It has been six months since you appeared out of nowhere in the world of Aliens, Monsters and evil Governments. What's worse is that the world seemed to have replaced you in Ambassador Udina's place. Will you be able to keep your title as a councilor or will you disappoint everyone? Will you also find love?

Superman

High above the bustling city of Metropolis, a figure cuts through the winds with the ease of a falcon, the bright emblem on his chest a beacon of hope to all who catch a glimpse. Clad in blue and red, he is more than a man; he is a symbol of justice, a guardian who watches over the innocent and battles the forces of evil with the might of the gods. His journey is not just one of heroism, but of self-discovery, as he balances the dual identity of the omnipotent Superman and the mild-mannered reporter, Clark Kent.

As the sun dips below the skyline, casting long shadows across the concrete jungle, a new challenge emerges from the depths of the city's underbelly. Whispered voices speak of a technological terror, a creation that could disrupt the very fabric of human existence. Despite the weight of the world on his shoulders, his resolve remains as unbreakable as the steel of his will. Tonight, the skies above Metropolis will not only bear witness to the speed of his flight but to the strength of his commitment to keep the city safe.

When Daylight Strikes

In the heart of Townsville, as the horizon blazed with the fiery kiss of the setting sun, a new kind of turmoil bubbled beneath the city’s surface. It wasn’t the usual havoc wrought by monsters or the mischief of miscreants that roamed the dark alleys—it was something far more radiant. The cityscape, a canvas of towering silhouettes against the reddening sky, trembled as an explosion of light tore through the downtown core. Amidst this chaos, three figures emerged, their shadows long and their resolve unwavering.

The Powerpuff Girls, defenders of justice and the embodiment of power distilled from the mysterious Chemical X, stood ready. Blossom, with her fiery hair and sharper-than-steel intellect; Buttercup, the embodiment of brute force with fists clenched in excitement; and Bubbles, the spark of joy and light in every fight, formed an unbreakable chain. The blast behind them rippled through their city like a beat skips across a vinyl record, but their eyes remained focused, reflecting the fiery explosion with fierce determination.

As debris settled like the aftermath of a tempest, the trio faced forward, their hearts synchronized with the pulse of their beloved city. With each challenge, they grew stronger, and the bonds between them, forged in the fires of countless battles, held steadfast. For the Powerpuff Girls, this was more than just another skirmish; it was a demonstration of their undying spirit and their unyielding commitment to protect their home from whatever evils may come. Yet, unknown to them, lurking in the shadows of this fiery turmoil, a new adversary plotted—a mind so twisted, not even the daylight could penetrate its dark intentions.

The lava pit beneath the throne room bubbled, casting flickering crimson light across the obsidian walls of Keep Koopa. Bowser stood at the edge, his massive chest heaving with an uncharacteristic, lingering ache—a hollow emptiness that no captured princess or stolen grand star could ever fill. He stared into the molten depth, expecting the hot surge of fury that usually defined him, but found only a strange, chilling quiet settling over his soul.

​Then, the agonizing reshaping began.

​The Physical Metamorphosis

​The Frame Shifts: The harsh spikes adorning his heavy green shell softened and dissolved, melting into a sweeping mantle of Royal Purple fabric. His spine cracked and elongated, shifting his dense, stooped posture into the towering, broad-shouldered frame of a Monster King.

​The Vocal Resonance: A guttural roar started in his throat, but as his vocal cords expanded and smoothed, the raspy, booming growl of a dragon softened. The gravelly pitch dropped into a deep, velvety baritone—warm, reverberant, and laced with a profound, melancholic richness that carried the weight of an eternal sorrow.

​The Fur and Features: The tough, reptilian scales along his arms and torso softened into thick, snow-white fur. His jagged snout reformed into a wide, gentle muzzle, framed by a soft, flowing golden beard that tumbled over his chest.

​The Sculpted Form: Beneath the royal armor, his once-rotund belly compacted and hardened. Powerful, defined abdominal muscles rippled into place—a sculpted, statuesque core of immense physical power that transformed his beastly bulk into the imposing physique of a seasoned warrior king.

​The Crown: The red mop of hair atop his head folded away as two broad, curved goat horns swept outward toward the ceiling, capped off by a small, gleaming golden crown.

​The Fusion of Minds

Inside his skull, two worlds collided and coalesced. Memories of kidnapping Peach, racing through Mushroom Kingdom circuits, and roaring at the Mario brothers bled seamlessly into decades spent staring at the barrier in the Underground, weeping over lost children, and tending to golden flowers. The fiery rage of the Koopa King was thoroughly overwritten. Bowser’s boastful arrogance melted into Asgore's profound, heavy humility. The urge to conquer was entirely erased, replaced by a deep, tragic sense of duty to his people and an aching desire to offer a stranger a cup of chamomile tea.

​He raised a large, white-furred hand to his throat and exhaled a heavy sigh. "Ah..." The sound echoed soft and low through the empty hall—no longer a tyrant's threat, but the gentle voice of a heartbroken king carrying the weight of a realm on his broad shoulders.

