The Hellfire Academy for Gifted Youth (CV22U)

@thisisgonnahurt:

Evan was mad, madder than he had ever been. This pint sized man with his hat and cane was making him look like a fool, and Evan would have none of that. Already adrenaline was pumping through his body, amping up his strength and now was the time to use it. With his chest muscles flexing he reached out to grab the little twerp, and proudly declared “You wanna make a deal?” he said in a grunting voice, “The deal is I’m going to rip you into so many parts that even your shadows can’t put you together!” But despite all his size and strength, and the fact he towered over Mephisto, the Devil continued to taught him. With consistent laughter, he made comments like “Good sir, I must remind you that a deal is only a deal if there is something for all parties involved! What you're implying is less of a democratic exchange and..” but before he could finish his sentence, Evan was already on top of him grabbing each of the Devil’s arms inside his massive hands, and with the greatest of ease, began ripping him apart!

Already a crooked smile crossed Evan’s face as he prepared for a violent blood letting, as he anticipated his act of violence to be exhilarating. But again Mephisto countered with his mouth. “I was wrong, big guy. I know that now. I'm sorry,” the Devil chuckled, knowing how much it irritated Stomp, “I'm sorry I called you a good sport!” It was at that moment Evan could take no more and with one massive tug he ripped his arms apart, but instead of watching the Devil being split in half, the Devil cast another of his tricky spells. In a puff of his trademark red smoke he transformed into a tiny white rabbit that was too small for Evan’s over sized hands. In effect he wiggled his way free as he fell to the ground. From there he playfully scurried around Evan’s feet, far to fast for Evan to stomp on him.

But even from such a small stature Mephisto continued in his greatest endeavor, that being to taught and play with Evan as only he could. “Come on, now! You're a reasonable person, deep down inside!” he wheezed, while bouncing around between Evan’s ankles. “Oh who am I kidding? You're so full of anger, I'd be surprised if anything else is in that molten hot magma pit you call a heart!” With a roar so loud it shook the heavens above, Evan yelled back down towards Mephisto, “I am so going to take my time in killing you!’ even as he continued to try stepping on the Devil in his rabbit form, unaware at the time of the long game he was playing. For as angry as Evan was, he failed to notice he was scribbling a ritualistic circle under his very feet!

At the moment the circle was completed, he scurried his way back in front of Evan, where he paused only long enough to say “Looks like I'm out of time,” as his little paws wiggled while he tried to catch his breath. But just as Evan was about to squash him under his enormous foot, Mephisto transformed back into his humanoid body, where he then gestured towards the ground. Immediately Evan was surprised as the circle around his feet glowed for only a brief second and then there was nothing. Everything around the two of them was gone as Evan was now in a dark void of space. There was nothing there, no lawn filled with statues, hell there was no longer even a ground to stand on as Evan now hovered in a dark void of emptiness. Immediately he roared in anger, as he tried to gain his bearings, all the while cursing at Mephisto on how much he was going to kill him!

But unbeknownst to Mephisto, Evan had a special ability to ground himself should he ever be tossed into space or flung towards the sun. As such, with just a thought, suddenly Evan dropped slightly where even though in a void of nothing he was now standing on his own two feet instead of floating, where he then proceeded to make his way closer towards the Devil, step by ever loving step! It was then for the first time ever the he noticed The Devil confused or at least surprised that things were not going his way. Clearly something had gone wrong as the first thing he said was “Oops!” followed by his usual whimsical “I must have made a slight miscalculation somewhere around Albuquerque!” But clearly something had not gone according to the Devil’s plan!

But despite how much Evan moved forward, Mephisto continued to be the same distant apart, as physical rules did not apply here. Still the Devil rubbed his chin confused like, then finally declared “Ah! I know where we are,” Then shortly after calculating on why he was unable to transport Evan from one place to another he proudly explains “Seems like I can't exactly move you without a proper contract, even with magic. I didn't know that! I suppose I must have wrangled others into an agreement beforehand.” He then goes on, in his elegant way, explaining that without a contract he could only pull Stomp into his Shadow as oppose to his true goal, but none the less Evan continued to try to get his hands upon him.

Still in a blind rage Evan did his best to kill Mephisto. Using nothing more than his sheer strength he threw every punch imaginable, never once considering where he was. In his head there was nothing more important than killing the Devil. But after each failed attempt you would think he would get tired or give up, ...but not him! Stomp was a creature fueled by his rage and adrenaline. Therefor he never ever quits or gets tired. But none the less, in the middle of his tantrum, Mephisto casually informs him, “Now then, if you want to continue fighting… then by all means! I'd much rather work something out between us, however. I'd hate to leave this little game of ours on such a sour note,” that somehow struck a cord within him.

With that damn music still playing all around him, Evan finally calmed down enough to think clearly. Sad is it was, he soon realized he was in way over his head. Trapped inside this shadow realm, his strength meant nothing and as much as he wanted to kill the Devil, he knew he needed his help to get out. With a stone cold poker face he lowers his arms, to a nonthreatening position, where he begins to address the Devil in a calm and clear voice. “Alright you little twerp” he says never once admitting he was in a weaker position, “Let’s put it all on the line!” He then places his hands behind him to appear more educated, then turns his back to him in a clear sign of disrespect or lack of interest. “You want to make a deal and I want to be done with you! So what kind of deal do you want to make?”

In all honesty Evan wasn’t interested in making a deal, he just wanted the Devil dead. And as the Devil was talking, he was thinking of a new way to kill him. For Evan still had a few tricks up his sleeve, that he hoped would out class Mephisto, in one way or another. But for now it was a waiting game, and unfortunately the Devil was holding all the cards. So as the Devil did one of the things he loved best, talking, Evan continued to fain interest in the hopes of riling him up. In doing so Evan would continue to either avoid eye contact or showing any interest in what the Devil says. It may not be the smartest play for Evan to make, but he was going to play it through until something else seemed more appropriate. Either way he stood his ground and planned to out play the Devil!

@stomp:

Mephisto had no idea that his new friend could be so accommodating! He flipped like a switch, and in the midst of such a rampage... to say that The Devil was impressed would have been a most monumental understatement. But let it also be said that any King of Swing worth his salt was no fool - and Mephisto had just been dealt a good hand. It'd be ridiculous to throw it away so callously.

No, what The Devil wanted now exceeded what Stomp seemed to be willing to give in the event of a loss. The true depths of his greed were now navigable and malleable as opposed to what Mephisto had tried to dive into before. Even the mightiest of men had their limits. Turns out, Stomp's had something to do with the patience he had to keep making deals. He also definitely reached the end of his rope when it came to playful banter and chicanery. The burly behemoth seemed to despise anything of the sort, especially at his expense.

With all of this in mind, Mephisto set his feet down on what served as solid ground. He mirrored Stomp's own innate ability to find balance in everything including the absolute void of reason and light that was his own Shadow. He tapped the end of his cane into the well of darkness, making a wooden sound, and produced something of substance around them: a stage.

Curtains hung from end to end, dividing them from the audience. Industrial lights hummed just beyond the cusp of their conscious existence, everything now focused into a humble area behind the fabric wall keeping them from the next part in this dastardly play Mephisto wanted to enact for a while now. He hummed a certain tune and the Big Band took up their strings in harmony. Horns and bugles started a synchronized rumble. Woodwinds and the heavy brass thrummed their accompaniment. The percussion rattled, and the chimes and bells twinkled like distant stars as they moved into position through the side doors to the orchestra pit somewhere behind the curtain. Still, Mephisto lingered.

