[IC] ⌬ Game of Masters ⌬

The roll of the die determines your fate.
The toss of the hand sets your path.
You're told you have complete control.
You're told your choice is yours alone.
Still, oh still, the strings are pulled.
Still, oh still, a plot is writ.
Just a puppet.
Just a pawn.
An avatar in a deadly game.
Just one chance.
No respawn.
Win and live.
Or lose and fall...



"Sometimes the cast is high, and sometimes the cast is low. We need only to hope for the best, and prepare for the worst, because we never know what may be waiting just around the bend. Such is the cast of the dice, after all. So watch your back, my friends, and be careful where you let your feet lead you, for you never know when you may be faced with the dreaded final roll. Until next time, may luck be on your side." ─ The Game Master



At the first appearance of the popular game show nearly five years ago, people had been amazed with what were assumed to be ground-breaking special effects, and marveled as they watched the first contestant battle all kinds of odds, through elaborately designed dungeons, all in the name of survival against the forces of fate, and the simple roll of an ordinary die.

Of course, at the beginning, no one had thought that the danger...could actually be real.

No one had thought that the contestant of the show...could actually die...

But with the final episode of that first run, watching as an innocent person was ruthlessly torn apart by vicious hounds, and hearing the narrator's─The Game Master's─ending words, it became very clear to many that the show was a lot more serious than they had originally assumed...

Still, many cling to the reassuring thought that it really is all just a game, and stubbornly ignore the people going missing with each new loss of the players who fail to make it to the end and claim their way to freedom.

Now as yet another anniversary of the show's premiere has arrived, and with the recent demise of yet another poor soul, the Game Master has announced a special surprise to be revealed in celebration of the "exciting" event.

Only time can tell what horror awaits...
And only time can tell who falls victim to the next roll of the Game Master's die...

[Baphomini]

{ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ }

• • •

The night was cold and quiet, the city sleeping under dark, cloudy skies. Thunder rumbled quietly, the storm still far off, but an icy wind swept through the empty streets, picking up trash and sending crisp, fallen leaves skittering down the sidewalk. A plastic bag flew through the air, dancing and twirling like a kite with no string to hold it back. A discarded newspaper caught on a chain-link fence blocking off an alley, a headline reading:

[ Truth Behind the Dark Web Series, Fact or Fiction? ]

In a mostly empty coffee shop, a T.V. displayed the local news, the subtitles popping up on the silent screen as a female anchor spoke, her tone unheard with the program muted.

Investigators are still searching for the mind ─ or minds ─ behind the horrific web series which has long since taken social media by storm. 'Game of Masters', is the title of the unconventional ─ and particularly disturbing ─ self-acclaimed reality game show in which randomly chosen contestants are expected to face gruesome odds to escape a perilous dungeon. The question remains, however, on whether or not the horrors of this series are as deadly as they appear, or, if it truly is all in good fun. Many insist that there is more to the events of the show than we are led to believe [...]

A young man with warm, auburn hair sat at a table in the far corner of the coffee shop, mossy green eyes focused on the dimmed screen of a laptop set in front of him as he absently lifted a large mug to take a drink of a creamy colored craft. Sun-tanned fingers raced across the keys as the man wrote in the chatbox, a video player aligned beside it playing a horrid scene of a man running for his life as brick-laced corridors slowly filled with dark waters.

[ EmmentShooter: If anyone's interested, flip over to Falcon News ]
[ EmmentShooter: They're talking about the show right now, and they just mentioned something about an interview with a past contestant ]
[ EmmentShooter: Could be interesting ]

His gaze flicked up to the T.V. as the image jumped from the female anchor in front of the basic skyline, to her and a rugged-looking man sitting across from each other in what appeared to be a little studio talk show set. The lady news anchor questioned the man about his experiences, and the man laughed at the start of every reply, his whole demeanor screaming with a level of smugness, it was almost embarrassing. He spoke down on the game, making challenging comments about the Game Master, and near the end of it, he even challenged the serial killer to, in his words, "Give me a second run."

The man in the coffee shop shook his head with a heavy sigh as he turned his attention back to the computer, quickly catching up on the messages that had come in throughout the interview.

[ LostInTheLair: who tf does this guy think he is?? ]
[ TonysLeftShoe: Seriously, did he even run the dungen? ]
[ TonysLeftShoe: Dungeon * ]
[ helluvaHellraiser: I highly doubt he did, there's not a scratch on him, and he's way too calm about all of it ]
[ helluvaHellraiser: He's treating it like it was nothing but a stupid game ]
[ wreck_RE_um: right?! ]
[ wreck_RE_um: hes strait up making fun of past contestants 4 not being "good enough" ]
[ wreck_RE_um: wht the hell is even his problem??
[ wreck_RE_um: doesnt he get tht ppl have legit DIED on this show?! ]
[ EmmentShooter: He just wants attention ]
[ EmmentShooter: That's why he's going so far as to "challenge" the DM ]
[ EmmentShooter: Not that it'll do anything ]
[ EmmentShooter: With this display, the dumbass is gonna be under 24/7 watch "for his protection" ]
[ EmmentShooter: The whole interview was probably a ploy by the investigators to try and trick the DM into targeting the guy ]
[ wreck_RE_um: and THIS is the idiot those useless dopes chose? ]
[ EmmentShooter: Apparently so
[ wreck_RE_um: disgusting ]
[ helluvaHellraiser: Hey, check the stream, looks like Jerry's run is about to come to an end ]

Green eyes traveled from the chat to the video on the side, and sure enough, things were looking quite grim for the man on the screen. The waters in the corridors were inches away from the ceiling, and Jerry, as he was known, had come to yet another dead end in the seemingly endless labyrinth. Underwater cameras showed a trap door in the floor below where Jerry was treading water, the hatch was sealed tight, and only able to be opened if Jerry could figure out the right combination of stones to press on the wall, but there were some fifteen different symbols scattered along the bricks in the wall, and each one was unique, without any sort of hint, it was impossible to know which stones to press, and even less possible to know how many of the fifteen were even required in the combination.

Jerry didn't even try with the stones, completely ignoring them as he frantically clawed at the trap door. Jerry had never been the brightest contestant on the show. He had survived as long as he had on luck alone, it seemed, and though the man in the coffee shop would never admit it, a part of him was relieved the man wouldn't be making it out of the dungeon through nothing but fate... Really, he felt awful for thinking it, but there was just a part of him that felt like if Jerry had survived his run using no real skill, it would have been a disgrace to the many who had fallen at the hands of the Game Master.

As the corridor filled to the top, and Jerry was left with no space left for air, a small icon appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. A simple blue die with twenty sides tumbling and rolling before falling to a stop on the image of a calla lily. It was a special quirk of the Dungeon Master, that lily, the very symbol of the show, and everyone knew exactly what it meant. Nat 1; a critical fail.

Jerry's body stopped thrashing in the water.
The last few bubbles of air escaped from his mouth.
Finally, all was still, and the image faded to black as the Dungeon Master's strange, altered voice overlaid the scene.

I suppose dear Jerry's luck finally ran out. Such a shame, but that's just the way of the odds, it seems. Sometimes the cast is high, and sometimes the cast is low. We need only to hope for the best, and prepare for the worst, because we never know what may be waiting just around the bend. Such is the cast of the dice, after all. So watch your back, my friends, and be careful where you let your feet lead you, for you never know when you may be faced with the dreaded final roll. Until next time, may luck be on your side."

[ EmmentShooter: You okay, wreck? ]
[ EmmentShooter: I remember you mentioning that you knew Jerry personally... ]

Yeah, that made him feel even more like an ass for how he viewed the man's demise...

[ wreck_RE_um: no, im not ]
[ wreck_RE_um: i need to go ]
[ wreck_RE_um: plz ]
[ wreck_RE_um: no one dm me ]
[ wreck_RE_um: i cant fucking do this ]
[ wreck_RE_um is now offline ]

In the coffee shop, a barista behind the counter flipped off the T.V. with a remote and gave a heavy sigh as he set it down on the counter, before speaking out to those who remained in the cafe, "Alrighty, folks, last call; time for me to close up. If you'd like anything else for the road, speak now or forever hold thy peace."

The words got a good snicker from a few lingering about, the man in the corner included. Unlike others who lined up to grab a final drink or a pastry that was set to be disposed of at the end of the night, however, the green-eyed man just took his time packing up his things, still lingering on that page for a moment before finally shutting down his laptop and slipping it away into his backpack. By the time he was slinging the bag over his shoulder, everyone else had left, and it was just the man and the barista left in the lobby.

"Couldn't help but notice you were watching the run," the barista spoke up as he moved around the counter to start cleaning things up around the dining area, "What happened?"

The man stopped at the other's voice and looked over a bit cautiously before letting out a heavy sigh and looking away, "It's over," he told the guy, "Flood trap. Jerry didn't stand a chance, honestly, the only way out at any turn was blocked by one puzzle or another. It's like the odds were completely against him tonight..."

"It was a matter of time, huh?" the barista commented while collecting dishes from nearby tables, "His luck running out, I mean. It was bound to happen at some point...still a shame though..."

The man nodded solemnly, deciding it was best not to voice his opinions on the fallen contestant and instead just replied with a distant, "Yeah...I guess you're right..."

There was a short moment of semi-awkward silence after that, the green-eyed man drumming his fingers on his leg while the barista continued to clean. Finally, the worker spoke again, setting down his collected plates and cups to look over at the other guy, "Do you think they'll ever catch them? The Game Master. Do you think they'll ever find that freak and bring this whole shit show to an end?"

The man hesitated at that, wondering how to actually approach the question. One the one hand, he could give the obvious answer that the barista was surely looking for: 'Of course'. On the other hand though, he could just as easily give the truth of how he felt, and that was that he simply didn't know, but what more, he just didn't have much faith in it anymore. Surely someone could bring an end to the runs, put the Game Master in their place, and make the freak pay for all the lives they'd taken. The people investigating it all, though? Five years of searching with no progress gained made it pretty clear that the people the public were supposed to be trusting to protect them and save them from the growing threat were not much to rely on.

Finally the guy with the green eyes spoke in response, looking away from the barista as he did, "I think...the Game Master will be stopped," he told the worker, "But I don't think the investigators will be the ones to bring this all to an end. I think with how long this shit has been going on for...it might be time for the pawn to check the king."

The barista snorted at that and regathered his collection of dishes, "You a writer or something?" he asked.

The man shook his head with a light laugh, "Nah, just something my dad used to say..."

"Wise words," the worker nodded, "You might be right, but is one pawn enough to stand up to a god?"

"Maybe," he responded, "There's really only one way to find out, right?"

"What's that?"

The guy looked back at the barista, and a small smile tugged at his lips, though there was a mix of sadness, determination, and fear shining in his eyes as he responded, "Well...play the game, of course."

One Month Later...

"A full moon shines over the city...and so marks my pursuit. A cloudless night is quite the pity, but fear ever not, dear heroes, for I never miss a debut... But who shall it be? Who is the first to take a roll? With initiative, we shall see. Allow the odds to determine the soul..."

[Xandrya]

Lily was resting her head on her arms for a little too long, long enough for her too doze off into a dreamless sleep. All the studying she had done had tired her out enough. Even her phone going off with an incoming call from her mother didn’t wake her, not until her mother dialed her and it rang again for a second time. Lily groaned and rubbed her eyes as she sat up, grabbing her phone in the process.

“Hello?”

“Hi dear. Are you still coming to dinner?"

With squinty eyes, Lily brought the phone in front of her face. The time on the top right read 5:06 pm. If she took a quick shower and raced down to her mother’s, then she could make it on time. “Yes, I’ll be there. See you.”

“Bye honey, see you soon."

Lily ended the call, rubbing her eyes once more before dragging herself out of the chair. She was leaving behind a small mountain of notes, all in preparation for an upcoming exam she had the following week. The material wasn’t too hard, it was just a lot to go over.

A few moments later, Lily stepped into the steaming shower. She allowed the water to wet her hair for a good minute before scrubbing clean. These get-togethers were almost always a chance for her and her siblings to all have dinner together with their parents. Lily had two older siblings: Samantha and Matthew; the latter being the oldest of the three. Him and his wife also had a daughter: Natalie. Lily always enjoyed seeing her niece and playing with her. Natalie was only three years old, but she was wise beyond her years.

After Lily finished with the shower and readied up, she headed out of her apartment and locked the front door. The distance to the underground garage was a short walk away. The dimly-lit, low ceiling space was missing some cars, but it was mostly full. Her vehicle was currently in the northeast corner underneath one of the light bulbs that didn’t work. Speed walking the rest of the way, Lily finally reached her car and quickly got in, locking the door and turning on the ignition. Unfortunately for Lily, she would never make it to her mother’s house, and no one was any wiser as to her sudden disappearance from the Silver Lakes Apartments.

[Baphomini]

{ This post serves as a collab between Baphomini and Xandrya as a means to cover the encounter in a cleaner flow }

A sudden clack sounded on the roof of Lily's car, seeming to echo much more loudly than it should have as the sound reverberated through the parking garage. It was followed by a steady but chaotic clattering as something tumbled down the windshield, before coming to a dead stop in the crack between the window and the hood of the car. The item was small, but not hard to see, by far. A shining blue d20 with golden numbers adorning each side. One of these sides rested perfectly against the windshield.

[ 13 ]

A playful laugh split the silence before it could even form, a sound like a multitude of people all giggling in perfect unison. The voice didn't seem to come from any one where in particular, but rather, from all around, and the car did nothing to muffle the sound of it.

Something much larger than the die fell on the roof of the car then, and an arm hidden by the sleeve of an overly large sweatshirt reached down from above to retrieve the die with white-gloved fingers.

"Thirteen..." the voice finally spoke, that laugh still lacing their words in a tone of impish amusement, "Luck be kind, or luck be cruel...a well-off hero, or a tragic fool? High roll! High roll! A gift, indeed, for such a sorry soul... But ah, alas, the number here, you see, is not a number to whoa, but sadly, my hero, it is truly a number to fear..."

The car creaked and popped as the movement of some form started overhead, and in a moment, a figure dropped down on the passenger side of the car, back facing the vehicle. The figure stood still and silent for a moment, die held carefully in hand. Soon enough though, the strange, warbled words continued, cutting a bit here and there as the voice modifier worked to keep up with the individual's speech.

