injuries.

But he didn't die, did he? He survived, didn't he? They didn't expect that, did they?

He just needed to collect more DNA. Just needed to collect more to complete his special little device. He surmised that this would have been easier if he was Galvan, Cerebrocrustacean, Transylian, or the like. But he didn't care. He wasn't afraid of hard work, not anymore. His vengeance would not be denied, would not be stymied by hard work. He didn't question how he had such knowledge to build such a thing. It didn't matter to him. All mattered to him was vengence.

It was then the chromatoraptoris wave came, washing away Rotiart's obsession with revenge. He wasn't able to feel the anger, the hurt, the betrayal any longer. He wasn't able to feel anything anymore. He was unable to hold onto his drive to complete his device as the color left him. When he spoke, it was in a rather stilted way, as if he were in a grade-school play. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
Wave Effects

Shinobi was euphorically happy. He had mastered a technique Blue was teaching him that he was having immense difficulty with. He was learning the finer points of hensojutsu, and his pleasure with himself was palpable when Blue declared that he had mastered that tenet of ninjitsu. Blue, despite himself, found himself beaming at that, despite not being anywhere near finished teaching him.

But it was perfectly okay for a teacher -- a sensei, if you will -- to be proud of his student's accomplishments, right? Blue never got that from the . . . from them. Despite knowing that they were dead, Blue had a very hard time feeling sorry for it. Or really feeling anything about it. They were never really affectionate towards him, like a good parent with a child. It was a detached, lonely childhood. They clearly only saw him as nothing other than weapon, whereas Blue had formed a legitimate bond of teacher-student with Shinobi, though the bone was bit deeper than that at this point.

Shin had come to see Blue as more than a teacher, and saw him more as a father figure, as a savior -- Shin didn't want to know what his life would have been like without him, without Blue taking him under his wing. Blue, despite himself, saw Shin as a surrogate son, not unlike GH and Leatherhead. Shin's improvements at ninjitsu and his mastery of its tenets made Blue feel . . . wonderful. He found himself as happily euphoric as Shin was for mastering this one tenet. There were many more to go, naturally, but they had the time. They had all the time in the world, and they were both still young enough for Shinobi to become a master ninja, just like Blue.

Then the chromatoraptoris wave came, and neither of them felt anything anymore, as the last of the color drained from the two of them, and they treated each other indifferently, as if they were strangers, unable to feel or emote anything. Their personalities came off as flat and two-dimensional, and spoke with in very stilted manner. The only color that remained were their Marks, which remained a resilient blue.

***

Cloak wasn't the only one feeling aggrieved by being unable to save the Kandidorians. Cerulean felt a sadness, and a guilt for not being able to remove the collars. Cerulean wondered if he could have managed to unlock more of them. He was sure that he gave it his all. He tried so very hard to save them from that horrible fate.

He continued to second-guess himself. Maybe if he had gone about it in a different way . . . done it quicker . . . pushed himself to do it faster . . .

But, no . . . no matter what he did, they all were going to die. Even if he managed to get the collars off of all them in time, Malice would just remove her cloak and her . . . aura thingy . . . what did Cloak call it? . . . a "corona"? . . . Yeah, that sounded right. Malice's corona would just have murdered the rest of them. Even if one could stop them . . . what contact would they have with a Realm Walker to know the dangers of one losing their cloak? How could they know enough about Realm Walker physiology when the RAFians didn't even know, and they counted a Realm Walker in their number.

Realm Walkers were one of the most powerful species to ever exist, and fortunately, not many of them take a vested interest in their little Realm. Malice was different, Cerulean knew. She just loved and lived to make Cloak's life miserable. Cerulean has never had to deal with a malignant force like that in his life. If someone was just living to to make his life miserable, he wasn't aware of it.

Cerulean was starting to feel better, though he was still unhappy with their deaths. He did wish that they didn't happen . . . but there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. Even with his superspeed, there was no guarantee that he would have been able to stop her from dropping her cloak. He didn't know if someone like him would have been able to relatch the cloak to her neck. He was truly helpless in that scenario. . . .

It was at this point that the chromatoraptoris wave washed over him, ending whatever emotions he was feeling.

***

GH was feeling a great amount of disgust. He wondered how the heck he wound up back in this stupid armadillo suit again. Did this suit need to be this unnecessarily hot? Did it need to be this unnecessarily cumbersome? Could he just go back and fight the gargoyle guy again? . . . Now that he thought about it, perhaps just wearing this stupid mascot suit wasn't so bad in comparison. Granted, this wasn't something that he'd particularly want to do as a job -- because he'd always have to be "in-character" (and most mascot characters contrasted his actual personality so much), he wouldn't be allowed to speak, he would always have to be in constant motion, and he didn't think it would be as fun beyond the first time, if it was even fun then. And, because just wearing the costume wasn't enough, it was putting up with the kids.

