Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

Sorry for the delay, and all titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXVII (1,377): "Thirteen Ghosts" -- An old foe has rounded up the Thirteen Ghosts, and his plan does not go as he thinks it would.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
The Mime

"I got this, guys, go on ahead," Melissa said, wielding her wand. Red, blue, yellow, and green sparks emitting from the wand. The woman opposite of her said nothing, but gave a **** to her head that recalled a childish curiosity. Almost as if Melissa mildly amused her with her reluctant bravado.

Melissa, despite her brave words, didn't feel too amazingly confident in her abilities. She tended to be a timid, bookish girl by nature. She'd hardly consider herself a warrior of any stripe. Sure, she had imagined herself as a stalwart heroine who had earned the adoration and adulation of the masses -- but these were just idle daydreams of an overactive imagination. She knew such things were not the truth of the world (though it was fun to imagine "what if"), and she had accepted it.

Not to mention she had only apprenticed herself to Broken for just several months at this point. Her magical knowledge wasn't exactly the most extensive, though she was a powerful user of it. Deep down, she knew that she was more of a scholar than a fighter. But this was necessary. Not only to hold back this hooded figure, but as a personal test, to prove herself.

The cloaked figure was still silent, but snapped her fingers and her six grunts -- all in silver cloaks stepped forward, towards Melissa. The neophyte RAFian had to fight an urge to step backward an equidistant amount of paces. Their forms shimmered and they were seemingly replaced with that of xylodermic golem, a ferrodermic dragon, an aerodermic dragon, a pyrodermic phoenix, a geodermic turtle, and an aquadermic tiger. It was very intimidating.

She brandished her wand and shouted, "Riddikulus!"

But she immediately knew this was wrong, when nothing happened. She cursed at her self briefly, as she realized that was the spell for dispelling and banishing boggarts. What was that spell?

She had to Apparate away from the six monsters closing in on her. She was still struggling to think of the spell. Zettaflare? No, Broken flatout said that that takes a significant amount of magical power and skill to perform, and completely depletes the user's magic reservoir for quite some time. And inexperienced use of it could lead to the user's untimely death or backfire in other horrendous ways.

She had to Apparate again, though it seemed that the six monsters had no intention on truly harming her, or otherwise could not. She frantically wracked her brain for the spell. How could Broken remember so many? Much less with all the necessary wand movements and incantations? There were so many of them!!

"Revelio!" she said, moving her wand in an "R"-shaped motion. This didn't work at all, as she knew that she always had trouble with this spell. It wasn't exactly the easiest to master in the first place. She dodged what appeared to be many strikes, but she strangely felt no fear of the beasts. She didn't stop to consider why.

"Specialis . . . Revelio? No, that's not right." she said, rapping with her wand smartly before realizing that this was not the right spell either. It didn't work anyway. She wracked her brains for the right spell while keeping a safe distance away from the six.

"Homenum Revelio!" she said, pointing her wand. It was a moment later when she realized that this wasn't the right spell either. But it showed human silhouettes within the beasts, standing on the ground . . . which led her to realize that they didn't transform at all, but were just casting some really convincing illusions. But the right spell continued to elude her mind -- and she found it rather frustrating.

 "Uh . . . Veratrix Revelio!" she said, pointing her wand at the six illusioned beasts closing in on her. All six of the illusions lopped like cheap party balloons from the magical light emitted by her wand. This surprised the six grunts, and the Mime's frown deepened with deep disappointment.

Emboldened, Melissa used a variety of Stunning Spells and the like to incapacitate all of the six. Incapacitate, not kill. She was very adamant about this, as she did not want to kill anyone -- especially when she did not have to, especially when other avenues other than murder existed.

The Mime, however, had other intentions. She took out a small metal box with a red button, and she pressed it. And what happened next -- Melissa wished she could forget. It was so horrible . . . their heads . . . exploded. There was no way to repair this . . . no way to erase this, not even with a self-inflicted Memory Charm.

She looked up and demanded, "WHY?!"

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXVIII (1,378): "The Orator" -- An irritating shock jock becomes a thorn in the RAFians' side.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Torn Lexicon

She didn't answer Melissa, and it was not because she did not want to deign to answer her (although that was very much a factor), but because she quite literally could not. The Mime was mute.

Her name was Alexa Connor. She came from a family who legitimately thought that poverty was a moral failing, and treated poorer people as morally inferior. As a result, not many people truly like either one of them, and their unrealistic and unbelievable entitlement issues. They expected perfection, and when they had a daughter that was born mute, they considered that potentially scandalous.

So, they abandoned her, paying off the authorities enough for them to look the other way, to not dare to charge them. Any officer with enough integrity were dealt with -- severely. It would have probably been better (but not by much) just to give her to an orphanage. But Mr. and Mrs. Connor didn't want anyone to notice them leaving something at an orphanage, and went out of their way to deny that they ever had a kid, claiming -- when pushed -- that their child was stillborn. They didn't want anyone to believe any child of theirs could possibly be flawed in any way, and they considered being born mute a considerable flaw.

Perhaps if they had more foresight, they could have been aware that they could use their daughter to garner sympathy, and become rich, entitled parents -- but the amount of abuse and neglect that she would have endured. . . . Then again, it wasn't all that different from the cold, distant upbringing the Orphanage gave her, making her even more devoid of love and compassion and selflessness than her good-for-nothing, "affluenza" parents.

"What happened to you to make you this way?" Melissa scolded. "How can you be so cavalier about taking the life of another? Does anyone's life just not hold any meaning to you?"

 As she was mute, and Melissa was not a Legimens, silence ensued after her questioning. Melissa had no way of knowing that the Mime was mute and literally unable to speak -- at least, when she wasn't using her lexicon weapon. It was really odd that a book was someone's weapon, but it allowed e Mime to alter her appearance, and give her a voice.

She assumed the form of Spellbinder, and could affect his voice flawlessly, which took Melissa offguard. But she knew that it came from the book -- and thus that was her weakness.

"She's mute, you --" she said, in Spellbinder's voice, uttering a vulgarity directed towards Melissa's intelligence. "She cannot speak."

"You don't fool me," Melissa countered. "I know that you're not -- not him."

"Are you sure?" he said, with a slight singaongy tone. The Mime was really enjoying toying with Melissa like this. Melissa, however, was not enjoying this. Not at all. She decided that they prolonged this long enough.

"Veratrix Revelio," Melissa barked. The Mime's illusion popped like a cheap party balloon. Melissa's expression just became more resolute, as she saw the Mime holding the Lexicon covetously, not unlike Gollum. She didn't care.

Then she waved her wand, saying, "Accio Lexicon!" and the Lexicon flew from her protective grasp with relative ease (which she found extremely embarrassing). She desperately grasped at it as it zoomed to Melissa, who caught it. Then she threw it back into the air. While the Lexicon was in the air, Melissa slashed her wand in a ">" movement, shouting "Reducto!" which reduced the Lexicon into dust.

This devastated the Mime, as she knew that the 'Granny' doesn't hand out specialized weapons and give her loyal servants Names willy-nilly. And she allowed that to be reduced to dust. She knew what that meant for her, and she was terrified. She took something from her pocket, and Melissa didn't notice the movement. But it didn't matter -- Melissa couldn't stop her, the decision had already been made.

The Mime popped the item she had took from her pocket into her mouth and swallowed it. It was a pill. A cyanide pill. All this unnoticed by Melissa, who was just now looking up from the dust that was once the Lexicon.

The Mime fell down, having a seizure, alarming Melissa, who rushed over. But, within her first footsteps, the Mime suffered cardiac arrest and lost consciousness. Melissa was at a loss as to what to do about it. She had nothing to stop this poison -- she didn't carry bezoars on her (no, not the parasite bezoar, the wrinkled stone with magical properties). She didn't know any spells to cure this -- she didn't master any of the Cure spells, and even if she did, that might only have bought her some time, but not enough. There was nothing that she could do . . .

And the Mime then died.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXIX (1,379): "Talos Generator" -- A man markets monsters as biological weapons.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
The Dancer

"I got this, guys," GH said, "go. Make sure that Cloak doesn't need help."

