Hi All. Thinking of coming over from 40k for a break from my Orks (in terms or hobby and gaming for some variety) I know a new edition is on the way. i was looking at maybe getting into cities or sigmar (I like the models and was empire back in the before times cannons handguns and rockets against magical creatures and evil gribbleys does it for me)
I know nothing about aos or cities of sigmar. How do they play?
Ive potentially got a chance to snag one of the cities launch boxes then potentially top it up with a spearhead.
Would this be a good place to start? What are the options like for the army?
Really appreciate any advice.

Part 14.3

Heracles VS Lernaean Hydra

Author Note: I was thinking about it and I really wish that GT9 used more draconic symbolism throughout the story when (or if) I revisit Team Crowley VS Rosencreutz I'll have symbolism of Aleister (TheBeast666), Aiwass (Codename: DRAGON) and Coronzon (The Dragon of the Abyss) all have symbology of them being Dragons preying on a God/Hero like CRC and the reversed conflict of Chaos VS Order you see in mythology, I also wanted to achieve something similar with Kakine Teitoku as he can represent the Fallen Angel and the Seraphim but for now I'll try adding draconian symbolism into Gunha VS CRC.
True Expert Christian Rosencreutz, with his golden rosy cross sword, clashed relentlessly against the indomitable force of the Strongest Gemstone, Sogiita Gunha. With each clash of their powers, the air crackled and compressed, and the pavement trembled beneath.
CRC, observed Sogiita with a mixture of intrigue and disdain. "You fight like the legendary Heracles," he remarked, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "But know this, I am the Lernaean Hydra, and no matter how many heads you sever, I shall always rise again!" Rosencreutz roared to slice the #7’s midsection.
Sogiita, his entire body wreathed in unknowable energy, met CRC's blade unyielding. "Bring it on, old man!" he retorted, his voice brimming with confidence. "I'll knock you down as many times as it takes! I won't stop till you come to your senses and remember your roots, like the roses you love so much, Rosencreutz!!"
Their clash intensified, that old man’s higher dimensional sword colliding with the raw power of that boy’s fists and kicks as they pushed each other to their limits with each sword swing, punch, kick and flash.
Sogiita unleashed a barrage of punches, each strike carrying the force of a meteor, while that silver young man countered: he wielded his sword in his right hand and released impacts followed by white light that was enough to previously take down all of The Bridge Builders Cabal.
As the battle raged on, the very fabric of reality seemed to warp and shift around them, bearing witness to the titanic struggle between two unparalleled forces.
The founder of Rosicrucianism who intimidated reality itself to obey his will and that Gemstone with an unstable personal reality that could change on a whim.
The atmosphere crackled with electrifying distortion.
Sogiita's fists tore through the air with the ferocity of meteors, their velocity enhanced by his ability to adapt and accelerate, surpassing even CRC's speed. As each blow was released, the friction with the surrounding air molecules ignited a scorching heat, intensifying the impact.
The rapid movement of molecules generated an escalating thermal energy, causing the air to seethe with increasing temperature. It was akin to a tempest of incandescent projectiles hurtling towards CRC, their speed surpassing the limits of human perception.
It was like a storm of brilliant fiery arrows was fired at Rosencreutz.
These blazing arrows of force were reminiscent of the elusive strikes employed by the Rose & Cross Leader, ignoring distance with deceptive agility.
With each thunderous punch, that bandana boy sought to overpower his adversary through sheer kinetic force, his unwavering resolve palpable in every motion.
But that wasn't enough for this superhuman.
CRC, wielding his cross sword with precision and skill, deflected each and every one Sogiita's flaming arrows with calculated strikes of his own. Each impact unleashed a burst of blinding white light, sending shockwaves rippling through the chaotic city.
"You think brute strength alone will defeat me?" the silver man taunted, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle. "You may be strong, but strength without strategy is nothing but raw power wasted."
Sogiita grinned, his confidence unshaken. "Strategies for cowards who can't handle a real fight," he retorted, his voice ringing with defiance. "I'll K.O. you with my fists and guts alone!!!!"
Rosencreutz's eyes narrowed as he parried another of Sogiita's punches. "Your arrogance will be your downfall," he warned, his tone tinged with certainty. "I may not match your overall speed, but I have something you lack: intellect and precision.”
Christian Rosencreutz then plunged his cross sword into the ground.
"This is what harmed Kamijou Touma," he declared, grinning and unleashing a torrent of lethal invisible attacks from his outstretched palms.
However, the #7 countered with a relentless barrage of flaming arrows from the thermal aftershock of his punches.
Each strike akin to a particle accelerator in its intensity and speed. That Gemstone was the particles being fired on the right and that True Expert was the particles fired on the left.
As the attacks clashed, the battlefield became a spectacle of raw power and precision.
“Roar!” CRC held his open palm to his mouth and blew gently on the tip of the middle finger.
That was all it took for a blaze easily outdoing a flamethrower to rush out. And this was not just any fire. It fed on the power of a ley line and stole vitality from space itself. This overwhelming mass of light and heat was wielded for no other purpose than to take lives. Anyone who tried to survive it using simple composite armor or special fibers would dry up and burn away in less than a second.
But that wouldn't kill another superhuman would it?
Of course not.
“Aaaaarghhhh!!!!” screamed the #7.
Some assaults bypassed the fray entirely, slipping through the chaos like elusive particles in a collider.
A smokescreen.
Those brilliant fireworks from hell weren't meant to take Sogiita’s life. They were meant to disrupt the Gemstone's senses and sight so he couldn't counter all of that old man’s deadly attacks.
Invisible strikes found their mark on that Gemstone, and the searing arrows of the arrows scorched Rosencreutz.
CRC was wounded but he rejected to make any whimpers. Instead with a sudden burst of velocity, the young silver man picked up his cross sword from the ground and launched a flurry of strikes, cutting at the #7’s body with pinpoint accuracy.
His arms, his head, his face, his stomach, his legs, his midsection, his back.
Each blow landed with devastating force, causing Sogiita to stagger back under the onslaught.
If that bandana boy hadn't had his defenses and general stats raised by the #5 he’d be cut to pieces.
The #7 fell on his back.
"There's a fire," Sogiita declared, his voice ringing out amidst the chaos of battle.
With each attempt to break his spirit, Sogiita's resolve only grew stronger, fueling the flames of his determination. "Every time someone tries to make me give up, it's like wind feeding my flames, making them burn even brighter just like my punches," he explained, his words carrying the weight of his unwavering determination.
He refused to stay down.
With a roar of defiance, Sogiita surged forward once more, his movements blurring with speed as he disappeared from view. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind Christian Rosencreutz, catching the magician off guard.
"Hey, old man," Sogiita taunted, his voice filled with confidence as he seized Rosencreutz from behind.
Christian Rosencreutz's eyes widened in surprise as he realized he had been outmaneuvered.
As Sogiita Gunha faced off against Christian Rosencreutz in their airborne duel, he felt the flames of determination burning within him, driving him forward with unstoppable force.
Before he could react, the boy lifted him effortlessly and slammed him onto the pavement below with a resounding thud.
"I'm not just a kick-boxer!!" Sogiita sang.
As the impact reverberated through the air, the young silver man let out a pained cry. The force of the collision compressed the surrounding air, heating it up until it crackled with energy. Christian Rosencreutz's head struck the ground with a velocity equivalent to mach 20, igniting his body in flames upon impact.
This move is called a suplex.
Struggling to regain his bearings, Rosencreutz muttered in a daze, "The House of the Holy Spirit...the seven walls..."
"You said it yourself, didn't you?" the gutsy boy retorted, cocky. "My power and my guts can break through your impenetrable walls. And I can spread those same guts to the world around me."
With a grimace, Christian Rosencreutz acknowledged the truth of the boy's words. "Your uncontrolled AIM field grants you the ability to imbue non-organic objects with the properties of your virus," he observed, his voice tinged with begrudging admiration. "Allowing them to bypass even the defenses of the seven-walled tomb.”
"A virus? Don't be so gutless, CRC," the #7 retorted, his voice filled with defiance. "This battleground ruled by wills is a two-way road between you and me."
Christian Rosencreutz raised an eyebrow at the boy's words. "Hey Gemstone, you could've killed me if I weren't a superhuman with an idealized body that accomplished The Great Work and crossed the Ungrund, what then short-stack?" he questioned while fitting an insult against his height.
Even without the seven-walled tomb or sheets of diamonds Rosencreutz was cartoonishly durable.
"Sorry, old man," Sogiita replied, his tone tinged with annoyance. "I might've gotten carried away, but I know it'll take more than that to kill you. No matter how many heads you regrow, like Hydra, I will not give up until I've completed all my labors."
"Mhm, so you do know your mythology," CRC remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The Lernaean Hydra, or simply Hydra, is a serpentine lake monster in Greek and Roman mythology. Its lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid, known as an entrance to the Underworld. In the canonical myth, the monster is slain by Heracles as part of his Twelve Labors."
"Yeah, I know," Sogiita replied confidently. "I studied the tales of great gutsy heroes in school.”
"So, short-stack," Christian Rosencreutz began, his voice carrying a hint of scholarly interest. “Have you ever considered the parallels between our battle and ancient Near Eastern religions?”
Sogiita listened intently. "Are you saying you see yourself as a god of war or a hunter?" he inquired.
CRC chuckled softly. "In a sense, indeed. We are both assuming roles in this grand theater, are we not? I, the Hydra, and you, Heracles."
He continued, "Consider the Second Labor of Heracles. Eurystheus, the king of Tiryns, sent Heracles to slay the Hydra, which Hera had raised specifically to defeat him. Heracles approached the swamp near Lake Lerna, where the Hydra dwelled. To protect himself from the poisonous fumes, he covered his mouth and nose with a cloth and shot flaming arrows into the Hydra's lair, causing it to emerge and terrorize the surrounding villages."
CRC paused, drawing a comparison. “In our own clash, the flaming arrows that Heracles hurled at the Hydra find their echo in your lightning-fast fists, generating shockwaves that ignite the air with their speed and force. It's as though each strike of yours is akin to shooting a flaming arrow, much like Heracles did.”
“Huh? Are you suggesting we're caught in a time loop? That some enigmatic group, like the Bridge Builders Cabal, manipulated events to resurrect you, pitting us against each other in a timeless struggle? I've never met them, and I'm certainly no child of Zeus. Are you implying that our battle will be distorted into a Greek legend by a meddling time traveler?!” frantically asked the boy.
“No, no, you simpleton. This world contains synchronicities. In Sumerian, Babylonian, and Assyrian mythology, the war and hunting god Ninurta was celebrated for his deeds. The Angim credited him with slaying eleven monsters during an expedition to the mountains, including a seven-headed serpent, possibly identical to the Mushmahhu, and Bashmu, whose constellation was later associated with the Hydra by the Greeks. In Babylonian contexts, the Hydra's constellation is also linked to Marduk's dragon, the Mushhushshu.”
“Uhhh….” That shounen boy was dumbfounded.
"Hhm, I suppose calling it a time loop isn't technically wrong," Christian Rosencreutz began, his tone measured. "I'll break it down from history class and reconstruct it through the lens of the occult. Historic recurrence, young Gemstone, is the phenomenon of events echoing throughout time. Whether it's the rise and fall of empires or the repetitive cycles within a single society, it's all part of this grand plan that was decided when Adam ate the forbidden fruit."
The #7 with his guard up but curious listened: "So, history just keeps repeating itself? Just a series of coincidences?"
Christian Rosencreutz shook his head sagely. "There is no such thing as coincidences. Take, for instance, the Doctrine of Eternal Recurrence, pondered upon by thinkers like Heinrich Heine and Friedrich Nietzsche. While it's said that 'history repeats itself,' it's not quite that simple. Rather, these recurrences stem from identifiable circumstances and chains of causality."
He continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of philosophical debate. "Consider the phenomenon of multiple independent discoveries in science or the reproducible findings in natural and social sciences. These recurrences, whether in the form of rigorous experimentation or comparative research, are vital to our understanding of the world."
Christian Rosencreutz paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "G.W. Trompf, in his seminal work, The Idea of Historical Recurrence in Western Thought, illustrates the recurring patterns of political thought and behavior since ancient times. Through these patterns, history offers us invaluable lessons, often leading to a sense of resonance or déjà vu."
Their words reverberated like a challenge to destiny itself, a testament to their unyielding determination in the face of adversity.
That Gemstone didn't surrender his characteristic fervor. "History echoing through time, huh? It's like the universe itself is stuck on repeat, and we're just caught in the cycle. But you know what? If history's gonna keep looping, then let's break the pattern! Let's smash through those chains of causality and forge our own path. Who cares about déjà vu? We'll create something entirely new, something that'll shake the very foundations of this world and we’ll do it with guts!!!" He defied that silver monster.
But Rosencreutz wasn't finished. He pulled out his Crystal World Map.
The supposedly old man listened intently to that boy's impassioned response, his expression inscrutable behind his clairvoyant card. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke.
“Gemstone, you speak of breaking free from the chains of repetition, of forging a new destiny against the backdrop of eternal return. It is a noble aspiration, indeed. However, consider this: eternal return is not merely a philosophical concept or a whimsical notion of fate. It is the very fabric of existence, woven into the nature of time itself.” He pressed his finger on the Miniature Garden and a 3D holographic projection flew out—
“In ancient times, the Stoics grappled with the idea, seeing in it both a sense of cosmic order and a challenge to individual agency. Augustine and others recoiled from its implications, fearing it as a negation of free will and salvation. And yet, Nietzsche, in his brilliance, dared to confront the concept anew, exploring its depths in the crucible of human consciousness.”
Didn't Aleister Crowley say that he had to shatter every single phase in order to eliminate the concept of fate?
“I will shatter every last phase and put an end to all mysticism. It can be helped and we need not restrain our tears and bite our lip when faced with tragedy. I will bring back the pure world in which everyone can feel anger like normal and question it all like normal!!”
And didn't Coronzon appear to break down all the phases including the Pure World?
Partial destruction would be meaningless. If anything remains and an eternal distortion is born from that, then it will all happen again. I will eliminate the ten spheres, the twenty-two pathways, and the hidden eleventh symbol. Collisions between phases? Sparks and spray? You cannot save anyone if you only treat those symptoms. All of the fundamental clogs must be removed. All so we can pass the baton to whoever comes next.”
“Sparks and Sprays…” Rosencreutz muttered.
“Eh?” The #7 didn't quite hear him.
"Beside time stands fate, cruelty's steadfast herald. In the silent chambers of the soul, whispers the most profound wisdom. Humanity, in its folly, neglected to exalt life's splendor, its radiance, its grandeur. Truly, it is a rare gift to comprehend the forces that shape our existence.” That magician spoke in despair.
“From the moment man ate the fruit of knowledge, he guaranteed your species’ failure... Entrusting his future to the whims of fate, man clutches to a flickering hope. Yet, within the Miniature Garden lies the key to all revelation. Beyond the well-trodden path lies the ultimate terminus. It matters not who you are; Death is the sole certainty awaiting all.” he finished with scorn.
Shokuhou Misaki was currently linked to Sogiita Gunha so was overhearing the entire conversation.
“Are you okay, Leader?” asked Kamijou back at the hospital.
“Yeah…” she responded.
“Really?” Mikoto breathed a white sigh. “It wasn’t the shock of seeing their school destroyed. Nor was it the fear of having those rioters attack. …They’re afraid of their own power. And after learning how exactly to use that power to survive, they’re not sure they can just switch it off and return to their normal lives. So their gears have ground to a halt.” Tokiwadai Middle School was a prestigious esper development school.
The young ladies registered there were Level 3 at the lowest and Level 5 at the highest.
Almost all of the students had a power that surpassed that of a blade or handgun if used properly, but something had become twisted.
Yes.
“A lot of them weren’t really sure why they were training their powers.”
Shokuhou breathed a white breath, wrapped her own arms around herself, and rubbed her thighs together.
Why are you studying?
How many people could give a proper answer to that question? Because my parents told me to, because my teachers taught me to, because that’s how the world works. Those would be most people’s answers. Even the students with a clear vision of their future would only have something vague like “for the entrance exams” or “for my future”.
Only a small handful would have specific puzzle pieces in mind, such as “I need to learn how to use this equation so I can build a rocket”.
The young ladies of Tokiwadai Middle School were the same.
What if the very gears that humans have…their actions, reactions, inactions were all the result of some transcendental entity hovering above.
Like God or The Devil watching over humanity’s reality sphere and ordering around his system like everyone was a pre-programmed NPC that had specific events occur to them to get them to develop in the way that they did and determined their genetic bloodline that composed their psyche?
Is there truly a free will?
It was said that in order for you to break out of the system of society that the working class was stuck in you had to climb to the top where the corrupt elites resided.
Imagine Breaker negated sparks, Aleister Crowley could see through the veil thanks to Holy Guardian Angel Aiwass, Great Demon Coronzon could always see the cogs.
Christian Rosencreutz could view the entire world through his Miniature Garden.
The rest of humanity was at the mercy of their own destinies.
A Guardian Angel wouldn't arrive to save a parent’s child from fate every single time.
"Okay, nice poetry, can we get back to fighting already?" asked the #7 impatiently.
"Seems I got carried away," the old man conceded with a nod. "The synchronicities of this world, akin to the astral configurations in astrology, serve as an example of synchronicity, according to Jung. It describes circumstances that appear meaningfully related yet lack a causal connection, much like the parallel relationship between celestial and terrestrial phenomena. Synchronicity experiences entail subjective encounters where coincidences between events in one's mind and the external world may lack a clear causal link but still harbor an unknown connection.”
"Ah," Sogiita chimed in, recalling his philosophy class discussions. "We talked about synchronicity back then. Jung thought it was a good thing for the mind, but said it could get dicey in psychosis. He cooked up this theory as a kind of mental link between those meaningful coincidences, calling it a noncausal principle. This term came about in the late 1920s, and then he teamed up with physicist Wolfgang Pauli to dive deeper. Their work, The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche, dropped in 1952. They were big on this idea that these connections, even the ones that don't seem to have a cause, could still teach us a lot about how our minds and the world work."
“Mhm, you know more than you lead on, Gemstone.” pondered CRC.
“Oh this? My teachers say I'm not good at remembering speeches hahaha…” The #7 looked slightly nervous. “You know, analytical psychologists really push for folks to get what these experiences mean to boost their awareness instead of just feeding into superstitions. But funny thing is, when clients spill about their synchronicity experiences, they often feel like no one's really hearing them out, or getting where they're coming from. And hey, having a bunch of these meaningful coincidences flying around can sometimes ring the schizo bell. Delusions aren't healthy.”
Where was this conversation going?
"Delusion! Hah! That's a good one coming from you," CRC fired back.
