Fucking dicks. Fucking assholes. Torch his fucking hotel room just because he had a claymore set in front of the door for Hasashi?!

He'd fucking show them, but for now, he had work to do. A new life to build, and Leon opted to start with picking a new identity. Spanish Immigrant Joao Jean DeLeon would be a perfect fit, years of preparation were gone in an instant though, and the identity he'd had was destroyed. He couldn't go by Leon any more thanks to this shit, but one thing was for sure.

Gunderson was gonna fucking die for this. He was gonna force-feed that blob a grenade, and laugh as he exploded. 

Still, a pawn shop in Palo Alto would do as well for now. Scamming people was his life blood, and tricking every idiot who came in with something worth 10 times the price he'd pay gave Leon the satisfaction he needed to not immediately go on a war path and set every building with the he found that symbol the fucker had been carrying on fire. 

Fucking assholes. Mayflies nipping at the heels of their betters without a single ounce of consideration as to how many DECADES of work they were ruining. 

Thus, despite his smiles, and despite his jovial outward attitude. Leon's inner kitsune was fuming with absolute fury and his practice was put towards ensuring he'd never deal with that again. 

Swordplay and music were unlikely to be observed by any viewers as preparation for war though. 

Hate was an EXCELLENT motivator. 

You swallowed your pride when you were faced with the chance to remove some yourself. 

For instance, if someone gave you a hammer and pointed you at a pile of wood and told you to build a house so that you would have a fortress from which to pursue the thing you hate.

You would.

It cost nearly every dime Leon had, and a fair amount of time going out to find migrant workers that were either especially disliked or renowned for their work ethic. Rusalka have to eat after all, but he did it. 

A month of hard labor, driving nails into lumber acquired from sources the Leshen approved of, and of having him silently evaluate the men during interviews in which Leon would find a few people worthy of entering his new sanctum, and a few that were not. 

He also spent this time educating the Leshen and the Rusalka on the dangers of the SCP foundation. These men with their armor, their tanks, and their inclination towards hunting down the spiritual were not to be trifled with. Helicopters and teams of men with heavy machine guns were after all beyond the ken of even someone as supernaturally powerful as the Leshen. 

Thus, the bog was put on alert. To recognize the symbols and methodology of the SCP foundation thanks to the small warning put on display by Dr.Gunderson, but. 

Leon did not forget the entire time he was driving nails, and practicing his craft. 

This was all for a purpose, and that purpose was to set Dallas on fucking fire and ensure that Mike actually belonged in that asylum by the time he was done with him. 

For now though, he had a watermill to build, and electricity to set up...

wait..

Didn't he know someone who owned an insane asylum? 

Deep within the Chort's bog, scrawled into a tree one could find etched a series of haiku written in an unknown hand: 

In the Russian bog's embrace, I lie, Bound by betrayal, under the Leshen's eye. Once trusted allies turned to dark deceit, Leaving me ensnared, a prisoner's defeat.

Through the misty veil, the Leshen creeps, Its ancient power awakened, forever keeps. Roots like serpents, entwined and tight, A chilling reminder of a forsaken plight.

Oh, how the whispers of nature's realm lament, As I dwell in this bog, a prisoner unbent. Betrayed by those who swore loyalty true, Left to face the Leshen, a fate cruel and undue.

But still, I find solace in the bog's expanse, For in its murky depths, I dare to dance. I hear the echoes of ancient spirits past, Whispering courage, resilience that will last.

Within these mossy bounds, strength arises, Defiance kindled, determination crystallizes. For though the Leshen's hold may seem unkind, A kitsune's spirit within me, it shall find.

So let the bog embrace, the Leshen bind, Through adversity, my true self shall unwind. For even in betrayal's darkest embrace, A soul's resilience finds its rightful place.

Well, someone had to do it after all.

Working hard day in and day out, slaving away chopping wood so that the houses could become something better than the slovenly slapped together shacks of yesteryear. Though, of course. Hydro and solar power also had to be put up because fuck all if he was ever going to create solutions for this village that weren't carbon neutral. The Leshen could kill him before that'd be allowed to happen anywhere near his watch. 

Next was getting the Rusalka to set up an agility course for him in the bog. Leaping between logs, dodging too and fro as they'd harry him from the sides. All while doing his best to avoid swinging log traps and then finish it off by sneaking past a Rusalka. 

