A time to write

This may sound funny, but I'm very happy I wrote five more pages for Book 2: Hellbent tonight. It took me over an hour and it may seem petty, but you can rest assured it DOES take this long to write something decent and be satisfied with it. If you think creative writing is easy, you're wrong! There are times when I have to delete the phrase I just wrote five times and finally settle for the first version - really frustrating moments!

Still, if you think that's petty, THIS will really make you think I'm lame; there's no way to explain the joy an author feels when he sees his creation growing. Even if it is just five more A4's. Even if the total is 33 tortured pages, every bit builds my confidence in this second novel and, just like you would upgrade your computer, my perspective on the story just gets better and clearer. 

It's going to be dark, violent and morbidly funny! While Crux was more fantasy than horror, Hellbent will freak you out! To be honest, writing about a demon attempting to possess Drew in his sleep, even made me shiver and chilled my blood all the way through! So if I got your attention yet, don't forget to Like (if you haven't done it yet) my Facebook page and Share it with your friends. You will love Hellbent with Crux as its prequel already in your virtual or actual library!

Thanks a lot, guys! Have a great weekend!

Hellbent, baby!

Here's the deal: as of last week, due to serious stress over Crux-related issues, I decided I won't get involved in the publishing process until I return in September (or unless my involvement is mandatory; I.E. Deea manages to get the job done and I have to sign a contract). So... Sorry! If you want more updates, you'll have to pester her about it.

Still, I will continue posting and writing, and while I won't offer you any more details about THAT novel, I will share some things about the NEXT novel. It's called Hellbent and here's the first teaser!

Bright lightning struck nearby, but the thunder hesitated to join. When it finally struck, the door opened and the blond Incubus walked in with a subtle smile on his lips. His green eyes flared and something about that reminded Octavius of Thomas.

The small white boy stood by the tall window and peeked through the half-open green velvet curtains. He stood in darkness and silence and the frosty St. Petersburg air. He couldn’t feel, but there was still a macabre beauty left in his eyes – a last remnant of the humanity he had lost long ago.

“Come in,” Rene said and Octavius became one with the shadows.

The enthralled teenage girl stepped inside, her blue dreamy gaze lost in a fantasy. She wasn’t older than Marie – it made Octavius furious.

“What are you doing?” the Upir child asked through telepathy. “Have you lost all sense of decency? She’s not even allowed to vote yet!”

“Katja, won’t you please take a seat?” the beautiful Incubus said with an inviting gesture. “Right there, dear,” he added, pointing at the lavish burgundy armchair by the windows.

“Don’t you ignore me!” Octavius shouted in Rene’s mind. “If you’re going to feed on children, do it somewhere else! I don’t want to see this!” he hissed.

The green orbs locked onto the darkest corner of the room and the smile disappeared. Rene moved by the chair and slowly turned it to face the corner as well.

“Look at her,” he said softly. “And let her look at you.”

The Upir’s black gaze turned mellow; he never looked at his victims when he fed even though they were mostly criminals who deserved their fate. Octavius could never do such a thing, but he was old enough to know that someone just as old might have a plan. Though what that was, he couldn’t tell. He scanned the girl like an artist – she was truly beautiful. Golden rich curls cascaded down her shoulders and a couple of locks framed her alabaster cheeks; her skin was so white she looked like one of them.

“Who is she?” he whispered, still unseen. “Why is she here?”

“She’s just a girl I found in the lobby,” Rene replied nonchalantly. “And I feel a little offended that you thought I’d stoop so low as to harm a child,” he said, pouring himself a finger of vodka in a glass. He downed it and added: “Would you please come out? She’s mesmerized – she won’t even remember she was here. I’ll make sure to reward her with a happy memory.”

Octavius hesitated for a second, then finally walked into the blue light triangle the cracked drapes drew on the carpet. He was half naked, wearing only a pair of grey silky cloth trousers. Lightning flashed, revealing his nightmarish upper body – a deformed mass of skin and bone, the latter pointing out where his joints met looking alarmingly sharp. He was as tall as her, as she sat, but looked larger somehow, with elongated features and limbs, and his fingertips appeared as their very flesh had been honed to look like talons. The Upir was her exact opposite.

“If you won’t eat, then why have you brought this young one here?” he whispered, enchanted by those giant blue eyes, half hidden under rich lashes and baby blue powdered lids.

The Incubus almost hovered near the two. He crouched and took a knee, taking his friend’s hand in his. That energetic stare became mortal; behind the raging storm of magic shielding it, the most basic of emotions could be sensed and seen. Even the lifeless boy could feel the warmth emanating from inside Rene. He didn’t answer him, just looked at the girl again.

“Do you think she’s beautiful?” he finally said in a hoarse sad voice.

Octavius looked again, barely able to take his eyes off the girl’s rose-colored lips. She had a wonderful frame and a bohemian attire. A white wool scarf was wrapped a couple of times around her neck and a blood-red thick coat covered her upper body down to her hips. She also wore a black and crimson checkered creased skirt, thick nylons and knee-high flat boots. And she looked through him like he wasn’t there.

“Painfully so,” he whispered and his voice didn’t sound undead, didn’t screech like a crypt’s iron door. Octavius frowned and tried to pull his hand away from Rene, but he gripped it, not letting go: “Why are you doing this?”

The Incubus scowled and his vital force flooded visibly, like electric spiders crawling down his arm, into the boy. He tried to pull away, but Rene wouldn’t free him.

“What are you doing?!” Octavius growled and stared at him in shock.

