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Topic Summary

Posted by: Cloak
« on: Today at 07:29:52 PM »

New chapter.

The Day RAFians Died . . .

At RAF, a few days had passed since the news that Rotiart was still alive and blamed them for leaving him for dead. It was a strong blow to both their ego and their emotions. They didn't even know how it was possible. All the RAFians that where there, during all the wesen battles, were absolutely sure of it.

Meanwhile, GH was sleeping in, as Leatherhead was painting purple dots on his legs, until Hunter stopped him. GH never stirred once.

In his dream, four of him were singing -- vain GH, intelligent GH, humorus GH, and sensitive GH. They sang:

"Can't you see it in my eyes?
I'm the one, I'm the— ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR
I'm not like the other guys.
(He's not like anybody, well . . .)
That's not completely right.
There's a few that I'm just like
GH and the Logans,
We're gonna make you smile!
Me, myself, and I, and him,
Are all the same guy!
GH and the Logans.
Come on, now, don't be shy!
Me, myself, and I and him! (That's me!)
Are all the same guy!

That was a couple of hours ago. Now he was playing with Leatherhead and Hunter. GH sang

"Can't you see it in our eyes?
We're the one, we're the—






"We're not like the other guys."


"We're not like anybody!"


"By the way, don't go back in time. (Ahh)
Or you'll destroy yourself. (Ahh)
GH and the RAFians.
We're gonna make you smile! (Ah, ah, ahh)
I accidentally created
A shiny tourmaline!
GH and the RAFians!
Come on, now, don't be shy! (Ah, ah, ahh)
I learned to stay true to myself,
By watching myself die . . .

Then GH let out a gasp, and he saw that he was . . . a zombie? How'd the hell did that happen without him noticing?

He looked at Hunter and was shocked to find that he looked remarkably similar to skeletal Rahzar. Flesh and fur hanging off a bony frame. Hunter looked at his hand and registered the same surprise as GH.

The GH looked at Leatherhead, and he looked like a six-year-old Dry Bowser, with more crocodilian traits. Leatherhead looked as if he was about to cry -- he was scared, and GH couldn't blame him.

What the hell was going on here?"

Source Songs: https://youtube.com/watch?v=P-cx0qToGhU and https://youtube.com/watch?v=GyYO2692Fls
Posted by: Cloak
« on: Yesterday at 07:55:27 AM »

New chapter.

The Typewriter

His name was Gregory Alan Stewart, a nineteen-year-old aspiring writer. And an amateurish one, at that. So much so that he was called, often pejoratively, "Gary Stu". He did not appreciate this unwanted nickname, and considered it quite offensive. As such, he did not have many, if any, friends because of this.

He often imagined horrible things happening to them, despite never actually acting on them, rather like Angela Andaconda from her eponymous show. He often imagined what he would do when or if he had any power over these people.

He also thought poorly of RAF, desperately jealous of their power and influence, never considering joining them. His jealously had already congealed into anger and utter contempt for them, his dissatisfaction for his circumstances had consolidated with this envy and hardened into malignant dismissal of their effectiveness. He transferred his feelings towards his bullies toward the RAFians, who thought they were cool for all the wrong reasons.

Anyway, he went to a thrift shop, looking for a typewriter, despite such devices being rather archaic and retro at this point and time. Which was precisely the reason why he wanted it, he had a weakness for retro things like that.

Most of the items in this thrift store were garbage, in his opinion. Refuse that people no longer wanted. Used and discarded. He didn't really expect to find anything worthwhile here.

Then he saw it. It was a topaz yellow typewriter, glistening like a gem. The keys were circular with yellow letters upon a black background. He got some background on it, and found out that the previous owner dropped it off. Turned out the "E" was broken, and, considering the most used letter in the English language is "E", it was useless to them. It came in March or April of last year.

Gregory didn't know what this thrift store clerk was talking about, though. The "E" key looked perfectly fine with him. Perhaps they fixed it so they could resale it. Either way, it mattered very little. He would take it.

He hefted the heavy antique and walked to his home. His parents were almost never home. He was glad, he wasn't fond of them at all. He was tired of them looking down on him, tired of their constant disapproval. His minimum wage job wasn't as high-profile as they thought it ought to be, and they act as if he wanted to be a part-timer -- regardless of the fact that he always went in if he was called in, regardless of the fact that he worked very hard at this small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant for little fanfare or appreciation.

He went to his room in the attic, in their small, cluttered house, and came up with an idea. He typed creating a self-insert character with his name and features. It was nothing he hadn't done before. He wrote that he lived in a multistory Victorian house. He thought he heard something, and looked up to find that it was true.

The typewriter made it true. The typewriter somehow had overwritten reality itself. With this typewriter . . . with this typewriter, he could overwrite reality. He had a lot of power with this typewriter in his possession . . .

Suddenly, the second-string quarterback at his school was suddenly pregnant.

Suddenly, a mean girl cheerleader at his school discovered her parents never loved her, and never had.

Suddenly, his neighbor's black American shorthair cat became a mob boss.

Suddenly, Mr. and Mrs. Stewart were kidnapped by aliens (Skrit Na, specifically).

Suddenly, a ditz from his school who refused to go out with him became toothless.

Gregory smiled after he wrote all this, he smiled devilishly. He decided that he would take on a new name due to this power. A new name that would become his moniker and be feared to be uttered. He would become . . .

The Ghostwriter.
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 25, 2017, 06:58:13 AM »

New chapter.



Cloak was dispatched to an inactive railyard where a fiend was spotted. The Realm Walker hadn't a clue what it looked like, per usual for a fiend mission.