"The real delusion is thinking humanity isn't worth a damn," Sogiita shot back, pulling out some info from Johansen and Osman. "Some scientists think coincidences are just random flukes, but counselors and psychoanalysts reckon there's more to it, like some deep-down stuff needing to come out.”
"Delusion! Hah! That's a good one coming from you," CRC fired back.
"The real delusion is thinking humanity isn't worth a darn," Sogiita shot back, pulling out some info from Johansen and Osman. "Some scientists think coincidences are just random flukes, but counselors and psychoanalysts reckon there's more to it, like some deep-down stuff needing to come out. Unconscious material to be expressed."
Rosencreutz interjected, his expression reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. "Aleister Crowley's actions have left a lasting scar on this world and this city," he began, his voice weighted with solemnity. “The vacuum-like dichotomy between magic and science created by the use of that colossal psychotronic weapon, has damaged this world's memory irreparably.”
Psychotronic weapon?
The Archetype Controller?
He paused, his gaze piercing as he continued, "Jung's exploration of synchronicity as evidence of the paranormal paved the way for further inquiry, notably by Koestler and the subsequent embrace of these ideas by the New Age movement.”
Sogiita shrugged, "Some folks say synchronicity is impossible to test or prove, so it gets labeled as pseudoscience. Jung even acknowledged that these synchronicity events are basically just coincidences, statistically speaking. But hey, who's to say what's really going on without some solid scientific studies, right?"
"Dubious as his experiments may have been," CRC interrupted, "Jung believed in a connection between synchronicity and the paranormal, drawing parallels to the uncertainty principle and works by parapsychologist Joseph B. Rhine.” CRC posed a thought-provoking question, "How are we to recognize acausal combinations of events, since it is obviously impossible to examine all chance happenings for their causality? The answer lies in the fact that acausal events are most readily expected where a causal connection appears inconceivable upon closer reflection. It's impossible, with our current resources, to explain ESP or meaningful coincidences as mere phenomena of energy. This challenges the very notion of cause and effect, as these events occur simultaneously rather than in a linear cause-and-effect manner. Hence, I have coined the term 'synchronicity' to describe this phenomenon, placing it on equal footing with causality as a principle of explanation."
Getting closer to that Gemstone, CRC emphasized, "Esper abilities cannot be fully understood with science alone. They defy traditional cause-and-effect explanations, instead representing a convergence of factors that create a quantum phenomenon affecting both the micro and macro. Why were there the naturally gifted and the naturally ungifted?”
Why did some students get praised for their abilities while others needed to work harder?
Others among them would have worked every hour of their free time and not progressed anywhere in this city’s leveling curriculum.
Why did this city present such an unfair and unpredictable status quo of potential?
Why did hard work barely matter in a city of empirical evidence to record any possible progress?
Sogiita Gunha wasn't a normal Level 5 but he wasn't always this powerful. He went through the curriculum same as everyone but if the outside conditions for his Gemstone ability to manifest didn't form in the exact way that it did, in such an acausal form then would he even be here to challenge Christian Rosencreutz right now?
Everything just happened to fall right into place.
All those puzzle pieces that would lead to this moment here and now.
Was it all just talent? God picking a fool as his champion?
The #7 leaned back, absorbing CRC's words with a thoughtful expression. "So, what you're saying is, there's this whole other layer to reality that we can't quite wrap our heads around," he summarized, nodding slowly. "I mean, it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—slippery and elusive."
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Historic recurrence, synchronicities, all these things—they're like pieces of a puzzle scattered across this substantial reality. And sometimes, they just... click into place, right? It's like the universe has its own plan, and we're just along for the ride."
That bandana wearing boy's gaze drifted, lost in thought. "You know, CRC, it's funny," he remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Here we are, with all our powers and potential, but at the end of the day, we're still grappling with the same questions as everyone else. Talent, destiny, divine intervention—maybe they're all just different sides of the same coin."
He shrugged, the weight of the philosophical musings settling over the broken city. "Who knows? Maybe God does have a sense of humor, after all.” that boy chuckled.
There was a deep silence between them.
Rosencreutz’ response was swift and resolute, his tone filled with certainty. "All this ‘universe has a plan’ banter is just a distraction from the inevitable," he declared, his eyes narrowing. "We can debate the nature of us being all-powerful yet struggling with mortal issues until the sun burns out, but it won't change the fact that our fate was sealed upon the knowledge Adam learned."
“To think so many trivialities have developed while this old man wasn’t watching. Heh heh. Then I should assume the thread of fate has again begun to weave its strange connections between myself and some unknown human.”
He rose forward, his movements purposeful. "It's time to put an end to this dance of platitudes," CRC continued, his voice cold and unwavering. "We'll settle this the only way that somewhat matters—through objective action in this grand play."
“Silence, preserved doll. Illusionists are meant to remain silent. That is all we magicians are: wielders of substanceless illusions. Opening your mouth serves only to break the illusion.”
With a flicker of resolve in his eyes, he locked gazes with the #7. "I am Hydra, Gemstone," he said, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. "Our battle ends now.” CRC opened both his palms and began shooting at their surroundings, the buildings, the pavement, the apartments, the rubble.
It probably wasn't random as it seemed to create a pattern.
“Huh are you getting senile old man?” asked the young Gemstone.
“What fun. I never imagined someone would bother diligently polishing their skills this far while knowing it is all essentially an illusion. Didn’t you ever feel silly going to the effort?”
Rosencreutz dropped to all fours, his rosy cross sword gripped tightly in his right hand.
He moved—
“Arrgh!” Sogiita yelled amidst the relentless and precise and precise strikes from that golden cross. “Old man?” he asked.
That magician didn't say anything.
That silver man’s movements became more beastly.
Faster.
Stronger.
Fiercer.
Something new was beginning to manifest.
With each strike of his higher dimensional blade that old man’s blows seemed infused with an otherworldly energy.
The wounds inflicted by his weapon burned with a venomous intensity, sending searing pain coursing through Sogiita's body.
That boy grimaced as the poison from that silver man’s strikes surged through his being, each wound feeling like it was ablaze with venomous fire.
"Damn... That burns…like a killer hornet’s sting," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice strained with effort. Gritting, he fought to maintain his focus, despite the agony threatening to overwhelm him.
Was this another application of The Four Stages? Citrinitas? No, there was nothing yellow here, it was more like a dirty purple.
But it wasn't just the physical damage that posed a threat.
As the Rosy Cross leader leaped on all fours his movements took on an almost erratic quality, he was bouncing from one building to another with an animalistic agility.
With each jump, a shockwave rippled through the air, carrying with it a palpable sense of dread.
Something was spreading.
The air around them seemed to thicken with a toxic miasma. The #7 struggled to breathe, the noxious fumes clouding his senses.
Like a chaotic monster’s venomous poison breath.
The once-clear air now felt thick and suffocating.
Gasping for breath, the bandana boy struggled to maintain his focus amidst the swirling chaos.
His vision blurred, his movements sluggish as he fought against the oppressive atmosphere.
Blinded that heroic boy could only fire a flame arrow without his sight.
His fists striking out with all the strength he could muster. Igniting in that poisonous compressed air.
It seemed to be flammable like a dragon’s breath.
???
At the hospital, Shokuhou's voice carried a mix of surprise and relief. “He caused real damage.” she exclaimed.
Kamijou turned his attention to her, intrigued. “What happened?”
“It's hard to see clearly, but it looks like the #7 managed to rip off CRC's left arm,” she explained. “Though, I'd say it was more of a lucky shot. I can read he acted on pure instinct.”
Kamijou nodded, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “Yeah... the psychic link and all.”
Had the #7 Level 5 given up on the old man?
Back on the battlefield, Sogiita cursed under his breath. “Dammit... Sorry, old man,” he muttered. “I was aiming to hit your whole body to maximize the surface area, maybe break a few bones as a casualty. We can probably get your arm reattached at the hospital. Heaven Canceller has enough guts to even fix me.”
It was clear—he hadn't given up.
It was an accidental strike of his arm.
“As each ghastly head was severed from its serpentine form, dreadfully, two more writhed forth from the abyss.” a cryptic voice amidst the chaos spoke.
Wasn't it said that the Hydra’s lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid.
Lerna was reputed to be an entrance to the Underworld.
The abyss.
The Ungrund.
There is no limit to the depth of the Alcyonian Lake, and I know of nobody who by any contrivance has been able to reach the bottom of it since not even Nero, who had ropes made several stades long and fastened them together, tying lead to them, and omitting nothing that might help his experiment, was able to discover any limit to its depth. This, too, I heard. The water of the lake is, to all appearance, calm and quiet but, although it is such to look at, every swimmer who ventures to cross it is dragged down, sucked into the depths, and swept away.
The keeper of the gate to the Underworld that lay in the waters of Lerna was the Hydra.
The serpentine Lake Monster.
“Rosencreutz……?” The #7 muttered.
That magician chuckled ominously. "Indeed, young Heracles," he intoned, his voice echoing with a bizarre resonance. “The Lernaean Hydra's curse is upon you now.” as he said that he ripped off a bit of his arm that was cuterarised and it began bleeding.
Anna Sprengel’s blood was said to create unknown miracles when spilled.
Christian Rosencreutz’ blood was so virulent that even its scent was deadly.
As Sogiita Gunha glanced at his severed arm lying on the ground, a creeping sense of horror enveloped him. "All fate is a curse and that curse," he murmured, his words barely audible over the din of battle, "extends even to my severed limb.”
Christian Rosencreutz’ left arm grew back.
No.
Two new arms grew in its place.
The arm was fully functioning with no defects.
Although one of the arms appeared somewhat scaly and lanky like a serpent.
It had human anatomy but something was abnormal here.
He almost looked like a spider as he emerged from the poisonous fog as he remained on all fours.
“So short-stack. Are you ready to complete your final labor: Crossing the abyss!!!” He challenged that boy with his cross sword facing him.
"Boss, what's up? You look kinda stuck," Kamijou asked, his tone concerned.
Two students were sitting together in the waiting room at a hospital.
"—abyss, Hydra, curse, synchronicities, Historic recurrence." she replied, her words carrying a weight of unease.
"Huh? What? Can you give me the lowdown?" Kamijou prodded, his urgency evident.
"Can't quite wrap my head around it. But what I can tell you is that after CRC started talking about these esoteric concepts, he leveled up his power ability, managed to seriously hurt the #7 despite me cranking up all his stats for the win condition," the honey-blonde girl explained, frustration creeping into her voice.
"Can you beam all that stuff into my head, like a memory download? You're a psychological esper, right? My right hand won't mess with it, and we've done the telepathy thing before," Kamijou suggested.
"Memory download's not quite it, but I can send you a recording," she clarified.
"Got it," Kamijou muttered as he absorbed the info.
"You got any ideas to help the #7’s situation ability, Kamijou-san? We're kinda desperate here," she asked.
"I wish Index was still here, dammit.” he lamented, “But you know about magic, right?" he queried.
"Yeah, people converting their delusions into reality right?," she admitted.
"Well, magic's not just about delusions; it can be tied up to the whole world. Not sure if it's relevant, but based on Idol Theory, Rosencreutz might be pulling in 'energy’ from the Greek 'phase’ of Heracles for an edge," Kamijou theorized.
"Like a chessboard flip?" Shokuhou Misaki inquired, her brow furrowed with concern.
"No, more like... imagine you're playing checkers with a buddy, and you're totally crushing it because you're a checkers pro. Then suddenly, your buddy switches it up and challenges you to an arm wrestling match, and you lose because, well, arm wrestling isn't your forte," Kamijou Touma explained, trying to paint a vivid picture.
"So, by taking on the role of the Hydra from Greek myth, he's essentially forcing the #7 into the role of Heracles? But didn't Heracles defeat the Hydra?" Shokuhou sought clarification.
"Yeah, but..." Kamijou recalled the tale from the movies he'd seen. "Lichas gave Heracles a shirt soaked in the Hydra's poisonous blood from his arrows, which ends up killing him by tearing his flesh down to the bone," he elaborated.
"It was actually Nessus seeking vengeance and tricking Deianira into giving it to Heracles as a gift, delivered by Lichas without disclosing the tunic's lethal bloodstained secret from the Lernaean Hydra, but you're right," Shokuhou corrected gently. "So, Rosencreutz is harnessing the power of that legend to slowly poison the #7?"
"Not literal. I mean the poison is real but his slashes do significant harm now so it's more like shifting the paradigm in his favor…shifting his position.” The spiky-haired boy wasn't in the mood to explain Phases, “Earlier, he mentioned Sogiita spreading his 'virus' throughout the world. A virus isn't a poison in the traditional sense, but the Rosicrucians originally sought to create a universal cure for all illnesses. Now, CRC is spreading a literal poison, positioning himself as the ultimate predator and his opponents as prey rather than his savior role, the paradigm has been shifted." Kamijou concluded, his voice tinged with gravity.
“So he’s changed the environment to get the win condition? The #7’s durability doesn't matter in the face of the world being forced to go about a certain way because of Rosencreutz stage play?” The girl asked.
“Yeah…if things keep going this way…Sogiita will….goddamnit….” The spiky haired boy swore. “I can't let someone else die after all that's happened but I feel like if I go out there I really will kill him…” he muttered that last bit while clenching his right fist that began shaking uncontrollably.
The girl’s eyes seemed confused. “What did you say?” The honey blonde middle schooler asked.
“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.” he spat out.
That boy and girl could never come to the right conclusion on their own without the aid of former Magic God Othinus by their side.
“Did you think I had challenged you with no hope of succeeding, you cesspool? The magic born on earth is bound by the directions based on the earth’s magnetic field and by the density and composition of the air which is determined by air pressure which is in turn influenced by gravity. That is inevitable when you are focused on the cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west or on the basic elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. But what you will find upon leaving the atmosphere is an unknown. Coronzon, are you sure there will be no malfunction in the magic giving you control of Avatar Lola? And before, my power was bound by the puny speck named earth which failed to become a black hole or even a sun, but once we enter outer space, just how far do you think that power will be released? I do not mind at all that I will lose the support of Academy City.”
Well the boy was half right.
“Let us test it out, you cuspidor. On one side, we have you using the planet and bound to an avatar. On the other, we have me exposed and freed from the planet. Now, who will be the star of this show?”
Christian Rosencreutz did not shoot at his surroundings for no reason.
The battlefield transformed into Rosencreutz's canvas, resembling the legendary battleground of Lerna where Heracles once clashed with the Hydra.
Yes.
He didn't unleash his powers randomly; every action was deliberate.
In the magical side of Idol Theory, mimicking an object, event, or person allowed one to tap into a fraction of its power.
And that even applied to locations that essentially worked as stage plays.
Idol Theory was so absolute that even the basic cross held a portion of the son of God’s power.
As Above, So Below.
As Below, So Above.
Macro to micro.
Micro to macro.
And the macrocosm and the microcosm are always linked.

My friend swears up and down that he would be able to kill a polar bear with a 10mm handgun with "5 well placed shots", despite never having shot a gun in his life. I called bullshit, saying that if polar bears are stronger than Grizzlies, and Grizzlies have been known to take shotgun blasts to the face, he isn't killing that polar bear any time soon. He also states that he'd be able to kill a polar bear with a sword, and again I called bullshit, saying that the bear would be on top of him faster than he would be able to even lift that sword over his head, and even if he was able to land a hit, if would not penetrate anything vital. Who's right here??
TL/DR: Would an average male be able to kill an adult male polar bear with a 10mm handgun or standard longsword?

I’m looking at what I should get for my 2nd handgun. I’ve heard both have very good triggers and I’ve held both in my hands and they feel pretty good. I haven’t gotten a chance to shoot either one but off the top of your head what are your opinions about either one? I see that TP9SF is cheaper than CZP10C but is there a factor that should make me choose one over the other? (Is CZ worth the extra $$ or can I get the same quality from the Canik?)

Of the various ways to fight in Cyberpunk Red, Archery feels the most lackluster and forgotten, only ever used if you're playing ELO, as your ELO character.
Shoulder arms - Most Versatile weapon type, weapons for every range band, powerful exotics
Handguns - Concealable, Tons upon tons of Exotics
Heavy Weapons - Best consistent damage, AOE
Autofire - Highest max damage (Helix), crowd control capabilities, Cheat ammo cost with junk/small game ammo.
Melee Weapons - 1/2 armor, fantastic exotics with great secondary effects
Thrown Weapons - 1/2 armor at range, can also be used in melee with melee weapons skill,
Grenades - Fantastic AOE damage, and utility options
Brawling - Grapple, Human shield, Choke, Disarm,
Martial Arts - Kip-up, unique powerful moves that can completely turn the tide of a fight, borg MA can be done at character generation and is uber powerful.
Archery - Silent, change ammo on the fly, no reload, forgiving range bands
Seems like Archery has its niche? Well there's shoulder arms and handguns that are silent, there are shoulderarms and handguns that can switch ammo on the fly, and if you're a single shot build when are you ever going to need to reload your AR? And the range bands? AR with shotgun underbarrel says hello.
Top it all off with the lack of RAW Archery exotics (only the survivalist that i'm aware of) and the lack of customization with attachments, and it feels like Archery is practically pointless to ever put points into.
R-Tal, please make Archery good. Or at least give us something better than we have. I'm begging you.

I swear Friday night (or Saturday morning, I guess) had serious The Hills Have Eyes vibes and I need to dump this somewhere. I need help, I don't know how to make them leave me alone.
I live in Illinois, about 30 miles outside Chicago in the suburban area. On a clear day, you can stand on top of the hill in the forest preserve and see the city skyline. You can imagine it's pretty bright here at night with all the light pollution, you can barely see any stars. For this reason, my parents and I decided to drive about an hour and a half west to see the Northern Lights. If you've been on social media this weekend, you probably heard about the Rare Solar Geomagnetic Storm that is happening, and how you can see the aurora borealis as far south as southern IL. I've never seen the Northern Lights, and I'm an aspiring astronomer, so I wanted to see them.
Now, I have anxiety. I wanted to say this before I tell you everything that happened on this trip. This subreddit has a "go with your gut" mentality, and I don't ever trust my gut. I'm diagnosed with anxiety and sometimes I just get nervous for no reason. I'm saying this because when we arrived on a gravel road at 2 am surrounded by farmland with only one house in sight, my stomach sank. I know this about myself, so I ignored my fear while I was sitting in the backseat, eyes trained outside the front windshield, my thoughts going through endless cycles of "We could ask the people in that house for help" "We might get hurt out here" "I hope we make it home safely" "Someone is watching us."
My mom pulled to the side of the road and we sat in the dark car for about 20 minutes, straining to look up at the sky through the closed windows until we got impatient and stepped out into the desolate night, the smell of cows in the air. My dad stayed in the car as my mom and I stood out in the empty road, my mom filming a time lapse of the sky on her phone and me pointing out constellations overhead. We could see Virgo and Ursa MajoThe Big Dipper (both actually the same constellation, or at least one lies within the other).