"Oh, big man, aren't cha? " said the Dancer. "A big man beating up on a poor, defenseless woman?"

"And now," GH said, turning toward her and her six grunts, "you've just made this awkward."

She just giggled in an almost flirtatious way, which just made the guitarist feel even more uncomfortable. It was Amber all over again. GH's discomfort seemed to greatly amuse the Dancer, who was dancing mildly in place.

"How about a bit of an orchestral opening?" the Dancer said, playfully.

"How are seven sitars an orchestra?" he said. Then, after a beat of utter silence, he wore a protesting look that said, quite plainly, I KNOW what a sitar is! Granted, he believed his guitar was superior, as it was the only thing, second to only Leatherhead, that he cared about most.

The seven ignored this comment and began to play their weapons. GH deftly unshouldered his guitar and pulled out his guitar pick (he never really told anyone where he stored it and he would always deflect with him saying that he'd rather not say). Every note, every measure of music they played GH found that he had a counterpoint and reply to. He was finding this a rather simple battle to engage in. Music is the area he felt that he excelled the most in -- knowing more genres than Cloak knew extraterrestrial or extradimensional beasts. And that was saying something.

It may have been a simple and easy battle, but GH, despite himself, found that he was enjoying it more and more. It seems like it has been so long before he just battled someone musically. It was the purest kind of battle, he thought, nothing but the music playing from their souls, battling out to see which one was superior.

Then the ride was ruined when a couple of discordant notes rang out over the area. GH frowned and scowled a bit at this. He decided that was fine -- it was probably time to stop drawing this out, anyway. GH raised his playing hand, the one holding his guitar pick, up high, with an overdramatic flourish. Then he played a single chord, which caused a massive acoustic blast that pushed all seven back, but it pushed the Dancer's grunts back further than the Dancer herself.

But GH was not done. He raised his hand up again, and all seven were far less flippant about GH's acoustic power. GH himself was more serious about this, without any goofiness that he prided himself in. He played another powerful chord, sending out another powerful acoustic blast which caused the strings on the grunts' sitars to break, making the instruments unplayable.

But GH was still not done. He raised his hand yet again, and played not a chord, but a riff of epic proportions that eliminated the grunts' sitars entirely and forced them to collapse to the ground. The Dancer's sitar was the only one that weathered this concussive, acoustic onslaught.

GH smirked impishly, as he said, "I call that my Epic Riff. How'd you like it?"

To his surprised, the Dancer addressed her underlings, "Failures! This is unacceptable!! UNACCEPTABLE!!!"

Her screeching was eerily similar to Lemongrab, and GH was confused a tad at this reaction. And he found her screeching hard on his ears. He had a strange foreboding feeling that he couldn't decipher just yet, and he doubted that he would have the the time to psychoanalyze it, until much later.

Looking quite deranged, the Dancer (who didn't really dance so much anymore) tightened her grip upon her sitar, and held out her hand towards her grunts as if she were Master Xenanort. All six writhed in a very unnerving and a clearly very excruciating manner. GH knew exactly what this was -- and his flippancy was immediately lost, replaced by a horrified look with astonishing rapidity.

"You all know the price of UNACCEPTABLE FAILURE!!" she said, gripping the neck of her sitar tighter, and slowly balling her hand into a tight fist.

This was what Cloak called bloodbending, a hydrokinetic ability which allowed the practitioner to manipulate the water within any given body -- although some actually manipulate the blood directly. The Dancer was clearly one of the former.

"What are y-- STOP!!!" GH said, watching the six writhe in excruciating pain. But his scope of doing anything was effectively nil - - especially because he wasn't immune from bloodbending himself.

Then she snapped her fingers, and all six had watery spike launch out of their bodies, killing them immediately and painfully. And the Dancer's eyes were unsympathetic and callous, and GH felt possibly more appalled than he had been in quite a long time.

". . . Why?" the guitarist asked, voice aghast.

[Cloak]

Sorry for the delay. Gmail's being weird, in addition to work getting to me.

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXX (1,380): "Lost Loves" -- A racket comes to life.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
Unplayable Sitar

Her name was Aoide Diskordia. She was named for the muse of voice and song of Greek myth, as her parents (both competent musicians in their own right) wished for her to be musically inclined as well. But none could see what would befall this family. her father fell deathly ill, and expired while Aoide was still just a toddler. Her mother couldn't pull enough money for her musician career to support her and her child (she wasn't rich nor famous), so resulted to marrying her brother-in-law, just to support her and Aoide.

Thing was, her brother-in-law hated music. At least, music of the kind that his sister-in-law (now wife) and little Aoide (who showed considerable talent and promise in her own right) played. He was always secretly jealous of his brother in this regard, and he wanted to stomp that out of his niece. But when it became clear that that wasn't going to happen, he became . . . irate.

Things deteriorated rapidly, and Aoide lost her mother and her uncle/stepfather threw her out, wanting nothing to do with the toddler. How he managed to get away with this was rather legally troublesome. But he managed it somehow, probably by swearing ignorance of her existence, and she found her way to the Orphanage. There she was pretty much exorcised of her humanity and her identity was stripped away from her.

 ". . . Why?" GH had asked.

"Why?" she said, with a churlish expression and an ungracious tone of voice. "I would thought the answer was simple. Perhaps such a simplistic mind such as yours," GH glowered at this slight, "can not comprehend the scope of perfection that we're striving to achieve. Failure, in any way, is not acceptable. It is unacceptable regardless to any emotional ties or relationships. Those are all immaterial to our services of 'Granny', and all the unequivocal goodness she will provide, not only us, but everyone. Everyone wise enough to serve her."

"Did you actually hear a word of what you said?" GH said. He trying to determine just how far gone she was, and he knew it was by a considerable margin. "You'll forgive me if I don't buy into your dogmatic bullcrap. What you did was horrible and wrong."

"I'll not be lectured on morality by the lesser gender!!" she snarled.

GH ****ed an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Everyone knows that men are worthless as warriors! Worthless at everything worthwhile! They're incapable of doing anything useful!" she roared, as if there were a breach in an emotional wall. Clearly, she had repressed memories of her stepfather, making her thoroughly a deep-seated misandrist. "Their only use is in making more women, more warriors! You men cannot even do your menial jobs right, and that's the only think that your asinine gender is even good for!! "

"You're not making this any less awkward, you know." GH commented.

"I DON'T CARE!!" she roared, seemingly more and more incensed by GH's placid comments and cool-headed reason (being Leatherhead's adoptive father had caused some changes in the musician that he might have otherwise lacked). "I'm going to end this. I'm going to end YOU!!"

"Yes, I think this . . . exchange . . . has gone on far enough," GH said. All levity had left him. He thought this person was certifiably crazy, and needed to be dealt with. He noticed that her sitar seemed to be the source of her power.

She hefted her sitar up, clearly intending to use it as a bludgeoning weapon. GH got a glint in his eyes as if he got a Smash Ball. Then he moved as if he was initiating a Final Smash, or some QTE cutscene. He deftly grasped the neck of his guitar in both hands, with the strap vanishing from his shoulder and becoming a wrist loop on his axe. He charged forward, giving her an overhead, vertical strike.

She blocked it with her sitar, which had the strings sliced through immediately. GH kept pushing, forcing his axe to bite through to the main body of the bluish-purple sitar. It was like a lightsaber cutting through a metallic door. The Dancer was so deranged that she didn't even seem to notice. Eventually, GH's axe cleaved the sitar in two, breaking the Dancer's hydrokinesis. She was effectively powerless, and GH was done with her.

He turned his axe back into his guitar and shouldered it. He began walking away, hearing the Dancer's rant become incoherent with her angry frustration, and GH said, without even looking back, "It's over."

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXI (1,381): "Weapon Collector" -- The RAFians must deal with a weapons collector who is after the Eternity Blades . . .

