Memoirs of a RAFian

[Underseen]

I feel like Malice is just evil for evil's sake  can't wait for more books about her

[Cloak]

Oh, there should be plenty. And sorry about not posting a chapter yesterday, time got away from me.

Book MCCXLIII (1,243): "Stoned" -- A Geolithling girl somehow makes her way to this Realm.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
A Moral Quandary

And there it was. He was being very direct with them. He wanted to die. He didn't care if it was slow or fast, as long as it was done. Because that's the only way he saw now to  truly free from that witch's grasp. Death was the only way to freedom that he could see.

Now if these fleshlings could deliver him from this world of pain and suffering -- though, curiously enough, he didn't bother to take inventory of the pain and suffering that he, himself, caused. It was a selfish thought, but the Technovampyra was an incredibly selfish being. This came as no surprise, as he clearly was imbued and imbibed with some of Malice's own kind of personality.

His torture had sapped the technology vampire of any energy that may have had before that cruel and brutal session of torture. It also sapped any will to live from him. Death, no matter how ignominious or depraved, would be better than this. His dignity had evaporated entirely after Malice's vicious obedience-exacting. He just wanted the hurt to stop, the pain to leave him. Only death itself could grant him that with any sense of permanence.

"P-please," he prompted pathetically, "p-please . . . k-kill me."

The three were still indecisive. They knew that it had no compunction to refrain from harming others if they had pacemakers or other technological implants. It would just kill them to get to that tech. But did that warrant them letting it live and suffer like this? Did that justify it?

"P-please . . ." he said again. The pain was gone, though he was still collapsed upon the floor. He was twitching involuntarily, as if he was suffering muscle damage.

The three RAFians looked at each other still, unsure what was morally right in this scenario. The technology vampire was literally begging for death, but it was also a selfish murderer. Would it be right to let it rot as it was, or shoe it the mercy that it never showed Cody Hart or Amin Peligro or anyone else who got in its way?

"Pl . . . please," he pleaded again, "I implore you . . . kill me . . ."

 It appeared as if it was going to die one way or the other. Should they end his suffering, or did he justly deserve it after the pain and suffering it, itself, caused? The RAFians glanced at each other once more, and Broken held up a finger. GH and Underseen nodded somberly, knowing what Broken intended to do.

"Please . . ." he begged for the final time.

 broken brandished his wand. Then he cast a spell that tried to never cast, much like Cloak and breathbending, bloodbending, or mechbending. He took no pleasure in casting it, nor knew if it would work on such a creature. He had the sufficient willpower and skill for the spell, but he didn't really have any desire to do it, other than mercy.

"Avada Kedavra," he said, as a green flash emitted from his wand and an rushing sound was heard. Broken looked away, saddened. Remorseful, despite the fact that the Technovampyra was technically a murderer itself.

It fell, now a lifeless husk. Broken turned away from it, feeling . . . conflicted.

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCXLIV (1,244): "Buggy" -- A Hivectoid boy somehow makes his way to this Realm.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
The Brutality of It All

The energy blade that extended from their wrists clashed so violently that colored sparks were given off. Malice's eyes were alight with her namesake, while Cloak's were cold and icy, trying to stem his emotions.

"Such power you possess," she said, scathingly, "it's wasted in your hands."

"Restraint isn't weakness, Malice," Cloak countered, blocking one of Malice's strikes. And the thing Bout Malice's fighting style? She fought dirty. Fortunately, Cloak had anticipated that and compensated reasonably well for it.

"You cannot even best a frail, old lady in combat!" she sneered, almost cheerfully so, as she made another lunging strike. She was really enjoying this too much.

"You may be old, as an octogenarian," Cloak said, seeing fit to correct her statement, "but you are not frail -- otherwise, you'd be dead right now -- and you're the furthest thing from a lady I've ever known."

"Are you calling me a man?" she said, actually sounding genuinely confused. "Is that what you're implying?"

"No," Cloak said, honestly, "just that you lack any sort of sophistication and class to be legitimately called a 'lady'."

 Cloak noticed that each blow and strike now was edged with anger and hostility. Cloak had, unexpectedly, cut Malice deep. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Why are you even bothering with this facade?" Malice snarled, a Tasmanian devil snarl intermingling with her words. "You could have destroyed me in an instant. Yet, you hesitate. Your grandfather would have never hesitated."

"Then why are you alive?" said Cloak, and Malice didn't have a comeback. So, she just fought harder, which was a quite impressive amount of physicality for a woman her age. "One will stand, one will fall."

"Nice little slogan there. Did you get it off a cereal box?" she said, scornfully, as she crossed blades with Cloak again. Cloak glowered at her, which caused her to smile contemptuously.

"Enough of this," Cloak said, closing his eyes and crossing his blades above his head. Collateral damage be Veiled. It was time to end this emnity, this constant struggle of good vs. evil, of protagonist vs. antagonist.

The blades translated into golden-scarlet energy that danced ever so elegantly around Cloak's fingers and claws. The tip raised at least a story or two high. Fortunately, this street was already slated to be worked on, and was torn up before they got here. Though they would work on it from six at night to six in the morning, and it was starting to get nippy in those hours.

 "Oh, this tired, old technique again?" she critiqued harshly.

Cloak put most of his physical strength into throwing this down, but Malice dodged it. Despite him thinking collateral damage being Veiled -- he still tried to minimize it, as much as he could.

Malice was going to make a snappy retort when she noticed the Technovampyra collapsing back  to the pavement, unmoving, the light gone from his eyes. His body looked untouched, and he looked unharmed, other than the fact that was dead.

"YOU LOST ME MY SLAVE!!!" she roared, as she stormed towards GH, Broken (who still had his back to them, somberly returning his wand to his pocket), and Underseen. None of them looked too concerned by Malice's anger.

Suddenly, Malice found her way obstructed, by an earthen wall.

"We're not done, Malice," Cloak said.

"Yes, dearie, we are," she said, looking round to the younger Walker. "For the time being."

Then she Walked away, before Cloak could do anything. Cloak wasn't really sure how he felt about it.

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCXLV (1,245): "Spooky" -- A Necrectopolian girl somehow makes her way to this Realm.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Malice and Shadow

Shadow and Malice were standing in what appeared to be some domed emerald cathere of some sort. Malice was standing tall, looking poised and smug, while Shadow was looking confused and disoriented.

"What kind of trap would this be, if you could just wish your way out if it?" Malice was saying, apparently continuing a previously unheard conversation. "It's just you and me now, Hatchling. But not for long."

Then she approached Shadow, saying, "You see, dearie, I know what makes people tick! Their darkest impulses, their greatest fears. And I know your greatest fear has just come true!"

Then Malice snapped her fingers and rather upbeat music played.

"You've always had a friend or two.
Someone to lend a hand!
When times are tough you look to them
To get out of a jam.
But, now, no matter where you turn,
There's no one here but you!
You're all alone, your greatest fear
Has finally come true!"