It was a labyrinthine situation with the placement of the train cars. With each step, the ominous feeling of this being a train graveyard increased. It didn't help with the setting sun, but it took a lot more than that to scare the Elements Master. Only one person has ever caused him true fear, and this fiend wasn't her.

Each footstep he took was silent, due to his feline nature. As he looked at these trains, he got the feeling that they were shoved here to be forgotten, and to gather dust and rust. Or perhaps this railyard just fell through. It is difficult to be viable when multibillion corporations are hoarding all the wealth to themselves, Cloak supposed.

Cloak eyed a strange steam locomotive that was much of the design of Thomas the Tank Engine in blue with green highlights with a cattle catcher. It looked like a toy compared to the rest of the trains. Despite being decidedly different from the rest of the rusting carcasses, Cloak decided that it was not really important.

Cloak hopped atop an old forgotten box car. He looked around this tetanus wonderland and wondered where the fiend could possibly be. Surely, had it been on the ground, he would have Earthsighted it already.

Night had fallen, and it was a warm summer night. The first stars were already out. So was the moon, casting silvery light upon the scene. But there wasn't much to see. Just some rusting carcasses of once proud and shiny trains. Even the wood on the boxcars were splintering and decaying, it seemed.

It was too quiet for Cloak's liking. The absence of sounds just increased the forboding feeling in the Realm Walker's gut. He honestly anticipated an ambush. What he did not anticipate was what actually happened.

Then the toy-like steam locomotive shifted and transformed into a humanoid form, like a Cybertronian. It stood only slightly taller than a ten-year-old child. Its eyes were human-like with purple sclera and black irises. It had no nose and its hands were black. Its abdomen and crotch were a cool rust color. Its feet were the cattle catcher in its steam locomotive form, and colored green. Train kibble littered its form, but it did not seem to mind the rather haphazard way it looked.

"I should have known," Cloak said, a tad angry at his earlier dismissal of the fiend's train form.

The fiend tooted its smokestack, which was attached to the back of his head, as if it was intimidating. Then it charged forward with all the force of a speeding locomotive, and Cloak leaped. Then he somersaulted off its shoulders, and landed behind it.

Cloak noticed that it didn't turn around easily. Perhaps it couldn't. Makes sense, considering its train form. But whennit did turn around, it didn't charge again but bent over and fired four flaming pieces of coal from its smokestack. However, there was a slight flaw with this plan.

Coal happens to be earth. And Cloak was a Master of said element.

All eleven pieces of coal froze midair, and reversed direction, heading right back at the creature with all the force of a bullet fired from a gun. The flaming coal pieces ripped through its body, and then stopped on the opposite side. Then they flew back through the creature with the velocity of bullets. Then again.

"It is done," Cloak said, turning around as the creature behind him exploded. With a snap of his fingers, the fire was extinguished. Then he walked away.


Demos called it a "charjisapien", and he designed it as trainyard security, with its ability to transform into a steam locomotive.


"It did charge it," Malice said, head ****ed to the side.
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 24, 2017, 06:19:40 PM »

New chapter.

Stone Cold

Parker was dispatched to a mountain to slay another fiend. This was getting so routine, it caused Parker to have some misgivings. Just another routine mission to bring down another one of Demos's fiends.

It was a good thing that his lab privileges had been revoked all that time ago. If he created this many fiends already. There were at least over thirty they've taken care of already. How many more before they were done with these fiends?

Parker nevertheless continued to plod onward, anticipating a very long, very boring route to the coordinates provided. Why they couldn't just drop him off at the precise coordinates, he didn't know. Probably because this mountain had not land plateform safe enough for Yarin's ship. But, then again, he could have just been dropped -- this place was not immune from being a drop zone. Was it?

No matter. He had his mission. Just because it seemed rinky-dink to him, as this wasn't the first fiend he's bothered with, didn't mean that it didn't have to be done. And it didn't mean he was obligated to be happy about it.

The path he was following led into a cave inside the mountain. A tremendous hole in the side, enough to accommodate Dino in her full, true size. But Parker didn't dally to marvel at this. He had a job to do.

He found a circular plate with a red "G" on it, while navigating the cave. He soon determined that it was a worthless relic -- litter -- and he pressed on, wishing the winding, sinewy tunnels were far more straightforward. He cursed once or twice at Tyr for not warning him of unexpected pitfalls and getting irritated with his A.I.'s chiding remarks.

It was only a matter of time before he was taken outside again, on a perilous path with many pitfalls he could see.

"God, I hate platforming," he muttered, before hearing Tyr's jibe, and snarling, "Shut up, Tyr."

Eventually he made his way to a small recess in the mountain that led to a larger alcove. This is where the fiend was, his reports said. And, indeed, they were right.

The creature was a large, humanoid creature with a brutish, boxy build. Its forearms, the crown of its head, shoulders, chest, lower legs, and feet were made of red bricks. It had large, round, human-like eyes with white sclera and black irises. Its jaw and large hands were black, while its upper arms, thighs, and crotch were white. It's waist had a purple ring around it. Its head was shaped kind of like an upturned "U".

It took him what Parker considered a long time before the creature noticed his presence, indicating a brutish mentality as well. When it saw Parker, it immediately went to attack him, not surprising Parker in the least.

It generated two orbs or stone that orbited around the point it was before it leaped towards Parker, who easily rolled underneath. It fell apart when it landed, but reassembled itself easily enough. This seemed to be its only tactic.