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
The Dragoon

Dino said nothing but gave nod of her large, saurian head for the others to move on, to help Cloak and his family, if need be. She was more than enough to take care of this broad-shouldered figure. Dino reared up to her full, and considerable height, while looking down at this figure and the six other, slighter, smaller figures in silver cloaks. All had female scents, that much Dino could determine -- and she smelled fear from the six silver-clad figures. All held bladed lances, though only the larger figure in the black cloak seemed to have one of any real quality.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" said the figure in the black cloak. Her voice was rather husky and masculine. "Go rid us of that smelly beast!"

"Smelly?" Dino bellowed indignantly. All six flinched at this powerful roar at this direct, unconcealed insult. This seemed to irritate the larger figure, the one in the black cloak who spoke.

"Don't be intimidated, you fools," she snarled with her masculine voice. There was a bite of impatience to her tone of voice, as if she thought her grunts were being unbelievably stupid. "It's just an ugly beast --"

"Ugly?!" Dino roared in incensed anger. The six winced again at the Ankylotyrannus's rightful anger, which further annoyed their leader, who continued as if she had not been interrupted by Dino's protesting interjection.

"-- of subpar intelligence to that of a human being. So -- so help me -- show some backbone."

"Subpar intelligence?!" Dino said, now truly ticked off. Her restraint was still holding her back from just simply rampaging like a wild, uncontrollable beast. She knew if she did, she would just be reinforcing this person's bigoted position. She didn't want that.

Still the grunts hesitated, necessitating the Dragoon to say, "Act now, or I shall take your breath away."

Dino thought that this was an odd threat, and stymied her for a minute as the six surrounded her, poking her with their lances. They might as well have been pointy sticks, as they couldn't really bypass her scales -- and her scales weren't made of adamantium or n^th metal or anything. All they were doing was harshly poking her, like an angry entitled parent. It didn't hurt, but it was irritating all the same.

"Seriously?" Dino said, dryly, with narrowed eyes. "Just . . . seriously?"

"You're beginning to disappoint me," the Dragoon said, lance stripped to her back, and her arms folded in disapproval. "You don't want me disappointed, remember."

Now jets of wind issued from six directions in addition to the jabbing. Dino wasn't particularly pleased with this either. It wasn't harmful, just annoying. She was still looking at the Dragoon with a look that just plainly said, Really?

"You six know full well that I cannot tolerate laziness," she said. Her voice held the edge of finality. "Do away with that interfering beast so we can get out of here!"

And they were now poking her with not only renewed vigor, but a deplorable excess of vigor. There were no words to express Dino's utter annoyance and frustration at this. They were going to pop one of her scales or something if they persisted with their half-hearted jabs.

Dino simply stamped her foot as hard as she could. This was enough to send enough reverberations through the ground to knock the six off their feet, and scatter their lances. They looked daze and confuse as they tried to right themselves.

"I see," she said, and her voice rang with an icy coldness and a heartless callousness that made Dino's blood run glacially cold. Dino had a hunch of what would happen, just not the venue that the Dragoon would take. "You all are lazy procrastinators. You know the punishment for such a crime."

Dino couldn't see what happened when the Dragoon gripped her lance tightly and snapped her fingers. It was horrible to watch. To see these six gasping for air, but unable to breathe. But Dino knew what this was. Cloak had called it "breathbending", and he always spoke of it with great distaste. She now knew precisely why he despised it so much.

It didn't take long for all six to be asphyxiated, and Dino couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. But that wasn't entirely true, was it? She could have attacked the Dragoon and distracted her from doing this. But she wouldn't have had time to take three steps before the six asphyxiated -- but it didn't make her feel any better.

She looked at the Dragoon, and said, quite plainly, "What is wrong with you?"

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXII (1,382): "Next Evolution" -- (spoiler)

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Chomped Lance

Her name was Delilah Kramer, and she came from two parents who actually thought the earth was a disc instead of a sphere. Her mother was more fanatic and frenetic in this belief than her father, and they were intent that everyone not teach their children the "lie" of a round Earth -- as such the entire family was pretty isolated and typically avoided whenever possible. But they never had the opportunity to try and foist their wrong interpretations upon the school system, they had Delilah taken away from them.

Not by the legal system, as they didn't have any real course to take their child from them, as Delilah wasn't technically neglected (one could argue that she was being neglected an actual education from her bat**** crazy parents, but she wasn't of school age yet), nor was she malnourished or abused in any other way. No, Delilah was taken by an Anonymous One who saw promise in the toddler and her parents were swift to blame the neighbors that gave them a wide birth, and avoided them whenever possible.

She was raised in th cultish life, and, being raised in this way, she was stripped of any compassion, empathy, and sympathy like many of the Named Ones, when they were bequeathed their weapons that granted them their powers.

"They knew the consequences of failure, and, above all, laziness," she said, looking thoroughly unconcerned about her murder. Her hands was technically and literally bloodless, but their blood was still on her hands (metaphorically, of course). "Neither will be tolerated."

Dino looked at her, and said, "They weren't given a choice to be in whatever organization you're working for, were they?"

"Servitude to 'Granny' is mandatory to all able-bodied people," she said. "Choices are a deceptive illusion. Freedom is a contemptible misnomer. There is only 'Granny''s will, and we all have the obligation to follow it."

"That is some heavy-duty indoctrination, right there," Dino said, with narrowed eyes. " So your 'organization' is basically a cult. Good to know."

"I cannot let you disparage the greatness and the goodness of 'Granny'," she said, severely. She stood, lance in hand, as she glared daggers at Dino. She was well-indoctrinated, Dino could see. "Her will will be done! Your weakness and sin will be exterminated from this world -- I will purify this world from you!"

"You are really far gone, aren't you?" Dino said, with a sigh. "Fully drank the Kool-Aid and everything, huh?"

When Dino saw the Dragoon grip her lance tightly, she knew what she was intending to do and, timing it just right, she shank to her compact form. This surprised the Dragoon, who immediately forgot about breathbending, at the sight a charging, man-sized Ankylotyrannus. She readied her lance like a spear, ready to jam it into the sensitive tissues in Dino's mouth.

Dino smiled inwardly. This was precisely Dino wanted her to do. When the Dragoon jabbed her lance forward, Dino turned her head in such a way where her teeth caught the lance and wrenched it from the Dragoon's hand. This surprised the woman, but Dino had it in her mouth, like a dog with a femur bone.

"Don't," the Dragoon demanded, but Dino ignored her. And the Dragoon didn't like that. Not one bit. She wasn't accustomed to having her demands ignored in such a flagrant, obvious way.

Dino used all of her bite strength, expecting to have to worry the lance, like a dog with a bone, but was not what happened at all. She bit down with the full biting strength she had (which was considerable, even in her compact form). The lance went from a straight line to a "W"-shape. And she spat it out, as the lance was starting to poke the inner lining of her mouth.

"'Granny' . . ." the Dragoon said, aghast, voice barely a whisper and her eyes wide. "Why have you forsaken me?"

Then she scurried away, and Dino was at an impasse. The Dragoon was powerless, but she could still be dangerous. Conversely, she was having a crisis of faith -- an ideological crisis, and there was no telling how she would react from it. But she also knew that nothing she said would dissuade her or comfort her.

What to do?

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXIII (1,383): "Wind Power" -- The birth of Aerotyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
The Assassin

"Go," Faerie said, with a small smile, "let me have my fun."

"You think dying is fun?" said the Assassin, who was quite tall and slender. She immediately removed the hood of her cloak, revealing her face. She had small eyebrows, a widow's peak of thick, shoulder-length, red hair. "Well, then allow my grunts to facilitate."

"Why hide behind your lackeys?" Faerie taunted. "Not brave enough or strong enough to face me on your own?"

The Assassin smirked, in a very condescending fashion, "You always fight the sub-bosses before you get to the big bad. It's just how these things are done."

"Excuses, excuses." Faerie said, flippantly, gripping her battle axe tightly, eager to use it. But she wouldn't kill. Maiming wouldn't be necessary. She had a lot of confidence in her abilities, and was confident that she could attack in a nonlethal manner. She was a trained RAFian, after all.