Shadow did not back down from Malice's approach, showcasing her family's stubborn obstinance streak. She sung, dignified:

"Just because I'm by myself
Does not mean I will fold!
I don't need help to battle you!
I just need to be bold!"

Malice dismissed this with overdramatic wave of her hand, as if she was some sort of cartoon character, as she sang:

"Spare me your heroic speech!
We both know you are wrong!"

Then Malice began to attack Shadow with energy blasts, which Shadow used her superior speed and agility to leap over. When she landed, she stood tall and declared:

"I'm not afraid to stand alone!"

Malice snorted derisively, and sang, punctuating her lines with energy blasts:

"Dearie, you won't be standing long!
You're on your own! You can't run away!
You've met your match this very day!"

One of Malice's blasts connected with Shadow's shoulder, causing her to fall and spin upon the slick, crystalline ground. But Shadow was undaunted, and countered:

"I'm on my own, but won't give in!
I'll get back up to fight again!"

Malice smiled smugly, and malevolently. She sang:

"The light in you is fading fast!
And, when it's gone, you're mine as last!"

But Shadow, the youngest Elements Master ever, stood her ground, stubbornly refusing to give in. Her eyes glaring at Malice, jaw set. She sang:

"But, like the sun, I'll rise once more! "

Scoffing, Malice scornfully sang:

" Until night falls and wins the war!!"

As the instrumental bridge began, Malice shot Shadow's injured shoulder, causing her to fall to the floor. Her hope starting to slip away, until she saw Malice. No, what was behind her. In the panes of emerald facets . . .

Every past Elements Master before, including her uncle and great-grandfather. Then the images of a bottlenosed dolphin and a red fox -- her parents. Then her friends in the Nexus. Everyone she cared about, and cared about her in return.

She stood up, confidently, which took Malice off guard. Especially when she started to emit a light that seemed full of color, and yet colorless, at the same time.

"There's a bond you'll never know.
A power you can't feel.
The light you give comes back to you,
And makes you strong as steel.
If I remember those I love, and
I keep them close to heart,
My light will shine from deep within,
And chase away the dark!"

The light emanating from Shadow became brighter and stronger. Malice found herself shrinking and cowering from it. She growled:

"My malice can not be denied!
Your little light won't last!
I'll show you where real power lies
In one final wicked blast!"

But the energy blast could not get through the light the young Elements Master was generating. The blast looked small and insignificant against the light.

"You tried your worst to keep me down.
But I'm still standing tall."

"How can this be happening?"

"Because I stand for one and all!
I'm on my own, I found my light
To see me through the darkest night!"

"You're just a girl! This cannot be!"

"I'm more than that! But you can't see.
I may be small, and on my own.
But I can feel how much I've grown.
My will is strong, my heart is true.
My light will be . . .
The end . . .
Of . . .
You!"

Cloak awoke suddenly, and he seemed to have a sort of epiphany. What if he wasn't destined to kill Malkce, or be killed by her? What if that destiny belonged to someone else?

He kicked his legs over the side of his four-poster bed, and his navy blue bed sheets. He draped his tail to his right, he put his hands onto his face. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, as he pondered about this. What if he was never meant to enter into this type of antagonistic relationship with Malice? What if he was never meant to triumph over Malice? What if it was always . . .

Shadow? Was he taking her destiny away from . . .

What was he thinking? Destiny? Fate? Those were ridiculous concepts. Fate didn't exist, and one made their own destiny. And, yet, he couldn't shake this feeling . . .


SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=AS1ZXP-P6TU

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCXLVI (1,246): "Clang? Did You Say Clang?" -- A Ferromor boy somehow makes his way to this Realm.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Under the Sea -- Again

Helen was dispatched to the ocean where a new fiend was wrecking havoc and being just an overall nuisance. She mulled over the whole Technovampyra thing. She understood why she wasn't chosen to go engage with the creature. Her ring was powerful, when it had a charge, this was true. But it wasn't mystical or magical in nature. It would more than likely have been a quick snack for it -- even if it had to rip off her finger in order to do it . . . she found that she'd rather not think of the gory "what-ifs". She felt that no one could fault her for that.

She dove into the ocean, the same aura projected by her ring that allowed her to breathe in the vacuum of space accommodated her here. There wasn't much here other than aquatic wildlife who wanted nothing to do with this strange, glowing interloper and the wild plantlife. Helen carefully and dutifully scanned this oceanic floor but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

A sunken ship? That might be worth scoping out. Although, she got very "The Little Mermaid"-protagonist-introductory-scene vibes from it, she decided to put that to the back of her mind for the moment. She went to investigate the sunken husk of a ship.

 She wished she didn't. There wasn't much inside the cavernous space, but there was what appeared to be a human heart, just laying there. Perhaps it was an optical illusion, but it appeared to be beating. Then it was consumed by some unseen creature which was far bigger and vicious than Helen would prefer. But it wasn't the fiend, she was sure. They all had a certain design commonality, and this creature, whatever it was, didn't share that commonality. She left the ship behind and continued to look.

It wasn't long before she came to what she assumed to be the lair of the fiend. She deftly checked her ring's power level. Seventy-eight percent. Should still be good.

The fiend appeared to be an anthropomorphized octopus who stood on two tentacles, with two raised high into the air, with the other four ranging from the middle. Each of these tentacles had an orifice, presumably were the homing torpedoes it had were fired from. It had human-like eyes with blood red sclera and dark brown pupils, and stood at least two or three feet taller than her.

It fired several homing torpedoes at her when it saw her. Then jumped high and produced a whirlpool that she found herself sucked in, taken unawares. She would deeply regret this, as the damned beast siphoned off two percent of power from her ring!

She broke its grip and floated away to a far corner of its unfurnished lair. She kept her eyes on it, determined not to get ****y and flippant this time. She muttered the Star Sapphire oath under breath, as she concocted a plan while dodging this fiend's set attack pattern.

When she acted, it was quick and unexpected. She went full-on Krillin and severed six of eight of its tentacles, which flopped comically to the ground. But it was not defenseless. It -- somehow -- fired missiles at her that were difficult to avoid. She didn't see the orifices that they came out of. She was pretty sure that she didn't want to know.

She decided to be relentless, and fired violet ball constructs from her ring. The missiles could not get through them, and it got struck repeatedly. These ball constructs impacts had ruptured its internal buoyancy and pressure systems. She did not let up, until the deed was done.

She checked her ring's power level. Fifty-eight percent powered. Shhe had to charge it soon, but first, to get out of here.

***

Demos called it a "rancha octopus". He didn't bother to explain, or even comment, on the rather militaristic purposes it had shown.

***

Malice, meanwhile, was too miffed to pay any attention to this. She felt as if her fun was ended too soon.

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCXLVII (1,247): "Hot Stuff" -- A Pyrosunnurite boy somehow makes his way to this Realm, and must bundle up due to the cold climate.

New chapter.

