(A/N: dear reader, welcome to chapter 27. Several entities encountered in this chapter will not be seen again in this story, but they're necessary for the continuation of the plot. I hope I made a wise choice in including them...and I hope this chapter doesn't seem too slipshod. Anybody who's further interested in said characters should check out my "Before Perfection" story for a bit of background. Please read on...)

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Elisir
by The Great Red Dragon

Chapter 27

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Beneath the possessive eyes of the Galactic Alliance lies a small, murky sector of space that isn't patrolled as frequently as others. Why this is a fact is unsure – the Alliance knew the boundaries of its territories and kept them well patrolled, and this certain smidgen of the vast expanse of galaxy was undisputedly under its control. However, when the eyes of the Alliance linger on other, brighter locations of its empire, location Q-9001 in quadrant 12-3 (aptly named "the Blind Spot" by some) becomes a place of shady encounters and untold happenings. Dark deals had been struck there between corrupt Alliance officials. Pirates and smugglers docked their ships on the floating heaps of debris that told of awesome battles between ruffians and cutthroats that had frequented the Blind Spot before them. The silence of space never reiterated the negotiations, promises, heresies, treasons, threats, and cries that had been uttered here.
So it might come as no surprise that the latest visitor to this deserted, yet never-lonely portion of the cosmos was Perentilian gangster Ude Nova – a name that had been known only to his late mother, his deceased brother, and his long-dead grandmother (he had never met his father) - but identified in his home system only as "LeFay".

LeFay had ceased aspirations for a steady position at his grandmother's dwindling diamondsteel plant before he was out of his adolescence, in exchange for performing shady small jobs in the local underground; this largely burned the only bridge he had, for as both a Perentil and a son of a drifting mother, his grandmother's plant was the only honest employment he might have hoped for. The Perentil population of the planet, at the time, was meek and frowned upon, and ridiculed as beggars and dirty hands-for-hire. Most lived on the streets.
Just before he reached adulthood, LeFay fell in with a small group of smugglers that based their operations in the depths of the backwater planet, from where they would travel between the surrounding systems to transfer illegal drugs, weapons, and illegal slaves. For about five years, Ude "LeFay" Nova disappeared completely, while life around the planet went about as it always had – tragically, treacherously.
Then, about seven years ago, a new LeFay emerged from the pits of the underground: gone was the unkempt, illiterate, and timid Perentil boy, replaced by a calm, self-assured, and utterly dominating figure that stood in a four-foot frame. Suave and enticing, he was the leader of the same group of smugglers he had joined years ago (although it was rumored that he had not spent all of those lost years within the same party).
Hungry for power, he turned his ambitions on the only franchises he knew – the drug, prostitution, gambling, and weapons-dealing circles of his home sector. The local underground bosses were quickly overwhelmed, and often caught by surprise by this small, queer-looking figure who preferred semiautomatic weapons to plasma guns. They all fell in quick succession, their collective positions taken over by a character who seemed to know no limitations when it came to getting what he wanted.
Within a year, he either owned all of the brothels and dealerships in the planetary quadrant, or their owners had pledged fealty to him, and his forces of hired gunman and mercenaries willing to settle down for the wages he was offering had grown by leaps and bounds.

A few years into this, LeFay's attention - moved by pity or by other means - turned to the population of his own kind on the planet, many of which had been in some way adversely affected by his forceful ministrations on his certain part of the city. In a move fueled by either compassion or political strategy, LeFay began a movement to raise the sickly and humiliated Perentils from the city's street: he offered preferential aid by invading local hospitals, and bought up much of the lower-class housing to provide affordable homes to the Perentils who made little or nothing. He pressured local employers to search out Perentils and offer them jobs with heightened salaries…and if they refused, he would have them killed (or at least had their fingers cut off), and returned the following day to pose the same demand to the new owner.
In a monumental move, he purchased, and - over a course of several months - completely revitalized his now-deceased grandmother's diamondsteel plant, paying for all sorts of renovations and updated machinery and equipment, and striking up business deals with all sorts of interstellar buyers to turn it into the primary employer of Perentils in the area. This alone seemed to ordain the Perentilian population, allowing the lot of them to rise through the ranks of the oppressive society to a position unthinkable before the come of "the great LeFay", whose name was now known throughout a quarter of the planet.

