Memoirs of a RAFian

[redtailedsaffa]

Careful, he might throw you in now

[guitarhero01234]

XD Aw, shiggity

[Cloak]

"Throw" him in . . . hmmmm . . .

[redtailedsaffa]

I am not responsible for any bodily injury caused to gh. *backs away slowly*

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
The Big, the Bad, the . . .

"Fine," Malice said, managing to keep a smug composure. "I'll play by your rules. But you cannot battle again, Cloak. No repeat battles. Let's keep this thing fresh."

"I'll go," Hunter said, dropping down and unholstering his gun with a flourish and Malice smiled. She wanted this to be a battle to the death, either way. She held no love for these wesen -- she didn't even know what love is, not really.

She chose to have Hunter fight the Blutbad, whose name was Brandon Dawkins, a simple postman. Malice had to kill his father Michael Jay Dawkins, a detective, to capture Brandon, who was full-grown when captured. Brandon looked basically like the stereotyped image of a wolfman. He retained a lot of his human features in his woged state, barring the pointed teeth, long curved claws, and burning red eyes, though this one had the usual glowing eyes that showed them to be a victim of a control collar. He also had heavy musculature in the lumbar regions.

Upon seeing him, Cloak felt an odd surge of agression that he easily suppressed. He did not know why. But apparently it was a cat thing as Blade and FuBar were clearly feeling the same thing.

"Well, he looks strong, I have to hand you that," Hunter said, rather flippantly. "But this is no contest."

Malice said nothing, but "Begin."

Brandon, the Blutbad, charged forward, but Hunter simply took aim with his gun and fired a total of three or four bullets, all of which appeared to miss Brandon completely.

Malice crowed, "You missed! He was three feet jn front of you and you --"

"And so did you, Malice," Cloak said. It was his turn to be smug.

The bullets were not intended to harm Brandon, but shoot through the leather on the control collar. Which flopped to the ground.

Brandon blinked as he wozily woke up as if he were in a midwinter's night dream. Then he turned and saw Malice.

"You controlled me! Monster! You killed my --" Brandon growled, still woged out. He made to climb out and reach Malice, who stood, looking more inconvenienced than intimidated.

"Yes, yes, I killed your father," Malice interrupted, differentially, "What is it with you Dwellers, anyway? I killed my father too, but you don't see me whining about it!"*

Then she swung and energy blade, decapitating the Bludbad in one slash. Then she used her energy to throw him aside, leaving the field clear once more.


* Click this. It's the source of that perfect line. As well as perfectly true to Malice.

[guitarhero01234]

"Throw" him in . . . hmmmm . . .

. . . I don't think I like the tone of that post.

I am not responsible for any bodily injury caused to gh. *backs away slowly*

Or that one. Especially that one. I'd like to keep grievous bodily harm to a minimum, thank you very much. Yeah feel free to quote that ****.

[Cloak]

New, shortish chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Whichever is Cleverer

"You heartless --" Cloak said trailing off into an indecipherable tiger growl. It must have been some expletive in the Realm Walker language that doesn't translate into English.

"Ooh, language, dearie," Malice said, with absolutely no remorse whatsoever. "You mustn't speak to your elders in such a way.

"You really get off on being a monster, don't you?" Cloak said.

"Oh, isn't that obvious by now?" Malice said, drenched with insincerity. "Now send out your next challenger, and we can end these quips before they get too sour."

"That'd be me, then, " Marie said, leaping nimbly down with a grace one would associate with felines rather than canines. She stood with vulpine dignity, as she waited for her opponent.

Malice then let through the controlled Fuchsbau female, Megyn Reynard, a black market trader. She had long, orange fur, as well white patches all over their body. Their facial features are relatively human, save for being slightly more pointed. She has sharp canine teeth, vulpine ears, vulpine eyes (which glowed red due to the control collar), and a black, vulpine nose. Her hair was long and human-like. Obviously, a fox wesen.

Malice said, "Begin."