"You set off on an adventure to visit your family. A dinner like every other. You're running late, your studies having displaced you in time, it would seem. Alas, no matter, your family would never mind a small delay, but oh, dear hero, what will become if a simple encounter were to set you astray?" they paused, then turned, masked face looking in through the window. Cold. Emotionless.

"Before you can make your regular escape from the confines of your garage, your vehicle is approached by a figure most unsettling. What do you do?"

* * *

She thought she was alone. Lily gasped as something suddenly hit her car. She looked up, not that it’d do her any good, then her eyes followed a die coming to rest at the base of the windshield. She was confused and in fear, her heart just about to burst through her chest as a much louder thud shortly followed. Someone was toying with her, and she went into complete panic at the realization. Lily was hearing their words, but she was having a hard time registering them. It was only when the figured jumped down and made Lily nearly jump out of her skin that she listened a little better.

"...what do you do?"

The young woman found the willpower to reach for her door handle, nearly tripping and falling onto the pavement below as the door no longer held her weight. She’d always feared she would be a target. Of what? Well, there was plenty to choose from in this evil world. There was an empty space between her car and a neighbor’s. Lily hurried and circled around their trunk, her back to the row of cars as she didn’t dare to lose sight of the unexpected visitor if she could help it.

“Leave me alone! What do you want?”

Her purse was in the car, the same purse holding a small bottle of mace as well as her cell phone. Lily kept her eyes open to try and not be caught off guard.

For a few moments, the figure did not move, simply watching the young woman as she ran from the car. Taking in the scene. Studying, as it would seem. It wasn't long, however before they moved around Lily's car and stared after her at an almost casual pace.

They took the way around the front of the car, continuing along that line between car and wall despite the obstacle it caused. Walking behind a rather large truck, they were out of sight for a moment, and then, suddenly, they stepped out from behind an SUV a few cars ahead of her. With a flick of their hand, the figure sent the die tumbling once more towards the woman, and awaited the result as the object landed between the two of them.

[ 7 ]

"Seven," they spoke out the number as a matter of fact, "A sadly low roll for our hero, but a lucky number to be won. Mayhaps thy luck still can grow. After all, to fail so soon would be no fun. You chose to flee, forgetting all guard. Your tools and weapons left far behind. The chase is a waste, for despite all the math, the figure manages to cut off your path. Flight or fight, the choice is yours, the third of these, of course, would be to freeze."

It suddenly dawned on Lily whom she was up against the moment the figure appeared once more.

“I’m not playing your game...” she added, emphasizing her statement with a head shake. Lily slowly took some steps back in the direction of her car. Would she be able to sprint quickly enough to reach her vehicle?
“This building has plenty of cameras.”
It had a few, some not even fully operational.
“Your best bet is to leave right now before someone shows up.”
She stopped, then without warning turned on her heel and sprinted what she thought to be a short distance to her designated spot.

Just as before, they watched her go, showing no hurry as they waltzed over to retrieve their die. Giving it a small toss in the air and catching it once more, the figure continued after the woman, a soft hum sounding from behind their mask.

Despite their late start and careless pace, the figure was soon in step behind Lily, their voice coming in just behind her as they spoke again, "Ah the pitiful hopes of an unwilling hero," they sighed, "You cling to an assurance which holds no ground, and entrust your fate to a comfort that does not exist. To think fate is but a choice, to believe that one can simply choose not to play. Your pursuer is amused by your efforts. Alas, the game has only just begun," and with that, they quickly twirled in front of the woman, slipping into her path with a grace that didn't quite match their short, pudgy form.

"You attempt to flee once more, reluctant hero, but the figure once again defies all logic, and with one little prick, the clock begins to tick," as they spoke, they raised an arm, something metal catching the light for only a moment, before piercing pain met the side of her neck.

A small clattering. The soft tick, tick, tick, tack of the polished resin bouncing off the hard ground as the little blue die danced to a stop.

A simple design of a golden calla lily was all that showed on the upward side of the die.

One.

"The sedative courses through your veins at an alarming rate, the world steadily growing distant as sleep takes hold. It was foolish to think you could ever fight fate, foolish to think you could escape a story already told..."

* * *

Was that even possible? To be outmatched to such an extent?

Lily pressed her hand against the side of her neck, stumbling back into one of the many structural beams within the underground garage. She looked at the masked figure and a few moments later she could barely make them out. Her legs unwillingly gave out as Lily slid down to the ground, trying her hardest to hold on to whatever bit of consciousness she could. In a futile attempt to plead for her life, Lily opened her mouth to speak but no words would come out. Instead, her body went limp before lifelessly coming to rest on the ground.

[CorviDoggo]

Ipomoea sighed.
Another late night, another graveyard shift. Though— since Ipomoea started working at the Quarter-Moon cafe, he noticed the graveyard shift become quite lively. He played with that thought in his head as he meticulously wiped down the counter, thinking of how if this time was a graveyard then everyone must be undead. Maybe that would make him the most normal one there, in the small cafe full of curtains and crystals and candles and whatever else the owners thought to decorate this place with. Ipomoea knew that most of the nick-knacks in there were fake, of course. His golden eyes scanned over the flimsy tarot cards on display with half the minor arcana missing, then to the sets of quartz and random assorted “minerals” that were actually plastic with no energy to their name. Even the magic books on the shelves were entirely absent of any words whatsoever, just printed cardboard blanks glued into a cheap bookshelf. As much as an enchantment to let in the vast night sky would be a beautiful thing, the ceiling was instead covered edge to edge with tacky glow-in-the-dark star and moon decals. He let his gaze land on the draped curtains of “enchanted silk” or what-have-you at the door, which was actually just a translucent polyester.
Of course, Ipomoea started fifteen minutes early, just to tidy up this cafe— he was alone, after all, and if he started cleaning at Eight pm, he would easily have been overwhelmed balancing orders and housekeeping. Eight was when the evening crowd started to pour in, he knew, and then there would be maybe three or four people still seated by the time it was 3 am and time to close for more cleaning.
Two minutes before Eight. Ipomoea stepped away from the freshly-ground coffee he sorted into bags and then passed over that television mounted to the ceiling, causing it to crackle and glitch for a few seconds until Ipomoea stood at the window. Fortehaven was sure a strange place, not as much of a big, sinful city like those he was given in stories, but it was the closest city he could get, and he was grateful for the honking of horns and the small but functional square he called home and the smell of asphalt and smoke. He could still hear the bustle of night life from the window, and he could still look up to see light pollution and smog instead of clear stars.
The espresso machine was already pulling two shots for a certain regular Ipomoea knew would arrive at eight. When the gaudy owl clock finally struck and hooed eight times, however, some… figure sucked the light and sound out of the outside as they walked in.

[Baphomini]

{ This post serves as a collab between Baphomini and CorviDoggo as a means to cover the encounter in a cleaner flow }

The figure which entered the coffee shop was tall and slender, dressed all in black from head to toe. A hood pulled up over their head, meeting with the stark contrast of white in the form of an emotionless mask, completely hiding all features this person could have. They stood there, straight yet calm. Too calm. Their head tilted a bit to one side as they looked over the lonely barista, and their white-gloved hands lifted to hold a simple, shining blue object between their fingers. Too tiny to be seen from far.

In a moment, the object was tossed, and it bounced and clattered across the floor of the Quarter-Moon Cafe before eventually coming to a stop in front of Ipomea.

[ 8 ]

A hum escaped the figure, before slowly they started to step toward the other individual, "Eight," they spoke, voice a mingling a various octaves and tunes, a crowd speaking as a whole, "Seems luck may not be on your side, tonight, little hero... You're preparing for work-- The Graveyard Shift --eagerly awaiting the arrival of a beloved regular. Just as the clock strikes for the hour, however, it is not your friend whose face you find, but rather the sight of the devil himself...how do you react, little hero?"

The thin brows on Ipomoea’s face furrowed, tilting his head in confusion. The short, low ponytail peeked out over his shoulders, a tiny fluff like raven feathers contrasting with the cream colored ribbon he used to keep it out of the way.
“Uh…” the cogs in his head started turning. This was strange, definitely not normal by this city’s standards… could it be someone bringing him back to the tiny village in the middle of nowhere?! Almost on instinct, Ipomoea took a step back as his sunshine-yellow eyes widened.
No, no— they don’t like magick of any sort over there, what was he thinking?! Maybe this… thing was the devil as it claims? There were so many devils, though… each demon had its own ritual and banishment, he knew.
No light, no plague, no wings, no horns… how could he tell?
With a chuckle, Ipomoea replied with “luck never was on my side, don’t worry about it. Do you want to order or do you want to keep blocking the doorway?” Maybe, just maybe, if he got this thing to talk, he could find something in his mental library to get rid of it.
Maybe it was some demon from the Ars Goetia, angry with how its kind of magick was disrespected taken as a gimmick here? Which ones would be insulted… was this Amdusias or Beleth, with that chaotic choir of a voice? Was this Paimon who felt the cafe disrespected his philosophies and secrets? Was it Bathin, insulted over the plastic trinkets labeled as precious stones?

Continuing forward, the figure stooped by where the die had come to rest, and picked it up in a delicate pinch. They chuckled at the barista's words, a cacophony of wicked amusement, and straightened back to their full, remarkable height, and looked at the little trinket in their grasp as they spoke, "You attempt to make conversation with the devil, hoping to find a means as to be rid of the being if but only you could learn something about them," they dropped the die on a table, letting it roll once more.

[ 3 ]

"Sadly," they spoke once the number was revealed, "Your social skills fail you as always. The devil refuses to speak with you, and merely advances without a word. No hint. No clue. Nothing at all that could possibly help you."

After the cloaked figure finished speaking, Ipomoea raised a finger as if to ask something of this strange, malicious spirit. “First of all, you are currently speaking. So technically, technically you’re still speaking with me, right? Second, what do you mean ‘as always’?! I’d say I’m a great person to talk to, I have— uh.”
He had what, exactly? The verses of each testament in the Bible? The book of Solomon? Dante’s Inferno? Martin Luther’s critiques of the catholic church, or perhaps the orders of heaven and the types of angels? Well… he sure found it interesting! People always asked him of strange mystical things, and he could always pull out magick knowledge or Christian lore or anything else he could lay his fingers on. True, he… might not be capable of talking about sports or game shows, he didn’t read too far beyond this niche interest instilled in him, but he was sure he was great at conversation! Great at— at talking? Interaction with people? Was this a person?
Ipomoea scooted closer to the countertop he had just cleaned, the bottle of vinegar and water sitting half-full next to a dirty rag. Maybe if this thing had a reaction to water— wait, wouldn’t he have to make the water holy or something like that? Maybe water in general could help if it was some lesser being?
“I uh. Need to clean, still, so please— please take your order, or leave?” Spray bottle in hand, be pointed it to the cloaked creature staring him down. His calloused hands shook, but he kept what courage was left in that strong face of his. Maybe, if he managed to get behind the counter, he could pull out some salt, dangerous as it could be, and make some barrier, or maybe do a generic dispelling chant… or maybe one of the useless trinkets in this god-forsaken cafe was something of spiritual value that could stop this madness.

Though their gaze could not be seen, the figure looked at the spray bottle, head tilting in a way that seemed question if the barista was being serious. Shaking their after a moment, however, they swept up the die and slipped their hands into their pockets as they continued forward, ever-approaching the working man.

"Still, you prompt the being, despite having failed once already. Still, too, the devil refuses to respond. They approach you despite your plea, and give no care to the threat you make in a desperate attempt to stall. They can see right through your shell of courage, and know full well of the fear that lies in your core. You are no match for this wicked fiend, and you know this without question. Still you fight, and it shows true strength, but will this be enough to challenge your foe?" their hands pulled out from their pockets then, but rather than the die being in hand, they now held only a simple coin, which they showed to the barista in a grand display as they continued, "Simple odds, no game to play. Who acts first, we shall see. Heads the hero, and tails the fiend."

With that, they flicked the coin high into the air with an embellished movement, and caught it fast as soon as it fell, slapping it down onto the back of a white-gloved hand.

They peeked.
Then they chuckled.

"A stroke of luck, it would seem," they said, though didn't speak or show the result as they tucked the coin away and stepped back. Spreading their arms, they laughed once more as they lowered their head, "Take your best shot, hero."

That.. just made it all the more confusing for the poor barista. He hesitated, his spray bottle lowered at his side as he stared. Well, if a coin saves him, then a coin saves him. He’ll just have to see how far he can push his luck.
“Don’t… you think a little too highly of yourself?” Ipomoea mumbled as he glared over his shoulder to the cloaked figure. For once, his height made him feel a little bit better— sure, he was still a bumbling mess, but he was a bumbling mess that could reach for a shallow tub of salt from the counter.
His eyes stayed glued on this strange target as he gingerly held the tub with the very tips of his fingers. “I-I mean, I think everything has some kind of— you know, weakness? Wouldn’t it make most sense to just leave me alone? This is— this is your last chance for a coffee, or something, I-I’m sure there are people waiting outside the door. They might— they might really want to know about how technically angels didn’t have white wings—“
Ipomoea was about to gather the salt in his own hand, but hesitated, and instead flung the entire tub at the specter, cutting his palm on the cheap aluminum of the salt tub. As the hero he was, he yelped when his hand stung from added salt and proceeded to run into the empty kitchen. Maybe he could get to the back door? Maybe he could glean just a LITTLE more information, like if this thing was actually a demon of some sort or not.

A somewhat horrific yell sounded from the tall being, causing the voice modifier behind the mask to crackle and pop at the sheer volume.

"Son of a bitch!" the entity spat angrily as the metal bin bounced off of them with a painful sounding clong before clattering to the ground in a deafening crash and rattle.

With an animalistic growl, the figure clenched their hands into fists before taking off after the barista, using one hand to propel their lanky form over the counter as though it were nothing. They shot into the kitchen, hot in their pursuit of the runaway hero and quickly caught up to the taller individual, grabbing him by his shoulder and throwing him roughly to the ground, "You make a mediocre attack before taking to flee," they growled, "but you fail to account for the speed of the fiend. In one fell swoop, you are laid prone, your enemy standing above you with burning violence."

Slipping a hand back into their pocket, they pulled out the die once more and tossed it unceremoniously on top of the barista, not even letting it roll as the object hit Ipomea's check and immediate fell still.

[ 18 ]

The fiend snarled at the number, hands clenching tighter before they kicked Ipomea harshly in the side, causing the die to jump and land on another side.