“Be quiet!” the psychic vampire ordered and his gaze blazed like the flashes outside. “Look!”

His hand turned soft, meaty, even pink. It took a tremendous amount of power and energy to turn the dead flesh from its regular state into the now warm appendage Octavius glared at in awe. The vibrations and impulses soon rushed his entire body, turning the desiccated corpse back to life. Well… true life. His entire being shook like he just swam a mile and the feeling seemed so intense as nothing he had ever felt.

The black layer over his eyes had cleared like ink washed away by water, finally showing their true brown color. They were big and childish. And through the deformed dry scalp, dark chocolate tresses grew rapidly to the length they had before he died. Octavius gasped and screamed and swallowed his scream, and thought he would lose his mind right there and then.

“You can see now,” Rene told Katja, his body trembling with effort, but unfaltering, still feeding the boy his enchantments.

“What?” the girl asked in a deep Russian accent, blinking heavily a few times like she had just woken up. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“Don’t move,” the Incubus told her softly, paralyzing her body. She struggled and panic flooded her mind discovering her limbs wouldn’t obey. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise.”

“Let her go, Rene!” Octavius protested and struggled to free himself again. “Why are you doing this?”

“Listen,” he explained matter-of-factly, ignoring the boy. “We are very old, very powerful vampires. My friend here has died before he could truly live and today is his birthday.”

Octavius froze. His arm fell limp and he felt dizzy. He looked at the girl, at Rene, at his free hand and blinked dumbly. Katja stared at him for long moments, then turned to the long-haired man who seemed to have drugged her or something.

“I just want to go, sir,” she said pleadingly. “Please, I just want to go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this! Just let me go!”

“I will,” the Incubus said and tried to smile reassuringly, but she was too afraid to take any comfort in that. “I’m being sincere, girl. I just need you to do one thing for me; I could command you to do it, but it wouldn’t feel right.”

“Oh, God,” she mumbled. “You’re going to ask me to have sex with this boy, aren’t you? This is one of those demented things I’ve heard about!” Katja said and almost started to weep.

“No, no!” the man said and put his hand over hers. “Oh, heavens no! Look,” he added with an amused smile, “I was serious: this boy really did die. We really are vampires, but we don’t want to harm you. It really is” Rene whispered and glanced at his companion “Octavius’ birthday. And I wanted him to experience a kiss. That’s all, I swear!”

The teenage girl took a few deep breaths and looked at the boy who seemed almost catatonic – he just looked at the floor, lost in thought.

“I think you’re insane. Both of you,” she said. “You’ve drugged me and this is part of some sick twisted game. And I won’t play!”

“Fine, I’ll prove it then.”

“Why?!” she yelled at Rene. “Even if you are what you say you are, what makes you think I’ll kiss him? He’s so young… It’s so weird! This is all so weird!”

Rene took his hand off of hers and closed his eyes for a moment. She could move. But she was too scared to do anything. The girl looked at her fingers and flexed them, then stared in surprise at the blond man.

“I could wipe this memory clean for you if you want,” he whispered. “And that’s no figure of speech so don’t fret. Like I said, we never wanted to hurt you. All I wanted was to offer my good friend an experience he never had the chance to live. He’s not like me – his body’s true appearance is… not pretty. He can’t smell, taste, touch…”

Katja listened and looked at Octavius. The green waves of energy emanating from him rose like steam and dissipated. Her eyes followed the source to Rene’s hand where the energy chakras joined and communicated.

“You may go if you want to,” Rene added sadly. She relaxed for the first time and sensed he was actually telling the truth. “I’m sorry I brought you here without your consent. I had no right to manipulate you so.”

“You’re damn right you didn’t have the right!” she scolded him. “How would you feel if you were in my place, huh?”

“I was. That’s why I said I’m sorry.”

Katja blinked surprised – she didn’t expect that. She stood slowly, still insecure and looked down at the Octavius.

“He’s really…?”

Rene nodded and pointed at the boy’s other hand, refocusing his energy away from his limb. The hand turned dry and bony and Octavius hid is behind him in shame.

“Please stop this,” he muttered, too embarrassed to even look Katja in the eyes. “It was a nice gesture and I appreciate it. Now let the girl go so we can get on with our boring-“

He stopped and gasped as she felt the girls hand cupping his face. She lifted his face towards her, making him shut his eyes tight and tense his whole body.

“Look at me,” she whispered, but he wouldn’t listen. Her arms came around him and embraced the naked cold flesh. He could smell her sour-sweet perfume in her silky hair and her warmth made him relax. Slowly, his eyelids rolled up. Katja’s cheek brushed against his as she turned and followed up with her lips. The air refilling his working lungs didn’t want to come out. “Look at me now,” she added in the same low gentle tone.

Their eyes met up close, as she held his forehead against hers. Octavius took deep breaths, scared out of his mind, but forcing himself to look at the girl and feel the intimacy. She smiled a bit and finally pressed her perfect soft lips against his in a long kiss.

When he was finally released, a whole new sensation overwhelmed Octavius. His knees went weak, his chest felt warm and tingly. He was high. Katja caressed his cheeks and pulled back, then looked at Rene, her eyebrows meeting slightly.

“You’re a jerk for forcing me to come here.”

“I know,” Rene whispered back.

“But you’re a good friend,” she added and faced Octavius again. “I wanted to do this,” the girl explained. “It wasn’t pity. It was a present. Maybe you are real, or maybe I’m just dreaming, but everyone deserves a moment of happiness. Happy birthday.”

