The Crimson Death

The five of us entered the arena, an enclosed circle of hard-packed dirt surrounded by marble walls covered in runes and glyphs painted in blood. In the center sat our target upon a plain block of stone: an old man in broken armor and wielding a rusted sword. Though he looked weak and frail, the hundreds of corpses scattered around him told us there was more to the man. Some I recognized as famous or up-and-coming Hunters, all of them still in armor and many still clutching their weapons. Some had already been reduced to unrecognizable bones. Other corpses were bodies of monsters: werewolves still covered with fur; vampires with their flesh decayed to give us a look at their fangs; giant ogres; and even a dragon, its petrified bones partially buried in the dirt.

My four companions approached, brandishing their weapons. I hung back wary of the old man, and curious as to why The Hunter Guild placed such a high bounty on one trapped man. The old man finally looked up from his seat, a haunted look in his eyes. "Please stop," he said in a voice barely more than a whisper.

Gareth, a giant bruiser hefted his two-headed great axe and laughed. "Sorry old man, but a job is a job. The guild is paying a fortune to the one that brings back your head," he said with a laugh. The other three laughed along with him.

The twang of a bowstring punctuated their laughter. At that distance, I expected to see the shaft of the arrow sticking out of the old man's eye. Instead it appeared in the old man's free hand. With a flex of his fingers he snapped it in half and dropped the pieces into the dirt. The old man stood with his head lowered, the point of the sword still scraping at the dirt. "I gave you your warning to turn back. If you're just here for the money, then you might as well slit your own throats and save me the trouble," he growled without raising his head.

The spearman on Gareth's right approached first, his polearm held at the ready. He circled away from the group to attack the old man from the side and leave the team in the old man's blindspot. What people tend to forget about spears is that it's not just the length of the spear but how swiftly the man wielding it can move that determines its range. I'd seen this man cover several feet in a hurry even carrying the eight-foot pole.

Suddenly he launched himself forward, the point making a beeline for the old man. The old man was faster. An experienced fighter he stepped toward the spearman's thrust, knocking the wooden pole away with the rusted sword. He planted a different sword into the spearman's chest, one he must've picked off of the many corpses lying in the dirt. The spearman staggered back, releasing his grip on his weapon. The spear hit the ground and a second later so did its owner, shock on his face and a hole in his chest. I paused trying to bring my focus back to the whole fight, what happened to the sword?

A loud, dull thud answered my question as it struck through the bowman on Gareth's left. The blade ended up halfway through the man's stomach The old man had not forgotten about the other three men and threw the sword like a dart. More impressive was the fifteen feet the piece of steel covered before striking its target with lethality.

The swordsman in our group approached next. His single-edged sword glinted in the sunlight, a contrast to his opponent's rusted one. "I'm not sure what you are, but an honorable swordsman would never allow their sword to fall into such a state as yours," he said as he approached cautiously having already seen the deaths of two of his comrades. He stalked slowly with his sword raised, ready to strike.

The old man confronted the swordsman in a much different style, his sword held almost forgotten at his side while his free hand swung casually. Even in full armor, he walked at an even pace, stepping over bones and bodies with ease.

Our swordsman started to circle the old man, looking for a weakness and a moment to strike. Rather than copy his approach as other swordsmen would, the old man continued to head straight for him. Finally sensing his opportunity, the swordsman struck slicing downward upon the old man.

The old man however wasn't surprised and parried the blade aside. The swordsman struck again with a horizontal slash that the old man nimbly avoided. Then came a thrust. The old man stepped aside and up toward the swordsman, hitting him with an armored shoulder. The swordsman staggered back and the old man swung his sword low, catching him in the leg. A normal sword would've taken the man's leg off. Instead, the rusted blade knocked the other man off-balance and he fell to the ground. The old man was upon him, battering the fallen man with blow after blow filled with an endurance that should not have been possible. Between the swordsman's chainmail armor and the old man's rusted sword though, none of the strikes cut into flesh.

Slicing and stabbing aren't the only ways for a sword to deliver a killing blow, however. Finally, the old man stepped back and the swordsman's ragged, wheezing breath was the only sound we could hear in the arena. The old man must've broken ribs that punctured a lung, as well as shattered countless other bones too. "I never said I was a swordsman, but I am the survivor," the old man said as he delivered a hammer blow that crushed the fallen man's skull.

Both Gareth and I stood in shock as three of our comrades lay dead at the hands of one old man in less than a minute. The only difference between the two of us being our proximity to our potential executioner. "What the hell are you?" said Gareth as a quiver in his body shook the axe in his hands. He started to back slowly away but only made it a few steps before fear froze up his body.

A change had come over the old man. Physically he still looked like nothing more than a frail knight, but now there was something else about him. Something terrifying. I would run for the doors if I hadn't heard them lock behind us. And if I wasn't so excited. As if after all the men and monsters that died by my hand, I'd finally found a creature worth hunting. But more than that, there was something about the old man that called to me.

His hand gripped his sword with a renewed strength. A smile filled his face full of yellow-stained teeth. "The Guild calls it The Crimson Death," the old man said, a levity in his voice. "It's a mantle that seeks out and attaches itself to only the most proficient of killers. One that has slain enemies on the battlefield, hunted down monsters that walk in the shadows, even cut down their own comrades. The mantle feeds itself through blood and death. That is what sustains me. That is what you find yourself standing against, a being made only for battle and murder."

"Why did they offer a bounty if they've already trapped you," asked Gareth as if words might keep him alive longer where action clearly wouldn't.

The Crimson Death laughed. "The mantle must be sustained or it either moves on to a new host or dies. And the guild wants it sustained and trapped as their ultimate weapon against the night. Monster slaying. War fighting. These things don't happen as often enough anymore. The guild uses some of our more over-confident Hunters as small morsels to sustain me, luring you here with dreams of riches and fame."

 Gareth stood frozen while the old man closed the distance and now started to circle around him, his breath right on the other man's neck. "You're a sacrifice to me. Your destiny to merely join the other corpses that surround us."

The brute hunter regained his nerve, jolted to life either by the closeness of his opponent or the realization of his doomed fate. He swung his heavy axe, a blow I'd seen fell trees so thick I couldn't wrap my arms around it. The old man stopped it with the flat of his sword and directed it downward. Meeting with a strength he'd never before encountered, Gareth lost the grip on the axe and one side buried itself in the dirt. The Crimson Death dropped his sword and wrapped his hands around the back of Gareth's head. He jerked the bigger man's head down, seeking to guillotine the brute's throat on his own axe. Gareth let the blade cut into his palms as he braced himself on his own axe to stop it from getting to his throat.

A clang rang out through the arena as my knife bounced off the old man's armor. Stunned, the old man paused his attempt on Gareth's life to stare at me. "Ah, I'd forgotten that there were five of you. I thought perhaps you would slink off someplace to die," the old man said with a smile.

I smiled just as wide to match the monster. "I heard them lock the gates when we came in, and based on what you said earlier, I doubt they'll re-open it. Besides this looks like it'll be a lot of fun." I drew my own single-edged sword and held it out to my side, an invitation of challenge.

The old man released Gareth's head, shoving him aside with contempt. He hefted his rusted sword and rested it on his shoulder. "You seem different than the others. You're not here for the gold, are you?"

Our swords met with a clash that echoed across the arena. "I heard there was a monster that I could really test my skills against," I said as our swords ground against each other. Our eyes locked together. For a brief moment the predatory smugness disappeared and I saw something in them I didn't quite recognize. We parted and immediately I struck again, hoping to catch the old man off-balance and unaware. He wasn't fooled, however, and parried my strike. I rolled away and avoided the counter-strike that was sure to follow.

Once again, I took note of the corpses scattered in the dirt as I regained my feet. I bore the scars of battle from killing similar monsters and my fair share of humans as well. Different creatures required different hunting tactics, even humans. The Crimson Death would have learned all these tactics too in all the years it survived.

"I can see now why The Guild offered such a large bounty for your head," I said.

The old man continued to smile as he stalked toward me. "Were you not paying attention? I'm The Guild's monster. The bounty is just a lure."

"Or perhaps The Guild is looking for a new monster to call their own. A new killing machine," I said. I came back with another strike, a slash coming up and across the old man's body. Predictably he knocked it away with the flat of his sword. Anticipating a quick counter-strike, I spun but stayed within range to deliver a thrust at his chest. The Crimson Death's years of experience saw through my attack and managed to adjust his own slash into a strong parry. My sword flew from my hand and landed twenty feet away.

I had enough time to manage a "Shit" before the old man knocked the wind out of me with a shot to my stomach. A heavy weight slammed onto my back and knocked me face first into the dirt. As quickly as I could, I flipped onto my back and blindly swung my legs hoping to surprise the old man as he came in for the kill. Instead my feet kicked nothing but air.

The old man appeared at my side. "A good attempt. An inexperienced fighter might've made the mistake of going right for the kill. I however, am not that," he said, his smile never faltering. He lifted a sword he must've picked off a corpse and plunged it into my chest.

Pain erupted in my chest as the steel made its way through my body and out my back. Unfortunately it was a relatively thin blade and must've missed my heart or I would've been dead. Perhaps he got a lung, I thought, as I struggled to cough up the blood slowly choking me. The old man straddled my soon to be dead body and pulled a knife from his belt. "You should've heeded my warning and walked away. Instead you'll die here, helpless along with the rest of your comrades," he said, bringing the knife to my throat.

