Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

TIME TO KICK BUTT.

Please don't get your hopes up, Ash.

CLOAK I'M UP TO BOOK 60! 2 DAYS LATE BUT I MADE IT!

Well done!

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT:
Ash Used Thief! It Was Super Effective!

"I've agreed to nothing!" Ash protested.

"You've agreed by showing up," Hermes said. "Fail this battle -- a looting battle, mind you, as I am not that unreasonable -- and your life and forum will be forfeit."

"I'll never agree to those terms," Ash said.

"But you did," Hermes countered, with a broad, yet vacant smile. Something was off here. "You agreed to them by meeting me here."

"I didn't agree to meet you here," she protested.

"On your mark," "Hermes" said, patently ignoring her, "get set . . . GO!"

"I don't have a choice in this, do I?" she sighed.

"Nope!" "Hermes" said.

"It was a rhetorical -- oh, never mind." Ash said. Then she noticed that this Hermes wasn't a particular fast runner like he claimed. He wasn't flying, despite claiming to be able to do so. He was either toying with her, or outright lying.

"Come now, mortal. Come, come, come." he said, jovially mocking. "Your life and forum is on the line!"

The hat or the laurel wreath. That must be what is behind these inconsistencies. They must be some mind controlling tech, like McDowell used for his faux Wonderland.* If she was honest with herself, she wasn't all that savvy with neurological technology such as what she surmised.

"You're losing," "Hermes" said, in a singsong voice. But Ash suppressed a smile. No, she wasn't losing at all. She just figured out how to win, how to circumvent this futile exercise.

She quickly became a peregrine falcon, unnoticed by the faux Olympian. She swiftly snatched his ridiculous hat away. It looked like the type of thing that Jay Garrick would wear. Just solid metal, nothing that could have possibly been McDowell's tech in it.

"Hey! Stealing from me doesn't count!" "Hermes" complained.

But Ash didn't listen to him and deftly snatched the laurel wreath from his head. Suddenly, the vacant look in his eyes vanished as he regained control over his own mental faculties again, as Ash resumed her base form, holding the laurel wreath in her hand. Just by looking at the inset of the wreath, she saw her suspicions were confirmed. This person wasn't Hermes at all, but made to think he was, wiping all trace of his original identity, his original personality, whilst wearing the laurel leaves.

Ash addressed the victim, how seemed to be coming out of a reverie, regaining all sense of himself, "Luke Beaumont, I presume?"

"Wh-what happened?" he said, thoroughly nonplussed.


*Book 86.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINE:
Tink-Tink-Tink-Tinkerer

Xeno was dispatched to a foundry, but he wasn't sure what the particular metal smelted here was. He wasn't exactly thrilled with this detail, mission, whatever it was. The place smelled musty and neglected. Forgotten. Abandoned.

The layers of dust made him question whether it was even safe being in here. He looked at one of the furnaces and was shocked to see that they were the only things maintained well here. And they were immaculate.

Someone was using this as their private forge, Xeno deduced. But why? He blinked -- then he thought about the Olympians. His eyes narrowed. It couldn't be more obvious who he was up against even someone wanted to hammer it in.

The Xeno groaned when he realized the unintentional bad pun in that thought. Then he proceeded further into the labyrinthine hallways and rooms in the place until he came to the very heart of the foundry.

There he saw Hephaestus. And he wasn't much to look at. He wasn't all that handsome, his face burned, misshapen and deformed. But he had a large frame, thick hands with many callouses, and sturdy, stocky legs. He had a bald head, and several missing or cracked teeth. He wore full blacksmith regalia, also with a laurel wreath (which clashed horribly with everything else he was wearing), and appeared to not to notice Xeno at first.

But this was quickly remedied as he spoke, without turning around from his forge, "Come to mock me?"

"No." Xeno immediately eyed the laurel wreath. With his inventor's eye, he quickly deduced what it was and what its purpose was, especially when took notice of "Hephaestus's" vacant eyes.

"Then you must be here for the death battle," Hephaestus said, almost resigned about it.

"I'm not going to fight you," Xeno said.

"You know who I am, right, mortal?" Hephaestus said, indignant. "I am someone who can create, shape and manipulate the volcanic fields and areas of volcanic activity and everything in them. I am someone who can create, shape and manipulate molten rock (magma while underground, lava when on surface), a mixture of molten or semi-molten rock, volatiles and solids, etcetera, etcetera. Someone who can create, shape, and manipulate metal. Someone who can craft anything out anything and everything, including physical, mental, spiritual, imaginary, abstract or conceptual materials and substances at incredible speed. Someone who can craft items or objects or what have you, that may be functional or strictly decorative out of any or all materials or substances including nonphysical and abstract materials, such as fire, clouds, water, bubbles, smoke, air molecules, moonlight, lava, sound, music, and even emotions like joy, sadness, and hope. All with beyond flawless results."