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LeFay's cruiser – a smaller passenger flyer – drifted seemingly at random inbetween the great hunks of debris while he sat behind the pilot's seat, eyeing nervously what was beyond the pilot's screen and chewing the nail of his index finger with his thick front teeth; it had been approximately two years since he had last chewed his nails.

"No sign of 'em, boss", reported the pilot from in front of him.
"No signals, either. I don't think they're showin'."

LeFay didn't reply – he was wishing that this really was the case.
It had taken them (LeFay, two pilots, and two of LeFay's bodyguards) about three days to pass undetected underneath the prying eyes of the Alliance's customs and into this forbidden sector. It might've been bearable for the professional driver and escorts, but for LeFay, it was maddening. He felt the urge to jump out of his seat and jockey the pilot to turn the ship back around and head away at hyperspeed. Having to sit there and try to contain his sheer anguish was more difficult than trying to look comfortable with a bladder infection. After all, he knew better than the pilot – they were there.
And a moment later, everybody else in the ship knew it, as well.
It started with the jolting, signature beep from the radar screen that gave LeFay enough reason to wet his pants. He sunk so far back into his chair that there was enough room for the accompanying guards (who had, all this time, been occupying the co-pilot's seat and the seat behind it) to poke their heads into the vicinity of the controls. LeFay saw the heads of all of his crew decline to peer down at the radar's screen at the sudden appearance of some very-near object that had not been there but two seconds before…but a moment later, they all rose again, eyes widening as they saw, though the glass of the cockpit, it's emergence.
As its cloaking device lifted, a monster appeared before their ship – some gnarled, horrid crustacean of cyclopean proportions. Vaguely pyramid-shaped, its pupil-less eyes a poisonous, illuminated shade of green, its shell the color of dried blood, the enormous space monstrosity unfolded before the paralyzed crew, in their stationary ship, and extended two jagged, bony claws, seizing their small cruiser with the ease of picking up a pebble between two fingers.

"It's only a ship…it's only a ship…", LeFay promised himself again and again, the tip of his thumb set firmly between his teeth.

It was indeed only a ship: a cloaked warship that was small by the standards of its makers, and its "claws" were the binding apparatus that would prepare both ships for boarding capabilities.
Such a realization should have come as a relief to the crew of the Perentillian cruiser, but no such optimism availed – only the truly foolish among them would have foregone a fight with a dozen space monsters, if it had meant they would not have to confront those who were inside of the giant craft.

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When his mother died about three years ago, and his brother and he had worked out a system in which he (his brother) would be paid to stay out of the way, LeFay had set his eyes on a contract with the Galactic Alliance. He didn't tell anybody – it was way too speculatory to dispel, yet - however, to have connections with the manufacturers who made the supplies and constructs for the Federation was possibly the greatest thing he could strive for. Even without wars or conflicts, the production would never stop, and his domain would be secured for many, many years. Methodically, he had set himself a two-year plan throughout which he would simultaneously entice the ledgers of the Alliance and wrest away the grip on diamondsteel production that had been shared, at the time, by three separate corporations…but again and again, his plan hit a snag upon realizing just how unimpressionable and untouchable the CEOs of said companies were (at least those of two of them; the third, Bax Huaxuan of Huaxuan & Co. had seemed like an easy beetle to turn over, at the time) - though his might was still gathering, LeFay wasn't a foolish crime lord, and realized that it was not in his power to attempt anything rash against his speculative competition…at least not yet.