I coughed again. "Two things," I struggled to say, "Number one. A Hunter is always armed for a hunt." I jerked myself upward along the blade pining me down and stabbed him between the ribs with a bone I'd picked off the ground. The Crimson Death howled with rage. "Number two. Not all my comrades are dead," I said.

A giant, two-handed axe swung through the air and took the old man's head clean off. His body fell forward, limp and lifeless. I heard the head bounce once, twice and then roll to a stop. Above me stood Gareth, his axe still held at the ready, perhaps in case the headless body got back up.

I stared up at the giant, then at the sword in my chest. "Pull it out and help me up," I manage to say without passing out from the pain.

Gareth just shrugged and yanked the sword from my chest. He pushed the old man's corpse off of me and then lifted me to my feet. I placed the rag he tossed me over the hole in my chest.

"Let's get out of here and get our reward," Gareth said, turning to the arena doors. We trudged to the doors, Gareth pulling further and further away with every step. "By the way, didn't that old guy mention some sort of supernatural mantle?" he said with a laugh. "If it were real, wouldn't I get his power now?"

I was weak and barely able to breathe or walk. I knew that with my injuries I shouldn't have been alive much less able to make it this far to the gate. "As the mantle sees it, technically I killed the old man and you were just my tool. So, the mantle is truly mine. All that's left is for me to claim it." I felt a tingle jolt through my body, a surge of power, and I no longer hurt. Forcing myself forward at a suicidal pace I lunged at Gareth and drove him to the ground. My hand found a knife Gareth kept strapped to his belt and I put it into his neck repeatedly.

I rolled myself off of Gareth's corpse, breathing heavily. I removed the rag from the wound in my chest and stared down at it. Blood continued to flow but I needed to see it. With every breath I felt more and more of my life slip away. Suddenly something settled upon me, like a heavy blanket. The wound in my chest closed up and I instantly felt healed. Then I felt my smile widen, almost supernaturally big, and I knew that my gambit paid off. I picked myself off the ground and turned back away from the arena doors. I'd cut down humans and monsters alike. I'd done battle with the supernatural. I'd even cut down my own comrade that saved my life. I was now the King of Killers, The Crimson Death. I settled myself upon the stone in the center of the arena, awaiting the next challenge.

 

Based off the Reddit Writing Prompt: A group approaches a frail old man in broken armor and a rusty sword. All around him are dead bodies. He whispers, "Please stop." or something like that (it was a long prompt). When I first saw this, I knew I wanted to write a story for it, mostly because I was and am still struggling with two superhero stories that are very dialogue heavy and I needed something with more action. As I started writing, I got the inspiration to use an idea from back when I was in high school: The Crimson Death. That's how you can tell I thought of it in high school, what a lame-ass name. So, The Crimson Death is supposed to be a human transformed into a monster thanks to the sheer amount of killing s/he has done. It's supposed to be the ultimate killing machine in other stories I've thought up but never written. Well, anyways, I got to write a bunch of action scenes so that should satisfy that urge for a while. And yes, I know that the whole section involving the old man killing the main character's comrades could've easily been cut out as it really contributes nothing to the story, but like I said I was looking to write action scenes, so those are staying in. While I still have to finish the superhero stories, I also started on another one that that is also very dialogue heavy so hopefully this will sustain me through both of those. On another added note, I started re-reading "Ex-Heroes" and I remember Peter Clines, in one of his author's notes at the end of the story, remarking that he came up with a lot of the superheroes writing comics as a kid. I'm not sure if this had anything to do with inspiring me to reuse a character I came up with so, so long ago, but maybe.

Emberwilde Comes: Boulder Badge Preliminary

Brock's subordinate, a man dressed in hiking gear, blocked my way as I stepped through the Pewter City gym doors. "Back for another beating so soon? I'd thought by now you learned your lesson and went back to wherever you came from," he said with a smirk.

I ignored his comments and issued my challenge. Again. "Emberwilde comes to challenge the Pewter City gym leader for the Boulder Badge," I said loud enough for everyone in the gym to hear.

The Hiker laughed and stepped away from the group stationed near the doorway. Anytime someone entered one of them immediately challenged the newcomer, ensuring that only those worthy trainers get the chance to challenge the master of the gym. As we walked further into the gym, rock-type pokemon and their partners trained and honed their skills. Giant Onyx crushed boulders with their snake-like bodies and several Graveler tossed rocks through the air with ease. The constant crashing and crushing pounded in my ears and caused my teeth to grind.

Finally we got to the back of the gym and the arena floor. I walked over to the challenger's square on one end and the Hiker made his way to the opposite side. Between us lay 150 feet of gravel and sand with enormous boulders littered sparsely along the field. Ideal conditions for any rock-type pokemon.

"So, Bearer," shouted the Hiker, "am I going to get to see the famous Emberwilde you keep bragging about this time? Or just another weakling?" The small crowd around us laughed. Some of the pokemon and their trainers stopped their workouts and joined to watch the upcoming battle.

"Emberwilde refuses to waste his time playing with you and your pokemon, and will only battle the master of the gym. You will have to contend yourself with one of his subordinates who I'm sure will be a match for any pokemon you have" I said as I grabbed a pokeball from my belt.

The Hiker stood ready with his own pokeball in hand. "It wasn't a match for me the last several times. I doubt this time will be any different," he said. Then he threw his pokeball into the arena. As it flew, the Hiker shouted, "Go, Geodude!" In a flash of red light, a geodude appeared in the middle of the field. The pokemon stood almost a foot and a half tall and resembled a gray rock with arms.

I tossed my pokeball and a red flash revealed my Caterpie. Though it stood almost as tall, the green worm weighed a fifth that of its opponent. This would be like a heavyweight boxer fighting a child, and based on some of our previous battles it could turn out that way again.

Still, I couldn't help but smile. "Okay, Caterpie," I said directing it at the opponent, "just like we trained for."

The Hiker was just as confident, his laugh now giving his belly a jiggle. "Look Geodude, it's your favorite punching bag. Now, just like the last time. Use Tackle!" The geodude launched itself forward in an attempt to slam its entire mass against Caterpie.

Countering with a String Shot attack, Caterpie blinded Geodude for a split-second giving the bug-pokemon enough time to scuttle out of the way. The geodude missed by inches and instead slammed into one of the rocks on the field. The rock exploded as the pokemon's momentum carried it through the obstacle.

Geodude wiped the webbing from its face and re-oriented itself on Caterpie, though obviously a little dazed. The pokemon charged again, and again the caterpie countered with a String Shot attack. Geodude managed to halt its attack this time instead of slamming into another boulder and injuring itself in the process.

"Change of tactics, Geodude," said the Hiker, "let's try Rock Throw."

There's no way geodude could lift one of those boulders, let alone throw one, I thought. Then the geodude launched itself high into the air above us. Oh, it's throwing itself at us, I realized. "Caterpie," I said attempting to get my pokemon's attention, "keep at it. Use String Shot to keep slowing down Geodude's speed." Caterpie obeyed, coating the geodude in more webbing. It wouldn't slow the rock-pokemon's plummet but hopefully it would start to weigh the pokemon down for its future attacks.

Unfortunately we misjudged the geodude's rate of fall. By the time I noticed and ordered Caterpie to dodge, Geodude was almost upon it. Caterpie managed to dodge the brunt of the attack but the shockwave from the geodude slamming into the ground sent my pokemon flying several feet.

"Damn, I hadn't planned for that," I said as my pokemon righted itself. But, right now, there was nothing else I could to. "Stick with the strategy, Caterpie."

Caterpie launched another String Shot attack before Geodude jumped back into the air. The rock-pokemon didn't go as high as the last time but it still came down hard, leaving a crater upon impact. Again, Caterpie dodged but was still hit by the force of his opponent's impact on the field. 

By the time Caterpie got back up, Geodude was already airborne. From the look on its face and how it wobbled, I could tell my pokemon was still stunned from the last strike. This time, Caterpie couldn't dodge in time. The rock pokemon came down like a meteor upon the green worm. A cloud of sand and gravel filled the air, blocking everyone's view of the battle. Suddenly, Geodude hopped out of the debris cloud but Caterpie's fate still remained uncertain.

"Get back in there Geodude. One more hit. Leave no doubt," the Hiker said. Geodude nodded to its trainer and launched itself back into the fog for another blow.

I flashbacked to one of Emberwilde's more extreme training days. The charizard attacked and all of the subordinates I'd caught in the Viridian Forest would do nothing except dodge and evade. Though Caterpie could launch itself a foot with some quickness, it still wasn't enough to get out of the way and it ended up stomped and smashed and burned all day. Eventually, out of sheer frustration, Caterpie fired a String Shot attack at Emberwilde's face, violating the rules and upsetting his lord. Emberwilde burned the gunk off his snout and then whipped his tail around, sending Caterpie through a tree. The charizard took to the air, landing heavy in front of the downed worm. Then he reached out a clawed hand and congratulated Caterpie. While other pokemon could dodge around their opponent's attacks until they found an opening to exploit, Caterpie realized it couldn't do that and struck back, attempting to blind its attacker instead. Besides, the Celestial Fire clan prided itself on offense and anything you did to set yourself up to be in a position of attack was commended. That's when I knew Caterpie would not only be a perfect addition to our team but would fit in just fine in the Tartarus Isles.

