[Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

That was incredible. No wonder the Polynesians call Filipinos the "people of the knife". :lol:
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY

Post by Invictus »

The country

A spate of groaning filtered from a ditch next to a country road, followed by a select boutique of swearwords. Then Chaos and Edge clambered out.

"Brobidiah, I suddenly want to know something." Chaos mentioned as the two stood along the road trying to brush some of the mud off.

"Yes."

"I'm not knocking on your actual driving skills, but your mind-zombie clearly has no idea how to deal with the bike suddenly falling apart under us, right?"

"I will program for this contingency in the future."

"As long as you do before the next time this happens." Chaos untied the scorched, holed tracksuit jacket from his waist and put it back on over his conspicuous muscle suit. "At least my bits stopped hurting after that rainstorm."

Edge adjusted his no-stain suit. "A metaphysical amnesty, I guess."

"I lost you, bro."

Edge drew attention to the fading cloud cover with a nod of his chin. "If you think our – very likely former – employer had won, all we would get for it is a pleasant shower?"

"Good point. We would all have gotten screaming death instead, the way things were shaping up." Chaos looked up at the merciful skies himself, shading his eyes. "So, everything's good then? The world didn't end and it's not our fault anyway, and we just need to stay one step ahead of the heat until we can get out of the country?"

"Basically." The road was a quiet one, and they had managed to get ahead of the cresting wave of traffic leaving the city. There was only one police roadblock, which they had slipped past with relative ease. "After Camp Crame, every cop in the country may well be after us."

"We did let the boss-person and his monsters do the heavy lifting." Chaos pointed out. He dug around in his pockets and pulled a soggy mass of wool out. "Also, we wore these balaclavas like you suggested."

"I know. It still feels like too big of a job to get away with." Edge fretted, felt for his absinthe cigarettes, and found that they were ruined with muddy water. "Especially since we didn't actually get away with it."

"Final analysis: It was a bit of a bust." Chaos stated. "Outside factors up the wing-wong."

"Unforeseen consequences like up to here." Edge agreed.

"On the bright side, at least we got paid a bit." Chaos said as they jumped into the bushes at the sound of a noisy engine. A truck loaded with cows rattled past.

"Hmm." Edge replied as they crawled back out of the bushes.

Chaos turned, mortified. "What do you mean, 'hmm'?"

"Just 'hmm'. Usual suspicions." Edge said, disquiet creeping over his face. "You know, the usual ones."

"Don't give me this shit! I've been with you long enough to know the kind of serious shit you mean behind you hmms!" Chaos exploded. "So don't tell me that I got run over by a buffalo, like, twice and didn't get paid for it!"

Edge seemed taken aback by Chaos' outburst, and then his expression turned serious. "You're right. My suspicions don't come out of nowhere. I'm going to do a deep analogue memory search. With all the excitement in these past few days my meat brain probably won't have a very good impression of the initial briefing, but it's worth a shot. But I'll need to go in." He looked along the empty road. "Meanwhile we're too exposed out here. Hijack a good vehicle and get us mobile."

"Yeah whatever. I'll keep you safe, but there better be results, bro."

The light went out of Edge's eyes and his posture slumped slightly.

Chaos settled on a nice Pajero driven by a well-to-do looking family. He stopped the car with only a light concussion, wrestled the holdout pistol out of the father's hand, and half-cajoled, half-pushed the rest of the terrified family out. The he dragged Edge in and drove off.

After a bit of rough driving Edge woke up, pale. "The advance." He said in a quiet voice.

"Yeah, we got paid an advance in big stacks of cash. We then put the big stacks of cash in the deposit box we had closest to the bar because we were dead drunk at the time and couldn't walk very far. Not that I keep you around to remember things, but even I remember that!" Chaos gripped the wheel sweatily as they made good their escape. "So what about the advance?"

"The cash. It was Darkness Dollars."

"Darkness Dollars." Chaos repeated blankly.

"Darkness Dollars."

Chaos started chortling first. Edge matched him with rising hysterical giggles. Then the two of them let loose with laughter that seemed to shake the Pajero itself.


Ruins of Metro Manila

Eventually, the O.K. Kid made it back to the junkyard. It had seen some changes.

On the upside, there was a huge influx of junk. Crushed cars, broken electronics, burnt-out furniture and all the other fallout of the city’s near-destruction had swelled the bounty of her domain. There was in particular a lot of that tainted deadwood that didn't faded away into the ether after the gigantic tree fell on what was left of the city, too big to cut up and too much to burn. It was hell on the feng shui of the whole micro-geography, but she could deal with that. The contents of junkyards shifted over time. That was the nature of junkyards.

What she couldn’t deal with was the sight before her as she perched, despondent, on a dented crate.

One of the tributary roots of the dying Tree of Anti-Life had fallen right on top of her scrap-mountain stronghold and demolished it.

It was many years’ work! It was her secret base! It was the nerve centre of her entire kingdom! It had all her stuff in it! It wasn’t like those human children who kept all their dreams and fantasies in a sanctuary of their own devising, but nevertheless had an actual home to go back to. The O.K. Kid was, in a sense, all dream and fantasy. Or more accurately, she was estranged from the bits of the city she guarded by a big thick wall of scepticism, which more or less amounted to the same thing.

And now, well, the city had just woken up from a nightmare. The spiritual landscape of it was spat thin.

The O.K. Kid advanced in a daze, trying to find stuff to salvage. She half-heartedly rearranged and stacked up the riches that had spilled out of the guts of the mountain, barely recognizable for their mundanity in the daylight. The entrance tunnel was blocked, and the familiar sacred spaces she had worn into existence with the ritual-habit of passage crushed and despoiled by the dead limb. (Exactly what kind of mystic significance did the falling motion of a dead demon tree have to to able to cause such damage? Spite?) She couldn’t get back in, not without physically digging through all the debris with nothing more than a broken baseball bat, and certainly not while completely out of juice.

She stopped and the horrible sunlight beat down on her as she considered her options.

Go back into the country and live like one of those nature spirits? The Bolo man was nice enough, and his supplication would be better than nothing for building a new cult on top of; but then, he and his funny carabao were already out of the city, perhaps even on the ferry back to his home island by now, out of her reach. Besides, did fate really expect her to go muck about with forests and animals and all that stuff? She was a city girl. Starting all over in the city would still be less trouble than striking out – at least she knew the city.

Yes, she was familiar with the city. She therefore had too many opportunities to notice the new state of the city, even in all her haste to get back here. Metro Manila had been gutted by successive waves of destruction, left almost empty of inhabitants and standing buildings. The comforting hubbub was gone. The icy treats stall she liked to haunt was gone. Even the airwaves that usually buzzed overhead in busy tides had chunks missing. At least a good amount of people were alive and creeping back, but they were all just standing around blankly and so on. The O.K. Kid would have considered the city to be well on the way to recovery if they had began hauling off all the deadwood in her junkyard to build shelters out of. She would even have let them.

It all made her want to cry. So she did that for a while.

The ghostly wail must have attracted some attention, because a multitude of hasty footsteps came within earshot. The O.K. Kid started in surprise and sniffed back her tears. She then spent a bit of her diminishing strength to fade into invisibility as the footsteps got louder.

"Where are you?" She heard a warbling voice call out. She recognized the voice as belonging to the boy they called Santo. He wasn't going to stay a boy for long, she expected. "Where are you?"

With a sigh of relief, she dropped the invisibility. She didn't appreciate how much it was taking out of her.

The familiar gang of boys pattered into view. The O.K. Kid frowned. It wasn't the 'eagerly bearing offerings' kind of patter, the kind of patter that would have brightened her day right up in a haze of cough syrup-high. It was a quiet and guilty kind of patter, the sort she least wanted to hear from her core group of supplicants. And when the person who was wheezing after the gang of boys came into view, her mood did not improve at all.

