Chronicles of TheFili: Chapter 4 - "Double." "Redouble."[]
Now for something different. I have decided to chronicle all possible Kongai Fan Fiction that still remains (given that the official Kongai Forum also had fanfic that was now sadly purged) on this website so that none may further succumb to destruction. The reason I decided to name these blogs "the Apocrypha Games" is that firstly, Kongai is a game (duh!), secondly, "apocrypha" refers to the fact that these stories are at best dubious to Sirlin's official "canon" of Kongai (even tough there isn't that much in the first place) and finally, "apocrypha" also means that these stories are not canon to my attempt at fan fiction (Project Kongai). I have neither used any ideas from these stories (hopefully mere coincidences if any similarities ever show up), since my story has 1. The concepts have been planned out meticulously long ago before I found these. 2. Features original characters from my other concepts Mavericks. And 3. Most of these stories would have some direct conflict with any lore I would have proposed.
Note that the fanfic here has been unaltered, bad grammar and all.
Anyway, here's the 13th book of the Apocrypha Games, and the current conclusion (The author originally wanted to finish this chapter and write another scroll to conclude the entire story, but was abandoned/cliff-hangered after he started training to be a teacher. He was last active on Kongregate in Mar 1, 2022), originally written by Kongregate's TheFili (Dec 21, 2008), sourced here.
Scroll 3[]
The screams were back, the stench of burning fur. Cain’s sleep seemed to be made up of this one image – the cat fleeing from his parents’ burning house, over and over again. He sat up on the cot and put his face in his hands.
It was worse since he had been told to guard the woman’s tiger. Strangely enough, the captive animal had hardly made a sound, but its presence had seemed to be radiating though the thick wooden door, behind which it was imprisoned.
Then the woman – Zina – had come and merely shouldered him aside absent-mindedly. He had tried to hold her up but only got a beating for his troubles – and Cornelius’ scorn to boot.
Suicide had never looked so good.
Everyone he had cared about was already dead, and this strange world had no place for him. Its laws, its languages, its magic, they all were strange to him. Giving up had never been something he considered before, but every cell in his unnatural body told him that he was wrong here; in this world, this mansion, this company.
With Popo, he had been able to play, like he had done with his little nephew. Robert, his wife Moira, Brian… all dead, thanks to them.
He got up and walked to the door, but stopped when he saw something that didn’t belong there. It was a page from a book; the text seemed to be just some insane ravings about dead things lying and sleeping, but a handwritten note had been added to it: “Cain, don’t go into the Marquis’ chamber. A.” He lowered the note. What was that supposed to mean? He hadn’t had any intention to… And then the pull started, the yanking of his chain that told him the Marquis ordered his presence.
How had Ambrosia known? And why had she told him to avoid the place? But all these considerations were swept aside by a more insistent tug at his soul. He decided to yield to it. As he hurried along the corridors, he could still feel his master’s grip on his soul, becoming lighter with every step, without ever letting go entirely.
Cain reached the throne room and entered. He had expected something out of the ordinary, but everything seemed normal. The Marquis was on his throne, Cornelius, Ambrosia and Zina(her pet at her feet) stood in front of him. All their faces turned towards Cain, and after a short silence, Cornelius said “… headway.” He returned his attention to the Marquis. “About half the tunnels are stable, a third of the system is mapped. However, there are still aftershocks every now and then. It’s a bit puzzling, really. They should have subsided a long time ago.”
“And what about the… opposition?” the Marquis said slowly. Cain realised he was still standing in the doorway and took a step to the side.
“We have not yet had the opportunity to take any action concerning them,” Cornelius answerd. Zina nodded. “I have to contact them at certain times, or they will know something went wrong.”
A smile moved the ancient corpse’s dead flesh. “Really? That would seem rather impractical for a spy. Yes, Cain,” he said without looking round, “Zina is a spy who was meant to be captured, we already established that. But she has had a change of heart, and now she has chosen her side.” The words fell like so many icicles.
Le Morte got up, half-rotten limbs assembling themselves. “They all have. Except you.”
Only then did Cain realise he was about to witness a coup. The three others were going to topple the Marquis. “That’s why you left me the note,” he said to Ambrosia. A confused look answered him. “You didn’t?”
“As your people would have it,” Cornelius began, “I plead guilty on that charge. I took the liberty of sending the message in Ms Thorn’s name. I’m sure she would have told you the same, had she spared you a thought. I saw no point in you getting harmed.”
