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Thread: Serial: The Book [R]

  1. #1
    Join Date
    May 2006
    A therapist's Sofa

    Default Serial: The Book [R]

    A/N: After finally finishing up chapter two of this thing, I decided time was ripe to unleash this upon the fic reading masses.

    This fic is both a sequel and a prequel to the one-shot I posted so long ago. As the one-shot takes place in the future from where I'm starting but the fic goes on beyond that point in time, so therefore, this fic has no chapter four. It will skip straight from three (which is currently in the process of being written, Well I have a chapter title anyway.) to chapter five. I would advise you to read the one-shot (The link is in my sig) if you are determined to follow this fic, if not before you read this, then at least after you've read chapter three.

    The world in which this fic is being written is one in which humans don't exist, the pokemon world, Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh and all their places still exist, but the dominant species are pokemon, but I avoid calling them pokemon as you would avoid describing people as humans. Normal everyday animals like rabbits, foxes, snakes etc. also exist in this world. So NO Miltank Burgers.

    As I said, chapter two has been written and will be posted a few days after this.

    As it says in the title, this fic is rated R, mainly for many scenes of murder that not everyone finds tasteful, also noted, this fic at this time in its written state contains one major swear word.

    Without further stalling. Here is the short prologue and chapter 1 in which they are sort of tied, so are posted together.

    Serial: The Book

    Deep in the labyrinth of trees that made Ilex Forest was a sole wanderer.

    It was autumn and the earthly colours of orange, red, brown and yellow replaced the usually verdant green of the forest.

    As this sole wandered, the leaves of varying deciduous trees fell upon the ground as nature took its course. The figure continued to walk and loud crunching sounds could be heard as leaves were crushed underfoot.

    ‘Autumn is a time for change; the trees shed their leaves and prepare for the long winter. However, I am not a tree, I have no leaves to shed and need no preparation for the upcoming winter. Why I am so different from these tall unmoving beings is beyond my capabilities to comprehend, so I leave them to their rest.’

    The figure looks at the ground and crosses it’s jade green arms, shivering. In an attempt to ward of the cold, the figure pulls its floor length brown travelling cloak over its body a bit more.

    It continues to wander until it reaches a small wooden shack, it then stops and sighs, green and blue hair lying limp upon its head.

    The figure walks to the makeshift door and pushes it open, inside was a white mat used only for resting, a large chalk circle upon the floor and a small wooden desk upon which sat a jar full of firefly, allowing a faint yellow glow to illuminate the wooden 3x4 metre room.

    Also on this desk was a book. A dusty, old tome that had a cover of deep crimson. This book had at least three hundred, yellowing pages of which only a small percentage were filled.

    What book would only be partly filled? You may ask. The answer, it was a diary. Owned by the figure, in which he records his most private of ventures.

    Sitting on a nearby wooden chair, the figure grabs a quill and a pot of ink from one of the drawers and starts to scrawl words into the tome. The heading on the page being ‘entry four’. When a few pages were filled, the figure smiled and let the ink dry as not to ruin the pages.

    When a sufficient amount of time had lapsed, the figure turned back the pages to the first.

    This book belongs to Ramirez

    Was stated clearly in large lettering. The name ‘Ramirez’ written in a deep red ink, at least, that’s what outsiders would think. For the figure knew that it was blood, his own blood to be exact. And when people asked where he got such a scar on his chest, he would say…

    ‘I got into a fight with a Scyther’

    For self-inflicted scars never go away, be that physical or psychological.

    The figure, apparently named Ramirez, flips the page over and begins to read the first entry…

    Entry One: My First Time (AKA The Anti-Freud)

    I was sat alone on a grassy plain, as was my custom. The rest of my class had disbanded, returning to their respective caregivers.

    Why they relied so heavily upon the adults is unknown to me, I have found it perfectly reasonable to live a life of my own, separate from those around me. My teachers would always say, ‘be mindful of the feelings of both yourself and those around you. For that is the way of our people.’ I’m sure the rest of ‘my people’ will agree with this sentiment, but I… am not so sure. I have found that the reading of other peoples feelings seriously clouds the rest of the subconscious, for the outer feelings, lust, cowardice, fear create powerful walls which require a lot of concentration and power for which only the highest of Gardevoir matriarch could penetrate.

    Now, disregarding the feelings and going straight to the source, you can access the inner thoughts and memories without very much effort at all, for even I could do it, a mere Kirlia.

    “Rami! Rami! Where are you?”

    I sighed; it was my adult calling for me.

    “Why don’t you just telepathically find me, it would save a lot of time and energy on shouting.” I sent this to her and the shouting then stopped.

    “But looking is half the fun Rami” This I received back.

    Scowling, I stood and began to walk to my assigned dwelling. “There is no time for fun, why must you pester me with such trivial frivolities when you most certainly know I won’t partake in them.” I retorted.

    A sign of life behind me, why must she follow me.

    “I’m following you because I want you to be safe, son of mine.” She seemed to stress the last part as if to put across that she is my mother and deserves obedience from her offspring.

    The lofty Gardevoir had a ‘reassuring’ smile upon her face as she floated gracefully beside me, her white skirt and green hair flow lazily behind as she goes. Despite my disdain for the woman, I had always envied the fact that she could almost float soundlessly around, it left detecting her presence down to sight and telepathy.

    Sometimes I just wish I could be left alone, far away from ‘my people’ and their rules, so I can gather my thoughts.

    “You know full well that being left alone is stupid, Kirlia like yourself fall prey to predators very easily in the outside world. Staying in the village is the best for any non-adults, and even then it is discouraged.