Eventually my dad left the car to join us outside. I saw a shooting star and we watched the International Space Station zoom across the sky, which was really cool. We never actually saw the northern lights. We never got the chance, as we left about 15 minutes later.
My dad and I were leaning against the hood of the car and my mom was standing in the middle of the road filming the sky when a light flashed all around us. My dad and I both started looking around us. My first thought was that it could be a camera flash. I was unsure about this though, I dabble in photography and a camera flash is pretty recognizable. It's usually a series of a couple flashes, one being longer and one being short. This was just one quick flash of light, and dimmer than a typical camera flash would be. Of course, it wasn't coming from in front of us so maybe that is why it was dimmer than that of a regular camera. All I know is it wasn't a camera meant for casual photography. More like a security or hunting type of camera.
I immediately got back in the car. As I mentioned before, I have diagnosed anxiety and sometimes it manifests as paranoia and my dad joked about a sniper watching us earlier in the night, and that idea was in my head ever since then. The weird flash only solidified it more. My parents stayed out of the car still looking for any sign of celestial lights. A couple minutes after we saw the flash of light, a truck drove down the road coming from behind us. It turned around at the intersection ahead and it drove toward us slowly. Very slowly, like it was a predator stalking closer. All I could see was its bright headlights. Before the truck started driving toward us, my dad opened the passenger door and grabbed his handgun. I asked him if he found out what the flash of light was, I don't know if he actually registered what I said, but he just gave me an "mhm" confirmation.
We were bathed in the light of the truck ahead of us, and I became extremely aware of eyes. Eyes in the fields, eyes in the rear view mirror, eyes outside the passenger side window. The eyes obviously had accompanying human figures, but just reflecting eyes showed on the silhouettes. They surrounded us, looking like the stars from above fell and stood in the fields.
My parents stood facing the truck, leaning against the hood of my mom's rusty minivan. They didn't seem to notice the surrounding group of people, or at least they didn't show it besides my dad grabbing his firearm a minute earlier. But I was having an anxiety attack, I'll be honest. I didn't have the mind to yell from the car that we should leave.
I don't know what caused the driver of the truck to put it in reverse and drive back up the road. All I know is that the eyes surrounding us converged on the road ahead, following the truck. They completely ignored my parents for whatever reason, and the headlights and eyes disappeared. We were alone again.
We thought that was the end of it. We left immediately when the headlights were out of view. We made a U-turn and drove home. We didn't speak of what just happened, and we got home at around 4:30 am. I took two Benadryl hoping to pass out and forget the eyes
At 10 am, my mom was going to go grocery shopping and she found an envelope on the front porch. Inside the envelope was a photo of my dad and I leaning on the van, taken from the field beside us. My mom was blocked from view by the car, but you could somewhat see her through one of the windows. The quality was horrible, it was definitly taken on a trail camera of sorts. It wasn't really a photograph, more like a postcard. It had a logo that I reverse-image-searched, but I couldn't find anything. I remembered seeing a building with the logo on it as we were leaving, it had a name like "Long Pig Butcher Inc," but I couldn't remember it exactly. The logo looked like a dark circle with two white dots, like headlights at night.
My dad burned the postcard. The photo didn't save to my phone when I reverse-image-searched it, I accidentally chose to delete it and it didn't show up in my camera roll trash folder. As a family, we chose to ignore everything that happened. We thought we probably angered a farmer by trespassing and we didn't want to get in trouble by reporting it. We hoped everything would die down, but it didn't.
Saturday night, I had to go outside to close the chicken coop. I saw the eyes in the tree-line. It had to be 6 pairs of glowing white dots staring directly at me. I realized then that the logo wasn't depicting headlights.
I ran inside to hide. The eyes moved from the tree-line to my back yard. They didn't move any further, they just stared. I could make out their silhouette bodies, but no distinguishable features. On the back window was another postcard with the same logo on it, stuck there with the wind. It blew away shortly after I saw it.
This morning my parents were gone. I was alone in the house, and I kept seeing glowing eyes out of the corner of my vision.
I want the eyes to go away. I want them to leave me alone. I didn't post the name of the town, I don't want them to take their staring to the next level. I see their eyes glowing through the blinds on all the windows. I hear the sound of a truck outside, and my parents haven't answered their phones.
I should've trusted my gut when we pulled onto that gravel road. I should've convinced my parents to drive home. The eyes won't leave me alone. They're watching me, always.

My local range is running a class as an introductory primer to action shooting and I would like to give it a try. They require; an OWB holster, Must cover the trigger completely, Must be made of rigid material so that the top of the holster remains open, allowing for one-handed holstering, Handgun to be carried at the 3 o’clock position (right-handed shooter) or 9 o’clock position (left-handed shooter), Belt carrier to hold at least two magazines.
I've got FNX 45-Tac and Springfield XDM Elite that I want to use for this class, but I don't have any OWB holsters for them... Or a worthy belt to mount the holsters too.
I was eyeballing the Action Sports Rig from DARA as this seems to check all the boxes. It comes with the belt, 3 mag pouches, and a holster custom to one of my firearms. Have any of you used this brand before, is it worth the nearly $470 price tag for a fully tricked out kit? It's a non-returnable purchase so I REALLY want to make sure I'm not buying some junky crap.
I had also considered the Blue Force Gear Grid belt as I like the look of them better - and then pairing that belt with the DARA drop offset holster, again because they seem to be able to make custom holsters for my guns. That combo puts me right about $400 except I would still need pistol mag pouches. But again, I've never used either of these two brands before.
I've looked at Safari-Land and they don't seem to make holsters for either of my firearms. which is a shame because it seems like if you have any other firearm then what I have, this is the holster brand to go with.
What say ye` range wizards?

For those of us still farming trophies for upgrades, this alteration can easily let you farm virals with even just a handgun thanks to the unlimited ammunition.
Head to the Baba's shop/plague witch's shop in saint paul island in tge central loop and stand by the metal gate or on top of the fence. It's a safe area in which you can draw weapons and use weapons/throwables. The gunshots lure virals, which you kill easily thanks to unlimited ammo, rinse repeat until you have enough. When the bodies start piling up you can walk along the inner wall a little until they despawn and leave the loot bag which saves time by not having you search and instead just pick up loot. Do this at daytime.
Maybe someone else have found other places you can do this?
Good luck out there survivors!

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Memory transcription subject: Jakiv, arxur scientist
Date [Standardized human time]: August 31st, 2148
[Day 24]
I woke up on the couch swaddled in a soft blanket. The light filtering through the windows illuminated and highlighted the red in Nuri’s fur. She was sleeping soundly on a pillow on the carpet. We were up late last night watching more movies and just talking about anything and everything.
For once I wasn’t feeling held down by sleep as I stood up from the couch. The yotul barely stirred. I went to the kitchen to make some coffee and eat breakfast. She’d ordered some food last night that I finished quickly because the time was 10 am and I was late for work.
I hastily swept up the folder with my report in it and headed for the door, my claws loudly clicking on the floor.
As I gripped the door handle, I heard Nuri call out, “Jaki?”
I turned around to see the yotul, draped in her blanket and smiling warmly. She approached and hugged me, “Have a good day at work,” she patted my back.
“Thank you, Nuri. I’ll see you later, okay?”
She nodded and waved as I stepped out into the warm sunlight. Today was going to be a good day.
~~~
Memory transcription subject: Daniel Stat, human virologist
Date [Standardized human time]: August 31st, 2148
[Day 24]
Jakiv should’ve been in by now. I figured it didn’t matter too much, today we were going to be testing the vaccine and seeing how it interacted with the venlil body. He’d have loved to take notes, but a man like him would have a reason to call out of work, so I didn’t bother dwelling on it.
I stayed by Silvon’s side as we worked. I knew she still wasn’t feeling great after the email, and I was pretty on edge at the thought of Humanity First tracking us down. I promised her nonstop last night that I’d keep her safe.
“Danny?” she spoke softly.
“What’s up?”
“Can you pass me that sample there?” I handed her a vial of spliced cells and watched her drip them onto a slide with a myriad of other venlil cells. Various tissue cells, brain cells, and a couple of miscellaneous things like bone marrow and a tuft of fur. “Thanks, hon,” she smiled.
I felt giddy watching the cells harmlessly coexist. Then, she dripped a sample of the rhinovirus. Immediately the spliced cells got to work destroying the virus and protecting the other samples in the dish. “That’s looking really promising,” I observed.
She nodded, “I think it’s ready for the real test.”
“Got it. I’ll run these to the infirmary then. Be back in a sec, hon,” I promised, blowing a kiss since I was still suited in PPE.
I went through the decontamination cycle feeling like I was on cloud nine. Today was going to be a good day! As I started for the infirmary, sounds right out of my worst nightmares echoed down the corridor. Gunshots and screaming.
~~~
Memory transcription subject: Aaron Clemont, Humanity First rallier
Date [Standardized human time]: August 31st, 2148
[Day 24]
Today was going to be a good day. Jatsen Labs was almost completely unguarded. The UN only sent two armed guards to stand outside the door, which were dispatched so easily, that they might as well have sent nobody at all.
While the peacekeepers were staining the sidewalk outside, I entered the building flanked by Landen and Vernon. We were immediately met with a pencil pushing yotul manning the front desk. Before she could even look up, a bullet blasted through her skull from my rifle. Landen and Vernon only had handguns, unfortunately. The local HF branch was rather poor. But they made do by squeezing off rounds into the panicked scientists who desperately ran down the halls to escape us.
Sprays of green soaked the walls and floors. I reloaded my rifle after eviscerating a Xeno and motioned forward. There was a map of the building on the wall that I scanned. We were pretty close to the virus lab, just a few short turns and Stat was at our mercy.
As I finished registering the info, the lights overhead dimmed and flashed red. “Good mood lighting,” I mused. As a trio we moved down the hall, leaving no survivors in our wake. We got to the door labeled ‘virus lab’ and used a keycard ripped from a corpse to unlock it.
“Let’s fucking do this,” I growled.
~~~
Memory transcription subject: Daniel Stat, human virologist
Date [Standardized human time]: August 31st, 2148
[Day 24]
The gunshots were growing louder outside as the decontamination cycle came to an end. I threw myself inside the lab. Silvon looked panicked and was pressed against the far wall. Those plexiglass windows wouldn’t survive a bullet, and my love wasn’t making herself less of a target.
“Silvvy,” I spat hastily, “C’mere!” she hustled toward me as I threw open a cabinet beneath the lab and moved aside enough equipment for her to squeeze inside. “Get in here. Don’t even think of coming out. Whatever you hear, whatever you see, keep quiet,” I breathed.
“Danny-?”
“Now!” I roared.
“I love you,” she said. I could see her goggles fogging.
“I love you too,” I said, closing the cabinet door. I ducked beneath the wall under the plexiglass. The other yotul seemed to have run out. I was thankful Tinasi wasn’t at work today. I heard the sound of the decontamination cycle going on and steeled myself for the worst.
The door swished open slowly. The barrel of a rifle extended through the doorway first, followed by 3 humans. The one with the rifle scanned the room, finding me immediately. “Dr. Stat,” he smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” I stood, ready to fight for me and Silvon’s life. Then, for whatever reason, the man set down his rifle. “Where’s your Xeno, Danny?” he growled.
“Her name is Silvon,” I spat, “And she’s far, far away from her.”
I cracked my knuckles. “Y’know Doc, you’re pretty infamous among Humanity First. Killing one of our own, undermining all our efforts at every turn, fucking the locals, it’s awful,” his voice was suave and matter-of-fact, but filled with the kind of vitriol only a terrorist could muster.
“Is that so?” He asked, then chuckled. “Guess she won’t know she’s a widow for a while.”
I raised my fists, and one of the other humans chimed in, “Aaron, what are you doing?”
“Quiet!” he barked, reaching into his pocket and procuring a switchblade. “I’m doing good on Stephan’s name.”
He clicked the blade and lunged toward me. I quickly grabbed his wrist and tried to wrestle the blade from his hand. He slammed his fist into my face and I lost my grip on him. He fell to his knees on my chest, putting his full weight on my ribcage, and tried to slam the knife down on me. I took both his wrists in my hands, desperately pushing him back as the blade got nearer and nearer to my throat.
I simultaneously released on hand and moved my head aside, the knife clattered next to my ear as I punched him in the stomach and pushed him off of me.
“Do you need help?” The other human called.
“No!” He barked as I crushed his nose with my fist. “Watch the fuckin’ doors!”
He grabbed the knife and slammed it into my arm. I howled in pain as blood spurted from the wound. He laughed maniacally, his crushed nose seeping crimson. He ripped the knife from my arm and swung again, cutting me up further. I got a grasp on his wrist again, continuing to pummel him. We rolled over, he was once again on top, each punch made me see stars.
“It’s the end of the fucking line, Stat,” he coughed. Aaron punched full force into my throat, and I struggled to breathe. He got up, towering over me with a sadistic grin.
“DANNY!” a shrill voice screeched. There was a flash of auburn fur and a scream as Silvon jammed a partially shattered test tube deep into Aaron’s back. He whipped around, catching the venlil across the snout. Under the PPE I could see blood.
“Silvon,” I gasped, “What- are… you- doing?”
Aaron stamped down on my hand as I reached for her, the bones snapped beneath his heavy footfall and I cried out.
“I knew she wouldn’t be far,” the human growled.
“No-” I wheezed as he ripped the mask off Silvon’s face. We locked eyes. “I’m sorry, Danny,” she whispered.
“Boys,” Aaron chuckled heartily. “Grab me one of the samples.”
One of the humans by the door reached into a handheld cooler, withdrawing a small orange vial I knew all too well. “NO!” I screamed as Aaron knelt by Silvon. I tried to stand. One of the humans by the door swiftly raised his handgun and fired into my leg. The hot lead seared my flesh and my pantleg grew warm and wet.
“Sweet dreams, Xeno,” he laughed, forcing open her mouth and forcing the sample’s contents down her throat. He threw her aside while she tried fruitlessly to cough out the blood, then returned to me.
“There’s no way out for any of us now, Stat,” the knife gleamed, covered in my blood. He held it to my throat, I could feel the blade cutting in, then-
“HOLY SHIT!” The other Humanity First members screamed in unison. The plexiglass shattered, there was a blurry gray mass that landed with a heavy thud. The human who shot me turned his gun on the imposing figure of the arxur and popped off several shots.
Jakiv staggered, clutching his chest, but no blood pooled around the holes in his hoodie. “Stupid human,” he growled, slashing his throat in one smooth motion. He turned to the other terrorist, shakily holding his handgun out. He fired, striking Jakiv on the arm, but the arxur literally shrugged it off, clawing the human’s face.
Aaron was pale and stood, knife in hand, to face the arxur. “B-back off, gray!” he spat. He dove for his rifle, but Jakiv was faster, grabbing the gun and chucking it through the broken window. He stomped Aaron’s hand, his claws impaling the appendage. The terrorist groaned in pain as the arxur slowly bent over and slammed his jaws shut around Aaron’s windpipe. The human’s movements halted with the sickening crunch of bone.
I caught my breath, and leaned against the wall, pain shooting through every limb. “Silvon,” I reached my non-broken hand toward the venlil, who ran over to me.
“Danny, oh stars,” she examined the wounds on my leg and arm.
“Are you two okay?” Jakiv asked, catching his breath and wiping the blood from his lips. He approached slowly, I could tell he was worried about scaring Silvon, but she ran to him and threw her arms around him.
“Thank you,” she sobbed, “Thank you, Jakiv.”
He awkwardly patted her back, “You’re welcome?”
She broke away, getting back to me, “Help me lift him, we need to get out of here.”
“On the count of 3,” the arxur said. “1, 2, 3!”
“Aaaugh! God!” I cried out as they helped me up.
“We’re getting you out of here, Danny. You’re gonna be just fine,” the venlil said half pleading. The edges of my vision began to blur and distort as my legs threatened to give out. Jakiv steadied me with his tail as we began walking toward the decontamination hall.
“Silvon,” I groaned, suddenly remembering the sample. “Silvon,” I tugged her arm.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“You’re sick,” I wheezed, stumbling slightly. “You need the- the-” I pointed frantically toward the container full of the vaccine I was supposed to run to the infirmary.
Silvon left my side only long enough to secure the case. “We need to leave now, Danny,” she told me.
I pressed myself against the wall as the decontamination cycle completed, then Jakiv helped me down the main hall. My legs were getting weaker with each step, and I could no longer feel my injuries. I felt lightheaded, and put more and more of my weight on the arxur, who eventually just threw me over his shoulders.
I heard voices up ahead, but the world around faded to black before I could see their sources. My last conscious thoughts were Silvon.
~~~
Memory transcription subject: Jakiv, arxur scientist
Date [Standardized human time]: August 31st, 2148
[Day 24]
Dr. Silvon was great at keeping pace as we raced down the bloody corridors. At the entrance, there were several yotul police officers and zurulian doctors filing in.
“HELP!” I screamed at them, rushing toward one of the stretchers.
“Stand down, gray!” An officer barked, pointing his gun at me.
“Help me, please, get these two to safety. The venlil is infected with the flu, the human is critically injured. Please,” I urged.
The yotul eyed me suspiciously, I figured it was 50/50 whether or not he’d pull the trigger. “Listen to him officer,” Silvon begged, “He saved our lives.”
Two zurulians rushed over, I carefully lowered Dr. Stat into a stretcher. My claws and hoodie were soaked in blood, hardly any of it mine. “Please help him,” I begged. The zurulians exchanged nervous glances before hurriedly hauling the human off.
“You say you were… saved by this arxur?” The officer asked Silvon as another pair of medics rushed to her aid.
She coughed a bit, “Yes sir. He’s a hero…” she trailed off, noticeably growing weaker. “Where’s… my husband?” she groaned, falling into the stretcher and knocking out cold. Poor venlil overexerted herself running. Before they could wheel her off, I stopped one of the zurulians.
“Please, take this,” I said, handing the doctor the case we recovered. “It’s for the flu,” I explained as the zurulian took the vaccines and escorted Stat and Silvon through the lab doors. I registered my burning lungs at last, and leaned up against a wall for support, suddenly feeling weak in the legs.
I sighed heavily and let myself slip down to the floor where I could more easily catch my breath. The six shots to my chest stung badly, but a quick glance over told me they didn’t break the skin. Suddenly, the door swung open, and someone far off shouted “You can’t be here!”
In a flash of red fur, Nuri was at my side. “Jaki?!” she cried, her voice wrought with concern.
“Hey, Nuri,” I waved a claw, “What’re you doing-?” She wordlessly began running her paws along my chest, unzipping my hoodie and feeling the dents in my scales. “Nuri?” she looked up at me, there was fear in her eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked frantically.
