Monday, 29 October 2012

Late Goodbye

Hey guys. Just got back from the London MCM Expo. Mixed feelings about that. Awesome con but its hard to say goodbye. 

This is a story I just wrote as soon as I got home. I had to pour my pent up feelings out and this is it. I apologize in advance and after you'll read it you'll know why. 

Dedicated to the 2 other people in the story. You know who you are. You'll be the one crying hardest.



Late Goodbye

They stood on deck waving at the lone woman on the pier. All had left, yet she remained; rooted on the spot she clutched the bag. Her hand shook, as if all the emotions that no word could ever convey were seeping through that one single gesture. It must have been all she could muster not to jump at sea and claw her way towards them.
They watched, intent on savouring every second that she remained in their sight. In their minds they thought that that moment would last forever but their rational brain informed them that the waves gently rocking beneath them was pulling them away from her, one slow excruciating moment at a time. Indeed a harsh mistress the sea is.
One of them had moist eyes and tears welled up. He knew he would cry. He tried not to, tried to save face, to force that defiant pride of his. But, to hell with it. Tears dropped from his chin and coalesced with the ocean. She mirrored his crying, managing one tear from her slant eyes. It was indeed a most heartbreaking scene.
The other stood there, his knuckles white against the railing. Despite the warmth he felt in his tear ducts he refused to shed a tear. He wanted this moment to be about the other two. It was a connection that transcended friendship, even romance. It was pure magic. He waved, and the others seconded his motion.
And that was it. Distance spread and their eyesight failed them. She was gone. One of them trembled in the cabin; be it from the unforgiving and uncaring cold or from them loss of perhaps one of the rarest people ever bestowed upon this world. The other didn't know. But he left the cabin altogether. But before hearing his companion pour out his anguish on the pillowcase.
They arrived home much later. They had stopped counting the hours, days and weeks. They were here and she was there and that was all that mattered. The first man had ceased his sobbing after the first day. But the second knew better.
At his house, the latter unpacked his belongings and came across a trinket. A shell, woven in string. Delicate, yet strong it was supposed to bring luck to the bearer. But as he held it, he didn't feel lucky. Instead he allowed himself what his foolish stubbornness had refused him to do the first time round. He cried and sobbed. His mind welled into despair and he struggled to find something to ground him. He took out a folder and all the trinkets which had constructed his journey and memory. On a paper he scrawled the three names that mattered in the world; one woman, two men. He placed all the trinkets in the folder and underneath the names he wrote “Forever bound to one another. You’ll always be in my heart.”
As he put the folder away, more tears splashed against the tile floors. But he managed a smile. Small yet true. He found himself relishing the memory, the emotion, one shared by three people. There is no bond stronger than that. He smiled because in a world shared by three inhabitants, he belonged.

Friday, 19 October 2012

SFFS

It was a typical day in the secluded La Fortunata area in Eureka, California—the sun beating down as if to smite all the evil that permeates every corner of the land,  sirens constantly wailing in their pursuit of an endless supply of criminals, and the usual plateau of sounds as everyday civilians carried on with their daily routines.
I fall under the latter category.
My name is Erik Ashendale and people stared at me as I strode toward the elementary school some twenty blocks from my office.
Maybe it was the black trench coat. Maybe it was the sword handle that poked out now and then from under the side of the coat, placed horizontally across my lower back after all, for quick reach. Maybe it was the clank of metal as people noticed my twin pistols with the fear usually reserved for notorious gang members.
But mostly it was my reputation: Erik the Wizard, Erik the Creep, Erik who gets rid of supernatural nasties while everybody else prays to whatever deity they believe in. They all knew what I did for a living. They all poked their heads into my office window, hoping to catch a glimpse of me performing some ritual which summoned forth some ancient demonic entity. All they saw was my extensive collection of trinkets and, occasionally, my cat licking itself.

Thursday, 18 October 2012

Shout-Outs, Schedules and Lecturers

People of Earth. It is I, the Mad Writer. Please bow down, drop whatever it is you're doing (cos I'm more important and entertaining anyway) and listen. Well, read. Since you can't listen to words. Well you can but not in this case. Wait what the hell was I gonna say? Maybe I should change my name to Alzheimers Writer. That'd be a little closer to the mark.

So since I've clearly been drained out of stories and the muse that tickle my creative sweet spot seems to be on the Vegas vacation; I shall once again convene to ranting, and strangely enough, thanking people. Yes you saw right. I, the narcissistic, sarcastic, satirical and misanthropic douche-bag, will be thanking people. And in a sincere voice too. Maybe the world really is coming closer to the end. Although I still maintain that the 21 December 2012 theory is just a Mayan practical joke. The elders of the tribe are sitting on Alpha Centauri or some other far away galaxy, smoking a pipe and laughing at us, Homo Sapien x3, for being gullible monkeys. 

But I digress. Without further ado, I have people to thank and I'd rather get that out of the way so I can start the real blog post, which mainly revolves around my bitching. 