The Upir looked at her still speechless. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn’t come out. The words wouldn’t even be formulated in his ancient mind, ironically. Katja ruffled his hair.

“Bye now,” she said with a delicate smile and turned to leave. She expected them to stop her, but nothing happened. Still, as she opened the hotel room door, Katja heard in her mind: “Thank you.” Her hand froze on the handle for a moment. She nodded and walked out.

“You…” Octavius finally said. “I… This was completely crazy. I don’t understand the way your mind works! …Well?” he asked, as Rene was trembling slightly in silence. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Pull the drapes before the sun rises or I burn to a crisp,” the Incubus replied with effort and collapsed on the floor.

The boy sighed deeply while his hand was finally released and turned back to its undead appearance, along with the rest of his body. He withered in seconds, but this didn’t bother him so much; he was more worried that Rene might have just killed himself for a foolish gesture. Sweet, but incredibly stupid. Sometimes he wondered how his companion survived for over two millennia being such a hot head. He pulled the drapes together, sinking the room in complete blackness, and dragged the limp body to bed.

“Thank you,” he whispered while he watched the slumbering man with emotionless coal eyes. “you moron.”

By o.j. & toast

 "Behold!" he said, opening his arms as to embrace the mountain-sized beast made of blues and greens and cyans and turquoise, and a little sandy-beige gradient where its hair was suppose to be. "The LEVIATHAN!"

"The Leviathan? What's a Leviathan?" I asked all-puzzled, for I had never seen such a monster before.

"This is a Leviathan!" the goblin replied with a grin that could blind the sun. If the sun had eyes and would actually take any interest in my ailurophobiac green companion.

"...Okay. What does it DO?"

The beast turned on its coiled lowed snake body (that looked like a roll of gigantic blueberry bubblegum) and peered at us through a pair of bottle bottom glasses the size of two reasonably-priced bungalows. It opened it's massive maw, making us yelp. It had good hearing for someone so old. Must have compensated for the bad eyes.

"I say," he declared with a British accent and a voice that wasn't nearly as heavy as I was expecting. "You two are rather rude discussing about me as if I wasn't here. And as I told you before, old chap, call me Levi - Mr. Leviathan was my father."

"Levi..." I mumbled without realizing a smile was creeping on my lips. The oversize extinguished-matchstick glare turned to me, but crossed itself as... Levi was too close or I wasn't far enough.

"That's right, buddy! As for what I do, the answer is simple!" he added and raised his arm into a victorious pose, holding a pair of blue jeans. "I do, as you put it, cheap and reliable trousers and pantaloons!"

"That's it?" I said.

"Well, no, that's what I'm known for!" Levi said politely and produced a tiny bottle (tiny compared to his galactic body) of perfume and handed it to me. "I also make shirts and perfume and even lighters. Any item really that can promote the company. There's no bad publicity, nor too much of it, eh?" he added and winked at me.

In the meantime...

I can't seem to focus on Hobbit. Sorry. It will be done when it will be done, and that's all I'm saying about it for now.

In other news, our page has reached over 100 likes so hurray for us! Because of this I am rewarding you guys with ANOTHER story I finished just now. It's just an episode, a scene, and I won't promise that will be anything more than that (even though it might). To clarify why I picked this subject (as if it wasn't obvious by now), I will say this: I LOVE STAR WARS! I've adored the series ever since I have first seen the movies as a kid and, just like any self-respected geek, I've played all the games related to The Saga, starting with the old Dark Forces, continued with Jedi Knight I and II, Academy, Outcast etc. until Lucas Arts' latest production: The Old Republic.

T.O.R. is a beautiful M.M.O.R.P.G. that I've purchased on my birthday, immediately after it was available in Romania, and which I stormed through all the way to level 50 in just a few weeks. I've started countless characters just because I loved the story lines of each class - this game has managed to bring the player a whole new type of experience: making you feel like your character is not just another nameless individual, but an important part of the Star Wars universe. Even though it's not nearly as refined and smooth as World of Warcraft, T.O.R. is still worthy of praise for its incredible graphics and differently awesome gameplay, and as gamer for the past 22 years I strongly recommend it. If you're a W.o.W. fanatic (like me!) you may feel slightly disappointed by the lack of features, but as you advance, you'll notice that BioWare has done a great job compensating in other ways. And, I'm certain, in time, T.O.R.'s patches and updates can even beat W.o.W.'s game experience.

Long story short, I miss playing this game and felt like writing about it. I hope you enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I've just finished writing this so I do apologize for any mistakes regarding the phrasing. I am posting it as it is for now and will correct it sometime later today.

MARAUDER

Chain lightning struck the horizon, over the thick jungle and the untamed wilderness beyond the city walls. Terrible beasts prowled the in darkness, unaffected by the constant electric storms that ravaged Dromund Kaas. Somewhere a slave was being ripped to pieces by a pack of giant reptiles – just like any other night. No Sith nor slave cared.

The savage forests of Dromund Kaas were endless labyrinths filled with danger. Just being there was a constant struggle for survival and, like the Sith philosophy said, only the fittest made it through. In truth, there was no place on that world that wasn’t an actual deathtrap; from the outskirts of Kaas City to the highest tower in the Sith capital, any and all men had to tread carefully just to make it through the day. The air buzzed with the energies that were flowing through the core of the planet and up, spreading across the surface like a giant spider web, and the terrifying spirits were constantly restless.

