Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXII (1,362): "The Chariot" -- The RAFians deal with the Chariot.

New chapter. Sorry for the brevity.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
A Tundra Turnaround

Shenmue was dispatched to deal with a fiend in an Antarctic facility that was abandoned when the temperatures got too cold to sustain human life and the facility's heating system went kablooey. It wasn't too hard to find the source of the problems -- which was good, as Shenmue really didn't like this place. It was much too cold.

The fiend was a tall, slender humanoid. Most of its body was covered in yellowish-orange armor, parts of which have ice crystals embedded in them, including as lapels and sleeve cuffs. it also had silver ice skate blades on its feet and a long ponytail made of ice crystals that came down to its calves. It had a face plate instead of a mouth, and human-like eyes with yellowish-orange sclera and black irises. It also had ice blades on its shins and a ice crest that swept to the left on its head. Its hands were five-fingered and leathery black.

It saw Shenmue, and she saw that the fiend was taller than her, but not really all that intimidating.

The fiend would ice skate along the floor, starting with a straightforward dash the first time, before adding more jumps as it skates back and forth along the room. The second time it skates across the room, he would perform a jump after it covers half of the floor, three high jumps during the third, a small hop followed by one that covers more distance during the fourth, and another straight-forward dash during the fifth. Shenmue dodged all of these -- and it was not easy. The fiend was faster than she thought.

Shenmue fired balls of electricity which travelled along the floor. Three or four managed to hit the fiend. This was the only realistic way she could actually hit the fiend, the speed and agility was difficult to hit any other straightforward, direct manner.

Then it got even faster. It would rapidly skate across the room three times, before jumping and performing a column of cold and wind in the middle of the area. Shenmue avoided this by jumping over it, and sliding away before it performs column of cold and wind. After this, it would return back to his standard pattern, slowing down a bit. But it could clearly speed up again.

Shenmue returned to her plan and fired more electrical orbs that travelled around the ground and walls. They hit the fiend two or three times, and it was done. It was over.

Shenmue didn't dally or hesitate. She immediately headed for the extraction point. She wanted out of this cold, miserable place.

***

Demos called it a "tundrasapien". Demos claimed that he had designed with a surveillance purpose in mind, to monitor the planet's coldest climates.

***

Meanwhile, Malice was pacing around, fretfully thinking. Scheme-block was one of the worst things to happen to a schemer.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXIII (1,363): "The Empress" -- The RAFians deal with the Empress.

New chapter.

BOOK CLXXXV:
THE ORPHANAGE OF THE DAMNED
CHAPTER ONE:
Torched

Cloak had been dispatched to a campsite, that was in the off-season. Apparently, a fiend had decided to make its nest here. He moved easily through the forest, without making a sound. It was dark, but darkness was no problem to his feline eyes. Then he had come upon the fiend.

The fiend was a tall humanoid, outfitted with green armor covering most of its brown body. Its shoulder pads resemble torches and were constantly emitting flames, and its pod-like feet had vents. It had a mouthplate in place of a mouth, and brown five-fingered hands. It had angry, human-like eyes with green sclera and light gray irises.

The fiend caught sight of Cloak, who made no effort to hide.

The fiend spent most of this battle shooting fireballs from its fists, occasionally stopping to jump around the room and try to hit Cloak with a well-placed kick. It ran up to Cloak, and perform a sweeping kick. Then he jumped up and then came down with a blazing kick.

None of the flames touched Cloak, as if afraid to warrant his ire. Cloak used powerful vertical blast of air to continually push the fiend back.

When the fiend suffered enough damage, it set its body ablaze, and jumped around the room while sending giant fireballs rolling on the ground, then jumped into the air and came crashing down in the middle of the room, creating a massive flame pillar in its wake. It returns to his normal attack pattern after this.

Cloak continued using the aerokinetic A.O.E. attack, which kept damaging the fiend. Until it ended the fiend. And Cloak left, without looking back.

***

Demos called it a "tochisapien". He claimed to have designed it as an outdoor advisor to teach campers about fire safety. A Smokey the Bear replacement, essentially.

***

Malice still was fretful in, what she felt, her declining relevance. She hated this scheme-block she was having. And her schemes had to be grander than simply slaughtering Dwellers, despite the fact that she found such acts definitely enjoyable.

Then she realized that she had the nugget of a plan going all along, one that she had forgotten about. . . .

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXIV (1,364): "Death" -- The RAFians deal with Death.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
Snuff Out His Light

Cloak was in an inky black void, which caused him to lucidly recognize this as a Truth Dream of some kind. What was it that Destiny wanted him to know? He looked around but saw nothing but the circle of white upon which he stood, illuminated.

Then he heard a woman speak. The voice definitely not Destiny's. It sounded as if someone decided to fused the voices of Ed Asner and Phyllis Diller together, with a tinge of granny tones.

"When a woman acquires a certain age,
And the men who adored you no longer swoon.
It pays to avoid the Realm-lit days,
And live by the light of the kindly loon.
But the loon grows old just like us all,
And her beautiful years are done.
So now she prays through endless days
To take her revenge on the Son."

Cloak was still unable to locate the source of the voice, though he saw a vague outline -- a rough silhouette -- of a thick-bodied, geriatric human woman with an overabundance of white and graying hair. Her outfit the Realm Walker couldn't make heads or tails of. then the voice started to sing:

"When I was a girl at my granddaddy's side
Gamps,, the royal mortician
Revealed to me in secret signs,
The mark of the magician,
And Granddaddy was no dummy.
Did outrageous things with a mummy.
And often the stiffs that he would shrive
Would look better dead than they did alive.
I studied well; I learnt the trade,
I thought my looks would never fade.
If I could find that recipe
To give forever youth to me.
It was always my ambition,
To use my intuition,
And gain some small remission
From the vagaries of time!
Every little failed scheme robs me of my youth.
Who to blame? Who the one? Who to curse?
You know the only one to blame would be my enemy, the Son!"

Cloak was sure the voice was coming from this silhouette, but even his feline eyes couldn't penetrate this darkness. He had to admit -- it was frustrating. He felt as if this figure was going to be important.

"Snuff out his light.
Claim my right
To a world of darkness.
Snuff out his light!
Neophytes!
Of a world of darkness!"