Parker just laid into him all his explosive arsenal (which was quite impressively extensive), which caused the creature to fall in battle with relative ease. Parker got up and dusted himself off, asking for a pick up.


Demos called it a "lithosapien". Demos designed it to simply be tough and withstand attacks.


"Well, he had stones," Malice said, almost indifferently.
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 24, 2017, 07:01:57 AM »

New chapter.

Loose Threads

It wasn't an easy task to ferry all these people away from here. It took a fair chunk of time to accomplish, most of the day, in fact. But it was done, leaving those tourists and vacationers with quite a story to tell. Granted, no one would believe them -- skeptics will exist in every situation.

All five then return to the forum, with this heavy news. That Rotiart is alive, and blames them for leaving him for dead.

"I knew 'Trey Moore' smelled familiar," Hunter said, with a heavy sigh.

"You smelling other guys?" GH said, with mock sternness.

"It's not like that, Logan," Hunter said, quickly. "I caught his scent, and --"

"You caught his scent, now, didja?" GH said, playing the part. Though the effect was ruined due to the big, goofy smile he was wearing.

"But," Abby interrupted this, and GH was a little miffed that she ruined his fun, "how? How did he survive such an attack? HOW?!"

"We couldn't get him to monologue about that," Saffa sighed. "He refused to tell us. He refused to explain how he survived."

"Then he might not have been the real deal," Aquilai said, trailing over the path they already came across. "He could be a clone, or a robotic replacement, or something."

"I can confirm that he was fully organic," Cloak said. "There was no cybertronics in him whatsoever. Unless you count the Animus Ritus thing, which was more occult than cybernetic."

"A clone, then," Goom suggested.

"I haven't any real, concrete evidence to prove it, but I believe he is the real deal." Cloak said. "He most certainly believes he is, anyway. And, remember, his body did vanish."

"I assumed that Malice just added it to her grotesque . . . corpse pile," Parker said.

"As did I," the Realm Walker said. "But I believe that somehow he didn't and he somehow survived for six of your months. I don't understand all of it, but somehow how he survived and he thought we had abandoned him. Left him for dead."

"He has an understandable chip on his shoulder," Shenmue said, "though he went about trying to resolve it in the wrong way. He could have killed those people."

"The pandemonium demons were wearing their bodies, their souls were being used to fuel his power in his monstrous form -- which kinda looked like Trigon from DC." Cloak said.

"Pandemonium demons?" Demos inquired.

"He was using them for his scheme," Underseen said. "He planned to use them essentially as sleeper agents on his rise to power."

"Pandemonium demons are not intelligent enough to be used in such a capacity," Demos said. "They are bound to a single master that they follow without question, and will not harm -- they're smart enough for that. But for use as sleeper agents? This why higher-level demons like myself or Shenecron would never dream of using them. They are not the most reliable minions, and they have a rather easy weakness to exploit."

"Sunlight." Gaz said.

"Right." Demos nodded. "Some demons might use them if they need an expendable minion, but it is usually considered an act of desperation or a deliberate insult to use them against an opponent or rival."

"Whoa, wait, there's one question that we're not asking," Quaf said, with sudden, dawning realization, "just how'd Rotiart get access to these demons in the first place?"


Rotiart did survive this ordeal. He had sat motionless, gathering his strength again. While the RAFians were concerning themselves with the tourists and vacationers, he made his escape from the island.

It was a small motorboat in a secret harbor that only he knew of. His plan had fell through. He had miscalculated. But, fortunately, during his impersonation of Trey Moore, he had suspected that this might happen, so he funneled a portion of Trey's wealth into a private account (by taking it out of Trey's account -- it was astonishingly easy to find both Trey's account number, routing number, and PIN, it was a wonder why no one had robbed the snowflake blind before -- and then Rotiart put it in this special offshore account). He knew he would be okay, especially if the real Trey Moore showed up.

If he didn't however, Rotiart was planning to continue to impersonate him -- though he kind of wished his mask was a full bodysuit, but he would make do, provided the real one didn't show up. Rotiart would continue to funnel Trey's money into this offshore account until this disguise was of no further use to him, and all his wealth is in this offshore account.

Rotiart was just real fortunate to have come upon a very stupid, manchild oligarch. Making the mask was eas-- . . . wait, did he make it? He couldn't remember. Just like he couldn't exactly remember how he truly survived the attack from that snake wesen -- he just knew he got a sudden wave of dread every time he tried. He didn't try to remember often because of that feeling . . .

Oh, there's the mainland.

After a bit scouting about, he found that Trey Moore wasn't found yet -- the amnesia Rotiart gave him . . . wait, was that how he got Trey out of the way? Or was it -- dah! Never mind it didn't matter.

He went into a public bathroom and came out in a decadent purple suit with black leather gloves with the Trey mask on, with it contouring to his face wonderfully. No one saw any difference between him and the real one. Rotiart found it an easy role to.play, considering he, himself, was a lot smarter than the real Trey . . .
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 23, 2017, 09:03:51 PM »

New chapter.


"Why are you smiling?" Rotiart asked, as Cloak stood with a knowing smile on his face.


Rotiart's contact with the Animusraptor Ritus was severed by a thrown taydenite sword, which was retrieved by a small, but strong bat while the Animusraptor Ritus was spirited away in the talons of a bald eagle who tossed it to Hunter.

Rotiart still hadn't registered what had happened as he started to shrink and be humanized once more. He still had yet to connect the dots. Cloak wasn't trying to attack him -- not to kill at least. He was a distraction. A distraction while everyone else got into place.