“Yeah, I’m just fine,” I answered. She threw her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug that almost hurt. I didn’t know how to react besides returning the gesture, leaning into the marsupial.
“I thought-” Nuri’s voice broke, “I thought I-”
“Hey, hey,” I cooed, “Everything’s fine, I’m okay, Nuri,” I reassured the yotul. She sniffled, but said nothing, just pulled me tighter. We stayed like that for a while before she finally broke away. She sat down next to me and leaned her head against my arm.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” she confessed.
“Oh please, have some faith,” I smiled. “I’m a big strong arxur, I can handle a little tussle.”
The marsupial perked up slightly at my words. “You know you’re a hero now, right?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I dismissed.
“You saved a bunch of people today,” Nuri said. “What about that isn’t heroic?”
“I guess that’s true. Fuck,” I chuckled, “I need a drink.”
Nuri stood and extended a paw to help me up. “Let’s get outta here, Jaki,” she smiled.
~~~
Memory transcription subject: Daniel Stat, human virologist
Date [Standardized human time]: September 1st, 2148
[Day 25]
My head spun as I came to. I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to all those wires, with a cast on my shattered hand and nose. Directly across from me was Silvon, typing away on her holopad. The second she saw I was awake, a smile crossed her features.
“Good morning, Danny,” she greeted.
“Hey,” I groaned. Speaking hurt. I rubbed my eyes, and yawned, then instantly snapped up, “Holy shit, Silvon,” I cried, “Aaron he- you’re sick!”
Silvon seemed unbothered, I couldn’t keep the confusion off my face. “I was,” she smiled.
“What?”
“I was sick, Danny. But they administered the vaccine, and it worked,” she explained.
“It did?!” I laughed in disbelief, clutching my sides as the pain hit, but smiled regardless. “Oh thank god,” I cried. “I was so scared,” I breathed.
“You’re not losing me that easily,” Silvon giggled.
“Good,” I sighed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “Good,” I muttered. A tear rolled down my cheek that I hastily wiped away.
“Danny?” My breathing hastened, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. “Danny, are you okay?”
Silvon’s words echoed, drowned out by the beeping heart monitor. I failed to hide the torrent of sobs that escaped me as I buried my face in my hands. “I thought it was over for us-” I choked out, “I don’t want to lose you.”
A paw found its way around my neck. I ran my fingers through Silvon’s soft fur. “You won’t,” she promised.
“I’ve been having so many nightmares,” I sobbed, “I’m so afraid,” I confessed. She sat on the edge of the bed next to me and wiped the tears from my eyes.
“Nothing can tear us apart,” she said, “Nothing.”
“I-” I gesticulated, every emotion possible swirled in my chest.
“Shhh,” she cooed, “You don’t have to speak.” Silvon hugged me, and planted a kiss on my cheek.

First Chapter Previous Chapter
Mrs. Vilonte stood alone in the bathroom. In her hands, she cradled the urn containing her husband's ashes. The weight of it was surprisingly light, almost inconsequential, like the flutter of a moth's wing against her palm.
There was a tinge of sadness that grazed her heart. She had spent years by his side, experiencing the highs and lows of marriage. And now he was dead. The memorial service had been sparsely attended, with only a handful offering their condolences.
One photographer seemed overly eager to capture a shot of the grieving widow shedding a tear. But Mrs. Vilonte despised tears—seeing them, feeling them trickle down her face. The moment she felt her eyes sting and tears threatening to spill, she brushed them away before they had a chance to fall.
Now, the house was quiet. But mixed with that lingering sadness was a sense of relief, a subtle liberation that whispered to her from the shadows. He had betrayed her. His infidelity had cut deep.
She unscrewed the lid of the urn. The ashes inside seemed to shimmer in the faint light. Without hesitation, she emptied the contents into the toilet bowl and pulled the lever, watching as they spiraled downwards, swallowed by the rushing water.
XXXXXX
She once cherished two joys during her drives to Gabrielle's violin lessons. One was soaking in the serene landscape while indulging in her beloved soft jazz on the radio. The other was the comforting presence of her daughter beside her in the front passenger seat.
Now, she glanced at the vacant seat, and a wave of melancholy washed over her. Shaking off the emotion, she turned her attention back to the road, gripping the wheel tighter as she accelerated. After a stretch of driving, she eventually arrived at the mansion.
She had often wondered how the maestro accumulated such immense wealth. However, after meeting his benefactor and experiencing the allure of that wealth herself, she began to understand the price he had paid–the soul.
Was striking a deal with such a malevolent entity truly worth it? This question haunted her thoughts daily, and still, she had no definitive answer. The allure of luxury was intoxicating like the addictive sweetness of sugar. The more she indulged in it, the stronger her craving became, leaving her caught in a cycle of desire and uncertainty.
The mansion was as elegant and grand as she remembered. In the front yard, a splendid water fountain glistened under the sunlight. Surrounding the mansion was a manicured garden bloomed with vibrant colors and lush foliage.
Before stepping out of the car, she pulled a handgun from the glove compartment and carefully concealed it in her purse. Today was the day she planned to confront him, intent on demanding him to undo the unfortunate turn her life had taken.
The front door was unlocked and it swung open effortlessly as she entered. It slammed shut behind her without her even touching it, and there was no wind to explain it.
“Ah, Mrs. Vilonte,” a familiar male voice greeted warmly, “It's been far too long since our last meeting. You look lovely as ever!”
She looked up to see the young Salerno, leaning casually against the railing at the top of the split staircase. His smirking face drew a scowl from her. She resented his mocking compliment about her looking “lovely as ever.” She wore the same black dress she'd worn since her husband's memorial, now creased from sleep and carrying a faint scent of dried scotch.
“You've had your fun, Salerno,” she retorted, her voice tinged with restrained anger. "I shouldn't have broken our agreement, and I've learned my lesson.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, and I assure you, it won't happen again.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I want my life back.”
Salerno's face was solemn, shrouded in silence. Unexpectedly, he erupted into mocking laughter.
“That's not the nature of consequences, my dear,” he remarked. “You must live with what you've done. Forgiveness is not in my nature.
“You've stripped me of my wealth–”
“It wasn't yours to begin with.”
“I have nothing left!”
“Oh, that isn't completely true. You still have your family.”
“You've torn my family apart! My husband is gone, my son imprisoned and now my daughter, too! You've taken her from me.”
“But soon you'll be reunited.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned for her to ascend the stairs. “You've arrived just in time to witness something miraculous. Something beautiful!”
Confusion clouded Mrs. Vilonte's face until she heard an agonized moan coming from an upstairs room, followed by a cry she knew all too well.
“Gabrielle,” she gasped.
Salerno nodded. “You're about to be a grandmother to another child.”
The haunting images from the field of mirrors flooded back. The abomination—a monstrous entity—was on the brink of entering their world, and who knew what kind of hell it would bring. Suddenly, a powerful force propelled her towards the stairs, her movements no longer under her control. Before she knew it, she stood face to face with Salerno on the top landing. His grin exposed jagged, menacing teeth, and his eyes were pools of darkness. With talon-like fingers, he grasped her shoulders, their sharp points piercing her skin.
He led her into the master bedroom, where Gabrielle lay in a fitful sleep on a queen-size bed, her movements restless. Her eyes were closed, and sweat had matted her hair to her head. Beside her sat Victoria, whose skin showed signs of decay, and she moved with a robotic, disjointed motion as she wiped the sweat from Gabrielle's face with a cloth. When Victoria moved aside, Mrs. Vilonte shivered, finding herself staring into Victoria's empty, hollow eye sockets.
Salerno leaned in close to her ear, his voice a low whisper as he said, “My children are everywhere, and this newborn will join them, serving me in this world. You should feel honored to be part of something extraordinary, something greater than yourself.”
Slipping free from his hold, she quickly made her way to her daughter's bedside, sweeping aside stray locks from her face. The moment her fingers made contact with her skin, Gabrielle began to calm down.
“Gabby, it's Mom,” she whispered gently, a wave of relief washing over her as her daughter's eyes fluttered open in response.
“Did you enjoy the concert, Mom?” Gabrielle asked, faintly.
“Well, it was an unforgettable performance, that's for sure.”
“Didn’t I do a phenomenal job?”
“Let's talk about it when we get home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, you're coming home with me now.”
“I can't... the baby is going to arrive soon,” Gabrielle gasped, her voice strained with pain. "It hurts too much to move.”
“You’ll have to endure it! We need to get out of here!”
Mrs. Vilonte tossed aside the blanket and firmly grasped her arm, pulling her out of the bed. Gabrielle staggered and lost her footing, sliding down onto the floor. She reached for the edge of the bed, trying to soften her sudden fall.
“Run, run, but wherever you hide,” Salerno sang, “you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte quickly drew the handgun from her purse, aiming it at him as he approached. Her eyes darted between Salerno and Victoria, the gun wavering between the two.
“Stay back! Just let us go.”
Salerno chuckled. “Mrs. Vilonte, really now? Violence won't solve your problems.”
A deafening bang echoed through the room. He staggered back, pressing a hand to his belly as blood began to seep through his white shirt. His mouth opened, releasing a plume of black smoke that coalesced into the silhouette of a large goat standing upright on its hind legs.
The creature glared at her with red eyes before the smoke dissipated. Then, as if the inevitable march of age had finally caught up to him within seconds, his vitality began to wane. His once smooth skin transformed into a web of wrinkles. His dark eyes dimmed, replaced by a cloudy haze. His jet-black hair turned a shocking shade of white, contrasting starkly with the pallor of his skin. His cheeks began to sink.
Salerno, aged and frail, sank to the floor, his hand stubbornly pressed against his wound as if hoping to halt the flow of blood. “Run, run, but wherever you hide, you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte seized her daughter's arm, hauling her upright, all the while keeping the gun trained between Salerno and Victoria. Victoria lay collapsed on the floor, reduced to a heap of decomposed skin devoid of bones and muscle.
A deep rumble echoed through the room, causing it to tremble and sway. Cracks snaked across the walls, paint peeling away in tattered sheets. Twisting, blood-red vines crept from the fractures, weaving their way across walls and ceiling. Acting quickly, Mrs. Vilonte seized Gabrielle, who had collapsed to the floor, teeth clenched in pain from another surge of agony. She pulled her up by the arm, forcing her to her feet and pushing her towards the door.
The mansion, once a symbol of pride when she'd taken her daughter for the maestro’s lessons, was transforming into a nightmarish scene. Blood oozed from the decaying walls, while a noxious sulfuric odor filled the air, nearly suffocating Mrs. Vilonte and making each breath a struggle.
She didn't pause for rest or allow Gabrielle a moment to catch her breath until they were safely out of the house and speeding away in the car, putting as much distance as possible between them and the area.
“Mom, stop the car,” Gabrielle groaned in pain from the back seat.
“Hold on tight, honey. We'll go to the nearest hospital.”
“I can't wait anymore!”
“It won't be long. Twenty minutes.”
“I can feel the baby wanting to come out.”
Mrs. Vilonte looked up at the rearview mirror, where she saw Gabrielle's sweaty face scrunched up in pain, gripping her rounded belly with both hands.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she said, “but you need to hold out a little longer. We'll be at the hospital very soon.”
“STOP THE CAR!”
The car came to a sudden stop, jolting Mrs. Vilonte forward and almost throwing Gabrielle off from her seat.
“The baby is coming! Mom, help me!” Gabrielle cried.
“The baby…”
Mrs. Vilonte couldn't shake the thought that this creature couldn't possibly be human. The horrifying acts that it could be capable of frightened her, and the idea that it shared a bloodline with her sickened her even more. Her hand moved to the handgun resting on the passenger seat beside her, considering the one extreme solution she could think of for such an unusual situation.
It wasn't ideal, but she saw no other option.
She took hold of the gun and stepped out of the car, approaching the rear passenger side. Opening the door, she found her daughter propped on her elbows, lifting her dress to reveal the widening canal. Gabrielle let out a menacing growl as she pushed.
Mrs. Vilonte crouched to inspect closer, and instantly felt the unsettling, malevolent presence. The entity seemed to be trying to claw its way out from the depths of the abyss. It inched towards the light, its growls growing louder like a ravenous animal. As Gabrielle pushed further, its red, snouted face broke through, its eyes snapping open to lock onto hers with an intense, black-eyed glare.
Startled, she stumbled back, her hands grasping for the handgun that had slipped from her trembling fingers. As she aimed at the creature before her, an unseen force encircled her hands. She fought to maintain control, but the force twisted the weapon, redirecting it towards her. Suddenly, she found herself staring down the barrel of her gun.
The trees came alive with a flurry of motion as a group of birds took flight, their wings beating frantically against the sky. The once-quiet canopy echoed with the sound of panicked chirps and the movement of feathers, as the startled birds scattered in all directions, seeking refuge from the sudden disturbance caused by a blast.
XXXXX
In the forest of another realm, beyond the physical world, her skin melded seamlessly with the tree's bark, as vines snaked their way around her, ensnaring her limbs. Fungi blossomed from her mouth, rendering her voiceless as her tongue was entwined.
The goat-like creature approached her, brandishing a small mirror, coercing her to confront her distorted reflection. Little remained of her once recognizable features. Worms and roaches had taken residence in the hollow cavity where her nose and right eye had been. With her one remaining eye, she gazed into the mirror, waves of anguish coursing through her being as she beheld the grim reflection of what she had transformed into.
Then, as her ghastly reflection faded, a young man with dark hair and eyes as deep as coal materialized, wearing a black suit, standing with poise on a stage, holding up a violin. Upon closer look, she realized it to be the very violin Gabrielle had once owned.
“Behold what my child has become,” the entity proclaimed. “Are you not as proud of him as I am?”
XXXXX
A bright light beamed down on the young man standing center stage, his violin poised in his hands. His fingers glided over the strings, and with each passing note, the audience, their eyes fixed on him, was drawn deeper into his spell. It wrapped around the listeners' hearts and pulled them into a trance-like state. And as the last notes hung in the air, the audience were suspended in silence and left breathless. Then, they leaped to their feet in thunderous applause.
With a twisted smile, he relished the adulation. He knew he had sway over them, puppet master of their actions. He could simply issue a command, and they would eagerly comply, ready to enact his darkest fantasies. He imagined directing his willing servants to get up on the roof of a towering building and leap into the abyss below, willingly offering themselves as sacrifices.
He envisioned chaos unleashed upon the streets, cars overturned, windows shattered, and buildings engulfed in flames. All at his behest. The world lay at his fingertips, ripe for manipulation and destruction, as he thought about the countless ways he could bring about humanity’s demise.
After his final bow, the young man turned to face the audience, expressing heartfelt thanks for their attendance, eliciting both laughter and warm affection from the crowd. But, amidst the resounding applause, one figure remained still in the front row, confined to a wheelchair. He stared straight at her face which was hidden behind a thin black veil.
Though her body remained motionless in the chair, incapable of even the slightest movement, her one good eye was very much alive, fully engaged with her surroundings. And there was something else in her gaze. He could sense it from the stage, and it made him chuckle. It was an aroma he found intoxicating – the unmistakable stench of fear, seeping from every pore like primal pheromones.
The audience clamored for an encore, yearning to satisfy their insatiable thirst for more music. Their fervent cries echoed through tears. Lifting his violin once more, he hushed the audience with a single motion. The moment the red bow touched the strings, pandemonium broke loose. The spectators lost all self-control, leaping from their seats, clutching their heads, and tearing at their hair in a wild frenzy. They were completely entranced, surrendered to the power of the music.
As his crescendo intensified, a raging fire surged within them, mirrored by the frantic speed of his fingers on the strings. With each chord, they tore at their garments, sinking nails and teeth into one another's flesh. Chaos exploded, mingling with the scent of blood and the sound of rending flesh.
Mrs. Vilonte remained seated in her wheelchair, an impassive observer amidst the chaos, her voice silenced, her limbs still. She bore witness to the madness, her mind ensnared within its chaos, forever lost to its depths.

First Chapter Previous Chapter
Mrs. Vilonte stood alone in the bathroom. In her hands, she cradled the urn containing her husband's ashes. The weight of it was surprisingly light, almost inconsequential, like the flutter of a moth's wing against her palm.
There was a tinge of sadness that grazed her heart. She had spent years by his side, experiencing the highs and lows of marriage. And now he was dead. The memorial service had been sparsely attended, with only a handful offering their condolences.
One photographer seemed overly eager to capture a shot of the grieving widow shedding a tear. But Mrs. Vilonte despised tears—seeing them, feeling them trickle down her face. The moment she felt her eyes sting and tears threatening to spill, she brushed them away before they had a chance to fall.
Now, the house was quiet. But mixed with that lingering sadness was a sense of relief, a subtle liberation that whispered to her from the shadows. He had betrayed her. His infidelity had cut deep.
She unscrewed the lid of the urn. The ashes inside seemed to shimmer in the faint light. Without hesitation, she emptied the contents into the toilet bowl and pulled the lever, watching as they spiraled downwards, swallowed by the rushing water.
XXXXXX
She once cherished two joys during her drives to Gabrielle's violin lessons. One was soaking in the serene landscape while indulging in her beloved soft jazz on the radio. The other was the comforting presence of her daughter beside her in the front passenger seat.
Now, she glanced at the vacant seat, and a wave of melancholy washed over her. Shaking off the emotion, she turned her attention back to the road, gripping the wheel tighter as she accelerated. After a stretch of driving, she eventually arrived at the mansion.
She had often wondered how the maestro accumulated such immense wealth. However, after meeting his benefactor and experiencing the allure of that wealth herself, she began to understand the price he had paid–the soul.
Was striking a deal with such a malevolent entity truly worth it? This question haunted her thoughts daily, and still, she had no definitive answer. The allure of luxury was intoxicating like the addictive sweetness of sugar. The more she indulged in it, the stronger her craving became, leaving her caught in a cycle of desire and uncertainty.
The mansion was as elegant and grand as she remembered. In the front yard, a splendid water fountain glistened under the sunlight. Surrounding the mansion was a manicured garden bloomed with vibrant colors and lush foliage.
Before stepping out of the car, she pulled a handgun from the glove compartment and carefully concealed it in her purse. Today was the day she planned to confront him, intent on demanding him to undo the unfortunate turn her life had taken.
The front door was unlocked and it swung open effortlessly as she entered. It slammed shut behind her without her even touching it, and there was no wind to explain it.
“Ah, Mrs. Vilonte,” a familiar male voice greeted warmly, “It's been far too long since our last meeting. You look lovely as ever!”
She looked up to see the young Salerno, leaning casually against the railing at the top of the split staircase. His smirking face drew a scowl from her. She resented his mocking compliment about her looking “lovely as ever.” She wore the same black dress she'd worn since her husband's memorial, now creased from sleep and carrying a faint scent of dried scotch.