He had been musing over ways to knock off Myko Samus of Kutvl Industries and Mange Vandar of UlverSteel one day, when something had caught his gaze from out of the corner of his eye, and he had ordered his chauffer to stop his cruiser. LeFay had just come off of an appointment, and had been driving down a shopping street when his attention was snagged: a commotion was building on the corner, and by the time that he had ordered his chauffer to stop, he realized that he might have just found the answer to his problems.
A scuffle had broken out in front of one of the shops, and was quickly turning into an all-out fight, involving at least four towering Erephans and…something very small and red. LeFay had stepped out of the cruiser to watch; he was not the only one in the crowd, but he stood on the frame of the cruiser's door for the best view, and what he saw might have been something seen in a movie: afront a morsh shop, three massive, towering employees were exerting themselves to their fullest physical prowess to subdue a creature that, despite being hardly a tenth of his antagonists' size, was fending them off with the greatest assault that the Perentil had ever seen.

"Thief! Get him!", somebody roared.

The Erephans, though unable to keep the creature pinned down, were barely adept enough to keep him within their circle, just outside of which lay a fan of presumably stolen credits.
A loud clanging noise and a yelp of pain came from the circle, and one of the Erephans fell back, clutching his bloodied face. The creature had gotten hold of a length of piping, and was wielding it as perilously as any swordsmaster might. Through the gap momentarily created by the fallen shophand, LeFay caught clear sight of the creature – he was about a meter tall, and dressed in the scruffiest of rags, through the many holes and tears of which shone blood-red fur. His ears, though curved in aggression, towered high, and were apparently covered in scabs. The hand that gripped the pipe was clawed. Above a grimacing mouth of sharp, yellow teeth, eyes of the most liquid black that LeFay had ever seen were uneased in tension.

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Now he was inside of their ship. LeFay and his guards had entered, leaving the pilot behind with the ship. His guards had their weapons drawn – palm-sized cannons which were accurate at twenty yards. It didn't make the Perentil feel any better, though.
He had never been on one of their ships, and hoped dearly that he would never have to set foot on one of them ever again. His usually-silent step clanged softly against the grillwork that served as the walkway, as his troop marched apprehensively down the dank and dark corridor, their steps echoing down the lengthy, ill-lit entrapment. What few lights there were glowed sinisterly from bulbs on the walls, giving the impression that this was a mine of sorts. A mine that smelled of staleness and stagnancy, petrification…and, somehow, humidity. LeFay was sweating, but his forearms and chest were freezing, as though he had a fever. Though his breathing was fairly silent, his companions rasped on either side of him, barely able to tolerate the low level of oxygen in the ship.
Even the physical contradictions that seemed commonplace in as demonic a place as this couldn't deter LeFay's mind from dreading what was at the end of this corridor - anybody who would set up this sort of reception had to be someone to be wary of, after all. But it wasn't just the reception – LeFay had met those who inhabited these ships only once before, and it had been his only prayer since then to never have to confront them again. An unanswered prayer – he figured it oddly poetic before going back to dreading his destination, the walkway to which seemed eerily to be growing narrower and narrower.
Then came the stench.
It caught them all off-guard, and one of his guards' immediate retching echoed down the tunnel; the guards had stopped, drawing their hands over their elongated muzzles, but LeFay strode on, his eyes watering slightly. Even he didn't know what exactly this smell was, but it was all which he could do in the face of these entities – he would not cower, even if his knees turned to water. Each step was now a trek in its own: an arduous, continental stride, followed by an oceanous, rippling clang of the grillwork – step, clang, step, clang…

And then he saw them: faint silhouettes at some distant point down the walkway, but they were there – figures of shadow that sucked in the tiny bit of light around them.
LeFay's guards had caught up with him again; they were now gripping their firearms tightly, and releasing the safety-lock with a twitch of their fingers. Both of them swallowed – possibly vomit – but LeFay's mouth was far too dry to attempt swallowing. Even his eyes were dry now from not blinking. If he didn't feel dry all over, he figured he might've wet his pants. It was getting difficult to breathe – his throat seemed to be swelling up.

"It can't last, it can't last, oh Milayu it can't last…"

The trio of Perentils now stood in front of a black wall. The wall stood approximately seven feet tall, towering over all of them. The wall breathed softly from multiple mouths – each a jagged, undefined hole that seemed to have been lazily sculpted from dark, grimy clay. The wall didn't move, but remained stoic and threatening as it eyed its audience through eight eyes – some of which were artificial, and the crimson, electronic glow of which was as piercing and cold as one could dream of. Whatever reeked of death was hidden by the wall.
LeFay forced himself to look up into the faces of the wall, and when he did, his head moved up like that of a wooden puppet, whose head was connected to its neck by gummy coils.

