Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

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

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
HOW?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did you survive?" Gaz said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Rotiart --"

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

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

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

A monster declaring that there's gonna be nothing but bad days ahead for RAF and its RAFians. . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Nothing But Bad Days Ahead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Source song: https://youtube.com/watch?v=5V55et0JQP8

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Survival

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are DONE, Cloak!" Rotiart roared. "You are DONE! You hear me?! You are -- why are you smiling?"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Misdirection

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

Ka-THUNK!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A concern we can deal with later," Cloak said. "For now, our primary concern is getting these tourists and vacationers back to the mainland. Hopefully, to forget the ordeal they had just gone through."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Loose Threads

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A clone, then," Goom suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

"Pandemonium demons?" Demos inquired.

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

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

"Sunlight." Gaz said.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Oh, there's the mainland.

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

He went into a public bathroom and came out in a decadent purple suit with black leather gloves with the Trey mask on, with it contouring to his face wonderfully. No one saw any difference between him and the real one. Rotiart found it an easy role to.play, considering he, himself, was a lot smarter than the real Trey . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Stone Cold

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

***

"Well, he had stones," Malice said, almost indifferently.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

BOOK CLI:
A REALITY REWRITE
CHAPTER ONE:
Charge!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

***

"It did charge it," Malice said, head ****ed to the side.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
The Typewriter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ghostwriter.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
The Day RAFians Died . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hunter:

"Two!"

Leatherhead:

"Three!"

GH:

"We're not like the other guys."

Leatherhead:

"We're not like anybody!"

GH:

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

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

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

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

What the hell was going on here?"


Source Songs: https://youtube.com/watch?v=P-cx0qToGhU and https://youtube.com/watch?v=GyYO2692Fls

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
This Chapter is Brought to You By the Letters W, T, and H

It was an odd sensation. Like a sudden temperature spike a swimmer feels when submerged in a pool, or something like that. It felt as if there was a rushing movement as everything around the Realm Walker changed, and he was most disconcerted to find his friends, his surrogate family, look like shambling, reanimated corpses of differing appearances. It looked as if there was at least one representation of a zombie from every zombie story in media.

The very fact that Dwellers even could leave behind corpses was still very unsettling for Cloak, despite the time he spent here, living amongst the Dwellers. It was something that would take a Realm Walker a great deal to become accustomed to.

And, just like that, everything just . . . changed again. Cloak could feel the wave, or energy, or whatever it was, break upon him like a wave, like a sudden undertow caught his foot suddenly and then decided to release it for no reason.

Everything was brighter, more saccharine. More squeaky-clean.

"Okay," Cloak heard Parker complain at once. "I am so not okay with this!"

Cloak had to stifle a snicker at the miffed SPARTAN before him. Disgruntled, Parker was a Muppet now. Like one you'd see on Sesame Street.

"Don't you dare laugh, Realm Walker," Parker said, despite his scope of doing anything about it was severely limited in this form.

"Settle, Parker," Gaz said, she was now a Muppet, too. "Getting hysterical won't solve anything."

"I'm perfectly fine!" Parker snapped. "How come Cloak's the same?"

"Yeah, why are we hand puppets?" Horse complained, looking like a hand puppet seal of Muppet quality.

"I can't answer that, Horse, because I dunno," Cloak said. "As for why it doesn't seem to affect me, I'm a Realm Walker, remember? My own, natural physiology makes me immune from temporal and reality shifts."

"You saying someone's manipulating time?" Parker said. "How does manipulating time result in us being Sesame Street rejects?"

"Not time," Cloak sighed. He was trying not to get frustrated and dismiss Parker's feelings of outrage at being a Muppet. "Think about it, Parker. Reality itself changed."

"Like that Reality Gem, like a year and a half ago?" Saffa asked. She looked perfectly normal, which really stuck in Parker's craw. "Back when you fought that Thanos creep."

"Either that, or it's the unruly antics of a Celestialsapien," Cloak noted, more to himself than anyone else.

