The Prodigal Son meets a Liar

Part 5 out of 6 of my Hisoka story. Enjoy

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

Gum and Fire

Part 4 of the Hisoka story. Enjoy.

Gum and Fire
Her voice held a tremor. Fear, primal and predatory, consumed her. Ela, with her eyes still covered in aura, searched the darkness. The boy was nowhere to be found.
“Why?” she questioned. “Why did you do this?” Karn groaned. Ela caressed his face, the sinking feeling gone. She felt his breath, moist and foul, on her pal, and murmured a quick prayer.
“It’s not like I tried to kill him. Yet.” Hisoka’s voice echoed softly, his playful tone riding along the soft evening breeze.
“Then why? Why, Hisoka?” cried Ela.
“Because I am BORED.” Ela’s senses went on overdrive. She instinctively shielded her face. Hisoka’s Ren flared, bigger and stronger than ever, so much that birds fled from trees, mammals scampered in fear and the very air pressure dropped.
“Hisoka,” she whimpered. “How are you so strong?”
“I hid my power. It was the only way I could tolerate living with you people. But now it’s over. Because now. . .” he said.
“I. . .” The pressure disappeared and she lifted her gaze.
“See. . .” The voice was close to her. She felt as if she could reach out and touch it. It was so close.
Too close.
“You.” Hisoka’s silky voice sounded inches away from her face, on the other side of Karn’s lain body. The magician stopped using In and Ela found herself staring into his eyes. The eyes of a monster.
He let out a chuckle and swiped at her. She saw the label of the bottle between his fingers, no doubt enhanced with Shu. The razor sharp edge caressed the skin of her neck for a millisecond before crumbling to dust. Hisoka’s eyebrows shot up.
“How. . ?” Before he could ponder any further, he felt her aura rise and he quickly leapt away with cat-like agility. He saw her aura glow and shift to her hands. Aura shot out and the spot he had occupied mere seconds ago stood burnt to a crisp.
“Hmm,” moaned Hisoka from the other side of the field.
“It seems like you are indeed strong.” He let out a bark of laughter. “Haha hah. I was right.”
“Is that what this is about? You wish to challenge me, a helpless old woman?” yelled Ela. Hisoka let out a growl and launched towards her. His fist crashed into her abdomen, doubling her over.
“Never call a magnificent creature like you ‘helpless’,” he yelled. “You are truly beautiful.” He swung at her face. But an instant, he saw her pupils dilate and held himself back, moving farther away.
Ela’s form was burning bright amber and smoke rose from her skin. “If it’s power you want, I’ll burn you.”
“Ah. Giving your aura the properties of fire. I believe that’s called Transmutation, correct?” asked Hisoka playfully.
“You rotten child. I loved and cared for you. Why, why?” she screamed.
Behind her, Karn managed to regain consciousness. “What’s with all the noise?” he croaked. Then he felt it. His wife’s fiery aura. He hadn’t felt that power for nearly twenty years, yet he remembered perfectly well it’s intensity. Fighting against it was another aura: just like Hisoka’s. But it couldn’t be his. This aura enveloped an entire area. It was blood thirsty and murderous. Chaotic and god-like. The boy never displayed such power. No human ever did.
But he saw him. The boy he had beat up just a few hours ago. The boy whose only talent was hiding and playing childish games.
Yet there he stood and Karn understood. The lack of progress and the suspicion that the boy was hiding a lot more than he was letting on. It was all painfully clear now.
He noticed a trickle of blood on his wife’s neck.
“Ela,” he called.
“Karn. Hisoka is trying to kill us,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the magician.
“I felt it. I’ll kill him before he touches you,” spat out Karn. A knife appeared in each of his hands, the blades catching the moonlight.
“Correction,” said Hisoka. “I am only trying to kill her,” he said pointing at Ela. “And what makes you think you can stop me?” he asked softly.
“Master.” His voice was drenched in sarcasm and mockery.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy,” yelled Karn.
The old man charged at the magician holding his two knives aloft. Hisoka smiled. They had fallen into his trap. He couldn’t fight both of them together, so he had to form a plan of action based on what he knew so far.
Ela, a transmuter, has almost a perfect defense. If he attacked her, he’d be burnt to a crisp. But she was no fighter. Hisoka had figured out that she could attack using only two methods. She could scorch him at a close distance using Transmutation. Or she throw fire like she did earlier. Hisoka recalled the mechanics of her ability; how her aura travelled down her arms, out of her palm and out in the open space. An Emission ability. If she relied on Emission powers, using it consecutively would leave her drained very quickly. Emission was nearly the opposite of Transmutation after all. Hisoka had to make her use her fire throwing as much as possible. He needed to provide her with enough distance and a reason not to get close.