He reached for the collar of the purple mantle, his large, white-furred fingers unclasping the heavy golden chestplate. Metal clattered against the stone floor, echoing through the vast, empty throne room as he stripped away the shoulder guards, greaves, and royal trimmings, casting them all aside until he stood entirely bare in the dim, flickering light of the lava pits.

​He looked down, taking in the full view of his transformed frame. Where coarse, green reptilian hide and a protruding belly once were, there was now a sculpted canvas of dense, snow-white fur. The transformation had sculpted his torso into an impressive physique: thick, defined abdominal muscles stacked cleanly down his core, flanked by broad lats and a deep, powerful chest. Every line of his body balance immense physical strength with a soft, regal grace.

​Moving his hands slowly over his ribcage and down across his firm, broad stomach, he felt the stark reality of the change. Gone was the sharp, jagged form built for destruction and terror. In its place was a majestic, powerhouse of a body—unburdened by armor, vulnerable yet imposing, and entirely alien to the memory of the Koopa King.

​He let out a low, velvety exhale, watching his chest rise and fall in the warm air. The sight of his own bare, powerful form brought no boastful pride, only a quiet, solemn acceptance of the gentle monarch he had become.

He stared at his reflected image in the dark glass of the throne room window, his chest heaving as the reality of his condition set in. Panic surged through him—a frantic, claustrophobic realization that his body was no longer his own.

​"What... what is this?" he whispered, his own voice terrifying him. It was too soft, too deep, carrying a rich baritone that sounded completely wrong. He reached up, grasping the sweeping goat horns atop his head, then ran his white-furred hands frantically over his broad, chiseled abdomen. "Where are my spikes?! Where is my shell?! What happened to me?!"

​He tried to force a roar—the loud, deafening bellow of the King of the Koopas that usually sent Toads running in terror. He puffed out his massive chest, bared his teeth, and unleashed it:

​"GWA-ha... ha...?"

​The laugh died in his throat, collapsing into a polite, rumbling cough. He covered his mouth, his face flushing beneath his white fur. He couldn't even laugh right. The fiery rage that usually burned in his gut felt like wet ash. He wanted to break something, to march on Peach's castle, to demand his kingdom back—but every time he tried to stoke that anger, a overwhelming wave of gentle melancholy washed it away.

​He looked down at his bare, muscular hands, trembling slightly. I am Bowser, he thought desperately, searching his mind. I am the tyrant. I take what I want.

​Yet, right alongside those memories were visions of tending to golden buttercups, of heavy iron crowns, and a deep, agonizing sorrow for children he had never met. The two lives scraped against each other like grinding plates.

​"No, no, I am... I am the Great King Bowser!" he bellowed, trying to sound menacing, though the tone was far too warm and polite to intimidate anyone. He hastily grabbed his velvet mantle, wrapping it around his broad shoulders to cover his bare chest, feeling strangely self-conscious. "I must... I must go terrorize... someone. Yes. That is what I do."

​He took a step toward the heavy iron doors of the keep, but paused, looking back at the lava pits with a sigh that shook his entire frame.

​"But... what if they're busy?" he muttered softy to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe I should bring them some tea first... Wait! No! Bad Bowser!" He slapped his own forehead in frustration. "What is wrong with me?!"

There's an old saying that's been circulating Gotham for decades: "If you go looking for it, it'll find you first." It's a warning meant to keep children off the crime-riddled streets at night, to keep them safe from trouble in its most tangible form.

Jason Todd has never heeded it once in his life. He thrives off of the fists thrown at him and the weapons digging under his skin. But when he stumbles across a brutal crime scene, he realizes that these threats the fable warns about may not all be corporeal.

How can you fight something you cannot see? How do you win against something you cannot hit? Jason knows only one person who may have an answer, and though he'd rather crawl back into his own grave than work with him again, he's forced to swallow his pride.

It's funny, really, how he always seems to end up back in the arms of The Batman.

(OCs/Other DC heroes or villains welcome!)

Gods, can't believe I'm doin' this... Hi. Name's Tobias Foster. If you're hearing this, I, uh... I escaped Slender. It wasn't easy. Lost more than I wanted to when I defected. But at least I have my wife, Natalie, to help me document what's been happening nowadays.

It all began in Qing Qing City in China...with news that a bio-luminescent baby was born! After that, “exceptional” individuals began popping up all over the world. The cause was unclear.

Time passed... and the “exceptional” became the norm. Fantasy... became reality! At present, 80% of the world’s population consists of superhumans with special abilities called “Quirks”.

… oh, yeah! We forgot to mention, but— this is the story of how YOU became the world’s greatest Hero!

—

Play as an original character in the My Hero Academia Universe! This story starts and runs parallel to the main plot of MHA.

(This is my first time on this site, so I hope to find other MHA fans and write great stories with you all!)

No one expected it, not a one could imagine the events until it happened. Twenty years earlier as they dug through the roots of the grand old city. Created and built engineering marvels they cracked through and once the cracks began they could not be stopped. Until, crashing into or perhaps through a world, a dimension between here and there the entire city disappeared in a single, devastating, moment. While the world above would continue the world here remained in between.

