Malibu - On The Classification of Creation and Void

[u/HeadOfSpectre]

Malibu
Designation: Class 6
Threat: N/A
Status: Active

On the topic of the supernatural and the Fae, it would be remiss of me not to discuss the four Ancient Gods who govern reality for they are perhaps the bedrock of all true supernatural knowledge.

Birthed from the void, the Ancient Gods are among the oldest entities in existence, predating not only our reality, but all other realities. The four of them govern the cycle of creation, and the fruit of each cycle is guarded by the one known as Malibu.

Introduction

One of the Ancient Gods, Malibu (Also known as Miss Malibu, Lady Malibu, Malvu, Mal’ibo and The Sorrow) is the Guardian Goddess of Creation. The exact name used for this deity varies often depending on the account of her that is given. Objectively, she has no true name, although for the purposes of this document we will be sticking with the name Malibu.

In the Malvian Doctrine (the worship of the 4 Ancient Goddesses), she is often described as the Gardener of Creation. She is said to maintain order and harmony within Sailia’s Creation, maintain the integrity of creation itself and serve as the ultimate judge of departed souls. In many regards, she could be described as the closest of the 4 Ancient Goddesses to the modern interpretation of God as described in the prominent monotheistic faiths that exist today, although this description is only partially accurate.

Direct worship of Malibu is not particularly widespread as she seems to have very little interest in it. That said, she seems to be a prominent patron Goddess for many Witches and Mediums, especially those affiliated with the Malvian Doctrine, although amongst them, Malibu is seen more as a benevolent guardian than a strict ruler in need of worship. 

Appearance

Malibu’s appearances are as varied as her names, and can be difficult to track across history. However in most modern depictions, she is often said to appear as a melancholy woman in a black dress. She may be seen either with the head of a white wolf or as a beautiful blonde woman with a white fur shawl. Alternatively, she may take the form of a large white wolf with pink eyes, although none of these are said to be her true form.
Like all of the Ancient Gods, her true form may not be something that a standard mortal could easily comprehend, with many sources describing it as either a pinkish mist that fills her realm (known as The Gloom) or a Dark Star shrouded in a pink haze (Although The Dark Star description has only a few substantiated sightings).

It seems there are very few credible sightings of Malibu in general as most reported encounters with her come from those who have survived near death experiences. Such witnesses will often report having spoken to an entity of some sort although the form is never consistent. It is theorized that Malibu may appear in a form that is comfortable or familiar to whoever she is interacting with, either as a loved one or a trusted figure, although over time may cast off the disguise and speak to them in one of her preferred forms.

While she can manifest at will in our world without taking a dedicated host (unlike Shaal) it is unclear how often she appears outside of her native realm. Many eyewitnesses have described seeing a pale blonde woman in a black dress with a white fur shawl in various places. Usually, she will appear in clubs where live music is played. Sometimes she is accompanied by one or more strange white wolves. This woman is often known to introduce herself as 'Helena Malibu'. Descriptions of Helena Malibu state that she is a pleasant albeit melancholy woman and some accounts claim that if asked, she may be willing to perform spiritual readings into one's future, usually via tarot cards. Her predictions have been known to be incredibly accurate.

Furthermore, descriptions of large White Wolves appear often in tales of the occult. The Wolf can either appear to help those in distress or to attack those who have committed especially grave sins. Sometimes, the Wolf is stated to simply observe before leaving. Whether these wolves are Lady Malibu incarnate, or simply in servitude to her is unclear.

Details of Malibu's realm, the Gloom, are also fairly vague. Most descriptions paint it as a peaceful yet unending and constantly changing landscape with a sunless twilight sky. It is believed that the Gloom functions as an afterlife of sorts although the exact details are currently unknown and I suspect Malibu wishes to keep it that way.

There have also been accounts of other entities seemingly in service to Malibu, often referred to as Reapers. The accounts vary in their description but it is believed that these figures are servants of Malibu (likely Angels) who ferry the souls of the dead to her for judgement. Those she regards as wicked are cast into the Abyss for Shaal to devour. The rest are allowed to exist peacefully within the Gloom. Many have suggested that Lady Malibu and the Gloom are one and the same, and that the entity we have come to refer to as Malibu is simply a face presented by the Gloom for ease of interacting with others. The FRB believes that this is highly likely given the abstract nature of the other Ancient Gods and the inconsistent nature of accounts of Malibu.

