Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDL (1,450): "Arquillian Alliance" -- The RAFians forge an alliance with the Arquillians

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Conflicting Views

Angrir's grip tightened upon his Hammer as he roared, in a distorted version of Rudy's voice, "I AM ANGRIR!!! BREAKER OF SOULS!!!"

He glared around, almost hoping for someone to dismiss or refute this claim. But there was no one, not a living soul. Which was fortunate, as any blow from his hammer might have caused several unintentional Horcruxes to form, due to the very nature of the Hammer breaking, mashing, and shattering souls. But this dissatisfied Angrir's fearsome braggadoscious demeanor.

He needed souls to crush, to destroy. It was what he was meant to do after all. There was just this forgotten industrial park, with a poorly-maintained, but still fundamentally-functional bridge. He had his Hammer. All he needed now, and he felt the need desperately (despite the confused lucid part of Rudy's personality that had no control over his actions anymore), was a nail to hit.

But this area was devoid  such desirable targets. So, his course forward was obvious. He would have to go where there were suitable targets. Where none would be able to challenge his might, where all could marvel at his maiming of souls. It would be a spectacle and deeply enjoyable, for, as Angrir reasoned, why do anything if you're not going to enjoy it to its fullest.

"You're going the wrong way," said a voice from the bridge above him. Angrir elated while Rudy felt a sensation of dread.

"You dare challenge the mighty Angrir?" he said, with smiling scoff. He was secretly thrilled by this, even when he saw the owner of the voice was a woman -- Angrir was not a progressive, enlightened man. She was sitting on the side of the bridge a few feet up, and it was a wonder why her clothing wasn't being ripped and torn due to the rough edges of the bridge. "You dare challenge the BREAKER OF SOULS?!"

"Oh, I wouldn't DREAM of challenging you, o' great dunderhead Angrir," Abby said, with a tone of cleverly nuanced sarcasm that Angrir wasn't bright enough to catch on to. Hiwever, her next statement was what left no doubt that she was ridiculing him. "Mocking you, however . . ."

Angrir was not one to take scornful derision lightly. In fact, he tended to take disdainful derision very personally, while Rudy, lucid part of his personality, the "remainder" if you will, was frankly nonplussed and confused to it all.

"No one mocks Angrir!!" he roared as the remainder of Rudy wondered why he couldn't see that she was baiting him. But Angrir could not hear this lucid part of the Worthy -- this wasn't like a Yeerk-host relationship. "No one!!"

He ****ed the Hammer back, preoaring for a blow with all his strength, enhanced by the Hammer, through it. He was going to bring the bridge on top of this woman.

"I thought that I just did," Abby said, sounding completely unconcerned and unintimidated by Angrir's threats. It did occur to her that it was, perhaps, not the most advisable course of action to antagonize a ripped guy who is hefting a heavy Hammer that will likely do considerable physical harm to her. But what is physical harm to one who can simply morph away the harm done?

But, still, she was taking a rather large risk by taunting and mocking this musclebound brute. She would have to take him down somehow -- she knew that that Hammer cannot ever reach a populated area. She was already fortunate that he hadn't caused any destruction yet. It was clear that quick wits and cleverness wouldn't stop this Angrir.

She had a vague idea, the merest skeleton of a plan, as it left a lot to chance, and depended on sheer luck with the massive lack of information she had on the particulars of Angrir.

But it had to work.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLI (1,451): "The Shorty Squad" -- Several RAFian allies become the "Shorty Squad" and get captured.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
The Perfect Morph

To Angrir, it seemed like Abby inexplicably vanished and he was none too happy with this resultant outcome. He demanded, "WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Abby did not oblige an answer as her skin grew purplish and her body began to bloat out a little as her limbs began to shrivel. She was morphing. She was morphing into the only morph that could be of any real use. But only for less than two hours.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!" he demanded.

It was at this point Abby's face was beginning to distort into one decidedly more inhuman. Her teeth fused together to become two inhumanly long fangs protruding from her mouth, giving her an almost vampiric appearance. Two more, smaller fangs grew from her lower jaw, replacing all her human teeth. While this was happening her eyes became beady and red.

Abby heard the Hammer swish through the air in a threatening manner, almost fearful that her hiding spot was made. But his refrain remained consistent -- "WHERE ARE YOU, GNAT?!" -- so Abby's anxiety was short lived. She had to complete her morph.

Mostly in morph now, as her four limbs became insectoid and the tip of her abdomen became barbed. She also grew two feathery antennae where her eyebrows used to be, which swept out, perpendicular to her body. Her tongue also became long, conical, and barbed.

"STOP HIDING FROM ME!!" he continued to rage, and Abby somehow shut out his tantrum and ignored it.

The morph was nearly complete, and she was not an estreen, so she couldn't control it like one. Almost comically large spiracles grew at her side -- this would extrude her morph's main weapon. Then the final completion to the morph, the four large, gossamer wings that would enable her bee-like body to fly.

"FACE ME!!" Angrir raged even more. "COWARD!! COME AND FACE ME!!"

Abby was now fully in her Psycholeopterran morph. Since it was far from her first time in it, she was able to master its instincts. It helped that it didn't have any Necrofriggian prey -- a sentient species, by the way.

<Careful what you wish for,> Abby warned cryptically.

"SHOW YOURSELF!!" he roared, with a definite sound of concrete yielding to his Hammer. "COWARD!!"

<Allow me to comply, then,> Abby said, with still that creepily cryptic tone.


**

Psycholeopterran.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLII (1,452): "Clumsy Infiltration" -- Another attempt to infiltrate RAF goes awry.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
The Resistant Fragment

When Abby showed herself, Angrir immediately threw his hammer, and she, being a Psycholeopterran, easily phased through it. It was actually counterintuitive doing so, as she halfway expected the "Breaker of Souls" to be able to hit intangible things. Perhaps the title wasn't meant to be taken so literally.