"Why," She demanded as they came before her, "did you bring an adult with you?"

The kids flinched as though being scolded by their own mothers, and skittered back in fear. This left the nonplussed man standing in place. He was an unassuming fellow, smartly dressed in a way that placed him high – but not that high – in the mysterious pecking orders of adults; and his expression was the kind of grown-up one that indicated he didn't want to be here but came here anyway for some inscrutable grown-up reason. There was a band-aid on his brow.

"Miss Kid?" He asked politely.

The boys made faces behind him, but the O.K. Kid wasn't about to let them off the hook just yet. "Why?" She repeated. She held out her hand and a nice solid branch leapt into it menacingly.

The man took a step forward. "Perhaps I should explain. As an agent, I was authorized to make various expenses..."

"Yeah!" Joker didn't let the man finish. "It was a lot for each of us. Enough to get lots of halo-halo."

"And coke!" Bonifacio shouted when he saw the expression on their patron deity's face. "And cough syrup!"

The O.K. Kid sighed and dropped the stick. When push came to shove, this was what the sacred trust between spirit and man counted for these days.

"Make it quick." She demanded.

"My name is Kristian, and I represent Rey Quirino." The man began. "I believe you have some working experience with him?"

The O.K. Kid nodded. It didn't seem particularly detrimental to deny that. Judging by the man's cult, he was practically a fellow deity.

"Rey appreciates your help in the battle against the demon, Miss Kid, and he wants to let you know that the word of the Hero of the Philippines is worth its weight in gold." The man made a show of looking around the devastated junkyard. "Can I say you have fallen into...material difficulties due to the recent disaster?"

"No." The O.K. Kid said crossly, glaring at the boys as she did.

"Then I won't." The agent man continued smoothly. "I'll just tell you why I have sought you out. Rey is making you an offer. It's an offer that he has never made to anyone else before."

The O.K. Kid raised an eyebrow. Then she made shooing motions at the boys until Santo took the hint and ushered his gang out of sight. But not out of hearing range, she bet.

The man smiled slightly, as though unable to contain his excitement. "Miss Kid, how would you like a new home, all the cough syrup you can drink, and a position as the official sidekick of the Hero of the Philippines?"


A bar

It was a gay bar. Deadlight Hollow had to concede that he had never thought of the country as something that intersected with the existence of gay bars.

Luiz said, looking him up and down. "<Not bad, huh?>"

"<I am pleasantly surprised.>" The androgynous demon hunter conceded. He was in his civvies, a skirted goth look that still turned heads, but was pretty muted compared to his usual quasi-superhero getup. Still, there was power in such appearances.

Rey Quirino's personal assistant, on the other hand, looked both haggard and nervous, hiding the dark circles under his eyes with even darker designer shades. He barely touched the beaded glass of San Miguel in front of him.

"<Something does seem odd, though.>" Deadlight Hollow said.

Luiz left his funk with a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary. "<Oh, uh, really?>"

Deadlight Hollow turned to look at him, eyeless sockets concealed behind opaque lenses of his own. "<When a very busy man who works for a very famous man takes a recent acquaintance to a place he can get comfortably drunk in, I would expect him to start unwinding.>"

"<Eh?>" Said Luiz.

Deadlight Hollow sighed quietly. "<I mean, why here? Except to make me realize that yes, your country does have a thriving queer culture?>"

Luiz looked increasingly pained. "<It's like this. We were working overnight shifts trying to make the crazy amusement park idea work when Rey remembered that you were leaving the country tomorrow, so he had me take the night off to, ah, seize the final opportunity.>"

Deadlight Hollow played with his cocktail. "<Nevertheless, it was you who seized this occasion to have us meet here. Can I hazard that you indeed do have some genuine commitment over this...rapport?>"

Luiz looked away, noticed his drink, and emptied half of it in one go. "<No, no. This isn't a date. I just wanted to...make some things clear between us.>"

Deadlight Hollow smirked a little. "<And what requires clarification?>"

"<That with the massively expanded scope of commercial operations and all that it implies, I'm going to have to use up all my attention just to keep my boss afloat, not to mention to keep his prima donna self under control. That I owe a lot to him, both for my career and my personal life, and I really can't abandon my current responsibilities. And...>"

"<And you don't think there's anything between us to be worked out.>" Deadlight Hollow finished for him. "<Fair enough. I too have a couple of truths to bring to the table.>"

"<Yes?>" Luiz grumbled.

"<First things first, I'm not interested in men.>"

Luiz sat up straight. "<Huh.>"

"<Indeed.>"

"<Really?>"

"<Really. It is a fact I've tried to alert our matchmaker to on several occasions.>"

"<I can see why it wouldn't take.>" Luiz said speculatively. "<Ah, no offence meant. Rey has had a few seminars' worth of sensitivity drilled into him courtesy of yours truly, but I think you know him well enough to understand that some concepts don't take very well to the soil of his brain, as it were.>"

"<I understand, and none taken.>" Deadlight Hollow nudged his delicate glass forward to make the universal motion for another of the same. "<Then let us agree that this opportunity is one both of us can miss. To see a nation not perish in the face of evil but also redeem itself is reward enough. My visit to this country has already left my spirits in better repair, and I am content.>"

Luiz looked askance at him. "<But you want to move on.>"

Deadlight Hollow turned away casually, as though something in the boisterous bar caught one of his many senses. "<One shouldn't pursue contentedness too hotly, one feels.>"

"<Why?>"

"<Hmm?>" He turned back sharply at what seemed to be a legitimately confused and sincerely buzzed Luiz, who offered no forthcoming elaboration.

At that moment, Deadlight Hollow's words tipped on the edge of a precarious fulcrum. He could risk spilling his story out to someone who, by his standards, was nothing more than a sympathetic stranger. He could tell Luiz about the aberration embedded in his very genes; he could bring up his youthful frustrations; he could even mention how he made deals with the devil twice, and the price he was made to pay, and how it put him on an endless hunt for an elusive creature with many names. If he dared risk it, he might receive some small measure of approval for his quest of revenge, or even a willing soul to share the burden of his past mistakes. That would have been safe. It would not be too demanding.

Instead he said, "<Because you cannot receive everything you wish for.>"

Luiz looked glumly back into his drink. "<That's true.>"

"<You're really leaving tomorrow?>" He added.

Deadlight Hollow nodded once. "<The business of magic never rests.>"

"<I see.>"

They sat and made efforts to finish their drinks.


Behind the stage

"Rey, a word before the award ceremony begins?" Noynoy waved for him to come over.

Rey shook off the reporters and ambled over to the president, hands absent-mindedly practising that motion where he would undoubtedly take a not very convincing foil and styrofoam key off the hands of grateful authorities.

Noynoy recognized the motion and smiled wryly. "What you will be taking is a lot of heat off my back, Rey. That's a lot of the old city that I'm letting you have."

"I know. For redevelopment, post-disaster economic stimulus, healing the spirit of the people, and making Neo-Manila live up to the name." Rey said. "Seriously, how did you come up with 'Neo-Manila'?"

Noynoy shrugged. "Focus groups."

Rey nodded sympathetically. He was all too familiar with focus groups.

"So Rey, got a name for that amusement park yet?" The president joshed.

"I've some ideas in mind." Rey replied curtly as unpleasant memories of the last few days of frenetic planning floated to the fore. "It's the least of the practical difficulties with the whole project. There's the money, the management, the publicity...it's crazy how the whole thing is still on track. It's like we all woke up from the nightmare just to step into another dream."

