Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER NINE:
Petty Departure

"I've been pretty clear in what I've expect of you," the voice said.

"Uh, no. You haven't." Saffa said, arms still folded. She wasn't about to take anymore of this crap. "Not that we would be remotely interested in helping you on your campaign of racial cleansing or whatever dogmatic, propaganda nonsense you would have us believe."

"You will do your p--"

"Funny how the words 'patriotic duty' are starting to lose all meaning," GH observed, mildly.

The voice huffed. Apparently, this was the final straw and GH had triggered the owner of this voice, like the little snowflake that he was. "I see. You still cleave to your treasonous, treacherous thoughts."

Abby looked at Saffa, "Is this guy serious?"

"He might be mentally deranged," Saffa said, not troubling herself to keep her voice down. The owner of this voice, obviously Dom Convertir, heard her plain as day. And, naturally, he was offended.

"Look who's talking," he countered. He thought it sounded profound, but it sounded childish and lame to the room at large. "You waste your powers, your gifts, on people who don't deserve saving."

"As defined by you, " Aquilai countered this outlandish, and, frankly, selfish, claim. "You don't get to dictate who gets to live and who gets to die. I don't know what monumentally foolish event led to you to believe that, but, honestly? You are honestly going to argue that we should pick and choose who lives and who dies? What kind of monster are you?"

"Yeah," Saffa said, "next thing to come out of your mouth will be that we should exterminate half of the life in the galaxy to have more resources or some other such bile."

The voice went silent, and Saffa's eyes widened.

"Oh, my  . . you're actually considering that, aren't you?" Saffa said, aghast.

"I see that your wills need to be broken before you'll being willing to feel patriotic," he said, changing the issue. This caused Saffa more alarm rather than him directly addressing her accusation. "You will get no rations for a full twenty-four hours. We'll see if hunger doesn't triumph over your will."

There was a beat of silence, as the sounds of an older man rising from an old, worn chair were heard quite audibly.

"We'll see if you're more compliant then," he said, as footsteps could be heard stepping away from them. Then the footsteps stopped as he spoke again, "Oh, and don't think that you can escape using those powers you so often mishandle. That stone above you, there?"

They all collectively looked up, and saw what looked like an Odd Keystone, but thin as a tablet, set into the ceiling as if it was an "EXIT" sign in a public building. Its inscribed rune glowed with a faint red and white glow. It was clear that it had some precise purpose for being.

"That rune prevents all powers from activating," he said. And it was very clear, despite still being unseen in the dark room beyond their cages, that he was smiling smugly. "ALL powers. Magical, biological, or technological. No matter how powerful, no matter how advanced."

The RAFians looked at each other, and each knew that the other was wondering the same thing -- did that effect apply to . . . to everyone?

"So don't hold any false hope of escaping," he said. His smug voice said that he considered the cages impregnable as long as that rune stone was active and working. Then suddenly their cages went blank. They were also sealed in Ramonite boxes in addition to the bars, apparently. They were cut off from each other, which meant that they couldn't plan with one another.

And, yet, each seemed to come to the same conclusion, but how to implement this with that captor doofus being none the wiser.

[Cloak]

You know, it's something sort of . . . surreal, when you go back and look at the earlier books. The chapters were substantially shorter than they are now (I don't think I put a size minimum on myself back then. It's especially surreal to go back and see my book ideas that have actually already been written and came out radically different than I originally intended. Maybe it's just me, but I found that rather interesting.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TEN:
Visions

Cloak dream that he was in a void. He wondered idly if that made this a Truth Dream. They really were insufferably vague about that, about whether it was just a dream, or a Truth Dream. There had to be a way to tell, surely. But for a few minutes nothing eventful happened. Then Cloak was divebombed by something that looked brown and yellow. He easily dodged it with a somersault.

"The most recent progeny of the Progeny of the Two Suicides," the figure said, with a ghostly timbre to its voice. Cloak immediately looked 'round and saw him clear as could be. The bird's feathers were rust-colored, with maroon bordering on black. He had red-orange eyes, a reddish-brown beak, and yellow feet and legs, with a bit of reddish hue on the toes and sides of the shanks. He was somewhere between three, three-and-a-half feet tall, and he was a levitating, anthropomorphic rooster. He also carried an ethereal brown and red aura.

"Galloflight? But --" Cloak queried. He was under the impression that Galloflight was dead -- but then again, this was a lucid dream, so petty borders, like those between life and death, were never truly considered.

"Fight me!" he demanded, as he divebombed Cloak again, but the RAFian wasn't having any of it. He used his Mastery over Air to cause him to collide into the ground, and he increased the air pressure in Galloflight's general area to prevent him from taking off. Then Cloak pulled out a hula hoop-sized ring from his eponymous cloak. It had a marking like a rounded "M" with a fish-like loop on the end.

"Ring of Virgo," Cloak said, flicking it over to Galloflight -- or this dream construct of Galloflight, anyway. "bind Galloflight."

Galloflight struggled to his feet, with his humanoid arms (which he had instead of rooster wings, which were set to his back, like some sort of chicken angel). Cloak had not lifted the sheer air pressure to allow him to levitate. Even despite his ghostly shade appearance. "That will not work, Brat Descendant. I will not go back to that hellish nightmare . . ."

Then he vanished, with the Ring of Virgo following him, wherever he went, leaving Cloak to wonder what all that was about. He was still perplexed by this, when he heard the snort behind him. He didn't even bother to turn around -- his Earthsight already having informed him who this newcomer was.

"Oxhorn, was it?" Cloak asked, already reaching into his cloak for a Ring. He snorted again, apparently in a vain attempt at intimidation. Unfortunately for him, Cloak had faced far more fearsome and intimidating threats that were far more stronger than him. Cloak turned slowly to face Oxhorn. He had the body style of a Minotaur, like all bovine Realm Walkers. Oxhorn's eponymous horns were short, stout, and looked as if they could support the weight of the Colossus of Rhodes comfortably. His aura was brown and pale green -- not really complimentary colors.

"You will die," Oxhorn said, with a snort.

"Many have tried," Cloak said, pulling out a Ring with a marking like "n" with the right end with a loop, and toward the left. He held it loosely in his right hand. "None have succeeded. Although . . . he did come close . . . and he . . ."

Cloak chose not to say the last part aloud. Nearly two Dweller years ago, Abomination very nearly killed him*, and he did so with all the powers of the Tyrant's Twelve combined. Individually, he would be able to handle them, though. They could not possibly . . . just then Cloak leaped up, using his Mastery over Air to increase his hang time and jump height. He spiraled down with a little slipstream air current around him. He then landed without a sound and threw the Ring at Oxhorn.

"Ring of Capricorn," he said. "Bind Oxhorn."

"That won't work again," Oxhorn said as he and the ring vanished into the oneirokinetic aether.

"It seems that you were wrong, you bovine brute," Cloak muttered. Then he Earthsighted someone behind him, and his Earthsight unveiled precisely who it was. He remembered who it was from that vision that Master Avatar showed him so long ago.

"It will take more than that to get the drop on me, Silentslither," Cloak said, essentially gluing his feet to the ground now. It was necessary to "see" Silentsilther when he was invisible.