"Caterpie!" I shouted, as much as a warning as for encouragement. Suddenly there was a flash of light within the unsettled dust. Then came an impact though instead of the familiar sound of a boulder pounding upon the ground, it sounded closer to a rock striking an anvil. The Clang! echoed throughout the gym. Geodude flew back out of the haze and landed hard on the ground, obviously dazed. The entire gym went silent: the Hiker, the crowd, the other pokemon training, everyone.

The dust finally settled and sitting in the middle of it was a shiny green cocoon. I looked over at the Hiker. "Now this match is over," I said.

The Hiker just grunted. "So what, your Caterpie evolved to a Metapod. This changes nothing. Geodude, use Rock Throw."

Geodude started to launch itself into the air. "Metapod, use String Shot," I said, utilizing the same strategy. Webbing jetted from the green cocoon and coated the other pokemon. What the Hiker failed to realize was that though it was the same strategy, now that Caterpie evolved to Metapod, its attacks were stronger and more effective. The string shot that just added some extra weight now weighed the opponent down until it could barely move. The rock pokemon managed to show a short hop but wasn't able to launch itself into the air as it had before.

"Metapod use Harden," I said. Metapod shot the webbing upward, letting it fall and coat its cocoon. Unlike the string shot that stayed somewhat loose and sticky, Metapod was able to solidify it quickly making its shell even tougher and more defensible.

The Hiker growled, frustrated. "Ok Geodude, we'll just have to use the basics. Get over there and hit that Metapod with a Tackle attack," he said. The Geodude started toward my pokemon though much, much slower than before, almost a crawling pace. Seconds dragged by as the rock pokemon labored toward my new Metapod, its speed hindered significantly by the string shot holding it back and weighing it down. "You're done for now kid," said the Hiker as Geodude finally dragged itself in range of use its attack. "Your Metapod is just a sitting duck."

I smiled as his geodude put itself exactly where I needed it to be, in range for our own counterattack. Metapods, being typically stationary in the wild, are easy to overlook as a threat. Its predecessor Caterpie is even less threatening as just a tiny green worm scuttling slowly along the forest floor. What those that don't respect bug pokemon often overlook is that Caterpie's first attack is Tackle, a relatively weak attack that launches itself a short distance with very little mass to back it up.

However it doesn't just forget the move when it evolves to a Metapod and now it had a lot more weight to deliver, like a featherweight boxer wearing loaded gloves. Hardening the cocoon only added to the power of the attack. Our only issue now that Metapod was a cocoon was range as it couldn't launch itself as far. Luckily the geodude solved the issue for us by dragging itself closer, and, thanks to the previous continuous string shot, doing so at a relatively slow pace.

As if thinking the same thing, both the Hiker and I shouted simultaneously, "Now Tackle attack!" and our pokemon launched themselves forward. Force is equal to Mass multiplied by Acceleration. I was sure the geodude still weighed more than Metapod, but I hoped my recent efforts would give my pokemon the advantage in acceleration. The two pokemon collided and the impact was felt around the gym. They broke apart, both landing relatively on their feet and unfazed but everyone knew that last attack decided the battle. The seconds dragged by and neither pokemon moved, hesitantly watching the other for a show of weakness.

Uncertainly I called out, "Metapod, use String Shot," I said, hoping the simple attack was enough to not only tip the health of the opponent but also a show of strength as well. Metapod remained motionless. One second. Two. Three. Four. Finally a thin thread shot forth and it was enough. Once it touched Geodude the pokemon faltered and collapsed. The crowd erupted and I barely heard the referee declare Metapod the victor.

Both the Hiker and I returned our pokemon to their respective pokeballs. They offered me the chance to have Metapod healed prior to the face off with the gym leader but I declined. Much like Metapod who he trained so vigorously, Emberwilde would need no second to assist him in victory.

Slowly continuing along with my Pokemon Fanfic, "Emberwilde Comes." If you've somehow managed to keep track of this series after so much time between chapters (which I hope you have as it's the only thing here I'm proud of) you know that we are now caught up to the first chapter I ever wrote for this series, the Pewter City Gym battle. I do have some sort of plan going forward but this is a pretty major milestone, getting back to where I originally started. Also, if this story somehow feels both planned and rushed at the same time, well I guess it kind of is. I've been sitting on this idea for a while (as well as what I'm planning to be the next two chapters) but just never got around to writing it, instead focusing on other stories off of Reddit Writing Prompts. In my attempts to get one story a week (actually I was really trying for a new story every Tuesday), I realized I'd gotten stuck on the superhero story I'd started last week and just didn't know how to go forward with it. So, I was looking for a sort of palette-cleaner, something I could quickly work on that wouldn't (hopefully) be utter garbage in such a short period of time. And so, here we are.

The Mercy part 4/4

 "Doubts," she said and I nodded. She smiled back reassuringly. "We all have them. Even me. Remember what I said about limitations. We aren't just limited to how much we can help someone, but also how often. Every day I find myself wondering if I hadn't used The Gift to save one person perhaps I could've used it to help another."

"Then how do you decide?" I asked, my hand still hovering over Mr. Gilroy.

"Save those you can," she said, "and ease the rest. You can't save everyone but there are still ways to help those you couldn't save."

I looked back down at Mr. Gilroy, laying in agony and still I doubted. "What if this isn't what he wants?"

Mom put a reassuring hand on my head and messed up my hair just like Dad used to when I asked a silly question. "Well that's why we have mouths," she said and motioned with her head to the dying man.

"Um, Mr. Gilroy," I said. When he didn't respond, I repeated, "Mr. Gilroy," though this time a little louder.

"Ugh," he grunted, obvious that the painkillers given to him earlier by the nurse was wearing off.

"My mom said that I could help you, but I'm not sure if it is what you want," I said. Cowardice turned my eyes, fearful of making eye contact with a man on his deathbed. My body burned with shame. Then I spotted a lone vase sitting on a stool, flowers standing in the water. I picked one by the stem and held it so Mr. Gilroy could see. Then I focused and The Mercy took hold. The flower died. I looked back at Mr. Gilroy, the man staring back at me with wide eyes.

"Is. It. Pain. Ful?" he asked, needing to pause between every syllable.

My mother shook her head. "I don't believe so. I watched my brother perform The Mercy for several patients. From the outside, it appears that you will merely slip off to sleep," she said. She gestured to the machines and monitors. "I've never seen a spike in any of the readings either to convince me the body is in any sort of distress."

The man nodded weakly. Then, as if using the last of his strength, his hand reached out to the end of its chain and clamped onto mine. His eyes met mine and I understood.

"Don't worry, honey," mom said as she wrapped her arms around me. "I'm right here with you."

In her embrace I felt my body calm. Under Mr. Gilroy's reassuring gaze, I felt my confidence rise. I gripped the man's hand tight and willed The Mercy into action.

Mr Gilroy's eyes widened for the briefest moment and then slowly began to shut. The seconds between his laborious breaths grew longer, his chest rising less frequently. His grip on my hand slowly loosened. Next to me, the beeps monitoring his heartbeats never spiked as mom predicted. Instead it stayed constant, and slowly the silence between beeps grew longer until eventually letting out a single long, dull tone. Through it all, I did my best to keep my eyes on his, or at least on his face. This was his death wish, after all, and it seemed shameful to not be with him in the end.

Mom gave me a squeeze and I knew it was over, The Mercy having run its full course. Reverently I placed Mr. Gilroy's hand down upon the bed. I turned to her and she pulled me tight against her body. I don't know when I'd started crying but when I realized I wasn't sure the tears would ever stop.

"It won't get any easier, it never will and never should," mom said holding me tight. "But I'll be right here with you until you grow into your power and no longer need my help."

I pulled away, wiping the tears from my eyes. I looked into the mom's eyes and knew she'd be right there with me. I turned back to the man in the bed, Mr. Gilroy finally resting in peace. Though he probably believed me to have helped him, it was I that would never forget his name or his sacrifice to a young boy just trying to find his way in the world.

 

Using a really, really old Reddit Writing Prompt, something like "Your family's gift is to heal with a touch. You've been practicing on plants hoping for your power to manifest one day. Except, one day, the plants die." (Yeah, it was a really long one) Anyways, the actual prompt is several months old, I think, I'm not sure and I'm not going back to look. As it happens, when I'm running out of pages in a notebook, I tend to go back to see if there are any unfinished stories worth finishing. I remember when I first saw this prompt I immediately knew that The Mercy would be a branch from The Gift and of course you used it to kill people as the prompt suggested. But the prompt itself got a bunch of responses so I never got around to responding. A lot of them, if I remember correctly, were the "use your power to punish the wicked" type stories that I didn't care for (like they seemed really revenge driven). It was only upon rewriting that I decided to set the scene in a prison, as a way to address the "kill the bad people" types. And I know, I say this all the time, even though it's a conversation, there's a lot of dialogue throughout. Maybe I'm just not the talkative type but I feel like there should be more going on even when the scene is just people talking to each other.

The Mercy part 3/4

 For the first time I could remember, I pushed myself out of her embrace not out of embarrassment but out of anger. "You're asking me to kill a man, some stranger I don't even know," I said glaring at her as if she were a monster. And perhaps she was a monster. What kind of parent asks their 15 year old child to kill someone. "And for what reason? To punish him? You want to turn me into a monster that goes around killing the bad people!"