"Rey, did you hear all those people outside? They're all packing in here to watch this, this mostly symbolic ceremony even though they could have better things to do, like rebuilding their homes and reclaiming their lives. People are going along with it because they don't know what else to do. That's what's making it happen. What you're doing isn't just buying up ruined and worthless property from all these Manilans who need the cash. You're paying them with a share of the dream. This crazy dream you have."

Rey scratched his chin. "I'm used to people turning out for me whatever I do and this has my name all over it. That doesn't bother me, to be honest. What bothers me is all the other bidders who are setting up all over Ma...Neo-Manila. The German guy in particular looks pretty shifty."

"Nothing wrong with introducing some quality German engineering into the redevelopment!" Noynoy scoffed. He looked around a bit as if to assure himself that everyone around them was sufficiently preoccupied. "Frankly, there are many forces who are owed a piece of the action here. It's not like running for president where being popular is the most of it. It's all politics, you know what I mean. Ahahaha."

Noynoy closed his mouth. The corners of his mouth threatened to stay up, but he fought them back down. He waited for this to happen until he opened his mouth again. "Mayor Lim and I are barely on speaking terms as it is. It is his city that's being parceled up like a treaty port, and I've only got so much political capital to work with. You should have noticed him and others making noises all over the media, Rey. The only thing they wanted was a hero. What they needed was...I'm not saying you didn't do a great job beating the demon, but what they actually needed was a hero and firm leadership and a sound plan for recovery. I'm glad you you understand this, Rey."

"Five minutes, Mister President." A shapely assistant came and whispered.

Noynoy waved a vague hand in acknowledgement. "Of course, there is plenty of blame to go around for disasters of this magnitude. The rest of the country gallops into town all loaded up and all they had to shoot was each other. I can at least preside over the resultant circular firing squad. You, however, are politically bulletproof."

"Let's hope you're right." Rey replied, feeling an uncharacteristic sense of unease.

The president clapped Rey on the shoulder. "Anyway, don't worry the other developers. I'll keep the worst of it off your back. Sometimes it takes hitting the bottom to find the momentum to bounce."

---

After the award ceremony, a withered man in a wheelchair motioned at John Baylor. Baylor, smelling opportunity, went over to the corner.

"Do you know who I am?" Fidel Ramos said.

Baylor reviews his suspicions and decided that he didn't. "Should I know who you are?"

"Let's posit for now that I'm a big man in the duck egg business." Ramos saw Baylor's eyes light up, and continued, "And I do know who you are, John Baylor. Your exploits on the Dark Continent have reached even this old man's ears. However, I've never heard of you ranging beyond the Dark Continent. What brought you to our fair isles?"

"Well, it's a funny story." Baylor said. "But there's a bit of a nasty three-way going on in Nigeria. You know Nigeria the country? Yeah. Forces of evil and darkness closing in on the cities from the jungle, except some of the jungle are the good guys and some of the cities are not quite as nice, you know. All kinds of big-time hoodoo voodoo being thrown around and one of the sides – not really the forces of evil and darkness, the way it seemed – are looking for an edge. Unconventional occult resources. Leaping the paradigm, that sort of thing. So at a very special commission I shipped over a bunch of guns that I could have sell to, you know, your country's alphabet soup of freedom-loving revolutionaries, no offence if I caused any, and put the money into a shipload of balut."

"Balut." Ramos repeated flatly.

"Balut. Fertilized duck egg. Manifest potentiality. Sacral gold! Or at least that's what the shaman who hired me said. He seemed awfully crazy about the idea of balut." Baylor shrugged. "Well, not my fault if he won't get what he paid for. I got my advance anyway."

Ramos stared at him, then slowly began a labored, wheezing laugh. "Your shaman friend may not be as wrong as he thinks."

Bayloe scratched his stubble. It wasn't like he isn't used to doing business with weirdos, and in his experience weirdos quite often turned out to be exceptional men of power and taste who just happened to be a bit gnomic. "I took a bit of inventory expense back there due to...recent hostilities, so I'm not as flush with gun-money as I'd like. But I bet I can still buy a good deal off of you."

"Oh, you can keep your money."

"Seems an awful lot of effort to strike up a conversation with me if you're not selling, man." Baylor regarded Ramos with the shrewd expression he used when he had outmanoeuvred the man on the other side of the negotiating table, which looked like something between a smirk and a pained wince. "What's your game?"

"I think you misunderstand." Ramos nursed a small, crooked smile. "I am, in fact, a big man in the wholesale duck and duck products business, and I am giving you all the balut your airship can carry. For free. Call it gratitude for your part in absolving me of something truly terrible."

There was a brief lull in the conversation as Baylor did his I-got-paid-twice dance, which drew some looks from bystanders; not that many, since after all Baylor looked like one of those excitable Americans. When the arms dealer managed to suppress his glee, he asked the man in the wheelchair, "Who are you, really?"

"Ah, that question again." Ramos said. "Truly, I am little more than a millionaire balut wholesaler. However, I used to be someone who could afford to give a lot more than balut." He motioned at the grizzled ex-mil man pulling his wheelchair. "Leave your phone number with my associate here, since a tired old man just had a festering burden lifted off him and he still has many good nights' sleep to catch up with. Good day, Mr. Baylor."

---

The room was bare. It had no decoration, no amenities, and whatever standing furniture it had he had dismantled and rebuilt into ramshackle accessories of his glory. It was in all an excellent reflection of his soul, stripped of all distractions.

The day rose. He lay on the bare mattress, misshapen feet protruding beyond its bottom end. Much like the world, it was too small, too inadequate for his glory. The indignity would soon end.

He roused his body from slumber and walked over to the miniature tree of thorn and bone he had planted between the floorboards in one corner of the room. Upon its untidy branches hung his finery, night-black and tailor-fitted to his body. As he dressed, his true nature became apparent - the very image of a harbinger of death.

It had been too long since the the world had known his name. He had been foolish, spreading himself too thin, engaging in too many ambitious schemes. It was a damnable error of judgment, and he had paid for it. But he is wiser now.

He walked forth, footsteps echoing blackly. He noticed the grubby note thrust under the door.

The cowardly landlord.

Too much of a pathetic mortal to confront him over the issue of rent. He read the note and laughed to himself. So his host had resorted to the empty foolishness of the polite request.

It was not his fault that the landlord had failed to recognize the coin with which he had paid for the meagre hospitality. The scrip may be of poor quality, manufactured by a simpering man in the place mortals called 'Chinatown', but each sheet was marked with his own personal guarantee, backed by the full weight of his shadowed sovereignty. The landlord was a fool not to recognize their value.

The landlord was a fool to reject them, for Darkness Dollars would be the only currency in the world, after his final ascension.

But before that could take place, the world needed fear and revelation. It needed a strong hand, and it needed a death sentence. And to do that, he needed power.

"Yes." He said to himself. It was a word he adored. So much promise bound up in a single syllable. It was an affirmation that stood on its own, purified of the niggering doubts that so infested reality.

"Yes." He repeated, his face smiling. Yes. Yes. Yes.

He turned to his second-hand television, propped up by human femurs, and raised a veined hand. His magic reached out to levitate the remote control to his grasp.

"Show me." He commanded. Infernal power streamed from the instrument in his hand to the unplugged appliance, which flicked on. He laughed again, in defiance to the landlord cutting off the electricity.

The television settled into a barrage of images, of high mountains, sunny beaches and bustling cities. He let the flickering light of the barrage wash over his craggy, shadow-scarred face.

"What shall my next grand scheme be?" He asked rhetorically, as bleak sorceries curled over the remote in his hands. "Of course there is no doubt. I shall seize the nations of the earth one by one."

"Yes." He grinned, increasingly self-assured. "I shall."

