Object 756: The Holder of Duplicates

I am not a Seeker. I am far too cowardly to go through with it. Instead, I am a man who likes to meet Seekers. I like hearing their experiences. Unfortunately, sources are scarce nowadays. I fear most of the Seekers who started out are now dead. Recently, I had a very interesting talk with a man who looked older than the world itself. I'd compare him to the wandering Jew, but, I'm not sure if that would do him justice.

Now, this next part isn't quite verbatim but I'll do my best to try and remember what was said. I'm going to remove the parts where I was speaking.

 

So, you'd like to hear a story about those children who go institution to institution, searching every halfway house for a thrill they aren't prepared for? I have one for you. There was a Seeker of this exact variety; cocky, naive, under the impression he was immortal. With good reasoning, of course. He had a few Objects to his name, and of course, each became like a trophy on his mantle from the hunt. Becoming full of himself, he decided that he would go beyond any other Seeker. He decided to go after an Object twice and hopefully create a paradox.

He went for his most recent Object - Damn me if I remember what it was - and went through the trial. After asking, everything began to break away."

The way he described this specific part was incoherent. The best I can do to elaborate on it is to say the closest thing we could imagine is movie film melting as it went through the reel.

"It was white. Everything was white. Everything except a stool with a cracked leg and the being that sat upon it. It was two, but one. It was beyond a single entity."

The only way I could possibly think was that it was a pair of Siamese twins with two heads, yet no extra limbs.

He yelled out to the thing atop the stool, "Who are you?" One of its heads turned around, almost as if the neck had broken, and replied in a shrilled voice, "I am the Holder of Duplicates. I restore the items that Seekers lose with their lives and stock them to the Holders themselves." The second added - this time raspy - "You shouldn't be here." "How did you get to me?" the boy, in all of his confidence, boasted. "I looked for an Object I already possessed." The first head shook in disapproval, the second only sighed in what I assume was pity. The shrilled head replied, "You're foolish." Almost immediately, the second broke into a large smile, "What do you seek?" "More." At this point, the Seeker would have been better off killing himself. He didn't, not quite understanding what he had gotten himself into. Knowledge is a horrible thing, kid. You go to the end of the Earth to find out an answer, and as soon as you get it, you go to the other end of the Earth to forget what you know. Anyways... The high-pitched voice dropped another detail - "Occasionally, a Seeker manages to destroy one of said Objects that you Seek." The sickly voice now spoke: "I make them again. Truly, I do the Devil's work, helping these Objects, but, I'd prefer the end of the universe than going to the alternative to this..." The "first" head added, "This is getting off-topic..." "I possess an Object that isn't on your list of the 538." "Do you want it? All you have to do is ask." "I'll warn you... It won't be what you expect."

 

The Seeker, of course, said he wanted it. It was granted to him. The Object was a mallet, used for what I speculate to be repairing the Objects. Of course, as soon as it was granted to me, it had another one in its hand. It was the Holder of Duplicates, after all. After getting it, it shooed him away, and he found himself outside of the institution.

Ever since, I've been unable to Seek anything else. Every time I went for a visit with a Holder thereafter, the receptionist just looks at me like I'm insane. It isn't impossible to continue Seeking after gaining the mallet. Apparently, there was a man who came after me who obtained it without also obtaining my fate. Legion, they called him. I'm getting old, and senile. I can't for the life of me figure out what I did wrong, and after so many centuries passing, I can't recall what number the Holder said it was. I'm telling you so you pass on this tale to another before I forget it. I'd prefer the end of the universe than see another lifetime pass me by. Don't go through with it unless you're prepared for my curse. You'll never forgive yourself if you do turn out as I did."

Object 760: The Holder of the Blood Pen

Some Holders are demons; others are enslaved minds. I don't know which I am anymore though. I think I used to be human, but when you guard an Object that is so avidly sought and you perform acts so atrocious on the Seekers that come for it your humanity fades. Eventually, it completely leaves you, your body becomes a husk sheltering only evil and pain. Does this make me a demon even though my body remains human? That's up to you to decide.

Immortality. The Object I pursued claimed to grant it though in the end, not in the sense I originally intended. A story can grant immortality to the author and the subject. A good story is never forgotten. So I set out seeking a specific Object known as the blood pen. My journey began in an old school, after sneaking into a classroom and writing the words "Happily ever after" on the board. You see this begins it. After writing these words you're trapped to his will, he controls you. You're an avatar if you're lucky, a play toy if you aren't. The classroom will remain the same but step outside the door and the surroundings will not be familiar.

You see, the realm you are now in is governed by a mind, writing a story. You are the star of the story but far from in control. Should the writer deem you worthy you may escape with your life, if not you will meet a gruesome end of his choosing, or perhaps he will use you for his own entertainment, making you the star in his play 'til the next Seeker comes. I wish I was so lucky to escape, however, it was not deemed to be. So, for what felt like years I lived in his dark mind, struggling through dark dungeons and facing foes insurmountable, however, my story ended differently than most. He wrote and I obeyed: I struggled with him in his own story before wrenching the key from his grasp. Unfortunately, this was his intention, you see he wanted out and the only way to get out was to find another Keeper. That Keeper was me.

