“Gameshow time!”

  A voice roared out.

  A tall lanky pale man with a microphone, dressed in a monochrome but polka-dot tuxedo chimed. His thick grey bowtie tingling at his collar as his stained lemon teeth curved into a smile. Slick back sable hair as his pure white eyes stared at the crowd before him.

  A peanut gallery of trillions of people, trillions of eyes laid on the man as he stood in the centre of the silver stage: rows of five chairs and a black table on each side as the host had a blaring broad screen behind him, stating.

  The World is Yours.

  “Welcome to the intermission! I am your host, Stygian Falcone! But you can only call me, Mister Falcone and this is the hit gameshow, ‘The Woooorld iss Yoooours!’. Oh ho nyo!” Mister Falcone propped up his shoulders, closing his eyes as the crowd erupted.

  Chanting of cries, screams and.

  Tears?

  “In this gameshow for any of you newbies watching! We get people from the worlds in Omalga to participate in this game.

  Game of what?Memory game or also just a simple interview! Each side as you see has five seats. Ten players per round and the winner gets nothing! I mean after this game, they aren’t gonna wanna remember anything— so I’ll grant that only wish.

  Oh and yes. The deceased can of course come back! This isn’t reality afterall!

  Each contestant will go in a turn, reminded of their actions throughout their lifetime and then see if they can handle the guilt!

  Bring out.

  The guilt hammer!”

  Mister Falcone stepped out of the way of the centre.

  VROOOM.

  A speeding iron mallet flung past him the moment he moved. His smile never dissipating as his eyes was intently focused on the crowd. The iron hammer fading away from sight as it recoiled back into the ceiling.

  “Oh ho nyo!” Mister Falcone chuckled as he walked back into the centre— a large black star on the floor he stood, “Daring aren’t we! That’ll leave a mark wouldn’t you say.”

  “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA YOU ARE SO FUNNY FALCONE! LET US LIVE!”

  A member from the crowd screamed, his body shot up from the velvet purple seats as his quaking body laid on the man.

  “Oh ho nyo! Thank you for your words kind sir! But I did say only refer to me as, ‘Mister Falcone’. It’s not that hard.” Mister Falcone shook his head, releasing a finger gun with his right hand.

  “Mister Falcone please! Not Jae, he’s done nothing wrong!” A woman shot up beside him, clutching onto the young man as he trembled.

  “Oh ho nyo!” Mister Falcone chuckled, “BANG!”

  (Oh ho nyo = oh ho knie yo) = The screen flashed.

  The body of the man stiffened.

  Then collapsed into the chair as a sea of red liquid oozed from his forehead.

  The crowd laughed?

  “Oh ho nyo! The only round commences! Now time to bring in our set of contestants for the left side! Bring out, the spin-a-majigy!” Mister Falcone raised both his hands in the sky, stepping back as the star shot up a roulette with five bars.

  A bright pink lever on the red casing as he gripped onto the handle and gave it a strong flick.

  Spinning.

  Spinning.

  Visages of faces.

  The first bar set.

  “Nil Aries.” A robotic voice synthesised from the roulette.

  The second bar set.

  “Dara Sepers.”

  The third bar set.

  “Roxanne Martinez.”

  The fourth bar set.

  “James Patel.”

  The fifth and final left side candidate was….

  “Zorc.”

  Out of nowhere in those five left seats, they were filled with the candidates. All healthy from the apperances they had when they were still alive.

  A mermaid, a teenage girl in a lab coat, a blonde teen in a cowboy outfit, a handsome white-haired boy wearing a dark purple hat and an orc dressed in white ribbons.

  “Where the fuck?” Nil’s eyes darted around before landing back on Dara beside her, “What did you do! Why am I here?”

  “I don’t get it! Didn’t I kill you! The world ended why am I here?” Dara spat.

  “The world what?” Roxanne tilted her head, “Wait! Why am I alive? Didn’t I drink da darn poison?”

  “I honestly don’t know what your on about. I remember seei—”

  “Who cares what you saw pretty boy! I was fighting the Seventh Saint and now I am transported in this?” Zorc tried to rise from the chair but, a crimson seatbelt strapped along everyone’s chest. “DARE TOUCH SUBLIMITY LIKE THIS?”

  “Oh ho nyo! Look at their faces, their so confused!” Mister Falcone turnt his head to the left side, giggling. A seal of duct tape was formed across all their mouths from the seatbelt as he turned back to the roulette.

  “Let us see the selection for the nexters!”

  The lever sprang back up again, to be slammed back into spinning.

  Spinning.Spinning.

  The visages of faces.

  The first bar was set.

  “Pollux Wilson.”

  The second bar was set.

  “Hecate.”

  The third bar was set.

  “Shadowy Head.”

  The fourth bar was set.

  “Adolla the Madness also known as Avarie.”

  The fifth and final bar of round one set….

  “Felix Nightingale.”

  “Oh yes! What a interesting selection is it not?” Mister Falcone flung his arms behind his head, cheer.

  Out of nowhere in those five right seats, they were filled with the candidates. All healthy from the apperances they had when they were still alive.

  A teenage androgynous person in a wizard attire, a brown skinned woman dressed in a golden trench-coat, a pitch black humanoid figure, a blonde naked man in jewels and a man with flowing white hair dressed in a blue suit.

