Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
No Mercy, No Regret

Sluggard had succeeded in using the affluenza defense during his indictment back during the aftermath of the bounty hunter thing. Granted, the Rainflowers haven't been heard from since, but Sluggard happened to be up to his old tricks yet again. The skins of Gulliver Dugan and Brendan Birch, their families still unaware of this fact as it conveniently never came out in court, going to show that some of the people in positions of power really do no care about the people that they are paid to service.

Anyway, Sluggard would gloat about this to his yesman underlings, who he was confident would never have the balls to turn on him and betray this trust. He was truly a reprehensible man, never having any remorse, any mercy, for his actions. Simply because he had never had to deal with any consequence or ramification of his despicable decisions.

He still had Brendan's and Gulliver's skins, though he dyed Brendan's hair red and shaved off all Gulliver's hair, as to sort of disguise them. But he had ascertained sufficient funds to get him a third one, a thin, athletic, blond-haired teenager with green eyes. This skin was "made from scratch" and was not one of Ekzacto's. But he didn't care, as he passed off these personas as his "sons", but never outright said it, as he used them to spy on his employees.

He actually considered cornering the market on the skins, as well. Ekzacto was out of the equation, and he was a notable creator of quality skins. Sluggard knew this firsthand, of course, having two of them in his possession.

"What the hell?" he blurted when he heard the clip clop of horse hooves. He was in his penthouse suite. On the top floor of his hotel building. And these hoofbeats were coming from the outside the building. It was night so it was a bit scary to begin with.

Suddenly, a horse made of hellfire appeared in front of him, with a rider. A rider in spiked leather and a flame skull for a head. The rider jumped down, and never taking his eye sockets off Sluggard.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Sluggard demanded. Then he decided that he didn't care, and ordered, "Never mind. Get out of my penthouse!"

But the ghostly equestrian just stared into Sluggard, and Sluggard was unnerved, as he locked eyes with this spectral intruder, feeling as if he was looking deep into Sluggard's soul. This was a very bad mistake, but unlike his previous mistakes, there would have a serious ramification, a deadly consequence.

The spirit of hellfire spoke for the first time, "Feel the pain that you inflicted."

Then he fired beams of what could have been concentrated hellfire or simple energy into into Sluggard's eyes. This penance stare was burning Sluggard's soul, which was already rotting. When the beams ended,  Sluggard collapsed, lifeless. Dead.

This Ghost Rider rode away on his hellfire horse. . . .

[Cloak]

New book ideas. I know it's ambitious. I don't care.

• Book MVIII (1,008): "What a Nekross to Bear" -- The RAFians confront some Nekross.
• Book MIX (1,009): "Paradox Forgotten" -- Two RAFian foe's make an unholy alliance with a creature from Abby's future. . . .
• Book MXI (1,010): "Some Unfortunate News" -- Dylan and GH offend a Skraaldian.

Though I must admit I considered ending the series at Book M, but I got more ideas, and it snowballed, and -- well, if you're a regular reader, well then, you know.


New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
Death Notice

When news of Dominic Sluggard's death became known, there was a flurry of media attention. He left no will, believing that he would always have time or would live forever. There were numerous people clamoring to claim a right to his still-substantial fortunate, claiming to be his rightful heir or heiress. It wasn't known if they had knowledge of the Gulliver, Brendan, and blonde teen skins, as no one else made a claim for those.

Many of them never cared for Sluggard's company. Most, if not all, were not able to tolerate his dominating demeanor, but only willing to turn around and claim connections they denounced earlier because of their greed. They only wanted his money, but did not care or mourn his death. No one loved Dominic Sluggard the man, but everyone loved his fortune, because they were hoping that it would be theirs. He was not missed. It was sad and pitiable, really.

But the conspiracy nuts had to take a bite of the apple, too. They thought that he wasn't just killed, but murdered, and murdered intentionally. Who did they blame? Why, the RAFians, of course. Bern Bridges led them in that line of thinking, despite have only the flimsiest "proof" imaginable. They had to use incredible amounts of mental gymnastics to validate their points, which even the everyman could see was stretching logic to its breaking point.

But the fact remained. The fact that absolutely no one knew just how he died.