I am immortal now for as long as I deem necessary. Though I am trapped guarding this godforsaken pen. Each time I write a story for someone, my soul is rendered. It is painful beyond bearing but at least do not die. The torment of the Seeker is my only amusement. Throwing them off cliffs, impaling them on stakes, or disemboweling them was my only consolation. Honestly, I am afraid too. I desperately cling on to the few scraps of life I have left with withering claws.

It came to pass that a Seeker unlike the others entered my realm. A grim man. He stood tall with gray eyes that pierced my heart even though he couldn't see me. He knew how I had treated the other Seekers. He knew my fear of dying and he was here to exact revenge. I was startled but managed to pull myself together and begin his torment. I bathed him in fire and ripped off fingernails but not once did he yield or utter a sound. In fact, he looked bored by this. I grew angry and unnerved, so I led him to a cliff ready to end it... but I couldn't. His will was like a solid wall stopping me. I broke down and I wrote horrible things about him yet none of it came to pass. His gaze never stopped drilling into my skull. Eventually, I gave up. I yearned the release death would bring.

I brought him to me and wrote that he should stab me before taking the pen. Instead, he said that he had no intentions of being the guardian and grabbed the pen from my hand before quickly writing something. I curse him every day because he ended his story himself. Victorious, he left me to my realm. My power here is nil, now to forever bask in my downfall I live...

Object 763: The Holder of the Moral

Hello, Seeker. I am the Holder of the Moral.

Have you met my unwitting lackey, the Holder of the Parable? I hope you have, for my task is impossible if you haven't.

Assuming you have read the parable, Seeker, let me give you a little insight into the situation. I "created" the Holder of the Parable, so to speak. I planted the book of fables on that library shelf; I also drew him into picking it up and reading it. I gave him that distinct feeling when he first laid eyes on the parable. I posted the internet listing for the copy of the book he purchased and sent it to him myself. That "random internet search" he spoke of? Hardly. I wanted him to learn of the Objects so that I wouldn't have to go through the trouble of finding some otherworldly creature to become the Holder of the Parable; they can be quite bothersome to handle, you know.

That being said, by no means am I out to harm you, physically, mentally, or emotionally. I consider that the duty of the numerous other Holders. However, don't take this to mean that getting my Object is a simple task. Though you yourself are at no risk, the process of getting my Object may be one of the most difficult you've yet faced.

Finding me is simple enough. I appear as an old man with a long, gray beard, walking among the ordinary people of the earth. Don't worry about never finding me; I know who reads the parable, and I make a point of appearing to them at least once, so that no Seeker is denied the chance. If you can correctly identify me as the Holder of Moral, I will take you aside to some secluded area where no people are around; it wouldn't do for others to eavesdrop on our business, now would it?

Once we are alone, I will ask you to recite unto me the true meaning of the parable. If you are incorrect, I will sigh heavily and walk away. You have wasted my time, and I will make a point of never coming within 10 miles of you again. If you are correct, though, I will then ask you to tell me what morals you live by. Be completely honest with me. If I detect even the slightest falsehood, I will walk away, never to reveal myself to you again. If you can lay bare to me everything you value, no more and no less, I will tell you a fable that has long since disappeared from human memory.

You'd do well to pay attention to the fable, Seeker, because I don't repeat myself. The moral of the fable is Object 763 of 2538, and it reigns above all others.

Object 766: The Holder of Records

Ah, another visitor! Nice to meet you. You're the third one that's come to see me today, though the other two were much more... frightened than you seem to be. For one in your line of work, that makes you either wise beyond your years or foolish beyond comprehension. Take care that you are the former. What's that? Oh, don't give me that ridiculous "why do they -?" bollocks. If you were meant to know the darker secrets of this universe they wouldn't snap your mind like a twig every time one of you actually found one. Now, don't make that face. You've made a great deal of effort to get here, though most of that ritualistic nonsense is unnecessary. You shouldn't believe everything you read, you know. I watched you come down the hall backward with that mirror in your hand. It was quite amusing. In recognition of your tenacity, misguided though it may be, I will tell you my story. You will learn some of what you came here to find out, and you'll probably even be sane by the end of it.

I first learned of the Holders and their functions through, of all things, a pencil. I was exploring the depths of my favorite library in the center of the town where I lived. It was a beautiful building, tall and extensive, made mostly of stone. Gargoyles looked down from the slanted roof of the place, and two angelic statues guarded the entrance, their hands raised in a sign of benediction. Inside it was a veritable palace, a temple to the collected knowledge of our race. Shelves upon shelves and rows upon rows of books spread out like a small city until it met the far wall, which seemed like it was miles away. I loved that place, and whenever I could I would make some excuse to spend hours among the writings of great, ancient, and sometimes terrible people. I could have spent three lifetimes in there and still not read every book it housed within its walls.