She shook her head and smiled. "You kids still think the world is split between good and evil like those comic books you love to read. The Mercy isn't meant to punish the wicked. Mr. Gilroy is serving his punishment for the crime he committed. Then he developed his illness. The corrections board didn't follow my treatment instructions and it progressed too far for him to ever recover." She turned to face the man. "He's in constant pain. There's nothing more we can do for him."

My hands trembled, angry. Angry that such a burden was placed on me for a curse I never asked for. Angry that I'd never be normal like the rest of my family. Angry that I knew she was holding something from me. Just so angry. And in that anger I lashed out. "Why can't you use The Gift to heal him? Why can't you call someone else to do it? What did I do wrong? Is it because you won't get paid if you save a criminal? That he just doesn't have the right insurance plan?"

My head recoiled as an explosion struck my face. I don't think mom realized she slapped me until she saw me clutching my cheek. In her eyes burned a rage I'd never seen in her before. "Don't you ever speak to me that way," she said, her hand raised and shaking. She lowered her hand and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. The silence stretched and the world stood frozen until she opened her eyes. The rage in them still lingered like a threatening storm but her voice was calm. "'Save those you can. Ease the rest.' That is the Healer's Creed. We are Healers but all of us have our limitations. Your father knew his limitations -" she stopped, forcing back a tear.

Mom walked over to me and bent to a knee. She'd never talked about how Dad died, just that he was a brave man when he passed. She looked up at me and for the first time told me the truth. It poured from her like a waterfall. "Your father knew his limitations. The Gift tells us when we've hit our limit and can do no more for our patients. One night he tried to push himself passed it to save a woman under his care. He knew the injuries she sustained were life-threatening and he'd never attempted anything like it before. But he couldn't step back and watch her die. So he placed his hands upon her with The Gift. After a few hours, he died. His heart just gave out and he collapsed on the floor. The woman managed to hold on for another day and then she died too."

The burden finally eased, she stood and looked back to Mr. Gilroy lying in the hospital bed. Handcuffs manacled him to the bed, useless though they were. "'Save those you can. Ease the rest.' It is our creed for a reason. We can't fight against our limitations, bravely though your father did try. We can only save those our individual Gifts will allow."

I moved to stand next to my mom, taking her hand. "Is that what I'm supposed to be? The second part of the creed? 'Ease the rest'," I said, still watching Mr. Gilroy.

She gripped my hand tighter. "Your uncle is the same, possessed with The Mercy. Though the rest of the family shuns him, I understand the burden placed on my brother. The same that's now placed upon you."

With a gentle tug, mom pulled me forward and we walked to Mr. Gilroy's bedside. The man still lay flat, a bead of sweat running down his head. He turned to face us, his breath unsteady with every movement.

I looked away from the man and back to my mom. "So how does it work?" I asked.

She looked down at me. "Same as with The Gift. You just put your hand upon your patient and focus. The Mercy does the rest easing him into death."

I let go of her hand and reached out to take Mr. Gilroy's shackled hand. Then I stopped, hesitated, my hand hovering above his. I looked back and found my mom already staring back at me.

The Mercy part 2/4

 Instead of placing me immediately in handcuffs or turning me over to the nearest prison guard, we walked straight through the facility. We headed down a long hallway with flickering florescent lighting. Ahead of us stood two double doors with the words "Medical Ward" printed across them. Was she going to have me executed? As we approached the door, she gave me a look I'd seen all my life, the one that said to be quiet because what was happening next was important.

"Hi, Dr. Mallory," said one of the nurses with a smile as we walked through the doors. "I thought you weren't working today."

"I'm not. I brought my son Dennis to see Mr. Gilroy," she said with a hand on my back as she tried to maneuver the two of us passed the nurse.

Curiosity on her face, the nurse stayed in our path. "I administered Mr. Gilroy's pain medication earlier today. His vitals haven't changed since the last time you saw him." Then she looked from my mother to me. "Oh, is your son a Healer like you? Do you think his Gift is strong enough to help Mr. Gilroy?"

Mom shook her head and lowered her voice. "No not like me. He's like my brother, Frank."

The nurse's smile vanished, replaced at first with revulsion then a general frown. "Dr. Mallory, I'm not sure if it would be okay for you to see Mr. Gilroy, especially with your son with you. I don't think the wardens or the commission is going to be happy with that."

My mother stepped in closer, her voice vehement but low enough so that only the three of us could hear. "I don't give a damn what makes those bastards happy. If they'd gotten Mr. Gilroy the treatment like I'd recommended months ago, he wouldn't be in this situation. So get out of the way." Mom then stepped passed the stunned nurse and we entered into the room beyond.

Men in orange jumpsuits lay shackled to hospital beds lining the left and right walls of the room. Beeps and clicks mixed with hacking coughs and desperate moans. We walked down the center aisle to the back of the room. Mom stopped us at the last bed on the left and drew the curtains around the bed closed, cutting us off from the rest of the room.

"Hello Mr. Gilroy, how are you feeling today?" my mother asked in the tone she uses when she already knows the answer you're about to give her.

Mr. Gilroy lay in the bed, his chest rising and falling at irregular intervals. Every so often his body convulsed for a minute before settling back down. His eyes switched constantly from just barely open to darting around the room. "You know how it is, doc. Just another day waiting to die," said Mr. Gilroy between labored breaths.

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Mr. Gilroy. Truly I am," mom said as she returned the man's chart back to the table. She walked over to the man and put a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Gilroy, I'm not going to sugarcoat this. We both understand that you are going to die here. Probably soon, and probably in a lot of pain." Mr. Gilroy just nodded. He knew he wasn't going anywhere. Even without any medical training I could see it. Mom continued, pulling me closer to the chained, bed-ridden man. "This is my son, Dennis. He's not a Healer like me. He doesn't possess The Gift. But I believe he can help you." Repulsed by her suggestion, I tried to pull away but her hand held me still. "If you agree to the procedure, he could ease your pain."

The prisoner looked from my mother to me, then back to her. "Ease my pain?" he said, putting a specific emphasis on the first word.

"Ease," mom repeated in the same tone.

I finally managed to break my mother's grip and stepped away from the bed. "No way. Do you know what you're asking me to do?" I said as I almost tangled myself in the curtains.

Mom walked over to me, putting herself between me and the dying inmate. "I do know what I'm asking of you, and don't worry, I'll be here with you the entire time," she said as she wrapped her arms around me.

The Mercy part 1/4

 I placed my hand on one of the dying plants on my windowsill, hoping for it to grow but expecting it to stay the same. I trimmed the roots and deprived them of water for several days and already a leaf or two started to yellow. Neither of my predictions came true. Instead, all the leaves wilted, the flowers browned, its stalk shriveled, and then the plant died. Horrified, I withdrew my hand and stared at my palm. My family's Gift to heal wasn't supposed to work this way. I saw my brother use The Gift to close up a gunshot wound. My sister reattached a man's arm with full functionality. My mother cured a man of cancer once.

Maybe it's just a fluke, I thought, just a weird unexplainable fluke. I put my palm onto another plant, and again it died. As did the next one, and the next one after that, until every single plant on my windowsill was dead. Terrified, I grabbed all the pots and ran downstairs hoping to dispose of them before anyone noticed. I'd just tell them that all the plants died. My family knew that I hadn't been watering them. Or maybe I just left them in the sun too long. And, most importantly, I'd never, ever use The Gift again.

As I turned the corner I ran right into my mother, spilling potting soil all over her and the floor. The brown clashed sharply with her orange scrubs and the white carpeting. "Oh, honey, you really shouldn't run in the house like that," she said, wiping a hand across her dirtied shirt. "What is this stuff that you were carrying?" She looked at the dirt on her hand, then to the pots scattered on the floor. "Were these the plants in your room?"

Quickly I shook my head. "Umm, no," I stammered, searching quickly for something, anything I could say. "No, just dirt I was taking downstairs." I tried to force a smile, to hold back the tears knowing the disappointment, and shame, and fear that would consume my mom if she figured me out.

Mom knelt down and reached into the dirt. I knew she was mad and I would spend hours scrubbing the floor clean after I got home from school. Her hand emerged with something brown and stringy between her fingers. She held it in front of her confused face, then lay it aside. She shifted through the rest of the soil and pulled out the remaining dead plants one by one. When she finished, seven of them lay in a row. Their brown decay contrasted with the bright white carpet. Her chest heaved and a bead of sweat started to run down the side of her face. "The Mercy," she said barely loud enough to qualify as a whisper.

"Mom, I can explain," I started before she cut me off.

"No. Go to the couch and wait for me there. You'll come with me today," she said before walking up the rest of the stairs to her bedroom.

"But what about school?" I said.

"I'll write you a note," she shouted from the top of the stairs, "now wait on the couch."

In a matter of moments, mom changed from one set of scrubs to another, these ones dark blue with the word "STAFF" printed in block letters on the back.

We got into her car and she started driving in the opposite direction of the school. She didn't say a word the entire time, and I thought it best not to speak either. Perhaps she was taking me to see someone who could cure me. Another doctor that could fix me. When I saw the jail looming up ahead, I figured it out. She would have me incarcerated so I could never hurt anyone with my powers. Or maybe she would have me kill an inmate like some sort of child assassin.

