Memoirs of a RAFian

[Gaz]

Hope everything is ok.

I'm still following this! Things have been crazy.

[redtailedsaffa]

Me too, as always. Hope everything works out.

[Cloak]

Yeah . . .  it's not really any better today . . . being accused of something you didn't do (and know you didn't do) . . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:
Eagle-Eyed

"Do you guys just not get the whole 'battle to the death' thing?" Malice said.

"We understand it just fine, Malice. We just reject the very idea of it," Cloak said. Cloak eyed Demos, who was still seething over his suit. "Well, most of us."

"Pathetic."

"Showing mercy isn't pathetic, Malice," Cloak countered. "Mercy is just a concept that you just choose to refuse to understand. And what you refuse to understand, you dismiss. You disparage. You disregard."

Malice said nothing, but scowled.

"Just because you dismiss an ideal doesn't mean it is without merit," Cloak continued his lecture, "it doesn't mean that it's a worthless concept. If you took time to understand it, you might be --"

"Choose your next challenger." Malice interrupted, having had enough of this spiel.

"I'm up," Aquilai said, using waterbending to get into the arena.

Malice selected and decided on sending out the Steinadler named Avery Hawke, a soldier. He had muzzle-like face and a beak-like nose. He had sparse, feather-like hair all over their body, retaining his human hair color. His eyes were an extremely pale yellowish-green color. He has exceptional vision, as a result of having five times more visual sensory cells per millimeter of the retina than humans. He also has special colored oils in his eyes that reflect certain wavelengths of light. These special ocular biological factors endow him with near perfect night vision and a whole host of other ocular abilities. He was an incredibly fast creature, appearing as a blur when he runs. He didn't appear to be superhumanly strong but are a rather durable creature. He has protoreceptor proteins that allow them to perceive magnetic fields, which is apparently done by turning his head. He was known for his ability to poker-facedly exhibit simultaneous friendliness and sternness, so it is impossible to tell whose side one is on. He has high intellect and good intuition . . . when he wasn't collared.

"Well, this could be problematic." Aquilai said.

"Scared, little Dweller?" Malice taunted.

"I wouldn't go that far," Aquilai said, with quiet ambivalence.

"Oh? Well, you seemed to have --"

"It's water, Malice." Aquilai said, brusquely. "I'm a waterbender."

"I don't care what you do in you free time, Dweller," Malice said, deliberately misinterpreting the term.

Aquilai was distracted by this, but he had frozen the water, making it difficult for anyone to run on it -- as Avery found out when he tried to run on it. He slipped and fell directly on his rump, in a rather comical and comedic way. Then he was shocked to find himself encased in ice, his beak-like nose encased as well, preventing him from turning his head at all. It was child's play to unlatch the collar.

Then the ice retreated from the Steinadler and he quickly gathered his senses. Avery did not continue his attack on Aquilai, and turned his attention towards Malice.  He pressed the attack against her, only to be bisected vertically and symmetrically. Dead.

"Funny how they always seem to think that they stand a chance when they turn against me," Malice said, "it's sad, really."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO:
Sassed and Quashed

"Maybe you and I should duel, then, Malice?" Cloak said, seriously and blunt.

"Nah," Malice said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Not worth it."

Cloak said nothing, but smiled inwardly, despite himself. Malice was covering up the fact that she didn't want to face Cloak in an one-on-one fight -- a direct fight. He would destroy her through sheer power. She knew this, and he knew this.

Though one would question why he drew it out, why did he just not kill her and get it over with. And those are the people who think taking a life, no matter how evil and vile, is an easy thing. Those are the people who have never taken a life, like how he took Cataclysm's. It is quite different killing someone of a different species, but killing someone of your own . . . that always seems to have a greater complexity to it for some reason.

"Who's next, then?" Malice asked.

Suddenly, Cloak discovered that a log was standing beside him where Blue was standing moments before. It was his favorite ninja trick.

"Me," Blue said, giving his most badass delivery. It was only ruined briefly from a yawn from Malice, which irked him.

Malice chose the brutish Wildermann named Patrick Henderson, an outdoorsman. His hair was hominid in form, except it has a second outer layer covered in small spines. The outer layer is supported by a single-helical structure. He has an ape-like face, including a strong protruding jaw with enlarged canines. He was incredibly strong and are more than capable of tearing a full grown man to shreds. He was incredibly fast for their size and are capable of traversing large distances in a short amount of time. While he had high levels of stamina and pain tolerance, he was no more durable than humans. Patrick was a friendly loner who enjoyed camping a great deal. He feared his own anger, not unlike Cloak himself.