Person number one on my list is a little girl named Emma. And I use 'little girl' in the sparsest of senses. Emma is a teenager and a friend of mine who is something of a promoter, when she's not busy doing school work. Again, 'promoter' is used because I have no idea what the cock she does. All I know is that this chick made her pals buy my book, selling a total of 5. Then to prove that she has a giant swinging pair that can rival any dude's, she made her school teacher read the book, and thanks to that, a copy of Firstborn is now available at the St. Monika school library. Not only that, but she is also the administrator of my still-in-construction website as well as the first person to try some Legacy style fan art. So a shout-out to this amazing gal. 

Shout-out number two goes to a little group of people who work at Book Tweeting Service. (dot com, people. Apparently it's a website.) Particularly, I would like to thank Stef and Colette. Here's a little story: As those who know me can verify with vehemence, I have no managerial or people skills to speak of. So when I needed to convert my book to .epub and .mobi formats for a bunch of online book stores, Stef was more than happy to do this for me, and at a very cheap cost. Now one would think that this woman would only deal with me during office hours. But no. When a specific site (Lulu) kept being a bitch, Stef and I kept corresponding until 2AM!!, until I was reduced to tears and uttered more curses than the entire British navy put together. I am now working with Colette, who has already proven to be extremely helpful. 
So what I'm trying to say here is; Write a book, get it edited and get these guys to convert and tweet about it. They have proven to be the best of the best, and just damn nice. Great service, cheap prices, and indispensable to any independent author out there. 
P.s. I'm not receiving commission on any of this. They will have a surprise when they read this. Yeah, I just like them that much.

Shout-out number trois (no I haven't invented a new number), goes to a lovely gentleman named Jesmond. Now I know that on this blog I constantly bitch about how there are no decent professional services in the country, which is true. But I have to say that I have found the black sheep of the local publishing industry, most of which is populated by dim-witted fuck-sticks who ask you what shape does a book have (see previous tweet where I invite one such fuck-stick to shoot herself repeatedly). Jesmond heads the 5 Star Printing company here in Malta and did a very professional job on printing my novels as well as posters and fliers. Again, if you're a Maltese artist (and I know you're out there) and you need something printed, seek this company out and you'll be happy with the results.

And now that the shout-outs are over with, it's time for some bitching. The weather has started to turn sour and grey here, and what a perfect accompaniment to the first few lecture weeks. My mantra is to try and get through the day with a minimum number of casualties. 
I've just realized what a waste of time 90% of my lectures are. I mean, I get that you (my lecturers) are an insecure little bald git who has no aspirations in life but spewing out facts that other people have written. Hell, an hour on wikipedia will tell all you need on the subject better than some lecturers. And I get that you guys have the teaching and presentation skills of a howler monkey on dialysis and Prozac. But that is no excuse for presenting the class with a power point presentation and reading through it for an entire 2 hour lecture. And when I say 'Power point' I actually mean 'Wall of text'. I mean it says it right on the till: power POINT. It should be a small point, that is small, concise and gets to the cocking point!!! When each of your slides looks like the friggin Declaration of Independence, something is amiss.
And another thing: I read up to 30 or 40 novels a year. I've been reading full length stories and anthologies since the age of 4. I really don't need you to READ FOR ME. I can do that by myself. I can understand what I read my myself too, cos I'm a smart cookie. Essentially what I'm trying to get at is; if your idea of teaching a class of smart people (which you've rendered semi-comatose with your droning) is to READ AT THEM, then you're more useless than a used condom. 

Now that that's out of my system, I can get on with my post. Lemme lay down my schedule for you so that potential fans (the 7 left) can get an idea of when to expect new stories. 
From now till January, it's pretty much gonna be a slow pace for me. I got assignments and a dissertation to finish, not to mention exams (hopefully the last I ever take). I'm gonna try and work hard so that I finish a good thesis by January, and let that take a back seat until the deadline in April. For the second semester I believe that I will have no exams, but just assignments. Which, as annoying as they are, I can manage in one weekend. 
This is good. For 2 reasons. Reason 1: I need a break from the Ashendales and the Legacy series. I will be promoting and selling like crazy, I hope, and after working 8 months non stop on this, I'm tired. 
Reason 2: I wish to continue writing book 2 of the Legacy series next year. I need to get cracking by February, so I'm gonna take all the time I have to, to get rid of all school work, before taking on a new writing project. And this one, boys and girls, is going to be massive. 
This summer, I think I will also take up a couple of projects. I have 2 short stories which I have to finish, both part of the Legacy series. (One is finished and the other is halfway typed.) I also wanna start a new series, of which I will reveal nothing about yet. I have written just the first page of the first book and until I have enough time to properly cultivate the story and give it the attention it deserves, I'm not gonna discuss it any further. 
Also next year, Shaun and I will be undertaking the creation of our comic. Not sure when the first chapters will be available though; we're both busier than Satan's department in Las Vegas.
As for more short stories: I dunno guys. I never planned those out. But my guess is that they're gonna be even more sporadic and far apart now more than ever. I mean, seriously; just look at my schedule!