The library was five stories tall, each level storing several sections on a multitude of topics. It was rare to come seeking a particular subject and be unable to find anything. My personal favorites were those stories which would likely interest you as well, stories of things hidden and occult and dark. I reveled in the accumulation of forbidden knowledge, and even those books which were obviously fiction I devoured with relish. I even read the Necronomicon once or twice, though I was more careful with that one than most, and I took care to never read aloud. I was a collector, you see, and had no intention of putting this knowledge to practical use. For me, simply knowing these things was enough, and to this day I wonder if that was what drew the Object's attention.

One day, on one of my excursions to find a book of a particularly nasty reputation, I found myself in the corner of the fifth story, about as far from the entrance as one could get. The fifth story was where many of the oldest tomes were to be found, kept in a rarely visited section due to general lack of interest by the populace. I was looking through the musty, dimly lit shelves when my foot caught upon some unseen crack in the floor. I stumbled, and out of reflex grabbed the shelf next to me for support. Of course, books don't usually make very good anchors, and all I succeeded in doing was to pull a number of books down on top of me. I painfully picked myself up off the floor, and began to put the books back on the shelf. As I picked up the last book that had fallen, I noticed something odd. It was smaller than most of the heavy volumes common in this part of the library, about the size of an average hardback novel. The cover itself seemed to be made of low-quality leather, and was almost completely devoid of decoration. There was no title, no embossed images, nothing whatsoever to identify what was inside the book I was holding. My curiosity quickly took hold of me, and I opened to the first page.

The pages inside were filled with handwritten text, in a language that I had never seen before. The pages themselves were devoid of any lines to guide the writer, yet each sentence was almost perfectly aligned, marching along the pages in lockstep with the rest of the writing. It appeared to be some sort of journal. Intrigued, I flipped through the remainder of the book. About three-quarters of the way through it a pencil fell out from where it had been wedged between the pages, bouncing on the floor and coming to rest near my feet. The pages after where the pencil had been were blank, and it seemed as though the mystery author had stopped mid-word. Bending to pick up the pencil, I found it almost more of a mystery than the book.

It was not the sort of writing utensil that you would normally see, adorning the desk of every student in the country. It looked almost like a twig from a tree, the surface was covered with what looked like bark, and it was very slightly crooked in a few places. The lead-tipped point was about the only thing that identified it as a tool for writing. Moreover, as I turned it over in my hands I noticed that it was covered in writing, of the same alphabet as the writing in the book. I looked closer, and as I turned the pencil I saw something that made me drop the thing with a start. The text was moving, swirling across the instrument as though just beneath the surface. I stared at it for several seconds as it lay on the floor, trying to decide whether what I had just seen was real or whether I had been up in that section for too long. After a few moments, I bent and gingerly picked it up again, as though I were handling some sort of poisonous spider. I stared at the text intently, but this time it remained firmly etched into the bark. This was more than enough to convince me to study my discovery more closely, and as the journal had no identifying marks I figured it would be alright to borrow it without troubling one of the librarians. I left the library quickly, with both book and pencil hidden in my jacket.

I reached my home in the late afternoon and went immediately to my desk in the den. I lived alone, so I didn't bother to close and lock the door as I normally do when guests are about. I kept my assorted collection of oddities there, and their presence had been known to... unnerve some of my visitors. I opened the journal and set to work looking through my personal library for anything that would match the text in it. Hours went by as I searched through thousands of years of languages. I even went as far back as the dialects of ancient Babylon, though why anyone would write in such dialects in this day and age was unknown to me. Finally, in a tome on Sanskrit which I had acquired more on a whim than anything else, I found a similar arrangement of letters. A few more comparisons between books and I was able to read a single word of the journal.

I didn't know what was so special about his particular word, all it said was "watch" or "see" depending on the context, but as I read it a feeling of something profound and horrible came over me. My body began to shake, and I remember having the distinct feeling of someone standing in the doorway to the den. I turned in horror to stare at the open door, but saw nothing. The feeling didn't abate, and I stood up in a rush to distance myself from that demonic book. As I backed away I tripped over the legs of my overturned chair and fell to the floor. I blacked out.

When I came to the feeling was gone, though I was still very jumpy. I put my hand to my head, but felt no wound. I must have fainted from fear. "How very heroic of me," I thought to myself as I righted my chair and sat down again. I read the word in the journal again, just to see if it would affect me the same way. Nothing. Whatever it was that I had felt before had gone. I stayed up late into the night attempting to decode the rest of the text, but had no luck. The language was obviously a distant relative of Sanskrit, but if there was a record of its existence I did not possess it. Finally, I collapsed onto my couch in the corner of the room and slept.

