Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Climatic Battles Anticlimax

And so the two fought.

They fought their way onto the rising podium that stood on a hydraulic spire in the middle of the Senate floor. Cloak was hesitating to deliver the killing blow -- it is not as easy as the everyman seems to believe, killing someone. Even someone this evil. He could have had this over so easy whether by bloodbending or breathbending, but both techniques, by their very nature, are evil acts.

Powers used a red lightsaber and Cloak had nothing but the Elements and his own energy. And Powers was unpleasantly surprised to discover that her lightsaber could not cut through Cloak's clothing. The Realm Walker was unsurprised at this. After all, the material his clothing was made from was designed from prevent his corona from wrecking havoc upon the Realm. So it would require being tougher than those materials that a lightsaber can easily slice through.

Even if it could, Powers could not kill Cloak -- unless it was true that she had somehow merged with Malice. If she had -- Cloak was quite mortal right now. Only a Realm Walker can kill another Realm Walker, even if merged or intermingled with a Realm Dweller.

But he swiftly became annoyed by the lightsaber, with the very sound it made when it was swung. So, when she tried to swing again, he grabbed it with a gloved hand (gloved with slits for his claws, which were not ensconced in his corona), and it would not cut it.

"Enough with your stupid little toy," he growled, as he disarmed her and threw it off the side of the podium.

She tried to Force lightning him, but he just repeatedly redirected it back at her. She tried a few Force pushes with only marginal success. Cloak was stronger than she had anticipated. Far stronger. But her arrogance and hubris wouldn't allow her to acknowledge this aloud.

She threw several Senate seats at him with the Force, but they were made of metal and Cloak made them circle around him, so they didn't lose too much momentum, and sent them right back at her.

Eventually, there was an explosion. One which knocked the two opponents away from each other. Powers was able to land safely on a plateform with Cloak clinging onto on with his black claws. He dug them into the metal, which yielded to its master, and his claws sliced into the metal like a tiger and it's prey. But it wasn't enough to support his weight.

But no matter, no matter. He could just form his flying disc and float up to -- wait. What was happening? He could feel himself being pulled from reality. Being pulled from the Realm. Someone was forcibly Walking him! He was . . . he was . . . he was being Recalled!!

That was a violation of his rights! Whoever sat on the Council had no right!!

He soon saw the faces of a unicorn Realm Walker, a bear Realm Walker, a leopard Realm Walker, a snake Realm Walker, and a fox Realm Walker. And he, the tiger Realm Walker, was ticked off.

***

And so the two fought.

The discordant, dissent notes rang out unheard by anyone, even the combatants. They continued to fight even as the rig they upon which they battled splintered and fell into a river of lava. They wouldn't let a minor matter such as that dissuade them from this melee combat.

Eventually, GH jumped with more agility and dexterity than he felt he truly possessed, and turned to face his son. As GH looked at him, disappointment swelled in him. GH had failed him. He had failed to teach him restraint and respect. He had ignored this inner darkness. He had failed to stem its growth, and allowed it to blossom. He allowed it to kill his LH. LH was truly dead.

"It's over, Leatherhead," GH said. He still hoped to get through to him. "I have the high ground."

"You underestimate my power," Darth Suchus snarled.

"And you overestimate your power," GH sighed heavily.

"And you underestimate me!" Darth Suchus roared.

"Don't do it," GH pleaded.

But Darth Suchus leaped over GH, trying to get to the higher ground, only for GH to slice off all his limbs, aside from his right arm, and a third of his tail. He fell close to the lava and began to burst into flame.

"You were my son, Leatherhead," GH said, crying unabashedly now. "I loved you! You were supposed to fight for light, not leave everything in darkness!"

Unable to look at him any more, GH left. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
GH Did WHAT?!

Cloak opened his eyes blearily, felt his ichor pound around his body.

He was up and on his feet before conscious, rational thought caught up to him. He was safe. He was in his thread, which was just fine. Sparsely decorated, but fine. He threw his legs over the side of his twin-sized bed. His bed sheets were navy blue, which he only got at his aunt Wheeza's suggestion.

He thought about the nightmare. It was far more intricate than the dreams he had of late. Did it mean something? Was he 'Truth-Dreaming' or whatever Aniyu called it? Was it just that, a dream? A harmless, meaningless nightmare?

He needed to get out of here, out of his thread. He needed to reassure himself that it was just a dream, a nightmare, and nothing more. Reassure himself that his friends still live, still thrive. Still simply be.

