In the depths of the underworld, Rasheed scoffed at Dio's suggestion.
"We need not worry about the inference of mere peons," He said loftily, leaning back in his chair, "If Tracy's power is as you say, then the others who are coming into place will be weak in comparison!"
Dio shook her head slightly. Her fingers nervously grasped the handle of her bone dagger once more, stroking the ivory shaft.
"Perhaps you're right" She said, glancing around the room, "but still, I can't shake the feeling that we're forgetting something."
Rasheed stared blankly at her in response. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a strange fanatic light.
"I have no idea what you would be referring to her," He mused, his black eyes boring into her skull. Dio turned away briefly, unable to think properly with the demon coals silently interrogating her. She searched her mind frantically until a cause of concern floated to the surface.
"What about Lord Golgothas?"
Rasheed paused, his eyes still raging with quiet intensity. After a lengthy silence, he replied carefully; "What about Lord Golgothas?"
Lord Golgothas, more energy than human, was the demon warden of the underworld. It was his job to guard the souls that had been condemned to suffer for all eternity, a position that commanded utmost power. Although not truly Lucifer himself, he worked behind the scenes to keep, and perhaps augment, the underworld's control. Feared by the inhabitants of the underworld perhaps even more than Lucifer, he was renowned for his harsh cruelty toward the residents of the underworld.
"How will he feel if he finds out about our plans?" Dio asked, returning the duo to the present.
A smirk played across Rasheed's lips, but it vanished only to be replaced with his mask of indifference.
"It would be best if he were to never find out about this; our punishment could be quite severe if he is displeased."
-----
As the harsh winds blew through the city of Fourside, Venus Graves pulled up a flimsy shawl around her thin shoulders, desperately trying to stay warm in the increasing chill. She sat despondently on the edge of a street corner, her legs dangling over a dirt filled sewer. As the breeze blew through her hair as easily as picking up a feather, she gazed into the mist and reflected back on her life.
Despite what many people thought, Venus was not a native citizen of Eagleland. She had been born off in the United states, in a small New Jersey town named Leonardo, to Aphrodite Graves and Gerald Svenning. Her mother could not have been prouder; her father left town two days after her birth, never to return. Venus was raised solely by her mother in a small house - No, She thought to herself, it was nothing more than a shack - that Aphrodite had purchased when she first got out of college. The two were happy to lean on each other, but the gnawing ache of poverty pervaded their lives on a daily bases. The only thing that kept the duo happy was the sound of young Venus' voice, which was known around the town for its pure, angelic quality.
Venus shivered softly as her memories brought her forward in time, to her graduation from Henry Hudson High in '90. Desperate to make money for her impoverished family, she signed the first singing contract that came her way, to one Lucretia Fake of Fourside. Although it forced her to move out of the country, Venus was eternally grateful to her new employer; grateful enough to work for dirt-poor wages, all of which were spent on keeping the singer and her mother alive. Starting in the business at 18, she worked for more than 11 years, touring Eagleland and its neighboring countries for whatever little money she could make.
9 months prior to the present time, Venus' life collapsed around her. She stared out into space as she thought out the day that Fake had called her into the office; The singer had thought her manager only wanted to discuss touring schedules, but it was something much more. Fake led her into the office and sat down at the desk; where she delivered the ultimatum - Venus was fired. When Venus asked why, Fake leered coldly at her, proclaiming that these were the rules of show business; once you turned thirty, you were useless to the world. The entertainment industry needed fresh, new faces - not some "Washed-up Jersey girl." With her tail between her legs, Venus slunk out of her manager’s office, and onto the shady streets of Fourside.
On a grand scale, Fourside had been at peace ever since the destruction of the nightmare demon. However, without a common cause to unify the city's people, the crime rate rose drastically in the following five years, bringing the city's present state to something short of Marshall Law. Times were hard in the big city, and everyone had a hard time finding work, including the former star.
Although Venus had several good friends, she refused to be a burden to them; Hence, none of her companions knew the trouble that had befallen her. Venus had briefly considered asking Narcy for help, but she thought better of it. Narcy was completely happy with her husband of five years, Chartreuse of Altus, and she didn't want to destroy their happiness by bringing her troubles to them.
Venus sighed as she thought of her scientist friend. Shortly before she was terminated, Venus used her savings fund to visit Narcy in the cloud kingdom. Her breath was taken the instant she arrived; not only was the kingdom infinitely beautiful, Narcy and Chartreuse looked gorgeous. Altians, having a slightly longer lifespan than the normal human, aged slower and thus retained their youthful looks for much longer. Although Chartreuse and Narcy were both in their early thirties, they were physically in their prime.