"You have no idea what'sss in ssstore for you," he said, hissing on all the "s" syllables. It was a common speech impediment for snake Realm Walkers, Cloak's sister, Dagger, included.

"So you say," Cloak said, reaching into his cloak again to pull out a ring. This may be a lucid dream, or a Truth Dream, but he was feeling every effort of this. But then the snake Realm Walker dropped his invisibility. He was a cobra with his serpentine hood drawn, swathed in an aura of purple and green. They didn't compliment him very well.

"Yesss, I do sssay," he said, "but you remain obliviousss to the larger view. There'sss sssomething bigger at play here . . ."

"Oh, stop trying to be so Veiled enigmatic," Cloak said. He pulled out a Ring with a marking of a circle with a dipped line in it, looking like a very simplistic drawing of a bull's head. "It doesn't make you 'cool' or anything."

"You have no idea," he said, almost as he was savoring Cloak's ignorance to what he was putting forth.

"Ring of Taurus," Cloak said, flinging the Ring as if it were a Frisbee, "bind him."

"That won't work," Silent slither said, as he vanished. The Ring followed him, wherever he went. Cloak wasn't liking this. Taurus and all the rest had to die to hold these people back. The RAFian was using their rings after all, invoking their powers and their names. He hit upon an uncomfortable idea of will that be his legacy as well? People invoking his chosen name and his powers to hold off and contain Malice? He didn't want to think about that.

Then, before Cloak could react, he was struck. Then he was struck again before he could process the first attack. Then again, and again. Then twice more before his attacker stopped so he could process what just happened. But that didn't take too long. He has only known one Realm Walker speedster, and he believed her to be long dead.

"So, Speedy, alive as the others?" Cloak said, still hoping that this was nothing more than a dream construct.

"You know it!" she giggled, hoping from one of her large feet to the other, her long ears quivering in excitement. The cottontail was swathed in an aura of brown and pink. But when Cloak moved to reach into his eponymous cloak, she struck him again. Faster than a blink of an eye. She might have even given Cerulean a run for his money.

"Don't give up!" she said. "I love playing with you like this!"

Cloak growled. "'Playing'? Excuse me for not enjoying myself."

"Oh, don't be like that! Especially when we're gonna play again in the future!"

"What do you mean?"

"And ruin the fun?" she cackled, acting like a hyperactive five-year-old hopped up on a sugar rush.

Cloak used a technique that he never thought to use when he was awake. He increased the water saturation on the ground around him, and used his Mastery over Earth to make it a mire to walk in. Speedy didn't seem to notice this. She was far too busy having a fit of giggles. Somehow, Cloak found this really irritating, but he had set the trap.

Cloak reached into his eponymous cloak again, and when Speedy rushed to attack, she found herself mired in the quicksand. The more she fought the mire, the more she got herself stuck. Cloak smiled at this. This was the precise problem that arises when you leap before you look, if you act before you think. Which is what Speedy was, who she was at a person.

"Hey! You cheated!" she complained.

But Cloak had pulled out a Ring with a marking of ") (" intersected horizontally by a line. Cloak said, "Ring of Pisces, bind her."

However, Speedy managed to free herself from this mire, and dashed away from the Ring, managing to shout, "We shall play again -- next time, don't cheat!"

Then she vanished, with the Ring in hot pursuit. Cloak counted silently -- that was five of the Tyrant's Twelve. He was clearly gonna receive dream visits from all of them. That left seven more to come, and he sensed the next one rather than saw him.

"Ghost, I presume," Cloak said, before turning around.

"Yes, and you're the descendant of the Prodigy of the Two Suicides," he said. He was a ram Realm Walker, only he was swathed in a electric yellow and pink aura. It actually worked, somehow.

"You're supposed to be dead," Cloak said.

"We never claimed to be," he said. "We never truly left. We never went Beyond the Veil. We're not dead."

"One could say that that is an absurd proclamation," Cloak said, reaching into his cloak once more.

"You cannot kill us," Ghost said. "No one can."

"You sound like you think that's impressive," Cloak said, pulling out a Ring with a marking of two circles with an arcing line from each that is in the direction of the other, but not connecting the two. "I think that's just sad and depressing. Eternal life must be so incredibly boring."

"We are invulnerable," Ghost said.

"Uh, no. Immortality doesn't equate to invulnerability." Cloak said. "Then again, immortality itself is an impossibility. All things come to an end. Gods, planets, stars, universes, realms, Dwellers, Walkers -- everything. The only thing that never changes is the existence of change."

"You have no concept of what we are," Ghost intoned.

"Maybe not," Cloak said, "Ring of Cancer -- wow, that sounds bad, doesn't it? -- bind Ghost."

Ghost had vanished, but the Ring was in pursuit.


* Book One.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Ominous Omens

What did it all mean? Did their inane chatter hold any real meaning? Or was this just a lucid dream, a dream in which he is consciously aware that this was dream? There was no telling, but Cloak was certain of one thing -- the other six or seven of Tyrant's Thirteen will come. He actually lost count of how many he had already dealt with.

Suddenly, Cloak turned around ninety degrees and held out his right hand dramatically. The fire blast that was aimed for him was stopped in its tracks. Now, Cloak still harbored some pyrophobia, but he was still Master of the element. The RAFian couldn't help but feel a little offended. It was no secret that he mastered all six elements. Fire is one of them.

"Wargon!" Cloak growled angrily. "You forgot! I'm a Master of Fire!"

Then Cloak willed the fire back into Wargon's jaws. He looked like a dragon of Chinese design -- a sinewy, serpentine body with relatively short, stubby limbs with an ornate face ringed by backward-raked horns and mustache-like barbels, and an elongated snout. His aura was yellow and blue.

"You may recognize me now, little Hatchling, descendant of the Progeny of the Two Suicides," he snarled, voice full of malevolence. He shot a fireball at Cloak from his mouth, which Cloak easily backhanded. Granted, he hadn't intended on doing such. "When we 'play' next, Elements Master, you won't."

"What's it with you twelve and speaking in riddles?" Cloak wondered aloud.

"And you will die," Wargon said, before blasting another concussive blast of fire again from his mouth. Cloak blocked it again, and pushed it back again.

"Will you stop that?! This is the second time that I proved that that doesn't work!" he said, pulling out a Ring with a marking of a "V" with the ends curling away from the center. "Ring of Aries, bind Wargon."

But Wargon vanished, and the Ring followed in hot pursuit. Cloak waited, wondering was that the sixth or seventh of the Tyrant's Twelve. He really wished that he didn't lose count. Cloak managed to Earthsight the sharp impact footsteps of the next of the Twelve that came to annoy him.

"Reanimator, I presume," Cloak said, without bothering to turn around. His Earthsight told him that, as the smallest and physically meekest of the Twelve, he was riding in some sort of exosuit. His aura outted him, and it was brown and black. Cloak could tell at once it was an automaton . . . made of stone and metal. Two of the six Elements. How did Avatar ever have difficulty with these guys? Did he not go out on the sheer amount of adventures and missions that he, Cloak, his direct descendant, did? Did his abilities atrophy during his marriage to Benign? I didn't really matter anymore -- Avatar's time had long since passed.