Xeno felt that this was all bluster. He was sure that the laurel wreath was somehow influencing this man, whoever he was. But he wasn't precisely sure how. He hadn't read the report of McDowell's activities or the rough tech specs of his device, otherwise he'd be able to discern how to stop this near immediately.

The faux Olympian continued, "Someone who is able to demonstrate brutal aptitude and great proficiency in using blunt type weaponry. Someone who can create, shape, and manipulate fire. Someone who is able to plan, design, create, shape and manipulate buildings and other forms of architecture, from a massive level to the smallest detail, and manipulating or shaping, combining or separating, every part of them as needed."

The more he talked the more Xeno thought this fake Olympian was being manipulated. And the vacant look? It was obvious that he wasn't doing this voluntarily. He was being controlled. From the laurel wreath, most likely. But was this possible? What would happen if it parted company with his head?

"Now," he said, sounding forceful yet indifferent, "we should get to work."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TEN:
It Was An Accident, I Swear!

"Work?" Xeno said, clearly just playing for time. He was trying to devise a way to make the laurel wreath to leave this faux blacksmithing god's head without undue violence and harm to either party.

"A forge off," he said, heavily. He sounded rather beaten down, yet earthy. "The one of us to make the most items without flaws wins. You lose, and you forfeit your forum and your life to me."

"And if I win?" Xeno asked. He didn't really care, he just needed to buy some more time to consider, to plan.

"Are you trying to be funny?" "Hephaestus" said, eyeing Xeno with those creepily vacant eyes. "I never did much care for would-be comedians. Or worse, 'insult comedians'."

Clearly, this whole competition was a farce then. An exercise in futility, something that can not, that could not, be accomplished by a mere mortal. Xeno would be worried, if this was the real Hephaestus. He wouldn't have a chance. All that he creates has flaws, nothing created by mortal hands (or in his case, gauntlet-enhanced  paws) is flawless. It was impossibility, especially coupled with the thing that considering something flawless tends to be one that is highly subjective. One might agree that something's flawless, while the other deems several things they consider flaws. Highly subjective.

He didn't say any of this aloud. It would be quite counterproductive to his aims, to his goals, at the moment.

"Take the forge over there," the Not-Hephaestus said.

Xeno hesitated before complying, and it appeared that this fake god took no notice. But Xeno had no intention on making anything. He had to act soon, or his life may very well be forfeit. And he quite liked living.

He had to get that laurel wreath. It was obvious that it was some sort of neuronanotechnology at play here. . . . Suddenly, Xeno was struck by inspiration. But he would have to be careful, or he may never fly again, if he acted too early or hesitated too much.

When the time felt right, he "accidentally" cuffed "Hephaestus" with his wing, causing the laurel wreath to slip off the faux god's head, but not completely. But then one of Xeno's feathers was pulled loose and tickled the man's nose, causing him to sneeze. This cause the laurel wreath to tumble off and onto the ground.

The vacant look in the man's eyes vanished in an instant, and he seemed to regain his true personality. He looked as if he had a migraine. Xeno wasn't all that surprised -- it must not be easy to have your mind manipulated and controlled in such a way.

Xeno picked up the laurel wreath only to have it start buzzing ominously, like the buzzer on a washer or dryer. Then their was a flash as the device shortcircuited, with a tiny trail of smoke coming from the rear left side of it, and the entire right side charred and warped.

With a stifled curse, Xeno realized that it had also shortcircuited his right gauntlet. He cursed because he knew that this would take days, maybe even weeks, to repair. He wasn't.looking forward to it -- even as a RAFian, his resources for this kind of thing was limited. He turned to address the person who was mind controlled into thinking he was Hephaestus.

"Leonard Samuel Smythe, I presume?" Xeno said.

"Sam," he corrected, "where am I? What happened?"

"What can you remember?" Xeno asked.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:
The Sea, See?

Horse was dispatched to the sea. She loved the sea, as all seals do. She didn't even have to worry about predators -- water was not only her weapon, but her toy. Ice, as well. She felt a rush of exhilaration at being in the salt water, racing below it, hydrokinetically faster than any ordinary seal.