I woke in the morning after a few hours of surprisingly restful sleep, and immediately sat down at my desk. I flipped through the journal one last time, and regretfully closed it. For the time being, it was a lost cause. Instead, I picked up the pencil. The text carved into it remained stubbornly fixed. Why I did what I did next is unknown, even to me all these years later. I opened the journal to a blank page, set the pencil to it, and began to write. My intention was to write a simple sentence, something glib and asinine like "I have an evil pencil", but what was on the page when I finished was not what I had meant to write. It was in my native tongue, but what it said renewed the sharp pang of fear that I had felt before. No, I will not tell you what it said, because that is not for you to know. I was a fool to meddle in these things, and at the very least I can attempt to prevent you from the same folly. Overcoming my hesitation, I tried again, firmly fixing the sentence I wanted to write in my mind. The result was the same, a different sentence from the first one, and vastly different from what I had intended. I should have stopped right there. I should have burned the book and the hideous stylus and never pursued such things again. Instead, in the grip of my misguided curiosity, I kept writing.

I allowed myself to fall under the power of whatever resided in that artifact, writing page after page of grotesqueries that I would never had dared to think about under normal circumstances. As I wrote, I read "my" work, absorbing the knowledge it held. I learned of the Holders, and the Seekers, and the 2538 Objects that will bring about the End. I learned of all of these things and more, and it seemed as though my mind was cast with incredible force to the furthest reaches of existence and back again. At some point I realized why the original author had stopped writing: he or she couldn't bear the horror of what they wrote. I don't know how many hours or days passed while I sat at my desk writing, but after a while, I came to the slow realization that my arm wasn't moving anymore. I looked down at that page and saw that I had filled the rest of the journal. It lay open on the last page, the contents staring balefully up at me. The last page wasn't just words, per se, but more of a picture.

A perfect circle sat in the center, surrounded by text. The words bent and twisted, forming circles themselves around the central one. Some of these circles of text were concentric, others merely intersected, but all of them drew the eye to the one in the center, and all of them were in that same language that dominated the journal when I had found it. Slowly, and with a growing sense of unease, I began to trace the circles with my finger, coming ever-nearer to the large central circle. I didn't know why I was doing it, the language was just as much a mystery to me then as when I had found the journal, but it seemed the correct thing to do. Finally, I touched the center of the page.

My senses all betrayed me, and it was as though each of them individually had decided to interpret reality the way they wanted, rather than working together. I heard things that had no bearing on what I saw or what I felt, or what I smelled, and nothing I experienced seemed to connect properly to the others. It was chaos, perfect and complete. I panicked, unable to make any sense of what I was experiencing. It was like trying to carry on twelve different conversations that all began at once. I spiraled into a cacophony of madness.

When I finally could make sense of my surroundings again, I was amazed to find myself in a library. This was not the library where I loved to spend my time. No, this one was far older. Most of the books seemed somehow petrified from age. Also unlike the library I frequented, this one was entirely contained in one room. There were no other floors, just one cyclopean room stretching back into the darkness. Despite the complete lack of light, I found that I could somehow see, and I discerned some sort of door at the far end of the expanse. Having no other obvious exit, I headed toward it. As I drew closer the door became clearer, becoming a massive ironbound portal into a room beyond.

Through the door was a long hallway, flanked on either side by statues in various stages of disrepair. There were no doors on either side, and like the previous room it was completely dark. No two statues were exactly the same, and though at first, they seemed similar to ancient Greek or Roman sculptures, they rapidly became monstrous and strange the further down the hall I walked. I told myself it was just a dream, but I flinched nonetheless when I thought I saw several of them move. I realized that I was moving with purpose that can only be achieved by one who knows exactly where he is going, and as I passed certain statues I performed a number of odd signs with my hands. I had no idea why I viewed some statues with calm and reverence, while I sprinted past others until they were out of sight. All of them looked equally odd and horrible to me. I knew the various actions I performed held significance, and that terrible things would happen if they were not done, but how I knew that was a mystery. Finally, after an eternity of walking, I reached the end of the hall.

At the end of the hall was a small, simple-looking door, and here I stopped short. That feeling that had so suddenly come upon me in my den washed over me again. I felt the most powerful sense of dread that I have ever experienced before or since. It was almost physically painful to stand there, in front of that door. I began to shake uncontrollably, and I could barely assert enough influence over my own body to raise a hand toward the doorknob. Somewhere in the ruins of my consciousness, I knew the better part of me was screaming, screaming for me to turn and run as fast as I could until I had left this place behind. Without knowing how I knew, I was certain that my death lay beyond that door. With a supreme effort of will, I finally overrode my judgment and grasped the knob. After all, I had come this far. I'd be damned if I was going to run when I was so close to knowing, to understanding what that terrible book and pencil truly were and why I feared them more than the most hideous demon. I opened it.