And that’s where Karn came into his plan. The old fool was a fighter albeit a weak and crippled one. Hisoka would engage him far away from Ela, and give her enough openings to shoot at him. She would avoid coming close to them for fear of hurting her husband. Hisoka would use her own care and kindness against her.
Karn was armed with a virtually infinite supply of knives. Bu Conjuring abilities required a lot of concentration; and it is hard to do so when you have a couple of broken bones.
Hisoka saw him coming and held his ground. He wanted to separate them. He avoided the first strikes, letting the knives flash by and ducked as a lance of fire sailed past his head. Karn doubled for another attack and Hisoka blocked and flipped over him. Fire soon burst where he had stood. He spun and kicked Karn behind the knee, cracking something. The man fell with a cry of pain. His knives evaporated. With a yell of frustration, Ela took a step closer and held herself back. She couldn’t risk hurting her husband. She had to believe in him. All she could do was buy him some time to recover. Twin lances of flame chased Hisoka into the tree line. Karn got to his feet and summoned his daggers once more, which he promptly threw at the magician’s direction.
‘It’s almost time for the finale,’ though Hisoka. He exhaled and checked to the see if all the preparations were in order.
All clear.
Hisoka leapt out from the cover of the trees and zigzagged towards Karn. Fire followed his path, scorching the earth bare millimeters from where he stood. Hisoka made his pattern easy to predict. And Karn predicted it.
With great skill, Karn summoned knife after knife and threw them with dexterity and accuracy that can only be described as ‘beyond human.’ All eight knives sank into Hisoka, stopping him in his tracks. The magician slumped on his knees and let out a choked moan. He toppled to the side, dead.
Ela relaxed her stance and hunched over. Using her powers like this had left her drained. It took her considerable effort to stand upright. Karn glared at his student’s corpse and spat in its direction. He left the knives in the body, just to make sure the boy remained dead.
“Kukukuku.” His chuckle was cold. Both husband and wife spun, their eyes wide open, and stared in his direction.
“Now,” said Hisoka. The knives forcefully wrenched out of his body and rocketed straight into Ela’s abdomen.
“NO,” screamed Karn. Too late the knives vanished into thin air, leaving behind eight gaping holes in his wife’s stomach. Ela let out a rasped breath before the darkness claimed her. Karn cradled her in his arms as Hisoka stood up.
“I call it Bungee Gum. My Hatsu that is,” said Hisoka. It all started with the initial punch to Ela’s stomach. He had attached his gum-like aura to her and hid it.  He then waited for Karn to throw his knives. He had purposefully hid a wooden plate under his shirt and directed the knives there. Using Texture Surprise he created the illusion of blood on his shirt. As he ‘died’ he attached Bungee Gum to every knife tip in his body and, when the time was right, he simply placed the thread leading to Ela’s body on the knives and let them go. The blades flew towards the only path they could. Ela.
Karn roared and charged at him. In his anger, he hadn’t even summoned his Nen knives. Hisoka swung a fist in his face, sending the man sprawling.
“I should have never taught you,” yelled Karn. Hisoka extracted something from his pocket and held it between his fingers. The tarot card depicting the Joker was covered in blood stains.
“I would have learnt it either way,” replied Hisoka. “I recall you once mentioning to your wife that you though I as some sort of genius or natural talent.”
Karn’s eyes widened. “How do you know that? My wife and I spoke in private.”
Hisoka shrugged. “I learnt Zetsu by simply not wanting to the found. It was only a matter of time before I mastered In, it’s advanced form.” He covered the Joker with his palm and, when he removed his hand, the card had vanished. He separated his fingers and Karn cried out in pain. The Joker was stuck in the back of his knee. Right where Hisoka had kicked him earlier.
“My gift to you,” said Hisoka. A feeling of satisfaction washed over him. He let out a soft moan. That ‘feeling’ still clung to him and he laughed in euphoria.
“I won’t ruin the mood now. You’ll just ruin my pleasure. So grow stronger or something, Ok? Make my killing you fun, yes?” said Hisoka.
The magician spread his arms, bowed with a flourish and disappeared into the darkness. 