He walked out to a lovely sort of day, and saw his friends -- and Odie -- lounging about on the grounds. It wasn't real -- although he wasn't sure that he would ever look at Leatherhead the same way ag-- no, Cloak. That's stupid. Blaming someone based off of what they did in a nightmare. That would be incredibly stupid.

"Abby, what's that you watching?" Cloak asked.

"Yorick's show from Mojoverse," she answered, as she spread her hands upon the green grass upon which she sat.

"He has his own show? Seriously?" Cloak said nonplussed.

"Here. Look," she said, offering him her tablet to view, as the show's intro started.

"My name is Yorick Brown,
And I'm proud to be
Right back in my hometown
With my new family.
There's old friends,
And new friends,
And even a lair.
Through good times
And bad times,
It's true love
That we share.
And so I've found a place
Where everyone will know
My happy Banned face!
This is the Yorick Show!"

"Unbelievable," Cloak said.

"And, apparently, it's getting a second season -- despite just airing last night." Abby said, with a shrug.

It was at this point that Cloak looked up and saw GH and Hunter getting awfully chummy with one another. Something that seemed out of character for the both of them.

"What's going on there?" Cloak asked Abby.

"Oh, they've gotten close since GH's episodes," Abby said, as if Cloak already knew this.

"Episodes?"

Abby explained what she meant by this, and Cloak wasn't too happy.

"And you let me SLEEP through all this?!"


SOURCE SONG: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=LNDXrKBOKrw

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Magnetic Personality

Blue and Xeno went to investigate a disturbance at a factory that made high-power magnets. Both suspected that it was just another fiend of Demos's creation. As they descended into the factory -- they decided to dig the facility into the ground for some reason.

They continued to plumb the depths of this place, Xeno outright questioned the placement of certain mechanisms and why they had to platform with disappearing, reappearing blocks. Blue agreed that the facility seemed to have been built by some deranged architect. Xeno obliged in the game of the disappearing reappearing blocks before he became so irritated he just flew to the next spot.

"Show off," Blue grumbled.

After having to turn off some powerful electromagnets, they eventually came to the miscreant causing all these problems here.

The creature had a green torso, white waist and thighs, green lower legs and feet with black growths, a purple ribbed growth on its abdomen, black upper arms, green lower arms, and equally huge black hands. Its right arm housed an orifice where it could fire magnetic bone projectiles in the shape of horseshoe magnets. Its green human-like head showed no visible mouth, a horseshoe magnet-like crest, and eyes with brown pupils and green sclera. It was the size of a teenager with a big build.

Fortunately, all people were evacuated immediately, once this creature went on a rampage. It was unclear what it wanted here, as it would seem that all of Demos's fiends were a tad on the unstable side.

Xeno managed to tase it for a bit before it got mad and used its power over magnetism to draw all metal closer -- including Xeno's gauntlets. The gryphon was cursing rather audibly.

Xeno looked around suddenly when he discovered that the magnetic pull lessened considerably. He saw three shurriken lodged within its skull, but it was more irritated than hurt.

Then they exploded. Killing the creature.

"Show off," Xeno grumbled.

***

Demos called it a "magnetosapien". He had designed it for combat with machines, hence the magnetokinesis.

***

"Well, he had a magnetic attraction," Malice said, having seen the whole thing.

[Cloak]

Yes, to the more astute readers, I did change the title of this upcoming book.

New chapter.

BOOK CXLIII:
RAF AND THE OLYMPIANS
CHAPTER ONE:
Hard Challenge

Yarin was dispatched to investigate a stadium of some sort. Yarin never really paid all that much attention to sports, much less human ones. It would take away too much time from his constant tinkering. But they received a report of a dangerous creature that took up lodgings here.

It was very fortunate that no sporting event was scheduled to take place here for a while now. Still, the creature had frightened away the stadium's caretakers, and it fell to him to find and stop this creature, whatever it was. Fortunately, he had come up with a weapon that utilized magnetism as a weapon. He hadn't given it a name yet, but was thinking something along the lines of Magnet Missile -- only that name was trademarked for some reason unknown to him. Perhaps "Formidable Rotating Isolated Coupler Kitbash"? Nah.

Yarin proceeded further through the labyrinthine back tunnels and passageways of the stadium, scanning for the mind of whatever creature this was. He never picked up on coherent thoughts. Just anger, confusion, hatred, and resentment, all mishmashed together like a paste.

Eventually, Yarin came to the source of those tangled up, mishmashed emotions. And what his six eyes saw left him feeling rather intimidated. Not an easy feat for a veteran RAFian.