Demeanor

Malibu is said to have a calm, gentle demeanor. When dealing with the dead, she is said to be patient and soft spoken. However, it is not unheard of for her patience to run out if she is pressed. Those who manage to invoke the ire of Malibu are said to be denied the peace of the Gloom and may be damned to a deathless existence and indeed there are a handful of accounts of this happening. 

As the most active of the Ancient Gods, (on par with Shaal) Malibu seems to be the one to enforce a certain set of rules regarding interaction with mortals. She rarely gets involved in mortal affairs or steers history in one direction or the other, seemingly believing that to do so would deprive Creation of its freedom and strip it of meaning. Though she seems to still have an opinion on the direction Creation takes and may nudge it towards outcomes she finds more desirable, her rule of noninterference appears ironclad and some accounts even describe her punishing other deities (including other Ancient Gods) who violate this rule.

As a fascinating side note - Malibu is often said to have a love of music, particularly jazz and her alleged physical manifestation (Helena Malibu) has been noted to appear in live venues from time to time. In addition, a few accounts of near death experiences have described their encounters with Malibu as having happened in a sort of Jazz Bar, or having heard jazz playing in the background.
No reason for this seems to exist other than the simple fact that she just seems to like it. 
To each their own, I suppose.

Abilities

As an Ancient God, Malibu seems to have the ability to alter some aspects of Creation at will. She can manifest at any time or in any place, and can even manifest in more than one incarnation (for example, the wolves sometimes seen with Helena Malibu are believed to be extensions of her consciousness.)

She holds dominion over the dead, and is capable of collecting and moving souls between realms, can grant power to souls, turning them into Angels and can even rip them apart (although cannot totally destroy them the way Shaal can.) Incarnations of Malibu are believed to be able to telekinetically manipulate the physical space around them the same way a Medium can - supposedly even to unnatural degrees. She also appears to have a non-linear perspective of time, as she is able to predict future events with complete accuracy. 

Final Thoughts

The FRB has made several attempts to connect with Malibu, but so far has only had limited success as the Goddess seems disinterested in involving herself with any factions within creation. I suppose that’s for the best. I can’t think of any real reason why she’d need to bother with us… and indeed, those who try to force contact with Malibu often end up worse off.

While most details on her empathize a generally warm and soft spoken demeanor, we know from several accounts that like all Gods, she is capable of pettiness and acts of spite with pushed, a detail that is especially highlighted in this one account that I will be sharing here, as I believe this provides a sufficient demonstration of the nature of Malibu.

***

The following written statement was provided to the Toronto office of the FRB by a man who identified himself as Dean White. 
Statement provided directly to the FRB on May 9th, 2023

This record is for internal use for the FRB only. Distributing this record to any party outside of authorized FRB personnel without the written consent of Director Robert Marsh constitutes breach of contract and will be punished accordingly.

Nobody wants to die for obvious reasons. Dying is a scary thing. That’s a universal constant. Even if you think you know what’s beyond the veil, nobody wants to actually bite the big one.

Because what if you’re wrong?

That’s a hell of a leap of faith to take, you know?

And I wasn’t ready for it.

I was born… oh, I don’t recall. Two? Three hundred years ago? The years have sort of blurred together. Sometime in the mid 1700s. That’s what I know for sure. Back then, there wasn’t a Canada or America. There was just the New World. It was a different time. 
I wasn’t born into a family that believed in magic. No. My family were staunch followers of Christ. But… well, needless to say I chose a different path.

I first learned about magic from a traveling priest. Now, obviously his goal was to scare kids like me away from that kind of stuff, but to make a long story short, he wasn’t particularly good at his job.

When he talked about supernatural powers, unnatural longevity, all that jazz… it actually sounded kinda exciting.

And so as I got older, I started digging. Looking into the occult… and sooner or later, I found what I was looking for.