"It's the way things are done," the Assassin said, holding her chakram in her right hand, over her right shoulder. She did this in a flippant manner to match Faerie's own. "I must not sully my hands until you can best my underlings."

Then she addressed her six grunts, in a darker, serious, and dangerous tone, "And you know the price of failure. Don't make me iron out this plot point again."

Faerie was perplexed by the comment about plot points -- but clearly pretending as if she was a story character who could break the fourth wall seemed to go along with her schtick. She couldn't really see nor break the fourth wall, but she liked to pretend as if she could. She wasn't like a Realm Walker (Cloak, in fact, started to ignore the fourth wall, because, as he puts it, there was nothing interesting out there, anyway), and it was all theater of the mind.

Then she snapped her fingers, and her six grunt moved forward with chakrams of their own. One threw the chakram like a frisbee, and Faerie, still with a rather smug smile, blocked it easily with her axe. The chakram fell to the ground, and Faerie vanished it with noverbal, wandless magic. A perk of being a faerie.

"Next?" she said, with great bravado.

The second one threw it so it spun much like a yo-yo. Faerie preempted this attack, with one of her own, severing the chakram cleaning in two. She landed, almost daintily,  twirling her axe in her right hand, as she nonverbally, wandlessly vanished the two halves of the chakrams. She never lost that confident smile, which seemed to irritate the Assassin.

"Nice try," she said, bravado at maximum. "Next?"

The third one threw her chakram at a forty-five-degree angle. Faerie managed to redirect it right back at the grunt in the silver cloak of the same size and style of her fellows. She failed to catch it, and it landed, as if it were a frisbee, a few feet away. The Assassin's scowl of displeasure deepened as the grunt scrambled to collect her chakram and return to formation.

"Needs work," Faerie said, still with the air of smugness. "Next?"

The fourth one threw her chakram with a curve. Faerie's confident smirk deepened as she dodged the throw easily. It was really clear that she wasn't taking the battle with these grunts seriously, and she was defeating them with practiced ease and vanishing their weapons without a sound or a wand. And her flippancy did not seem to have an end. She vanished the chakram midair, as the Assassin glared daggers. Not at Faerie, but her own grunts.

"Not very good at this, are you?" Faerie taunted, with a sly smile. "Next?"

The fifth one threw her chakram with an overhead throw, clearly intending it to be boomeranged back. Only for Faerie to pull a Great Aether Final Smash on it, and vanishing the pieces. She smirked, which broadened when she saw the broad smile.

"Try again later," the faerie said. "Next?"

The last one didn't chuck her chakram, deciding to use it as a melee weapon instead. Faerie was really gung-ho for this, and this took the longest to battle. And Faerie unabashedly savored the battle. It really has been too long since she had done this. She wasn't even rusty at it! But, in the end, she bested this one, too. RAFian training and all that. She vanished the chakram.

"You disappoint me," the Assassin said. Faerie initially thought she was addressing the RAFian, but she wasn't. She was addressing her grunts. "Worse of all, you failed. You failed not only me, but you failed 'Granny'."

Then the entire area seemed to grow colder and darker, as the Assassin's expression matched this. Faerie's flippancy evaporated as she started to realize what the Assassin was saying. But she couldn't react in enough time to stop what happened next.

"You know the consequences of failure of any kind," she said, in a cold callous tone. This was greeted with numerous protests -- unseen in any other grunts -- and begging for forgiveness. The Assassin was unmoved by these frantic pleas of mercy. She said, "Good-bye."

She snapped her fingers, grasping her own chakram tighter, and all six of her grunts were immolated and incinerated in intense flames until nothing but ash remained. Faerie was horrified.

"That wasn't necessary!" she growled.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXIV (1,384): "Creepy Power" -- The birth of Entomotyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
Twice-Bifurcated Chakram

Her name was Leigh Axel. She was born to parents who really didn't have any business being parents. Shortly after she was born, both parents (whose identities other than their collective surname was unknown) got into the drug scene. And they got there very hard. They would push child care upon strangers and neighbors, as they spent their money -- all of it -- on these dangerous drugs with very potent psychoactive chemicals. They had several conspicuous missing teeth and their hair grew wispy and dead-looking. At the end of it all, they looked more like Inferi than living people.

Naturally, Child Protective Services came around and saw, very clearly, that this situation and circumstance were completely unbefitting a parent of any stripe, and they took Leigh away with the last thing that her parents ever gave her, the last thing they gave her before their drugs subsumed and dominated their lives -- her name. It was the only thing that she was given, and she had no memory of them, being so young when she was taken away. She wasn't even old enough to walk.

Then she was stripped away of that, when the Anonymous Ones adopted her, if you could call it adoption and not straight up kidnapping, as they saw potential in this baby. And when they saw potential, they took action to possess that potential for their own ends.

"That wasn't necessary!" Faerie had scolded.

"But it was," the Assassin said, all levity vanishing from her tone and body language. "Failure is not an option for a Femme Fatale or her grunts. Failure is not an option for anyone who serves 'Granny'. It's a strict code."

"It's a cult," Faerie declared as harshly as she could.

The Assassin scoffed contemptuously. "Proving how little you kn about us and our grand mission."

"Grand mission, huh?" Faerie said, with a dismissive tone. "Care to enlighten me on what this so-called 'great mission is?"

"Serving the whims and will of 'Granny'," she said, with an almost rapturous smile. "There is nothing better or fulfilling than that."

"Uh . . . huh . . ." Faerie said slowly, then added, quite audibly, "Yeah, nothing cultish about that, is there?"

"You don't understand," she said, as flames began to bar any exit. Faerie was unconcerned and unintimidated. She's seen Garrotik -- this idiot nor her precious 'Granny' was nothing to that tier. Heck, Malice could probably destroy this 'Granny' with a simple **** slap. The Assassin spoke again, "nonbelievers will be purged and expunged from this world, and 'Granny' will be the savior to those whose faith never faltered. When you lie, dying, you will want to repent and maybe, just maybe, 'Granny' will show you mercy."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Faerie asked. It was a legitimate question. "Do you even hear the dogmatic bull you're spewing?"

"I will purge you myself, nonbeliever!" the Assassin decreed.

"Well, I don't see that happening," Faerie said, dismissively.

"Then allow me to open your eyes!!" she roared, as the flame wall around them continued to arc further up. Faerie was still unconcerned about it, though very aware.

The battle began, and Faerie was playing it defensively. She was using one of Cloak's old tactics -- defense until you either spot a weakness or determine your foe's full capabilities. She's seen him use this tactic successfully enough times to try it herself. Every strike blocked and tanked, or dodged and evaded. It was a simple manuever, in all honesty.

But soon became clear what her weakness was -- other than water. She had to stop from time to time to pontificate, relying on the flame-cracked ground to slow Faerie down. But here was thing -- as a Faerie of her court, she was not tethered to ground as most beings were.

First thing the RAFian noticed was that the Assassin had a fairly aggressive fighting style. That could work against her, and Faerie was currently formulating a plan to use it against her. Faerie barely noticed her proselytizing and scolding her for being a nonbeliever -- those words were meaningless and worthless to her. Faerie smiled as she concocted her winning strategy.

The Assassin threw her chakram, ignited, at Faerie. The RAFian used a wandless, nonverbal Banishment Charm to deflect the chakram at a nearly forty-five-degree angle from her. The flames snuffed out, and then Faerie used a wandless, nonverbal Summoning Charm to bring it back to her. She readied her axe.

When it was within range, she quickly bifurcated it once, then twice. Then she used a wandless, nonverbal Reductor Curse and reduced the pieces to dust. The flames around them and underground were immediately extinguished.

"Do . . ." the Assassin said, breathlessly, "do you have any idea what you've done?!"

"Enlighten me," Faerie said, with a sly smirk.

"I . . . I f. . . I f-f-failed," she said, breaking down. Faerie didn't feel at all sorry for her. She was a callous murderer. She killed her six grunts without a tiny smidgen of remorse, but without hesitation or pause. Why should the RAFian feel sorry for her if the same befell her?

