Hideous Life/Hideous Life's Journal
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
In a large, rarely ventured to chamber of the vast Paragon City sewer network, there is an assortment of accoutrements and oddities scattered about large metal platform. Among these items, all of which suggest the frequent use of some man or creature roaming the underground, is a book of worn bindings with a water-soaked cover. Many of the pages are ruined, whatever words that might have been written lost in dirty stains. However, if one was to read further along, they would eventually find a legible script written in fine ink. This was the private journal of the former Eidolon, Hideous Life.
Tuesday, July 29th
I awoke today, as every day, on a hard metal grill on a bedding of dank rags. I bathed in the showering spring of Paragon City's sewage. The Lost were lurking in the corridors, but they wisely gave me room as I set about for the work of the day.
For the first time in weeks I lent my skills to a team of heroes working out of Founder's Falls. The city rep's were so impressed they bumped my security level up a few notches. Their overflow of bubbly approval washes over me like a seething foam. I think they are fake. If they are truly sincere, then they have bigger problems.
Its been quite a day.
The battle for a demon's heart is filled with as much turmoil and pitfalls as one would expect. I often question the wisdom of putting myself through this kind of hell for as ungrateful a prize as Blaze. One look at her face is usually enough to remind me of how badly I want her.
A man called Morg has put another road block in a highway that's cracked and damaged enough as it is. He plants his lies like a bed of roses at my beloved's feet, hiding the thorns with a syrupy sweet smile. It was not long after I tracked her down did he show up, and we played our parts like mutual tempters weighing down Blaze's slender shoulders with our best attempts to woo her. I think she got the message, but she's more stubborn than a Cadaver trying to incinerate itself. God help me, I still have hope.
After the talk, I found Arielle in Faultine. I wanted to follow up a personal lead, and wouldn't you know it, I was right. She knew Morg too. They almost hit it off. Almost. I asked her about him, and she cried. She told me what she could, and I did what I could, but only time is going to mend that wound. I don't think she's ever going to trust me again. I really don't blame her.
I left Blaze consoling another demon spawn named Blue. I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. He called Morg a man whore and told me his friend just died. What choice did I have?
Later I came back later to the real sewer taking in the worse of putrid filth this city, and the Rogue Isles, has to offer, better known as Pocket D. There I found her again, in the company of a succubus, Evan, and Lucia, who was being pleasured physically by the French bastard. It appears Blaze will be staying at this guy's home. Sometimes I don't know why I bother. I tried to warn Blaze about Lucia's special cocktails, but I don't think she believed me. A few brief words with the winged redhead afterward told me my suspicions were on the money, as usual. Blaze's parting words for the evening was that she was mad at me. Well, maybe she has a right to be. Still, I'd rather her be angry at me for what I do than be happy with what I don't do.
When I came back home, the Lost were all over the place. The sizzling green atomic fire that is Dr. Vahzilok's lasting legacy made short work of them. I didn't save the bodies. Not tonight.
Another entry is scrawled lower than the rest, apparently an unintended addendum.
Insomnia's a bad habit. I found the horn-headed succubus in the D, where we had a pleasant chat. I prostrated myself on the alter of humility to try to get a few questions answered. Her responses were uncooperative, but illuminating. Its a dim, urine-colored light swinging in the halls of the sewer underground, orbited by disease-ridden flies. Why Blaze willingly associates with these people, I'll never know. Sadly, its that kind of ignorance that makes me vulnerable.
I followed up the evening by tracking down Morg into Ouroboros, where he shared a late-night rendezvous with some trick I've never seen before. I feel like a damn member of the Paparazzi, except I won't even get a Pulitzer for my photograph of a celebrity debutante with her pants down. Love makes you do crazy things.
Wednesday, July 29th
And just like that, its over. Again. I found myself setting moral restrictions above and beyond the built-in limitations of a heartless she-demon, and I have the gall to be suprised when she can't live up to them. Climbing uphill against the gale winds of a hurricane with a weight strapped to my back finally became too much. She admitted defeat, and I had no choice but to accept the decision. I find myself neither elated or saddened, hurt or otherwise. I can only wrestle with the fact that some people refuse to be saved, and I don't have the skills to save them. Lesson learned.
However, the war goes on. I successfully implemented my plan to gain easy access to the enemy state, the Rogue Isles. There will be no need for elaborate disguises or clever ruses on my part to gain the acceptance of my fellow crooks and criminals. My existence as an Eidolon will say it all to them. I'll gladly tie the noose for every line of rope these degenerates choose to feed me.
I'll also be able to keep an eye on Vahzilok activity, and discover a cure for my condition beyond the good doctor. Maybe I'll even keep tabs on Blaze a little while longer, so I can pat myself on the back every time I see her stumbling steps bring her a little closer to the floor. She won't lift a hand to be caught, and I won't give her mine to help her up. I guess that's what they call "closure."