She had almost lost sight of her mission, being so enthused about being in the ocean. She had to find the Olympian that issued that challenge. She had assumed it would be one of those typical battle-to-the-death dealies. For most people, it.might have been exciting, but for her -- it was Tuesday. But, enough of that, where was this supposed Olympian?

The guy ankle-deep in the ocean, with a blue toga, wavy beard and hair, laurel wreath, gold bracers, and golden trident? Her guess would be yes. He basically looked like King Triton from "The Little Mermaid", but with legs -- and a laurel wreath instead of a crown.

"This is the challenger they send me?" he said, imperiously. Clearly, he took Horse's species as an insult, which insulted her in turn. Just because she was a seal didn't mean that she couldn't be a credible threat!! She's been eaten countless times by that gigantic beast -- which still powers the forum, and the extraction process has made it incredibly mellow and docile. "A mere seal?"

"I'm a lot more that 'mere'," Horse said, hotly. "A lot more!"

"I am a god, you impetuous mortal!" he thundered. "I can manipulate water to my whim! I am even empowered further by it, even turning myself into water if I so pleased! I hold dominion.over all the oceans of the world, and they obey my every whim! I can sense, create, shape, and manipulate storms! I can induce earthquakes at will! I am able to survive any aquatic environment, without fail! I can control all marine life, from creatures that dwell in shallow water, to the ones who dwell in the abyss! Including you!"

"I'm an aquatic mammal, sure," Horse said. "But I'm not sure I qualify for your powers, as you have no sway over me. Assuredly, I'd feel it by now. Or it means something completely different."

"Don't presume you know anything relevant, mortal," he said, imperiously. "I know that three of my nephews have already -- no matter, no matter. You must engage me, mortal, or forfeit your life and your forum."

"And if I say no?"

This seemed to fluster him, with outrage at her impudence. "You can't say no. I will not allow it!"

"What if I don't care what you allow?" Horse asked.

"The impudence!" "Poseidon" blurted, in a strangled sort of way. His outrage and indignity competing for his voice. "The sheer unmitigated insolence!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Horse said. She had already put two and two together. If he was really the Greek god of the ocean and such -- why was he only ankle deep in the ocean? Why was he blustering instead of demonstration some fraction of this power to intimidate her into compliance. Easy answer? He just doesn't feel like it. Truthful answer, at least probably? He can't do anything he claimed. At least, not to the extent he boasted about. "Can we kindly get to the point, then? I kind have plans for October."

It was still summer, though it was getting to be autumn. Anyway, Poseidon didn't take kindly to the irreverent tone of voice she was giving him. His grip on his trident tightened. Had he been the real god, Horse might have felt afraid.

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
Seal, Splash!*

"Let's see if you can separate me and my trident, mortal," "Poseidon" said, with unnecessary theatricality.

Suddenly, as Horse bobbed in the sea, the trident was frozen solid, causing a shocked "Poseidon" to let go. Then he was pushed away from it with a wave, causing him to land on the sandy beach. The laurel wreath hadn't moved, while his toga looked disheveled.

"There. That was easy." Horse said, a tad patronizing. "We done here?"

" I -- I wasn't ready!" "Poseidon" protested.

"I thought you were a god, though," Horse said, with narrowed eyes, dismissal of the notion tinged her voice. "Aren't gods always at the ready?"

"Of course not!"

"Then you're a flawed being," Horse said, evidently trying to goad him, "how can you be a god and flawed?"

Even the real Olympians were flawed -- Dionysus could be rather difficult to be around, Hermes was a thief (he was the god of thieves, after all), Hephaestus could be naive, Poseidon and Zeus were both adulterous womanizers, Aphrodite could be vain and conceited, Ares could brutish and violence-prone, Athena could be smug and have hubris, Apollo could be full of himself, Artemis could be antisocial, Demeter could be a bit obsessive-compulsive, and Hera could be insanely jealous. All considerable flaws. So, this was a bit of a non sequitur on Horse's part, despite her only saying this to goad "Poseidon" into showing that he was a fraud.

"I don't care about the meaningless judgements of a mortal!" he proclaimed.

"Yet you care about a mortal forum," she said, artfully. "Yet you care about having a challenge with a mortal. Mighty big incongruity there, eh, Neptune?"

He didn't have a "smooth" answer for that, and chose to ignore it. It was then Horse realized that this guy might not be playacting the Greek god. She didn't believe he was the real Olympian, of course. But she started to suspect more was going on than she originally thought.

"Enough of this," "Poseidon" spat. "Enough games. I should have opted for the Ares mindset from the onset. You want to save your unworthy forum? Well, then, you will have to kill a god!!"