On the other side, I found myself in a circular room about thirty feet across. The walls were entirely covered with books, but these were not the rotting tomes that I had found before. These were intact, though obviously very old, and they gave off an aura of great and terrible power. In the center of the room sat a man, scribbling in a book that sat on the desk in front of him. His head was bent toward his work, so I could not see his face clearly. His clothes were of a fashion I was unfamiliar with, long and flowing, and every inch of fabric was covered with words and symbols. I recognized them as the letters of that forgotten language I had tried to decipher, letters that I had written on that final page of the journal. He seemed to take no notice of me, though he must have heard me come in. I stood frozen for a minute in the doorway, then steeled myself and took a step forward. The man did not move, he merely kept scribbling in the book. I took a step closer, still no response. I took another and another, and found myself looking down at the man's hunched form. He did not react. I reached down to touch his shoulder.

Before my hand had even brushed his garment, he reacted with impossible speed. I nearly jumped out of my skin as his bony fingers clamped around my arm. He looked up, and I stared directly into his eyes. The man was me. Every line, every feature of my face was staring back at me from that wizened body. The eyes, though, the eyes were different. They had no pupils, but seemed to open past the irises into a space of immeasurable depth. In those eyes, I saw planets, stars, and galaxies form and die in the space of seconds. I saw the birth and downfall of civilizations, and I saw the terrible darkness creeping across our own world, corrupting or destroying all. I realized I was screaming, but my doppelganger did not let go. He drew his other hand back, and I saw that it was holding that accursed pencil, the same one that I had left sitting on my desk an untold distance from where I now stood. I barely had enough time to grasp his intent before he plunged the instrument into my chest. I stiffened, and I felt my heart stop. The last memory I have of that place is my double leaning over my body, reaching for me. His mouth was moving, but I could not make out the words before my vision darkened.

I awoke to find myself standing amid the aisle of my own library, in the same spot where I had first discovered the book. In my left hand, I held the journal, and the right the pencil. The tip was crusted with blood. Horrified, I checked myself for wounds but found none. I briefly considered putting both of the hideous objects back where I found them, but even the thought of letting them go repulsed me. Stuffing them into my jacket for the second time, I left.

Since then I have come to know what I truly found in that library. I understand now what that dark place was, and what I did there. I ignored my better judgment, reached past the boundaries of sanity for the sake of knowledge. I was willing to pursue that knowledge at any cost, even that of my soul, and so the Holder gave me what I wished for. He imparted his knowledge to me. He made me the Holder of Records.

With the knowledge I have gained, I have traveled to places no human eyes have ever seen or ever will again. I have reached into the darkness of space to touch what would drive you made to comprehend. At all times I feel the presence of the other Objects and those who hold and seek them. Even the mind of Legion, sitting in his dark museum, is open to me though he knows it not. I am no longer human.

All of that power, of course, came with a cost. I am forbidden from using my power to help or hinder those who seek the Objects. I may only watch, and record their stories for eternity. I no longer have a say in the fate of the cosmos. What happened to the book and pencil? I burned the book, it was no longer necessary. The pencil sits in a case in Legion's collection. He came to demand it one day, and I happily gave it over, but it will do him no good. It is still an Object, but the letters have gone from its surface. The erudition it held was for me, and me alone.

What was the point, then, of coming to me when I cannot help you? You didn't expect this to be easy, did you? You came here seeking information, and that's what you got. How to use it is your task to figure out. Whether you succeed or fail, however, know that I will be watching. Now, get yourself out of here, or unnamable and horrifying things shall be done to you. No, not really, but you came here with certain expectations, and it seems a shame not to fulfill at least some of them. Hurry, now. The time is coming soon.

Object 770: The Holder of the Memorial

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit the grieving. If the receptionist becomes sullen and says she is grieving, you are in the right place.

Walk out the building and down the street. You will pass a street-side memorial. Do not talk to these people, for they have an infectious suicidal sadness among them. If one does speak to you, say, "I'm just passing through, I don't wish to talk." Keep walking or you will never leave.

A bum will approach you. He panhandles with a white mug with the words "Greatest Dad". Give him everything you have. If you refuse, he will grab your arm and beg you. If he grabs your arm, it will be so painful you may forsake your arm and tear it off by whatever means. Whether you still have your arm or not, you may continue down the street.

Keep your eyes down. I may take minutes or hours, but if night turns to day or day turns to night, you have not lost enough in the eyes of the Holder and will never find him. However, if you come to a bouquet of flowers tossed in the gutter, stop and look at them. Do not turn your head and a man will come to your side.

Ask one question: "What have they lost?"

The man will answer you in a hoarse and guttural voice, and tell you a story about a band of Seekers who were closer than brothers. Their quest led them down the cruelest path of betrayal, death, and madness. The families they left behind, lovers that were separated, and brothers killed in bloody duels.

Do not cry or the Holder will stop and walk away. Your tears will freeze. The frostbite will burn the skin off your face.

Do not turn your head before the voice finishes or you will see the stump that was once the Holder's head. Nothing but his jaw and tongue remain. You will scream. And once you scream, you are lost. The Holder will grab you and bash your head on the ground 'til it cracks open.

Remain composed and the Holder will whisper in your ear the secret of what you will lose. He will leave you still looking at the flowers. You may take them if you wish.

The bouquet was once an Object 770 of 2538. Now they are just some flowers to comfort the grieving.