Cloak tried to approach this silhouette, who had her back to him, if he was judging the silhouette right. But, with every step he took, he got no closer to the silhouette.

"Malice, baby, turn me on.
Every wrinkle soon be gone.
I could squeeze myself with glee.
The promises you made to me.
I've really stopped at nothing.
Murder, treachery, and lying.
Whatever it takes to keep my looks.
You really can't blame a girl for trying!"

Wait -- Malice?

"Snuff out his light.
Claim my right.
To a world of darkness.
Snuff out his light,
Neophytes,
Of a world of darkness!"

Whose light, though?

"Snuff out his light.
Claim your right.
To a world of darkness.
Snuff out his light here tonight!"

Cloak didn't like the answer he came up with. He looked down at his hands and saw his golden-scarlet corona. His light.

"Apparitions of eternal darkness!
Spiraling in circles through the night!
Creatures of beguiling blackness!
No more squinting in his light!
Bats and owls and coiled sea dragons!
Crocodile and carrion beasts!
Swirling in the growing darkness!
Join us in the coming feast!
Spectre wraith and apparition!
Spirit demon, phantom shade!
Salamander serpents, dog-faced devils!
Dance and watch the dying sunlight fade!"

Then he was standing in the void alone as the song ended. It was at this point he woke up, and he thought that it meant that someone -- Malice, more than likely, or one of her stooges or pawns -- will try . . .

Would try to kill him. But it was impossible -- a Realm Walker can only die by the hand of another Realm Walker (or natural causes such as age lr Nexusian disease).

SOURCE SONG: https://youtube.com/watch?v=374xW4zZbZA

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXV (1,365): "Justice" -- The RAFians deal with Justice.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THREE:
Fatal Females

The Goodness Orphanage looked like your ordinary orphanage, a little drab, a little depressing. But not overly so. It was still within the regulations that the governance mandated for such facilities, though not particularly strictly.

But this orphanage was just a cover. While the male orphans were often ignored and made to do menial tasks, such as janitorial and menial tasks, and they were overseen by hard and harsh taskmasters.

But it was the female orphans that they were truly interested in. Especially those with the "spark", as they put it. This led to the mandatory induction into the Femme Fatales, a group of warrior women who serve the whims of "Granny".

This higher-ups in the group consisted of several members, faces obscured by black cloaks akin to those worn to Organization XIII of Kingdom Hearts, and each specialized in a weapon. Ethereal blades, purple electrical whips, a sniper rifle and arrowguns, a pearlescent spear, lances, dark red knuckledusters , a spiked shield, an opalescent bow and energy arrows, a battleaxe, a pinkish purple flail, a lexicon, sunny-colored cymbals, a claymore, a sanguine warhammer, chakrams, brownish-black yo-yos, a sitar (oddly enough), a parasol (you read that right), playing cards (yes, playing cards), an obsidian sword, a scythe, knives, dual broadswords, and a circular shield. A woman in yellow and another in blue handled the whole of the administrative responsibilities of the facade, while the matron "Granny" was rarely even seen.

The wielders of the circular shield, electrical whips, spear, knuckledusters, bow, flail, cymbals, warhammer, yo-yos, parasol, and obsidian sword were charged with just finding the potential candidates from the orphanage. They held no individual names (any they had before they were made to have forgotten), competed with each other on this search, and they often bickered, but the final decision fell to the others wielders -- the one with names, as they would do the actual training of the "grunts", as they called them, would fall to them.

The Named Ones, as they were known collectively, all were the combatant members, the ones that were sent in fighting. Whenever two Named Ones had a dispute on which candidate to train, they each elected a grunt of theirs to become a Proxy, and then battle to the death to decide. If all the Proxies die, then the candidate is killed and they move on.

The dual broadswords-wielding Femme Fatale was called "the Samurai" and would train others in the use of the broadswords and samurai-style combat, and was not to be questioned. She would immediately slay any who hesitated or disobeyed, only to lament while doing such how they wasted their potential -- and, worse, her time. Her grunts were called the RN-Samurai.

The knife-wielding Femme Fatale was called "the Ninja" and would train others in the use of knives and ninjitsu, and she preferred to play with those that dared to cross her, making their ends far more humiliating for them. She tormented them slowly, before electrocuting them, slowly amping up the power with each shock. She was quite savage when doing so, making sure they knew what transgression that they made before they died. Her grunts were called the LN-Ninjas.

The scythe-wielding Femme Fatale was called "the Reaper" and would train her chosen in scythe proficiency, and would angrily decapitate any uppity and defiant grunts around her with her scythe, and turned their remains into flower petals. Easier cleanup, she reasoned. She was extremely graceful in her actions and manner of speaking, though her actions were calculated ad brutal. Her grunts were called MN-Reapers.

The playing card-wielding Femme Fatale was called "the Gambler" and would train others in the use of playing cards as weapons, explaining that people never expect such a thing to be weaponized. Anyone who crossed her she would either age to dust, regress to infanthood, or trap inside a card or a die -- all depending on her mood in that particular instance. She was known for a predilection for playing the long con, and even her own grunts had to fear whether they had unknowingly crossed her or were going to be made examples of. But as her grunts were known as LN-Gamblers, this wasn't too surprising.

The sitar-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Dancer", which was a ignominious name that seemed to be in stark contrast of this whole orphanage of the damned and their efforts. But she focused solely on the combat effectiveness of dance and the weaponization of music, as she trained her grunts in. She would slowly drown all those who crossed her in water, that she causes to spout up. Her grunts were known as the DM-Dancers, and there weren't particularly a lot of them. She had never won a Proxy fight.

The chakram-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Assassin", who trained grunts in use of chakrams and assassinations. She does seem a bit more tolerant of defiance, but not by much. If one of her grunts annoys her too much, she'd immolate them without a second thought. Her grunts are known as AN-Assassins.

The claymore-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Berserker", who trained grunts in claymore proficiency, and berserker combat. She would not allow anyone to cross her, and if some one did . . . well, she would do worse than an Inferius would even be capable of. Her grunts were called SN-Berserkers.

The lexicon-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Mime", who trained grunts in mimicry, deception, misdirection, disguise mastery, and mirror combat. She was an intellectual academic who had little patience for what she perceived as incompetence. It wasn't known how she disposed of those that annoyed her, and she liked to keep it that way. Her grunts were known as ZN-Mimes.