***

Demos was watching the news with unusually, uncharacteristicall y rapt attention. He said nothing during it but it was clear that he either knew precisely what was going on or at least suspected.

After the news story ended, Demos looked rather ruffled, but he was, fortunately, alone. He looked rather paler in the face than normal.

"Zarathos," he muttered to himself. Then it became clear that Demos was actually afraid. Afraid and full of anxiety. "Consumer of souls . . . he must have been bound to a mortal being. That . . . that's the only way . . . the only way. . . ."

Demos was actually wringing his hands fretfully, something he hadn't a habit of doing regularly. Zarathos was clearly someone powerful, someone demonic. Someone frightening.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
The Penance Stare

But the Ghost Rider wasn't done yet, though it was unclear whether Zarathos or the mortal he was forcibly bonded to was in the driver's seat. But it was clear that they had no interest in harming the innocent, though this didn't mesh with Zarathos's lengthy record.

The Ghost Rider used his Penance Stare upon a genocidal cultist who had managed to shoot up a place, but spared a bullet from himself. He lived while his victims did not. Until the Ghost Rider caught up with him.

His next target and victim was an unhinged, dumpy woman with a fondness for the color red. She was guilty of a few decapitatings of late, and remarkably quick to anger. This resulted in her soul burned to ash.

His next target was a smooth talking underground fight promoter/manager. He did not care if his clientele died in doing what they were in the ring . . . with an electrified cage around it. He was motivated by greed and vengeance, and he was indifferent to those who died in his stead, as long as he got paid. Until his met his end by the Ghost Rider's stare.

His target after that was a poacher who was rather reckless with their poaching activities and managed to accidentally shoot a local while on safari, but managed to wriggle out of accountability for it. He felt no remorse, as he was illegally hunting protected animals. But the Ghost Rider found him in the end, and turned his soul to ash.

Then the Ghost Rider turned his sights upon a person the next few cities over, onto a man who targeted mall Santas (out of season now that it was early April) and anyone in a mascot suit. He had been arrested and was awaiting trial, having killed at least three known mascot performers, though he claimed fifty-four despite not nearly having enough people working as mascots who fit the criteria and were murdered to substantiate this claim. He was just boasting, feeling proud of himself for it. He wasn't feeling so proud now, as his soul was now ash.

Then the Ghost Rider turned his attention to an accused rapist, suspected of actually killing one woman. He had no remorse for her death, and was inappropriately cavalier about it. He wasn't so much any more, as his soul was now ash.

Then Ghost Rider, in another city a considerable distance from the one that has the closest proximity to RAF, targeted Jervis McDowall, who was in hiding. But the Ghost Rider lost interest, like a bloodhound losing a scent due to disinterest or discovering a stronger scent. The Mad Hatter had survived this brush with death, despite his horrid acts, he never spilt blood. He never killed, though he threatened it without hesitation.

The Ghost Rider revealed the stronger "scent" that got his attention was a notorious pirate, who did not hesitate to maim or kill those in his way. He ruled his crew with an iron fist, through fear and cruelty. His tyranny so ended with his soul transfigured to ash.

The final victim Ghost Rider had targeted -- Joke Meister.

"Oh, my dear friend," Joke Meister said, upon the Ghost Rider's appearance, "you seem to be a bit hotheaded."

He laughed raucously.

"Feel the pain you've caused," he said, gravely, as he approached the Joke Meister in his cell.

"Don't be so grim, friend!" the Joke Meister laughed. "Have a laugh! It's good for the soul, you know."

"It's time for you to feel --"

"Oh, not on the first date, you brute," Joke Meister said crudely. Then he burst in sinisterly raucous laughter.

"-- feel penance."

"Penance? Sorry, but I only have two pence."

"Look into my eyes," Ghost Rider said.

"What eyes?" Joke Meister said, flippantly.

The Penance Stare connected, but the Joke Meister's soul was not turned to ash. On the contrary, he seemed to have enjoyed the experience. He was actually disappointed when Ghost Rider left.

"Aw, no more?"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Stares and Manipulation

While he couldn't use his Penance Stare on the Joke Meister, a man so insane, so masochistic, that he actually enjoyed the sensation. It would seem the fact that he enjoyed it immunized him to it. And granted it wouldn't work on species, like Vulpimancers, that lacked eyes.

