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(Contains: violence/gore)
Felix has to keep watching it. Were he ever to take his eyes off it for a moment, we'd be doomed. All of us. The whole city.
It's the last of its kind. Or maybe it's the only one of its kind. We don't know because we don't really understand how the blasted thing works. All we know is that for the time being, it's a hat. It's a hat and that way it can't harm anyone. Were it ever to stop being a hat...
You think I'm joking? You think my calling it a hat is a clever metaphor or something? No! A Tyrolean hat. Tan, with a grey band and a bright red feather. This is a hat the ancient Germans would put on their head and go out with.
I can show you if you like. The more eyes, the more certain it will stay a hat. When Felix first saw it, he caught a glimpse of it changing into the hat, and knew what it was. He called his team over, told them to keep staring at it while he cut his eyelids open and peeled them off. He had one bring a chair, which he demanded they chain him to. He had them bring a lubrication device to keep his eyes wet. He took it upon himself to stare at it for the rest of his life and keep the city safe as long as he lived.
When he dreams--he falls asleep for about an hour each night--he dreams about it. The REM doesn't take it out of his field of vision, so he can watch it even in his sleep. How's that for dedication?
If he died? If he died we'd be in trouble. See, it sustains whatever form it had when one looks at it. As soon as you take your eyes off of it, it can move and change at will. Walls don't stop it. Weapons don't hurt it. As long as it's a hat, we're fine.
When Felix starts showing signs that he might die, we'll cut off another man's eyelids and sit him in the chair. A young man. We need all the time we can get. See, it can't be killed or even moved by any of the resources we have. So he just sits there in the tunnel, three torches his only light, as he stares at the hat. People come and feed him, read him the news, and stories. He likes historical fiction, particularly stories about Ancient Rome. They take his mind off what he's staring at.
A hat.
As long as it's a hat, we're safe.
As soon as it stops being a hat, we're all dead.
We're all dead.
It's a Hat
This was in Bogleech dot com's 2013 Creepypasta Competition. I placed fourth, I believe, but not with this one. I put it here because I thought it had a nice blend of absurd swilling about in the macabre. Mature content because eyelids, I guess, are important to some people.
It was a simple matter for Rose to crack Khan's golden armor once she got her hands in his helmet, but when she did, the suit clattered to the ground, a slight whisp of smoke the only hint that anything ever inhabited it. The armor-clad dragoness fixed me with slowly shifting eyes. "Vlad, what's happened to my werewolf? Vlad, what have you done with my werewolf? Vlad, what have you and your psychotic spirit friend done with my werewolf?"

I finished tying the mages' capes around them, after which I removed my boot from the first's visor. "Care to answer the lady's question? What did Blackdawn do to Khan? He's just a suit of armor now?"

"To be a Son of Fenrir means more than one's body. The call of Fenrir reaches through the body, through the mind, to the very soul. The Executioner was a Son of Fenrir in body before, but in dying, he transcended physical form. Our Mistress hasn't seen it necessary to restore our bodily forms, but we are as powerful as we ever were in our armor. And as many times as we die, we can be revived. Such is Blackdawn's power."

I kicked him over, he and his brother toppling. I looked around--One small window, no doors apart from the one we'd come through. "We need to ignore this trio, Rose. If what they're saying is true, if we keep fighting them, they'll eventually exhaust us. Our best bet is simply to blaze through the castle and find her before these three catch up."

Rose smiled slowly. I had used the wrong word. "Blaze? All right then." She turned to face the wall and took a deep breath.

Now, allow me to explain something. The strength of Roseabelle's fire breath has only once been actually tested to its limit. In her own world, she never had a reason to torch anything larger or denser than a jotunmammoth (If you need me to explain something like a jotunmammoth, simply imagine a blue mammoth the approximate size and weight of...let's say Kilimanjaro), so she never had a real challenge until she joined the Game as one of its players. She and I had an intense battle in orbit about her planet, against a madman trying to control it with an orbital death ray. Combining the thin air she had to deal with, the truly massive size of the station, and the fact that it was steel she was trying to melt, she was taxed almost to the breaking point. But I have never seen her truly cut loose in an atmosphere. I don't think I ever will.