The battleaxe-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Dusk", who trained grunts in battleaxe proficiency and short-ranged, melee combat. She was a taciturn taskmaster,
and hada very low toleration for insubordination. To those insubordinate to her usually found themselves buried alive and either suffocated or crushed. Her grunts were known as the LN-Dusks.

The spiked shield-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Creeper", who trained grunts in shield proficiency and defensive combat. She was a quintessential mad scientist, rather obsessed with her research. Anyone who dared to interrupt her, that isn't the yellow one or the blue one, or Granny herself, will find themselves frozen in ice. Then summarily shattered. Her grunts were known as the VN-Creepers.

The lance-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Dragoon", who trained grunts in lance proficiency and throwing proficiency. She was disdainful of anyone who wore their hearts on their sleeve -- calling them "bleeding hearts" in a most derisive manner. She tended to literally blow them off -- usually off a cliff. Her grunts were known as the XN-Dragoons.

The sniper rifle-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Sniper", who trained grunts in sniper proficiency and long-range combat. She was a very flippant, dismissive personality prone to taunts. But, despite this lax demeanor, she won't hesitate to shoot any disobedient grunt or foolish grunt with her rifle and cause them to implode on themselves. Her grunts were known as the XN-Snipers.

And, finally, the ethereal blade-wielding Femme Fatale was known as "the Sorcerer", who trained grunts in blade proficiency and sorcery. She had a cold and callous personality, with little patience for failure or insubordination. Should someone be so foolish to be one of those things, she would put them into a state of nothingness. This was arguably a fate worse than death. Her grunts were called XN-Sorcerers.

And they set their sights on a target that may be difficult to obtain. . . .

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXVI (1,366): "The Hermit" -- The RAFians deal with the Hermit.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR:
A Difficult Target

A clash of blades rang out from the form, but sounding more like the sound lightsabers make when they clash rather than the clang of metal. There was something very choreographed about the sound, something practiced about it.

Cloak landed daintily, his energy blades (affixed to his wrists) held out at a lower forty-five degree angle, with his head bowed. His energy blades were as wide as the width of his wrists, always had been, and scarlet red with gold at the edges. He then popped his head up as he dashed toward his opponent.

She blocked his strike with her own energy blades affixed to her wrists, mauve on one side and lavender on the other. Her blades were slightly narrower than her wrists, and slightly shorter than Cloak's. She deflected another blow, and followed up with a strike of her own. Cloak parried the strike and jabbed the blade forward.

His opponent twisted out of the way, using her superior aerial agility and smaller size to her advantage. It was her way of compensating for Cloak's superior strength and force. She dove down, blades first, at Cloak. Cloak used both blades to block the blow.

Cloak then made a hoarse call in his throat. Both stopped and abandoned their fighting stnaces, crossing their blades in a more benign way. After all, this was just a training fight, and Shadow performed admirably. Cloak could not help but feel proud of his neice, and he told her such, praising her incredible progress in such a short time. It was the pride that an uncle takes in a favorite nephew or neice, the pride that a teacher takes in the successes of their pupil.

But they were not alone. This training session had an audience. A few of his RAFian friends and allies.But also Faith and her husband, Shadow's father and a delphine Realm Walker, Merriment, were in attendance watching just how powerful and skilled their daughter had become. Faith wore a deep purple cloak, with clothing underneath of a matching color scheme, while Merriment wore a white cloak with an aqua and orange color scheme beneath.

Both of them congratulated her for this, and, in the back of his mind, he noted how lucky Shadow was. Her parents loved her deeply, as a parent should love their child, and it was the type of love Cloak had look for elsewhere for. He was fortunate that he found it though -- in Faith herself, and in Wheeza. His father . . .

His mother chased him away by the time he was seventeen. Cloak, once he got away from his mother's propaganda, started to understand. His father saw how brainwashed that he was, his only son and firstborn, and, Cloak believed, that he didn't see any way around it, any way to get Cloak to understand. He had lost his son to his wife's propaganda. So he left. Cloak really thought he understood.

Before he was mistreated and maligned by his mother -- it was his father, Brute, who endured it. And he had endured it for seventeen-plus years -- and that was Nexusian years. It was ten times that amount if you converted them into Dweller Earth years. And Cloak couldn't do it for nearly half as long. He really believed he had misjudged his father, but was too scared of what he might if he sought him out.

Perhaps if he wasn't too wrapped up in his thoughts, he'd had been more prepared for what happened next.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXVII (1,367): "The Emperor" -- The RAFians deal with the Emperor.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Chains

Cloak continued to muse how he had never known the kind of life that Shadow did. When he was her age and younger, he would compete with Dagger for all things. She was a serpentine Realm Walker, which would make one think that she was underhanded and venomous -- and she was, but she had to grow into that. As a child, she was a loud, opinionated little brat who was obsessed with always being right. She had, at one point, become the dominant sibling, until Cloak's patience ran out.

When she got older, she got obsessed with -- in her own words -- "being somebody". She always had a high opinion of herself, contrasting Cloak's habit of self-deprecation. She never wondered about her worthiness in the eyes of others, as he did, but just assumed that people should respect her regardless of how she treated them. And she, like their mother, always loved playing the victim. Cloak, however, was aware of this trap, and strove not to fall into it. He tried to stay matter-of-fact of what happened, and did not want sympathy, as he knew how easy it was to wallow in it, how that could be used to manipulate people, as he saw it firsthand.

And Cloak was perfectly aware that he wasn't flawless. Like any other being, he had his shortcomings. His tendency to assume that he had the final answer on all matters, to make snap judgements on or about others, to take choices out of the hands of their rightful owners. he held grudges for a long length of time, and found forgiving others for slights and transgressions very difficult on most, if not all, occassions. He was flawed. He knew this. Everyone had their flaws, and the saddest people in existence are the ones who refuse to acknowledge any flaw within themselves and declare themselves as flawless -- when no person in existence is flawless.

His father was the same. Cloak knew that he favored his younger sister because they had a common interest -- athletics -- and his interests didn't exactly mesh with his father's. (Although, it wasn't like his father didn't try to find some common ground, Cloak just never realized it until he was much older.) His mother would later exploit this to manipulate Cloak into hating his father for no legitimate reason (something that he felt aggrieved for ever since he permanently parted company of his mother). He didn't deserve the hatred. He was a flawed Walker, this is true. But he tried to do his best for his family, and Cloak deeply regretted it taking him this long to realize it.

