Judge sensed someone in Victor's office. Run back to the Studio like it was Black Friday and everything was 90% off. But then, suddenly, an imaginary light bulb (the brightest ever, obviously) flickered on above his head. He had on his usual white, smiley mask, but now, in a stroke of genius, he realized his outfit—a full suit and tie—was next-level mysterious.
He felt like he had just leveled up his villain game. Forget fashion trends; the world he was in hadn't even invented suits yet. That made him, by default, the most mysterious and fashion-forward villain around.
He stood there, thinking, "I probably look terrifying right now." He thought. "What screams 'strong villain' more than a masked man with a suit no one understands, lurking in a monster-infested forest?" The answer was nothing. He was sure of it. Not the researcher's nothing, but the actual nothing.
His next move was obvious: scare the living daylights out of the guy inside by dragging him into the Studio. First underling? Check. Finally getting someone to sign one of those snazzy, borderline-evil scriptwriter contracts he's been itching to use? Double-check. Get the guy to sign it, throw in some fine print, then sit back and watch the chaos unfold.
The mask and suit added extra villain points. Obviously.
So, Judge prepared to make his grand entrance. He was going to make an entrance so dramatic it would be talked about for generations. Something along the lines of, "Express your will..." Yeah, that's what Miss Melina said. A person's 'will' was like their swaggering, soul-crushing aura, some say it is like a monarch's presence.
If intense enough, weaklings would be groveling at your feet. Heck, if you really overdid it, you could squish them like a bug (if they are that weak obviously). You know, just in case a dramatic entrance wasn't enough.
And hey, dragons have to be the best at this, right? Being the strongest race in existence, surely his will would be… at least mildly terrifying? He closed his eyes, ready to feel that overpowering dragon presence. He focused on his mind, his soul, his inner dragon magic...
And… nothing. Absolutely nothing.
What? Did you think he'd suddenly unlock his ultimate power just because the plot demanded it? Pfft. Mid-level power-ups don't work like that! Judge was focusing so hard on summoning his presence that he could practically hear the deity of stories laughing her divine head off in the distance, probably rolling on some celestial floor, thoroughly enjoying his failure.
"Of course, she'd find this hilarious," Judge muttered, shaking his head. "Can't wait to add her to my hit list." (Although, if we're being honest, she was only not on the list because she had helped him out before. But still.)
Still, unbeknownst to Judge, his presence was already making waves—literally. Turns out, since he didn't have a body, he was always radiating this intimidating aura like some kind of supernatural Wi-Fi signal, and his poor clone, stuck doing all the dirty work, couldn't dial it down. So, while he was standing there trying to force out this 'scary villain debut' moment, he had already succeeded.
That was one reason the Sky Talon did not attack him with much stronger attacks, it was just beware of the existence in front of it.
Hawthorne, inside, was struggling. Not just struggling—gasping for air as if someone had thrown him into an invisible chokehold. His knees were buckling, his vision was blurring, and all he could think was, "Who is this demon in a fancy suit, and why does he want to kill me with just his existence?" (For the record, that's not what he actually thought.)
Meanwhile, Judge, still blissfully unaware that his mere presence was doing all the work, was mentally preparing his villain speech. "Okay, gotta sound cool. Don't be too dramatic, but just dramatic enough. Maybe something like, 'So, you've found yourself at the mercy of a power far beyond your comprehension…' No, too cliché.
'Ah, I see you've wandered into my domain, mortal!' No, that sounds like I'm auditioning for a theater role."
"Oh, who might you be?" He polished his voice and talked in a deep, rich, and commanding tone. "I see you've wandered into my domain, mortal!" Nailed it. The guy practically fell to his knees. Judge thought, "Wow, my speech really did the trick!"—completely ignoring the fact that it was his unintentional presence aura causing the reaction.
The man said something in a foreign tongue. But Judge being him, did not understand it. He thought of what to say next, "Ugh, what now?" Judge groaned internally. But he couldn't break character. In his best 'villain trying too hard' voice, he commanded, "Use translation, you weakling! I am not familiar with the tongue of you lesser beings!" perfect...
Why did I say it like that? Judge instantly regretted the line. Why did he sound like a bad community theater actor? He was ashamed of himself, he wanted to cover his face and hide behind a wall, and his face was already covered. The man was trying his hard to get up, did his embarrassing act fail to keep up his villain image? Judge was ready to transport both of them to his Studio.
"I am Hawthorne. Who are you?" Hawthorne Said in a demanding tone. His voice faltering.
"I am..." Judge held up both his hands in a T-pose. He transferred both of them into the Studio. That was the cherry on top. Man! he thought, that was perfect. down to the last drop.
Immediately after reaching the studio, he covered his real body with fog, making Hawthorne unable to see the face of the original. "I am just an underling of his majesty." he finished his grand show.
Hawthorne was bewildered. There were a few known principles for teleporting, all of them took a few moments before teleporting, but this was instantaneous. Even the known principles had its flaws, either they require a huge amount of psyche due to the complexity of principle, or they require a huge amount of ether due to the principle literally trying to fold space.
And if this guy, the one who did instant teleportation, was just the underling, what kind of terrifying boss did he serve? His mind was racing with questions.
After telling what he had to say, he sat on a high backrest chair near the long marble table that he created on the first day in the studio. He the chair created by adding in some smoke for some effects. He bowed to his real self before sitting and transferring his soul back.
"So!" He started speaking in his original body, "Who might this mortal be." Judge was trying his hard to look more domineering—well, Hawthorne can't really see him due to the fog, but still.
He made an identical mask to that of a cameraman, and put it on. Clearing the fog to reveal his masked, mysterious face. Hawthorne was stunned. What was this? He was somewhat expecting a monster, but instead, he got... this guy?
Hawthorne was eyeing Clone-Judge to explain why he was here, but the one who spoke was the boss. "So, Tell me Mr. Hawthorne," Judge said, crossing his fingers, "what was your business inside my underling's personal space?"
Hawthorne, meanwhile, was contemplating every decision that had led him to this point. He had accepted a suspicious mission to find a diary about nothing and had now he had stepped on a landmine that was judging him to decide whether to explode or let him live.