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A JOURNEY FROM 2010 TO 2038 (part IV)


Read the first part HERE



In 2010, the Malefic Time website began to post these texts on the blog. Do these days seem like a coincidence? We will reran the texts that were published in its day about the creation process. 




Malefic character history


-Luis Royo

Nueve Lenguas



1992 is the date of the draw of the first sketches on this character.

In 1993 first appeared in a book illustration and was entitled MALEFIC. The character is represented in only four illustrations, but its atmosphere pervades some of the content of the book. The book's cover (the picture above), is dedicated to Malefic Luz wielding the sword, with his tears of blood.

Malefic in 1995 appeared only once inside the book SECRETS.

In 1996, along with a very young Romulo Royo, is preparing a project booklet about the features and world of the character, not publishable, but as a guide line for the future.

In 1997, in the book III MILLENNIUM, instead of being shown the character, is part of her world reflected in its images. Winged characters, New York deteriorated, etc.

In 2000, in the book Evolution, a chapter at the end of the book devoted entirely to Malefic, with pictures and short stories.

In 2008, the third little book of drawings WILD SKETCHES, its whole latter part consists in drawings of Luz.

In 2009, it's re-published a remastered and renewed MALEFIC book, and again we see its character Luz.

In 2009 with DEAD MOON DEAD MOON EPILOGUE and closes an earlier history of the universe Malefic Time.

Since late 2009, along with Norma, it's planned a broad creative collaboration with different creatives to address and complete the work of Malefic. The entire project is MALEFIC TIME.




Glance in blood


-Luis Royo



I want to tell you a little event about Luz. From when she was four years old and lived in Paris (the romantic so little romantic Paris of 2023), supervised by Nergal, who is also known by other names (we'll talk about this later). Baal took her there for training until his trip to New York.

Even with four years, Luz managed to make breaks where she could move around in that dark order. In one of these trips, she fell from one of the windows on the third floor, but not a bone was broken, only small scratches and some bruise. She went down because of watching a cat roaming the corbel. Her gray pupils were like a mirror and reflected the harmonious movements of the cat coming close, she couldn't hold back, and she went to took it.

Both fell to the muddy ground of the garden. The cat ran away scared by the clamping arms of the girl and fleeing an old car hit it. The car was forcibly stopped without knowing the owner how. The cat was dying, his body back shattered. Luz as she approached, took a small splintered piece of wood from the floor, looked at the cat's eyes, girl and cat with the same light gray eyes. Around the girl's sprang two bloody tears (it was the first time Luz wept blood). And strongly stuck the splinter twice in the neck of the cat, freeing it from the agony, she turned with her bloodshot eyes towards the driver watching the motor without understanding the halt of the vehicle by a simple runover of a cat, and went to him stabbing the splinter in his thigh. The girl went with the dead cat in her arms, leaving the driver on the ground writhing in pain.

The cult members did not find Luz until three days later, she was hidden in some old pipes without use. She was found by following the stench coming from the dead cat which was still in her arms.

This event was not told to me by the American, but I know it. 






- Romulo Royo

Here is a Christmas Greeting Card in case you want to use it and to greet your friends. In the bottom of the card, below the "AND" There is a line, so you can take part in the madness by writing your name.

Under this cold night I wish you friends a happy Apocalypse.








 - Luis Royo

I present to you to Soum, Luz's friend (she wouldn't call her friend, but let's leave it like that), with her slanted eyes, with the moon as a sign and source of life (the moon, you know, east, there are still many stories to tell from distant Dead Moon), with her several katanas extraordinarily tempered blades, all dedication in the sect of the 13 moons that exist in Tokyo, (I don't know if you know it, is not easy a man could have spent even some short hours in that place, Pío Baroja and Yukio Mishima also knew this sect and their connections with the rituals in the caves of Zugarramurdi in Navarra, one day I will tell you about this female order so mysterious), her long black ponytail, with...

On the other hand I'm really tired, what I can tell about Soun on a night like this? Sometimes one would welcome the female figure, desirable and agonizing of death with his scythe, is not new, so many times I've wanted to meet her. I have a childish defense to this, maybe is good to say it in case anyone are in my mood, I think about the whole next year expecting me and I say: at least one of those 365 will be a magical day, if only one, it will be worth waiting for it because it will be a palpable dream. Will be a dream of light. Luz. Someday I have also to talk more about Luz. Did you know that Luz instead of talking sometimes just growls? rather said emits a sound like owls. Did you know that there are owls in the lair of Luz? In the same New York... what strangest cities await us.


When I've talked about nights like this, my doctor says, "And what do you think about that?, Why do you think you see it that way?, tell me more about it, try to develop the idea for me. And I look him, poor... These nights you wander through your brain and how many aisles!, they never end... and all of them full of doors, so many doors! Impossible in a short life time opening a thousandth part of those doors, and also when you open some of them are really scary, what things we carry on our backs without giving nearly account, from where the hell have left so many monstrous glares and how they stayed here?. I look at him and I wonder: will have the poor time to walk through the hallways? Will he have time to open his own doors?. The American was inside one of those rooms’ years ago, maybe it had been better not to have known him, He's an egoist's where you see him, always with the fucking 2038 world, is all that matters to him. These days, I know the Stains have walked also one of his corridors, a rich one, because his eyes sparkle in front of his work, and I am convinced that Hats has also opened a door that has uploaded his energies. How much I miss those halls and those sweet doors each time harder to meet with.

