Chapter 64: Hiatus and New Story Sample

Chapter 64: Hiatus and New Story Sample

Hiatus Time!

Yay. Writer's block. I have too much stuff crowding my head. That part of My head that connects to the void I draw the content of Reincarnator's Tavern from is blocked off by traffic jams from all the other stuff demanding to be released from its prisons through the interface that is my brain. I need to get it out of the way before it lets me continue here. I am sorry. It might be a while before the next chapter comes out.

As an apology, here is one of the things I pulled out of my head. This is the crazy story I referenced I might start at the end of Mutant Obscurus Gamer.

This Story is rated M, not for seggs, but for random acts of horrible brutality. There will be zero seggs.

Do not read if you don't like Dark Humor. This is a Dark Humor Crack fic with an interesting plot. I actually had this idea long before the Tavern and the latter inherited a few ideas from this story, but I couldn't put all the pieces together and eventually moved on. But now that I am done with Mutant Obscurus, I am tempted to restart it.

Chapter 1 The Lord of Madness

Beautiful. I may be crazy, but I can still appreciate beauty. The wall of the spherical room I've gathered my seven apprentices in is lined from top to bottom with rows of crystals that sparkle and shine with greater beauty than the Galaxy itself. Though perhaps it is biased as I am the one who created this spectacle.

These are not ordinary crystals of course, but Kyber Crystals I seeded into the walls, long, long ago. This room can be considered my masterpiece, my greatest achievement to date. Perhaps I am not the only one in the Galaxy who knows how to grow Kyber Crystals, but I have some certainty that I am the first to naturally grow them into a formation diagram.

There are many Sith who know how to use a Kyber Crystal to create a weapon that can channel the power of the Force to great and destructive ends. What many Jedi forget or choose to ignore is that the Lightsaber itself is a Sith invention the Jedi later modified to feel less evil. Pansies.

However, this room is something else entirely. Because the seeded Kyber Crystals grew here from scratch and fused together over time, the entire formation is seamless without a single crack or edge. Getting the Crystals to naturally grow into such a formation was something that required decades of experiments to learn and centuries to achieve.

"You know you're mad, right?" My favorite apprentice of this batch, an old human woman with grey hair asked aloud.

After chuckling a bit, I answered, "I do hope you can survive the shock of this revelation, but you are not the first to tell me this."

The gray-haired woman and her fellow apprentices laughed or snorted in amusement at the jest at my expense. None of them were at all bothered that today, they were all going to die. Why should they? Each was over a century old and had lived long, good lives. Moreover, they knew that today was coming from the moment I took them in. It is unlikely they would have lived as long or did as much without me, as most were little more than slaves or worse when I picked them up.

Each of my apprentices is what others would call, a Jedi Master. The Light Side of the Force lived within them, strong and pure.

I have seven apprentices at the moment. It was a good number. I liked how pointless it was. Few if anything real came in sevens. Its great and glorious meaning came from how many things were pointlessly sorted or divided into groups of seven. People gave it meaning by doing so and then used this meaning to justify the act of doing it more. It is a self-perpetuating mind trick.

A former apprentice of mine once pointed out that I was wrong because the rainbow had seven colors. I was quite disappointed in him. Other than the color black, every color exists in a rainbow as long as the planet's solar star is white rather than red or blue. The reason a rainbow is divided into seven colors is that the value of the number seven existed before the dividing of colors, so seven's imaginary value actually predated the universal identification of the colors of the rainbow on many planets.

In order to educate my former apprentice and grant him a greater appreciation of the wider color spectrum, I branded the name of each color into his skin. Too bad it didn't take. My former apprentice only lasted until periwinkle before dying of trauma.

Not that I mind people telling me I am wrong. In fact, the opposite is true. I love to argue. But if the one who tells me I am wrong does so with a poor foundation, then I may decide to get creative when it comes to shoring up said foundation so that our next argument will be more productive. Should said person survive my lessons, I'm confident they will never forget them.