The Ghost Rider's next victim was a general who loved battle in secretly sadistic way. He was willing to kill people indiscriminately, but only when he had at least a semi-credible cover to cover his butt. But he took an inappropriate amount of joy in killing brown people. The Ghost Rider reduced his soul to ash, leaving his body untouched.

The next visit was to a very abusive drunk. Rotiart's single father. Turns out he wasn't very squeaky clean. He had been guilty of drunkenly slaying a few people, but he hadn't ever been convicted but once, but was acquitted on lack of evidence. But the Ghost Rider knew, sensed the innocent blood on him, and used his Penance Stare on him, turning his soul to ash.

The next visit was another sleazy fight promoter.

After that, it was jealous cast member at an amusement park who was responsible for the "accident" of another, who was thrown under and ran over by a float. He did not survive, and it most certainly looked like an error. But it was intentional. And the jealous cast member had his soul turned to ash.

A manchild was his next victim, who killed his roommate when the roommate had the audacity to change the channel when the manchild was monopolizing the television, watching a marathon of his favorite show, which was actually a vapid, mind-numbing, modern-day show. So, this manchild shot his roommate in the back of the head for his "transgression". And he had his soul turned to ash for his.

His next target was a drag queen who manipulated people into killing for him, but the innocent blood was on his hands as well, despite thinking he was clean. And his soul became ash because of it.

His next target was another pirate.

After that, his victim was another killer rapist.

Then came a furry-hater who went a little too far.

Then a petulant prince, an heir apparent, who would kill off underlings without a second thought. Not to mention he was guilty of fratricide, slaying his elder brother who would inherit the throne before him.

His next victim? Malice.

"Feel the pain," he said, as he used his Penance Stare on her, "of those you have slain."

"And if I don't want to?" Malice said, sounding almost bored. "What then?"

"Feel the sin," he said, "and burn."

"Ehhhh, I don't think I will," she said, breaking the Stare by projecting her energy through her eyes, forcing the Ghost Rider to break off the Stare. "Your powers won't work on a Realm Walker, you Dweller dolts."

The Ghost Rider broke this off, and promptly swung himself upon his hellfire horse.

"But I do know of a place that might be of interest to you," she said, manipulatively, with a sinister smile on her face.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Fear and Embarrassment

Zarathos, Demos thought, why'd it have to be Zarathos?

Demos was in his thread, his lair so to speak.

It was bad enough that I misplaced my babies, my creature capsules. he thought, remembering Maul's "siblings". Which was funny in a sense, considering everyone else forgot about them, it seemed. Now he's come. A literal soul eater.

Thing about souls to demons was that, while demons didn't have one of their own (Demos was an exception), they were treated like currency by other demons. Having copious amounts of souls allowed a demon prestige, notability, and notoriety, no unlike a billionaire in the current political climate. But there were a number of strings attached to this -- the souls couldn't be living souls, and yadda yadda yadda.

It was one reason why Zarathos was so feared, as he was essentially a wealth-eater. But somehow, Demos did not know how or why (he didn't really keep up with Hell politics), but somehow Zarathos was forced into servitude of another demon, he thought. He didn't know the veracity of this, though, as he was not there and this information was secondhand.

All he knew is that Zarathos had a habit of being bonded to the soul of a mortal. Or was it just the mortal body he was bound to? Demos couldn't remember which it was, but dismissed it as unimportant. What was important was that whoever the bonded mortal was became the Ghost Rider could, if the rumor was true, turn souls to ash, if they have innocent blood on their hands.

And Demos knew that if he came after him, the Ghost Rider would out a rather embarrassing secret Demos was keeping. A secret he much rather keep, other than the fact that he was pretty much the only demon with an actual, living, legitimate soul of his own. He was ostracized by other demons for it, as it afforded him a conscience. A conscience that was constantly at odds with his demonic nature. A secret he found so mortifying that he didn't want any other demons or even the other RAFians to know.