Marie braced herself, as Megyn charged forward, jaws open. Marie leapt to the side, and nipped at Megyn, who dodged. But Marie, apparently, was more agile than the Fuchsbau. She nipped at Megyn's heel, and she lashed out with a kick, whichmissed Marie by inches. But it gave Marie the opening that she was looking for.

She sprinted up the Fuchsbau, and nipped at the control collar, not allowing her to be thrown off until she chewed through the leather. Which she did, and the collar flopped upon the ground, freeing the Fuchsbau -- who, when her faculties returned, fled. Fuchsbau didn't like confrontation.

"Done," Marie said, with quiet dignity. Cloak helped her back up to the others. Malice frowned deeply. She did not like the fact that she was losing her own challenge. Three challengers and not a single RAFian death. The only deaths were by her hand.

[redtailedsaffa]

That line, oh my god.

[Cloak]

If you're talking about the line I think you are, Saffa, yes. Yes, it is very good. I actually was looking for a place to put it in. Also to drop in the fact that Malice did, in fact, killed her father, which I suppose, when you consider the natural aggressiveness of Tasmanian devils and Malice's overall disposition, it's probably not all that surprising.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Water Won't Melt Her

"Well," Malice said, apparently allowing the Fuchsbau escape, as if she didn't care about that particular wesen, "that was a disappointing battle."

Cloak said nothing, but noted how she let the Fuchsbau go without batting an eye. He narrowed his own at his foe's outright callousness and carelessness. She was completely indifferent to some wesen but perfectly happy slaying others herself. Somehow, this wasn't at all surprising, but it was still revolting.

But Cloak still couldn't help but wonder why . . . why was she doing this? What was her ultimate goal? It couldn't be this. It couldn't have been as simple as gladitorial fights. That was already done, a scheme come past.

"Alright now, dearies," Malice said, sitting up straighter in her straight-backed, throne-like chair. Cloak was really hating her calling them "dearies". "Who's up next?"

CRACK!!

Broken had decided to Apparate (flawlessly, mind you) into the arena. "That would be me," he said, dramatically.

"Another RAFian with a weakness for the dramatic," Malice said, appraisingly blithe, "no wonder you enjoy their company, Cloak."

The challenger Malice sent out was the Hexenbiest.  The RAFians couldn't help but recoil at the corpse-like visage that was Kimberly Davison. Apparently, when woged, Hexenbiest looked rather zombie-like. She was a county clerk, normally, but she got into a spot of bother recently, which Cloak wasn't really caught up on -- something about her acting like a victim even though she was obviously not one. But the politics of that was neither here nor there.

"Battle begin," Malice said. Cloak found him rankling at the fact that she started each match. But Cloak was more busy trying to riddle out her real motives behind this.

Kimberly seemed able to smell magic on Broken, so much so that she acted as if she was near the dumpster of a long-term care facility*. Broken wouldn't be able to make any sneak attacks -- although that wasn't really his style.

The Hexenbiest shrieked, a sound Cloak found himself really not caring for, and a plume of flame was launched at Broken. It wasn't the kind of pyrokinetic feat that Demos, Blaze, Phoenix, Shadow, or Cloak were capable of, so amateurish as it was painful.

"Aguamenti." Broken said, with a casual flick of his wrist. A spray of water materialized dousing the fire easily. He wasn't really impressed, and was wondering idly whether she was a below average Hexenbiest or the norm, in terms of abilities.

Then suddenly Broken's feet felt like they were leaving the ground. He immediately knew that it must have been some form of telekinesis, which was not as intimidating as an Uxorite's telekinesis. He immediately twisted so that be was facing the Hexenbiest, so that he was facing Kimberly, and he shouted as he focused, "Graviga!"

Kimberly lost hers as she was lifted into the ground, and Broken was released from her telekinesis, and he landed on his feet roughly. He looked at Kimberly and tried to think of a plan of attack. Which was why having Graviga end was highly inconvenient.

"Stopza!" he cried.

Kimberly was frozen in place, unable to move in the slightest. She wouldn't be stuck like this for long, though. Broken dashed up and removed the control collar. Then Stopza decided that was a prime time to end.