Wordlessly, he gave some practice to his routine. He danced around Stomp, twirling and whirling and still mumbling his lyrics in a last-minute pantomime of what was to come. The shadows encapsulated his maddening style, dancing with him while not overstaying their welcome in the corners of Evan's sight. They were lingering, crawling shapes, inhuman by nature and existing only in the span between one step and the next. Mephisto controlled all of it and yet the extent of his power didn't seem to be anything besides annoying the elephant, prodding the bull and twisting his horns just to spark a reaction. The truth couldn't have been more sinister.

Here Stomp was, acting like the stern and serious leader of a new declaration of freedom from this place. He abandoned his rage, but it was the only thing keeping him safe. It was the only thing keeping Mephisto entertained outside of his own personal involvement in the affair. Now, with his arms at his side, Stomp unwittingly submitted himself fully to the whims of a mad deity playing with the souls of his victims for all eternity. This would be the grand finale, the last hoorah by which Stomp would finally realize the type of game Mephisto really played.

Wealth, fame, life, and death, none of that mattered to The Devil. What he was really after, what he always wanted, rested in the forever manifestation of human existence and consciousness. Mephisto, the living cautionary tale, breathed and bled like any other mortal man. But he might as well have leaped from the animation stills of a vintage cartoon. The sheer amount of freedom he possessed, whether it was incidental or intentional, could only be described as frightening. He danced and sang and gambled and robbed and pillaged and ate and drank without a single care in the world. No human law could bind him. No human limitation kept him from existing.

Should mankind, and more directly Stomp, be the one to rage against the dying of the light... then here it was, dressed in a red pinstripe suit.

At length, he stopped his tapping feet and snapped his hips into place for a stylish ending to his rhythm.

"I hope you're ready, my friend," he remarked without turning around but with enough of a cadence to his voice to let Stomp know that the smile never faded.

"You said the magic words, and now I get to tell you just what kind of deal you're in for,"

He hooked his cane under his arm and flipped his collar out with a dry crack of the fabric. He adjusted his cufflinks and coat buttons, keeping appearances as tidy as possible. The band struck their opening chords outside.

Mephisto hummed again, but this time it was a slower and more sinister tune. He was preparing for something truly underhanded, no doubt.

The music swelled into a mighty crescendo and unseen hands raised the curtains. The lights blazed into view, overwhelming the stage with an inferno of illumination.

"Big man with a zillion dollars, tore it out of honest coffers," Mephisto reprised, his smile curling at the ends.

"The blood on your hands is as plain as day

I'll gladly open my doors so you can stay

I must say I'm impressed - just a little bit

But that can't be all you're after, is it?"

He tilted his head so that Evan could see the pointed pearly whites of his captivating smirk. The grin that imprinted itself on the souls of many before him practically gleamed in the stunning lighting around them. It almost made it seem impossible to comprehend the audience of faceless shapes watching them. Each phantom within the Big Band sent a thunderbolt through their instruments. The Devil had a performance to wrap up.

"No, what you want is something big and grand

Better than any piano, louder than any band

No woman or fortune can truly satisfy you

But this transaction has to close, that much is true,"

He gestured around with his hand, bringing up the decorations necessary to invoke the sensation of an important business deal in the seedy underbelly of the southern United States. They were suddenly seated at a table, with cards and poker chips scattered around. Mephisto pushed a contract towards Stomp, the words being strung together in luxurious ink.

It would be a simple game of dice, best of five, to determine the winner of this new high-stakes encounter.

"We've done a similar song and dance before

But this time you have a chance at so much more

I don't give away opportunities like this all the time

So don't waste your shot, take the dive, and sign on the dotted line,"

He whisked his hand through the air and produced a pen for Stomp to use.

"As you can plainly see, should you win once more against me,

It's a brand new package deal! A wish and a vacation, what a steal!

The rules are all organized like a lottery wheel, you'll find very limited trickery

If I had wax I'd make the seal, but for now you'll have to settle for my guarantee!"

Ghostly voices rose from the orchestra, singers from bygone eras all lending their talents to the tone of the haunting melody.

"The eyes of Hell are upon you, big man with a zillion dollars

They're staring right at you, and all those broken honest coffers

The brightest of them all burn through your skin, he's seen all your winning

His name's Mephisto and he wants your soul, he's been so proud of your sinning,"

Mephisto tapped the table with his nail, snapping the voices back to their sources. His brow furrowed in a rather annoyed fashion, perhaps at the warning his singers gave to Stomp.

"We've done a similar song and dance before

But this time you have a chance at so much more

I don't give away opportunities like this all the time

So don't waste your shot, take the dive, and sign on the dotted line,"

He made sure to put emphasis on what he wanted: Stomp's signature, his writing and entire livelihood in red ink. Just short of actually possessing his soul, it would be a binding contract for this final contest with the highest stakes imaginable.

@thisisgonnahurt:

Without knowing it, Evan put his butt in the fire again. He didn’t know it, but by saying “What kind of deal do you want to make?” he opened the door for Mephisto to dance again. Before Stomp knew it, the Devil was up to his old tricks again, only this time on a grander scale. With a tap of his cane Mephisto created a stage for them to stand upon with the two of them awkwardly standing together in the middle. Huge red curtains hung from end to end, with one diabolically placed to separate them from what the Devil would conceal until the final act. At that point he began to hum a snappy tune that was immediately accompanied by one of his shadowy bands that all together played a wicked tune to add to his song and dance. Even the shadow was now in play as dark figures danced just around the corners of Evan sight, all in a dastardly play to anger him, and knock him off his guard. But the worst part of it all was when Mephisto himself danced around him, as he began setting in motion the final act of their encounter.

But on this one rare occasion, Evan choose to fight with his head and not his fists, as he did the one thing the Devil never expected. In the most nonchalant way possible, he turned his back to the Devil and simply...ignored him. No matter what the Devil did, or said, Evan pretended not to care. No matter how loud the band got or how close the shadows danced around him, he pretended not to care. The only thing he focused on were the weakness he had seen in the Devil so far. First off, he noticed the Devil was not all knowing as Mephisto admitted something went wrong when he pulled Evan into the Shadow realm. Second he noticed that he showed signs of fatigue, when he was out of breath and huffing in his rabbit form. Put together it wasn’t much but it was the type of thing an Elephant would never forget and hope, or plan, to use against the Devil when the time was right.

Unfortunately for Evan, his little plan to ignore the Devil failed as Mephisto couldn’t care less. In his twisted world he was always center stage and no matter who he was with, they were a prop. In this case Evan was his to play with, and should Evan ignore him, Mephisto would simply sing a little louder, and in this case he was singing a song to Stomp’s demise. "I hope you're ready, my friend," he sang with a playful tune, "You said the magic words, and now I get to tell you just what kind of deal you're in for!" With that said he continued on with a little more of his song and dance trying his best to push Evan’s buttons all in the hopes of getting him to sign a contract. And although he had done this a million times, this time it seemed a little more important. As such the band around them hit a slower and more sinister tune.

"Big man with a zillion dollars, tore it out of honest coffers,

"The blood on your hands is as plain as day

I'll gladly open my doors so you can stay

I must say I'm impressed - just a little bit

But that can't be all you're after, is it?"

By now the stage lights shined on just the two of them, as even a crowd in the shadows could be heard oohing and aahing. Even the so called band members where getting excited as they sent thunderbolt through their instruments. The only person not having a good time was Evan as he simply stood there with a disturbed look upon his face and a twitch in his eye, hiding the built up anger within him that he desperately wanted to release. Still the Devil sang with each line more important than the previous!

