Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLVII (1,257): "Toyman's Toys" -- A box of Toyman's unique toys are found.

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
The Lure

"The first step was taken," Christopher said, his voice was low. He didn't want to be overheard, because it would make things hard for them. They would have to find new meat shields, which would mean waiting for more auspicious moments. And there was no telling how long that that would take. It was better not to arouse that kind of suspicion. "We have the meat shields."

There was a smattering of noises of agreement from the other five. Less so from Crump, who was still the malevolent, amused chuckling. It was annoyingly distracting, and a bit creepy, honestly, as no one else seemed to hear it.

"We have the meat shields, and that means that they'll be hesitant to attack us, for fear of harming their friends." Christopher said, in Leatherhead's voice. "But do not get reckless or cavalier about this. Do not get overconfident, do not let your guard down. Do not allow them to notice anything wrong with their friends. Pretend to be your meatsack."

"But, sir," Johnson said, in Shenmue's voice, "we don't have access to any of their memories or thoughts. We don't know their thoughts. We don't even know their names."

Then he caught sight of the glowering look on Leatherhead's face, and cowered before him. Christopher secretly loved this reaction. He loved being able to control people with a single glowering look. He reveled in having this power over people, completely enthralled by it. But he didn't show any of this elation on Leatherhead's face, however, as to not undermine his authority.

"Keep your nose down, and . . ." he began, before he saw something that stole his attention. It was a softball-sized orb of slightly-pulsating energy that continually shifted from gold to scarlet to back to gold again. All six looked at it, entranced by it, as if it was a lava lamp or something. No one said anything more, all six perfectly enraptured by this undulating, fiery energy orb.

It seemed like forever that they stood there, just staring at this orb. None of them knew why it was so alluring, why it was so fascinating to watch. Only Crump seemed to not be as interested in as that baritone chuckling was now starting to escalate into a deep belly laugh. It was distracting -- but imaginary, he assumed. This meatsack must have been crazy. Literally crazy, and now he had to deal with its messed-up brain.

But then the orb began to bob away serenely and almost lazily away. But none of the six, not even Crump, was about to allow it to get away. None knew why it was so important, it just was to them. They all gave chase, almost desperate to watch its fiery undulations some more. It entranced them so thoroughly that they followed it without nary a thought for their stolen bodies' safety.

Christopher, in particular, wanted to know what it was. Despite what he would say to the contrary, he still had his boyish curiosity about things. He wanted to know what this thing was. He wanted to watch it, sure, but he also wanted to dissect it and find out what it was. He was very much the type of boy who would torture animals and pull the wings off a fly.

They followed it until they were well out of the forum, and no other RAFian impeded their path. But they didn't really care about this. They didn't really care about maintaining their facade anymore. They were too enraptured by this floating orb, by this strange will-o'-the-wisp. They need to keep it in sight, they needed to keep seeing it.

It never occurred to any of them (except Crump, who heard the figment voice say that it was an obvious trap) that this was a trap of any sort. Christopher was especially responsible for this viewpoint.

The orb went inside a nearby cave, and the six followed it, withe Christopher, in Leatherhead's human-suited body, in the lead. None of them seemed to realize that the air was getting thinner and thinner as they went forward. They didn't even realize it when all six succumbed to unconsciousness ridiculously quickly. Nezbitt wasn't even wearing Parker's helmet, it lay discarded just outside his thread.

[Cloak]

Titles are subjected to change.

Book MCCLVIII (1,258): "Red Knights" -- Some Knights of Humanity become Red Lanterns.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Meanwhile, in Hell . . .

Crump was whining and blubbering like a baby because his stolen body wouldn't wake up. He was still conscious in a rather odd, indescribable manner. Not unlike the state Cloak enters to communicate Aniyu, Destiny, or any past Elements Master before him. Crump wasn't too happy with being in this void of sensory deprivation.

"Oh, for the love of Cassie," said an irritated voice, with a slight cowboy twang to it, "will you quit it already?"

"Wait," Crump said, still blubbering, "who said that?"

"Call me . . . Anderson," said the Mummudrai said, appearing in its base form of the armadillo mascot of GH's roadhouse employer. "Armadillo Anderson."

"Wha--" Crump said, thoroughly nonplussed at the person in front of him.

"And, for the record, I was inhabiting this guy before it was 'cool'." he said.

"How the hell did you get here?" the demon demanded.

"That's my business," he said, the mascot mouth actually lip-synching to his words. "How'd you get here? Oh, wait, never mind. Astral displacement. Crude."

"Perhaps we could come to some sort of . . . arrangement?" Crump said, seeing this thing could be a potential ally. "Like roommates?"

"Not to be pedantic, but would technically be 'mind-mates'." the Mummudrai chortled at his little joke, before he added, "yeah, but no. That will never work out."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm kicking you out," the psionic parasite answered swiftly. Then , suddenly, Crump found himself back in Hell.*

***

Shenecron was milling around his palace, wondering if those stupid Insidious Six peons had gotten rid of the potential threat that RAFians may pose to his plans and schemes. He did not have any viewing device -- he didn't have that kind of foresight that Malice did. Besides, Earth-Hell reception was never the best.

"Shenecron!" Demos shouted, calling his half-brother's attention to himself. Deliberately. "So sorry to spoil your little picnic."

"You haven't, " Shenecron said, almost lazily, "but I can't have any RAFians mucking about. Ruining my plans."

"You are a loser, Shenecron," Demos said, deliberately trying to goad his half-brother. " you can't kill anyone."

Despite what Shenecron said next, and despite his goofy laugh, "Oh, you were always good for a laugh!"

Then the music started up. Demos allowed himself a convert smile, as this was what he wanted, and Shenecron was none the wiser. They battled as he sang, and Demos deliberately making sure Shenecron's attention is solely on him.

"I must admit
Your paltry tricks
Are amusing!
I bet you've got a bunny
Under your hat!
Now here's your chance
To get the best of me!
Hope your hand is hot!
C'mon, CLOWN,
Let's see what you've got!"

Well, truth be told, Demos didn't give it all he had. Truth was that he was pulling his attacks ever since he engaged Shenecron in this fight, and his half-brother didn't to be aware one bit of it.

"You can try to slam me
With your hardest stuff
But your double whammy
Isn't up to snuff!
I'll set the record straight!
You're simply out of date!
You're only second rate!"

Just gotta keep up the act, Demos thought. Make it look good and convincing.

"You think your cat's a meanie,
But your tiger's tame!
You've got a lot to learn
About the demon game!
So, for your education,
I reiterate.
You're only second rate!"

Good, Demos thought, keeping singing and pontificating.

"Men cower
At the power
In my pinky!
My thumb is number one
On every list!
But if you're not convinced
That I'm invincible,
Put me to the test!
I'd love to lay this rivalry to rest!"

Keep going, Shenecron, Demos thought, keep focusing on me.

"Go ahead and zap me
With a big surprise!
Slap me in a trap!
Cut me down to size!
I'll make a great escape!
It's just a piece of cake!
You're only second rate!"

Shouldn't be too much longer now, Demos thought.

