Persona Cloud Nine .pdf
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Title: Persona: Cloud Nine
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Persona: Cloud Nine
Tags: StoryMaster, FanFiction.Net
Tetsuo Katsuji has signed a contract he does not remember
signing. His fortune details pitfalls and potential he does not
comprehend. And when the transfer student he chose to
escort around the city goes missing, he discovers a world of
surreal power, fueled by unfulfilled dreams and coveted by
unscrupulous figures. Now, he and many others must find the
strength to defy fantasy.
Persona: Cloud Nine
Produced By: http://storymaster.the-code-monkey.com
Retrieved For: firstname.lastname@example.org
Story URL: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10690695/
Table of Contents
2. An Unexpected Guest
3. The Transfer Student
4. New Old Grind
6. Interlopers, Enforcers
7. Sun: Dreamweaver
10. The Voice and The Fists
12. The Book of Avalon
13. Mister Congeniality
14. Party Crashers
15. A Series of Difficult Negotiations
16. Magician: Dreamweaver
17. Curious Residents
Sweat soaks his shirt. It's heavy, but he can't feel its weight at
all. Move! his mind screams, but his legs do not listen, and
they remain splayed out uselessly behind him. Lying on his
stomach with his arms propping him up a few inches so that
he can see the obscured figure standing above him, he awaits
Did it do this to him? He can't remember. He doesn't know
why he's here. He remembers flashes of things: a numbness,
a dim twinging in his chest, the rattle of some plastic object.
And now he is here. But he needs to stand. Stand so he can
run, or to fight, or even just to feel less helpless in front of this
thing that oozes such a strong sense of malice.
Craning his neck as far up as it will allow, he tries once more
to make out its face. He can't. There is only a mass of smoky,
bluish-black tendrils crowning the entrance to some abyssal,
dark pit. Seeing it, he is consumed by the overwhelming
desire to escape. Pulling his body away from the thing is an
agonizing and slow process, as he is unable to do little else
but drag his torso forward across the smooth floor. Ever so
slowly he begins to crawl away, but in his peripheral vision he
sees the thing walking briskly alongside him. Casually, even,
as if to mock his efforts.
Realizing that the effort is futile, he slumps to the floor. Beside
him, the figure crouches and the pit comes to eye level.
"Why are you struggling?"
A voice. Human language. Yet laced with an undercurrent of
surreality, a discordant rippling at the edges of its curious
tone. Not human. Not at all. He refuses to answer, yet does
not attempt to crawl away again. Whatever it wants, it will
have its way at this point.
As if sensing his acquiescence, the figure takes on a more
"Good. I don't want to harm you anyways. In fact, I want to
show you something. Do you want to see?"
It was almost like an excited child, but he couldn't bring
himself to nod or shake his assent or dissent. It would do
what it wanted. It takes his inaction as agreement.
"Very good! Now, do you want to be perfect?" It paused,
waiting for an answer. He couldn't give it one. No words would
form. How would one answer a question like that, given no
prompting or explanation?
"I see. Maybe you think it makes you a bad person to wish
that way. Maybe you think I'm a bad person. There are a lot
of people who don't understand what I see. But I think you're
It rises to its feet, and out of his vision. It isn't until the hairs
prick up on the back of his neck that he hastily squirms to flip
The figure stands over him in an aggressive stance, the
blackish-blue smoke creeping over every inch of its
humanesque form. But it is not this that so deeply disturbs
him. It is the glinting gold eyes that now peer out from within
the pit that provokes a cacophony of shrieking within his mind.
They seem to reach hungrily into his soul, seeking to devour
him from the inside out.
It is going to kill him.
"Please prove me right," it says, and instead of murdering
him, it holds out its hand. Unlike the rest of it, it does not
smoke, nor is blackish-blue. In fact, it looks disturbingly close
to the hand of a real person.
He is unsure of how to react to this gesture. He knows nothing
about this figure, other than it is not human, yet is quite adept
at mimicking one. There is also the distinct possibility that it
may be responsible for maiming him and putting him into this
distressing position. The figure is frightening, for sure, yet at
the same time, intriguing. Indeed, the more time he spends
near it, the more his fear subsides and his curiosity peaks. He
is so tired of lying here helpless like this. Would it be so bad,
to take its hand?
In the end, he decides to do exactly that. He grasps the hand
of the thing standing above him.
Its fingers instantly clench around his as if seeking to crush
every individual bone in them beyond recognition. Its grip is
disgustingly strong, and spears of pain lance up his arm and
through every nerve ending in his wrecked body. The agony is
so acute that he cannot even muster the strength to scream
before foggy whiteness creeps into the corner of his eyes.
However, before he slips into the cold sleep of the
unconscious, a barely indistinct sound reaches his ears.
"The contract is sealed."
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