Rotiart returned to his human form, only more ripped that he did before and looking whole and clean -- no red swollen bits, no scars (other than a red spot on his chest where the Animus Ritus used to be). He was standing in the crater, with his clothing having shrunk, somehow, with him. He vanished from sight, into the space that moments before made up his waist.

Rotiart was briefly forgotten, as Hunter fumbled with the Ritus before discovering the release mechanism that caused the occult device to open up explosively. It spewed out all of the ensnared and captive souls like a horizontal geyser. When it was empty, Hunter threw it to Cloak, who crushed into worthless fist with his hand.

The first few pandemonium demons still stood around stupidly in their stolen body husks as this happened. They did not do anything to help their master as Cloak played him for a fool, except watch on, as if it was a live stage show. They did not realize what was happening when Hunter opened the Ritus.

They only realized what was happening when six souls reclaimed their bodies and vomited out the squatters in their rightful bodies. The pandemonium demons rejected from their absconded bodies were blistered by the sunlight, stronger now as the morning was now full swing. Then they collapsed into ashy dust.

Another three had their stolen bodies reclaimed by their rightful proprietors, the rest of the pandemonium demons, in an effort to keep their stolen property, began to flee the souls, who were dead set on reclaiming what was theirs by right. But it was for naught. There was no way that the pandemonium demons could get off-island, to truly evade the souls to return to their rightful bodies.

It wasn't long before all the souls reclaimed their rightful bodies, including the ferry driver and the onboard attendant, and all of the pandemonium demons were dead. And, honestly, Cloak had a very difficult time feeling any sort of sympathy for them. Granted, they were what they were. They were hardly even individuals, but just mindless drones controlled by Rotiart. Simpleton demons who just followed and served a master loyally who had no loyalty towards them in return.

All the souls remembered their ordeal, and remembered the actions the RAFians took that saved them. But they didn't remember being used to juice up Rotiart, but just everything whilst in the basin. The RAFians were just more concerned with getting them safely off the island.

"What about Rotiart?" Saffa said. "Where did he get to?"

"I . . . dunno," Cloak said, shutting his eyes, touching the ground with his fingertips and wiggling his toes. "My Earthsight isn't picking him up. He's either dead or gotten away, somehow. Otherwise, he just standing perfectly still."

"We thought he was dead once," Gaz said, "and he survived that somehow. Which I still don't understand how. He should be dead."

"A concern we can deal with later," Cloak said. "For now, our primary concern is getting these tourists and vacationers back to the mainland. Hopefully, to forget the ordeal they had just gone through."
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 22, 2017, 09:15:59 AM »

New chapter.


Rotiart easily survived the cave in, as did the pandemonium demons wearing the bodies of staff and tourists. The ones that weren't met a very unwelcoming surprise -- sunrise. They exploded into wisps of brimstone and aether, dead and gone.

The rubble buried Rotiart up to his waist, but he was still quite dangerous. But not to Cloak -- in Tier Three of his power, which meant that he had three tendrils of golden-scarlet energy trailing from each of his eyes, which glowed like golden-scarlet suns. Who knew how many Tiers of power he had -- but he had subconsciously places these blocks to his powers, for fear of losing them or becoming overwhelmed or overburdened with them.

"Is this supposed to be impressive, Cloak?" Rotiart sneered with a thunderous voice.

"You have two options before you, Rotiart," Cloak said. His voice was cold and firm. "Return your stolen property, the stolen souls, give them back their bodies, and we can pretend this never happened. Or . . . we can get . . . messy."

"Do you take me for a fool?" he asked, with a belly laugh. "My power knows no peer. Not even you've the power to outmatch me."

"Whatever, whoever, aided in your resurrection has done something to you, Rotiart." Cloak said. "And not for the better. i truly wish that you could see that, even in your . . .
unstable condition, right now. Whoever they are, they twisted you. Warped your mind. This isn't you. You were making enormous strides before you battled the snake wesen. You were bettering yourself, and it was working."

"Save it," Rotiart snapped. He was far too conditioned to hate the RAFians at this point that he would not be convinced. "I don't care how many lies and flimsy rhetoric you spew. I will not be made a fool of again."

"The hard way it is," Cloak said, almost ruefully. Pityingly. Rotiart had made really progress, it was true. Cloak understood why he left his home as well, understood all too well -- a negligent, verbally abusive parent who didn't care about their child. Only in Cloak's case, his mother pretended that she did. "Just know, Rotiart -- it didn't have to be this way."

"You pretentious --" Rotiart splutterred in anger before firing a blast of red energy at Cloak, only to discover that Cloak fired a volley himself a split second before, and it hit him in the face. But it didn't hurt, just blinded him for a second.

It gave Rotiart a giant boost in his already overinflated confidence. Overconfidence usually is always a liability, especially to those who haven't any logical reason to be overconfident.

"Not good enough, Cloak." Rotiart sneered, as the Realm Walker said nothing in reply. Rotiart picked up a large piece of the rubble, unaware of how distracted Cloak seemed to be, and threw it.

Yes. He threw a rock at a Master of the Earth Element. Rotiart was never the smartest RAFian, back when he was one.

Cloak easily pulled the rock into orbit around him, and sent it back to Rotiart with an unintentional pirouette. It hit Rotiart in his right shoulder. This time it hurt. Not by much, but it was enough to cause Rotiart to take this more seriously.