BOOK CLXXX:
GO TO HELL
CHAPTER ONE:
A Tricky Tower

Parker was dispatched to deal with the next fiend, which had taken over a tower. The tower was intended to be a symbol of the city, a landmark to would put them on the map, rather than the strange occurrences and primary site for alien invasions. It was also known that the forum of RAF was situated somewhere nearby this city, but not mentioned specifically. They rather not be known for those things, like Gotham was with crime.

Parker found climb the tower and easy enough task. The security system? Well, he found it rather lackluster and disappointing. This tower should have had better security, but clearly corners were cut.

There was a laser trap -- Parker thought that those existed only in movies. They were easy enough to get pass. Though his armor was not exactly light, he managed it just fine. They didn't mar his armor, though one singed it, leaving undamaged but bearing some soot. Great -- that'll be a royal pain to get out later.

Then he found himself in an open elevator -- and he wondered aloud to why and how anyone thought this was a safe design feature. Tyr reminded him was probably a cheap and cost-effective way to cut costs. Parkee said that OSHA woukd have a field day, and Tyr reminded him that the building was not finished internally.

From the elvator, Parker found himself outside, having to scale balconies to move on. This fiend's nest was bound to be in the saucer-like penthouse area, Parker surmised easily. He had a limited amount of ammo for his homing missiles -- a little toy he was working with the science boys on. He hoped that he worked out all the bugs. Sure, it was risky, but Parker was confident in his abilities, and he had a basic idea of what this fiend was capable of.

Then he climbed up, and then he saw that he could move into the tower proper again, but had the misfortune to look upward. He saw what he suspected was a human heart. He chose not to think about it, as he proceeded onward. He was close to the penthouse area now, just a short climb away.

The penthouse was not particularly big or spacious, though completely unfurnished. The fiend seemingly teleported into the room, and Parker managed to get a good look at it. The fiend was basically an anthropomorphized tetrapod stag beetle. It had a very thin build, and a metallic boomerang on its head, which was obviously its weapon. It stood at least a foot or two taller than the SPARTAN RAFian. It had human-like eyes with light pink sclera and dark orange pupils.

When it saw Parker it immediately began its attack pattern, beginning by throwing its boomerang cutter at Parker, which was unable to penetrate his armor -- but it was annoying when he was hit by it. It didn't help that the fiend moved so fast that appeared as if he was teleporting.

Then he was surprised when he was seized by the middle, and flung into the ceiling. It didn't have enough force to damage the armor (though it did scuff the finish). It did have enough force to crack the ceiling.

 "Okay, fine," Parker found himself muttering. "I won't be so flippant anymore."

Parker switched to his homing missile prototypes, and the began to fire them like there was no tomorrow at them. The payload wasn't too explosive so the room,by and large,was only damaged cosmetically and not structurely. The fiend didn't stand a chance.

It wasn't long before the deed was done.

***

Demos called it a "boomerang kuwagata". He refused to elaborate beyond that.

***

Malice was still fuming, and not paying attention. She was without a scheme again. And she wasn't too happy about it.

[Cloak]

Titles are subject to change.

Book MCCXLVIII (1,248): "You Sea?" -- An Atlanhydrian girl somehow makes her way to this Realm.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
Shenecron's Scheme

Shenecron was looking out upon the hellish landscape. Which would make sense, as it was Hell. He wasn't wearing anyone, as he couldn't do that here, and he didn't really need to, anyway. He was essentially a prince of this realm within a Realm, and he had a substantial backlog of souls -- the currency here -- to make him comfortable in this ethereal realm.

But it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He believed he needed more. And those damn affiliates of his kid half-brother's? They've messed up more than on of his contracts now. He needed to stop them. Or he might not be able to make deals and steal more souls.

He just wouldn't challenge them to fiddle contests -- he found that stupid, and completely subjective who wins. There was too much leeway for the souls to wiggle out  of him claiming their souls. It left far too much to chance, for his liking.

Contracts were far more ironclad. No one ever reads the fine print in contracts. You can slip in clauses in there that assure your victory, and half the time that isn't even necessary, if your rhetoric is deceptive and misleading enough. Acknowledging whatever they may have already heard about him, even if he is disguised or occupying a meatsuit. Creating a semi-welcoming atmosphere, so he could prey on the desperation and flaws of souls. Making her would-be signers vulnerable, making them ignore their better judgement. Getting in close to establish dominance when he has to lie, to intimidate and disguise the lie. Making the ruses, constructing a narrative of seemingly good intentions, promising them their "happy endings". Being upfront, yet deceptive, with the costs. Insinuating that their dreams and hopes and wishes are so close. Break down their willpower, and convince them what he wants is not as important as their desires, reducing the worthiness of their thoughts, doubting themselves and their judgement. Forcing them to make a hasty choice, a snap decision. To make them cave against their better judgement, to sign their souls away. Making rash decisions while the signer was in a turbulent, emotional state.

That was the fun in the whole thing. Beguiling these stupid meatbags with cunning, manipulating, gaslighting rhetoric. He had added to the stockpile of souls that he had inherited, and he continues to add to it. But the thing was, having souls as a currency made it a rather more volatile currency than bits of metal and green paper. Souls eventually vanish, because they either become redeemed, their contracts break, or they become demons themselves -- the latter of which are treated as second-class citizens. They are seen as below cambions.

Shenecron tried to not think about the failed contracts, but it was a sticking point with him. He was the type of person who would never admit fault, and would always blame others for his shortcomings. Mostly Demos. Just because he could.

"The reason I called you six here," Shenecron said, not turning around to face the silhouetted figures behind him with red eyes, and he spoke as if he had just gave them a briefing for what he wanted, "is for your capabilities. No other reason."

"We figured," said one of these figures.

"But what's in it for us?" said the smallest silhouette, the leader. "Our abilities don't come cheap."

Shenecron was glad that he had his back to them. They didn't see his smile. He had no intention to pay them anything. His wealth of souls wasn't going to last forever, as that seems to be one of those universal constants. He knew that these cadre of demons -- the Insidious Six, as they liked to be called. They were all human at one time, and became demons. The only reason that they weren't treated as second class citizens was because of this special ability, one they called "astral displacement".

Shenecron would ordinarily try to press contracts on them in an unobtrusive way, but they were wise to this trick, hence why they spoke so cautiously. Shenecron knew he had play this carefully, and play on their limited knowledge of him.

"A reward worthy of your efforts," he said, with almost practiced ease. None of the six seemed to see anything wrong with this intonation or the fact that Shenecron refused to turn around to address him. This was common behavior to born-demons and made-demons, so how would they know that they were subtly being played. "Should you succeed. Assuming your abilities weren't grossly inflated from the stories I've heard. Or even true."

"Our abilities surpass the stories," the small silhouette boasted foolishly.

"Well," Shenecron said, glancing with his left draconic eye, over his shoulder, "that remains to be seen."

"We will prove it to you," said one of the other red-eyed silhouettes. "Then you can give us our reward."

"Perhaps," Shenecron said, with coy noncommittal. "If the stories weren't pure fiction."