He failed a few times to be sure, I mean, if your legs don't give out once or twice while you try to do it are you even really trying to train?

By the end of the training though, he'd find himself a few steps quicker than before, and that was damn nice. The last thing he did was get in touch with some old contacts, a few political figures from back in the day who he'd helped when things looked a little too dire and he had a little more power at his finger tips. The ability to phone up some friends in the near future was never wasted after all and Leon had found that one needed to be able to pull in some folks when you were a talker rather than a fighter more often than not. 

Well, the village had consumed him and his resources for three months. 

No buying new cars, no buying fancy dinners for himself that he totally deserved, no starting up MLMs. Just hard, sweaty, construction work, but it was done.

Through the power of illegal labor, a willingness to buy everyone's spare shit and learn how to put it together and a fair bit of insanity he had finished the new houses for all of the villagers. No longer would they live in poorly structured crapshacks, no longer would they live without simple things like electricity (honestly, life was so shit before this), running water, and a single shared town wifi hotspot that was registered to a man in the nearby town. 

Heck, he even set up the electric fence around the perimeter of each of the actual houses, and began holding seminars on the foundation and why no one here should tell them anything about the actual circumstances of the town. Fuckers had choppers, tanks, and who knows what else and were clearly very willing to use them even on people without any history of violence and murder and thus. All of them knew the process for the final security measure in place.

When any of the cameras in the bog would spot someone entering with that god damn symbol anywhere on their body, everyone here would show them that they merely hated outsiders and a fog machine, and various monster costumes would be shown as the cover story in order to persaude them that this is merely a scooby doo level of not wanting outsiders in their town, and during that time the supernatural entities within the bog would vanish whether into underground tunnels, or into the aether if they were capable it did not matter. 

When the foundation came, they would find an ordinary town without anything more than a proclivity towards using ghost stories to prevent the bog from being used as a natural gas mine. 

A month of swindling mooks, and ensuring that not one of them was gonna ever know who did it at a tech conference in Seattle had ensured that Joao Jean had his funds for the month and he was gonna be sipping Mai Thais and lounging on the beach long before they were ever gonna be causing issues for him.   

Joao Jean had returned to a strange situation. A man who insisted that he honor their pact as spirits, that statement hurt a bit for reasons he didn't quite understand but he felt like he could trust that the old man wasn't lying about them having a pact, maybe he was just being weird about how he worded it. He didn't know, he didn't care. The folks in the town also seemed to be pretty keen on insisting that their friendly fox help them with all kinds of problems and well. Joao Jean felt compelled to listen for some reason or another and thus he went to work.

All that swindlin' money was put to good use, building up houses and then setting up something he thought no self respecting trickster would be without.

An escape route.

Dug out with a shovel and a few friendly Russian hands the underground tunnel was connected with his pawn shop and being under as it was it'd be perfect if any of them "Foundation" fellas showed up looking to cause trouble as the special folks of the town could dip down there and they'd just be a creepy lookin Russian town. Same as everywhere else in that god forsaken hellhole of a country honestly, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. 

Well a job well done was a job well done, but when he came home Joao Jean knew he didn't have much of a choice besides to embrace the pain so to speak, and do a few good deeds.

He was bound to the location, after all, he had no idea why the deal had been so effective but he felt compelled to honor it and he would sooner sell something at a discount than he was gonna do anything but live in the best conditions he could afford for himself.

Thankfully Russia had a lot of heroin addicts.

Like, more than is healthy for a country to have honestly.

No, more than you're imagining. It was seriously concerning. What were those dolts in the Kremlin even doing letting people get like this? No wonder the country was still a frozen wasteland their people were essentially given the choice between live poor and sad or live poor and high.

Well, at least it meant they'd work cheap and so long as Joao Jean kept feeding the ones stupid enough to get insanely high on the job to the Rusalka in the swamp the good workers tended to last long enough to help with the construction of some better houses for the people.

Again, grateful there were so many heroin addicts, and the bog around them was considered cursed so he could clear-cut some trees from around the perimeter of the village to both establish a killing field and get these people upgraded from the 1800s. Hell, get himself upgraded from the 1800s. 