He fired a concussive blast at the Elements Master, who slammed his fist on the ground. Then this generated a wall of stone between him and blast, which successfully blocked it. Then Cloak terrakinetically lifted this massive wall of earth and stone, looking rather like the Hulk holding up that mountain that one time, and heaved it at Rotiart, which hit him in the head. It just got him mad, rather than doing any kind of legitimate damage.

Then again, Cloak wasn't trying to kill Rotiart. He had a plan, and, insofar, it was going swimmingly. For here, Cloak began dodging and evading Rotiart's attacks. Cloak found that he, in the former RAFian's frustration, was starting to telegraph his attacks a bit too much.

"You are DONE, Cloak!" Rotiart roared. "You are DONE! You hear me?! You are -- why are you smiling?"
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 21, 2017, 06:02:37 AM »

New chapter.

Nothing But Bad Days Ahead

After he absorbed every last soul in the basin, he grew. Clothes and all, he grew. His scars vanished, one by one, as he grew to the top of the cavern. His skin became a deeper shade of red, and his fingers became clawed. His feet became cloven hooves, like a goat's, and everything below his waist was shaggy rust-colored hair. His eyes glowed a deep yellow and each eye split into two. So he had four eyes -- two on the right, two on the left -- with no discernible sclera or pupils. He grew an ornate that nearly scraped the roof of the cavern. His chest and abdominal areas were ripped now.

And the Animusraptor Ritus was stuck on his chest, where it looked like a mere knickknack. He laughed, a deep and gravelly voice. He snapped his fingers and lively music started up.

"Great," Saffa muttered, "now he's gonna sing."

"I guess I've been naughty,
I'm afraid I've been bad.
I couldn't leave well enough alone.
I dug up a horrible secret, you see.
And I'm afraid I've made it my own.
It's something so wicked I shudder to think,
Of the despicable deeds that I'll do!
Creating such chaos as you've never seen,
And misery like you never knew!
There ain't nothing but bad days ahead (ain't nothing)!
Ain't nothing but bad days ahead (bad days ahead)!
So kiss off your happiness, bury your dreams,
Face this new feeling of dread!
There ain't nothing but bad days ahead (bad days ahead)!

All his pandemonium demons lackeys stuck to the walls, to avoid being stepped on. But soon they began to file outside, sensing what Cloak hoped he had been wrong Earthsighting. Meanwhile, seemingly oblivious, Rotiart launched into the song again:

"The power to change is mine, all mine!
The first thing I'll change is the rules.
RAF and its RAFians are soon going to find that,
I've played them for snivelling fools.
From now on, the forum will hear what I say,
And whatever Rotiart says goes!
The world is my plaything, my yo-yo, my toy!
And I won't stop 'til everyone knows!
There ain't nothing but bad days ahead (ain't nothing)!
Ain't nothing but bad days ahead (bad days ahead)!
. . . And now that I'm back,
There ain't nothing but bad days ahead (bad days ahead)!
Are you scared?
Full of fear?

"Not particularly," Cloak said, but Rotiart continued as if he didn't hear him.

"Feel like running and hiding?
Well, ain't that that a shame!
'Coz, honey, it's too darn late!
There ain't nothing but bad days ahead (ain't nothing)!
Ain't nothing but bad days ahead (bad days ahead)!
Move over, Garrotik; Voldemort, get lost!
Take a hike, Knights of Humanity!
There ain't nothing but bad (wonderfully sad)!
Wonderfully sad days (no, no)!
You've never had days (you've never had)!
'Til you've seen my bad ways!
There ain't nothing but bad days ahead!

The cavern rumbled. This display of power was going to cause the cave to collapse. There was no saving it.

"Everyone, to me!" Cloak yelled, to the others.

Source song: https://youtube.com/watch?v=5V55et0JQP8
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 20, 2017, 10:32:49 PM »

I'm glad you did -- I kinda wanted someone to be caught up when the big reveal happens in the next chapter. Which is now.

New chapter.


"How the h--" Underseen said, before cutting himself off due to his absolute incredulity.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Gaz said, shocked. "We saw you die, Rotiart!"

And so it was indeed Rotiart, somehow surviving his defeat at the fangs of the Lauenschlange, Lucas Penn. His face matched the rest of his body as being red and scarred. His hair had been sheered off. But he had legs. And he still had his hand that was supposed to be missing -- but make no mistake. This was the real Rotiart -- who was still recovering from his harrowing ordeal from the serpentine wesen.

"This can't be real," Saffa said, as if she was addressing the narration, "a clone. An exosuit or shapeshifter. There are a myriad of other possibilities. Rotiart is dead and this thing before us is a mere facsimile, a fraud, a fake."

"You always thought you were smarter than you are," Rotiart said. "I'll have you know, I am the real Rotiart. Trey Moore was just a disguise."

"But Trey Moore truly exists," Hunter said. "How did you replace him?"

"That's my business," Rotiart said, repressively, not giving them anything.

"How did you survive?" Gaz said.

"That's none of your business," Rotiart sniffed, than his tone became malicious, "You all betrayed me, left me for dead, and soon -- soon I shall have my vengeance."

"I tried to stop the fight, Rotiart!" Cloak protested. "I tried to step in! I tried to stop Malice, Rotiart!"

"You were just trying to show off again, and you know it!!" Rotiart said, briefly losing his composure, before reasserting it again. "You were trying to hog all the glory for yourself. I could have handled that snake dude by myself."

"Rotiart, you tried that and failed," Underseen said, trying to reason with the former RAFian. Yes, former. His Mark had been broken as he had evidently renounced his allegiance to them. "You were unprepared to --"

"I was perfectly prepared!" he said, in a maniacal lapse before succumbing to his emotionless state once more. The five RAFians looked at each other, all having noticed these strange psychological ticks. "You just didn't believe in me. None of you did."