The calla lily.

More pleased with that result, the being began to laugh, "Your luck continues to do you foul, poor hero," they spoke coldly, "Thus brings an end to this hunter's prowl," and with that, he stooped, pulling a new object from a pocket and taking no hesitance to jam the needle into the barista's neck, "Sweet dreams, flower boy, for the nightmare is soon to come."

Ipomoea fought against the dark tendrils swirling at the edges of his vision. He wondered again if, for a moment, this demon was here because of the family he left behind.
“Fuck you.”
Those were the last words Ipomoea pushed out of his lips before everything faded to a sea of black.

[Baphomini]

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

"Hey Gamewatchers! Welcome to the show, my name is Jeem, also known as GM, and today we'll be continuing our dive into the lore and theorizing of the ever-popular, ever-brutal, and most of all, ever-outstanding web series still sweeping the nation: Game of Masters! As we all know, it's been just about a month since the end of the last run--our hearts still go our to dear old Jerry--and that can mean only one thing. This coming Friday, under the light of the dreaded full moon, the Game Master will be on the hunt for his next victim--Scary! Make sure to stay safe out there if you're in the Fortehaven area, folks! Would hate to find out one of my loyal watchers was at the hands of that horrible fiend, and, man, am I sure glad to be safe and sound up here in Ontario, hahaha! Let's get started on our next delve into this twisted world of the GM by taking a look at the beginning of dear old Jerry's tragic run, shall we?"

"Putz."

The word was spat under their breath as Rueben reached over to switch the video over to something else. They settled on a playlist for a video game soundtrack, scrolling through to find their favorite out of the list, and let it play a moment before shifting to return to their sketchbook. They were on the balcony of their crappy apartment, curled up in a cushioned patio chair with several blankets and pillows tucked around them to make something of a nest. A breeze blew against the building, sweeping past them and tugging at the pages of their journal ever so slightly; the strung lights above them swaying in a steady yet erratic motion. Despite the chill of the gentle wind, and the smell of the rundown part of the city around them--a mix of exhaust, garbage, and...presents from the homeless--ever since they had moved out of their childhood home just a month prior, this had become Rube's favorite spot in the world. Even on the many rainy days over the past few weeks, they had found themself enjoying the majority of their time on the balcony. It was small, cramped with all the furniture they had 'accidentally' bought while browsing online under the influence of...certain happy substances... Not to mention, the whole structure looked and sounded as though it would collapse away from the building any day now.

"If it crumbles and I'm on it, so be it!"

This was the only response Rueben had made to the very concerns of their sister when she had come to help Rube with moving in, and they still stood by that view even after tripping on a loose brick on morning and nearly being tossed over the rusty railing. If Rueben was honest there, the adrenaline from the event just made them love the broken-down balcony all the more.

As they continued their work on an intricate live sketch of the building across from them--a grand church with a million different shapes just in the steeple alone--their mind kept wandering back to the video they had started watching. The title had intrigued them, just like everything else that had to do with the infamous killer plaguing their city, but even they had enough respect not to see the sadistic game as merely a means to gain clout on the internet. People like that really got on their nerves. There was not caring about others, and then there was being a jerk. Rube could admit themself that they had little care about the people around them, if people suffered, so be it, that was just the way of the world, as they'd come to learn, but to actually try to gain off the suffering of others? Despicable.

Looking across to the church for another reference, their gaze soon traveled to look at the moon floating just above the tall steeple. There had been a time when they enjoyed the full moon. An aspiring witch in their teenage years, they had practically worshipped the moon, as well as whatever moon goddess they were hyper-fixating on at the time. Now, with the association the phase had to the dreaded web-show, the full moon felt like a betrayal. It was supposed to be a time of peace and comfort. A time of protection and power. The only power Rueben could see now though was the power of fear the celestial body inflicted on people.

They were lost in thought for a while, and so when the wind blew a little harder than before, they weren't prepared for the blast, and flinched in a way that caused them to drop their notebook. It smacked against the brick-laid surface of the balcony, and Rueben just looked down at it for a moment, before giving a heavy sigh and shifting to get up. It took a minute, since they had to move most of the blankets and pillows to the side to be able to get to their feet, but eventually, they got there. Unfortunately, they didn't quite get their whole body free from the wrappings of the blanket, and, with their foot caught in a fabric-y tendril, they ended up tripping, their outreached hand shoving the sketchbook further out of reach. Meanwhile, their body kept moving with the momentum, and they continued stumbling forward. Again the book was shoved, this time by their foot, and this time, it was hit hard enough that it was sent skidding to the railing, flying right under the iron bars and promptly taking a sad dive to the floors below.

"Fuck."

Rueben grumbled as they shook their leg free, at last, and got their footing straightened out. Smoothing out their loungewear as they straightened up, they gave a sigh as they continued to mutter and made their way back inside the apartment. They continued through the small space to the door, grabbed their keys from a bowl by the door, slipped on their shoes, and finally headed out.

Five flights of stairs later, they were on the ground floor, briskly walking out of the building and turning to go around to the place below their balcony. They knew the book couldn't have fallen on a lower balcony, the structures lined up too perfectly, and besides, they had heard it smack twice against two different pieces of iron, one further than the other. That book was on the ground. They just hoped it wasn't destroyed.

To their relief, they could immediately see the journal, all in one piece, laying on the ground near the street by their side of the building. Jogging over to retrieve it, they let out another sigh and moved in a swooping motion to scoop it up like some Disneyland employee picking up a piece of trash in the park. With a sharp turn on their heel, they started right back for the building entrace, absently checking the bindings and pages to make sure the sketchbook was truly undamaged.

Tick-tick-tick-

tick-tack-tick-tack-tack-tack-

tack-ck-ck-ck-ck-ck

The sudden, sharp sound drew Rueben's attention immediately away from their journal and their gaze flicked wildly around them as they came to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. The sight of some small blue thing bouncing along the pavement in front of them caught their full attention and their blood went ice cold.

No.

They looked at the number displayed on the die, their body starting to shake.

[ 4 ]

No no no no-no-no-no.

Looking around they shifted their hold on the journal in their hand, trying to grip it like a makeshift weapon before they called out, "Hell fucking no, you damned creep! I ain't doing this shit, so just fuck off!"

With nothing in sight, Rueben took off running toward the building entrance. Old as the St. Julius was, it still had that magnet lock that so many buildings in the city had. If they could just get through and close the door before their pursuer--no, their hunter caught them, surely, surely, they would give up, rather than risk Rueben calling the police.

The large, heavy doors were in sight. Just a few more strides. Safety was in the reach-- and then a sharp pain struck Rube's toe as their shoe collided with a piece of the sidewalk that had shifted upward. They forgot. They forgot about the stupid crack.

The world went sideways, their knees struck the ground, journal flying ahead of them as they threw their hands out to catch themself, only for their palms to skid ruthlessly against the rough cement. A cry escaped them, and they couldn't hold back the tears as their skin tore, open wounds stinging and burning as though they were on fire.

They dropped to their side, bringing their hands against their chest and letting out a trembling sob. Rueben cried for a moment but bit their tongue and fell silent at the approach of footsteps.

"Drawn from safety by wild events, you find yourself in the most unfortunate of predicaments. Privy to the danger you quickly found, you chose to flee, ignoring the curse of the number already put upon thee. So close to haven, yet so far away, your hope was never truly worth, when your failure was already destined."

Rueben looked up at the cacophony of voices, looking straight into the darkness where the Game Master's eyes should have been. They trembled. Against pain, against fear. They fought to hide it though, they tried to be strong in the face of the villain.

"I was never much one for following rules," they told the being, "I won't be much fun in your game, really. M-Maybe I can open the door to the building for you and you can find someone else to grab?"

The Game Master looked down at them, tilting their head as they fiddled with the die in their hand, "Interesting..." they spoke slowly, "A false hero offers the lives of their neighbors for the life of their own. Lawful Evil? Mayhaps. An amusing existence in a world full of woe, but, ah- false hero, would you really give another to your foe?"

Rueben hesitated, swallowing hard as they thought about the being's--nay, the demon's words. Soon enough though they signed and looked away, tears pushing out as they shook their head, "No," they told them, "No...I...I-I couldn't do that..."

"Mayhaps..." the Game Master responded, slowly stepping over Rueben and crouching over them as they slipped away their die and pulled out a syringe instead, "Your conflicting morals are quite the conundrum, false hero," they continued, holding Rube in place to inject the sedative, "I feel you and I will be having much...much fun."

[Baphomini]

{ This post serves as a collab between Baphomini and CorviDoggo as a means to cover the encounter in a cleaner flow }



{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

Two A.M. blinked on the little clock on a side table, and Mac still sat cross-legged on the floor. Insomnia struck him again, as it often did— dreams, he thought, were the most likely culprit. Looking back at each nightmare that kept him awake, it just caused everything to bubble up again, his stomach turning at each sight and smell and sound. He got up, left that simply-worded book about a secret garden or something, and wrote on a little post-it note.

Prazosin Dose was all he scrawled on there, with shaky letters, and he stuck it straight on the fridge.

The sight of the fridge made Mac realize he was hungry. Well— would it be fair for him to eat this late? His love still slept on their shared bed in the other room. Should he offer a snack? He might’ve woken Ozzy up when he slid out of the bed, anyways— Ozzy had always been a light sleeper, even more so since the… accident.

With a sigh, Mac resolved on heating two plates of frozen dumplings, a set of gyozas he folded a few days ago with Ozzy. Why was he the one still plagued with dreams? Surely Ozzy couldn’t sleep either, and… what Mac went through wasn’t that bad. Sure, they quite literally cut away at his neck and tongue until his voice no longer sounded, but he could walk! He could use his hands and his head perfectly fine and he had so much, and he still woke up from fear despite everything while Ozzy slept next to him without working legs.

Mac shook his head. Nonsense, he told himself. The whir and light of the microwave felt blinding compared to the tiny book light he used. He stopped the plates each time with one second remaining and set them on the small table, and he took out a set of chopsticks for himself and a fork for his beloved. Then, he padded over to the bedroom, trying to swallow an instinct that started to nip at the back of his head.

There was no danger in his house. It’s all in his head, everything dangerous is past, everything is in his head. He ignored his hairs standing on end as he went to check on his husband.

By the time Mac returned to the bedroom, a light on the bedside table has been lit, flooding the space in a warm, golden glow that failed to reach the furthest corners of the room. Osric was sitting up in bed, head turned down as he absently cleaned his glasses. Upon Mac's arrival, the red-haired man looked up with a warm, auburn gaze and smiled softly...though the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes...

"Hey homie," he said quietly, despite the fact they were the only ones in the little home, "You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

He was trying to make Mac feel a little better by implying that he had already been awake, but he knew that his husband would catch the lie in an instant. Sometimes they just went along with such acts together, both needing the comfort of knowing the other was rested assure. More often than not it was Osric putting on the act, with Mac accepting it as truth, if only to make Osric feel better.

Patting the space next to him, Osric gestured for Mac to sit beside him on the bed. When they had first moved into the new house, they had made an oath not to eat in bed anymore, finding humor in blaming the destruction of their last home on the fact that they had brought sweets into bed the night of accident. However, that oath was quickly abandoned as Mac's insomnia grew more frequent. At some point, it has become something of a routine for them to enjoy a snack in the middle of the night, nestled up in the comfort of their bed.

Osric was alright with it. In a way, it was comforting to know that Mac was there, and more so that he could be there for the other man. Besides, ever since the accident, it wasn't like he needed to worry about getting up for work anymore...

Mac smiled back and set one of the gyoza plates down on the nightstand that Ozzy’s glasses rested on while he slept. He kissed the other man’s forehead gently and gave a little peck on the lips before turning around and walking to his side of the bed.

Be careful. Hot. Macbeth signed, his hand movements small like a whisper, smile still on his scarred-up face. Then, he reached for the dumplings and absently nibbled on them, his legs crossed. He slouched heavily as if he could fold himself into a ball.

His mismatched eyes glowed in the dim light, one blue one a honey-colored shade, but they had a distanced and glassy look to them at that moment.

His chopsticks still in his hand, Mac signed Are you okay? with that distanced but worried look still in his eyes. I’m sorry, he continued, to wake you up. I can’t sleep.

Another pause. Drink? Mac tilted his head, a smile showing through his thin lips again.

"One thing at a time, love," Osric said gently, chuckling a bit as he moved a hand to gently touch Mac's. It was a simple thing between them, essentially, a gentle way of telling Mac to shut up. It wasn't made to me rude or cruel, in fact, it came from a place of love and concern. Concern that the silent man was getting too worked up over something.

Osric's dark eyes met Mac's bright gaze and he smiled right back at the man, "I'm fine, I promise. You don't need to apologize. Honestly, you weren't even what woke me up this time. I think some critter was messing around the trashcans or something," he nodded to their window that looked out on the side yard, "Happened a bit ago while you were in the kitchen, stopped though when I turned the light on. Besides," he sighed and took Mac's hands in his for a moment to gently rub his thumbs against the webbing between Mac's thumb and forefinger, "I'd rather be awake with you than rise the next morning to find you didn't sleep. Not to mention," he released Mac's hands then and shift to grab his plate and take a bite of a dumpling before continuing. He chewed, holding up a finger in signal for his husband to wait, then swallowed and finished, "Being woken up means yummy food with a dash of rule-breaking, and you know how much I love breaking the rules."

If sound could come out of Mac’s throat, Ozzy would hear a sweet laugh. Instead, a soundless breath with a wide smile told him that Mac was laughing. He set his chopsticks down on his plate and leaned over to his husband, gently cuddling up to the other’s side.

Raccoons, Opossums, Cats, Mac signed, a smile still making his eyes twinkle. They’re hungry, like us.

A few moments passed and Mac rested his head fully on Ozzy’s shoulder, his hand reaching out to hold Ozzy’s. He couldn’t explain how happy he was to just have these moments.

Though, he still had to get drinks. Hydration was important! Maybe tea could help them both with sleep? He turned his head to kiss his love’s cheek, and then slid off the bed.

Water, tea, coffee? Which?

Maybe he’d leave some food out..? No creature deserved hunger, he felt. It’d be easier to eat the little treat, maybe a piece of that spare sandwich ham, than rummaging through rotten food. Once again, he ignored that gnawing beast in the back of his skull that screamed how he should hide, make himself small, run, do something— he felt that instinct trip too often, part of his mental issues. He’d learned to ignore it, or at least process through it. While his steps wavered and hesitated, he still gave a gentle smile to his love.