She remained intangible when he tried to summon the Hammer back to his hand behind her. That was an old tactic that she was more than prepared for. But she hadn't time to be messing about. She only had two hours too this, and she had no way of telling time here. She would have to guess, and she knew how incredibly risky that doing such was. But it was necessary risk -- morphing was the onoy weapon she had against Angrir.

When she went tangible again, she floated up right in Angrir's line of sight, as he ****ed his arm back to throw the hammer one more time, But before he could, Abby exuded the red mist and flapped her wings very hard. The mist became concentric, interlocking circles with hypnotic properties.

Angrir readied to attack again, but stopped. He saw the hypnotic circles and he was clearly affected by it. He saw what he wanted to see in the circles. He saw wondrous destruction of those who would stand against him and his master, the rapturous decimation of those who would be obstacles and obstructions in his master's grand design, the musical screams of those falling to his hammer, his master thanking him wholeheartedly for his endeavors and praising him for a job well dond . . .

His arms dropped. His shoulders sagged. His Hammer slipping through his fingers d landing with a thud upon the ground, though it retained its hold over Rudy. Angrir was just so . . . so entralled by these visions. It was the same as if he were staring into the Mirror of Erised. Just as people wasted away before the aforementioned mirror, so have people before a Psycholeopterran's hypnosis.

However, the part of Rudy that remained lucid struggled against Angrir, not finding the images conjured from Angrir's mind remotely enticing. He did not find destruction desirable. He did not think slaying hordes of people by the thousands -- millions, or even billions -- was a worthwhile ambition.

Abby didn't realize it at the time, as she felt no discomfort or pain from it, but her Mark (which had translocated itself to her forehead when she morphed into a Psycholeopterran) was burning with a white light. While Angrir was still entranced by the hypnotic visions, exposure to Abby's Mark in this state caused the Hammer to flake away into dust, as if Thanos had done the snap to get rid of Hammers.

And, with the Hammer gone, its effects over Rudy was gone as well, with the Angrir identity flaking off him as if it were some low-budget CGI effect. Once this happened, Abby immediately stopped and demorphed. She was lucky, as she was dangerously close to the time limit. Her Mark translocated back to her right hand the minute she demorphed enough to have one.

It was done.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLIV (1,454): "Touch of Fear" -- A boy manifests the power to see someone's deepest fears, by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Broken Faith

Persephone Perfidy had lost her faith.

Not in any religious institution, though that was part of it, but with humanity at large. She sat in the pew that her rather conservative mother forced into. Her mother was religious to the point of blind zealotry, and Persephone found this extremely grating and overbearing. then hearing what this particular preacher had to say about some extremely controversial subjects, trying to use their holy book to justify his brutally uncharitable views. And, although she didn't say it outright, she knew her mother believed this garbage.

Both of their views were also quite factually incorrect, grossly so -- especially considering the shape of the Earth, the contents of vaccines, and the possibility of anthropogenic climate change. They were of the believe that all they needed to do was pray and everything would turn out alright. Persephone, named by her deceased father (or at least, her mother claimed that he was dead), found it very difficult to swallow all this propaganda she had shoveled down her throat for nearly twenty years at this point.

She never told her mother that she had been vaccinated without her mother's consent, by her own choice. She refused to believe that nonsense her mother constantly vomits up and spews forth like skunk stink. She also refused to believe (or entertain) the notion that the Earth was flat. She had educated herself on the matter in secret, but with each day, her mother's pompous, smug attitude wore on her. Eroding what little love and respect she had for her mother until it was virtually nonexistent. The preacher had already done that when he opened his mouth, and spewed th very same bile, using their religious book to justify it, despite the passage he was citing being contradicted a few pages further into the book.

Persephone had learned that neither one much cared for their bigoted and factually incorrect propaganda to be challenged, or dismissed outright, and it was an experience she found rather traumatic. She learned to hide her unhappiness and discontent from both of them, as, despite the domineering bullishness they constantly displayed, they would turn into offended little snowflakes faster than a blink of the eye when someone had the audacity to challenge them. Persephone was aware of this, and s felt her faith in humanity continually ebb away until it was so shallow that you could stand in it and not get your feet wet.

But the only real thing that she had that she really cared deeply about is a little spinel gem, colored a dark pink. It was a gift from her father -- the only gift of his she remembered having. She cherished this little trinket, which probably wasn't the most expensive thing, but she cherished it just the same.

Then her mother found out what she did.

Her mother was not a woman of words, but one who would not hesitate to resort to violence at any sign of challenge to her, whether it was her rhetoric or she anything that she perceived disrespectful. Especially when it was from someone that she considered lesser than her. Someone she considered lower class or of a lower position than her. She was not someone to be trifled with lightly -- someone who would ask for a manager in the most hostioe way, over the most benign things, and expect free items in return for being "inconvenienced".

Persephone had no love her, as her mother alone had eroded all faith in humanity she had. How could society have produced such a vile woman? A woman so absolutely convinced that everything she said, everything she did, was always in the right? That she herself was incapable of making mistakes? (And incapable being polite for that matter.) And Persephone had come to believe that this sort of blight had infected humanity as a whole.

So, as she sat in this pew, or whatever you called it, trying to ignore this bigoted pastor, if that's what he was called -- Persephone didn't know and didn't care. All she knew was that she hated being forced to stay here. She hated her life -- and she hated it. And she hated her mother, after she took her spinel from her, and Persephone didn't kn what she did with it, but deeply suspected that she had destroyed it (her mother hated her father, Persephone knew).