"Rotiart --"

"SILENCE!!!" he roared. "Once my plan reaches completion, I will possess enough power to rule everyone, with my pandemonium demons intermingling amongst them, acting as my secret agents. My power will have no peer -- I will be even more powerful than you, Cloak."

Cloak could have felt anger at that jibe, even been wrathful. But his eyes cut through this lofty rhetoric of Rotiart. He saw the insecurities that Rotiart always had -- afraid of being weak and being seen as such, afraid of being helpless and being seen as such, afraid of being powerless and being seen as such. He did not know the more powerful one got, the more burdensome the power was, like many of those that constantly thirst for power and relentlessly seek out more and more of it. It could be like an addiction. Rotiart was evidently ignorant of all this, and Cloak knew it. All he could do was pity the kid (whose body was now that of a mature man), and feel guilt and shame for not realizing that he was not dead -- somehow, through some undisclosed method that he knew nothing about.

Rotiart placed the Animusraptor Ritus to his chest, and, unsurprisingly began to absorb all the souls in the basin, using them to fuel his power . . . changing into a monster.

A monster declaring that there's gonna be nothing but bad days ahead for RAF and its RAFians. . . .
Posted by: Underseen
« on: May 20, 2017, 12:00:19 PM »

I'm caught up again. I'm enjoying how deep the lore has gotten. Always one for the cliffhangers, eh?
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 20, 2017, 06:38:55 AM »

New chapter.

Back Inside

The RAFians made it back inside now, all heading towards the straightaway tunnel. Once there, they spread out and hid. This was easy for all except Saffa and Hunter, whose powers didn't facilitate hiding as well as the other three's abilities and skills. But they equipped themselves with all the finesse and strategy of a RAFian.

There seemed to no assembly line for pandemonium demon infestation now --probably because all the captured tourists were already soulless and infested by a pandemonium demon each. It wasn't a particularly happy or welcoming thought.

The five were agreed, though, that Trey Moore knew about this. He may have just been a tool or puppet, or he could very well be the man in charge. Either way, he was not to be underestimated -- though both Cloak and Hunter was sure they've met Trey before now. Neither was precisely sure where, but both were unable to place from where exactly. It was bothersome and annoying at the same time.

There was an ominous air in the place as it seemed abandoned -- no infested staff members or administrative personnel, no pandemonium demons, no action or movement of any kind. Cloak was sure that it was still night, so the pandemonium demons didn't need to worry about dying in the sunlight.

The tip of Cloak's tail twitched with anxiety. There was no way that they infested all the tourists. There were many of them -- then again, not all of them may have even been captured. But this was just semantics -- they had to look at the bigger picture here.

Suddenly, a figure swept into the large room, with a mismatched contingent of infested staff members and pandemonium demons. It was difficult to see who was leading this contingent until he stepped up right up to the basin. It was then Cloak noticed that he was holding something. It was that thing labelled the Animusraptor Ritus. Cloak was flummoxed as to why the figure was holding it. Then, as his shifted his position closer, he became aware of who it was.

It was, unsurprisingly, Trey Moore. Only he was wearing a black leather vest that trailed down to his thighs, and a black leather loin cloth that trailed down to his knees. It was a rather odd attire choice, to be sure. But the weirdest bit was how emaciated he looked. His head, neck, and the upper part of his chest looked perfect fine and unmolested, but everything else? It looked like Darth Maul's face. Beat red with black scarring. What had happened to him to get all those injuries?

From what little of the others he could see, he could see similar reactions. Trey apparent had got through some serious physical trauma. It was a wonder that he could even still walk under his own power.

He stood upon the "infestation balcony", but the restraining table had been removed, and he wore a contemptuous look upon his face which looked . . . odd, at this angle. Almost as if he was --

He called out, "I know you're here! Don't bother hiding! It's already too late RAFians."

When none of the RAFians acquiesced to this declaration, he saw fit to call out again.

"Hunter! Gaz! Underseen! Saffa! Cloak!" he shouted. "I know you are here. Show yourselves! Let's get this show on the road!"

No movement.

"Let's end this facade," he growled. "I know that you're here. You know that I'm here. Lets get this done. I want witnesses to my rise to power!"

At this, the RAFians showed themselves, albeit reluctantly.

"Good, good," Trey said, "now my revenge  can be complete."

"Revenge?" Saffa asked.

"Oh, you don't recognize me, Saffa? I'm hurt." he said, with mock vulnerability. Then he touch his face and, with mock realization, said, "Oh, yes, this mask."

"Mask?" Underseen asked, as Trey pulled at his hair. Until it was removed, and his body was wholly swollen red and black with scars.

The five let out a gasp of shock.

"Impossible!" Hunter exclaimed.

"You?!" Cloak said.
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 19, 2017, 09:22:00 AM »

New chapter.

The Rendezvous Point

Gaz made it to the point first. Hunter, Saffa, and Cloak made it there second, arriving at the same time. And Underseen was the last to arrive.

"So," Cloak said, breaking an uncomfortable silence, "what did everyone find out?"

"I found a residential area," Gaz said.

"Not too surprising," Saffa said, "it's probably cheaper to house staff here on the island than fly or boat them in every day."

"That's what I thought, too," Gaz said, "but they were empty. It was more like a ghost town than anything else."

"I think I know why," Underseen said, sounding unnerved. "The staff are pandemonium demons. They're inhabiting their bodies, kidnapping tourists for more of them to . . . to wear."