  “Was I not with the Lord?” Pollux spoke softly as he looked around.

  Bright noir pillars glew beside him.

  “Pollux Wilson of Floria enlighten me of where I am right now.” Hecate scoffed.

  “I have no idea myself, I’m in the same boat as you.”

  “Right as we were discussing on how to kill Samiel!” Felix spat, he then faced forward and saw Dara gagged.

  “What in the hell is going on here?”“Kill Samiel? Was it something I did?” Adolla sniggered.

  “Who are you? Wait— aren’t you Avarie?” Hecate sighed, “Oh what have you done to the worlds.”

  “I doomed them!”

  “Who is this individual right beside me?” Felix turned to stare at the Shadowy Head.

  It wasn’t a head.

  It had purple insignas forming around it’s body.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Adolla tapped his chin, “Perhaps it is one of Thidos’ expirements.”

  “Who knows and who cares!” Mister Falcone roared, strapping the seatbelts and gags with no touch of his hands as the roulette sank back into the ground. He twriled his microphone between his fingers as he stared at the audience.

  “Well I know! But I don’t care! You ten have been brought along for a little wittle gameshow. It won’t take much time, perhaps a couple hours of your life! Ahahaha! Oh ho nyo!”

  “Well! I’ll start with the left side since they’ve been begging for it.

  Now!

  We start with Dara Sepers!” Mister Falcone swung his head back as he strolled towards the girl, leaning his right arm on the table as he growled at her.

  Muffled pleas and shouts.

  “Oh and for the rest of you! Don’t bother using powers— unless they contribute to the game. Look at the board, it has all the rules. And it’ll show your deepest darkest devastatingest dastardliest secrets ever.”

  He ripped the tape off Dara’s mouth, a sigh eminating from the girl’s body as she looked back at Mister Falcone.

  “For the audience who is thinking who is who, I’ll give you the best explanation of that!Dara Sepers is a teenage girl who is battling with a monster of her body which can take control and wreak havoc as the kaiju known as Rallio! A literal hyde! No Jekyll! Dara survived the Second Grand Reprisal but due to her mental state being tarnished because of Rallio, she was neither picked to go to either Medea or Thidos’ domain. As a result, she followed Saraline and Psylaiso— joining the rebellion group against the Gods known as the Cassettes.

  That’s a brief overview of her entire journey so far, her past life is unknown— hell she might not even have parents the way she’s out of curfew so much!” Mister Falcone laughed.

  The Crowd laughed, like a laugh track.

  “The way she probably gives her mother heartattacks because she’s never home, bet there’s been a gazillion missing children reports for you lady! Oh ho nyo!”

  “Are you some fucking ghost or something? Are you real? What are you.” Dara’s voice was dazed as her eyes barely locked onto Mister Falcone.

  “No I’m not real. I’m Stygian Falcone, but you and everyone else can only call me Mister Falcone! Dara, would prefer an interview or a memory game?”

  “What the hell?”

  “Let’s go with memory game!”

  “Oh, I didn’t even get to—”

  “That’s right you don’t! I’m giving the player a false sense of agency so they fall for my tricks! Nehehe! First out of Three memories, go!”

  Falcone pointed his index at the screen.

  Bzzt Bzzt.

  Jeremiah chuckled, fiddling with his horns, “The Demon Child believes… Someone important will die soon.”

  The two stood there.. Waiting for Saraline…

  One cocoon quivered violently, seams splitting. A little girl clawed her way out, gasping as if she’d been drowning. She looked at the duo before running over towards them, hugging Jeremiah.

  “Who are you?” Jeremiah frightfully asked, attempting to push her off.

  “M-my name’s Dara Sepers. That was… scary.” She clung to Jeremiah’s sleeve, eyes wide. “I’m a… Hyde.” Her skin was chestnut, an auburn ponytail flowed down her head as she desperately stared into Jeremiah’s eyes.

  “OOOOH! This is our personal first introduction to Dara Sepers! She’s timid and afriad, clutching up to our hero Jeremiah Demetri for some warmth? What was this connection anyway.”

  “I was scared and he said ‘Demon Child…. family’ so I interpreted it as he wanted my company. How’s this a memory game—”

  “I’ll show you punk! Tell me what you were feeling in this moment. Was it love? Was it closure? Was it peace?”

  “I just said I was scared.”

  “WRONG! I believe you are a liar liar pants on fire! So let’s see what happened in that challenge of yours.”

  A young brunette child was trapped in a white room, the floor glass. Reflecting an orange animal.

  Clutched in a fetal position, her hands on her head as she shook.

  “No! Thidos no! There’s no way.”

  “During our psychicological evaluation of your daughter. We’ve concluded that yes she does have dissociative identity disorder. The glass her, due to God’s intervention atleast, reflects what the other alter of her is.

  An orange beast. She says it’s name is Rallio? This is a rare case but if it does occur, she may be a Hyde.” A disembodied masculine voice spoke.

  “A hyde? My daughter is no filthy hyde— if so, that is not my blood!” A feminine voice spoke against it.

  “I’m sorry Ma’am but, this is most likely case. Any other subject that we’ve seen with multiple alternating personalities have been hydes— therefore have had weaker lifespans due to mental illness. I hope the same is not for your child however—”

  “NOT MY CHILD!”