“You've had your fun, Salerno,” she retorted, her voice tinged with restrained anger. "I shouldn't have broken our agreement, and I've learned my lesson.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, and I assure you, it won't happen again.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I want my life back.”
Salerno's face was solemn, shrouded in silence. Unexpectedly, he erupted into mocking laughter.
“That's not the nature of consequences, my dear,” he remarked. “You must live with what you've done. Forgiveness is not in my nature.
“You've stripped me of my wealth–”
“It wasn't yours to begin with.”
“I have nothing left!”
“Oh, that isn't completely true. You still have your family.”
“You've torn my family apart! My husband is gone, my son imprisoned and now my daughter, too! You've taken her from me.”
“But soon you'll be reunited.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned for her to ascend the stairs. “You've arrived just in time to witness something miraculous. Something beautiful!”
Confusion clouded Mrs. Vilonte's face until she heard an agonized moan coming from an upstairs room, followed by a cry she knew all too well.
“Gabrielle,” she gasped.
Salerno nodded. “You're about to be a grandmother to another child.”
The haunting images from the field of mirrors flooded back. The abomination—a monstrous entity—was on the brink of entering their world, and who knew what kind of hell it would bring. Suddenly, a powerful force propelled her towards the stairs, her movements no longer under her control. Before she knew it, she stood face to face with Salerno on the top landing. His grin exposed jagged, menacing teeth, and his eyes were pools of darkness. With talon-like fingers, he grasped her shoulders, their sharp points piercing her skin.
He led her into the master bedroom, where Gabrielle lay in a fitful sleep on a queen-size bed, her movements restless. Her eyes were closed, and sweat had matted her hair to her head. Beside her sat Victoria, whose skin showed signs of decay, and she moved with a robotic, disjointed motion as she wiped the sweat from Gabrielle's face with a cloth. When Victoria moved aside, Mrs. Vilonte shivered, finding herself staring into Victoria's empty, hollow eye sockets.
Salerno leaned in close to her ear, his voice a low whisper as he said, “My children are everywhere, and this newborn will join them, serving me in this world. You should feel honored to be part of something extraordinary, something greater than yourself.”
Slipping free from his hold, she quickly made her way to her daughter's bedside, sweeping aside stray locks from her face. The moment her fingers made contact with her skin, Gabrielle began to calm down.
“Gabby, it's Mom,” she whispered gently, a wave of relief washing over her as her daughter's eyes fluttered open in response.
“Did you enjoy the concert, Mom?” Gabrielle asked, faintly.
“Well, it was an unforgettable performance, that's for sure.”
“Didn’t I do a phenomenal job?”
“Let's talk about it when we get home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, you're coming home with me now.”
“I can't... the baby is going to arrive soon,” Gabrielle gasped, her voice strained with pain. "It hurts too much to move.”
“You’ll have to endure it! We need to get out of here!”
Mrs. Vilonte tossed aside the blanket and firmly grasped her arm, pulling her out of the bed. Gabrielle staggered and lost her footing, sliding down onto the floor. She reached for the edge of the bed, trying to soften her sudden fall.
“Run, run, but wherever you hide,” Salerno sang, “you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte quickly drew the handgun from her purse, aiming it at him as he approached. Her eyes darted between Salerno and Victoria, the gun wavering between the two.
“Stay back! Just let us go.”
Salerno chuckled. “Mrs. Vilonte, really now? Violence won't solve your problems.”
A deafening bang echoed through the room. He staggered back, pressing a hand to his belly as blood began to seep through his white shirt. His mouth opened, releasing a plume of black smoke that coalesced into the silhouette of a large goat standing upright on its hind legs.
The creature glared at her with red eyes before the smoke dissipated. Then, as if the inevitable march of age had finally caught up to him within seconds, his vitality began to wane. His once smooth skin transformed into a web of wrinkles. His dark eyes dimmed, replaced by a cloudy haze. His jet-black hair turned a shocking shade of white, contrasting starkly with the pallor of his skin. His cheeks began to sink.
Salerno, aged and frail, sank to the floor, his hand stubbornly pressed against his wound as if hoping to halt the flow of blood. “Run, run, but wherever you hide, you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte seized her daughter's arm, hauling her upright, all the while keeping the gun trained between Salerno and Victoria. Victoria lay collapsed on the floor, reduced to a heap of decomposed skin devoid of bones and muscle.
A deep rumble echoed through the room, causing it to tremble and sway. Cracks snaked across the walls, paint peeling away in tattered sheets. Twisting, blood-red vines crept from the fractures, weaving their way across walls and ceiling. Acting quickly, Mrs. Vilonte seized Gabrielle, who had collapsed to the floor, teeth clenched in pain from another surge of agony. She pulled her up by the arm, forcing her to her feet and pushing her towards the door.
The mansion, once a symbol of pride when she'd taken her daughter for the maestro’s lessons, was transforming into a nightmarish scene. Blood oozed from the decaying walls, while a noxious sulfuric odor filled the air, nearly suffocating Mrs. Vilonte and making each breath a struggle.
She didn't pause for rest or allow Gabrielle a moment to catch her breath until they were safely out of the house and speeding away in the car, putting as much distance as possible between them and the area.
“Mom, stop the car,” Gabrielle groaned in pain from the back seat.
“Hold on tight, honey. We'll go to the nearest hospital.”
“I can't wait anymore!”
“It won't be long. Twenty minutes.”
“I can feel the baby wanting to come out.”
Mrs. Vilonte looked up at the rearview mirror, where she saw Gabrielle's sweaty face scrunched up in pain, gripping her rounded belly with both hands.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she said, “but you need to hold out a little longer. We'll be at the hospital very soon.”
“STOP THE CAR!”
The car came to a sudden stop, jolting Mrs. Vilonte forward and almost throwing Gabrielle off from her seat.
“The baby is coming! Mom, help me!” Gabrielle cried.
“The baby…”
Mrs. Vilonte couldn't shake the thought that this creature couldn't possibly be human. The horrifying acts that it could be capable of frightened her, and the idea that it shared a bloodline with her sickened her even more. Her hand moved to the handgun resting on the passenger seat beside her, considering the one extreme solution she could think of for such an unusual situation.
It wasn't ideal, but she saw no other option.
She took hold of the gun and stepped out of the car, approaching the rear passenger side. Opening the door, she found her daughter propped on her elbows, lifting her dress to reveal the widening canal. Gabrielle let out a menacing growl as she pushed.
Mrs. Vilonte crouched to inspect closer, and instantly felt the unsettling, malevolent presence. The entity seemed to be trying to claw its way out from the depths of the abyss. It inched towards the light, its growls growing louder like a ravenous animal. As Gabrielle pushed further, its red, snouted face broke through, its eyes snapping open to lock onto hers with an intense, black-eyed glare.
Startled, she stumbled back, her hands grasping for the handgun that had slipped from her trembling fingers. As she aimed at the creature before her, an unseen force encircled her hands. She fought to maintain control, but the force twisted the weapon, redirecting it towards her. Suddenly, she found herself staring down the barrel of her gun.
The trees came alive with a flurry of motion as a group of birds took flight, their wings beating frantically against the sky. The once-quiet canopy echoed with the sound of panicked chirps and the movement of feathers, as the startled birds scattered in all directions, seeking refuge from the sudden disturbance caused by a blast.
XXXXX
In the forest of another realm, beyond the physical world, her skin melded seamlessly with the tree's bark, as vines snaked their way around her, ensnaring her limbs. Fungi blossomed from her mouth, rendering her voiceless as her tongue was entwined.
The goat-like creature approached her, brandishing a small mirror, coercing her to confront her distorted reflection. Little remained of her once recognizable features. Worms and roaches had taken residence in the hollow cavity where her nose and right eye had been. With her one remaining eye, she gazed into the mirror, waves of anguish coursing through her being as she beheld the grim reflection of what she had transformed into.
Then, as her ghastly reflection faded, a young man with dark hair and eyes as deep as coal materialized, wearing a black suit, standing with poise on a stage, holding up a violin. Upon closer look, she realized it to be the very violin Gabrielle had once owned.
“Behold what my child has become,” the entity proclaimed. “Are you not as proud of him as I am?”
XXXXX
A bright light beamed down on the young man standing center stage, his violin poised in his hands. His fingers glided over the strings, and with each passing note, the audience, their eyes fixed on him, was drawn deeper into his spell. It wrapped around the listeners' hearts and pulled them into a trance-like state. And as the last notes hung in the air, the audience were suspended in silence and left breathless. Then, they leaped to their feet in thunderous applause.
With a twisted smile, he relished the adulation. He knew he had sway over them, puppet master of their actions. He could simply issue a command, and they would eagerly comply, ready to enact his darkest fantasies. He imagined directing his willing servants to get up on the roof of a towering building and leap into the abyss below, willingly offering themselves as sacrifices.
He envisioned chaos unleashed upon the streets, cars overturned, windows shattered, and buildings engulfed in flames. All at his behest. The world lay at his fingertips, ripe for manipulation and destruction, as he thought about the countless ways he could bring about humanity’s demise.
After his final bow, the young man turned to face the audience, expressing heartfelt thanks for their attendance, eliciting both laughter and warm affection from the crowd. But, amidst the resounding applause, one figure remained still in the front row, confined to a wheelchair. He stared straight at her face which was hidden behind a thin black veil.
Though her body remained motionless in the chair, incapable of even the slightest movement, her one good eye was very much alive, fully engaged with her surroundings. And there was something else in her gaze. He could sense it from the stage, and it made him chuckle. It was an aroma he found intoxicating – the unmistakable stench of fear, seeping from every pore like primal pheromones.
The audience clamored for an encore, yearning to satisfy their insatiable thirst for more music. Their fervent cries echoed through tears. Lifting his violin once more, he hushed the audience with a single motion. The moment the red bow touched the strings, pandemonium broke loose. The spectators lost all self-control, leaping from their seats, clutching their heads, and tearing at their hair in a wild frenzy. They were completely entranced, surrendered to the power of the music.
As his crescendo intensified, a raging fire surged within them, mirrored by the frantic speed of his fingers on the strings. With each chord, they tore at their garments, sinking nails and teeth into one another's flesh. Chaos exploded, mingling with the scent of blood and the sound of rending flesh.
Mrs. Vilonte remained seated in her wheelchair, an impassive observer amidst the chaos, her voice silenced, her limbs still. She bore witness to the madness, her mind ensnared within its chaos, forever lost to its depths.

Part 1: Childhood Part 2: Oregon Part 3: Puerto Rico Part 4: Global Part 6: Elsewhere Part 7: Retirement

Part 5: Iran

Iran was not a place I’d visited, or particularly liked the idea of visiting. Add to that the fact that the man on the other end of the phone was offering me a contract for a djinn, and you can understand why I immediately rejected the job. But before I could put the phone down, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
A million US dollars for taking the contract. Ten million for a successful recovery. Fifteen million for a live recovery. Fool that I am, I said yes.
I declined the Nigerian contract, and flew to England to prepare. For several weeks I researched the legends of the djinn. Islamic tradition holds that they are as real as humans, and live human-like lives; belief among modern Muslims is common. The more I read, the harder it seemed to kill, let alone capture alive, a djinn; they are generally invisible, more or less insubstantial, and shapeshifters.
This wasn’t necessarily a problem. I generally prefer cash but I do have a couple of offshore bank accounts, and by the time I got to England my benefactor - whom I’ll call Abdul - had already wired a million dollars. He had made it clear that this was an upfront fee, no strings attached, so even if I failed to find a djinn this would still be an extremely profitable job. But I would certainly try.
Americans are on their own if they ignore government advice and visit Iran, and there are no direct flights from the USA or the UK. But Abdul seemed to be high up in the government, or at least to have connections. I stayed at a boarding house in London, and he posted a package of documents and letters. I now had a special Iranian passport, with a page written in Iranian and English that declared me a “person of national importance” by authorisation of “the Office of the Supreme Leader”. There were specific instructions that I was to be let about my business without hindrance or questions, and that all Iranians were required to lend me any assistance I may require. To my untrained eye, it all looked official and legitimate, and I wondered how many other people had similar documentation.
A couple of months later I was as ready as I felt I could be. I had appropriate clothes to wear in public in Iran, including both fashionable and conservative headscarves, and I took a charter flight to a private airfield near Tehran. When I landed in the scorching heat, he was there to greet me, and showed me to a garage where he had gathered the equipment I’d requested: weapons, a Jeep Gladiator Rubicon (hey, may as well travel in style as well as comfort) with plenty of spare diesel, and all the other gear that was either too large or too difficult to bring from London.
This was all arranged. What I hadn’t expected in the garage was an imam. Shamil was not just a cleric but also a scholar, and according to Abdul knew more about djinn than any anybody else on Earth (“any other human”, Shamil corrected him). I hadn’t asked for this but it was a welcome addition. Shamil said that he would be happy to tell me anything I needed to know, and that he would travel with me as long as I wanted - except for an actual encounter. He explained that as an Islamic leader, the spiritual hazards in confronting a djinn were far higher for him than for me, and so if he felt we were closing in, he would return to his day job. And with that out of the way we made our farewells to Abdul.
I never saw Shamil without his elaborate black-and-gold robes, and it took me some time to get used to the juxtaposition of his formal wear with his vehicle. Behind the Jeep was a shiny electric dune buggy (though it would not stay shiny for long), which he plugged into a foldable solar array every time we stopped in the day. He liked to occasionally speed ahead, and the sight of his robes billowing behind him looked almost like a cartoon. And this is how we traveled for days, weeks, in the desert. We slept in our own separate two-person tents but we cooked and ate together, and at every meal he would tell me more about the djinn.
As my guide, Shamil was quite vague. He wouldn’t tell me exactly where we were going, instead just leading the way, in a meandering course. We might travel east for two hours, then suddenly turn and go southwest for no obvious reason. At breakfast on the fourth morning I asked him about it. Well, confronted might be more accurate, but Shamil was perfectly calm and civil.
“I don’t know where the djinn are.”
“What? We’re just wandering aimlessly, hoping we bump into one?”
“No. I don’t know where they are, but they leave traces. I can see where they’ve been. The more we travel, the better idea I get of where they might be right now.”
“Traces? What, like footprints? Old coke cans?”
Shamil laughed gently. “No, not like that. The djinn live in another world, sort of adjacent to ours. As they pass they leave spiritual traces that very few can see. For the first two days yes, we were wandering, but yesterday morning I saw something. Very faint; they haven’t been here for some time, but the traces are getting stronger. We’ll be there soon.”
I guess I must have given him a dirty look. “Haha! Don’t worry Carla. I’m on your side. If I were going to do anything untoward, I would have done it by now. You’re perfectly safe with me.”
He was right. He had had plenty of opportunities to kill me (or try to). Heck, just taking the Jeep and leaving me alone in the desert would probably have been a death sentence. I decided to trust him, and we continued searching.
Shamil gave me several artifacts. A gold mirror, a talisman etched in Farsi, a small glass vial, a book of spells (“No ma’am, these are no spells. Magic is forbidden. These are incantations”), a velvet pouch containing desert sand. He taught me how to use these in capturing a djinn. The spells - incantations - were Old Persian and took time for me to learn how to say, even with the phonetic English spellings written next to them, but with Shamil’s guidance I became competent.
We had been criss-crossing the desert for about three weeks when Shamil announced that we were closing in. There was a djinn settlement nearby, he told me. I expected him to leave then, but he stuck around for a few days. “You must not confront an entire village. You would never survive! We must find a lone djinn, a hunter perhaps, or a hermit. We must stay away from the settlement to the north.” We were on the top of a hill with spectacular views for miles around, and Shamil gestured across the wide expanse of desert below us. He apparently could see an entire village, where I could see only sand.
Two days later he guided us toward a rocky outcropping, tall but easy to walk up. “There. That rock exists in both worlds, and a djinn makes his home there. He is outcast, alone. Go to the top at dawn. He will be there.”
We spent the afternoon checking on my supplies, eating well, and making sure I had enough diesel and GPS charge to make my return. Then just before sunset, Shamil got into his dune buggy and sped away, leaving me alone for the night in the middle of what seemed to me an empty desert.
I still wasn’t sure I believed in djinn. But I thought back, that night, to my similar thoughts about the sasquatch. Tomorrow morning I would go to the top of that ridge; tomorrow afternoon I would drive back to Tehran, either with or without my quarry. I slept well that night.
I woke at 4am, had a good breakfast, and prepared. I could well have been the only human for fifty miles around, so I dressed in proper hunter gear rather than the conservative clothing typical of women in Iran. Aside from feeling more comfortable, this gave me plenty of pockets to hold my hunter’s tools - strange though they were on this occasion. I had no idea how useful my weapons would be but of course I took them - a handgun, a rifle, and two combat knives. I checked everything thoroughly one last time, and as soon as it was light enough to see I started the trek up to the rock.
The way was easy, the path seemingly worn smooth over the years by the passage of people. Or something. I arrived at the top without having to catch my breath, took a sip of water, and pulled out the golden mirror.
I looked normal. I angled the mirror to see the reflection of the desert, and it also looked normal. It was a few minutes before dawn, so according to Shamil, that was to be expected; djinn can only move between worlds at dawn and dusk. I waited in the desert silence until the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, and looked again.
At first everything looked pretty much as before. Shimmering slightly, but I put that down to the first heat of the new sun. But the shimmering intensified, as though the whole world was wobbling. The reflection got so bad that after about twenty seconds, I couldn’t make out any details; and then it calmed down. Slowly I saw the rock’s reflection reappear - but now, there was something else.
I was staring at the real world with my right eye, and the reflection with my left. My right eye registered exactly what I would expect. But my left eye spied a tent, not fifteen feet in front of me. Leather sheets were slung and fastened over a round wooden frame, about twelve feet tall and twenty wide, a bit bigger than my RV and plenty of space for one person to live.
I read a short incantation from the book, a prayer of protection. Shamil had assured me that it would work, even though I wasn’t a Muslim. I was not convinced. It was only two lines, but that was enough to attract the attention of the tent’s occupant. As I finished the last line I saw a faint haze in the direction of the tent. I brought the mirror back up to my eyes and looked.
I don’t think I screamed. This was a hunt, and I was as prepared as I could be. But what I saw was unlike anything I’d imagined. The creature who stepped through the tent’s leather doorway was human in only the most trivial ways. All seven feet of its height was covered in pitch-black leathery hairless skin, clothed in only a loincloth and copious amounts of gold jewelry. Horns rose either side of its eyes, spiraling up to point at the sky. Four long fingers on each hand ended in short but sharp claws; I couldn’t see its feet, as they were shrouded in a sort of dark mist. It stared at me with vertical slitted eyes; at first I thought they were red, but then I saw that they were pure black with fire rising through them, like burning coals.