School, testicles and inspiration

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

It’s not me. It’s YOU.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

How do you deal with them?

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

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

And in the end on dreams we will depend
‘Cause that’s what love is made of ” 

- Van Halen ‘Dreams’
Yepp you got it. It all starts with a dream. Now let’ be fair. Some dreams, like winning a competition, are achievable. Others, like having a threesome with Kate Beckinsale and Jessica Alba, will never happen. I’m pretty sure of that. 
But dreaming is no enough. Everyone dreams. It’s the next step that’s tough. Tattoo the nike slogan somewhere and  JUST FRIGGIN’ DO IT. No holds barred, full steam ahead. 
And keep going. You will fall. You will fail. You will consider stopping. You will consider very morbid things indeed. But don’t stop. 
It’s ok to slow down. It’s ok to let off steam, blow off work, procrastinate. 
But don’t let go.
Cos what you will have in a few years time is yearning, regret and old age. 
Q: But Ryan, what if it doesn’t work? What if I fail?
R: How the fuck should I know?
I don’t know what’s best. Your parents don’t know what’s best. Fuck, YOU don’t know what’s best for you. But it’s one thing to lay down and do what others do simply cos it’s safe. It’s another to have the BALLS to get up and go whichever direction you want. 
All this is coming from a recently published author who has yet to see his first sale. But here’s the motto I abide by:
when there’s a will, there is a way.
When there isn’t a way, you break out the jack hammer and FUCKING MAKE ONE.
I am sick and tired of people playing it safe. Fuck I spent about 2000 euros on putting out a novel, dealing with people from Texas (editing) all the way to South Africa (cover). So shut your pie hole and do it. Don’t present some sad story about how you didn’t have opportunity.
What you do is you find a source of inspiration, no matter how fleeting and little, and you have violent sex with that sucker like it’s your job. And then you move on to the next one. And the next. 
Which roundabouts all the way to school. I hate school and people, but I love learning. Learn what you can, follow your own path and everyone else be damned nine ways till sunday. 
I know a wonderfully talented artist who has a degree which he will never use. He is an established artist from this island and he made it big.
I know an inspiring girl who had to take her exams 3 cocking times before she got the mark she deserved in the first place. Another talented artist and, I’m can swear on this, in the future will make an A class architect.
I know an aviation engineer who had to work like a dog since the age of 15 in order to make money for his pilot’s licence. Another A class aviator and engineer.
And then there’s me. A reclusive wanker who juggles a second novel, comic with the aforementioned artist (the first) and the last year for my degree. Oh and a dissertation. So what if this course has lost all interest for me? So what if it’s just getting in my way? I’ve invested, and now I’m getting every last morsel I can out of it. 
Who knows, maybe I’ll find a source of inspiration there. At the very least it’s a break from writing. 
There is always a silver lining.

The Fake King leads the Lamb

Part 3 of the Hisoka story. Just because I feel productive today. Enjoy. Ps. This story will be a 6 parter, since my mind is way too complicated.