There were the terrific, nice kids that were perfectly well-mannered and gentle. These were the kids that love the mascots, they were often excited and respectful. GH noticed that these were kids anywhere from four to ten, right around the age bracket that Leatherhead was in.

There were kids that found him, in the suit, terrifying. They were the ones that screamed, cried, or desperately fled the mascots. GH felt as if he could identify with these kids. Why would you trust a huge, monstrous thing whose face was stuck with a perma-smile? Then again, these tended to be the younger age brackets. He tried to give these kids their distance, drop his level to them, looking away, positive attitude, interacting the parents, and he even found himself playing games with them, as he was instructed by a video he perused online. He just walked away most times.

Then there were the terrible kids that made him side with Saffa as far as kids were concerned. These were the little monsters that wanted to chase, taunt, poke, mock, hit, and mess with him. It made him wish that he could pull out his guitar and show them that they weren't the tough little punks that they thought they were.
But he was told to calmly defuse, to give a "hearty handshake", or ask for help if this harassment didn't stop. Just an encounter with one of these little delinquents would be enough to make GH refuse to get back into the costume again.

It was at this point, while GH was in the suit, the chromatoraptoris wave hit, draining him of all his color, all his verve, all his personality. The only color he retained was from his Mark.

***

Kane was not happy. He was glaring mutinously at Sakki. She had angrily pulled him away from a console, where he was pushing random buttons and could have seriously damaged the software or the hardware. The RAFians couldn't afford to let that happen. Their governmental funding has been a little . . . iffy, lately, with a cut to it. There had been talks about somehow making their own funding, but it hadn't gone beyond the speculation and deliberation phase.

Kane had yelled to Sakki, "SAKKI!"

"Oh," Sakki had replied, as if he were an annoying baby brother. "You're still here."

"Whaddya doing?" he said, sounding rather childish. And not in an endearing way.

"I'm on communications duty," she said, hoping that he would go away.

"I want to be on communications duty!" he said, but Sakki could tell, with only a sidelong glance, that it was mock enthusiasm. Kane was trying to prove that he wasn't useless. The only reason that she didn't just tell him to go away, is because this kind of reminded her of Rotiart, who she did still harbor some guilt over. All RAFians harbored some guilt over what happened to him. He added, out of the blue, "I want to go on missions!"

"Well," Sakki said, devoting her energy to being civil with him. Kane really knew how to try someone's patience. "When it's your turn, you can be on communications duty. And be dispatched onto missions."

The latter wasn't altogether really likely. Kane didn't really have any usable skills or powers, and he wasn't keeping up with RAFian training. But they got to the real reason why Kane was here. He wanted to go on missions. He wanted what he perceived to be the prestige of going on these notable quests. He just wanted the accolades and achievements from such missions, not to do any of the hard work required by one. It's one of the things that disqualified him from so many -- he would just get himself and whatever team he's on killed.

"I want a mission!" he said, sounding more like a petulant child than an adult. Sakki looked at him, and ignored his demand. She pressed a few buttons to monitor the RAFians scanners, which weren't the best in the world at the moment. The "tech boys", as Sakki affectionately thought of Goom, Yarin, Xeno, and Aquilai, were working on that.

Kane didn't like being ignored, and huffily demanded, "I want one now!" Then he saw the screen upon which Sakki was working. "What's this?"

"I'm recalibrating the RAFian sensors," she said, resigned as that she's never going to get him to go away at this point while staying civil.

"Let me do it," Kane said, with childish glee. It was at that point that he started to press random buttons, and Sakki's patience was at breaking point. She seized his arm, and pulled him back harshly and roughly.

"STOP IT," she roared, "DON'T TOUCH THAT!"

"Why not?" Kane replied, pulling his arm away from her. He was actually a bit taller than her, but Sakki was far from intimidated. "You've been on so many missions, and I haven't been on one. It's not fair! I want one! I want my own mission! I want my own mission! I deserve it! I'm just as important as you!"

"Then why don't you act like it, Kane?!" Sakki snarled, as she threw him bodily from the room, slamming the door shut. He walked away, stewing his own petulance and at what he perceived to be a great injustice against him.

Then the chromatoraptoris wave came, unaffected at all by Code Avalon. Kane lost all frustration he felt, all anger, all discontentment. All feelings were leeched from him, and all he felt now was apathetic indifference. He spoke in that awkward stilted way a poor actor unsure of his lines would speak, but with indifference.