He didn't even know if Brute was still alive. Part of him was too afraid to find the answer to that simple question. All Cloak knew of that side of his family was that he (and, by extention, Dagger) were descended from Destiny through him, and that his father had two brothers that he never met nor had any idea what form of Realm Walker they were. He hadn't a clue if these paternal uncles were alive, nor if his paternal grandfather was alive. His paternal grandmother, he was told, had passed on before he hatched from his Light-Life Egg.

But he should have been paying attention instead of ruminating. Suddenly, a tylee chain -- and not the one he has since accumulated -- shot out and wrapped around Shadow, binding and pinning her arms to her sides. Then it shot backwards, taking Shadow with it, with equal speed and force.

"SHADOW!!"

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXVIII (1,368): "The Hanged Man" -- The RAFians deal with the Hanged Man.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIX:
Desperate Desire

Cloak's body seemed to act of its own accord, before his rational mind caught up with what was happening. He ran after the place where she was stolen. And in the back  his mind, he couldn't help but hear that woman from the Truth Dream -- the woman who wanted to snuff out his light.

He had assumed that she meant his corona, the dangerously destructive aura around every Realm Walker which necessitates the use of the cloaks. But, clearly, that's not what the Truth Dream was trying to convey to him at all. It meant another light, one that he always referenced as his light.

Shadow.

Cloak always noted how ironic was that her name was Shadow -- a name he himself gave her her after the young Realm Walker becoming like his shadow when she was younger ,proudly exclaiming that she wanted to help him with every endeavor he did, even if it was very mundane, like laundry or the dishes. He even trained her in the elements, and she mastered them far quicker than he ever had -- something that did not cause jealously in him, but pride.

And, in this infinitesimal moment that he wasn't alert, that his guard wasn't up, she was snatched away by parties unknown and reasons equally unknown. Cloak just knew one thing, and knew it instinctively. He had to find her. Find her and make the person with audacity to kidnap her know the immense folly of that decision.

He was only dimly aware of the obstacles placed in front of him as he hurried to where Shadow was being taken, following her trail with an almost religious fervor. He burst through a wall of ice, looking as if he were performing the Flare Blitz technique. Then he saw some daggers streak his way, leaving trails of electricity behind them. He simply blocked them with his right arm, having them clatter to the ground. He never broke stride, and continued doggedly to where the abductors went.

Then he felt the earth shutter beneath his feet, but found that he really didn't care, as he proceed further, his way principally unimpeded. He thought he saw the flash of a scythe and flower petals, but he didn't much care about that. He was still so single-minded about the task that laid before him. He would find her, and he would make her captors pay for their careless hubris. Then he thought he saw some illusions before him, but Dweller illusions never had the capability of fooling his species, as they could see through the images cast by such illusions, and see the truth beneath. And it was not nearly enough to dissuade him at this point.

It was at this point that he was dimly aware of his sister and brother-in-law following behind him, somehow managing to keep instep with him. Shadow was their daughter, after all. There was no way that they would be sitting on the sideline for this. But Cloak didn't shift his focus from the matter at hand. He bashed a foe in the stomach and backhanded him or her across the back of the head before obstinately moving onward. He couldn't tell what gender that human was, but he found that he did not care much.

Then there was a watery barrier, that immediately parted, as if not willing to defy the whim of an Elements Master.  Then Cloak felt powerful gusts of wind that did not deter him from his goal. Then a fire wall blocked his path, only for part of it to extinguish when Cloak's eyes flashed. Then he saw a flurry of energy arrows, which Cloak used all his agility to dodge them and pushed forward. Then he was attacked by a flurry of cards, but he deflected them and pressed ever onward. Then his progress was impeded by a claymore, which was easily ignored by the Realm Walker trio as they pressed onward to reclaim their lost family member. Then they were surrounded by what appeared to be a thousand lightsabers without their hilts -- the trio just pressed on, ignoring this, as the lightsabers suddenly struck at nothing, as the trio had alreaey passed it on by.

They were on the precipice already.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXIX (1,369): "Temperance" -- The RAFians deal with the Temperance.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN:
The Creeper

"Go on," Horse said, gesturing to the others, "I got this."

"Do you, now, you little water rat?" said a voice in the black cloak, surrounded by six in silver ones. All carried shields with spikes on them.

"I won't be intimidated so easily," Horse said, not really hiding her bravado. "You have no clue the things that I managed to take down."

"Oh, this shall be an interesting experiment!" the Creeper declared. "Let's see how quickly you freeze!"

She fired ice from her hand, which Horse easily slapped away with a flipper, as if to say "****, please". Despite herself, the Creeper smiled deeply. She knew how to play, this talking seal thing. She would take undue pleasure in shattering this seal to bits. "You may know how to play, little talking seal, but let's see for how long."

Contemptuous excitement filled the Creeper. This puny little pinniped would be her prey, and no one else's. And she made that very clear to the six VN-Creepers she had with her. She warned them of very dire consequences if one of them stole this kill from her.

"Hey, pal," Horse said, offended by how easy the Creeper acted like her murder would be.

Horse formed four ice snowflakes and sent them at the Creeper, who blocked it with her shield. Then she formed ice spikes around the Creeper's feet, as well as her grunts. She wasn't aiming to hit her, but make it more difficult for her and her grunts to maneuver around. Then she fired an ice shard at the Crepper who blocked it with her shield, but the shard shattered into six projectiles and took out her grunts.

She scoffed at them, "Useless . . . pathetic . . ."

Before Horse could stop her, she froze each one solid, and snapped her fingers. Each one, encased completely in ice, shattered into ice shards so small that any hope that the VN-Creepers survived was ludicrous.

"What is wrong with you?" Horse asked rhetorically.

"Any failure is intolerable," she replied easily. "They all knew it when they became the grunts of a Named One."

She made it seem as if they had a choice in the manner. Then she called forth large chunks of ice from the ground, intending to freeze Horse solid. Freezing a cryokinetic solid is pretty much impossible. And Horse demonstrated this in rather spectacular fashion.