He sat in his thread, his lair where he felt the safest, mulling it over, picking it apart. He was brooding and feeling rather anxious and moody. He oscillated from sitting to pacing every few moments or so.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Involuntarily Bonded

A young equestrian Nicholas Friedrich was a normal teenager. Despite his hobby of choice, he came from a middle class family, and was riding due to a scholarship -- a surprisingly shady scholarship. It allowed him to go to a prestigious (read: "prohibitively expensive") Ivy League school, full of pretentious little pricks who thought they were the greatest things since sliced bread. And their precious little egos were stroked and fed to overindulgence.

The school had questionable accreditation in many eyes, but Mr. And Mrs. Friedrich were desperate for their son to have a good education, like most parents are nowadays. And Nicholas had good grades, but he himself wondered whether those grades were actually legitimate, when he considered other factors. He was a MVP, if that term could apply, in equestrian competitions. He wondered if the professors were just trying to placate him, and if they were truly an ivy league college.

He didn't verbalize any of his doubts, his suspicions. He didn't want to jeopardize his scholarship. He didn't even know what he did to earn the scholarship, but couldn't be bothered with wondering about that. He had it. He didn't want to lose it.

But, due to the modest means of his parents, the rich, pampered princesses and pricks made him an outcast. They did not use his name, instead of referring to him as "the charity case", treating him as a brainless peasant despite having a few more brain cells than they themselves possessed.

He managed to deal with all this with astounding patience and dignity. It was rather astounding the amount of crap he had to put up with, and yet still remain near the top of his class. He refused to join any fraternity, though, spending his time studying or with the equestrian team -- who weren't nearly as hard on him as the "popular" pricks.

But then the bubble burst.

His parents died -- he was sure that they were murdered, because they were outspoken against the establishment government, and would not "fall in line" with them. And they were seen as a danger to it, he was certain. He noticed that the students at the college, even some on the equestrian team, seemed to ramp up the hatred, the abuse. Not surprisingly their family were entrenched in the establishment, making their fortunes from it. Only one or two stayed on good terms with him, and even they faced stiff reprisals not only from the students but faculty and staff as well.

Yet he managed to suffer through this torment, and still managed to maintain his good grades, miraculously. None of the faculty had made unfair garnishment to his grades. Yet, anyway.

But the horse he was riding -- Fire Star -- got spooked during one of his equestrian event. It threw him, something the chestnut mare never did before. She didn't spook easily. It was sabotage -- someone spooked Fire Star deliberately, to punish Nicholas for his parents' "crimes". He broken his left arm severely, and his left leg wasn't in much better condition.

He was taken to the hospital too late, and the damage was deemed irreparable. He couldn't be an equestrian, so he lost his scholarship. He had lost everything he once held dear. He had nothing.

Then the demon came. The demon came and forcibly bound Zarathos to him, body and soul. The demon made him into the Ghost Rider. And that demon's name?

Shenecron.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
Approaching the Bastion

Nicholas hadn't any choice in the matter. He was tricked into it. By Shenecron himself, in the guise of an old crone with a large, bulbous nose and prominent, pointed chin. He had deliberately come to Nicholas in a moment of weakness, as he was so skilled at doing. He managed to convince Nicholas to sign something that he didn't happen to mention was a contract, and Nicholas, in this momentary weakness, did not think to read the actual piece of paper before he arbitrarily signed it.

With that, Shenecron's homely disguise melted away revealing a more draconic form, terrifying Nicholas. Shenecron wasted no time in summoning Zarathos to his side, and forced him into Nicholas's body. He bonded him to Nicholas's body, his soul, his mind. His clothing became black leather with spikes and chains. He also wore black leather gloves. His head became skeletal, wreathed and enveloped in hellfire.

Nicholas was in the driver's seat for the most part. But it wasn't as if Zarathos had no influence. However, his influence was mostly manifested as urges. Powerful urges. But Nicholas rarely left his Ghost Rider form, because he reasoned that Nicholas Friedrich was effectively dead with, he believed, no one to mourn him. He was just masking the pain he still felt at the sheer betrayal of those he would have considered friends. He allowed himself to be subsumed by the Ghost Rider identity, allowed himself to embrace the Spirit of Vengeance thing, even though technically Sam/Spectre held that title.

