It's nearly midnight on the quiet streets of Glitzville. A koopa armed with a pencil, pen, and his "Rogueport Times REPORTER" name tag, stayed out overnight to try to get a chance to talk to one of the local battlers. The reporter stares at the mysteriously still-open bar. The bar should have closed a few hours ago to give the local battlers some time to get to their dorms for their curfew. The reporter hears the loud slam of the double doors of the Pit's entrance as another koopa walked out.
This newcomer was clad in an adurite shell and wore a matching fedora over his eyes. He matched the description of the reporter's target. It was this battler who the rumors circulated. This was Red. With a slight feeling of elation at finally finding his target, the reporter approaches Red, who in turn stops and greets the reporter with a wave. "Hey, can I ask you a few questions," the reporter asked.
Red hesitated for a moment, then beckoned the reporter to follow him into the Bar. The reporter was skeptical at first but was willing to do whatever it took to receive his answers. After a moment of hesitation, he followed Red into the Bar.
As the reporter enters the Bar, he notices a note on the back of the door. It's from the bartender, telling Red to lock up after he's done drinking. Looking around, he saw Red sitting at a booth with a bottle of booze. With nothing to lose, the reporter joined him.
Red had his head bowed, gripping his bottle tightly. The reporter tried to decide how he would word his questions in a way that a mute could respond. Then, the unthinkable happened. Red spoke. "So, why'd you want to talk to me?" He had asked in a low, hardly audible whisper.
The reporter was dumbstruck. Everybody who knew anything of Red thought he was a mute. Even his closest friends assumed he didn't have the capability of speech. "W-wha…" was all the reporter could manage.
"Ah, you assumed I was a mute, hm?" Red asked as he tilted his head to the side. The reporter nodded in response, still recovering from this sudden surprise. "I'll give you a minute to start talking." Red said while taking a quick swig from his bottle.
"Listen sir, my job is on the line. I need to get a story out by next week, or else I'll be fired," the reporter begged. After not hearing a response from Red, he continued, "I need the money to provide for my family."
Red place the bottle on the table and leaned back slightly. "So, how does this concern me?"
"My boss told me my job here in Glitzville is to find you and confirm the validity of a rumor."
"What exactly would that rumor be?"
"Red," the reporter paused, not sure as to how he would word his question. "Red, what happened to Teal?"
Red bowed his head again, thinking. The reporter was caught in the suspense, ready to write down whatever Red said. Finally, Red spoke, "I'll tell you my story. It all stared half a million years ago. I was born into a local slave trade with my two brothers, the one currently known by the name Teal, and Benjamin. Me and Teal were bought at the age of fifteen by the same slave owner. Benjamin was sold off to a slave breeder, I believe. We were worked to the bone for four years, then that bastard of an owner decided to test something on us. He wanted to use us as an experiment in achieving immortality. He had us tied up and shoved a dagger into my chest.
Now see here, in those ancient days when a koopa was born into slavery, they weren't allowed to have a shell. It may be seen nowadays as a sign of humiliation, but back then it was just for the sake of practicality. Those without shells were more vulnerable than those with shells. So, when that bastard stabbed me, he had no difficulty doing so. In fact, he stabbed me three times. He punctured my lungs and then stabbed my heart." Red paused and grabbed his bottle, taking a swig.
"Alright," the reporter said as he wrote down everything Red said, clearly engrossed by the story. "What happened next?"
"Well, I died. I died and went to Hell." Red stated blatantly. "In terms of time, a decade in Hell is only a second in this plane of existence, and it took that piece of shit ten weeks to revive me and Teal. I practically spent over sixty million years in Hell. Not only did I constantly feel like I was on fire, but I always had a demon breathing down my neck, ready to try to steal devour soul. There, I befriended a demon who promised me power, so long as I made a pact with them. Without much of a choice I made the pact and became a half-demon. It wasn't much power, just enough to fend off lesser demons. Every demon I defeated made me stronger.
Finally, I was revived into a decaying corpse of a body. Teal was sitting next to me. Neither of us were tied up. Our owner's corpse was lying in front of us, split into two. He probably didn't realize a sacrifice was required to do the ritual. The life of one split between two different bodies wasn't enough to fully revive us." Red paused again and attempted to take another swig of his bottle, but it was empty. "Got all that?" Red asked with a sigh.
"Yeah, one question though," the reporter started. "Where was Teal when you died?"
"He found a better afterlife." Red stated. "Anyways, the next thousands of years we spent travelling the world. We watched as kingdoms rose and fell. We saw entire dynasties end. We witnessed war ravage the lands. Natural disasters destroyed cities. Normal stuff that happens as time goes on.
After all our traveling, we heard news of the Glitz Pit. So, we enlisted as battlers. We were decent battlers. When I wasn't battling, I was researching. I was trying to find a way to turn us back into mortals." Red paused again, this time slowly shaking his head. "I found a way, but it involved sacrifices. Many sacrifices." Red now has a grim expression on his face. "That's when it struck me. Most of the battlers in the Pit were nobodies. No external relations. No families or friends who would miss them. One day, most of the battlers were released, and I caught nearly half of them. I tied them up and slowly dismembered them piece by piece in the cellar late at night, while everyone was asleep. I relished their screams of pain.