The most galling thing was when her mother had decided to act as if nothing had happened. She had no idea how much she was held in her daughter's contempt. She had no idea how much her daughter despised her, and she tended to be oblivious towards the feelings of others. Because she thought that she wasn't nearly as bad as her sister Agnes, when, in many ways, that wasn't true. She was just as entitled and overbearing. She was unaware that her domineering attitude had her daughter entertaining some permanent repercussions that she couldn't take back.

But then the Hammer of Mokk, Breaker of Faith, crashed through the stained glass window behind the pastor, or whatever his title was, and onto the very spot that he was standing. He was killed instantly, which sent waves of panic through his parishioners, or whatever they were called. Many were streaming to the doors, none hearing the Hammer, but Persephone and her mother. Her mother tried to force her to leave with her.

But Persephone had had enough. She ripped her arm out of her mother's iron grip, and immediately went to the Hammer, ignoring her mother's tirade and demands. Her mother was red in the face -- she was unaccustomed to defiance, used to Persephone doing everything to placate her. She never noticed her unhappiness, her morose depression.

Persephone took a grip upon the Hammer. And the transformation was instantaneous. Possibly because Persephone was tired of being Persephone Perfidy. Possibly because it was naive escapism. Possibly it was just because of all-encompassing parental resentment and blind defiance.

She looked up, appearing as if she had merged with a Galvanic Mechamorph. She spoke, in a distorted version of her voice, "I am Mokk, Breaker of FAITH!!"

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLV (1,455): "Touch of Death" -- A boy manifests the ability to see someone's death by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Bad Faith Actor and Good Faith Actor

"Put that thing down, Seph," her mom (who disregarded how much Persephone hated that abbreviation of her name, with her preferring her full name of "Persephone") ordered. Her mother seemed woefully unaware and miserably oblivious to the sheer danger that she had put herself into. But she was never a woman of much common sense. "That thing is unbecoming."

"I am Mokk," she said, displaying a restraint the others had not exhibited. But her grip tightened on her Hammer. Yet, her mother remained so painfully, excruciatingly oblivious to the danger she was in, how dangerous her daughter had become. "Persephone is gone."

"Seph!" her mother said sharply, and her fear reflex clearly was faulty. Her scornful scolding was not going to end well for her, and it didn't even occur to her. "I am your mother!! You're supposed to honor and respect me! You do as I say!!"

There was no way anyone could have reacted in time, though those smarter than her mother would have seen all the danger signs and took them for what they were. they would have survived to see the next day. When Mokk swung the Hammer, it wasn't only Persephone's mother's faith that broke. Even a person a fraction of her age and took care of themselves better would have fallen to such a blow.

It killed her upon impact. And, even the lucid part of Persephone still residing in the headspace that the Mokk personality currently took the lion's share of felt no remorse for this. She had felt that her mother had gotten what she deserved for her bigotry and cruelty. While she never said it aloud, for fear of vicious and vindictive reprisals, she loathed her mother as much as anyone can do so to any person. She had no bond with this woman. That ended when the umbilical cord was cut.

Her body laid where it landed, broken and lifeless. In a way, Persephone had just committed matricide, but did she really? She wasn't in control  her actions, she was just following what the Hammer, and thereby the Mokk personality, wanted without any imput or instructions from the part of her that was still lucid. She felt no remorse -- she knew that her mother was an awful person and the world was probably better off without her.

But that did not mean that she hadn't a modicum of regret. It didn't have to turn out this way. Had she have been a kind soul, a supportive mother, and an all around decent human being . . . but no. No, she chose instead to be conceited, arrogant, and entitled. Instead of allowing people, especially Persephone, form their own opinions, their own separate identities from her, she would browbeat everyone she could to see her way of thinking. People would just agree just for the expediency of getting her to leave them alone, as she got aggressive and prone to violence when challenged. She didn't have to be that way. She chose to be that way. And she chose poorly.

Meanwhile, while the lucid part of Persephone was quietly regretting her mother's decisions (which she clearly never did, baffling her daughter), Mokk was systematically destroying the place. Every peg and board, every pew, everything was coming down. And she was going slow. She was warming up.

Then a voice came up behind her, and asked, very seriously, if not a little tartly, "What do you think you're doing?"

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLVI (1,456): "Touch of Rage" -- A boy manifests the ability to see someone's rage by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Blaze and Mokk

Mokk turned around to face Blaze. He was fluttering to the ground with his reddish-orange wings -- although, that color could be a result of the sunlight filtering through the feathers on his wings. He landed daintily, without a sound and but a puff of dust announcing his presence.

"I repeat," Blaze said, folding his wings close to his back. Blaze looked around, seeing if there were casualties. He couldn't see Persephone's mother, buried under the rubble. After this brief pause, he continued, "What are you doing? Did you demolish this --"

"I am the Breaker of Faith," Mokk said, and Persephone thought it sounded profoundly childish. "And I broke their faith, and the vile institution that promulgated it."

"I know of this place, and the less-than-charitable views it preached," Blaze said, coolly. "But that is no reason to completely destroy it. Resorting to such violence completely undermines your . . . point . . ."

He said the last word with a hint of disgust.

"I don't care about ideologies," Mokk said, with a snarl. Mokk spoke with a distorted variation of Persephone's voice . She hefted the hammer to her newly muscular shoulder, and her eyes narrowed as her tone took on a smugness that Blaze felt was unwarranted. "I don't care what they believed in, or if they believed in anything at all. They had faith in something. I broke them and the inspiration for it. It's what I do. I have no other purpose. I need no other purpose."

"Your only purpose is to destroy anything someone can believe in? And anyone who can believe in that person or institution?" Blaze said, eyes narrowed as he folded his arms, prepared to reach for his bow. He needed a substitute after his special metamorphing sword was destroyed, so he opted for this bow. It had celestial bronze, Imperial gold, and mundane iron in its composition that complimented each other rather nicely. He opted against one with an opal in it, as he didn't like the design. "You realize how broad and vague that is?"