"…Yes?", was all he could muster, addressing the silent wall.

From the center of the dark, synonymous scape emerged an individual – it stood approximately two meters at its shoulders, off of which rolled a sleek, black cloak that was neither leather nor woven material, underneath which its body was undefined. The face beneath the shadowy cowl crawled slowly into the dim light, and LeFay shuddered: this was one of the few creatures who appeared to still have both of its eyes, but from the creature's bony cleft to its temple, there was no skin nor scales – just a grimy, metallic implant that reflected just enough light to be noticed against the giant's untempered skin, which was a sickly yellowish-green, and gave the impression of being stretched very tightly over its crab-like skull. The creature's mandible stuck out from its upper jaw, both of which were lined with a row of chipped and tortured-looking teeth. It wheezed affront a flat pair of nostrils, and looked down at the Perentil without hardly bowing its high-fored head.

"A fault in the circle", replied the Praetorian, in a hoarse, cavernous voice.

The words alone meant nothing to LeFay: "a fault", "the circle" – things he realized he wasn't meant to understand but vaguely…yet, the fact that he had been called on account of a fault of any kind didn't ease his mind at all.

"…Oh?", he managed to mutter.

For a moment, the mobhead was terrified that the creature was expanding a great set of wings, but felt an ounce of relief when it became clear that the cloaked creature was only raising his arms out of the cape. These arms were thick and sinewy, and looked like the trunks of a very ugly set of trees. Around the creature's forearms were a pair of gauntlets that appeared to be of the same grimy make as the face-plate. Knotty, black-clawed fingers extended from sharp-knuckled hands in a gesture of implication.

"Yesss…", hissed the Praetor, its breath whistling softy through its cracked teeth.
"A fault most bothersome. A fault to disturb the course. A dangerous fault, made perceptible to us by his Greatness of the Crypt. Hail Kaugarnok."

LeFay couldn't make heads or tails of these words, either. He stood watching the crab-faced monster simper the apparent name, and felt a shiver run down his back.
The creature lowered its arms a bit, and now its head bowed down enough for it to face LeFay directly. Its eyes were black.

"We protectors of the Seal recognize the will of the Crypt. His course. You are of His will, Nova, yet He sees your errors. Corrected, they must be."

LeFay drew slowly back towards his bodyguards; they might have turned to stone under the gaze of the four Predators, but he felt strong enough to rip the firearm from one of their hands if any one of the creatures advanced on him. He tried to say something, but the Praetor interrupted.

"No, LeFay – we know your thoughts. You needn't fear for yourself; you are still in His favor, Hail Kaugarnok. Yet, you stray from the course. Your insignificant pursuits pay no heed to the greatness of the One Ascendancy. Your servants – idle. Your instruments – blunted. We come to redirect you."

"Oh…oh really?", replied LeFay, now between his two guards, his hands free and ready to grip the cannons from their hands; he didn't trust these beings, no matter what they said.
"…You know, the pair you sent a few years before were a lot clearer about what they wanted. Stop talking in fucking riddles, if you please, and just spit it out."

A shudder ran across the air, and LeFay wished at once that he hadn't been so brash; it had just came out of his mouth. The eyes of the remaining four Praetors glinted – both born-of and mechanical. The foremost of them contorted his face slightly…yet it took LeFay a moment to realize that he was trying to grin.

"Yesss…you need to know", it hissed again, hands flexing once before they were lowered back underneath the cloak.
"You doubt the power. You don't think yourself able to be blinded. Ah, LeFay – master of stain – I believe to see why you were chosen."

"Just say it and let me go!", LeFay now exclaimed – hardly a shout, but an outburst nonetheless. Again, he hadn't been able to help himself – he was too much on-edge.

