Cameraman Never Dies

Judge leaned back in his chair, quill in hand, feeling like a director about to shape the fate of his characters. He stared down at the parchment, which had definitely seen better days. Sure, there were ether-powered machines, time loops, and dark forces swirling around him, but none of that compared to the delicate art of scriptwriting.

Lucifer approaches his prey, not with bloodlust or the intent to kill, Judge wrote, the words coming to him smoothly.

Suddenly, a vision flashed before his eyes, like a theater screen projected straight into his brain. Judge blinked, a bit taken aback by the weirdness of it all—he could see the vision playing out in his mind while still being fully aware of his surroundings. It was like he had two brains working at once.

He settled into his chair, mentally conjuring up a bucket of popcorn. This was some top-tier entertainment. Ether-powered VR—now that's something worth looking into for later, he mused with a grin.

The scene unfolding in his mind was exactly what he had hoped for. Lucifer—his loyal, ever-arrogant agent of pride—was making his way toward his prey. These weren't just random targets though; they were previous kills brought back by some mysterious time-turning ability. And Lucifer? Well, he wasn't the type to take that lightly, not that he knew of that fact.

Judge chuckled to himself. "The guy really does have an ominous air about him!" He exclaimed, but not because he was surprised. Rather, because he just thought it would sound cool (It did not). Maybe he was picking on Clio's bad habits— he quickly showed that thought aside.

He could see the man confused as to what was happening, like he was sure that he did not cause anything for a butterfly effect. He held the girl in his arms, trying to protect her, as Lucifer drew closer.

Back to the script.

Lucifer proceeds to ask his prey: "How many times do you think I've killed you? I've dealt with time-turners before, but none of them had dark ether as thick and disgusting as yours."

Judge smirked. Lucifer's lines had just the right mix of menace and arrogance, perfectly fitting his character. It was the kind of thing that made your backbone tingle without raising a sword.

Lucifer drew closer to his targets, calm as ever. His aura radiated power, wrapping around him like storm clouds ready to strike. Judge knew this wasn't just pride—this was pure, calculated menace.

Judge leaned in mentally, amplifying Lucifer's presence with a sliver of his own will. The weight of his power pressed down on the targets, making them tremble. Even Lucifer had a hard time standing firm against Judge's full force, so for these two poor souls, it was like being hit by a large ether-fueled sledgehammer, but less deadly.

"Nice," Judge thought, pleased with himself. He'd keep this move in his back pocket for future encounters.@@novelbin@@

Lucifer continued, voice low and threatening, all according to the script. "But..." The pause was timed to perfection. "My master, the recorder, wishes to see you. I don't know what he sees in your pitiful self, but... you should be grateful that he even wills to see you."

Judge let out a contented sigh. Was it perfect? Maybe not. But it was damn close.

With the script written, Judge leaned back in his chair again, picturing how the next scene would play out. When Lucifer summoned him, it would be grand—his entrance would be nothing short of legendary.

The air would shift, thick with tension. The lights would dim, and a spotlight would illuminate him sitting on a throne, ether swirling around him. He'd rise slowly, his coat sweeping the floor behind him like something out of a perfectly choreographed play.

And then, in a voice so low it sent chills down spines, he'd welcome them to his domain.

"Welcome to the Studio," he'd say.

He could almost see their terrified faces. They wouldn't know what hit them. There'd be a pause, the tension growing thicker, and then he'd casually throw in something like, "You're probably wondering why you're here... or how many times I've watched you die. Honestly? I've lost count."

But maybe it was better to head out to meet them, after all, he did not know what triggered the time turn, so better not make any rash decisions. what if time turned back endlessly while he goes inside the studio? It was not worth the risk.

He would go out and be the most intimidating person out there. Maybe he would enter with at least a bit of his will leaking, faking it like a little of what hid underneath.

Judge grinned, imagining the scene. Now that was how you make an entrance.

He opened his eyes and looked around, feeling the anticipation building inside him. It wouldn't be long before Lucifer called him in to finish the job. Until then, he'd wait, the master pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Lucifer was in charge of handling the messy part.

Judge? He had the dramatic finish covered.

It was a flawless plan—or at least, that's what Judge hoped. But he wasn't one to trust in things going perfectly. Something always went sideways, especially when time manipulation and dark ether were involved. He had to be ready for every possible outcome, no matter how ridiculous.

"What if I trip on my coat during the big entrance?" he briefly wondered. Nah, that wouldn't happen. Not this time. Hopefully.

His thoughts were cut short by Lucifer's mental call, breaking into his mind with a directness that was both respectful and oddly formal: "Recorder, I've done as you asked. What's next?"

Judge smirked, picturing Lucifer standing there, all intimidating and commanding but still waiting like a well-trained soldier. It was almost... cute, in a twisted, menacing kind of way.

"Step aside as you are making way for your master," Judge instructed, quickly cutting off the telepathic link like a domineering boss. Because even in telepathy, style mattered.

Rising to his feet, Judge cracked his neck like he was gearing up for a showdown, adjusted his mask, and took a moment to admire his reflection. Yes, he summoned a mirror just to admire his look.

He briefly toyed with the idea of sending his clone instead—less risky, more detached. But unfortunately, his clone couldn't contain the sheer amount of his will, his presence. And let's be honest, a grand entrance wasn't nearly as fun without that bone-chilling intimidation factor, but if the viewers are crushed, then what's the use of an entry?

"Guess the real me's going out there," he muttered, mildly inconvenienced by his own overwhelming power. The drama was necessary though. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Well," he said to himself with a wry grin, "time to make my debut. And what better way to do it than terrifying someone who literally controls time?"

He decided to head back... but a slight problem. He had escaped from training, and he was sure that his master wouldn't let him go. "Why did I not think about this?"

But he was not quick to give up, "Sorry Selena, I will remember your self-sacrifice." He took up his pen and script.