"Yes, descendant of the Progeny of the Two Suicides," he squeaked. Cloak really wished that they would stop calling Avatar that. Not only was it an unnecessary mouthful, it wasn't even true. Unless Cloak was misremembering, Avatar's parents were murdered -- by Tyrant himself, Cloak believed. "We were strong when isolated and alone. When united with the others . . . even Immortal . . . we'll be . . . unstoppable."

Cloak snapped his fingers, hand over his shoulder. Reanimator's automaton fell apart into dust and shrapnel. "Unstoppable. Right."

"That was a dirty trick," Reanimator squeaked. He was considerably smaller than his fellows, than Cloak. The RAFian pulled out another Ring from his eponymous cloak. It had a marking of an an arrow whose point was aimed to the upper right corner with a line through the bottom half of the shaft.

"Ring of Sagittarius," Cloak said, "bind Reanimator."

"That won't work when we 'play' again!" Reanimator squeaked as he scurried away. The Ring of Sagittarius followed him, gaining quickly on him. Cloak watched this until they vanished into the void. Then Cloak counted on his fingers -- Reanimator, Silentslither, Wargon, Speedy, Galloflight, Ghost, Oxhorn. That was seven, so there should be five more, unless they added more to their numbers that Avatar left out of his story all that time ago. It seemed like an eternity ago when Cloak first heard that story -- it was then that he heard the galloping of the next of the Twelve. Her aura was fiery orange and pale yellow.

"Immortal," Cloak said. He hated that name she chose for herself, due to how misleading it was. Immortality didn't exist. Everything eventually dies, everything eventually ended. People, Walkers, pantheons, civilizations, worlds, stars, universes . . . all of them eventually end. It may take many, many, many lifetimes, but it is the inevitable conclusion of all creation. Those who proclaim themselves as immortal are usually just long-lived, and many of them often demand worship because of this fallacy.

"Yes, and you're the descendant of --" she whinnied.

"For the love of the First Light," Cloak said, fed up, "stop calling him that. His name is Avatar! Stop it with that unwieldy moniker!"

Cloak turned to Immortal. She was slightly larger than him, but Cloak was far from intimidated.

"You dare to speak to me in such a way?" she huffed. "You can't kill me."

"That would only be superficially satisfying, and you know it," Cloak replied sharply. "And I will speak to you in any way I deem fit!"

She didn't seem to like this, "You know, the reunification with the others will make us strong enough to take out any Elements Master. You will die."

"And you guys are a broken record," Cloak muttered, annoyed. Then he pulled out another Ring, one inscribed with a marking of a Roman numeral II with bowed lines at the top and bottom. "Ring of Gemini, bind Immortal."

But she galloped away into the void, as the Ring followed her resolutely, with her last whinny being, "You will DIE."

"I really wish villains would come up with a new line than 'you will die'," Cloak complained. "That is so cliched at this point."

Anyway, that was eight down. There were four more to go. The dog, the pig, the monkey, and . . . the tiger. They should be here at any moment . . . there was a baying sound. Cloak instantly recognized it as a bloodhound's bay.

"You really don't know how to shut up, do you, Ageless?" Cloak said, back to the canine Realm Walker.

"Oh, come now, descendant of the --" Age began, in a voice like McGruff the Crime Dog.

"Don't you start that, too," Cloak growled in warning, turning around, seeing Ageless's aura was brown and a darker brown.

"Tsk tsk tsk," Ageless said, pompously. "Such disharmony is why the Twelve lost to the Progeny --"

"Avatar. His name is Avatar." Cloak snarled.

"Whatever," Ageless said, flippantly. He clearly wasn't engaging because his powers were passive in nature. "Such disharmony -- those interfering meddlers in 'Avatar' service --"

"His friends," Cloak corrected, finding Ageless one of the most irritating of the Twelve.

"Whatever," Ageless said again, waving away the correction. "Because them, and our own inherent disharmony, we failed."

"Which was for the better for everyone," Cloak said.

"We were going to reign in the chaos, we would have made everything great again," he argued, with a hint of anger now.

"Ah, I see," Cloak said, "so that mentality and rhetoric has existed a long time."

"You --" Ageless began, but seemed to be at a lost for words.

"Ring of Libra," Cloak said, deftly pulling a Ring from his eponymous cloak. It had a marking of an omega symbol with a parallel line beneath it etched upon it. "Bind Ageless."

"This isn't the end, boy!" he claimed as he disappeared into the void. "You will die!"

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Vision Conclusions

Three were left. Three were left, before Cloak was done with these tyrannical losers, and their stupid cryptic riddles. Despite what these dream constructs said to the contrary, they were dead. They have stayed dead for generations. There was no way for the dead to come back . . . there was no way . . . otherwise his aunt . . . No, she wouldn't. She would be doing whatever one did beyond the Veil.

Suddenly, twin beams of energy steaked toward him, only to be backhanded by the RAFian, deflecting it perfectly. Cloak said, wearily, "Gazer."

"You know it, descendant of the --"

"Not this again," Cloak said. "Go crawl back beyond the Veil with your brethren, and leave me be."

"We have never gone beyond the Veil," Gazer snorted, eyes glowing with his power. "We have never died."

"That's impossible," Cloak said, with scorn, backhanded another laser blast from Gazer's eyes.

"We are trapped and imprisoned within those Rings," he said. "Just like we were trapped in the body of the hippo. We hadn't had any control, of our fate, of our powers, of ourselves, for an eternity."

"Lies. Trying to appeal to my sympathies. Won't work," Cloak said, dismissively. He pulled out a Ring with a mark of a rounded "M" ending in an arrow pointed to the right. "Ring of Scorpio, bind Gazer."

Gazer trampled and tromped off and the Ring followed him into the void. "You'll die for this. Mark my words."

Cloak wasn't too thrilled about each of them promising his death. He didn't believe it for an instance, being a rather obstinate, stubborn being. He got that from his mother's side of the family. Gazer made ten. There were two more. The monkey and the tiger. He recognized the irony of that -- his niece was a monkey and he, himself was a tiger.

Then he heard a ghastly, ghostly wailing. It was too overdramatic to be entirely plausible. He didn't need to turn around to see Avatar in Dementor attire. However, this wasn't Avatar -- that much was obvious. And it was clear that Imitator, while able to imitate the appearance of others, was not too proficient when it came to imitating the mannerisms or behavior or attitudes of those he tried to impersonate.

"Oh, knock that off, you simpleminded simian," Cloak snarled, when he pushed the act beyond the scope of tolerance and into the realm of annoyance. "You aren't fooling anyone."

He persisted.

"Stop it, or I shall not be responsible for my actions," Cloak warned.

The shapeshifted monkey continued his mockery of Cloak's direct maternal ancestor. Cloak's tolerance was strained taut by this determined persistence at a lame comedy act.

"Okay, fine," Cloak growled. Then he punched the impersonator in the gut, with all the physical power that he could muster. This was enough to force him back into his normal, base form.