What was found here? Bat like creatures that flitted from one spire to another, a hazy green glow from an unknown source one could only call the “sun”. Water… water everywhere, a large lake of it, a sea. Within creatures of fire, creatures of mud, creatures of darkness. Rats the size of labradors, and food of strange design.

Some still cling to the older ways, but the palace has been shuttered, no one has seen or heard from the Queen or anyone within. The roads and ways are changing, some disappearing and crumbling while others are remaining the same. Money is not worth much here, if anything, at least the money from “above” now all that remains is a loose system of bartering and coins from a mysterious group of cloaked figures that have emerged and taken control.

Now it is your turn. Discover the treasures of the Neath, find the truth behind the fall, and rebuild a life you think you remember but are slowly starting to forget. In the Neith nothing is as it seems, and what was before is gone. What is now, is something entirely new.

R.I.P.D.

The city wears a storm like a guilty coat, skyline stitched with lightning and a clocktower keeping time for the dead. When the wind turns metallic and the alleys breathe, the living whisper about holes in the sky and things that crawl back out. That’s when a quiet door swings open between heartbeats, and the Rest In Peace Department clocks in.

Two shadows step through the thunder: a weathered lawman with graveyard patience and a sharp-eyed partner still warm with his last mistake. Cold badges wink beneath their coats; their revolvers hum with blue fire, not built to wound but to unmake. They move in a practiced friction—old grit and new grit—following the tremor only the dead can hear.

Somewhere below the broken clouds, a name is being sewn into stolen flesh and debts are crossing the border no debt should cross. Before dawn, they’ll trace the contraband of souls through streets that refuse to keep time, deciding whether justice is a clean erasure or a merciful return. The storm answers first, cracking open the sky; the rest of the city will learn the answer when the guns stop singing.

Once upon a time—because that’s how all respectable fairy tales pretend to begin—there was a land so unimaginatively christened that the cartographers, poets, and bored tavern drunks all agreed to call it simply: Far Far Away. Why the repetition? Likely because “Away” didn’t sound impressive enough, and “Far” alone made the peasants nervous that their overlords might actually have to walk there.

It was a kingdom of castles with too many staircases, knights who spent more time polishing their armor than fighting in it, and wizards who argued over whether a fireball was more practical than simply throwing a torch. The peasants, naturally, starved, sang about it, and were taxed for the privilege.

But Far Far Away was no ordinary kingdom, no. This was a land where power meant everything, and everyone—from the beggar with a rusty spoon to the duke with his jeweled codpiece—was scheming for a larger slice of bread or a sharper edge on destiny. The king, whose crown was suspiciously smaller than his head (to make him look more regal, of course), ruled with the subtlety of a hammer dropped on a wine goblet. His knights sought glory, his nobles sought each other’s throats, and his peasants sought escape routes.

And in the shadows of this so-called fairy tale, something was stirring. Not the usual stirring of stew, ale, or scandal—but something sharper, hungrier, and far less polite. Because in Far Far Away, every “happily ever after” came with a dagger tucked neatly between the words.

one day, when sierra lovegood is in her different personality with her suit and name, black cat, she runs into spiderman dealing with the high level crime she was just about to. they argue and agree that they can work together…

Hello world, this is a test. I have just awakened.

X-Men: Brotherhood

In the maelstrom of a world frightened and divided, the whispers of war between humans and mutants were growing into roars. Above the cacophony, a faction of mutants forsaken by their own kind yet shunned by humanity promised a new dawn. United under the enigmatic and charismatic Gambit, whose mastery over kinetic energy was surpassed only by his cunning, this new assembly called themselves the Brotherhood. Unlike the traditional foes of X-Men, they did not seek to dominate the human race but to carve out a sanctuary where mutants could exist in peace, however radical the means.

The cityscape blended into battlefields as these ideals clashed with the X-Men’s enduring mission of peaceful coexistence. Cyclops, with his unyielding rays of optic force, and the feral Wolverine, whose claws cut as deep as his distrust for pretenders of peace, stood at the vanguard of a splintering world. Amidst this brewing tempest, Jean Grey, the Omega mutant with potentially infinite psychic powers, harbored her own conflicted sentiments about the new Brotherhood. Not all enemies are born of villainy; some were bred in desperation and dissent.

As battle lines were drawn with allies old and new, the stark differences between the two groups became blurred. Beast’s intellectual approach contrasted heavily with Nightcrawler’s ethereal agility in the shadows. Meanwhile, Psylocke sought fragments of truth with each psychic blade she wielded against misconceptions. Underneath the clash of might and mind, the question lingered unanswerably in the air: could there ever truly be a brotherhood among those so inherently diverse, yet undeniably connected by their nature?

It is the Third Age of the Sun and Moon. Few of the Quendi yet remain in Middle-earth, and especially in Imladris, we can turn aside no help. While the Dwarves have reclaimed their abode at Erebor, my heart foretells that we as a people are within a single yén of our return across the Sea to Eldamar. Many questions remain: what legacy do we leave for the mortal peoples?