"Just water for me," Osric replied, reluctant to have Mac slide away, as shown by his arm reaching out into the space the man had occupied, he himself flopping slightly to the side to stretch further, fingers wiggling at the edge of the bed, just barely brushing against his love's thigh, "but please hurry back? I know you're worrying right now, and I'm worried you might fall into one of your...moments...I don't want you having to go through that alone while I'm here blissfully unaware..." he frowned a bit, hand falling limp as he just lay there, awkwardly sprawled on the bed, looking up at Mac with a concerned expression, "Just...please be careful," he added as he slowly started to sit back up, "and if something happens, and you need me, chuck a fucking glass on the tile, you know I don't care. I'll come as soon as I can," with that, he pat the arm rest of his nearby wheelchair and regained his smile, "I'm getting better at moving myself into this thing, so you shouldn't be waiting too long."

I am okay.

Mac knew that was a lie as soon as his hands dropped down. After a pause, he corrected— will be okay. Just another little act to help them both feel a bit better.

A pause, a silent walk to the other side of the bed, and another quick kiss on Ozzy’s lips, Mac leaning in for just a moment before going off for some water for his husband and tea for himself.

He filled the gooseneck kettle with the water dispenser— after every corpse dumped into some city waterway he witnessed, every time he watched blood streak down the drain where the same water gets collected, he never trusted tap water again. The pair had one of those office-style water dispensers, and had the luxury of getting a few five-gallon jugs shipped to them every week. Some fears and images Mac just couldn’t get rid of, so they both adapted, and they’re adapting again now.

While Macbeth waited for the water to get hot enough, he made up his mind to just take out a little paper plate and rip up some ham for the poor creature scavenging the trash. Maybe it would get this meal before day broke and the seagulls ran around the beach. He left one glass full with ice-water and one mug with some loose-leaf tea in a metal strainer, and he gingerly unlocked the door to their little beach-side house.

He smelled the brine of the ocean, the full moon making the night bright and calming and the waves giving a gentle sound. He shoved each peaceful sense straight into the maw of the instincts absolutely shrieking in his head.

Scff

scff

scff

scff

Something was moving on the side of the house.

Tik tikka

tik tik

tk

More sound.

Cats ran rampant through the little beach front neighborhood, owners giving no mind to the detriment the creatures caused as an invasive species. There were some other creatures too. Rats among them, though the cats usually kept them at bay.

A plastic trashcan rattled as something bumped against it, rocking and wobbling in a hollow sound that echoed into the night.

A cat shot past Mac, dashing through his legs with a stressful trill and bounding off the side of the home before scrabbling up the fence and disappearing into the night.

The night was silent once more.

Silent until...

Tick-tick-tick-

tick-tack-tick-tack-tack-tack-

tack-ck-ck-ck-ck-ck

A shining blue object bounced along the uneven stone pathway connecting the back of the home to the street-side front. It sparkled as it caught the small bits of light leaking into the side yard, and yet, it also seemed to emit a light all its own, glowing like some magical crystal from some fantasy story. It stopped, a few feet from Mac, getting stuck in a more irregular section of the stone, and it sat there, almost seeming to pulse with power.

Soft footsteps soon followed the object as a figure emerged from the darkness that which it came. The figure, dressed all in black but for a blank white mask, emotionless and hollow, and a pair of stark white gloves, seemed to glide over the broken walkway as they moved toward the little blue item. They were tall, towering in the darkness like a cryptid with their slender frame and unnatural posture. A hood was pulled up into place, casting an eerie shadow over the already unsettling mask, and the cape of their cloak swished lightly around them, trailing ever so slightly as they moved along.

They stopped as they reached the blue object, stooping to pick it up and sighing a bit, the sound coming out distorted and wrong, "Seems a reroll may be in order," they spoke then, their voice a wild cacophony of multiple voices in one, "This asperous terrain has caused for an incalculable result. Such will never do," they stood then and moved their head around to glance back over the rough ground and hummed, "Though I wonder if rolling once more would simply bring about a similar outcome. Perhaps...it may be time for a...different tactic."

Slipping the object away, they casually pulled out yet another object, and held it for Mac to see. At a distance, not much could be made out, but the round shape and the shine it help when it caught the light gave reason to believe that this object was a coin.

"Simple odds," the figure spoke again, this time with a laugh, "Heads you succeed, and tails you fail. Let's see what our actions next shall unveil."

Well— Mac was right, there were in fact hungry cats outside, but thanks to this absolute asshole they all scattered off. The seagulls can have the ham, then.

He raised an eyebrow and shot a glare at this weird poltergeist. He was almost entirely sure this was one of his many fucked up bits of his brain doing something. At least he could tell at that moment it wasn’t real, though. Lots of people have blue dice, and as much as he heard of that stupid “Game of Masters” show he decided it must have been staged elaborately. It was clear this wasn’t just some hitman service or some organ harvesting, as so many “corpses” in that show were bent and torn out of recognition, from what he seen. And how would this be some weird torture? After all, who the hell would go through all of that trouble to torture random people? With so much money, too? Just tear away their nails, or smash fingers, or drop water on their face, or break their legs and arms—

He stroked his hand through his ginger hair. He shouldn’t let those thoughts trickle through. He flooded his brain with reciting some song verses in his head again and again until it drowned out any coherent thought and instead had that song become another little earworm for him to complain about later.

You know ASL? Mac signed, his hands moving wildly as if he were shouting. Fuck off if you don’t.

He then just walked inside his house again, locking the door behind him. The water must have been ready, by now. Damn, yet another thing to tell his psychiatrist. He could barely handle the heaps of medication he was on at the moment, what if they suddenly decided he had some schizophrenia and threw an extreme antipsychotic or whatever at him, too?

"Oooh~ You're a fun one!" the voice sounded from inside the house then. There, sitting at the little dining table in the corner of the kitchen, the being could be seen, leaning on their elbows against the table, that damn coin still held in their finger tips, "For the record, if I may make a quick comment out of character here, I do in fact know sign language, from a number of regions, even, believe it or not. Back on track, however, why don't we get this show rolling, shall we? I'll give you a choice, dear hero, we can stick with the coin, or revert to the original chance of the die. Which odds do you prefer?"

Mac paused, glared again, and poured the hot water into his mug. He then walked over to another kitchen cabinet, pulled out a small, orange pill bottle, and knocked one of the little pills into his hand. Some benzodiazepine, he knew, probably chlordiazepoxide or something like that, but he just stopped keeping track of the exact name and marked the as-needed anxiety medication with a little star sticker. He massaged the bridge of his nose before signing again to the strange illusion.

This is a hallucination, probably, he signed quickly and with an annoyed look on his face. I don’t know what you want. Have fun.

He just grabbed the mug and the glass of water, not bothering to see what the apparition chose. This was a first. He knew he was grounded, in reality— he felt the cold glass for Ozzy condense water from air and the warmth of the mug. He could hear the rustling of trees outside, still. This wasn’t a dingy basement, he saw no dingy basement, or gross demon-man, or bloody stranger, or gas mask and gloves, or strange bastard—

Well. He saw some strange bastard, but that strange bastard wasn’t real and he knew that. He shook his head and walked back to the bedroom.
His instincts still flared and beat at his heart like a caged animal. He just assumed it was his anxiety— it just kept getting worse and worse, and he almost could— well. He wasn’t anywhere unsafe. He was here, on the beach, in his house, with his husband. The gyozas are getting cold.

The figure chuckled as Mac walked away, flipping the coin with a light flourish as the man left.

In the bedroom, Osric was shfiting to move from the bed to his wheelchair, and looked over as Mac entered, deep concern in his gaze.

"Mac," he started. He never used the man's name unless he was talking to someone else. Not unless whatever he was going to say next was of the utmost importance, the most serious he would ever be, and often a matter of life or death...

"Who was that talking?"

Mac froze. His brows furrowed. For the first time in a while, he just mouthed words, as if he expected his voice to magically return to him.

What?

He blinked and placed the two drinks on the nearest surface, some drawers full of the pair’s clothing.
His hands shook and his face went pale as he mustered up a sentence in sign language. You could hear it too? Ghost? Hallucination? No?

Weapons, weapons— what weapons were there in the bedroom, what did he put in there to make himself feel safe— how would he protect Ozzy? Did a stranger just break in?? Knife— was a knife too much? Did they have a gun? Was there a gun, still? His memories just short circuited as the little creature in his head breached its containment and shouted the alarms and knocked down every porcelain vase in his head to let out every bad thing that’s ever happened to him. He needed to prepare, to be safe, to— to—

Mac slapped his hands on his forehead and dragged them down his face. This wasn’t a good time! He needed to be stable! Fuck!

As he managed to get himself to his wheelchair, Osric waved his arms towards Mac, attempting to get the other man's attention. Once he had it, he signed, Breathe. Got this. Top drawer. he pointed at the drawer on the dresser that Mac had placed the cups on, Gun, little, he continued to sign, Mine. Safety.

Rrrent

A creak in the hallway signaled the approach of the masked figure and Osric quickly twisted and flicked off the light on a bedside table, throwing the room into moderate darkness aside from the light of the full moon leaking in through the blinds on the window. Osric had always wanted to get blackout curtains for the window, even back at the old house, but Mac liked the cool glow of the night, and preferred having just that bit of light in the room. At this moment, where they needed the advantage of being able to see where the intruder couldn't, he was a little glad he had never been able to win that debate.

Mac nodded to Osric. He silently pulled the top drawer open and grabbed a Glock, simple and sleek. He paused for a bit— he knew Glocks didn’t have any safeties, they were all automatic, technically.

Oh. Ozzy told him to be safe.

He fought back the blush— now wasn’t the time to blush!— and quickly checked the magazine. It felt like the standard 15 round mag.
Why was he checking it?! Of course it’d be full, or near full! He assumed Ozzy never used it beyond practice. He needed to be steady, stable, to calm down. This used to be a daily thing for him! Why was he freaking out now? This used to never scare him, his father scared him so much more than guns and blood. How would he do this..?

Fuck.

Mac pointed the gun towards the hallway. That thing had a mask, didn’t it? That means it had to have a head. He’d aim for the head. Anywhere on the top would get this intruder to drop, no? He could do this. He could do this.
And so, the sound of a gunshot broke the silence.

The noise practically shook the little beach house, the walls seeming to rattle at the force of the shot.

Silence.

Ozzy rolled over to pull up behind Mac, staying off to the side and out of the way in case anything happened. He craned his head to look out into the hallway, one hand resting lightly on the control for his chair while the other gripped tightly at the armrest, knuckles already turning white from the force of his hold. He dared not to speak yet, his own voice gone in the moment with fear gripping his lungs. Signing seemed pointless, Mac was holding the gun after all, and he needed to keep his focus on whatever awaited them in the darkness.

As the house creaked against the growing wind, a small sound could be heard. Something metallic. Light. Singing in a soft thhheeeeeng before something fell from the air above them and landed on Osric's lap. The chair-bound man looked down at what had fallen, confusion and fear draining what little color he had from his face.

A coin.

"Tails..." Ozzy's voice was barely even a whisper.

"A shot in the dark is quite the gamble," the voice sounded, suddenly behind them in the room, "You trust your skill so fully, you neglect what it often advised. A simple fumble, rest assured, but remember, dear hero, 'don't shoot 'til you see the white of their eyes.'"

A chaotic laugh sounded out, like a crowd of otherworldly beings cackling as one, the sound seeming to echo over itself again and again in a disturbing dissonance of hellish noise.

Just like that, Mac was grabbed from behind, a gloved hand wrapping around each wrist and layering over the gun like someone teaching another how to hold the weapon, though that was surely not the case here. With a powerful jerk, the enemy turned Mac's gaze toward the man in the chair, and held it there as their masked face leaned in lightly to rest on the much smaller man's shoulder.

"After a failed attempt to be rid of the specter plaguing your home, you find yourself trapped by the very fiend--a ghost if ever there was one, rushing you from behind with not a chance to escape. The demon turns your own weapon on the one you love so dear...tell me, hero...where do we go from here?"

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

Mac felt like his head was filled with thousands of angry wasps.

He tried to drown out each image that pounded into his head. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. DO NOT panic. DON’T PANIC.

Of course, he felt that panic. He felt his heart beat so hard it hurt his ears. He felt his legs growing weak and blood rushing to his head.

He hated feeling someone behind him like that. He hated that he didn’t know who it was. He hated how, once again, someone he cared about was in danger.

The room morphed around him and it caused him to somewhat lose balance. A gross medical room. Bottles upon bottles. Dirty alleyways. Every single man that he knew deserved a violent death. His head started to hurt and he tried to loosen the grip on the gun— the demon couldn’t make him shoot if there was no gun. He had to keep Osric safe.

Instead, a spark ignited in his palms, a blue-orange shifting fire bursting out and causing the Glock itself to explode and crumple in smoke.

What was that? Mac struggled to tell whether that was real, despite the smell of gunpowder and the gun itself breaking in his hands telling him it was.

Before he could overthink, or be overcome by all of the past grabbing at him, he used the little bit of new mobility he had to turn that glowing palm straight into the face of his attacker.

This was… this was just a bad dream, and he was sure of that now. When will he wake up? He didn’t know.

At the spark, the demon's grip on Mac actually faltered a bit as the being jerked back. They didn't pull back far though, staying well within reach, and were quickly met with the man's blazing attack. Stumbling back, they threw their hands up to their mask, a string of cursing hissing through a crackling audio morpher, causing the already chaotic choir of voices to become a robotic cluster of noise that clicked and screeched and popped like something dying a horrible death.

Once recovered, the being growled, throwing their hands from their singed and slightly melted mask and turning their empty gaze on the man who had caused the damage. They looked like they wanted to charge at him, gloved hands clenched tightly at their sides, the white fabic now also slightly singed from the attack. Their shoulders were raised, stiff with anger, but rising and falling, still, with fierce, heavy breaths.

They were like an animal.

Then, they cooled, shoulders relaxing and fingers uncurling as they let out a long, heavy breath. A moment passed, and then they laughed, the sound still distorted beyond all reason.

"Oh, you are fun!" they said through breaking blips of audio, "This thing is trash now," they remarked with a gesture to their mask, more specifically the mouth of the face, "but I'm not about to take it off just yet, so lets just wrap this up now and be done with it all, yeah?"