Faerie landed upon the flame-cracked ground, turned on her heel and walked away, without saying a word while the Assassin bawled.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXV (1,385): "Spectral Power" -- The birth of Phaetotyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
The Sniper

"Don't worry." Ash told the others. "I'll handle this. Go on. Cloak and his family might need your help."

"And you think that you and your merry little band of freaks and outcasts can accomplish anything to stop us?" the Sniper said, ****y and irreverent, holding her sniper rifle loosely at her side, her grip relaxed. "As if!"

"Oh, allow us to try," Ash said, unconcerned, "we just might surprise you, you know."

She shrugged in a very flippant, insincere manner. The woman just reeked of insincerity. "You can try, but you will fail. No one can beat the Femme Fatales. 'Granny' handpicked us to accomplish her purposes, gave us enough importance to give us names."

"And, yet, you don't seem to realize ultimately how sad and cruel it is to be denied a name, an identity, unless you're deemed 'worthy' of one." Ash said, true compassion punctuating every word. She felt sorrow and pity that the woman before her thought this was normal, to be denied a name of all their own. It was a cruel injustice in her mind, as having a name is a fundamental part of having someone learn about themselves and become their own person.

The Sniper snorted, and said, condescendingly, "As if!"

This seemed to be her favorite rebuttal, Ash quickly deduced. This clearly allows her to readily dismiss anything that contradicts her worldview, no matter how substantial the facts against this worldview were. Ash was perceptive enough to understand that trying to dissuade her and convince her was an exercise in futility. Any point the RAFian made or would make would just be waved away with a pronounced "As if!", dismissed as worthless propaganda.

"Poor brainwashed fool," Ash said, shaking her head sadly. "You're in too deep. You've not only drank the Kool-Aid you've chugged it with a fanatical gusto. . . ."

"As if!" was her only reply. "But the doctrine is very clear about what to do with nonbelievers like you. Grunts! Assume the position!"

Ash was no intimidated. As a RAFian, she has dealt with worse, dealt with far more frightening things. When she saw that the six grunts had knelt and were aiming their sniper rifles at them, with the Sniper aiming hers at Ash but while standing. Of course, this was not how snipers were supposed to work, but clearly the Sniper didn't care.

"Why am I not surprised?" Ash said, folding her arms with a heavy sigh. "I don't suppose that I can talk you out of this?"

"As if!" she said. Those two, single -syllable words were starting to grate on Ash's nerves. "FIRE!"

Dust kicked up as the sniper rifles fired energy bullets, which hit the dust cloud. It appeared that they all hit Ash dead on. The Sniper even wore a sneering smile, believing that she had just murdered the RAFian.

That smile quickly vanished when she realized that there was no body left behind. And, in her mind, no body meant that she wasn't dead. (She clearly had never knowingly met a Realm Walker before.) She wasn't very pleased with this, especially when she was proven right when she heard Ash's voice at roughly two o'clock from her.

"It's not that easy to kill a RAFian," she said. She had shapeshifted into a flea and back again. She watched as the Sniper's face contorted in apoplectic rage. Ash had thought that it was direct towards her, but she was quite mistaken.

The sniper shot and the energy bullet appeared to go through some sort of wormhole in space not more than six feet in front of her. The single shot fatally ripped through all six bodies of her grunts before any of them could realize what was happening to them. There was no way for Ash to have foresee this turn of events, much less have taken the necessary steps in order to prevent their deaths. She was aghast and appaled, while the Sniper showed absolutely no remorse or qualms about her use of lethal force.

"Failures," the Sniper grumbled in a way that managed to jar Ash from her shocked stupor. "Intolerable."

"That wasn't necessary," Ash said. She found herself to be utterly disgusted by this, finding the callous, heartless way the Sniper did this utterly revolting and disgusting. "You didn't need to kill them."

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXVI (1,386): "Brawn Power" -- The birth of Herculetyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
Crushed Sniper Rifle

Her name was Nichole Barr, born to Nolan Holden Barr and his wife Karen. Both were what you could call "gun enthusiasts" , but they had very little common sense and practicality. Not a very good combo to have.

Nolan also hoarded guns -- even high capacity ones, along with the ammunition that went with them. Not to mention, despite having a baby in the house (granted, one not old enough to walk), he kept all of them fully loaded. If anyone pointed out how dangerous that was, he'd always wave away their concerns. And Karen was no different. They were inordinately proud of the collect that they amassed, that their house was little more than a firearm armory at this point. With all the firearms fully loaded.

Then they made a foolish decision that broke the camel's back. They had social media, as many other people do, and tended to post some of the most nonsensical things. They decided that it was a good idea to post a picture of Nicole holding a loaded assault-type firearm. At first, it just got a few likes and shares from like-minded friends. But eventually went viral, when it was revealed the gun was fully loaded.

Child Protective Services (CPS) immediately took action, but local law enforcement took action first. They had their arsenal raid and confiscated before the two parents were arrested for child negligence, and child endangerment. The courts found them a present danger to their community, and detained them for an undisclosed amount of time, while their daughter was put into foster care with no memory of this, as she was far too young. Where she came to be in the Goodness Orphanage, where they made her into what she was today.

"You didn't have to kill them," Ash repeated, more forcefully this time.

"As if," she said, all flippancy lost. "They missed. They failed me. Worse, they failed 'Granny'. They knew the consequences ."

Ash caught the gist of something in way the Sniper said that. She narrowed her eyes, as she asked, "Did they even have a choice in the matter?"

"What's that matter?" she said. Ash couldn't been wrong, but it seemed as if the question legitimately puzzled the Sniper. "We are all obligated to do 'Granny''s will, and failures must be dealt with swiftly, and without mercy. Even nonbelievers are obligated to bow to her whims."

"Yeeeah . . . about that? No one has the right to foist beliefs upon others, and expect them to be instilled without resistance."  Ash said, feeling like she was stating what should be quite obvious.

"As if!" the Sniper said. It was funny just how much those two one-syllable words were grinding the RAFian's last nerve. "'Granny' knows all, and sees all. She knows everything that is in our best interests."

Ash cast her glance down at the forgotten corpses of the grunts, and said, "I'm inclined to disagree."

"As if!" There were those two words again. Ash was starting to get a facial tick upon hearing them. "There is no disagreement where 'Granny' is concerned. Choice is all matters is an illusion. 'Granny''s will always comes true, her plan is infallible."

"And yet you claim failure isn't an option," Ash said, pointing out the incongruity of this statement with one of her last, "while, in the same breath, claiming that this 'Granny' person's plan inevitably comes true. You don't see the conflicting messages of those statements?"

"Enough talking," she said, her face taking on a serious edge now. She aimed her sniper rifle at Ash, pretty much point-blank range at this point, and was just about to fire when Ash vanished - - unbeknowst to the Sniper, Ash had shapeshifted something very small and worked her way quickly around her. The Sniper, in her frustration, roared, "Enough of these magic tricks!"

It was then that she noticed the snake coils around her, all the way up to her midsection. Before she could react to defend herself, the constrictor-type snake had made it to her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. Only her right hand was free and it was gripping her sniper rifle as tightly as she could as it allowed her manipulate space -- but it was very difficult to hold on to a heavy rifle with one hand while in the coils of a large snake. The Sniper couldn't think of a way out of this, and wanted to cry out for 'Granny' to save her -- but she knew if she did that, that would only ensure that 'Granny' would not come. She never came to those who showed weakness. If the Sniper showed weakness, she'd have her very Name stripped from her. Mercy was weakness in her view, after all.

the snake spoke, and its voice wasn't at all what the Sniper was expecting. It was Ash. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. What say you?"

The Sniper's grip upon her firearm tightened, and this was not lost on Ash, who sighed heavily. She asked, rhetorically, "Why do they always choose the hard way?"

The Sniper spat, and uttered a very offensive vulgarity, to which Ash responded, "You force me to do something that I really don't want to do."

While maintaining her grip, her flesh began to melt into another shape, a fist with thin fingers. From that fist came a wrist, then an arm with a fin on the elbow. All of this was slow and apparently hard, as Ash seemed to  struggle with shapeshifting into a To'kustar, or any species likewise as large. It seemed almost painful her, almost as if she were, quite literally in some regard, overstretching herself and her powers. This is why she didn't like shapeshifting something this size.