"Your judgement means nothing to me," Mokk countered, brandishing her Hammer in a threatening, hostile manner. And, by doing so, she completely undermined her argument. "You're just a little man playing a game that you do not know how to play properly!"

"I think I touched a nerve," Blaze observed. He wasn't a fool as he took his bow in hand and extended his wings to their full wingspan. This was just the banter before the battle, a statement of the clash of their ideals before the escalation. Blaze was aware of this, while Mokk did not seem to. If she did, she did not acknowledge it.

"I will not only break your faith," Mokk said, with a bloodthirsty sort of tone, "I will break you!!"

"Definitely touched a nerve," Blaze said, to himself, readying his bow.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLVII (1,457): "Oblivion Gate: Supplemental" -- An in-depth look at the Oblivion Gate Prison in the Universal Nexus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Unshakable Faith

Mokk made the first move, taking the offensive, throwing the Hammer at Blaze, who launched himself into the air. Stretching his wings he took flight, and he took aim. He nearly forgot about the Hammer, which Mokk recalled to her hand immediately. He did an aileron roll (despite not possessing any ailerons) and managed to dodge it with all the aerial skill he possessed.

He never lost his aim while doing this, either. He pulled back his bowstring and an arrow of fire -- a stiff tongue of flame -- manifested in place of an arrow. When he released the bowstring, the fiery projectile flew as an arrow would, embedding itself at Mokk's feet with several of its brothers sprouting from the ground now like Pyrosunnurite flowers. Which were summarily smashed to embers with one mighty swing of the Hammer.

"The fight is on, I guess," Blaze said, landing and firmly grabbing his bow around its middle. With a simple, almost effortless yank, he managed to separate the bow in two and use the bow halves as a bludgeoning weapon. This was very likely foolhardy on his part.

"I will break you." Mokk growled. "I will break your faith, then your body."

"Dude," Blaze interjected, showing his dexterity with the bow halves, which had basically transfigured into blunt daggers. "Don't count your chickens."

And, with that, no further words were spoken and the battle was engaged anew. Blaze used his bow half-daggers to block and perry each strike. The terrain showed the strength of each blow, and Blaze was on the defensive. He wasn't really willing to end her life, as he was seeing the Hammer for what it was -- the one in control of Persephone's actions.

Not to mention that it took him the whole of his strength to block and perry the blows. He could handle this, but not forever. He was not immune to fatigue, and this "Worthy" seemed to be more resistant to it than he himself was. This was not a good thing, especially if she could outlast him long enough to deliver the killing blow.

But Blaze would not be broken, body or faith. He was resolute. He was determined. He would not relent. And yet, he couldn't finish him off. He thought about getting in close range like this and came to the conclusion that this was stupid. Combat in these close quarters was benefiting Mokk, not him. He was allowing her to control the battle. He couldn't possibly have won the day that way.

So, he did the only logical thing he could think of. He backed away, withdrew from the combat, as he joined the two halves of his bow back together and held it in on hand.

"Coward!!" Mokk roared. Blaze ignored her.

Then he drew bowstring from the bow, and the fire arrow -- head, shaft, fetching, all the same, made from fire -- had appeared and rested as if were patiently waiting to be used.  He fired, and the fire sprouted from the ground in front of Mokk. She didn't flinch, not even a little. Blaze fired six more, which all but one missed by a very narrow margin. The last one embedded into her Hammer, before fizzling out within seconds.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, unaware that his Mark had changed to glowing white. Nor did he notice that the next fire arrow had turned into white-colored flame arrow. He took aim, as Mokk reeled her Hammer back, prepared to either swing or throw the Hammer. Blaze released the taut bowstring as Mokk threw the Hammer.

Both were disintegrated. The Hammer was gone, as was the arrow made of white flames. Mokk was immediately reverted back to Persephone, who found herself confused by her own emotions. . . .

***

"Interesting," Singularity said, watching the battle. "Could it be that they all have the . . . no. No, they're lesser beings beneath the notice of . . . yes, that must be it. A coincidence."

Malice had no idea what he was talking about, but was just upset at the destruction of another Hammer. But the indifference about it Singularity displayed confused and puzzled her, and yet, she didn't treat him as she did her other minions. She was still oblivious to how she was no longer the one in charge.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLVIII (1,458): "Touch of Desire" -- A boy manifests the ability to see someone's deepest desire by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Other Friends

GH was playing, by the lake, with Leatherhead, Estelore, and Cloak. The sunlight was wonderful. It was a happily ever after, if there ever was one. There were nothing pressing, nothing but time to enjoy with people you enjoy being around.

Was there no better feeling?

Suddenly, the sky went dark, as a sinister shadow appeared.

"HEY!" the shadow called towards the four. Its voice was masculine. "Are you Logan --"

"It's GH now," GH corrected, suspiciously.

"Perfect," the shadow said. Then he leaped to them, only revealing a humanoid silhouette, as if GH was not allowed to see this person's visage just yet. But he knew already who it was. He knew in the deepest recesses of his soul and the very bottom of his heart who it was. And he didn't want to believe it.

"It can't be," he said, as all four got to their feet.

"Oh, but it can be!" he said. "And it is!"

He allowed himself a chuckle, before continuing.

"I've got a new look, a few new -- toys -- that are gonna put an end to your happily-ever-after. ONCE AND FOR ALL!"

"Tad extreme," Estelore noted.

"Perhaps you didn't hear --" Cloak began, but this shadowed figure brazenly interrupted him. Cloak narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Yeah. Yeah. I heard." he said. "I've had your little message -- ON LOOP!"