Venus shook her head slightly, snapping herself into the present to avoid such depressing thoughts. As she did, a puddle at her feet caught her eye. She looked down only to see her reflection staring back at her, her pool blue eyes wide with sorrow. Eyeing the puddle sadly, she brought her finger up to her face and brushed the sides of her eyes. She could feel wrinkles forming at the edges, beneath the makeup that caked her face. Fake had been right about her age; indeed, she had most likely been monitoring it for years.
As Venus continued to stare in the puddle, her eyes drifted down toward her current attire. She wore a tight, black leather bodice around her chest, and her legs were covered by nothing more than matching leather shorts and a set of fishnet stockings. On her feet were knee-high boots, with small pointed heels at the bottom. Eyeing her reflection with disgust, she almost cried.
Rather than facing poverty once more, Venus had been forced to take up a job that generated money by highly illicit means. Her employer, Mack "Mack Daddy" Mackson, was more than happy to have the former starlet in his regime; he believed, and rightly so, that having a famous face in his workforce would increase his profits substantially. Although Venus hated what she was being used for, she hated the idea of poverty even more, and so she remained under his wing right up until the present.
Had Venus been more cynical, she would have been able to see the irony in the situation; Before, people had wanted her for nothing more than a name and a voice, and now all they wanted was a body. Her current profession mirrored show business well, but her innocent nature did not allow her to see it.
"Venus?" A hesitant voice gained Venus' attention, causing her to look up from the silvery puddle. Standing above the former singer was Luna, one of the people that Venus had met along with Narcy.
"Luna, what are you doing here?" Venus asked, using her shawl to hastily cover her risqué ensemble. Whether Luna noticed this or not was apparent, as she extended her hand to help Venus right away.
"I'm walking home from Fourside University, my college. Venus, how come you haven't talked to me lately! I've missed you a ton!" Luna gushed, giving her friend a quick hug. Venus stood stoically, accepting the embrace but not returning it. Luna stepped back, alarmed.
"Venus, what's wrong? Did something happen to you?" She asked, immediately assuming an expression of concern.
"Luna, you don't want to associate with me. I'm not what I used to be."
"What do you mean?" Luna asked innocently, raising her eyebrows. Venus turned away to hide her shame.
"I'm a fallen woman," She mumbled, biting her lip. Luna's heart instantly went out to the former singer, and she put her arm around her.
"Venus, come with me back to my place. I'll make you something warm for dinner."
----
The young man got home, ate a small dinner and laid in his bed, trying to relax. But the dreams he'd been having for the last week were bothering him too much. He pulled his boots back on, threw on his special, armor plated trenchcoat, grabbed a couple throwing knives, his father's gold dagger, and his sword, a gift from one of his uncles. He buttoned up the coat, adjusted the weight of the weapons, and headed for the door.
"Eric, where are you going?" It was his mother, who, despite all the explanation from his uncles, was still very overprotective of Eric. "I thought you said you'd leave tomorrow."
"Sorry Mom, I can't even relax. I have to go, if for no other reason than to stop these weird dreams. I'll probably be gone for a few days, but I won't let myself die. Besides, I might even be able to figure out what the dreams meant. The weapons are only if the worst happens, OK?" Eric tried to shorten his mother's lecture, and hurried to the bus stop.
He boarded the Twoson bound bus with little trouble, and headed on his way to whatever destiny held for him.
----
She ran.
She ran through the slightly chilled air; it was a little odd for a coastal town like Summers, which was warm year-round.
*I'm not going back... I'm never going back there... never again...* She ran as fast as she could, building up her speed.
"PSI Teleport!"
She didn't care where she went, as long as it was far away from Summers. Closing her eyes and maintaining a steady running pace, she disappeared into thin air.
When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in Onett, which had a semi-thick blanket of snow covering it. The cold barely affected her, as she leaned against a nearby tree to catch her breath. Her backpack fell to the white ground.
"I... I won't go back..." she said to herself, panting. "I've had it... I can't take it anymore..." She sat down, still leaning against the tree, disregarding the snow. She unzipped the largest pocket of her green-and-black backpack and pulled out a large dark-blue blanket, wrapping it around her.