"You know your hocus-pocus
Isn't tough enough.
And your mumbo-jumbo
Doesn't measure up.
Let me pontificate,
Upon your sorry state!
You're only second rate!"

There! There was the signal. The item was obtained. He had to disengage with Shenecron. And make it believable, credible, and convincing.

"So, spare me your tremendous stare.
You look horrendous in your underwear.
And I can hardly wait
To discombobulate.
I'll send your back end packing
In a shipping crate!
You'll make a better living
With a spinning plate!
You're only second rate!"

Demos quickly feigned his defeat and he ran away, with Shenecron feeling superior, his chest swelling with pride at his perceived victory, unaware that he had something stolen from him, stolen from right under his nose. . . .


SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=Jhj25HnpSRU

* Inspired by YGOTAS.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLIX (1,259): "Revolution Retribution" -- There is a regime change on Fez, and the new order comes to arrest one of their number hiding on Earth.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
An Interrogation Interpolation

The air pressure immediately returned to normal when the six were knocked out. They were then tied up against stone chairs and circled with salt with a seal above them to prevent them from escaping. Cloak gone very Winchester on them.

Behind him, in the dark, was a moderately-sized cistern full of some unseen liquid. The light was dim, but Cloak could easily see through it, via his feline night vision. Cloak was actually second-guessing his methodology for this. He feared that he may have accidentally killed them. He thought he could feel, through his Earthsight, their hearts still beating. But his anxiety about overdoing it, manipulating the air pressure in this small space.

His anxiety, his misgivings, were only abated when he saw them beginning to stir. But he also saw the demons' true forms superimposed over the physical, tangible bodies of his friends and allies. Demos told him about the tales of the Insidious Six, and he would interrogate them. See if he could get information out of them . . . but it would be a farce, just to keep these six in one place. To hold them, to prevent them from escaping until they could make right the major wrong that they've done.

They groaned . . . and they sounded so much like his friends. He wanted to say that he could hear the demons' true voices, and he could, but his mind so disobligingly focused that the voices of his friends underlayed with it.

"What happened?" the demon inside Parker's body said. He couldn't see Cloak who was turned away from them.

"Be silent!" the demon inside Leatherhead's body snapped, in a hiss. "I'll do the talking."

Apparently, he was under the impression that Cloak was either not there, or could not hear his talking. Cloak didn't know whether to be offended or amused. He decided to be amused when the demon inside Leatherhead's body decided to keep up with a fabricated facade that had already been broken with the first, minute exchange.

"M-Mister?" he said, feigning trepidation and fear. And Cloak thought, personally, that he was doing a rather poor job of it. Sure, it might have fooled someone not accustomed to such deceptions, day in and day out. "Is there anybody there?"

None of the other five said anything. GH appeared to be unconscious, but Cloak could no longer see the demon in his body. Perhaps because he decided to bury himself deeper into him . . . but those would be questions for a later time.

"M-Mister?"

Cloak's initial silence on this was actually a test. A test as to just how much information these demons got from their stolen bodies, and how much of the memories of the RAFians in question do they have access to. The fact that, as their apparent leader -- the one inside Leatherhead's body -- didn't address the Realm Walker by name, as Leatherhead knew his chosen name, that they didn't have access to much, if any of their memories.

"Why'd you tie us up?" he asked, still pretending to be a six-year-old. "Were we bad?"

"Drop the facade," Cloak said, interrupting him. The Elements Master deliberately kept his voice cold, distant, and emotionless with a tinge of aggression. He didn't want to risk giving too much away, or allowing this tinhorn dictatorial demon to see all of his cards, before he was ready to lay them on the table. "I can see you true demonic forms."

The glaring amber eyes of this nearly three-hundred-year-old being was quite intimidating. Even for Christopher, though he would never admit to it. And the fact that every movement of Cloak's was measured in some way, almost pedantically precise and purposeful.

Christopher almost let the mask slip, despite Cloak being able to literally see through it. But he wasn't about to give up the facade. He always felt that he knew better than anyone else around him. The other four (Crump was back in Hell, unconscious) knew that the facade was pointless, and the owner of these dangerous, amber, feline eyes could literally see them, even ensconced in these bodies. Prolonging the facade was a sign of desperation and futility, rather than the cunning and stunning play that Christopher though it was -- he thought he was so clever by doing this, and he felt that convincing Cloak would be easy.

But his acting was far from being on-point, and the other four seemed to recognize that easily  but they kept their stolen mouths shut, because they didn't want Christopher to revoke their powers, and they didn't want the ignominy that came with their failure in this regard. Or worse, the ridicule of the other demons in Hell.

"But I wasn't bad!" he screeched, still attempting to play the part, despite already being made. "I'm not a demon! I wanna go home!"

"In due time," Cloak said, smoothly, not buying into his little act, "but, first, I think some questions are in order. And I think you should have some real interesting stuff -- in a rather deprived and perverted way -- to say about your activities . . . and Shenecron."

Despite himself, Christopher widened Leatherhead's eyes.

"Oh, yes, I know of Shenecron," Cloak said, "just like I know that, before me in this dimly lit room, sits the so-called Insidious Six in bodies that do not belong to them."

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLX (1,260): "A Different Kind of Ghost Rider" -- A phaetophorant "rides" bodies without taking them over, but merely as a means to get around. But then it becomes more and more parasitic.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Drop the Facade

Despite his surprise, the demon inside Leatherhead's body apparently decided to keep up the facade. He shot a furtive glare to the other four (GH's head was still bowed, and his eyes were closed, as if he was just . . . empty), to ensure their silence. Despite the fact that Gansly, Johnson, Leichter, and Nezbitt could easily tell thang the jig was up. The four looked at each other, each wondering the same thing.

Was being able to astral displace really worth it? Was it really worth putting up with a spoiled, childish cambion who kept threatening to take it away. Yes, he was technically a rich, spoiled, childish cambion, but he wouldn't have amassed his moderate collection of souls without them. He just took them before any of the five realized the value or realized that they were currency in Hell.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he said, trying to sound like a hysterical six-year-old. He even managed a few tears, but the facade was already broken, and the leader demon within Leatherhead's body was steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the fact that they were made. He had severe overconfidence in his acting ability -- though Cloak could see how it might be convincing to people who couldn't see the demon's true form superimposed over the boy's body, nor hear the demon's true voice overlayed the boy's own voice. "I just wanna go home!!"

"Your facade has already broken," Cloak said, maintaining the cold, distant, emotionless demeanor. He was used to compartmentalizing his emotions, used to hiding his feelings, that this was almost easy for him to do. "I can see you."

"I wanna go home!" he wailed, but it was obviously an insincere wail. The other four looked at each other again, once more wondering if being able to astral displace was worth dealing with this. The facade was clearly over, and yet, here he was, clearly trying to keep up a broken facade. "Lemme go! I wanna go home!"

"ENOUGH," Cloak said, firmly, and showing the first bit of emotion, a bit of temper, for the first time in this encounter. "You fool no one, demon. I can see you. I can hear you. I can hear and see you as you truly are. I know that you're a demon inhabiting the boy, and I can tell that you're lying. Now, kindly, drop the facade."