That being said, in order to, not melt, but punch a hole through a four-foot thick marble wall was also sufficient to bathe the hallway in flame. Shielding myself between two armored ghosts, I managed to escape only with a few minor burns and some singed garments. Coughing as the smoke cleared, I smiled at the enormous hole Rose had provided. "Excellent! Let's go."
I don't quite know how to say this, but, um...




Just really thrilled about it.
:excited: Extremely Ecstatic Emote Happy dance Awkward emoticon dance  :chairdance: This Party Sucks. 
I remembered as I feinted and spun and struck when I had first battled the Executioner--known then more readily by his real name, Khan. He had worked for Rose at that time, when we weren't the best of friends. Rose was always very friendly--but not always a friend. It was when I had admittedly made a bit of a nuisance of myself, trying to steal from her. It was, as usual, a part of The Game. I had been a human then, and hadn't understood the nature of The Game, or its Players. I didn't even know who or what Rose was. I only knew she had a half of an enchanted amulet that I needed to save Ruritania from a dragon. When I told Rose this, she strung me along pleasantly enough.
"Oh, so you need it to kill this big, bad dragon?"
"Yes, madam."
"And I imagine that you'll return the amulet to me when the dragon is dead?"
"Yes, madam. I'll come back here in person to return it."
"Don't bother. You'll never manage to kill me, with or without the amulet. Nighty? C'mere, Nightmeer!"

I had no clue what I expected to see when I heard the beating of leathery wings, but it truthfully wasn't a twenty-foot flying leech. Or, pardon me, I came to know it later as a 'cheel'. I still haven't asked Rose just what Cheels are, I'm content just to think of them as the unholy horrors I saw them as first, but Nightmeer and I have come to be fast friends. So, a poor, frail, mortal human, I dashed down the hall to escape the sucker-like mouth of that freakish leech-eel-thing. I don't know what possessed me to duck through that one particular door, but when I did I realized I had gone from bad to worse.
Someone had stolen the floor of this room.

The room into which I fell was no disappointment--especially when I was expecting a dungeon. I saw a network of confusing brick walls, a labyrinth. I had fallen on top of a raised platform, which was fine by me--as long as I stayed above the walls, I'd know where I was going and why. The amulet wasn't a priority anymore--I would have to find some other way of disposing of the crazy dragon-lady.

Walking on top of the labyrinth's walls wasn't difficult. Not until, that is, I heard the roar. Barely a second later, the wall underneath me came down. It took me all of two seconds to figure out what had happened when I saw the freight train in golden armor on the other side of the rubble from me. An enormous foe, bearing a poleaxe, slobbering through the visor. I was just thrilled to death that I couldn't see through the visor, because anything that wears that sort of armor and slobbers that badly, I don't really want to see. But what I didn't know, I had ways of finding out.

"Werewolf. One of the unfortunate descendants of Fenrir," A disembodied voice said.
"The condition is permanent. Very intelligent, Khan is, but he's incapable of speech."
"So he's hired us..."
"To speak for him."
"Or rather Our Mistress Roseabelle did."
I saw the source of the voices now--standing atop the walls, where I had been, two diminutive entities, hardly four feet, both clothed in the same gold armor as their leader. One carried a staff, the other a pair of shortswords.
"We are Executioner. We are Khan," they said, slowly descending--floating more than falling.
"Magicians?" I supposed.
"Indeed. Khan, let us destroy the intruder."
It doesn't take a whole lot to tell the rest. I was no match for a son of Fenrir. But I didn't die immediately. As the Executioner vanished into the shadows of the labyrinth, I was occupied leaking all my important fluids all over the floor, I heard a voice.

"Vladimir. You've come."

I looked up. A cloaked form stood over me. She knelt next to my head so that I could clearly see her face. Not that it could be clearly seen. She looked as if she had been carved out of nighttime, stars dancing in an ephemeral darkness, with the faint gleam of torchlight playing across a translucent, membranous skin.

"Who are you?"
"I am called Blackdawn."
"Okay. What are you? A death angel?"
Her laughter sounded ethereal and hollow. "No. I am a spirit of chaos. I have been sent by those who play The Game to put you back on your feet. You haven't used it all up yet, Vlad."
I felt myself back on my feet, then looked down. "But my blood...I can't still be alive."
"You're not. I was never told to resurrect you. Merely to put you back on your feet."
I glanced at my hand. Paper white. "You do realize that once you withdraw your influence, I'll collapse."
"We need to do something about that."
She opened my mouth, brushed her fingers against my teeth. She caressed my face, rubbing both thumbs above my eyes. "It's difficult to focus my energies so directly. Can you feel the change? Is it working?"
"I feel..thirsty."
"Good. Remember, should you ever need my aid again, simply call me."