    “Will you stop reading my thoughts!” I sent, using also a confusing technique to amplify my point. “It’s very rude of you.” I voiced aloud.

    “Well you seem to do it all to often. Yes, I can feel you digging around at times, but I find it sweet that you want to know all about me.”

    I was about to think rather malicious things about my adult. And I knew she was at the ready to feel any retort I may make subconsciously. So I blocked my mind; feeling the small tendrils of conscience snap I smiled.

    ‘Sweet? I don’t find it sweet that I used the knowledge to destroy your favourite part of the forest, or that I burnt your prize-winning vegetables. Well Florence we’ll see how sweet I can be later on today.’

    We soon got to the edge of Eterna Forest, to a grove of trees tightly packed into a circular shape. This was done using the innate telekinetic abilities of all Gardevoir and Gallade, by twisting the form of the many trees to an angle that formed the circle. Pushing at a cutaway part of the trees, the ‘door’ revealed a simple living area.

    “Now I want you to put Ms. Hope’s lesson into practice today, I don’t want her to tell me your meditation techniques are faltering again.”

    And why does she lecture me? She herself failed to complete her meditation practices.

    “I’m going to go into the forest. Don’t try to follow me.” I announced lazily and walked out of the dwelling.

    “I swear that boy isn’t normal.” Florence voiced aloud, hands on her hips.

    Mind dripping with malice I entered the large wooded area that was Eterna forest, so named, as it hasn’t changed for as long as it has existed, Eternal, as it should be. It was an odd property of the forest that allowed me to calm down much quicker than I can usually do in the outside world. For I live truly in my mind, and mind works best when I meditate in the forest.

    How best might I undermine my matriarchal caregiver, I wonder. Destruction of property perhaps, it would be a pain for her to retrieve more materials to rebuild, but more of a hindrance than anything else. Maybe I could sully her name, make her a social outcast, I for one would be pleased at such a change. No, maybe more, but for now I don’t know what that could be.

    By virtue, all members of the Gardevoir/Gallade tree are vegetarian. The native berries and herbs of the forest providing more than enough nutrition for the whole population of the village to survive rather prosperously. An albino rabbit bounds worriless by, stopping to nibble at a one of the said herbs, it begins to move on but then stops again. My doing; I had probed the depths of its feeble mind, the thought processes being slightly off-centre, nothing I could follow, the rabbit was driven purely on instinct, where the next meal would come from, whether or not that female was ready to mate with. It was a refreshing change from the meandering canals of the minds of other thinking beings. So I almost felt a twinge of sorrow when I forced a lesion on the buck’s carotid artery, the massive internal bleeding causing a large purple bruise to form under the skin at its neck. The male rabbit fell onto its side, going in to shock, my hold not allowing the blood to clot at the wound. Time passed and the excess bleeding had caused serious brain damage and eventually the buck’s death.

    This would make a lovely present for my dear mother. Perhaps I should hang it from the roof so she can get a good look at it. Yes, this would be a good plan for the time being.

    Taking some Abandi rope, so named after the plant that bares the threads, I bound the buck’s legs and telekinetically lifted the other end of the rope to the rafters. It took a lot of concentration on my end; mentally marshalling the air molecules tightly around the rope and moving them, whilst still in the tightened position, up towards the roof. Then the hard part, tying it so as not to slip.

    And now I play the waiting game.

    Perched in a shadowed corner I pondered the possible reactions my mother would have. Shock; surprise; intrigue; anger? Hopefully it would occur in stages, one after the other; shock at the sight of it, surprise of why such a thing was there, intrigue as to who put it there and anger as she realised that it was me.

    Again focusing on the buck I forced another lesion, but this time on the skin. The cut allowing the built up blood to flow freely out of the wound, the resulting pool spreading to the full extent such a small amount of blood could.

    I didn’t have to wait long, the door opened and as predicted. She gasped, dropping everything in her hands, apples rolling around the grassy floor, some even settling in the blood pool.

    She had stopped and closed her eyes. She knows. And her deep red eyes fell into the shadows right into the irises of mine.

    “What have you done?” She stated in a flat emotionless tone.

    “How could you know, you said it yourself, the circle.” I was dumbfounded; the exact principle I have tested had failed me.

    “You have much to learn youngling, the circle does indeed keep the minds of others away and indeed keeps you from calling out. However, with two in the circle, nothing is affected between them.” Again in her flat, placid tone.

    Her tone rose exponentially and the furniture started to shake where they stood. “How dare you bring death into this house! Do you know how long it takes to get bloodstains out of the carpet? Of course you don’t; I had sent you away, and within the protection of the circle, I ripped your father limb, from limb. Using only my mind. The abuse I had felt at his hands was inexcusable, but the power I felt was amazing. It made me feel alive. So you will understand, why I had to mentally restrain you outside of the home so you don’t squeal to the other adults, why I had to break you. You will not disobey me again child; for it shall be the last decision you will ever make.”

    The shaking had stopped and the great looming figure of the matriarch Gardevoir had faded; the eyes though, still contained the anger, still contained the malice and still contained the madness. Emerging from the shadows, it was my time to speak.

    “Mother, let me inform you. You never truly ‘broke’ me; in fact, you put in the place the final piece of the puzzle. Before the beatings, before the verbal and mental abuse, I was a mere confused child, but father left and you took over the domineering role. Sure at first I had to wonder why this was happening, is this a typical upbringing? I had to ask myself, then I thought no. It isn’t, if it were so then all the other children would be like me, and I’m the only one there who is like me. Unique. When I came to realise this fact, I started to enjoy the habitual torture, playing along to your sick little game, writhing in terror every time you came looming over me when I awoke, every time I fell to the mat and was about to sleep. The burning I felt in my joints every time, was such pleasure that I dreaded afterwards and the time in between. Yes mother, you never truly had any control over me, I only gave that effect so that, when the time came. I could give you the same kind of pleasure that you have been giving me twice a day for the past five years.” And with that I fell silent for a few seconds, absorbing the look on her face. It had seemed to go full circle, she was very shocked.