"Hey! That was uncalled for!!" he protested hotly.

"I gave you plenty of warning," Cloak said, whipping around and rounding on him, rather like Severus Snape coming upon some unruly students. "You defied my warnings. Now you reaped the consequences of those actions."

"It was just a bit of harmless fun, you big brute!" he said, still rubbing his stomach.

"Mocking my ancestor was not fun," Cloak said. "Dragging his name through the mud? I happen to not find that amusing in the least."

"I have every right to say --"

"Yes," Cloak conceded, examining his claws idly, as if this conversation was as scintillating as talking to a brick wall. "We all have freedom to say and express ourselves. However. You do not have any right to harass people incessantly, when they have done nothing to deserve it. That's not freedom of speech."

"Blah, blah, blah," he said, clearly having not heard a word of this lecture. "You know nothing of the confinement that me and the rest of the Twelve had to endure. You know nothing of the freedoms that we've been denied."

"You're dead."

"We've never died," Imitator said. "We've been trapped. We've been trapped forever, ever since those fools defeated us. But . . . soon . . . soon enough, our imprisonment will be at an end."

Cloak was less than impressed, believing this to be just a lucid dream now. There was no way this was a Truth Dream. Not with this amount of interaction. Cloak pulled out the penultimate Ring with a marking of a circle with a squiggly line flagella inscribed on it. "Ring of Leo, bind of Imitator."

But Imitator was already fleeing to the void with the Ring chasing after him. Cloak waited for the final one of the Twelve to show up, and when Karma showed up, he showed a Cloak in Ventus attire at his left, and a Cloak in Vanitas at his right. Those Cloaks were obviously constructs demonstrating Cloak's lighter side, his yang, and his darker side, his yin. Or maybe it was his lighter side represented by his yin,, and his darker side represented by his yang. Cloak could never remember which one it was.

Karma stopped a good distance away. Really Goldilocks-ing it -- he wasn't too far away, but he wasn't too close either. He wore a snide sneer on his face. But he said nothing. Cloak immediately took out the Ring, it was marked with two parallel zigzagging lines etched in it, and Karma's sneer faded with the illusionary constructs. Karma fled to the void as Cloak said, "Ring of Aquarius, bind Karma."

The Ring flew off, reminding Cloak of a white Klefki that lacked a head, giving chase to Karma.

It was at this point that Cloak woke up. When he did, he felt something . . . odd. And faint. His feline curiosity triggered, he decided to follow it and investigate.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Noncompliance

"Wake up," the voice of Dom Convertir rent the silence of the area where the RAFians were imprisoned. The room beyond their cages was still in deep shadow, so to obscure Convertir's identity. The RAFians did not comply -- RAFians, by their nature, could be an ornery bunch. Convertir was just still discovering this little fact, and he didn't like it. He expected complete and immediate compliance to his every demand and order.

"Wake up." he demanded again. He was promptly ignored again. The RAFians weren't afraid of him, and, as such, didn't feel the need to comply immediately with such demands. This annoyed the former military man. The former military man who was dishonorably discharged. For incompetence.

"Wake up!" he demanded yet again, raising his voice. The RAFians, once again, ignored him. Many of them, if not all, were not really asleep. They were just pretending, just to annoy their incompetent captor. If he was going to refuse to feed them or tell them the specifics of what he wanted of them, despite the fact that Convertir himself didn't know the specifics.

"WAKE UP, DAMMIT!"

The RAFians gave theatrical jerks and pretended to awake -- Dylan was actually the most convincing of this, theater having been a hobby of his.

"NEXT TIME," Convertir snarled, before lowering his voice and regaining his composure, "next time when I issue an order, you will OBEY it."

"And what will happen if we don't?" Aquilai said, seating upon the floor, drumming his fingers rapidly on it. He seemed harried and deranged, which is precisely the message he wanted to send to Convertir. Underestimating your opponents is often more dangerous than fighting them outright.

"You will not get food for another day," he said. This was grossly illegal to do this, but then again, so was kidnapping people until they do what you want them to. Convertir did not see these RAFians as people. He saw them as weapons, as tools useful for his plans. "I expect absolute compliance."

Dylan threw himself upon the ground and beat the ground with his hands and fists, as if he was immaturely throwing a tantrum. Yet, he didn't shed a single tear, which is why he hid his face.

"Oh, grow up, man," Convertir said. Dylan didn't comply, and Convertir was irritated, but decided to ignore it as Saffa decided to tackle the cage bars. "That won't work, you know. These bars are made of an adamantium-titanium alloy that is completely unbreakable, unaffected by vibration, and is so durable that it could restrain a t-rex. You won't be able to break it."

"We'll see about that," Saffa said, enigmatically. The way she said it, it sounded as if she had an ulterior motivation. She continued to tackle the cage.

"Will you stop that infernal tapping?" Convertir snapped at Abby, who was tapping the bars with both hands.

"No," was her reply. She continued the tapping at a higher frequency now.

"I just told you that that won't work!" Convertir snarled at Helen, who giving the bars repeated roundhouse kicks. Convertir was finding the sounds annoying. "Stop it!"

"Make me!" Helen said. Maybe she's been with Parker too long . . .

"UGH!" Convertir roared.

He was getting incredibly frustrated. When he kidnapped these RAFians, he had expected them to be compliant with him. He did not anticipate any resistance, which proved that he never did his homework. That he couldn't be bothered to do the actual research for what he planned to do. Had he been competent he would have done something to insure their compliance, like capturing a loved one and threatening to kill them, instead of expecting just uttering "patriotic duty" to magical make them on his side, and willing to comply his orders. The RAFians all tended to have an indomitable will, and weren't likely to just bend under someone's will without a lot of convincing.

Convertir really earned that dishonorable discharge.

[guitarhero01234]

Since I didn’t say anything, I’m just going to assume that I somehow slept through all of this

[Cloak]

Nah, though you were the last one truly awake. You're tapping your foot and playing an invisible guitar. I thought I mentioned that in the last chapter, sorry.

I've noticed a couple of guest trying to post onto this. Ash, I apologize for this headache. But if they are reading this, and are making complaints, know I won't take them into account, assuming I ever see them -- you don't like what's written, then don't read. Simple as that.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Persistence

Convertir stood up from the chintzy easy chair, and continued to try, hamfistedly, to force compliance upon the RAFians. And it was irritating him that it wasn't working. He really didn't think this whole thing through, which was a problem he tended to have throughout his life. Yes, sure, he got into the military. And, sure, he would tell people that he was retired, glossing over or neglecting to mention altogether his dishonorable discharge from it. Sure, he liked to believe that he had many contacts within the military, but he burned those bridges with his incompetence, and he wasn't even aware that he did. He didn't even make it to that high of a rank within the military. But he lied to the members of this organization, who evidently did as much homework on their employees as Convertir did with his captives.

It was all about his ego, and his need to save face. It was probably for this reason that he sat in darkness when he addressed the RAFians. This way, in his mind, if this went south, they wouldn't be able to identify him. He would be able to wiggle his way out, as he's managed to do all his life. He never put much thought into anything that he did, apparently preferring to do things on a whim. His late wife was much the same -- diving headfirst into things without considering the consequences or ramifications -- and she liked to experiment. She lost her life when she slipped on some rocks and fell over a waterfall*, apparently either not seeing the signage or ignoring it.