But he was controlled by Malice, which meant any pacifism would be negated. But Blue was not without a tactical mind. He knew the entire lynch pin of this match was the control collar. He needn't kill Patrick, which of course would be physically easily, but morally bankrupt, Blue felt. The way would be simpler than Malice even suspected.

"Attack." Malice said, with a maliciously sardonic grin plastered upon her face.

"If you insist," Blue said, throwing three shurrikens at Patrick's neck, which hit one after the other.

"Such a worthless, weak attack," Malice said, distainfully ecstatic.

"You assume much, Realm Walker," Blue said, simply.

The control collar flopped down to the ground after in snaked its way off Patrick's neck. Each shurriken had sliced through the leather of the collar, chopping through it with each one until the leather was severed and cut.

"Ugh." Malice huffed dismissively. She blasted a hole through Patrick's chest, killing him. Then she added his body to the smelly, rotting pile of corpses. Blue, meanwhile, appeared back into the viewing area, replacing his log. "This is how it's done."

[Cloak]

Two or three chapters to go. Hopefully . . . this won't be . . . be the last book. . . .  :'( I don't want to be. But if this thing goes south . . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:
Trolled

"Malice, if you need violence to enforce your ideals, then your ideals are worthless.” Cloak said, stating some proverb he heard somewhere.

"Don't quote Nexus proverbs at me, boy," Malice snapped harshly. "Proverbs said by Walkers who didn't know what they were talking about."

Cloak said nothing, but eyed Malice. She may try to wave away facts, but the thing about facts is that they have a nasty habit of continually resurfacing no matter how hard you try to bury them, no matter how hard you try to ignore them. Malice would have to fact facts sooner or later -- granted, she may have chosen to run away or ignore them for eighty-odd years (uh, that's eight hundred-odd years, in Dweller time).

Deciding a change of subject was in order, Malice declared, "Where's your next fighter?"

"I'm right here," Sakki said, standing upon the arena floor. She had her hands folded, head tilted, and tapping her foot rather impatiently.

Malice, only having two possible candidates to select from, retaliated this choice with the Hässlich Reilly St. John, a professional bridge inspector.

He was generally a large and bulky creature. He had leathery skin, a large nose, and sharp, needle-like fangs. He also had creases running through his forehead and large goblin-like ears. His skin tone was also a tan color. He was stronger than humans and was able to match blows with a Grimm. He appeared to be as strong as Blutbaden, but they are not as fast. He was also incredibly durable. He was able to take multiple shots from a handgun before it becoming life-threatening, as well as knife wounds and excessive blunt force. However, he was still as vulnerable as a human to other methods of death, such as beheading or having a crossbow bolt hit his in the neck. He also didn't get tired easily. He possesses his great strength and durability regardless if he woges or not.

He carried a scythe whose blade appeared to made with an alloy of enchanted gold, celestial bronze, and steel with a handle of roughly-hewn mahogany.

"Huh." Sakki said, sizing up this brute. "Should I be flattered by you sending this monster after me?"

"I only had two choices." Malice said.

"Still," Sakki said.

"Oh, shut up and fight." Malice said testily.

"Oh, if you insist," Sakki said, blithely flippant. The she whistled, utilizing her sonics, which knocked the scythe out of the Hässlich's hand. She caught the scythe and drove the blade deep enough into the earth that Reilly would have to play all "Sword in the Stone" to get it out.

Malice pouted about this, and Cloak quickly noticed.

Then Sakki let loose a wide-range sonic attack, that caused the Hässlin to sink to his knees in pain. Blood began to trickle out of his ears. He was incapacitated for the moment. But it gave Sakki plenty enough time to relieve him of his control collar.

When Reilly regained his senses, and realized that he was free, he seized his scythe handle and easily wrenched it from the ground, unlike how Sakki expected it to go, and she was a little disappointed by this, but she hid it well. Or as well as she could.

Reilly roared as he jumped up, and attempted to attack Malice . . . who sighed, and sliced him into quarters using her energy. Then she added him to the rotting pile of forgotten flesh and bone and sinew.

"Pitiful." she chided.

[redtailedsaffa]

"Sword in the Sword"?

[Cloak]

Fixed.

[guitarhero01234]

Two or three chapters to go. Hopefully . . . this won't be . . . be the last book. . . .  :'( I don't want to be. But if this thing goes south . . .

You know, if **** goes down, you can always have Saffa ghost-write

Just kidding, of course. I'd be disappointed, but if real life keeps you from writing Memoirs, don't feel like you have to. You gotta make sure to look after yourself, Cloaky.

[Cloak]

Thanks, GH. I do appreciate it. Right now, I'm trying not to assume the worst, trying not to giving into despair, into depression.