The Fake King leads the Lamb
Ela’s cooking could be smelled from outside the tent. But Hisoka’s mouth didn’t water. His heart bet fast like a war drum. His Ren flared up and he struggled to regain control of himself.
‘Not yet, not yet,’ he had to remind himself. Too late to convince his lower half. His billowing pants hid his erection well enough. Not that he cared at the time. But he did need the secrecy.
“Hisoka?” Too late. Ela’s voice resounded loud compared to the crickets’ sounds. “Is that you?”
Hisoka let himself in. “Yes, Ela. I am sorry if I startled you,” he said in his best apologetic tone. He shifted his gaze just enough to appear ashamed. Ela put the pie in the oven and came over to the teenager. She caressed his cheek with the love of a mother.
“Do not worry dear,” she cooed. “You are always welcome here.” Her eyes looked beyond him.
“Where is Karn? He’s not usually late for dinner,” she asked. Hisoka sighed.
“He was drinking some wine when I left.” He widened his smile and made his best happy-schoolboy face.
“Training was awesome today. Your husband is a great teacher.” His insides cringed but he kept his face straight. All he needed was to shift her attention to him. A hook.
“Really?” she said with a bright smile. Hisoka met her expression with an equal beam. From the outside they seemed like every normal happy family. Almost.
‘And there goes the bait’ thought Hisoka.
“What did my dear husband teach you?” she asked.
“Actually today I developed a Hatsu,” exclaimed Hisoka. Her eyebrows shot up.
“Oh how exciting. You must show me,” she replied genuinely. Hisoka’s widened. He got her where he wanted.
“Play poker with me first,” he said. “I’ll show you then.”
Ela was used to his games. Where others saw a bad habit, she saw a playful nature. She produced a deck of cards and motioned for Hisoka to join her at the table.
“I have a little time before the pie is done,” she said. Hisoka sat opposite her.
She dealt the cards. “Need I watch out for anything?”
“Only your life,” he replied playfully. His voice was drenched in humor.
Minutes passed quickly as cards flicked from one position to another.
“Looks like I will be winning this one, Hisoka,” she said lovingly. She set her cards. A jack, a pair of queens and two kings. On the table were two other kings.
“Four of a kind with the kings. That is hard to beat,” she said.
“But I still win,” replied Hisoka as he showed his cards. “Royal Straight Flush.”
“A fifth king! How is that possible?” Ela’s eyes darted from king to king. Hisoka handed her his.
“Use Gyo,” he instructed. She complied. Under the vision on her aura the king’s printed image slowly peeled off to reveal a three of spades.
“I can apply my aura on certain surfaces and changed their appearance,” explained Hisoka.
“That’s incredible,” said Ela softly. She released the aura from her eyes. The card once again showed the fake king. Hisoka’s hand reached over and he took the card. Releasing his aura from it, the card’s true image showed.
“I got the idea from the mask performances,” he said enthusiastically. “Maybe someday I could actually perform for the troupe. I could make an entire play, complete with changing costumes and faces right in front of everybody. With just marionettes!”
Ela smiled at his enthusiasm. “I’m sure that in a year or two, Mr. One-man-show Hisoka will be the star of our troupe.”
“But until then, keep working hard.”
“So who won?” asked Hisoka, pointing at the discarded cards.
Ela placed her hands on her hips. “Well this is a nen troupe, so the use on nen is not cheating. So I guess you win, Hisoka dear.”
“Good,” said Hisoka, beaming. “In that case will you please do me a favor?”
“Anything dear,” she replied.
“Will you please help me bring back Karn? I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to carry him by myself and he might listen to you if you yell at him a bit.”
Ela let out a laugh. “I just might to that.”
They soon arrived at where Karn lay unconscious.
“Oh dear. He’ll catch a cold like this,” said Hisoka. Ela said nothing and, for a second, the magician thought that he had oversold his pitch. But Ela knelt down beside her husband and smelt his breath.
“This wine has a different smell,” she muttered. She groped for the discarded bottle and examined it. There seemed no tampering with it of any kind.
“Is there something wrong?” asked Hisoka. He stood behind her, quiet and observant.
Ela kept staring at the bottle and only the boy’s voice shook her out her daze. A thought tugged at her mind and she remembered Hisoka’s trick. She remembered her own training. The basic training when facing the unknown was simple: use Gyo and look for clues. She tentatively focused her aura on her eyes.
The label of the bottle shifted. The bottle displayed a label for absentine and beneath it, scrawled with an ink marker was a smiley face and crossbones.
“What the..”  She questioned how this was possible. No one in the troupe had this type of ability.
Then she remembered earlier. One person could do this.
“Hisoka?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. His aura flared so much that it toppled her over. In the darkness he was hidden.
All save a giggle.

Prelude to a Ploy

Part 2 to Hisoka’s Second Time. People asked for it, and since I’m a writing monkey, I had to write. As usual, I don’t own anything except all which is originally mine. Which now that I think about it, is everything in the story.
So really and truly I own everything. I keep them all in my closet. I’m worried it’s getting crowded in there.