Few if any would believe the Jedi Masters gathered here are my students. The unrestrained darkness around me gives away to any with the slightest sensitivity that I am a Sith. However, I am not a member of Kaan's Brotherhood of Darkness. In fact, I do believe after the last time I encountered the currently crowned Dark Lord of the Sith, the interaction resulted in a bounty being placed on my head that is five times larger if I am brought back to him alive rather than dead. Hehe, I imagine he was just upset that after breaking into his house, I replaced all of the tools at his research station with large black dildos.

Though not famous for any acts of atrocity, I happen to be quite well known in the Galaxy for my acts of audacity. No Sith would dare claim to have performed a meager fraction of the feats I have accomplished in my centuries of life.

I have long since forgotten my name, and even my past is iffy at best. I'm certain I have it written down somewhere, but I keep forgetting where I put it because it's not important. As for my identity, I was gifted the title, Darth Abyss, Lord of Madness. I'm certain it's supposed to be an insult, but I've grown quite fond of it. A title is something a Sith's Master usually gives them, but I never had a Master, so I had to make due.

One of the two reasons I was granted this title has to do with all the times I've encountered Sith Spirits who have tried to possess me. For some reason, each and every time they enter my body and try to take over my mind, they instantly give up and flee my body, usually while screaming in terror. I'm certain they've been talking about me behind my back. How rude.

I'll admit that I am not sane of course. Sanity is highly overrated and I have never seen anyone brag about being sane, so I have no reason to feel ashamed that the collective Sith Empire of tens of millions of the craziest people in the Galaxy unanimously agreed that I'm the craziest one of them all.

I used to be sane of course, but that didn't last very long. I was born with the gift of Psychometry, a force power that cannot be trained. You either have it or you don't. What I never understood until it was too late was that the strength of the effect of my gift was on another level compared to others.

If someone with normal Psychometry touched a musical instrument, they might have a fleeting vision of someone who once played it. When I touched it, I would know exactly how to play all the songs that were most frequently played using it. When I touched a combination lock, I could clearly see the person who set the combination. This worked too for security terminals, password-protected computers, and secret doors as well.

However, the amount of information I could gain with the object or even the person I touched that had anything to do with the Force was far greater than normal objects. I didn't discover this until it was too late. Not long after being found by the Jedi and taken to the Jedi Temple, I found the secret passage to the Jedi Vault and used my gift to discover how to open it. I guess it can be said that I died that day, because going overboard and biting off more than I could chew doesn't come close to describing what I went through. The first time I touched something within, I guess you could say I became drunk. So much knowledge in such a young mind without the proper training on how to process or configure it. I was not in the best of mindsets and rather than leave and digest what I had learned, I proceeded to use my gift on each and every piece within.

It must be known that all Jedi and Sith Holocrons have Gatekeepers, built-in guardians who prevent the unworthy from accessing the information within. A skilled Force user could rip the knowledge from the Holocron without gaining permission from the Gatekeeper. I didn't need to even open the Holocron, one touch was all that was required and I would gain the equivalent of the understanding of the Force that the one who made the Holocron possessed.

The Jedi Vault had numerous holocrons made by countless Jedi Masters, but it also contained Sith Holocrons as well. It even contained an assortment of Sith Artifacts and though each was held behind a security pin-locked case, that certainly did little to stop me from getting my hands on them.

It would be safe to say whoever I was died that day. I was a boy too young to shave yet I had taken thousands of years worth of knowledge from both the Light and Dark Sides of the Force. Things were quite blurry after that and by the time the pieces in my head had repositioned themselves into what could be called a mind, I had taken my Master's life as a Sith Sacrifice and become a Sith.

What probably broke me was that I had gained intimate knowledge of the ideals of the Jedi and the Sith and those two were completely incompatible. If I had taken them slowly through learning the content through the Gatekeeper, this would not be a problem, but I had done the equivalent of jamming my head with the voices and ideals of hundreds of people, many of whom never saw eye to eye and all of them were speaking to me at all times.