Still, it cost most of his dough though. Gonna have to get involved in a few more shady deals if he wants to keep this up, but still.

He couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something still. Even when he was sitting alone in a room with everything done for the day he still felt as though he was dragging his feet, and no matter how much he thought about it he'd just end up with a headache and still not know what it was.

Maybe the next job he went on could give him something for that? 

Well, Joao Jean hadn't expected to be followed home. Figured most people were smart enough to avoid doing that to someone as vicious as he was, but the man who'd done it had been the most competent and least offensive of the group so he'd been willing to hear the guy out.

He had not expected what he had gotten. 

After the man had antagonized his Russian smuggler friends, he had snuck into his bag, and Leon had half a mind to expose him to the Russians and leave it at that but the man had been rather useful on the job, and as useful as the Russians were that didn't compare to how useful it'd be to have a useful and trusted teammate out in the field so. He took him into the plane bathroom, heard him out, and well. 

He hadn't regretted it. All his work setting up shrines, building homes for these people, making friends with the local spirits, and ensuring that the bog stayed under the radar when it came to things like morons popping up out of nowhere and doing everything they could to light a beacon in the middle of the fucking swamp well. 

It was about time for it to pay off, because Stinky Pete.. much like himself, was a faith eater, and the man as uncouth as he was wanted to form a pantheon.

An act that well.. once Leon had a few people in his corner, would set him for life. The path of deification was without question the path to non-yokai evolution for a Kitsune, and well. Leon didn't fancy remaining on the radar of every hunter on the planet. 

So with a smile, and a nod he shook hands with Stinky Pete. This. This was going to be fun. 

Building a town by yourself was.. annoying at best.

Leon did a lot of work on it of course, and he'd gotten definitively pretty good with his hands even if he wasn't quite at the level of mastery needed to just slap something together in the field but when he has time on his own, and a little back up from a trained contractor from Serbia willing to work for pennies on the dollar. He could do a lot. 

He had intended to go home and finish a geothermal heating solution in some of the bog homes in order to help the people of the town meet their heating needs without having to burn firewood when he'd found something... interesting on his way home.

Stinky Pete, a man who by all rights had done everything he could to avoid Leon during their job had shown up in his bag, and more importantly.

He had revealed that he was a good too, and that while he would need a little help he could get some of his adherants over into our world from his as to put it simply, he was looking to migrate from the idiot village Leon sometimes found himself in whenever he would hop dimensions and well.

Given how absurdly competent he had proven to be so far, Leon wasn't one to say no to good help from a divine who might have a little more experience than he did. Though, he would never admit it to the man that he was accepting this assistance out of inexperience no no.

He had to keep at least some of his cards close to his chest. 

Well not much was getting done this month, his brain and body were both fried.

Thank god he'd had the foresight to hire that hot male homecare nurse while he could still trail words together because most of this downtime was spent drooling and hoping that he didn't forget that he had to remain inside to stop his condition from becoming public, after all he still had to feed the homecare nurse to the Rusalka just to stop the news that the great and powerful Kitsune spirit that had been teaching them about eastern spiritualism and the benefits of bringing little kami and benevolent spirits into their lives was now barely more functional than a 90 year old with Dementia given he had an arrow wound through his leg that he'd need to get Athena to heal and so much brain fog that he literally forgot how to poop at one point.

It was scary, like, sitting there feeling pain in your gut knowing that SOMETHING was causing you to hurt but you couldn't figure out what and then the wave of raw shame of what came after as you did the deed through sheer muscle memory and you realized how fucking stupid you were.

He'd have to set this journal entry on fire later, christ. Honestly, he did not relish fighting the tsuchigomo if things ever went south in this pantheon. Bitch had the scariest venom he'd seen to date. Disabled all your powers and made you practically brain dead in the process, THAT part he'd have to remember.

Now where did he leave his soup?

Leon didn't care much for the people of this alternate dimension typically. They were short-tempered, rude to a fault, and were either completely useless idiots or ill-tempered professionals who had a stick so far up their ass you could see it coming out the other side as they'd just had a visit from Uncle Vlad.

Sometimes though he found useful assets. Today was one such day, and one even from his universe! 

Though it would doubtlessly take some work to build these relationships, and unfortunately the one from his universe was stuck in foundation containment where it'd be nigh impossible to get to speak with them, it did mean that when it came time for jobs he had someone who he could mostly rely on. 