    “Yes mother, you know what they say.” I then tilted my head slightly to the left. “Crazy runs in the family.”

    And then I knew what she was talking about. Total control over another being was such a great feeling, greater almost than the torture. “Here we go mother, get ready to die.”

    So I reached out my consciousness, feeling for the joints between arm and torso, leg and pelvis, head and neck. And pulled.

    “Isn’t it just magnificent mother? The feeling of being so close to death but never quite reaching it, luckily for you however, you can go all the way. If there’s an afterlife, maybe we can talk.”

    She uttered a few mumbled screams.

    “I’m so sorry mother, I can’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.” At this I laughed, perhaps the only time in my life, I laughed. It was then I realised that I was truly happy, an emotion I had not felt in my entire existence.

    The release of suppressed anger was a sight to behold. The elder Gardevoir, pain enveloping her whole body, all her senses, she’d be screaming rather loudly if it weren’t for me.

    “I wonder mother, do you now wish for death? Do you wish for his clammy hand to take you from the pain, take you from the suffering? My only regret is that I couldn’t give you five years worth of the same pain, the same suffering. So I suppose I could end you right now, on the carpet of which you killed my father, in the same way you ended my father. It’s fairly ironic, isn’t it? The circle of life continues to spin, unerred by the petty squabbles of mortal beings. But there are those of us, who like to give it a good push every now and then. I am one of those people mother. And I will turn your circle to the label marked, ‘death’. Goodbye, and do say hello to father for me.”

    I reached deep and with one final pull, the dainty Gardevoir became many pieces of the same puzzle, the blood of my mother joining the blood of the unlucky buck in the same pool on the now unseen carpet.

    I stared; at the head of my mother, now departed from the shoulders, the look upon its face, one of fear, a fear induced by I.

    And when I looked at what I’d done, I thought it… Good.

    * * *

    End entry.

    Proceed with explanation of subsequent events.

    Ramirez, the adolescent Kirlia, stood over his late mothers body and watched, just watched as the bacteria began to eat away at the flesh. He decided then and there that, so he never forgot this moment, he was going to write it down. Picking up a nearby empty book with a deep crimson cover, he got some ink and a quill, and wrote. The entirety of what had happened, both leading up to and after the events of this wonderful night.

    It was around this time that the Matriarch leader sensed an odd disturbance; the amount of people around town had diminished. You see, Gardevoir are creatures of habit, and at this time it was customary for many to have a nightime walk around the encompassing forest. With some careful probing of many different minds she came to a conclusion, and went to investigate.

    She knew of the mind of which was missing and she also knew where the mind lived. Concern grasping her wrinkled face she continued on, wind whipping through her greying hair.

    Finishing off the last few words, Ramirez began to think about what he could do now. Anything he wanted, he reckoned. Without any legal ‘parents’ to look after him, he would be classed as an orphan and allowed to do anything. But just as he had turned the wheel of fate with his mother, his own wheel was spinning and his prize was waiting outside the door ready to come in.

    “Florence, it’s me. I’m coming in.” the matriarch chief shouted.

    Upon hearing this, Ramirez instantly stopped. He knew the price for murder and there was nothing mitigating about matricide. He clutched the book and stayed where he was, the matriarch was far too powerful to attack.

    She entered and staggered backwards in fear at the sight now confronting her. “What… How… Why was this done?” She managed to splutter.

    “I will neither explain or describe my actions here. Know only that I enjoyed it and would gladly do it again if she stood here now.” Ramirez mentioned. And he said nothing else.

    The matriarch was still horrified by the ghastly sight before her.

    “I henceforth exile you from this village, you shall never return and you shall never seek repentance for your crimes. I had heard tell of this sort of thing happening in other, more violent clans, but never here did I expect such an atrocious act. You knew the punishment; you knew you would have to pay the price. Leave here now and never let me see you again.” She spoke this, not in heightened tones, but in a slow monotonous drawl, acid laced upon every word. Now it was her turn to say nothing else.

    The adolescent Kirlia kept hold of his only possession, the crimson covered book, as he was forcefully ejected from the tall, oaken village gates.

    Not knowing what to do, Ramirez just walked, walked into the distance. And as far as the village were concerned, he was already dead.

    Gardenia never liked the Old Chateau, but what if the Old Chateau liked her?

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  2. #2
    Join Date
    May 2006
    A therapist's Sofa


    At this point, I would of liked to answer some replies but seeing as I don't have any, I'll just get on and post the chapter. =)

    Again, this chapter contains scenes of murder and torture and one swear word which will probably be blocked by the swear filter the forum has, so use your imagination. And its a fairly long chapter.

    Entry Two: The Night Stalker

    My inane wanderings had been long and arduous, deciding that I would distance myself from the village of my birth indefinitely, I sought passage off the continent of Sinnoh, seeking new lands to set down my only possession, the crimson book I had managed to smuggle from my home.

    Upon landing on the continent the locals called Johto, I set off in search for a new home. But not in all of my searches had I come across a place that had the same properties as the forest I had called home in my childhood.

    That was until I came across a forest in the south, a forest called Ilex near the province of Azalea. I found the name suitable with the resident oaks and holly taking up the whole area.