Chemical things missing in our body says the guy in the white coat. You can get calm chemically, that one could be more in harmony with the environment, can achieve serenity... haha, and that he says comfortably seated in an armchair, has he looked out the window at the world out there? I do not want that harmony, I do not want that calm, I came here to leave! I do want to keep opening doors, although some affright me, although some bend me and I fell on the floor. I look at him and do not tell what is in those rooms that I open, the beasts I meet, may he open his if he wants, and if not, may he stay sitting on his ass over his harmony and serenity, may he stay with chemistry.

The only serenity I do envy is the one of the young man that sits on a stone and watch the horizon, years pass and still sitting on the same stone, its beard grows, he grows old and watch the horizon from the same stone, he has never turned his face and his gaze is fixed on the horizon, I envy him. How much time he had to walk through those endless corridors. Open many doors he could opened.

I said Soum has slanted eyes, is agile and alert as a squirrel... well, let Soum come another night with us.. 




Through the Looking-Glass 


 -Jesús Vilches





The large studio metal door listless complains when opening. It's possible to glimpse the long, dark hallway studded with ghosts. We look each other; there is a soft reminiscent smile on our lips. The steps echoes resound as we walk and the lights flash while we wake up them one by one. The huge studio lights, yawning, with the fluorescent glare of neon. In the canvas, our angels and demons slowly stretch. Tired bodies shed their coats and the arctic breath of a sleepless Madrid slips through the door that gives access to the roof terrace. The first cigarette tastes like glory.

I look to the south in my daily ritual and smile while I let White-Haired and Stains continue saying goodbye to the Moon of Dawn. Something magical has happened. Our glances know. Our eyes reflect it, in our pupils has been recorded.

It's been some dizzying days away from our usual routine. Exhausting, full agenda, waiting for calls, talks, acts and protocols; necessary price to pay in this our strange craft of making demons. However, it was also the first time we have been aware, in flesh, on skin, of the impact of what we do. We do it because we do it, because we can't ignore it. It is the best therapy for our madness... but many are following what we do, expecting what we do, encourage us to pursue, rekindle the embers of this fire, usually full of vanity, and in our case only fuels the fire of purification.

We look each other again. There're barely words. There are still smiles... There is a serene calm throbbing in caress around us. It's like a bridal gown in a closet open to the public. It's like the echo of a woman's fragrance that sticks in the brain. White-Haired knows now, with absolute certainty while lighting the second cigarette, that the world awaits his painted apocalypse of Luz. Yet we wonder if they are ready for the end is coming, but no doubt they want us to tell them. Stains is conscious while the accumulated fatigue makes him to rub his eyes, that his texture and viscera recipe is the secret ingredient that makes the difference. That there are insomniacs like us hooked (like us) to the culinary lab of dreams and nightmares where angels who are not angels and demons who were angels play a game started eons ago. And this Mad Hatter has seen Alice through the looking-glass. Maybe she wants me to stay... perhaps White-Haired was always right and I'm here (and no other) because she always wanted. Because I cannot escape my destiny and my destiny is to write her, throbbing her, dream her and do not dream her; that she dreams of me and not only dream of me. My reasonable doubts vanish in a blink. I'm part of this miracle because I can't be. I must be chosen. My number has been said.

Stolen the names, brought back to life the canvas asleep for years, opened the box of a Pandora of red hair and eager sex hear we listen the heavy thump of the door that locks us back into our factory of monsters. Luz winks at us the last unfinished sketch. A legion of pigments and brushes to stand to attention to our path. The words still unspoken kiss us on the lips with poisonous kisses.

Each one is in his place: there're dates, destinations (Barcelona, Angouleme, Lucca, Mexico, San Diego...), Swords of Damocles already over our heads. The wheel, from today, is unstoppable, impatient, inexorable.

We took up arms. A final look of ferocity.

We're back

Wake up!





- Jesús Vilches




The time has come to know the names. Who is behind these letters and these photographs? The unbelievers still think that we invented all of that, that despite all efforts to show that we are, we exist, they still think there's a magician's trick. There is not, though isn't all real, not everything is a lie. We feel comfortable in this theater of the absurd in which everything takes half-truths and half lies. It's our way of being able to play our part in this whole affair. However, they're pushing out us to the streets. They will reveal us, whether we like it or not. It's time to stop hiding and assume with all risks who is who.

The old Gray-Haired is the one who has made all the wheel in motion. Has spent more than 30 years illustrating his schizophrenia. Luz may be the largest of them. All he has done in that time is not even a shadow of what must happen from now. His name, I hope that few doubted, is Luis Royo.

The obsessive Stains is called Romulo Royo. Since both decided to trace and color their dreams and nightmares, Romulo supplies dirt, the torn line, the guts. The apocalypse that's coming will need his perfect imperfection.

The bipolar whom speaks to you, the one you call Hats or Mad Hatter, is just a stranger known as Vilches. They trust in me to draw in words the universe of images that move in the heads of those two madmen. The reason why my name is added to this list belongs to Luz. Gray-Haired says she's been waiting all this time for me and I'm none to question this fact.

Three little crazy in a top-hat. A partnership that has pretensions of being durable. Only time will tell if it was worth. For our part, we will continue in this attic shaping our monsters (because they do not belong to any of us in particular) and then throw them into the world as they wish. We dropped the snowball that should grow up.

I'm sure American is smiling right now. At the end all his plans will be fulfilled as he intended??   



Read the fifth part HERE


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