Prelude to a Ploy
Hisoka wheezed in pain. He laid on his back scanning the twilight as sweat tricked down his face. He had not regretted put on his make-up before the training session with Karn and was grateful for his absent mindedness. The wizened instructor sat down on a rock and took out his second bottle of wine.
“Barely any improvement. Bah, I don’t know what she sees in you.” His tone cracked; years of tobacco smoking and sword swallowing accidents had deformed his voice forever. Hisoka said nothing. He knew better that to talk back to his nen teacher. Karn had been reluctant enough to teach anyone, for whatever reason. It wasn’t as if he were an open book. He never socialized with the rest of the troupe, never laughed with them, never drank at their table. His only source of human ineraction was Ela, his wife. They had shown up once upon a time, demanding a position in the show and ranks of the troupe. The caravan welcomed them after they had showcased their ‘talents’. After all, the troupe’s show was one with a twist. And nen performances earned money.
Karn fiddled with the cork before he muttered a curse and conjured a small dagger out of thin air. The sword swallowed jabbed at the cork top and ravenously ripped it off.
“Get up and go bathe somewhere. You stink,” he said. Without much consideration began ravaging the dark red liquid. Hisoka stood up and gave a slight bow in his direction. Not once did their eyes meet. A ‘thank you’ slipped out of the magician and Karn responded with a grunt and an aggressive wave of the hand.
A soft moan escaped his lips as the water, silver in the moonlight, caressed his skin. This was his time, where all the pretense washed off, together with the memories of trying to enjoy himself and his life with the troupe. He couldn’t take much more. He was close to snapping, to crying in sheer insanity and butcher everyone in the vicinity. He was bored! So. Fucking. Bored.
He had been reduced to downplaying his power in order for him to tolerate the lessons with that old idiot. Ten, Zetzu, Ren, Gyo; they were all toys in his hands. Magic tricks. Karn could conjure knives. He could throw, fight and swallow them. Too bad he couldn’t walk straight. That left knee of his made his step wobble. That, and the fact that Hisoka had rarely seen the old man sober.
Hisoka laughed heartily. The lion being tutored by the gazelle. It was just too funny. He longed for the day where he could kill them all. Just like that gypsy. He longed for that feeling again. So why didn’t he do it? Right here, right now?
“I don’t know what she sees in you.” That’s what Karn had said.
Hisoka grimaced. Ela saw him for who he was. A powerful creature, destined for something other than carrying bags, setting up stages and showing lame sleight of hand tricks. It was she who had found him: he had just escaped that orphanage. He had just killed that priest. He had lived in the forest for exactly a month and a week, hiding, unknowingly using zetsu. She had seen him, took him in and made others accept him. She had insisted that her husband teach him.
Hisoka, too, had seen her for who she really was. A powerful creature, just like him. Only, she lived a human’s life. She had lived her life downplaying her power, allowing the troupe to assume that her husband was the only one with any considerable talent. But Hisoka knew better. And it was that that kept him going. But now he had drained her husband dry on knowledge. He wanted her. She was a mystery which he had to solve. Not forcefully, like the fortune teller, but gently.
A plan formed in his mind. He wouldn’t kill the troupe.
He’ll leave them for later. If he played this right he could face them all together. United they stand and all that bullshit. Hisoka knew that was all crap. Just an excuse that with weak herds invent in order not to admit just how pathetic they really are.
Power is all.
Power, control and fate. He will seize all of them. He will laugh and dance all the way to hell and he will experience that feeling, that pure ecstasy, every single moment of his life.
No, he won’t waste time with the troupe.
He would go for someone worthy.

Ebooks, German teams and red lobsters

For those of you who don’t know, I happen to be an amateur athlete. Emphasis on amateur. I’m not very good. Sort of.
Well, I tend to kick ass. Just sayin’.

My sport/ martial art Du Jour is Olympic Wrestling , Jujitsu and a hybrid style known as Spirit Combat (which is kinda like a jujitsu-meets-karate-meets-aikido-meets-kick boxing-meets-kung fu. If I forgot anybody I apologize. I’m there is a system founder looking at this going “What about me?!” as they stroke their Pai-Mei style beard.)

And this week, an Pro German Wrestling team visited my sad little island (literally) for a little sun, sea and showdown smack-down.
And despite their cultural (waaayyyyy more disciplined then us hoolingans) systems and differences, I believe we had fun.

A week of late sleeping, early waking, cultural visiting / tour guiding, host playing and the aforementioned butt kicking. All on dregs (3 hrs a day) of sleep.

So why do I bring this up?

Because today is the start, the beginning. Is it really?
Yes, today is the day that I have officially become an author. A (self )published author. With a book.

This is a story blog so allow me to divulge in a tale of journey, pride and screaming at the computer cos you don’t know what the fuck else to do.

It was during entire days of touring Malta’s finest (sarcasm dripping) establishments and cultural monuments (half of which our governments saw fit to demolish), we would arrive home at, say, eight or nine pm. I takes me till about ten to fully regain control over my central nervous system again.

