From his position on the ground, Mandarin watched as the witch seemed to materialize from the dark abyss. Certain aspects of her appearance were different than when last he saw her. For instance, the two tresses on top of her head had vanished, apparently replaced by the two strands of hair that now framed her face. The lower pigtails remained, though the locks at the end resembled tendrils now more than they did hair. Almost like ghostly fingers... Her dress had changed as well, a short shawl-like thing now covering her shoulders, with strange sleeves that started in the middle of her forearm and widened downwards past her hands. A brown belt rested on her hips, bearing a skull buckle. The bottom of her pitch-colored dress was trimmed in a ghastly silver, and a likewise silver cape rested around her neck. Slowly the monkey realized the witch was levitating towards him…

The skull sorceress's hand curled into a fist.

Valina let a smile grace her features. It was of the sinister kind. Her elbow jutted into the air, and then her fist slammed into the monkey's jaw. There was a muted scream of pain and surprise. Slim arms flying with punches and swipes, Valina grinned and laughed to herself. Mandarin's bone armor grazed her knuckles; he looked too weak to defend himself, almost small; the sorceress savored it.

For the first time in a black eternity, she could feel. And rushing back to fill her, the giddy sensation of holding dominion over someone. A vicious right hook punch to the orange monkey's chin sent his eyes rolling back in his head.

Valina was no longer powerless.

She laughed darkly as she felt her clawed fingertips dig into him, eyes shining in the dim light. But all in all, hammering the simian with her fists was much more satisfying. The empty sky watched the two figures in the pit, one straddling the other and beating him to a pile of pulpy flesh and bone. Valina's knuckles were now sore and red, Mandarin's jaw swollen. His arms lay limp by his side, and from time to time he let out a moan of pain. The monkey's head jerked from side to side with each strike. Valina continued to cackle to herself.

The amulet had stopped glowing and it now lay on the dirt close by. Its chain was unbroken, as if it had simply yielded and passed through Mandarin's neck. The witch ignored it for the time being.

Minutes dragged on as the beating continued. Occasionally the witch would miss the monkey's jaw and her fist would make hard contact with his ribs. A crack was heard as this happened, and the sorceress chuckled sadistically as she noticed the grimace that crossed his face.

While Valina's shoulders were beginning to tire (weaknesses return with strengths), Mandarin seemed to regain willpower as sheer frustration took hold of him. With an explosive kick the monkey slid across the dirt, his tail snaking along the chalky ground as he did so. Mandarin was now out of the witch's reach. Her left fist slammed into the ground, dirt getting into her cuts.

Mandarin lay panting on the floor, bruised and shaken by his beating, wheezing quietly. After a moment's rest he got to his knees and, without taking his eyes off the black figure in front of him, rose with difficulty. A trickle of watery black blood leaked out of Mandarin's mouth.

"What was that for?" the monkey spat roughly.

Valina appeared to be unperturbed by Mandarin's escape from her clutches. She too, rose, the dark folds of her robe falling around her like a shroud made from shadows. The sorceress stared calmly at the monkey, who was struggling to take on a fighting stance, though his body protested vehemently. She flexed her fingers casually; no emotion could be seen on her face. There was simply an intense calmness in her gaze.

"Why Mandarin, I was just saying hello."

The cold greeting sank in the air.

The calm vanished from her features in an instant as vicious delight took its place. The witch swiftly raised her hand to the monkey, and a pink whip-like flame erupted from her palm. The simian in front of her choked in shock (and a possible twinge of fear) as it wrapped itself around his neck and jerked him off his feet back over to where Valina was standing.

Unable to gain back his balance as he was yanked over to the female, Mandarin landed on his knees in front of her (something that struck him harder than anything at that point, if only for the symbolism of it), still clawing at the magic bond around his neck.

A smug expression crossed Valina's face as she gazed down at her captive. "But enough of the formalities… I actually do have a few things I would like to discuss with you…"

The witch extended her other hand in the direction of the -nearly forgotten- amulet. It levitated into her grip weightlessly, and once again gave off a faint glow.