    Then began a similar search to find the most suitable place to settle.

    It was only when I came across a small wooden shack did I stop. It’s plain, unassuming look appealing to my inner nature. The interior held only a white mat and a desk with empty drawers, whoever left the place had obviously did so in a hurry.

    Blowing the dust of the desk, I placed my book in the centre and took the mat outside to aerate it. Feeling somewhat content for the time being, I began to train, both body and mind for years, until the day I finally reached maturity and evolved.

    The new feeling of power unlocked upon entering this new stage of life was astounding. My mental capabilities bolstered, I could sense things further away than I ever could, I could lift heavier objects. My physical capabilities increased, I could run faster, kick harder and had developed two long extendible blades affixed to my elbows. This was truly a joyous day.

    My training routine had changed ever so slightly; I had shifted my focus away from my psychic abilities and began to look at fighting styles. Taking a trip into the Azalea market, I found a book on various martial arts styles. Feeling myself a bit exposed, I stole a long brown cloak from a nearby stall, my psychic abilities keeping the focus away from my direction. I pocketed the book and left.

    I kept a regular eye on the diary I had taken from my home, realising that to shame its pages with bland mentions of my everyday life would be a crime against the words already imprinted there, however, I did realise that I needed to stake my claim on the particular item, the only thing I had really ever owned. But with no ink, I couldn’t achieve said goal. During one meditation session, I found the answer. Natures ink, blood. I looked at the blade attached to my right arm, and then my chest, extending the blade I brought it slowly to the top of my torso on the left side and dragged it down, diagonally towards the lower right of my midriff. The pain, of which I had not felt in many years, was a wonderful escape from my usual routine, pleasure of which I hadn’t felt since the day told in the book, now opened at the first page on my lap.

    The crimson nectar issuing from my wound was collected, and with one finger, the name ‘Ramirez’ was scrawled under the section that said, ‘This book belongs to…’ And I left it to dry. In the mean time I picked up my other book, the one I had stolen.

    Poring over it for the next few weeks, I developed new skills and meditation techniques, the latter being something I practice inside a small circle only big enough for myself to fit in. The instantaneous shutting out of background noise is something to behold, it’s like being in a soundless void, where your thoughts are your only companions. It allowed me to ponder the vast mysteries of everything but also brought back some nagging feelings.

    That pleasure I felt upon ripping my mother apart at the joints, I needed to feel it again. I needed to kill again. But who to kill I asked myself.

    From then, after I had finished my daily routine of training and meditation, I left the shack at night and looked towards the walled township of Azalea for prey, it's maze of back alleys and side streets were a law breakers joy and the two storey wooden houses only helped cast shadow across even the main street. With my cloak on, it was hard to spot my form in the bleakness of night. A fact I used in my advantage on my various fact-gathering journeys. I looked at areas in which the local police force showed little interest and then for isolated housing establishments in those areas.

    When I had my target, the house of one Max Kneiding, an elderly Hitmonchan who rarely leaves the house and has few acquaintances, I went back home and waited until the golden sun had fell behind the mountain, throwing the entire forest into black, the silvery moon hanging high in the sky providing a fickle light source for those who happened to be on the streets at the first hour of the day.

    I made my way, moving swiftly and quietly, to the gates of town. Which were locked, but my empowered psychic abilities could accurately probe the lock and prize open the mechanism from within, a technique I had created from my various jaunts into the area at night.

    Slipping in and re-locking the gate, I swiftly made my way over to the lower east side of the Azalea Township and to number one hundred and six, the house of Mr. Kneiding. Finding the heavily shadowed garden, I planned my entry into the abode. The screen door would do, that piece of flimsy material designed to keep small insects out could not withstand my new blades. Simply pushing it into the door and it fell away, easy enough for me to reach inside and unlock it.

    And with an act that lasted a few simple seconds, I had access to the old man's entire house; his possessions were mine for the taking. As was his life.

    Mr. Kneiding’s estate was very messy and cluttered. It would seem he didn’t like to throw away anything, instead opting to place it on his now partially visible floor. How someone can live in such filth is beyond me.

    I walked into the hall where the front door was, making a u-turn and swiftly up the stairs with nary a creak.

    One door was pushed open, the bathroom.

    A second was pushed, a utility room.

    The third and last was gently pushed, revealing an old sleeping Hitmonchan. And another figure? Yes, it was a Medicham; lay unmoving upon the down filled pillow, silky sheets draped over all but her head and neck.

    ‘This is unexpected, but not unmanageable. The plan remains the same.’ I thought, adding the extra variable into the scheme of things, allowing for certain compensations.

    ‘This is it, let the games begin.’

    The door closed ominously behind me, my doing, and I held it fast, cutting off escape. “Not the only thing I’ll be ‘cutting off’ this evening.” I whispered.

    I looked down towards the now extended, jade green blades affixed to my elbows. “Right guys, its time to get you christened. May the blood spilt on your behalf be vast and ever flowing.”

    The short few metres walk from the door to Mr. Kneiding’s bedside took eons, time flowing seamlessly by as I took the steps, the sun may well have risen and set countless times before I reached the sleeping form of the old man. Lacing my blades with a psychic energy, a technique I discovered from one of my many training sessions, I lowered my blade to his chest and cut a line much like the one on my chest.

    He woke with a start, screaming. It took the elderly Hitmonchan a few seconds to realise my presence, his eyes blighted by cataracts enough that night vision was out of the question. It was only his arm flailing that got him to cotton on to my being there.

    “Dear god, who is that.” He shouted, “Who is it, answer me!”