The creature was barrel-chested, with thick stout limbs and a narrow head. He lacked a nose of any kind. It had yellow armor with brown hands that it could fire out in rocket punches, then instantaneously and spontaneously regrow the hands back. It's armor were of a specialized ceramic titanium, and it was very heavy, making its movements slow and sluggish, and making each stomp of its foot shake the ground somewhat. It had yellow sclera and brown irises, and was roughly the size of a young adult.

The creature dropped from the ceiling, causing the ground to shake at his three ton weight. This knocked the svelte Nyac from his two-digit feet, causing his weapon prototype to go skittering away from him.

"Wonderful," he muttered as he scambled to his feet and managed to seize the weapon up. He just barely dodged two fired fists, which lodged into the wall before dissolving into nothing. The creature had already regrown the hands, and was leaping upwards -- surprising because of its weight.

Yarin managed to jump at the right moment to avoid falling on his backside. He was wishing that this fight would be a bit easier. The moment the creature fired tow more fists, Yarin shot his prototype at the creature. It worked thankfully, but it did not kill the creature.

Only ticked it off.

It's attacks of firing two fists than using a body press technique only became quicker with the second shot. Yarin was taken off guard. He had assumed that his large body and slow initial movements meant that he was incapable of fast movement. He realized this too late to his detriment as, during one of his body press techniques, the creature crushed and shattered his prototype.

Yarin had to think fast. As he dodged the pattern again and again, he failed to think of a way to -- wait just a minute. When he fired the next two fists, Yarin telekinetically redirected them both back at the creature, who stared at this in dumbfounded, dull surprise. When the fists made contact, they killed the creature immediately.

"It was that easy?" Yarin gasped for breath, looking rather beaten up and exhausted. "It was seriously that easy? Seriously?!"

***

Demos called it a "hadosapien", and designed it for . . . well, he forgot what his original intention was for this creature. He just knew that it was really heavy, really lazy, and liked to throw its weight around.

***

"Wow, that was hard," Malice said, mockingly. She was getting a kick out of watching these interactions with these creatures that she was letting out one at a time. She didn't even care when they were killed.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
A Routine Briefing

Cloak couldn't get his mind off of what Abby described to him. This Armadillo Anderson persona of GH's. It didn't strike the Realm Walker as a unstable figment from a sleep-deprived mind. There seemed to be more to it than that.

"Cade Brewer," Goom was said, perhaps show a picture of the brewery director. Cloak wouldn't know. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts. "Missing since two days ago, from the brewery. Believed to be kidnapped, but there's no just cause of it."

No, this whole Armadillo Anderson thing was too much like the Dark Phoenix incident from over a Dweller year ago. Unless Abby described it to him wrong, all the evidence meshed together too well to be wrong . . .

"Luke Beaumont," Goom continued, indicating a deliveryman. "Missing since four days ago, whilst delivering a package. The package receiver was questioned and cleared. No one knows his whereabouts or if foul play is at play."

That Armadillo Anderson was too much like Mummudrai Evile. The creature whose name wasn't the most creative -- it'd be like calling Xeno 'Gryphon XenoFrobe'. Evile was a Mummudrai, that was sure. But was Armadillo Anderson?

"Leonard Samuel Smythe," Goom said, referring to a mediocre blacksmith, "kidnapped six days ago, right from his forge. No one knows why, and there hasn't been a trace of him since."

Mummudrai were basically psychic parasites. Parasites without corporeal bodies, though some can craft their own from the deoxyribonucleic acid of another, granting them any powers that are a part of that person's genome. Not having DNA himself, Cloak had no need to worry about a Mummudrai using his genetic material in such a way, but he imagined that it would feel immensely invasive to have it happen to you.

"Piper Shelley," Goom said, indicating a vain model, "kidnapped ten days ago, right before her stint on the catwalk. No one knows what happened to her.

The more he thought about the more he was convinced that GH's Armadillo Anderson was a Mummudrai, and not just a mental construct of his that somehow gained sentience and took control of him when he was sleep-deprived. If this was indeed true, Anderson could not have been a particular good one, if he got trapped in GH's mind.

"Sergeant Frank Marshall," Gloom, indicated an army sergeant, giving a brief synopsis again of the circumstances of his disappearance before moving onto Deana Grace, a wildlife photographer, and Alfred Paulson, a doctor and mediocre guitarist.

Honestly, he thought that this deserved more thought, as it could prove to be potentially disastrous, rather than twelve missing person cases that probably have mundane reasonings for occurring. They didn't even seem connected, as Cloak looked ahead in this briefing.