  “Lady Sepers if you yell at me once more, I’ll have to escort you out. Now as I was saying, she might have some possessive needs and attachment issues. Oh and make sure she never gets injured, she’ll spiral into insanity for a short period of time and who knows what happens within then.”

  The woman spat.

  Then a flurry of fading footsteps.

  “Lady Sepers? You haven’t collected your daughter.

  Lady Sepers?Mariam!”

  Dara Sepers clutched into her ball.

  Tears dripping onto the glass.

  The screen paused on Sepers. An orange luminance covering across the audience’s faces as Mister Falcone took the stage.

  “Oh wow. That was.”

  her face was screwed.

  screwed like anger.

  anger alot of anger it was alot.

  “May you speak on that?”

  The girl remained quiet.

  The contestant’s muffling also went quiet.

  Same with the crowd. Their silence.

  They weren’t even smiling, just staring at Mister Falcone.

  Faces, faces.

  “Tough crowd am I right? Oh well— if you aren’t gonna participate then why join in! BOOO!

  Anyway, if you won’t speak then we’ll go to a more…

  recent memory eh?”

  “See how you are— you are a complete failure, you forgot your promise to be a true hero to Dara, people who admired you— for your position, which you lost, due to your failures. Speaking of you Dara.

  How’s that dream going?” Medea taunted.

  Dara stared above, flinching; “What do you mean?”

  “I wanted to become a Saint!”

  Her eyes dilated, fidgeted and floated side to side. Her body although consumed— she attempted to break out. Wincing, crying. She shook her head as she heard the first sentence end.

  “Yeah! Helping others is great.”

  “I know that being a transforming monster can be scary but– Merlin is a scary werewolf and he’s an amazing hero! I want to be a hero just like all the Saints! Just like you Saraline and Gabriel too!”

  “STOPP!” She cried, saliva dispersing across the ground as Medea’s laughed played in the background.

  “You haven’t tamed that beast inside of you, nor have you came to peace with it fully— you saw it being consumed and did you do anything? But speaking of you personally, have you done anything to call yourself a hero? A transforming hero? How’s that goal of being a Saint— even if you did the Reprisal right now, again, repeated. You wouldn’t be picked, Thidos was right— you are unstable, you are a freakshow, and you deserve to DIE!”

  Dara screamed.

  Bzzt Bzzt.

  The screen shut off.

  “You really are shit aren’t ya, DS!”

  “Does this shit make you horny or something?” Dara grumbled

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  “Can you remember it? It only happened on the 16th of October. Only two days ago so you should remember every word from Medea’s mouth vividily.”

  “Does it make you horny….”

  “Yes! It does!

  Well. Such an inactive contestant! Boo her as she goes!” Mister Falcone flipped his microphone upside down.

  A glaring red button underneath as he stabbed it.

  Dara was gone.

  And a chain of boos echoed.

  “Now for the next one on the right side.

  Now!

  It’s Shadowy Head.” Mister Falcone scurried to the right side, leaning on the table of the figure who didn’t look down.

  Only stared forward with no eyes to stare with, the duct tape around it’s mouth faded away.

  “Shadowy Head!

  OH BOY!

  For the audience wondering, ‘Who the hell is the guy?’. I’ll inform you. Shadowy Head is a construct of pure malice created by Thidos in order to attack Saraline Grover and Jeremiah Demetri. Aside from that, it has no other purpose. Hence why it’s inactive currently as it’s only thoughts are derived from that goal. As this is a wholely different reality within my hands, I do not have history of either those two here so it’s practically inert. It’s only thoughts it’s ever had except Gabriel’s influence was just to kill.

  To kill.

  How gruesome! Some may say that this guy is a quiet kid! Ahahaaha!

  Once it was reduced to a head, I don’t believe it participated in a challenge itself did it. Wait, it did!”

  Pure darkness enveloped an empty room.

  However it was not empty, just one singular figure masquerading in the darkness.

  With no lights.

  “So you are the devil within myself aren’t you.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “Meaningless you are.”“No.”“No soul you are. Only being to kill.”

  “No.”

  “Accept.”

  “But why would I accept the fact I am only born to kill. Am I weapon? Why is my considerations never thought for.”

  “Because you are a weapon and that’s all.”

  “But as if Iron Giant, I do not want to be solely a wepaon for Gods to use. If I die, will Thidos care? Will he resurrect?”

  “No. Why would he?”

  “Then curse you all.”

  “Do so then.”

  “No. I do not involve.”

  “Shut up for once.”

  “Wh-”

  Bzzt Bzzt.

  “What even are you— looking through all your memories, it’s just cryptic bullshit and dialect. What’s your deal!” Mister Falcone slammed the table but.

  The figure simply stared onward.

  A black shadow replaced the orange luminance from before— the dangling lights above flickering monochrome.

  “Oh ho nyo! You want to play the silent game.”

  The figure’s head turned to the Mister Falcone.

  “Here’s a memory you remember clearly.”

  Jeremiah cackled, then focused — fingers pressed to his temple.

  Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

  That was all he heard.

  “No language. No thought. Just murder,” Jeremiah shouted. “This thing isn’t even sentient — it’s a walking apocalypse. Just natural evil! You can kill it!”

  “OOOF!” The Host knudged the Shadow’s shoulder, “How brutal! You’re treated as if you aren’t even sentient.”The figure didn’t move.

  Mister Falcone sighed.