However, the big catch of this month was the friendship of a harbinger, and one loose with his money as well. Leon was a conman by trade so when someone with immense wealth and power showed up willing to throw it around he had every intention of taking it as far as he'd be allowed to. So lavish drinks, compliments, and offers to handle any and every task were of course the name of the game as the start of any good con was making yourself seem indispensable even if you'd sell them up the river faster than a nogitsune's mood could sour. 

That's not to say he didn't sympathize with their cause, no of course he wanted them to succeed, but when you were stepping out of your own universe to do something well. It became work, and work was always nothing personal for Joao Jean DeLeon. 

Some things were really just too easy! 

I mean, come on. Though his ass was sore Leon came home today to proseltyize with a huge ass grin on his face.

The people of this village would get a full 30 days of continuous sermons, each one with the enhanced prayer that he had learned from this particular job being put to stellar work. Farming tools would remain unbroken longer, and their clothing would no longer rip or tear. The blessings of the Inari Okami now undeniable to Leon's small but undeniably loyal congregation. 

Meanwhile, he was even capable of going out and taking out some of those damnable defense contractors! Weak and stupid as they were with their reliance on firearms without a single consideration for things like the mere idea that someone might be smart enough to have planned for a hailstorm of bullets coming their way. 

Hahaha, ah. Things were really all coming up Leon. His flock was becoming more and more devout as his powers returned to him, and his efforts were even rewarded with a growth spurt as he went out and converted an entire lakes worth of Rusalka to his cause when some damnable fishermen thought that *They'd* be the one getting a payday at the end of this and started a cute little hunt. 

Absolute fools, but at least now he had funds enough to start seriously renovating the compound. New treated wood housing, and foundation that was made to be able to stand up to the eternal muck of the imp's bog, cameras on every building that weren't connected via wifi but instead buried cables, and updated air filtration systems for each home that'd ensure that gas attacks were unlucky to bear fruit were starters, but the real important thing was the tunnels.

Many Rusalka make for easy digging underwater after all, and Leon's new tunnel network would provide a secret underwater area where only folks like him who didn't need to breathe could stow secret things. Like an airboat in an area of the tunnel where an air pocket had been carved out, where the real teleportation stone of the imps' bog would rest in Asterisk. Leon never a man to avoid contingencies, and the technicalities of his fae pact had been long reviewed. He only needed to protect "The bog" and so long as he had some of it with him, well, he'd be avoiding any troublesome backlash from needing to break it if it ever came to a foundation airstrike one day as he'd always be protecting at least a little of it. 

Leon wasn't one to do crazy shit as a general rule. He didn't like going big and public, he didn't like people deciding that they wanted to fuck with him, but there were a few things that'd raise his hackles more than someone starting a supernatural hunt over something petty.

That was a ticket quick to the shitlist, and he wasn't much of a man to resist his own impulses. 

So, he gathered the men he could, the tools he could to resist what they wanted to do to the Rusalka that he found the men wanted to hunt in Nevalny Russia, and he took to task. Hunting down every person who had sighted them and getting them to recant their words. Then it was just a matter of one by one taking the Rusalka to the side and allowing them to use his spare jacket, sure he had to teleport with them to ensure that no one freaked out and it nearly tapped him to unconsciousness but he got it done, a successful migration if there had ever been one, and a new purpose for Batimir. 

If the man could keep to it for five seconds, he swore to god that every time he looked away the man was looking to cause a dozen new issues. The cult he had too.. super weirdly racist, actual nazis. He really should've had a better handle on these guys, Leon had recruited his own idiots, but he had curated them better. His were stupid yes, but they were hardly.. that. 

Leon had new people to be concerned with now, and that meant he needed to do work. He was the leader of the commune, as Stinky Pete was only around as often as he seemed to want to be. Some member of a Pantheon he turned out to be, but Mother was at least around often enough to give him a living underworld figure to sell to these backwoods yokels, though. Backwoods yokels were still better than most of humanity, at least they were willing to accept that new arrivals would need to be integrated and that just because someone looked scary it didn't mean that they were bad for the town.

Christ humans elsewhere were so vain...