[Cloak]

Sorry about the brevity.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Notice and Self-Eviction

Cloak came out of his meditation, sensing something was not right. He looked and saw that he was in one of those black-and-white photographs that humans sometimes have. Or a monochromatic illustration. What the Veil happened while he was meditating? All the color was siphoned out of the environment. No reds. No oranges. No yellows. No greens. No cyans. No blues. No indigos. No violets. No purples. No magentas. No pinks. No browns. Just blacks, whites, and grays.

It was autumn. The colors were supposed to be at their most vibrant. But everything was in grayscale. Cloak had been a RAFian long enough, and lived on this Earth, in this Realm, long enough to know that this wasn't normal. Something was afoot, but what? He couldn't rightly say. He looked down, His cloak was black, it was true, but the browns of his outfit were untouched.

Cloak had inkling of an idea of what was going on, but he needed evidence to support it. He went back to the forum, maybe his fellow RAFians were unaffected by this . . . color-stealing wave, or whatever it was. Cloak didn't like having so little information. But his heart fell when he came to the forum and found everything was grayscale, as well. He had hoped that Code Avalon would have . . . but, then again, Code Avalon has proven to be fairly unreliable at times. The so-called "science and tech team" had been working on that problem, trying to make it more reliable.

Cloak felt dismayed when he saw that the grayscale effect wasn't only regulated to the environment and furnishings. The other RAFians were all affected . . . he was the only RAFian who was unaffected. He was extremely dismayed to find the verve -- the excitement of imagination, the artistic energy, the rapturous enthusiasm, the vigor, the vitality, the liveliness, the spirit . . . all gone. Gone, and replaced with apathetic indifference and stilted speech. The lack of emotion, the lack of motivations, the lack of interests, the lack of enthusiasm, the palpable disinterest, the almost somnolent lethargy, the off-putting torpor . . . this grayscale effect seemed to have kil-- Cloak didn't want to think of it. He didn't want to think of it that way.

But without that verve . . . RAF just wasn't RAF anymore. It just became as bland as everywhere else, presumably. But these were still his friends . . . but, with the indifference he was greeted with, it was like they were . . . like they were strangers. The Elements Master found this so incredibly disheartening, and he hadn't a clue how to solve this problem. But there had to be a way to get the color back.

There had to be some solution to this, even if Cloak couldn't see it.

***

Malice watched and savored Cloak's dismay. She glanced at the panel on the chromatoraptoris generator, showing that it was roughly at 63.9% capacity. This concerned her a little, as she had worried that it might not be able to contain the full chromatic energy. But the world had not been eclipsed yet. The reading said that roughly seventy percent of the world had been eclipsed.

Malice was intrigued though. Cloak would not allow this to stand, she knew. He would do his best to find the source of the wave, this generator powered by a white diamond and focused through a white pearl -- or was it the reverse of that? She shook her head, it didn't matter. She had other things to focus on. It was time to get a new burrow.

One may ask why when it seemed certain that her victory was assured. Perhaps it was her Tasmanian devil inclinations, or because she didn't really expect this scheme to work out, or just because she wanted to.

[Cloak]

Sorry about the brevity. New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
A Monumental Undertaking

Cloak was at a lost of what to do. Sure, he noticed that the RAFians still retained color in their Marks, and that was it. When Cloak had noticed this, he had tried everything in order to increase that color in them. But nothing. He was cut off from Unity Energy, as, apparently, were the rest of the RAFians. That wasn't going to be a solution that he could use.

But there had to be a solution to this. He was just not seeing it. He didn't want to believe that it was over, that there wasn't anything that he could do. He paced around the forum, trying not to allow the anxiety of helpless inaction, the fear of not being able to do anything about, the guilt of not being here to stop whatever caused this, the shame of not being able to save his friends, to get to him.  His pacing around was getting more frantic and frenetic.

Then he forced himself to calm down, and think this through logically and reasonably. If he allowed himself to become so worried and anxious, he could very well overlook the very thing that could save everyone. But he found himself going to fond reminiscences and recollections. Like that time when GH sang the theme to "Blue's Clues" whenever Blue was around, causing him to sneak around behind him and put him into a sleeper hold. Or the time when GH asked Marie, a talking RAFian fox, what does a fox say -- yes, like how you may think -- and her at his throat, literally.