I may not have screamed, but I stood rooted to the spot. I felt true terror, for the first time I could remember. The djinn regarded me for several seconds, presumably assessing whether I was a threat. Then I think it realized that I could see it. It stepped towards me so quickly, ready to strike with its hand.
This pulled me out of my reverie. With instinct honed over years of practice I sidestepped its blow. It overbalanced and took a few seconds to regain its footing, during which I had pulled out the glass vial and the book. With the vial and mirror in my left hand and the book in my right, I backed away and started reading.
The incantation was twelve lines, and I had to finish them before the djinn could hurt me. I stepped backward around the tent, trying to keep it between us. I got to the second line when it caught up with me.
As the black leathery hand reached towards my face I caught the talisman, hanging from a chain around my neck, with my right thumb, and pushed it into the way. The djinn recognized what it was too late, and when its skin struck the talisman, I heard a hissing sound. Smoke rose in both worlds from where they had touched, and the djinn recoiled. The blow was still enough to send me backwards, almost falling to the ground; but it had put more distance between us. I turned to run, and read lines three … four … five …
I tried to keep the mirror steady, to look behind me, but it wasn’t easy. Its footsteps must have been heavy, but the mirror showed me light, not sound, and I hadn’t heard anything at all other than the sounds I made. To an onlooker I would have looked like a mad person in the grip of psychosis.
I’d lost sight of the djinn. I turned around, trying to keep both my momentum and my balance. I could see nothing in the mirror - but then I heard it for the first time, a hiss coming from low down. In the real world I saw a large black snake, rearing to strike.
I threw a kick with my heavy combat boots, catching it right in the head just as it lunged toward my thigh. The snake fell back, but not as far as I liked. I read lines six … seven …
I backed away again, and transferred the book to my left hand. With my right hand now free I pulled a knife from my belt. The snake was gaining on me. I read line eight … nine …
It lunged again, but I was ready. It was an inexpert fighter, and even in snake form it was telegraphing its moves to me. As it flew toward my chest I struck a solid blow, slicing its head off.
Or that’s what I expected to happen. Just before my knife made contact, the djinn … dissipated. It turned into a cloud of black smoke. I lost my footing and staggered forward, just getting my balance back in time to feel a powerful kick in my back.
I tumbled to the ground, rolling twice in the dirt. I may be getting on a bit but I can still roll with the blows, and I avoided serious injury. I kept hold of the book, but the glass vial fell to the ground, landing on the sand. The mirror was not so lucky; it landed on solid rock and shattered.
I was at risk of losing, and had to work fast before that happened. Without the mirror, and with the djinn in its usual form, I could neither see nor hear it. I read line ten as I stood up. I ran away from where I’d last seen the djinn, grabbing the vial as I passed. I read line eleven.
And suddenly I was lifted into the air. Thick invisible fingers wrapped around my neck. I felt the stride of the creature as it brought me to the edge of the cliff. It knocked the book out of my hand with ease and prepared to throw me sixty feet to the desert below.
I’d read those verses many times. I’d tried to learn them. Could I remember that last line? I had maybe three seconds. Adrenaline surged through me. Time seemed to slow. I gave it my best shot.
I finished the incantation as the djinn started to throw, and landed mere inches from the edge. There was a deafening whistling sound, as though I was in a howling gale. And then silence.

The results are in for Match 19. The winner is…
Bony limbs swarmed Charlie from all sides. She was locked in. Her clones couldn’t escape, and neither could she.
She could hear the rhythmic steps of the Middleman approaching her. Her fists pounded on Helena’s skeletal constructs, her shouts ringing out throughout the bazaar..
They were on top of her. Their Stand reeled its claws back, before jabbing forwards. Charlie grimaced as a clone burst from her back—a last ditch effort to escape. She swapped its position with hers, but it wasn’t enough. Sharp fingers plowed into her gut as the rest of the hand followed. Muscles clenched in agony as blood dripped down to the floor. She gasped in pain, falling over and clutching at herself once they crudely ripped their stand’s hand back out. It wasn’t a mortal wound, she thought—her little maneuver may have just saved her life…

Helena Beats, with a score of 70 to Charlie Hoosier's 56!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Helena Beats	20 (8+0.5+2) - 10 (3+0.5+2)	When the dust settled, Helena was left standing with a popularity lead!
Quality	Helena Beats	19 (6 7 6) - 18 (6 6 6)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Helena Beats	21 (7 7 7) - 18 (6 6 6)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

…And on the other side of the stage, Helena just watched with shaking breaths. It was exhilarating, seeing death like this up close. The Middleman turned to look at her, and her heart basically stopped. They trundled forth, slowly and certainly. She felt almost embarrassed to stand in the same room as someone who embodied the end so succinctly, like she was a poser.
Soon enough, they were face to face. Their features were almost invisible in the shadow of sundown. Nothing besides their sharp eyes. A low chuckle escaped from them as they brought a hand up to Helena’s face, stroking it. She remained deathly still, as if a single twitch would cause them to attack. It wasn’t so unreasonable—they just might.
“Tell the world what happened here. Turn this place into a grave, or I will come back—and it will become a mausoleum.”
Helena’s eyes widened. Not because of the threat of mass murder, she didn’t really care about that. It was the smell. The Middleman smelled like something, and it was right on the tip of her nose…
It was train tracks. They smelled like train tracks. She recognized the smell from some of Dr. Mali’s teachings—a local rail corporation used a specific in-house chemical mixture to clean their rail lines and fill in any scratches. He had samples of it around occasionally—he had been investigating it for damaging properties. She might have a lead on who they might be.
Just as she made the connection, she blinked—and the Middleman was gone. Disappeared into thin air.
Then it was just her, the death surrounding her.
The results are in for Match 20. The winner is…
In the midst of the military base, this intricately constructed hive, people moved in all their patterns, a thousand interlocking pieces. In a way, it reminded Disco of ants or bees. This was not an insult, a comparison to something lesser. If anything, it was a compliment. Even when these people had stripped nature from this place, it still existed inside of them.
It had been fine to exist with them, to trace those patterns, to join the hive for a while. Disco had already gotten useful information just by speaking with the soldiers and the workers, to the point where she wondered if she still needed to follow Zafar. Yet, as she pondered that question, something drew her to a shadowed corner. Something familiar. There it was.
In the midst of the military base, Disco stopped for a moment, unseen by any eye near or far.
She paused at a crevice somewhere deep inside this building, strange geometry obscuring its position to any passerby. It was clear that nobody came through here much.
Nobody except-
The lights flickered again, as they had every now and again. One of the many powers of that panther, Dried Donuts, which she had informed her ‘fellow soldiers’ all about.
However, she wasn’t expecting the cat herself to be standing at the end of the hall. For a moment, Disco tensed, wondering if the animal knew why she was here, if she was here to sabotage her efforts directly. But DD just gave her a toothy smile, a text ringing out on Disco’s phone.
[when im away i totes miss the mountain too!! >w<]
Disco tilted her head for a moment, unsure what the panther meant. “Too?”
[idk! u just remind me of home. epic trolling btw! theyre totes after me now! but im 2 sneaky 4 them!! Owo]
Disco couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. In a way, perhaps the feeling was mutual. The spirit of the land, the marsh this place once was, it lived on within them both. This place, with all its war, and conflict, and retribution, how had it convinced them they were enemies? How silly was that?
“After all that time gossiping about your powers, I can’t help but gain a new respect for them.”
[ya!! DD is super cool n your ddoors are super cool 2! it was fun playing with u! gg!]
“Playing, hm?” It then occurred to Disco, that even with the stakes so high, it had been fun.
[mr military is gonna split soon! i m gonna make a big blackout! we could race? :3]
Disco considered it a moment, and then shook her head. Zafar would notice if they both tailed him. At this point, Disco wasn’t sure that she would make it there first, and even if she did, it could put the panther in danger. Still, stepping back wasn’t so bad. Disco could keep her place inside the hive, disturbing those patterns from within, while Dried Donuts went on to target the queen. Evergreen had learned to extend their branches…why stop now?
“You go ahead,” she smiled. “I have something else I need to do.”
Dried Donuts nodded, tail swishing happily.
[okie! next time! bai ddisco!!]
That was when the lights cut out, and the panther bounded down the hall. Yet, Disco did not need it to guide her. She knew where it was. She knew what she had to do. She turned to the crevice and…
She reached out.

”We’re no strangers to love…”

Dried Donuts, with a score of 77 to Disco D. Lune’s 72!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Dried Donuts	20 (6+2.5+2) - 10 (1+2.5+2)	Dried Donuts started strong and held onto a commanding lead!
Quality	Disco D. Lune	22 (8 7 7) - 25 (9 8 8)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Disco D. Lune	25 (8 8 9) - 27 (9 9 9)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

Scenario: ???? — ??:??PM
Celebrating a complete mission and a shiny new achievement, Dried Donuts slunk through this meeting place, well out of sight. The panther could hear the sounds of discussion already going on from the hall that the general was walking to. She didn’t have to worry about how she was going to sneak in when the door swung open from the inside—a man started to step out, pausing as he spotted Zafar reaching the door. The brief moment was enough for D.D. to sneak past the pair and into the room, where she started to get a good look at all the figures in the room. There were a few who she didn’t recognise but could tell must be ‘important’ humans.
Zafar entered the hall, the door closing shut behind him as he took a seat, pulling out a handgun and holding it against the table. A few members reacted in fear—the rest barely reacted to it.
“Wha—” one member sputtered. “What are you doing?!”
Zafar chuckled. “Not all of us here have Stands—while we have provided some glasses for that reason, I have access to one through the perfection of an ancient firearm-focused martial art. And it’s very much necessary for this next part…for today we’re being visited by someone who only visits with their Stand...I introduce to you ｢Diamond Life｣.”
A bony hand burst up from the center of the table, finding its footing before dragging the rest of its body upwards, the Stand’s horned crown phasing through first as this skeletal alien pulled itself into full view. Those who were seeing it for the first time were terrified—“Has it been here the whole time?”—and D.D. was no exception. This thing mortified her: as the internet would say, its vibes were rancid, unnatural, and her senses were going nuts just being near.
The panther could feel her cloak slipping. Her instincts were beginning to interfere, she couldn’t stay, she had to go. She’d seen enough anyways…though she didn’t mind taking a poorly placed guest list as she went.
She didn’t need to text these guys, swiping the book would send her message:
[l8ter suckas!!! >:3c]
Scenario: Soma’s Cup, Mist City — 5:36 PM
The afternoon sun shone across the streets of Mist City, gleaming along the green shade of a van parked outside of a cafe. It wasn’t often that PINDROP and the Moonbeam Riders had met together to share information on their investigations into the Metropolis Suite and their Middleman, but with the information that allies of theirs had acquired from spying upon a meeting of their enemy it was necessary—Soma’s Cup serving as a more private meeting place as public, overt meetings were much riskier now.
Corkboards laid upon a few tables, the two groups stood somewhat awkwardly around the information they each had gathered: PINDROP’s wide web of information, looking through chains of command and where money flows to gather a list of suspects; and the Riders’ deeper investigations into various individuals and locale, hoping to figure out what drove these people, why they would assassinate Paris Aco.
However, there were some things to address first: while the two groups had become allies, it seemed that recently they managed to get into a couple of fights recently: while the first resolved itself easily, the second was still somewhat sore in Drippy’s mind. Yet, no matter how many glares she sent towards the riders, their members seemed undeterred. After all, through their work with Gioia Arancini, they had gained a recent victory against the Suite. Now, they just had to keep up their momentum. When it came to such a vital campaign, all who could help were welcome in their coalition. Even former enemies.
Though you couldn’t tell that the two groups had fought by looking at Inago and Sonika. The two had taken the reins of the meeting, excitedly going back and forth comparing information. The fire in their hearts blazed brightly, stirring even the most reluctant members of their groups.
“Yes, this will be helpful,” Sonika continued on, only pausing her speech to take a sip of coffee. “But what is the important thing we must remember?”
She paused, as if waiting for everyone else to answer on cue. When no one did, she took another long sip, and then smacked her mug down on the table.
“That’s right! We must remember to follow the money. Sure, there are various people doing the dirty work, but that’s just the work. When we see who pays them, when we follow the money…we find people with their fingers in all sorts of industries. That man, Xenagoras, he’s our prime example. We can’t spend all our time chasing their various guards, employees, and confidants, we need to dig right down to the root.”
Inago nodded along, still relieved that Cage the Elephant was gone, that his pale city had crumbled. “There’s a few complications that have sprung from his defeat,” he noted. “For all his faults, Xenagoras was dedicated to keeping the Hymnal Bazaar afloat. It would need new management, and there’s no telling what kind it could get. Not only that, there’s also that man in the mountain.”
“Right—while this ‘Spanda’ figure’s interference once provided cover for some illegal construction, it interfered with construction broadly. With him gone, the Suite has lost and gained opportunities.” Sonika moved her hand towards the latest addition to the boards. “...which brings us to the reason we called this meeting: a list of figures who had been spotted at a meeting.”
“Media, railways, politics…they really have their hands in everything.” Angelino noted, peering over the list and the new connections that had been made.
“The railway…” Yankee murmured to himself, before speaking up. “Paris Aco believed they were involved, didn’t she? Wasn’t that long before she died as well. Maybe the answer to why the Middleman was called on her lies there?”
“Makes sense!” Luna remarked. “It helps that a friend of ours managed to find some conversations between Sing Now! and the railway CEO a week before her death—that has to be something.”
“I would imagine that tracks through the mountain could be what they attempt towards next,” Sonika noted, refocusing the conversation. “But we have no leads as to who would even be willing to work on such a project.”
“It’s not the sort of thing that could exactly be easily presented to the city’s Planning Board,” Inago stated. “While Zhengqi does associate with Mahimit, tearing apart the mountain isn’t something he’d be down for.”
Windy spoke up in agreement. “I remember back at the Gala I was at that the fella really cared about the environment. ‘Tis a shame that his pa’s one of the Suite—he seemed a swell guy too.”
“Zafar Singh, right?” Arizona asked, leaning back against a wall as she listened on. “Heard he runs the army base here—must be, ah, pretty big in their ranks. Maybe he knows about who the Middleman is?”
“Perhaps…” Inago pondered, before turning to the guest in their midst. “Ajay, what do you think of this?”
The welder looked up as he put down his phone, having finished a call while the others were discussing their findings. He had come to the cafe at the right time, seeking someone to discuss the worrying events happening recently only to walk into the two detective groups setting up shop.
“Well, Mahi would be willing to discuss the topic—just called them now actually, they want to meet up!”
“Wha—really?” Sonika asked. “You called them right before—sigh well, it’s a good lead to follow.”
“Agreed,” Inago spoke, stretching as he stepped away from the corkboards. “Ajay, would it be ok if me and Sonika came with you?”
“Actually—” Windy stepped down from her seat. “May I come as well? I want to see if the poor fella’s doing ok, and maybe figure out why his pa would be in the Suite.”
“Sure thing!” Ajay smiled. “Anyone else want to join us?”
Scenario: Port Konwar — 8:56 PM
Night had fallen on Rakin City, the moonlight shining on the green paint of the BigTop as it drove through Port Konwar. The streets were quiet, with only a few people prowling about who’d yet to return home, and even less the closer the group got to their destination. The docks seemed to drift further and further into silence, until the dusk was all that awaited them.
“—and that over there should be where they said to meet up.” Ajay noted, pointing out the locale in question to Jon who began to turn the van towards it: a construction site, another building designed for the utility it serves the city.
“Are you certain?” Sonika asked as she looked past the two at their destination. “Not ideal for a secret meetup, isn’t it? Wouldn’t call it the safest place...”
“Nobody would stumble in on you, at least,” Jon noted, pulling the van up next to a motorcycle parked nearby. “You guys, uh, g-got the recording gear ready? The BigTop should be set up, s-so I can write up a copy of anything important in case things go, ah, south.”
“Are ya certain that’s necessary?” Windy asked from further back in the van. “Fella’s a pretty swell guy from what I’ve seen of him. Y’really think we’ll be having any trouble?”
“Better safe than sorry,” Sonika sighed. Exiting the van, she watched as those who had come along for this interview started filing out: Drippy leaving at a brisk pace, eager for this to reveal something about the Middleman who had been plaguing her thoughts, followed by Inago and then Ajay—once Windy hopped out alongside them, the PI stepped out and shut the BigTop’s door behind them.
For a moment, Sonika paused, inhaling crisp night air. Port Konwar’s air was thick with the smell of the water just nearby. Her thoughts were crowded, as they always were. Everyone here was pretty confident that something good would come of the lead they were chasing. If the architect’s father, Zafar, was actually a member of the Suite as they’d been informed, this’d be huge. Why didn’t she feel that same excitement?
Steric had informed her of the situation with the late Mrs. Aco’s daughter, currently taken in by an associate of his (something about a lawyer?). Maybe that was what gave her pause. That gruesome murder, everything surrounding it. It made her feel a little-
Windy tugged on her sleeve, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in. She nodded, stuffing her hands in her pockets and moving forward.
It didn’t take the group long to reach the center of the construction site, striding past concrete bricks and wooden beams, keeping an eye out for the architect they were to meet. Drippy was the first to spot someone within the construction site, but this did not appear to be Mahimit: the figure was sitting atop some lone concrete bricks, the lower part of their face somewhat obscured by the high collar of a long-coat, and their eyes covered by shades a deep red.
She held her arm out to stop the others as she summoned her Stand in her other, the bone blade of her longsword pointing right at the person in front of them. “The hell are you?” She called out.
Inago was quick to recognise the figure: “That’s Hira!” The statement was greeted with silence. “They’re mainly known as Tamas. Vigilantes always wind up with a few names. Last I heard, they’d gone missing.”
“Do you types just all know each other?” Drippy raised an eyebrow, lowering her blade slightly.
Like her PINDROP ally, Sonika was also on guard, the metallic figure of ｢Chain Of Prospit｣ manifesting beside her as the moonlight shone on its golden armor. “Then why are they here, and now?”
The one of the group unperturbed by this was Ajay, a brief look of curiosity before he sidestepped past the armored Stand and walked forward with a grin on his face. “Hey Mon-Ami, we’re here! Hope we didn’t make you wait!”
The entire group turned to their guide in confusion, but they all realized one by one what exactly the situation was.
Mahimit was Tamas.
Windy’s grin dropped, but only slightly. Even if it was somber news, she always made sure to smile in times of distress. ’He was such a lovely fella’, she thought to herself. ’I suppose that makes sense given what I’ve heard of Tamas’s approach. But what could drive ‘em to such violence? His dad seemed nice too, but I’m not sure what else could be the reason why…
Drippy lowered her sword, but she wasn’t any less wary. Vigilante types were always a violent bunch, and she couldn’t afford to keep her guard down for even a moment. The name wasn’t unfamiliar to her, though. Even beyond her job at PINDROP keeping her up to date on the city’s affairs, Susie herself had only kind things to say about the guy. Apparently he was an associate of Rasna’s to some degree. She didn’t really know if she liked the sound of that.