For the Sith, not even the Jedi Temple on Coruscant seemed as threatening as their own glorious Kaas; a giant city made from more metal than stone, built one either sides of a bottomless ravine, casting its sinister shadow over the land, like a testament of what true power was. Dromund Kaas itself was being warned that no matter what dark champion it would spawn, it could never rival the power of the Dark Side’s most perfect children.

Half of the stronghold was on one side of the rift, were the lower class congregated and went by their tough lives, doing their part for the Empire. It was no different than any other place in the galaxy, tainted by vice and corruption and petty crime, despite the titanic statues and the magnificent symbols of the Sith that adorned the plazas and markets. In reality, that part of Kaas City could have been just as well part of Coruscant; Republic or Empire, dirty credits didn’t care who handled them.

The other half was on the other side, where the Mandalorian Enclave, Sith Intelligence and the offices of the diplomats and lords had been built into three enormous black towering buildings, connected by ramps and bridges. It was there that true fear could be sensed along with true power… and true corruption. The drug peddling, prostitution and bribing on the other side were nothing compared to the power plays and blackmailing and (more or less successful) assassination attempts that could be witnessed here. Not a day went by that an apprentice didn’t become a lord and a lord didn’t become a Darth; the only thing that remained constant were the few dreaded members of the Dark Council and the mysterious Emperor who went into seclusion and allowed no audiences at all. Just as common was the terror of the average Kaas inhabitant – that of the harsh laws, the scary Imperial Guards, the corrupted imposing military forces, the secretive and manipulating agents of Sith Intelligence or the passing lord who might tear you apart simply because you crossed his path. One could have his pick. One considered it routine to fear and so, ironically, the concept became obsolete in a way, thus challenging the Sith for new ways to induce respect and bury obedience deep into the hearts of the Empire's citizens. Yet in the process, the ruling class had to also be on the watch for traitors among their own; a Sith never knew whether the person next to them was friend or enemy.

Another series of flashes lit the darkness above, revealing the outlines of heavy clouds. There was no thunder, as the storm roared its fury beyond the mountain range. Just as silent, a slim silhouette leapt from one of the lesser structures, boosted by the jetpack on its back, leaving an almost indistinguishable trail of blue light behind. The assassin was skilled – he dodged the security drones with perfect timing, staying out of their path and timing his moves with perfect precision. The hovering robots were scanning the tower in an apparent chaotic pattern, but an expert infiltrator could tell how they were “thinking”. Their programming was limited and their weapon systems even less of a threat, but it only took one split second to be noticed and two security hover crafts would fly in and dispose of any trespasser. The Mandalorian Orrin spent an entire hour observing before he made his attempt. It wasn’t his first mission against Sith, but he had never gone against a Dark Council member before. Specifically, against Darth Marr, one of the fiercest and most powerful lords. Orrin considered it a privilege and an honor to take on such a foe; just like all Mandalorian mercenaries, he followed the warrior / hunter code and wasn’t afraid to die.

Clad in his black light armor suit, the assassin made good use of his stealth techniques and equipment, cloaking, slipping by the security with ease. For a moment he even allowed himself to think it would be less difficult than he had originally imagined and, perhaps, all there was to this Dark Council was their reputation. And what better way to discourage others than by whispering macabre tales about how nigh invulnerable and ruthless and pitiless the Darths were? Had anyone actually witnessed their sadistic methods?

Orrin was hopeful, but not stupid. He focused back on the mission. Cutting a hole in the glass wall outside with his laser tool, he sneaked inside unnoticed. Unlike most Mandalorians, the assassin was quiet and subtle. Not the typical heavy armored trooper the Empire used as cannon fodder, but more fitting for Sith Intelligence, as he specialized in sabotage and effective elimination.

The inside of the housing tower was lavish and well lit, lacking any good hiding spots. From this point on he had to change strategies and his approach had to become a more direct one. Aside from the droids and drones and security teams, the lords’ building was also guarded by Sith apprentices who, despite their limited knowledge of the Force, could be quite deadly with a lightsaber.

Orrin grunted in disapproval as he realized he had made a mistake. He ended up in the lobby on the 57th floor, just one level down from where his target was. The virtual blueprints confirmed it on the electronic visor of his slick full helmet. The armored pad on his left arm popped open and he typed fast, looking for the fastest and safest route up; going back outside now would be foolish and dangerous, and he decided to take his chances through the vent system. Just around the corner, a corridor guarded by two Sith led to one of the main elevators, but that would have been suicide. The assassin dropped his jetpack and hid it behind a bench, then proceeded to remove the panel leading to the ventilation tunnels. As he removed the metal plate, the red lights directed him upwards and he slipped inside, pushing himself quietly against the tunnel’s walls. He climbed slowly, patiently, thinking of nothing but his mission, crawling through the vent and reaching the next floor quickly. As he peeked through the barred grate in the wall, he noticed the a hooded grey silhouette in a long robe, standing guard. By the clothing style and markings, Orrin could tell it was a sorceress. His gaze narrowed in tension, fearing that such a Sith could sense him without even looking, yet she didn’t seem to notice the Mandalorian. The killer produced a small pistol and aimed through the bars. The shot was silent and the dart hit its target accurately, knocking her off her feet. The guard fell dead without a sound.

As he sneaked out of cover, Orrin pulled the body out of sight, near the gray metal wall, and rechecked his route. Again, a similar corridor as the one beneath was behind the corner. He approached the door and connected a wire to the general security system, scanning for any active alarms. As promised, his employer had the systems shut down and the video feed revealed a pair of Imperial Guards clad in crimson armor and wielding long vibrospears. They blocked his way to Darth Marr’s quarters.