The Predator shook softly. He was laughing, but one couldn't tell by listening. It didn't last long, however – the creature righted himself, amused enough. Their sense of humor, LeFay figured, was as undeceptable as their entire civilization…if you could call it that.

"Your strong right arm that carries the sword…", continued the monster.
"He is the key. A part of it. His existence soforth has made him all that he must be for him to serve in the Ascendancy. There is but one more hardship to bear, and you must bestow it. So demands the Crypt. Hail."

Somehow, LeFay knew that they were referring to Gomora. After all, who else to identify with a sword? – he had, after all, bought him that damn sword.

"What do you want me to do?", asked LeFay, after a moment of hesitation.

"Destroy him", came the immediate reply.

LeFay's eyebrow twitched. The creature showed another hint of a smile.

"You will not succeed. That is not the purpose", added the giant, as though perceiving the Perentil's reservations.

Of course he had reservations about any such talk regarding his greatest employee. Had anybody back on the planet suggested anything of the like, LeFay would've shot 'em himself. But this promise of not succeeding intrigued him, as well as worried him. He tensed slightly, daring himself to speak again. He did, after all, have a reputation at stake, which he had managed to maintain during the first visit of Predators.

"…What is 'the purpose', if I may ask?"

A chittering ran through the wall. Telling LeFay of "the purpose" was apparently not on the itinerary at all, but a collective, alien debate seemed to going through the collection of creatures anyway. After a moment, the Predator standing afront LeFay raised his prickly chin, gave an off sort of gurgle from deep within his throat, and the wall behind him began motioning: their faces turned, and now apparently faced the stench-emitting whatever that was behind them. Some rustlings of cloaks, but nothing else was heard; it was almost as though the group was attempting to distance themselves from what their representative was about to say…or do.

"The purpose, underlord, is consolidation", he stated, his voice falling ominously low.
"In its current state, the sword is listless: redundant to its purpose. Only through cataclysmic upheaval can the blade be ground into necessary form – that is, to be the second part of the key. The key that will unlock the catacombs afront All waits. The time is near, underlord – you haven't tempered the sword as instructed, for your love of its handling, and now you are approaching the deadline. Soon, the othyung will be here. Thus, we must supply the grinding stone, and you must knob it swiftly, as promised years ago Only then will you receive. Only then will All see."

LeFay took all of this in, without understanding a word of it - something, he figured, about preparing Gomora to be a part of "key" by means of blasting apart his world (how he was supposed to do this, he didn't know, and he didn't suppose the Predators cared about what happened to him; all they cared about Gomora somehow helping them realize a moldy prophecy of theirs), and Something about a crypt. Praetors were morbid like that – their entire goddamn race.
He didn't want or need to hear anymore. These last three minutes had been more than enough. His previous meeting with them hadn't lasted any longer, anyway. He just wanted to get out of there – away from them, the gloom, and that repulsive stench. Let them keep whatever they had brought with them behind the wall.

"Okay…will do", he promised, and began slowly backing away, touching the hems of his guards' shirts to snap them out of their dull-eyed trance.
"I'll just…go now."

Whoosh!
All faces turned back on the trio. Their robes swished as the wall wheeled back around, unblinking crimson eyes boring into him, and LeFay knew at once that he had either said something wrong, or they weren't done with him to begin with. Both of his guards gasped and fumbled with their cannons. The representative Praetor narrowed his sunken eyes.

"No, LeFay Nova. You will not. Not yet."

He spread his arms wide. His cape lifted, displaying a horrid body that seemed to be composed more of metal than of flesh: huge portions of the creature's powerful pectorals were either covered or replaced by hunks of the same grimy, fetid metal, beneath which a canvas of scars defined the monster's rock-hard belly. He wore no pants – only a metallic loin-cover, above bulging thighs which turned artificial below the knees. He wore no shoes or boots of any kind – just one bare, clawed foot, and another prosthetic: toeless and putrid.
This action alone caused his bodyguards to raise their cannons. They fired twice, with cries of dismay as their shells seemingly had no impact on the revealed Predator. These cries were stifled as two thuds sounded, and LeFay's guards were knocked backwards onto the grillwork with respective clangs – two members of the wall had shot out like bullets, and had struck each in the forehead with a vicious, martial art-esque palm maneuver, leaving LeFay surrounded.
He gripped for a small semiautomatic that he kept in his belt, but the attempt was pitiful, and he too found himself on the grilled floor, eyes widening as one of the creatures' sopping, calloused hands closed around his throat.
The headmost Predator was advancing. For once, his eyes were wide, and full of a gleeful malice. His clawed hands were clenching and expanding, as though squeezing the air itself. He stepped forward, so LeFay could see him out of the brim of his eye.