Then an electro-swing beat began, and this shadowed figure slinked over to the four, beginning to sing.

"That's right, I heard the story,
Over and over again.
Gee, it's swell to finally meet his other friends!
That's right, I heard the story,
Don't really like how it ends!
Gee, it's swell to finally meet his other friends!"

He proceeded to harass all four, evading all Cloak's clawed swipes, undoing Estelore's hair, and flicking Leatherhead's nose. It was like he was playing with them. Literally. He continued to sing.

"What did he say about me?
What did he say?
What did he do without me?
What did he do?
Did he play games without me?
What did he play?"

Then he turned his attention to GH himself, as he sang:

"Did you think all this time that I wouldn't find out about you?"

Then he continued, singing:

"Oh, that's right, I heard the story,
Over and over again,
Gee, it's swell to finally meet his other friends!"

"I really is him," GH said, in disbelief. "This can't be serious . . ."

"You know him, Daddy? Can you tell us who he is?" Leatherhead asked.

Then the shadowed man looked to be rather . . . triggered . . . at this exchanged. He became aware that GH never told them at all about him, it would seem. And he took this rather . . . personally.

He sang angrily:
?

"Who am I?!
Who am I?!
What are you even saying?!
I'm the loser of the game
You didn't know you were playing!!"

Then he pulled out what appeared to be a comically large sledgehammer with a cartoonish flourish.

"Let's play another game.
This time I get to win!!
Lives on the line,
Winner takes all --
Ready or not, let's begin!"

Then he attacked in earnest. He managed to get the better of all four of them, as he concluded his song:

"Oh, that's right, I heard the story,
Over and over again,
Gee, it's swell to finally beat his other friends!
Oh, that's right, I heard the story,
Don't really like how it ends.
Gee, it's swell to finally beat his other,
Other,
Other friends!"

Leatherhead, Cloak, and Estelore poofed, and GH woke up. He discovered that he was on a bench in the local mall. He had dozed off without intending to. He had come to do some shopping, and Leatherhead was back at the forum. He didn't have his guitar, but he wasn't worried. He could summon it to his side as easily as if it were a Keyblade.

GH sat up straight, and ironed his temples. He tried to grapple with the dream. He remembered it, and he knew who that shadowed man was. And it scared him, so he tried to rationalize it away.

"He's fine. He's safe." he said. Then, after a moment, after pushing a bit of emotion down, he added, "he's . . . he's happy. . . ."


SOURCE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7v_KfioWSf4

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLIX (1,459): "Touch of Famine" -- A girl manifests the ability to see what someone's devoid of by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
A Broken Man

Andy was broken, as he walked through the mall in his hometown. He had broken up with his boyfriend, Jacob Eagun. But, thing was, Jacob never told him that he was breaking up with Andy. Never told him that he didn't see the relationship as seriously as Andy did.

As Andy reflected, he saw Jacob in his mind's eye, singing:

"Here in the Gardens,
Let's play a game.
I'll show you how it's done.
Here in the Gardens,
Stand very still."

And he saw himself, singing, as he felt ashamed of himself as he sung:

"This'll be so much fun!"

Then he sang in voiceover, as he recalled the abandonment.

And then he smiled, that's what I'm after,
The smile in his eyes, the sound of his laughter . . .
Content to listen, content to play,
Contently watching him drift away . . .

He recalled the painful waiting for him to return. Never realizing that . . . that was never his intention.
?

Contently waiting,
All on my own,
Under the endless sky.
Counting the seconds, standing alone,
As eons seem to go by.
Contently wondering, night after night,
Is this how it works?
Am I doing it right?
Content to listen, content to stay,
Contently watching him drift away . . .

He kept returning to the Gardens, day after day, after work. All waiting for him. But it was starting to become clearer and clearer to him, though he didn't want to believe it.
?

You keep on turning pages,
For people who don't care,
People who don't care,
About you . . .
And still it takes you ages,
To see that no one's there,
See that no one's there,
See that no one's there,
Everyone's gone on, without you . . .

It was a month or two of no contact with Andy, when Andy found out what was up. And the real reason for h abandonment.
?

Finally something!
Finally news!
About how the story ends.
He's really gone now,
Survived by his wife and son,
And all of his brand-new friends . . .

Andy ran away, to his hometown, to the mall, hating himself for his foolishness. He was the other man. The toy that Jacob used to cheat on his wife. He was the homewrecker, without knowing or wanting to be. But then something caught his eye as he was crying unabashedly.

All the while, his mind sang:
?

Isn't that lovely?
Isn't that cool?
And isn't that cruel?
And aren't I a fool to have,
Contently listened,
Content to stay,
Contently watching him drift . . .

Andy touched the handle of the Hammer of Skirn. Then he grasped the handle, and hefted it aloft and transformed as he sang in voice over . . .

Drift . . .
Drift . . .
Away . . .

SOURCE SONG: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=rmBB_-2hFqY

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLX (1,460): "Touch of Shame" -- A boy manifests the ability to see someone's deepest shame by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
A Personal Conflict

The Skirn identity had taken control over Andy, and he was actually fine with this. He just wanted to disconnect with the world. From the pain he felt, felt from being used as Jacob's plaything with no deeper connection than that. He had to believe that he wasn't the first one either. He just didn't want to feel, and even the lucid part of him (which could see, hear, and feel everything, though the Skirn identity had control of his movements and speech. But he managed to tune everything out, tried to forget everything painful that has ever happened to him.

But Andy couldn't bring himself to even hate Jacob. He just didn't have it in him to be that hateful. It just wasn't in his kind, gentle, if somewhat naive nature. Its also what made it so easy for him to get along with kids, even those determined to be little pricks and absolute little monsters. Even when he wasn't in the character suit that he performed in every now and then -- something he used to enjoy. It's actually how he met Jacob . . .