As I now fought the armored shades of Khan and his interpreters, Rose almost took a swing at me. "You mean to say Blackdawn's the reason you're a vampire in the first place?! I oughtta kill you right now! She'll have some way of..."
"How did you know that?"
"You've been talking to yourself! You always do it when you have flashbacks, you idiot!! My word, you're dense!!"
"Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!"
"What? What?!" I awoke upside down with a throbbing headache. I was suspended by my ankles on a chain from the ceiling. Rose was beside me. Despite all the laws of physics, her cloak remained over her, not hanging down over her face. "Where are we?"
"My guess is that psycho Blackdawn. She'll do anything for attention."
Blackdawn. The chaos wight. The psychopath who wanted to make herself one with Gaia at our last encounter.
"How'd we get here?"
"Don't remember."
Hmmph. That's the way The Game worked. They picked a situation and plunged us head-first into the thick of it.
I looked around, appalled at the squalor of Blackdawn's dungeon. She was such a classy gal, and it was unlike her to keep a dungeon looking like this.
"Looks like her place has seen better days. Any plans for breaking out?"
Rose chuckled, flexed her ankles, shattering the manacles, and spun silently to the floor, landing already poised for action in a low crouch.
"You make that look so easy."
"You'd be disappointed if I didn't."
I had to work a little harder at my manacles--I didn't want to take a shortcut and transform, since Rose had a tendency to alternately mock or hunt me relentlessly when I became a bat. But in seconds, I too was free.
"Do we know her plan?"
"Do we know where this base is?"
"Do we know anything about what's going on?"
"I would have told you, Vlad."
"Right then. Let's go."
The dungeon's filthy floor may at one time have been polished marble, but now a thin layer of sweat and sediment-cemented dust formed an impenetrable skin of unpleasantness. Enormous marble or limestone pillars were also coated in spiderwebs and dust. A darkened red sun burned through the one window, behind ash clouds of prodigious size.
"How long have we been here?"
"If the rust on this clasp on my cloak is any indication, a few thousand years."
"Hanging upside down like that?"
"You know it."
I sidled along the wall to the stairwell and peered cautiously up it, checking for guards, as Rose charged up it heedlessly. "Rose, what are you doing?"
"What are you doing?"
"We need to make sure there're no guards up there!"
"Are you kidding? If there were, I'd have felt them long before you woke up. Besides, if there are any, what do you recommend, just staying here? We need to stop that crazy woman before she beats me to the punch and conquers the world."
Rose always amazed me with how well her fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants approach worked. I gestured to the stairs. "Apre vous, mon dragon."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
We ran up the stairs, barely heeding the three suits of armor at the top. Just to be sure, I knocked one down the steps with a resounding, cascading crash. Seeing it fall apart, no one inside, comforted me. We stepped into the hallway--now this was more like the Blackdawn I knew.
The floor was marble, so polished I could see...No I couldn' polished that Rose could see her face in it. Titanic marble columns held a vaulted, mural-covered ceiling a few hundred feet over our heads. Rose smiled at the enormity of the hall. "Just enough space."
I tried to dissuade her, but was too late. A burst of flame erupted from the cowl of her cloak as the cape turned into a pair of massive, blood-red wings. Her body grew at a staggering rate, skin turning to scales before my eyes. In a few moments, she was a full-sized dragon. "Now where's that little squirt?" she asked, her head oscillating on a long, muscled neck. I sprinted to the end of the hall, looking down both forks.
"Still no guards. I'm a little worried. It's more like Blackdawn to hedge her bets a little."
"I know what you mean. stomach's a little rumbly. I need to put someone in it." Her voice had gained a booming quality, which echoed deafeningly off the marble walls, but it still retained that odd melody that it always had. I had at one point entertained notions of marrying the dragon, but then I imagined what the children would be like. Can you picture a dragon needing to drain a few hundred gallons of blood a day? We don't have that many peasant villages where we live.
As I was distracted by the mists of time, I heard a peculiar metal clattering.
"What's that?" boomed Rose.