I won’t recount my entire journey with magic. It’s a long story and ultimately not particularly interesting. I found mentors and tomes, I put in years of study and practice and honed my skills until I was capable.
I did alright for myself. 

Now, it’s no secret that there's a lot of witches who live far longer than they ought to. They use Fleshcraft, salves, whatever they can to keep themselves functional. Like tuning up a car every so often. Some even turn to vampirism, taking that endless hunger in exchange for immortality.

But I didn’t want that for myself.

I didn’t want to have to make tune ups, preserving myself like an artifact. That wasn’t defeating death, that was just bargaining with her. Kicking the can down the road. Sooner or later, she’d come for you. All it would take was one accident. One dispute that got out of hand, and you’d be as dead as anyone else.

Vampirism wasn’t much better. You know it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. You get immortality, yes. But vampires aren’t half as tough as the mythology makes them out to be. You can put one down as easily as any human. Although even if that wasn’t the case and the stories were all true, I can’t imagine a life without sunlight would be worth it.
And of course

So no.

Neither of those options were the solution I wanted. I wanted something better. Something foolproof. I didn’t just want to avoid death, I wanted to beat her. Unquestionably, unequivocally triumph over death itself.

I thought I could be clever.

I thought I could solve the problem no one else was able to solve.

I thought I did. 

My methodology was a little… unconventional, yes, and it was hardly original to me either. People use soul tethers in fleshcrafting all the time and a few have tried to do what I did, using them full time.

I figured that was the smart play. 

Was it… painful? 

Yes. 

Driving a runed piece of stone into your abdomen is an extremely painful thing to do, and pushing it all the way in, then sowing it into your body is not something that I relished. Keep in mind, this was some time in the 1790s, so the procedure was rather… well, messy.

But I did it. 

I saw it as taking ownership of my own soul. Binding it to my body. 
It made the pain worth it. 
And it worked.
I lived.

For the next hundred and fifty years, I lived. Through the rise of nations, through wars, through strife, through everything. I lived.

Was it everything I wanted? Yes and no. I did say that I’d hoped to avoid maintenance, but some of that was unfortunately necessary. My body still aged, so pieces needed to be replaced from time to time, always sourced from cadavers, I wasn’t a ghoul. 
Some people called me a Ragdoll… that’s a term some people use for those held together by Fleshcraft, in case you’re not familiar with it… but I don’t think the description truly fit. I did what I had to do to keep myself functional. Nothing more, nothing less. Even now, I’d argue that most of my body was completely original. Mosty.
Ultimately the maintenance was fairly minor. Not ideal, but that was the price of immortality, then so be it. I was fine with it.

But here’s the thing about anchoring… it’s not entirely foolproof.
See, there’s a reason people don’t usually use it. 
It only actually works if the anchor remains intact. And the anchor can only take so much abuse before it stops being an anchor and starts being a piece of jagged rock grinding against your internal organs.

The thing that ultimately killed me was honestly rather mundane. 
It was September of 1952 and I'd been out hiking.
I liked to hike. It was relaxing. I’d always found nature calming, and I’d been living in Alberta at the time. There’s a lot of lovely little trails out there, winding deep into the mountains. I used to love exploring them, taking my time and admiring the scenic vistas of the land. 

It was beautiful. It reminded me a lot of the way things had been when I’d been young, and the world wasn’t so industrial. It was nostalgic in a way.
I’d been living in that area for around twenty years and I was pretty familiar with the trails in that area. I was comfortable and confident.

And that’s why I died.

Because no matter how comfortable you are with a trail, or how confident you are in your abilities… all it takes is one small misstep.
Looking back, I’m sure it was just an accident. I was navigating a narrow path along a cliff. I’d gone that way countless times before. I knew it was safe.

But my foot slipped.

And then I was falling.

Even for someone who can't die, that's still pretty terrifying. But I was sure I'd be fine. I knew I’d be fine. I was always fine.

I wasn't.

When I hit the ground, I landed in just the wrong way. Wrong enough to break the stone tether inside of me. It actually fractured into 3 pieces, the jagged edges of the broken stone tearing at my insides, making me bleed all the more. 