For some reason these red warriors were worrying him more than any Sith lord. Something about their uniforms was strange and unnerving. They were wearing long robes with heavy reinforced chestplates, elbow-high gauntlets and their full helmets had a crest on top of their heads, looking like an axe’s blade. Even the spears were a strange choice of weaponry and they only guarded the Dark Council and the Emperor. Orrin could only guess what lied behind those threatening helmets. He hacked the door open and tossed in a spherical brown sonic grenade. Before they could even react, the explosive detonated quietly, the high frequency noise deafening them for just two seconds – more than enough time for Orrin to aim at their legs, less protected, and shooting the poisonous darts with two well-aimed shots.

Just one more to go, he told himself and hurried to the tall, thick plated grey door. The assassin prepared a smoke grenade and took one last glance at the security key card he received with his contract. He plugged the key in and the door slid inside the wall. His helmet’s visor switched to thermal vision, Orrin tossed the grenade inside, filling the dark room with smoke as he carefully stepped inside, keeping low and readying a second blaster in his other hand.

Nothing. The room seemed empty and dead. His scans revealed no heat in the other three adjacent room either. He felt stupid.

“Who sent you?” a male voice asked from nowhere and everywhere.

Orrin panicked. It wasn’t a Mandalorian trait, but he couldn’t help it. He turned in a circle, trying to cover his back and figure out where the voice was coming from.

“Tell me,” the young man said again, “and I will end you quickly. Don’t, and expect the most painful of deaths.”

“…You know I will never speak,” he replied in a disguised voice through his helmet. “But you could act honorably and show yourself. At least give me the chance to fall in glorious combat.”

“Your traditions mean nothing to me, Mandalorian. Even if they would, the irony of a cowardly killer asking for a face to face confrontation hassles me. What do you know of honor?”

“My methods may not be straightforward, Sith, but I adapt in order to succeed. You do the same, do you not?”

There was a pause, as if the hidden watcher was pondering the words.

“True,” he finally responded. “But honor doesn’t concern me. Sith are driven by Power and towards it. What matters are the results, not the way one attains victory.”

A round metal chair flew across the room and smashed into Orrin, sending him flying across the spacious room, making him drop his guns. From above, a silhouette dropped down to the spot where the assassin was just a moment before. The light came on and Orrin switched his visor’s thermal mode off, fumbling for his large vibroblade as he rushed back to his feet.

“Your employer’s name,” the man said and cracked his half-gloved fingers, and Orrin could finally see his opponent’s face clearly.

The Sith didn’t seem scary at all. He didn’t wear a sinister cloak or a scary skull-shaped helmet, and his armor was just a black leather body suit with red v-shaped patterns on it. The only metal plating the Mandalorian could notice was on the man’s wrist pads, on the leg protectors of his boots and on his young face. He didn’t seem to be older than 25, with dark red spiky hair, and skin too fresh and white to be a seasoned warrior. He was unmarked by scars of torture, but cybernetic enhancements that gleamed metallically in the light. Subtle circuits blazed upwards on his neck and followed his jaw line to his chin and ear.

“A Marauder,” Orrin said quietly. “Darth Marr’s apprentice I presume.”

“My name is Katon and I am no one’s apprentice,” the man said, fixing the Mandalorian with calm yellow-green eyes. “My business here is my own. Now!” he said in a demanding tone, gaze narrowing dangerously, “Who hired you?”

“You’re going to have to kill me, Sith,” Orrin replied sharply, assuming a combat stance and pointing the vibroblade at him. “Even if I’d care enough to aid you, I have not met that person.”

“So be it then,” Katon replied and brandished his twin lightsabers. The laser blades slid elegantly with the specific buzzing sound. One blood-red. One midnight blue. The Mandalorian widened his eyes.

“…That’s not a Sith saber,” he mumbled in disbelief. “Who ARE you?”

“I am the Wrath guided by the Hand of the Emperor,” the Marauder said. “Consider that I’ve granted you the honor you asked for,” he added and threw the weapons at Orrin. His reflex was to block the spinning sabers, but they described an arc in the air, crossing one another and slicing him in three before returning to their owner.

Katon switched the blades off and holstered them. He slowly approached the remains of the assassin and crouched, examining them carefully. His fingers traced the mangled armor’s pockets down to the midsection, then turned the upper body around and produced a small disk from a hidden compartment.

“You want to speak fast and clear,” a muffled voice said from behind him. “I do not appreciate my personal guard and my apprentice laying dead at my doorstep, nor do I enjoy decorating my Alderaanian carpet with twisted body parts. You do realize you’re in the presence of a Darth, do you not?”

The young man didn’t respond. He continued his search for a few moments more then finally stood up and faced the red armored Darth Marr. He was as impressive as his reputation foretold, and just his presence emanated the pure might of the Dark Side. He examined the young man who didn’t appear to be nearly half his age, let alone built as a tank as he was. He didn’t carry himself like a Juggernaut, nor did he wear the light robes of the Sorcerers or the Assassins.

“Do not test my patience, Marauder,” the Darth said harshly. “I will not ask again, but let my saber do the talking,” he added, resting his gauntleted hand on the hilt of his weapon.

“Calm yourself, my lord,” Katon replied. “Except for this poor bastard right here, the rest wasn’t my doing. He was an killer sent to dispose of you. I got to him first.”