  “Enough with this idiot. You pretend that you aren’t conscious you useless cretin. I got a joke for the first memory we saw, audience!” The Host turned his head to the crowd, twirling his microphone upside down revealing the button.

  “Why didn’t we see Shadowy in the memory?Because his super power is invisibility in the night!

  Get it.”

  He slammed the button.

  Shadowy Head was gone.

  Mister Falcone sighed, he looked up at the ceiling. Aside from the duct to hold the Iron Mallet, there was a star in the same place where it was on the floor.

  Bright yellow though.

  “Fuck it.” He muttered.

  “Now for the left side once more!

  Nil… Aries.”

  The duct around her mouth snatched off as she batted her eyes to Mister Falcone, who darted from the centre— to her.“I’m not a jester for your amusant.”

  Mister Falcone cupped his chin, “Who makes you think that you are?”

  “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to make people be regretful of their past. But the past is what makes them what they are.”

  “Then you should enjoy looking at your past correct, especially one not so far away…” He grinned as he pointed to the screen.

  BZZT BZZT.

  “I want to see something red.” A woman in a grey cloak held a curved knife in her hands.

  Dropping it down into a young man, the sounds of squelching and bubbling frothing from his body as he wiggled.

  He wiggled and wiggled before his body became stiff— jagged and simply slumped on the dense concrete.

  Then Nil stepped back and sat beside the corpse. Her gaze focused on the sable sky with a crescent moon which luminated the world.

  “Fifth one this week, atleast I get paid a bit for some gruesome kills.” She mummured, fumbling through her pockets. Her scales, tail folded on the curve of the concrete as she still stared at the sky.

  Never letting up on it.

  “I seriously have no-one here with me. What a shame.

  Was Zero truly the Savior? That bastard was more a rip off than I ever could’ve thought. Would the Savior truly be cornered by both Thidos and Medea— then put into a little corner by both of them at the selection.

  The Invalian Mutilator would’ve never joined forces with a God, they were a true symbol of rebellion. Justice, hatred against Thidos for what happened in Invalia. All those years ago. Yet what do we have, how dissapointing it truly is.”

  The screen paused on Nil’s face, a symphony of thoughts on that face.

  But on the present Nil’s face, there was no such thoughts.

  “Do you reclaim your same viewpoints on this topic?” Mister Falcone bowed.

  “I do agree that the Imp I’ve seen now is different from the rumors, the trial murders and all of those actions.

  But now I don’t view it with hatred.”“Elaborate!”

  Nil stared at the crowd.

  The darkness dissipated and instead a hurricane of bubbles floated around them, but their faces were atleast static.

  Static like radio, static like television. Static like drama, static like love.

  She turned back to Mister Falcone.

  “A while ago before she was removed, Dara said that she killed me. So with that interpetation, my story must’ve ended that night when I reunioned with Saraline, Psylaiso and her.

  But I don’t hold ill will, for once if you are willing to kill— you must accept that you will be killed as well.

  It’s destiny and fate honestly, but now it makes me think.

  Did Zero want to escape death? Is that why they were able to put on their bondage gear and let Medea play around with them? If so, then was the Invalian Mutilator really a Savior anyway— or perhaps just a faucet for people like me to pour our false beliefs into. That perhaps this person really is a hero.

  But I realise that neither me or them were heroes, we were just deranged individuals who enjoyed abusing our power on the defenseless.

  That’s my thought process currently so— I don’t view it with hatred but I believe that the Invalian Mutilator wouldn’t of joined forces with God.

  Because they were a pussy who had control issues.”

  Nil shook her head.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  A round of genuine applause from the audience emerged.

  Then she smiled.

  “Oh ho nyo! Your wise words have got the audience roaring without my influence! How great of you!”

  “Th-thank you.”

  “No worries partner! Let’s jump into your second memory now!”

  Behind them, a cocoon cracked. A mermaid burst out — Medean skin, baby-blue eyes, pink hair threaded with beads. She hovered gracefully, scanning the pods. Her gaze landed on the harpy’s corpse. She giggled, as if it were decoration.

  She drifted to the Imp’s pod, perched beside it, and polished the shell with gentle hands.

  “Don’t worry, Zero,” she cooed, a neon smile gleaming. “Invalia can live with people like me if you die. I understand. Nil Aries, at your service.” She tilted her head like a fan at a sick play.

  Bzzt Bzzt!

  “So Miss Aries, what did you mean by the statement that; ‘Invalia can live with people like me if you die’.”

  Nil raised her eyebrows, the scar across her nose visible. “I mean that Invalian survivors can coexist without the existence of Zero.

  I mean look at our representation, we have Merlin who operates within the Saint system. But we don’t need to just operate in physical and violent spaces, we can also operate within political and social aspects. Such as running as a buisness or perhaps running for a politican to govern a certain town in Floria— there’s alot of things that I as an Invalian can do if Zero dies.

  They really are our biggest representation currently but is that honestly a good thing? A psychologically damaged ancient mass serial killer as our primary representation of what an Invalian is? Does that honestly make us sound like a pleasant group of people— it doesn’t so I was right. I do believe that without Zero, Invalia could live with people like me.”

  “People like you? Of course, I won’t blow your mind and speak about the future that you haven’t lived past but what do you mean about yourself?”