"Don't make promises you can't follow through on," Horse said, genuinely warning him.

"DON'T UNDERESTIMATE A GOD!!" he roared, as the water welled up behind him, into a small tsunami, and he directed it towards Horse. His trident remained frozen, and quite forgotten.

Horse simply rode the tsunami like an expert surfer, having trained in the forum for a Battle such as this. But she recognized the technique, the form.

"You're not a god," she said, "you're a waterbender. Two completely different things."

Even as a waterbender, he was clearly a novice one. Horse managed to turn all his attacks against him. She managed to avoid getting the laurel wreath wet, which was not easy to do. She had a sneaking suspicion that it was not water proof, and it was what was controlling him -- she felt confident in the assumption now.

The battle continued to go poorly for Poseidon, ending with Horse freezing a jet of water -- a water whip -- that she had redirected. She slid down the ice like Fred Flintsone on the tail of that sauropod in the Flintstones intro. Then she jumped up and pulled off the laurel wreath from the guy's head. He gasped as if he was coming out of an intense reverie.

Then Horse, with a vulgar curse, dropped accidentally the laurel wreath into the ocean, where it sparked violently, causing some froth to form from it, before smoking and sinking into the depths.

"What happened? Where am I?" "Poseidon" asked.

"Percival Wesleyan, I assume?" Horse returned.

"Yeah, who -- a talking seal!!" he said, so shocked, he fell on his butt in the ocean's surf.

"Yeah," Horse said, dryly, "'coz that's the most fantastic thing that's happened to you today."


* I.e. "Hulk, smash!"

[redtailedsaffa]

Random waterbending dude? I have a feeling he might pop up again somewhere...

[Cloak]

I haven't any plans for him at this time. Although, if any tie-in book authors care to use him, however . . .

Ahem. New chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Love Lost

Helen was dispatched to a very lurid looking place. Perhaps at one time it been a lovey-dovey restaurant/shop combo that specialized in overly saccharine romance supplies. Helen found it rather obnoxiously girly. She sometimes wore frills, but this place took it to a ridiculous extreme.

She was secretly glad that Parker never took her to a place like this. A place that smelled as if expensive perfume was baked into the wallpaper -- which she noticed was starting to peel away from the wall. She could still easily make out the simple floral print on them, like interlinked Comfeys forming a ring around a single Munna.

The furniture was designed to look expensive, but were actually rather chintzy and threadbare in places with the lining worn away in others, with the innards exposed. These had a somewhat musty, plastic smell to them. It was like her grandmother's house, but abandoned for several decades and forgotten. She had always found her grandmother's place incredibly boring, so she hadn't really any good associations with the place, considering her grandmother was always a strict disciplinarian, and utterly impossible to please. Probably why her own father, her grandmother's son, was always so difficult to get approval from. Especially after he became a --

"About time, dear," came a womanly voice, but haughty and condescending. "You really shouldn't keep your matron waiting like this."

Helen turned around to the voice's owner. A woman she supposed could be considered beautiful, but she could see nothing but flaws, from her ridiculously teased blond hair to her outrageous torture devices that were called "pumps", red shoes with ridiculously long heels. She never cared for high heels personally, and wasn't willing to trip all over herself to wear them. That and the fact that she both wore too much make up and had more jewelry on her person than Mr. T. And a laurel wreath that clashed horribly with everything else she wore, even the white toga and sandals.

"I don't have a matron," Helen corrected, politely.

"You're a Star Sapphire, dear," she said, matter-of-fact. "Your ring's power comes from love, and I'm the goddess of love, y'know. Aphrodite."

Helen bit back a snort of derision. The woman in front of her was the epitome of materialistic beauty, but not anything of true beauty about her. Honestly, it would be hard to imagine this walking monstrosity to be the goddess of love. Something else was at work here.

"Yes, I see that you don't believe me." "Aphrodite said, her jewelry clinking and clacking with every small movement. She was the very embodiment of excess, not love or beauty. "But consider this, dear. I am supremely beautiful and can use that to affect others."

Debatable, Helen silently opined, as "Aphrodite" continued, "I have an instinct towards this sort of thing, you know. And I can induce it in others as well -- lust, bliss, actual love, pleasure, what have you. I can manipulate pheromones -- my own or others, if I so choose. I can manipulate love and emotions at my merest whim."

"I don't believe you," Helen said. Her ring sputtered, like a garden hose trying to push air out of it, but she hid it, and"Aphrodite didn't seem to notice. "If you can do all those things prove it."