    Despite all the noise, the female Medicham who was most probably his wife, remained perfectly still.

    “Don’t worry, it is I, Michael from the village. I noticed your back door was open and I came in to investigate.” I said in my most cheery of voices.

    “I don’t know any Michael, get out!” Came the reply.

    With this answer I reverted to my icy, chilling voice. “Oh well, it was a shot in the dark. I suppose I’ll have to kill you now. Shame, I like to play with my food.”

    The old man was confused, he started to blabber on in his senility, ‘fool’ I thought. He tried to get up but he just froze under the pressure.

    “Please… Please don’t kill me, I can’t do that to my wife she’ll be torn apart. I… I” He was ranting now, nonsensical jabbering of pleading remorse.

    But how can you emotionally sway the emotionless. It’s like trying to play a guitar without strings, like trying to paint without inks or brushes.

    “This is evil, this is evil what your doing. Regular people don’t just kill other folk.” He was squirming, basically crying into the sheets in which he lay, while all the time his wife still lay asleep. I suppose I could save her for afters, one never turns down dessert.

    "You don't understand me, you are not expected to, you are not capable of it. I am beyond your experience. I am beyond good and evil. Everything is grey, just violent shades of ****ing grey! This is my life, this is my world, and I shall do what I want in my world.”

    “You’re a monster!” Was his response.

    “I’m afraid that was the wrong answer. Now comes your punishment.” Was my reply.

    So I swung, with all my might, my blade into the cowering form of Mr. Max Kneiding, resident of the Azalea Township. The right blade hit home across his face and got its first taste of flesh and blood, and within milliseconds, so did the left.

    And then their second, and then their third and their fourth, until the blooded shape in front of my eyes was unrecognisable to all who knew him. Cuts adorning his face and torso.

    A pleasurable chill ran up and down my body, shaking slightly I closed my eyes and reveled in its majesty, savouring every last nanosecond of the immense pleasure akin to the matricide I performed years back.

    ‘Ah. There’s the rush I needed. Almost refreshing. Maybe Mrs. Kneiding will prove an equally delicious meal.’

    As I did with her husband, I centred a blast of psychic energy into my blade and placed it upon her skin. Only to withdraw it immediately, she was ice cold. “What is this?” I voiced, confused. I cut her in the same way I did her husband, only for the wound to yield no blood.

    She was already dead. And sure enough, once the covers had been withdrawn, it was made apparent, the decomposition had been set in motion for a long time, ribs showing through the rotted flesh, muscle and fat showing in many places. My victim had been sleeping, for lord knows how many weeks, with a corpse, and judging by the speech he gave me before his death, he believed her alive.

    “Waste not, want not.” I announced, and I began to carve the bodies.

    One arm left its place on the torso and was thrown across the room, soon its counterpart joined it on the floor albeit a few metres away. The systematic hacking of body parts was made easier by the potent blades I owned, like a scalpel, they could tear flesh and sear bone with minimal effort, making the use of my telekinetic abilities redundant in such situations.

    And my blades agree, pleased with their first kill, they performed with skill and accuracy, listening to and accepting the actions I bring to their attention. With good behaviour comes rewards, the reward of more flesh to rip. And more flesh lies out these walls, so I must venture out, the carving is done so I guess I’ll go home. Then more scouting is in order.

    Sneaking back out the door and to the gothic, cast iron gate I had entered, I staggered back home in a pleasured stupor, the adreneline and endorphens rushing around my blood stream still empowering my mood. So much in fact that it took a few hours for me to actually get to sleep. But when I did, the dream I had was most vivid, almost lucid, as I was dragged along the trenches of my past, reliving the time spent abandoned from the village of my birth, fighting back rabid animals, searching for food, stealing money to fund my ticket out of Sinnoh.

    How immature I was back then, relying on my youth to gain sympathy from the various adults I had conned to get here. Now I know that only the strong can win out in the end, the weak crumbling to the higher beings above them, like they should. With weakness comes relying on others for help, and when you’ve leeched all you can from the other, what is it you have left. Nothing. The strong can rely on themselves to gain the resources they need to survive, for helping the weak only weakens yourself from their plight leaving you with nothing.

    Mr. Kneiding was weak, and in turn, deserved all I wrought.

    * * *

    Diary entry in intermission.

    Events, leading up to and after Mr. Max Kneiding’s discovery.

    “Excuse me Beartrice, but we got a call saying theres an awful smell coming from the house of Mr. Kneiding, The old Hitmonchan at one-zero-six, You should go check it out.” The young Chansey, currently sat behind a desk, explained to the middle aged Miltank.

    As the Miltank got up, a distinctive clinking of a cowbell could be heard, the one she, Beartrice, wore around her neck.

    “Hey wait Bea, you’ll need the key to get into his place if he isn’t there. Which is, to be honest, a bit unlikely, all these old people like their solitude you see. See you soon.”

    And the rotund, pink, egg carrying Chansey threw a small metal key to the also pink cow, which she caught and then turned and left the building (labelled ‘Elderly Care’) walking the short distance into lower east side of town to the home numbered one hundred and six.

    She knocked a hoof onto the front door three times.

    “Mr. Kneiding! Are you in? We got a call saying there were some bad smells coming from in here!” She shouted, garnering some odd looks from the passing populace. In a lower voice, she also added “And they were right, this place smells nasty. It’s like something crawled in here and died.”

    When no response was heard, an anxious look crossed the face of the middle aged Miltank, wasting no time, she grabbed the key and entered the house.

    “Mr. Kneiding! Are you in?” She repeated. Again, to no response.