"I wanna go --"

"Christopher Noah Rannells, ENOUGH!" Cloak roared.

This actually stunned Christopher into silence, as well as causing the other four to drop their jaws. Yes, Cloak knew the identities of all six when they were alive, though that took some quick digging and experimental facial recognition programs that the science boys were tinkering with.

 "Yes, I know about your life as the human Christopher Noah Rannells, a cambion with a demon father and a human mother. And I know about Curtis Robert Crump, Scott Wayne Andrew Johnson, Lawrence David Nezbitt, Lector Nicholas Thomas Leichter, and Antoine Eric Marc Gansley. I also know what a deplorable lot you are."

"I . . . I don't know what you're talking about, Mister!" Christophesaid, desperately trying to recover, and doing so poorly. "I just want to go home! Lemme go!"

Cloak was annoyed, but he did have one card left to play. And you could call it a . . . trap card, so to speak. The digging may have proven to be fruitful.

"P-please, Mister," he blubbered, but it was clearly an act, "lemme go home!"

"You know," Cloak said, deciding to play the card, "I always thought humans were made of sterner stuff. I never thought one could die by being . . . thrown down a flight of stairs. Were you just one of the weaker specimens, Chris?"

It didn't help that Christopher hated to be called "Chris" or "Topher" or any derivative.

"I did not!" he snapped. He didn't realize that, in his anger, he abandoned the facade. "Those accursed little monsters at the orphanage rose up against me and pushed me down the stairs when I wasn't looking and was off-guard! Had been a fair encounter, the result would have been far different!! Those little brats owed me what I took, and they lost any right to them! I got them back in the end, though. I took all their --"

It was at this point that he realized that he broke character, and thus broke the facade to pieces. He made a halfhearted attempt to return to the facade.

"I mean, I wanna . . . I wanna . . ." he said , before he hardened Leatherhead's face and spoke plainly, "okay, fine. I'm not . . . this boy."

So, they didn't retain any memory of the bodies they steal. They clearly don't even know there names. Interesting information.

"But you can't keep us here," he said, "I can still get us out of here."

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXI (1,261): "Speak No Evil" -- The RAFians encounter a vocemimus, who, ironically, has no voice of their own.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Is Cloak Channelling the Winchesters?

Christopher bowed Leatherhead's head and begun muttering in Latin. It was a fast and furious Latin, but Cloak was well aware of what he was planning. He foresaw it immediately. Which was precisely why he made this trap as he did. As Christopher muttered his little spell, Cloak raised his fingers, prepared to immediately undo what he had done.

A fissure had appeared in the seal above Leatherhead's body. Christopher smiled a smile of malice that Leatherhead would have never made. But then Cloak's fingers snapped and the fissure vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"I do hope that that wasn't your grand plan to free yourself," Cloak said, dryly. "Because it is something I can remedy easily, with far less effort on my part. I would heavily advise against doing it again, as it will be fundamentally effortless for me, but you will drain yourself of your energy."

Christopher made Leatherhead glare at Cloak. Cloak was secretly dismayed to see such arrogant hatred etched upon the boy's suited face. But he had a role to perform as Demos and Helen had theirs.

 "Ah, you've finally decided to be reasonable," Cloak sakd, with a note of grim optimism . "That should make things go smoother."

"What do you want?" he sajd, and it was clearly from his intonation and how he delivered the statement that clearly said that he was tired of fighting the Realm Walker, and decided to give in into him. The other four looked at each other, still conveying the incredulity at having placed Christopher on a pedestal above them, expressing the disbelief that the fact that they put up with this pipsqueak for so long, each had forgotten how they fell in with this brat.

"Well, I would say information," Cloak said, "but you've already given me a wealth of that without even being aware of it."

Then he saw something that apparently he was waiting for, and there was a subtle change of tact when he spoke again. "But I think I've gotten all the pertinent information I can use. So, I give you five an ultimatum. Leave those bodies you stole, and give them back to their rightful owners."

"And if we don't?" Christopher said, mulishly stubborn.

"Then I will have to use force," Cloak said, being deliberately vague.

"Oh, careful now," Christopher said, more confident now, "don't want to bruise this adorable packaging."

"It won't hurt him," Cloak replied smoothly. "Have you not considered what liquid is in this cistern behind me?"

Cloak raised his hand and a trickle of a geyster shot up, and then Cloak used the water whip technique to splash Leatherhead with it. It steamed and Christopher cried out in pain, though Leatherhead's human suit was undamaged, only slightly wet.

"Holy water," Cloak said. "I'm told it Bursting hurts demons, while leaving their stolen goods undamaged. It would seem that this bears out."

Christopher made Leatherhead's body gasp and grunt from the pain that he alone felt.

"Feel like capitulating now?" Cloak said, sternly.

"This boy is still my meatsack puppet," he grunted. "I'll make him bite off his tongue."

"Then you will force me to do something drastic. Something that I really don't want to resort to." Cloak said, almost somberly. "Even without a full moon."

The last bit meant nothing to Christopher. But Cloak knew all the pieces were now in place. "Now. Chris. The ultimatium is issued. What is your decision? Will you leave willing, and give back what you've taken? Or do I have to force you to?"

Meanwhile, Ant in the body of Broken, Scott in the body of Shenmue, Lawrence in the body of Parker (without his helmet), and Lector in the body of Melissa looked at one another, then at GH's body. It hung over eyes closed, as if he was just deeply unconscious. But they knew that he was somehow empty, but his body still functioned. It was like an idling car. Curt Crump had abandoned them, they concluded, as they held no knowledge of Armadillo Anderson or Mummudrai, as a species of psionic parasites. Then they looked at Christopher with accusatory eyes. It was as if they were on the cusp of making a decision without uttering a single word.

"What are fools looking at?" Christopher in Leatherhead's body snapped. He seemed unaware of was going to happen.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXII (1,262): "Hear No Evil" -- A deaf man can hear, but remotely, through someone else's ears. The RAFians call this "remote listening".

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
The Mutiny

"That's it," said Scott in Shenmue's body. "I've had enough."

"I told you to be silent," Christopher said, in a forceful, petulant hiss with a glower meant to intimidate, but just came off as a pouting, childish expression. "I will do the talking."

"And you've done nothing but royally bungle it up!" Ant in Broken's body said, defiantly.

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner!" Christopher said, sounding quite affronted. He didn't like that he was losing control over his minions. Cloak, however, was allowing this to play out. This mutiny could work to his advantage. "You know what that means, don't you?!"

"Being able to astral displace souls from their meatsacks is a fun ability, and good way to garner souls, but this isn't worth it anymore." Lawrence in Parker's body said, with  monotone infliction. "Being constantly verbally abused by some runt with egomanical tendencies? It's not worth it anymore."

"I will take the power away from you!" Christopher said, no longer sounding like demonic threat, but a schoolyard bully whose lackeys had decided to drop him as their boss. And he was desperate to keep them, as they were basically the only true social interaction he got regularly, despite viewing them as lackeys. Which was pretty much what was going down. "Don't push me on this! I will back up my threat."

The four of them looked at each other again, with very ambivalent expressions upon their stolen faces. This just seemed to make Christopher irate.