"Ah, how adorable," she said, "the unkempt mortal is passing judgement on me."

"Unkempt?" Helen said, hotly. "At least I'm not gaudy!"

"Gaudy?" "Aphrodite said, with a haughty little chortle, "This is not gaudy, little unloved mortal. I'm not gaudy. I'm -- shiny."

[redtailedsaffa]

Oh, no.

I know what's coming.

[Cloak]

Do ya now?

New chapter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Shiny

"Shiny? What --" Helen began, before stopping when she heard the rhythmic music. "It's gonna be a song, isn't it?"

"Well, Aphrodite hasn't always been this glam.
I was a drab little deb* once.
Now, I know I can be happy as a clam
Because I'm beautiful, baby!"

Helen's body tensed, her Star Sapphire ring at the ready, despite the fact it had become rather unreliable as of late. She subconsciously knew it was because of her breakup with Parker, but she refused to consciously acknowledge it -- she was still quite cross with him.

"Did your mommy say listen to your heart?
Be who you are on the inside?
I need three words to tear her argument apart.
Your mommy lied!"

Helen continued to keep her distance from the faux Olympian.

"I'd rather be shiny!
Like a treasure from a overloaded pirate wreck!
Scrub the deck and make it look
Shiny!
I will sparkle like a wealthy woman's neck!
Just a sec."

"Aphrodite" had seized Helen's right wrist, and began to prance like a gazelle forcing Helen to come along. She had a surprisingly tight grip.

"Don't you know
Men are dumb, dumb, dumb!
They chase anything that glitters!
Beginners."

Helen didn't like that crooked smile of hers. It really was revolting, unless you were a really shallow person, she guessed.

"Oh, and they always come, come, come
To the brightest thing that glitters!"

Helen broke her grip, and fired a blast of violet energy at Aphrodite, but it fizzled out before reaching her. Suddenly, Helen's Star Sapphire uniform reverted back her street clothes. This wasn't possible -- she had just fully charged the thing no more than a few scarce minutes before coming here. There was no way that this could happen . . . unless . . . unless her . . . her breakup --

"Well, well, well.
Little Helen's having trouble with her look,
You little semi-demi-mini-god!
Ouch! What a terrible performance!
Get the hook! (Get it?)
You don't swing it like you used to, RAFian!"

Oh, right. The false Olympian was a thing right now.

"Yet I have to give you credit for your start!
And your love on the outside.
For I made myself a work of art!
I'll never hide. I can't! I'm too
Shiny!
Watch me dazzle like a diamond in the rough!
Strut my stuff, my stuff is so
Shiny!
Send your armies, but they'll never be enough!
My shell's too tough, little RAFian!"

Helen wasn't fairing too well, now that this fake Olympian decided to attack in earnest. She just felt so . . . she couldn't described the awfulness that she was feeling.

"You could try, try, try,
But you can't expect a mortal woman
To beat an immortal woman.
You will die, die, die.
Now it's time for me to take apart,
Your aching heart."

Suddenly, the music started to take on a darker tone with an edge like a sword.

"Far from the one who abandoned you,
Chasing the love of
These RAFians who made you feel wanted.
You tried to be tough.
But your armor's just not hard enough!"

How'd she know this?! How??

"Helen, girly!
Now it's time to kick your hiney!
Ever seen someone so
Shiny!
Soak it in, 'coz it's the last you'll ever see!
C'est la vie mon ami, I'm so
Shiny!
You'll never be quite as shiny,
You wish you were nice and shiny . . . !"

But then, moments away from her victory, Helen slapped her across the face, dislodging the laurel wreath, and freeing the woman from mind control. Helen snatched up the laurel wreath, as the woman came out of her reverie.

"What? What happened? Where am I? What am I wearing?" she said, before caught sight of Helen, in her street clothes. "Never mind that, what are you wearing? You know those are 'mom jeans', right? And with that top? Did you get dressed in the dark? And that hair -- its as limp and stringy as bad ramen. And those shoes!"

Helen turned her back to her and walked away with the intact laurel wreath. She wasn't in any mood for some model's utter ****iness.

"Hey hey hey! Don't you walk away from me! Don't you know who I am? Do you know who I am?"

"Piper Shelley, professional bimbo and golddigger extraordinaire," Helen said, without turning around, continuing on her way.


SONG SOURCE: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=93lrosBEW-Q

*Short for "debutante".

[redtailedsaffa]

I was right.

[Cloak]

So you were.