"How can they take over a body with an . . . occupant?" Cloak asked sharply.

"They don't," Underseen said. "They extract the occupant -- the soul, the mind, the consciousness, whatever -- and put into a large basin. Then the pandemonium demon is able to . . . step in."

"Explains that training video I saw in the room at the end of my tunnel," Saffa said, thoughtfully, "trying to teach them to pass -- badly, mind you -- as humans. But the question is why?"

"Global domination?" Hunter shrugged.

"Of course!" Cloak said, rolling his eyes. That was such a cliché motivation, which was why they ran into would-be world dominators several times in the past year.

"Probably more to it than that, though," Hunter said, enjoying Cloak's joke. "I found a locker room where the, um, 'naked' pandemonium demons must hang out during the day. And there were old and disused costumes -- you know, the mascot-type costumes typical of theme parks? You know, Rochelle Rat and Butch Bunny? It looks like the switch to a spooky theme park was less than a year ago."

"But why?" Gaz said. "If I remember right, they did a fair amount of business back when they were that saccharine family resort. Why change it? And why change it so abruptly?"

"We'd have to ask Moore," Cloak said, austerely. "But chances are that he's involved. To what degree, I cannot fathom. He could very well be the head."

"Could he be a pandemonium demon himself?" Saffa asked.

"Possibly," Underseen said, "but we haven't any way to tell unless he sees fit to drop the facade."

"I don't think he is," Hunter said, pensively. "He didn't smell like one. All the staff did, though. But . . ."

Hunter looked at each one in turn. His glance lingered on Cloak, who nodded, urging him to proceed.

"Trey Moore smelled . . . familiar," Hunter said. "Like we met him somewhere along the way before."

"Who?" Underseen asked.

"I don't know," Hunter said, earnestly, "all Cloak and I know is that it was familiar."

"Well, that's ominous," Saffa said.

"What's our next move?" Gaz asked.
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 19, 2017, 05:47:57 AM »

New chapter.

The Twelve O'clock Tunnel

Underseen took the straightaway tunnel. On the way, he decided to shapeshift something a bit more innocuous than the auburn child form he had adopted. In the darkness, he shifted into the form of a tiny green gecko. While this was good, he felt that the color stood out a bit too much in a dark cave, with minimal lighting. So he shifted into a bat form, and flapped to a cave entrance that found recalled a moderate size of a Yeerk Pool.

There were stalagmites and stalactites everywhere, though the stalagmites were less frequent, but they provided prime roosting spots for Underseen to see what was going on. Because, unlike the other rooms that the others visited, this cavernous expanse was occupied with several people, including the unconscious partygoers, and the island's staff. As well as a few of these pandemonium demons.

The whole facility seemed to work similarly to a Yeerk Pool as well. There was a big basin, but filled with some silvery-white liquid and that the usual Yeerk Pool sludge. Like some combination of a Yeerk Pool and a Pensieve. There was a platform on one side, with shackles upon a flat upright table that looked somewhat like a cross with a fattened trunk. People clearly were bound there for some . . .

Underseen looked at the pandemonium demons, and he was beginning to connect the dots, especially when he saw the robotic arm on the opposite side of the basin. It had four "fingers" of some sort, arranged as one finger on a side of a square. The tips glowed with a faint purplish pink color, almost as if they were the same made from the same material as a soulsword.

Some of the staff pulled an unconscious redhead girl in pink and purple from the throng. They put her on the table cross thing, and shackled her limp, prone body. As to why Underseen couldn't begin to fathom, then it occurred to him that maybe the knockout effect didn't have an uniform effect on everyone -- maybe some came around before others, and others are knocked out longer.

Then the arm activated and reached across the basin, its mechanical fingers opened just as the girl was coming to. But, before she could even scream, the fingers reaching into her chest and pulled out what could only be described as a spirity thing, manifested as just her head. It was swiftly dunked and released into the basin before the spirit thingy -- the soul -- could utter a protest.

Her body, however, remained behind. Prone and nearly lifeless. Underseen had to fight a gasp as he saw a group of four pandemonium demons and staff members gather around the soulless body, and heard them speak in a raspy, gravelly, and inhuman voices.

"Quick!" they said. "Quick! Before the vessel's body goes cold! Quick!"

One pandemonium demon stood before the girl, and pried open her jaw. Then it turned its right hand into gas as it forced it into the girls mouth, translating the rest of its body into the gas until had fully occupied her body, which convulsed mildly during this act. The pandemonium demon opened her eyes, in full control of her actions now, and "she" was unshackled and allowed to walk freely.

So, Underseen thought, as he watched them repeat the process to a young, blonde man in a powder blue shirt with a white sweater, blue jeans, and a yellowish orange ascot.

So, this is how they do it. Underseen thought again, as he watched them repeated the process once more to a bespectacled woman in a pale orange sweater (despite the weather) and burgundy skirt.

There isn't anything I can do here by myself, Underseen thought as he watched again as they repeated the process to an unshaven man wearing a baggy green shirt and brown bellbottoms. I gotta go to the rendezvous point. Gotta let the others know.

With that, he winged off to the spot they decided earlier would be the rendezvous spot.
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 18, 2017, 06:02:32 AM »

New chapter.

The Two O'clock Tunnel

Cloak took the tunnel at two o'clock. He proceeded down the tunnel quickly, but silently. His feet moving as soundlessly as an owl's wing. This whole thing held a vague familiarity to him, but he could not begin to discern one. And he found it somewhat disturbing and concerning at the same time.