"Fine," said the smallest one again. He could have just left, they all could have. They didn't have anything to prove to Shenecron. But their pride was hurt, and they would prove to him their worth. "We will do your little plan. We'll get you those six souls you want so badly. Boys -- let us leave this place."

 Shenecron's smile deepened at their departure. That was easy.

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCXLIX (1,249): "Glades" -- A Florester girl somehow comes to this Realm.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
The Insidious Six

Cloak was meditating, wanting to find out more about this new possibility that didn't allow himself to really consider. That defeating -- or killing -- Malice may not have been his destiny, but Shadow's. Although, outwardly, he denounced the concept, secretly Destiny's diary had basically aroused his curiosity about such things, though he tried to trample that curiosity on this matter.

But the thing was, you couldn't just force Truth Dreams, much less control the kind of information that they would give you. But Cloak had his hopes up, which was always a disastrous thing to do. And he knew this, but he didn't.

But he did seem to trigger one . . . just not the one he wanted.

The void he was standing was suddenly replaced by a wide river. It seemed to only be ankle-deep. Cloak wasn't sure why he was being shown this. What possible significance could such a river play? Then he noticed the words in the river, in Realm Walker script. It was incredibly difficult to make out. It could have been "the magician", "the tactican", or "the technician". But these words' meanings were so dissimilar that it just made this confusing. Then this environment burned and evaporated away in what looked like awful hellfire or Fiendfyre.

It was replaced by a vast tundra. Cloak tried to fathom the importance of this biome, when she saw some crystalline structures to his immediate left. It looked like Realm Walker script for "the comedian", "the musician", or "the egalitarian". It was difficult to tell, just like before. It was almost as if by design to be confusing.

Then this environment melted by hellfire or Fiendfyre -- it was difficult to distinguish -- to be replaced by what appeared to be an immaculate court room, with Cloak standing where the defendant would usually stand. Around the seal behind where the judge would sit, Cloak saw Realm Walker script again. It either said "the sawyer", "the bowyer", or "the lawyer". While it was difficult to decipher, Cloak suspected one and not really knowing what the other two were.

Then this environment was burned away by the hellfire or Fiendfyre -- it was still hard to distinguish. Cloak then found himself on a factory floor, with the high ceiling with visible roof supports, and aisles after aisles of various products. Looking at the products, Cloak noticed the gaps between them. Once again, they resembled Realm Walker script, albeit rather loosely. "The knight", "the right", or "the mighty". It was diffult, real difficult, to be sure.

Then the hellfire of Fiendfyre incinerated this environment, as it was replaced with a highway at night. Empty and seemingly abandoned. This was rather for modernday Dwellers. But he noticed that there was a green street sign that had faded Realm Walker script. Now, this was technically an impossibility, as Realm Walkers didn't even have cars or roads such as this. Anyway, Cloak examined the sign as well as he could, and he surmised that it said "the assistant", "the student", or "the apprentice". He didn't have time to consider what this meant before the hellfire and Fiendfyre burned it all away.

When the environment became that of an amusement park, and one a bit too saccharine for Cloak's tastes. He looked at a series of funhouse mirrors -- he never understood the attraction to these things. What was the fun in seeing a distorted reflection of yourself? But these distortions made Realm Walker script. "The toy", "the boy", or "the soy".

It was at this point Cloak awoke. What did this all mean? What was this vision telling him?

***

The Insidious Six approached the place where they would put their scheme in action, where they would go into the material world, and inhabit the meatbags . . . but that would be done in good time. They weren't ordinary demons, after all.

They were no longer in silhouette. They looked like humans with red eyes and flayed skin. Five looked like they were adults, but the smallest looked more like a child around nine or ten-years-old. But it was this child demon that was clearly calling the shots.

Their names were Antoine "Ant" Gansley, Curt Crump, Scott Johnson, Lawrence Nezbitt, Lector Nicholas Leichter, and Christopher Noah. Christopher was the child cambion.

Ant spoke with a deep, loud, hoarse voice. Ant was a middle-aged man with balding gray hair. He was short, fat, and carried a cane. He wore a double-breasted black, silk suit. He enjoyed causing suffering. He lost his humanity (paving his way to demonhood) when he was the vice-president of business strategy at an undisclosed corporation.

Curt spoke with a gruff voice, with a tendency to make ice-based puns. The double breasted suit he wore was black. Curt had black hair, red eyes, furled eyebrows, and a mustache. He is fairly short and appears to be middle-aged. He lost his humanity as an immoral accountant with human resources connections, and he stole and embezzled money, getting away with it easily. He also had a slight obsession with penguins.

Scott spoke fairly slowly and in a formal, conceited manner. He often makes legal puns to reflect his former career as a lawyer, a crooked, immoral one which easily lost his humanity. He was tall, wore glasses and had dark hair. He was exceedingly dishonest and sneaky.

Lawrence was tall and wore a black silk suit, like his fellows (except Christopher). He spoke in a monotone voice, with a robotic intonation. He was a complete misanthrope, believing in the inherent superiority of machines to man. It was this belief that caused him to cast aside his humanity like a threadbare overcoat.

Lector was tall with brown hair and beard, and wore a black silk business suit. He had a Southern accent, and tended to address people formally. As the assistant to a corporation's CEO, he appeared loyal and virtuous, but this was deceit. He had cast his humanity aside long ago and used the facade to get close to the CEO and usurp his company from him.

Christopher's usual outfit consisted of a black long-sleeved jacket with yellow markings, black shorts, pale orange knee socks, and black loafers. He had green and teal hair, and red eyes. He had a habit of ending sentences, when speaking amongst the other five, with "shall we?" and he had a habit of laughing maniacally. The cambion tended to be impolite with everyone, especially his cohorts. He was never really left Hell other than when he used the ability that he shared with only the other five (which is why they obeyed him, as he threatened to take the ability away at any time).

But now? Now these six, these Insidious Six, waited. They were waiting a particular, auspicious time in which to act. If they were too hasty, this could go wrong and they could miss their targets . . .

[Cloak]

Posting tomorrow's chapter a little early. And, yet another book idea.

Book MCCL (1,250): "Shocking Appearance" -- A Thundelectroan boy somehow makes his way to this Realm.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
Antoine "Ant" Eric Marc Gansley

The auspicious time came, but only one of them was able to make the "jump". As always, they let Christopher, their cambion leader, make the choice for them. And he considered making the jump himself, but he didn't want to take the chance of one of these idiots messing this up and ruining their reward. He would have to go last.

"Gansley," he said, and motioned for him to go with a quick jerk of his head.

Ant didn't hesitate to follow suit. It was always more pleasant on the material world. Mostly for hedonistic reasons, but Ant knew better than to indulge without their despotic leader's permission.

In the infinitesimal seconds before the "jump" happens and he displaces his target's soul to somewhere in Hell -- Christopher had selected Shenecron's castle for the displacement point -- Ant found his thoughts going back to when he was alive.