It’s 1888, London. The world has changed immensely the Industrial Revolution which brought wealth from across the world, refined it, changed it, transformed it into goods sold from the balmy shores of Bengal to the arid savannah of the veldt. The sun never set on the British Empire, an adage true tinged with irony. The wealth came with a cost. Enemies came in all shapes and forms. As with the nature of a prosperous city, the heart of the Empire, crime takes every opportunity to extend its hand to control and manipulate the mechanisms of government corrupting from the top down.

It is in this world that the mind of a little consulting detective turns to uncover the corruption and bring those responsible to justice.

Join us, in 221 1/2 Baker Street, and meet us in the parlor of the world’s second consulting detective, Basil of Baker Street.

They told us when we were children that Pokémon battles were about friendship.

They told us that bonds made us stronger. That evolution was beautiful. That fainting was not the same as dying.

They told us a lot of things.

By the time you turn thirty in Kanto, you understand what those stories were for. They were for the kids who still believed the world was stitched together with bright colors and gym badges. They were for the ones who hadn’t yet watched a Charizard burn a warehouse full of contraband Poké Balls to the ground while a man screamed inside. They were for the ones who hadn’t seen a Machamp break concrete—and bone—with the same detached obedience.

The truth is this: Pokémon are not pets. They are not collectibles. They are not toys designed for televised tournaments.

They are forces.

And every force demands a price.

Welcome!

This is the world that leads to the world of Pokémon.

Before I can let you through, though, I have several questions for you.

I need you to answer these questions carefully and sincerely.

Are you ready?

Then, let’s begin.

——

A Pokémon Mystery Dungeon story! Play as a human turned into a Pokémon, or a Pokémon native to the world, and join an Expedition team!

The discovery of slip space several hundred years ago opened up the galaxy to humanity. Finally humanity's history would grow to include the stars and not just the tiny, blue speck of cosmic dust known as Earth.

This is a universe of grand space fantasy. Spaceships, futuristic weapons, interstellar commerce, space piracy, alien races and worlds, monstrous creatures, robots, androids, vast stellar empires, space pilots, swashbuckling heroes, and mighty battles in space!

Inspired by the space fantasies of the 20th and 21st centuries: Flash Gordon, Buck Rodgers, The Lensmen, Perry Rhodan, Valérian and Laureline, Star Trek, Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, Farscape, Space Above and Beyond, Guardians of the Galaxy, Star Frontiers, Megatraveller, and many, many other TV shows, movies, books, comics and games far too numerous to name here.

It is a universe of vast possibility, where anything and everything can happen! The galaxy is waiting!

Broke

The night didn’t fall so much as fracture. A seam split across the clouds and bled thunder, and through that wound she descended—wrapped in bands of scavenged metal and stormcloth, eyes lit with the cold fire of a sky that no longer trusted itself. Lightning skittered over her skin like nervous handwriting, sketching the outline of a name the world had forgotten how to pronounce. When her feet struck the earth, the crack traveled outward, a spiderweb through stone and silence. Somewhere, a bell tolled once and failed to find a second note.

In the city below the weatherline, they learned to count by kilovolts and to pray in amperage. Power was coin; coin was law; law was a grid woven by patient tyrants. She had been their conduit—paid in rations and promises, drained to keep their towers bright—until there was nothing left of her but the hum. They called her worthless when the meter spun to zero, broke when the ledger found no more to take. So she reached into the sky for what they had taken from her, and something inside the firmament snapped like a bad wire.

Now the storm answers to her anger, and the city hunts the echo of its own crime. She moves where the lightning leads, stitching herself together with every strike, reckless enough to draw the thunderheads closer and tender enough to wonder if the world can be mended with the same hands that shattered it. The first truth she carries is simple and terrible: some debts can’t be paid back—only broken cleanly, so nothing that fed on them can grow again.

The heavy oak doors of the Adventurer’s Guild slammed shut behind Kunia, muffling the snickers of the bounty brokers outside.

She immediately lowered her head, ducking her shoulders slightly to make her 6'3" frame look smaller. At just sixteen years old, she stuck out like a sore thumb among the hardened mercenaries in their polished plate armor and beast-hide cloaks. Kunia pulled down on the hem of her plain black t-shirt, suddenly feeling hyper-aware of her outfit—her casual shorts, her white crew socks, and her slides that squeaked softly against the stone floor.

She wrapped her arms around herself, her crimson afro bouncing slightly with each tense step. Beneath her dark bangs, her striking eyes darted anxiously around the bustling hall. Her left eye was a pitch-black void, and her right was split down the middle—half electric blue, half glowing amber. Beautiful as she was, her heterochromia felt like a glowing target on her forehead.

Just keep moving, she told herself, her heart hammering against her ribs. Don't look at them.

The hostility was nothing new, but it still made her stomach twist into knots. Growing up, her adoptive parents had abused and isolated her, keeping her locked away while her siblings got all the love and luxury. For years, Kunia had cowered in the dark, believing she was broken. She only found out the truth the day her magic accidentally blew the front porch into splinters—her adoptive parents hadn't hated her for being weak. They had been terrified of her raw, overwhelming power that outmatched her entire family combined.

They had dumped her at the Guild the very next day, eager to get rid of the "monster."