"Don't fear for your life, worm", he grunted.
"You are essential, still."

He turned his head back towards the remaining two Predators, and barked an order in their native language ("If you can call it that", LeFay thought between rushes of panic) – it sounded like "Rokneh", but he had no idea what it could mean…until, of course, he heard the dull, clunking crawling. Between his spread legs, he witnessed the two remaining Praetors part, and a moment later, became aware of what they had been hiding behind them – and obviously were planning on utilizing all along.
It was a sixth Predator, yet hardly comparable to the others. Crawling on all fours and emaciated to the bone, the creature's mouth was torn open in a ceaseless, silent groan. Its few teeth and chalked lips shone dully with dried saliva. Though nude (and completely hairless), this creature appeared to have no implants of any kind – sans a thick, oppressive strip of metal that completely covered its eyes. The skin around this binding looked ulcered and infected. And the thing smelled like a thousand tombs opened at once – an odor so unbearable made even more dastardly as they led it towards him.
Desperately, LeFay kicked and thrashed violently, but he was no match to the bulging arm's strength that clamped down hard on his throat. He made a choked cry – a pitiful plea – and the Predators roared with laughter.

"You won't comply – not properly, at least. Persuasion is needed", the head Pred was chuckling darkly.
"Our persuader here will move you adequately to our needs."

It came closer, rattling the air with its dry wheezing. LeFay kicked and tore against the hand around his throat like a snared animal, but still to no avail. The stink had built to such a vomitous degree that he felt sure he would've thrown up if his esophagus were open. His eyes were watering painfully - it seemed impossible for any creature, alive or dead, to be as repulsive as this thing that crawled towards him now, its arm reaching up, its hand groping about in a wretched fashion that confirmed that beast's sightlessness. It gripped LeFay's ankle, and felt its way gropingly up his leg, his side…

"….PLEEEAAASE-!", howled LeFay as it came up his chest, straddling his hips grotesquely, and he tried to look away.
"NOT….THIS!"

The Predators gave no reply to him – rather, they began chanting, seemingly to the blind monster whose hands were now reaching out for LeFay's face, its own head turn up at the dark corridor ceiling. With a startling grip, the thing took the Perentil's long face between its encrusted hands, placing its thumbs forcefully over the screaming underlord's eyes. He wanted to die, LeFay was sure – anything other than these hands, which felt like a pair of huge spiders hugging his burning face. Much worse was the milky whiteness that was now spreading throughout his mind, as though the bastard creature were injecting him with some noxious chemical that blocked out all of his own thoughts and filled him with a terrifying, numb-inducing blankness that just spread, spread, spread, and started to become brighter and brighter as he screamed louder and louder, and a buzzing filled his ears which overrode both his own screaming and the chanting and the rasping of the dirty fucker's putrid breath, and suddenly LeFay the Perentil was drowning in milky soup, which was disgustingly warm and smelled like bodily fluid despite its dilutedness, and he heard and saw nothing other than what they wanted him to see, and he saw, saw, saw, saw, saw, saw, saw, "Or we'll saw your head off." Off, off, off, "Just turn it off, off, off"…and then, finally, thankfully, all was off.
No hands. No Predators. Nobody else. Just him, and he was turned off.