“You didn’t want him to interfere,” the Marquis said quietly. “He respects my authority and knows how much you despise him.”
“And a fine authority you wield. Had we listened to you these past weeks, we would rule a barren ghost town by now instead of commanding a loyal army. As it is we have friends and food. You know only violence and terror.” A small part of Cain registered that Cornelius was acting again, for Zina and for him. Words were the vampire’s carrot and stick.
“You won’t do away with me. You don’t have the power. Or the resolve. Did I never tell you about the Pain of Patricide?”
“Oh, I do know about it,” Cornelius said. He had left the two women standing behind him and was almost face to face with the Marquis. “A rumour, spread by the likes of you to scare the half-hearted.”
“That’s what I thought,” Le Morte answered. “Until I killed the man who changed me, many decades ago.” His horrible shape tensed for a moment before he went on: “I could not imagine it, and my brain forgot most of it at once to save me from going mad. Your every bone is turned to ice while your body burns around it. And this can go on for hours – even nights!” He smiled. “Why did you think I changed every one of you personally?”
“To give your story the credibility it now lacks,” Cornelius said, apparently completely self-assured.
“If your are willing to gamble on it, I am here child.”
There was an instant of absolute stillness, when Cain could not be sure whether this challenge would be accepted or declined.
It passed, and the two factions collided. Dark purple sparks danced around the Marquis’ shape Zina’s pet dived into the bedlam and disappeared in it.
Still the old vampire didn’t fall, not even sway. While all around him was whirling chaos, he moved with purposeful slowness, touched a throat here, an arm there. He received wound after wound, but they seemed to heal almost instantly. By the time a drop of his blood hit the floor, the gash from which it had fallen was closed again.
One second he stood in front of Constantine only to appear behind Zina’s back in the next instant. And the battle went on.
“Cain,” Cornelius shouted. “Come on, don’t just stand there. We can be free from him.”
“And why would he trust you?” answered the Marquis’ level voice. He touched Ambrosia’s face and it contorted in pain as he continued: “Cain, they can never defeat me. They do not have the strength, with or without you. Help me, and make them pay for your humiliations!”
Cain stood there, rigid, staring at the mess in front of him. His decision could mean victory for either side. But… what was it to him? What did he care who won, who lost?
And as he watched the five figures locked in a bloody stalemate, he suddenly could not bear it any longer. He was halfway down the corridor before he noticed he had fled, before he heard the scream of “Cain!” echo after him, following at his heels like a dog.
Out of the mansion, down the hill. He breathed hard, but only because some old habit told him to. The first houses of Krifting passed him by, the bigger buildings, until he finally found himself at the marketplace. Several of the villagers looked at him shyly or peered from their windows.
“What?” he shouted. Of course they understood no English, and all of their language seemed to have left his brain. They recognised the tone though and shrank back. “No,” he bellowed in frustration. “Stop fearing me!” he ordered while they scuttled away to hide from their obviously insane master.
He ran on, not caring where to. But in the back of his mind, he knew where he was going. The Marquis’ lesson floated to the surface of his memory: “Light magic… threatens our existence…” He could find them. He could attack them, and if there was a way to kill him, they would find it.
The forest outside the village took him in and amplified each careless movement with twigs and rustling. Nothing happened for a long time, save his running through the night. All around him the trees stretched out their branches like indecisive road signs.
They had to know he was there. They were trying to torture him, too? “Come on,” he mumbled. “What are you waiting for?” Maybe they were biding their time, and he would never know how they killed him from hiding. They couldn’t have failed to notice him, could they?
Finally, Cain dimly saw a light between the trees, a flickering fire.
Well, he _could ambush them, Tafari, the infamous killer Voss… and Popo. But he hadn’t really come here to fight, he knew as much.
So he drew a deep breath for the only purpose that still had and ran towards the fire, screaming at the top of his lungs. The light he approached became glaring and he shut his eyes. Nothing happened, he ran on, his foot caught in a root and he fell to the ground.
When his head was still on his shoulders a few seconds later, he dared raise it and open his eyes.
A group of strangers stared down on him. First he only saw them as armed silhouettes. Then he could make out details, recognise them as several women and one man.
The latter put his head on one side and said in a language that sounded like a heavily accented version of the villagers’: “And you would be…?”