Demon Lord Shapeshifting System

"What exactly happens when this Seventh Day Circus Extravaganza becomes successful?"

Artea asked Ivan as they rolled up the very, very, VERY long red carpet from the entrance of the building to the circus itself. It was in some space where the ceiling can't open up and show the sky, and it was large and circular like an amphitheater. 

Though they were tasked to buy the supplies and go outside the circus, Artea still had to be blindfolded to not know where the location was in case she did escape. But from guesses and approximations alone, they should be somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. She'd even go for a leap and guess that they were near Times Square. 

Perhaps it was their plan to make people think this was one of the many Broadway theaters, or even THE Broadway Theater itself, the one that was actually in Broadway road itself. 

Though the amphitheater of the Circus was much bigger than any theaters that Artea had been to, and she had almost seen them all. This was almost emulating the Roman Colosseum itself, and it continues to be expanded and expanded by workers from a building company called Infinite Space Co.

Which means that it was a pain to clean as well. So far, all these fake imposter people have been doing their best to sweep up the dust or stomp the occasional bugs and spiders that crawl around. 

There was no shortage of workers and mannequin people. Before, Artea had found it bizarre, but after 4 hours of working as a member of the 'Mother's Family', she became accustomed to it.

But accustomed does not mean acceptance. Far from that. She still wants it all to go away, and to derail whatever they planned to do to New York, to the entire world. 

"Do you want to see? You will see it at the first puppet show performance tomorrow, actually." Ivan told him.

Artea grumbled. "Can't you just tell me?"

"Not here, no. Mother won't like that very much. And even if I did attempt to tell you, everybody experiences a show differently. They can laugh at it, cry about it, be utterly scared….. It's up to your perspective. Just like our perceptions of the world and the people around us! You can like or dislike someone, see them as a dog or as your mother."

He clapped his hand. "Have I ever told you about the times I had disguised myself as a doctor, a plumber, a pizza delivery man and even a hair boiler! It's fun to dress up in different identities once in a while, you should try it sometime!.... If you haven't yet."

Artea closed her mouth as she won't gain anything useful from this guy after all. 

She thought he must be an ally, but either he was being vague for safety or he was playing the long con. He did admit he liked playing the con artist and committing identity theft. 

As for now….

She had managed to phone Harker's house earlier, but he wasn't there either. They went over to him to give him an invite, but there was no one in his house. 

She hoped that he finally picked up his feet and looked for Roland. She just couldn't stop worrying about him after all this monster business. And if he did find him, she hoped that he was okay, though that was unlikely considering how his disappearance was so sudden and unusual. 

Little did Artea know, her hopes were in vain.

---------------------------

Roland tore apart the imposter, who pretended to be an 8 year old boy this time. He stuffed its body with bullets within that same playground where it ate lollipops and pretended to be some happy couple's foster child. 

And he did it right in front of them, in broad daylight. Wearing a gang mask. 

It didn't matter to him now whether it would traumatize anyone or not. He had his target, and he was ready to release his fury on it. 

That was the Hunter's way. The innocents were not to be harmed, but if they were on the way of his hunt, then whatever happened to them is their fault. 

Chief Fieldings was proud of his little protege so far. No one would ever expect this blossoming of violence would come from someone who used to be such a gentle soul. Roland had so many things suppressed within him, and he had cultivated that bloodlust to its full potential. 

But he knew it was not enough. As his student proudly showed him today's victim, he whistled from his police car for him to come back. 

"I have to go by the police department in a few minutes. Nice job, son." He said, patting his back. 

Roland put the broken apart child on the trunk, twisting its head until it reached under its own arm. 

"Yeah, yeah. Guess it's up to me to torture it for information. Not that I'm complaining." Roland grinned. "What a disgusting thing, pretending to be some cute little kid. I'll make sure it suffers more than the others."

Chief Fieldings still kept his hand on his shoulder. "That's well and good. But Roland, I noticed something."

"What is it?" Roland snapped, finally looking him in the eye.

"Your anger is no longer growing. It has reached this level, and it has been stable so far." The chief of police frowned. "Do you still see your father's face on the Imposters?"

"Of course I do." Roland scoffed, pushing his hand away. "What, you think I'm going soft?"

"No, that's not it. It simply means, my son…." The man wore a wide grin, showing off one of his teeth gilded with gold. "Is that your anger for your father is not enough. Your fuel has run dry, you need a new vendetta. A new person to seek revenge on, this time, preferably someone you could actually kill without major consequences in your life. And someone you can kill soon."

"Who would that be? I can't think of much, I encountered too many annoying people but none of them were someone I could really kill or acted directly malicious to me." Roland said. "Most of their transgressions are too trivial."

Chief Fieldings frowned. "No? Not even a classmate that said something bad about you, or a teacher that gave you an unfair grade."

"Forgettable offenses. They still count as innocent in my eyes, and you said—"

"That seeing innocence in someone would only hinder the Gift of Vendetta. I know." Chief Fieldings sighed. "Well dang it, Roland. I still see so much potential in you, I don't want the fire to burn out so quickly. You must have someone. You just need to think."

Roland rolled his eyes. "I'm trying, old man!"

He did have someone, but he wasn't sure if that bastard was still alive or not. 

His very own 'therapist'. The one who prescribed him his anxiety medication and the one he was seeing during his worst times as a teenager.

It was also the same bastard who had taught him how to lie. Because there was no point in seeing professional 'help' like him if they would all just say the same thing, if they would just try to manipulate you into thinking that it's all in your head and you're blowing it way out of proportion. 

'Their mockery was not real.'

Roland wanted to answer back. 'No, doctor. It's real, they just keep it hidden in their faces that they use as a mask.'

'What you're feeling is just a phase, something you will grow out of.'

Roland wanted to say. 'No, doctor. What I'm feeling torments me every single day even when I pretend it doesn't exist. Even when I take all those pills you give me to make it go away.'

'You are just overthinking.'

Roland wanted to shout at those wax-filled ears of his 'Wow, I'm overthinking!? Guess I didn't know that! Too bad I don't know how to STOP IT. That's why I'm literally here!'

But he didn't reply to those things. Not after the first session, the second, the fifteenth, the hundreth. 

Roland smiled, nodded his head to his phony advice, paid his 'services' and took the medications as he was instructed. His father believed in this doctor, since Roland started behaving 'properly'. And it was thanks to him after all.

Roland learned how to pretend to act properly.

All thanks to Doctor Dion Apopis.

Chief Fieldings did not need to ask him, he could already tell from the growing maniacal sneer in his face and the burning red in his eyes that Roland had found someone. The sacrificial lamb, the one who will receive the true punishment of his vendetta. 

"It's my doctor. The shrink I used to see." Roland said. "If I remember correctly…. He just lives in Midtown, in a neat expensive flat on Times Square."

The mentor nodded, ruffling his hair. "Wait for me tonight, then. We'll hunt this one together, but I'll let you do the job and just watch. For now, practice how you'll torture him with a dummy."

Roland chuckled. 

"Haha…. Yes, Sir."