But Kimberly seemed to still be loyal to Malice! She continued to press the attack, forcing Broken to slay her. He did not like it -- but it was him or her. And, after all, this was real life and not a Saturday morning cartoon**.

Kimberly Davison was dead, and Broken was not taking it very lightly.


* As a housekeeper at a long-term care facility, I can attest that this smells firmly under the "bad" category, but it could be worse, I suppose.

** Do these still exist anymore? I don't have cable (not to mention I work weekend mornings), so I can't check that way.

[redtailedsaffa]

I dunno. Don't have a TV.

I see where you got the reference from, thanks for killing her

[Cloak]

Right.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
Will and Won't

"Excellent," Malice said, clapping her hands together in such a junvenile way that it belied her age, "excellent, now both sides have blood on their hands."

Cloak gave a low growl, as Broken glowered at Malice. This just caused her to laugh inappropriately raucous.

"Next challenger!" she called.

Sam slammed his ring into his personal Battery, reciting his oath, recharging his ring. Then he flew into ring, and crossed his arm. He said nothing, assuming that it was obvious that he would be next.

"And now mine!" Malice said. She was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in this, revelling in the bloodsport of it.

The Balam, Clint Nicholls, came out. He was a former detective, fired for becoming too obsessive with his cases and rather stupidly, recklessly daring. He had purplish fur over his head and body, but like many Wesen, his hair however was still human. He had distinct, stripe-like spots similar to those of a jaguar or a leopard. The color of their fur seems to change depending on the brightness of their surrounding. He had two sharp, jaguar-like fangs.

Sam wasn't deterred. This wasn't exactly a fair fight. Clint doesn't have a Lantern ring, so it put Sam at a distinct advantage. It didn't really feel all that fair.

Clint, the Balam, roared, bearing his fangs. Sam wasn't intimidated. His ring could protect him from anything this wesen could dish out. It wasn't a fair matchup.

"Begin," Malice said, smilingas though she was thoroughly entertained. And she was. Cloak was wondering if this, indeed, was the whole of her scheme.

To Sam's credit, he made it quick. He quickly and, with only the merest difficulty, successfully removed the collar. The Balam seemed to be very confused, perplexed, and dazed.

"Now kill him," Malice.

"Excuse me?" Clint asked, still disoriented, but lucid enough to understand that

"I don't take orders from you," Sam said, seriously.

"Kill him." Malice insisted.

"No, I won't."

"Don't defy me."

"I don't work for you."

"Do it."

"No."

Malice opened.her mouth to speak, but Cloak cut across her. "You lost this battle, Malice. Are we going to continue this pointless exercise, or are we going to do something of substance?"

Malice used her energy to kill Clint anyway, and said, "Fine. If you don't have the fortitude to finish the job."

"Disregarding life is not strength, Malice, but the opposite," Cloak lectured, feeling sorry for the poor Balam that was now having his body lifted from the arena and put in a . . . a . . . a corpse pile. "Eighty years, and you still do not get this simple concept?"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Roasted

"It's not that I don't get it," Malice said, flippant and indifferent, "it's more like that I don't abide by such pathetic ideologies."

"That doesn't make sense," Broken pointed out.

"And I care that you think that because . . ." Malice said, trailing off, prompting a reply that never came. "Nothing to say? No quips?"

"Oh, shut the Veil up, Malice," Cloak growled. She was starting to grind his last nerve.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Malice said, with faux surprise. She laughed a laugh to match her name. "Well, then, let's get this show on the road. Choose your --"

"It's me. Just shut up and we can get this damn thing over with," Phoenix snarled. Apparently, Malice was working his last nerve as well.

"Alright, then, Firebird," Malice said.

"It's 'Phoenix', and you damn well know it." the mod growled.

"Whatever," Malice said. "Here's your opponent."

It was the porcine Bauerschwein named Colin Pyg, a bullied daylaborer whose coworkers, and some of his haughtier superiors, have derisively nicked named "Porky Pyg" or just plain "Porky". While it was true that he wasn't on the skinny side, it was still in poor taste. Especially when one considered that he tended to be the most diligent and hard-working of the lot.