With a flourished snap, the coin zipped from Osric's lap to their fingers, and they turned it over in an unnecessary show, before flicking it up in the air. Catching it, overly dramatically, they slapped it on the back of their hand before taking a look, "Ah, what luck! Heads, it would seem, and the move is yours once more. Face your demons, boy, come on, show us havoc!"

What the fuck. What the fuck? What the fuck is going on? Why are his hands on fire? Why is the fire a weird color? Why isn’t he being burned himself? Why is this guy not attacking him back?

Is Ozzy okay?

Shit, what was he thinking?! He’s so sure this is a weird dream! Just another product of his chaotic mind. Just another thing to bring up. Humans couldn’t light on fire like that. Fire didn’t look like that! People can’t teleport, and people sure don’t act like that when trying to kill people or rob some place.

Police. Go. His hand movements were frantic and a soft glow on his palms still stayed as he quickly signed to his beloved.
He wasn’t the best at physical combat. For goodness sake, he’s build like a twig. But, he was a stubborn twig. And this was just… a bad dream. His hands were on fire! And they didn’t hurt! How couldn’t this be a dream?! He wanted to run, so badly, but if he ran then maybe this thing would hurt Osric. He hated the energy this creature had when it was behind him, he hated that voice, he hated this dream that felt so real.

So, despite his better judgement, he went straight for the face— the neck, actually. His hands lit up with that blue-orange flame again, so bright the night turned to day.

Osric was in shock from the moment the figure had appread behind them, only able to sit and watch everything that happened. It all felt like a horrible nightmare. His own gun aimed at him in the hands of his beloved--a disgusting threat if ever there was one, to think that this monster would force Mac to shoot his own husband...that alone was already too much, but then the flames burst from Mac's hands, the gun breaking apart and falling to the ground. The noise the creature made as it reeled back, and the laugh that came when the thing recoved. It was like a horror movie come to life, and as much of a fan of horror as he was, Osric was not a fan of any of this.

He was brought back to reality--if you could even call it that--by Mac's signing, giving a firm nod as he quickly moved his wheelchair back to the bedside table and pulled his phone from the charger, immediately hitting the lock button three times to bring up the emergency call option.

Meanwhile, the demon fell back a couple of steps at the force of Mac's attack, hands shooting up over his to lessen the pressure of the small man's hold on their neck. They moved and turned violently, flinging Mac off to the side with a wild growl, then took a moment to pat out the lingering flames on the neck of their cloak before retrieving their coin from the floor where it had dropped.

"Tails," they spoke coldly, wrapping their hand around the coin to form a fist, before stepping over to throw a forceful blow at the back of Mac's skull, "You attempt to attack the fiend head on," they spoke, the glitches in their voice modulator causing an even more unsettling sound than the overlapping voices usually held, "but the demon's superior size gives it the upperhand in the battle, and it easily tosses you aside like no more than a ragdoll. With a hard blow to the base of your skull, the world is already getting dimmer than the darkness should allow, and—"

"Hey!" the voice of the other man in the room interrupted sharply, and as the being looked over, he continued, "Cut the fucking act already, would you? You're driving me crazy with this stupid narrator shit— Hello?" his attention turned then to the phone near his ear, "Yeah, yeah, I can hear you. Look, some fucker's broken into my house and is attacking my husband. He's got a mask and a stupid fucking cloak and—"

Suddenly, the phone flew from Ozzy's hand, smashing against the wall and shattering into pieces like the whole thing, including the protective case, was nothing but sugar glass.

Osric gasped at the action, staring at where his broken phone lay on the other side of the room before looking back at the intruder. He showed fear for a moment, then it quickly turned to anger, "Son of a bitch!" he yelled, "How is that even playing fair?!"

"This is not your game to play, white knight," the being said tightly then laughed and loosened a bit as they added, "Your time may come, but alas, that time is not now. Now conserve your own life and stay the fuck out of my fight."

"Oh, I'm so scared," Osric rolled his eyes so hard his head rolled with them, he was done being scared and useless, "A killer who rhymes, and horrible rhymes at that. Tell me, fucker, exactly what did you expect coming in to a house where your apparent target--for whatever reason--would have a fucking eyewitness? Did you really think we'd both just fold? Ooooh scary demon come to kill us! Whatever shall we do? Insert shrugging old guy in the red shirt meme, guess I'll die," he huffed and focused on the figure again, "Are you fucking stupid?"

"You want to play?" the creature questioned, "So be it. Let's play."

With that, the demon flipped their coin again and caught it, taking a look without all the embellishments they usually took, then made a sound that sounded like a smirk had taken form, "Tough luck, white knight," they said, then flicked their wrist, and just like that, Osric's chair raced backwards and slammed into the wall, the momentum of the crash causing the wheelchair to rock violently, which, first, sent Ozzy flying to the floor, landing in a pile of himself, and then the chair fell forward, trapping the man beneath it in a heavy hold which caused him to cry out in pain for the parts of his body he could still feel.

Oh, that hurt. It was hard to balance or even get up after that blow to the head, but the adrenaline lit him up once he saw Ozzy thrown across the room and in pain.

And he literally lit up. Blue and orange flames burst from his whole form, the whole room bright almost like a flash-bang was thrown in there. He was silent, but his teeth were bared so viciously that he looked like he was screaming in rage.

The fire didn’t burn him. It singed the carpet every step he took, left ashy little marks on the furniture he was close to, but his clothes, his skin, was alright. Somehow. Besides feeling like he was sick with a burning fever, besides the sheer amount of panic and the life and death situation and the fact he probably has a concussion with that pulsing headache seeping through, he was fine.

He breathed out. Like a dragon, white smoke puffed out of his nose. His eyes, blue like ice and yellow like amber, almost glowed through. They stayed on target, glaring at this strange demon.

There weren’t any other weapons around in the bedroom besides that broken gun, but… well, he figured, in this strange dream, he was the weapon now.

He charged again. There weren’t any rules for fighting when it comes to life or death— maybe, if he hit and scratched enough times, tried to dodge enough times, he’d get this thing to run away? And things would be peaceful again, and he’d wake up, and he’d make a nice morning omelette for him and Ozzy.

With a silent scream, Mac jumped to the intruder with ferocity. He grabbed at that dark cloak, fire starting to melt and crumble away the fibers. If he could just get a proper hold on the neck, the face, the chest— this thing might die, and he could wake up.

The demon whipped around as the flaming beast of a man grabbed their cloak, easily ripping away as the fibers melted in the man's hold. It blipped. Gone in an instant. Then appeared across the room, "Wasn't expecting that," they muttered, then shook their head and straightened up, giving an amused laugh as they flipped the coin once more, "Tails again, poor hero," their laugh continued, "What strange luck you have...should come to rather amusing in the game to come," shifting, they slipped the coin away and buried their hands in their pockets, not even seeming to care that their cloak was still smoldering with flames, and tilted their head, "Give me a minute, writing on the spot is exhausting. Let's see... Watching as your loved one is practically eliminated by this specter of death who has entered your home, you find yourself suddenly lit aflame by a power you never even knew you had. Fury burns through you like the fire surrounding, as you face off against Death itself, but oh my, what's this," they moved their arm and the flames raced through the room, spreading rapidly as though the ground were covered in oil, "The fire from your form ignites the room faster than you can think, and your love?" they looked over to the man pinned beneath his own wheel chair, "Well...only time will tell of his fate..." with their focus back on Mac, they laughed a moment before their voice when ice cold as they finished, "What will you do, poor hero? Fight the fiend, or save the damsel? The clock is ticking, poor hero, let's get kicking."

The fire surrounding his body fizzled out at the devil’s words, but the rest of the room— shit, was that him? It was… so hot. He still didn’t burn, but… the headache, the fever, the smoke, the whole situation and the adrenaline still pumping through his veins made his head spin.

That fire started to burn its signature red-orange-yellow shade instead of his own strange blue and orange hues. The wood caught, the sheets caught, everything.

This dream was far too real. That demon was no longer a priority— he needed to get Ozzy somewhere safe.

Why was the chair so heavy?! Why was Ozzy so heavy— why was he so weak?! He struggled to lift the chair away and to lift his love out of that chair, and he struggled again as he dragged himself and his partner from that room.

The rest of the house was on fire too. How was the rest of the house on fire?! Did he really do this?? They’ve barely lived here for, what, 8 months? A year? He couldn’t keep track of time, he couldn’t think, the windows were bursting from the fire and that book he was reading was also on fire and the counter he prepared those gyozas on was on fire—

They were out the door.

Mac collapsed, his head throbbing and his skin so hot it was like he was about to get heat stroke in the dead of summer in Arizona.
He pulled his arm over his mouth and coughed.

Blood was on his arm. Of course! Why wouldn’t there be blood? Everything hurt, everything sucked—

Did that mean… that that wasn’t some awful dream? That this nightmare is real? That… shit, that he just spontaneously fucking combusted? What the fuck? Where would he even go? Would he need to drag himself and Ozzy into the city, the nearest police station? Maybe to some ghost buster medium or whatever?

Mac shook his head and hugged Ozzy, as tight as he could given how exhausted he was.

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

Theeeennng

That damned coin.

It dropped once more from above, hitting the stone path along the side of the house and bouncing a few times before spinning and wobbling at rapid speed, the metallic ring singing out more and more rapidly until it finally fell still.

Heads!

It was heads! Wind rushed through the sideyard, encircling the beach house, and bringing the flames into a dancing swirl that reached up into the sky, higher and higher until, suddenly, the flames vanished, and the house was left dark. Evidence of the fire still remained, the walls charred and crumbling in places, the windows broken, the smell of smoke and embers, but, the inferno was gone, completely.

In a moment, the figure emerged through the door. Slowly, casually, approaching the two on the ground. They stopped mere inches from the couple and knelt down to pick up the coin, "You're welcome," they said, "Though really, you can thank the odds."

Giving the coin one final small flip, they caught it simply in their palm and looked at the result, letting out a soft chuckle, "Heads again...you really do have strange luck, hero," they commented, then shifted as they slipped the coin away and pulled out a syringe, "You escape the danger of your burning home with your husband in tow, both of you safe from the flames. By the luck of the gods, the pyre takes leave, vanishing with the approach of your foe. Luck is in your hands, poor hero, but alas, the odds are still not bright. A simple choice, a decision to be made, to finally turn this fine fight. Who shall continue? Who will face the beast to the end? Yourself? Or your closest friend?"

"Mac—" Ozzy's words were cut off as the beast raised a hand.

"The choice is not yours, white knight, so let the hero decide. Should his choice betray you, then...well..." they trailed off in a laugh and turned their attention back to Mac, waiting for his response, "I repeat, poor hero: Who shall continue? Who will face the beast to the end? Yourself? Or your closest friend?"

This idiot really thought that Mac would trust his words, that he’d just take one of them? After doing all of this bullshit??

Another cough. Mac spat out more blood onto the pavement. Didn’t this asshole ghost know already that he couldn’t talk?

He didn’t want to leave Ozzy. He didn’t want to take his hands and start signing to this fucker. He didn’t want this weird beast anywhere near Ozzy.

Mac buried his face into Ozzy’s shoulder, blood still smeared on his lips and tears wetting the simple t-shirt his love wore. His arms tightened around his husband again, and he just stayed still. This wasn’t real. He’ll wake up eventually.
When will he wake up?

He already felt like he was about to pass out. This was just too much. He felt too hot and he was tired and scared and the adrenaline rush abruptly stopped and made him feel the bright pain on his palms and the creaking of every single one of his joints.
Eventually, Mac’s own body betrayed him. He fainted, there on the pathway, hugging his beloved and silently tearing up.

Osric trembled in Mac's hold, clinging to the man in return and preparing for the worst from the villian before them. To his surprise though, the demon didn't act violently, and instead, they simply gave a light hum, "I suppose there's always a third option in these scenarios," they commented, then curled their fingers around the syringe and slipped it away as they rose to their feet.

Sirens were finally sounding in the distance, fire engines, coming in response to the house fire, no doubt, but, it was something. The being looked in the direction of the sound for a moment, before looking back down at the two lovers on the ground. They seemed to study Mac for a moment, as though determining if her was actually out, then focused their hollow gaze on the other, before reaching and dragging the paralyzed man away from his husband, gently setting him up against the house and leaving him there as they stepped back over to scoop up Mac.

"Don't. Do this," Osric pleaded to the stranger's back, "Please...he's been through so much already. Can't this be enough for you?"

The demon stood there for a moment, silent, back to the man on the ground, then simply began walking away, "Tell those guys in the trucks whatever you want, White Knight," they said, "But keep in mind that no one will ever believe what happened here tonight. If you want to be able to follow your husband's journey, I suggest thinking of a good story to tell that won't get you locked up. I'll be seeing you around the platform, I'm sure."

And with that, the beast, and his love, was gone.

[Baphomini]

{ This post serves as a collab between Baphomini and Xandrya as a means to cover the encounter in a cleaner flow }



{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

He rolled over panting, face flushed and covered with a thin layer of sweat. The girl, Amanda, simply smiled at him. “Someone got worn out...”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked at his partner. “Excuse me, you were sounding like you were having one hell of a good time, weren’t ya? I got the equipment to go for another round, but you’re the one who has work soon—“

“Shit!”

Amanda looked at her watch, panicking when she realized she’d have to hurry up if she wanted to make it in time for her midnight shift at the hospital. Theo was amused, watching his girlfriend scramble as he positioned one arm behind his head, the blanket still covering his midsection down to just above the knees. On the nightstand beside him, his phone was going off as it vibrated in place, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, his attention was drawn to the naked figure who had been called a few hours prior to cover for someone needing to leave. “It’s a shame, could’ve had more fun.”

Amanda just ignored him, and Theo decided to get up and go get some water before bed. He pushed away the blanket and reached for his boxer briefs on the floor, getting on his feet to slip them on. Amanda was fixing her hair and he went on down to the kitchen, turning on the light. This startled their dog, Brutus, as tiny of a Yorkie as they can make them. Brutus yip yapped his owner the same way he always did, and Theo ignored him, walking past as if he weren’t there. Once he had the glass of water, he went back upstairs, kissing his girlfriend goodbye before settling into bed.