"That's the sound, I believe," I replied, chills dancing up and down my spine like cold-footed spiders, "of a suit of armor falling up the stairs."
I looked back to the door through which we'd come. Sure enough, as if by some unholy perversion of gravity, the armor I'd knocked down rattled up the stairs and across the marble floor, and lay there shaking for a few moments before reassembling.
"Enchanted armor? That's hardly even a challenge."
The other two suits joined it. As we watched, the two suits flanking the central one cast off the particulate metal that cloaked them, showing their transparent forms filled with the fabric of night. They slowly were re-covered by a gold sheen, and a single cold, blue eye appeared in the visor of each. Crimson capes fell to their feet from their shoulders, and spearlike staves appeared in their hands.
"No," I croaked, "Not him..."
The central suit was still rattling. From inside it, massive dents and scars were pounded through to the surface. The armor was warped, twisted, contorted as it grew and pounded into a larger, more imposing form--eight feet if it was an inch, with a barrel-chest four feet wide at the shoulder. A daunting poleaxe materialized in its gauntlets.
"The Executioner?" Rose whispered, for once actually surprised by a turn of events. "It couldn't be...not here, not that way...and didn't we kill him?"
The massive, gold-armored shade hefted his axe and roared. His two magician assistants floated forward, their feet barely brushing the ground. "We...have returned," the two said in unison. "The Executioner thirsts for death, and Our Mistress has promised us a tide of blood and death in exchange for aiding her."
"How did she bring you back? We banished you to the netherworld." I still had a hard time accepting this.
"Our lust for suffering was strong enough to resurrect us. Still, we merely floated in Limbo. It was Our Mistress who was able to restore our physical forms."
I shot a serious glance in Rose's direction as she transformed back into something resembling her human form--still bearing her tail, horns and wings, her scales becoming plate armor. When we'd fought the Executioner before, she found it impractical to battle him in dragon form. Her flame was to him at worst an annoyance, and the difference in size made things difficult. A vicious-looking broadsword lengthened from the fang-looking knife in her hand. Its blade as black as the night, it cooled the air around it with the sort of chill you'd expect between blasts of dragonfire.
I took her cue and drew my own blade, a Renaissance-style musketeer saber. It wasn't until then I realized what I was wearing was hardly apropos for battle--a barely industrial-age suit with cravat. Still, couldn't be helped.
"You do realize what this means, don't you?" Rose growled.
I nodded. "The hole they made in the netherworld, combined with Blackdawn's interference, means soon the world will be filled with other freed spirits--varying in power, but all as nutty as she is. And if she could restore the Executioner and his flunkies to their original power--"
"That's where you're wrong," the flunkies interrupted in unison. "We have been empowered by Our Mistress beyond our former state. Bow before the Executioner, and he will make the end quick."
I smiled grimly as I entered a battle stance. "Ready, Rose?"
The dragoness' lips parted in a feral grin, fangs bared. "I was hatched ready."
The Game, Chapter Two
In the second chapter of this cute little saga, :iconwingedhatchling:'s OC, Rose, and mine, Vlad, find themselves thrust deep into The Game before they're aware of all the players. In a decadent castle on a dying world, the two meet an old enemy (an older OC of mine) who's working for a much more dangerous one.
I don't quite know how to say this, but, um...




Just really thrilled about it.
:excited: Extremely Ecstatic Emote Happy dance Awkward emoticon dance  :chairdance: This Party Sucks. 


ProphetStorm's Profile Picture

Artist | Student | Literature
United States
I enjoy writing, photography and film. I'm a born again Christian. Fave genres--anything that couldn't actually happen, really; fantasy, sci-fi, steampunk and cyberpunk particularly, horror (as long as it's not over the top) and occasionally historical. If anyone is willing to collaborate with me on a novella or graphic novel, please let me know, I'm eager to work with people.
The picture above was from the Cyberpunk 2020 sourcebook. Or gamebook. I'm not sure. I like the guy though. He's got a kind of class going on.
Herb deverbie skerbelhurby, blah blah blah...
I'm currently a published author in the Aether Chronicle, so if you want to visit that...

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