"But I would like to take this conversation somewhere a little more…'comfortable.'"

The pendant flashed, and both figures were gone.


The house looked perfectly ordinary.

The girl, in her tight-fitting woolen jumper, looked perfectly ordinary.

The man with snowy white hair looked perfectly ordinary.

The car they both stepped into, however, was perfectly ordinary.

The interior of this car smelled faintly of strawberries. It was the polishing agent they had used on the dashboard, but this artificial, happy scent was offset by a second. It was the combination of rusty old metal and the reek of smoke.

"You're not wearing the skirt."

The young woman hung her head, but that was the only part of her that moved. Her ankles were pressed against each other, both feet flat on the floor, hands folded in her lap. Even in her sleep, you couldn't hear her breathe. "Must I, Father?"

"It's once a week I ask you to put on nice clothes."

"Father...you know what I think of impractical apparel." The girl turned her head to the side –so slowly and at such a small angle that your eyes would not register it- to look back at the house. She briefly entertained the thought of going back in to change to please her father. Weeds grew at the edges of the tiny footpath, although there was no front lawn. The spindly, grey plants formed a great mass, climbing and growing over each other in a bid for space and sunlight. If ignored, they would one day conquer the entire path, which was not large at all. Small victory, but one after many years of toil.

The house itself was only one of many on the street, and they all looked almost identical. The only difference was the range of different curtains and shutters that framed the windows and the degree of effort the tenants had made to cut back the weeds that fought the concrete borders. The façades of the houses were all white. Once upon a time, when living space was plentiful on planet Shuggazoom, there would have been flowerpots in front of the doors and even –farfetched it may seem- small lawns of lush green grass.

"I get enough chastising from Mother about clothes," she murmured. The voice was quiet but clear, the words well-pronounced. There was a tense stillness in the car for a moment, then, "It's eleven o'clock already." It was a casual remark, a soft exclamation of surprise. "Tempus fugit. Time flies, Father."

The engine started, rumbling into action. "I'll let it slide," said the white-haired man.

The morning sunlight threw broad lines across the young woman's legs. The car was making its way through the city, heading east; occasionally a hover-car (no doubt the reckless only child born to ridiculously wealthy parents was at the wheel) passed overhead. If you had perhaps seen this car as it drove past, you might have thought to yourself, "There goes another family doing the weekend shopping."

Of course, no passerby notices cars heading east (or in any other direction for that matter, excluding 'straight towards oneself'), and for anyone to think such a thought is extremely rare. The citizens of Shuggazoom have a unique world. They are each wrapped up in their own.

The journey was made in silence, for father and daughter did not like to talk about trivial matters; "What did you do at school today?" had not been asked for years. The young woman had finished tertiary education some time ago, though her face was of a child. Pale skin and soft lips, but a high forehead that exuded intelligence and eyes that looked right through you. Sometimes the eyes ignored you, sometimes they saw into every crevice of your being.

Eventually the car slowed, the man making a sharp turn into a medium-sized car park.

Just beyond the car park, a small cemetery.

The doors of the car made an ugly noise as they closed. The paths between the rows of graves were narrow, barely three feet across, the headstones at knee height. But that was on the older side of the cemetery. The pair made their way to the northern section, where urns and jars and ornate boxes sat side by side on shelves of grey stone.

It was Shuggazoom's great filing cabinet of death.

In an attempt to lighten the bleak atmosphere, jacaranda trees had been planted on two borders of the cemetery. Lilac flowers dotted the ground, silvery raindrops balanced on their petals. No one ever took the time to admire this beauty.

The man and young woman walked for a time, following the track amid the shelves. Names blurred as they walked past until one little vase looked familiar to them.

'Diana Benedict' was the name engraved into its surface. For certain this woman had been born and named Diana, but it always pained her to think that her surname was not real.