"No, what you want is something big and grand

Better than any piano, louder than any band

No woman or fortune can truly satisfy you

But this transaction has to close, that much is true,"

With that said, he cast another of his spells this time just to add to the mood of the moment. With the aide of his trade mark red smoke, everything changed and Evan now found himself sitting across from the Devil, out of all places...a poker table. Accompanied with cards and chips, Mephisto may not have known it, but he had place Evan in a comfortable position, as he had spent a life time at such a table, where he had made a small fortune in playing the game. But to his surprise poker was not the game he was in for, as with great pleasure Mephisto placed a contract before him. At the same time the music around them built to a crescendo. The rules of the contract were simple, a game of dice, best of five, to determine the winner, written in a luxurious ink.

"We've done a similar song and dance before

But this time you have a chance at so much more

I don't give away opportunities like this all the time

So don't waste your shot, take the dive, and sign on the dotted line,"

Then from nowhere, the Devil waved his hand in the air, and a pen appeared between his fingers. He then handed that pen to Evan at which point he took it and prepared to stare down the Devil for as long as it took. For what seemed like an eternity, they sat there staring at each other, both knowing the full implications of the contract, without either showing any sign of discomfort. But the fact was it was only less than a second as Mephisto continued his elaborate song and dance routine, but in this case the band around them joined in.

"As you can plainly see, should you win once more against me,

It's a brand new package deal! A wish and a vacation, what a steal!

The rules are all organized like a lottery wheel, you'll find very limited trickery

If I had wax I'd make the seal, but for now you'll have to settle for my guarantee!"

"The eyes of Hell are upon you, big man with a zillion dollars

They're staring right at you, and all those broken honest coffers

The brightest of them all burn through your skin, he's seen all your winning

His name's Mephisto and he wants your soul, he's been so proud of your sinning,"

Soon enough it all came to a halt, as Mephisto began tapping the table with his long sharp fingernails. The band around them continued to play, but all attention was on the two of them, and the contract before them. It was truly a high point for both of them, as countless numbers of things could happen, but for sure their lives would change forever. Either way Mephisto was still holding all the cards and as such he sang Stomp his final chorus.

"We've done a similar song and dance before

But this time you have a chance at so much more

I don't give away opportunities like this all the time

So don't waste your shot, take the dive, and sign on the dotted line,"

Evan took in a deep breath to calm his nerves and hide the undaunted rage within him. For fun he twirled the pen around his giant fingers, along with making that annoying ‘Clicking’ sound, as he pushed the button on top of it. He then looks back and forth between Mephisto and the pen, only to remark, “Funny, I thought you would want me to sign it in blood. Not ink!” But then a small drop of red ink dripped from the pen’s tip and like a drop of blood it fell on the table, just outside the contract. Looking down upon the undeniable red stain, Evan simply smirked without saying a word. For a second or two he looked down upon the contract, ignoring all else as he reflects on the deal the Devil offered him. On one hand he was a gambler, and the prize he could win was far greater than he could ever achieve, and all it cost him was something close to his soul.

‘Again what is a soul’ he thought to himself, ‘Hell do I even have one?’ plus it wasn’t like he planned on dying any time soon. But then in the back of his mind he kept thinking, ‘Either way I wouldn’t be in control!’ So again he sat there staring at the contract, now holding the pen inches away from the paper, so calm you couldn’t tell he was awake. Then in one fail swoop, he slammed his right hand down upon the table so hard that it shattered into a million pieces, along with the contract. “I wouldn’t sign your damn contract for anything!” he grunted as he stood up to over eight feet tall. “And I’ll tell you why!!!” He then proceeds to try intimidating the Devil by stepping towards him, or even shoving him back, only to finish with a resounding, “Just cause you want it so damn much!” From that point on he begins cracking his knuckles so loud they echo and continues, “So I’d rather spend eternity in your shadow realm trying to tear you a new one rather than letting you be happy for one damn second!”

In the end it all came down to Evan’s pride. Sure he’d sign a regular contract for his paid services, but never one for control over his own well being. And that was what the Devil wanted. He wanted to one up the Stomp and take his livelihood away from him. This was unacceptable. Nobody makes Stomp look like a fool. So in the end he would rather face the Devil as a man rather than whimper before him and sign a contract. With that in mind it was time to turn the table on him and make Mephisto look like the fool. With a bit of an attitude Evan cocked back his head and straightened out his trunk before him. He then let out a God fearing roar that was so loud and so deep that by it’s own special power would make most men fall to their knees in fear. The roar may only last less than a minute, but in most cases it would render his enemies so scared they would be immobilized for minutes with fear!

@stomp:

“Great googly moogly! How rude!”

Mephisto watched without being able to do anything as his prized poker table shattered apart, the splinters scattering everywhere and even impaling the ceiling. His chair had been pushed over, his legs dangling as the back of his head bounced off the hardwood flooring of the stage.

He gripped his skull tightly, trying to bite back the pain through his smile, but he remembered back when Stomp had simply flattened it. He glared up at the Elephantine Menace with a dastardly glint to his eyes. Whatever he was yelling about didn't matter, the core of the problem existed in the fact that he didn't want to engage with the tricks anymore.

Mephisto's power was only as dangerous for as long as people played along. He could keep shooting daggers for as long as he wanted to, but it seemed that his little ruse had been found out. He grimaced as Stomp approached him, forcing what he had into the corner just as quickly as The Devil managed to trick and dance his way into an assertive position - perhaps even faster.

For every music number Mephisto conjured, all Stomp had to do was ignore the song and throw his bulk around. Even here, in his own Shadow, Mephisto found it increasingly difficult, and borderline impossible, to simply contain the monstrous beast. He had one last plan, however. It would have to be quick, and at the perfect moment, but he could guarantee that it would work… at least to his own sense of perfectionism and pride.

“Well I th-”

Stomp's words scrambled inside of his head, The Devil being overwhelmed with another one of his thunderous trumpet blasts. Stomp's vicious noise ruptured everything, not just Mephisto's ear drums and blood vessels, but also his concentration on the stage and illusions beyond the poker table. His Shadow dissipated, retreating back under whatever shelter it could find, and they were once more in the meandering nothing that occupied this realm of existence.

Mephisto's mind wandered for a moment, the liquefied remnants of his actual brain floating in an unidentifiable soup of fluids shaken by the raw vibrations of Stomp's catastrophic sound. His eyes, no longer attached to anything substantial, rolled back into his skull and stayed there.

For once, everything was quiet. The shadows shifted slightly with subtle movements every now and again in monotonous tides. Whatever Stomp heard was most definitely part of his imagination. Without Mephisto in his own Shadow, there was nothing. Stomp could hear the blood in his own veins, his heartbeat as loud as gunfire, and maybe even his own brain firing unsolicited neurons as his thoughts raced against themselves.

In those split seconds that seemed like an eternity, Stomp only had the corpse of his hated enemy for company. Except something didn't seem right. The dull roar of an engine could distinctly be heard, getting closer.

Before Stomp could pinpoint it, however, a louder sound suddenly made itself known. Mephisto’s body cracked and snapped, pointing his face towards Stomp. The eyes that were once askew popped back into place and glared at the Big Bad Circus Animal, his smile curling from end to end.

It was all a lie. It was always a lie.

The engine screeched behind Stomp. As he would turn around, he'd be greeted with the front end of a jumbo jet plowing straight for him.

This was Mephisto's final gambit. He couldn't move Stomp away from the Hellfire grounds, but he could move his own Shadow while they were both inside. Though this was most certainly not ideal, with his top speed only being 40 feet per second - about 27 miles per hour - it was definitely his only viable option. He pointed it straight towards the European mainland, going as fast as he could.