  Nil scoffed, “I guess you are right. Me in the past, five years ago wasn’t a murderer. I didn’t take the lives of innocents, I just honestly was at most a fangirl of the Invalian Mutilator. Posting on forums and all sorts, but I was just young.”“You were of legal age for most activites— you were twenty one years back then. Even Dara is younger than you better has a better sense of morality than you. Why do you act as if you are a victim when you perfectly know the truth that you aren’t? Take accountability.”

  “Age doesn’t particularly matter for if a person can be a victim or not. I was a victim of indoctrination, subcultures that brought me into the Imp’s fandom. But am I entirely wrong for being subjugated to such vile?”

  “With your own words you said that you created said forums, said blogs and said online activity cooridnaiting with the Invalian Mutilator. It is less of you being a victim and instead an abuser who spread information about such a horrible person online, repeatedly. Glamorising their actions?”

  “Move on.”

  “Oh ho nyo! Sure I will!”

  “Greetings.” Nil opened the door joyfully— her eyes fixated on Zero although Famine was the one who knocked.

  “Sorry to burst your sex bubbles, someone passed away unfortunately— you think you can help?” The ghoul coldly spoke— lighting a cigar.

  “What can I do?” Nil shrugged.

  “We are working as if this is a murder— so you can either help with information regarding yourself of last night or anyone else.” Jeremiah licked his lollipop.

  “When Paris flicked me back into this house— it was cramped, so I spent my evening cleaning up— making it bigger. Someone came to my door, complained about the noise so I simply stopped and went to sleep.” Nil recounted with hand gestures.

  “Who was this person?” Zero spat.

  “I don’t know if it was a guy or girl, they were wearing something dark though— so they camouflaged with the night. Their voice was muffled as well— it was kind of scary, thought I’d die.” Nil joked.

  Bzzt Bzzt.

  “Honestly you lack the moments!” Mister Falcone chuckled, “You should beg the director for more screentime— oh wait. You are DEAD!”

  “Harr harr. What do you want from that moment anyway?”

  “Speak on it, why’d you help out.”“I mean, if I didn’t… couldn’t we all just be killed by Paris?”

  “But?”

  “I honestly don’t know what you’re getting at for this one.”“Oh ho nyo!”

  “What does that even mean? You’ve said it like eight times now.”

  “I’m the one asking questions!”

  “You must always ask the interviewer questions in order to have a successful interview.”“Well I don’t care.” Mister Falcone grumbled, slamming the button on his microphone.

  Nil Aries was gone.

  The bubbles foaming around the audience popped— ‘champagne glasses’ bustling out as awe was expressed throughout all their faces.

  “If you are enjoying! Then you must remember, the universe always has reruns!” Mister Falcone touched up his bowtie before walking away from Nil’s empty seat.

  Step.

  Step.

  Step.

  He treaded towards the centre again, the roulette machine shooting up the star. There were variations towards it though, it was now in a black and white polka dot colourscheme. Filled with three bars like a slot machine, the faces resting currently were Felix, Zorc and Pollux. Caricatures with disgusting propotrions.

  MFFFM.

  A sound, it was from the left hand side.

  It was muffled voice from the other contestants.

  “Oh.” Mister Falcone turned toward the right side, “You guys don’t die after I do that. I just send you home. It’s like you lose all your entertainment value and then off you go!”

  He leaned on the red machine, his right fingertips gracing along the spherical lever.

  “Hehehe. I’ll do something more unique than picking myself now! I’ll use this machine. So no more sides..”

  The Host slammed the handle down. The roulette moved like a slot machine, it was a slot machine— many faces of the contestants flung at incalculable speeds but.

  The first bar set…

  A cartoony rubber-hose cowgir; hat.

  The second bar set…

  A cartoony rubber-hose blue vial.

  The third and final bar set…

  A black and white skull.

  “ROXANNE MARTINEZ!” Both Mister Falcone and the roulette machine blurted.

  A smile across the host’s face— it never went but it grew further. Grew more, as he turned his gaze from the slot machine which still remained and toward Roxanne on the left side.

  Who simply furrowed her brow. The seal across her mouth unveiled as she took a sigh.

  The crowd cheering, as a chute from the crimson ceiling dropped cowboy and cowgirl hats.

  They all worn of course, giddy.

  “Roxanne!” Mister Falcone appeared beside her, licking his lips. “Keep your eyes on the host!”

  “I still dunno wa’s going on. This is buffoonery.”

  “I know what’s going on though sugar, so don’t worry. Just now avert your eyes to the big screen for your first memeary!” The Host spoke in an accent, mocking Roxanne who rolled her eyes.

  “BEGIN!”

  A young girl with golden curls in a cowgirl outfit, with no hat.

  A lone girl in the desert who sat down on the sand, staring at the hot sun.

  “What is your name.” Roxanne held a doll in her hand. A rag doll, a little girl dressed with bright brown hair and freckles. Buttons for eyes and a little pink gown.

  “My naye is Roxanne! I’m a sharpshooter.”

  ….

  “Why won’t you speak gosh darn it you piece of shit!” Roxanne hurled the doll forward.

  “Why are you yelling for what’s your issue!”

  “Who said that?” Roxanne stood up, turned around and saw a little boy dressed in a grey sweatshirt and trousers. Thick leather gloves covering his hands.

  “I said that you dumbass! Who told you to start cussing in the desert by yourself!”