It was actually Nicholas who chose the victims, and Zarathos just influenced how he went about it. Zarathos was the one who sensed, who "smelled", the innocent blood on their target's hands, allowing Nicholas to find these people who spilt innocent blood. It was actually Nicholas's decision to use the Stare instead of indulging in Zarathos desire to just absorb them, which would have allowed the demon to eat the soul. Nicholas, his memories of his parents still intact refused and resisted the urge assiduously.

He was riding his hell fire horse at full gallop. The hellfire horse reminded him of Fire Star, his favorite horse to ride as an equestrian, and helped him keep his thoughts coherent and remain firmly in the driver's seat of his body.

Zarathos didn't appreciated at living in such a suppressed and oppressed manner. Though bonded to this mortal involuntarily, he could still try to manipulate him. But this Nicholas Friedrich was a stubborn and willful mortal. It surprised Zarathos, as he never knew a soul this strong before.

"My car!!" came the protest of Donald Couch.

Hellfire Star, as he starting thinking of this infernokinetic construct of an equine form, had trotted over a very expensive-looking black Ferrari with yellow painted flames on the sides. It was garish, but Couch thought that it looked cool. Granted it didn't look all that nice right now with hoofprints burned into the paint and metal with the windows having melted hoofprints in them.

Neither Nicholas nor Zarathos really cared about Couch's first world problem. Couch was rich enough to fix it, of course, but it was now imperfect. And that was absolutely unacceptable to Couch.

"Hey! Get back here, peasant!" Couch roared. He didn't have much common sense, and he liked using the term "peasant" anyone of insufficient wealth to his parents. "Get the -- wh-wh-why is your head on fire?"

Couch didn't push his luck then, proving he had some modicum of good sense. Or at least a strong self-preservation instinct. He hid in his imperfect Ferrari, cowering from the Ghost Rider, who was actually very indifferent to the pampered little brat. So, he ignored him. He hadn't spilt innocent blood, though he did support in oppressing the "lower" classes.

He was nearing the bastion. Nearing the one that the strange, but malicious, creature informed him about. He was nearing RAF. . . .

[Cloak]

New book ideas.

• Book MXI (1,011): "Yin-Yang" -- The RAFians must deal with twins that can change morality.
• Book MXII (1,012): "Tracking the Curupira" -- Cloak tracks a curupira. . . .
• Book MXIII (1,013): "Horse and the Encantado" -- Horse is entranced by an encantado.
• Book MXIV (1,014): "Garudas? Naga." -- The RAFians are drawn into a garuda-naga war.

There. Don't think that I rehashed anything. If I did, I'll figure out someway to make it new, I guess.

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity.

CHAPTER NINE:
Penetrating the Barriers

"How much longer is Code Avalon be down?" Demos asked. He tried to hide his anxiety, his fear. He wasn't hiding them very well.

"Another hour or so," Aquilai said, who was working with Goom and Yarin to maintain the system. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Demos lied.

Cloak looked at him. He knew the demon was lying, although it didn't take Earthsight to see that. But the Realm Walker said nothing, but kept eyeing him, observing his movements with scrutiny of a tiger.

But Cloak's attention was taken away when his ears picked up a faint clip-clop of hoofbeats of a moderately-size horse. It was clearly approaching. While Code Avalon was down.

Demos seemed to understand what this meant a few moments later when he could hear the hoofbeats himself. And he seemed to be having paroxysms of terror. Cloak found himself curious (a hazard of being a feline-form Realm Walker) about why Demos would be reacting so strongly to some simple hoofbeats.

It became too much for the demon, and he dashed out of the communications room, where the electrical short for Code Avalon was. Cloak gave pursuit, like a cat who sighted a mouse. He saw something he immediately recognized as a Ghost Rider, something he had seen from another Realm.

"Zarathos," Demos said, though it was technically a whimper. Zarathos was a more powerful demon that he. Or, at least, Zarathos was in his glory days when he was unbounded and free. He still rankled at being bonded to a mortal that he couldn't control, that he couldn't really manipulate. Although he managed to turn Nicholas from the ideal of "protect the innocent" to "punish the guilty". This afforded Zarathos a small amount of satisfaction, though hardly sufficient for the demon.