    Now she was worried, she had seen those films when she was younger, you know the ones where a lone female goes into a dirty, creepy house and gets butchered by a crazed murderer. But she must press on.

    As she checked the downstairs rooms, she was quietly repeating “Mr. Kneiding.” Stepping nervously around the cluttered floor, hoping not to make too much noise.

    She was sure he wasn’t downstairs so she got to the old, faded wood stairs and started to climb. Creak after creak was heard echoing around the house, Beatrice wincing at everyone of them. She reached the landing and wiped away sweat from her brow, secretly congratulating herself for steeling herself this far, Beatrice then began to open doors.

    One door was pushed open, the bathroom.

    A second was pushed, a utility room.

    The third and last was gently pushed, revealing the most horrific sight she had ever seen in her thirty-six years of life. Blood splattered all over the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling, the bed sheets were virtually red. Various limbs were scattered about, as if someone had gone in with a chainsaw and hacked at anything and anyone in the room at the time. Her heart was beating faster than the time she participated in the three-mile run for charity and her pupils had dilated to mere pinpricks. A look of pure horror stricken across her face, she finally mastered her vocal chords and screamed, louder than she had screamed before. It wasn’t long before various passers by had heard and responded to her shouts, each looking into the room and realising her fear.

    An adult Electabuzz finally got an idea. “I…I’m going to get the police, the fire department, anyone.” And he ran as fast as his stubby legs could take him.

    * * *

    Intermission over.

    Diary entry continues.

    Upon waking I felt immensly revitalised, like a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The ticking off of items on ones to do list is a feeling worth savouring.

    And savour it I shall; I believe a walk into town is in order, a quick check to see if my handiwork has not gone unnoticed. I removed myself from my shack, my long overcoat left open in the mid-summer heat.

    The forest literally glows in its verdant green beauty on days like these, the trees allowing little light except for faint rays that shine dutifully onto the forest floor, causing small patches of light brown amongst the dark brown of the shadowed earth. This truly was a magnificant place to live, the energy of the forest granting me power which I thought not possible, already it has bestowed upon me new techniques to unleash, something I was eagerly waiting to test.

    The town gates; looming black bars bordered by cold, grey concrete, this unnatural monstrosity was nothing compared to my surroundings, no wonder the villagers were weak.

    Nodding to the gate guard as I approached, he reached for a large black key, inserted it into the large locking mechanism I had cheated the previous night and turned. The gates swinging open at the slightest touch.

    “Welcome back sir” Said the orange, electric mouse guard.

    I returned another curt nod with a stony face and the left the Raichu about his business. Hearing the gates shut quickly behind me, I had to step quietly, who knows if anyone saw me that night. I could feel eyes on me, so I walked on, hands in pockets and head down I continued my path to the lower east side.

    I looked up, down the street the house was on and, most unusually, a smile crept to my lips. Yellow tape surrounded the perimeter and flashing red and blue indicated police had been called to the scene, I continued my walk up, found a police officer and confronted her.

    “Oh lords, what happened here?” I asked in a soft voice, inwardly complimenting myself for the fine performance.

    The female officer, a royal blue Golduck, wearing the typical navy blue uniform and shiny golden badge, looked around for the source of the question and for all the world finding a sincere, caring Gallade asking it. “I’m sorry hun, but I’m not allowed to release that information yet. Not until the investigation has been completed anyways. Now don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, we’ll have it sorted out soon enough and you’ll be able to read the press report in the newspaper when it comes out.”

    She then directed me to move on, but not before I stole a fleeting glance at the window of my victims bedroom. ‘I see they haven’t got the blood out of the walls yet.’ I thought, and for the second time in almost as many minutes. I smiled.

    Walking back into the centre of town, where the market was, I decided that I would ‘buy’ some fruit to take home with me. A welcomed change, as I usually foraged anything I ate from the forest. As I approached the stall, I spied a dark shape reaching a golden hand for a bunch of grapes and promptly teleporting, judging by the faint distortion of air in the previously occupied area.

    ‘Hmm, it looks like we have a thief. Most troublesome.’ I thought, ready to commit an act of hypocrisy and steal some food, but I have my motivations, what is theirs? Something I can discuss with myself as I walk back home, apple in hand.

    Nodding to the rodent gate guard, who took off his cap and made the necessary steps to open the gates, I left the town of Azalea and walked back home to continue my training back home. Though considerably darker than when I left my house, you couldn't tell through the thick of the trees.

    It was as I entered my shack that my thoughts were dragged back to the thief I had seen in the market, a person like that could only cause discord and confusion, something that only I may bring to the residents of the township.

    This blight needed to be taken care of. And I think I know just the person to do it. Me.

    * * *

    With plan in mind and action in heart, I walked back to the Azalea township in hope of ensnaring my prey. A few days had passed since I had last seen the golden hand belonging to the thief, but I had time during my meditation sessions to deduce the race of whom the hand belongs. So far, the inclusion of teleportation has led me to believe that what I'm after is of a psychic leaning, and only two psychic races I know of have golden, or at least yellow hands, which are the Abra and Drowzee evolutionary trees. If its the latter then hypnosis would be included in its repertoire, a problem, however if it is the former, then I will have a challenge on my hands, a fully grown Alakazam could destabilise your molecules with only a single thought.

    Then again, I've always been one for a challenge.

    “Good afternoon sir.” Came the shout of the gate guard, and a tipping of his cap soon followed.

    As with many other times I had entered into the town, I nodded a short, curt nod with a stony expression set upon my face. Not a word had been said by me to the diminutive gate guard, I don't even know his name, I thought.

    “I hopes your business goes well, sir.” Another gravelly shout from the mouse. Quite unusual.