Well at least he could get things straight with Wei, and Gulliver. Getting them both set up with his smuggler friends was essential as it wasn't like any of them could afford to be seen when they went places, and having a method of avoiding it all and getting their less than desirable things to the locations they needed to be at for jobs was a good first step. 

Of course, Leon could've easily resolved the task they were given himself, after all, just getting a guy to bring his kid to a place? He'd have that done in a few minutes, but, it wasn't about him today. It was about them, and he was testing them as well. These people loved to fuck shit up, it was time to make sure they could do so cleanly. He wasn't about to let a 9/11^2 happen in his world as well, or enable another Batimir. 

Today's journal.. is.. one written with a heavy heart. 

He remembers what it was like to believe he was the last, to know that he was staring down the barrel of species extinction if he doesn't fix things. To correct the dark path that he had been put on. So he trusted a part of star born. Understood that a part of star born needed the direction and correction that could be provided in ways that he simply couldn't provide. So. He helped it get out there into its natural space, and from there. Acted as an advisor.

While he was doing this, however, in another part of the world someone else was going on a rampage.

A foolish, spite-motivated, action that ended with nothing less than the man likely dead and if he wasn't.. well the jacket was going to be retrieved one way or another when he teleported back into a flamethrower trap. 

Christ, he couldn't believe that he had trusted that damn monster. He was a Yokai, but Batimir. Setting his asshole cultists on the town with bags of grenades and just telling them to cause as much chaos as possible after maiming that poor simpleton Bu Fang.

It was abominable, and proof he needed to vet his people better. 

Though, on that topic, another man came by today. Left a journal.. well if one can really even call it that. Looked more like a mad eclectic collection of notes. To add insult to injury it had his name on the front, he'd be more bothered that he couldn't seem to remember the man's face, but it wasn't the first time that had happened. Likely another guy from the Serpent's Hand but he couldn't quite translate what was written in there, but.. well it'd all become clear in time he knew that much. 

Leon had a lot of work to do. It was never easy of course, being the leader to so many people's supernatural and otherwise, but it was work that was necessary. Beyond necessary even. As it was something that never ended. One always had something new to fix, especially when building in a bog. Some foundation always had to have liquid pumped out from the base, always needed reinforcing as rot got into it. It's why they'd built some of the newer houses on struts, but you couldn't do that with walls. It'd defeat the purpose. 

The walls at least would protect them until he could get up on his feet though. Leon felt himself getting closer and closer to a zenith. to arcing over a peak to really see the world from a greater peak. 

That was of course, provided he survived, and the ring on his left most finger was a constant reminder of how tenuous a proposition that was. Even someone with power like this ring provided had fallen so easily, he would need to be cautious, but still, It was comforting to know that even if the Russian Army did show up again, they'd regret their arrogance. Razorwire, bear traps, anti tank missile launchers, and fire arms courses for his cultists. 

He may not see fit to sully his divine hands with such things, but, one was better served getting such things out of the way ahead of time rather than getting caught with their pants down. 

Leon honestly had to stop taking some jobs that people handed out. The people on them were always, at best, bizarre control freaks and the job itself was completely fucking pointless.

So Leon had actually begun keeping a little black book of Harbingers he would outright refuse jobs from. The alien guy who set up the whole problem with the bullshit ass interdimensional aliens that could evade nearly any kind of detection. He'd need to keep an eye out for that fucker. Nearly sent them all to their deaths. 

Then there was the asshole who sent him into that VR factory bullshit that had him working with fucking Count Feratu of all people. Such an asshole, that started this whole bullshit cascade and had him working with both Allena and Batamir. 

Trash bags. 

Though that was as far as Leon got into that process before he was interrupted. Heading out to handle his issues with Hasashi came next, and thankfully, after a few dozen messages followed by rigorous self healing processes he had managed to convince the man that despite them needing to go out and hunt a monster now and then he'd finally stop hunting Leon as the realization that his clan had deafened the gods by killing the Zenko Inari that their shrines had once been dedicated to was enough to crack the man's dense ass skull. How can you claim to be traditional Shinto and defile the very spirits that commune with those you venerate most highly? 

Fat lot of good a good luck blessing is going to do you after all when you could've had Amaterasu bless you with a cooler summer to prevent a tsunami dipshit. 