"Stand aside, demon," the Ghost Rider (Nicholas, of course, and not Zarathos) said. "You have spilt no innocent blood."

Demos . . . actually felt embarrassed by this, as Zarathos was silently laughing at Demos. Demons who haven't killed an innocent at least once was considered much like a stereotypical nerd in high school. Something to be mocked, something to be ostracized over.

"I'm not here for you," Nicholas said, as the Ghost Rider. "I'm here for the one called Cloak."

Cloak narrowed his eyes, seeing where this was going.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Beg to Differ-ential

"And just why do you want me?" Cloak said, feigning coyness.

"Feel you sin," he said, approaching Cloak without preamble.

"Sin?" Cloak repeated, still feigning the coyness. "Care to be specific?"

Nicholas, indulging in Zarathos's urging, said nothing and proceeded to walk forward.

"Pride? I suppose I can't argue that I have been prideful." Cloak continued, starting to feel genuinely coy. "Sloth? Well . . . perhaps."

Nicholas still said nothing. Cloak wasn't intimidated.

"Greed? Not nearly as much as Larfleeze. Or Wall Street." Cloak said, edging into flippancy. "Wrath? I've been known to indulge, but hasn't everybody?"

Nicholas just continued to shuffled closer.

"Envy? I suppose I've indulged some times in my youth, but not really that much anymore." Cloak said, irreverently. "Gluttony? Hmmm, does a glutton for punishment count?"

Nicholas said nothing, and continued to shuffle closer, attempted to look Cloak directly in the eye. Cloak wasn't really cooperating.

"Lust? Hardly." Cloak said, voice betraying his boredom now. He thought this whole thing was laughable. The Ghost Rider's stare -- yes, Cloak was aware of the Penance Stare -- wouldn't affect him, and he would be able to redirect right back at him.

"Feel your sins," Nicholas said, as he initiated the Stare, only to be lasted back with powerful golden-scarlet energy beams from Cloak's own eyes. It was more powerful than Cloak had expected.

GH, Leatherhead, Gaz, Laserbeak, Parker, Helen and Dek had come over to watch the spectacle. GH exclaimed, "Whoa, Cloak! I didn't know that you could do that!"

"Neither did I," Cloak said, admitting that there were some facets about himself that even he himself was unaware of.

"You're . . ." Nicholas said, and, for once he spoke without the Ghost Rider distorting to his voice. But it soon showed up again, disguising his voice, but both Demos and Cloak heard it. "You're one of those strange creature. Like the stout one with a voice like a steel trap."

"Malice," Cloak said at once. "I should have known."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Scrutiny

"What now?" Parker said.

Nicholas, as the Ghost Rider, looked around, hoping to detect innocent blood on the hands on any of the assembled RAFians. Cloak's hands were technically clean, unless one considered the siren and Cataclysm innocent. And the eidolans didn't have blood, innocent or not, to even be spilled. But then Cloak remembered.

All those innocent creatures, implanted with eggs of the Xenomorphic Brood. He had literally ripped the ship they were on apart. He did not usually like to exercise that much power. He preferred to put that much power into a different tier than he normally wielded. He felt aggrieved by it, but he had shamed himself in the fact that, until this moment, he had forgotten them. Had he had a hand in more innocent deaths? Had he been directly responsible for some? Would Malice have killed Ekzacto, Collecter, Gamemaster, and who knew how many more if not to hurt him in some way? If not to try to make a point to him for shatever reasoning she had on that particular day?

Nicholas's eye sockets did not dally on Helen, her hands were clean of innocent blood.

On Parker, he hesitated. Parker killed F1. But she hadn't any blood, innocent or not, to spill in the first place. So it couldn't be on his hands in anything other than a figurative sense. If you think F1 could be even considered an innocent, given her disregard with the bodies she shucked. Parker wasn't afraid, his eyes were hidden behind his visor, and he was confident in his armor's protection.

But eventually Nicholas turned his eye sockets to Laserbeak, who glared back mutinously defiant. Nicholas apparently considered Laserbeak to either be soulless or an electronic soul not being equitable to a organic being's soul. Laserbeak seemed to sense this kind of dismissal from Nicholas and Zarathos, and he shrieked a defiant parrot caw.