He sat in the pilot's seat and adjusted his captain's uniform, his horns poking through his hat. He settled into his chair for a long ride, though for Stomp it would be excruciating as his new form of travel imposed the same physical obstructions as an actual plane. It would take most of Mephisto's remaining reserves to keep up this illusion, but at least he was having fun.

He clicked the radio on and put the microphone to his face.

“Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking, we are experiencing a bit of turbulence but it's nothing to worry about. Please fasten your seat belts and enjoy the ride,”

Of course, the cabin was full of shadow people and their distinct personalities shone through on an individual basis. The serving staff reliably refilled drinks, each casual sip of which just spilled out onto the floor despite the best efforts of their intangible consumers.

Mephisto hung up the microphone and turned the volume dial for his music up just a little bit. He needed as much power as he could manage to manufacture for himself, given the substantial detail in this deception.

That and he wanted Stomp to hear it as well.

The particular tune he chose was a personal favorite:

“It's a small world after all

It's a small world after all…”

Hi

@adela_roth:

Hello there! :)

@thisisgonnahurt:

This game had gone on far too long, and Evan had long since lost his patience. Sure Mephisto was powerful with his shadows, spells and lies, but Stomp was strong. Stronger than anyone alive. Unfortunately the Devil had always been one step ahead of him in the dance, and it was beyond frustrating. Evan had played it smart, and Evan had played it angry, but no matter what he did Mephisto continued to sing and dance around him. What’s worse, with an orchestra of shadow people playing along in unison to whatever twisted song he choose to sing. But now it was time to end it all and send the Devil back to Hell with a kick-stomping only Evan could provide. As the two of them still sat intensely looking at each other face to face across a poker table, with a contract before them, Evan knew what to do, long before he even held the pen inches above signing the paper.

After appearing so calm, to the point you couldn't tell he was breathing, in one glorious fit of rage he smashed the table with one hand, and jumped to his feet. Then after a short rant, just to taunt the Devil like he had taunted him before, he ends with a well placed, “So I’d rather spend eternity in your shadow realm trying to tear you a new one rather than letting you be happy for one damn second” he then proceeds to end this game with one of his little tricks, one he knew the Devil would not be prepared for. With pieces of the poker table still flying all around, he cocked back his head and straightened out his trunk before him, uncoiling it to it’s full length. Then with the aid of his special powers, he let loose a roar from it, so powerful and commanding that it was guaranteed to strike fear in anyone who hears it. Had there been leaves around them they would rustle. Had there been glass windows they would have shattered, but none the less any man woman or child that heard it would tremble in fear.

In this case it worked better than he ever planned, as not only did the Devil fall back in undeniable pain, but his mind was so rattled that he could no longer maintain his hold on the shadow realm. Bit by bit it faded away, as the shadows crept back to hidden corners. But the best part was that damned accompanying band went away with it. As for Mephisto, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as the veins in his face throbbed to epic proportions. For all intents and purposes Mephisto was beaten and Stomp was the one to do it, and in true Stomp fashion he choose to gloat in this moment, just before crushing in the man’s skull. “Whose the fool now!” he yelled with authority, “You my b’tch!” putting emphasis on the my, all the while making it clear he had finally won. Then as the Devil had done so many times before, Evan proceeded to do his own little song and dance as he did a small victory shake and threw expletives at his fallen foe.

Unfortunately, as he was so wrapped up in this exquisite moment, he failed to hear the sound of an ever approaching jet engine behind him, even with his enormous ears. Instead he focused on Mephisto and the pain he was in and how much he enjoyed watching him suffer. Unfortunately it all came to an abrupt end, as the Devil, as he had done so many times before, began his all to impressive ability to heal himself from any wound. Just as he was lying there in pain, with a cracking and popping sound, his body shot up face to face with Evan as two fresh new eyes rolled back into his sockets and although he was a few feet shorter than Evan, he smiled at him with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Immediately Evan let out a “Damn it! Not again!” but before he could finish, it was already too late!

At the last second, with a roaring sound behind him, Evan turned to investigate, when he was struck head on by a 700,000lbs jet flying at an impressive 27 mph. Immediately he was swept up in a whirlwind of steel now soaring over 35,000 feet in the air, pushed along at the nose of the plane as it now flies at a speed of 550mph. Behind him the wind whip at his back as the only thing keeping him in the air was his grip on the plane, with his massive hands ripping into the planes steel hide. Taking only a few seconds to wrap his mind around his predicament, he immediately lets out with a loud “Holy Shirt!” as he looks down to judge how high he was off the ground. But with little to no options he gripped the plane tighter then began clawing his way towards the cockpit inch by every slow inch. Still unaware of the full implication as to where he is, he makes his way forward fighting the harsh winds and speed until finally getting close enough to get a good look at the pilot.

Sitting there in his little blue pilot suit with his horns poking through his hat, was none other than Mephisto, taunting him through the window. It wasn’t clear if he was waving or miming at him, but it was clear he took joy in Stomp’s predicament. But just as Evan was screaming a mouthful of death threats, Mephisto simply raised the microphone to his face and spoke. With the aide of his jumbo sized ears and perhaps a little magic from the Devil himself, Evan could hear every word of Mephisto’s announcement, “Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking, we are experiencing a bit of turbulence but it's nothing to worry about. Please fasten your seat belts and enjoy the ride!” But as annoying as that was, it was no where as annoying to Evan, as when Mephisto, stop talking and instead went back to his music. For after putting the mike down and turning up the volume, the unmistakable sound of ‘It’s a small world’ began playing over and over and over!

Without a care in the world as to whether he was soaring above land or sea, Evan did the oddest thing ever. Instead of his traditional cursing or death threats, this time he simply smiled back and grinned. For even though he was holding on the plane by the sheer strength of his hands, he still had another trick up his sleeve. With his tusks protruding 9 feet long, under his nose, with a flexing of his muscles, the two tusks shot forth like arrows at a speed that rivals a bullet. Razor sharp they would naturally slice through concrete or steel meaning they would easily break through the plane’s glass window, where they should easily tear through Mephisto’s flesh. But that’s not all. His tusks also have a special feature that after a few seconds they explode with the force of over ten sticks of dynamite. All in all a severe amount of damage would be done to Mephisto and the plane, while two new tusks would grow in place of Evan’s old ones, as he would sit back and smile, awaiting the inevitable destruction. Unfortunately, Evan knew this was a one way trip, for once the plane goes, so does his ride, but nothing would prevent him from watching the Devil blow up in front of him!

@stomp:

Mephisto, for all intents and purposes, was genuinely confused when the Perilous Pachyderm seemed to lose all sense of self and began to laugh uncontrollably. The Man with the Long Shadow pulled on the collar of his shirt awkwardly, looking at an audience that only he could see.

"Flying economy these days might be murder... but at least he's enjoying it!"

He cackled, joining in Evan's sudden fit of madness. He wiped a tear from his eye and raised a brow. As if to add to the unexpected continuation of this conflict, Stomp reared his ugly head and seemed to be getting ready for another massive honk from his trunk. Mephisto snapped his fingers and produced a pair of earplugs, but one rolled out of his hand and onto the floor.

"Oh bother," he mumbled, letting go of the controls for a split second.

The plane rocked and rolled, jostling the shadow crew and passengers around carelessly. Only when it flipped completely upside-down did the seatbelt light come on at the behest of Mephisto's Shadow - who adjusted its own little co-pilot costume. It watched Stomp closely as Mephisto kept trying to grapple with his missing earplugs.