    As a precaution, before I had left my shack, I enforced a barrier around myself that would stretch ten metres in all directions around me. Whilst a strain on my mind, it made sure no one could teleport whilst in my vicinity. All I needed now was a sighting and I would have him. Presuming it was he of course.

    Luckily my search didn't take long, by the same stall, I saw the same clawed, golden hand reaching for yet another bunch of grapes. Edging a little closer to ensure the protection of the barrier field, I sent a message to the offender.

    'Excuse me sir, but I do believe what your doing is against the law.' I made it sound authoritative and chiding.

    At this, the thief stopped suddenly. Obviously trying, and failing, to teleport away.

    The thief looked up, half of their face was in shadow, but it was clear who I was dealing with. The golden, fox-like features were unmistakable and the visible lack of facial hair indicated that I was dealing with a female Alakazam, although the smooth skin and shining golden complexion indicated that it was clearly a very young Alakazam.

    With a fierce glare, she sent a message back, 'Just try and catch me.' and promptly ran back into the shadows. Sighing briefly, I extended the power over my anti-teleportation barrier and walked towards the rear entrance of the township.

    'Do you really think you can escape?'

    'I've outrun military shock troopers and stolen works or art thought unstealable. What chance do you, one man, think you have.?'

    'More chance than you can possibly fathom. I however am not looking to turn you into the police.'

    'If judicial retribution is not what you seek, why chase me?'

    'The real question is why you run from death. Surely one in your position, who is always on the move, who is always looking over your shoulder and who is always thinking where your next meal will come from. Do you not realise your errors?'

    'S-Shut up! You don't know me, you can't know me.'

    'I know more about you than you think.' the truth was that I saw a lot of myself in the young thief, although the motivations may be different, the crux of the matter was all the same. 'Don't for a minute assume that nobody can know you, for there are ways of finding out. And now, you sleep.'

    Smiling, I found the heavily robed body of the female Alakazam I had been 'chasing' quite close to the back gate, how fine I like to cut it. But then, it was supposed to be a challenge.

    Lifting the barrier, I placed one hand on the thief's robes and teleported to my shack, tied her to the chair and bound a length of cloth around her eyes. Then I waited.

    * * *

    I awoke, not knowing how I had fell asleep. I could smell only the faintest aroma of wild fruit and hear only the faintest sound of birds tweeting in the distance. I opened my eyes only to be confronted by more darkness, I was blindfolded.

    It was then, that my mind brought back the last things I could remember before waking up in this... wherever I am. I was about to take some food from a stall in the market when I heard a voice, one that spoke in a deriding voice, it seemed to be mocking me for a reason I did not yet know.

    I grabbed a bunch of grapes and tried to escape, but my teleportation was blocked. The only explanation was that he was doing it somehow, I turned, malice transforming my face, contorting with rage, but I couldn't give up, he was probably some special government agent sent to capture me or else a bounty hunter looking for a quick pay. But I suppose you'd get a pretty penny for a prize like me.

    The voice then changed, it was more authoritative and demanding than it had been before, it told me it was useless to try and escape, but I don't fall easily to idle threats, My speed and agility was a blessing since birth and honing them along with my psychic abilities had been a priority growing up in the fields of Saffron. Some may say that I led a sheltered life, training in my parents dojo or else studying in my parents library and sleeping in my parents mansion, but they don't know what I went through, the reason that all I did was train mind and body.

    The voice kept on speaking regardless of my responses, said he didn't want to turn me in, but what confused me most was the next time he spoke, its like he pulled my insecurities and fears from my mind and displayed them in easy to see, easy to read slides and forced me to watch the show. He talked about my errors, but what errors, it was like he wanted me to turn away from life and just give up and start anew, but I realise no errors.

    What he said next scared me the most, 'Don't for a minute assume that nobody can know you, for there are ways of finding out.' If he new about my fears then what was there stopping him knowing about me, how far had he delved into my mind and how much had he dragged out without me knowing.

    And then the darkness. And awaking in this... place.

    Using the only tool left to me, I reached out, feeling my surroundings. Despite being in a forest, practically teeming with life, I felt nothing. There was a lifeless void that only I was occupying.

    What did he do?

    * * *

    “Ah, the prisoner awakes.”

    Finally, I was beginning to think I'd pushed to hard stop her. Now the games begin.

    “What, how. Where are you!?” The thief, upon hearing my voice sat up, back straight, ears pricked ready to pick up any sound. She was also scowling, something she seemed to do a lot. I quickly surveyed her robed body, the pieces of flesh showing, were thin and ungainly, there were also many scratches and scars, one on her left cheek, two on her midriff and many on her arms and wrists. Even the robes she wore upon herself were shabby and scarred, there were multiple rips and tears and it was a greyish black indicating that it had faded slightly since it was new.

    I decided to reveal myself, speaking slowly and carefully. “Why, I am right here. In front of you.” Gathering a great deal of natural earthly power into my right blade, I dragged it across her forehead, it was a superficial wound and would heal fairly quickly. “See. Of course you can't actually see, but you at least know I am here, which will do for now.”

    “Why can't I feel you, why can't I sense your presence in front of me? Why are you doing this to me?” She was obviously scared judging by the slight quiver in her voice but she was trying to mask it.