Then Nicholas locked eyes with Gaz. Despite Gaz resorting to drinking a vampiric blood supplement -- "Blood Lite" -- so that she won't have to actually feed and prey on real people. She didn't mind the powers of a vampire, but she didn't like the predatory aspect of it. But, yet, when she was Dark Gaz, she had spilt innocent blood left, right, and center. Granted, she didn't let the blood spilt fall the floor. She drank it. But she wasn't in her own mind, she was being controlled by Madre de Vampyra. So the innocent blood was on her hands, not Gaz's, technically.

Apparently, this technicality was sufficient enough for Nicholas, though Zarathos railed against it. He felt like he was missing out, for every sinned soul, when they are turned to ash, it was Zarathos feeding. Partially. Just barely enough to satiate him.

Then he eyed Leatherhead, and saw that not only were his hands clean, he was an innocent himself. Leatherhead looked puzzled and confused, not aware of just what precisely was going on.

Then he looked at GH. He stopped and he began to stare GH down. GH thought he knew why. Dimitri. GH wasn't sure that he would be considered innocent, as he did not consider himself innocent in it.

"Feel your sin, boy," Nicholas said, despite not being more than three or four years older.

[guitarhero01234]

I refuse to "feel my sin" when others are around.

[Cloak]

Not that sin.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Conflict Anew

"But I don't wanna feel my sin," GH said.

"Not that kind of sin, GH," Demos said, in a quick aside.

"Oh," GH said, though it was evident that he knew precisely what the Ghost Rider was talking about. Dimitri. God, would that ever stop cropping up to haunt him?

"You have the blood of an innocent on your hands," Nicholas said, voice sounding oddly ethereal now. "Feel your sin --"

"GH, don't look him in the eye!"

"What eyes?"

"Eye sockets, then!" Cloak roared, stepping into action immediately. He cartwheeled over, generating an aerokinetic blast that separated the two. Then he leaped in and fired a pyrokinetic blast at the Ghost Rider like a firebender. It was quite impressive given his pyrophobia. "Gaz, Parker! Take GH to safety. Leatherhead, Laserbeak, go with him."

"What about you?" Leatherhead asked.

"Mr. Cloak can take care of him," Parker said, in a moment of solidarity, "c'mon, kid, we gotta make tracks."

"Do not attempt to stop me," Ghost Rider said. It was questionable if Zarathos was managing to speak through Ghost Rider Nicholas before Nicholas reasserted control again.

"Pal," Cloak growled, "you have no IDEA who you're trifling with."

In response, Nicholas fired a blast of hellfire which Cloak deflected to his right. He didn't like the feel of the hellfire, though. It felt . . . dirty. Corrupted. The Ghost Rider punched out a few more blasts of concentrated hellfire, which Cloak easily deflected. Deflected to the left, left, right, left, left, left, right, left . . .

Tired of this seemingly impenetrable defense Cloak was putting on, Nicholas whipped out a length of chain, and was proceeding to use it like a whip. Cloak managed to defend against it, until he swept it on the ground, knocking the Realm Walker over is an almost ridiculous way.

But Cloak was a cat, and landed on his feet with all the grace of one. Only now he was mad, though keeping his emotions in check. This was becoming somewhat easier, but Cloak never really noticed.

When the Ghost Rider tried to pull a Scorpion "Get-Over-Here!" technique, instead having his chain wrap around Cloak's arm like he intend, Cloak seized the chain. His eyes were like suns now.

"You have royally screwed up," Cloak said with a growl.

[Cloak]

Saffa's gonna have a lot of catching up to do, isn't she?

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Playing the Defusion Spell Card

"You haven't any idea the powers you are meddling with, boy." Ghost Rider snarled.

"Boy?!" Cloak said, eyes flaring back up to suns, "You dare call me boy?! I am at least two hundred a fifty of your years older you!!"

"Zarathos is older," Demos said, from the peanut gallery.

"Why are you still here?!" Cloak said, grumpily irate.

Demos took no offense at this, but said nothing more as the battle between the two continued. And, if anything, it escalated. The battle became rather intense with the risk of collateral damage rising.