Horse said nothing, knowing that she was underestimating her because of her species and size. This was good, she felt, as whenever you underestimate someone, you will usually be unpleasantly surprised.

She formed a blade of ice and fired it -- and the Creeper didn't manage to block it in time. It was a direct hit, and the Creeper wasn't happy about it. She was hurt, and she took it personally. Then Horse created a wall of ice, and smacked with her tail. There was no way to avoid this, even though the Creeper tried to block it. She still took the hit. And she was not happy about it.

She sent out a cryokinetic wave as the Creeper made slippery, ice patches on the ground. This did not work like how the Creeper would have liked. This just improved Horse's overall mobility and speed, making her a much more difficult target. Then Horse slid behind her and hit her with a blizzardy A.O.E. sort of attack. It did significant damage, forcing her hood down.

She had flaccid, listless hair and a long face, with wild eyes. Her eyes demonstrated quite well that she was wasn't being controlled by any mystical, arcane, or supernatural way, perhaps she was a Controller or something similiar, but Horse had a hunch that her actions were her own. She may have been brainwashed.

This caused Horse a bit of an impasse -- she was reluctant to kill anyone, but the Creeper would not allow her to do anything else. She was so fanatically devoted to whoever her superior was. Clearly shown when she continued her attack -- summoning icicles that rose from the ground and tracked Horse for several seconds before flying in the direction they tracked, always missing Horse due to her enhanced mobility due to the terrain.

"Why are you doing this?" Horse said, not indulging in any slapstick and being quite serious. "What happened to you?"

The Creeper didn't answer, but created an unavoidable blizzard using her shield. That was the source of her cryokinesis. And Horse realized it.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXX (1,370): "The Tower" -- The RAFians deal with the Tower.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
Shattered Shield

Her name used to be DenIse Stephanie Evans, the daughter of two researchers that wound up dead for their research. She would have gotten to foster care until one of the nameless Searchers, the one who wielded a round shield, using the pseudonym of Stephanie Price, intercepted this. While in Goodness Orphanage, she had any humanity and compassion drummed out of her. And, despite this harsh and cruel treatment, she persevered.

But she lost whatever goodness and light that she ever possessed as a child. She was deeply indoctrinated to be fanatically loyal to the orphanage and "Granny". She managed to obtain the shield that granted her control over ice, and allowed her to generate it. This allowed her to rise up and get the name of "the Creeper", due to her creepy demeanor and her twitchy mannerisms.

She still strove to approach problems like an intellectual, though she wasn't above brutality if it either served her or served "Granny". She could be very impatient, incompetent, and had a preference for not sullying her hands when she could get away with it. Though, at her core, she is actually very cowardly and easily intimidated, especially by "Granny", making her rather easy to be bullied by the other Named Ones.

Had she grown up outside the Goodness Orphanage, she would pretty much the same, only friendlier and with a gentler, far less brutal and sociopathic demeanor. She might have even been a mother.

"How are you doing this?! " she demanded, still generating her unavoidable blizzard, which did not seem to bother Horse in the least.

"I see now that there's no hope for you to atone for what you've done," Horse said, barely raising her voice over the violent blizzard. The Creeper's well of strength seemed to be tapping out. And Horse wasn't even really breathing hard. "You've had your chance for remorse. But you've made it crystal clear that you want neither."

This sense of finality in Horse's voice perplexed the Creeper. "What do you mean?"

 But Horse knew what she had to do. She froze the shield solid, forcing the Creeper to drop it. Without that shield, she was just a baseline human, with no powers. Then Horse shut her eyes and slammed her flipper down, shattering the shield to diamond dust.

It took some time for the Creeper's mind to parse through what she just saw. She had that shield since before she could remember. And now it was gone! Just gone!

"Do . . . do you have any idea what you've done?!" she demanded.

Then she grasped a shard of ice, aiming to bludgeon the little seal, but then got to thinking. How would she explain the destruction of the shield? It was a gift from "Granny". She doesn't just readily hand out gifts like that. And the Creeper was one of the lucky few that received such a gift. She was lucky enough to receive a name. And she just lost all of that within a matter of minutes.

The punishment would be severe, not to mention she no longer had any grunts under her command anymore. The punishment would be so severe that . . . that . . . she wouldn't be able to live with the disgrace. She would be condemned, her name taken away. She would be a grunt again, assuming, of course, she survived the punishment. The punishment . . . she should suffer their punishment. In her indoctrinated mind, it was the right thing to do . . .

"What's the matter?" Horse asked, though she thought she knew where is was going.

The Creeper gripped the shard of ice, shutting her eyes and gritting her teeth. She should face punishment for her failure, she thought. But she was scared. Scared of the pain that they would inflict upon her. They knew how to make pain last for . . . for a long time. She should have done, what she believed, the right thing and gone through the punishment. But fear overrode that, and she took the shard of ice.

"What are you doing?" Horse said, alarmed by this, despite suspecting it might go this way.

Before Horse could stop her, the Creeper stabbed herself in the heart with the ice shard. She would rather take her own life than endure the punishment of "Granny" or the other Named Ones. She bled out and there wasn't anything the talking seal could do to stop it.

The Creeper . . . was dead.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXI (1,371): "The Devil" -- The RAFians deal with a devil facsimile.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
The Ninja

Shenmue stayed behind, sending the others after Cloak, Faith, and Merriment. She would deal with the Ninja, despite her personality nor her attire evoking anything remotely ninja-like. She had a slim, petite hourglass body with piercing green eyes. She had six LN-Ninjas in silver cloaks, with similar appearances.

"Oh, isn't that cute?" the Ninja said, almost playfully flirtatious. Shenmue did not find it amusing in the least. "The law-monkey wants to play-ay."

And Shenmue knew right then and there that she was not going to like this woman or enjoy her company for any duration. The only problem was Shenmue's attire wasn't exactly the best for fisticuffs. But she was confident that it wouldn't be too terribly needed for this battle. They were both electrokinetics, any way, and Shenmue had RAFian training under her belt. It was an advantage to being a RAFian, of course, as the training was second to none.