I was in the middle of dismembering my final victim, a koopa wearing a yellow shell, Bela was his name, I think, when Teal barged into the room demanding that I stop. After telling him the deed was already done, he decided to attack me. We fought for about ten minutes, before I knocked him to the ground." Red gritted his teeth for a moment, as if the memory of this fight brought him pain, and then he relaxed. "I incinerated him right then and there. After the fight, I went on with the ritual. The ritual summoned a demon that granted me my mortality, so long as I serve as its vessel." Red finished this last statement with a sigh.
The reporter could faintly hear whispers as he wrote down his notes. He looked around momentarily to find the source of the voices, but he couldn't see anything. "Alright, can you tell me why you are an alcoholic, why you wear your fedora like that, and how you can navigate anywhere without the ability to see?"
"I actually have two reasons for getting drunk every day. First, I try to forget practically murdering my brother." Red paused, then continued, "I learned how to control ice and flash freeze objects in honor of Teal. I don't plan on using my fire ever again. Not to harm another living being." Red maybe a flicking motion with his fingers at the reporter. "Anyways, after my complete revival, I took some time off from the Pit, and traveled again. On my travels, the demon inhabiting my body was giving me horrendous visions, so I gouged out one of my eyes. That alone didn't stop the visions. That's when the demon told me, my eyes aren't my own anymore. I looked down at the eye I ripped out and saw exactly what the demon meant. The eyeball was a pitch-black color, except the irises which were a deep shade of crimson. I stepped on it, not wanting to see it ever again. It wasn't until after I pulled this hat over my eyes I realized, I could still see. I saw everything with the same clarity, as I always have. Neither my missing eye, nor my fedora pulled over my only eye has done anything to my vision."
"Can you describe this demon to me," the reporter asked, intrigued by the demon's influence on Red.
"Well, we see through the same eyes, its eyes. It inhibits my body, but its senses reach just a little bit beyond what my body is capable of. It sometimes gives me insights on what's behind doors, or if anything is hidden in the environment. Sometimes it takes over and talks or acts through me."
"May I ask, what its name is?" The reporter asked while looking around quickly. The whispers are steadily growing louder. Red smiled. It was an unnaturally large smile.
My name is Baphomet. The reporter heard an alluring voice over the whispers.
The reporter looked around trying to find the source of the voice. It wasn't coming from Red, his mouth was unmoving. "Wh-who are y-you?!"
I am the demon that inhibits Red's body. It's after all an immortal vessel. I tricked the fool into thinking I had made him mortal, and he gave me more power than I could have possibly achieved through any other vessel. All my other vessels deteriorated and died in a matter of seconds after I inhibited them, but Red is different. Having survived his time in hell, he can withstand my influence. The reporter's vision was slowly fading to black.
"Baph, leave him alone." Red said, his unnaturally large smile finally turning into a slight grimace. Suddenly the reporter's vision cleared and the voices all died away. "Sorry about that. I also get drunk to weaken the influence of Baph there. He has less of a hold on drunk minds than sober ones. Anyways, now that you know everything about me, it looks like one story is going to have to come to an end."
"And…what would… that be?" The reporter asked
"Your story comes to an end here. I can't have anyone spreading my story. Hell, I can't have anyone knowing my story. I'm sure you've heard of all the missing reporters that were sent to investigate me." The reporter was terrified. He got up and tried to move but couldn't move his feet. His feet were encased in ice. The ice slowly traveled up his body, stopping at his shoulders. "Alright Baph, how many others have to die?"
He has a spouse, and three children.
"N-n-no please…" the reporter tried to beg. Red sighed and flash froze his mouth shut.
"So, how should we kill this one?"
Blood boiling?
"We did that last week."
Blood freezing?
"What is up with you and blood?"
I love watching them struggle with slow and inevitable deaths.
"We can mess with the blood of the children. I just want this one to die quickly and cleanly. What time is it?"
Only an hour past midnight.
"Perfect. Peer into his memories and tell me where his family lives."
They live in Rogueport.
The reporter struggled to break free. Red sighed and laid a hand on his soon to be victim. "You remember when I flicked at you, right?" The reporter nodded. "I flicked a needle of ice at you. It pierced your arm and made its way into a vein. By freezing individual blood cells in a line, I was able to freeze a small patch of your heart. At any given point, I could kill you. In fact," Red made a fist with his left hand, and the reporter's heart stopped beating. "Would you like it to be over now?" The reporter nodded, tears streaming down his face. "Don't be such a baby. Your family will join you soon enough. Just close your eyes, and it'll all be over."
The reporter closed his eyes, not knowing what to expect. He could feel the chill of the ice spread over his body. Red materialized an unrealistically large hammer and smashed the frozen reporter to pieces. "Alright," he sighed. "Another one bites the dust."
The body bag is still under the booth.
"Thanks." Red reached for the body bag and started picking up the pieces of the reporter. "You know Baph, sometimes it feels like you're the only thing that keeps me sane."
Where are we dumping this one?
"We can dump it off the coast of Rogueport. That is, after all, where we were going tomorrow anyways."
End.