Christ. Humans. So frustrating. 

I now understand so much more.

This tiny blue marble world is not the singular island of consciousness in an uncaring and infinite universe. 

We are not alone.

This isn't a good thing at the moment, but still, we are not alone! 

So much has changed because of this, and this revelation has massively shifted my duties and viewpoints. Other worlds can sustain life; other species have their gods, or perhaps a lack thereof, that changes the entire spiritual landscape.

I had to get ahead of this. I had to integrate this into my faith to represent the off-worlders, these body-snatching bastards, as a form of evil in my faith. So I go to write, scripture flowing from my mind with maddened fervor before I delivered one of the most impassioned speeches of my life before my flock, and in doing so made them aware of their neighbor and to cherish them today for we know not when the dangers of the universe may take them away from us.

Now, about the ring.

That needed measures, first a GPS tracking chip on the underside of the gem, to find it if worse came to worse. Second, I scramble my illusions every time I'm out of sight to keep people distracted.

Also, have to organize the old fuck's funeral. I know it could cause problems, but.. well.

It's what I'd want for me, and as a spirit, death has always been closely connected to who I am.

So, risk or not, I'll ensure the man's corpse is respected.

I just hope the spider alien ghost doesn't fuck things up for me. 

Well, Wesley's a cock. Figured that out. Guess I'll need to destroy all the electronics that I brought with me on that particular venture. Man kept rehacking everything every single time it was brought into his line of sight. 

Aside from that, focusing on the rebuilding efforts has been good. We've had to do a lot since we did our exodus here to the alternate dimension.

Really I felt it was for the best, I'm not exactly the best at dealing with being in super hiding forever from a government organization that has fucking satellites able to look down at us. Sure, we could have gone underground but that'd be worse than the cells eventually. Only so many times someone can rip ass with you in a cave before you start strangling them for making breathing down there hazardous. 

So, started with the illusion coverage. Thankfully things don't shift too fast, but I know that if I ever bite it the simple rule of change with the seasons might get fucked. Pity that no one else can manage this, but I do appreciate that in this world, people look at Russia about as often as they look at their own ass. Saves me a lot of trouble. Aside from that, I had a chat with the local police and planted some conditioned suggestions in my brain that they're to give false positive reports that the bog is clear of anything anytime someone threatens them with force or asks for authority behind it. 

Put the Japanese Special Forces guy in charge of security, made sense, I'm an occult expert not a security expert, had the demon work itself to death building the mounds for the waterfall I want for powering the towns watermills and also making Mother feel special. Then it was a matter of crops, a balance of wheat, potatoes, and soybeans seemed the best rotation according to Athena and her knowledge of crop rotation and the local soil conditions so that's what we went with. 

All that's left now is the mills proper and the houses to rebuild. Shouldn't take too long with any luck. 

Iryna Voroboyva. 

Leon had been watching to see who'd show up to handle this radiation problem.

Bribing local officials, keeping spies in nearby docks, and other such techniques, but the one that worked was ultimately the good old fashioned magic detector. 

Finding the radioactive woman storming across on a boat was a good start, after all, if someone was not only immune but could cure radiation poisoning then it was a pretty good compliment to his own skillset, and if he could angle the woman into trusting him he'd eliminate an authority that could consistently fuck him up by simply inclining them to think that isn't a great idea. 

It didn't take much work either. Talk to some sponsors, get her set up with a consistent income source, gloss over the relationship with the Taiwanese Government, but develop it enough that they have to recognize her for her efforts to salvage the country after the disaster when literally no one else on the planet could. 

After that, it was time to play Contractor Nanny again, girl apparently drove herself insane with her powers. He knew what it was to delve into something maddening in exchange for an extra taste, but this woman was just habitually off the mark when it came to actually see about getting her shit together. 

Well. At least he has money now, enough to eat out at nice places and see about getting better supplies for the bog. He needed to start developing an informational network to get this shit together. 

Not one library or occult organization on this whole damn rock as far as he could tell, and books here didn't seem to be able to contain a shred of power, even ones he brought over. 

So. It was time to do this the old-fashioned way, the only question is, who would he contact? 

Written in jagged script barely legible through bloody splotches on the back of the scrawl, 

"Fear your sight to you it lies.

See red and black through eyeless eyes."