THE END
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford

REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
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Shroom Man 777
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

:lol: :lol: :lol:

Perfect ending.
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"Sometimes Shroomy I wonder if your imagination actually counts as some sort of war crime." - FROD
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY

Post by Ford Prefect »

That was a trip.
FEEL THESE GUNS ARCHWIND THESE ARE THE GUNS OF THE FLESHY MESSIAH THE TOOLS OF CREATION AND DESTRUCTION THAT WILL ENACT THE LAW OF MAN ACROSS THE UNIVERSE
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY

Post by Invictus »

Epilogue: The Mad German's Thesis

Nine Months Later

It wasn't until deep into Deutschlandland that Imelda Marcos realized what she was getting into.

Despite the gravity of the invitation, her limo was taking the scenic route across the vast German-themed showcase estate-cum-amusement park to the location of her meeting with its shadowy backer. She was driven past towering and twisting motorized rides, rows of disturbingly uniform modernist condos, towering windowless structures of unknown purpose – a silent riot of architecture, all representing facets of Germany, she supposed. She never really knew that Germany had that many facets, but it's not like she ever paid much attention to Germany the country, either.

Pop-up crash barriers opened and closed access to avenues as the limo moved past. A blimp drone hovered ahead demurely, guiding the way with polite bleeps and blinks. The whole place gave the impression of being a vast clockwork device, and that having actual people in it would only get in the way of its smooth functioning.

In the back seat of the limo, the ex-dictator's widow shook her head to herself. Sure, Deutschlandland was in that awkward phase between completion and opening, where the construction crews have mostly packed up but the staff haven't settled in yet, but she still couldn't shake the feeling of deliberate sterility that the place gave off. All these themed development zones were supposed to remove unemployment, stimulate spending, and gradually let foreign investment and knowhow filter into the rest of the country. All the grand talk amounted to yet another one of the imbecile Aquino's pandering attempts. In practice, it was frivolous madness.

To Imelda's complete lack of surprise, he and his celebrity catspaw were not having much luck with it themselves. Reyworld or whatever its founder was going to call it was over-budget and behind schedule. What used to be touted as the headliner project of the whole enterprise was looking less shiny by the day. In comparison, Deutschlandland was fully completed in a mere nine months and with aplomb to spare. Maybe there really was something to German engineering; but really, it was the difference that good leadership (and shrewd Marcos investment) made.

It was clear that the man who built all this had a vision – it wasn't the former first lady's kind of vision, but at least there existed taste here, an appreciation for art and sophistication that was so absent in the country these days. The difference between this and the blundering about of the rabble-rouser's son and his jumped-up thug couldn't have been more stark.

She looked through the mirrored windows of the limo at her eventual destination, beyond the profusion of heroic monuments, Bavarian cottages and spun-glass auditoriums. It wound closer and closer, that vision on the horizon. The great Gothic castle that the brochure called The Sternberg.

Built on top of its own artificial mountain, one would have expected the picturesque sight to be the centrepiece out of all the tourist locations in Deutschlandland, a super-authentic reconstruction of the sort tourists types loved to crawl around in. But no, it was the administrative centre of the entire estate, and it simply wasn't designed to be open to insiders. All it did was to provide a breathtaking – and somewhat ominous – backdrop to the general Germanity of the place.

Imelda wondered why it was taking so long to get there. Maybe the automated traffic control system wasn't as perfect as she thought. Or maybe there was no straightforward path from the entrance to the castle. It made sense in hindsight, because everything about the man behind Deutschlandland suggested a love of privacy. Imelda could understand that. You had to find your ways to elevate yourself above the hoi polloi. She wouldn't have minded living in a big fairytale castle herself, if she was into that sort of thing.

After many more eyefuls of Deutschlandland's silent architecture that was starting to bore her, the limo drove under several gatehouses and up the twisting road to Castle Sternberg, then to her brief surprise, took an abrupt turn into what looked like a concealed garage cut into the rock face. There was a clang as blast doors closed tight behind her. Above the limo, the blimp drone deflated slightly and settled against the low, panelled ceiling.

The driver parked the limo, opened the door and led Imelda out with all due ceremony. Imelda nodded coolly to her blandly handsome and very Nordic chaperone, who guided her to a smaller set of blast doors to the side of the cavernous garage. Beyond that was a lift lobby made of spotless brushed metal, where more staff in immaculate formal dress waited. They took her up the elevator into what she guessed was the castle proper, where all the bare metal and warning signage was replaced with dressed stone and luxurious furnishings. Ample quantities of taste and art was on display, although the quality of it Imelda found rather odd. She strolled past a long gallery filled with massive canvas: one painting depicted some sort of massive outer space battle, ships with Roman-looking insignias cutting triumphantly through their Russian-looking enemies with garish volleys of light; one painting displayed some sort of hellish landscape, where fallen angels clashed against grotesque demons on a vast plain; one had a really strange subject as its focus – a rotund man with a walrus moustache and one of those spiky German helmets, but hovering in the air with a pair of gleaming steel wings at his back and a halo over his head, gesturing imperiously at lots of old-timey national stereotypes kneeling beneath him. All the strange artwork shared one theme though: of battle, of struggle.

Imelda Marcos wasn't stupid. Dealings with a man of such vision and resource of course required all the caution that could be mustered from her own diminished position. But treading into this lair made her wonder if she should be reinforcing that caution with a healthy fear.

Finally, she arrived at an antechamber that was almost overdone from carpet to ceiling with Old World opulence. There, the architect and the master of the estate stood.

"<Lady Marcos.>" He said, in charmingly accented English. His face was the artfully sculpted sort of craggy (much like the mountain they were standing on, Imelda suddenly thought), and his age was indeterminate, despite his cane. He wore a very formal military uniform that she couldn't quite place, modestly adorned with medals and epaulettes much unlike some of those tinpot dictators Imelda had met (and taken tea with). There was even an eye-patch over one eye. It was as though a European aristocrat had walked straight out of a period film in front of her.

"<Graf Schroedinger.>" Imelda held out her hand. "<I am much flattered by your invitation.>"

Ludwig Schroedinger bowed to take her hand in his own and kissed it. His hand was disconcertingly hard under the leather glove. "<Please, just Herr Schroedinger. I have renounced my lineage many years ago.>"

"<I do apologize. The tides of high society have unfortunately passed me by in this dismal country of mine.>" Imelda said. Their gazes met for an instant as he straightened, and she had to suppress a shudder at the twinkle she saw in his eye – a pinhole into some unfathomable radiance, or a roiling mad star viewed from some tremendous distance.

"<It is fine. A mouldy title had no opportunity in it. Better that a country has never suffered such things. Hah!>" Schroedinger gestured towards a covered trolley and its attending manservant. "<Some refreshments after your journey, perhaps?>"

"<I would prefer to get down to business.>" Imelda said brusquely. "<My movements do not go unnoticed in the present political climate, so I only have so much time.>"

Schroedinger raised a grey eyebrow. "<Very well. It is prudent to take our enemies by surprise!>" He spoke a command in German, and the manservant wheeled the trolley out of the room. The rest of the staff followed. "<To business, then.>"

He ushered her through another set of carved wooden doors to a book-lined study. "<Please.>" He gestured at an overstuffed couch. "<Take a seat.>"

Slightly confused, Imelda did so. Schroedinger lowered himself into a couch next to her.

"<I thought you were to show me something...important?>" She inquired.

"<Yes, Lady Marcos.>" Schroedinger tapped the silver double-headed eagle on his cane. The two couches sunk into the floor.

Imelda gripped tight the armrests of her couch as it zoomed down the secret tunnel. The lights flashing across her vision indicated the speed of her descent, but the ride was smooth as the couch decelerated and deposited her – and Schroedinger – into a much sparser chamber.