  “I darn told myself I could! Not you!”

  “Who even are you? Why are you sitting like some freaky ghost?”

  “I’m Roxanne Martinez! A cool girl.”

  “Well. I’m—”

  BRASHSA?A

  A red spiral covered the boy’s mouth.

  BRahjshaha?

  The red spiral then encompassed the boy’s head— bulging and swirling and swirling.

  It then consumed the boy’s body.

  “What the?” Roxanne gulped, she attempted to run but tripped.

  She turned back, seeing.

  A red spiral…

  And a girl floating in the sky, her bright blue pigtails whip in the wind, pink dress fluttering violently like a warning flag.

  Bzzt Bzzt.

  The crowd gasped, clutching onto their hats as they stared at Roxanne.

  “Well darn it.”

  “Oh ho nyo~ what was going on in there?”

  “If I gatta speak, then I was doing that first challenge you hear me. Then out of nowhere, during my memory with Richard that Melissa chick came out of nowhere. Swallowed ma boy whole and den fucked up the whole memory. How’s she done that then?”

  “I’d like a lick of English more than your jarble.”

  “How about you kiss my motherfacking ass ya prick.”

  “I decline on that offer!”

  “Who said you had an option fuzzboy.”

  “What are you even saying, well what was the meaning of that memory anyway?”

  “It was me first time meeting Richard. My love, then it got ruined by that bastard!”

  “Relax on the vulgarity Annie Oakley. You can say more stuff than explicatives right?”

  “How about you shut up and roll to the next tape!”

  “So, you are Richard’s friend huh.” A child wearing circular glasses tighted his red tie, his black blazer gliding in the fog.

  There were three people around Richard and Roxanne, three children standing in the fog. A grey brown mist covering the whole area.

  “Yeah, her name is Roxanne Martinez.” Richard shrugged, “I met her when she was sitting in the desert alone, like a gimp.”

  “Who da hell ya callin a gimp?” Roxanne blurted.

  “Relax.” A girl with brunette hair tied in a bun dressed in a silver glittery sundress shook her head, bugging Gloxer.

  “Ilya. Stop it.” Gloxer pushed up his glasses, “So. Roxxane—”“It’s darn Roxanne, not Roxxane.”

  ““So. Roxanne, are you willing to join the Pentagon.”

  “It’d only be a fawkin ‘Pentagon’ if I join! Matta fact, why are you interrogating me to join a friend group?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” An orange goblin dressed with brown safety gloves shrugged. “But we are planning to be more than that.”

  Mog turned his back on Roxanne and Richard, looking at the fog and pointing. “Shadows will come soon, so we must be prepared to become heroes!”

  “Heroes? Yah darn dumbasses want to do the trials!”

  “No doy.” Gloxer sniggered, “I gotta be something!”

  “Be something more safe, like a monk.” Richard smirked.

  “I’ll show you monk, punk!”

  “Nice rhyme dude. Didn’t think you were that smart to pull something like that off.”

  “I wear glasses so of course I’m smart!”

  “Suck a bird.”“What’d you say!”

  Gloxer stomped his foot before lunging at Richard.

  Bzzt Bzzt.

  Roxanne snickered, holding her face with her left hand.

  Mister Falcone turned his head away from the screen and toward Roxanne, “Are you laughing doll?”

  “I’m sarry.” Roxanne tried to keep it in, “It’s too darn funny.”

  “Stop saying ‘darn’! It’s annoying!”

  “It darn diddly piss you off?”

  “Whatever.” Mister Falcone tipped his head down, “Anyway, is this a special moment to your heart?”

  “Oh of course it is! It’s the first time I met the Lads.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was like a good dilly eight. I had no friends so I’ve been with these folks for a decade now.”

  “But you were willing to sacrifice all of them just for Richard to survive?”

  .

  .

  .

  .

  “Pardon meh?”

  “I mean, you were willing for all of them to die— just for your boyfriend to survive.”

  “Stop it…”

  “No, I won’t. Mog GnarlTooth, Gloxer Levy and Ilya Phillips would’ve all died— if your plan worked.”

  “It was the only way.”

  “Only way for what? All you thought about was saving Richard, Oh ho nyo.”

  “What ‘lse can I do! I knew the fawkin risks but I took em with stride!”

  “Stop trying to make yourself look like a hero! Look at the crowd!” Mister Falcone pointed to the crowd.

  They were taking off their hats and slamming it to the floor.

  Roxanne’s eyes laid on them.

  “What, but wha—”SNAP.

  Her attention was then directed back to Mister Falcone who snapped his fingers.

  “Paris was right to bring you back! You really are evil, you even manipulated that poor boy to kill you. He was depressed for the rest of his life until he died!”

  “Until he what?”

  “Yeah! He didn’t die from Floria ending, he killed himself!”

  “What? Wait, what are you tooting about?”

  “I ain’t pulling ya hair darling, but let’s get to the next memory for ya— then it’s kablamo!” Mister Falcone pointed at the screen which glinted.

  All that was left was a limbless girl— head and torso remaining.

  “There’s nothing else to do is there?” Paris chuckled, “You’ll die regardless of which I pick— wanna know why you aren’t dead yet though?”