You go to Hell but it isn't that bad

The man stood naked on broken glass, chains that disappeared into the darkness above tugged at his arms. A red-skinned demon shoved another spike into the man's side, driving it deep into his flesh. The man screamed for mercy as the demon picked up another barbed spike. If the man had still been of mortal flesh and bone he would surely have perished by now. Instead, as a soul damned to Hell, the man merely felt the pain and torment of his properly assigned punishment.

I stood next to the demon, watching as yet another spike sunk into the man's body. "The more you scream and protest, the longer this will last," I said. I moved over to stand next to the man and put a comforting hand on his back. Laying my head on his shoulders, my golden hair draped onto his chest. Sometimes the damned required a little human contact and comfort to help them along to salvation.

"Deep down, you know why you are here. You know this is necessary. You know this is what you deserve. You merely have to accept it and salvation can be yours." I rubbed a gentle hand upon his chest. Then I took a couple of spikes from the demon and staked one right where the man's heart would be. "Accept your punishment to be forgiven, and to forgive yourself," I said as I pulled away from his body.

The man howled, cursing everyone and everything: his parents, his teachers, his enemies, his friends, his situation, the demons, Satan, God, even me. Finally his breath ran out and he hung his head, panting. After a minute, slowly he raised his head and looked to me. "I'm sorry, Susan, you know I didn't mean that. It's just the pain talking. It's just so, so hard." He tried to smile but only managed a slight grimace.

"Susan, may I request the pleasure of your company for a moment?" came another voice from behind me, a deep, low voice that held the air of aristocracy.

I put a hand on the naked man's and smiled. "Everyone works through their sins at their own pace." I leaned in to whisper into his ear. "In fact, it took me almost 1000 years to work through mine." Then I nodded to the demon who picked up another spike to resume the soul's cleansing.

I fixed my hair, tying it loosely and then headed in the direction the voice came. Though my soul was cleansed, as long as I resided in Hell I wasn't entirely free of its torments. Flames licked at my bare skin while broken glass and thorns dug into my feet. Smoke impeded my vision and clogged my lungs. All of it though was just a minor inconvenience compared to the tortures I'd previously endured.

Eventually the smoke cleared and standing in front of me was an immaculately dressed man in a red suit. Black, slicked back hair and a salesman's smile, he could've been one of any number of men I'd known while still alive. It was the short horns and the whip-thin tail that gave away his true identity as Satan, ruler of Hell. That, and the fact that he was the only person wearing clothes.

"Ahh, Susan, thank you for coming to see me," he said, spreading his arms wide. I stepped into the embrace politely. He was, after all, the ruler of Hell. "Come Susan, walk with me for a while." He kept a hand wrapped around my waist and turned us toward a path.

"Of course, my Lord," I said already familiar with the same old conversation to be had. As we took our first steps along the path, a peace washed over me as being in Satan's presence dispelled the constant dull pain all souls endured in Hell. It was probably easier to converse with souls if they were comfortable and not screaming. "I already know what you're going to ask, as you have asked every few months for the last three centuries," I said before He could make his proposal.

"As I've asked for five centuries now," Satan corrected. "But still I do need to make the offer less I find myself in violation of the covenant between He and I. So, once again I ask. Susan, your soul has been cleansed and you are free to ascend to Paradise. Heaven welcomes you if you so choose." As He spoke, a bright light appeared in the sky overhead. A warmth enveloped me, not like the heat of the flames of Hell but the loving embrace of a parent holding a child tight whether just returning after a day of school or several years away - the eternal love that never falters. I wrapped my arms around my body and sunk to the ground as tears filled my eyes. Even after all these centuries, nothing compared to it. I knew that after it left me I wouldn't be able to recall the feeling even in my memories.

I savored the feeling for a minute more before stepping out of the light. "Sorry, I refuse to go," I said. Slowly the light dimmed, and the warmth faded.

Satan walked back next to me and took my hand, leading me back to the path. "In this matter I must have some guidance: why do you and others of your race continue to refuse Heaven's invitation?" Satan inquired as we continued along the path again.

It was true that once a soul was redeemed and truly repentant they would be invited into Heaven. It was also true that more and more humans were choosing to stay behind. "Though we face the daily torments of Hell's climate, we're safe from the tortures of the demons as they cannot touch a good soul. And once you get used to that aspect, Hell really isn't so bad," I said, looking out over the world around us. Red-skinned demons, both male and female of all shapes and sizes tortured humans as far as the eye could see. Mixed in among them though were other humans like myself, cleansed souls that refused Heaven's invitation and chose instead to remain in Hell to help our sisters and brothers to redeem themselves too. "Besides, helping our fellow man is its own reward and should be reason enough for any of us to stay," I added.

Satan released my hand and turned to me. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. And here I was thinking that it might have something to with a rebellion."

I felt my body tense for a moment and took several deep breaths to calm it. "Rebellion, my Lord," I asked.

"You forget that I am still an angel. Lucifer, the first of the Fallen. Though I reside Below, I still do have contacts in the halls of my Father. I've heard rumors that some of your people have taken an interest in the holy arms my siblings carry, to the point that they've been seen donning them. Golden armor. Swords. Spears. Shields. Some even going missing." Black feathered wings spread from behind his back. The two points on his forehead grew to full length horns, curling back above his head. A fractured halo appeared above his head. Fire danced in his eyes and I began to feel the flames once again lick at my skin. "I've even heard a rumor that some of those missing weapons may have ended up in My domain. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you Susan?"

"Shit," I said before letting out a high-pitched whistle. Being naked at all times didn't allow us many places to conceal weapons on our person. That was one of the main reasons we stayed so close to the demons and assisted in the tortures - access to weapons. At my signal, dozens more let out a whistle, followed by hundreds more, then thousands more and so on until all of my agents were activated. They picked up black spikes or barbed whips or any other improvised weapon lying about and turned them on the demons, or freed the tortured souls and added them to our ranks.

Satan looked about at my rebellion. "What have you done?"

I took the opportunity to reach behind my back and pull a black spike hidden within the weaves of my hair. "Just following your example, my Lord. After all, better to rule in Hell," I said as I thrust the spike at his chest.

The spike struck true and I buried it into Satan's chest. Then He laughed. "What did you hope to accomplish with your effort? Did you really believe a weapon forged in Hell could harm me? I'm no mere demon. I am the Lord of this realm!" He exclaimed proudly as he spread his arms wide as to show the spike did him no harm.

I sank down to my knees and lowered my head. "Merely a distraction, my Lord," I said, grabbing a handful of Hell soil and tossing it at Satan's face. Instinctively, He raised his arms to shields his eyes from the mixture of dirt, ground glass, and shit.

Then the golden light of dawn rising erupted from behind the fallen angel. We both looked, squinting to see past the light radiating from the exposed angel blade. Another man with manacles clamped around his wrists but chains severed stood in the light. He held the sword two-handed and raised above his head. "Get thee behind me, Satan!" the man shouted, bringing the sword down in a vertical chop.

Sensing the immediate danger of the angel blade and the unsheathing of multiple angelic weapons in the hands of damned souls, Satan retreated from our fight. With Satan gone, the naked man looked to me. "Sorry, I missed. What do we do now?" he asked as he sheathed the sword and the glow disappeared with it.

I lifted myself off the ground. All around us and probably throughout the rest of Hell, damned souls armed with stolen demonic devices and smuggled angelic arms fought against the legions of Hell. Though we outnumbered them, the demons were better equipped and suited for fighting in these conditions. Not to mention Satan had escaped our assassination attempt, leaving the ruler of Hell somewhere on the battlefield for the enemy.

I shook my head. "We were found out sooner than I'd planned and forced to act before all of our pieces were in place. I think we'll need to retreat for now. Let as many as you can know that we're falling back to the wild lands on the outskirts of Hell. The places Satan does not fully control, where the monsters still roam. From there we shall stage our rebellion." I looked up to the sky, to that point in the darkness where I last saw the light of Heaven shine through. "We can only hope that our sisters and brothers in Heaven have not been found out yet, too."

 

 Prompted from Reddit Writing Prompts: (summarized) You go to Hell but realize it isn't so bad and people are staying. My original idea ended at the first half of the story, making it a sort of wholesome (at least compared to what I usually write). I mean, could you imagine, people staying behind in Hell just to help stragers they'd never known in life toward redemption? This was kinda inspired by the Incarnations of Immortality series I'm reading, I think. I'm not to that particular book yet, but I think this is kind of relatable to the situation the character finds himself. Then as I was writing, my brain went off on a tangent and I ended up with the next half of "maybe they're actually plotting a rebellion to take over hell, that seems like a jackass human thing to do." Then I remembered about the other story I wrote a while back about humans attempting to take over Heaven, so I put in that connection at the end of the story (if you didn't read it, congrats! it wasn't that good. If for some dumb reason you are interested, I think it was called Jailbreak or something). I think if I was a better writer, I would've stuck with just that first idea as there's probably a lot more I could've done with that. Umm... I'm just trying to think if there's anything else I want to say about this one. I know, compared to the last two or three stories, I don't think this one is on par with those ones, but (like a junkie trying to get clean for the 14th time) I am once again trying to get one story posted a week so I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with this one.