When she finished, she easily plucked the sniper rifle from the Sniper's hand. She had the strength of To'kustar in this form. Ignoring the Sniper's protestations, she crushed the firearm to the point of being irreparable.

"NOOOOOO!!!" the Sniper screamed. She knew that the 'Granny' would not be forgiving for this. She was well aware of how she felt about failure . . . she was screwed. She was totally screwed, and she knew it.

Ash set her down, as the the Sniper was having a fit, and she managed to shapeshift back to her base form. This was easier for her, like an elastic band snapping back to its more stable form.

And then she watched the Sniper breaking down.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXVII (1,387): "Metal Power" -- The birth of Ferrotyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
The Gambler

"Go on," Yunyun said, urging Estelore and Terenia onward. "I've got this."

"You're certainly making a gamble," said the Femme Fatale across from her, playing with a deck of cards. Yunyun had the bizarre image of her challenging the RAFian to a seven-on-one duel with a children's card game. "You really have such bravado, girl?"

Yunyun said nothing, but got her magical cards ready. Granted, she had her own brand of magic if she ran out of cards. She only had about sixty of them, and there was always a chance that she could "deck out". This was not one of those Yu-Gi-Oh duels. If she "decked out" -- as each card required a cool down period after use -- she would still be in battle, and she would still have a means to defend herself.

"Ah, you have to play the brooding protagonist?" the Gambler said, with a condescending laugh that reeked of insincerity. She clearly was going for some sort of Seto Kaiba-type inflection, but came off as more as Eddie Deezen. "You won't have plot armor in this confrontation, I'm afraid!"

Yunyun said nothing, readying her deck, as the Gambler's silver cloaked grunt flanked around her in a semi-circle, armed with decks of a similar magical nature. Yunyun had a very good idea what was about to happen, and she was less than amused by it.

 "What," the Gambler said, addreswing her clearly-intimidated grunts, with her voice as cold and unyielding as an admantium blade, "are you waiting for?"

The six simultaneously threw six cards, which stopped within two to three feet in front of them, rotating fast and enlarging. From each, a magical, but fictitious (assumingly) monsters. Man-sized worms whose design looked vaguely like Mister Mind, but in a more feral, visceral way. One looked as if it were merged with a sapling, another with fur that gave it the look of being a living torch, another with rippling membrane instead of legs, one with stone, shabti-like head, another with a tail like the wind-catching structure on the end of of dandelion seed, and the last one was just a metallic, almost-robotic worm. Yunyun scowled, but she found herself more perplexed than creeped out.

If they could some any monster, why go for bugs? Much less the clear larval stages of bugs? Even if they plan for the fictitious monsters to mature -- which she wasn't sure how long that would take -- it seemed like a rather odd choice. Yunyun looked at each of these monster worms in turn before formulating her means of counterattack. each had surprisingly large, expressive eyes, unusual for grubby worms. The fiery one looked hateful, the finned one looked sad, the sprout-like one looked miserable, the one with the shabti-like head looked passive, grounded, and unimpressive, the one with the dandelion seed filament looked ambitious, and the robotic one looked apathetic. Yunyun wondered if this meant anything.

"Good," she said, and the grunts looked pleased and relieved. It did not take a genius to realize that she did not hand out praise -- or anything even remotely resembling praise -- very often. Then the Gambler addressed Yunyun, "I think we should just skip the formalities, don't you?"

She snapped her fingers, and Yunyun had an initial reaction as if the Gambler had done a Thanos snap. Then she realized all six of the bugs were immediately put into cocoons that were appropriately themed to their element. One cocoon was made of wood pulp, like the nest of a wasp. One cocoon was akin to a flaming soccer ball. One cocoon was a semi-opaque bubble. One cocoon was like a stone. One cocoon was like the head of a dandelion, and the final cocoon was cooled-down slag vaguely in the shape of Skeets. The RAFian, while concerned, wasn't too afraid.

Yunyun drew the shield card and the sword card, which granted her a shield and a sword, which she could load a card it each, to empower each magical construct in certain ways. She didn't know all the ways, as she didn't try all the combinations. But she only had access to fifty-eight other cards, and some previously used cards may not be in her deck this time. She didn't control what cards were in her deck -- it was always sixty random cards that always had an application in some way. She just had to figure out that application.

"Time's up," the Gambler said, snapping her fingers once again.

The wood pulp cocoon broke open revealing a stick insect with sickle-like mandibles. The flaming soccer ball broke open revealing an atlas moth with fiery wings and a bullwhip-like proboscis. The semi-opaque bubble burst to reveal an arachnid covered in foam bubbles. The stone crumbled away revealing what appeared to be an overlarge dung beetle with prominent mandibles. The dandelion burst open revealing a damselfly with what appeared to be too many wings. The metal Skeets cracked open revealing a generic, robotic bug.

Yunyun was not intimidated, but wondered why specifically these monsters. What significance did they have? Perhaps there was truly no significance and they just summoned these fictitious creatures at random -- with just a coincidental commonality between them. But no matter. She had a plan to deal with them.

She attacked the stick bug with her sword, using her shield to deflect the mandibles, and slicing through it completely shattering it as if were made of crystal. Then she drew a card, and empowered her sword and shield with fire -- then sliced through the robotic bug. The bug shattered, as if it was made of glass. Then the fire vanished from her sword and shield.

Then she drew another card, and empowered her shield and sword with water. She then immediately attacked the fiery moth. The water vanished from her sword and she drew again. Then she empowered her sword and shield with earth and dirt, and attacked the arachnid, shattering it to pieces.

She drew again, and empowered her shield and sword with wind. Then she struck the dung beetle, which shattered to bits. Then she drew again and empowered her blade and shield with energy, and shattered the damselfly. All of the monster bugs were now gone.

"Failure," the Gambler said, and Yunyun initially thought that she was addressing the RAFian. She was quite unpleasantly surprised when the Gambler clutched her deck and pointed at her grunts. She watched as they aged into dust, effectively killing them.

Yunyun stood there, in a horrified silence.

[Cloak]

Sorry for the delay -- it was an . . . eventful . . . four days in my life.

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXVIII (1,388): "Frost Power" -- The birth of Cryotyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
Cutting the Deck

Her name was Jaclyn Spade.

Her father was named Lucian Spade, and he had a severe gambling problem. He never knew when to call it quits when playing these games of chance, always assuming that the next ticket, or the next $100 would give him the next jackpot. And, on the very rare occasion that he did win, it was never enough to satisfy his greed. He never recovered from this, and it warped his thinking to the point that he hid his chronic gambling from his wife, Karen. They would eventually divorce over this very issue, and Karen would get custody over Jaclyn.

But Karen was not without her own, considerable faults. In a way, she was just a big of a gambler as her ex-husband (which was saying something). She was an anti-vaxxer, and refused to vaccinate Jaclyn. She subscribed to the ridiculous notion that prayer and essential oils could pretty much heal anything, and did not trust doctors, believing them to be a part of some grand, clandestine conspiracy with the pharmaceutical companies. It wasn't true, but you couldn't convince her otherwise, no matter the abundance of verifiable evidence presented to her.

As it would happen, Jaclyn got really sick one day. As expected, the prayer did nothing and the essential oils actually did more damage (as she proved to be allergic to this particular one). But Karen refused to believe that she might be harming her child. She actually believed at taking her to a doctor would be doing more harm, a dangerous inclination based off of pseudo-science and unsubstantiated, dubiously researched, and outright false claims made on the internet from disreputable sources. Eventually, CPS heard about this and took Jackyn away, charging the mother with child negligence -- which she protested hotly, claiming that she was being discriminated against, and blah blah blah.

Jaclyn eventually came into the care of the Goodness Orphanage (Lucian didn't even try to get custody of her back and never paid child support), where she, like the others, had her name stripped from them Nd eventually gained the "name" of the Gambler, and got to the point, the status, that she enjoyed today.