With Amanda's departure, the house soon grew silent, even the far off tick-tick tack-a tick of the terrier's little nails clicking on the kitchen floor down below soon died away. The only sounds remaining were those of the creaking of the home as it settled--like all homes do--the rustling of the trees outside--whipping in the wind which had steddily grown stronger through the night--and a train horn howling in the distance--rushing to places unknown, as it was impossible to tell which direction the sound was heading. Just natural sounds. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was as always.

Click.

Screeeent...

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

A lock snapped open. A door downstairs creaked against its own hinges, screaming at the friction in a desperate cry for wd-40.

Brutus burst into a wild state of yipping and growling, nails scattering across the floor.

Thunt.

CHHSSHHH!

Something crashed and broke, Brutus continued to yip and howl, pieces of something scattering around, and then, just like that, Brutus stopped with a sharp whine of a yip that trailed off. Nails skittered for a moment longer before all was silent once more.

But silent didn't mean safe.

The crashing noise that happened beyond his closed eyelids jolted Theo awake. “What the hell?” The slight country accent broke through the silence. Amanda would have called or texted if she was returning early for whatever reason, but after checking his phone beside him, Theo saw nothing but a couple of missed calls from someone else. As quietly as possible, Theo reached into nightstand adjacent to the bed. He palmed a Glock that was locked and loaded, and slowly got up to walk over to the door.

He was listening for a few moments, but there were no other sounds. Theo opened the door as carefully as possible as to not alert the intruder. He immediately brought out his weapon, aimed at nothing in particular but the darkness beyond, and looked down the sights. Only then did he move away from the doorway and forward towards the stairs. The entirety of the second floor was carpeted, therefore whomever had broken in, had not made it up yet. Unless they were incredibly quick.

Theo’s bare foot settled on the first step down, then the other foot followed the routine. He moved ever so delicately, weapon straight out and aimed wherever he was looking. Given the rest of the house was as dark as his room, Theo’s eyes were adjusting quite nicely. If there was so much as a peep, he would not have a problem hesitating to shoot whomever had dared break into his home.

A noise which sounded almost similar to that tickity tick tack of a dog's nails on the wood floor sounded around the base of the stairs, though heavier, more erratic, and it quickened in tempo before dying away as a small blue object came into sight, bouncing and rolling before coming to a stop just a foot or so from the last step. It shone brightly in the darkness of the home, casting its own light. Dimly. Eerily. Pulsing in and out ever so slightly. Rhythmically. As though it were alive and breathing.

There was no other sound.

No other movement.

Just the little blue orb at the end of the stairs.

Waiting.

[ 15 ]

"You think this is funny?!” Theo completed his descent down the stairs, sweeping the die away with the side of his foot. Despite his mostly calm demeanor, Theo was fearing something would go down. It was often the crazies lurking in the shadows that posed the biggest threat. “Quit it with your stupid games and get out of my house, NOW!”

His back to the wall, the homeowner eventually broke from the stairs and hurried to the hallway closet down the hall. Why in god’s name he would have a flashlight so inconveniently far from him for a moment just like this would surely need to be pondered in the near future. Theo opened the cabinet door and reached for the flashlight, turning in an instant to hopefully shine some light on this damn intruder.

There, standing just outside the closet door, was a tall, slender figure, dressed all in black with a hood pulled over their head. A mask covered their face, blank and coldly expressionless, the holes of the eyes nothing but black voids despite the light being shined upon them.

"Fifteen," they spoke, that layered multitude of voices holding an air of amusement and even surprise, "Luck is on your side, it would seem. You make your way safely through the darkness of your home, successfully managing to retrieve a torch from the closet so you may better face the intruder who looms near. Armed and ready, you set force to face the fiend, but oh, the fiend is facing you. Your luck is strong, the odds? Favorable. A roll of the die could change it all, so try not to cry when your fortune inevitably takes its fall."

In a blink, the figure was gone, a laugh sounding, echoing around the home and seeming to jump from one direction to another, as though the being were everywhere at once. The wind continued to howl outside, but other than that, no other sound could be heard. Not a foot step, not a creak of the floor. Nothing.

"A count to ten is of no need, brave hero," the voice spoke from one direction. Upstairs? It continued though and when it did it was from the kitchen, "Your target is ready, shout 'here I come!' Play along, brave hero, or you'll ruin the fun."

“Well what have we got here, a little demon action...” Theo jerked his weapon higher than hisself, aiming at nothing but thin air. Of course, tracking ‘em down was always the tricky part. He then turned on his heel, body covered in a thin layer of sweat which glistened from the brightness emanated by the flashlight. Theo had propped up his gun hand over the opposite one holding the flashlight as it’s what felt the most natural and comfortable, and what he had been trained to do.

Heading to the kitchen, the nearly naked man smirked. “You amuse me, you know that? Though here I come, you best get, while the going’s best...” Maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him, maybe not, but Theo could have sworn something just outside his field of vision dashed at him. Without taking a good look—the opposite of what he had been taught—he aimed his gun in that direction and fired two rounds, the deafening sound exploding through the otherwise quiet house.

The demon laughed, the sound jumping all around, and even, for a moment, right beside Theo, before jumping away once more to another part of the home, "Oh so close!" they crooned, "That's two lost, I wonder...how many more will this endeavor cost? You search through the dark with a light to your aid, searching for the creature infesting your home. Two shots ring out, an effort made, but alas, this fiend is still left to roam. A roll of the die, or a flip of the coin, two ways to alter your fate. Choose wisely, brave hero, and make up your mind, quickly now, before it's too late."

With the ringing fresh in his ear, Theo suddenly imagined what would have happened if Amanda had been home too, and his tone changed. “I’m done playing your damn game. You don’t step into my house and demand I do as you please. Come out, NOW!” He picked up the pace, shining the light at every corner and space.

"Ah ah ah," the demon sang, "I'm the Game Master here, and you are but a player in this epic tale. I set the scene, I write the plot, while you, my dear hero?" they laughed, "You just dangle on your sad little strings─oooh that slant rhyme, I'm getting better at this," another laugh and they got back on track, "Now, I'll make you a deal, brave little hero," they spoke smoothly, smugly, like someone who, were they to be playing poker in that moment, would be giving the biggest tell to the hand they held, "Take your pick from the two, the coin or the die. Do this, and for you, I will gladly comply."

For a flicker, the fiend appeared ahead of Theo in a hallway, laughing as they rushed at him in the light, vanishing just like that a moment before their collide. Two objects dropped onto a nearby table, a coin and a glowing blue die. The coin stood straight up on its narrow little side, while the die balanced unnaturally on a corner, neither object giving a proper read, as though both waiting for his decision.

He was ready to kill that motherfucker dead in his tracks, but he wasn't quick enough to pull the trigger on time. Another two rounds gone, four in total wasted at that. Theo had enough brains in his noggin to know his unwelcomed guest was relentlessly insistent to the point of driving him mad. But if he wanted to move things along...

'Fine," Theo spoke up with a sigh. He lowered his weapon and walked over to the table to free his hands. "Heads you leave my damn house, tails you can fuck off." A flick up in the air above him and Theo way watched as the coin eventually made its way back down.

The coin stopped.

Right there, in mid-air. Then it waggled as the demonic intruder spoke once more, its voice holding a sing-songy lightness to it as it said, "Cheaters never prosper, Theo," and with that, the coin flung itself at Theo's forehead at a speed so fierce the impact would surely hurt. The coin was gone then, racing down the hall and vanishing into the darkness.

The die remained.

"Old-fashioned methods it is then," the voice spoke once more, and the die moved on its own as it made a little hop before rolling along the table, "Anything over ten and I'll let you take another shot at me," they announced, "Just because I like you."

The die tumbled to a stop just before falling off the table and thrummed where it sat.

[ 10 ]

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

The voice laughed, hard, and then suddenly the being was right behind Theo, quickly shoving his shoulders and slamming his face-first against the wall, "You're lucky I'm feeling frisky tonight," they hummed, "Else I would have counted that as a fail. Granted...it's not a win either..." they laughed again and shoved him harder against the wall, a knee digging into the base of his spine as they pressed their full weight against him to pin him there, "Now then," they cleared their throat, "You attempt to outsmart the villain, but in the name of the game, your efforts do fail. In a twist of fate, you are faced with your foe dead-on, but with luck so weak, the fiend gains the upper hand, and you, brave hero, are left in a position quite bleak!"

"Fuck! You son of a—" Theo turned his face to the side, forcibly spitting out blood from his lip. His nose was also bleeding, though thankfully it wasn't broken. He struggled against his opponent momentarily to test out their technique but there certainly wasn't a lack of effort or strength pinning him in place.

"The only thing you got right is that I'm a hero..." With that, Theo snapped his head back in an attempt to catch them offguard and return the favor, simultaneously bringing his foot up to deliver a backwards blow to their knee. Filled with rage now, Theo used whatever strength he had to push his attacker off of him.

Amazingly, it worked. Theo's foot made direct contact with the attacker's knee, and they were easily thrown off as he shoved away from the wall. In fact, it was so effective that the demon was tossed to the floor. For a moment anyway... As soon as they hit the wood, the intruder rolled with the momentum, doing a simple backward somersault and popping back up on their feet in one swell motion. Standing there for just a moment, they made sure they had their balance, then focused their attention on Theo, blank face and hollow eyes turned directly on the man, "Not bad," they said, "You're more capable than I took you for."

A laugh, and then they rushed at him again, popping from view once more, though this time they merely blipped behind him and offered a firm sweep to his legs, flowing with the motion in a twirl only to throw another kick at his spine as they came back around.

"If it's a fight you want, brave hero, then it's a fight you'll get," they said, "Let's roll."

Landing awkwardly on his shoulder once the floor broke his fall, Theo couldn't help but groan in pain. The kick to his spine had gotten to him, sending painful jolts in all sorts of directions for a split second. He lay there momentarily, catching his breath. That is, until he made a fist and pounded once at the ground.

"You think I'm looking to fight?" Theo pulled himself off of the floor, somewhat weakly at first but then shaking it off. "I just want you dead, and I'm well within my rights to make that a reality." No warning, no nothing. Theo suddenly lunged at the masked stranger, his goal was to tackle them and begin pounding on their head. May not necessarily kill them right there and then, but at least he'd get some of his anger and frustration out of him.

The lack of warning on Theo's part was almost enough to catch the being off guard. Almost. A brush of fingertips against fabric was all Theo would get as the creature popped back, practically gliding on the air beneath their feet before they took a flourishing dive to sweep around the man once more. They laughed as they moved. Laughed at Theo's words, "'I'm well within my right to make that a reality,'" they mocked, "Careful, now, hero," there was a bright amusement to the choir of voices with came from the mask, "You're starting to sound like me," another laugh escaped them then as they awaited Theo's attack, seeming to be allowing the man to take another shot at them without offering one of their own.

"You fight your foe head-on," there went the narrating, "and you find them quite the trial. Quick and sharp, the beast escapes your grasp all the while. With laughs and mockery, this fiend shows their truest of hues, that you, my hero, are merely a toy to be used."

With that, they swept the die from the table and gave it another roll, tossing it with quite the show, hitting it in the air with one knee and then the other before letting it fly high in the air and drop once more. It tumbled and twirled before falling still, and the number on the top seemed to radiate from the etching itself.

[ 19 ]

"Man... You know what, I gotta give it to ya. You go on about me playing the game but then coward away from an actual hit." As he spoke, Leo casually made his way to the table where he had placed his gun with 8 remaining silver rounds. "I don't see the point in playing if one of us is always cheating, right?" He wiped his nose clean from the fresh blood with the back of his hand, or at least attempted to. "So I'm wondering, it's only fair if we even the playing field, right? You are so capable, teleporting from one spot to the next, or disappearing from sight within an instant..."

Being close enough, Theo reached for the weapon and in one swift move, turned around while bringing up the sights to fire a few more rounds at the figure across from him.

"Cheating?" the demon questioned the word and laughed, "My good, sir, there is nothing in the rules of this game which forbids one from using their natural abilities. It is no fault of mine that you are merely human. A demon does as a demon does, while fantastical to you, my power is all my own. Innante. Instinctive, even. As ordinary as your ability to fight as you do. A practiced skill learned well over time. That you can not best these strengths is no reason to whine."

They were monologuing. Fitting, for one so full of themself. Their monologuing had them distracted, though, and they were not as fast to act as they had been before when Theo took his shots. They dodged, but only managed to escape the first two shots, the third hitting them clear in the knee, and a forth in the shoulder as they stumbled at the initial hit. They hissed, growling fiercely as they stumbled to the ground, a white-gloved hand going to each wound. Blood too dark of a red to be human soaked into the white fabric of the creature's gloves and it growled lowly, "You son of a bitch. Just for that, I'm going to make sure that your run through that blasted labyrinth is one that surely won't be forgotten any time soon."

They rose, unsteadily, and grunted as they put weight on their bad leg, "Damn," they muttered, "Gonna have to wait on that one..." Shifting their weight to their good leg, they set their hollow gaze on the hunter, head cocking to one side as they took on a loose and cynical stance as they continued to speak with indifference, "Alright, hero," they started, raising their arms up to the sides, "You got me. Can't hop around with this damned silver embedded in me, so I guess you got your wish, hm? Playing field is fair. Now what? Hm? Gonna shoot me again?" they questioned, then flicked their wrist and as they did, Theo's gun was tugged from his hands and flung down the hall, "I don't think that'd be quite fair, do you? You wanna dance, right? I may be down to one good leg, but let's fucking dance, I'm ready."

Snapping their fingers, they summoned the die and tossed it between the two of them. It bounced and rolled as always, dancing in a way to a beat all its own, before spinning to a stop smack dab in the middle of the space separating the two forms. It glowed and thrummed just as always, breathing, as it may well have been, and the golden etching on the top panel pulsed as it emphasized the result.

[ 8 ]

"Oof," they clicked their tongue at that and gave a low laugh, "Low roll, not looking good for you, hero. Do you still wish to proceed? I wouldn't blame you if you backed down now. You just got two shots of silver in on a demon and I'm still standing. Still strong enough to fight a pitiful creature like you. Do you really think you stand a chance against a fiend like me?"

Theo smirked as soon as he saw the demon's blood. May have not outright killed them, but he sure inflicted some damage, and that was a good start for him. Ever the chatterbox going on across from him, Theo planned his next move in his head, though there weren't many options left for him, not when his firearm was ripped from his grasp.