It shamed Cloak to admit that it took him this long to realize the danger of this. He had allowed this battle to go on too long. Granted, he was really holding back his.power because he was afraid of the sheer power of it. Although, unbeknownst to the Realm Walker, Nicholas was doing pretty much the same thing, because Zarathis was fighting harder than ever before for control over his body, for control over Nicholas himself.

Cloak had to stop this from causing casualties. If it keeps escalating like this, that would be an inevitability. But he didn't know how to stop the Ghost Rider, didn't know how to kill him if it came down to it.

"There is no escape from punishment," Nicholas said, "only eternal suffering for your sins, your crimes."

"And who are you to be the arbiter of the punishment?" Cloak countered swiftly. "Who appointed you judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Sins must be punished," came his reply, dodging the question.

Cloak didn't reply. It would be pointless. This guy clearly had a one-tracked mind, convinced of his righteousness. It was like he was a member of that cult that masqueraded as a church and protested funerals. They were like Teflon to reason and compassion, and so was the Ghost Rider.

"There is only one solution that I can see from this." Cloak said. "Zarathos and the kid must be separated."

"Cloak, no! You can't!" Demos protested.

"Try me," Cloak challenged. Then he belted out the next word at the top of his voice, so that people two miles away could hear it, "Expellicorpus!"

Nothing happened.

"No, Cloak, when I said that you couldn't it wasn't a challenge to your power," Demos said, with far more patience than he felt, "what I meant was that you literally can't. Zarathos isn't possessing the mortal -- making 'Expellicorpus' useless, by the by -- but fused to his soul or body, possibly both."

Why the Ghost Rider was just standing there allowing them to exposit was distracting to Cloak. But Zarathos within him seemed to be trying to exert more than just influence over Nicholas, and Nicholas resisting his attempts to take the driver's seat away from him.

"Besides, even if it was possible," Demos said, "Zarathos is a very dangerous demon, and one that is older than even you. Older than Malice, even. The mortal is probably the only thing holding him back from more malicious things."

"Be that as it may," Cloak said, "I may have another solution."

[redtailedsaffa]

Yep, I just walked in here and HOLY **** THIS IS INTENSE!! Love it. Gives me a reason to keep the hiatus off.

Great last book, by the way, and yeah, I can safely add that I was also a periodic table nerd in school, so no, gh, I didn't google astatine.

And also:

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Another Possible Solution

"Cloak! No!" Demos protested. "These are demonic matters which you are not very versed in. You might end up making it worse or make the Rider or Zarathos himself more powerful!"

But Cloak was a stubborn sort, and some could say that bordered dangerously on becoming sheer arrogance. He was confident in this next solution to neutralize their threat. To his knowledge, it could very well kill the mortal to which Zarathos was fused, body and soul, with. This could wind up freeing the demon, something that Zarathos would like very much.

Demos was right, though. Cloak might have been versed in a variety of alien species he had met from Walking throughout the Realms (though visiting all the Realms was a statistical impossibility for one Realm Walker alone), but he wasn't nearly as versed in demonology and demonic matters. Realm Walkers aren't even able to go into Hell (or Heaven, for that matter). There were theories about this of course, but no concrete fact. The prevailing theory was the energies in both places acted repelled Realm Walker energy like same-side magnets.

"It will work," Cloak said, with the stubbornness his family was known for. It was their hallmark, really.

"You don't know that, Cloak!" Demos countered.

"Trust me," Cloak said. It was getting to be a cliché.

"No, Cloak, trust me on this," Demos insisted. "You know it's serious when I'm the voice of reason, Cloak!"

"It'll work," Cloak said, obstinately.

"You can't KNOW that!!" Demos insisted again.

Cloak took a stance and raised his arms as glowing golden-scarlet energy surrounded the Rider in a double helix pattern. Then he made sweeping movements with his arms, using Faith's technique. It did nothing, except seemingly dislodge a memory and seemingly unify Nicholas and Zarathos in a singular mission.

"Cloak, I told you that we didn't know what would happen," Demos said, frustrated now.

"You cannot stop the Spirit of Vengeance, boy," the Rider said.

"Well, then we're gonna have a problem," said a voice from nowhere. It wasn't Cloak nor Demos who spoke. "Aren't we?"