He was the vice-president of business strategy at a company. Enough time had elapsed and he had made enough "jumps" that he forgotten what good or service that the company provided, all he remembered was being wonderfully ruthless with his business strategies. He was without compassion or sympathy for those that got in his way. He was never aware of losing what little humanity that he ever possessed, just focused on making the most money for both the company and himself. But mostly himself.

He was absolute merciless in his methods, and he didn't care about the little people who suffered from his decisions. He wasn't reckless in his decisions, but he was abjectly ruthless with them. He was willing to outsource jobs for cheaper labor, and he endorsed it. He was willing to pay his company's employees at little as they were legally able to, and endorsing this. He was willing to pollute the environment, regardless of the legality of it. If he could make money from it, chances were high that he would do it. His humanity was long gone at this point, he basically lost it when he clawed his way up to his last position before his death. He loved to watch the suffering of the people who tried to struggle against him and his decision, believing that they could never touch him.

He was eventually died when people had enough of this, and protested his company. And his company's paid politicians were proving largely ineffective. And he callously took his car and barreled into group of protesters. He injured many of them, and actually killed one of them. He never felt even a smidgen of remorse for this, and he wore that on his sleeve. Despite his paid lawyers, and his paid politicians abandoning him because he became politically toxic, he was sentenced to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole. He would have been a candidate for the death penalty had they not ran out of the item they used to kill these prisoners.

So he died in prison, after serving about ten years or so. But he was found in Hell, tormented physically for his sins, and Christopher granted him this astral displacement ability, which he was quick to tell him that he could take away at any moment.

But the moment to "jump" had come to him. Within seconds, he managed to push out the native soul of the squishy meatbag body of his target and replace it with his own demonic self. Unfortunately, he did not retain the memories or abilities of his fleshy costume, unless they were physiological pecularities. But the voice he spoke with was that of this meatbag he was wearing. He always loved this -- tending to refer to it as "hostile takeovers".

"Broken?" said a voice. It was a girl that he did not recognize, but she clearly had some sort of acquaintanceship with this meatbag. "Cody, are you . . . alright?"

"I'm fine," Ant lied, "don't worry about it. I've got to go somewhere, I'll . . . uh, I'll be right back."

But, before he could go anywhere, he locked eyes with a figure in a dark cloak. His piercing gaze with those fearsome, amber, feline eyes. It was as if he saw through the meat that was he was wearing, and saw him as he really was.

But that was impossible. It should have only seen his flesh costume, the identity that belonged to this meatbag. There was no way it could have seen him as he truly was.

He could only hear him mutter, "The magician . . ."

Ant, judging solely based on the intonation and inflection, thought it was prudently safe to assume that this meatbag and this figure didn't get along.

***

Broken was disoriented. One minute he was with Melissa, teaching her the finer points on Curaga, and suddenly he was here. He didn't know for certain where he was, but based on the hellish landscape, he had one main guess. He wondered idly how he got here -- surely, he hadn't died. And, if he did, what did he do to get sent to Hell?

Then cried out, as he saw Shenecron before him, holding up what appeared to be some sort of capsule. It was what was dispassionately known as a "soul jar". It made for easy storage, which would otherwise be clunky and clumsy. It really cut down on the flailing and wailing of these souls.

Once inside, all Broken saw was white. He also thought he saw Louis Cannon in this misty existence. But it coukd have just been his own memories.

Meanwhile, Shenecron said, to himself, "The magician. Very good. Now I have at least one mole. . . ."

[Cloak]

Titles are subject to change.

Book MCCLI (1,251): "Completely Mental" -- A Psychespian girl somehow makes her way to the Prime Universe.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Lector Nicholas Thomas Leichter

The next auspicious moment was quickly approaching, and the target was coming into view. Christopher made his decision, and said, "Leichter."

Lector was more than ready to go. He couldn't wait to be ensconced in flesh again. To feel, taste, and touch once more. But as he waited until the precise second when he could push out the rightful soul and ensconced himself in their flesh as if he was wearing a full-body mascot suit, taking immediate control as the right soul was sent to Shenecron.

In these infinitesimal seconds, his mind mulled over his past. One could say that he came from humble beginnings, but that was romanticizing it beyond optimism and credulity. His parents made very little money, meaning he had to grow up in a shack  a house, and quite poor. He despised his parents for this, blaming them both for their hard circumstance of being poor, feeling that they weren't ruthless and cutthroat enough to ever truly succeed. And he also didn't like how neglectful and alcoholic the two were.

Even beyond his death,he believed that no one would miss them. He convinced them to take a leisurely drive, and they agreed, oblivious to their son's own deep despisal, vehement contempt, for them and their lives. No one ever expected him, when their car crashed through a barricade and careened over a turn in the cliff-side road. The car was totaled and rusted through when they found it . . . no one noticed the cut brake lines. This is what truly caused him to be purged of any humanity that he had.

He used their insurance money to establish himself as one of the elites, but that money didn't last very long. He had to start at the bottom of a corporation, just above mail clerk. But that didn't stop him from clawing his way up, by any means necessary. He didn't care about any little people that he had to step on and crush to get ahead. They weren't people to him, but just obstacles to blast out of his way, or to crush beneath his heel.

It was then that he got close to the ultimate power at the company. He was just a heartbeat away, being the CEO's assistant and right-hand man. He was even named the successor of this batty, senile old man who trusted him. He was foolish with trust, and a naive judge of character.

Had Lector played the long game just a tad more, waited for a better opportunity to come along, and bided his time, playing the role given to him for a bit longer . . . things might have been different. But, being this close to power, he got impatient. He had always planned to usurp the CEO, but he had always been studiously silent on those intentions. Refusing to divulge or acknowledge any of it.

Then he got sloppy. He got reckless and careless.

He waited just until the next time the CEO was with him, alone, and had h back to him. He ruthlessly stabbed the man in the back before he could cry out. But when he was questioned by police, his account was hardly believable and the evidence was sloppily discarded in the office. Lector wore no gloves, so his fingerprints were everywhere.

He was sentence to jail, and then summarily killed in a prison brawl when he said something that he ought not have said.

But as he made the jump, he was excited to see, to smell, to taste, to hear, and to touch again. Of this meat wasn't his original body, but he didn't care. He would treat it juzt the same as he treated his own. Though it was a bit surreal being in a female body when he was male in his lifetime. But he enjoyed it just the same.

He quickly met up with Gansley, in a male meatsuit. He could tell, despite seeing his meatsuit's face and not the demon within.

"I said that I would be right --" he said, using Broken's voice, assuming initially that this meatbag had not had her body commandeered and usurped from her. Then he looked and could see the truth. "Oh, Leichter. I didn't know that this would be the next auspicious target."

"Careful," he said, in reply, using Melissa's voice. "We don't want to blow our cover, Gansley."

Then Lector noticed Cloak, and didn't really know the appropriate way that this meatbag would react, so he settled on a blank and vacant stare. Cloak's penetrating gaze was like x-rays, Lector swore.