Carmichael's own creation was due to the impetuousness of his parents. Yes, they hadn't planned to have a child, it just sort of happened to them. While Convertir thought he was a loving, but strict parent, that's how he saw himself. However, the truth was that he came off as cold, callous, and distant. He worked Carmichael very hard domestically, believing that it would instill discipline in his son, causing Carmichael to appear lazy at work, as if he is unwilling to do his fair share (which he was). But this wasn't an excuse, but an explanation.

"Stop those infernal actions," he demanded.

The RAFians, of course, didn't. Dylan kept appearing to throw a tantrum. GH continued to tap his foot and play an imaginary guitar. Helen kept keeping roundhouse kicking the bars. Saffa kept tackling the bars. Aquilai kept drumming his fingers. Abby kept tapping the bars. All of them more and more resolute in continuing the more Dominus Convertir kept complaining about it, and demanding them to stop. Granted, he had no idea the real reason that they were doing this, and they wanted to keep it that way.

"That's an order!" he roared.

The RAFians stopped, momentarily, and Convertir, for a moment, thought they were complying with him. But then each one burst out in raucous laughter. This did not please Convertir at all. No one likes being mocked and laughed at. Especially because the RAFian went back to doing what they did before they laughed so heartily.

This was seriously not going at all as he planned. In his mind, this was supposed to be the easy part. The hard part should have been purging the impurities of this world. The non-Terran species, the aliens . . . of course, he didn't consider how he and the RAFians would go about that. It was almost like he thought this would be like one of those militaristic shooter games. Convertir was like a child playing a game that was impossible for him to win, and being oblivious to it.

"You will OBEY me!" he bellowed belligerently.

"Control issues, much?" Saffa asked.

"Shut. Up," he snarled.

"Make me," Saffa said, unimpressed.

"I am your superior officer!" he spat.

"No, you're not," GH said, with an indifferent tone.

"I'm your superior officer! And I gave you an order!" he demanded. He sounded more and more like a spoiled, petulant child than an intimidating military officer. And the RAFians have dealt with more terrifying things.

"We're not part of your army," Helen said. "We don't have 'superior officers'."

"You've been drafted!" he declared angrily.

"Nah," GH said. He was getting into playing the air guitar. It was almost as if he could actually physically hear the music he was "playing".

"UGH!!!"


* Actually happened to two people around here, which why there was a push to block parts of the walkways that led to them and signage put up. I just read this in a newspaper, and didn't actually see it, though.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
The Reveal

"You really should calm down," Aquilai advised, still drumming his fingers. "Such stress isn't good for your heart."

"Shut. Up." Convertir said. He was rather ticked off at this point, finally realizing and recognizing the futility of this project. It was finally dawning on him.

"Nah," Aquilai said, defying Convertir yet again. None of the RAFians were intimidated by him. True, they were captured and caged, but they were not afraid of him, like Convertir hoped. Convertir had nothing on Garrotik, nothing on Galacticron, nothing on Brainiac, nothing on Mongul. He was just a little man in comparison, who managed to connive and was clever enough to capture them. But that was it.

Convertir was beginning to realize and recognize what a wasted effort this was. All the energy he expended, all the funds he emptied . . . all for nothing. All for a plan that he never made a contingency plan for. He never considered the possibility that they would push back against him, Never considered the possibility that they would see the utterance of "patriotic duty" as an less-than-compelling argument. This was all a blunder, and Convertir knew it now. He wasted all this time, all this effort, all these resources . . . all to what amounted to a vanity project that had no chance of ever working out.

The only thing that he could take from this, the only solace he could take from this, was that these six RAFians did not know his identity. That they could not see his face. He could still manage to salvage this, he would just tranquilize them once more and then get rid of them. They wouldn't know his face. They might recognize his voice, but there are many people who sound alike. He just might be able to save this from this colossal blunder. Granted, he didn't know how he would recoup the wasted and squandered funds, or explain this monetary loss, but at least he would be able to save face. In this case, literally.

"Are we done with this little Q and A?" Abby asked, dryly. "Or are you going to keep vaguely telling us to do a 'patriotic duty' that you've yet to define in any capacity?"

Convertir said nothing. But he rankled at the RAFian basically rubbing his nose in his mistake, in his epic blunder. But how could he have possibly foreseen this? Well, if he had done any homework on the RAFians other than just watching what little footage existed of their missions, but he didn't delve any deeper than that. He was only interested in stopping and suppressing their powers. Had he analyzed them as people, he might have found more success in his plan. But this plan was never destined to be successful in any way.

That's when it happened.

The interior lights came up, illuminating the room that Convertir was in. And illuminating the man himself. The RAFians saw that Convertir looked basically a humanized orc, in size and build. His head was bald, and his face was mulish. He actually wore a military uniform -- this one he got from a military surplus store, as he had to fork over his other one when he was discharged. And his boots were the wrong color. The facility that housed them looked like a cross between an airport hanger and army barracks. The ground wasn't pavement or anything. Just hard, compacted earth. This was good, for what the RAFians had planned, had hoped to happen.

But Convertir stopped dead. He hadn't any idea who turned on the lights. This complicated matters a great deal.

"Ah, no wonder why you hid in darkness," Helen said, cattily. "A bit self-conscious, I see."

Now that they've seen his face . . . now that they could pick him out of a line up . . . they were now a liability. He couldn't allow them to leave. If they survived and left, everything he had would have been destroyed. Everything he had gained . . . he would lose everything. He couldn't allow them to leave. Not now, not ever. They've seen too much. They now knew too much.

"What's that on his lapel?" Aquilai said. "I've seen that insignia before."

"Shush, Aquilai!" GH said, having stopped miming playing a guitar, though he kept tapping his foot. There was a reason behind this madness, though none of the RAFians felt at liberty to elaborate on. They didn't want to call too much attention to what they were doing.

Convertir turned to them, looking at each of them in turn. He couldn't allow them to get out and spread his face and deeds about. It would ruin him. There was only one recourse in Dom's mind. Only one action that is necessary. He would worry about what to do with the corpses later, but he needed to ensure their silence. And there was only one surefire way to do that.

They needed to die.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Derangement

"There's no other way," he said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of what he thought must be done.

"That's the Cadmus insignia," Saffa muttered, realizing what the pin on his lapel was of.

"They've seen my face," Convertir said, to himself, but audible to the RAFians. He fumbled in his pockets for something. Something like some sort of . . . kill switch. Then he remembered that he never got around to installing a kill switch -- he didn't think that he would need it. He would have use more . . . pedestrian . . . means to silence the RAFians.

"I don't think he's talking to us," Abby said.

"They know too much," he muttered, almost indifferent that they could hear his mutterings.

"I don't think this will end well for us," GH said.

Yet, GH never stopped tapping his foot. Saffa never stopped tackling the bars. Helen never stopped roundhouse kicking the bars, Dylan never stopped his mock tantrum. Abby never stopped tapping the bars. Aquilai never stopped drumming his fingers. It was imperative that they all continue this. This was possibility their only way to escape this.