“I assume you expect my gratitude for disposing of this insignificant threat? A Mandalorian is the best my enemies could muster? Amusing. You better give me more, young Sith. This information is not nearly enough to compensate for the fact that you’ve ruined my quarters with your… simplistic methods.”

“With all due respect, my lord,” Katon said as he approached him slowly but confidently. “I do not need to explain my methods to anyone. But I will save myself the trouble of making you my enemy by reminding you that someone is watching over you through me. And through me your position will remain safe. You can trust in that.”

The Darth looked at the him from behind his terrifying helmet and pondered the words. More exactly he analyzed the way they felt inside him. He nodded.

“You speak the truth… Yet you seem so strange and familiar at the same time…”

Before he could finish, Katon tried to walk past him and leave, but in the blink of an eye Darth Marr flourished his saber and blocked his path with the red laser blade.

“Your weapon,” he said in a low voice. “It is not that of a Sith. Whose weapon did you claim as your trophy? Who of the Jedi fell under your might, young warrior?”

Katon turned and looked Marr in the eyes, his mixed yellow-green gaze piercing through the helmet. He smiled knowingly.

“I did,” he answered and walked away as the Darth suddenly removed the weapon from his path.

 

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Hi, guys.

Just want to say that Hobbit will be delayed for a few more days. I started it and I can honestly say it looks pretty badass so far, but I just can't push myself to work right now. Monday was exhausting - I managed to get 3+3 hours of sleep between my shifts, and it was really depressing on more than one level. Also, to top it all up, I woke up with a back pain (must have stood in a draft today) that turned me into a hunchback for the last 5 hours; you have no idea how relieved I feel just by lying in bed...

It sucks big time when you know exactly what you want and how to get it, but you're just not strong enough to go for it. So bare with me a while longer because I have the main plot of the story in my head and I am going to write it down. Eventually. In addition, Deea succeeded in bringing me some adjacent mini-projects regarding short fiction stories and I will be entering a couple of contests as soon as Hobbit is finished. Should be somewhat exciting, however, as they mentioned, it might be a while before I get the results. Can't hurt to try though.

Be back soon.

Madness Actually

"Madness is so boring, isn't it, Lewis? Yeeees... So utterly mundane, so predictable when you start noticing the pattern. Look at you, man! You're doing the mouse thing. The crazy old bastard, petting his little minion in a deranged and fanatic way, until there's no life inside the poor creature... And even then you don't stop, still pressing against it's white body with your sweaty palms, absorbed and fascinated by how it becomes destroyed little by little. You are sick, Lewis. Your behavior is beyond normality, no doubt. ...You're also boring the magic out of me."

"Why is that, Mr. Redthorn?" the hunched form asked from his shadowed cell corner, bits and scraps of his massively flesh form escaping into the candlelit gray room.

"Because that's all you'll ever do, Lewis. Until the sparks of insanity die in your eyes along with the poorly lit fire of life that, for whatever reason, still burns inside your pathetic excuse of a body. You'll never be cured, for there is really no cure for madness... All those imbeciles at the Institute are wrong; you are trapped, like so many others afflicted by this epidemic, in a vortex of infinite depths. There's no pulling you out... There's just... observing how fast and how far you sink. And even then... we'll barely know what you truly see. For me, us, there's just the shallow, vague clues your physical shell is kind enough to offer. Like petting that animal corpse for hours..." the sage responded and cleared his throat. "Boring routine. An oxymoron, I believe. Yes. Routine, boring by default. Repetitive, redundant and useless. A cretin would manage to recognize your pattern, what makes you, as a madman... you."

Gavin stepped into the light, the bright yellow spotlight shaping his features, chiseled jaw covered in a dark brown and carefully trimmed beard, and the glittering intelligence behind the hazel eyes. He leaned slightly, looking regal in his arcane vestments, and studied the man in ragged tan clothing. In comparison, he was a god in midnight blue threads looking down on a dying centipede. He spoke again, in his confident tone, words rolling off his tongue like hammer blows. It made Lewis tremble every time the wizard reinforced them with his educated accent.

"And they want to cut into your head, Lewis... They want to dig. Idiots... They should cut inside their own minds and find the proof of their limitless stupidity." He looked at the hunched mass and whispered in a manner as comforting and warm as any of his kind could manage. Not quite comforting nor warm, to be honest. "I do hope they end it for you. Since you don't really have a hold over your own life... It is quite sad, I must admit..."

"What is, Mr. Redthorn?" Lewis mumbled and shrieked, curved in a ball in his corner.

"Being a slave to other minds. Being a puppet." he whispered back and paused for a second, possibly picturing what that would be like. "That I do pity - you may be a puppet, but no other man has the right to pull your strings. No other man who can, and maybe will, turn into a puppet himself..."

"Why then, Mr. Redthorn? Why am I being held here? I've done nothing but love... For, me family's sake, I've loved them. I held them close as I would the rest of the world. There be nothing and no one to threat from me freedom..." Lewis coughed in a hoarse voice, then sneezed violently. The remains of the white mouse sprayed the stone wall and he suddenly became surprised. The man paused and blinked, then carefully started picking the scraps of dead flesh into his palm.

"I don't know" Gavin answered even though he knew he might have just be speaking to the wall nearby. "Freedom of will. Even mad will... That is to be considered."

The wizard straightened and flashed a small smile at the ill man. He turned on his black boots and marched to the massive iron gate. Midway he noticed the hay bed and lack of any windows, even a small barred one. 