"But I have better things to do than waste my considerable talents on a slipskin solicitor," she said, with an inappropriate, girlish giggle as Shenmue wondered if any court or jury in the world would convict her of murdering this bit--

The ninja snapped her fingers and the six LN-Ninjas came forward, as the Ninja receded to the shadows, watching. The six women pull out eight knives each, all with the same design, giving them a mass-produced vibe. Each held them between their fingers on both hands, as if they were claws.

"Lovely," Shenmue grumbled beneath her breath. Her attire wasn't exactly cheap, but she knew that it was about to be torn up. Oh, well. She should have expected as such, being a RAFian. She made a mental note to ask for some time off the active duty registry. If she wasn't an experienced RAFian, she would have been sliced to shreds, and she knew it perfectly well.

It happened so fast, she couldn't remember the precise movements or attacks she used. All she knew was she had disarmed and defeated all six. And her attire had only suffered minor damage that a quick patch up here, a sewed up hole there wouldn't fix. But she wasn't a fool -- if not for RAFian training and her electrokinesis, she'd be dead.

Shenmue had fought to disable, not kill. She heard a disappointed click of a tongue and suddenly the LN-Ninjas had a knife pulsating with electricity at only what she could assume was a high voltage, wattage, amperage -- whatever. One was sprouted from the crown of one silver cloaked girl's head, another from her forehead, another from her throat, another from her heart, another from her stomach, and the last one from the small of her back. They were quickly electrocuted to death. Their lifeless bodies strewn about on the ground as the Ninja recalled her knives to her hand, nonchalantly cleaning the blood off them.

"What a pathetic performance," she said, completely apathetic to murdering her own underlings. " Clearly, they weren't as worthy as I thought."

"Worthy?" Shenmue said, appalled with how these girls' deaths were being taken with such flippant disregard and callous indifference. It was almost unfathomable how someone could be so disconnected from others around them.

"Worthy to serve me, silly," she said, with the most inappropriate of giggles. "To be worthy to be one of my grunts!"

Shenmue could not stop herself, "You self-centered, entitled little brat! They were human beings. Are lives of people other than yourself so meaningless to you?"

The Ninja was unperturbed by this, she even had the audacity to be annoyed by Shenmue's criticisms. But she giggled -- again, a rather inappropriate time to do so and Shenmue was finding her giggles grating. She immediately moved to attack her, with her knives between her fingers to act like claws, and proceed to slash at Shenmue, who managed to dodge it -- watching her feet, to see where she put her weight. But she also had to watch her arms. Damn, this psychotic **** was fast.

Then the Ninja infused them with electricity and threw them at Shenmue. Shenmue used her own electrokinesis to deflect them. This was not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. And that giggle was really irritating at this point.

When it came to hand-to-hand combat, she was incredibly agile and fast, and wasn't afraid to use quick kicks and jabs, infused with electricity, to produce extra pain to her RAFian opponent.

Shenmue decided that her knives need to be done away with.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXII (1,372): "The Star" -- The RAFian deal with the Star.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
Broken Daggers

Her name used to be Shanelle Savage. Her psychopathic demeanor was already readily apparent, even in her young age. Her parents saw it, and it scared them. Terrified them to be in the same room as her, causing them to fear for their lives. She was apathetic to the pain she caused others (whereas there also times when she enjoyed it, in a rather sadistic manner) and she was self-centered and entitled, even more so than a normal child of that age. Her giggles were like a terrifying cackle to the people who severely regretted bringing this hellspawn into this world.

She was summarily abandoned, when her parents found that they could not get her any help she needed -- they were not the most affluent people in the world. And they were at their wit's end with how to deal with their psychotic daughter. They abandoned her, not caring if they went to jail for it -- she just unnerved, discomforted, and generally terrified them. Perhaps it was not the most moral or prudent or rational course of action, but they were desperate to get rid of their problem, the source of so much fear and anxiety.

But she wasn't there for very long, as she was discovered by a Nameless One, the one with the gauntlets. From there, she easily rose through the ranks to get a name, having shed her birth one a long time ago. She embraced everything that "Granny" stood for. She embraced it so hard, that she became fanatically devoted to her. She easily became a Named One, given her knives. Thereby giving her her electrokinesis.

"You're a sadistic --" Shenmue said, ending her statement with a vulgarity. "You know that?"

"You say that like its a bad thing," she drawled, punctuating it with a girlish laugh. She was clearly not taken Shenmue seriously. She gave a short sniff, and said, "I just know when people are useful and when they are useless. And when people are useless, their lives become worthless. It's simple. Black-and-white."

"What is wrong with you?" Shenmue said, with a mixture of disgust and perplexity.

"Oh, you don't like widdle me telling it like it is?" the Ninja said, adopting an irritatingly condescending, baby talk voice.

"You're psychotic," Shenmue said. She was finding this person before more and more revolting with each word she uttered. This pronouncement just led to more insane giggles, which were unnerving and irritating at the same time.

"But enough about me," she said, as she moved to attack the RAFian once more. "Let's kill you!"

But the gloves were now distinctly off.

"Not today," Shenmue said, seizing her left wrist. She fought and struggled and wiggled her way free of Shenmue's grasp. She broke Shenmue's grip, and she lost her flippancy, her chutzpah ebbed.

She smiled in a demented manner, as she raised her hand, as if to summon her knives. But they were gone. She took a few minutes to realize this. Shenmue showed her that she had her knives, and she was infusing them with electricity. Too much electricity. There was only a certain amount of voltage, wattage, and amperage that these knives could handle before being damaged. Shenmue had suspected as much, and deliberately overloaded the knives. She damaged them beyond all repair, removing the Ninja's electrokinesis.

With an outraged scream, the Ninja goes to attack Shenmue, but the RAFian blasted her away. It was a low-power attack. She wanted to incapacitate, not kill. And so she was -- incapacitated, but not dead. But she wasn't remotely grateful for it.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXIII (1,373): "The Moon" -- The RAFians deal with the Moon.

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
The Dusk

"Go on ahead," Dino said, " I got this."

"You think you intimidate me," said the Dusk, with a thick, husky, masculine voice, "you oversized shelled lizard?"

"To be frank," she said, "I really don't really care one bit if you fear me or not."

"Aren't you stoic, now?" she said dryly, and dismissively. She was fingering the axe on her belt, as if she was eager to use it. "You might as well give it up."

"You know nothing of RAFians, do you, pal?" Dino said, with her breath coming out in puffs, like a bull whose seen red.