The basement floor was covered in ritual circles that guaranteed a one-way trip to the worst prison on the planet if they had been discovered, but the family didn't care. This was more important.

The elder woman held the hand of the young woman giving birth while the old man held a book in his hands while reciting line after line of a forbidden incantation.

The older man was 79 years old and the elder woman was 54 years of age. The woman giving birth was much younger, at 19 years of age. She was a frail thing and seemed to grow pale through the ordeal.

The old man was Arcturus Black III, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The old woman was his daughter-in-law, Walburga Black, who was also the daughter of his cousin. And the paling young woman giving birth was Noza Lestrange, the little sister of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and the youngest of the Lestrange siblings.

The events leading up to that night occurred nine months prior. The Heir of the Black Family, Regulus Orion Black, went missing and through magic, it was determined that he was dead. His father, Orion Arcturus Black, died of grief shortly thereafter. This meant the only remaining son of the Black family was Sirius Orion Black. However, Sirius had turned his back completely upon the Black family traditions and had been removed from the Family Tapestry, removing him from the family itself, and leaving the Black family with no male Heir.

To the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, this could not be tolerated. He made a deal with the Head of the Ancient House of Lestrange for Noza Lestrange. Daughters of the Lestrange family were, more often than not, well known for their fragility and usually used as breeding stock. Noza's health was not particularly good even for a Lestrange and she had not even attended Hogwarts. She knew her fate and when a chance was given to leave a legacy, she took that chance willingly.

Though dead, it was not difficult to find some hair of Regulus, and using the ancient knowledge stored in one of the old family Grimoires, it was possible to use magic and give Regulus a son after his passing. Through the deal of the Blacks and Lestranges, Noza would be declared Regulus's wife prior to his death, thus ensuring the strength of the child's claim to the seat of Heir Black.

Had things been different, Arcturus may not have decided on this route. But as it was, he could not sit idly by and do nothing. His grandson and heir had been killed by Voldemort, the very Dark Lord that Regulus had sworn his loyalty to. With Regulus dead, the position of Black Family Heir would fall to the next son of his granddaughters, all of whom were either married to a servant of the treacherous Dark Lord or had been removed from the Family Tapestry and the line of succession.

Rodolphus himself was a loyal servant of Voldemort and was unaware of the true purpose of Lord Black's request. Arcturus would not tell him. Far too many of the old families had been tricked by this madman who called himself a Lord.

The ritual chamber started humming and the etched formation lines started to glow a deep, blood red. Arcturus was almost caught off guard by this. The ritual light should glow scarlet red, not blood red. Moreover, the brightness was far greater than the dim light the ritual's effect should in fact produce. However, he could feel its thrumming power. He could feel that for some reason, it seemed to be even stronger than it should have been. This was a good thing.

The ritual had a number of effects, but the main effect was to sacrifice the life of the mother to strengthen the life and magic of the child. This was magic older than Hogwarts herself, ancient magic that had not been used in centuries. The reason it had not been used in so long was because the mother had to sacrifice her life willingly and no one was willing to do so in modern times.

Noza knew she was not likely to survive giving birth in the first place and even if she did, she would not last much longer after the birth. Instead of dying a worthless death, was it not better to willingly give up her life to empower her child? A child with the purest lineage who would become the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? Her sacrifice may never be written down, but her legacy would live on.

Walburga impassionately watched the blood-red light swirl around the mother of her grandchild and after a few moments, enter the young woman's flesh. This was a calculated risk. The ritual to seed the child of the dead did not have the best track record for producing powerful Wizards. In order to mitigate this fact, Arcturus decided to use it together with the Mother's Sacrifice Ritual to empower the child, regardless of the fact that the two rituals had never been used together before.

Once the red streams of light settled into the mother's body, Walburga gave her a potion to drink and with trepidation, the former Lestrange took it and downed the potion in a single movement. She glanced over to the eyes of Walburga and saw a flicker of respect. Noza was happy with that, she had not hesitated and her last act had at least gained her Mother-in-Law's approval.