Goom expounded on Annabeth Ayers (a tactician), Miranda Farmer (a botantist), and Shauna Davies (a marriage counselor). No connection between them or the aforementioned missing persons. RAF, as cold and ruthless as it may sound, could not simply go chasing after every missing person. Even they lacked the proper manpower and resources to do such a thing. Some of these cases were over a week old. The scent would have gone old and stale by now.

Naturally, Cloak didn't say any of this. He didn't want to sound heartless, and he was pretty sure that it would have made him hypocritical in some way. It was a pity that Odie wasn't allowed in these briefings -- he didn't have enough seniority -- or else he might voice precisely what Cloak secretly felt. However, Cloak wasn't proud of it, whilst Odie either would be proud of it, or otherwise indifferent. He was self-centered that way.

Cloak had caught him complaining how he wasn't treated with the respect he thought he deserved (but did not earn). Most just let him rant and ignored his incredibly irritating self-indulgence, so he thought their silence meant that they sided with him, obvious to aggravation. Sometimes, feline hearing is a little too acute.

Anyway, the briefing ended, and Cloak thought nothing of real value happened, but said nothing about his feelings, wondering idly if he had become cold and passive aggressive in his old age.

[Cloak]

Disclaimer: All views and opinions represent by Odie are his and do not represent the views and opinions of the author.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
R-E-S-P-E-C-T

"-- Or that insincere Dylan kid," Odie was complaining to a captive audience who was being far too polite for their own good to get him to go away. "So goddamn obnoxious, and yet he's treated with more respect than me."

Odie was fuming. He felt as if he was constantly being disrespected here. He felt that he was deserved adulation for really no notable accomplishments or achievements. But thought it owed to him just the same.

"And that Ash," he continued to express his ire. Naturally, none of his claims were true, but they held validity in his eyes. And only his eyes. "She far too bossy. Acts like she's the grand poobah of everything."

Several of his captive audience were showing signs of mutiny. They didn't buy these outrageous and slanderous claims.

"And that freakish tinkerer. Xeno, I think it calls itself." he growled. "Completely useless. Tinkers with devices that never work out in the long run. He wastes so much time and energy when he could be doing something useful."

Like fawning over Odie, but he didn't say that. But his tone and delivery implied it well enough that his captive audience go the gist of it. All ignored it -- one even snorted derisively, which Odie took to mean agreement.

"And that stupid little seal," he started again, oblivious the overt groan of someone in this audience as Odie seemed to feel that he needed to list his many grievances, most of which were misperceptions by him which he refused to believe otherwise about. "She must get a kick out being eaten by that overgrown electric rat. And yet she gets listened to. No one ignores what she has to say. No one tells her to shut up!"

A few would like to say that to Odie right now, but they saw their opening and left instead. Only one person was left to listen to this inane diatribe. And she wasn't in any mood for it, but she wasn't the type to just tell someone off.

"And that Helen Troy," he continued as the girl groaned most obviously. "She thinks that she is so pretty, the vain hag."

The girl looked around Odie for an opening but there was none. She could not escape this pointless tirade. It wasn't even aimed at her. He did not even remember what he did to her a few weeks ago.

"Oh, and her boyfriend isn't any better." he started again, oblivious to the girl's grunt of frustration. "He'd be useless without that tacky armor of his. And yet he thinks he's really something, really hot stuff. Yet when I point out the obvious point that no one else seems to see, I get told to shut my mouth! The guy is so quick to call the shots, he does even realize that he isn't even good at it!"

Still no opening for the girl. She continued her silent pleas for patience, because Odie was really starting to work her last nerve. Especially when he told her those obvious lies just so he could -- 

Then he started in again, this time against Saffa. He said some rather deplorable things that were vaguely racist and didn't bear repeating. He was rather unapologetic about saying them, too. In his mind, he could do no wrong, his culpability was an impossibility to him.

The girl was offended on Saffa's behalf, but she wasn't able to get a word in edgewise. It was becoming clearer and clearer that she would have to forego politeness and speak her mind. That is, if Odie would ever give her the chance to do so.

"Oh, and that guitarist," Odie said, gearing up for another tirade spurt. "The one with the alligator pet -- the one he treats as an actual child, instead of the freakish thing that it is. And he can't even play the guitar that good, but people say I'm egotistical. When he plays the guitar like a quadriplegic."