Sonika, shocked as she was, kept focused—this new piece of the puzzle meant so much. Her mind flicked through its own internal reasonings at bullet speed, as it always did when a new clue appeared. ’So Mahimit is also Tamas…didn’t Titan mention something about blackmail? He said it was about his position in the City Planning Board, but having a powerful Stand User in their pocket might also be another reason to…didn’t Tamas disappear roughly about the time Mahi would have been blackmailed? For that matter, who would even want to? The influence he has now in the planning board is a good thing to have, su…re…
Something clicked into place, and Sonika’s eyes widened.
“Oh, shit.”
Scenario: One Month Ago, Mahimit Rākin’s Apartment, Mist City — 10:25PM
Mahimit had come back from another night out on the streets as Tamas, but like a phantom that Stand had appeared in his living room while his back was turned. He stepped backwards, nearly tripping on their own feet. He put his arms up in defense, his hands blocking its inky stare. “｢D-Diamond Life｣,” they stammered, doing everything to force a smile. “A p-pleasure to…see you.” They were lying through their teeth, naturally. Ghoulish appearance aside, an audience with them was rare; for it to show up on its own time…
Mahimit gulped. “It’s rather late. What brings you by?”
The Stand said nothing, only placing a claw onto the edge of the sofa, faint scratching from each step as it moved from towards the window. Mahi froze as it finally turned its head to the glass pane.
“How long has it been?” It hissed.
“W-what do you mean?”
“Ah, it would have been about three years, now. Is that right?” The Stand turned its head to the architect. “Yes, I remember now. The day your father brought you along to one of our gatherings.” A breeze blew into the room, jostling the loose cloth hanging on its rigid body. “How the time passes us by.”
Mahi’s eyes shot to the floor as they dug into their palms. Had it only been that long? It felt like an eternity since they joined the Suite. He never much cared for most of their company, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t getting anything out of this. They may have initially joined at the request of Zafar, but there were undeniable benefits. Few he grew to enjoy, as much as he loathed to admit even that. Mahi looked back up, the Stand peering out of the window.
“I never got the chance to…thank you,” he nearly choked on the words. “—I’ve been able to do amazing things through the board that—”
“You studied in Tamil Nadu, yes?” it said sharply. “That’s what Zafar told me anyways.”
The blood running through Mahimit’s veins was ice cold.
“I hear it was quite a dangerous place back then,” the Stand shook its split head. “It takes a lot of vigilance to make it in an area like that. A trait that has served you well in the few years I’ve known you.”
Mahi felt an intense aura seeping throughout the room. What was it talking about? Why bring all this up? He frowned, uncomfortable with where this was going.
“Having lived there, surely you’ve heard of Hira?”
Mahi’s eyes widened. His eyes darted back to the couch, only to find that ｢Diamond Life｣ was already holding their coat in its jagged grip, a hole in the shoulder where a knife cut through before they could transform. Their heart sank to the floor.
“You did know Hira originally operated there, correct?” The Stand continued, tracing its finger over the coat linings. “Though they have recently found a home in Rākinnagarh, the mysterious “Rider Tamas” watched over a small city within the region.” Seemingly from nowhere, it produced a newspaper and tossed it into Mahimit’s chest. Unrolling it revealed a grainy image of a shape atop a three story building. A figure, looming over the city, something billowing around them, obscuring their form. “TAMAS, HERO OR MENACE?”
｢Diamond Life｣ shook its head. “Courtesy of one troublesome tiger. It came at no small cost.”
Mahimit’s hands shook violently as they read over the contents of the print. Though, they weren’t really reading it, they just couldn’t bear to look up from the page. It knew. ｢Diamond Life｣ knew everything. Their identity, their values. Their true self…If it knew about Tamas, then surely it would’ve made the connection to their actions against Binay’s group. Their collusion with VULTURE. Hira had been a thorn in the side for the Metropolis Suite for the better part of a year. This wasn’t something that could be ignored.
Mahimit lowered the paper, their eyes wide with energy. “So, what now? Is this why you’ve come? To tie up loose ends?”
｢Diamond Life｣ took a step towards them. And then another. “You know, when most people refer to ‘tying loose ends’, they often mean to rip out the thread entirely.”
The stand poked its claw through the hole in Hira’s coat, pinching a loose snag, staring intently at it. “Of course, sometimes one must act quickly to remove the string. It’s important to prevent the cloth from snagging on anything. It could bring about untold damage.”
It took another step towards Mahimit, its chilling aura suffocating them. “However, this is ultimately shortsighted. Ripping the string will only hurt the quality of the cloth, giving way to future snags, which inevitably leads to an unstable material.”
As it spoke, it ran a single claw through the hole, taking the loose strands of string through the shoulder in a circular motion as it circled behind Mahimit, causing another shudder to shoot through his body.
“W-what are you doing?”
“According to the tailors of Assam, if you truly want to preserve a piece of clothing, it's best to string the thread back through the reverse side of the cloth. It’s often best to use a blunt needle to smooth the snag out. It’s a delicate process, but I’ve come to find it’s well worth it.” As it spoke, it slowly placed its claws onto the architect’s shoulders, one claw at a time.
“I’m sure you’d agree.”
Mahimit flinched at the touch, turning around to find that the Stand had vanished. Confused, he touched his fingers to his shoulders, feeling the weight of his coat resting upon them. Running his hand against the right sleeve, they were stunned to find that the hole was gone, with only a tiny stitch to remember it by. Despite this miracle, however, Mahimit couldn’t shake the creeping dread that was ebbing in their chest. This was no mere gift. It was a warning. And if they stepped out of line…No. It wouldn’t come to that. It couldn’t.
Mahimit inhaled, and exhaled, and inhaled, and exhaled.
“Who... did you bring with you?” His eyes moved from Ajay to the people behind him.
“Some friends.” Ajay nodded. “They’re good people. They wanna help you out as much as I do. I promise you that much.”
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“If it’s not too much trouble...” Sonika cleared her throat, offering a hand. “We’d like to take you somewhere safer. It’s a bit risky out here.”
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“Get out.” Mahimit grit their teeth, nails digging into the soft flesh of their palms. “I-I’ll tell you everything, just, get out of here, now.”
Ajay’s reassuring smile faltered. “Mon-Ami, what’re you-”
“GET OUT!”
Mahimit shoved the man away, panic overtaking those practiced breaths. They took a moment to calm themselves. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ex-

BANG

They blinked a few times. Looked away from the floor. Saw Ajay collapsed, blood pouring from a bullet wound on his shoulder, eyes wide from shock. The people behind him were immediately panicking, but they didn’t care. That bullet hole. Straight through the shoulder, clean and precise, like a knife through butter. A perfect shot, not intended to kill, but to disarm. It always had to be perfect.
“...Father?”
Zafar was watching from somewhere. Of course he was. Of course he would fire, take this away from them. Of course he would be watching Mahi now. Of course he would see the chipped nail polish frantically washed off every morning before anyone could see. The cheap lipstick that they could never spend too much on because they always wound up throwing it away out of fear. Of course he would see these stupid tears-
Mahimit’s breath hitched.
Their father would be there to take this away from them, as he had always been. He was a tall, vast man, who commanded your respect, no matter how much you hated him. He knew what was right. His choice was yours. What he wanted would be what occurred, simple as.
And right now, what he wanted was a perfect son who would help with his work.
Mahimit screamed, his voice reverberating through the construction site, Stand manifesting as it tried to keep them together, a hole ripping in his body. The costume he’d worn so fondly ripped itself to shreds, something pulling itself out from the hole and staring him down. For just a moment, Mahimit stared back, before the all-consuming despair washed over his reason.
The loud click of a reload was all that he heard as he rose to his feet.
He didn’t tell his body to stand—it seemed to do that on its own, puppeteered by the figure snaking out from his chest.
Tamas had simply become another thing that was no longer his.
“Shit!” Drippy cursed as she deflected another strike from Mahimit’s Stand, gritting her teeth. She glanced backwards, watching as Inago slung the unconscious Ajay over his shoulder. That was the cue to get going, now. She barely had time to reel backwards before another bullet went sailing past her, almost blowing her damn arm off.
”GO, GO, GO!” The group was on the retreat in the blink of an eye, Inago throwing up another diamond barrier in time to block another one of the Stand’s frenzied strikes. He felt his bones rattle at the impact—this thing was tough, and it was mad.
A massive concrete pillar served as a damn fine bit of cover, and Mahimit seemed too distracted to follow. That wouldn’t last, though; the second the architect came to his senses, they’d need to get into action. They needed a plan, now.
Windy kept watch, her smaller body allowing her some strength. Inago set himself to stabilizing Ajay, and Sonika just sort of...sat there. Drippy watched in awe as their fearless leader spaced out, clearly too lost in thought to be of much strategic assistance. She’d been weird for a while now, but this was the last time to be having some sort of crisis.
Drippy groaned. She needed to figure this out, then. She was half a mind to march over there and show that architect the works, but...
She couldn’t help recalling the words of a certain ex-gang leader. They were swords, and they carried violence wherever they went, or something. She didn’t quite remember how it went, but, well, this wasn’t the kind of situation where the violent types would be able to do much. This guy didn’t need to be hit with swords, he needed some combat therapy, and she was the last person who’d be able to give it.
She glanced between her comrades, and groaned again.
“Al-RIGHT!” Drippy rose to her feet. “Fedora boy!”
“Inago.” Inago sighed.
“Whatever! We’re tracking down the sniper!” She turned to Sonika. “Boss, you and the puppet can deal with this shit! We’ll be off!”
Inago barely had time to protest before Drippy was dragging him off to find Zafar, Leaving Sonika and Windy alone behind the pillar.
“Looks like it’s the two of us, then!” Windy grinned, balling felt into fist. “No worries! We can get this one done lickety-split!”
Sonika didn’t respond
“Uh... Miss detective?”
“Ah, sorry.” Sonika shook her head to clear her thoughts, but trouble still creased her brow. She stared at the water in front of her, visible through the bars of a fence. “...Did you hear the way that kid screamed?”
“Was awfully loud, wasn’t it? Woulda made my eardrums pop! If I had any.” Windy offered a smile and a chuckle. Sonika didn’t take it.
“It was just, so...” She sighed. “What good can we even do, here, huh? What’s the point in any of this?”
“The point?” Windy tilted her head to the side. What a strange question! “The point is that we’re helpin’ people, ain’t it? Get this done, and we’ll be one step closer to helping a lot of people. That’s what we’re here for.”
Sonika chuckled, and Windy smiled at that.
“Our help hasn’t done a damn thing, kid.” The detective rose to her feet. “No matter how hard I try, how many cases I solve, that…beast is going to kill someone else. It’ll keep happening. Even if we stop him, throw him behind bars or whatever, will that stop any of this? It’s all...” Sonika’s crisis of faith wasn’t new. It had boiled, brewing just underneath her skin. Her hands shook at the thought of Rakin’s plight—and her own hopelessness before it. She was just a detective. She couldn’t stop this train of death, no matter how hard she—
A ball of yarn hit her square in the jaw, sending her stumbling back.
“...Huh?”
She turned to face an uncharacteristically furious Windy. She gaped, awestruck. She didn’t even know Windy could be mad. The muppet was so mad, in fact, that she had to take a few seconds to huff and calm herself down so she could actually speak.
“...First off.” Windy jabbed a thumb into her chest. “I’m pretty sure I’m just about as old as you, buddy!”
Sonika blinked a few times.
“Secondly!” Windy crossed her arms. “You think I’m naive, don’tcha?! I get it! I am pretty naive! I really do think that if we just keep tryin’ and tryin’ and tryin’ we’ll get everything fixed up and everyone’ll hold hands and sing and dance! Sue me! But y’know what?!” Windy huffed again, placing her hands on her hips. “I don’t care if that’s unrealistic! Cause that’s just what I want! I don’t care if it’s hard! I don’t care if things are bad! Cause if I’ve got somethin’ to work towards, then I can put on a smile and keep doing it and doing it and doing it till I do make a difference! We’ve always been working at the impossible!”
“If it’s impossible, then...What’s the point of trying?”
Windy grinned. “Pal, you’re having a conversation with a talking muppet. Words like that don’t mean a dang thing anymore!” She pointed at Sonika, grin widening. “Even the impossible’s possible, if you believe it is! That’s what it means to be a hero-ah.”
In a mere instant, Tamas was upon them, the arms of his Stand hurtling towards Windy, aiming to rip a hole right through her. The muppet froze up like a deer in headlights.
“Aw, shoo-”

KLANG!

A chain unfurled from the pillar, barely blocking off Tamas’s strike, forcing it back. Sonika pushed a hand through her hair, exhaling, her Stand shining bright behind her.
“I’m a pretty old woman, y’know.” She smirked, flipping open her notepad. “You really think I can be so naive?”
“You’d better!” Windy hopped onto her shoulder, cracking her knuckles, somehow. “You can’t make miracles happen if you don’t believe in ‘em!”
Sonika nodded. Truth be told, she didn’t really know how much this would help, but one case at a time. That’s how she’d always done it.
“Alright, Windy.” Sonika put on the best smile she could. For now, it’d be enough. “Let’s see your miracle.”
”Open the game!”
Location: A building in the first stages of its construction. The map is 24 x 30 meters, with each square being 1x1 meter. At the bottom of the map is a trailer filled with documentation of the jobs that the construction company have done over the past few years in the area. The red squares are large tool boxes and storage boxes for various construction tools. Blue squares on the building itself are window frames, roughly a meter off the ground, while the walls themselves are made of poured concrete.
The yellow is a backhoe, and the brown areas are large piles of dirt, excavated to pour the foundations of the building. The piles have been moved around, with some partially on current sections of the foundation, and stand 3m high. The walls of the building are similarly high; work has not finished on the first story.
A sniper loyal to Metropolis is located somewhere to the north of the map with a sniper rifle; while the rounds they currently have loaded are not able to penetrate through concrete, dirt, or other significant cover, they can harm Stands. They will take about ten seconds to reload and get a bead on a player, and will prioritize shooting Windy, attempting to use the force of the bullets to disorient her, hurt her, and/or knock her out of the arena.
Goal: RETIRE your opponents! Notably for Windy, a ring out will also be considered a RETIRE, as she’s forced away from contributing to the fight!
Additional Information: Marked on the map in orange are several exclamation points. These are points of interest that Sonika can use to clue in where exactly the sniper is shooting from and call in their position to Ol’ Drippy and Inago via phone. Once this is done, the sniper will stop shooting after a minute, as they’ll be tied up with the other two.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Moondrop Detective Agency	Sonika Singha	”I’ll try to get closer while I go up the side of the hill. Look for the moment it fires.” This sniper absolutely can’t be left to dictate the pace of this fight. Solve the case of the sniper’s nest and call them out to your comrades!
Moondrop Detective Agency	Windy	“Charlotte, my assistant, if you’d help me introduce you to everyone…” All of this carnage happening around you… this isn’t how things should be! Things don’t have to be this way! All of this pain and suffering, it’s all meaningless! Through your words and actions during the fight, prove that there’s another, better path, and set an example of it!
The Metropolis Suite	Mahimit “Hira” Rākin	“Speaking to someone’s heart is an amazing thing, but sometimes… ‘garbage’ gets left over.” What else is left for you, really? Through your actions in this fight, do your best to make your father proud!

Link to Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
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Original Trilogy

I’ve been reading up on the history of the old house; it’s the kind of place that ghosts run away from in terror. Grisly murders, curses, lunacy… Luckily, devil-worship makes me smile, so this is my idea of a paid vacation.

Orphaned at a young age, New Orleans local Edward Carnby found that he had a knack for investigation. After scraping enough money to establish his own private eye's office, although his job prospects weren't exactly extravagant. One such low-stakes job entailed the retrieval of a piano at Derceto Manor for one hundred fifty dollars. As it turned out, the price was much steeper, and Carnby was not Alone in the Dark. He managed to destroy a pirate's ghost and solve the mysterious suicide case of Jeremy Hartwood, earning the title of "The Supernatural Private Eye". In the years to come, he'd cement his status by solving his best friend's murder in Hell's Kitchen Estate, as well as the case of a missing film crew in Slaughter Gulch.
Feats from this section come from Alone in the Dark (1992), Alone in the Dark 2 and Alone in the Dark 3. Hover over a feat to see its source.
Strength

• Pushes a wardrobe
• Pushes a massive boulder
• Pushes a large, stone statue
• Pushes a wardrobe much taller than he is
• Climbs out of his grave after he’s buried alive

Durability

• Takes a tumble off a slippery ladder
• Carnby’s tortured by a witch who uses a voodoo doll to twist his body, rendering him paralyzed in pain
• Jed Stone blows up the bridge that Carnby is standing on, throwing the investigator several feet away. He stands and dusts himself off, unharmed.
• While sliding down a pole, he slips and falls through a building’s wooden roof

Agility

• Runs across a wooden bridge as it collapses behind him
• Leaps between the tops of stone columns
• Takes a running leap off a wooden plank and jumps through another building’s window
• Leaps between stone columns over a lake of lava

Skill

• Beats his enemies to death with punches and kicks
• Sword-fights with an acrobatic pirate while walking on a wooden pole
• He slides a newspaper under a locked door, then pushes the key out of the lock with a pipe cleaner. He then pulls the newspaper back out and retrieves the key.
• Puts a small bullet in a locked door, then hits it with a hammer to destroy the lock
• Pole vaults over a gap

Weapons
Firearms

• His .38 revolver. Carnby starts all of his cases with this gun already in his possession.
• A rifle
• Thompson machine gun
• A riot gun
• A derringer
• A pirate pistol
• A Winchester rifle
• A shotgun
• A gatling gun
• A Colt pistol

Melee

• A cavalry saber
• A dagger
• A knight’s sword
• A pirate sword
• A battledore, a kind of wooden paddle
• A frying pan
• A sword-stick
• Captain Nichol's sword, the only sword capable of defeating the otherwise immortal One-Eyed Jack
• A whip, used to attack and steal items from enemies
• A pickaxe
• A needle that, after being coated in poison, kills a humanoid monster with one prick

Other Weapons

• A very heavy statuette, useful for throwing at enemies
• A bow and arrow
• He blows up a gate with a suitcase explosive. Carnby starts the Hell's Kitchen case with this already in his possession.