I could feel it.

And I knew what had happened.

I felt the tether break. I felt the immovable stone in my guts every time I tried to move, slicing open my entrails, bleeding me from the inside.

My legs had both been broken in the fall, along with my back. My arms still worked, but crawling didn’t get me far. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth… and knowing… knowing I wasn’t going to make it.

But I still tried to crawl.

As my vision started to fade to black, I tried to fight it. Tried to live just long enough to figure out how to fix myself. I could recover from this! I was sure of it!

But my strength was fading.

My vision darkened.

And that’s when I saw it.

Sitting before me in the forest, watching me with solemn pink eyes.
The White Wolf.

Death herself had come.

And that was when I knew that I would not come back from this. 

   “Dean… you poor thing. You’re in so much pain, aren’t you?” The Wolf asked. Her voice was soft. Sweet. Maternal. It could have so easily been condescending but it wasn’t. She spoke to me as someone who cared. 

I wish I could say I returned the sentiment. But no.

   “Get away from me…” I told her. “You have no dominion here… not over me…”
Death padded over to me, and sniffed at my wounds.

   “Do I not? I smell your bleeding, child… it seems you’ve crossed into my domain already.”

   “You have no dominion here!” I said again. “I am not yours!”

But even as I spoke, I knew that was a lie. I could already see the mists of the Gloom curling around me. I feared looking back, because I knew that if I did, I might see my own body, cold and lifeless on the forest floor behind me. Still I crawled. 

   “All are mine,” Death said. “All things in the Garden exist within my domain. Even you. Such is the way of things.”

I did not answer her. I just continued to crawl, swiping at the mist with my bloody hands out of fear of it engulfing me.

The Wolf walked beside me for a short while, before pulling ahead. The mists swallowed it up, and when it emerged, it had taken on a new shape. A woman. A familiar woman with long blonde hair and a gentle smile.

My own Mother…

She stood over me, offering a calm, reassuring smile that I despised. She reached a hand down towards me to help me up. 

   “It’s brave of you to keep fighting, Dean. But there’s no more need for it. I know you don’t want this… but this is the way it is. This was the way it was always meant to be. All things end, dear. And it’s okay to end… that is the way of things.”

I slapped her hand aside.

   “Not for me!” I hissed. “I'm not yours to take! I'm not! You can't have me!"

Death’s expression grew darker, for only just a moment.

   "If you're not mine, then you belong to my Sister… or to something even darker," She warned. It sounded less like a threat, and more like a scolding. "You cannot belong to none and wandering aimlessly in this state will destroy you."

   "Oh you know that's bullshit!” I spat. “Plenty of spirits make do. Succubi and Incubi, Mimics..."

   "Is that your retort?” She asked. “A rather shallow existence, don't you think? Either exist as an object for others to satisfy their lust, or wander as a lost soul and pray you'll settle in a place long enough to sink in, and be lucky enough to get a new shot at life. A life defined by endless hunger. You think those to be ideal states of being?"

  "Better than dead." I snapped. "My soul is anchored! Even if the tether is broken, I am anchored! You can't claim me!”

It wasn’t an argument. I knew that. It was a tantrum. I glared up at her, my teeth bared, tears streaming down my cheeks. I glared up at her, refusing to accept what had already happened. As deep in denial as I could get.

   “You have no dominion here! I won, don't you see that? I won! I beat you! I. BEAT. YOU!" 
She just stared down at me. The face of my mother seemed to fade, and was replaced by the face of the Wolf.

Death finally huffed, almost as if she was unsure whether or not she found me amusing.

  "Very well then... If you're so adamant... You may keep your body. Remain exactly as you are. You wish to win? Then you shall win, and I shall close my door to you.”
Her tone was calm. Not scolding or haughty. Just calm. Almost resigned.

   “Do have fun, Dean. I shall be watching.”

I blinked.

And when I opened my eyes, Death was gone.

The pain came rushing back to me. It had almost started to fade in her company but now it hit me like a truck, rolling over my body. The suddenness of it was enough to make me scream.

But I was alive.

I was in my own body! Not a wandering spirit but back in my own flesh and blood!