There was a glass panel that closed the shelves to the elements, and the man slid it across. Two red tulips were placed onto the shelf next to the vase. The girl sat cross-legged down on the grass. Her father joined her.

The two closed their eyes, breathing slowly. Darkness was all they saw, until a white shape appeared on the black background. It waved and flickered like a flame, then grew in size.

You could say that it was getting closer.

"Hello, Mother," the girl said in greeting.

A face came into focus at the top of the wisp of white. It was smiling gently, dark eyes shining with contentment. "Morning, darling. Oh Theodore, what gorgeous flowers."

"I know they're your favorite," he answered.

"Actually, purple orchids are my favorite but I appreciate it all the same," the face said. It would be safe now to call it a ghost. "Why, it's been...nine whole days since you two have visited! Regale me with stories, darling."

The young woman didn't hesitate when she said, "There's not much to tell."

The ghost of her mother sagged. "Your stupid father's still teaching you that talking idly is a security risk, isn't he?" she accused sulkily.

"Not teaching, Mother. I learned it ages ago. Millions can die at a single word, you know."

The white face turned to her husband. "Still having her work in the family business, are you?"

"She enjoys it," Theodore countered. "It pays well. She's very good at it."

The ghost sighed, tendrils of white flailing slowly in the gloom. "I kept saying, I kept saying it, that girls of your talents should not be out at undignified hours of the night sliding knives between some poor man's ribs..."

"And you still say it, Mother," the girl replied calmly. "Don't worry. I couldn't be happier doing anything else."

"See?" her father said. "She likes it, and her skills are excellent. What would you have her do, Diana?"

The ghost thought quickly. "Well, our daughter wouldn't be out murdering people, I know that! I'd have liked her to have nice, stable profession. Perhaps Law or Medicine. Science would be very exciting!"

The young woman groaned loudly. "Mother, everyone wants their children to go into Law or Medicine or Science. It's so...so dull!"

"Her gifts would go to waste," Theodore added. "Ever since she came into the business, I've been enjoying work more and more."

"It's unnatural, it is," the ghost retorted. "By the way, Theodore, love...didn't you always say that to enjoy killing is the first sign that it's not the right job for you?"

"No I didn't."

The white woman began to laugh, showing her teeth. "You're a good liar, I'll give you that. But I've got a memory that never fails." She paused for a long moment. "I've got a slight dizzy spell just now. Feeling a bit lethargic... Darling, you're not siphoning again, are you? Don't give me that look, I know you are!"

The girl bowed her head meekly, releasing her grip. Two smoky wisps of the darkest black color sprung back to her mother's form like springs. "Sorry, Mother. Just testing you."

"Well, we dead people need all the dark energy we can get! How do you expect us to haunt without enough energy?" She softened at her daughter's ashamed look, though a part of her told her that it was the usual ruse. "Look, go steal some off old man Buckley, all right? He's been muscling in on my shelf space all week; I can't stand the bloke! Take all the dark energy-whatsits you need, both of you. Can't have all three of us feeling weak and lethargic, can we?"

The young woman showed her canines in a sly smile. "Certainly, Mother. The urn to the left, isn't he?"

Theodore Benedict didn't say anything, but sneaked a handful of black energy strings away silently.

"Love, I think I've got a call," he said after a while. "I can feel the phone vibrating from here."

His wife stuck out her lower lip. "Must you go so soon? I was getting forward to hearing the news. Well... On second thought, I don't think I'm that interested in knowing who my daughter killed two days ago, so you can go. Give me a kiss, darling." The white shape moved forward and received a quick kiss on the cheek from her daughter. It was a cold, tingling sensation.

She watched her family fade slowly, then vanished into the gloom herself.

The white-haired man hung up on his mobile phone. "That was Mercury," he told his daughter. "He'll be back at the house for a debriefing in twenty minutes."

The young woman got up from her sitting position and stretched. "Oh, so he's finally not incompetent?"