He could barely hear him mutter, "The apprentice."

The two looked at each other, then back. But he was gone.

***

Melissa awoke to find herself on some strange stone material that appeared rather like Nether Quartz, from Minecraft. Before she could make sense of her newest surroundings, she saw the demonic dragon-man that was Shenecron before her. He wasted no time in sucking her into his soul jar where she immediately saw Broken's soul and made a beeline for him, desperate for something comforting and familiar.

 "The apprentice," Shenecron said, with a slight smile. " Nice to see how swimmingly things are coming along thus far.

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCLII (1,252): "Shivers" -- A Cryolacite boy makes his way to the Prime Universe, and requires special equipment to survive.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Lawrence David Nezbitt

The next auspicious moment approached quickly. The remaining three waited for their chance impatiently, while Christopher looked calm, almost serene. He made his decision, "Nezbitt."

The auspicious moment came closer, Lawrence took these infinitesimal seconds to remember. To remember his past.

He grew up a lonely boy. He was raised by a single mother that always had to work, and so never really had time for him. He felt very neglected at home. He was heavily bullied, being smaller than his peers at the time. It was from this background that he grew increasing misanthropic. He began to tinker with machines, finding more and more that he preferred their company. They never bullied him. They never did anything that he didn't engineer them for. They had no purpose that he didn't give to them. They didn't make fun of him. They didn't viciously mock them. They didn't merciless tease him. They had simple complexity to them, software and hardware combined. After he graduated high school and went to a technical college.

He remembered loving the classes, but hating the other students. They were needlessly loud and boisterous, even more so when there had been a party with alcohol. They were loud and inconsiderate when he was trying to study. His roommate was the worst culprit of this. It couldn't be clearer that he was here to party and not study. Lawrence believed his name was like Sluggard or something. One of those rich boys whose daddy paid their way through, because he couldn't get in on his own.

It was this that pretty much solidified his dislike against mankind. He always preferred the complex simplicity of machines, believing in their inherent superiority over mankind. He wasn't as enthused about the others about being thoroughly ensconced in flesh, preferring to be within a metal body of circuitry. But beggars cannot be choosers. This was the easiest way out of here without being a Prince of Hell, like Shenecron or Demos. He had actively casted aside his humanity, preferring to be with his machines. He had even made himself several mechinical prostheses when he damaged his weak, fleshy body. He wished to rid himself of his shameful human weaknesses, but he didnw have technology available to him to do that.

Unlike the others, his death was rather ignominious and quiet. He had miscalculated one of his machines and their was an accident. He didn't stand a chance. There was no way he could have survived it. But he saw this as reaffirming his belief in the superiority of machines.

The moment had come to make the "jump" and he did, easily wrangling the native soul out of his fleshy meat. Nezbitt wasn't too thrilled about being back inside flesh, but then he realized that he was wearing some sort of computerized armor. This satisfied him greatly.

"Parker?" said a female to his right. "Parker, what's wrong?"

Lawrence said nothing, and moved away. He didn't have any affection for this fleshy being, and didn't really care if this flesh did. This flesh's soul wasn't here to make that choice, Lawrence was. And Lawrence was more interested in checking out th armor with more detail. He barely noticed that the female flesh ran away crying.

He didn't care.

***

Parker found himself in this strange place, and he immediately got to his feet. And he immediately realized that he was not wearing his armor -- despite never taking it off. He knew that Tyr was being too quiet. What was going on? Where was he? How was he going to defend himself, long-range at least, without his armor? He had to --

He didn't see Shenecron behind him. He didn't see his Soul Jar, and he was sucked into it, as Shenecron smiled, "The knight. That's three little moles now."

***

Helen told this to Cloak, who turned his head aside and muttered, "The knight . . ."

"What?" Helen said, with very noticeable tear tracks upon her face. "Did you just call Parker a Knight?!"

Cloak forgave her outburst. She was emotionally vulnerable right now.

 "No," he said, as gently as he could and as comforting as the time would allow. "But I've come to suspect something's up. And not just with Parker."

"What?" she asked.

"I don't know for sure," Cloak said, being frustratingly vague, "until I confirm with an expert . . ."

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCLIII (1,253): "Roars" -- A Driser girl somehow makes her way to the Prime Universe.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
Scott Wayne Andrew Johnson

The next auspicious moment approached very quickly, as Curt and Scott eagerly awaited who would go and "jump" next. Christopher said, "Johnson."

Johnson eagerly made the jump into the target, and, as he did, the back of his mind recollected his past in these infinitesimal few seconds. His story wasn't some big sob story as some of the other members of the Six. He led a rather straightforward childhood, and his parents were very hard on him for perfect excellence. They rode him to study and forbid him any sort of partying or celebrations similar to the cavorting. It was this type of upbringing that enabled him to succeed, even despite these authoritarian, dictatorial parenting practices his parents liked to employ.

Eventually, he graduated high school (early, so he didn't have to deal with that needless pomp and circumstance of the ceremony, and his parents approved of this decision) with top grades and honors. But he wasn't done, he immediately applied for (and was accepted) to several notable law schools, and he would only attend the best. It was while studying here that he unceremoniously cut ties with his parents, seeing them as obstacles and nuisances to his career. This one reason he also never sought out a wife -- he didn't want the frivolity and distractions that came with such things.

He remembered what he considered his achievements, as deprived as these "accomplishments" were. He convicted an innocent, blind man for a carjacking. He convicted innocent, homeless man of housing fraud. He convicted a pyrophobic man of arson. He convicted an acrophobic woman of hijacking a small plane. He convicted an aquaphobic man for stealing a boat. He convicted a extremely photosensitive woman for stealing a spotlight. He held not remorse for these injustices, and you could say that he cast aside his humanity in order to become a soul-sucking lawyer. Even one with an impressive win record as he had.

But, in the end, it turned out that he managed to convict the wrong kid. The kid wasn't doing anything wrong, and a police officer just came up to him and fabricated an excuse to arrest him, and there was some pushback to get the police officer arrested for it, and Scott managed to get the kid in jail and get the cop off. The boy's distraught family eventually chased him down and brought Scott to what they saw as justice, having been unable to get at the former cop (which just when sixteen miles away and got a job as a cop at that precinct).

When the jump happened, he managed to instantaneously push out the rightful soul and claim her body for his own. Hee would have preferred a male body, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

He smiled when he saw that she was by herself, looking at a legal brief, and he scanned what she was doing, and saw that she could have won this case if she was more ruthless and conniving. She clearly let little things like compassion and integrity get in the way of securing a mildly easy win. Pathetic.

It was time to change that.

***

Shenmue awoke quickly, and took quick inventory of her surroundings. At first, she swore that she was in the Nether, but was a fictional world within the video game of Minecraft. It wasn't real. And she didn't want to dare think of the other place she had in mind for what this place was.

But then Shenecron showed up, and added her soul to his wealth of others. "The lawyer. Good. That makes four moles in the forum."