And, I almost forgot (not really), this year, I have 2 comic-cons to attend. One is the local comic-con, and more on that in later posts. In exactly one week, I will attend the London MGM Expo for the first time ever. It will be my first time at an event this huge, and also my first time selling a product. This morning, Eisei asked me how do I feel about the con. My answer was a clever quip. That was to mask my true feelings. Here's how I truly feel about the con:
FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKK!!!!!
Hope that was clear enough. 

Stay tuned for more (later)

Wednesday, 3 October 2012

Danse Macabre

Final part of the Hisoka story is up. Enjoy.


Danse Macabre

The camp was nervous. Members of the troupe were on edge, speaking in hushed tones. Never in their brief history together had this ever happened to them. They were uncertain on how to react. So they lamented and strummed their stringed instruments in slow, half- hearted ballads. When that didn’t work they tried to console in themselves, tightening up their security. As if they actually knew what they were doing.
He had to make an effort not to laugh. Black sheep, all of them. Easy prey dressed in dark funerary clothing. This must be their last day of the Mourning Ritual; a practice where the closest members of the deceased would place flowers and songs on the tomb. Three days to mourn, three days to spill their hearts in song and prayer. Hisoka would help them with that last task.
He strode out of the bushes, in plain sight. No In, no Zetsu, not even so much as an effort to make his stride silent. The first members saw him and froze in their place. Others noticed him and ran, screaming words that Hisoka did not register. He was too focused on his task. ‘Maybe all of you together will prove enough to satisfy me,’ he thought.
“You monster!” There it was. The few members with Nen that had some combat value attempted to take revenge of the magician. On the boy they knew since he was found in the middle of nowhere some years ago. The boy who observed and did his job without complaint. The boy with the scary glint in his eye.
Hisoka remained quiet. He had nothing to say to these people. He stood still giving them time to encircle him and assume the best strategic position against him.
“We’re going to avenge Ela. Die you abomination,” yelled the closest one as he waved a broad sword at him. Hisoka exhaled and, in a flash, disappeared from their sight.
“Where did he go?” asked flabbergasted the sword-wielder. From across the caravan, a crunching noise was emitted accompanied by the faint cry of surprise followed by sudden death. Everyone turned to look and found the magician standing tall next to two corpses. A young couple, newly wed barely a fortnight ago. The act enraged the members of the troupe. And they all charged at him.
Hisoka let out a soft smile. Chaos and pandemonium. This was HIS battlefield. And he would give them a propped welcome. One by one, members fell, each dying without actually recognizing what happened and how. Hisoka would simply appear next to a person and later disappear, leaving only a corpse. Only the elder, the troupe’s eldest person who served as something of counselor as well as an advisor and historian, recognized something amiss. His eyes did not miss the long black hair tucked under his shirt. The night his most of the magician’s features so that he was a shadowed ghoul, but the elder saw it under the moon’s light. As he fell, seconds before dying, he saw something sticking out of a nearby dead troupe member. It looked round with a long, thin spike jutting out. Just like a needle.


Karn heard the yells and screams but was slow in his reaction. It wasn’t just the fact that he was weak and crippled. Or the fact that, during their last encounter, Hisoka had crippled him further. It was shock. Karn had given up on life. His last shred of happiness in this life was gone. He had abandoned his drink, consuming only to avoid going insane from the withdrawal symptoms. Pain had been a part of his life for the past 2 days. He had not slept nor ate, simply refusing to move from the spot where he buried his wife and erected an altar of stones. Flowers and paper already began to cover it. It was then that he’ll break tradition and burn everything.
Karn wanted to burn Hisoka. That abomination who took everything from him. He wanted to kill him so bad it hurt. The hate burned a hole in his chest, sucking whatever last shreds of life remained in him. But he knew that he could never reach Hisoka. The confrontation was clear enough. Even if he managed to corner him, the magician was beyond him. Karn couldn’t become stronger. He knew it, Hisoka knew it, his wife, now dead in the ground, knew it. He had reached the maximum point in his training and he was unable to improve any more. Whatever he had learnt had served him well in his youth, back when he was a rowdy youngster. Now he used those same abilities to entertain others. He didn’t like it but it was the safest life he could find, away from Ela’s monarch father. He hated having taken away from that royal life. But she insisted that they marry and elope and Karn could never truly say no to her.
But when he heard the yells and screams, he recognized the abomination. Rather he felt it. Hisoka was back. Karn stood up, determined to kill his wife’s murderer or die trying. He planned to join his wife either way. If he could take the bastard with him, all the better.