Sure, he could conjure more, but he had to teach these ones a particular lesson: to never jump out of the hand that summons them!

His Shadow wordlessly panicked as it observed Stomp's actual plan. Its eyes practically popped out of its head! At the exact second Mephisto plugged his ears, the cabin was completely ripped off the hull and exploded somewhere behind the plane with a cataclysmic burst of energy. Two nine-foot tusks were the culprits, but that wasn't something that his Shadow could communicate.

It sat in its seat, clutching its nonexistent heart as its chest thumped in sheer terror. Meanwhile, Mephisto plopped back down in his seat and took command of the plane once more.

"Hm... bit of a draft," he mumbled, reaching down and rolling up the window next to him using the crank handle.

Elsewhere, the Shadow itself had moved over hills and through rivers, cutting across the English countryside straight into Wales. If Mephsito could distract Stomp for just a little while longer, he'd be able to drop him off in the English Channel. He hoped to make it to France... mostly because making Stomp a French problem would be just the perfect little knot in the bow of this originally British vacation.

In order to accomplish this continued cartoonish cavalcade in his favor, Mephisto hatched yet another part of his devious scheme. He pressed a button to summon the flight attendant staff. They arrived without delay, hanging in midair despite the immense wind pressure. Mephisto pointed at Stomp, whom they acknowledged with empty eyes.

"We seem to have misplaced a passenger. Prepare for a late arrival... maybe get him a few hundred pounds of peanuts,"

They bowed their heads in unison, disappearing back into the belly of the plane. Despite his goofy nature, Mephisto had been taking notes. Stomp attacked as if the plane were more than just another part of this illusion. He was still interacting with the Devil, feeding into the overall lie. That was where Mr. Pinstripe Suit's powers really shined.

He poked his head out from over the lip of the demolished cabin, his voice somehow carrying through the roar of the racing air.

"Oh Stomp, you old rascal you," he began nonchalantly, as if he hadn't already been murdered twice by the bullish freak.

"That's not your seat!"

He threw down one of the many levers available to him and the nose of the plane opened into a gaping mouth, swallowing Stomp whole! He would pass through a horrifying labyrinth of baggage, bounced along by the plane's stiff motions, until he would appear in a chair at the tail end of the contraption, strapped in place by an uncomfortably tight seatbelt.

At least he would have a few dozen bags of peanuts.

Too bad they were impossible to open!

@thisisgonnahurt:

The roar of the engines was deafening, and the wind whipped across Stomp’s back. With his two fists he grabbed hold of the plane, even ripping into the steel that crumbled under his mighty strength. But despite all the chaos going on around him, he focused on one goal…..kill the Devil. With that in mind he clawed his way forward towards the cockpit, inch by inch, until getting close enough to see the Devil eye to eye. As usual Mephisto was already smiling, and perhaps singing another tune, but this time Evan was ready. Instead of his usual death threats, he chose a new strategy, one the Devil would never expect, and with great expectations, Evan looked at the Devil and smiled. For Evan had another trick up his sleeve, one he knew the Devil would not expect. But instead of catching Mephisto off guard, the Devil looked back at him and remarked, "Flying economy these days might be murder... but at least he's enjoying it!"

Immediately Evan grunted in anger as this would be the last time he would be mocked by the Devil, and as such he prepared for his explosive tusk attack. With the flexing of his facial muscles, he extended his trunk up for room to shoot, then took a second or two for perfect aim. Soon enough he would be launching two explosive tusks right into the bastards chest and blow the front half of the plane in to rubble. But at the moment Evan raised his head, he watched as Mephisto fumbled around only to let go of the yoke and duck under the control board. Immediately the plane began to dive while at the same time turn over in the sky, tossing Evan around like a rag doll. For a second or two the metal where he gripped ripped away under the enormous pressure, as Evan fought to hold on. At one point he was even hanging underneath the plane by one hand, watching in concern as the part he was holding onto was about to fall off.

In the end the plane finally returned upright and back on course, as a shadowy version of the Devil was now flying the plane. Just like the Devil it seemed to take great joy in Evan’s predicament, but by then it was too late. Now back on top of the plane and holding on with both hands, Evan launched both tusks straight at the Shadow Pilot, and hit him head on. Although it was not the Devil himself, Evan took great pride in watching the Shadow Devil, not only getting pierced with two nine inch tusk, but exploding in a ball of fire with eighty percent of the cockpit, behind the plane as what was left of it continued to swerve off course at a decreasing pace. It was then, just as Evan was about to pat himself on the back over his victory, Mephisto popped back up into the pilot seat and uttered the words, "Hm... bit of a draft,"

For a few brief seconds the two of them looked each other in the eye, as Mephisto quickly took control of the plane. Once again Evan was outraged that Mephisto was still alive, but even angrier that he was still joking. For as Evan was only a few feet away of reaching him, and yanking him out of the cockpit with his bare hands, the Devil simply sat there and remarked, "We seem to have misplaced a passenger. Prepare for a late arrival... maybe get him a few hundred pounds of peanuts." Once again Evan was raised to a new level of anger over the Devil’s incessant taunting, and out of sheer rage he began ripping the plane apart. Bit by bit he grab hold of fists full of metal and wires and ripped them away, only to toss it to the seas below, and grab another hand full. If he was not able to get a hold of the Devil himself, he damn sure was going to tear his precious plane apart. But despite all the damage he was doing, in true devilish manner, Mephisto simply poked his head up and said, "Oh Stomp, you old rascal you. That's not your seat!"

Suddenly everything began to change, as the Devil sat back and smiled. Evan’s grasp began to change as the front of the plane began to morph. Where once the standard front of a jumbo jet was, it now began to turn into a mouth, that swallowed him whole. Of all the indignities Evan had ever faced, none was as horrific as being digested by a living plane. Slowly and humiliatingly, he was pulled to the rear of the plane past rows of seats and luggage, on his way to the rear. While passing through parts that resembled throat muscles and organs along the way. But with each undignified toss and turn, he kept praying over and over, “God please. Whatever happens, please don’t let me get shot through a makeshift anus!”

Suddenly it all came to an abrupt halt, as he found himself now strapped to a chair, resting at the back of the plane, that resembled what it should, the back of the plane. To add insult to injury, he was surrounded by dozens of small bags of peanuts, the kind served on cheep flights. At this point he did not see the Devil anywhere around, but out of the window he could see that the plane was quickly falling from the sky. Wasting no time, with his immense strength he began ripping the shadowy straps from around him, only to watch new ones appear. By now the plane was in a death spiral as he could feel himself being spun around without his control. Once again he pulled away the shadowy straps holding him in place only to have them grow right back. In one last fit of rage, he no longer pulled at the shadow belts, but rather jumped up from his seat.

As planned Evan, with both speed and strength, managed to get upright and away from his seat, faster than the shadowy straps could hold him in place. In true Stomp fashion, he yelled, “Hell Yeah! Ain’t nothing can hold me down!” as he proceeded to mock both the chair and the shadows. But just as he stood up, the centripetal force of the plane’s descent knocked him back where he remained pressed against the rear of the plane, as it fell. Tired with all the tricks and games the Devil had put him through, this was a situation he could control. Without a fear in the world to where the plane was crashing down towards, he choose to go it alone and began tearing his way out of the plane. With one hand he slammed it through the top of the plane until his fingers could feel the wind, then proceeded to spin his arm clockwise. With every motion, his hand cut through the metal casing, carving his way out of the plane like a giant can opener, until he had successfully cut the rear of the plane from the rest of it. Naturally this would take only seconds, after which he would simply free fall to whatever is below, and deal with that later!