Then his expression soured, "Assuming that they don't foul this up, somehow."

***

"And Shenecron is the newest victim of this," Cloak said. "What do you know of this, Demos?"

"Their eyes were red, you say?" Demos said, pacing around, agitated. "Like blood-red red?"

"Parker's eyes looked normal to me," Helen interjected.

"His eyes may seem normal," Cloak said, "but managed to perceive the creature occupying his body. It was a demon with blood red eyes that glowed."

"But I thought the Mark prevented this kind of thing!!" Helen protested.

"The Mark is not an infallible safeguard," Cloak said. "It can be bypassed and broken."

This did not sit well with Helen.

"And, if these are the individuals I think them to be from your description, Cloak," Demos said, still pacing around deep in thought. "Then it isn't possession. This is astral displacement. And there are only six made-demons that I know, tangentially, that can do it."

"Six?" Helen said. "Meaning that there are two more out there, targeting RAFians?"

"You said astral displacement?" Cloak said, picking up on something different than Helen. "That implies that the RAFians' souls -- Broken, Melissa, Parker, and Shenmue -- are not inside their bodies, but cast out. Where are they? Their souls?"

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCLIV (1,254): "Too Bright" -- A Noctumbran boy somehow comes to the Prime Universe.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
Curtis "Curt" Robert Crump

The auspicious moment arrived and Curt knew that he would get his chance. To smell, to eat, to . . . all sorts of hedonistic things that he had missed. It seemed like so long since they last did this. And they caused a lovely riot when they did, rife with delicious injustice and succulent partisanship. But it seemed to by so quickly.

"Go on, Crump," Christopher said, less hostilely to Curt it seemed. "I'll get the next one."

Curt wasted no time after that, after Christopher gave him the go-ahead. He made the "jump", and, in the infinitesimal few seconds before the jump was completed and he shoved the rightful soul out and took residence in their body as if it was one of those full-body lyca suits, he reminisced about his past and how he got here.

Curt had a rather unhappy childhood. His parents didn't want him or were unable to take care of him -- he never found out. He never knew them. He was just pawned off on a promiscuous maternal aunt and an alocoholic, adulterous paternal uncle who had three failed marriages under his belt. Neither wanted anything to do with him, and each tried to pawn him off on the other.

Curt always knew that they didn't want him -- they never hid the fact. It was in these formative years that he learned to be extremely selfish, and to take what you can when you can. It never taught him any humility or anything of the sort. But it was also at this time where he gained his odd . . . fixation . . . on penguins. But he managed to keep that secret, as he understood how embarrassing it had the potential to be.

But, as soon as he could, he emancipated himself from his parents' siblings and graduated both high school and college, eventually becoming a highly sought after accountant and financial advisor. He started out legitimately enough, even if his fee was a little on the exorbitant side.

But soon he started nicking pennies from his clientele's accounts. After a while, he began to swipe nickels. Feeling bolder after a while, he started to steal dimes. Thhen he moved on to quarters, after no one called him out nor caught him doing such. He grew increasingly brazen in his theft, but he only took only so much, so as not to arouse suspicion. He didn't care if his clientele needed this money to surive. He didn't care if his sneaky robbery put his clients in dire straits. He opined that that was not his concern.

It was at this point he lost his humanity, and he grew more and more complacent, until he began to get sloppy with his theft. He began to ignore his initial safeguards that he put into place, to prevent unwanted attention to his underhanded fiscal practices. He grew ambivalent and ****y, believing that he was untouchable. He was completely remorseless for his actions, incapable of feeling anything for his victims.

And this cost him. Cost him quite dearly.

While the country's legal system left him untouched, one of his victimized clients wasn't so amiable with this and preferred to take matters into their own hands. He broke into Crump's ostentatiously decorated, needlessly expensive home, which was far easier than it should have been, and stabbed Crump. It wasn't an immediately lethal strike, and it wasn't so by design.

Of course, Crump awoke instantly, and when he did his would-be murderer deliberately twisted his blade. He wanted to make Crump suffer, not only for stealing his money, but for betraying his trust. This man wasn't exactly a stable individual, and this was a mistake that Crump had made. But never regretted stealing from these people, and he would have no compunction not to do it again, despite dying a very slow, agonizing death because of it.

Once he was thoroughly ensconced in flesh again, he couldn't stifle a broad, almost goofy smile on his purloined face. It really was too long before he was back in flesh. He couldn't stifle this elation.

"Wipe that stupid smile off your new body's face," said a voice at roughly ten o'clock to him.

***

GH awoke and immediately hoped that he was in some sort of fever dream. He had hoped that he wasn't were he suspected he was. He wanted to be wrong. But GH, despite what his goofy flippancy (and Kane) might suggest to the contrary, was not a stupid person. He knew well enough to correctly guess where he was -- but he hoped beyond hope that was wrong. However, catching sight of Shenecron only confirmed it. He reached for his guitar, deciding to try Orpheus-ing his way out of her, only to realize that it wasn't there. His guitar was the medium from which he channeled his musical power. Without it . . .

 "Ah. The musician," the dragon-man said. "Good. The donation of your body to the cause and your soul to my wealth will be noted, mortal."

 No, it would not, and Shenecron knew this perfectly well as he sucked GH into the capsule, the Soul Jar, that held most of his wealth of souls. He was becoming a bit complacent, feeling that maybe Demos's pets wouldn't be a problem to his schemes any longer, due to having four -- soon to be five -- moles in them. Those Insidious Six were really easy to manipulate, and they didn't really even know! Shenecron took an inordinate amount of amusement from this.

***

"I would have thought it was obvious, Cloak," Demos said, in a succinct, matter-of-fact way. "They're in Hell. Literal Hell."

Cloak was afraid of this. Despite the fact that Realm Walkers can pretty much go wherever they want within a realm, the curious thing was they couldn't enter the realms of Heaven nor Hell. It was like trying to force two magnetic poles of the same or similar polarity together. This had never really bothered Cloak, as he had it, Hell was full of petty ****s and trolling douchebags and Heaven was full of sanctimonious, presumptuous, pompous elitists with an irriating holier-than-thou disposition. Neither imparting particularly desirous company -- but Cloak had never been to either (and would never be able to), so this could have been all conjecture.

"That means I cannot do anything to save them," Cloak said.

"How can you say that?!" Helen demanded. "They need our help!"

"I'm not saying this because I don't want to, Helen," Cloak said, patiently. "I saying that I can't because I quite literally can't. Heaven and Hell are like no-fly zones for Realm Walkers."

"What?"

"I'll elaborate at a time when we're not on a potential time crunch," Cloak said, finger rubbing his feline chin. "As it stands, I think I have a plan. But it requires the help of the two of you."

"What do you propose?" Demos asked.