"I don't care what anybody says... I'm of no use to anyone." She ran a hand through her blood-red hair, scratching behind the long yellow ear poking out of the top of her head. "I'm just a freak of nature," she said, swishing her long yellow-and-brown tail, "that's all that people see me as." The tears that had begun flowing down her cheeks soon froze.
PikaChan hugged the blanket closer around her. She narrowed her eyes as her feet went numb. "Don't care anymore..." She closed her dark brown eyes, waiting for the cold to take her. She didn't care if she died. She just wanted to be a normal human being, without the hideous ears or the long tail, without the inhuman powers...
----
"This week, on Mysterious Mysteries...Creepy Cults. Who are they, and what do we know about them? In the next hour, we'll be exploring the various cults throughout Eagleland. Stay tuned!" The logo for Mysterious Mysteries flared up in front of the lanky, dark-skinned man. It wavered slightly and then dissolved into nothingness. The spectacled man continued in his low, gravelly voice.
"Many of us know about the Happy Happyist Cult that dissolved years ago. This group of twisted individuals nearly succeeded in their goal -- to paint the entire world blue. Even today, remnants of this terrifying group survive, waiting in the remotest regions of Eagleland for the right time to rise again and assault the world with their twisted ways."
The image shifted to the former Happy Happy Village, where a more recent threat had recently taken up residence. The camera panned to reveal the same dark-skinned man, his hair cropped in a crewcut, his hand clasping a microphone. "Although the threat of the Happy Happyists was terminated seven years ago through unknown and unverifiable means, a new sickening and dastardly cult has taken to calling this humble burg home." He motioned with his left arm out toward the main great hall, which was behind him. Before it, several individuals sat cross-legged, seemingly meditating. "Here we find a typical group of Scientologists, apparently in a tranquil state. They move to this outdoor area daily at the same time, where they look to the ghost of L. Ron Hubbard for guidance."
The scenery went dark, yet the man remained, as if what the viewer has just been seeing was a movie screen. An ominous music reverberated from a synthesizer offset. A spotlight was shown on the man, casting an eerie shadow.
"Yet perhaps most chilling of all is the most recent onset of cultist fervor. This is a group that has sprung up within the last five years, following the near-destruction of our planet. As regular viewers of Mysterious Mysteries will recall, five years ago a great evil known as the Nightmare Demon came to our world and nearly obliterated it. Many skeptics claim the dark shadows and neon lights to have been some sort of mass hallucination, one brought on by swamp gas from Deep Darkness and an experimental machine devised by the Apple Kid. Yet we at Mysterious Mysteries know better!"
The screen once again lit up with images of thousands of individuals on the deck of an enormous ship, one painted black with red trim and seeming to have sustained heavy damage from a prolonged skirmish. A steady chanting filled the air, and the throng on deck swayed together in an almost rhythmic and hypnotizing manner. A gravelly voice from offscreen spoke.
"Many will recognize this as the SS Thed a literal museum parked in Fourside's harbor. Over the past five years, a steadily growing cult has found this place to be home to their gatherings, and after obtaining some permits from the city, they began congregating here for daily one-hour rituals. We here at Mysterious Mysteries have at last penetrated this cult during its ritualistic hour, and are here to speak with some of its members. Join us now as we explore...the Cult of Talus." A loud ring followed, emphasizing this. The words Cult of Talus appeared onscreen in red, oozing downward like blood.
The dark-skinned man was once again in view, pushing his way through a throng of congregated cultists. He approached a young man in a long, black trenchcoat. He bore a pair of thick glasses and an almost sharkfin-like hairstyle. The darks-skinned man tapped him on the shoulder.
"We're here with this big-headed boy to get some answers about the Cult of Talus. Be warned, viewers, this may not be for the faint of heart!" The boy in question looked incredulously at the man.
"Hey! My head's not big!" He shouted in a whiny, nasal, high-pitched voice. The man raised an eyebrow.
"Mmm hmm." He mused, pausing. He continued. "So tell us, big-headed boy, what is the Cult of Talus all about?" He held the microphone down for the boy to speak into.
The boy, whose cranium was quite large, pursed his lips moodily, then quickly resigned. He took a deep breath and spoke. "Well as you know, five years ago our world was nearly destroyed by a monstrous demon! This was big stuff! We all know he was defeated by Ness, but what few know is that a group of about twenty other people helped him! Once such individual was a boy named Talus. He fought bravely for the Earth but in the end he was struck down by the Nightmare Demon aboard this very ship! So to honor his memory, we of the Cult of Talus gather here every day at this hour, the very hour of his passing, to honor him!"