Large-Scale Story Problems

 While I keep writing and practicing with the short stories I've been working on (I'm really trying to get up to one story a week), off-and-on for the past couple months I've also been working on something ... large-scale is the best way I can describe it. Large scale like Emberwilde Comes (my pokemon fan-fic) or my failed The Sovereignty superhero storyline which maybe one day I'll go back to work on, in that I plan to keep it going for a while. Unlike Emberwilde Comes this one I'm working on/ have ideas for isn't a fan fiction story and instead based off an original idea, or at least a Writing Prompt idea that got way, way out of hand. It's also a story that I'll probably need help and input from the people so bored that they waste their time reading this thing (Hooray! audience participation, or Boo! fuck your group project). So, because I'm stuck I figure I'll write a post about the issues I'm having, and like most times when I ask for advice, I'll probably just end up ignoring everything you say and do whatever I want anyways (how do I still have a job?). 

Setting: Setting is a big problem I'm having in putting this thing together. Most of my stories are set in the present day or some generic, bland fantasy world and are usually so character-driven that I don't need to spend a lot of time on the setting because I assume my readership can figure it out, close enough. I'm planning for the new story to be set in a traditional swords and sorcery fantasy world except the issue I'm having is how to put the world together. Where should the castle go? Where should the other castles go? How big should the forests be? Will there be a sea element and will the ocean need to be nearby? After working on this on-and-off for months now, I thought I would have a better handle on this, so much so in fact that I even went out to buy a graph paper composition book.

 

Right now I've got just a smidgen more than jackshit. Obviously the big plan as I go further along is to make this thing look more and more like the traditional fantasy maps you'd find in other fantasy books: filled with castles and mountains and towers and villages, all of it with lore attached to them. But then I forget I've got zero artistic ability so the map will still look like shit, but hopefully at least to scale, you know, because of the grid.

Names: I suck at names, there's no denying that. If you've read any of my other stuff, you know it's pretty much insert generic white guy name here and I'll move on because for the stuff I'm writing I don't care what the characters' names are. But for the longer stories, names have meaning (or at least they should) so I can't just give the characters stupid names and move on (why do you think the main character of Emberwilde Comes just goes by The Bearer? I couldn't think of anything else to call him). But also, for something like this, the name of the characters and places are important since I really only get one chance at it. I can't write it, then the next week decide to change it if I think of something better because that's just going to throw off my two readers.

Organization: Keeping everything together and sorted is also something new that I'm tackling. For most one-shot stories, everything just goes in one notebook for several pages (unless I think of something else in-between then I use arrows to let myself know to skip to the next page, or dog-ear the pages I need to go back to). And for Emberwilde Comes, I just use a dedicated notebook with the continuous story going from one side and I've been writing some notes about events I want to use in the back. Since it's fan-fic, I can also very, very easily look up information on characters, places, pokemon, etc if needed/ if I want to. As I said earlier, I bought a book filled with graph paper for maps and I guess I'll write the story in there too, but I also grabbed a second, smaller notebook to jot out different characters along with some traits, descriptions, etc which, as I mentioned earlier, isn't going so well. I've heard of other ways other authors keep track of things in their stories but it's embarrassing to compare myself to them. Plus, where would I even get the money to pay someone to manage a wiki page for me, and where would I even find space to put a giant wooden door.

Seeking Help/ Procrastination: Obviously since something like this is new to me, from all the larger issues I mentioned to the more specific things like world-building and character development and writing endurance, I tried to go outside my own head and the regular media I consume to find information/ inspiration.

I dug these two books out from under my bed at the same time I looked for other older books to re-read (there's so many books under there.) Then I spent an entire night looking through the book of weapons, even those that wouldn't apply to the setting. I didn't even crack open the other book which would probably help my writing more since I did use it as a textbook in class. Also, last week I heard Gecko Books in Kaimuki was having a going out of business sale. I used to visit more often when I attended UH but haven't been by for a while. It felt nostalgic going back and wandering those cramped aisles and trying to look for things without understanding the shelving system. Plus, you know, sale prices. So as I'm struggling to create a new fantasy world and characters to fill it, working on building everything from the ground up, I decided to buy something I thought might help with all of that.

I mean, maybe this will help me develop characters and make dungeons/ maps and write out quests. I know that I can't listen to a three-hour game of Critical Role as I just don't have that much uninterrupted time at work. And who knows, maybe it will be useful if, you know, I ever get around to reading the booklets and playing the game.

Finally, through all of this, I forgot the number one most important thing to do - actually write the story. I got so distracted with planning and putting this whole thing together that I haven't started writing the story yet. My bet, which is a pretty good one playing the odds on my terrible writing style, is if I start writing, all these other details I'm worrying about will resolve themselves and just fall into place.

Emberwilde Comes: Viridian Forest

 I tossed a pokeball at another Caterpie only to watch the ball shake once before the green worm broke out and scurried away.

"Dammit," I said to myself as I wiped the sweat from my brow. I left Pallet Town for Viridian City at dawn hoping to take down the gym leader that morning and make my way through the Viridian Forest by the afternoon. Instead Emberwilde and I found the gym closed and the gym leader gone. Deciding it best to move on to the next town, we headed into the Viridian Forest. Based on the map given to me by Professor Oak's neighbor, it appeared we were only halfway through. A middle-aged woman about the same age as my parents, she caught me just before I left Pallet Town and handed me a map and some supplies. She said her son was on his way to become a Pokemon Master, whatever that was. Back in the Tartarus Isles Pokemon were the masters and we lived under their rule.

"Nice try, moron," said a voice hidden in the trees. I turned back to see another boy with a straw hat and net walk into the clearing. "You can't just throw a pokeball at a pokemon and hope to catch it. You need to weaken it first."

I nodded and turned to walk away. "I know but Lord Emberwilde refuses to assist me in this task. I'll just have to keep trying to catch pokemon this way."

The bug catcher sprinted in front of me, cutting off my escape. "Sounds like your pokemon is a little full of itself. My super bug pokemon will show him the smallest fighter can have the strongest sting," he said as he pulled a pokeball from his belt.

I shook my head and turned again to leave in another direction. "No thanks. Emberwilde doesn't waste his time with weaklings, and I wouldn't want you or your pokemon to get hurt."

"Is that what happened to your arm? Your pokemon decided to bite the hand that feeds? If you battle me, I'll be sure to put him in his place." The bug catcher tossed the pokeball in front of me. "Weedle, I choose you."

The Weedle appeared in the grass in front of me waving the single spike on its head menacingly. Before I could remark that back home even newly hatched weedle are twice that size, Emberwilde emerged from the pokeball on my belt. The Charizard put himself between me and the other boy, completely ignoring the stinging worm. Then he let out a roar that shook the leaves off of the trees around us.

The bug catcher fell over in shock. "Oh jeez, a Charizard. Are you kidding me!" He pointed his pokeball and reabsorbed his weedle as Emberwilde stalked toward him. "Hey man, I didn't mean nothing by it. You can do whatever you want." Then he turned and ran, a few coins falling out of his pockets as he fled.

I stooped over to pick up the coins, perhaps enough to buy me a room and a meal in the next city. "Unfortunately we can't go back to Viridian City right now, in case the authorities are still looking for whoever burned down part of the Viridian City gym," I said to Emberwilde.

Emberwilde let out a snort, black smoke drifting from his nose. "A champion should always be available for when a challenger knocks," he said.

I just shrugged my shoulders knowing it was pointless to argue with our clan champion. "Well most people remarked on how immaculately dressed Mr. Giovanni always is. I hope he can afford to rebuild the damage."

The two of us continued walking along the path toward Pewter City. We spotted a couple more bug catchers hiding in the trees, boys and girls with bug nets, but they took off running once they noticed Emberwilde. As welcome as it was not to be confronted by children every few feet, it was also a little unnerving for the Fire Lord to be walking with me.

"Lord Emberwilde, if I may ask, you typically don't leave the pokeball except to fight other pokemon. Would you not be more comfortable riding in the pokeball while I traverse the rest of the forest for the two of us?" I turned to Emberwilde but did my best not to meet his gaze. Nervously I reached with my right hand to rub at my bandaged left arm.

"That boy challenged you, taunted you. A challenge and insult against one goes against the rest of the clan as well." I looked up as Emberwilde spoke, his fangs mesmerizing. Then I caught his eyes looking down at my bandages, and he stiffened slightly before turning away and starting back along the path. "And you've been marked as one of the clan. I shall not allow those weaklings to challenge us."

Marked, I thought, stunned at his words. I looked down at the dirty white wrapping covering the burns suffered when I tried to save both of our honor at the Choosing Ceremony. Markings bestowed by the Clan chief or a lesser lord was usually a sign of great honor, only given to those deemed worthy or who have completed a great task or trial. Is that what Emberwilde thought this was? I saw it as a mark of shame against the two of us, disgusted every time I gazed upon my seared flesh when I changed the bandages.

I was broken out of my brooding by a caterpie dropping off a branch, bouncing off my head, and landing on the ground in front of me. I took another empty pokeball from my belt and tossed it at the pokemon. I watched it shake once, twice. Then it jumped up and opened again to release the pokemon. The caterpie crawled quickly away. Frustrated, I kicked at the dirt. Several paces ahead of me, Emberwilde let out a snort of amusement.