"Why stop now? The fun's just getting started." Theo eyed either wound... It was something at least. Keeping an eye on the demon, his back never turned to them, Theo stepped back to reach one of the kitchen drawers. He pulled it open and reached for a silver-plated knife, wrapping his hand around the handle first but then sliding his grip down to the sharp tip. Hoping luck was on his side, Theo studied them for a moment then aimed and threw the knife at his opponent, the weapon spinning menacingly in their direction. wasting no time as he then charged at the demon, aiming for a head-splitting punch.

They ducked quickly at the approach of the knife, turning to watch it embed itself in the wall behind them, and then laughing as they turned. A comment was cut short as they turned back to see Theo charging at them, and instead, all that escaped them was a soft, "Oh shit," as they rushed to move out of the way. They fumbled as weight went on their injured knee and gave another curse, stumbling forward and tumbling to their uninjured knee as they caught themself with their good arm.

"Crap," they muttered, before quickly getting back to their feet and making an effort to dash across the kitchen, supporting themself on nothing but air as they seemed to skate on the hardwood flooring. They ended up at the back door near some broken glass surrounding a piece of furniture there, the unconscious body of Theo's dog, Brutus lying among the debris. Interestingly, they took a moment to give the animal a small pet, even seeming to ensure the little terrier was still breathing, nodding once they saw the animal's chest rise and fall a few times in a natural rhythm, before turning their attention back to Theo.

"Fine, fine," they growled, "You don't wanna give up while you're ahead? We'll just keep this up then and hope I don't kill you before you even step foot in the dungeon." Cracking their neck to either side and rolling out their shoulders, they straightened back up to their full height. It wasn't seven feet like some of the stories said, but, it was impressive enough. With a deep breath, they tilted their head once more and let out a short sharp laugh before speaking once more, "Blessed by the gods, you manage to strike the beast. Once. Twice. Though two more bullets were wasted in the process, the demon is injured, and you seem to have it on the run. But oh! The fiend still fights. OH! The fiend still moves too quick for you to conquer. In their attempts to escape your attacks, the creature soon lands at the scene of the first crime upon entering your home. You see your poor pooch. Lying there. Seemingly lifeless. Could this beast of a being be so cruel? You hate to think about it, but the sight is right there! 'An ultimatum,' the beast projects, 'A life, for a life.' How much can a man love his dog? How much can a human care for their animal? Is it worth it? Surely, surely, hero, if you are as skilled as you believe yourself to be, you can give your life for that of your hound, and trek the dungeons to once more face me."

"Brutus!" He knew how much Amanda cared for her dog. He remembered when she had first brought him home, it was a rainy and cold Saturday afternoon. Amanda was soaking wet from head to toe, but inside her blue rain jacket was a trembling little thing covered in hazelnut brown and black fur. The expression on Amanda's face had been priceless. She knew how he had argued against having any animal in the house, a dog included. But what were they supposed to do with the pup now other than to take him in?

Brutus had indeed brought on numerous arguments between the couple, but looking at him now, lying unconscious on the ground and unaware of what was going on, Theo couldn't help but feel extremely bad for the dog. Amanda considered him her baby, at least until they had a child of their own. That's what she would say any way. Theo pleaded with the demon, on arm outstretched as he crouched protectively to pick up the small dog. "Let me bring him inside, please..."

With that, Theo picked up Brutus and walked him in. Stepping away from underneath the glow of the outside light, Theo saw the perfect opportunity. On the wall, hanging next to the door leading to the back patio, was a small cross. Theo wasn't the overly religious type, but he wasn't opposed to Amanda's idea of comfort in that manner. Having gently placed Brutus down next to the refrigerator, Theo grabbed the cross before the demon could see him.

"I warned you, get the fuck out of my house!" Theo lunged at the demon, placing the cross against their chest as they both fell to the ground from the impact. But Theo wouldn't budge, using all his strength to keep them pinned down.

The demon was thrown back from the sudden attack, grunting and growling at their impact with the ground. After a moment to recover, they moved a hand to reach for the object held against their chest, fingers tracing the shape of it for a moment before they laughed, "Oh my fucking hell," they burst, "You're an amateur," they laughed harshly, then ripped the cross from Theo's grasp with an unnataural stregth and swung it hard, driving the end of it into the side of Theo's head before shoving the man to the side and rolling over to land on top of him. Another hit. And then another. They rammed the cross into whatever side of his head they could get and continued to laugh, "Do you believe in fairies too, hero? Not everything you see in media is true, you know!" they continued to beat him senseless, showing absolutely no mercy as they just laughed and laughed, a wicked, malicious, and horrible sound with the different voices all lacing together in a wild cacophony of sadistic glee.

The first impact knocked Theo off his senses, his head throbbing as he barely registered being pushed onto his back. The onslaught that followed didn't do him no favors. Theo made the attempt to stop the demon by putting his hands up, but they wouldn't stop.

As it turns out, Amanda wasn't needed no more. Her coworker had returned from vacation a day early and so she was sent home. The young woman had seen the ruckus from a distance. Having not said a peep, she reached for a gun in her purse. It was Theo who'd convinced her to stay armed since she was working the night shift and traveled alone for quite some distance.

With a trembling hand, Amanda aimed the weapon at her boyfriend's attacker. "Step away from him, I'm not asking twice..."

At her voice, the demon stopped their onslaught and looked over towards Amanda, any expression they had completely hidden by the mask that had somehow, somehow, remained in place all this time. For a moment, that was it, just them looking toward the woman. Then they laughed and gripped the cross tighter as they moved to climb off of Theo, getting back to their feet with a careful stance to stay off of their injured knee, "Player two enters the scene," they mused, "Now things are really getting interesting."

They cracked their neck again and rolled their shoulders once more before giving a heavy sigh, "You arrive home earlier than expected and find your boyfriend being mercilessly beaten by a wicked intruder and blah blah blah, fuck I'm tired," they huffed, shoulders dropping then, "Let's just roll," and with that, the die popped out of nowhere and fell to the floor, chaotically making its way to a stop by Amanda's feet.

Calla lily.

"Damn, tough luck," the villain snorted, and then the tiny pistol was ripped from Amanda's hands, flying straight to the demon's grasp where they quickly took shot and fired. Nothing fatal, or even all that damaging for that matter. In fact, the beast had purposely only grazed her. It would still hurt, for sure, but they seemed to find enjoyment in that fact, "That flower there actually has a name, you know," they said casually, "I call her Karma," with a laugh, they turned their masked face to Theo as they finished with, "She's a real bitch, huh?"

Amanda didn't have time to react or attempt to save herself. Once the gun went off, she gripped her arm as she cursed under her breath, turning away from the demon and behind him, Theo. Her purse dropped to the ground as a result, but thankfully, when she took a peek at where she'd been hit, Amanda noticed it wasn't nothing a few stitches couldn't fix. Had they missed on purpose?

Theo, on the other hand, had the bigger scare. "Amanda!" his head and face were bloodied, blurring his vision, and he barely had the strength to get to his feet. In face, he barely made it to his knees, one arm outstretched as a tear escaped his left eye.

As the ringing in her ear dissipated, she heard his voice. "Theo!" The young woman wasn't seeing anything else right now other than her boyfriend. In fact, not even the demon itself registered in her brain as she rushed to be by Theo's side.

Surprisingly, the demon actually took a few careful steps to the side as Amanda approached, giving her space to kneel down by Theo's side. Absently, they turned their attention to the pistol in their hands, looking it over with their blank-mask expression. Dramatic as this fiend was, they hated soap opera drama, but they had enough respect to allow the couple their time together before ending it all. After a few moments of giving the two their scene, the intruder flipped the gun in their hold so they were gripping the barrel and pat it a couple of times in their other hand. It wasn't much, but it would do.

Clearing their throat to interrupt the couple, they said, "Hi, yeah, masked killer? Still in the room? I think it's time we finish this little show up, don't you?" It was a rhetorical question though as they took no time to await an answer, and instead swung the butt of the gun hard, first to the back of Amanda's head, relishing in the horror it surely inflicted on the man beside her, "With your savior knocked cold, you lay helplessly on the floor. All your efforts have been for naught, and you realize this fight was never about win or lose. No, brave hero, there was never actually a path to choose. From the start of this brawl, you realize now, you had already lost it all."

One final blow, and that was it.

Lights out.

[Baphomini]

{ This post serves as a holder for a collab in progress between Baphomini and HatLordAve as a means to allow the story to continue forward until a cover of the encounter can be shared in a cleaner flow }

[Baphomini]

FALCON NEWS INTERVIEW ARCHIVES

April 5th, 20xx -- 8:15 PM

Interview with Patrick Seabird on the topic of The Game of Masters web series

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

Patrick Seabird: [...] and that's how I bested the [bleep] and escaped the labyrinth.

Alissa Fortune: Wow! That's really quite the story, Pat, you certainly had a remarkable experience. The fact that you live to tell the tale is truly impressive.

Patrick Seabird: Yeah, it's just a [bleep]-ing shame I didn't get the chance to gut that [bleep] in his own torture chamber. If I had another chance, I'd take it in a heartbeat.

Alissa Fortune: Wait, are you saying you'd be willing to go back in that place?

Patrick Seabird: [bleep] [bleep]-ing yeah, I'd go back in! You think that [bleep] scares me now? After I already bested the [bleep] at his own game? (Seabird laughs) Please, I [bleep]-ing challenge that putz to come at me another time! (Seabird turns to look directly into the camera) You hear that, Game Master? I challenge you to come get me for another round! In fact, I'll even make it easy for you. After Jerry's run, when the moon is full and you're lookin' to hunt, you can come find me at Miss Scarlet's Mystery Motel in Olde Town. I'll come back to Fortehaven just for you. So go ahead! Give me a second run! I'll take you down just like before, and more, just you see. I promise you it won't be a run to forget.

Alissa Fortune: O-okay! Um, w-well that's all the time we have left. Th-thank you, Mr. Seabird, a-and um, g-good luck with...wh-whatever that just was...n-now to Misty Vale with the weather!

---

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

[ NO VACANCY ]

The parking lot to Miss Scarlet's Mystery Motel was all but abandoned, with only a few cars being present. Despite this, the sign below the main marquee for the establishment showed the words 'no vacancy' burning brightly in large, red letters. The front office was left empty, with not an employee in sight, though the lights all remained on. A simple sign was left on the front desk.

[ Out to eat, be back in 15 mins ]

Yet anyone who had been watching the motel that night would know that the sign had been there for hours. In the back office, a team of investigators sat watching a set up of screens, silently observing the images displayed before them. The parking lot at three different views, just outside the office, both sides of the property, the back lot by the dumpsters at two different angles, and then one singular room in five different shots to show every possible angle and every corner, including the bathroom.

A man sat in the room that was being shown, casually resting on one of the queen-sized beds and watching a B-tier, black and white horror film on the old T.V. set on top of a dresser. Glancing at the time displayed on the old alarm clock positioned on a nightstand between the two beds, the man let out a sigh and lifted a finger to his ear, "Seabird to Foxhole, how much longer are we gonna be sitting here?"

Back in the office one of the investigators spoke into a microphone, "Just keep your post, Seabird. The Game Master could show any moment now. We all need to be ready, especially you."

"It's practically morning," the man in the room argued, "He ain't fucking coming. I told you this plan was doomed to fail, and did anyone fucking listen to me? No."

"Can it, Seabird," the lead investigator responded, "We're not dropping this until it's done. There's still plenty of time before morning for the GM to make an appearance, and we're not gonna pass that up just yet. So I suggest you make another coffee, sit back, and shut up because if you fuck this up, I swear you'll be living on the streets by next round, and if the GM doesn't try to grab you now, he'll certainly grab you when you're no more than a file in our books. Got it?"

"Ma'am yes ma'am," Seabird rolled his eyes but saluted the camera all the same, then got up off the bed to walk over to a dinky little coffee bar in one corner of the room. Selecting a pod, he inserted it into the single-cup brewer, set his mug in place, pressed a button, and waited as a stream of dark brown liquid began to pour. Bored eyes watched the last few drops drip, before he took the cup and headed over to the window overlooking the parking lot.

Patrick looked over the empty lot, searching the shadows between the warm glow of lights dotting the perimeter, before letting his gaze travel beyond the property line of the motel, "Hey, director?" he spoke after a moment, "How's the perimeter looking to you guys?"

"Uneventful, why?" the woman replied.

"Just...got a feeling, I guess..." Patrick replied, "We got anyone posted by any of the surrounding buildings?"

The woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "We couldn't get the warrants cleared in time to take up post anywhere else," she told him, "What's going on, Seabird, do you see something?"

"Negative," Patrick responded, "Lighting fucking sucks out there, most I can see is your shitty ass car--you know you're taking up two parking spaces?"

"Please try to stay on task, Seabird, and do watch that mouth of yours."

"Just saying," Patrick said with a shrug.

There was silence for a while, and then finally the woman responded again, "I'll send Carter and Vargas out to check over the surrounding area. You just keep on sitting pretty and we'll let you know if anything changes, alright?"

With a nod Patrick turned away from the window and headed back to the bed, "Affirmative," he responded, pausing before adding, "and thanks...I'll be able to rest a little more easy knowing that there's less of a chance for any surprises."

"We got you, Seabird, don't worry."

"Easier said than done, honestly, but I trust you, director. We'll get this fucker. One way or another..."

A short, dark figure stood in the shadows between two buildings across the way from Miss Scarlet's, hollow gaze set on the brightly-lit building across the street. A white mask was all that could be seen in the darkness, the figure being cloaked all in black, white-gloved hands being tucked away into pockets unseen. The being had stood there for some time, studying the establishment. With a light inhale and a sigh, the figure took a step forward, followed by another, slowly making their way towards the end of the alley.

...scff scff...

...dumbadum...

...tuk...tuk...tuk...

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

The figure was brought to a hault at the sudden commotion behind them and stood stone still, listening as a voice spoke out of the darkness, "I wouldn't."

Slowly, the entity turned to look back, masked face settling on the sight of a man standing further back in the alley. Seemingly cautiously, the Game Master spoke in return, their overlaying voice remaining calm though their stance was tight, "Wouldn't what?" they questioned.

"Go there," the green-eyed man responded bluntly, "Go after Seabird? It's a trap, you know. There's investigators all over that place, and Seabird is one of them. They did this to draw you out."

"I know," the Game Master responded simply, then tilted their head, "Why would you tell me this?"