"What's a Celestialsapien?" Leatherhead asked.

"An all-powerful aliens species with two sentient minds that pretty much prevents them from doing anything, don't worry about it," Cloak said, offhand. "Whatever is the source of this, it must be stopped. If whoever is making these changes doesn't desist immediately . . . reality as you know it, just may unravel."

They looked at him, with gaping jaws.

"Granted, that's a worst case scenario," Cloak added.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
You're Wizards, RAF

Then it happened again. It still felt like a strong undertow, but Cloak, as strange as it sounds, thought he could actually discern a vague direction from it. But it happened so quickly, it was difficult to wrap his head around it.

First thing he noticed was that the temperature seemed a lot colder. He wasn't too bothered by this alone, but he knew that it was supposed to be the summer months right now. But whoever was meddling with reality apparently could manipulate such things, as time of year. But he or she could not manipulate the memories of the other RAFians. As a Realm Walker, Cloak's memories were perfectly okay.

Everyone was wearing Hogwarts regalia with House-specific scarfs. Scarlet and gold for the Gryffindors, like Hunter (now fully human) and one other that he could not see. Green and silver for the Slytherins, like one that Cloak couldn't see the face of. Yellow and black for Hufflepuffs like GH and Abby. Blue and bronze for Ravenclaws like Blue, Quaf (now fully human), Saffa, and Xeno (now fully human).

Whoever was behind this was clearly trying to mimic the Potterian realm. And rather blatantly, at that.

"Geez," GH said, "choose a theme, already."

"How come all this reality shifting hasn't affected our minds or memories?" Saffa inquired.

"The Mark," Cloak said, pensively, "it is apparently sufficient enough, apparently, to block any mnemonic wipes on anyone who bears it. Goom, Richard, and I were never aware that it could do this. It wasn't designed to anchor its Bearer to the true reality, but it seems to be doing just that."

GH waited a moment, "Okay -- that just sounded like a whole bunch of word salad to me."

"What he means is that our Marks are protecting us from any memory wipes," Parker translated. He was armorless and not wearing a scarf. And he didn't look too happy about it.

"A Celestialsapien wouldn't be so sloppy about warping reality," Cloak said, more to himself than the others. "It must be metahuman or an object-derived ability."

"You honestly expect that the Reality Gem has been reformed?" Saffa asked, skeptical. "Do you realize the implications of that?"

"That it means that the other Infinity Gems may reform as well and we may replay out the Gauntlet Scenario again? It crossed my mind," Cloak replied.

"Does that mean that the Eternity Stones will reform as well?" Horse asked. Cloak knew she was inquiring on her Tempest Blade returning to her, without actually saying it.

"I cannot answer that which I do not know," Cloak said, reasonably. "I'm not all-knowing, you know."

"Let's focus on our more immediate problem here," Parker said, with the air of trying to get back on track. "How do we stop this all reality warping or reality shifting or whatever term you want to use? We can't even pinpoint the source of this reality . . . disturbance."

"That's not entirely true," Cloak said, "with each, uh, transition I can detect a vague direction."

"Not a very assuring fact," GH pointed.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Gotta RAF 'em All!

Cloak felt the . . . the "transition" yet again. Reality had changed once again.

He looked around and saw that everything looked . . . anime. Everything in view looked two-dimensional, yet somehow not. Clearly the reality warper had decided to warp them into a cartoonish reality.

He felt the undertow pull him at roughly between one and two o'clock now. The direction was a bit stronger now before it passed. He could --

He heard a noise behind him and saw, to his surprise, a Decidueye, a Totodile, a Seel, a Excavalier, a shiny Gliscor, a Pidgeotto, and a Lycanroc (the Midnight Form one) standing there. All bore the Marks.

"Hey! Stop snickering!" the Decidueye said reproachfully, in GH's voice. He did have a guitar strapped to his back. "Or I will Spirit Shackle you, so help me, Cloak --"

"Kinky," said the Excavalier grumpily, in Parker's voice. He didn't much appreciate being an Excavalier.