"Give this poor man a blanket and make sure he is kept well. In a strange way, his madness, even criminal tendencies, make him as innocent as an cherub." Gavin ordered the plate clad soldier standing guard, without offering him a single glance.

"Sure thing, your excellency!" the farmer-faced man responded bitterly, striking at the sage with arrows from his steel glance. "I'll make sure 'e gets some o' them silk covers from 'is Majesty's bedchamber as well..."

Gavin turned and raised his hand, forming three arcane bolts spinning in a triangle pattern, burning with white light. The guard widened his eyes and babbled:

"You... You'd be executed, you will, if you strike a soldier down! Aye!"

"If I release this, there will be no remains of the said soldier. Where there's no body... there's no crime" the mage replied calmly. Now... You will do as I asked, as you would for any man sentenced to death. For, make no mistake, his life will end soon enough. And you will do well to remember that, while his essence is gone, his flesh and bones and blood are still entitled to mercy."

"Mercy" the soldier confirmed in a rush. "Got it, Sir! Mercy he shall 'ave!"

"Huh..." Gavin snorted. "I'm surprised you were so receptive. The thought of disintegrating your sorry excuse of a brain was rather appealing... But..." he sighed dramatically "...giant muscles, though not hard to find, serve their purpose, I guess..."

The mage absorbed the energy bolts back into his wide, golden-trimmed sleeves, and slid his hands inside them, crossing his chest. As he turned and left through the black corridor, he could hear the guard's sweat drip off his face. He made no sound, almost like floating away and fading into the void of shadow. 

A bright moon revealed the cobblestone pathways of the citadel. Up, in the city, the Luna Institute's towers rose like a sinister claw, burying itself out of the ground. A chill and a stench passed by his nose as he strolled slowly through the labyrinthine streets of Delnar City. Sewage, wet decaying hay and rotten food. It was all amazing, for while in permanent darkness, the urban center was so well supplied that, on occasions such as this, some of the populous afforded throwing it away. Yet there was still famine in the ranks of the beggars... From under the large flowing hood, Gavin scanned the marketplace, filled with life even so late. At least he thought it was late, as he always did; it never got any easier for the wandering mage, for twenty years of sunlit days could not be forgotten in mere weeks. 

He turned his inquisitive gaze towards the dock. A modest and rotting excuse of a harbor, where ships larger than life actually made port. Street thieves, pirates, hooligans and whores. Illusionists, blood drinkers, gargoyles and some dwarven folk. They made him laugh. Why he ever left the tranquil gardens of Benj he could not recall. Something about the Book of Whispers came to mind; that dreadful artifact that persuaded him, in it's dark ways, to visit Luna. Some children crossed his path, running, almost making him trip.

"Careful, you little buggers! Or I'll turn you into furry turtles!" he shouted at them.

"Turn this!" a snotty, red haired one yelled back and flipped him off.

"Holy werecat! Talk about a gap in the system..." he muttered and then rose his voice at the child: "Is that what you little shits learn in school these days?!"

"No!" the kid yelled, turning to face him from the other side of the plaza. A dark smile flashed on his lips as he muttered something Gavin could not hear.

"What?!" he shouted, but then blinked in surprise. His vision blurred suddenly, his blood froze. With the rest of his focus, he read the words the spoiled brat was shouting back of him, in a short bursts, like speaking to a moron: "That. Is. What. We learn!"

Gavin instinctively turned and glanced upon a small burning green demon. A grin larger than it's face met the wizard, as it handed him his own kidneys. It seemed to snicker and jump with joy, then screamed in a high pitched manner as it's flame-like body dissolved along with the kid's incantation.

"Blimey!" the wizard cursed as he collapsed to the ground.

You bloody bundle of evil! I told you not to do that to people. Look at this mess! ...Oh, we're so incredibly shagged! He's a freakin' mage, he is! the woman's voice rang inside Gavin's almost unconscious mind. 

Relax, Miss! I'll be havin' him up and running in no time... Loudmouth arcane prick!

Thomas! Don't make me butt rape your soul again!

Oi, ye be a nasty one, Miss...

"Fucking warlocks..." Gavin mumbled... and died.

Reccurence

Felix woke up in a pool of sweat, the dry suffocating atmosphere in his bedroom rising to unbearable levels. He groaned like a drunk and pushed himself up, noticing the stain on the dirty, uncovered mattress. His head spun and hurt like a thousand sledgehammers slamming together against the largest church bell in the world. As the blur over his eyes cleared somewhat, he pulled the small ragged drape a little, only to be blinded by a flash of burning light. He grunted and fell on his back... 

The electric clock ticked once as a minute past 2 A.M. passed. It made him twitch and he finally decided to get up as the drops of sweat tickling his face on their path down were starting to really annoy him. In his thick blue jeans he felt steamed, but he knew there was no chance in hell that the shower would work in that dump. No chance in hell... - the words echoed in his mind like the broken doorbell which rang at the same time.

Felix opened the door without even bothering to ask who it was so late at night. The elegantly clad man walked in without a word and just followed him to the improvised dirty grey kitchen. A ray of unnatural light outlined the poorly maintained room, throwing weird shadows around. Felix just leaned over the sink and turned the knob, praying for at least some cold water. Outside, the roar of the city was imperceptible. 

"You look like absolute shit. Told you to lay off the crack..." the dark haired man said and leaned against the door frame. "Hope you're up for the job tonight".

"Aren't I always...?" Felix groaned as he let the cold-warm water dry on his face. He pulled his long messy blonde hair back and threw the other one a strange glance through the disgusting mirror in front of him.