In the next moment, Noza Black nee Lestrange couldn't help but scream. Her body aged rapidly as her skin withered and cracked. Her voice turned raw and soon she lost the ability to even speak, releasing only a silent scream of agony as her body was wreathed in pain worse than the cruciatus curse could ever inflict. Her last thought was the sincere wish that her sacrifice was enough to strengthen her son and that he would grow up to do great things.

Walburga's wand waved and several incantations were spoken. The child was removed via magic from his dead mother and for the first time, Walburga and Arcturus were able to see the face of their Heir. The moment they saw him, both were shocked. His meager tuft of hair shifted in color from silver to red to black. The child was a Metamorphmagus.

After collecting themselves, the pair inspected the Heir and confirmed it was true. Walburga was pleased, but not as pleased as Arcturus. The origin of the Metamorphmagus was a secret written in the Black Family Grimoire and known only to the Head of the Black Family. It was a trait only ever seen within those who carried the blood of the Black family, though it had not shown itself in any True member of the House of Black in centuries.

Simply put, the Metamorphmagus was a result of centuries worth of accumulations of dark magic rituals. Although not spoken of in polite company, it was generally known among the stronger factions that overuse of Dark Magic corroded the mind and body of the user. Rituals could delay this, but never prevent it outright.

Families that routinely practiced Dark Magic were often physically and mentally weaker than others. There were some who believed that the weakening of pure-blood magical families was due to inbreeding, but the wiser members actually thought that it was actually due to the corrosive nature of Dark Magic in the genealogy. Not that they could share such knowledge outright.

Almost every single one of the darkest families had fallen over the centuries, with a single exception, the Black Family. How did they survive? It was because of the Metamorphmagus. Believed to be an amalgamation of the inheritance of all the Dark Magic resistance rituals of their ancestors, the first Metamorphmagus showed high resistance to the corrosive nature of Dark Magic and easily adapted with only a few simple rituals. The adaptability of the Metamorphmagus was inherited by their descendants, even if the gift of shifting form did not present itself. A Metamorphmagus or two was usually born into the Black Family every century or so and were used to clean their blood of the inherent weakness brought by the family's overuse of Dark Magic.

Some were born outside the Black family over the centuries, but that was only because they had Black Family Ancestry as well. Even if one was born outside the Black Family, the gift would be lost within a generation or two and never re-emerge without fresh blood from the Black Family due to certain family magics. Can't share a good thing too much after all.

The problem was that one had not been born into the Black Family in almost two hundred years, and many members of the youngest generation of the Black Family were not as resistant to Dark Magic as their ancestors, so overusing Dark Magic from the Black Family Grimoire would corrode their minds and bodies easily. His oldest granddaughter was a perfect example of this, while her two sisters maintained their rationale by avoiding the heavy use of Dark Magic.

There was in fact a new Metamorphmagus born recently. His middle granddaughter had married a muggleborn and had a daughter that possessed this gift, but as she was not Pure Blood, she was not a Black, and would never be allowed access to the Black Family Magics.

The presence of this gift in the Heir ensured that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would rise once more and take its rightful place as the head of the Dark Families throughout Britain.

The gray-skinned creature spoke for the first time, "What will be the young master's name?"

Arcturus calmly stated, "Rigel. Rigel Regulus Black."

The baby itself looked around and couldn't help but lock eyes on the corpse of his mother. Completely unlike a normal baby, the child thought to himself in an unknown language, "Born of the dead? Well, I seem to be off to a great start so far. Hahaha hahaha!"

*Author's Note*

One of the reasons I'm tempted to do this idea is because there are not nearly enough INSANE MC stories out there.

Again, if I do go through with this, there will be no harem or seggs. There will be a lot of psychological manipulation, torture, and face slapping though. Just imagine Rigel and Malfoy in the same room and you'll get an idea. It will also be a Greater Good Dumbledore, because having an Evil MC destroy a Greater Good Dumbledore is always fun to read.