The Gambler seemed to be enjoying Yunyun's horrified silence, in a very masochistic manner. She almost seemed to savor it, as if they we playing some harmless video game or something. Her horror at just how meaningless the lives of her grunts were to the Gambler seemed to feed some part of her clear apathetic villainy.

". . . Why?" Yunyun said, at last.

"They knew the hand they were dealt," the Gambler said, nonchalantly, as if this was obvious.

"You didn't give them a choice! Did you?!" Yunyun accused.

The Gambler gave a noncommittal shrug that reeked of indifference. "The only choices that matter are those made by 'Granny'."

"You're in a cult," Yunyun said, at once.

"If you think embracing 'Granny' is a cult, then you clearly haven't a clue what a cult is," was her reply. Yunyun found this a weak rebuttal, and she pointed it out, which caused the Gambler to lose all her sass. "Nonbelievers like you are a blight on this world. 'Granny' has been kind enough to bestow her wisdom on us, and you -- all you nonbelievers -- spurn her great knowledge. To grant us more suitable names. now -- die."

The Gambler threw a kinetically-charged card, ala Gambit, at Yunyun. She simply blocked it with her shield. Yunyun felt nothing from the impact. She decided to continue this conversation -- it might make the Gambler make a misstep.

"You kidnap these poor girls, don't you?!" Yunyun accused, deflecting another explosive card with her shield. "You manipulate, brainwash, and indoctrinate them into your way of thinking, don't you? It's how you're able to control them so much. You use fear and threat to intimidate them into your line of thinking."

Yunyun blocked another volley of explosive cards, as the Gambler started to lose her temper. She roared, "Do not preach at me, nonbeliever! Do not besmirch the reputation of the great 'Granny'! She is our savior - - our only savior! And you stand for the stupid, corrupted masses! 'Granny' has bestowed her most loyal servants with true names, names that suit us!"

"After stripping away the names that your parents had given you," Yunyun guessed. "After debasing you so much, breaking you down into believing that you have nothing worthwhile, wiping away any modicum of self-worth you possessed -- until she deigns to give you another name. Am I close?"

Yunyun used her shield to block another volley of explosive cards. It seemed to have lasted at least twenty minutes as the Gambler, instead of having a thoughtful counterpoint to this, just screamed, "SHUT UP!"

The Gambler was clearly unaccustomed to people challenging her beliefs, and was unaccustomed to formulating counterarguments to skepticisms and criticisms of those beliefs. She clearly just assumed everyone was to assume, de facto, the validity of such beliefs, and to do so without question. So, when challenged and unable to dispute the accusations of Yunyun, she reacted as all those with indefensible ideals and beliefs tend to -- with anger and violence.

But this was, ironically enough, playing into Yunyun's hand. She suspected that the Gambler had a finite amount of cards in her deck, as the RAFian did (until they recharged, anyway), and Yunyun was just running out the clock, so to speak. And it very nearly worked.

When the Gambler reached her last card, she stopped herself and regained a little composure, but not entirely. She knew that the 'Granny' would not forgive her if she lost her weapon in its entirety. With one card, more will come back. She then realized that she should have been using her chronokinesis instead of the cards and she smiled, almost sheepishly at the thought. And she almost threw away that option had she not saved this last --

Then it was sliced through, with one strike. Yunyun had taken her sword and struck the card, leaving the Gambler unharmed. Then Yunyun used the pommel of the sword to strike the Gambler with enough force to knock her out before she could react.

And, as the shield and sword vanished, their magic having expired, she wondered if she should join the others or take care of the Gambler. If there was, indeed, anything she could do to help her.

[Cloak]

Sorry about the wait, life's a bit busy recently.

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCLXXXIX (1,389): "Draconic Power" -- The birth of Dracotyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:
The Berserker

"Go on, Terenia," Estelore said, with the subtle calm of a warm, summer day. "I got this."

"You think highly of yourself," the Berserker said. "You have no idea of the power I possess."

"Not to sound immodest," Estelore said, wearing her sundress and wide-brimmed, floppy hat, "but you haven't an idea of the power you're trifling with."

"Please," she said, dismissively. She held her claymore on her shoulder, griping the handle tightly. Estelore was perceptive.

"Ah, I see," the sentient star's human avatar said, "through that sword, you draw power from the moon. Forgive me for not being intimidated, for, you see, I'm a star."

"You'll excuse me if I don't pay attention, nor give credence to some sort of pseudo-celebrity," she said, speaking slowly.

"Not that kind of star," Esty said, with a heavily dignified tone.

"Like it matters," the Berserker said. "I shan't sully my hands with this execution. My six chosen here will simply fight you in my stead. They should make quick work of you, Hollywood starlet."

Estelore started to scowl. "Lady, you do not want me to start taking this personally."

"Whatever," the Berserker said, rather flippantly. Then she addressed her six grunts, who were standing stock-still and feckless. "Kill it."

Estelore's scowl deepened. She was trying very hard to not take this personally, but the Berserker was making doing so unnecessarily difficult. Estelore was trying to take a higher road and not sink to her level. But then she saw the grunts, without a moment's hesitation wield their claymores, and charge forward.

Estelore floated a few inches off the ground, and cast out a mild stellar barrier, which none of the six grunts could penetrate through. Estelore didn't have to struggle to keep up the barrier, but she looked almost annoyed by this.

"Stop wasting my time," the Berserker said. Estelore initially thought she was addressing her, and was about to give her a piece of her mind when she realized that the Berserker was just addressing her own grunts. "Finish off this lesser thing and let us be on our way!"

Estelore was less than pleased at this pronouncement. She didn't like being regulated to such a miniscule problem, a minute problem, in such a condescending yet authoritative manner. Almost as if she thought that Estelore wasn't worth talking to anymore. And Estelore did have pride, as any sentient entity did. Despite herself, she found herself taking it personally.

The Berserker clearly didn't understand the magnitude of her power. She was the most powerful RAFian! Second only to Richard himself! She had the power to incinerate every last molecule from this haughty, condescending, entitled piece of . . . she had to calm down. She had to remain poised and collected. If she lost her cool, and lost control, she ran a risk of igniting the atmosphere. And Earth happened to be her favorite planet.

But pride could be a very dangerous, very fickle thing. She knew this, so she wouldn't have an excuse for letting it get the better of her. She watched with a blithe disinterest as the six grunts tried futilely to break through her stellar barrier. Nothing they did would breach the barrier.

When the attempts just became sad and pathetic, she gave them a small stellar blast. It was mild, not inte ded to harm them, but knock them off their feet. And this it did, causing their claymores to skitter and clatter away from them. This alone effectively disarmed them and removed any threat whatsoever -- though they weren't really threats to the sentient star anyway.

"Are we done with this farce?" Estelore said, hoping that this demonstration of this fraction her power. "Are you going to stand down?"

But her eyes glowed, as her grip tightened on her claymore. Her eyes took on an evil, opalescent glow, and Estelore's blood suddenly ran cold -- and she, technically speaking, didn't even have blood. She saw what was going to happen before it did, but time itself seemed to disobligingly slow to a crawl before her. Her reaction times, in this infinitesimal moment seemed to be sluggish and slow, infuriatingly so.

She watched, almost helplessly, as the Berserker, who seemed to be moving slightly less slow than her in this forsaken moment of time, cut down all six of her own grunts! Estelore was no stranger to bearing witness to acts she considered downright abominable, but this clearly ranked up there.

And the sheer callousness this woman had afterward! All she did, once the opalescent glow left her eyes, was scoff and mutter, with the utmost disdain, "Failures. Unacceptable."

Estelore had just about enough of this.

[Cloak]

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCXC (1,390): "Dark Power" -- The birth of Umbratyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
Cleaved Claymore

Her name was Moonbeam Wallace.

Her parents were Shaggy and Thelma Wallace, and they were, quite evidently, into the hippie movement. And they fully looked the part, as well. But they were harmless, law-abiding citizens, if only some questionable habits. They were complete pacifists and always chose to resolve conflict in the most nonviolent ways they could, avoiding any modicum of violence when they could.