New chapter.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
War and Pieces

Parker arrived at the abandoned munitions facility. There sure were a lot of abandoned things in or nearby the town. Of course, considering everything that happened in the past year alone, it wasn't too surprising, though "Gotham Syndrome" was still in full force in the city proper.

Parker walked in and his armor actually felt slightly unfamiliar to him and sat slightly uncomfortably on him now. Now that the Walker tech was ripped out of it by that bug Walker. Even Tyr seemed more distant. Distant like Helen. . . .

He had tried to apologize to her. He had tried to make amends with her. But nothing he he tried worked. He just got the cold shoulder. He did genuinely love her -- his actions with the Bugs wasn't about hurting her . . . but he did. And he had never felt more aggrieved about anything in his life.

He just wanted this whole thing to be put behind them, to come out back together. He had never meant to hurt her. That was never his intention. But he did. He did and there was nothing he could do to make her feel better. Hurt had a way of cracking even the strongest of relationships.

He wondered if their relationship would ever recover, it most certainly was in intensive care right now, if anything. He wanted . . . he just wanted . . .

That's when Parker came upon him. He wore military fatigues in addition to a camouflage-printed toga. One of those stupid-looking hats over a laurel wreath. His face was rather like a hybridization of that of a pug and a bulldog. His face was etched into a very nasty-looking sneer. His eyes were blue and fiery, yet somehow vacant.

Parker said nothing, just stared at this mishmash of attire, which clashed horribly with each other.

"'Bout time," he growled. "Lousy mortals. Never on time these days. Never punctual."

Parker still was too stunned by this outlandish appearance to say anything.

"Stop gawking, soldier!" "Ares" snapped, in very drill sergeant manner. "You will surrender your life and forum to me. Understood? Good."

"No," Parker said, the shock wearing off.

"What?"

"You will not have RAF," Parker said, wielding his energy sword now. "Nor my life."

"You dare disrespect your patron this way?!" "Ares" roared. "You dare disobey the whims of your patron?!"

"I have no patron!" Parker shot back.

"You call yourself a Spartan, do you not?!" "Ares" countered, angrily. "Spartans are beholden to ME!!!"

"I'm beholden to no one!" Parker roared back as his energy sword met "Ares's" blade, sparking with it.

"You are beholden to the God of War!!" "Ares" pushed. "ME!!!!"

"I . . . am . . . beholden . . . to no one!!!" Parker pushed back, not giving an inch.

"You are beholden to to the one who can understand and use any and all weapons with the proficiency of a master. You are beholden to the one who can manipulate any weapon. You are beholden to the one who can induce war and discord. You are beholden to the one who can be empowered by conflict of war. You are beholden to the one who can manipulate rage and anger. You are beholden to the one who can induce rage and anger. You are beholden to the one who can gain strength from rage and anger. You are beholden to the one who possess supernatural fearlessness." "Ares" spat as he and Parker fought sword-to-sword. "You are beholden to the one who is highly proficient in the way of the sword. You are beholden to the one who has strength beyond any mortal's imaginings. You are beholden to the one who possesses superhuman levels of hand-to-hand fighting skills and excels in various forms of combat. You are beholden to one who is empowered by combat!"

The two broke apart, apparently evenly matched.

"Namely me!" "Ares" said. Then he charged forward, intending to thrust his sword through Parker's armor -- a foolish gamble. "You are beholden to ME!!"

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
Push For Piece of Mind

"No," Parker said, sidestepping this sword thrust. Parker was now convinced that "Ares's" claims were complete and utter bull.

"I'm," Parker continued, as "Ares's" sword got stuck in the wall behind the two. It also occurred to him that he might be controlled, but how he couldn't fathom.

"Not." Parker concluded, taking his right leg and delivering a powerful side kick to the sword. It broke into three pieces. Parker concluded that it wasn't so much due the power of his kick (which his armor helped with the blunt force of), but mostly due to the crappy craftsmanship of the sword itself. Suck a kick should have only bent a sword of higher quality.

"You broke my sword, you disobedient piece of --"

"Oh, will you shut up?" Parker snapped, annoyed now.

"I am Ares ! God of --"

"No, you're not," Parker said, bluntly.

"How dare you --"

"You're not Ares, otherwise fighting you would be more of a challenge." Park put in, severely. "Your technique is sloppy, your form is laughable. You waste energy buzzing around like a mosquito."

"I am the God of War! I am Ares!"