@stomp:

“Let's start fresh, this will no longer be just a test,” Mephisto mumbled, his voice teetering between whispering and full-blown ballroom blitzing.

“The night is closing in, so let's give the wheel a spin!

Place your bets, you obviously don’t play nice

You can stack the deck but there’s always a price!”

Mephisto's smile curled in a dastardly fashion, the shadows waxing varicose over his alabaster skin. His teeth lengthened, his limbs snapped and extended. His Shadow lengthened as the beat of his new rhythm became louder and louder, slowly but surely rumbling into a thunderous ticking sound. Even as they yet flew along the coasting pace of the plane, the echoing dissonance crackled through the air as the surety of an unfathomable, unseen clock.

“It's almost showtime, you sinners, the curtains aren't staying closed,

You might know how to swim but you have no idea how deep the water goes,

It's adorable how you think

That you weren't born to sink!

How did you even get this far?

You've always been doomed to fail

Your coffin just needed one last nail!

I'll bury you alive and leave you in the dark!”

Mephisto's reserves were running on empty. As the plane convulsed with Stomp's attempts to leave, it became much more obvious that the steel he ripped apart leaked streams of blood. Red ribbons sailed out with his unrelenting violence. Splinters of bone shuddered in the wake of his movements. Yet, for all of his strength, the machine held strong. The engines popped and burned, choking on fumes, but its new trajectory only coincided with Mephisto's latest scheme.

The plane itself started to take a nosedive, straight down into a flaming, screaming heap of fire and steel. But the music kept getting louder. As Stomp would look down, he’d see the horrors of The Devil’s sinister imagination unfold like the pages to a demented book. The farmland and hillsides, once so distant, now came careening faster and faster. Normal physics had no power here. He felt the pull of something similar to gravity, if gravity was a malicious force that leashed him to its grasp.

Beyond that, the grass started to shift. Trees lurched, their roots splaying apart like the legs of a horde of dead insects. The earth itself split open. Rows of teeth greeting the Elephantine Menace, all the way straight down for miles and miles. There was simply no end to the maw. No light illuminated the terrifying path except for the glowing eyes glaring into Evan’s very being. They were carnivorous, remnants or hallucinations of unimaginable things lurking in the dark places of the brute’s mind.

But, as ever, Mephisto manifested just beyond reach. The nightmare’s gravity well increased, yanking Stomp deeper into the madness he preferred over the simple show The Devil would have given him otherwise.

The lanky, disproportionate new shroud that Mephisto adopted seemed to be more akin to a bloodthirsty wendigo than a mortal man. His fingers ended in long, sharp nails and blood bubbled and spurted from his tear ducts and mouth. Yet, he continued to sing, floating down after Stomp with his eyes shifting into dark pits of pure malice.

There could be no overload of information great enough to dissuade him from doing so, especially as his voice echoed from end to end of the hellish freefall.

“You can’t escape curtain call, you lumbering oaf

Kill me all you want, you’re the star of this show!

The Big Top won’t blow away from a trunk blast, a tusk trap, or a thunderclap

All your tricks are treats to me! Your anger will run dry, just like all that other crap!

Like it or not I’m here to stay, I’ve crawled out of Hell and I’m not going away

But you look like you could use a little vacay… and I know where we can play!”

He whisked his hand through the air and produced a pitchfork, aiming a strike straight into Stomp’s guts. He’d only use it to expedite the journey down - down into the bowels of Hell itself! He’d throw Stomp into a lake of fire, where the cartoonish flames would swallow him whole. Except, for all the horrific implications of Mephisto’s new stage, the vintage style harkened back to the animated shorts from the turn of the 20th Century. The dancing demons were bouncing without a care in the world, all singing backup to Mephisto as Stomp’s latest battle would begin… as soon as he could extinguish the embers attempting to barbecue his backside.

Mephisto sat on a throne, overlooking this new battlefield with his pitchfork. He twirled it in his grasp and it became his cane once more, which he tapped with a finger as the Big Band roared somewhere beyond sight. On demand, it slithered around his neck and became a snake as he started shuffling some extravagant playing cards.

“If it isn’t obvious yet, I’m not much of a fighter - I’d rather take a bet

Why would I put up my dukes and carry on, when there’s a card game to be won?

The answer is obvious

This plot has become synonymous

With the myth of Sisyphus

But I can’t imagine you happy

You’re a sick, twisted jerk

You have no other perks

Can’t even make your crime life work!

Could you imagine something so crappy?”

He started laughing as he cut the deck, shuffling it handful by handful. Demons approached Stomp with their cartoonish grins and pitchforks, intent on guarding their master if something went - inevitably - awry. They weren’t flesh and blood, more inky and easily-bruised linework.

It was Mephisto’s last hurrah. He had nothing else other than to insult Stomp and drop him off wherever the Shadow that kept them in this situation lingered. It floated somewhere over the English Channel, closing in on the French countryside.

“So… how’s about some poker?” he tilted his head, visibly agitated by something.

@thisisgonnahurt:

Trapped in a plane taking a nose dive, Evan was beyond outraged. His only goal now was to get out and deal with his own fate. With his massive strength he ripped through the hull of the plane with his bare hand, until his fingers could feel wind. By now the plane was filled with black smoke, as he could see out the window the engines were on fire. But as he began to tear his way out by spinning his arm like a giant can opener, the place were his hand happened to be began to bleed a mixture of blood and oil. Within seconds the plane became a hybrid of steel and flesh, as Evan could see organs hanging from wounds he inflicted. At one point he could even hear the plane moan in pain. Normally Evan had no problem being drenched in blood as he was known for his brutality, as well as crushing skulls under his feet, but the blood and oil coming from the plane felt unnatural. But despite it all Evan wanted out and that meant tearing the plane in half if he needed to!

Suddenly the plane shook as it fell deeper into it’s nose dive, slamming Evan against the rear of the jet, now in a vertical position. At the pace it was falling out of the sky, Evan knew he was out of time, and that he would have to go down with the plane. Despite being surrounded in smoke, blood and oil, the fact that the cockpit had been blown away from the rest of the plane, gave him a front row view to his inevitable crashing point. Although it was going by in the blink of an eye, he took in a deep breath and braced himself. Due to his enormous strength and durability, he didn’t fear the crash, for very little even phases him. But just as he was feeling proud of himself, that damn music of Mephisto’s began playing all around him.

Immediately Evan let out a roar louder than the jet’s engines, as it aggravated him like never before. For not only does it mean the Devil was still alive, but that he was about to play another of his little games. “Damn You!” Evan yelled, “I’ll see you in Hell you bastard!!” with no idea how real his statement was about to become. For just outside the plane, where once was a breathtaking view of a hill side along waves of grass, the Earth was opening to reveal a deep hole that resembled a mouth. Before Evan knew it the plane was now inside it as rows of teeth passed by and a gurgling sound could be heard just under the beat of the Devil’s music. For the first time in Evan’s life he didn’t know who or what to smash, as this was beyond him. And despite it all, his only coarse of action was to ride this wave and see where it ends. A feat that would be less annoying if that damn music would stop playing!