He felt his body moving, his arm holding the hammer in a swinging motion, but he continued to tune it out. He no longer wanted that world. He rejected it. It was a world of pain. It was a world of trauma. He thought he felt the Hammer impact on something several times, but he continued to ignore it. He so desperately did not want to care.

He first met Jacob while both were in costume, and in character. When they were behind-the-scenes, away from the public's eyes, they removed the heads and Andy was immediately enamored with Jacob, and Jacob knew it . . .

Andy could feel his body twisting, and his distorted voice speaking, but tried to pull away even further from that world. It was nothing but pain. Unspeakable, excruciating pain. It was best to ignore it. Yes, let this Skirn identity deal with that pain. Leave Andy in this safe place. Leave him detached and free. Free from in and turmoil. Free . . .

Andy had fallen head over heels for Jacob, and he posted it onto his social media. He would have added Jacob, but he said he didn't have one (he lied, as he didn't want his wife to find out that he had an . . . "extracurricular activity"). The signs were there. The red flags were all present, glaringly obvious. But he was foolishly oblivious to all of it . . . he had never been in love before . . . never attracted to anyone . . . well, there was one other -- Louis -- but he seemed like he was hiding something. Always hiding something. Never revealing anything. Not to anyone.

He felt impacts against his body, but in a distant, muted way. He tried to close his mind to it. Refused to acknowledge it. Refused to further acknowledge anything from that world of trauma. He was happier like this, he told himself. No longer responsible for his actions. No longer feeling further pain . . .

If this was the only way other than death to be free from it, to stop being . . .  being that stupid, naive, sad, gullible nitwit named Andy . . . then so be it.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXI (1,461): "Captain RAF" -- Cloak crafts six rings . . . uninentionally. Noncanon.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
Shock and Dismay

GH noticed a strange light, and, due his RAFian training and natural curiosity, he followed it. Was it foolish to do so? Perhaps. But he was a RAFian and he was prepared. Even though he didn't have his guitar with him, he knew he could summon it, like a Keyblade. (Something that took him a little time to master.)

So, he went to investigate. And he immediately wished that he hadn't. He thought that his feelings were resolved on this man. He had thought that he had moved on past this crush. He really did.

But the moment he saw Andy standing there, looking ripped . . . his attraction was recalled and GH's face immediately went red. True, it looked like a Galvanic Mechamorph or some Phalanx had partially assimilated him, as he held a sledgehammer with a long shaft and a single spike at both of the small sides of the rectangular head, and he had glowing eyes.

But it was still Andy to GH. Despite all the time that had gone by, despite trying to forget Andy and move on with his life, all those pushed-aside feelings came roaring back. Even as he watched -- and winced -- as Andy smashed the hammer down on a male victim where no man should be bludgeoned. This broke the man who was Andy's victim. GH found this uncharactieristical ly sadistic and vicious for Andy. Something was wrong.

Sure, people can change in even the most broad, yet infinitesimal amount of time. And not always for the better. Something was clearly wrong with Andy. GH may not have known him as well as he would have preferred, but he knew that Andy was a good, decent guy.

When he went for another victim, GH knew that he would have to stop him. Whatever happened, GH chose to believe that he could get through to him. He had to. He refused to believe at there wasn't some lucid part of Andy still inside, ready to be appealed to, ready to hearing to his pleas.

When he pulled back the two-handed hammer to swing again, GH charged forward his hand thrown back behind him. His hands quickly greeted the touch of his guitar, in its battle-axe form. And he managed to block the strike . . . but it felt like trying to stop a garbage truck on a steep incline without it's brakes locking it into place. He had become inhumanly strong . . .

 "Andy -- you can't keep doing this," GH said, through clenched teeth. He was still blocking the blow. The would-be victim had already vanished as soon as he was able. GH couldn't really blame him for that decision. He wouldn't want his manhood treated like . . . like that. It was really bad enough what that Inspector guy did (oh, man, did that hurt).

"There is no Andy," he said. His voice was distorted in a manner that GH found disconcerting. "I am Skirn! Breaker of Men!!"

"More like breaker of hearts," GH grumbled to himself. He managed to repel the strike and jumped backwards. Then he transformed his guitar back into its guitar form, with his eyes closed. Then he began to play. He poured his emotions through the music, hoping to reach the part of Andy that remained lucid.

He did this while dodging his strikes. It didn't seem to penetrate the Skirn persona. But GH continued to play on. The music conveying his fear of failing to save Andy, his hopes, his compassion, his will, and his . . . affection. Conveying his disgust, anxiety, angst, anguish, desire, and a further mixture of emotions.

It was at this point the power of his music pushed him into his Musician Supreme form -- with floating musical iconography around him in yellows, blues, indigo, and violets. When Skirn took another strike GH made no move to defend himself, he just kept playing, kept hoping to reach Andy deep within Skirn. The blues started to become more prominent. GH could sense great pain within Andy . . .

He sensed the lucid part of Andy, as this floating musical iconography functioned as a shield blocking the blows, as GH closed his eyes once more. He felt the lucid part of Andy was still there, but now he just had to bring him out. He had to . . .

He had to save him. . . .

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXII (1,462): "Touch of Pestilence" -- A girl is able to see what annoys someone the most by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
Change

And he was right.

The music was penetrating and fracturing the Skirn personality. It was unnoticeable and imperceptible at first, but the cracks gradually grew and became more and more pronounced as GH kept playing. The musical iconography around began to glow white, unnoticed by the Musician Supreme, as GH had his eyes closed as he played.

"We can make a promise,
We can make a plan.
We can make a difference,
We can take a stand.
We can make an effort,
If you only understand,
That you . . .
You can make a change!"