The girl's glowers were going unnoticed. Odie seemed to enjoy being a total and utter douchebag. He seemed to enjoy his tirades, despite obvious evidence that he was the only one enjoying this, in any way.

"And his boyfriend -- yes, boyfriend! Can you imagine? Seriously, can you imagine such a relationship?" he said, revealing his homophobic side that he never really demonstrated before, but then again, no one allowed him to go on this long before. "He thinks he's such a good shot. I could take any of his shots in my sleep. Thinks he's so superior 'coz he's not human, but a lowly human-like beast."

Now the girl wanted to slap him across the face, wipe that smugness right out of it. But if she did that, he would have some choice words for her and he would still think that he was in the right.

"And those four-legged, blue-furred freaks of nature," he said, disparaging the Andalites as a whole. "They think that they are so superior. If I was given the same amount of time as them, I would have invented morphing, too. Geez. Talk about being full of themselves."

Hypocrite, the girl thought. Pure and simple. He a hypocrite.

"And that Melissa girl," he continued, "such a snobby, little brat. I have never known someone so stuck up. Any other woman would have killed to date a catch like me, wouldn't you agree? Of course you do."

It was astonishing just how quickly anger can translate into sheer revulsion. This girl clearly was under the opinion that, in addition of being so utterly full of himself, Odie was a pig. She wasn't wrong.

"And that cloak-wearing twit," he said, ready to let his hatred spew forth, vile and disgusting. "Mr. I-Know-Everything. Mr. I-Won't-Even-Admit-When-I'm-So-Obviously-Wrong. He knows nothing -- nothing -- useful, and yet he's treated with respect that he doesn't effing deserve! I deserve it more! I deserve it more than he does!! I do! I do! I do! Me!!"

His breaths became shallow with the sudden burst of energy.

"I swear I want to walk away from this place and never look --"

"Then do it," the girl said, calling him a vulgar, unflattering name. It began with an "F" and rhymed with trucker. "Then just do it!! No one would even miss you!! You're so full of yourself that you cannot see that the only problem here is YOU. You don't like here? Then LEAVE. And leave my boat behind, you piece of -- you know what, Odie?"

"John," he corrected.

"No one cares," came her reply, "you know what, Odie? You're not worth it. You're not worth this grief. I'm going to my thread -- not with you, idiot boy! -- go away, and leave us all alone. You want respect? You gotta earn it, not demand it. Every preschooler understands this at the end of the day, except major ego cases like you."

She pushed past him roughly.

"Good BYE." she said, equally as rough.

[guitarhero01234]

Oh, I got genuinely mad here. You say I play like a quadriplegic, Odie? I'd like to see you play the second solo to Corporeal Jigsore Quandary perfectly! I'd like to see you do some crossover tapping! Oh, please, show me how well you can keep up with the meter changes in a song like Schism or Spirit Crusher, because I'm dying to see you try! LEMME AT HIM, CLOAKY! I'M GONNA SHOW THIS TOOLBAG HOW TO PLAY GUITAR!!!

Also, ain't nobody gonna talk smack about Hunter, or they'll get The Spirit of Radio when it's dropped in their bath . . .

[NickDaGriff]

"And that freakish tinkerer. Xeno, I think it calls itself." he growled. "Completely useless. Tinkers with devices that never work out in the long run. He wastes so much time and energy when he could be doing something useful."

Well, I mean...

I guess that's a fair assessment.  Mostly.   

[Cloak]

Oh, I got genuinely mad here. You say I play like a quadriplegic, Odie? I'd like to see you play the second solo to Corporeal Jigsore Quandary perfectly! I'd like to see you do some crossover tapping! Oh, please, show me how well you can keep up with the meter changes in a song like Schism or Spirit Crusher, because I'm dying to see you try! LEMME AT HIM, CLOAKY! I'M GONNA SHOW THIS TOOLBAG HOW TO PLAY GUITAR!!!

Also, ain't nobody gonna talk smack about Hunter, or they'll get The Spirit of Radio when it's dropped in their bath . . .

I did warn you, you know. But you will eventually see what happens to him. It'll happen before Book#150, although {spoiler}{so many spoilers}.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
Notifications

"We're getting twelve coordinates incoming," Xeno said, utterly perplexed.

"Coordinates?" Cloak said. This was really out of the blue. "From who?"

"Doesn't have an originating source -- wait -- it's just encrypted. It'd take some time to actually de-- we have an incoming transmission." Xeno elaborated.

"Well, go on, then," GH said. "Let's see it."

He played it and what came through was a musical beat.