"Don't make me Peck your eyes out, Parker," GH said.

"You wanna battle? I have a type advantage!" Parker shot back. "Bug and Steel types are strong against Grass!"

"And neutral to Ghost!" GH countered.

"Guys!" the Pidgeotto scolded. "Priorities!"

Cloak was actually surprised that he could understand what they were saying. It would be nice if whoever was rewriting reality like would make up their mind and stop acting like a childish Dungeon Master (or whatever the Veil they were called), intent on making everyone else lose the game.

"Cloak," Saffa said, ruffling her feathers in a disconsolate way, "since you can since when this is coming, you will have to be the one to stop it. What this omniscient sack of -- ahem, whatever or whoever is behind this, you have to be the one to stop it."

Cloak highly doubted the one behind this was omniscient. Such a thing was, thankfully, a rarity of rarities. True omniscience, anyway -- there were plenty of people who made claims of omniscience, but very, very few, if any, were true.

"Yeah," the shiny Gliscor said with Gaz's voice.* "We'll just slow you down. We may remember now, but how much longer before this shifting reality starts to erode the power of the Mark?"

Cloak said nothing for a beat, before addressing this, "That's true. The Mark is anything but infallible. But --"

"Oh, just go already!" Saffa said, testily. "Stop wasting time trying to be all noble! Just go and stop this, already! You know you're the only here who can do a damn thing about it, and you're just wasting time here, hesitating with us, worrying about us -- time that could better utilized in finding out who or what is behind this whole damn thing and stop it!!"

Cloak said nothing, but it was clear that Saffa didn't care for being a Pidgeotto. It was making her testy, and rather than cause her anymore distress, Cloak agreed to press on. He began to wander forward between one and two o'clock.

He couldn't help but feel a little stupid doing this, but he betrayed no feeling of this to the others.


*A reference to my shiny female Gliscor, whom I did name after Gaz.

[Cloak]

New book ideas.

• Book MCCVIII (1,208): "The Blight" -- The Prime Universe suffers from . . . the Blight. Noncanonical.

As for these next few book ideas, the idea behind them is a massive story arc that might very well end in the series conclusion, lest I change my mind.