"Stop looking at each other like that!" he snapped. "Don't forget who calls the shots around here!!"

All four -- Crump was already back in Hell -- exchanged disgusted, disgruntled looks and aimed glowering, dismissive looks at Christopher. The cambion dis not like nor enjoy this new dissonance from his minions. They were supposed to do as he said, and follow his commands without question. They weren't supposed to mutiny like this!

"I'm done with this," Ant said, closing Broken's eyes. He didn't care if he was giving up this meatsack, he was really fed up with this nesting doll twerp. "And I'm done with you."

There was only the most minute of tremors, the almost imperceptible slight convulsion, to indicate that Ant Gansley had decided to completely vacate Broken's body. It hung over, still bound, like puppet with cut strings. Not unlike GH.

"Gansley! You freaky fish guy!" Christopher roared. "Get back here! I didn't dismiss you! Gansley!!"

"Ugh," Lawrence said with disgust. "I'll find another way out of Hell, without being on your leash."

Lawrence closed Parker's eyes, as there was only the smallest tremors across the SPARTAN's body to indicate that Lawrence had ditched it. It lurched forward, like a lifeless shell, not unlike Broken and GH.

"Nezbitt! Get back here!" Christopher in Leatherhead's body screeched. "You robo-fascist! You do as I say!!"

Apparently, Christopher did not have the emotional maturity to know that name-calling very rarely, exceedingly so, makes it so that people will capitulate to your whims, unless they're really pathetic. And clearly the demon fellows that he thought of as minions and beneath him, the fellow demons sho he expected to curry his every whim, had had enough of it. There was no telling how long this went on, but, judging from what Demos had said, it had been a good, long stretch of this bratty individual throwing his weight around.

Scott said nothing, he just ditched Shenmue's body, which was only demonstrated the easily-unnoticed tremor, the slightest convulsion. Shenmue's eyes slammed shut as her body fell foward, supported by the bindings.

Christopher was getting more and more apoplectic. If he wasn't careful, he might have caused Leatherhead a heart attack or something. "Johnson! You bloodthirsty maggot! Get back here! We're not done here!"

"Yes," Lector, in Melissa's body said, closing her eyes, "we are."

The slight tremor, the single convulsion, signaled Lector's ditching of Melissa's body. All five RAFians bodies were now empty. (Except GH, but Armadillo Anderson didn't want to make his presence known, and he was intimidated by the creature in the cloak in the dark.)

"Leichter! You miserable toady! Get back here!" Christopher roared, a crocodilian roar intermingling with his words, surprising him. He swiftly tried to hide it, despite the fact that Cloak already knew Leatherhead's true nature.

 "They're gone, Chris," Cloak said, in a staid manner. "So, I'll issue you the ultimatum again."

"I am not abandoning this boy's body," he said. "You'll have to force me out."

[Cloak]

Releasing tomorrow's chapter a tad early.

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXIII (1,263): "See No Evil" -- A clinically blind man is able to see through the eyes of others, and he seeks help from the RAFians.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Are We Gonna Have a Problem, Christopher?

"I'll ask again," Cloak said. "Leave the boy."

"No."

Cloak hydrokinetically pulled the water from the cistern and splashed leatherhead's body with it. The boy's body was unharmed, but it steamed, indicating the pain inflicted to Christopher. And Cloak still had more, hydrokinetically hovering behind him.

"Leave," he said, his voice firm and parental. However, this just caused Christopher to become more mulish and obstinate.

"No!" he spat. "I won't leave this body!"

He was splashed again. Cloak didn't like torturing him, but he had to try to get him out -- he wasn't sure that "Expellicorpus" would even work. As such, he didn't want to bank on it. And, then again, there were other, more invasive ways to pull Christopher out.

"Leave."

"No!" Christopher said, resolutely obstinate in this manner. "I will not abandon this boy's body!"

He refused to acknowledge the futility of the situation he found himself in. All he knew was that he had to keep his reputation intact. But he refused to acknowledge the fact that it was already too late. There was no way that he would have been able to take down the forum, much less even if he had the other five. Alone? It wasn't even in the realm of possibility.

Cloak splashed him again. He knew of another way to get him out, but he would rather Christopher left of his own accord. The other way had no guarantee of leaving Leatherhead's body unharmed, due to the more invasive, intrusive manner it employed. Cloak really did not want to use that way . . . but he was nearly out of holy water. He may have to employ this methodology.

"Leave the boy, Chris," Cloak said. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Demos and Helen, hidden from Christopher by the darkness, gathering the unconscious bodies of GH, Shenmue, Parker, Melissa, and Broken. They would be putting their souls back into their proper places. But Christopher was too busy writhing in pain, which was not reflected on Leatherhead's body, and groaning and grunting coming from it.

"I'll make him bite off his tongue!" he threatened, only to be responded with more holy water to the face. And it was the last of the water. The pain Christopher felt was excruciating. But he didn't care. His will was stronger than any pain. He had to show that he was still in control, despite it being obvious that he wasn't in control of the situation.

"You won't be in him long enough," Cloak said, resigned to what he may have to do. But first he would try the spell. Maybe it would work, maybe it would cast him out. Maybe the holy water made him weak enough to succumb to it when he might have been strong enough to resist, ordinarily. "Expellicorpus."

To Cloak's relief, the spell worked. Christopher was cast out of Leatherhead's body and sent back to Hell. Cloak wouldn't have to resort to that more invasive method. And there was no guarantee that that would have even worked.

Cloak looked to his right and saw Helen and Demos deftly "reinstalling" the RAFians' rightful souls into their proper bodies. Everything, at least, on the surface, seemed fine.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXIV (1,264): "The Ultimate Prankster" -- A spirit uses the Internet to play a game of cat and mouse with authorities.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Straight to Hell in a Hand Basket

Christopher looked around confused. One moment, he was, as he saw it, bravely standing up against that cloaked figure with the glowing eyes. He saw it as courageous, when, in reality, it was bratty and mulishly stubborn. But when the cloaked twit uttered that word, he found himself immediately sinking . . . down, down, down . . . in an infinitesimal amount of time, he found himself back in Hell.

Now, part of him was mad, because he actually enjoyed being in Leatherhead's body. He loved it on a rather visceral level, though he would never openly acknowledge it. But the thing that really got him was how he failed to really accomplish anything, while inside Leatherhead's body. Again, he was far too proud and too arrogant to openly acknowledge it. He never admitted fault, and he wasn't about to start now.

He could always wait for another auspicious moment to retake Leatherhead's body, if possible. If not, he could always astral displace another. Ensconcing himself within flesh, to enjoy the pleasures that came from inhabiting flesh. Not to mention to adding another soul to his impressive coffers, even considering how volatile a currency souls are. Granted, most of his coffers grew rapidly because he had the other five helping him out, and he would take all the souls for himself. He would never acknowledge that they helped him at all, preferring to disparage them as idiots and fools and deem them his minions and lackeys.

"So," said a voice to his right, roughly at five o'clock. He recognized the voice. It belonged to someone who was basically the last person that Christopher wanted to see at this particular moment, to witness his utter failure in this regard. It was embarrassing. "You failed to take down Demos's pets."