"It's gonna be a song, isn't it?" GH said at once.

Twelve figures showed up on the screen and confirmed this, singing in a rhythmic monotone.

"We're the Olympians.
We're the best.
We're bigger and stronger
Than the rest,
After all the years
That we were repressed.
We're the Olympians.
We're the best.
We will rob them
And we will stomp them
And blow them to the breeze.
Can we boast?
We will drown and pound them.
And will squash them like fleas!
Now they'll be toast!
We're the Olympians.
We're strong.
We know we can
Beat 'em and string 'em along!
They think they can win,
But they are wrong, wrong, wrong!
We're the Olympians.
We're strong.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom, boom, boom.
Oh, yeah.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom, boom, boom.
We're the Banned.
We're the worst.
We're meaner and so
Much more perversed.
RAF had all the luck,
But now they're cursed.
'Coz we're the Olympians.
We're the worst.
And the forum will be ours,
We'll see it destroyed!!
We're getting annoyed!
We're the Olympians.
We rule the day!
We'll make the RAFians
And little Leatherhead pay!
We'll bury them
Beneath smothering clay!
We're the Olympians.
We're okay.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom, boom, boom.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom-shaka-laka.
Boom, boom, boom."

Silence elapsed for a few seconds after the transmission ended. Only to be broken by GH moments later, "Okay -- what the hell was that?"


Source Song: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=FlcFYbgQyEQ

[Cloak]

New book ideas.

• Book MCLII (1,152): "Comedy and Tragedy" -- The RAFians must procure the Thalian Mask of Comedy and the Melponean Mask of Tragedy.
• Book MCLIII (1,153): "Death of Emotions" -- Emotions are somehow eradicated from the Realm inexplicably.
• Book MCLIV (1,154): "Spirited Actions" -- The RAFians must deal with ghostly antics of a wrathful ghost, a lecherous ghost, a frightful ghost, a envious ghost, a hopeful ghost, a compassionate ghost, and a loving ghost. All their actions have murky morality.
• Book MCLV (1,155): "Reformatted" -- The RAFians are drawn into witnessing the formation of the "Spectrum Specters".
• Book MCLVI (1,156): "Reigns and Sacrifices" -- The Spectrum Specters need to be reigned in.
• Book MCLVII (1,157): "Quagmire of Irrelevancy" -- A foe, that have fought the RAFians before, attempt to remain relevant by kidnapping a young hostage.
• Book MCLVIII (1,158): "Oh, Grow Up" -- The RAFians must deal with a supervillain calling himself Grandfather.
• Book MCLIX (1,159): "The Sapphire Dragon" -- The RAFians must deal with the dangerous Sapphire Dragon.
• Book MCLX (1,160): "The Ruby Dragon" -- The RAFians must deal with the dangerous Ruby Dragon.
• Book MCLXI (1,161): "The Jade Dragon" -- The RAFians must deal with the dangerous Jade Dragon.
• Book MCLXII (1,162): "Inside Job" -- The RAFians are reimagined as different aspects of a boy named Raphael Richards.

Don't think I rehashed anything. All titles are not final, and are subject to change.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
To the Theatre

Dylan entered the vast expanse of the old theater. There were rows and rows of seats with what must have been plush velvety leather at one point before they got threadbare and cracked when this theater fell into disrepair, and was forgotten. There was even a balcony seat for the obligatory Statler and Waldorf hecklers.

The stage was wide and massive. The apron of the stage was wide enough for a small compact car to be parked on without touching the curtain, which was a rusty brown which looked and smelled musty, and.was obviously laden with a thin layer of dust.

This theater had not seen use for many a year, and was seemingly forgotten overnight, somehow. This looked like it would have been the pinnacle of playhouses in its heyday. Dylan would have loved giving a performance here -- and he could quite easily imagine the intricate sets and props and other actors. It would have been wonderfully fun.

"How many abandoned places does this city have?" Dylan wondered aloud. There was a staggering number of places -- but considering the type of things that happened over the last eighteen months or so, was it really surprising? The question should have been who in their right mind would even live here? Must be the Gotham Syndrome -- living in a city where some unforeseen circumstance of a supervillain's actions might cost you your life at any time, and yet you still inhabit the city, knowing this.

Then Dylan noticed the man sitting on the stage. He was a plump, hedonistic man, with a small red nose and scraggly black hair, which had a crown of laurel leaves (like Caesar's) framing it, and a neckbeard. He wore a purple tunic with leopard and tiger-print accents. He wore comfortable-looking sandals.