Object 777: The Holder of Loneliness

In any city, in any country, in winter vacations go to any school you can get yourself to when no one else is supposed to be there. When you enter sit on a bench and close your eyes for an hour or so; after that time open your eyes and you will notice the sky is very cloudy. You should also see a little black-haired girl sobbing. Try to approach her but be careful not to scare her; if you scare her she will gaze at you with her yellow eyes that will paralyze you with fear, no one knows the destiny that awaits. The only certain things are that she doesn't like the loneliness and that no one will be able to see you ever again. However, if you are able to approach her, you should start talking with her for a little time so she feels a little more comfortable. If she doesn't like your chatting, then she'll gaze at you. However, if she likes your chat, then you will be able to ask her for "The Holder of Loneliness".

If you did everything right, she will ask you to follow her. You should keep chatting so she doesn't get mad at you. When you exit the school, you'll notice there's no one in the streets. You have to keep walking and chatting with her. If you don't, or if you get distracted, she might get mad at you and gaze at you. After a while (might be a few hours to complete days), she'll tell you that she doesn't feel alone anymore and will show you her true form.

Her true form will be a lady that is your age with long blonde hair. Her yellow eyes will change from the deadly weapons they were to beautiful yellow crystals. She will tell you that she is the Holder of Loneliness and will hand you her pocket watch.

However, be warned that if you accept the watch you won't be alone ever again since she will stay with you even after you die, and this might be good or bad depending on you.

The watch is Object 777 of 2538. She will always be with you.

Object 782: The Holder of Determination

On the fifteenth night of any month, go to a harbor. It doesn't matter which, but if you cannot hear the waves slapping against the shore, you will never escape. Feel free to thrash and scream. If you can, though, continue onto the docks. There will be a medium-sized boat nearest to the entrance of the body of water. Before you enter, see if there is a light on in the cabin. If there is not, walk away and do not look back. It is dark in there for a reason.

If there is a light, continue onto the boat. Head into the cabin, but listen carefully - if you no longer hear the water, say loudly, "I am here to prove my worth!" If the sound returns, keep moving. If it does not, prepare yourself for a fate much worse than death.

By now, you will realize that you have been walking for a much longer time than the boat is long. Just keep walking and do not stop. You should see a doorway eventually. The floor around the doorway will have a film of water that seems to stop at an invisible wall. Knock thrice, no more, no less. If you hear the ship groan in protest, flee. Run as hard and as fast as you can, for you must escape the power of the ocean itself. If all is silent, you may open the door.

Inside, the room will seem to be completely underwater, but you will be able to breathe easily. In the center of the room will be what looks to be a shell. It will reach almost to the ceiling, and take up the area of a large table. Upon closer inspection, it can be noted that the shell is made of what looks like human bones welded together. That is your fate unless if you ask aloud: "How can one collect them?" Out of the shell will come tendrils of both glorifying and horrific hues. The Holder will attempt to dissuade you from listening, but you have to listen closely to every word It utters.

It will tell you how impossible a task collecting them is, how miserable a creature you are, and so on. Listen with a hardened heart, for it shall push your will to its very limits. Once you are about to break, the colored tentacles will return to the shell faster than you can blink.

It will then begin to speak of unimaginable feats and devastating failures. It will talk about the difficulties of separating the Objects, and the fury with which the Holders protect them. It will speak of the persistence of the Seekers, and the passion that they have to find the Objects.

It will end by asking you a riddle.

This riddle is enough to destroy the mind of the common man, but you have to answer correctly. Once you discover the answer, the Holder will simply grunt as a response. The Holder's snake-like appendages will rapidly shoot out around the room. You must turn around and close your eyes as quickly as you can, for the shape the Holder takes is impossible for a mortal mind to understand, and you will be delivered unto madness.

Once you hear the sound of glass breaking, it is safe to open your eyes. The room will be dry and will lack the water-like texture it contained only moments ago. Turn around, and you will see the shell of the Holder, shrunken. You can pick it up with a single hand, and it shall glow with a color so indescribable, it will drive you to tears. Its light will not cease until the day you die.

The glow is Object 782 of 2538, and it will give you the light and the reserve to seek the other out. However, be wary, for it is that same glow that might lead you askew.

Object 786: The Holder of Force

I can hear his footsteps now, I can hear the screams of the children as he tears them apart and releases the monsters from their cages... he comes for me, Seeker, he comes. He comes but does not know that there is nothing here for him to Seek, it was already stolen from me by the man with the distant eyes and the cruel grin. It was a mistake on one Holder's part that led him to become this way, those traps that leave Seekers stranded with demons in another dimension failed in this one instance. He LEARNED, he learned how to fight them, he learned how to force them, he learned that they could leave and so too could he if he broke them to his will.

I know what he seeks, he seeks my eyes, orange jewels that can crush anything that the wielder can comprehend, but they were stolen long ago. Oh, how I will laugh when he reaches my throne formed of the bones of his kind, how I will laugh as he spills my blood in rage! Legion stole my eyes and you can never have them, Seeker!