  The girl nodded

  “I didn’t end the execution— in my world, I’m like a better Gabriel— when I say it’s done! It’s done! So be happy— your boyfriend will live, just as a pathetic bum who will be hated on television— ohhh you think the audience up there cares? No— it’s funny to them, Richard Lopez the loser and Roxanne Martinez the stupid girl! That’s what they’ll remember you as— the reality television, wait that’s what this Reprisal is! AHAHAHAHAAHA!”

  His insane manic outbursts— it didn’t faze her no more.

  She twisted her body over— looking at Richard who was frozen— he didn’t move, tear stuck in place as his mouth lied agape.

  “Did he die? Pathetic— you’ll go as well, it’s boring without his screams.” Paris shrugged before touching Roxanne’s head.

  Instantly killing her.

  The boy stood with the torso next to him— he booted it off the cage, it hitting the camera and decaying momentary. He began to glide down to his throne— smiling.

  “Did you enjoy?”

  CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!

  A lone solitary clap from Mister Falcone who was giddy.

  “I sure enjoyed that Paris Guildford, you unlovable pathetic ugly man!”

  “Is this… what Richard saw?” Roxanne whimpered, clutching her stomach.

  “Oh yea, and also billions around the worlds saw this!”

  “What even are ya— you are an evil bastard!”

  “I’m an alien from another dimension!”

  “What?”

  “But anywhooo, how’d it make you feel seeing how you died again.”

  “Like anyone else.”

  “Which isss?”

  “Fucking repulsive. I’m willing to go back to Hell, I’m good off this darn televesion.”

  “It is ‘television’, not televesion.”

  “Shut up, eat a donkey’s ass.”

  “I’ll say au revoir!”

  “What does that even mean!”

  “Oh yeah, you guys don’t have the Old World’s dialogue do you. Oh well.” Mister Falcone lifted his microphone and slammed the button.

  Then she was gone.

  Roxanne Martinez crept back into the grave.

  “Did you enjoy the evil cowgirl with the ugly accent guys?” Mister Falcone turned to the audience who shook their head.

  “No sire, I didn’t either!” He began to walk away from the vacant seat and back near the middle.

  Like routine, the roulette machine sprang up instantly.

  “Oh ho nyo! It’s time to see who we get now.” He grabbed the handle before slamming it down. Many faces of the contestants flung at incalculable speeds but.

  The first bar set…

  A cherry with crossed out eyes.

  The second bar set…

  A dark purple cap.

  The third and final bar set…

  A goat head with no eyes.

  “James Patel…”

  Both Mister Falcone and the roulette machine spoke softly. The machine dropping back down.

  The smile across Mister Falcone’s face loosened less, as he turned his gaze from the slot machine which still remained and toward James Patel on the left side.

  The restraints was still wrapped around his body however the tape across his mouth was gone. He flicked his cap upward with his head, piericing his red eyes at the Host as his bleached messy hair covered his upper eye area.

  “What’s the deal, sergeant.” James coldly joked,

  “I get what the Imp said, you really creep me out.” The Host looked at the screen.

  Nothing was going to play, it only displayed the rules.

  He was alone.

  “What’s wrong Mr Host? Do I not have any material?” James broke his restraints and rubbed his nose with his right finger, chuckling.

  “How do you not, oh. I know why, you died really early on but—”“Yet now I have the opportunity to matter in your pathetic alien eyes don’t I?”

  “Pardon?”

  “If all you can do is interview me now, you better get on with it.”

  Mister Falcone’s eyes shot blood.

  Before he sighed, grabbing the microphone to his lip and walking over to Patel— but not all the way close, a barrier as if it was a prison visit.

  “So your name?”

  “James Patel.”“Occupation?”

  “Thidos’ Lapdog.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I was supposed to track the games, but I got a little too greedy and abandoned post— killed the winner and tried taking the Angel’s Light for myself.”

  “Why is that?” Mister Falcone twitched his eye.

  “Because I’m actually realllyy greedy. What was the last thing that Serial Killing Imp told me? Oh yes, he said that

  ‘I have the greed of a pig’ whilst being only ‘a mere child’.”

  “What are you James?”

  “I’m a regular Florian citzen that works for Thidos!”

  “But if we look at what your brother said…”

  “Oh, so that dog did yap.” James sighed mockingly, “I’m a skinwalker.”

  “So are you?”

  “I’m not no dog, as that roulette showed… I’m a goat.”

  “Greatest of all time? For someone who appeared for a less than three hundred words— I got Jeremiah above you.”

  “No. But you wanna see me transform, it’ll get your head right.” James stared away from the Host and looked toward the crowd.

  They didn’t smile, they were frightened!

  “Clearly they do, I await your answer babe.”

  “You make me shudder, we can wait on some nightmare fuel afterward. What is your deal?”

  “I told you, I’m Thidos’ lapdog.”

  “He only mentioned you a singular time after you died, did you even know your corpse got rancsacked.”

  James chortled, touching the temple of his head and rubbing his palm against it. “Did they see the big spear in my skull?”“Actually once Jeremiah Demetri and Saraline Grover examined your body, ripped off that fake skin on your face and ‘smelt’ your lack of odor. You combusted into an explosion, kaboom.”

  “Firey way to die for a background character heh?”

  MFMMM.

  A chuckle from the right side.

  Adolla.

  “Oh shit! It’s Adolla, I haven’t seen that guy in years!” James shrieked.“You two know each other?”