Christopher didn't turn around. The embarrassment was all-consuming at this point. "This is just a momentary setback, that's all."

"I would have to disagree," Shenecron said, leaning against a wall of his palace.

"Fine. I don't care," Christopher said, testily. He still didn't turn around, as he was furiously looking for and waiting for an auspicious moment to show itself, but he wasn't coming up with anything. He would salvage this, yet.

"You see," Shenecron said, as if addressing a sticky point. "That's a problem. You should care."

"Well, I don't," he snapped. He was really hoping for an auspicious moment to present itself, to get him out of this awkward situation. He'd deal with those five backstabbing traitors later. "Deal with it."

"Well," Shenecron said, almost lazily, "that's the thing. You should care. Have you ever heard what an oral contract is?"

This granted Shenecron Christopher's undivided attention.

"I never agreed to anything," he said, at once, knowing Shenecron's proclivity to contracts, his proclivity of using manipulative rhetoric to fool targets. Christopher would not be such a victim. He would not allow it.

Shenecron smiled at this, causing a modicum of dread to bubble within Christopher.

"But . . . you did," Shenecron said, his smile deepening. "Don't you remember? When you were so presumptuous to accept my offer, just to prove me wrong when I implied that you were incapable of doing it?"

 Christopher looked down, trying furiously to think back. He couldn't find a flaw in this. But that wasn't an oral contract. It wasn't . . . was it?

"I've already added your friends to my . . . collection," Shenecron putting his hand on the cambion boy's shoulder, steering him into a back room. It was dark, but like a closet.

"B-but I gave you six souls!" Christopher said, trying desperately to escape Shenecron's grip. He knew what was in this dark closet, and what Shenecron intended to do to him. He wasn't about to allow it -- all he needed was a conveniently-timed auspicious moment to get him out of this sticky situation.

Sure, the other five were now deformed polyps in Shenecron's closeted garden. But, if only a convenient auspicious moment could happen, then he could put a hapless soul in his place, to take his fate for him, and allow him freedom. He knew it was ludicrous to hope such a thing would save him from a fate that could be seen as worse than death. If only an auspicious moment would make itself known!

"You did not," Shenecron said, his pseudo-friendly demeanor evaporating, revealing the cold, monstrous demeanor that laid beneath it. "All six vanished. You clearly decided to shortchange me, Christopher. And that . . . is not what we agreed on. You backed out of your end."

"I did not!" He hoped futilely for an auspicious moment to come and save him, still. But none did. Christopher's fate was sealed. And, though he didn't want to admit or acknowledge it, he knew it. "Those backstabbers might have, but I did not!"

But, even now, it was too late. There was no way that he could talk his way out of this. Shenecron would never believe him. Shenecron didn't realize that Helen had pickpocketed him with her ring, had stolen his Soul Jar capsule right from under his scaly nose while he was singing at Demos.

Shenecron pushed Christopher into the inky cesspool, despite the cambion's meek resistance. After falling into the inky, water-like substance, all he saw was blackness and vague shapes as he shrunk. His arms degenerated and withered away. His legs fused together and stuck him fast to the stony floor. His eyes enlarged to cartoonish porportions, and his mouth became a gaping, gnashing thing. Tendrils spouted from his face.

He was a polyp now, just like the other silhouetted forms around him. He couldn't yell, he could speak at all. He could barely move. It was torture -- especially after becoming accustomed with being able to essentially become anyone in the material world, by astral displacing their souls into Hell. Now he was in a hell within Hell.

He could rant and rave and roar all the vulgarities and obscenities that hd knew, but not on, not even himself, could hear them. But there something even more horrible at work. This inky water had not only transformed him, but it seemed to be ebbing away, dissolving his very sense of identity and individuality. Corroding and eroding jt away.

It wasn't long before he was unable to remember his life or afterlife. Difficult to remember anything before coming into this well of ignominy, this well of the forgotten. Soon, very soon, he couldn't remember his own name.

Within hours, he could no long form complex thoughts. Then he further degenerated into being unable to form even a coherent thought. Then he degenerated to the point he couldn't form a single thought, and he couldn't really be called alive anymore.

Christopher was truly gone, as were his five cohorts.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXV (1,265): "Lame Magic" -- The backstory of Faerie comes to light.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Son of Mine, Proud of Me

After this ordeal, Leatherhead became distant and withdrawn. GH saw this and knew what to do at once. He drew Leatherhead in close, and the boy was still wearing his human suit, which was more of a play suit that the anthropomorphized crocodilian was fond of. And GH kindly and softly sang for his adopted son:

"Son of mine, don't you cry.
Son of mine, dry your eyes.
Rest your head close to my heart,
Never to part.
Son of mine."

Leatherhead did rest his head against GH's chest. He could hear his adopted father's heartbeat. This was strangely soothing.

"Little one,
Let those eyes sparkle and shine.
Never a tear,
Son of mine."

Little Leatherhead continued to cuddle against GH, feeling comforted by both his presence and song.

"From your head to your toes,
You're so sweet, goodness knows.
You are so precious to me.
Cute as can be.
Son of mine."

GH found comfort himself in this, and Leatherhead felt better with each verse.

"Son of mine,
Son of mine."

GH and Leatherhead sat there, in their thread, just holding each other in such a comforting way.

***

Cloak sat before his effigy of his aunt, Wheeza. He was missing her . . . it wasn't too long ago, in Realm Walker terms, that he had lost her. It hadn't even been a year yet. He found himself tearing up, and he sang quietly to himself.

"Proud of me,
I'll make you proud of me.
Believe me, bad as I've been, Wheeza,
You're in for a pleasant surprise.
I've wasted time.
I've wasted me.
So say I'm slow for my age,
A late bloomer -- okay, I agree!
That I've been one rotten kid.
Some nephew, some pride, and some joy.
But I'll get over these lousin' up,
Messin' up, screwin' up times!
You'll see, Wheeza, now comes the better part.
Someone's gonna make good,
Cross his stupid heart.
Make good and finally make you
Proud of me.
Tell me that I've been a louse and loafer,
You won't get a fight here, 'no ma'am'.
Say I'm a goldbrick, a good-off, no good,
But that couldn't be all that I am!
Water flows under the bridge,
Let it pass, let it go!
There's no good reason that you should believe me,
Not yet, I know, but --
Someday and soon.
I'll make you proud of me,
Though I can't make myself taller,
Or smarter, or handsome, or wise!
I'll do my best, what else can I do?
Since I wasn't born perfect like you
Wheeza, I will try to
Try hard to make you
Proud of me!"

He cried again, wishing that his aunt was still alive. She was more of a mother to him than his biological mother, who just saw Cloak's father in him and little more.

"She was proud of you," said a voice behind him. He turned to see Mercy, and knew that she came up to check up on him. There they sat, and it was strangely comforting, knowing that he wasn't the only one mourning Wheeza's loss. He lost an aunt. Mercy lost an elder sister.

Cloak wasn't alone in his mourning.