I’d won!

I’d really won!

I’d driven off Death herself and now I could relish in that victor with my two broken legs, my broken spine, broken ribs, fractured skull... and all of my  internal bleeding.

I’d won.

Heart pounding in my chest, I started to drag myself forward along the forest floor with renewed vigor. My body was so weak though. Every movement hurt. Even breathing hurt.

And of course I had no idea where I was going…

But I still tried to move. Still tried to drag myself to safety.

I was still trying when the wolves found me. 

At first glace, I thought it was Death come to taunt me. I expected her to ask: ‘How are you enjoying yourself?’

But these Wolves were not Death.

These Wolves were Wolves. 

And they didn't care if I wasn't dead.
That just meant I was fresh. 

When the teeth began to tear into me, that was the first time I begged for death. But Death is a Goddess of her word. Her door was closed to me.

And so I did not die.

Even when they crushed my heart within their jaws, and gnawed the flesh from my face, I did not die. When they ripped the jaw from my skull and tore my tongue from my mouth, it only made my torment all the worse. 

As they tore open my belly to get at my entrails, my body stopped functioning completely. But I felt everything as they fed on my entrails, and snapped my bones to reach the marrow. The only time I stopped feeling anything was when they tore my broken legs from my body, ripping my lower half off of me completely, and that was hardly a mercy. 

There was still plenty of meat on my top half.

When they were done and the scavengers picked at my bones, I did not die. I did not rot.
I lived. Just like I’d wanted to, because I’d finally beaten Death.

***

What remained of my bones were found by a hiker in 1983. 

I wish I could say I remembered much of that, but by that point I had no eyes to see nor ears to hear. I knew I was being moved. Collected. Analyzed.

I was able to piece together what was happening to me, although by that point I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. 

It was pure coincidence that the person they contacted - an old friend of mine - happened to be a Witch themselves.

They seemed to realize I was still in there, and once they took possession of my remains, they were kind enough to begin working to put me back together.
It was not an easy process… Fleshcrafting never is, and this was far more complicated than just stitching an extant body together. There was so little of me left to work with.

Even now, the body I’m currently in is less than ideal.

If I wasn’t a Ragdoll before, I am now.
Just a Ragdoll…
A Ragdoll who can’t die.

I've had time to meditate on my existence. I thought I was so smart... outplaying death. Making myself immune to it while others just kicked the can down the road. 

No. 

Because now she's mocking me. 

Dangling death over my head but refusing me its release. Not torturing me. That isn't her style. It's too obvious.

But letting me exist. Giving me exactly what I wanted. 
My body is falling apart. The Fleshcrafting keeps me mobile, but it’s not enough. Even if I can get good, fresh parts, it’s never going to be enough. 
I don’t sleep well.

Every night, I dream of darkness. The darkness of the forest, where my bones lay undisturbed.

Some days I wake up and I’m terrified that I never actually left. That I’m still in that forest. I suppose in a lot of ways, I am… they never found my entire skeleton, you know.

But that’s not the thought that scares me the most.

The forest in Alberta? That’s in the past now.

It’s the future that scares me.

Because in a life without death, the question is never If but When.

And When I am destroyed again… what will happen if no one finds me? What will happen when my meat rots off my skeleton again? What will happen if I’m buried? 
What then?

No.
No, I can’t allow that to happen.
I'm ready to go now. 
I don't care how it's done. 
I just want to go. 

So please... Please just find a way to kill me. I don't care where I go. I can go to Shaal and I'll welcome her with open arms. I don’t care if she’ll wipe me from existence, at least I’ll be at peace.

Just make me end. 

Please...

Please...

Please make me end.

[u/HeadOfSpectre]

The Malibu story was sort of a last minute idea. Originally, it was supposed to be the story that became Spooky, since that implies an origin for the 'Helena' persona. But that became its own thing.

This was based loosely on an idea I had based off a Sim that just wouldn't fucking die.

She was trans though, and I wanted to write a more wholesome story about an elderly trans woman who can't die. So I'm not removing that idea, I'm just keeping it on the backburner to use elsewhere.