Karn got up and made for the caravan, teeth clenched. A thud stopped him in his tracks. An inch away from his foot, corner embedded in the ground, was a playing card. That creepy joker smiled like the sadist it reflected. Karn spun and saw Hisoka smiling and fiddling with another card. His index finger twitched and a flower shot from the grave to his hand. Hisoka sniffed it theatrically before throwing it back with the pile.
“Hello Ela,” he said facing the grave. His lopsided smile and playful tones dripped in mockery. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” he continued to the grave.
Karn spat out a yell and growled, all his anger bursting forth. Despite his injuries, he hobbled forward, bounding like a wounded gazelle, towards the magician. The Magician let out a chuckle and, with a flick of his palm, the entire contents on the altar, paper and flowers, flew in the air. They created a torrent between the charging Conjurer and his enemy, hiding Hisoka from sight. Karn swatted them away desperate not to lose sight of Hisoka. He caught his shadow amongst the tree and made after him.
“Ya bastard. Get back here and fight like a man,” growled Karn as he hobbled through the dark forest. He kept his eyes peeled for any change in the environment; a slight discoloration in the dark foliage, a sound out of place, aura lingering on places. He saw a crouching figure and charged for it, stabbing through its back. With the force he put through, Karn toppled forwards, stumbling into the bush. He went through the figure. A figure that looked just like Hisoka. Or at least a shadow and discolored version of him. The darkness made it nearly impossible to discern between hues, only discoloration. He could clearly see the leaves, colored in a purple shade which Hisoka wore. But upon examination he realized that they were just leaves. It was just a bush. A bush that looked just like Hisoka. Until he touched it and applied Gyo, he remained fooled.
“What devilry is this?” he muttered. Then he remembered his wine bottle and how the boy had fooled him with his trick. This must have been the same trick. That boy was certainly a devil. He got up and began walking. After a while every step felt heavier as if something was holding him down. Was this more of the boy’s trickery? As if on cue he heard a chuckle and a finger snapping. With quick gusts of wind, cards buried themselves in Karn, penetrating him from all directions.
“I’m right here, if you want me,” came Hisoka’s voice. Karn pried every single card from his body, rage and hatred suppressing any feelings of pain. He followed the voice and found himself in a small clearing. Hisoka was leaning against a tree branch, playing with a caterpillar which had somehow made it on his hand.
“This species of caterpillar later on becomes a butterfly which is very attracted the scent of blood,” said Hisoka. He lifted his finger to demonstrate the crawling insect. “I can feel it practically itching for you already,” he said.
“GO TO HELL.” Karn shot a knife towards Hisoka. About 10 meters before hitting Hisoka the knife slowed down significantly and pierced the caterpillar. The insect fell, writhing in agony. A droplet of blood formed on Hisoka’s finger as he stepped on the bug, ending its misery.
“Why would you do that?” he whined at Karn.
The man took a heavy step forward, practically dragging himself across the clearing. “I am going to destroy everything you hold precious,” growled Karn.
“Funny you should say that. I’ve recently made a new friend. Don’t be shy. . .” From behind Hisoka emerged a figure.
“. . .Hisoka.” A second Hisoka, identical to the first stood beside the one preciously chatting with Karn.


“What trick is this? You can double yourself?” shouted Karn. Hisoka burst out laughing.
“Oh my, you really don’t have any imagination at all,” said Hisoka holding his belly.
“I am assuming that I may remove the disguise now,” said the new coming Hisoka. He looked like the Magician but his voice was completely different.
“Yes yes show him,” replied Hisoka. The doppelganger reached for his face and peeled off a thin mask. Illumi’s face shifted as he let loose the facial muscles he was contracting for the disguise.
“How?” Karn was still lost. Hisoka grabbed the mask and, with a little pressure it, crumbled into fine dust which dissipated into the air.
“It was this troupe that taught me how to create my own make up. I simply applied my own original Hatsu, Texture Surprise, and Illumi here could easily wear my face as if it were his own.”
“Tricks and cheating. That’s all you’re good for,” yelled Karn. He tried to take a step further but he found himself stuck. His entire body was held in place, as if he had been trying to walk in glue.
“Yes. Tricks and cheating actually achieve results. This is another one of mine, Bungee Gum,” said Hisoka. “See for yourself.”  He snapped his fingers and the air around Karn rippled and twisted. His arms were forced outstretched and he found himself being lifted off the ground, his toes barely scraping the grass. Karn and Illumi cast Gyo on their eyes and saw Hisoka’s ability. The clearing was a mass of aura threads, stretching one end to the other, all intertwining with each other. A spider’s web.
“Shall I kill him?” asked stoically Illumi. Hisoka flicked his finger and something shot out of Karn’s pocket and into his hand. The Jester Tarot card.
“No, this one is mine. Consider this the termination of our little contract.” An instant later, Hisoka darted toward Karn, a predatory gaze in his eye. He didn’t give his old mentor time to speak. He simply slashed the card across his throat.
“My task was to kill ALL members of the troupe, Hisoka,” said Illumi. “You know full well that Father is watching.”
Hisoka walked closer to him until the two teenagers were inches away from eachother. “Not here he isn’t.”
Illumi shot him a quizzical glace. “This area is bathed in my aura. And my Bungee Gum is still active. I can also apply Texture Surprise to it and alter the image from anyone watching from outside. We are truly alone for now.” Hisoka took a breath. “But I suppose that won’t last long. So how about you and I have a chat.”
Illumi’s eyes darted from side to side. He wasn’t worried about the Bungee Gum; he could easily break out of it. Better yet he could easily kill Hisoka, albeit there was no guarantee that that will deactivate the web. But something in the magician’s eyes intrigued him. Illumi and his father had different ways of doing things. And Illumi knew that one of these days he will need his father’s position as head of household. A deal with Hisoka might just be the hidden Ace he needed.
“Speak,” he said.
“You and I are of the same breed, Illumi. We will both benefit with an arrangement.”
“And what would this arrangement entail?”
“We don’t kill each other, just yet. I’m sure that in the near future, with the way we approach life, we will need each other’s abilities. I will profit from you and you will profit from me. The moment this ceases to be so, we will simply eliminate each other.”
Illumi cocked his eyebrows. “Eliminate each other you say? In what way are we equal?”
Hisoka chuckled. “I am the Yin to your Yang. We are opposite and similar all in one. I propose mutual aid. Which you will need if you want to be in charge of your own actions someday. I’ve already proven that I can persuade people such as your father to alter their plans. Are you sure you want to throw me away that easily?”
Illumi spun and turned toward Karn lifting the body easily on his shoulder. “If you are still alive in two days, consider us in agreement. Now as per your instruction, I shall ‘burn everything’. ”
Hisoka lifted the Tarot card which he was still holding and completely deactivated his aura trap. “Don’t forget this,” he said as he threw the card at the assassin. Illumi caught it and looked at Hisoka questioningly.
“I have no need for sentiment or attachment. The memories will serve me for nothing. After all-” Hisoka started walking away “- I believe it’s high time I made some new ones.”