SONG SOURCES: https://youtube.com/watch?v=calHOKucYMw and https://youtube.com/watch?v=kV3D1ASN7Xc&t=1s

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXVI (1,266): "Good Luck, Bad Luck" -- Bootleg Felix Felicitus runs rampant on the black market.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Flooding Forest

Blaze was dispatched to investigate a flooded forest. Why they selected him instead of Cloak or Horse or any other hydrokinetic, he didn't know. Why choose the pyrokinetic angel/djinn hybrid? He was also supposed to see if there were any survivors, as apparently it was a flash flood that was the culprit for this.

Blaze arrived at the rough approximation of the last sighting of the fiend, but he also saw no survivors -- perhaps they all managed to get out  the way in time. But he was wise enough know that his was being grossly optimistic.

He was on the cursory edge of the flooding, and he didn't see anything, really, from this vantage point. But that didn't mean that it wasn't there, of course. But, as he moved closer to the flooded area, he noticed large puddles that were barely ankle-deep. He found this to be a bad omen.

He eventually a small hill that was rather steep on one side, he saw a chasm below him, filled with water. It gave him a rather unpleasant image of a disembodied heart pumping water instead of blood. Before him there was a cave, but he decided to fly over it -- he didn't really want to be in an enclosed are like that, where he might not be able to fly out. Call it claustrophobia, he didn't care.

Of course, atop the cave, he saw a dismembered, human torso -- no head, no legs, and no arms. Not distinguishing markings of any sort. Blaze just wished that he didn't bear witness to it, as he flew to the anterior opening of the cave and continued forward.

He easily avoided a deep pit -- it helps being able to fly -- saw no one in it, and flew on. He wondered why the fiend would enjoy such an environment, as he flew over another sinkhole. It appeared most everyone -- the torso still in his mind -- had escaped the flood. Thank god.

Then he crested another hill into a marshy area that looked untouched by the flood, whose murky waters looked as if it would suck the very shoe off an unsuspecting traveller. Fortunately, Blaze could fly, and so he did. Straight into the fiend's nest.

The fiends nest was a rather narrow room with spiked, iron bars crisscrossing in "X" patterns, and the place was overgrown with moss and vines. The fiend appeared in the room by dropping its camouflage and appearing right before Blaze.

The fiend appeared to be an anthropomorphic chameleon with a haunched over posture, pod-like feet, a spike-tipped tail, two digit hands, and spinal spikes. Its human-like eyes (red sclera and black pupils) could move independently of each other, like a normal chameleon. It stood about 5'8" tall.

The fiend began its attack pattern, and Blaze prepared himself. Unsurprisingly, it could blend into its surroundings, to the point of nearly complete invisibility. But it was still easy enough to spot by the distortion it causes when it moves.

Blaze observed that, while cloaked like this, it had the proclivity to do one of two things. Either sneak up on him and lash him with its extendable tongue, occasionally in a rapid fire three-hit combo, or it will move to the top side corners of the room and reappear just fire three green, laser javelins from its spiked-tipped tail, which it swings in the direction it launches them.

It also charges a faster version of these javelins, only colored yellow, from its mouth. This one was more tricky to dodge. It always comes to the ground to use this though, giving Blaze two clues -- grounding itself and charging -- that it was going to employ this technique.

However, its most lethal attack was simply hanging from the ceiling by its tongue and causing spikes to rain on Blaze. There was no safe spot during this attack, so Blaze had to form a fiery shield with his wings and wait for the fiend to halt the attack before taking care of it.

Blaze's boomerang made it easy, actually. The boomerang lacerated the fiend to bits. It was rather graphic. But in the end, it was done.

***

Demos called it a "sutingu chamaeleo". He didn't say anything more.

***

And Malice was snoring loudly in her comfortable easy chair. She was old -- she couldn't be scheming twenty-four hours a day.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXVII (1,267): "The Ultimate Hybrid" -- The RAFians must stop a man who can alter half of his DNA.

New chapter.

BOOK CLXXXI:
SCHISM
CHAPTER ONE:
Air Base Alarm

Parker was dispatched to investigate the landing of a suspicious aircraft at an airbase. Its firepower forced the personnel to abandon the base for the time. Parker was not afraid, nor deterred by this.

He arrived, in a rather overly dramatic way, and took in his environment, trying to anticipate any angles of attacks. He couldn't see the airship, but he saw an outdoor elevator/conveyor belt system that was absolutely sure would have failed an OSHA inspection.

Parker looked over his shoulder after he rode up this clearly unsafe elevator platform, and he saw what appeared to be a fresh human heart on one of the towers. No real reason that he could conclude, it was just inexplicably, inexorably there. He wished he hadn't seen it.

Then he came to what appeared to be an air traffic control tower. Annd he saw some miscellaneous viscera in there. It didn't look at all pleasant, though the conspicuous absence of blood made it rather odd. Eerily so. Parker put it out his mind as he made his way to another building that had scaffolding all over it. He quickly navigated his way through it, ignoring the severed head below him. He tried not to think that that was the work of the fiend, when he didn't know and couldn't be sure. He looked instead to the massive airship in front of him.

Then he dashed his way to the airship along a collapsing bridge to it, landing safely. Which was good, as if he fell to his death he knew Helen would kill him. But he proceeded onward, and onboard the massive thing as it took off. Thhen the top was sheared off, leaving Parker exposed. Still in his armor, but exposed just the same.

Then the fiend decended. The fiend looked like an anthropomorphic eagle that was predominantly yellow. It had light pink sclera and dark pink pupils. It had human-like arms -- but a portable wind turbine for a right arm -- and human-like legs with aquiline feet with short, gold talons. It stood roughly two feet taller than Parker, and its wingspan was about twelve feet long.

The fiend began its attack pattern, firing a powerful, vertical tornado of wind. Thhis didn't damage Parker, just pushed him. But he just activated his magnetic fuctions of his boots. He would not be pushed off this airship, which was clearly the fiend's intention.

Then it flew out of sight, and began to dive at Parker, who managed to dodge it. He wasn't thinking consciously when he did it, he just reacted. It wasn't long before the aquiline fiend stopped this diving attack flew back into Parker's eyeline.

It rose into the air once more, but not to dive. It just flapped its wings, producing a powerful rush of air that Parker swore he could feel through his armor. He couldn't really, but it was psychosomatic type of thing. But, due to the magnetic grip of his boots, this wasn't gonna be possible.

While it was hovering in midair, which should have been physically impossible, it vomited up and egg that smashed on the ground producing a four ovoid, oviform birds that flew into Parker. He sliced them all down with his energy blade.

Then he took his energy javelin gun, the one that bore a superficial resemblance to a chain gun. He fired the tri-directional energy javelins at the fiend. The fiend wasn't even stunned. But he kept it up, even when the fiend started it's diving attack. It wasn't long before the fiend was done for.

Although Parker needed. little help to escape the top of the airship as it began to plummet toward a deserted structure, that looked as if it could have been a planned power plant at one time until, possibly, funding fell through. Yarin picked him up in his ship.

***

Demos called it a "sutomu aquila". He wouldn't say more on the subject.

***

Malice was still snoozing. She was old -- she needed her rest. At least, that's the excuse that she used.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXVIII (1,268): "Settling" -- A RAFian foe settles for what he considers lesser technology.