• Book MCCIX (1,209): "Thirteen Fall" -- An old group of foes of the RAFians lose power and all but one seems to be dead.
• Book MCCX (1,210): "School Days" -- Someone is after a friend of Saffa's from school, who discovers he manifested a power to detect and track metahumans.
• Book MCCXI (1,211): "Basic Targeting" -- The RAFians must race to save a few metahumans from being infested . . .
• Book MCCXII (1,212): "It's a Jungle Out There" -- The race to save new metahumans continues.
• Book MCCXIII (1,213): "Old Fossils" -- The race to save new metahumans continue, as the RAFians enemies seem to grow larger.
• Book MCCXIV (1,214): "Prepare for Trouble" -- The race to save new metahumans continue while their enemies' influence grows stronger, much to the RAFians' chagrin.
• Book MCCXV (1,215): "The Cartel" -- The race to save metahumans with newly manifested powers, while the RAFians' enemies discover the Cartel.
• Book MCCXVI (1,216): "Unchallenged" -- The race to save metahumans with newly manifested powers, while the Cartel infiltrates the Cartel unnoticed and unchallenged.
• Book MCCXVII (1,217): "New Assets" -- The race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continues, while the infiltration and takeover of the Cartel is halfway done. . . .
• Book MCCXVIII (1,218): "I Have a Bad Feeling About This" -- The race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continues, while their enemies consolidates control over the Cartel.
• Book MCCXIX (1,219): "Consolidated Cartel" -- The race to secure more metahumans with newly manifested powers continues, while Cartel falls.
• Book MCCXX (1,220): "Expeditions" -- The race to secure more metahumans with newly manifested powers continues, while the RAFians' enemies begin to infiltrate the media and police force.
• Book MCCXXI (1,221): "He's Dead, Jim" -- The race to secure most metahumans with newly manifested powers continues, while the RAFians' enemies' leader appears to have died . . .
• Book MCCXXII (1,222): "New Pariahs -- For Real This Time" -- While the RAFians race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continue, while RAFians become pariahs due to another media smear campaign.
• Book MCCXXIII (1,223): "Stepping Up Their Game" -- While the RAFians race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continue, their enemies step up their game.
• Book MCCXXIV (1,224): "The Amazo Virus" -- While the RAFians race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continue, they discover how they got their abilities. . . .
• Book MCCXXV (1,225): "A Severe Drawback" -- While the RAFians race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continue, they discover the serious drawback -- a potentially fatal one.
• Book MCCXXVI (1,226): "Divided Resources, Divided Attention" -- While the RAFians race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continue, as their enemies discover Cadmus who repels them.
• Book MCCXXVII (1,227): "Silent Rebellion" -- While the RAFians race to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continue, as a small rebellion forms in their enemies' ranks.
• Book MCCXXVIII (1,228): "It's a Mess" -- The RAFians continue to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continue.
• Book MCCXXIX (1,229): "It Seems Hopeless" -- The RAFians continue to secure metahumans with newly manifested powers continued.
• Book MCCXXX (1,230): "Not an Easy Task" -- With all the metahumans gathered on both sides, the RAFians and their allies launch a guerilla offensive against their enemies.
• Book MCCXXXI (1,231): "On the Offensive" -- The RAFians and their allies amp up their activities and efforts.
• Book MCCXXXII (1,232): "Lines That Need to Be Crossed" -- The RAFians and their allies realize that they may have to cross some ethical and moral lines . . .
• Book MCCXXXIII (1,233): "World at the Brink" -- This climatic war escalates . . .
• Book MCCXXXIV (1,234): "Freedom" -- . . . and climaxes. . . .
• Book MCCXXXV (1,235): "Enoi's Last Stand" -- . . . with one loose thread.
• Book MCCXXXVI (1,236): "The Aftermath" -- The aftermath of this nearly devastating invasion that was nearly lost. Possibly the final book of Memoirs.

There. Don't think that I rehashed anything. All titles are subject to change.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
What a Gem

Another "transition" came as he left the others behind. Normally, he didn't mind going solo -- he's done it enough times of his own volition -- but he couldn't deny that part of him was afraid of losing the forum, and the surrogate family that he had there. With the loss of Wheeza still silently stinging his heart savagely, he did not know if he could bear to lose more . . .

Or worse -- they coming back as insane and unhinged as Rotiart was. And he could help but remember that time all but the core of this realm was eradicated. Fortunately, Anomaly had remade the realm as it once was, as if the extinction event never happened. This just felt the same to the Elements Master. So, naturally, was conflicted about this.

He barely paused to recognize what the world had been shaped into, not really registering that he was no longer on the Earth proper that he knew and loved, but on a rigidly angular world that was similar to Petrotopia, but more ornate, more open. And run by tyrannical giant women. Cloak didn't pay any attention to this, as he charged forward, toward the device making all of these ridiculous reality revisions.

But when they started to get in his way, he terrakinetically forced them away by the single gems they had on their person, which really shouldn't have worked by did. Cloak could only make out a few of them. A round, unfaceted pearl on a yellow woman's chest, another round, unfaceted pearl on a blue woman's chest, a rectangular blue zircon with a square facet on a predominantly blue woman's jugular cavity, a rectangular green zircon with a square facet on a green woman's jugular cavity, a yellow diamond with a diamond facet on a giant, yellow woman's chest, and a blue diamond with a diamond facet on a giant, blue woman's chest. In the back of his mind, he knew where this was, what this was -- but that didn't matter. He had a more important task at hand.