GH blocked the furious flurry of Hammer strikes with his symphokinetic constructs, and he seemingly refused to take an offensive. He understood that andy was in pain -- but the precise nature and details he was oblivious to. Andy -- yes, Andy, as the fissures in the Skirn persona were running deeper and deeper with every note and chord.

GH opened his eyes when he spoke, plainly and plaintively. "Listen to me, Andy! I understand! After everything you must have been through, you must be in a lot of pain."

"No . . . no!" he said, grasping his head with one hand, the other on his Hammer. "I'm Skirn!"

He was clearly holding on to this persona the way a young child holds tightly to a beloved teddy bear. It was a way to run away from his problems, his responsibility, his accountability for his actions.

"And you don't know the way I feel!" he declared angrily, apparently not even recognizing GH as "Louis", GH's workplace pseudonym. "you don't understand anything! You can't change the way I feel!"

GH never stopped playing. Even played on when andy's furious flurry of blows came again, fuelled by his anger. He didn't even know where this burning Nd gnawing anger came from, and, in the moment, he didn't really care.

"You're right -- I can't change the way you feel," GH said, which was not entirely true, but he didn't think it appropriate to quibble on the specifics. "But you can! If you really want to."

This just seemed to fuel his rage more as he attempted to sweep his Hammer and strike again and again. All blocked with GH's symphokinetic barriers. GH began to sing again:

"You can make it different,
You can make it right.
You can make it better,
We don't have to fight!
You can make an effort,
Starting with tonight!
'Cuz you,
You can make a . . ."

Andy geared up the Hammer with an over-the-head strike and GH stopped playing, causing his Musician Supreme form to dissipate as well as his symphokinetic barriers. He just sang the final word, concluding the song.

"Change."

"CAN IT, WON'T CHA?!" Andy spoke, all Skirn influence broken now. He seemed very distraught, angry, and, yes, very much hurt emotionally. "You can't just make everything better by SINGING SOME STUPID SONG!!"

GH chose not to take this personally.

As Andy made to swing his Hammer down, never noticing the white glowing fractures and fissures within it. It dissolved into nothingness before he could swing it down. Skirn was truly gone. And Andy burst into tears, unable to run away from his pain in his heart anymore . . . he felt to the ground in an emotional heap.

GH hesitated before moving toward Andy, but andy was on his feet and running away, before GH took a step. GH hesitated again, wondering if he should go after him or leave him alone. . . .


SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=xGkiOGe7FdU

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXIII (1,463): "Touch of Pestilence" -- A girl is able to see what annoys someone the most by touch.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
Shattered World

Irma Essex had become Irma Perkins. She had decided to marry Leroy, after he proposed (and his choice of engagement ring was by no means lacking either). She was actually happy.

Content with her home life, content with her more modest job, content with everything. She was far more mellow than she was before the moodulator incident, and she just remembered being unhappy all the time back then. Desperate to be the absolute best, while hating anything even mildly inhuman. She saw just how unhealthy and toxic that line of thinking was, and it was because of the moodulators, though she was actually unaware of this little fact.

She even loved how derpy her new husband could be, and she hoped to that they could have a child sometime in the near future, but it was a little too early in their marriage for that. But she still had to marvel how she had obtained her perfect happily-ever-after. Her world was perfect and idyllic in her view. She had a calm job at a flower shop while Leroy was working as a burgeoning video game developer. They were pulling in just enough money to support themselves, but they didn't need the rich opulence. Yes, their home wasn't the biggest, but there was no shame in living modestly.

But then . . . her entire world came crashing down.

Leroy was in a car accident, and under suspicious circumstances on the part of the other party. Leroy was severely injured. And the investigation that was underway seemed very shady and screwy. The investigators seemed to have not treated the case very seriously, not taking the necessary precautions at the crime scene, allowing people to freely tamper with evidence. And all of this was overt to Irma, and the audacious nature of this flagrant disregard for the accident and Leroy, and seemingly already biased towards the guy who break-checked her beloved.

Leroy . . . didn't make it. Irma had lost her man, her love, her world.

She was furious, apoplectic in her rage. And it was perfectly understandable, especially when she found out that the guy who was break-checking Leroy had the audacity to survive the crash and expect her to pay for damages when he KILLED her love! She never thought she could not feel so angry, and she was more furious when she found out that the guy was a wealthy kid who recently was cut off.

Naturally, she fought back, but the legal system was excruciatingly slow and very costly. And she was a florist. She couldn't really afford a lengthy court battle, even if her lawyer went pro bono.

Her entire world was crashing down all around her, and she wished the world would just burn. Burn and save her from this torment in her heart, this torture in her soul, and this hate in her mind. She wanted the world to burn as hers was burning. Both her and Leroy's families had washed their hands of them a long time ago, mostly when they left the Knights.

That's when she heard it. The call, the entrancing call.

She followed it, not bothering to shut the door to her house. She had to sell all the valuables within to pay the medical and legal bills. There was nothing to take. No one could take anything more from her than what they've already took. She was being called to the park. It was in the park. She had to go to the park.

When she arrived to where the Hammer of Nul laid, she saw entitled parents fighting their children for it, entitled children fighting their parents for it, entitled people fighting each other for it. All oblivious to her presence.

She didn't care about them. She didn't care about anything anymore. She was numb and dead inside. She couldn't feel anymore. She just . . . she was done.

She took hold of the Hammer's shaft with one hand, then the other. Then she hoisted it up, revealing herself Worthy. Her eyes glowed as a different persona took hold of her. She announced, almost proudly, "I am Nul! Breaker of Worlds!!"

[Cloak]

Sorry about the brevity. And sorry about the lack of new chapters. Working on another series idea (nudged on by Dino )and, as such, I probably won't be able to post until weekends instead of every other day.