---

The police had been called, and they arrived in screaming, blinking cars in front of the shop, scattering onlookers. The crimson creature had gone into overdrive once it had noticed the approach, but more Erephans had joined the circle, and even though he managed to fell a couple more of them, they held him in place until the officers pushed their way through the ring, stun guns at the ready. He avoided the first, and knocked away the bolts of the next three, but the fifth shot caught him right in the shoulder, and he was sent to the sidewalk – growling, snarling, and shouting an obscenity, but otherwise paralyzed.
The police moved in quickly, avoiding his gnashing teeth as they snapped a pair of cuffs on his hands and ankles, and were quick to load him into one of their cruisers. About three or four officers stayed behind to question what exactly had gone on, but the obvious cause of the scene was off to the station.

LeFay had intercepted them a couple of streets down by flagging them with two more of his own ships. The police had been alarmed at first, but eased down just a bit when they caught sight of LeFay – after all, if LeFay was involved and they hadn't done anything against him or his party, the mob leader obviously wanted something better asked for alive. He had wanted the arrestee, and the exchange wasn't too dramatic – one bound and snarling red creature of unknown species for a stack of credits. It went very smoothly.
As the police cruisers pulled away, LeFay had the crimson stranger hauled into the backseat of his limousine. He didn't know why, he pondered as three of his hired hands shoved the little monster – still bound – through the door, but something about the potential of this situation and this interesting, vicious character seemed too great to resist. No other species that he knew of, after all, could take on an entire group of Erephans and remain standing for more than a second…yet something as small as this thing had kept them off of himself for the longest period of time. It didn't really mean anything to his cause (after all, he needed assassins and not brawlers), but still…he wanted to try.
He climbed in after the trio of Perentils and the still-struggling creature. One of his Perentils yelped as he was viciously bitten, and fell away, cradling his bleeding palm.

"Lift him up", LeFay ordered.

The remaining two did, and LeFay reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a syringe. It was a hard-needled shot, and contained a dose of relaxium – the drug that LeFay had occasionally given himself during the building of his empire. It was a euphoric drug, but euphoria was not what he was after.
As the crimson, ragged creature snapped at one of his captors, LeFay reached forward and forcefully gripped its wide jaw, forcing its face around. Without a moment's hesitation, LeFay hilted the needle into the creature's sweaty, red-furred forehead, and it gave a scream as loud and horrible as could be expected when being spined in the brain with a two-inch needle. The yelling ceased as LeFay began to inject: the creature's expression fell, contorted, and eventually went as numb as a rubber mask while the Perentil emptied the entire dosage of the happy-maker into the creature's cortex. He pulled the needle out eventually, with a drop of blood from the puncture, and tossed it out of the car's window. He gripped the creature's jaw again, and thrust his face into his own.

"What's your name?", he demanded.

After a moment of drooling, the creature told him.

"Where do you come from?"

The creature told him.

"Who do you work for?"

"…Nobody", the creature replied.

LeFay smirked deviously, as though he had just picked the prized athlete for a sport's team.

"When this drug wears off – in about five hours – you are going to be ready to give your life for me, you understand?"

"…Yes", answered the creature.

"You will do whatever I ask of you, without question and without concern for your own safety, got it?"

"…Yes", answered the creature.

"You will kill for me, and you will never be seen unless I allow it, understand?"

"…Yes", answered the creature, his eyes rolling in his head.

"What's your name?", LeFay asked again.

The creature told him again.

"From now on, your name's 'Gomora' – like the band."

"…Yes."

LeFay's hand turned soft, and he gently patted the little creature's cheek, allowing him out of the grip of his cards to slump over onto the seat next to him, his face against the cushions. He had heard about the drug's supposed abilities when administered correctly, but had never really tried it out. The experiment had paid off.

"Good boy…Gomora", he said softly to his new underling, and petted the back of his moist neck softly.

He turned back to his panting guards and ordered them back up front. A few seconds later, with everybody except the crimson thing seat properly, the cruisers pulled away, in destination of LeFay's diamondsteel plant.

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(A/N: dear reader, you have just finished the last chapter of Elisir that I plan to write in a long, long time; the story is not over, but it's time for a break. I hope you all have enjoyed it so far, and will check out my profile page for my official adios. Thank you for taking the time to make writing this story worthwhile. Please leave a review)