Her legs shook slightly as her host lent her an arm to lean on as she rose from the couch. To draw attention from the motion, she asked, "<We are now in the mountain?>"

"<Yes. But we will be travelling even deeper.>" The two left the bare chamber, where an escort of less handsome-looking but still immaculately dressed staff were waiting for them. They traversed metal-lined passageways in a tight phalanx, hurrying scientists occasionally appearing around corners just to get out of their way, until they were in front of what looked like a vast artificial cliff-face. Exposed pipes and cables gurgled and fed into inscrutable machinery set into the wall itself.

An unpleasant smell hit Imelda's nose. She took out a small perfumed fan and fluttered the smell away. "<Dear heavens, what is that smell?>"

"<Extraordinary treasures require extraordinary security measures.>" Schroedinger answered cryptically. Imelda followed his glance to the two armed guards in face-concealing armour who stood stiffly to attention on either side of a massive circular gate.

At some invisible signal, the guards saluted and turned to pull levers terminals on either side of the gate. After a while, a third terminal rose smoothly out from the floor, directly in front of the gate itself.

"<Do excuse me for a moment.>" Schroedinger said. He went over to the new terminal and did something to it. It sunk back into the floor and before them, the circular gate ground open in an impressive display of creeping mist and grinding noises.

"<Step this way, Lady Marcos.>" He extended a hand in invitation. The phalanx of staff and security personnel around them made no indication to move.

"<We're going in there...just the two of us?>"

"<Not even my men has the right to know what lies within.>" Schroedinger explained with a grin. "<The greatest treasure of The Sternberg has the power to shake nations to their...roots. Why should this knowledge be passed carelessly to our lessers?>"

"<Oh, of course.>" Imelda said, narrowing her eyes.

Beyond the gate was a sparsely lit tunnel that sloped downwards even deeper into the depths of the artificial mountain. After the gate shut behind them, Imelda and Schroedinger stepped onto a shadowed platform which activated with a shudder and started to convey them downwards on a pair of tracks.

"<As you may have already surmised, Deutschlandland is merely a decoy.>" Schroedinger explained. "<A well-run one, but only a minor part of my true enterprise.>"

"<Is that something you should be admitting in the open?>" Imelda cautioned.

"<We are hardly in the open.>" Schroedinger said, staring down into the darkness. "<My facility in the deep rock is well-warded enough that nobody will know of what comes next, unless I intended them to.>" He turned and smiled at a dark corner of the platform. "<Isn't that right, Herr Rival?>"

There was a third person standing there all along, leaning against the safety rail.

Imelda gasped and stepped backwards. "<You!>" She spun towards Schroedinger. "<What is the meaning of this?>"

"<I apologize for the deception, Lady Marcos. If I had informed you of his attendance in this little conspiracy, I doubt you would have accepted my invitation. Is that not so?>" Schroedinger smiled expansively and made no motion to defend himself, or indeed indicate that there was anything out of the ordinary.

"<Do you have any idea who he is?>" Imelda demanded stridently. "<He is Jose Rival! The mad anarchist vigilante! He has blown up buildings! He has murdered landowners! He once humiliated me on television! One of his predecessors, at any rate. There seems no end to the maniacs ready to take up that bloody mantle.>"

The man called Jose Rival stepped into the sparse illumination. His mask was a solemn face, topped with a black wig cut and waxed into a wavy fringe. His armoured cassock obscured all details of his build and form. Gloves and a priest's collar obscured any remaining skin. "<If I had my way, both of you would already be over the rail.>" A heavily distorted voice hissed from the mask as he gestured towards the darkness below. "<But what choices can a man make when you hold the nation hostage, Herr Schroedinger?>"

"<Let us not be hyperbolic.>" Schroedinger tapped at the metal platform with his cane. The sound echoed down the sloped tunnel. "<Why do you speak of threats instead of opportunity? Are not the Filipinos an enterprising people? Do they not deserve to be at the very vanguard of the world's renewal?>"

"<What do you know about this, you anarchist loon? Why are you in on this?>" Imelda cried shrilly.

Jose Rival emitted a spitting noise from his mask. "<Let's just say that the crisis over Manila nine months ago and Herr Schroedinger's subsequent establishment is not unconnected.>"

"<Really?!>"

Schroedinger cupped his chin. "<How much do you really know about the destruction of Old Manila, Lady Marcos?>"

Imelda turned her glare on the German aristocrat. "<Enough to see the dirty fingerprints of Ramos and his clique all over it. The things they have taken from my dearly departed husband! By God, his was a tree that should have been cut down a long time ago.>"

"<Ramos is an irrelevance.>" Rival corrected her. "<His power base is gone. His influence among the new rulers of the land has faded, and it is a good riddance.>"

"<Indeed. The actions of your former president's clique and the demon who scoured your capital proved to be...mutually destructive.>" Schroedinger added.

"<Leaving you to profit.>" Rival accused the German.

"<Now now, would I be here at all if I were not invited by providence?>" Schroedinger asked rhetorically. "<It had always been my desire to look to the east for salvation. The blood of the Old World has gone thin. There is no fire left in them for glorious things. But your country, your country is my great hope. Why else would I have lavished it with my toil?>"

"<Herr Schroedinger, Filipinos are as pure and saintly as lambs. What could you possibly want with my poor credulous people?>" Imelda asked.

The platform juddered to a halt, flush against another machinery-filled chamber. They had arrived at their destination. "<My dear, you will see.>" Schroedinger walked forward.

The sulphurous smell down here was so strong that Imelda held down her vomit and scrabbled for a handkerchief to cover her nose with. "<Have you dug a hot spring or something?>"

Schroedinger grinned in the dim red light that pervaded the chamber. It opened into a balcony, revealing an even more massive space beyond. "<You are indeed perceptive, Lady Marcos. There is no greater wellspring of power in this entire country.>"

"<And no greater curse.>" Jose Rival retorted. Schroedinger ignored him.

As they walked on, the masked man moved next to Imelda with a suddenness that gave her no time to flinch. "Listen." He said in their native tongue. "For all that your ilk has done, the corruption you represented was merely human. But here...you are playing with the very heart of evil."

"It pains me. Some of your predecessors were more eloquent men." Imelda hissed back. "I should know. I have seen a few die."

"Don't say you weren't warned." Rival snapped as they approached the balcony, where Schroedinger was waiting.

The two Filipinos beheld the interior of the massive chamber, and gasped. Schroedinger said nothing.

It resembled nothing less than a subterranean lake, filled with foul yellowish fluid which gurgled and hissed in the dark as though boiling hot. A gigantic cross glowing with arcane sigils rose out of the muck and upon it, crucified like some grotesque parody by metal stakes, was an equally gigantic figure. Its head was a chimeric mass of eyes and teeth, which lolled limply and rested on its breast. Its arms were half-formed wings, splayed out like something badly butchered and dotted with patches of black feathers. Despite the height of the cross, the thing was still submerged to its knees in the lake below. The yellow fluid that it was inundated in flowed openly from its wounds, but if the giant was suffering, it made no indication.

"<This is...the demon that destroyed Manila nine months ago?>" Imelda realized.

"<This is...what the Heart of Darkness has become?>" Jose Rival said, shocked. "<How?>"

"<Yes, my wayward Erlkönig.>" Schroedinger replied with pride. "<A mighty creature indeed, even when undirected and uncontrolled – but mein creature, nevertheless. Ah, indeed our destinies are ever bound together.>"

"<Wait.>" Imelda interjected, feeling increasingly out of her depth. "<You own demons?>"

Ludwig Schroedinger grinned wide. The aura that exploded from his form made the lunatic light Imelda saw in his eye earlier seem like a firefly's glow in comparison. He raised his arms and witchfire danced along every niche and rail, and the stale air was filled with the echoes of unworldly chanting.