One or two more chapters to go. Hopefully, there will be more. . . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:
Got Your Goat

"And this will be the last battle," Malice said.

The only two who haven't battled on the RAFian side were Shanker and Shadow. They had a choice, Malice did not.

"I'm up," Shanker said, already on the arena floor.

"Hey! I didn't get a turn!" Shadow protested.

"Quiet, Shadow." Cloak said, gently with a stern finality. He had his arms folded over his chest as he glared at Malice. He then turned his attention to the arena.

"But Uncle --"

"This is not a game, Shadow. You know that." Cloak said, seriously. "Remember . . . remember what happened to Rotiart."

Shadow felt abashed at her protest, she onew that she should have taken this more seriously.

Malice sent out her last Wesen slave, the Ziegevolk named Grover Selenus, a lackluster game show host on a dying game show. He has hair over most of his body, his face was flat, and his ears were pointed. Like actual goats, he had small horns just above his foreheads and beards on his chins. The skin on the backs of his hands was black, giving them a very passing resemblance to hooves. Oddly, despite being goat-like, he had fangs. He had superhuman agility, speed, and are able to jump decent heights and distances when woged.  Some of these abilities appear to extend into his human form. For a time after eating certain toads, he could produce a pheromone to make others open to suggestion. He was a manipulative and arrogant sort, but mostly harmless.

However, this pheromone seemed to have quite a different effect upon vampires, like Shanker. He seemed to enter into a feral, bestial bloodlust state. The Mark could only block so much. It wasn't without its faults, as the incident with Evil Gaz so long ago proved. And it could be broken.

Shanker's face contorted as his fangs extended, and his eyes glowed red, as if he was a female Gargoyle. His thirst reached a fever pitch -- and the caprine Wesen wasn't safe. He could not hide. He could not escape, even if there was a place to hide. Shanker could smell the pheronmone.

Shanker tried to suppress this bloodthirst by sheer force of will, but it was not easy. Gaz could smell the pheromone, too, but it didn't seem to have the same effect. Maybe it didn't affect all vampires the same, but maybe there was another reason. Maybe Gaz had already fed before coming and thus was not affected as such.

Shanker could not restrain himself, and he lashed out. He easily overpowered Grover, and exposed his neck, his veins. He couldn't help himself. Shanker fed. He drained Grover, his thirst only quenched when all the blood was drained from the Ziegevolk. When he came out of this reverie, he found himseld disgusted with what he's done. All the steos he had taken so he didn't feed on live victims . . . having to use V8 juice as a substitute, one of many he's concocted. . . .

"Very good," Malice said, adding the desiccated corpse to the pile. "I suppose I should thank you, you fools."

[redtailedsaffa]

I see where you got the name from. Now I'm waiting to see what Shadow's gonna do.

[Cloak]

Uh, the battles are over. This is the penultimate chapter of the book.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE:
Malice's Underlying Goal

"What?" Cloak said sharply.

"Despite your inability to grasp the concept of 'battle to the death'," Malice said, "enough blood has been collected. Enough blood, flesh, and bone collected."

"What are you talking about?"

Malice belted out the perfect evil laugh. Joker and Jafar would have been jealous -- she must have lracticed in-between of scheming plots and manipulating beings that she considered lesser.

"Answer me, Malice!"

"Nah, I don't think I will," Malice said differentially flippant. Cloak heard an unnatural hissing and frothing noise. "But I'll ask you this, though. Why do you think I went through all this trouble?"

"For the same reason you do anything within this realm," Cloak answered contemptuously. "For your own sick, twisted sense of entertainment."

The hissing and frothing was becoming distracting.

"Well, yes, in part." Malice admitted, coyly. "But there actually was another reason. One that had better work. And work the way I expect it to."

"Being unnecessarily cryptic," Aquilai noted.

"Silence, Time Walker," Malice said, authoritatively. She, naturally, ignored the fact that she had no right to speak to them in such a way. She had no authority over them.

The hissing and frothing increased in frequency and agitation becoming annoyingly distracting. Cloak should have realized that this meant something -- Shadow recognized it at once. She tugged gently on her uncle's sleeve in an insistent, persistent manner.

"What is it, Shadow?" Cloak said, huffily. His words were harsher than he intended. Shadow didn't take it to heart, and just pointed.

The hissing and frothing picked up pace, and Cloak saw that it came from the corpse pile. The pile was compacting and condensing, somehow. It was shifting shape, glowing with magical sparkles, blacker than Void Space.

"It's black magic!" Broken declared. "I cannot determine the type or what the function of it could possibly be, but it is DEFINITELY black magic. Or Dark magic, if you prefer."