THE END

Thursday, 27 September 2012

The Prodigal Son meets a Liar

Part 5 out of 6 of my Hisoka story. Enjoy



The Prodigal Son meets a Liar

Hisoka admired the building in front of him. It was only a few days travel from where the carvan had last performed and he remembered this place. How could he not? Kukuroo Mountain was where the Zoldyck family of assassins lived.
“Yes Father. I shall deal with them myself.” The voice came from behind the large set of doors. With a loud creak, the first two doors opened slightly, leaving a small gap for a boy, approximately Hisoka’s own age, to casually walk through. He had long black hair that flowed like a billowing trail of darkness behind him. He wore a simple one piece jumpsuit, minus the arms. Its midnight blue color contrasted with the crack of dawn. With a relaxed gesture, as if he were caressing a flower, the boy placed on hand on the door and pushed. Both doors creaked loudly and locked in place.
From the other side of the road, a large truck pulled up. Men, Hisoka assumed they were mercenaries, dismounted and extracted all manner of weapons. Guns, swords, and aura. Hisoka crouched behind the bushes, hidden from all senses. He was simply content to observe.
The boy calmly extracted a set of large round headed needles and held them at eye level. In an instant he disappeared from sight and five men lay dead, needles emerging form their skulls. The others opened fire. Hisoka could barely hold still any longer. The boy was powerful. He wanted to fight him and kill him.
Flicking his wrist, Hisoka shot a set of four cards, killing two of them. The last one had no gun. He simply waved his arms and ethereal canine spirits formed out of thin air. The Zoldyck boy evaded their snapping jaws and moved in closer to his mark. The mercenary yelled and the spirits exploded, throwing the boy backwards. Undeterred the boy got back to his feet. Hisoka leapt out of the bushes and landed right next to him.
Thinking that the magician too was an enemy, the boy stabbed at him with a needle. Hisoka evaded and directed the boy’s weapon to point at the mercenary. With a flick of his finger, he forced the needle out of the boy’s hand and straight at the enemy.
“We can kill each other later, assassin,” muttered Hisoka. He pointed at the airborne needle. The mercenary had summoned another spirit dog in front of him. Normally the needle would have been slowed down and stopped. But Hisoka had other plans.
Having attached Bungee Gum to it as he threw it out of the assassin’s hand, Hisoka flexed his finger and the rubbery aura twanged, creating a small wave. The extra force drove the needle through the Nen dog and into the mercenary’s eye.
“Impressive,” said the boy flatly.
“Indeed. You’re welcome,” replied Hisoka.
“I didn’t require your help,” said the boy.
“True. But you would have sustained injuries. And that would make our battle less fun.”
Their eyes met for a second and their movements happened in the blink of an eye. The boy extracted another needle and stabbed at Hisoka’s face. The magician blocked with a card. They stood there pushing their Shu enhanced weapons against eachother.
“This is the first time someone has blocked my needles,” said the boy.
“This is the first time someone poked a hole in one of my cards,” replied Hisoka.
“It seems that we are at an impasse,” said the boy.
Hisoka chuckled. “Not really.” He lifted his other hand and dispersed his In. Each finger had a Bungee Gum aura thread on it, each leading to the cards he threw, some pebbles he stepped on and the needle he used to kill the last mercenary with.
The boy eyed each one calmly and quickly, his eyes darting along the aura lines. He then lifted his own free hand. With a series of bone crunching cracks, this fingers and nails elongated and veins popped out.
“I could kill you before you make use of them,” he said. Hisoka let out a laugh.
“It seems we are indeed at an impasse.” The boy’s blank expression cracked and the faintest of smiles showed on his lips.
“Illumi!”
A large, well-built man with long, wavy, white hair emerged from the gate and made a beeline for the boy. Illumi quickly backed away from Hisoka and faced the man with a slight bow.
“My apologies Father. I have failed my test,” he said.
The man placed his large hand on his son’s head. “Illumi, when someone helps you defend the Zoldyck name and your house, it is customary to introduce them to the patron of the house.”
He turned to face Hisoka. “My name is Silva Zoldyck. This is my son, Illumi.”
Hisoka waved with a flourish. “Hisoka here.”
“Well Hisoka, what are you doing here?”
“I will not lie to you, sir.” He gazed at Illumi with mischief in his eyes. “I am you son’s lover. We tried to keep it a secret but the intensity of this moment is much. Forgive me Illumi dear.”
Illumi’s jaw dropped and Silva’s eyebrows shot up.
“Well,” stuttered Silva. “Er. . . not sure how to respond to this. I guess, I’m glad you found someone Illumi,” he said, smiling at his son.
“He is not my lover, Father. It’s obvious he’s lying,” fumed Illumi.
“Hehehehe.” Hisoka’s laugh only served to irritate Illumi more. Silva ran a hand down his hair.
“You are indeed remarkable Hisoka. Very strong. And you are the only person who managed to get under my son’s skin like this. You are indeed a remarkable liar,” said Silva. They both turned to leave.
“I suggest you not try to follow us. Our dog is hungry,” warned Silva as they turned to leave.
Hisoka called out for them. “Just a moment, Mr. Silva.”
“Our conversation is over, Hisoka.”
“You mentioned a test.” That sopped both assassins in their tracks.
“That is our family business. I’ll think of something,” replied Silva courtly.
“What if I could provide you with a suitable substitute? I assume that this test is graded on assassination skill and tactics, correct?”
“Indeed.” Silva’s interest had peaked now. What a curious boy indeed.
“I can provide you with a target,” said Hisoka.
“Sounds to me like he wants to hire us Father. Can you pay?” asked Illumi.
“No. I have no money to speak of,” replied Hisoka.
“Then what are you willing to offer in exchange for our services?” asked Silva sharply.
Hisoka took a deep breath and slowly increased his aura. His Ren increases, one layer at a time, until soon the entire area was engulfed in his aura. Silva and Illumi instinctively activated their Ten to avoid any harm caused by such a large force.
“My lies. My potential,” said Hisoka looking at Silva dead in the eye. Illumi had no idea what that meant. But Silva understood. He comprehended what Hisoka was offering and, if he was correct, that would be more valuable than all the money in the world.
“You’ve hired yourself the best assassins in the world, Mr. Hisoka.”



Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Gum and Fire

Part 4 of the Hisoka story. Enjoy.



Gum and Fire

“Hisoka?”
Her voice held a tremor. Fear, primal and predatory, consumed her. Ela, with her eyes still covered in aura, searched the darkness. The boy was nowhere to be found.
“Why?” she questioned. “Why did you do this?” Karn groaned. Ela caressed his face, the sinking feeling gone. She felt his breath, moist and foul, on her pal, and murmured a quick prayer.
“It’s not like I tried to kill him. Yet.” Hisoka’s voice echoed softly, his playful tone riding along the soft evening breeze.
“Then why? Why, Hisoka?” cried Ela.
“Because I am BORED.” Ela’s senses went on overdrive. She instinctively shielded her face. Hisoka’s Ren flared, bigger and stronger than ever, so much that birds fled from trees, mammals scampered in fear and the very air pressure dropped.
“Hisoka,” she whimpered. “How are you so strong?”
“I hid my power. It was the only way I could tolerate living with you people. But now it’s over. Because now. . .” he said.
“I. . .” The pressure disappeared and she lifted her gaze.
“See. . .” The voice was close to her. She felt as if she could reach out and touch it. It was so close.
Too close.
“You.” Hisoka’s silky voice sounded inches away from her face, on the other side of Karn’s lain body. The magician stopped using In and Ela found herself staring into his eyes. The eyes of a monster.
He let out a chuckle and swiped at her. She saw the label of the bottle between his fingers, no doubt enhanced with Shu. The razor sharp edge caressed the skin of her neck for a millisecond before crumbling to dust. Hisoka’s eyebrows shot up.
“How. . ?” Before he could ponder any further, he felt her aura rise and he quickly leapt away with cat-like agility. He saw her aura glow and shift to her hands. Aura shot out and the spot he had occupied mere seconds ago stood burnt to a crisp.
“Hmm,” moaned Hisoka from the other side of the field.
“It seems like you are indeed strong.” He let out a bark of laughter. “Haha hah. I was right.”
“Is that what this is about? You wish to challenge me, a helpless old woman?” yelled Ela. Hisoka let out a growl and launched towards her. His fist crashed into her abdomen, doubling her over.
“Never call a magnificent creature like you ‘helpless’,” he yelled. “You are truly beautiful.” He swung at her face. But an instant, he saw her pupils dilate and held himself back, moving farther away.
Ela’s form was burning bright amber and smoke rose from her skin. “If it’s power you want, I’ll burn you.”
“Ah. Giving your aura the properties of fire. I believe that’s called Transmutation, correct?” asked Hisoka playfully.
“You rotten child. I loved and cared for you. Why, why?” she screamed.