These amusing memories had the opposite effect that one might have expected. It just deepened the sadness, the despair that he felt. How was he going to save them? It seemed so futile, so insurmountable, so impossible to overcome . . . but they were depending on him, even if they weren't aware of it. This grayscale had taking that capability away from them. It had robbed them of the capacity to be passionate or even care what happened to them or others. They certainly weren't happy or content with this, as the grayscale effect had robbed them of that, as well. Cloak couldn't imagine being in such a state of complete and total indifference, utter apathy, towards everyone and everything.

It was like robbing people of a part of there identity, robbing them of something that they themselves can't recover. At least, not without outside help. Cloak felt once more like the took Atlas's burden from him. He was being depended on, and he couldn't let them down. Even Kane. Even the Knights. Even Cadmus itself. Everyone was depending on him to give their world the color that was rightfully theirs. If the preferred their emotionless state, well, then they could remain devoid of emotions. Cloak wouldn't stop them, as that would be their choice. This grayscale effect, however, was not.

Cloak closed his eyes. He didn't even know where to start! He had next to no information! He had . . . he had . . . nothing . . . nothing . . . to go on. Where should he start? Where could he start? His first inclination would be Malice's little hidey-hole, only he didn't know where that was. And that admission costed him a great deal of pride to acknowledge.

Suddenly, he remembered . . .

***

Malice had moved a bulk of her belongings that she's accumulated in this Realm over to her new "burrow". She would check on the chromatoraptoris wave generator every now and then. It was at seventy percent capacity with about eighty percent of global coverage. She reacted rather placidly to this news, with no real excitement or enthusiasm, which was rather odd as she was on the cusp of absolute victory.

The generator was operating perfectly within the perimeters, as she designed it to. But she treated this news with strange indifference, as she continued basically move house. She found her newest "burrow" to be more comfortable to this dank, drafty one.

[Cloak]

Releasing tomorrow's chapter a little early.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Two Hundred Years Previously . . .

"Are you sure, Grandpa?"

"I am," Sage replied, arms folded over his chest. Being a bald eagle Realm Walker, his gaze always had an intimidating quality towards it. "You have the mark."

And, later in life, he would get a quite different sort of Mark.

"Mark?"

"Potential, boy," he said. "You have the potential to be the next Master."

Cloak didn't know what to say about that, but he felt all the apprehension and anxiety. He didn't know if he had it in him to achieve what his maternal grandfather was suggesting. It was a frighteningly tall order. He was only seven, how could he achieve what his grandfather has? He commanded respect wherever he went, and Cloak felt that he was a little too passive and meek for it.

"I know that you have your doubts, boy," he said. "Boy" wasn't a term for detachment. This was before Cloak had taken "Cloak" as his chosen name. His true Realm Walker name was unpronounceable and not able to be written down coherently. "I did to, when my father began to teach me."

"You'll teach me?"

"Of course, boy!' Sage said, with a hearty chuckle. "You didn't honestly think that you'd have to learn the Six Elements without any guidance or tutelage? Come now, boy!"

Cloak felt a little stupid for believing that he'd be in on this on his own, without a teacher. That seemed obvious now, but he was seven. Granted, at this point, his mother had yet to go off the deep end and both his parents were together. Things wouldn't really sour for another seven, eight years, give or take a day. Shadow wasn't even thought of yet as her mother was only around sixteen at this point, and Dagger was only about five.

"What . . . what if I mess up?" Cloak said, uncertainly.

"You learn from the error," Sage impressed. "You learn from the mistake and do better. Be better."

Cloak still was uncertain. Unsurprising considering how little self-confidence that he had in himself back then. His father's presence seemed to have tempered his mother's harshness. But he decided to trust his grandfather's assessment of this, despite his uncertainty.

". . . When do we start?" he said, uncertainly.

"Tomorrow," he said. "You've shown an affinity for Earth, boy. We'll start there."

***

That was back when he was a cub. He was so new, so green . . . but, back then, mastering one Element seemed like a tall order, let alone six. He managed to do it, though. He accomplished what he feared would prove to be impossible. He is now an Elements Master, and he even trained a new Elements Master -- Shadow, the youngest Elements Master in known memory.

Sure, the problem in front of him was most certainly daunting. But he would meet it head-on. If he failed . . . then he failed. If he succeeded, then he would succeed. But he would have to find . . .

What was that?

It was like the barest touch, the most subtle and briefest of breezes. No . . . "breeze" was the wrong analogy. It was like a barely perceptible water current. Cloak couldn't help but wonder. . . . Wonder if he followed this almost imperceptible current, if it would . . . would lead him to the source of this . . . this color siphon, or whatever is generating it. It was a flimsy lead, to be sure.

But it was the only one he had. He couldn't pass it up, could he?