"<I do confess that the calling and binding of demons is one of my many talents, Lady Marcos.>" He ceased his display of power with a flourish and the echo in his voice died down, once again leaving the three of them alone with the colossal comatose creature. "<I hope that this does not come of too much as a shock.>"

"<Oh, of course not.>" Imelda managed. Jose Rival was impassive.

"<As I was saying, the demon Darkness was my responsibility. Though I was the one who brought it to this plane, it has never done me any honour with its...subsequent activities. It was a small mercy that I was still able to capture and contain its remnants here, but only after it was sufficiently reduced by its defeat.>"

"<And this has remained a secret.>" Rival stated.

"<What else? It behooves nobody for such truths to be revealed, not when I have found a way to utilize its power so much more constructively.>"

"<I don't remember the demon being this big from the news.>" Imelda said doubtfully. "<I trust you're not going to grow that thing just to set it loose in the streets.>"

Schroedinger smirked. "<Yes, that would do nobody any good. This is why I have opted for a different approach. Much work has been spent to force-grow Darkness from an embryo to its current, industrial scale. The potential riches that I can derive from the demon's body are...incalculable. Very soon, the infrastructure of Deutchlandland shall be able to fully capitalize upon these resources, unleashing a host of wonders the likes of which your nation has never seen! With this, I promise to deliver you a golden age.>" Schroedinger paused for dramatic effect. "<I only hope that you can also deliver on your promises.>"

Imelda smiled a bit unsteadily. "<With such power, everything is negotiable. You will find that in this country, the Marcos name is far from fallen yet.>"

Jose Rival only nodded.

"<Very well!>" Schroedinger exclaimed. "<Upon this understanding, much will be accomplished. Yet, it seems amiss not to discuss our other consensus.>"

Imelda found herself on more familiar ground. "<Ah, the gussied-up thieftaker who had the audacity to hitch the course of the entire country behind him. Our whelp president's favourite. The man who has recently made himself a lot of enemies in both business and politics.>"

<"The well-sponsored thug who leverages all his strength into building up the status quo and all of his unhealthy celebrity into solidifying his hold over the hearts and minds of the people. The one who represents everything going wrong with the Philippines.>" Jose Rival followed.

"<The nexus of power who came to be by freak accident. The champion of the nation whose crown is unearned and unexamined, who stands in the way of the world with his naïve ideas about solidarity and nativism, but still has enough power to be a threat.>" Schroedinger concluded. "<Rey Quirino.>"

"<Rey Quirino.>"

"<Rey Quirino.>"

"<Let's not pretend that we have any common goal other than his defeat. But for now, we come together out of expedience.>" Rival stated.

"<He will find that the country is not as easily tamed as he thinks.>" Imelda gloated.

"<Yes.>" Schroedinger hissed. "<Before we part ways, Rey Quirino must fall.>"
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford

REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Invictus »

And so, it ends. The longest story I have ever written.

To any new readers: this is what an 80,000 word private joke looks like.
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford

REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

DEUTSCHSLANDLAND! Bring your frauleins and families to the wonderful world of Deutschland and the victorious empires of all its alternate dimension incarnations! :lol:
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"Sometimes Shroomy I wonder if your imagination actually counts as some sort of war crime." - FROD
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Invictus »

If for whatever reason you want to read the whole story in one go, I present:

ADVENT REY: The Living Draft!

This draft has quite a few more hours of editing put into it than what's been posted in this thread, and will be continually polished from time to time. Also, it has a table of contents!
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford

REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Ford Prefect »

It slightly blows my mind that this is actually novel length.
FEEL THESE GUNS ARCHWIND THESE ARE THE GUNS OF THE FLESHY MESSIAH THE TOOLS OF CREATION AND DESTRUCTION THAT WILL ENACT THE LAW OF MAN ACROSS THE UNIVERSE
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Heretic »

So prior to my latest attempt at NaNoWriMo, I've been reading this thing that this guy been writing for sometime now. I don't remember what's it called, but it was pretty cool. Had to do with some generic government agent stopping a plot of evil in some foreign land, fighting mercenaries and learning secrets that can shatter the world.

But this shit, written by the esteemed Inviticus, is about our Filipino bastard hero Rey Quirino saving the world from Darkness and his lovable Bro-team Chaos and Edge as another day in the Philippines comes and goes.


THE STORY
It's the monomyth. A hero goes out of his comfort zone, faces various trials and tribulations, fights the big bad evil, and changes a bit himself after it all. It's the story that virtually all stories follows. But this particular one, ladies and gentlemen, this one gave me a hard on.

It has utterly memorable characters, hilarious battle scenes, epic battle scenes, VaticanBurgers, urban diwatas, superheroes that aren't exactly mainstream (hobo voodoo masters as national heroes, anyone?), a villain who could outdo Ayn Rand in speeches, the BROTEAM Edge and Chaos, carabaos, diwata jeeps, secret conspiracies run by former presidents, John Baylor, and a wicked epilogue.

What the else do you need, you fucks? You really want me to try to summarize this insane story? Read Paragraph 1. What, not enough? Fine, I'll give you the summary version.

The story starts out with the Darkness and his hired henchmen, Chaos and Edge (AKA the Broteam) The Darkness talks about his plan, which is vague at first but reveals the style of rhetoric most of us love (and hate). Rey Quirino,the egotistical and materialistic HERO OF THE PHILIPPINES, is seen advertising for the fast food chain VATICANBURGERS (whose slogans and mottos are worth more than most thrillers I have been reading recently) and is suddenly interrupted by Luiz, his gay aide concerning some vague warning from Senator Honason concerning the BROTEAM. My favorite part in the first few chapters was the fact the Rey has a fucking prostate massager and Luiz looks at him weird. I don't know, that just cracked me up.

Anywho, as Rey stops from his important trip to do a number 2 at a church, he encounters Chaos, and they have a crazy fight (trust me, fights get much more TENSE after that). After that, Rey talks to dead presidents, the BROTEAM has a philosophical discussion about the purpose of dead children, Darkness has more cringe-worthy rants, and Rey fights Edge. Then Rey fights Darkness, gets whooped, and is saved by Deadlight Hollow. And...READ IT YOU FOOLS! Balut motifs, John Baylor, The Filipino Spirit, a big monster scene, a quest, crazy fights! It has it all! I'm not strong enough to write a full review on this insanity! Leave me alone!

One problem I did see was sometimes the awesome and downright hilarious paragraphs can sometimes make it a bit confusing. The fight between Edge and the Python Unit required me to read twice to get it, and I'm still confused where Rey is at any particular moment when going around to get a magical sword. But aside from that, the story kept me at the edge of my seat and laughing. The final battle was so epic that I haven't felt so lost and scared and amazed since that episode of Cartoon Network's Reboot when the main character kept waking up nightmare after nightmare as it feels more hopeless. Except ADVENT REY is funnier and saturated with trans-Awesomeness.

I also liked the fact that it would switch from characters both heroes and villains, and pull it off without losing the beat of the story. Darkness says something relevant to his schemes (after you decipher his purple prose Nicholas Cage style), Edge and Chaos sets forth to accomplish it, Rey stops it, fights break out, Deadlight Hollow joins in. Darkness joins the fight. The whole Philippines in their hilarity and wacky militias join in. Mercenaries pissed that Darkness is ruining their playground join in. Bolo tries to find his Carabao in the city of Cebu. A gang of kids give cough syrup in coke bottles to a Diwata who dwells in junkyard. John Baylor. A Diwata Jeep. Dead presidents. Knives. ALL these have a role into the story and help it flow. Most thrillers I read usually have a few characters that move the story and show no dynamic consequences or that the side characters have absolutely no push. It seems that while in New York the grizzled hero and his girlfriend are running rampant against the villain and the police and pedestrians don't do anything about it, in the Philippines if you look at a granny the wrong way, she and half her friends will fucking butcher you with no regard to who you are actually suppose to fight. You could be a kaiju in Tokyo and some self-centered scientist will grudgingly try to stop it while everyone else is getting eaten or running way. In the Philippines, self-centered teenage popstars will fuck you up in the most glorious way, on top of you or your minions getting messed up by cough-syrup summoned diwatas and old reclusive mercenaries because you messed with some kids' soccer ball along the way.