The dark-skinned man raised an eyebrow. "I see." He murmured. "Thank you, big-headed boy." He turned to the camera. "Now, some commercials. But when we return -- Sugemo: a mystic power or complete hoax? Stay tuned for more Mysterious Mysteries!"
The screen began to fade to black. The dark-skinned man could be heard muttering "I'm going to get cancelled again" before the network cut to a commercial.
The figure in the armchair shifted restlessly, extending the remote in his right hand and pressing the power button. The small television before him blinked out in a flash of light just as a commercial for Mother 3 came on. Remote found its way to a table beside the upholstery. A pale hand found its way to a pair of blue spectacles, which were shifted slightly up the bridge of a slender nose. This same hand traveled to a mane of white hair, combing it backward. A labored sigh escaped a pair of thin lips, and two brown eyes escaped the darkness of a pair of eyelids. The figure shifted his wait, and with a grunt of exertion, freed himself from the chair. He placed his hands in his pockets, his elbows arching slightly behind him, as if his arms and legs were disproportionate from the rest of his body. He stooped his shoulders, closed his eyes, and began to walk.
Five years in Hell. Had it been that long? To Talus, it seemed like an eternity. For one so laden with memories, the agony of the underworld was unbearable. He walked quietly through smoke and fire, dust and brimstone. His eyelids open once again, intense heat and debris making them water. All around him was blackness; the screams of the damned echoed through the abyss. In the interminable inkiness, Talus had time to think. Far too much time. His thoughts always returned to his demise and his judgement.
For one who had given his life to save the planet, eternal damnation was a surprise, to say the least. He had sacrificed everything; his home, his family -- his friends. All of this was naught before the world's well being. Or at least he forced himself to believe, for this was far from the truth. In reality, his last thoughts were spent clinging to a fading dream, a nightmare that he thought he was finally waking up from. And yet...he didn't want to wake up from the dream. It turned out to be far more real that anything he could have imagined. He wished to keep it, squirrel it away in the recesses of his mind, to cherish it eternally. Those were his last wishes. He desired revenge; vengeance for the death of his father, and the desire to see Raltise undone. Most of all, he had desired to live.
But the afterlife plays no favorites, and the eternals hold no sympathy for those who pass with anger in their hearts.
Talus had leapt the mortal coil struggling for the taste of a bitter cup; the cup of retribution. His spirit had fled his weak shell laden with regrets. Thus, before the judgement of The Light, he found himself cast down into the pit. Yet, his punishment was a unique one.
Punishments...divine retribution -- the powers that be held a wry sense of humor. For every cursed soul that found its way to the underworld, a punishment was set equal to their crimes in life. A movement caught Talus' eye, and he arched his head to the right where, before him, one such punishment was being exacted.
"H-help!" A shrill voice cried. A pudgy man in a Hawaiian shirt and a bowler hat called out from behind a bushy mustache. His sunglasses were cracked and worn. It was Everdred -- one of the four puppets, and as a fitting punishment, he was dangling from a series of strings attached to his legs, arms, and head. His limbs jerked wildly as an unknown manipulator had its way. Beside him, Lier X. Agerate, Geldegarde Monotoli, and Mr. Carpainter all suffered a similar fate. In life, they had quested for nothing but power, ultimately become vile instruments of a great evil -- in death, they were powerless playthings.
Talus smirked. "Serves them right." He muttered. He cleared his throat, resuming his disinterested, almost tired-looking expression, and continued sauntering along. He opened his eyes, looking skyward. Hell's terrain was quite unforgiving -- looking in any given direction, one will see a massive rock wall in the distance, rising upward into darkness unknown. No one had ever reached the walls -- they acted like a sort of illusion. The closer one got to the walls, the more one realized how truly monolithic they were. Talus shrugged and continued onward to his destination.
He had paid a visit to this spot daily since it first came into existence five years ago. It seemed to suit his own sense of justice to do so; yet also it seemed to perpetuate his own sin. Talus didn't care. He pushed aside the swinging doors of Jackie's Café and made his way to a seat.
Jackie's Café in the Underworld was not the physical building, but rather, a manifestation of the establishment where it all began six years ago. All types gathered here -- sinners of every variety, particularly demanding folk who expected service on the double and had no qualms in lashing out at the staff. Or rather, the solitary individual staffing the place. Talus tapped his fingers impatiently on the wooden table before abruptly calling out, "Waiter!"