  “Fuck the interview for a moment, let me speak to my friend!”

  Mister Falcone tapped his chin before flicking his right hand which removed the tape temporarily.

  “Holy shit! Patel!”

  “Adolla, man! I haven’t seen you since Heinsera!”

  “Heinsera was a fucking great time, you enjoy it?”

  “I didn’t know the Lord could dance like that!”

  “He really is a groover!”

  “What the hell are both of you speaking about?” Mister Falcone sighed.

  “Oh, it’s a party. Only certified specalised significant magnificent baligerant people can attend, even me! A ‘background character’.”“Stop trying to be meta— it ruins writing!”

  “What are you on about? I operate in the background alongside Adolla, we are spies. Trained mercenaries, hitmen— quiet operations.”

  “What about your brother huh?”

  “Oh you know I saw Cereberus earlier!” Adolla yelped.

  “Oh really?” James tilted his head, the cap falling and covering his right side.

  “Yeah! I froze him, he became a terrorist now!”

  “For who?”

  “Samiel!”

  “Who the hell is Samiel?”

  “Eliza!”

  “Oh, I heard Eliza went insane a couple decades ago and split into two— is Samiel something related to that?”

  “Well neither of us could do anything about it!”

  “You died aswell?”

  “I mean, I’m pretty sure he takes us right before dying.”

  “I’m dead right now so I don’t know what you’re on about!”

  “Mister Falcone!” Adolla chimed, “Explain!”

  “It’s specific for some of you depending on how important it’d be for entertainment.”

  “I mean I could clearly see myself dying, last thing I saw was a spear right in front of my face.” James shook his head, smiling.

  “Why can you smile about that? Aren’t you a mortal! You should be afraid of death.”

  “Oh why be afraid.” Adolla chuckled.

  “We all die anyway! We’ll all float soon Georgie!”

  Adolla and James laughed.

  “Shut it!” Mister Falcone stared at Adolla, the seal emerging back on his mouth as he stared back at James.

  “Why’d you go and ruin the fun?”

  “Fuck your fun! Oh ho nyo! You are annoying!”

  “Oh well.”

  “Time to make this an actual gameshow, five questions— you answer them correctly or your booted out!”

  “Aren’t I gonna be booted anyway? Like the other contestants?”

  “I don’t care!”

  “Whatever, you are such a party pooper. Alright, give me the questions.”

  “Trivia!

  Question Uno: Who commited the Invalian Genocide?”

  “That’s quite an intresting topic for a first question.”

  “Shut up and answer!”

  “It was Amarze. Amarze the Decimator, I had bad interactions with that guy wha—”

  “Question Deux: Who is the Sin of Wrath?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “Answer it Weatherboy!”

  “Isn’t it that one guy who’s sealed in the belly of Thidos’ Cathedral. Aaaa… Osamason!”

  “Wrong!”

  “It’s Asura!”

  “Ding ding ding.”

  “That guy isn’t even in the history books, are you trying to fuck me over on purpose?”

  “Noo!” Mister Falcone mocked, “Question Tre: What is Fragment Nine of the Lible!”

  “Fucking hell, you are thrusting in my ass brother.”

  “How vulgar!”

  “It’s ‘Even the gods forget their creators. The mortals remember.’”“GRRRRRR!”

  “Why are you growling?” James blinked repeatedly.

  “I hate you!”

  “What? What have I honestly done. It’s your game show!”

  “I hate, hate you!”

  “Oh come on! I’m a nice guy.”“I’m sick of this! Go to hell!”

  “I’ve already made a spot there, it’s cozy.”

  “BASTARD!” Mister Falcone flipped the microphone and slammed the glowing button.

  Then.

  James Patel was gone.

  “Thank God!

  Oh that’s it for this segment of the show! It’s time for the advertisements. I’m pooped.” Mister Falcone shook his head before walking off stage.

  The screen blaring with noise before…

  “Genes are passed down from parents to offspring.”

  A flamboyant voice echoed, the screen displaying a man wearing bright ripped jeans. Sitting on a green bed within a blue room. Pitch blue, no items around— the couch being deterioated but still usable.

  “Often determing traits like hair colour, personality and even eye colour.”

  The camera zoomed up to the man’s body. Both of his arms folded ontop of a polo shirt reading, ‘Hero of Truth’. His hands still visible, fair with violvet gel tip fingernails in a siletto square. It then zoomed up to show a man’s face.

  Smiling, he was a pale skin man with a messy mauve fringe—— glaring pink highlights scattered across his hair. His perfectly white teeth glistening in the camera as his bold brown eyes twinkled, eyeliner worn around. Youthful skin filled with freckles.

  “My genes are purple.” The man looked to the camera, cherry.

  “LIANOUS CRAGIS HAS GREAT JEANS!” An announcers voice blurted out, the following text spread across the centre.

  Before forming into another piece of text reading,

  ‘Nightingale Outwear’.

  Thank you for reaching the end of this chapter!

  A lot went down, and from here the story begins to accelerate even faster. Every character is being tested, and every decision is reshaping the world around them.

  If you have thoughts, theories, or reactions, I’d love to hear them, comments genuinely help the story grow. If you’re enjoying things, don’t forget to follow the series so you don’t miss upcoming updates.

  More chaos awaits next chapter, "Chapter 92: Ember Island Players 2/2"