    “To answer your first question, I have ensured means that you cannot extend your mental self further than a metre around you, a simple technique requiring no work on my part, you are lucky that I cannot actually enter your mind. Whilst you stay seated upon that chair, of which you have no choice but to, I may cause you no mental harm. To answer your second question, you are treading in my territory, causing a disturbance that I may only cause, you are young and foolish and because of this you have forced my company upon yourself, company that doesn't want you and company that would sever your limbs and drain your blood without a second thought. It is my job to make sure you never unsettle the residents of the Azalea township, this is an unofficial job that I have undertaken myself and you have broken the conditions to which I then act.” I finished, watching her reaction change as I revealed each new truth, I watched how the golden tinge in her face drained when I mentioned that I would kill her without a second thought.

    I smiled, revelling in her discomfort. She had fell silent, not willing to talk at this time, so I spoke for her.

    “Tell me child. What is your name?” I asked in the same authoritative and demanding tone I had used earlier.

    “M-Milona” She replied simply in a quiet, suppressed voice.

    I stopped for a moment in mock thought that she couldn't she and this time gathered a dark, ethereal energy into my left blade, I can't leave him out can I, and brought him quickly across her midriff to join the two other scars grouped there. 'Three's a crowd, but I'm sure she won't mind.' The cut was exactly vertical cutting through another scar and coming close the other.

    She screamed out in agony, and I smiled again.

    “Why is it, that you feel the need to steal from my town.” I asked in the same authoritative voice. I stared at her mouth until she answered me.

    It took about twenty seconds from me asking, but she managed to get something out eventually.

    “I can't help it.” The spluttered softly, “Ever since I was a young Abra, I've felt the need to steal, and when my parents found out. They... they beat me, violently. I believe they sought to beat it out of me, but even then, I saw father's wallet hanging precariously from his pocket as he flogged me and I grabbed it without thinking. This 'act of insolent rule breaking' as he put it, earned me another flogging. But as I myself grew, so did my ambition and I used new skills gained in evolution to perform acts of greater daring and procure items of greater value. Then my parents found out again. It earned me another beating, but this time, my parents forced me out of the village and I've never been allowed back. So I slipped back into my old ways to earn a living.”

    I was glad that she was wearing a blindfold because the look of shock upon my face, a first I assure you, was one I wouldn't like anyone to see. This girl was more alike to me than I had ever imagined.

    I allowed myself the lapse in concentration and fell back into my serious self, for the sake of it, I delivered another slash of my blade across her lower chest. Causing her scream out yet again.

    I leaned in rather close to her face to deliver my final speech. “You have tested my patience for several days now and have disrupted my training with your thievery. And for that, you must pay...” But I was interrupted by flashes of images burning across my mind, that of me; fending for myself in the wild, living of scraps, fighting off wild beasts and finally finding my shack and finding myself. “I ca... cannot kill you... I will teleport you somewhere far from here untie you and leave. Heed my words and find yourself.”

    I placed a solitary palm on her forehead and teleported, directing my molecules from one area, instantaneously to another. I snapped her bindings expertly with my blade and left, before she could remove her blindfold.

    Sitting in the chair where she was previously held, I held my head in my hands and thought.

    * * *

    I don't understand. He just let me go, after all the talk of killing me. He just left me here. Where here is, I'll have to find out.

    At the end, I'm guessing that he brought himself close to me, I could feel his breath on my face and his words were quiet but clear. I don't know what I did, perhaps the sudden feeling I got from his proximity triggered something in my mind. I think it scared him.

    I was weak, very weak. Blood was flowing slowly from two of my recently sustained wounds. My robes were torn and it hurt every step I took. Holding the ragged cloth close to my stomach with my right arm, I clumsily walked in any direction I could.

    My vision was faltering, all I could see were blurs. Until I came across a wall, a long concrete wall. At first I thought I was back at Azalea but I could see no houses, only trees. Following the wall I found a pair of large oaken gates and attempted to push them open, only to no avail. The blood seeping from my wounds had sapped my strength, until I finally gave in to the darkness and collapsed.

    “I'm not sure she will make it. Her wounds were bad, when cleaning them I definitely sensed dark energy.” The voice was airy and seemed to be coming from across a vast ocean, I could hear it but I could find no discernible way to reach it. “Let me fetch Ariana, she'll know what to do.”

    “Oh dear, I really hope she's okay.” This voice sounded worried, but it was considerably nearer than the one I had just heard. It was almost at arms reach but I just didn't have enough strength to lift my arms. “Her arms twitching. That means she's alive, thank the gods.” The same voice but even closer, almost by my ear. Mustering all the energy I could, I forced my eyes open and screamed.

    The person watching over me leapt back almost immediately clutching her hand to her chest and breathing heavily. “Don't... Do... That...” she panted.

    When I looked closely at the person, the image I was presented with was of calmness, long green hair, slender white arms and a flowing white skirt. I mumbled a quick 'sorry bad dream' and quieted down, slowing my breathing. The figure watching flashed a dazzling smile and sat on a nearby wooden chair, “Don't worry, I just wasn't ready for the scream. I'm Nurse Petrove and you've been through quite a lot, there's a lot of scarring on your body and some of your wounds were seeping blood, but we patched you up. Oh wait, here comes the matron, she'll be able to tell you everything.”

    The young Gardevoir set her eyes upon the door of the sterile, white room in which I was lay. I followed suit and moments later, the door swung open to reveal another Gardevoir, but considerably older, they was grey flecked amongst the green and there were various wrinkles on her face.

    I sat up in greeting to this new, and clearly important visitor, who looked at me in a confused but also intrigued way. Until she said simply.

    “Welcome to Eterna Forest!”


    And this chapter i the start of any discernable plot. The last one being a brief history lesson and sight into the mind of a killer.

    Chapter three is under way and will probably be finished within a week. R&R'ing would be a great help.

    Gardenia never liked the Old Chateau, but what if the Old Chateau liked her?

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