I see him... why does he smile... WHY DO YOU SMILE!? His mouth opens... those words... they are so horrible... Why am I still alive even after he has torn off my skin, why do I see my body!? W... he holds a mirror... I see... I see now.

"I wanted you to see what will become of you, Holder of Force."

His voice... it calms my rage, I don't think I can hold on for much longer. He rips off my skin, I don't feel it, I feel too calm. I feel the cold steel shackles he binds me with before breaking my throne and making one of his own, before he sits and reads that damnable book to me. There was a time when a Seeker came to ask me "What can cause Them to act?", and I would give them a long answer then would tell them that only power rivaling Their own could do so, this Seeker did not come to ask, he came to tell. No, no, he is not a Seeker... he seeks but is not a Seeker, he holds but is not a Holder... I believe he may be the opposite of the man with the too-wide smile... Why is it that I only feel hope when he speaks? Why is the malice slowly slipping from my mind as I slowly rot away and he becomes the new Holder of Force? He already has the Object... He knows how to use it to escape. He tells me that a Seeker will come in 2,000 years and will take his place, I cannot bring myself to doubt him.

I was the Holder of Force, the Force Gems were Object 786 of 2538, they are now merely glasses to a man who can fight without them. There was a time when a mortal man could do nothing with them, now there is one who can kill hell's finest with them.

I leave this message, hoping someone can free me while I still have some anger left... He has a weakness, you must find his true name, it is written in the book of his Object. He is looking at me now... he must know what I'm -

"Silly thing, what do you think I've been reading all this time?"

Beware, Seeker, for you cannot see the deception behind his smile until it is too late.

Object 789: The Holder of the Deleted

There was once a man who read an internet legend about a Holder and was brave, or foolish, enough to seek out the Object.

Through either sheer luck or raw stupidity - to this day, it is still unknown which force was in effect - the man found the right place, asked to see the Holder, saw the correct reaction, followed the worker, and faced the Holder head-on.

The puzzle the man had to solve involved the use of his imagination and powers of manifestation. The man managed, through what can only be described as a miracle, to manifest his body out of the void he was thrown into when he asked the Holder the question, clutching the Object in his left hand.

He even managed to get away, initially, with the Object still in hand.

When he realized what he held in his hand, he was horrified.

Not only did he earn the Object of his own raw spiritual strength, he saw what it had cost not only him but everybody involved, including those who were not.

The man decided he had to put a stop to this somehow.

First, he had to do something about his own Object. Its properties described it as being able to delete whatever its holder was thinking of. Well, what if he used it to delete itself?

It occurred to him what would happen, though. It would be what would happen if the man were thinking of Everything, and pressing the button.

He felt, though, after what he had witnessed when he encountered his first Holder, that it would be worth it to try. He focused an image of the delete key in his hand, and pressed it.

What may or may not remain of him is Object 789 of 2538. Not even time itself knows where it is now.

Object 791: The Holder of the Shadow Song

In any city, in any country, there should be an old-time theater. Find yourself there. You mustn't plan this visit. It should be serendipitous. Though it might not end up being very fortunate for you. When you reach the box office, ask the ticket seller to see "The Singer of the Shadow Song". If the attendant is absent, you did not come in an acceptable spirit.

Take a seat in the third row and wait. The first two are already reserved for things you'd rather not talk to. The rest of the theater has gone to ruin. The walls will fall apart and the roof will collapse. Above will be the dark summer night. The sky will fill with constellations you don't recognize. Looking around, you'll notice the horizon has gotten very close. The theater is now on a small planet.

It will snow with red flakes of blood. The flakes will land in the first two rows. From the cushions, grotesque people will grow. A bell will herald The Singer of the Shadow Song.

A girl will walk out on stage and ask, "What song would you like?" She will sing any song you ask beautifully. At the end, the creatures will moo and jeer your choice. They will tear you apart. They only want to hear one song, "The Trials". Ask and she will smile a small smile and say, "That is a good one."

She will sing. It is a long song, filled with verses of gore and lyrics of torture, of mutilation, of hot fire, and evil needles. Pain will be very real to you, and you will scream and convulse. You may ask the girl to stop the song prematurely but the creatures will eat you. The song is a long session beyond a hundred murders.

After the song, the small girl will bow to you. You must yell encore with the gurgled cry of the creatures. She may agree and you will not survive an extra performance. Or she may take her leave. Before she does, she will appear in a seat behind you. She will shove your head down on the floor. She will scratch music in deep red lines on your back. Once it is finished, you will wake up in the gutter. The scratches will have scarred.

The Object you sought is long gone. Never let anyone play the music on your back.

Object 797: The Holder of Fairness

This object will be among the fabled stash of Legion when the time of Reunion comes. Legion had lost It for It has a will of its own, but It knows the call of Reunion and will be found again. The Seeker who comes upon this Object will not be the one who brings Them together for the Reunion. This is the way in which one will be able to reclaim it.