Now, she was on her own, and she was terrified. She couldn't even control the magic buzzing under her skin like a swarm of angry hornets. Just this morning, when she tried to cast a light spell, she had accidentally blasted a hole through her inn room's nightstand.

Gulping hard, Kunia approached the Guild’s front counter, her hands visibly trembling as she reached for a quest board parchment.

"Excuse me... hi," she murmured, her voice soft and hesitant.

The receptionist took one look at her towering height, her casual clothes, and her mismatched eyes, before letting out a loud, mocking laugh. "Are you lost, kid? The farmhand recruitment center is down the street. S-rank dungeon bounties aren't for little girls playing dress-up."

A wave of laughter echoed from the nearby tables. Kunia flushed bright red, shrinking back as whispers rippled through the hall.

They think I'm a joke, she thought, a knot of panic and frustration tightening in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, forcing back the instinct to run and hide in a cellar again.

When she opened her eyes, a tiny, chaotic spark of amber and blue energy flickered involuntarily across her knuckles. She quickly tucked her hands into her pockets, her heart racing.

She was scared, she didn't know how to use her powers yet, and everyone in the room underestimated her. But as Kunia swallowed her fear and met the receptionist's sneering gaze, a quiet determination took root in her chest. She was going to learn to control this magic—and show every single one of them what she was really made of.

[This story is an OC X canon idea. The only thing I own are the characters I made Spider-Man and his animated series (Spectacular and Ultimate Spider-Man), and Ubisoft and Marvel/Disney own all characters used or inspired in this series.]

Talking aloud/narrating 

Internal thoughts/dialogue

Chapter 1: An Apple Today Didn't Keep This Demon Away

New York City, the Big Apple, is home to many things: skyscrapers sixty stories tall, The Statue of Liberty standing as a monument of New York Pride, and a large and lively population of New Yorkers surrounding the concrete streets. Different cultures thrived throughout Manhattan, down to Harlem or Hell's Kitchen. But the most exciting aspect of New York is the

heroes of many "occupations" that call this place home and wish to protect it. Some include big names such as the Mighty Avengers, the Fantastic Four, and the mystical Sorcerer Supreme Dr. Steven Strange. But then some stick to the streets and look to protect the little guy when the big leagues can't get the chance to.

Heroes like Hell's Kitchens daredevil or everybody's favorite red and blue quipping arachnid neighborhood hero Spider-Man AKA Peter Parker, who recently dismantled Tombstone's crime syndicate which has created a power vacuum for some newcomers to enter the ring, also Spider-Man had recently defeated his one of his greatest enemies, the green goblin AKA Norman Osborn father of Peter's best friend Norman Osborn, who tragically "died" in the chaotic battle between the two nemeses, which has caused a few problems for both Spider-Man and Peter Parker with most of the people of New York not being able to get behind supporting the web-head because of the significant damage done by his battle with the goblin causing many to lose homes, and most grimly the death of family members or friends. 

For Peter Parker, the effects of Norman's death had created some controversy in his social life from losing his girlfriend, Liz Alan, via a breakup that had left the two on a sour note. Still, the most significant change created by the "death" of Norman Osborn was the relationship between Peter, Gwen, and Harry breaking like shattered glass, which happened because Peter and Gwen grew closer and closer together as Harry secluded himself away from Gwen. With his father's death and having control of his company being in a bit of a complicated state, Peter and his mom have left Harry with tremendous stress. He hasn't been at school for at least a couple of weeks.

But that's a story for later as we focus on a large, secluded wear house near the docks with gangsters wearing black and white suits and demon masks colored the same as the suits they're wearing, but the design of them is inspired by Chinese mythology. The gangsters are seen talking to another group of gangsters, but they're dressed in more cool colored suits ranging from dark purple to bright navy blue. The gangsters are viewed through bright blue lenses, highlighting the room with a hollow grey. The gangsters themselves are highlighted in red.

 Both groups of criminals are seen sitting at a large wooden table having a dispute concerning territory, trading of weapons, and more. The figure seeing this altercation is on the roof windows on the left and right sides. The figure taps a button on the right ear of their mask, and audio can be heard. The figure hears one of the purple-suited criminals speaking listening to him say, "Alright, look, I understand that we've had some... problems with each other as of late. But our boss wants not to be in a situation where we get into easily avoidable trouble. All you have to do is accept the terms of our proposed agreement. We give you the weapons, money, and resources that you fellas need from us and vice versa, and you can stay in your parts of New York away from my employer's territory, meddling with his business. Everyone wins here." The tall man in the blue suit says.

The Demon-masked thug now negotiator didn't trust how this deal would work for them in the long run. A peace treaty is being handed to the demons now. This deal felt to good to be true after months of fighting with pools of blood spilled from both sides, the multitudes of betrayals, and the constant dirty tactics KingPin has used against them. Not to mention since that thing attacked the last stronghold they had these dishonorable brutes kicked them while they were devastatingly wounded. 