"Your name isn't Ares!" Parker said, not taking his eyes off him. He had tasked Tyr with discovering if this was a genuine delusion or if he was been mind controlled somehow. It helped that Parker was well aware of this particular person's name and history without the briefing before the mission. "Your name is Franklin Aloysius Marshall. You were a general in the Army -- how I don't know, considering how lousy a shot, how losuy a hand-to-hand fighter and how lousy a swordsman you are -- but I can only suspect money exchanged hands."

"You're mad, mortal," Frank said, still believing himself to be Ares, "I am a god. An Olympian!"

"You're confused," Parker said, folding his arms, and looking imperiously onward. "Or insane. I haven't decided yet."

"I am Ares! I am a dangerous force! I am overwhelming, insatiable in battle, destructive, and man-slaughtering!" Frank roared. "I was born of Zeus and Hera. I sired Phobos Deimos, Harmonia, Adreista, Eros, Anteros, Himeros, and Pothos by Aphrodite. I sired Aeropus by Aerope. I sired Alcippe by Algauros. I sired Ascalaphus and Ialmenus by Astyoche. I sired Mygdon by Calliope. I sired Pangaeus by Critobule. I sired --"

"Enough," Parker said, with resounding finality. "All information that could have been pulled from Wikipedia at anyone's leisure. It isn't any proof you are who you claim to be, just proof of perfect mnemonic recall, if anything."

It was at this point that Tyr informed him that the laurel wreath was not only controlling his mind, but overriding it with false memories and recollections, altering his perspective and beliefs. If it were removed, his mind would reset, like a soft reboot.

The question was how to do it without killing the man or causing unnecessary collateral damage. There wasn't an easy solution -- there never is -- to this. But sheer good fortune allowed him to do just this, when Frank charged forward. Parker easily sidestepped this and seized the hat and laurel wreath, which he accidentally crushed in his hand.

But the Parker saw something that filled him with the purest disgust. A tattoo on the back of Feank's neck. Small enough to to go unnoticed, but prominent enough to be perfectly legible if you were looking for it. A stylized logo -- a logo consisting of a K, O, H with the "O" bisected by an ornate sword. This piece of filth was an undercover Knight. It explained how he was able to be sped along in the military -- clearly there were other plants. This wasn't good news to the RAFians or other alien advocacy groups.

This was very odd as the Knights of Humanity had basically become a joke. They were basically Team Skull with a knight motif, instead of a punk one. Parker didn't like this discovery, or the implications of what this could mean to the RAFians, and he explained why to Tyr as he walked away. . . .

[Cloak]

Yep, this book will be more than the requisite twenty chapters. I think 26, 27 at most.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
A Battle of Wits

Saffa was dispatched to an obscure, out-of-the-way area of unexplored wilderness. To the mouth of a cave. She looked at it, the way the stalagmites and stalactites jutted from the opening, making it resemble some great beast's maw, massive and deadly. She didn't like it, but her instincts told her that her path lay beyond this, so she screwed up her courage -- being a RAFian, she had a considerable amount -- and plunged herself into the darkness.

She looked back at the light of day and saw that, even a scant five feet away from the streaming light, it felt as if it were an eternity away. She felt an horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she ignored it. To listen to it would be giving in to fear and despair, to succumb to her basest instincts. She knew this, and pushed on forward into the all-encompassing darkness.

She didn't know who she was going up against, which Olympian. She only knew that the mods hadn't selected who to dispatch to which location arbitrarily or randomly. They considered each location, the probable Olympian waiting there, and considered the power sets of each RAFian on active duty. She never thought to ask which Olympian, at least the one they thought, that they were sending her to face, but considering the cavernous tunnels, she assumed Hades or Pluto, whichever alignment he was in. She assumed it was because of her diamond manipulation abilities -- which she hadn't really mastered, but she preferred not to think of that.

Then she came upon a giant chess board. Her first thought was, of course, Harry Potter. Her second thought was why the heck was a chess board inside a cave like this. Her third thought was she couldn't believe that she was selected to go up against this Olympian. It was almost flattering.

Saffa looked at the intricate designs of the king and queen pieces, the bishops, the knights, the rooks, and even the pawns. They all looked rather humanlike and magically realistic. Carved from what appeared to be black marble, while the other side was regular, standard white marble pieces.

"About time, mortal," came a haughty voice, and Saffa already disliked her.

Saffa saw her, standing on the other side of the board, between two pawns, dwarfed by them. She wore a white tunic and golden bracers and grieves which an owl etched on each one. She also had a laurel wreath in her hair.

Saffa knew her name, but said nothing. Maybe she would slip up, and say something that she'd regret. Saffa noticed her blank, vacant eyes and suspected something else at play here.