They were also vegetarian, preferring to grow their own food, whilst having no grievances against those that did not have the same inclination. They often encouraged forgiveness in others and themselves, but they were the furthest thing from obnoxious about it. They would make their positions and stances on issues know (but only when asked or prompted to volunteer such information).

This laidback, agrarian nature and the peaceful, conflict-neutral lifestyle of the two did not spur any malice or spite in any of their neighbors. Until their daughter, Moonbeam, was born and their neighbor moved out. The man who moved in was an ornery cuss who lived for disagreement and confrontation. He was the sort of man who demanded other conform with his beliefs, no matter how contradictory they may be, and he wasn't afraid to get in their face and harass them until he got his way.

And he hated hippies woth a passion, despite not being able to give on coherent argument, backed up by actual facts (not mistruths or lies or logical fallacies), as to why hippies were so horrible. Shaggy and Thelma became his absolute favorite victims, and they just tried to forgive him for his transgressions, their pacifist beliefs were so strong. Once this wily old piece of crap discovered that the couple had recently had a child, he decided that Shaggy and Thelma were unfit parents, and he made no secret of this.

So, he made many fraudulent reports on the two, accusing them of pretty much any crime one could do to a child, ten fold. Eventually, a like-minded officer was sent out with a person from CPS who was friendly with the demented old codger. Moonbeam was taken away in a serious miscarriage of justice, as the law apparently took the old coot's word as gospel and denigrated their reputations, dismissing them as brain-dead hippies. Moonbeam would grow up, never knowing them or her real name, as it was stripped from her when she grew up in the Goodness Orphanage.

"That's the excuse you're going with?" Esty said, tempering her temper. "They failed to do a task that was impossible for them to achieve with what they had?"

"Failure is unacceptable," the Berserker said, turning to face Estelore. They could see each other, both eye level of the other, "They held the honor of wearing cloaks and robes with emblem of 'Granny' emblazoned upon it. Then they had the audacity to fail in their mission, failed to carry out a direct order given. This is inexcusable. Failure is shameful. Failure besmirches 'Granny''s good name. This cannot be allowed to stand. Corrections have to be made."

Estelore said nothing for a moment, as she allowed herself a moment to unpack this, as she wasn't sure that the Berserker was being serious. "You are really deeply indoctrinated with this schlock, aren't you?"

"Schlock?" the Berserker said, sounding vaguely offended, as her eyes took on the opalescent glow again. Estelore wasn't intimidated. She, along with her RAFian fellows, had faced the likes of Malice and Garrotik and such. The Berserker just didn't measure up. "The doctrine of 'Granny' is not schlock. It is the truth, the only truth. The only truth that matters. We all exist to serve the whims of 'Granny'. One cannot claim to know the motivations behind her whims, as she is beyond all of us. We can only hope to earn her respect, and she will grant us names. She would grant us weapons of immense power."

"Classic cult rhetoric," Estelore said, with folded arms. Her form flickered, and she was wearing her sunshine yellow kevlar suit with her avatar's hair tied up into a tight bun. She had bore witness of this rhetoric on dozens of worlds, and it never led to anything good. Cult indoctrination always proved to be very destructive, and often deadly. It often led to tyranny if it managed to get into governance, and tyrannies never hold any true permanence. "I see the futility of trying to convince you otherwise is pointless. You will twist any fact given to you, to fit into this warped narrative. This distorted worldview will not do you any favors. I've seen civilizations break down and break up due cultish fanaticism. Cultist fanaticism always seems to lead to fascism. And fascism leads to deterioration of any given society."

"Nonbelievers are --"

"Save it," Estelore snapped. She was tired of this circular conversation of her trying to reason with her, and the Berserker summarily dismissing everything that didn't mesh well with her narrative. "I can see this conversation is going nowhere."

From there, the fight commenced. The Berserker, in an apt berserker rage, began to hammer on Estelore's stellar shield with a fury and fervor that Estelore had only seen in wild animals. Yet, her stellar shield of sunlight did not falter, did not weaken. It took a moment before Estelore realized that the Berserker was chanting something.

"Wither and decay.
End this destiny.
Break these earthly chains,
And set the spirit free.
The spirit free."

Estelore found herself chanting something that she hadn't even realized that she was chanting in the first place. It was as if some primordial part of herself that she didn't recognize.

"Power, gleam and glow.
Let your power shine.
Make the clock reverse.
Bring back what once was thine.
Heal what has been hurt.
Change the fates' design.
Save what has been lost.
Bring back what once was thine . . .
What once was thine."

The power struggle soon became apparent. The chant the Berserker was using to try hurt Estelore was sucking the life away from the environment around her, swallowing her in icy cold darkness, while Estelore's instinctual rebuttal to this chant was quite the opposite -- warm and healing, like a nice summer day. The two struggled a bit before Estelore broke ground and her starlight was starting to overtake the Berserker's darkness and weakening her chant's ability to inflict hurt.

Soon, the Berserker was bathe in Estelore's healing light, where she saw images of her parents -- her real parents -- and what had happened to them, and herself. It forced her to question the real motives of 'Granny'. This caused a major conflict within Moonbeam -- she knew her real name now. She remembered, despite herself, due to Estelore's light, which dissipated leaving a tired and slightly confused Estelore. She had no idea how to activate that power again, and it was actually far more draining than she cared to admit.

Moonbeam ran away, needing severely to unpack this. All of this. Including what she's become, thanks to 'Granny'. . . .

[Cloak]

Sorry, been busy.

All titles subject to change.

Book MCCCXCI (1,391): "Stone Power" -- The birth of Lithotyrannus.

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:
The Sorcerer

"Do we really need to go through this song and dance?" Terenia sighed, as the Sorcerer blocked her way, with six grunts in silver cloaks. "Just stand down, and let me by."

"No," said the Sorcerer, with deep, sepulchral, masculine tone. She did not say any more, and Terenia knew that those with looser lips tended to give away information that one would, at the time, consider trivial. She also knew that she had to get the Sorcerer to be the one divulging secrets. None of the seven of them would allow her to proceed without dealing with them. In a hands-on, combat-y sort of way.

"So, that's how you want to play this, I see," Terenia said, with a sigh. She reached behind her and brought out her "Ruler of Death", which was basically a ruler-shaped staff at this point. She held half of it flush to her forearm as she prepared to fight.

"Is that supposed to be a weapon?" the Sorcerer jeered, clearly unimpressed. "Or is it some sort of . . . joke?"

At which point, Terenia just smirked, twirling the ruler-staff around as if it was a martial arts staff, before stopping and holding it behind her back. The smile never vanished from her face. "It's enough of a weapon to take you out."

"Is that so?" she said, in that deep, slow voice. "I shan't sully my own hands with this. I have my six XN-Sorcerers to deign to that unsavory task."

Terenia knew that this was intended to be a deliberate insult, but found the delivery of the insult far more offensive than the intended insult itself. The way the Sorcerer delivered it was in a rather clunky, wordy manner. It was as if she was trying (way too hard, in Terenia's opinion) to sound smart with a robust vernacular and an indifferent drawl.

The battle went almost as if was choreographed for Terenia to be the victor. It played out almost exactly like when Rafiki fought those hyenas. Except she did not make a single utterance during the fight, much less the shrieking Rafiki did. But she handled herself well and had knocked out six of the Sorcerer's grunts. While it wasn't exactly easy, she defeated them in record time.

"Pathetic performance, " the Sorcerer grunted her displeasure.

"You think you can do better?" Terenia clapped back.

"I wasn't addressing you," she said. Then she snapped her fingers as she gripped her ethereal blade. All six of her grunts were Vanished. Not a trace remained. "Failure, in any form, is unacceptable. Incompetence is even more so."

Terenia was shocked by this callousness. Granted, with all her experience as a RAFian, she should be accustomed to seeing such cruelty and callousness. They pretty much fight this kind of thing every day. But there was something a out just how quickly the Sorcerer was willing to escalate this whole thing . . . it was a bit unnerving.

"That," Terenia said, adopting a stern schoolteacher tone of voice, "was not necessary."