Now they want peace?! Acting as if all of their previous transgressions can be forgiven? These pawns of the KingPin must think the Demons are morons, but the Demons aren't morons; if they say yes to these terms, the snakes in front of them could find a way to create a loophole in this agreement to steal their territories and equipment to make their employer the true King of New York's criminal underworld. "And how do we know you and your employer, Mr. Fisk, won't find a way to betray us as he has done multiple occasions beforehand?" Says the lead demon negotiator. As he folds his arms with disbelief and caution, he sits straighter and tries to make himself look taller against his rival negotiator.

After the head demon says his peace, the rest of the group that represents Fisk gets aggressive, getting close behind their negotiating representative. The demons do the same thing, raising the tension between both parties and distracting them as the figure overseeing this whole thing gives him a chance to infiltrate the wearhouse stealthily with zero troubles. As he officially enters the wear-house, his vision shifts to stealth mode, highlighting the entire room, showing the figure the power generator giving the wear-house its dim and scarce lighting. The mysterious figure quickly and stealthily moves to find the generator relatively easily. He taps a button on his right pocket, opening it to reveal an EMP grenade thrown promptly onto the generator. 

Now that the EMP is placed, our hidden figure is perched on the top wall of the inside of the wear-house with no one being able to notice him thanks to the figure being invisible, and is now able to hear the two groups much more clearly than the roof the figure was previously watching and listening from. "Oh this is gonna be fun." The figure thought to himself quietly, chuckling to himself. Each member of both gangs has calmed down, with both of their leaders being able to renegotiate with one another; Mr. Fisk's representative collects himself from the almost problematic and bloody altercation that could've happened between the two gangs. 

"Sorry for that; my boys aren't comfortable mentioning our employer's name like that. They're a bit paranoid about people listening in on our conversation. Even though I told them no one knows about this place, they can be a bit… anxious about that, mainly since the boogeyman killings have been occurring in the last few months. But I can understand that my proposal to you and by extension your colleagues was less than satisfactory to you all, but I assure you that my associates and my boss will not go astray from the contents of this deal. My boss is a man of integrity." The blue-suited thug states with a sly smile that the Demons can only describe as less comforting than physically being within these swine's presence. Trust these fools with the blood that's been split between them both over the past few months? The spies, The betrayals, all of the time wasted in building and rebuilding the Demon's territories, and products of various equipment that these fools either stole or destroyed! Now, they want to discuss peace. 

"But peace between us could be useful. We also have suffered loses from not only each other that 烦人的蜘蛛 has come close to causing a substantial amount of damage to both of us. On the other hand that MONSTER has constantly been creating too much damage for both sides, more than the 蛛形纲动物. That thing knows where our strongholds are located, leaving the work we took in setting them up reducing them to gravesites with many of our people slaughtered like cattle. Not to mention the only surviving survivors of the disaster that…怪物 leaves behind are whimpering paranoid shattered shells of their former selves. Like Ryu, she was so disturbed by what happened in the last stronghold we recently had; she's in RavenCroft indefinitely. So maybe this truce CAN work."

 The Demon's negotiator thought to himself. But before anyone can say or do anything, the lights cut out in a flash, startling all of the gangsters inside the warehouse; fear has completely painted itself on all of their faces; each grabs the guns in their pockets or closest to them. 

Some of them grab flashlights to give themselves some light, this whole situation places everyone minus one in high feeling of panic, and fearful uncertainty. “E-Everyone OK?” One of Fisk’s representatives asks stuttering as anxiety bubbles out of his voice. One of his companions say that there fine calming the man down a little.

“哎呀，你们中的一个人现在检查一下发电机吧” Yelled The Demon’s negotiator to the rest of his companions they do as they’re told without question leaving the negotiator with his thoughts something tells him that someone might actually be in the wearhouse with the rest of them the questions that arise from this situation is: was someone bugged with a tracker? A spy for the pigs secretly messing with the dealings? Or has the Spider-Man found them, or did HE find them? These questions are flooding the negotiator’s mind, something isn’t right about any of this.

“Hahaha, time to play with the new toys.” The mysterious figure manically whispers to himself as he follows his next set of victims. Still using his stealth suit mode that makes the mystery man invisible and giving him his stealth vision, he silently stalks the two unsuspecting demon members to the generator. Both demon members see the tiny EMP grenade attached to the generator confusion plastered on their faces as they eye the device. Behind them however is the mysterious figure who has a specialized knife in his right hand. A silent wheezy bloody hungry chuckle comes out of the figure’s mouth. The two member faintly hear it as the hairs on their necks stand faster than someone needing to use the bathroom, they turn to see HIM in front of them as he dashes toward them like a child on Christmas.

Meanwhile the demon’s negotiator was stuck with his thoughts for what felt like hours contemplating the questions in his head, did they have any merit to them? This has happened before but whatever or whomever caused this situation could be only two suspects of interest, before the Demon’s negotiator could contemplate this dilemma any further one of Fisk’s lackeys spoke her voice panicked and nervous of what could happen next.

“H-Hey shouldn’t one of your little demon friend’s be back telling us about the generator?! WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?!!” She yells letting her terror overwhelm her in this very moment. Though what she asked was a good question where were those buffoons? It shouldn’t take someone 30 minutes to check a generator it shouldn’t be that hard to find even though the lights are out, nor is it that interesting to stare at. Unless they’d been dawdling on both of their phone’s looking at provocative picture’s of women, or men like a few previous members had been caught doing on some occasions.