"First, Helen, make sure your ring is fully charged, and then Demos --"

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCLV (1,255): "Attractions" -- The RAFians' enemy seeks shards of fallen villains.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Christopher Noah Rannells

The next auspicious moment happened nearly immediately after Crump's. He lazily made the jump. Unlike the others, it really didn't take him any real effort. He was a practiced hand at this, and his target, in his opinion, wasn't very strong. He didn't even put up a fight, but he always chose kids as targets -- maybe as a flag because he died as a kid, or because he didn't want to take an adult or another subconscious reason that Christopher himself wasn't aware of.

As with his five underlings, in the infinitesimal seconds before the "jump" was complete, he found himself reflecting upon his life on Earth. He was born into a dreary orphanage. His parents didn't want him, or they died. He didn't know, and he didn't care. He only truly cared about himself and his own well-being. He didn't even care about the bodies he wore like a Halloween costume. If they died, he'd be sent right back to Hell, his powers intact.

And the soul he displaced would remain there. Its how he gained his moderate wealth in Hell once he became a demon. And he became so much easier than the others because his father was supposedly a demon. Maybe even Shenecron himself. He didn't know, and he didn't care. He actually found it difficult to care about anything. Well, except his reputation, that is.

In life, he would use force and fear to intimidate and bully his fellow orphans. He would take their personal affects, despite none of them having very many to begin with. He honestly didn't care about the items themselves or having them as trophies. He just enjoyed the taking of them, and depriving others of it. That's the real reason why did it, because it amused him to do so.

He had easily managed to wrest a tarnished ring from a sanctimonious boy, to wrest a diary from an outsider girl, to wrest a cup from fat little girl, to wrest a locket from a formerly homeless boy, to wrest a costume tiara from an abandoned girl, to wrest a baby doll from a girl who adored it (he found this especially enjoyable), and a stuffed snake from a nosy girl with no good sense. His reputation eventually proceeded him, and he was greatly feared and avoided whenever possible.

He enjoyed this reputation greatly. He was like a feared predator, and he savored it greatly. Granted, this led to his accident which killed him, and the accident was humiliating and embarrassing to an horrible extent. He never told anyone the circumstances of it, and did not relish the memory of it. He actively chose not to remember it.

He looked around and saw that he was inside a child's body, and felt his face, mildly surprised at how scaly it was when his new hands looked perfectly human. It took him not time at all to realize that he -- that this boy was wearing a suit that made him look so realistically like a human. He replaced the head portion, and went to go look at himself in the mirror, and he thought that this kid, in his human suit, looked pretty cute.

But then he saw "GH" smiling all goofy-like, and this irritated him. He turned away from the mirror, and, knowing full well that it was Crump in charge, ""Wipe that stupid smile off your new body's face."

"B-boss?" Crump said, seemingly deflating from his euphoria.

"You already know the answer to that," Christopher said. He exhibited none of Leatherhead's mannerisms, and spoke like someone far older than the six-year-old form he inhabited currently.

***

Leatherhead awoke and he was terrified. This was the kind of thing that could scar a child for life. There is a reason why the word "hellish" has an extremely negative connotation after all. He was only six, after all, and still an innocent soul.

"The boy," a scary dragon-man said. Sure, there were superficial similarities between Leatherhead and Shenecron, but Leatherhead was perceptive enough to tell that Shenecron was a bad guy. But Leatherhead had no chance to understand what was happening before he was added to Shenecron's wealth of souls inside his Soul Jar. "That's all six. Even if they fail, at least I have six more souls now."

He raised the small white capsule that was his Soul Jar, which only contained part of his wealth -- he didn't put the entirety of his wealth in it for safety reasons -- and eyed it carefully, as if he could see the souls inside shifting arouund, as if they were some kind of liquid.

"And one was even a child's soul, as well," he smiled. Children's souls, being so pure and unvarnished, were especially and exceptionally valuable to the demons, born or made. They were worth more than the biggest diamonds down here.

[Cloak]

All titles are subject to change.

Book MCCLVI (1,256): "They Hafta PP" -- The RAFians' enemy is after the Polymerization Protocol device.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Semi-Covert Meet-Up

"You will not tell the others what you saw," Christopher said, in Leatherhead's voice. He was patting his stolen face, making sure that the suit wasn't limp or distorted in places. He didn't know that all the RAFians knew about Leatherhead's "play suit". But he didn't have access to Leatherhead's memories, nor did the other members of the Insidious Six. "You will pretend that this boy is human, and the appearance you see in this skintight suit is his actual skin. Understand?"

Despite not being forthright and tell Curt his reasoning outright, he did have a good reason to want to keep this a secret. As mentioned before, he didn't trust anyone, let alone his minions, as he thought of them. He was only trusting Curt this much only out of necessity. He wouldn't have bothered, otherwise. He wanted his underlings to underestimate him, and be surprised when this boy is really an anthropomorphic crocodilian. And, to be fair, he wasn't really trusting Curt -- he was trusting the fear that he instilled in the made demon to goad him into sheer obedience.

But he was expecting an ambush, or a sort of mutiny at any time. It is why he endeavored to keep a crushing iron grip on his underlings. He was always a bit of a fascist in this regard.

"Why?" Curt said, in GH's voice, using GH's fingers to play his guitar. Badly.

The glare that Christopher gave was so uncharacteristic of Leatherhead that it was surprising that his eyes could even be so bloodthirsty and cold. Curt flinched GH's body, as he cowered from the look.

"Are you questioning me?" he said, though he made Leatherhead's voice sound very near a snarl.

"N-no," Curt said, making GH's body cower. Suddenly, his face spasmed to a blank expression before returning to Curt's quiet whimpering. Christopher didn't notice, and neither did Curt apparently.

"Now," Christopher said, with a snap in Leatherhead's voice. "Let's go find those other four fools, and then I shall say what our next step is going to be."

Curt hastened to obey, and it was odd. He, too, had none of GH's mannerisms or behaviors (as he no more had the guitarist's memories than any of his fellows had their pilfered bodies' memories). And he swore he heard some deep baritone voice chuckling malevolently, but he couldn't see where the voice came from, and assumed that he imagined the whole thing.

"What's the hold up, Crump?" Christopher demanded in Leatherhead's voice.

"N-nothing, sir," he sniveled. "I'm . . . I'm coming."

"Good," "Leatherhead" said, leading the way. He didn't even bother to look back to see if Crump was legitimately following him. He knew he would. Just because they were ensconced in flesh once more didn't mean that he couldn't revoke the abilities that he granted to these witless wonders.

It wasn't long before he found Gansley and Leichter, finding Johnson afterward, and the last one, Nezbitt. Christopher noticed and chastised them all for holding their purloined bodies so stiffly. He lectured them that they needed to appear relaxed and at ease if they were truly going to prove his reputation to that dingbat, Shenecron.

He didn't think that they could take down RAF. He may not have said explicitly, but that's what he inferred. And Christopher would show him, and his stupid minions would not foul it up. He wouldn't allow it.

He believed, now that they they were in -- literally, in some sensibilities -- that it would be easy. These meatsacks were not only perfect disguises, but they were perfect shields. He believed that this would be simple, straightforward and easy.