He dived, freefalling, down to the deeper, off-color depths. This actually looked more badass than it seemed. Cloak had a small, almost negligible degree of acrophobia. He knew that he could save himself easily, but he didn't feel the adrenaline rush that clearly serial skydivers felt. He landed without a sound, after using his aerokinesis to slow his descent.

Looking around, his feline eyes penetrated the gloom easily. He was sure the source of the reality shifting was coming from this direction. Something in his gut told him that it was right -- but he couldn't be sure until another "transition". But he was hoping that it wouldn't have to come to that. If you play around with the fabric of reality too much, it could have very serious consequences. Granted, Celestialsapiens do it all the time -- provided their two conflicting personalities agree on it -- but they know how to do it properly.

Suddenly, he heard a soft sort of warbling noise and he knew that something had made the foolish decision to follow him. Some security drones or something, like those Hunter-Killer Drones things that Yeerks had during their failed invasion. Only these were colored a dark blood red, roughly the size of a volleyball, and shaped like a cone hovering on its side with a tapered bottom that had a electronic sort of eye on it. There were three of them in this dim, gloomy chasm. Cloak had an idea what they were looking for, but he wasn't in the mood to care about it -- though he realized how heartless it may have seemed.

They fired a thin, horizontal, red line descended down his body, clearly scanning for something. Something that Cloak knew that they wouldn't find. He hadn't any gems on his person, but this slowed his progress. And thus made him feel irritated.

He hadn't a gem on his person -- these things had no interest in him, but they were starting to get in his way, and his irritation was rapidly giving way to frustration and anger. He was prepared to smash them out his way, when --

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
We . . . Care?

There was another "transition", and Cloak had to turn on his heel to eight, nine o'clock. He tangentially was aware that the new environment, the new reality. It looked flat. Two-dimensional. As if it was a cartoon from the eighties or nineties. He was standing standing on a huge cloud, as if it was land. It should be physically impossible for this realm, but whatever or whoever was behind this clearly didn't care about such things.

There appeared to be also buildings and cars made predominately clouds, and other materials that Cloak couldn't begin to guess at what substance it was. But it mattered very little. What was important was finding and stopping whoever or whatever was causing these reality shifts. Everything else was superfluous.

He thought he saw what amounted to animated teddy bears with white abdomen with some sort of pictography on them. Their noses were shaped like hearts, with short muzzles. They had hands like mittens. They barely stood to Cloak's knees.

He had to suppress as smile as he moved onward. He remembered back when they had to deal with that realm depth charge, and several RAFians were blown to different realms. Faerie landed in on like this one -- overly saccharine and moralizing. It actually traumatized her somehow. Cloak never found out why, specifically, but it couldn't help but be a bit funny.

He saw a what looked to be a massive heart-tipped wand stuck into the ground like a large lamppost or one of those clocks on poles in some big cities. There seemed to be some sort of meter on it with hearts instead of numbers. Cloak thought this was called the "caring meter" but wasn't sure -- and couldn't help but wonder how efficacious it actually was. How could you measure something without any units of measurement?

It didn't matter. It wasn't the thing altering reality. It had no interest to Cloak -- he had to find whatever or whoever was behind this. Cloak was inclined to believe that it was happening due to an object. This was sloppy and Celestialsapiens, who have the abilities naturally, even when nascent, would be more . . . precise, less cobbled together. Fortunately, the conflicting personalities each one had made them inactive a majority of the time.

Perhaps Faerie found her trauma through interaction with the creatures, with the living teddy bears of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and pink. Well, Cloak had no.interest in interacting with them. He simply didn't care --

There suddenly a low-pitched resonating sort of sound, as the "caring meter" or whatever the Veil it was supposed to be indicated a lower caring . . . Cloak thought. Without numbers, the thing was incredibly hard to tell. No matter. Cloak found that he didn't care about --

Then it happened again. It dawned on Cloak it was because he himself didn't really care about . . . several things, actually. This caused Cloak to realize just how vague this meter thing was. Was he supposed to care about everything just to satisfy it? That is a serious flaw.