The Dusk smirked at this, as she snapped her fingers and the six LN-Dusk with her moved in to attack. Dino got rid of them with a single tail swipe. The Dusk looked irritated at them, said nothing, allowing a taciturn silence span for a few minutes, before snapping her fingers. The very earth seemed to suddenly become water, but only for the LN-Dusks. Naturally, they panicked (which irritated the Dusk, who clearly thought they needed to handle their premature burials with more dignity and tact). Within moments the ground was smooth again, without any indication that there were six people buried alive there.

Dino was shocked by this callousness. Sure, she seen the type of thing done by the likes of Malice or Shenecron someone like that, but this was . . . callous in a more unnerving way, and a less comic-book-supervillain way. Dino didn't have any way to get them out of there, to save them. True, they attacked her -- but they shouldn't have to die for their attack failing. Sure, she wouldn't be chuffed with them, but they wouldn't asphyxiate to death.

If only Cloak hadn't gone on ahead! This would have been no problem for him! But . . . Dino couldn't pretend that she didn't understand why he did. He was worried about Shadow, as were his sister and brother-in-law. She knew perfectly well that if she were in the same circumstance that she would have done the exact same thing.

"Pathetic," she said, in that husky masculine voice of hers. Then she snapped her fingers once more, and Dino felt a tremor in the ground. This wasn't an attack. She . . . she just crushed her own underlings to death.

"Why?" Dino said.

"Incompetence and failure are not acceptable for any grunts of mine," she said, succinctly, as if this was the obvious answer and Dino was a little slow. Naturally, the anklyotyrannus did not appreciate this tone at all. "They knew the costs."

She made it seem like they even had a choice. Granted, they were all indoctrinated in mich the same way the Named Ones had been themselves, but they didn't meet the necessary criteria to become Named Ones themselves, or even the Talent Searchers. And, besides, any decision made by "Granny" was, to them, final and indisputable.

Dino looked at her, as if she wanted to say something, but decided against it, seeing the futility of persuasion in this circumstance. When some was indoctrinated this deeply, their minds won't change and they'll reject everything that doesn't coincides with the beliefs implanted into them, whether through medical means or behavioral means. So, Dino decided against wasting her energy on that.

Then the Dusk pulled her axe from her belt loop, and she began her assault. Dino had to admit, she struggled. She struggled when she manipulated the Earth beneath her feet, so she had to go to her compact form. Somehow, she managed not to topple over. How, she would never know.

But she did notice one thing -- the Dusk's power came from the axe. When she snapped her fingers, her hand was always on the handle of her axe. That goes, and so does that power.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXIV (1,374): "The Sun" -- The RAFians deal with the Sun.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Crushed Axe

Her name was Danielle Cruise. She was a big kid for her age, often mistaken for a child much older, and, oftentimes, a male. She didn't really care for mistakes like this, but she was really young at this point, and the Femme Fatales found her of sufficient promise. But her parents were doting and loving. They would never willingly hand over their daughter to the likes of this cultish organization.

And so the solution to this became obvious to the Anonymous Ones -- get her mother and father out of the picture. She was much too young at the time to remember any of this, and she didn't even know that it was the Anonymous Ones that offed her loving parents when she was scarcely a toddler. They took advantage of her, twisting her mind into hating her parents and becoming totally apathetic and callous. They stole her name from her, until she ascertain sufficient notoriety to garner a new name. The Dusk.

The way she was now was the end result of circumstances entirely out of her control, but she made the choices to be this way, as well. Did this make her sympathetic, despite all the cruelty and brutality she inflicted upon others? Does the hardships and struggles of a miserable person make their actions more acceptable? No, it doesn't. Having a traumatic, tragic past is no excuse for present-day savagery, taciturn or not.

Dino eyed the Dusk as the Dusk gave a sinister sneer. Her hood had toppled off her head as she charged forward. She had short, spiked, brown hair and a face that looked as if it was chiseled from granite from an artist of mediocre ability. It was easy to confuse her for a man.

She attempted to strike Dino, blocked by her club tail. The Dusk's axe bounced off, and Dino was unharmed. The Dusk tried again, but Dino blocked it again. Again and again Dino continued to block it, and the Dusk didn't seem to realize that she should have used her control over earth to destabilize Dino's footing. Dino, meanwhile, was looking for an opportunity. Waiting for a moment to strike out, to break her axe, which would, Dino believed, end the Dusk's dominion over the earth.

She raised her axe to strike again -- only to be taken unawares by Dino suddenly shifting to her compact form, and lashing out wither teeth. Seizing the axe, blade and all, in her mighty jaws, immediately returning back to her natural size. Surprisingly, her teeth cleaved through the wooden handle with astonishing ease, and the metal bent and twisted from the sheer pressure of her bite strength. But she immediately regretted doing this. It was like biting tinfoil with braces. Not a pleasant experience to say the least.

It took her three attempts to even spit the thing out. The entire thing was mangled -- you couldn't even use it as a sufficient bludgeoning object. It was completely ruined. And the Dusk stared at it, aghast. She knew what it would mean if she went to "Granny" with this mess of a weapon. She wouldn't kill the Dusk, at least not for a slow, agonizing while. She tended to opt for that when someone really displeases her.

The Dusk fled, and Dino was fighting a predatory instinct to give chase. She knew that she probably should, but the Dusk was now a baseline human. Thus only as dangerous as one. She looked off into the direction that Cloak, his sister, and brother-in-law went. She had their scent, and followed them. She would be there if she were needed.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXV (1,375): "The World" -- The RAFians must deal with the World.

New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
The Reaper

Helen sent the others onward whilst she dealt with the Reaper, who was holding her scythe behind her back. She looked very ****y and dismissive, and she had six smaller individuals around her, in silver cloaks. She felt very confident in her abilities, even though it did hinge on her ring. But it was fully charged . . . well, it was at seventy-seven percent power. It should be fine, though.

"You think you're . . .sufficient?" the Reaper said, in a drawn out, semi-masculine sort of voice.

In response, Helen charged up her ring to full. And she did so without taking her eyes off the burly woman, who seemed to always have pink flower petals -- cherry blossom petals -- swirling around her and her black cloak. They were only really noticeable when she was standing and idle.