"They must . . ." he said. He still sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. He knew that they were in cages and defenseless. There was nothing to be proud of, shooting defenseless people in cages. He knew this. He still had humanity within him, somewhat. Sure, he didn't like people or creatures that he considered "the other". But that tends to be human nature.

"I'm starting to worry, guys," Saffa said, in between tackles.

"I must . . ." he said. He was fishing out something from his pocket. It wasn't a kill switch. It was much too big.

"About what?" GH said, now stomping his feet.

"It must . . ." Convertir's hand found the object in question with relative ease. Yet, he still had hesitation.

"I'm starting to doubt our little plan is working!" Saffa elaborated, in between tackles.

"It must be done," Convertir said. His voice wavered. He had his own doubts, but he saw no other way. He had to silence them. But he wasn't as ruthless as he pretended to be. His humanity wasn't entirely siphoned out of him.

"It will! Trust in --" GH began, before he realized what Convertir just pulled out.

It was a pistol. A standard pistol. He was going to shoot them all. Shoot them dead. He would silence them all, prevent them from divulging anything about what took place here. He would deal with what to do with the corpses later. He, of course, assumed Aquilai was human, due to the fact that Time Lords happened to look like humans on the outside. He would soon discover Aquilai's alien nature, while everyone else is dead. Dylan's powers were suppressed by the Odd Keystone-like stone slab in the ceiling, rendering him vulnerable to bullets.

This was not good. And this was enough of a shock, that all the RAFians forgot their plan. GH stopped stomping his feet. Helen stopped roundhouse kicking the bars. Saffa stopped tackling the bars. Abby stopped tapping the bars. Dylan forgot his faux tantrum. Aquilai momentarily forgot to drum his fingers. They were all focused on the gun, the soon-to-be murder weapon.

"You're gonna shoot us?" Abby asked.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Here I Come to Save the Day!

"You're gonna shoot us?"

"You leave me no choice," he said. His voice quavered no longer, and sounded more resolute.

"You were the one who kidnapped us," Saffa said. "We didn't ask to be kidnapped."

"There is no choice," he said. His hand steadied as he tried to decide which one to take out first. He was unaware that there was a slight tremor beneath his feet, believing that he was actually losing nerve. He steadied his hand even more. He looked at all six of them, before making a decision. He would take out . . .

Then the tremor got more frenzied beneath his feet. He found this distracting, but this seemed to jog the RAFians' memory of their plan. This time they all stomped their feet and beat their fists against the cage bars. They found new fervor in doing so.

Convertir, at first, thought that the earthquake tremor had terrified the RAFians, despite being so minor. It was probably nothing to concern himself with, Convertir thought, and he took aim at his first victim -- GH. He pointed the barrel of the pistol at GH's forehead, trying to stabilize his arm. He was really going to do this. He was really going to kill them. Kill them all.

It seemed take forever for Convertir's brain's command to reach his finger to pull the trigger. He would deny any hesitation on his part. He would cite interference if anyone would question him about it later. Convertir was more about ego and appearance, more than anything else. He had no excuse for incompetence or hesitation, but he had a habit of hyping up his own reputation, even if he gives false narratives or bear false witness.

He never noticed the ground behind him cracking open. Or the creature that burst forth from it behind him. If this were a horror movie, he'd already be dead. Eaten by the eponymous monster of the movie. But it wasn't a horror movie, and the creature behind him, snapped his fingers. The metal in the pistol -- including the bullets and their casings -- became metal shrapnel and dust.

"What the hell?" he said, looking at the hand the handgun used to be in.

It was then he noticed that the RAFians stopped stomping on the ground and beating the bars with their fists. They all smiled at him. This perplexed Convertir to no end. Why were they smiling? How did his gun disintegrate into shrapnel, metal shavings, and dust? What was going on here?

"What the hell happened to my gun? That wasn't cheap, you know!" he demanded.

"Because," said a deep voice behind him, "you were going to shoot a bunch of innocent people. People that happen to be my friends."

Convertir whipped around, and then fell promptly on his backside. The being behind him was at least a foot or two taller, and his power was palpable. Convertir could not see anying but a rough silhouette and those piercing amber eyes. His body was hidden by a cloak he had around his body. He stood very intimidatingly, glaring down Convertir.

"You kill me and your friends will never be free," he said, hastily, "I am the only one who can open the cages. And no one can cut through those bars! They're indestructible!"

"You have rather loose lips when it comes to information," the creature before him said, "you know that?"

"You kill me and you sentence them to death!" he proclaimed.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" the creature said. Convertir swore he smiled. The creature pushed one arm out of his cloak and slowly balled it into a fist. Convertir had no idea what this beast was doing. Then he heard the fronts of each cage rip off the cages proper, and opening the cage like a too-ripe orange. The RAFians quickly gamboled out, looking famished.

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!!!" he screeched.

The creature rounded on the former military man with delusions of grandeur. "I can, and I did."

[Ash]

Nah, though you were the last one truly awake. You're tapping your foot and playing an invisible guitar. I thought I mentioned that in the last chapter, sorry.

I've noticed a couple of guest trying to post onto this. Ash, I apologize for this headache. But if they are reading this, and are making complaints, know I won't take them into account, assuming I ever see them -- you don't like what's written, then don't read. Simple as that.

No worries, all good. Probably bots.

[Cloak]

Ah. 'Kay, thanks. And, Ash, you might want to check out the previous book.

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Convertir's Fate

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!!! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!!!" Convertir shrieked, sounding more like a petulant child than a hardened military man (the appearance of which he tried to affect and maintain at every moment).

"I have no right?" Cloak said, as the other RAFians glowered at Convertir at his pronouncement. They were still famished, and weakened by hunger. And the rune tablet suppressed their powers -- Cloak had no such limitation, proving that the rune tablet was magical in nature. "You dare to make such a pronouncement when YOU kidnapped people. Took people against their will. Imprisoned them. Denied them food and drink."

Cloak approached the shaking man -- whether it was from fear, anger, indignation, or some mixture of the three, was unclear. Cloak's eponymous cloak slicing the air like a pendulum as he walked, giving off a slightly menacing appearance. Cloak narrowed his eyes as he stopped mere feet away from the man. He bowed his head so that he was right in Convertir's face,

"And you actually want to debate me on rights?" Cloak said. "Slaveholding isn't a right, little man. Imprisoning others against their will without so much as a trial isn't a right, human. You can't just do whatever the Veil you want without suffering repercussions or consequences for your actions. Every action has a chance of backfiring on you, and so it has."

"Don't you lecture me," he said, mulishly obstinate.

"Clearly," Cloak said, coldly, "someone has to."

"What are you going to do now? Are you going to kill me?" he said. He said the last question with a note of hope -- Cloak didn't miss it.

"Kill you?" Cloak echoed. "No. No, human, you won't get off so easily."

"What?"

"Yeah, Cloak," GH said, "I don't usually advocate for such a thing, but this guy --"

"Will face the judgement of the people of the country, and face justice for his crimes," Cloak said.