He noticed the walls becoming oddly smoother, much less cave-like and more like a construct made by human hand. He could tell (Earthsight can be a bit of a tattletale sometimes) that he was nearing the ending point of this tunnel. And the room this tunnel emptied into was more cramped that he anticipated.

The room was circular, about ten, twelve feet in diameter, and completely dark. Not a problem for Cloak's feline eyes, though. The walls had rocky veins that recalled a spider's leg, with a web of stone that recalled a spider web. This seemed rather kitschy, but evidently thematic, to the Realm Walker. It was clear that it was supposed to inspire and incite fear -- but Cloak had never feared spiders (that was his mother). He wasn't too fond of their arachnid cousins, scorpions, but that was neither here nor there.

In the direct center of this circular room was a small dais, roughly two or three feet in diameter, sufficient enough to stand on and look at what was on the pedestal that sprouted from its center, also looking rather thematic, though a bit overdone, in Cloak's opinion. He couldn't see what was on the pedestal (not with his eyes, anyway), as it was obscured by more of that rocky webbing stuff that was cupped over it, like Gollum and that ring he coveted.

But Cloak's Earthsight had already outted it as being pyramidal in shape and no larger than a PokéBall. Cloak couldn't quite tell what it was, or what it was made out of. But it didn't seemed to be earthen. It took Cloak a moment to detect the metal in it, but he was perplexed.

Any layman would see this and just assume that he accidentally stepped on the set of a moderate to low-budget movie, or that this was just part of the attraction. But Cloak suspected something more to it. Almost like it was a . . . a Horcrux or something. Some sort of soul jar? Couldn't be for more than one given its size, unless they were highly condensed. Assuming that he was right in this conclusion to begin with.

But that begged the question. Why have this here? There was no access codes, no protective spells, no nothing guarding this. The stone web would prove to be child's play to undo, even if he wasn't a Master of the Earth Element. They were like movie props than actual wards against would-be thieves and robbers. If this thing was really so powerful and dangerous as Cloak suspected it was, why leave it with such lax security? Why leave it relatively out in the open? This was like begging for it to be taken. Were they really that complacent and arrogant to think that no one would take the thing?

Even Cloak was tempted to show their folly and take the thing -- this Animusraptor Ritus, according to the description plaque at the side of the pedestal. It was as if this was supposed to be a museum piece, held here for posterity or something. This befuddled the Realm Walker further. Was thing even a powerful relic like he had believed? Was even he taken in by this, and believed something untrue?

Cloak could have taken it, but found himself suspicious at how easy it would be. There had to be something more to this. Surely, Trey Moore knew of this, as he owned the park, resort, whatever you wanted to call it.

Thinking of Trey brought Cloak to remember something he didn't notice at the time -- but he must have been mistaken. After all, he looked perfectly . . . it probably didn't matter. He was stymied for a bit on whether or not to take the Animusraptor Ritus, but, in the end, decided against it. Despite much second guessing.

He swept from the room, heading towards the rendezvous point.
Posted by: Cloak
« on: May 17, 2017, 04:24:34 PM »

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

The Ten O'clock Tunnel

Gaz had gone down the tunnel at ten o'clock from them. She was surprised that she had come up in a very secluded spot. One that was open to the air, but surrounded on three sides by sheer mountain ridge. And there were like three long buildings arranged like a backward 'E', as well as a small to moderate-sized farm on her immediate right and another path, a dirt one that descended downward, to her immediate left. It was almost as if it was a drain for rainwater.

The buildings looked very plain, almost like army barracks, but they were actually small apartment buildings. The was only so much she could tell from the outside, but they were at least three to four stories high, with evidence of a basement laundry room. She didn't know how good the interiors were, but, just by judging the exterior, she assumed that they must be very plain one room apartments -- hopefully with kitchenettes.

But why was this here? Why did a resort have what amounted to be very much a residential area? She strongly suspected that this was for staff and administrative personnel housing. But there couldn't be more than ten apartments a floor -- and she was being generous with her estimate -- which would mean about thirty or forty apartments per building, which would mean that this entire facility could only house like a hundred twenty, a hundred sixty staff members. Did it take that amount of staff member to keep this resort, this theme park running? The island wasn't exactly big, but it wasn't small, either.

But she was sure that Trey Moore didn't live here. To her knowledge, he was a rather ostentatious man. He lived in luxury and, like most affluent people, wanted for nothing. And, yet, he didn't seem nearly as avaricious as he was reputed to be. . . . Odd, very odd.

Gaz walked quietly and moved carefully, as she looked at these barrack-type buildings. No lights were on, and it wasn't exactly that late out. For the most part, these buildings seemed . . . abandoned at the moment. As if all staff and administration was out. This too felt very odd to her. These apartments -- these barracks seemed almost ghostly and weird. Despite obviously being a residential area, one that was obviously still used, it felt unlived in. With all the ominous sense of a new, empty apartment that was yet to be personalized.

Other than that, there wasn't much to this place. She couldn't exactly break in. Well, she could technically -- that whole "vampire must be invited in" thing didn't really apply to her. Or any vampire she knew really. It was just one of those things made up by Hollywood. The only reason a vampire wouldn't enter unless invited was mostly about a deep-seated decorum towards this politeness. That's the main reason she didn't just go arbitrarily breaking and entering into others homes -- because she wasn't a burglar or thief and it was just not done.

Even though she felt this wasn't enough information to go back to the rendezvous with, it was all she could gather from this area -- as she could not make out any other relevant clue. So, she proceeded immediately to the rendezvous point.