In a flash, a man zipped before him. This man was all too familiar, and every day upon his visit, Talus couldn't help but smile to see him in this situation. The figure scanned the youth with two piercing crimson eyes, his nose scrunching up in a scowl, but he resigned himself soon after. He removed a pencil and pad from his black apron with a pair of chalk white hands. "Yes, yes...what do you wish to order, Young Master?" The figure spoke through gritted yellow teeth. The hand with the pencil habitually went up to his hair, where it combed through rough auburn hair with two hints of red.
Talus crossed his legs and smirked. He motioned to the facing chair. "Take a seat, Raltise."
Raltise grudgingly obliged and sat facing his former nemesis, clasping his hands on the table before him. He paused briefly before nodding. "...How can I be of service?" He groaned. Talus grinned at this.
"You know, Raltise, it always struck me as interesting that you of all people would wind up here. I mean, you're supposed to be some sort of malevolent god-like creature, and when you were destroyed you ceased to exist. Yet here you are! It's ironic, really." Talus folded his arms.
Raltise cleared his throat, obliged to answer his partner in conversation. "Well, Young Master, even Gods are susceptible to the laws of fate. When an angel falls, he too becomes a devil. So is it with Gods, as well. The eternals deemed that my failed plans and erasure from the plane of existence were not sufficient to pay for my crime, and they imprisoned me in this finite form. Thus, here I am, yes...serving espressos to you...delightful individuals. He gritted his teeth on these last two words.
Talus draped his arms over the back of the chair, and propped his feet up upon the table. Raltise made to object, knowing that he would have to clean them later, but at the same time he knew he could say nothing. Talus enjoyed these sessions all too much.
"It's a funny thing how our punishments get chosen, don't you think?"
"Yes...quite. Well! I would imagine that you do not have much to repent for, hmm? What could the fates possibly burden you with?"
Talus grew silent at this inquiry. He looked toward the ground. Of course, he was already burdened with much. Memories of years past, of the friends he had met along his quest, of the mother and father he had lost. All these memories plagued him. All these memories centered around the man sitting across from him now, and yet strangely, he bore him no particular hatred. Had he felt otherwise, Raltise would have been a mere pulp on the cold stone floor.
"All that I knew in life I carry with me. Regrets of goals not accomplished, remorse for loved ones lost, and ponderances of what might have been. All because I didn't want to die." He immediately fixed a wicked glare toward Raltise, one that could cleave a man in two. Of course, he knew who was to blame for all of this; yet in the same turn, he knew that if he held onto his hatred, his eternity of misery was assured.
"My, my..." Raltise murmured, countering Talus' stare with a bit of his own bloodred shade. "Well, Young Master...perhaps you should think about how truly troubling these memories are."
"Are you saying they're not as bad as I'm making them out to be?"
"That is exactly what I'm saying." Raltise cocked a crooked grin. "You have it easy, boy. This is Hell we're talking about -- no one's dealt a good hand. But you have it better than most."
"Maybe..." Talus mused. He dropped his feet from the table, and almost immediately an irate customer across the room bellowed for service. If it was possible, Raltise's face turned paler than it already was.
"Do excuse me, Young Master..but duty calls." Again, he spoke through gritted teeth. With this notion, Raltise rose from his seat and bolted across the room, bound to his eternity of servitude. Talus eased himself out of his own chair and quietly headed for the door.
"Perhaps...perhaps he's right. Maybe..." No. He shook his head. There was one vital part of the equation that he was missing. Strolling outside, Talus approached a sloping cliff of bedrock, and without a second notion, leapt over the side and slid down the dusty embankment. He landed roughly on a beach of sharp rocks below. Before him, a literal river of fire ran, pulsing and roaring through the center of Hell. Countless wailing souls thrashed helplessly about the ethereal waves, consumed by the blaze. Negative energy wafted through the air, feelings of pure agony and frustration that left a bit of a melancholy feeling in Talus' chest.
"No...there's something missing." He mused over this thought, but couldn't go anywhere in it. There was a definite gap within his memory. Every thought, ever scenario and situation that he recalled from five years ago seemed to be incomplete, as if a piece of the puzzle were missing. Talus wracked his mind painfully to bring this missing piece to the surface, but try as he might, he could not. It was something significant, yet at the same time how could it be significant if he couldn't remember it? Something that began with an L stood on the tip of his tongue. But alas, the fates would not allow him to remember. He sighed, glancing across the turbulent river of flame.
For unbeknownst to Talus, his true punishment was that he could not remember her.