Behind her, Karn managed to regain consciousness. “What’s with all the noise?” he croaked. Then he felt it. His wife’s fiery aura. He hadn’t felt that power for nearly twenty years, yet he remembered perfectly well it’s intensity. Fighting against it was another aura: just like Hisoka’s. But it couldn’t be his. This aura enveloped an entire area. It was blood thirsty and murderous. Chaotic and god-like. The boy never displayed such power. No human ever did.
But he saw him. The boy he had beat up just a few hours ago. The boy whose only talent was hiding and playing childish games.
Yet there he stood and Karn understood. The lack of progress and the suspicion that the boy was hiding a lot more than he was letting on. It was all painfully clear now.
He noticed a trickle of blood on his wife’s neck.
“Ela,” he called.
“Karn. Hisoka is trying to kill us,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the magician.
“I felt it. I’ll kill him before he touches you,” spat out Karn. A knife appeared in each of his hands, the blades catching the moonlight.
“Correction,” said Hisoka. “I am only trying to kill her,” he said pointing at Ela. “And what makes you think you can stop me?” he asked softly.
“Master.” His voice was drenched in sarcasm and mockery.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy,” yelled Karn.


The old man charged at the magician holding his two knives aloft. Hisoka smiled. They had fallen into his trap. He couldn’t fight both of them together, so he had to form a plan of action based on what he knew so far.
Ela, a transmuter, has almost a perfect defense. If he attacked her, he’d be burnt to a crisp. But she was no fighter. Hisoka had figured out that she could attack using only two methods. She could scorch him at a close distance using Transmutation. Or she throw fire like she did earlier. Hisoka recalled the mechanics of her ability; how her aura travelled down her arms, out of her palm and out in the open space. An Emission ability. If she relied on Emission powers, using it consecutively would leave her drained very quickly. Emission was nearly the opposite of Transmutation after all. Hisoka had to make her use her fire throwing as much as possible. He needed to provide her with enough distance and a reason not to get close.
And that’s where Karn came into his plan. The old fool was a fighter albeit a weak and crippled one. Hisoka would engage him far away from Ela, and give her enough openings to shoot at him. She would avoid coming close to them for fear of hurting her husband. Hisoka would use her own care and kindness against her.
Karn was armed with a virtually infinite supply of knives. Bu Conjuring abilities required a lot of concentration; and it is hard to do so when you have a couple of broken bones.


Hisoka saw him coming and held his ground. He wanted to separate them. He avoided the first strikes, letting the knives flash by and ducked as a lance of fire sailed past his head. Karn doubled for another attack and Hisoka blocked and flipped over him. Fire soon burst where he had stood. He spun and kicked Karn behind the knee, cracking something. The man fell with a cry of pain. His knives evaporated. With a yell of frustration, Ela took a step closer and held herself back. She couldn’t risk hurting her husband. She had to believe in him. All she could do was buy him some time to recover. Twin lances of flame chased Hisoka into the tree line. Karn got to his feet and summoned his daggers once more, which he promptly threw at the magician’s direction.
‘It’s almost time for the finale,’ though Hisoka. He exhaled and checked to the see if all the preparations were in order.
All clear.
Hisoka leapt out from the cover of the trees and zigzagged towards Karn. Fire followed his path, scorching the earth bare millimeters from where he stood. Hisoka made his pattern easy to predict. And Karn predicted it.
With great skill, Karn summoned knife after knife and threw them with dexterity and accuracy that can only be described as ‘beyond human.’ All eight knives sank into Hisoka, stopping him in his tracks. The magician slumped on his knees and let out a choked moan. He toppled to the side, dead.

Ela relaxed her stance and hunched over. Using her powers like this had left her drained. It took her considerable effort to stand upright. Karn glared at his student’s corpse and spat in its direction. He left the knives in the body, just to make sure the boy remained dead.
“Kukukuku.” His chuckle was cold. Both husband and wife spun, their eyes wide open, and stared in his direction.
“Now,” said Hisoka. The knives forcefully wrenched out of his body and rocketed straight into Ela’s abdomen.


“NO,” screamed Karn. Too late the knives vanished into thin air, leaving behind eight gaping holes in his wife’s stomach. Ela let out a rasped breath before the darkness claimed her. Karn cradled her in his arms as Hisoka stood up.
“I call it Bungee Gum. My Hatsu that is,” said Hisoka. It all started with the initial punch to Ela’s stomach. He had attached his gum-like aura to her and hid it.  He then waited for Karn to throw his knives. He had purposefully hid a wooden plate under his shirt and directed the knives there. Using Texture Surprise he created the illusion of blood on his shirt. As he ‘died’ he attached Bungee Gum to every knife tip in his body and, when the time was right, he simply placed the thread leading to Ela’s body on the knives and let them go. The blades flew towards the only path they could. Ela.
Karn roared and charged at him. In his anger, he hadn’t even summoned his Nen knives. Hisoka swung a fist in his face, sending the man sprawling.
“I should have never taught you,” yelled Karn. Hisoka extracted something from his pocket and held it between his fingers. The tarot card depicting the Joker was covered in blood stains.
“I would have learnt it either way,” replied Hisoka. “I recall you once mentioning to your wife that you though I as some sort of genius or natural talent.”
Karn’s eyes widened. “How do you know that? My wife and I spoke in private.”
Hisoka shrugged. “I learnt Zetsu by simply not wanting to the found. It was only a matter of time before I mastered In, it’s advanced form.” He covered the Joker with his palm and, when he removed his hand, the card had vanished. He separated his fingers and Karn cried out in pain. The Joker was stuck in the back of his knee. Right where Hisoka had kicked him earlier.
“My gift to you,” said Hisoka. A feeling of satisfaction washed over him. He let out a soft moan. That ‘feeling’ still clung to him and he laughed in euphoria.
“I won’t ruin the mood now. You’ll just ruin my pleasure. So grow stronger or something, Ok? Make my killing you fun, yes?” said Hisoka.
The magician spread his arms, bowed with a flourish and disappeared into the darkness. 