For a moment, there was no answer, then with a confident step forward, the man spoke, "Username summersEND, known as August Sarton. She was a player in your game about three years ago. She went in looking to bring your reign of terror to an end, and she almost made it. She should have made it. She beat the labyrinth. She defeated the fiend. Then? You made one last roll. A roll to determine how far along the poison has spread. Calla lily. She died. She won. But she died. And all because you made a roll that wasn't even necessary. You killed her. The people who fell in the dungeon. They died. But her...you killed her. Why? Why did you even do it?"

The Game Master was silent, watching him, still frozen where they stood. Eventually, they turned their masked face downward and let out a soft sigh, "Continuity," they explained shortly, "It was for continuity."

"Fucking bullshit!" he snapped, "You knew why she was there! You knew what her goal was. You knew you couldn't let her leave with all the information she had on you after going along with your sadistic-ass game! You made that roll because it was your only chance to protect yourself. Admit it!"

Silence again as the Game Master shifted their stance, then raised their head to look at the man once more, "You didn't come here to yell at me, Emmett," they spoke slowly, "So let's do what needs to be done." With that, they began to pull their hand from their pocket, a glimpse of blue shining in their fingertips.

Emmett stepped forward, reaching into his own pocket, "Actually," he said, bringing the Game Master to a stop, "I brought my own," he pulled out a simple black and grey, marbled die and held it up for the other being to see, then added, "If you don't mind, that is."

The Game Master tilted their head, slipping their hand back into their pocket and gave a hum, "Amusing..." they commented, "Very well, I'll allow it. Roll for initiative."

Taking a moment to grip the die in his hand and give a silent plea, Emmett tossed the object lightly, sending it bouncing up the alley toward the Game Master. The Game Master stepped toward the die as it came to a stop and looked down at it.

[ 16 ]

"Sixteen," the Game Master announced as they pinched the die and brought it into their grasp. They gave it a little shake in their palm, then let it drop to the pavement and awaited its stop.

[ 14 ]

"Fourteen," they read again, nodding respectfully, then scooped the die back in their hand and straightened back up, "In a dark alley, you come across a fiend planning their next act. For reasons unclear, you warn this monster of one simple fact. Privy, already, the demon does not fear, for you see, wise hero, the target is right here. You let out your heart on the villain you can't even blame, searching for reasons to hate them much greater by name. You challenge the foe, thinking luck on your side, briming with vengeance for a love who has died. Yes hero, I know of your sad little tale, but don't get wrapped up or surely you'll fail. Now you hold the drive, yes, you get first hit, to face of this beast and show off your wit. So think now, wise hero, take your time, no rush, I'll give you a moment as I finally hush."

Patiently, Emmett listened to the Game Master speak, watching them all the while as they moved their hands in various motions, dramatically emphasizing their words and putting on a grand display as though an audience were already watching. He gave little reaction to their reveal that he had been their target all along. A part of him knew it, before he'd even approached. He doubted the Game Master had actually been after the investigator across the street. The villain was too smart to fall for such a trap. Cocky, perhaps, and full of themself, no doubt, but definitely not reckless enough to fall for the trick. All this, he knew, which led him to think that the Game Master must be there for somebody else, though he had to admit, he might not have thought it would be himself, had he not been knowing walking into a trap of his own creation.

Emmett took his time as he thought through his options. He had his gun in a holster over his shoulder, but was that the right move? He could charge at the beast, but what would that do? Flexing his fingers, Emmett considered it all. Then, finally, he let out a soft breath like a laugh and shook his head with a smile, "This fight is rigged," he said simply, "There's nothing I can do to take you out here. The story is already written, isn't it? We face off, but in the end you reign supreme, then it's off to your dungeon, the same old regime."

With a cock of their head, the Game Master gave a light little laugh, "Not a bad rhyme," they paused, then tilted their head the other way as they continued, "I must say, you do pique my interest. Then again...maybe I'm biased..." straightening back up, they shook out their stiffness, then went on to say, "You choose not to fight, with a heart so contrite. You long for a trial, refuse to sit idle. So you ask of the beast..."

As the Game Master trailed off they motioned to Emmett to speak, and for a moment he wasn't quite sure what to say, but after some thought, and a tilt of his head, he spoke the words as though they were placed there instead, "I seek out your dungeon, I long for a run. For myself to redeem...or to fall to the fiend..."

"With a smile unseen, your foe gives a laugh, here's to your dream, and to a well-written epitaph."

With that, the Game Master dropped Emmett's die and let it roll once more. It bounced only twice, then stuck right in place, displaying a number that was rarely seen in true.

[ 1 ]

---

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

As the morning approached, the director soon pulled away from her watch of the surveillance screens, giving a heavy sigh and running her fingers back through her hair as she got up from her spot and started to pace around the small office. Other investigators glanced at the woman, but no one said a word, and not one of them made a move to intercept her. After a while, she stopped, looking to one of them as she spoke, "What's the word from Carter and Vargas?"

"No response, ma'am," the investigator responded, "It's been radio silence for about half an hour now."

"And you didn't think to mention this?" the director questioned, "There's a cold-blooded killer out there, Nielsen!"

The investigator shrunk back in his seat and gave no defense.

The director huffed and pointed at the radio, "Try again. And don't stop until you get ahold of one of them, got it?"

With a nod, the man took the radio in hand and began calling for the two who had been sent to search the perimeter.

Meanwhile, the director walked back over to the screens and took a look at one of the ones showing the room where Patrick was. Seeing the man by the window again, she spoke into the mic once more, "What's the news, Seabird? I could really use a positive update right about now."

On the screen, the man shifted, lifting his fingers to his ear again as he leaned against the side of the window frame, "Sorry, I ain't got nothing here. Haven't had anything happen out of place all night. No movement, no sound, nothing but that damned cockroach earlier. As much as I've been on edge all night, I'm really starting to think he ain't comin'-- oh hold up," he shifted to take a better look out the window, "I see something," he paused and the director held her breath as she waited for him to continue. When he did though, she simply let out a sigh of annoyance, "Nah, just Carter and Vargas," Patrick muttered, "Looks like they're headin' your way. Keep me in touch, and lemme know when I can come down."

"Will do, Seabird, and thank you. Stand by for now, and don't let your guard down just yet. We still have a while til sunrise."

Leaving the man to his duty, the director turned her attention to the office door as two other investigators walked in, shuffling and twitching, fidgeting where they stood. "Where in God's name have you two been?" she questioned them sternly.

One of them looked at her a moment, before looking away once more, and then the other spoke without even glancing over, "Seabird was right," he told her, "That freak was on to us from the start."

"What happened, Vargas?" the director pressed.

Vargas shifted anxiously, scratching at his head furiously in a nervous tick before responding shortly, "Lured us into an alley. Across the street. Cornered us at a dead end... I...I-i've never seen someone move that fast, it was...unnatural...took our radios and weapons before we even knew what was happening...but..." he trailed off.

"But what?" the director pressed again, "Out with it, man!"

It was Carter who spoke next, looking to the director with large eyes, "The Game Master..." he started, "He...it didn't attack us, not really, that thing...that creature...it just...asked us to pass on a message..."

The director watched the two men, taking note of their obvious state of fear, and tried to be more gentle as she pushed them to continue, "Well," she said, coaxing them lightly, "What was the message?"

Vargas reached into a pocket and pulled out what looked like a business card, holding it out to the woman as he spoke, "The Game Master didn't trust us to get the right... cadence? But um...ma'am?" he questioned hesitantly.

"What is it, Vargas?" the director questioned softly as she took the card.

The man hesitated, seeming like he was going to back out of whatever he was going to say, but then finally he spoke, locking eyes with the woman as he did, "The Game Master," he started again, "It...it mentioned you by name..."

The director stared at him a moment then shook her head, "Impossible," she said, then looked down at the card to read what it said.

Greetings, Director Mullens, hello from a foe.
On top of it all, I wish you a happy tomorrow!
The sun soon will be rising as you read this note,
And I would be lying to say I'm not one to gloat.
You made your best effort, with a plan well thought through,
But alas, while no one was hurt, my dastardly deeds still were made true.
No, Seabird is fine, he's safe and he's sound,
Nothing but bait I chose to decline, for a much better hero was to be found.
Young Emmett Diemaco! A hero if ever there be!
He entered this fiasco, knowing the faults you couldn't see.
Yes, the curtain now draws, with the end of a scene,
So we'll put this on pause, as I take to the screen.
But fear ever not, for our feud is not done.
A battle was fought, but the war was not won.
─ The Game Master

-- End Episode 1 --

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

[Baphomini]

{ ♪ ~ ♫ ~ ♪ }

• • •

Darkness...

A void much blacker than night...

Empty...

Silent...

Weightless and cold...

And then back to black...

The echo of fighting...

A cacophony rings...

The laughter...the voices...the cries of all things...

The nightmares rolled on, flashing in scenes. A woman running through a parking structure. A barista flinging a tin full of salt. Another individual took a rather nasty fall. Then a gunshot rang out. A fire burst through the void. The flames soon swept away, and a dog could be heard. The barking cut off, in a sad little whine. Then more shots broke out. Two and then four, then one more, then none. A woman cried out, then a man, in return. So many voices, and so many sights, all overlapping, each but a blip, breaking the darkness, before fading away. The story then settled on a dark lonely alley, where a man was faced off against a known fiend. They exchanged only words, respectful and calm. Then away they both faded, same as the rest. The darkness returned, and silence once more took hold, until that choir of voices once more broke through...

Awaken, my heroes, break from your slumber.
Arise now, dear heroes, and try to remember.
An encounter, a hunt or a brawl.
A masked figure, who brought you to fall.
A fiend or a beast, you choose the label.
However it's said, will not change this fable.

You walked the path that set forth this tale.
Now it's up to you, brave heroes, to complete without fail.

Take in your surroundings, survey the scene.
A bed, a nightstand, a lamp, you know the routine.
Escape from your prison is the first act to take.
Search through your room, for some way to break.

But! Hold now, what's this?
You notice...something's amiss.
What was just said?
A twist was impled.

Heroes, a plural, but how could it be?
Look down to your wrist and note what you see.
A symbol, a marking, so bright and so true.
A red one, a black one, green, yellow, and blue.

Your soul has been bound.
Three others around.
Your tales to be shared together as one.
Quadruple the odds increases the fun!

But where are the rest?
To find them is the test.
So make your first move.
Have you nothing to prove?

Make your escape.
Let your quest take its shape.
Hunt down your crew.
With them, you'll make it through.

---

~ • ~ • ~

Mossy green eyes watched the ceiling through the darkness as the Game Master spoke out their rhyme. While the entity spoke, Emmett took note of what he could see through the shadows of the little room. A glowing red dot floated just above him, close to the wall. A camera, he was sure. Another just like it was across the way to his left, positioned just above another colorful glow. A blue rectangle, and a grid of symbols he could just make out as numbers. A keypad. There was no doubt there. His eyes were adjusted enough to the darkness for the glow of the panel to provide sufficient light to take in the rest of the room. The bed, the nightstand, and of course the lamp as they were mentioned, but he could also make out the shape of a desk across from the end of the bed, as well as something tall and shelf-like in the corner. Sitting up slowly, he reached for the lamp but stopped as he did, taking in the fact that he was in completely different clothing than when he had faced the Game Master in the alley. It was nothing new, really, standard for the 'show' as any avid watcher would know. Still, it was a little disorienting to be the one in such a position. His t-shirt and jeans were swapped for a tunic and simple trousers, and his combat boots were switched with some flimsy, leathery, lace-up things straight out of a medieval tale. His jacket and holster were long gone, gun, of course, included, along with his phone, keys, wallet, and anything else he had held on him. Nothing but the clothes on his back, and even those weren't really his.

Brushing it off, he pulled on the chain for the lamp. Once. Twice. Nothing. Then he reached to feel that the bulb was missing. Of course, he thought with a huff, Why did I think it'd be that simple? Shaking his head, Emmett got to his feet and began to search the room as the Game Master rambled on. Somehow he had misjudged how much the entity talked during these things...

Down on his knees, Emmett opened the top drawer on the nightstand, giving a triumphant laugh as a lightbulb rolled forward, "Bingo," he said, then grabbed the bulb and got back to his feet to twist it into place. The light flickered as he screwed it in, then steadied out as he got the thing fully into the socket. With the warm light flooding the room, Emmett was able to take things in far more easily.

He took note of an apple and a water bottle set neatly on the nightstand, though chose to ignore them as he turned to look around the room in further detail. He stopped though as something the Game Master said caught his more direct attention, and turned his gaze to the camera by the door.

"Look down to your wrist and note what you see."

As instructed, Emmett looked down to his wrist, the right one first, but seeing nothing, he looked to the left, his dominant hand, as it were, and stared at the emerald green clover inked into his skin, "Mother fucker..." he muttered, then looked back up to the camera and held up his wrist, "This better not be permanent!" he called, knowing full well that the fiend could hear him. When there was no response, he spat another curse, then huffed and turned to get back to the obvious task at hand. The first puzzle was always the same, it was essentially a tutorial, giving the player a glimpse of the types of puzzles to come.

Without any hesitance, he stepped up on the bed, and reached up to the clock hanging under the camera above it. Pulling it down off the wall, he turned it over and dropped to sit on the bed, before opening the back of it. He stopped, though when all that was there were gears and cogs, and blinked a couple of times.

"Oh, my wise hero, do not be so bold, surely you knew, that when it came you, I would for sure break the mold," the Game Master's voice sounded in his room then, actually causing him to jump, and he looked at the camera again, as if it made a difference.

Tossing the clock to the end of the bed, Emmett gave a huff and got back to his feet, "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, knowing that he was the only one out of whoever else was about that could hear the fiend speak in that moment, "I got it. Change up the game for the guy who's studied every run. I'll give you credit, Game Master, you sure are full of surprises. What made you decide to pull off this little Battle Royale anyways? Killing one person at a time not enough for you anymore?"

The Game Master laughed, then simply replied, "A milestone like this deserves a round of high cheers, it's not very often one makes it five years. Though I will admit, there's truth in your query, the same old routine has drove me quite weary. So I broke from my box and forged a new line of epochs. A change of the game, more fitting to the name. The rules are revised, leaving you quite surprised. Good luck with your quest, truly, I wish you the best, and remember, wise hero, you chose this show."

Emmett continued to scowl at the camera for a moment after the Game Master cut out, then grumbled and muttered to himself as he continued his search of the room.