"Oh, you'll know what it does in due time, little Dweller," Malice said, leaving her throne-like chair, and crossing over the writhing, shrinking mass that was the former corpse pile. Soon it appeared to disappear completely, but Malice bent over and picked up something that Cloak could not see or Earthsight properly. She swiftly pocketed it, and turned to address Cloak.

"Thanks for the fun, Cloaksy!" Malice said, coyly. "Tootle-loo!"

Before Cloak could stop her, she Walked away.

[redtailedsaffa]

Naturally, when you said blood, flesh and bone, the first thing I thought of was when Voldemort came back.

[Cloak]

Last chapter of the book. Writing is the only thing helping me keep my sanity right now.

New long chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX:
Loose Ends

"You cannot be serious," Saffa said immediately. "He must be somewhere. Cowering."

"I saw him dismembered with my own eyes, Saffa," Sakki said, uncharacteristicall y somber. "He died. He tried to brave, in the end. But . . . he was no match against that snake-man."

"This can't be true." Saffa said, as GH remained dumbfounded. "He . . . he can't be dead."

"He is," Sakki said. "Denial of the fact will not help anyone. I mean, I had no love for the boy, but . . . he didn't deserve to die like that."

Saffa was distinctly aggrieved. She felt pangs of guilt. "I was always so mean to him."

"As was I, dear Saffa," Sakki said.

"I know it is somewhat taboo to speak ill of the dead," GH said, finding his voice again, "but he really didn't give you much option to be mean. Yes, it is sad that he died, I don't mean to take away from that. But he was responsible for his actions. Up until recently, he was lazy and careless."

GH paused for a moment to hear any protests, but when he did not, he pressed on.

"But, in the end, he was trying very hard to redeem himself. In death, he succeeded, I think."

But Sakki wasn't completely sold. "We should have never let him go in. He wasn't ready. He wasn't trained enough. Cloak tried to . . . but Rotiart wouldn't let him. He was trying to prove himself. And he got killed for it."

"It wasn't your fault," Saffa said.

"Wasn't it?" Sakki replied, guiltily.

***

Cloak knew it.

He was in his thread, brooding, as Shadow had returned home. She didn't live in the Prime Universe as he did.

He knew it. He knew that Malice had some sort of ulterior motive. He could not think of just what that motive could be. In fact, he still didn't know what that motive could be. He still didn't know what magical object that Malice went through all this trouble to get was. Or whether it was truly worth the amount of effort to get it.

And Rotiart . . .

Rotiart . . .

He should have never been there. Cloak should have said no. He should have refused Rotiart's inclusion. He knew that it was going to be a bloodsport. He knew this. Rotiart's death . . . his blood . . . they were on his gloved hands. It was squarely his fault and no one else's. He should have pulled him out of the arena. He should have ignored the boy's protests. He should have . . .

He should have done a number of things. Should have. But didn't.

He knew he should have done something . . . he knew it . . .

***

This had better been worth the trouble. It had been a hassle to collect the necessary spells and ingredients (for both the spells and the control collars) from Melinoë. It had been arduous collecting the Wesen and putting on the control collars. Organizing the bloodsport arena, where she had to provide most of the corpses herself.

She pulled out the magical object out of an inner pocket of her cloak, the very same object generated from the sacrifice of flesh, bone, and blood. Although she seemed to lack the uneasiness thst Realm Walkers felt at seeing corpses. Realm Walkers do not leave corpses, nor can Realm Walker zombies exist because of this little fact.

The spell wasn't to ressurect anyone, though. She had no one she wanted to resurrect. She had no siblings. She had no friends. And she killed both of her parents in cold ichor. She only thought of herself. She held no love for Ab, for Rumor, for Ravage, for Mega-Maul. She didn't care about any of them. She didn't even understand the concept of love or loyalty. She only saw others as tools to be manipulated or used.

She looked at the object again. It was a card, like a trading card used children's card games. It was colored darkly on both sides. Its function was a mystery to all but Malice. She grinned as it gave off a purplish-black glow. . . .

***

A groan. Followed by a moan. Swirling vision made the room look like a tie-dyed shirt . . . that was in constant, perpetual motion. The dizziness and fuzziness were overwhelming.

"Where . . ." said a confused, disoriented voice. "Where . . . am I?"

[redtailedsaffa]

GAAAAH CLIFFHANGER

But man, the feels. Very well written chapter, Cloaky. I say though, shouldn't someone have to find where Rotiart came from, even if they didn't know about his difficult home life, just to give the word? Could be a subplot of sorts. Just an idea.

[Cloak]

Hmmmmm . . . intriguing . . . interesting . . . +1, Saffa . . . hmmmm . . .