It was then as he continued to fall down through the open mouth, that it began to change again. This time into his worst nightmares. Were once was the sight of a makeshift throat, was now images of Evan’s past. Like watching images on a movie screen, Evan could see all the little bits of his life he hated, looking back at him and mocking him. Images of the day he was banned from boxing played before him as clear as if it was happening again today. Other painful images like being smacked around by his father or the many many times people laughed at him as if he was a joke appeared, but none was more emotional than the images of him weak and timid, that hurt him so much. It was so emotionally damaging, that Evan cried out, “No That’s not me!” as his body began the changing from the Powerhouse Pachyderm back into the mortal Evan Tombs.

But just as quickly as that happened, he immediately turn back into full Stomp mode as Mephisto finally made his presence known again. Just out of Evan’s reach, as planned, he took on a new form, one he knew would add to Evan’s ever increasing annoyance. Instead of his frail human like host, this time Mephisto appeared much like a giant wendigo, with long hair, claws and muscles. For the first time since the two of them met, this was the first time the Devil presented him with a beast Evan could fight one on one in a glorious smack down, but the Devil being who he is, still stayed out of Evan’s reach...and continued to play his music! Once again all Evan could do was shout, “Come on and fight me you coward! Or are you afraid?!?!” But like before his words were drowned out by the sound of the Devil’s music, that was getting louder by each passing second.

Suddenly there was a soft break in the music, just long enough for Mephisto to sing, and singing he did. In his own Devilish way he began to mock Evan, beginning with his biggest insecurity, being weak. In his own words Mephisto called him out on how all Evan’s attacks meant nothing, from his trunk blast, to tusk trap and his thunderclap, and all though he only referred to them as “Your tricks are Treats to me!” Mephisto was clearly teasing him on how none of those had stopped him before. But before Evan could say a word, Mephisto finished off his little song with a promise, a promise of “you look like you could use a little vacay… and I know where we can play!” It was then he ditched the wendigo look and went back to his more Devilish motif, as he drew forth a pitch fork from nowhere and proceeded to stab Evan in the gut. Whatever it was, perhaps the music, the location, or even the pitch fork itself, somehow it all took effect on Stomp and as planned he fell, straight down into the pits of Hell, that Mephisto had waiting for him!

In an instant Evan fell feet first into a lake of fire, with flames snapping all around him. Were it not for the god like durability of his flesh, the flames would have roasted him alive. Instead he bobbed up and down in it, fighting to keep his head above it, as a hand full of tinier Devils kept trying to force him back in with their own tiny little pitchforks. But unlike the Hell described in the movies and scriptures, this place resemble more like a cartoonish version of the underworld! Here the fire was not burning his soul and here the tiny Devils danced more like Oompa Loompas than tormentors. All in all it was unpleasant but not unmanageable. However there was still one feature of this Hell that was undeniably soul wrenching, and that of course was that the Devil was still singing! What’s worse, all the little Devils were singing along in unison!

But while all this was going on, Mephisto sat back on a throne, overlooking Evan’s ordeal while twirling a pitch fork in his hand. In a true devilish manner the pitch fork became his cane, then into a snake that coiled around his neck, all while he sat there mocking Evan. But as he began with a song he ended with a song, this time explaining Evan’s predicament. As he put it, the Devil is not a fighter, and all this torment could have ended with a deal, and as much as Evan hated it when the Devil sang, he hated it even more, when he finished it off like this….

“The answer is obvious

This plot has become synonymous

With the myth of Sisyphus

But I can’t imagine you happy

You’re a sick, twisted jerk

You have no other perks

Can’t even make your crime life work!

Could you imagine something so crappy?”

Unfortunately, while all this was going on just to annoy Stomp, it began working in the wrong way. As the Devil scoffed, “So… how’s about some poker?” Evan was reaching a point he might not be able to come back from. The anger, the rage, that had been building up inside him had pushed his adrenaline to a place it had never been before. As part of his mutation, he had the ability to even the field in a fight should his adrenaline reach such a level. For example if fighting a speedster he could eventually gain enhanced speed. In this case both his size and strength were reaching a point where nothing could hold him back. Now reaching a height of close to ten feet tall he made Mephisto’s lake of fire look like a kiddy pool. His eyes were a burning red that out matched any fire in this Hell. Immediately he went into a wild rampage, tearing apart anything he could get his hands upon.

At first he began slamming his fists into the lake of fire, only to cause waves of fire to splash in the opposite directions. If there were any land marks, he would proceed to break them from it’s foundation then throw it at whatever looks like he could break. If not that, he would simply crush what he could grab into tinier pieces all with his trade mark grunting. But for the tiny cartoonish Devils poking him with there little red pitchforks, he took great pride in their destruction. With his enormous hand he would grab them one by one, and rip them in half. Others he would simply squish, or on some occasion, even bite their heads off. He was in full beast mode, as an unstoppable wave of destruction, destroying everything in his path on the way to reaching Mephisto himself, and even though the cartoon Devils did not explode with blood and organs, rather ink, Stomp would continue his rampage for eternity. For Stomp never tires and Stomp never quits. He would continue destroying at all cost, putting the Devil in a Hell of his own!

@stomp:

Panic. Hysteria. Bedlam.

Whether by smashed ink blots or blobs of bursting blood, the end result could never be denied. The chaos erupting in hot flashes across the landscape of his imagination, breaking the surface of his already-fragmented mind in searing, aching gashes gouged out from beneath his alabaster skin… it gave him purpose.

The greatest lie he ever told was convincing the world he didn’t exist. The greatest performance he ever made was riding those coattails all the way to oblivion. He had yet to find an instrument as complex as the human mind. He had yet to find anything more entertaining than the human soul.

Twisting it, bending it, manipulating the tendrils of thought and existence and emotion could not be compared to anything else. He had no doubt that this flew straight over Stomp’s head, but the beastly man’s anatomy reflected the morose and convulsing cystic growth of mortal potential. It was a gruesome mirror to what Mephisto wanted to observe and experiment with. Yet, despite all of his interest in the subject, he could never obtain it for himself. He could never get close enough to experience it for himself. As the World’s Most Devilish Showman, he could never so much as approach the edge of the metaphorical stage.

Even if the audience participated, they still walked out the door at the end of the performance. They may have talked about it, brought new faces into the maelstrom, but he could only ever tempt them to stay. He could not leave with them.

The snake coiled around his hand, resting on a glowing ring.

“My friend,” his voice wouldn’t stab into Stomp’s ears this time.

His words were soothing, honest perhaps, and sincere.

He stood from the throne, his sickly-yellow eyes never once darting away from his beloved guest’s agonizing rage. The predatory scarlet pupils, sharp as daggers, always managed to find a weakness in the armor guarding the soul. Suddenly, Stomp was vulnerable, despite the strength he always bragged about.

Right now, Mephisto could finally admit that he no longer doubted his claims as one of the strongest freaks on the planet.

It wasn’t The Devil’s right, even here in his fake Hell.

“It has been a wonderful experience, to have you visit such havoc upon my humble theater,”

His smile extended well past where it should have stopped. The sharp teeth within started to bleed at the gumline, trails of it dripping from his distended jaw.

“But I’m afraid, despite my benevolence, our painfully long encounter must find its end here,”

The rhymes were not accompanied by much music. There were definite wheezes of strained brass and woodwinds, tired drums hitting a slower and numbing beat. The entirety of the illusion crackled with static. Demons who were not already squashed lost defining facial features as Mephisto’s focus dissipated. Their eyes, now hollow, masked a muted horror before the bodies attached to their rubber hose reality fell flat on the ground and went silent and still.

Mephisto held out his arm and the snake slithered to his palm, becoming rigid and changing shape into a lever that attached itself to the armrest of the throne chair.