My anger surged up and got the better of me. "Well how about some damn help! You talk about the honor of our clan to not suffer these challenges yet you also refuse to battle anyone you deem not worthy of your time. Well if we're going to make it through the Kanto region we'll need to work together with other pokemon."

I glared into Emberwilde's eyes for a second or two before remembering my place. Immediately I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. "I'm sorry Lord, forgive my words spoken in haste. I merely meant to convey that if you would assist me in capturing a few of these Kanto pokemon, they can assist you as underlings to battle in those challenges you deem beneath you. And I personally will see to it that they are trained up to our clan standards."

I waited for a second or two if perhaps today would be the day my Lord took my head into his jaws. His talonned feet filled my view as I waited, terrified. Inch by inch, I raised my head and took in the full beast. His knees, his belly, his his tattooed chest, his fangs, then finally his eyes. They stared at me with a fury I'd only seen once before, at the Choosing are Ceremony. Then, abruptly, he turned, knocking me aside with his wings. The flame of his tail grew slightly. Emberwilde let loose a jet of fire igniting a half acre of the forest directly in front of us. Then he turned to me, let out a huff and disappeared back into his pokeball on my belt.

I stared in awe at the inferno blazing in front of me, feeling the heat on my face. I stood back in the trees, watching the fires until eventually they burned themselves out. As soon as it was safe to enter, I picked my way though the ashes, doing my best to avoid any hotspots or flare-ups.

In the ashes, I knocked over a charred log to expose a nest of caterpie. Almost all of them had fainted from the fire attack. One of them looked up at me and shot me in the chest with a string shot attack. I picked up the caterpie and placed it on my shoulder.

"Do you see the power, the raw destructive force that Emberwilde of the Celestial Inferno clan has brought upon your home?" I said as I spun myself so the Caterpie could look at the scorched earth. "Do you want this kind of power too?" I grabbed an empty pokeball from my belt and held it up to the green worm's face. I watched as its eyes looked from the devastation of the forest then back to the pokeball. It lurched forward, tapping the ball with its head. The ball activated, capturing the caterpie inside it.

With one pokemon captured, I scoured the forest remains in search of other pokemon that survived Emberwilde's attack and willing to fight. I found a few more and hoped they would be enough for now to get me though to Emberwilde's first gym battle in Pewter City.

 

Ugh, research is boring. So, obviously I fell behind again in writing this ongoing fan fic. Also, if you made it to the end, and why wouldn't you unless for some reason you skipped to the last part where I write about the behind-the-scenes stuff, you realize that I just couldn't decide what other pokemon The Bearer (I really need a name for the main character) should catch in the forest and for multiple reasons. Since I'm not doing any planning, what I write should basically be considered canon as I go along since it would be weird for me to start a chapter months later with "Hey remember when I said ___ several chapters ago? Well, I changed that so now believe this new thing." Though that is something that may happen anyways now that the next chapter should be the battle against Brock. Also, I couldn't remember what other pokemon are found in the Viridian Forest. Obviously there's Pidgey but I was always a bigger fan of Spearow. And I don't want him to catch pokemon just to have them. There should be something significant about them. And yes, I do have some sort of plot line thought up involving Caterpie. There's also the problem that The Bearer isn't a normal trainer. Is he still limited to the 6 pokemon rule? Do his pokemon go to Professor Oak or should he still hold onto every single one of them (and thus be a bit stingier about catching pokemon), or during this whole story only be allowed to hold onto 5 other pokemon and release them as he goes along? These are other stupid questions I'm trying to answer for something that isn't even marketable. Unless someone from Nintendo is reading this, then give me a call, I'll work for cheap though I also work really, really slow. And finally, if reading this felt a bit choppy, it's because I had a whole chapter written and then found out that the Viridian Forest actually comes AFTER Viridian City, so I had to go back and redo it. Ugh research is so hard.

Books of 2020: Quarter 3, part 3

And the final part of my reading list from the last three months. Continuing the nostalgia of re-reading old books, I dug out the Incarnations of Immortality series by Piers Anthony out from under my bed (it was buried way, way back there). As you can see from the yellow pages, the books are probably some of the oldest I still own and it's been a while since I've read them. Each book in the series focuses on one mortal as they navigate their new role as an Incarnation of a concept that has guided mankind: Death, Time, Fate, War, Nature, Evil, and Good (this is also the order of the 7 books in the series).

 

 On a Pale Horse by Piers Anthony

"Time seemed to slow, and Zane could do nothing to about the suicide he had set up. Yet the shock of seeing the visage of Death himself had abruptly banished any desire Zane had to kill himself.
     His finger muscles would not obey him, but his larger arm muscles did. Zane wrenched the pistol around. The muzzle came to bear on Death's head as the trigger tripped. The gun seemed to explode, kicking back against his hand.
     The bullet smashed into the center of Death's face.
     A hole opened. Blood flowed. Death fell heavily to the floor.
     Zane stood aghast. He had killed Death."

In an age of science and magic, Zane is down on his luck having squandered away his money as well as love. With his future bleak, he decides to take his own life. As he begins to pull the trigger of the gun he is startled by the arrival of the specter of Death, and shoots the other instead. Having murdered Death, Zane must now assume the role as the Incarnation of Death and reap the souls of humanity until he too is murdered by his successor. As he conducts his duties, the other Incarnations reveal they manipulated his future to install him as the new Incarnation of Death as a means to foil a plot by Satan. Zane must now use his office and all the powers of Death to oppose Satan, or lose the woman he loves and allow the future of humanity to fall into Satan's grasps.

This being book one of the series, the story follows Zane as he assumes the role of Death/Thanatos. The beginning of the novel starts as more of a serialization of events as we follow Zane in his retrieval of different souls and the dilemma he faces when confronted with each task. I think it's about halfway into the book when the larger plot is revealed and Zane must actively confront Satan and foil his scheme using the powers of the office of Death.

The series is set (I'll try to make this the only time I talk about the setting so I don't repeat it for every book in the series) is in the modern age except that mankind has seen advances in both science and magic such that both are often seen competing with each other for the same roles, such as billboards advertising travel by car vs magic carpet. I guess the idea was very new and imaginative back in the 80s (or at least it seemed that way when I talked with my dad about it) but with all the media I've consumed from tv, video games, anime, manga, comics, etc, it's definitely something I've seen before. I think the genre would probably fall under Urban Fantasy in today's times, or maybe just Fiction.

Even though I know no one is reading this looking for a new book to read, I do want to share one turn-off and that's the sexism. Granted, the series was published in the 1980s so of course it was a different time and I guess socially acceptable to say things like that, but I do want to say that it is prevalent in this book and a bit more so in later books. Some of the examples in this book is the woman as a bad driver but the stereotype is taken further when compared to women driving magic flying carpets. Also the main female character stating that she's guided by her emotions and less logical as all women are.

Bearing an Hourglass by Piers Anthony

"'If I attempted to simplify this particular life - which I could indeed accomplish - it would only lead to a greater mischief for other lives. God and Satan are at war - have been since time began - and the fallout from their strife is with us always. It is not for me to dictate on whom that fallout shall fall; it is only for me to mesh it properly. I am the servant, not the master - and so are you. We must do what we must do, implementing the rules that exist.'"

Norton is wandering through the woods when a ghost approaches him with a proposition: assist him in siring an heir. When he meets the ghost's bride, Norton is instantly smitten. Following a tragedy caused by the meddling ghost, Norton resumes his vagabond lifestyle until approached by the ghost once again. To make up for his error, the ghost offers Norton another opportunity to possibly regain his love: by taking up the office of Chronos, the Incarnation of Time. Upon assuming the office, he finds that though he is able to manipulate time, he is still bound by its constraints and not able to regain the life he once had. He is also bound to live an even lonelier existence as he lives his life backwards until time of his birth when he will pass the office to his successor. Satan naturally picks upon Norton's inexperience and loneliness, and tempts him with a new kind of adventure to other worlds throughout the galaxy as evil exists everywhere. Caught up in the distractions, Norton misses Satan's ploy and must use all of his magic to undo changes made in time.

Set in the same universe as On a Pale Horse, I guess this would actually be my first experience with a shared universe (you know, like Marvel is doing now with their movies and tv shows). Bearing an Hourglass is set in the future from the first book as Zane has held the role of Thanatos for a while, and Luna has already become a US Senator primed to balk Satan's goal.

I'd like to mention that compared to the first book, this one is much more ... technical I think is a good word to describe it. Holding the office of Time, Norton will need to know about vectors and force and gravity and other science-y stuff (I'm dumb). There are sections that deal with the rotation of the Earth as well as position within the universe at any given moment, and I'm the kind of reader who still laughs when I read the scene involving a guy going to the bathroom backwards (people aren't happy when Chronos sets time in reverse and things begin to go in when they were once going out). These technical aspects are important as they explain how Norton is able to work himself out of trouble but they were kind of boring to read through.

Finally, in regards to these two and the rest of the books in the series, if you were looking for who to blame for those last sections following my stories I write, well it's probably these books. Most novels just come with a page or two of acknowledgements, people the author would like to thank for helping the story get written, edited, and published. The end of these books though come with a long chapter about how Anthony wrote the books and how each particular theme affected his life at the time of writing. I didn't read them this time, but I did the first time I read it. To be fair, most of the writing process is boring. No one cares about it, and no one should. I can't stream my writing process or else you'd end up watching me stare at a blank page for a while, write a few lines, get bothered by something else that needs to be done instead, watch some videos on Youtube, repeat. Still though, it does feel nice to talk about it, to discuss the struggles so you know you're not the only one going through it.