Fuck, I'm scared at looking at internet pictures of Jeepneys in fear that they'll come out of my screen and run me over. Honk honk motherfucker.



Fuck it. I can't do this. Everytime I try to think about the next paragraph I have to write, I feel like going to an insane asylum. It's too much lulz and detail to do a full review on. Maybe one day, a hero will arise from our ranks to accomplish this task, a Chosen One to write a full, bit by bit review of this Homer worthy story. Sadly, I am not the One. I'm sorry, Invictus.

But before I depart, I shall say what the whole theme of this crazy, silly, testosterone-and-Comix humor, awesome story was about in my mind.

It was about the hope and future of the Philippines. Time and time again they get screwed over, but they must keep getting up on their feet amidst the shit going on within the outside world and their own world and hoping for a better future. When I discovered that, I was silent for a moment in awe that a Comix story had such deep meaning and purpose. And in that, I applaud Invictus, and wish him luck on his next project.
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Invictus »

I thought I asked for criticism, not breathless fawning :<

I kid. Feedback like this is the wind beneath my writing wings.
Heretic wrote: THE STORY
It's quite impressive that you didn't once mention the word "final" followed by the word "fantasy", or make any reference to a certain CG animated movie with said words in the title. Though I freely admit that the story grew into something much more during the course of the writing. And something much longer than originally planned.
a villain who could outdo Ayn Rand in speeches,
I'm still a bit amazed that anyone can decipher it. But on the other hand Darkness' lines aren't unimportant - they give away a good deal of the plot, as well as his evolving character and motivations.
the BROTEAM Edge and Chaos,
And here I was probably a bit too subtle.
Heretic wrote: One problem I did see was sometimes the awesome and downright hilarious paragraphs can sometimes make it a bit confusing. The fight between Edge and the Python Unit required me to read twice to get it, and I'm still confused where Rey is at any particular moment when going around to get a magical sword.
Well, the former sequence was basically an intricate battle of wits between the most competent characters in the whole story, and the latter sequence was a drug tripspirit quest with all the dreamlike non-logic it implies. Still, I'll take your comments in mind and strive for appropriate clarity in big action scenes.
Heretic wrote: It was about the hope and future of the Philippines. Time and time again they get screwed over, but they must keep getting up on their feet amidst the shit going on within the outside world and their own world and hoping for a better future. When I discovered that, I was silent for a moment in awe that a Comix story had such deep meaning and purpose. And in that, I applaud Invictus, and wish him luck on his next project.
I didn't set out to write a new mythology for the Philippines, but it certainly was what I ended up with :P , but still I'm pleasantly perplexed that a non-Pinoy can also pick up on all these elements. I must belatedly give kudos to Shroom and Malchus, who have been indispensable in providing research and inspiration.

Also, the sequel...it's going to be something very different. Stay tuned.
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford

REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Heretic »

Aside from the problem concerning what's going on and maybe a few spelling errors I might have seen here and there that I can't be bothered to find, it was 9.9/10 and better than most books I bought and read. Maybe if you threw it at someone who lives, breathes, and eats literary critique you might get what you need in terms of critique. But for me, it was awesome.
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by speaker-to-trolls »

Hi everybody.

I’m back! But not really, yet I thought I should come back for this.

You see, it is only recently that I started looking at this forum again, frankly I don’t have all that much time to spare these days. I won’t be making many more posts, as I don’t want to try to half-arsedly insert myself into other people’s conversations, much less start littering the site with embarrassing one off posts to the tune of ‘so I have this idea for a (something)’ which will most likely be ignored and left to fester.

But I have spared enough time to read this story, and since it was such a massive work and I did enjoy the reading, I thought I ought to comment, because I am still officially on this board, and something that evidently took a lot of effort and time deserves feedback.

So

This story was a lot of fun to read, I’m not sure how much fun it would have been for someone who wasn’t a board member or familiar with all the weird comings and goings of the Comix project, but since I am then I loved the way you handled the material. You created a wonderful variety of weird, idiosyncratic characters, none of whom stood out more than the idiot hero and the lunatic villain (I would like to add, incidentally, that Darkness’ dialogue is just fantastic in its extravagance, I mean, ‘How long must I pound my fist against the iron cube of kalpas…’ you take these things to the next level). You populated the bizarre world of this fantasy Phillipines with an array of strange spectacles and beautifully grotesque visions, and just generally provided the kind of epic, outlandish images that I’ve always loved about your writing.

You’ve also managed the rather surprising feat of having your two psychotic leads end their battle of egos with something oddly touching; as was said at the time, it ended up turning into a heartfelt polemic on the importance of democracy. I could actually spend quite a lot of time going through what I thought were the metaphors for the importance and strength of democracy and the follies of tyranny in your story, but you know them better than I do, and I would probably look silly trying to analyse them. All I will say is that the final battle between Rey and Darkness ended with something that was, in a really strange and grisly way, uplifting.

The previous review pointed out a flaw in that the narrative was sometimes hard to follow, and I must say I did notice that too, particularly in the long fight sequences. Partly I wonder if this was down to the fact I don’t generally like long fight sequences in a written medium, and more importantly, that it is simply harder to keep track of a fight when you can’t see any of it, particularly when they’re as packed full of events and fighters as yours are. I will also say that I thought the narrative was much more neatly structures as the story went on; there were parts towards the beginning that had almost a stream-of-consciousness feel to them, and switched viewpoints and even tenses with little warning. Later on you seemed to have ironed out these things, and the story was much easier to get a handle on.

Now one thing that I did notice was that, although I loved seeing the imagination you put into things like Python Unit and I thought Edge and Chaos were hilarious (and, out of interest, what did you mean you may have been too subtle with them?), there was a lot of material that did not seem to really feed into the main plot. Edge’s fight with Python Unit is the prime example, it is completely irrelevant to the rest of the story, other than to introduce Python Unit, who are themselves completely unnescessary, though brilliant. I don’t want to seem stodgy or imply that I didn’t like these sequences, I am just saying I found it a little odd how they were so memorable while not really having anything to do with the story.

There is something I also noticed, and I am not sure I would call this a problem so much as an observation, you can take it as you like and I merely hope it is helpful; Rey’s transformation into a True Hero is not really organic, he doesn’t come across any revelations for himself, they are all provided by external spiritual forces through visions or just being told the relevant information. He really has true heroism thrust upon him, and everyone else is fortunate that he manages to accept it. This could be one of those metaphors for democracy I mentioned, in that if you are chosen by the people, you can do great things and be a hero but only if you accept your role and make the necessary sacrifices. I just thought I should mention this as it was something that stood out to me.

I cannot begin to comment on how this story relates to cultural and political issues in the Phillipines, because I know absolutely nothing about the place. I think my knowledge of Phillipino politics, history and culture has roughly doubled by reading this story, which is a credit to your writing and an indictment of my ignorance.

You have set up for a sequel very nicely, though I put no pressure on you to write it, because Heaven knows I wouldn’t be able to write something like this if it was my job, let alone in my spare time.