"I'm not convinced. The boss wants this job done right. And as bloody as possible!" came the glacial reply. "No fuck-ups this time, Skewer. He wants a massacre."

The word echoed like before, making Felix snap, yet he turned slowly, conceiving his doubts. A glance in the other man's coal eyes made him shiver. He looked surreal, completely out of the picture. 

"A massacre, eh, Jack?" he whispered in a hoarse voice, pulling a drawer open slowly. 

"Exactly. And- ...did you get a cat?" the dark-haired man asked, his glance pointing at the black agile form of the feline slipping in through the half-open window.

The blade of the kitchen knife flew up, making it's way directly under Jack's chin, catching him with a look of horror on his face and cutting his relaxed gestures off. A spark ignited in his assassin's eyes, burning orange for a moment, just like the color of blood that sprayed over his deadly hand. Burning blood, like lava. The blonde man slowly lifted the other arm to shelter his gaze from the imminent burst and explosion. When he looked back, there was no trace of any Jack. He noticed the cat and smiled, as it didn't even seem to acknowledge him. Outside, behind the enigmatic feline, the slums turned to ash, decaying and burning, and the humming of cars turned to wails of agony. 

"How many times did I do that before?" he asked casually, still trying to clear his throat. The kitchen was on fire, but he didn't care. He just reached for the pack of menthol cigarettes and lit one over the burning cupboard. 

FOOL! YOU WILL BURN! EVEN IF IT TAKES FOREVER! an omnipresent voice boomed.

Felix curled forward, stretching his shoulder blades; a ragged grey wing sprung, smashing the window open, then immediately the other spread towards the crammed hallway. He arched his back and spun his neck, making the bones crack. With no rush and a bitter smile in the corner of his mouth he poured himself some stale coffee and took a seat on the burning table. He took a sip and a sweet drag: "It just might, asshole..."

School Night

Laine took a drag from her long ivory pipe, enjoying the calming effect of the illegal smoldering herb. Her absinth gaze fell in a melancholic manner over the half-naked body next to her, following the delicate outline of the woman's marble back and half breast she revealed. She partially spread her lips, releasing a thin smoke snake that curled over her lover's forms. 

"Do that again and I'll end you" the girl warned, eyes still shut, making Laine giggle like a schoolgirl. Her smile spread as she leaned gently and pressed her baby pink lips on Daevia's tattooed shoulder. "...You're a damned witch" the latter groaned, parting her eyeslashes enough to reveal unnatural green eyes. Greener than Laine's.

"I made coffee" the other replied, her eyes shutting to slits while examining her lover's reactions. 

"Good for you, sweetheart... Now fuck off! I want to rest" came the frosty reply, while Daevia turned around and curled in a ball.

"Fine" Laine responded and let the pipe down on the small wooden table nearby, then proceeded to tying her long straight hair into a ponytail. She walked to the mirror and pulled a large white shirt over her body, then the tan leather pants and boots she was so fond off. She grabbed her schooling manual and tossed the dark-haired girl another glance. "You will miss me" she chimed, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"Like hellfire" the woman replied and motioned her to go.

Laine chuckled and rubbed her fingers over the pendant around her neck. The emerald shone in a few different ways, each cut seemingly a different shade of that mossy color. A shiver rushed over her while parting with her beloved Daevia, -again- in such belligerent terms, but she was happy knowing her thoughts, even negative, were directed at her. 

She didn't rush, even though the sun was setting fast, for they weren't called night classes for nothing. Instead, she admired the small country town and the craftsmanship with which these northern countrymen created such small architectural masterpieces. They used mostly large pieces of wood, while the white blocks of stone served only as the foundations for their homes. Almost all had gargoyles and dragons smelt from copper or iron, adorning their doors or balconies, and it seemed they had a thing for those painted glasses. They amused Laine, for she thought they would have served best in an old pub rather than filtering the already dim daylight. For a moment she scolded herself for her snobbish attitude, feeling she had no right to judge, especially since she came to Korshire recently, after living a rather boring life in the big austere Edinburgh.

"Good evening, miss" a blonde teenager saluted her cheerfully as he passed by. She recognized him as Samuel, one of her new students and nodded at him, smiling gently. 

"Good evening, Sam. Joining us tonight?" she asked, scanning the freckles on his pasty cheek.

"Can't do, miss. But I will try to catch up tomorrow. Father needs me with some chores this eve."

"I understand. Give him my best!" she exclaimed as the kid rushed off on the stone-paved street, waving at her in response.

Laine looked at the new school building and took a deep breath, her smile still frozen on her lips. She had a good day and she couldn't wait for the rest of the night when she would enjoy Daevia's company to it's fullest. But the young woman didn't feel half bad. A whole class of eager young students were expecting her, hungry for her insightful teachings. She walked in and nodded at the mass of teenagers who quickly stood up and bowed their heads in respect.

"Good evening, my dears!" she proclaimed, walking to her desk and putting down the large tome. "Ah! I see we have some new attendants this night."

"Yes, miss Hershey" replied a petite ginger-haired girl from the second desk. "I am Anna Barlow".

"Well!" Laine gigled with excitement. "Welcome to Demonology 101! I hope you have your manual and... -THOMAS! Unsummon your imp at once! Yesterday the little devil torched the side of the cupboard!" she scolded a chuckling kid from the parallel row. 

You're such a damned witch! came Daevia's demonically sensual voice from the shining emerald pendant.