"The prison assignment has been carried out to perfection, he says." He stuck his hand into his jacket pockets, walking back to the car.

"And you believe him, Father?" the girl said as she fell into step beside him.

"The important thing is that the client is satisfied, Atalanta."

"I know, Father, but still. Mercury's not the best. He's so full of himself."

"He's got a good aim and a taste for elegance. And remember to be humble, Atalanta."

"Very well, Father."

The lilac jacaranda flowers were crushed silently underfoot.

"Father-"

"Yes?"

"Did Mercury say anything about my new bullets?"


His office was very large and very simple. Not a scrap of paper was on the desk. The fates take pity on him if he was ever that careless. Security and discretion was vital in his profession.

Theodore flicked through a folder. With a red pen in his hand, he scribbled in the corner of a page. Then he reached down and opened a drawer-

"I am impressed. A bit."

His shoulders hunched involuntarily. It was a voice unlike any other, cold and sharp. Reeking of death. Nevertheless, Theodore cleared his throat and spoke as if he would to any other client of his business. "I try to keep the customers happy."

"Your employees seem to be exceptional. You appear to be very successful in this field of business, my friend."

"I'm not meant to be on friendly terms with clientele," the man replied smoothly, gathering the papers and straightening them out. The papers banged against the varnished desk deafeningly. Like a gunshot. "They're despicable, cowardly bastards who stoop appallingly low to have certain people out of the way."

"Touché."

"And you're lying about my employees and success, simply flattering me." In truth he couldn't be sure about his client's honesty, but it is wise in general not to trust invisible men that speak in your mind.

The snake-like voice laughed, a rasping chuckle that was not dissimilar to the sound of dead leaves brushing against rusted metal. The old man raised his head, unblinking. There was no one seated in the opposite chair. He wasn't wearing colored contacts today, and the white wig had been replaced in the hidden closet along the wall. Black locks hung around his temples and were streaked with thin lines of grey. The man had crows' feet, but his dark brown eyes were still clear.

"Cut the small talk," he commanded.

"Very well. You shall receive payment when the second stage is completed. A significant sum, enough so that all members of your extended family can each spend millions a year, for a dozen generations."

"Another lie."

The voice huffed. "Have you no humor, sir? I have not forgotten the terms so quickly. The Skeleton King will be resurrected for you in return for your service. I know where his remains are and how it can be done."

The voice was lying.

Theodore Benedict suspected this. Doubt was in his nature, like the magma at the very bottom of a volcano, and Theodore remarked, "The Hyper Force did a damn good job of finishing the Master off..."

"And you're suffering for it, aren't you?" the invisible voice hissed. "Ever since the day you were cast out. You and your daughter are forced to siphon what you need from deceased spirits! How degrading, how shady, how shameful..."

The old man narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair. "You know I don't believe a word of what you say about the Skeleton King," he growled.

"But you hope, don't you, Cadel?"

The man in the chair said nothing at all. His nostrils flared for the briefest of moments, his eyes filling with a flame of rage.

The speaker took on a cruel, mocking tone. "That was your downfall; you dared to hope that what I was saying was true. And it got you into trouble again. You should have left that amulet alone, Cadel. But no, you thought for a second that maybe another one of the Skeletal Circle was still alive! That maybe one of the stones hadn't been destroyed yet! You hoped!" it spat.

"And you didn't know that I could take control of you just from there." It cackled again. "Too late, your man was on his way to the prison by the time you regained your senses. You've taken the first step, Cadel. And you shall slide down the rest of the slope. The old world will fall around you. You can walk into the new world when it is built, Cadel. But the fall is there no matter what."

Cadel groaned, his chin falling to his chest. The voice continued to shout inside his head, sneering with an air of endless malice. A sharp throbbing began at his temples.

The voice at last started to fade, becoming softer. But Cadel knew it would only return.

"And I'll be waiting at the bottom."