"Cloak, he'll just wiggle his way out." Helen said. "He'll get acquitted of all crimes -- our justice system is broken. If someone is rich enough --"

"We'll see," Cloak said. "Either way, the world will know what he's done. And he will have to live it down. His reputation will forever be tarnished by his actions here."

"You can't do this," Convertir snarled. "I've done nothing wrong."

GH called him something rather vulgar and disparaged the presumed promiscuity of his mother.

"How dare you!" Convertir said, moving to hit GH, but was blocked by Cloak.

"That reaction was a consequence of your decision, human," the Realm Walker said. "All this came about as a result of your decisions. Now you must deal with them. Whether you want to . . . or not."

***

As it turns out, Convertir wasn't all that rich. He didn't get a very good lawyer -- Rudolph "Rudy" Hutz -- who bumbled and fumbled the case, but he was the best lawyer that Convertir could afford. He had sunk so much of his own money into that scheme -- one that hinged on the RAFians doing what he pleased by just uttering the "magical" phrase of "patriotic duty". Had he done his due diligence -- then he wouldn't be in this position to begin with.

It also didn't help that the prosecuting lawyer was one of the toughest ones -- Ernesto Gallagher -- and he didn't give an inch. Gallagher was very cut-throat in an occupational regard. He wasn't above using any loophole or technicality to win his cases, which he had an impressive win-lose record, which was virtually unblemished. It was almost as if it would take a Galvin to take him down legally.

It didn't go too well for Convertir.

And top matters off, Carmichael had vanished without a trace. He never returned home after bringing GH to his father. Convertir didn't even really notices, being too focused on his captives to care. Convertir never loved Carmichael as a son, anyway. Just as a force of free labor, and a minor source of income, as he took a percentage of the wages that Carmichael earned at the restaurant. All in all, it was a very unhappy household for Carmichael to live in, so it wasn't too surprising that he ran away.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Unforeseen Loose End

"Is it done?" said a dark figure. It was in the bleakest part of night, where the only light was starlight, and this figure spoke with a man's voice.

"Yes," said another, "he didn't expect the lights to come on. He didn't even notice who turned them on."

"You sure?"

"Yes," he answered, with a quick nod of his head. "Very."

"And he didn't see you?"

"No," he answered. "His attention was totally on his captives. He always had a single-minded focus, tuning out everything else around him."

"Did he notice your absence?"

"I don't think so." he replied. "As I've said, he was too focused on his captives. It was an obsession, really."

"You realized if we go through with this, you won't be able to retain your job at --"

"That was just my dad's idea," Carmichael said, some light washing over his face, revealing his identity for the merest of moments. "I never wanted that job. He wanted me to get close to the RAFian to be able to bring him in."

"Very well," Larry Dunn said, his identity revealed by the same brief burst of light But he was wearing a skinsuit, whose face and head were draped around his shoulders. He reached into his black bookbag and pulled another one out, then offered it to Carmichael. As he did so, he was speaking, "But, as a safeguard, we need to go in disguise. Now that your dad's been indicted, he might decide to out you or even shift blame. Until then . . ."

Larry pulled back up the face and skinsuit's head over his own. It fit him as if he was wearing one of those morphsuits, only it looked as real as real skin. He looked like an adult male, with a generic, easily-forgettable sort of face. And it was that way by design. Larry wanted to be forgotten. Carmichael had accepted the skinsuit, and immediately stripped. Then he deftly and quickly put it on, and accepted the new clothing from Larry, as the skinsuit compressed Carmichael's mass considerably. Larry put Carmichael's old clothing into the bookbag, and then slung it over his shoulder.

"Take a minute to acclimate yourself to your new stature and voice," Larry advised. "We don't have anywhere we need to be."

"I've emptied my bank account, and my father's," he said, surprised at how young his new voice sounded. He wasn't expecting the vocal modulations to be so quick and immediate. And pristine -- there was no electronic buzzing or anything to be picked up on. This was the first time he wore one of these suits, and he found himself liking it, like how he secretly liked wearing that armadillo mascot costume. Of course, he didn't say any of this to Larry. Instead, he forced himself to stick to business. "His PIN number was so obvious -- my father thought he was so clever, when he was immensely obtuse."

"Good, that'll be good start up money," Larry said. "But, just know that we'll probably have to switch suits every so often."

"Why?"

"Oh, no reason, just to change things up every now and then," he said, looking down at the child that Carmichael appeared to be, "but until then we must maintain the 'father-son' perception. And remember this suit's name is 'Ed' and the one you're wearing is 'Ricky'."

"What's the last names?"

Larry smiled Ed's smile. "Carmichael."

"Hilarious," Carmichael said with a roll of his eyes.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Three Strikes

Helen volunteered for a mission to deal with a fiend. She did it because, though she loved him to pieces, she felt that Parker was now smothering her, terrified to allow her to go anywhere on her own. She understood this, and that he was doing this out of love more than fear, that he was legitimately concerned for her safety rather than any need to control her. She understood this -- really, she did.

But she was still a big girl and could take care of herself. She did her due diligence and made sure her ring was charged up before she left this time. That was the only reason that Convertir -- or one of his cronies, whoever they might be -- managed to get the drop on her. Her ring lost power at a critical moment that she didn't anticipate. That wouldn't happen here.

Or so she tried to convince Parker. He wasn't persuaded, but he allowed her to go without much resistance. He didn't want to be a controlling boyfriend, but that didn't stop him from worrying about her, though he didn't tell her that he would. But Helen was perceptive enough to know that he was, as she would be if the situation was reversed.

Anyway, Helen arrived at the stadium. It wasn't very hard to find it -- it was right out on the field, which had a very high ceiling -- to prevent things like rain and snow from cancelling games. It made its nest there like it owned the place. The fiend hadn't a head to speak of, and its main body was the shape and color of a baseball. The top, where a baseball's stitches would be, was an open slit that hid its human-like eyes, which had light blue sclera and dark blue irises. It also had ruby red crystals on its chest, which looked like nipples or pseudo-eyes, depending on your perception. It had green shoulders like a linebacker, white upper arms, green lower arms, green left hand, and a baseball mitt for a right hand. its crotch directly below its baseball body was purple, with white thighs and green shins and pod-like feet. Its shins had black "=" markings on it horizontally.

When it saw Helen, it immediately threw what appeared to be a yellowed baseball at her which bounced around about six time before disappearing into the aether. She managed dodge the initial throw, and the six rebounds. Then it gave a short hop and threw a fastball at her, which she had to create a violet energy shield to block. This one didn't rebound, however, and immediately vanished into the aether when contact was made. Then it made a high jump and threw another fastball, but diagonally this time. It rebounded to the ceiling and then back down again, apparently homing in on Helen, whilst maintaining it's trajectory. It was easily sidestepped.

After throwing these two fastballs, the fiend turned into a ball itself, rolling around and bouncing around about twice, being seemingly invincible while doing so. Helen dodged this by using her ring to fly and using aerial mobility to her advantage, despite being a slight advantage. When it reverted from this ball form, it made a low bounce, following up with a higher one. This was easy enough to dodge. Then he made another high bounce, following up on that with a long, low one. It alternated between these bouncing strategies, before repeating this attack pattern.