When woged out like he was, he had a porcine snout, pointed ears, a wrinkled face, and boar-like tusks. He was a pig Wesen, although Colin seemed to be really clean compared to the gluttonous, slovenly stereotype associated with pigs. It could be considered an insult, but Phoenix kept a cool head.

Cloak had to hand it to him. He wasn't so sure that he would have managed to keep a cool head at the percieved slight.

"Begin," Malice said.

Phoenix decided to eschew any unnecessary use of fire. It was not Colin's fault that he had the misfortunate of wearing one of Malice's control collar. Phoenix easily dodged a charge-and-bite maneuver, noting that Colin did not seem at all stronger than an ordinary human the size and build of what, presumably, his human form was.

But those tusks were obviously sharp, and not desirous anywhere near Phoenix's flesh. Phoenix had to be careful -- noting how similar to fighting a Controller this was. How similar this was to the whole Heinlin incident.

Phoenix discovered an opportunity presented to him when Colin tried the same manuever again, Phoenix managed to twist in such a way that the bite missed him, but he pulled the collar off with his momentum, thermokinetically weakening the metal latch. The control collar then flopped off, rather pathetically.

Colin blinked, though he was still woged, and his more benign nature surfaced.

"Very good, Firebird," Malice said.

"Wha . . ." Colin said, dazed, his woge not having wore off yet, though it became unviewable by those with human-range eyesight.

"It. Is. 'Phoenix." he growled with gritted teeth, addressing Malice.

"Whatever," Malice said, with an indifferent shrug. "The point is thwt you did a good job."

"I don't need, or want, your praise, you crotchety old hag." Phoenix snarled. He has rarely shown this much overt anger.

"Ooh, a temper! You trying to outdo Cloak, dearie?" Malice said, flippantly.

"I'll just be going," Colin said, starting to come out of his woge. He looked for a way out, as he said, "Don't mind me . . ."

"Not so fast, piggy," Malice said. "This little piggy won't be going 'wee' all the way home."

Colin sighed and winced noticeably at the bad anecdote.

Malice addressed Phoenix, "Roast this suckling pig."

"No," Phoenix said, stubbornly intransigent.

"Excuse me?" both Colin and Malice said at the same time, but with entirely different connotations.

"I said, no, hag," Phoenix said, speaking directly and openly with Malice. Then he addressed Colin, now looking like a babyfaced and slightly piggy man, a full-grown man. "Leave this place. Escape."

"Nope," Malice said, "he don't leave here alive."

"That's not your decision to make Malice," Phoenix and Cloak said, in accidental unison. Both had deflected Malice's attempt to decapitate poor Colin, who fled, squealing. But he was still alive.

[redtailedsaffa]

Pigs are actually one of the cleanest animals on earth, lol.

And ooh, it's getting intense.

[Cloak]

Yeah, I knew that actually. But I didn't make up the stereotype.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Tricky Techniques

All Malice said crassly in reply was, "Yeah, I don't care."

"Stop your stalling, Malice," Cloak said, arms crossed, "we've deigned to play your little game. Now let's get on with it so we can put this ridiculous affair behind us."

"My," Malice said, coyly, "are you not having fun, dearie?"

Cloak curled his lip in disgust. Cloak was beginning to consider rending Malice apart with his own claws. But then no one in the Nexus would believe him that she was alive . . . but . . . the temptation . . .

"I'm up next," Ash said, unintentionally defusing the situation. "Let's get this show on the road, already."

"Oh, eager to lose your head, are you?" Malice grimaced cheekily.

"Says the one whose previous challengers -- all of them -- have lost up to this point?" Ash pointed out, easily.

Malice expression soured, but that faded away quickly enough. So quick that Cloak was starting to believe that either Malice was more cold and calculating than he thought or she was bona fide insane. Quite possibly both.

"You challenger, Malice." Ash prompted.

"Fine," Malice said, with a certain steeliness to her voice that certainly wasn't there before. "Here he comes."