"Clearly," she said, her voice almost sounding contemptuous and bored, "you do."

She snapped her fingers and her six grunts in silver removed their scythes that were slung over their backs. They would try to strike her, but Helen smiled. She knew she was at a clear and present advantage.

"Don't fail me," the Reaper said, giving her grunts the go-ahead to attack. But Helen created violet constructs of a six-and-a-half-foot tall common toad, five-and-a-half-foot tall European-style dragon, and a five-foot-tall turtle. She sent them after the six grunts, with each one taking on two of the grunts.

When these constructs busted, Helen just created three more. A six-foot-tall sauropod, five-and-a-half-foot tall honey badger, and seven-and-a-half-foot tall crocodile. She sent them after the grunts, and they managed to "pop" the constructs after a few labor-intensive moments. The Reaper's frown began to deepen.

Then Helen created violet constructs of a five-and-a-half-foot tall Dilophosaurus, a
six-foot-tall chicken, and five-foot-tall mudskipper. Then she sent them after the grunts once more, and they fought again. They eventually "pop" the construct again, and the Reaper's frown lessens a bit.

Then Helen, completely undaunted, creates constructs of a seven-foot-tall snapping turtle, a four-foot-tall monkey, and a five-and-a-half-tall emperor penguin, and sics them on the grunts. The grunts manage to "pop" these as well, which caused Helen to actually smile.

Then she created violet constructs of an eleven-foot-long royal python, a five-foot-tall wild boar, and a five-foot-tall sea lion. Then she sent these constructs after the grunts, who, after a great effort, defeated them. Helen smiled again. They were tiring. Good. And the Reaper's frown returned.

Then she created violet constructs of a five-foot-tall Glyptodon, a five-foot-tall fennec fox, and a five-foot-tall splendid treefrog. She send them once again to the tiring grunts. It took them longer to break these constructs, but the six managed it. But the Reaper was not pleased.

Then she created violet constructs of a five-foot-tall stilt owl, a six-foot-tall tiger, and a six-foot-tall sea lion. She sent them after the grunts, who were showing overt signs of exhaustion. They managed to "pop" all the constructs, but they were pushing themselves too much, but this just further displeased the Reaper.

Helen created a violet construct of a spider monkey, a bunny, and a chameleon -- but it was unnecessary, as all six collapsed from exhaustion. The Reaper was the furthest thing from pleased as you could be. He snapped his fingers and all six turned into petals -- one red, one blue, one yellow, one white, one orange, and one pink.

Helen was horrified, as the petals blew away on the wind.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXVI (1,376): "The Judgement" -- The RAFians must deal with the Judgement.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Extirpated Scythe

Her name was Sakura Sykes. Her father was a mortician and her mother was a herbalist. She had a younger sister, which she was very fond of. But, despite her young age, that sister grew very ill. She never survived the illness, and Sakura took this very hard -- blaming herself for it, believing herself to be a monster.

She was still quite young when she fled her house. She saw it as her sparing her mother and father from a monster. Despite her parents being quite loving and did n blame her at all for her sister's death -- it was the result of a rare blood disease for which no cure was ever synthesized. Sakura ran onward and away from that life, the life she had no memory of anymore.

The Orphanage had robbed her of that, and, at the time, she was willing for it. Willing to forget. Willing to move on from this deep cut that wounded her heart. She had no idea that the brainwashing and mind conditioning would rob her of so much. Her memories of everything before, her emotions of compassion and sympathy, her history. And she went through all of this willingly.

"Why?" Helen asked, all flippancy she had before had evaporated away immediately when she saw what the Reaper did. There was no reason for it -- they were tired, not dead. After a prudent rest, they would have been fine. Not now, however. Now they're resting forever wherever the wind saw fit to take them.

"Why?" the Reaper repeated. "But the organization in which we run has very little patience for failures like them. We are supposed to be the creme del a creme of every aspect. Physical and mental perfection. Precise and, yet, elegant. Tireless in our goal."

"Goal?" Helen inquired shrewdly.

"To serve 'Granny' in whatever way we can," she replied, "to assist her in any manner to achieve her grandest goals. Failure is not an option, and is unwelcome. They all knew the consequences of failure."

Helen quickly picked up on something, "Did they even have a choice in the matter?"

"What difference does that make?" the Reaper said, in a dismissively flippant way.

"These girls didn't come to you, willingly, did they?" Helen said, shrewdly. Her violet Star Sapphire aura rippled with these words. "You took them, didn't you? Didn't you?!"

"If a child show promise to serve 'Granny', she is obligated to serve her, in whatever way she can," the Reaper pontificated, as if this settled the matter and in the most irritatingly pompous way possible. "This is the only purpose that anyone worthy of becoming a Femme Fatale, Named or not. The lives of the unworthy are worthless and, therefore, forfeit if they are foolish enough to get in 'Granny's' way, if they are fool enough to impede 'Granny's' grand vision for the ultimate utopia."

Helen allowed a moment of silence, and allowed it to stretch for a beat before speaking again, "This 'Granny' person really worked you over good, didn't she? You don't have a single thought in your head that's your own anymore, do you?"

The Reaper scoffed aggressively. Helen could plainly see that this woman before her was so thoroughly indoctrinated, she could only assume that this rhetoric was drilled into her head from a relatively young age, and thus been internalized. She was fairly certain that this constituted as abuse somewhere down the line. But that didn't excuse her from her actions.

"If you continue to impede our glorious path, you will have to be dealt with," she said, almost as if she was disgusted with the idea of sullying her scythe with Helen's unworthy blood. " Dealt with . . . permanently."

"If you're talking about spilling my blood," Helen said, thoroughly unconcerned, "well, I just don't see that happening."

"Then allow me to open your eyes!" she said, spinning her scythe with a necessary flourish and skill. Helen narrowed her eyes, and she knew that the Reaper was showing off, almost in an effort to impress her. Helen waited -- waited for the Reaper to take the initiative.

When she did, Helen acted and blasted a concussive blast with her ring, snapping the scythe in two, then she fired a barrage of energy spheres which pummeled the weapon until it was beyond all repair, magical or otherwise. The Reaper, shocked and aggrieved, fled to parts unknown.

Helen wondered if she ran to save her life, or to receive punishment from this 'Granny'. She frowned deeply. She already knew the answer.