New chapter. Sorry about the brevity, and remember that this book is gonna be noncanon.

CHAPTER TWO:
Wary Recognition

The RAFians had just won the day after a resurgence of the Sentinels or Guardians or Seekers or whatever Bursting name the xenophobic zealots chose to fanatically call them. They managed to destroy their "master mold", which had basically gone AWOL against this fringe governmental group. It rebelled and had the stereotypical mindset that it and its creations were inherently better than any living organism. Basically the ideology the Highbreed, but just in mechanical form.

It had not been easy battle, even with Cloak present. They had to evacuate the city, and Cloak refrained from going into his Apex Tier, and that would have likely have caused extraneous collateral damage that would have caused weeks, maybe even months or years, of repairs. Cloak knew no one would be grateful for that. But their foes had no such compunction.

Cloak still don't know how they brought them down with only the most minimal amount of cosmetic damage to the buildings. But the fact of the matter was they did, somehow. And these giant mas were no deactivated, destroyed, and no longer posed a threat to anyone.

It was determined that one, Sebastian "Bastion" Duncan Apparachik, was behind this entire situation. He was arrested, pending further inquiry. Though his guilt was not certain, as it appeared that the master mold of these gigantic robots had gained a sentience of its own and had turned on him. But that didn't change the fact that he had built and programmed the master mold himself, and based its simple mind on his own.

But it was done, and clean-up was already underway. The RAFians were not one to sit back and let other people clean up their mess. Every one (even Kane) was down there, helping clean this up. Because of this, clean-up was finished relatively quickly.

Taking their past feats and triumphs into account, in addition to current circumstances, the RAFians were mostly hailed as heroes. Sure there were those who refused to believe that they were heroes. Of course, these tended to be same people who refused to believe that the Earth was round and that mankind walked on the moon, so their credibility was sorely lacking.

The President decided to award them the Presidential Metal of Freedom, as acknowledgement of their service and heroism. Cloak was hesitant about this. He came from a society shose governance was full of ulterior motives, hidden from the people. He was suspicious and overly cautious about such things. The others may have been elated about the recognition, but Cloak was not. He was wary. Someone had to be.

Cloak, reluctantly, agreed to go to the capitol with Parker and Broken to accept the metal. Cloak felt as if he was doing this against his better judgement, but he didn't say such. The country was dismantling the Seeker program, and that was good, right? At least, they were saying that they were . . . didn't mean that they had any intention on truly following through with it.

But Cloak was jaded with the overtly corrupted governance that he grew up with, and, so, learned not to put too much faith in such governance, lest feeling the inevitable disappointment.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXIX (1,269): "Mix and Match" -- A RAFian foe can mix and match his DNA.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
Parker's Pledge

Parker remove his helmet as he approached the podium. He didn't know why he would give the speech. He wasn't exactly the best orator from RAF, and he didn't even really consider himself one of the leaders -- he would always say that of the mods or maybe Cloak, but him?

When he first spoke, it was with a note of hesitation and dash of fear. There was a very good reason why fear of public speaking was one of the most prevalent fears in the world. And that was because basically everyone had it, until they became comfortable with it. Sure, there are rare cases of people who enjoy it without any fear at all, but Parker wasn't one of them. He didn't do public speaking very often.

But as he got into the groove of his speech, he relaxed more and more. The speech was written by him, Dino, Xeno, Cloak, and even GH. They felt that it would be more powerful if delivered by Parker, and Parker, personally, disagreed. Cloak told him that if the Elements Master did it, it would more than likely come off as hostile and pedantic.

Parker told the assembled Senators, Representatives, press, and other bigwigs that, essentially, the RAFians were good guys, not villains. That they were here to be friends, not adversaries. That they weren't here dominate, but serve.

Of course, naturally, this entire speech, this entire pledge Parker was giving couldn't go off without a hitch. Cloak noticed the person approaching long before he made it to the to the doors of the building, through his Earthsight. But there was nothing he could do about it, without causing an unnecessary scene. Beside, it was just the one person. Human. Cloak could tell that this interloper seemed to be unarmed. His mind should have been at ease.

But it wasn't. Something was tugging at his conscience like a determined willful child trying to get their parent's attention. But as to what, Cloak couldn't say. But this something it would not be ignored. Perhaps if he read Destiny's diary he wouldn't have to wonder why he felt unease.

Cloak cast a covert, side-long glance at Broken, and saw that he seemed to sense something as well, but couldn't put his finger on it. While Parker continued the speech, seemingly oblivious to what his fellows were sensing. He was too focused on the speech and keeping his modicum of stage fright at bay. This was very different than engaging in battle with his face hidden behind his helmet.

Cloak couldn't lay this strange anxiety he felt at bay. He went over possible solutions to handle this in a demure and confidential sort of manner, without causing a scene. There weren't many, if there was any at all. No to mention they were in a room filled to the brim with spin doctors and insincere political actors (athough a few, about one percent of those assembled, were actually the opposite, they were a minority). Any misstep here, the smallest misunderstanding, could prove disastrous.

They had to be measured, fearless, calm, and collected should anything happen. This was one way that RAF and the RAFians didn't have to deal with negative PR again. Or, well, for a long time, anyway.

And, yet, the two RAFians felt their misgivings take more and more presence. Cloak saw the person, one that he knew that he didn't recognize, approach and enter the building with a confident, swaggering gait. Cloak immediately know what he must be planning on doing.

He must be planning on making a grand entrance, interrupting Parker's speech. But, to what ends, neither Cloak nor Broken could fathom. However, while Cloak didn't recognize him, Broken would.

But neither could understand why this would just rouse a single rabblerouser. Perhaps a group of devoted bigots protesting, but just a single one? What was he planning? Were they being bamboozled in some way?

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXX (1,270): "Web of Fear" -- Cloak must save a child from fear itself.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
Interruption? So Rude!

As expected, the doors swung open as their interloper appeared. It was a flashy entrance, to be sure. Parker stopped speaking, surprised at this interruption. He wore a white shirt with a red omega symbol painted on it, with a leather jacket with a blue alpha symbol painted on the back. He clearly was trying to send a message with that -- that he thought that he was the alpha and the omega, or some nonsense rhetoric like that.

"Zak," Broken said immediately. Then he eyed the swagger and ****iness of his former friend. Broken deduced, "You've taken Felix Felicis."

Zak ignored him, and Broken recognized the effects of over-reliance on the liquid luck. Zak was giddily reckless and dangerously overconfident. Felix Felicis could prove to be toxic in large amounts, and Zak clearly was nearing that threshold.

 "Zak, go," Broken said, knowing that Felix Felicis was not foolproof or infallible. "Go, before you make everything worse for yourself. Over-reliance on Felix Felicis is dangerous --"

 Zak ignored him, as if he was just being a buzzkill. His mind . . . the liquid luck had distorted enough so that he thought he could do anything, that nothing was obstacle,  that he didn't need to struggle for anything and could just simply luck into things, when true rationality would deem that ludicrous. Zak was far more busy making a nonsensical speech, sounding more like he was a drunk without slurred speech.