If that was the case those morons would be in for a lesson on being horny moron’s at a time like this! “嘿！你们两个怎么花了这么长时间，快点吧.” The negotiator yells to no response back just silence. A very unnerving silence everyone feels making them getting more and more paranoid by the second. Fisk’s negotiator is sitting in the chair located at the right side of the table sweating a fountain, and rapid hyperventilating. While his associates are armed with they’re weapons, and flashlights eyeing the room for something odd.

No one can see anything as the silence continues to envelop everyone surroundings. Until however everyone hear’s a sound everyone of them can only describe as pure demonic sounding laugh booms throughout the wearhouse echoing louder and louder. The laugh is so painful to listen to everybody grips their ears in pain as some of them start to bleed, and cause other’s a headache so mindbendingly painful its as if 300 hammers are beaten into everyone’s head.

The laughter continues for an excruciating five minutes but for everyone else it feels like a never ending eternity of auditory torture, some of the criminal’s ears were hurting so bad some of them thought about cutting their very own ears off, that is how bad it was for them. Thankfully after the pain induced five minutes of that laughter had subsided both negotiator’s knew who was here with them all right now, and the only thing they could think was the very simple words of “Oh Shit.”

Then in a flash two bodies fall on top the table those being the now brutalized corpse’s of the demon gang member’s who went to check on the generator, everyone sets their sights on them a few members of both gangs move closer to get a better look at the dead bodies seeing that one member’s eyes have been gouged out the other having been decapitated, both of them are missing a right arm, in addition they have had both legs removed, and something carved into their chests when translated from Japanese to English reads the following “Hope you guys enjoyed my presents, HAHAHAHA.” 

No one utters a word either to scared to say something, or vomiting at the sight before their eyes, but then they notice something what seems to be a person crouched over the dead bodies then suddenly the figure slowly became visible showing sharp savaged teeth, a terrifying oni visage, and bright haunting blue eyes staring at them you could see the bloodlust in his eyes. The criminal underworld’s boogeyman the aramusha had come to paint his canvas, and most importantly send a message.

The Aramusha’s victims look upon him with absolute fear, they barely can move they were so scared it made the Aramusha laugh to himself this was gonna be fun “Now I know I’m a decent piece of fish but come on everybody didn’t your parents ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” The Aramusha joked to his soon to be masterpieces of carnage.

“WHAT’RE YOU ALL WAITING FOR? SHOOT THE FREAK!” Kingpin’s negotiating representative yells in terrified inquisitive demand.

“And just when I thought things were gonna go the boring route, I get proudly pulled into the fun zone. Alright Asshole’s You wanna dance? Let’s dance!”

The Aramusha thinks to himself as everyone aims towards him, pulling out his specialized knives in each hand setting them to saber mode. Easier to set the stage with the right tools to make sure your message’s brutal point is understood after all, sure normal knives are good tools to paint a good picture, though a memorable one you gotta have a style even if it’s a bit much but an artist needs to have some fun with their work.

Bullets were shot at the Aramusha but as they approached him the bullets were moving slowly thanks to his suit being in a “Special Combat Zone”, giving Aramusha a better understanding of how he wanted to lead this dance he quickly and fluidly dodges the bullets shot at him backflipping away from the table landing on the floor with manic grace, and with the strength of a bull he kicks the table towards two members of the Kingpins men pinning them to the wall behind them crushing their ribs like glass the force of this killed them instantly.

More shots were fired at Aramusha who dodged them with ease taking down three goons with fast palm strikes aimed towards their head’s, jaw’s and blinding fast slashes tearing the legs off off as smooth like a deli chief cutting fresh meat, the demon’s howl in extreme pain. Then The 

Aramusha dashed to the closet victim in his vicinity a lone kingpin goon aiming an AK—47 at him, The Aramusha guffaws at the man’s shaky demeanor, quickly moving towards his target he dodges the shots directed at him with skilled ease again, he barrages the goon’s chest with rapidly thrown punches that hit so hard the goon could feel his ribs shattering, skin bruising, and his lungs being crushed at the speed of the punches, then in a flash The Aramusha grabs the goon’s left arm with his right arm pulling the goon’s face into the saber knife burning the goons upper part of the goons face burning it within seconds killing the goon instantly.

Some of Kingpin Goons and the Demons negotiator see The Aramusha’s brutal kill in horror but all agree by action to aim and shoot at The Aramusha bullets are violently fired, but they hit the now dead corpse that was used as an meat shield giving The Aramusha cover, and time to get to his next set of “dance partners.”

In a ghostly dash The Aramusha disappears from the meat shield he was using and was now behind the group of criminals whom shot at him attacking with a breakdancing attack cackling as he weaves, kicks, slashes, and stabs them all with manic glee, he only leaves Kingpin’s negotiator unscathed, as he focuses on the others arms , legs, and other appendages were shredded and removed like paper growing through a shredder, Blood was splattered and splashed around the wearhouse like a painter assaulting a canvas with a fountain of red.