Books of 2020: Quarter 3, part 2

 As I mentioned, the reading list for these past three months got a little long so here's part 2, and the last 6 books of Simon R. Green's Nightside series.

 Hell to Pay by Simon R. Green

"'Find my grand-daughter,' said the Griffin, his voice cold and relentless. 'And in return I will pay you the sum of ten million pounds. Find out what happened, and why, and who is responsible. And either return her to me safely, or bring me her body, and the name of the man responsible.'"

"The Salvation Army Sisterhood was on the prowl again, and if you didn't cough up fast enough and generously enough, out would come the specially blessed silver knuckle-dusters. The SAS are hardcore Christian terrorists. Save them all, and let God sort them out. No compromise in defence of Mother Church. They burn down Satanist churches, perform exorcisms on politicians, and they once crucified a street mime. Upside down. And then they set fire to him. A lot of people applauded."

In the Nightside, many people and things that aren't people claim to be immortal. Jeremiah Griffin and his family though, are the real deal. The rumors are that Griffin made a deal with The Devil, immortality for his soul. Being immortal doesn't make you free from threats, which is why The Griffin hires John Taylor and his gift to find his granddaughter and those that kidnapped her. Unfortunately, there's something powerful interfering with Taylor's gift, forcing him to seek out the answers on his own, and three generations of immortals have a lot of secrets to dig through.

With Lilith banished and The Authorities (the Nightside's business overseers) dead, the second half of the Nightside series focuses on the power struggle for control the Nightside. Taylor will deal with various powers and entities rising up to gain control of the Nightside. The Griffin is one of those interests (supposedly already owning almost half of the land the Nightside sits upon), as well as all the enemies he's made.

The Unnatural Inquirer by Simon R. Green

"Max laughed suddenly, a flat breathy sound. 'Protect me, Suzie, Taylor. If you want your bounty money.'
     I looked at Suzie. 'Do we really need the money that badly?'
     'Always,' said Suzie. 'It isn't the principle of the thing, it's the money. No-one takes a bounty away from me.'
     'Maybe we could split him down the middle,' I said.
     'Tempting, but messy. And I don't share.'"

"'You killed thirteen men to make a point?' Bettie was staring at me as though she'd never seen me before, and perhaps she hadn't. Not this me.
     'They would have killed you,' I said.
     'Yes. They would have. But you're supposed to be better than that.'
     'I am,' I said. 'Sometimes.'"

John Taylor is hired by The Unnatural Inquirer, the Nightside's tabloid, to find a missing man who claims to have intercepted a broadcast from the afterlife. Could it be Heaven? or Hell? No one knows but everyone suspects it could be the truth about what happens on the otherside. Taylor will also need to contend with others that want the recording, either for riches, or fame, or power.

To be honest, not one of my favorite or more memorable books in the series. As I'm re-reading these books, I tend to remember mostly what the books are about and even who the mysterious badguys end up being, but I really couldn't remember much about this particular book. Of the interesting things, it delved deeper into the relationship between Taylor and Suzie Shooter, mostly through Taylor's partner in this case, a half-human, half-succubus reporter that can be, and wants to be, everything Taylor desires.

Just Another Judgement Day by Simon R. Green

"Sometimes you can't save everyone. Sometimes all you can do ... is kill a whole bunch of people.
     Business as usual, in the Nightside."

"'... God's will in the world, God's warrior, the wrath of God in the world of men, sent forth to punish the guilty and stamp out evil wherever he finds it. Called the Walking Man because he will walk in straight lines to get where he has to go, and do what he has to do, and no-one will be able to stop him or turn him aside.'"

The Walking Man has come to the Nightside to lay judgement on everyone in it, which, given the nature of the Nightside, will turn out badly for everyone there. A man given divine power by God, the Walking Man walks in a straight line to wherever he wants to go to smite those he considers evil. The new Authorities have hired John Taylor to find a way to stop him from killing and destroying everyone and everything in the Nightside.

This was actually the first book I bought of the Nightside series when I thought the series could be read as stand-alone novels (not completely my fault since there aren't any numbers on the books). One of my favorite books in the series as it's a contradiction to the norm since the man given the power of God is the antagonist (which is probably why I like the superhero Spawn so much). The Walking Man is shown as a force for good, exposing one of the more heinous businesses at work in the Nightside, as well as murdering everyone in the building. He's built up further by defying Walker's commands (powered by the same Voice that can raise the dead if Walker needs a question answered) and when he tears down the Street of the Gods.

The Good, the Bad, and the Uncanny by Simon R. Green

"At least the trains are always on time in the Nightside. Supposedly because if a train does arrive late, the System Controller takes it out the back and shoots it, to put all the other trains in a properly motivated frame of mind."

Walker, the man who spent his years maintaining the status quo in the Nightside, able to call down troops from the military or the Church in a moment, wielding a voice that cannot be denied and rumored to be powered by the same voice that once said "Let there be light," is dying. Before he goes, he asks John Taylor (sometimes a friend, sometimes an enemy) to take over his role at running the Nightside for the new Authorities. At the same time, Taylor is feeling comfortable with his current situation, a feeling he's not used to as he's been chased by enemies his entire life. And that's when the plots start occurring, all of them involving the theft of identity in some way.

This book felt like Green was trying to use up a bunch of smaller plots that were too short to become their own storylines and couldn't be fit into the other books. The story starts with a couple chapters involving Taylor and Ms. Fate (the Nightside's very own superhero) Ubering an elf through the Nightside. More chapters are devoted to Larry Oblivion's back story and where he acquired his magic wand. Then finally is the search for the missing Tommy Oblivion who disappeared during the Lilith War except his body was never found.

A Hard Day's Knight by Simon R. Green

"I swung the sword with speed and skill that weren't mine, killing elves. Excalibur was in its element, come home again, to do what it was made to do."

"Courage is all very well, but sometimes all it can get you is a glorious death. I know overwhelming odds when I see them. I've faced them before. And I know from experience that you don't beat them by meeting them head-on. You win by thinking outside the box, and by blatant cheating."

John Taylor arrives home to find Excalibur wrapped neatly in brown paper sitting on his kitchen table. He'd been warned Excalibur was coming to the Nightside, just not that he would be the one to receive it. To get answers on what Excalibur really is, he'll need to travel back to London to speak with the last remnants of the Round Table, the London Knights. He'll also need to prevent the Merlin Satanspawn of Sinister Albion (a reality where Merlin is the Antichrist and corrupts Arthur's Camelot) from invading the Nightside.

With Merlin having played such a big role in the earlier books it really was only a matter of time before we got to Excalibur and King Arthur. Traveling to London for a chapter and seeing Taylor take on the thugs in the real world was a lot of fun with all the nasty tricks he's learned from living in the Nightside. I know it was only a quick tour, but seeing how powerful Merlin Satanspawn would have been if he still had his heart and accepted his role as the Antichrist as he did in Sinister Albion was terrifying to see.

The Bride Wore Black Leather by Simon R. Green

"'Never mind that,' I said. 'Answer me this. What are all these naked people doing here?'
     I indicated the dozen or so entirely naked men and women cordoning off the great hole in the ground and discouraging anyone else from getting too close, apparently simply by looking at them....
     '...The point is, no-one is going to intrude on the crime scene while the Troops are around.'
     'What do they do?' I said, honestly curious. 'Threaten to bukkake people to death if they get too close.'"

"'...But then one day, right at the height of the Summer of Love, Harry Webb went to the park and took what Timothy Leary would call an heroic dose of LSD. His mind expanded and exploded, and in that transcendental state ... he made mental contact with Entities from Beyond.'
     '... and when he finally came down again, he wasn't Harry Webb any more. He wasn't human any more. He was transformed, he was transmogrified, he was the Sun King. The living god of LSD, the true Acid Sorcerer, the Miracle Man. Psychedelic rock and roll played around him wherever he went, manifesting out of nowhere - a glorious music that we could never remember or reproduce afterwards."

John Taylor officially takes over as the new Nightside Authorities' problem-solver with his first case - stop the Sun King from bringing the sunshine into the eternal night of the Nightside and destroying it. Not only is the Sun King able to perform the wonders he claims but he's also turned all of the Nightside against Taylor, including the city's best bounty hunter and Taylor's bride-to-be, Shotgun Suzie. Taylor will need to outrun and outwit all of his old friends in order to stop the Sun King from destroying his home, and especially ruining his wedding day.

The last of the Nightside books (at least I'm pretty sure Green isn't writing anymore of them). I've heard that John Taylor and the Nightside may make cameos in some of his other books but I've never read them. The biggest appeal of this book is seeing Taylor go up against former allies like Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor; The Oblivion Brothers: Larry Oblivion, the Dead Detective, and Tommy Oblivion, the existential detective; and Dead Boy. In regards to pay off though, especially as this is the last book in the Nightside series, I did feel a little let down by the ending. It kind of felt like Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, the stories before all involved one thing (religion) but then in the last one something completely different is introduced (aliens). All of the previous books dealt with religion and monsters and the supernatural but the last book deals with The Outsiders (kind of like aliens except they're beings that live outside our reality).