"Who are you?" Dylan asked. The vacant quality of the dude's eyes was disturbing the RAFian.

"Impudence," the man said, disdainfully. "I should have expected no less when we locked ourselves up in Olympus."

"You're an Olympian?"

"Don't sound so disbelieving, boy!" the man spat, irritated. "I'm Dionysus."

"The wine dude."

"'The wine dude'." Dionysus repeated, affronted. "I am much more than 'the wine dude', boy! While it's true I can control an manipulate wine and alcohol, I can do so much more than that! I can induce bliss, horror, insanity, madness, or utter anarchy in any mortal of my choosing! But I can also make party time any time!"

"Okay . . ."

"Not impressed?" Dionysus said. "I can absorb, create, control, and manipulate madness and insanity of myself, others, or the madness energy around, whether increasing, decreasing, causing or otherwise changing insanity, even manifesting the emotional energy to physical level and gain power from it. I can induce others to enter a spontaneous celebration; I can even make partygoers party forever without leaving them tired or in a constant never-ending state of celebration. I can cause madness in a person or group of people that have no mental illness, who may go slightly loopy or lose total grip of reality becoming delusional, lose control over themselves, paranoid, catatonic or hostile. I can make people feel extreme pleasure or discomfort. I'm able to invoke an absence or lack of government over a large radius ranging from small villages to large cities to create mass riots, rebellion and social disorder and disruption. And, yes, I can create, shape and manipulate alcohol and alcoholic beverages to my whim."

"Impressive," Dylan pandered.

"I'm also the patron of the theater, hence why we're here," he said, getting up. He gathered a staff with a pine cone tip, a thyrsus, his weapon of choice.

"Why are we here?"

"Don't get existential on me, boy," Dionysus said. "This is a battle to the death -- the winner gets your forum."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Unfair!

"To the death?" Dylan protested, "But you're immortal!"

"Yes, that I am," Dionysus said. "Try not to scream too much, or bleed that much either. I just need to do this."

"Why?"

"Doesn't matter," the Olympian said. Those vacant eye still weirded Dylan out.

"It matters to me!!"

"Let's get this done," Dionysus said, ignoring that. "You're no Eurytus, but give me a little entertainment. Let's get this party started!"

"Huh?" Dylan said, as music played inexplicably.

"Don't you get it yet? This is the way I battle!" he said, though his eyes -- his eyes were still vacant. "It will be a bacchanal battle to the death!"

"A what?"

"Party to death!" he said. "We party on down, party until one of us dies."

"You cannot be serious." Dylan said. This guy was starting to lose all credibility in his eyes. His mood swinging from serious and broody to upbeat and jovial. Something was wrong here.

"Lend me your ears!
It's an open invitation! To the finest feast, what an elaborate piece!
It's an awesome celebration -- guaranteed to disturb the peace!
It's a jammin' extravaganza!
With a hot Cucaracha beat!
You don't have to ask directions -- No! Just follow your dancing feet!
At the bacchanal battle -- it's a nonstop party!
The biggest bash that Dionysus has ever thrown!!
People, wall to wall! Gonna party hardy! We'll boogie to the beat
'Til the Shill's sheep come home!
Grab a scotch of grape at the fountain.
Shake it up and slide down the mountain.
Strike a pose so everyone knows yer cool!
Grip those hips and join in the conga!
Steal a kiss! Cowabunga! Moshpit Meltdown!
Everyone in the pool! Me first!
At the bacchanal battle -- it's a nonstop party!
The biggest bash that Dionysus has ever thrown!
People, wall to wall! Gonna party hardy!
You're sure to have a ball at the bacchanal battle!"

Dylan had the wisdom of Solomon, the strength of Heracles, the stamina of Atlas, the power of Zeus, the courage of Achilles, and the speed of Mercury. Two, possibly three, of those were Olympians. If they were really against everyone, then why didn't they rescind their gifts to him. He did not feel any weaker, he did not feel more vulnerable, he did not feel slower. The powers were obviously not rescinded.

"Oh, don't give up so soon, boy!" Dionysus chided irritatedly. "Battle me! Party it up, boy!"

Dylan made a quick deduction, using his wisdom of Solomon. He quickly made his way over to "Dionysus" using his speed of Mercury and quickly plucked the laurel wreath from his hair and suddenly his eyes were vacant no more.

"Mr. Brewer, I presume?" Dylan asked. "Cade Brewer?"


Source Song: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pq37Lv7dkWc (I couldn't find it isolated from the episode, so go to 7:07. And yes, I realize it isn't the best orchestrated Disney song.)