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXIV (1,464): "Touch of Guilt" -- A boy can see someone's deepest guilt by skin-to-skin contact.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
Lucid Indifference

Like Andy, the lucid part of Irma receded to a corner of her mind, with the rest of it occupied by the Nul persona. She had hoped to stop this numb feeling inside. She had wanted to feel, to care about something, anything. But, now, it did not seem possible.

After everything that was torn from her, she reached an apathy so profound, so all-encompassing, so thorough that she wondered if she would ever feel again. She had, once again, met with the absolute worst that mankind had to offer anyone. and this time, we was burned and scarred irreparably by it.

She was only aware of her body's actions, its movements in a dull and detached sort of way. And she found herself utterly, utterly indifferent to it. She felt her mouth and voice being used by this persona, but she tuned out the words uttered as she couldn't be bothered to hear or understand them.

As far as she was concerned, it didn't matter. It didn't matter what Nul did. I didn't matter if it was successful in destroying the world -- let it burn to ashes, for all she cared. Let Nul cleave it in two. Who cares? It wasn't like it mattered anymore. It wasn't like anyone cared about it anymore. Everyone only cared about themselves, and screwing those around them over as long as they selfishly came out on top.

The world didn't need saving, she thought bitterly. She dimly acknowledged that she was able to feel, despite in a numb and distant manner. She felt resentment and bitterness. She felt nothing positive. It contorted her worldview back into something like it once was, only more extreme. Her apathy and indifference made a dangerous ****tail with her resentful and embittered demeanor. A very self-destructive sort of ****tail.

She could feel her body being used, her voice being utilized (albeit distorted), and through it all . . . she didn't care. She had been through too much, in far too short a span of time . . . it was, at the same time, too much and not enough. Let this Nul persona use her, as if it had possessed her body. Let it keep her body. Let her be free from it. Be free from that life in shambles. Allow her to discard it like a sweater shrunk in the wash. Let her cut-and-run from her life . . .

Was this a cowardly way of seeing things, of wishing things to be? Perhaps. But she had long since stopped caring about the judgemental people of the world. Their pompous opinions were beneath her and beneath any reprisal she could muster. She didn't care. She just simply didn't care . . .

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCDLXV (1,465): "Touch of Envy" -- A girl can see someone's deepest envies by skin-to-skin contact.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
Fixing What's Broken

"I AM NUL!!!" she roared, with a distorted version of Irma's voice. "BREAKER OF WORLDS!!!"

Then she slammed her Hammer upon the ground. This mighty impact caused several DEEP fissures to spider web from the site of the initial impact. It seemed to span several feet. Made sense as she held back the full brunt of her power. She wanted to savor this, evidently. This was her sole reason for being. She broke worlds. That's all she knew to do, and that all she wanted to do. She had no existential qualms or superfluous misgivings about that. This is what she was, and she was perfectly okay with this, as she pulled her Hammer back to swing again with just a tad more force behind it.

She slammed the Hammer upon the ground. This caused the ground to spider web further out and the already-deep fissures to plunge even further. She was taking this slower than she could have -- this may have been her sole purpose, but that did not mean she couldn't savior the act of accomplishing this task, did it? She could draw it out a little . . . artificially lengthen the process. Sure, it wasn't efficient . . . but that didn't mean anything if the results were the same. That was all that truly mattered. Results.

All the while while she did this, she wore a manic smile on her face that made her look not just a little psychotic. She was so enthralled with her own actions that it never crossed her mind that this would attract unwanted attention. She labored with the false notion, the asinine assumption of being untouchable and being invincible.

She never conceived of the possibility that someone could possibly be powerful enough to . . .

Suddenly, these fissures sealed up as if they were cuts or zippers. It was as if she never struck the planet. She was stunned by shock and embarrassment. All of her precious strikes were erased somehow. It was as if she had done nothing. Clearly, she had allowed herself to get complacent. Her face contorted in churlish rage as she raised her Hammer to strike once more, with everything she had in her.

Only to find her Hammer suspended in air, unable and seemingly unwilling to be moved.

"What the devil -- ?" she spat angrily.

"I cannot allow you to shatter the Earth," came a soft, but clearly disapproving voice, that nonetheless carried on the brief distance between the two. Thhen he referenced her Hammer's composition. "And uru? That's a rare metal -- just about second to tylee metal, I believe. I thought it was only found in Nidavellir, but clearly I was mistaken."

Nul struggled to move her Hammer, but it would not budge from it's stationary, aloft position. She was sputtering all sorts of incomprehensible curses beneath her breath that the newcomer paid no mind to. He seemed woefully oblivious to Nul's desperate endeavors.

"Uru," he had said, "a highly durable metal with a property of retaining enchantments easily. Enchanted uru also increases its durability. Unknown ductility. A non-sparking and highly immalleable material, notoriously difficult to forge, usually require the power of a star to accomplish."

Nul continued to struggle with her Hammer, cursing so profusely and ardently that sailor would blush in sheer embarrassment. Her muttering seemed to continue to be seemingly unnoticed by Cloak.

"Such properties have no bearing on Realm Walkers, as magic of any sort doesn't 'stick' to us," Cloak mused, apparently still oblivious to Nul's struggle. "And metal is metal. I am a master of the element."

"As such," he continued, giving this uru lecture, "this clearly cannot be true uru. True, it mimics some of the basic properties, but not exactly. This was clearly not forged inside a star. This seemed almost hastily crafted -- as if the forger was clearly not wanting to put in too much effort. . . . Almost as if they --"

"LET GO OF MY HAMMER!!" she roared, blaming Cloak for holding her Hammer aloft and stationary like this. She was right, of course, but Cloak only gave her only the most cursory of glances.