“I have lied to you, I have but one comeback, and one more condition big man,”

Stomp’s tantrums revealed his soul. The secrets of the psychotic strongman were stripped bare, a fresh and open wound. He already saw glimpses of his past, something painted on the walls that the Elephantine Menace himself allowed. That provided Mephisto with a clear path. His laughter overtook the weak instrumentation.

The rivers of magma churning in the distance were cut short, drained into the abyss by blades of static ripping the conjured reality apart.

Mephisto’s fingers curled around the lever. His tear ducts popped with spasms of blood.

“This isn’t a deal, it’s a warning you’ve lacked, and I don’t need to shake your hand

Hellfire is no longer your ballroom to dance, you will never again find yourself near

If you still think this isn’t your last chance, let me make one thing perfectly clear,”

The walls crumbled around them. The illusion broke at the seams. Darkness swallowed everything, everyone, except for Stomp, Mephisto, and the throne The Devil stood upon. They were once again floating in nothingness, except this time the static kept groaning. Cracks formed in the space between reality and shadow.

They were falling.

“Remember this before you ever attack: I’m The Devil, and you’re a terrible person… Evan,”

He threw down the lever. The darkness abated beneath Stomp, throwing him out to sea. They were hovering somewhere north of France, far closer to mainland Europe than they were to England. Without another gesture or word, Mephisto vanished deep under the surface of the ocean. He took secret and shadowy roads back to England, perhaps even turning towards the Atlantic and making a beeline for New Orleans.

He sank into his shadow, his mirrored self conjuring a calm room for him to rest in. Mephisto lounged in a cushioned seat, his legs rocking back and forth in agony. He held his face, blood oozing from between his fingers. His mind had been in a clamping vice for the past hour, trying to hold Stomp in his various lies and hallucinations.

The Devil coughed and convulsed, his Shadow cleaning up what he spat out with a handkerchief. He calmed down once he finally managed to locate the smell of Earl Grey tea simmering somewhere in the room.

“I’m getting too old for this…” he grimaced, leaning deeper into the chair.

His Shadow turned up the radio. Long-dead musicians and singers rattled off their telltale instrumentations and limericks. Mephisto felt his chest swell with a small nugget of energy, but his reservoir couldn’t be more empty. He barely had enough concentration to escape like he did, despite his theatrics. They didn’t help, obviously, but they seemed necessary in the moment.

“Of course I’ve been saying that for a hundred years at least!” he cackled, wiping his hands clean with his own kerchief.

“Thank you for this,” he nodded to his Shadow, who bowed back as he delivered the tea.

He sipped it slowly, not minding the heat, and twirled a finger so he could open a window into the bottom of the sea as they traveled. He watched the black depths with a morbid curiosity, finding creatures that never knew the touch of sunlight before staring blankly at him.

This momentary exchange between his tourist’s gaze and their strange, meandering paths reminded him of just how lucky he had been throughout this entire exercise. He could effectively do nothing to Evan once he became angry enough to blatantly ignore his deals. But, time makes corpses of them all. Eventually, Stomp would be his regardless given his resume.

For now, evading Stomp was for the best. It intrigued him how the rules shifted in the favor of mortals yet their souls were wet clay in the afterlife. So long as their flesh remained strong, so long as their bodies were not wilted with age or circumstance, their souls were guarded. He could always find ways beyond that barrier, the temple built around what he desired, but that relied squarely on the weakness of the flesh.

Greed, envy, sloth, gluttony, lust, pride, and… wrath.

It was a game he had been playing for many lifetimes. The rules were always the same. The consequences of corruptibility were always delightfully ironic.

“Fascinating,” he mumbled.

At length, he wondered what the song that lured him out to the mansion in the first place could have been. He wondered what would have happened if he were to find the source, if he ever managed to find a way through the amnesiatic maze the first floor presented.

He sighed. Comparison might be the thief of joy, but so was doting on missed opportunity. Perhaps he could mysteriously arrive at such a juncture again one day. Perhaps, his hopeful heart contended, and nothing more.

He already left a letter somewhere in the mansion, he forgot where.

Without a second thought, he steered his shadow back home. Tonight had been quite eventful after all!

Reads in the sunroom

@adela_roth:

In a cold sweat Ricky wakes up from a nightmare. His sheets ripped, his pillows are knocked off and tossed half way across the room, and what’s worse was the nightmare he woke up from. Although most of it was a blur, his mind was filled with images of Headmistress Roth fighting an evil version of herself and a stranger oozing with dark forces waiting in her room. Unfortunately, there was more to it, and although his memories were fading fast, Ricky remembered being bitten by the stranger in an attempt to save Headmistress Roth from falling under his evil spell. It was then he felt a twinge on his right arm, right at the same spot were he was bit in the dream and as he raised it to his face, he was shocked at what he saw. There on his arm was a mark. Not a bruise, not a cut, but a mark, best described as a blackened lightning bolt that felt cold to the touch.

Immediately he ran to the bathroom, placing his arm under the sink and began trying to rub it off when all of a sudden he felt a sickness inside him, forcing him to vomit. When done, like a fool he placed his arm back under the water again only to get the same nauseous feeling, but at the moment he stopped trying to wash the mark away, the nauseous feeling came to an abrupt halt. “What the Hell?” he said while removing his arm from the sink, “this doesn’t make sense?” That is when he places both of his hands on the mirror as he tried to catch his breath, only to see an image that was not his, looking back at him. Instead, for just a brief second, the image looking back at him was that of the stranger, smiling back at him while he waves his hand as in saying ‘Hello!’ Immediately Ricky jumps back, but not after smashing the mirror with his fist, strictly as a defense mechanism and not in fear. For even though this was a situation he had never been in before, he was not frightened, but he would be right too, if he had a full understanding of what was really going on!

It was then, as he pulled his sleeve back down over his arm to cover it, he remembered that Headmistress Roth was in the dream and she too was in danger. Without a second thought he bolted out of his room and began running down the many corridors on a hell bent mission to find her. After what seemed like an eternity he finally reached her room, and with no thought to the fact it was still the middle of the night he vigorously knocked on her door repeatedly shouting her name. Should she open the door, which would make common sense, he would begin telling her about his nightmare, going in to deep detail over her evil twin, the stranger and the fact he got bit. Only then, would he roll up his sleeve and show her the mark, then go on to tell her about the nausea and the stranger’s reflection in the mirror. But despite how cool and calm Ricky is in most occasions, as he told the story to Headmistress Roth, there were clear signs of concern in his demeanor.

(Just for fun. No need to respond, but can if you wish).

Keira Sterling, under her new guise, strolls along the paved path, lost in contemplation, unaware of her surroundings until she halts before the imposing edifice of the prestigious academy.

Adjusting her glasses, she gazes upon the pristine white walls and picturesque countryside. Was it truly under the Huntington family's reign, as gossip suggests? Or might another helm its affairs? Nonetheless, even Keira acknowledges the Huntington legacy, emblematic of opulence and influence, the pinnacle of English society.

With a heavy heart, she recalls a time of adoration and acceptance, now a distant memory marred by past events. As an outcast, she doubts her reception in such esteemed circles. While financial resources pose no challenge for Keira, the real threat lies in exposure. Once her identity is revealed, her plans unravel, leading to her inevitable exclusion.

Resolving to retreat, Keira hoists her backpack, turning away to embrace the unknown, her sights set on an English expedition, perhaps uncovering the legend of King Arthur. Though skeptical, the notion sparks a playful grin, igniting her imagination as she ventures forth into the vast expanse.

@valerie_huntington: *throws pie*

@zeraz: Love the avatar. ^_^

@zeraz:

You better be here to write something heaux