It was the Coyotl by the name of Paulie Nahuatl, a mean, nasty, all-around bully who was a high-level grunt of the street gang called the Pack, a group of canine wesen. He has canine fur, their elongated snout of a canine, canid ears, razor sharp teeth, and orangish eyes.

He snapped his jaws at Ash, but she was hardly impressed. The RAFians have come up against the likes of Psyphoon, Madre de Vampyra, and Corruption. Poor Paulie there was hardly a comparison.

"Be--"

"Begin, yeah, we know," Cloak said. "Will you shut up?"

Malice said nothing, but sat on her chair with an uppity air, and an upturned nose. She was apparently not having fun anymore. But when the two combatants began, they had her full attention.

It wasn't really all that exciting, either. Ash easily undid the latch on the control collar, using movements not unlike Dusk Nobodies. The collar flopped to the ground, but that didn't stop Paulie from deciding to take a snap at Ash.

"Pal, if you want to live and see tomorrow," Ash said, but he caught sight of Ash's Mark and realized immediately what she was. It immediately sobered him up from his disorientation.

"Oh, god. A RAFian!" he said. He fled at the very first opportunity.

"I guess we RAFians have a reputation," Marie said.

"Yeah," Faerie said, "as complete badasses."

"Oh, please," Malice scoffed dismissively.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Dragonbreath

"That is just an opinion you are having," Faerie said, with an equally dismissive sniff.

"Whatever," Malice spoke, irreverently indifferent. "Send out or next challenger or whatever."

Demos walked towards the lip where it sunk down into the pit. He caused a piller of fire to sprout up, and he used it as an elevator to go to the arena floor. Then he brushed off his powder blue silk suit, which complimented and contrasted his beat red demon skin nicely. He also wore white gloves that made him look rather like those cartoon characters who never take off their gloves.

"And, now, my opponent?" Demos said, as if he was asking a barista for a latte.

The Dämonfeuer, Damon Burns,  came out. He was welder by day, murderous man-eater by night. And yet, the police never seemed to be able to find out what happened with those "mysterious" disappearances. He was also obsessed with hoarding copper. Damon, when woged, had a green and scaly hide, a flattened nose, fiery eyes, human-like ears, and a large crown of horns on his head.

"Be--" Malice began to say, but the match was already underway.

Damon breathed his napalm-like fire breath at Demos. Demos bats it aside, not bothered by it, his own innate pyrokinesis provided the demon protection from fire. His suit, however was not prrotected.

"Hey! My suit!" Demos exclaimed, before glaring at Damon, "Do you have any idea how much suits like this cost?!"

Demos had stopped being so complacent now, and was taking the battle far more seriously. Why he ever thought a silk suit was appropriate attire for a battle, no would ever know. The battle, however, wasn't faring well for Demos as Damon was clearly stronger physically had possessed more brute force. But Demos could match any damage incurred with his Wolverine-scale regeneration.

His silk suit wasn't as fortunate, as he regeneration could heal Demos's body, but not his clothing. It wasn't pristine as used to be, but stained, ripped, and torn. He was livid at this, though he had many suits, of different colors, but he had grown fond of this one.

"Okay," Demos said, gnashing his teeth. He was unaccustomed to being this angry. "You die now."

He wasn't being cute. He was absolutely sincere.

Damon belched out smoke into the arena, and Demos blew it away with a funnel of fire, which didn't seem possible. Demos curled his lip in utter dislike towards Damon. Upon seeing the ugly look on Demos's face, Cloak wondered if they should pull him back a little, as Demos was giving into his demonic tendencies.

Despite how much Damon had going for him, Demos was without mercy and without morals in this state. He was the epitome of ruthlessness whilst in this state. Only Blaze, the mods, Cloak, and Estelore could exert any control, or check him in this state.

Damon was cruelly murdered, the control collar forgotten. Demos slayed this dragon -- rather, dragon-man -- and he did it without remorse or regret. Cloak, however, felt it for the both of them, for not stopping Demos, who was calming down.

"Oh, excellent!" Malice cheered. "How wonderfully vicious!!"

Cloak scowled, as Demos returned to the others. He was still fuming for a bit.