And that is all I can think to say, I hope it was helpful, and I want to commend you on an impressive piece of writing.

Peace
"Little monuments may be completed by their first architects, but great ones; true ones leave their copestones to posterity. God keep me from completing anything."
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Heretic »

Welcome Back, Troll! At least for the time being.

Man your username gave me nostalgia of days past.

Reading this review, thinking back I guess the Python Unit scene did feel a bit off, thought it was probably to show off some Filipnio super team. I was too amazed at the story to really review as Invictus wanted me to.
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Invictus »

speaker-to-trolls wrote:Hi everybody.

I’m back! But not really, yet I thought I should come back for this...
What is this, Christmas? :D
The previous review pointed out a flaw in that the narrative was sometimes hard to follow, and I must say I did notice that too, particularly in the long fight sequences. Partly I wonder if this was down to the fact I don’t generally like long fight sequences in a written medium, and more importantly, that it is simply harder to keep track of a fight when you can’t see any of it, particularly when they’re as packed full of events and fighters as yours are. I will also say that I thought the narrative was much more neatly structures as the story went on; there were parts towards the beginning that had almost a stream-of-consciousness feel to them, and switched viewpoints and even tenses with little warning. Later on you seemed to have ironed out these things, and the story was much easier to get a handle on.
In my defence, the purpose of the plot was to string a long series of action scenes together (just like in that movie) and the action scenes themselves were meant to be broad pastiches of the same high points in a rather spectacular movie. (Having seen a particular movie should help you visualize them better, I think) Any resulting coherence was a result of organic planning and development after I started writing it. It helps that the last half of the story by wordcount was written over three weeks of crunchtime. while the first half was written in dribs and drabs over most of the preceding year.
Now one thing that I did notice was that, although I loved seeing the imagination you put into things like Python Unit and I thought Edge and Chaos were hilarious (and, out of interest, what did you mean you may have been too subtle with them?), there was a lot of material that did not seem to really feed into the main plot. Edge’s fight with Python Unit is the prime example, it is completely irrelevant to the rest of the story, other than to introduce Python Unit, who are themselves completely unnescessary, though brilliant. I don’t want to seem stodgy or imply that I didn’t like these sequences, I am just saying I found it a little odd how they were so memorable while not really having anything to do with the story.
Python Unit reflects the perils of roundtabling every detail with Shroom over MSN while you're writing a story. I brought up the need to replace Reno and Rude and the rest of the Turks for the equivalent scene in the story, we come up with a freak squad that's the budget Filipino equivalent of Cobra Unit (that went well with a badass-ified Gringo Honasan - more Filipino history stuff) that we thought was brilliant at the time, and I end up writing them in because hey, multi-tiered battle of wits was more fun than having two utterly outclassed goons being squished over and over.

tl;dr everything in the plot is as arbitrary as you think it is

Also Re: Edge and Chaos and subtlety - yeah, I'll just be out with it. I wrote them as a gay couple.
There is something I also noticed, and I am not sure I would call this a problem so much as an observation, you can take it as you like and I merely hope it is helpful; Rey’s transformation into a True Hero is not really organic, he doesn’t come across any revelations for himself, they are all provided by external spiritual forces through visions or just being told the relevant information. He really has true heroism thrust upon him, and everyone else is fortunate that he manages to accept it. This could be one of those metaphors for democracy I mentioned, in that if you are chosen by the people, you can do great things and be a hero but only if you accept your role and make the necessary sacrifices. I just thought I should mention this as it was something that stood out to me.
Problems with character development is something I'll admit genuine weakness about. Rey's heroic trajectory is a broad parallel of a certain mopey mope in the movie I've been referring to all along, except it's even more difficult for Rey because a) he doesn't have any deep bonds to draw on unlike said mopey mope and (b) he (arguably) has no genuinely heroic mantle that he can put back on to bring the badass. As regards external forces, Rey's supporting cast was also meant to hit all the same notes of the supporting cast of yet another movie, compounded by the fact that Rey does come into the plot in a position of complete ignorance, which is another thing the mopey mope has over him.

There are probably ways to handle Rey's growth better without making the story even longer, though. Your points about him being the hero of the people will have some bearing on his character in the sequel.
You have set up for a sequel very nicely, though I put no pressure on you to write it, because Heaven knows I wouldn’t be able to write something like this if it was my job, let alone in my spare time.

And that is all I can think to say, I hope it was helpful, and I want to commend you on an impressive piece of writing.

Peace
Thanks a lot! This is better feedback that I could have asked for for a story like this, which has an intended target audience of about three and a half. The sequel is...well, there has been two abandoned opening chapters already and I have a full-time job now, so I can only say that it's still in the works. It doesn't help that Advent Rey Returns is where I plan to take off the training wheels...
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
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REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
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REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

As for Rey's complete ineptitude as a hero and a human being, well...

He's the hero the Philippines deserves...

muwhahahaha!
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by speaker-to-trolls »

tl;dr everything in the plot is as arbitrary as you think it is
Ah, well that clears that up.

I still love the action and the strangeness.
There are probably ways to handle Rey's growth better without making the story even longer, though. Your points about him being the hero of the people will have some bearing on his character in the sequel.
Aha! Good to know I have hit on something here, and good luck with the sequel, just looking at the epilogue it looks like it has the promise of being a more nuanced story.
Also Re: Edge and Chaos and subtlety - yeah, I'll just be out with it. I wrote them as a gay couple.
I thought so, this is gratifying and annoying to have you confirm it, since I thought I would sound crass by asking upfront or making some kind of innuendo, but obviously now you've said so then no one will believe I actually guessed beforehand :P

The weird thing is that I was writing a story with a pair of gay mercenaries once (now long abandoned) and I recognise the sort of dialogue, you know, trying to show it without being too on the nose about it. Your dialogue is better, but I still know the signs.

Honestly :P
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Czernobog »

Haven't read the story proper yet - is it some sort of parody of my old stupid Comix characters? If so, good job. Add an inane reference or two to a contemporary musician and you have a perfect send-up of all my crap writing.
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Invictus »

Czernobog wrote:Haven't read the story proper yet - is it some sort of parody of my old stupid Comix characters? If so, good job. Add an inane reference or two to a contemporary musician and you have a perfect send-up of all my crap writing.
Depends on what you mean by 'parody', I guess, but probably not. I certainly did appropriate your characters (for the better, I hope) but they're not the subject of the parody of which this story is of - that should be pretty obvious.

From now on Lady Gaga will at least cameo in the sequel, though.
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford

REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Czernobog »

Invictus wrote:
Czernobog wrote:Haven't read the story proper yet - is it some sort of parody of my old stupid Comix characters? If so, good job. Add an inane reference or two to a contemporary musician and you have a perfect send-up of all my crap writing.
Depends on what you mean by 'parody', I guess, but probably not. I certainly did appropriate your characters (for the better, I hope) but they're not the subject of the parody of which this story is of - that should be pretty obvious.

From now on Lady Gaga will at least cameo in the sequel, though.
I was being facetious. Please don't actually do that, I wouldn't like it.
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You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.

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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by Invictus »

Czernobog wrote:I was being facetious. Please don't actually do that, I wouldn't like it.
But aha! Advent Rey Returns the sequel won't count as a gift fic for you any more! I no longer have to take account of your wishes! You can't stop me! :mrgreen:
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
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REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford

REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
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Re: [Secret Santa] ADVENT REY (COMPLETE)

Post by speaker-to-trolls »

Gaga is extravagant enough that one of her concerts would fit into this kind of story, I am sure that in Comix world you could have her performing in a 90 foot robot replica of herself which inexplicably goes insane
Thus you have the first fight sequence and the first hints of the evil plot, you're welcome.
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