Tuesday, 25 September 2012

School, testicles and inspiration

School's about to start again and with it comes the usual cluster of emotions. I've always hated school. Let's leave out the bullying for a second and just focus on the human interaction. I just don't like people. And apparently that's a bad thing.
But then I realized something.

It's not me. It's YOU.

Yes, You. You judgemental motherfuckers out there who make life for people like me a living hell.

Q: What do you mean people like you, Ryan?
R: We're called Alphas.
0_0 0_0 0_0

Kidding.

We're called creative people. How do you recognize us? We live with our heads, in youtube channels, in blogs, in books, in paintings, in sports, in actions, in video games, in entertainment. We're the people you tweet about. We're the people you pretend to be on facebook. In short: WE'RE AWESOME.

And the simply truth is; the world can't handle us.

Now, if you are happy with your life, click the red x button right now. This Charlie Sheen-like rant is for you, artist. You, seeker of beauty.

I live in Malta. Land of the talentless and lifeless.

Allow me to explain: this is not because we do NOT have talent. Oh boy we DO have talent. LOTS and lots of it.
The problem is everyone else. They try to quash your talent. Because they can't take in just how awesome you are. They don't see life the way you do and that's a bad thing. For them. And they make it everybody's problem.

How do you deal with them?

"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity. But the dreamers of the day are dangerous men for they act their dream with open eyes to make it possible." - T.E. Lawrence

"So baby dry your eyes
Save all the tears you've cried
Oh, that's what dreams are made of
Oh baby, we belong in a world that must be strong
Oh, that's what dreams are made of

And in the end on dreams we will depend
'Cause that's what love is made of " 
- Van Halen 'Dreams'

Yepp you got it. It all starts with a dream. Now let' be fair. Some dreams, like winning a competition, are achievable. Others, like having a threesome with Kate Beckinsale and Jessica Alba, will never happen. I'm pretty sure of that. 

But dreaming is no enough. Everyone dreams. It's the next step that's tough. Tattoo the nike slogan somewhere and  JUST FRIGGIN' DO IT. No holds barred, full steam ahead. 
And keep going. You will fall. You will fail. You will consider stopping. You will consider very morbid things indeed. But don't stop. 
It's ok to slow down. It's ok to let off steam, blow off work, procrastinate. 
But don't let go.

Cos what you will have in a few years time is yearning, regret and old age. 


Q: But Ryan, what if it doesn't work? What if I fail?
R: How the fuck should I know?

I don't know what's best. Your parents don't know what's best. Fuck, YOU don't know what's best for you. But it's one thing to lay down and do what others do simply cos it's safe. It's another to have the BALLS to get up and go whichever direction you want. 

All this is coming from a recently published author who has yet to see his first sale. But here's the motto I abide by:
when there's a will, there is a way.
When there isn't a way, you break out the jack hammer and FUCKING MAKE ONE.

I am sick and tired of people playing it safe. Fuck I spent about 2000 euros on putting out a novel, dealing with people from Texas (editing) all the way to South Africa (cover). So shut your pie hole and do it. Don't present some sad story about how you didn't have opportunity.

What you do is you find a source of inspiration, no matter how fleeting and little, and you have violent sex with that sucker like it's your job. And then you move on to the next one. And the next. 

Which roundabouts all the way to school. I hate school and people, but I love learning. Learn what you can, follow your own path and everyone else be damned nine ways till sunday. 

I know a wonderfully talented artist who has a degree which he will never use. He is an established artist from this island and he made it big.
I know an inspiring girl who had to take her exams 3 cocking times before she got the mark she deserved in the first place. Another talented artist and, I'm can swear on this, in the future will make an A class architect.
I know an aviation engineer who had to work like a dog since the age of 15 in order to make money for his pilot's licence. Another A class aviator and engineer.

And then there's me. A reclusive wanker who juggles a second novel, comic with the aforementioned artist (the first) and the last year for my degree. Oh and a dissertation. So what if this course has lost all interest for me? So what if it's just getting in my way? I've invested, and now I'm getting every last morsel I can out of it. 
Who knows, maybe I'll find a source of inspiration there. At the very least it's a break from writing. 
There is always a silver lining.