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Boastful Traveller

Ash had shown up in an abandoned warehouse -- one Malice herself has been known to use as headquarters from time to time (not so much anymore, as she knows it was compromised). These were the coordinates that she was sent to. There was supposed to be an Olympian here.

She disguised herself as a mouse -- an ordinary, oft overlooked mouse -- to scope the place out. It was dangerous assuming the form of a prey animal in a rather unprotected environment like this. What if there was a stray cat about? Ash was confident that she would be able to shapeshift into something more proper to deal with that threat, though.

Then she saw a man. He was wearing a toga, winged sandals, and a winged iron cap. He had a laurel wreath beneath this cap. He was thin, with blonde hair in tight curls on his head and clean shaven. He had a runner's build, and an oddly trustworthy face. He didn't seem to know that Ash was here. Odd, for someone who was supposed to be a god.

She reverted to her true form, and walked out. She stayed a safe distance away from him, though she suspected just which Olympian he was.

"Hermes, right?"

"That's right," he said. "Now that your here, we can get started."

"Started?"

He smiled, "For our death battle, of course."

"Death Battle? Seriously?"

"Oh, yes. Most seriously. If you lose, you forfeit your forum and your life."

"And if I refuse?"

"You won't," he said.

"And why is that?"

"Because," he said, his strangely vacant eyes trained on her. "I said so."

"That's not an answer."

"How about because I can becomes a transdimensional crossroads runner capable of traversing great distances without the need of constitutional locomotion -- essentially moving incredibly fast while not actually moving within any occupied area via dropping in and out between real and subspacial planes in rhythmic pulse intervals, at an incredibly rapid pace much faster than mortals can achieve though simple running? How about because I am an incurable trickster? How about because I can manipulate souls, due to ferrying them to the Styx all the time? How about because I can speak, write, understand and communicate in any language, including computer codes, sign language (even lipreading!), illegible words, backwards speech and writing with absolutely no training? How about because I can fly with my winged sandals? How about because I possess athletic abilities beyond even most dedicated training can do? How about because I can manipulate trade, commerce, and profit to my every whim?" he boasted.

Ash wasn't really all that impressed.

He continued, "How about because I can create, shape and manipulate arts and the medias used to create them? How about because I can flawlessly invent scientifically complex machinery, electronics, devices, gadgetry or weaponry? (Though, admittingly, Hephaestus does that better.) How about because I can create, shape and manipulate all forms of physical literary objects that are printed, written or drawn, including their physical forms and materials, and anything written, printed, illustrated, or drawn in them? How about because I can create, shape and manipulate money, currency and wealth?"

Ash said nothing, but folded her arms in an indifferent and, frankly, bored manner.

Still, Hermes boasted, "How about because I can manipulate all boundaries? How about because I can take the souls of others, willingly or otherwise, to the afterlife? How about because I can deliver messages to others, even when they are dead and they are in spirit or essence form? How about because I can steal anything and everything (including concepts, landmarks, natural elements and forces, intangible objects, physics, laws, themselves, and so on) I'm able to not only hide in shadows but even in plain sight, I can slip into spaces that should be physically impossible to fit or slip into for mortals, and I can even steal without even having to be present at a location?"

"You still didn't answer my question," Ash said. "You're just going off on a tangent, bragging about your power set."

"Get ready, then, mortal!"

"Besides, I think Cloak has more powers than you," Ash said. Hermes didn't react to this.

"Let's get this going, mortal!"

[redtailedsaffa]

Oh my god. SO MUCH FEELS FROM THE LAST BOOK. Those last few chapters, the faceoffs, so well done. (And here's the PDF).

Yay, return to Percy Jackson themes! I have a feeling I'm gonna enjoy watching this play out. I mean, I'm basically reading the chapters like this.

Then he started in again, this time against Saffa. He said some rather deplorable things that were vaguely racist and didn't bear repeating. He was rather unapologetic about saying them, too. In his mind, he could do no wrong, his culpability was an impossibility to him.

The girl was offended on Saffa's behalf, but she wasn't able to get a word in edgewise. It was becoming clearer and clearer that she would have to forego politeness and speak her mind. That is, if Odie would ever give her the chance to do so.

ohohohoho bish let's put you on these brown ass streets you wouldn't last a CENSORED day

[Ash]

TIME TO KICK BUTT.

[Quaf]

CLOAK I'M UP TO BOOK 60! 2 DAYS LATE BUT I MADE IT!