No matter, there was more important priorities than caring about -- oh, shut up, you stupid thing -- he had to find the source of the shifting. He was afraid of losing the trail. If he did, he would have to wait for the next "transition" before getting a clue where to go next. And this could prove disastrous -- he wasn't too incredibly sure, but he was sure that excessive messing around with reality could cause long-term damage, possibly, or might even tear it. Make a hole into Void Space, into nothingness. And once there was a tear, there might be no way to fix it. If there was, he didn't know it offhand.

He was afraid that he lost the trail. He had allowed himself to become distracted, and that now was refined into confusion. He . . .

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Greedy Hoarding

The "transition" came as Cloak knew it would -- he had to pivot to between nine and ten o'clock to continue the trail. Cloak wondered what item would allow someone to alter reality like this. He couldn't help but imagining the Reality Gem tied to a sharpened number 2 pencil in the hands of a child -- it was a scary thought, though it would explain the seemingly inability to form a coherent reality, changing everything.

Cloak allowed himself to momentary to take in the desolate land before him. There was dying vegetation and dust was blowing around the near empty world around him. There were people dotting the grim landscape, but no buildings. No cars. No streets. No nothing.

The people weren't really anything handsome to look at. Their clothing were rags -- those whose clothing wasn't deteriorated to the point of nonexistence. Many, many, many of them were barefoot, and the ones that had shoes were worn and torn to the point of falling apart. All were dirty and filthy and wearing an uneducated, unfocused look on their face. And yet, these people, even the malnourished children, were forced to work -- building things, rotating what appeared to be a large crank.

And for what? All this for what? A few crumbs issued from a shoot into a long trough made of poorly-maintained, splintering wood. And the crumbs dispensed were not nearly enough to sustain all these people. Starvation apparently was a common malady here. These looked like the most defeated dregs of human beings that he had ever seen. They almost looked like those zombie things that the RAFians first turned into at the start of all this.

How anyone could live like this . . . it was a wonder how these people managed to survive, given such hardships. It is a wonder how their species had not gone extinct.

It was at this point Cloak noticed a domed city, seemingly made of gold and marble. It was opulent to ridiculous excess. Cloak was starting to see what was happening here, who lived in this domed city of seemingly exaggerated exuberance and apparent exorbitant extravagance. Cloak's eyes narrowed, and not just because this city was also in his way.

He leaped and dived into the earth, and easily burrowing below this marble wall, coming up on the other side. He didn't bother to close the hold he made. It didn't take a genius to figure out just how this city was made -- and it was just shown by just how few people he saw within. Clearly, the wealthy and affluent in this reality stole the wealth from what passed for a middle class and the poor, affluence that they really didn't need more of, and shut out their victims, walled them off, from this city where the poor souls' tax money came from. Now they work for the meekest of crumbs.

Cloak felt disgust when he clearly expensive clothing and jewelry and other relics of affluence each person had dawned on them. On just how cowardly they all were with confrontation. They lived in a perverse and proverbial glass house. It was time they stopped privatizing the gains and socializing the losses.

This was a long time coming for them, and Cloak did not care that he expedited the process some. You cannot continually oppress a people without it eventually coming back to bite you in the butt. It was time these people learned such a lesson.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, you monster?" said this reality's version of Ethan Couch, an adult. "You're going to let in the Peasants!"

Cloak didn't care. It was about time these lazy Elites got what was coming to them, got their comeuppance. Was he being arrogant? Plausibly. But he didn't care. He was staunchly egalitarian, believing that everyone deserves a fair crack at success, and not stripping away every opportunity from one group in the favor of another -- and having that group chide the other to "pull themselves up by their bootstraps", despite them having taken these proverbial bootstraps away and whipping them with them.

These Elites deserved this, and Cloak wasn't acting out of hubris. If these Elites didn't do this in the first place, then they wouldn't have to worry about keeping out the people they call Peasants.