Mandarin felt a burning sensation eat at his chest as he tried to breathe. He felt as if he was inhaling flames, and he coughed deeply in an attempt to rid himself of the feeling. All it did was set his throat ablaze. The monkey gagged quietly as his tonsils swelled in pain, and felt his vision cloud over with an invisible ash.

Then came the pain. A smoldering, slow pain that crawled underneath his armor and spread up and down his body, attacking him as wildfire attacks dry leaves…

The monkey could not scream. His throat was too dry and his voice too weak. The anguished sound that escaped his lips was a low, shaky yell, only occasionally hitting the pitches of a shriek when the pain became too intense.

Valina lowered her hand, and the simian's torment yielded.

Mandarin lay panting on the floor of the witch's temple, refusing to look at the sorceress. He allowed his eyes to lose focus as he stared into the flame of a nearby candle, one of the only sources of light in the room.

No living being for miles around, and if there were Mandarin would not get any aid from them. No one to hear his screams and yelps of pain.

Except her.

There was a tense silence before the monkey finally spoke, his voice hoarser than usual, "I'm not pledging loyalty to you, Witch. I don't care what you do to me. I will not sink to such a low."

Valina had appeared slightly bored with the situation at hand, but the corners of her lips now curled up into an amused smirk. "You said practically the same thing when I wanted the location of the Skeleton King's skull, remember?" the smirk deepened, "I broke you then… I'll break you now."

Mandarin forced a shrug, determined to keep an air of apathy around himself. A lunatic's final defense. He didn't justify her comment with a retort.

Secretly, the simian knew he couldn't stand much more of this. He was exhausted -both mentally and physically- from trying to fight his way away from the witch as she attempted to resurrect herself, and he still ached from the beating she'd given him…

The witch turned to stare at her hand, still smirking, and flexed and un-flexed her fingers. "And last time…all it took to break you…was this…" The hand the sorceress had been inspecting shot out, a violet beam shooting out from the palm and enveloping the crippled simian.

No amount of exhaustion or weariness could stop the monkey from screaming.

When Mandarin opened his eyes, his insides twisted. His environment was foul and bright colored, and the walls that surrounded him were moist and soft, and warm.

A living tomb.

The monkey shook his head, trying to convince himself that what he stared at in wide-eyed horror wasn't real. "No- This cannot be...!"

Fear shot through him as he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. The thing slithered towards him with such speed the simian didn't have time to move. It collided with him, tackling him to the ground, fighting to mangle the mutated wretch.

Terrified, Mandarin used his claw to throw the thing off. Once free the monkey scuttled backwards, bile threatening to creep up his throat. "No…no…no…"

Mandarin had never feared death. A thought crept into the forefront of his mind, temporarily elbowing past his anxieties regarding the horrific beasts. The notion itself was terrible to his weathered mind. The monkey may not fear death, but-

She does not intend to kill me.

Several more creatures slunk from their hiding places, and the monkey let out a horrified squeak as several slimy tendrils grabbed at his torso from behind. Ripping himself from the thing's clutches, Mandarin turned to run…

More tentacles lurched forward, bringing him to the ground. The creatures were upon him the moment the monkey hit the moist floor. Teeth ripped into him as the things tore at his limbs, trying to separate them from his body. Mandarin screamed in terror as he squirmed to get away from the creatures. Blood spurted from his wounds and their splatters were canon shot in the monkey's ears.

Make it stop, a voice begged in his mind. Do whatever it takes to make it stop

The simian felt a ripping pain in his arms and legs as they began to detach from his body…

"FINE!"

The horrors vanished with the monkey's bellow, and he was once again on the floor of Valina's temple.

The witch hovered over the monkey triumphantly. Her command was simple, brief, and harsh.

"Say it."

Mandarin gulped, and then recited through gritted teeth: "I pledge my undying loyalty to you, Valina. I will do whatever you ask of me until my last breath."

The sorceress let out a low cackle at her victory, and a part of the monkey died that moment.