Helen noticed that it was the most vulnerable to attacks when it dallied close to the ground, wile it was not in its ball form, and that he sometimes was somewhat dizzy after some of its attacks. She made violet light constructs of swords -- the kind swashbucklers use, with a Star Sapphire symbol on their pommels -- three at a time. And she kept firing them at the fiend, in waves of three blade constructs, which vanished despite whether they hit or not. After seven strikes, the fiend was no more, and Helen left, with the mission completed.

She didn't look back, because she didn't like how the fiend's corpses always sizzled and fizzled out of existence with nothing but a brief burn mark upon the ground giving any evidence that they even were there in the first place.

***

Demos called it a "sutoraikusapien". He claimed that he made it for batting-practice reasons, for a baseball stadium. The same one that it made its nest in.

***

Malice .. .  well, she was snoring in her easy chair, the fight forgotten.

[Cloak]

New chapter.
 

BOOK CLXXV:
LOCKDOWN
CHAPTER ONE:
Woolly World

Aquilai went to a rather flamboyant and extravagant circuit board manufacturing plant to find a fiend that holed up there. The entire place, Aquilai found, was like a fun house -- which were not too terribly fun to begin with. But he could test out his new weapon that he and the other "science boys" had whipped up upon inspiration from the last fiend. It was essentially a Flubber-ized rubber ball, though none of the actual Flubber substance was used -- as it was difficult enough nailing down the formula for such a thing. The thing was still experimental, though.

Aquilai proceeded forward to find some blocks to walk on that were a different color from the rest of the flooring. When he walked on them, they disappeared from beneath his feet. That wasn't funny, but fortunately the hole that it left him in wasn't too deep. But his experience as a RAFian told him that he got off easy in this regard. But he knew that it would be unwise to become flippant about this. He had to exercise caution -- although in the back of his mind, he wondered. He wondered if these sorts of traps and things were not originally here when people were employed here . . . he wondered if the fiend somehow manifested them. It always seemed to be much easier getting out of a fiend's nest than going in. . . .

Anyway, he ran until he reached a dead end, but there was a way down into the bowels of this place, after more disappearing blocks vanished into nothingness. Then he dropped down into the dropshaft, only to find more of these irritating blocks, color-coded, blocking his way. He had to wait for the enough to vanish -- the ones that corresponded to the blocks upon which he stood. This led to another dropshaft where he had to do the same thing. He was finding it rather monotonous.

Then he had to transverse the color-coded disappearing blocks this time. It was times like this he wished that he was a speedster, like Cerulean. He ran as fast as he could -- had he been an airbender, it would have been easier, he supposed. But he didn't really want to fall on those spikes below him twice just to make this bit easier. Being a firebender would just have to do -- he supposed he could do that rocket boots technique, but wasn't really trained to do that, and it could just lead him into problems. Best not to test fate, in that regard.

Then he had to run on a conveyor belt to bring up platforms so he could cross a pitfall. There was no way that this was here before the fiend -- this had to be an OSHA violation, otherwise. Anyway, after crossing that, he came to a winding hallway with one of those vanishing blocks. He could tell that they covered some sort of pitfall. He jumped over them, using his firebending as a booster. On the other side, he checked briefly to make sure the Flubber ball was still with him. It wouldn't activate without his sonic screwdriver -- a safety contingency that they put into effect. It was, so he pressed forward.

He dropped down onto a platform above another dropshaft. This place certainly liked their dropshafts, Aquilai mused briefly. He looked around saw that he had fallen into a room with some sort of electrokinetic construct of a mishmashed octopus and light bulb. A continuous stream of fire was enough to break it, and Aquilai found himself falling once more. Even falling seemed to become monotonous now.

He landed, and the path directly in front of him weaved around a corner and back again. There were no traps here, no turrets or anything. He proceeded rather quickly and easily. He came upon more of those run-on-a-conveyor-belt-to-raise-platforms puzzles, and he tried to avoid them as much as he could before he took a latter in the left hand side of a branching path.

Upon reaching the landing where the ladder led to, he did a quick survey of his surroundings. He came to a long hallway that led to his left. He followed it, only to find that it curved and doublebacked to an ascending ladder. He scrambled up it quickly, swearing that this was more extensive than any of the training sims they had before that went kaput. When reached the landing he saw there were vanishing and reappearing blocks in this room and a ladder to his right, out of reach. Rather than deal with the annoying block puzzle, Aquilai just used his firebending to boost himself to the ladder, and scrambled upward once again.

Then he proceed forward . . . only to find the vanishing, reappearing block puzzle over a chasm. He still didn't know how he made it across it, but he didn't care to repeat it in any time in near or distant future. Then he dropped down yet another dropshaft, and landed in a room with those color-coded blocks. This was starting to frustrate him, because he found the whole thing annoying. Not because of difficulty, but due to just how long it was. He went through the dropshaft that these bricks revealed, and the one that followed before he reached the fiend's nest.

The fiend was hunched over to the ground. It's main body was an oblong body with curly, white, sheep-like wool with no discernible head, but human-like eyes buried in a shadowed recess of the wool. The eyes were large and round and had white sclera and purple irises. It had two silver horns, like a bighorn sheep, toward the front of its body. From its posterior end, it had two gold electrodes sticking up from the wool in a "V" shape with green spheres on the end. It had white upper arms and thighs, purple lower arms and shins, and black hands and pontoon-like feet.

Apparently, it had two attacks, normally. It's first attack was jumping high into the air, transforming into a cloud of wool, which splits into four. Each one would move to a different location, all at heights taller than the Time Lord. Then each wool cloud will fire a thunderbolt directly to the ground beneath them, which shocks a small area around the impact site, with the last wool cloud launching an electric spark along the floor. Then the wool clouds reformed back into the fiend. The last wool cloud to attack is usually the fiend itself, and thus the one to attack. Aquilai launched the experimental Flubber ball at the last cloud when it tried this again, and it caused the fiend to fall, canceling this part of the attack pattern.

The other attack a simple, yet fairly fast, orb of electricity that bobs up and down. It wasn't too hard to dodge and avoid. Although, it rarely will decide to hop in the direction that it's facing, releasing sparks from its feet when it lands from the hop. Annoying, true, but nothing that Aquilai couldn't handle outright. Aquilai was also relieved to discover that this Flubber ball could destroy the electric clouds that the fiend wasn't hiding in, forcing it to repeatedly cancel its attack. Aquilai just waited for the Flubber ball to finish of the fiend for him.

When the deed was done, Aquilai managed to recall the ball as if it were a Pokemon, using his sonic screwdriver -- a handy little device with a million purposes. Then he left the place, vowing never to return to this friggin' fun house of a manufacturing plant.

***

Demos called it a "shipusapien". He claimed that he originally designed it for sheep herding purposes, until he realized how boring he found that, so he repurposed it for testing the static resistance of circuit boards, for a manufacturer of circuit boards. It didn't go well, apparently.

***

Malice was still slumbering. She was old, after all.