"-- No more will your superiors, superiors in every conceivable way, allow you or your pathetic politicians to wallow like pigs in their own excrement!" he said, sounding like that politically backward uncle at Thanksgiving who thinks he has all the answers to politcs when in reality he doesn't know what he's talking about. "This time around, the revolution will be televised, and, as such, as much as I know it will pain you all -- you will tell the truth. And the truth is always painful."

"Zak, what are you playing at?" Broken demanded at once. The RAFian was tempted to use Legilimency, but he knew Zak was a proficient enough Occumens to be able to block such a move.

Zak snapped his fingers, and pointed to ceiling. The sprinklers came on, spraying down water onto all assembled. "You are hardly perfect beings, despite what you think. And yet you sit here, and in your gilded, ivory towers, passing judgement on people like me."

"Wait -- that's not water," Cloak observed, which he couldn't really manipulate it. But he didn't have to do it to protect the other RAFians. It was clear that they weren't the targets.

"It's . . . it's Veritiserum!" Broken said, recognizing the potion as everyone else gathered seemed to be compelled to look upwards and swallow several drops of the stuff.He

"TELL US ALL YOUR SECRETS!" Zak demanded. "SHOW US HOW SANCTIMONIOUSLY HYPOCRITICAL ALL OF YOU ARE!!"

"In the wake of these shocking events . . ." said one of the Senators, one of those politicians who ran under that disingenuous "family values" schlock, ". . . I just . . . I feel compelled to say . . . to everyone watching . . ."

He seemed to try and fail to struggle against the effects of the Truth Potion. He was compelled to tell the truth -- almost as if the Veritiserum was tainted with something to make telling the truth even more compulsory, in case any of these politicians and media types showed aptitude for Occlumency.

 "I . . . I beat my children . . ." he confessed forcibly, filling compelled to speak the truth of his deepest secrets. "I . . . I do it quite often, in fact . . .because . . . because I enjoy it . . ."

"I am . . . currently cheating  on . . . my wife of . . . of thirty-four years . . ." said another politician, an older man. He was another one of these politicians who campaigned under the " family values" schlock. "As . . . as she died slowly . . . of . . . leukaemia."

"I would . . . like to take this moment . . . to list the various . . . various ethnic minorities that I . . . that I despise," said yet another. A blonde woman.

"I am personally . . . personally responsible for the deaths of . . . of many people," another said, a renown spin artist.

"I am currently as high as a kite, right now," said another, a man this time.

And more spewed forth. Several were compelled to admit that they committed voter fraud by suppressing people likely not to vote for them, by preventing from being "eligible" to vote. Others were forced to admit to taking bribes from big moneyed interests, and knowingly screwing over their constituency. Others confessed with election tampering, via convenient blackouts and voter machine "glitches". Others confessed with deliberately not covering news items that they considered . . . inconvenient. Extoetion, money laundering, bribes, wage slavery -- it was all there.

Parker and Broken seemed taken aback, but Cloak was unsurprised. This kind of thing happened all the time at the council, even to good leaders which the position inevitably corrupted. Which was precisely why he refused their offer to become a Councilor.

These were the very same people who sometimes advocated shunning RAFians. Who liked to pretend that they were the good guys despite these horrendous things that they do, and continue to do.

But it seemed almost as if they expected something like this, as Zak, believing his point was made clearly, Apparated away. The effects of the Veritiserum would eventually go away, but the secrets were out and in the open now. No one stopped televising it.

They decided to be prepared for something like this, however. The corrupted elite, that is. They knew the RAFians were coming, so they had a very secret stockpile if things got out of hand.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCLXXI (1,271): "Cheating?" -- A man has discovered "hacks" when it comes to acting. Potentially one of the more lighthearted Memoirs books.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Secret Seeker Stockpile

They had secreted a pile of Seekers nearby the speech center, in case of something popping off. This went to show just how much trust that the RAFians really had to the fearmongering elites. They didn't care if it was the lives of the "peasants" in jeopardy, but they were not willing to risk their own so easily.

It was a cacophonious mess in this auditorium like setting. Everyone sitting so stiffly in the audience was now compelled to confess all their sins, to show all the skeletons in their closet, and there were many, many, many sins and skeletons to parse through. Itt made Earthsight somewhat difficult, and Cloak did not appreciate it, b he knew that these humans could not help it. This strain of Veritiserum had some sort of compulsion clause in it, and it gotten to the point that cacophony overrule comprehensive speech, and the words intermingled with each other just to become one loud, obnoxious sound.

It was obvious when the tainted Veritiserum was starting to wear off, as the cacophony was starting to die down, finally. It was then that Cloak was able to hear them. He heard them far before he Earthsighted them.

"Seekers," he told the others at once. "At least five of them."

"So much for decommissioning their Seeker programs," Parker muttered, almost bitterly. After all, who brings war machines to a peace conference? "I shoulda known. They always keep at least one. 'Just in case'."

"Those Seekers never bother to account for bystanders or civilian wellbeing," Broken noted, "we have to stop them!"

 "And so we shall," Cloak said, charging and surging forward, with the other two at his heels. They were . . . less than polite and civil when one of these corrupted, establishment politician people got in their way, as the sentinels ripped open the doors.

Cloak could tell right away that their skin was not metallic in the least, but some sort of enameled plastic polymers. That was fine, as the problem with machines is that they always had metal in them somewhere. Even in trace amounts on their very circuitboards, because nothing manufactured conducts electricity as well metal for their purposes.

Meanwhile, Parker was cursing. Sure, he had his armor, but, in accordance with the peace conference rules and to show good faith, he had disarmed himself of everything but his suit and fists. He cursed at his naivety, as he should have realized that they would have reneged on their end of the agreement.

Broken, much the same way, disarmed himself of his wand and magical artifacts in a show of good faith. Granted, this did not disarm him of all his magic, as  could perform wandless magicks, but it did miff him to see, to know that these pompous fat cats could have such blatant temerity to do this, but pivot to how they, somehow, were the victims.

Cloak wasn't surprised. He had gotten rather jaded as he aged. He was starting to wonder if all societies that start out as democratic eventually devolve and corrupt into oligarchies and totalitarian regimes, ambivalent and disinterested in the plight of the electorate and their own constituency. Cloak had seen it happen with Nexus politics.

And all three knew that the political fallout of this decision wasn't even about to be over. It was a catch-22 for the RAFians. If they hadn't come to this conference, or whatever shticky name they've given it, then they would have spun it as the RAFians being unreasonable while they were trying to recognize them for their service to the country and the world at large. If they refused to disarm themselves, they'd give the impression of militancy and distrust of those smear merchant politicians who would most definitely use this to their partisan, political advantage.

And there would always be those that were too gullible, too naive, and too stupid to know otherwise. But smugly act as if they know everything and that they are better informed than those who actually are well-informed to the matter at hand, claiming that they put facts over feelings. Although that was more the fault of a rather poor education system and the media's malpractice of not holding those in power accountable for their actions, instead spinning news and facts to make excuses for the politicians on "their side". It was the kind of thing that sickened Cloak about Nexus politics -- and, apparently, such things were universal.