And how does one relax after a day of playing host? Why, by going on Kindle (CreateSpace) and formatting  (playing with margins) a manuscript 16 cocking times before it is accepted for ebook publishing.

And today, as I carefully sat down with my sunburnt lobster-red body, I have received the good news. My debut novel, of my debut series, (I’m new to this gig, get off my ass) is up on kindle.

Yeah you read well.

Book one of the Legacy series, Firstborn, is, in fact, IN your way. It’s looking at you with puppy eyes, begging you to caress it as you stroke your finger across your kindle, ipad, iphone or whatever. And you can, in fact do that.

Right here.

Yeah right up there, in the purple/ blue link.
Click it.
I dare you.
You know you want to.

It is only now, after 6 cookies, a cup of coffee and a 5 hour nap that I have the energy to deal with this. I’ve had an arduous week. I’ve screamed at the kindle set up site and at my computer, which almost gave me a heart attack or two. I’ve had to read 4 books a day and all of them were the same. Mine. So its understandable that I’m hating this novel right now and want don’t want to see to for at least another year. Or two.
But you’ll love it. A mixture of action, paranormal, humour and pissed off wizards, Firstborn will have your hear racing and your pants peeing. 0_0. Or it will threaten to shoot a fireball in your face.

For those of you who are interested here is the blurp:


Meet Erik Ashendale, wizard.

He solves all kinds of problems of a magical and freaky nature. Especially when it comes to hunting down the supernatural.

So when he and his talking cat are asked to protect a girl who’s being chased by a big-time demon, they can hardly refuse, especially when the rent’s due.

Once the fight takes shape, Erik and the rest of his unlikely companions have to pit themselves against the elemental forces of good and evil: angels, demons, a Japanese monster, 1/7 of the Deadly Sins, talking pets . . . and even a morally ambiguous twin sister gets thrown into the mix.

In order to stay alive, Erik must deal with his terrible past and the secrets of his family. And he must never forget the most important rule of his twisted world: Nothing is ever what it seems.

P.S. You’ll be happy to know that all that remains for the London Expo is to find someone to print 150 copies of this novel in 4 weeks. My only problem is that I have a professional attitude, which seems to be in opposition to the local motherfuckers that I have to work with. But that’s my problem. :)

Stay tuned for more updates. After a loooonnnnnngggggggg nap.

Unveiling Time, Rants and my head is a pothole

I may have promised the release of the cover of Firstborn yesterday. Or was it the day before? I tend to merge the 9 or 10 days of the week (yes I know. My days are f***in long!!!!) in to one long, never-ending clusterfuc*.

But enough about me and my bitching. You guys don’t wanna hear about the heart attacks I get when I’m trying to persuade the cover artist into drawing what I want (my mind is too deep. Like a well. Or a pothole) or the fact that in good old Malta NO ONE and I cocking mean no one EVER prints books. It’s not enough that we don’t support but quash local talent (I’m pointing at me bitches) but today I had to explain to the head of a publishing company WHAT A F****** BOOK LOOKS LIKE. Yeah you read correctly. Our publishers don’t know what books look like. No wonder everyone lacks hobbies, manners and personalities. Proof of Maltese illiteracy ->  publishers who ask me what does a book entail. (Seriously lady, shoot your self. No seriously, shoot yourself. Seriously, just do it. No seriously, PULL THE COCKING TRIGGER).
OK I’m calm again. Now that I have finished formatting Firstborn into an ebook (You guys have to buy this sucker; it’s awesome) I finally have time to write something here. (P.s. Whoever invented the margins in MS word, See shoot yourself rant above. It applies to you too, ya jackass). 
The few sad people who read this (no seriously, I love you guys. Here’s a cookie. You’re awesome) you’ll be happy to know that yesterday at like 3am (won’t that be today then? seriously Ryan!) I finished the last piece of writing – the dedication. Some of my friends (the cool ones which read this blog anyway) are mentioned. Yes, you bastards, a novel has been dedicated to you. Now where’s my cake?
But anywho. Now that I’ve ranted enough it’s time to show this cover, now that I actually own it. Are you ready?
You wanna see it?
You really wanna see it? 
NO not that!!
The cover!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Are you drooling yet?

In order of appearance from left to right -> Big boat, pissed off magically enhanced wizard, Big Ass MONSTER. It’s an Ushi-Oni. Wiki it.

Stay tuned for more updates. And rants. Mostly rants.