• A grenade
• A stick of dynamite, used to blow up a prison wall

Equipment
Utility

• An oil lamp
  • After weakening it with a magic talisman, Carnby uses his oil lamp to immolate an immortal, eldritch spirit with the body of a massive tree
• A grappling hook and rope
• A Santa costume
• A pirate hook, used for picking a cell lock and zip-lining across a rope
• Pliers, used for cutting rope
• A shrinking potion, which allows Carnby to shrink down for a few seconds. The potion is later used to shrink a monster down, allowing Carnby to step on it.
• Covers his hands in glue to climb up a wall
• A rubber glove to protect from electricity

Support

• Medicinal flasks full of healing liquid
• Can equip bullet-proof vests for protection from certain kinds of damage until the vest falls apart
  • He can find and wear coats of chainmail for similar effects
• One tile marked with a pentagram leads to instant death if Carnby steps on it. With a magic amulet, he can safely cross over this deadly rune.
  • It also summons a shaman to help lift him over a gap

Cougar Form

• He’s shot to death by some ghost cowboys. Since he was carrying a magic amulet, he’s brought back to life in the form of a cougar.
• As a cougar, he can leap over gaps
• By coating his paw in tar, then silver salts, he’s able to harm a werewolf with scratches
• Once he returns a gold eagle to the shaman’s firepit, his spirit is returned to his human body

Miscellaneous

• After his death, a doppelganger of Carnby’s appears in Slaughter Gulch. The real Carnby decides to make peace with his double, and when they shake hands, they combine into one Carnby dressed like a cowboy.

2008 Revival

Some time after his third brush with the paranormal, Edward traveled to Europe and India, collecting rare artifacts. He disappeared under mysterious circumstances in 1938. Seventy years later, Edward wakes up and finds himself in the middle of a demonic apocalypse in New York City. He learns that he's functionally immortal and fated to walk a Path of Light to stop the resurrection of Lucifer. For without the Light, the entire planet could be Alone in the Dark.
Feats from this section come from the game Alone in the Dark (2008). This game differs depending on the console, so feats come from the PS3/Xbox 360 version and the PS2/Wii version. Hover over a feat to see its source.
Strength
with Objects

• Dents and pounds down elevator doors
• Cuts a corpse’s arm off with one swing of a sword
• Smashes down a door with three strikes of a blunt object, in this case a fire extinguisher
• Smashes a lock
• Smashes a damaged, concrete wall
• Smashes a stone wall

without Objects

• Shatters a mirror with a punch
• He holds onto a rope dangling from a helicopter as it crashes
• Pushes a car
• Pushes a stone column
• A fissure opens up under Edward and tries to drag him away, but he manages to grab onto a parked car and pull himself free
• While rappelling, he jumps off the wall and kicks down a gate
• Climbs up a rope dangling from a moving helicopter
• Climbs a rope in heavy rains and winds

Durability

• Gets shoved across a room by a possessed woman, but gets up right afterwards. This possessed woman broke a man’s neck with one hand moments earlier.
• Unharmed after being in an elevator when it falls many stories
• Gets up after being punched into a wall
• While driving, Carnby goes off a ramp and overturns the car several times. He walks out of the wreck with no visible injury. However, his arm is cut deeply to the point where he’d bleed out in seven minutes if left untreated.
• A group of flying creatures lift and drop the car that Carnby’s in, but he crawls from the wreck unharmed
• Drives over a ramp and crashes into a streetlamp, but he walks out of the wreck. However, his arm is cut and he can’t move it immediately afterwards.
  • He pulls the same shit again later
• Unharmed after crashing a subway train
• He’s in a helicopter when it crashes and he’s thrown from the aircraft. When he lands on a cliff, he’s just fine.

Agility

• He falls out of a crumbling building, but manages to grab onto a gargoyle on the way down
• Jumps a wide chasm

Skill

• From the back of a speeding ambulance, Edward can toss bottles of rubbing alcohol and shoot them, creating fiery explosions to kill flying enemies
• Evades falling rubble while descending a fire hose
• Hotwires a car
• Drives through New York City streets while the environment crumbles around the vehicle
• Has degrees in Chemistry, Physics and History of Religions and Art
• Performs CPR
• Shoots a man using a woman as a human shield

Weapons

• A handgun
  • In the PS3/360 version, it has a laser sight attachment
  • Gunshots break locks
  • Punches cleanly through doors
  • Can pour alcohol onto his bullets to make them into flaming bullets
• Can combine glass bottles of alcohol with bandages to make molotov cocktails
• Combining plastic bottles of explosive chemicals and bandages creates plastic molotov cocktails, which can be shot to destroy walls or combat enemies
  • Can place double-sided tape on these molotovs to make them stick to surfaces
• With an aerosol can and a lighter, Carnby can immolate enemies with a makeshift flamethrower
• During the game, Edward can pick up blunt objects to fight with or smash down obstacles. These include, but are not limited to:
  • Chairs
  • A battle axe
  • A large, L-shaped piece of stone
  • A big-ass frying pan
  • A samurai sword
  • A rake

Other Equipment

• A lens that, used in conjunction with the flashlight, interfaces with ancient, pseudo-mystical technology
• A lighter
• A flashlight
• Can treat his wounds with antiseptic spray and bandages

Paranormal Phenomenon

• Can detect the weak points on humanoid enemies when closing his eyes, a technique called Spectral Vision
• He can see the spirit of his dead ally when he closes his eyes
• When unconscious, he can communicate with the spirit of his dead ally
• Edward was born in 1897 but appears like a man in his 30s in 2008. This is due to interacting with the Philosopher’s Stone, which has made him long-lived and unaging.
  • This is attributed to a magical medallion he wears around his neck in the PS3/360 version

Other

• After a monster spits sludge in his face, he can blink to clear his vision
• Can light wooden weapons on fire to burn enemies

First Chapter Previous Chapter
Mrs. Vilonte stood alone in the bathroom. In her hands, she cradled the urn containing her husband's ashes. The weight of it was surprisingly light, almost inconsequential, like the flutter of a moth's wing against her palm.
There was a tinge of sadness that grazed her heart. She had spent years by his side, experiencing the highs and lows of marriage. And now he was dead. The memorial service had been sparsely attended, with only a handful offering their condolences.
One photographer seemed overly eager to capture a shot of the grieving widow shedding a tear. But Mrs. Vilonte despised tears—seeing them, feeling them trickle down her face. The moment she felt her eyes sting and tears threatening to spill, she brushed them away before they had a chance to fall.
Now, the house was quiet. But mixed with that lingering sadness was a sense of relief, a subtle liberation that whispered to her from the shadows. He had betrayed her. His infidelity had cut deep.
She unscrewed the lid of the urn. The ashes inside seemed to shimmer in the faint light. Without hesitation, she emptied the contents into the toilet bowl and pulled the lever, watching as they spiraled downwards, swallowed by the rushing water.
XXXXXX
She once cherished two joys during her drives to Gabrielle's violin lessons. One was soaking in the serene landscape while indulging in her beloved soft jazz on the radio. The other was the comforting presence of her daughter beside her in the front passenger seat.
Now, she glanced at the vacant seat, and a wave of melancholy washed over her. Shaking off the emotion, she turned her attention back to the road, gripping the wheel tighter as she accelerated. After a stretch of driving, she eventually arrived at the mansion.
She had often wondered how the maestro accumulated such immense wealth. However, after meeting his benefactor and experiencing the allure of that wealth herself, she began to understand the price he had paid–the soul.
Was striking a deal with such a malevolent entity truly worth it? This question haunted her thoughts daily, and still, she had no definitive answer. The allure of luxury was intoxicating like the addictive sweetness of sugar. The more she indulged in it, the stronger her craving became, leaving her caught in a cycle of desire and uncertainty.
The mansion was as elegant and grand as she remembered. In the front yard, a splendid water fountain glistened under the sunlight. Surrounding the mansion was a manicured garden bloomed with vibrant colors and lush foliage.
Before stepping out of the car, she pulled a handgun from the glove compartment and carefully concealed it in her purse. Today was the day she planned to confront him, intent on demanding him to undo the unfortunate turn her life had taken.
The front door was unlocked and it swung open effortlessly as she entered. It slammed shut behind her without her even touching it, and there was no wind to explain it.
“Ah, Mrs. Vilonte,” a familiar male voice greeted warmly, “It's been far too long since our last meeting. You look lovely as ever!”
She looked up to see the young Salerno, leaning casually against the railing at the top of the split staircase. His smirking face drew a scowl from her. She resented his mocking compliment about her looking “lovely as ever.” She wore the same black dress she'd worn since her husband's memorial, now creased from sleep and carrying a faint scent of dried scotch.
“You've had your fun, Salerno,” she retorted, her voice tinged with restrained anger. "I shouldn't have broken our agreement, and I've learned my lesson.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, and I assure you, it won't happen again.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I want my life back.”
Salerno's face was solemn, shrouded in silence. Unexpectedly, he erupted into mocking laughter.
“That's not the nature of consequences, my dear,” he remarked. “You must live with what you've done. Forgiveness is not in my nature.
“You've stripped me of my wealth–”
“It wasn't yours to begin with.”
“I have nothing left!”
“Oh, that isn't completely true. You still have your family.”
“You've torn my family apart! My husband is gone, my son imprisoned and now my daughter, too! You've taken her from me.”
“But soon you'll be reunited.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned for her to ascend the stairs. “You've arrived just in time to witness something miraculous. Something beautiful!”
Confusion clouded Mrs. Vilonte's face until she heard an agonized moan coming from an upstairs room, followed by a cry she knew all too well.
“Gabrielle,” she gasped.
Salerno nodded. “You're about to be a grandmother to another child.”
The haunting images from the field of mirrors flooded back. The abomination—a monstrous entity—was on the brink of entering their world, and who knew what kind of hell it would bring. Suddenly, a powerful force propelled her towards the stairs, her movements no longer under her control. Before she knew it, she stood face to face with Salerno on the top landing. His grin exposed jagged, menacing teeth, and his eyes were pools of darkness. With talon-like fingers, he grasped her shoulders, their sharp points piercing her skin.
He led her into the master bedroom, where Gabrielle lay in a fitful sleep on a queen-size bed, her movements restless. Her eyes were closed, and sweat had matted her hair to her head. Beside her sat Victoria, whose skin showed signs of decay, and she moved with a robotic, disjointed motion as she wiped the sweat from Gabrielle's face with a cloth. When Victoria moved aside, Mrs. Vilonte shivered, finding herself staring into Victoria's empty, hollow eye sockets.
Salerno leaned in close to her ear, his voice a low whisper as he said, “My children are everywhere, and this newborn will join them, serving me in this world. You should feel honored to be part of something extraordinary, something greater than yourself.”
Slipping free from his hold, she quickly made her way to her daughter's bedside, sweeping aside stray locks from her face. The moment her fingers made contact with her skin, Gabrielle began to calm down.
“Gabby, it's Mom,” she whispered gently, a wave of relief washing over her as her daughter's eyes fluttered open in response.
“Did you enjoy the concert, Mom?” Gabrielle asked, faintly.
“Well, it was an unforgettable performance, that's for sure.”
“Didn’t I do a phenomenal job?”
“Let's talk about it when we get home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, you're coming home with me now.”
“I can't... the baby is going to arrive soon,” Gabrielle gasped, her voice strained with pain. "It hurts too much to move.”
“You’ll have to endure it! We need to get out of here!”
Mrs. Vilonte tossed aside the blanket and firmly grasped her arm, pulling her out of the bed. Gabrielle staggered and lost her footing, sliding down onto the floor. She reached for the edge of the bed, trying to soften her sudden fall.
“Run, run, but wherever you hide,” Salerno sang, “you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte quickly drew the handgun from her purse, aiming it at him as he approached. Her eyes darted between Salerno and Victoria, the gun wavering between the two.
“Stay back! Just let us go.”
Salerno chuckled. “Mrs. Vilonte, really now? Violence won't solve your problems.”
A deafening bang echoed through the room. He staggered back, pressing a hand to his belly as blood began to seep through his white shirt. His mouth opened, releasing a plume of black smoke that coalesced into the silhouette of a large goat standing upright on its hind legs.
The creature glared at her with red eyes before the smoke dissipated. Then, as if the inevitable march of age had finally caught up to him within seconds, his vitality began to wane. His once smooth skin transformed into a web of wrinkles. His dark eyes dimmed, replaced by a cloudy haze. His jet-black hair turned a shocking shade of white, contrasting starkly with the pallor of his skin. His cheeks began to sink.
Salerno, aged and frail, sank to the floor, his hand stubbornly pressed against his wound as if hoping to halt the flow of blood. “Run, run, but wherever you hide, you'll never escape this hell.”
Mrs. Vilonte seized her daughter's arm, hauling her upright, all the while keeping the gun trained between Salerno and Victoria. Victoria lay collapsed on the floor, reduced to a heap of decomposed skin devoid of bones and muscle.
A deep rumble echoed through the room, causing it to tremble and sway. Cracks snaked across the walls, paint peeling away in tattered sheets. Twisting, blood-red vines crept from the fractures, weaving their way across walls and ceiling. Acting quickly, Mrs. Vilonte seized Gabrielle, who had collapsed to the floor, teeth clenched in pain from another surge of agony. She pulled her up by the arm, forcing her to her feet and pushing her towards the door.
The mansion, once a symbol of pride when she'd taken her daughter for the maestro’s lessons, was transforming into a nightmarish scene. Blood oozed from the decaying walls, while a noxious sulfuric odor filled the air, nearly suffocating Mrs. Vilonte and making each breath a struggle.
She didn't pause for rest or allow Gabrielle a moment to catch her breath until they were safely out of the house and speeding away in the car, putting as much distance as possible between them and the area.
“Mom, stop the car,” Gabrielle groaned in pain from the back seat.
“Hold on tight, honey. We'll go to the nearest hospital.”
“I can't wait anymore!”
“It won't be long. Twenty minutes.”
“I can feel the baby wanting to come out.”
Mrs. Vilonte looked up at the rearview mirror, where she saw Gabrielle's sweaty face scrunched up in pain, gripping her rounded belly with both hands.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she said, “but you need to hold out a little longer. We'll be at the hospital very soon.”
“STOP THE CAR!”
The car came to a sudden stop, jolting Mrs. Vilonte forward and almost throwing Gabrielle off from her seat.
“The baby is coming! Mom, help me!” Gabrielle cried.
“The baby…”
Mrs. Vilonte couldn't shake the thought that this creature couldn't possibly be human. The horrifying acts that it could be capable of frightened her, and the idea that it shared a bloodline with her sickened her even more. Her hand moved to the handgun resting on the passenger seat beside her, considering the one extreme solution she could think of for such an unusual situation.
It wasn't ideal, but she saw no other option.
She took hold of the gun and stepped out of the car, approaching the rear passenger side. Opening the door, she found her daughter propped on her elbows, lifting her dress to reveal the widening canal. Gabrielle let out a menacing growl as she pushed.
Mrs. Vilonte crouched to inspect closer, and instantly felt the unsettling, malevolent presence. The entity seemed to be trying to claw its way out from the depths of the abyss. It inched towards the light, its growls growing louder like a ravenous animal. As Gabrielle pushed further, its red, snouted face broke through, its eyes snapping open to lock onto hers with an intense, black-eyed glare.
Startled, she stumbled back, her hands grasping for the handgun that had slipped from her trembling fingers. As she aimed at the creature before her, an unseen force encircled her hands. She fought to maintain control, but the force twisted the weapon, redirecting it towards her. Suddenly, she found herself staring down the barrel of her gun.
The trees came alive with a flurry of motion as a group of birds took flight, their wings beating frantically against the sky. The once-quiet canopy echoed with the sound of panicked chirps and the movement of feathers, as the startled birds scattered in all directions, seeking refuge from the sudden disturbance caused by a blast.
XXXXX
In the forest of another realm, beyond the physical world, her skin melded seamlessly with the tree's bark, as vines snaked their way around her, ensnaring her limbs. Fungi blossomed from her mouth, rendering her voiceless as her tongue was entwined.
The goat-like creature approached her, brandishing a small mirror, coercing her to confront her distorted reflection. Little remained of her once recognizable features. Worms and roaches had taken residence in the hollow cavity where her nose and right eye had been. With her one remaining eye, she gazed into the mirror, waves of anguish coursing through her being as she beheld the grim reflection of what she had transformed into.
Then, as her ghastly reflection faded, a young man with dark hair and eyes as deep as coal materialized, wearing a black suit, standing with poise on a stage, holding up a violin. Upon closer look, she realized it to be the very violin Gabrielle had once owned.
“Behold what my child has become,” the entity proclaimed. “Are you not as proud of him as I am?”
XXXXX
A bright light beamed down on the young man standing center stage, his violin poised in his hands. His fingers glided over the strings, and with each passing note, the audience, their eyes fixed on him, was drawn deeper into his spell. It wrapped around the listeners' hearts and pulled them into a trance-like state. And as the last notes hung in the air, the audience were suspended in silence and left breathless. Then, they leaped to their feet in thunderous applause.
With a twisted smile, he relished the adulation. He knew he had sway over them, puppet master of their actions. He could simply issue a command, and they would eagerly comply, ready to enact his darkest fantasies. He imagined directing his willing servants to get up on the roof of a towering building and leap into the abyss below, willingly offering themselves as sacrifices.
He envisioned chaos unleashed upon the streets, cars overturned, windows shattered, and buildings engulfed in flames. All at his behest. The world lay at his fingertips, ripe for manipulation and destruction, as he thought about the countless ways he could bring about humanity’s demise.
After his final bow, the young man turned to face the audience, expressing heartfelt thanks for their attendance, eliciting both laughter and warm affection from the crowd. But, amidst the resounding applause, one figure remained still in the front row, confined to a wheelchair. He stared straight at her face which was hidden behind a thin black veil.
Though her body remained motionless in the chair, incapable of even the slightest movement, her one good eye was very much alive, fully engaged with her surroundings. And there was something else in her gaze. He could sense it from the stage, and it made him chuckle. It was an aroma he found intoxicating – the unmistakable stench of fear, seeping from every pore like primal pheromones.
The audience clamored for an encore, yearning to satisfy their insatiable thirst for more music. Their fervent cries echoed through tears. Lifting his violin once more, he hushed the audience with a single motion. The moment the red bow touched the strings, pandemonium broke loose. The spectators lost all self-control, leaping from their seats, clutching their heads, and tearing at their hair in a wild frenzy. They were completely entranced, surrendered to the power of the music.
As his crescendo intensified, a raging fire surged within them, mirrored by the frantic speed of his fingers on the strings. With each chord, they tore at their garments, sinking nails and teeth into one another's flesh. Chaos exploded, mingling with the scent of blood and the sound of rending flesh.
Mrs. Vilonte remained seated in her wheelchair, an impassive observer amidst the chaos, her voice silenced, her limbs still. She bore witness to the madness, her mind ensnared within its chaos, forever lost to its depths.