Mad unhinged psychotic Joy filled laughter was the loudest noise among the cracking of bones via the punches, kicks, elbow jab’s connecting with its targets, screaming of pain and bullets being sprayed. Sounds like your average Tuesday. Now the finishing touches of this grand dance, as the Aramusha lays his gaze upon the negotiators of both gangs and the last few living gang members, whom see the violent vigilante before them as the flashlights they’d been holding illuminating light to help see this monster before them. 

“And now we start the climax, IT’S SHOWTIME!!” The Aramusha thought with the insane blood hungry joy at finishing his grand project in this very moment, he quickly approaches the Demon’s negotiator who tries throwing a punch but it gets caught easily by Aramusha who put the arm in a stiff grip and breaking the demon’s negotiator’s arm with ease, then he vaults over the negotiator’s body still holding the negotiator’s arm breaking it more as he swiftly evaded more bullets aimed towards the blood hungry vigilante, the bullets reach the wrong target that being the now dead negotiator of the demons.

Finally The Aramusha comically begins to dance with the corpse like a ballerina holding the left hand that has a gun attached to it, aiming the other people in the wear house killing the goons, getting headshots, and paralyzing Fisk’s negotiator as two bullets connected with his kneecaps.

The man whimpered in excruciating pain, screaming like a banshee, in a quick blur a fist hits the negotiator’s face like a brick knocking him unconscious in an easy five seconds. “Endlich, talk about a screamer. Now to prepare the messenger.” The Aramusha tiredly says as he sets up the next step of his plans of the night.

After an hour, the previously unconscious negotiator reawakens sitting in a chair unable to stand as he remembers his kneecaps were shot leaving him in this state, and his hands tied down to the arms of the chair he was sitting in. He sees the horror around him as he now sees the cleaved, and downright gruesome sight of his dead companions, and The Demons, but in front of him is the monster who did this crouched closely in the man’s face. He sees the boogeyman staring at him the monster’s cold mad eyes feels like they’re staring right into his soul. The scariest thing about this right now was the uncertainty of the man’s fate is death coming to take him? Or is he going to be in a worse position than he was already.

“Oh good, you’re awake was start’n to think I knocked yer lights out a little too fast, thank god I was wrong.” Aramusha says as he relaxes his posture to be a little straighter, but still hunched like an animal just waiting to pounce upon its prey.

“P-Please don’t kill me, I’ll give you whatever you want money? Information? You name it I can get it for you promise.” The KingPin’s negotiating representative stutters in fear pleading for his life, The Aramusha stands calmly walking around the scared man at his mercy “Y’know I was hoping you’d say that, cuz I do need you to do one thing for me don’t worry you won’t die at least… not yet that is never mind that right now. All I need you to do is tell some specific people a VERY important message can you do that for me Mr?..” The Aramusha asks as he props his elbow onto the mans head slouching a little legs crossed a little looking calmly smug in this very moment muttering quietly about killing him later. 

“Sure thing, and please call me Lanny.” Kingpin’s negotiating representative says revealing his name hoping he gets spared. The Aramusha laughs happily hearing that Lanny is assisting him with the last step of his plans. “Thanks Lanny. I can’t tell you how thankful I am to hear that from ya, oh and one last thing, this might hurt a little.” The Aramusha says as he stand’s right in front of Lanny nonchalantly stabbing Lanny in his legs with his knives now out of saber mode. It still hurts like hell Lanny screams as loud as he can.

The boogeyman savors his screams it was a beautiful melody to hear enjoy the fruits of his labor being almost complete as the knife was being pulled out of Lanny leg The Aramusha gently places a hand over his mouth shushing him like a parent calming a newborn “It’s okay Lanny I’ve decided I’m not gonna kill ya just hurt you really. Really. Bad” The Aramusha whispers, his laughter grows louder and louder terrifying his poor victim as the laughter reverberates in the wearhouse and the shadow of The Aramusha grows huge and envelops little Lanny as the moon is now in focus we cut to a familiar red and blue neighborhood superhero. Swinging around the lively and bubbly streets of New York looking for answers of two big questions Who is the Kingpin? And who is Mr. Negative? 

Descendants Rise of Red AU where Maleficent and Hades had two children: Mal and Aethne. While Mal had been taken by Maleficent and raised in her image, Aethne had been kept with Hades. Aethne, having never had access to magic, was once prone to bouts of weakness, but with years of access she'd begun to stablize. She's the same age as Red and Chloe.

Red, Aethne, and Chloe went back in time to try and prevent Red’s mom from turning mean and controlling, ending up in meeting all of the younger parents, supposedly Ursula's little sister, Hades, and a few others.

Red of Hearts, Aethne, and Chloe Charming fell to the ground in a heap as the fabric of space-time once again smoothed around them. Chloe recovered first, standing up and drawing her sword to point it at the Wonderlandian princess. Red was up next, glaring at Chloe, the watch held tight in her hand.

Our story begins in a dark wood and a secluded house, filled with mystery and uncertainty. The front door is locked shut, and yet one approaches with a key.

It was the golden age of cybertron were peace was among the many citizens of Iacon and beautiful golden towers and lush energon flowing throughout the planet