In whatever place you call home, wait until it is dark and all residents of this place are sleeping. This is not necessary, however, anything awake in this abode will be sent straight to Hell by the Holder himself. After all, he believes it a fair trade for giving you a chance, albeit slim, at obtaining It. It's highly advised you also obtain a weapon of some kind before attempting the calling.

When these precautions have been made and the time is right, head to your front door and ask to see "The Holder of Fairness". Nothing will happen - at least for you to see - but open the door and walk through it.

When you walk outside, you'll find yourself in a long hallway that would look like any hallway of a modest home, sans the length. Feel free to look around as you walk, this Holder is very liberal and will allow you to look at his abode - as long as you let him look at yours. Just make sure not to touch anything you may see when you're walking, for he will see it fair to "touch" the things and residents of your own home.

When you reach a door, make sure not to touch it or the Holder will make sure your own home's door, along with everything else in it, is "touched" by a recently escaped group of vicious criminals. Now, if you haven't blundered already, ask him to be let in. Ask nicely or he'll see it fair to rip out your rude tongue and send you back the way you came. You won't die, but you'll never be allowed to speak again no matter what surgery you go through.

If he does let you in, you'll find yourself in a walkway that seems to be above a perpetual abyss. Before you will be three things, two of which will be visible. The first is a rapier in a pedestal, the second is a huge stone demon, and the third is something you should not concern yourself with until you have slain the demon blocking your path.

If it hasn't dawned upon you yet, draw the rapier from the stone. If you're incapable of doing so, the Holder will appear before you and push you off the walkway. You'll land on your bed safe and sound. Never look for another Object again; you will be destined to fail. Seek other Seekers and give them any Object you've ever obtained if you want, for they will otherwise seek you. If you hold any intention of continuing your quest, you will be imprisoned until the Reunion, of which you will be among the first victims.

If you are able to draw the rapier from the pedestal, the demon will begin to come to life. It will have legendary strength and endurance, but do not worry for the sword has imbued you with equal strength. Be sure to end the fight quickly, for your endurance has not been made to match and when you falter you will suffer your end here.

The only way in which you can conquer this foe is with your wits - the demon's form changes for each person, but its weakness should become apparent rather quickly. Exploit it and victory will be yours. The demon will fall off the walkway into the abyss. The path before you will be dark, however, do not falter for the Holder has been excited by the fight and sees it fair for him to have some fun, too. You do not want him to be the one to have the first attack.

Keep walking until the path lights up and you see a figure before you. This is either the Holder or a copy of him. He will have a young appearance yet have snow-white hair. He will have black eyes which will seem to bore into your soul. If he is missing any of these features, he is not the true Holder, and you must prepare to slay the copy.

The sword will not be able to be used against its master, so drop it and pull out your own weapon. If it is of a ranged variety, fire true whatever projectile it may use. If it is a close-quarters weapon, charge with an intent to kill. If your first attack or flurry of attacks fails to kill or incapacitate the copy, you'll be killed with a copy of your own weapon. He will not fail. If you do manage to slay the copy, the Holder will appear before you.

When the true Holder is before you, bow and state, "Life is never truly fair," preparing yourself for battle as you speak. He will congratulate you for your victories and bow, slowly pulling the rapier to him with an unknown force. He will not pick it up. Yet. He will then explain why exactly the world is so unfair. The truth will be unexpected, but your sanity should not be affected by its discovery. Make sure not to talk during his explanation, for he has not changed his beliefs in the short time since the hallway.

When he is finished, steel yourself and attack with whatever weapon you brought with you. If you're destined to succeed, you will hit him. If you're not, you will appear at your front door with your weapon in hand. Feel free to try his test again when you have altered Fate. When your attack hits, he will collapse and fall on the floor. Do not take your eyes off him else you find yourself impaled by his rapier. Walk up to him if you were not already standing next to him and offer your hand. If you were standing next to him, simply extend your hand. He will take it and rise, thanking you for your act of kindness.

As a fair payment for the excitement you've given him, the Holder will ask to help you on your journeys. You'd be wise to agree, although it is not necessary. If you do agree, he will pick up his rapier and you will appear at your front door with an empty sheath on your hip. If you do not agree, he will frown and you will appear at your front door with the same sheath with the rapier in it. This form of the rapier can only be drawn when the time for Reunion comes.

The empty sheath, however, will call the Holder to your side at any time you may need him. He will allow you to use his sword in future trials where he sees its use fair. When the time of Reckoning comes, he will be your greatest and most powerful ally. He is the only one able to slay the Holder on horseback.

Do not rely too greatly on the sword's power, for it is the Holder who controls it, and he desires fairness above all else.

This is the divine rapier. It is the only thing that can truly destroy Him and Them. It is that which has been made to allow a fair chance in the Cataclysm to come with Their Reunion.

The way in which it will Reunite with Legion is unknown, but it is inevitable. Have a hand upon its hilt when It begins.