"Silence, mortal?" "Athena" said. "What a refreshing novelty."

Saffa said nothing. If this was a legitimate goddess, Saffa was not impressed.

"Perhaps you do not know what I am?" "Athena" asked. "Perhaps you do not know who I am and what I can do?"

If this was supposed to be the goddess of intelligence, she was doing a very poor job at it. By telling Saffa her power set, she hands her weapons with which to defeat her, or even kill her.

"I can manipulate war, strife, combat and other forms of conflict. I can control the orderly forces of the universe. I can manipulate and alter the laws and foundations of mathematics. I am supernaturally fearless. I possess incredible wisdom. I have extremely heightened and enhanced intelligence and other mental skills, too numerous to be counted off.  I can craft flawlessly. I possess superhuman levels of hand-to-hand fighting skills and excel in various forms of combat. I have innate encyclopedic knowledge. I can understand how a person thinks and fights in combat. I can manipulate architectural structures at a whim." she said, much akin to Alan Rickman's portrayal of Severus Snape in the first Harry Potter movie. "My name is Athena."

I'm sure it is, Saffa thought. She didn't say anything. She didn't want to give too much away. As unimpressive as she may be, "Athena" may still be a dangerous foe. Someone not to be taken lightly. . . .

[redtailedsaffa]

If I recall correctly, you had made a post somewhere in Gen asking for  who our godly parents would be, didn't you? Nevertheless, this is exactly what I had hoped for.

[Cloak]

If I recall correctly, you had made a post somewhere in Gen asking for  who our godly parents would be, didn't you?

Yep. Though I had forgotten your post there. I have completely rewritten this book from the outline I made so long ago.

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
You Can't Do That

"So, my silent mortal," "Athena" said, "we shall play our way across the room."

She indicated the giant chess pieces. Saffa looked at them, and scrutinized them. The pawns looked like faceless military grunts. Literally faceless, like the other pieces were. She was vaguely aware that these pawns were supposed to be her infantry, so to speak.The rooks simply looked like circular towers made of cold, black stone, and Saffa assumed they were supposed to represent siege towers. The bishops looked rather snooty, in Saffa's opinion, despite lacking faces, she supposed that they were supposed to represent the clergy, though she didn't put much stock into such things personally, being a thoroughly nonreligious person. The knights looked stuffy and full of themselves, despite having their faceless heads covered with helmets, and obviously represented armored cavalry. The king looked trim, but overly self-indulgent and arrogant, despite being faceless, Saffa opined. The queen looked dangerous, in an unhinged way, Saffa determined.

"When you lose," "Athena" said, "you forfeit your forum and your life."

"Why do you want RAF?" Saffa asked at once, suspicious.

"Let's begin," "Athena" said, deliberately ignoring Saffa's question.

It did not go as smoothly as you may think.

"You can't do that," Saffa said, after "Athena" tried to move a pawn three spaces ahead.

"You can't do that," Saffa said again when "Athena" tried to move a knight vertically, into an occupied space.

"You can't do that," Saffa said, yet again, when "Athena" tried to move a bishop horizontally, and over an occupied space.

"You can't do that," Saffa said, getting annoyed now, when "Athena" tried to move a rook diagonally, away from Saffa's possible perpetual check.

"You can't do that," Saffa said, annoyance giving way to irritation now, as "Athena" tried to move her king into a square under attack by Saffa's knight (which cause her to feel sick, as she considered another kind of "knight"), to escape a double check by Saffa's knight and rook.

In the end, it ended in a checkmate for "Athena". That is to say, Saffa checkmated her. Saffa was disappointed. It was like playing with a rank amateur, and she would be the first to say that she was no expert at chess. This just reconfirmed her assumption that this "Athena" was just a pretender, a phony.

The room was littered with the debris and detritus of the chess match. Saffa couldn't even pay attention to the surviving pieces, as she strode right up to "Athena". The faux goddess allowed it, evidently thinking that Saffa would offer some kind words of encouragement or console her with her loss.

But "Athena" had irritated her far too much for that to be a genuine reaction from the RAFian. See, Saffa had divined what was causing this. She had walked up and, without a word, plucked the laurel wreath from "Athena's" head. Her eyes came back to life as she remembered her true identity and personality.

"Annabeth Ayers?" Saffa asked, in a cold, clinical manner.

"Yeah. . ." she said, clearly suffering from a headache.

"The tactician?"

"Yeah," she answered, "why?"

"You might want to consider a new line of work," Saffa said, escorting the woman out of the cave and back to civilization, without saying another word to her.