36. Enchantment and Disenchantment
The intruder barreled toward Villain's Vale at midnight, his trenchcoat flapping behind him. He knew to approach through the front door was foolish. Instead, he opted to climb the wall, using the blades strapped to his wrists as implements to dig holds. He continued upward until he found an open window, then deftly slipped inside.
He let out a low, quiet giggle as he reveled in his success in breaking in. He then set about the errand he had come for.
The sound of voices drew him down a hallway. "…Never found the sorcerer or his friends," a deep baritone complained, "but we did slay the lion and make off with the sand."
"What 'we'?" a scratchy voice rasped. "I shot the thing in the heart while you were getting your hindquarters handed to you on a platter by some girl!" The sound of a wooden "thump": a fist pounding onto a tabletop.
"Are we about to have a lover's quarrel?" a third voice, much higher and almost musical but definitely also male, interjected.
"It ain't like that," the second voice growled, "and next time you say stuff like that about me, I'm gonna show you the business end of my crossbow!"
"I suppose in the end, we had a success for every loss," the baritone continued. "Jafar and Hades may have been overrun by demons, but at least they brought home those books Maleficent seemed so interested in. Pity we weren't there, Percival. We'd have made quick work of those felines."
"No kiddin'," the harsh-voice man rasped. "And like you said, we killed the lion and got the sand. What that octopus broad is gonna do with it is another thing. How do we know she's not gonna stab us all in the back once she's done with us?"
"We simply have to be sure we're too valuable to stab," the baritone said confidently. "And what about you? You're even newer to the fold than we are. You must have impressed Maleficent a good deal."
"You sound surprised," the high voice lilted.
"You just don't seem like you cut it the way we do," the harsh voice admitted. "All that prancin' around wearin' purple. Sounds more like a Mozenrath thing than one of us. You gotta be tough to make it around here!"
"I suppose I could give you a little demonstration of my skills…" the high voice practically laughed.
It was probably a good thing for Clayton and McLeach that the intruder turned up when he did, coming across the two sitting on either side of a long, thin table, Clayton picking the dirt out from under his fingernails with a knife and McLeach peeling a hard-boiled egg to stuff into his mouth whole. For if the conversation had carried on, the Joker, sitting cross-legged on the table, might very well have maimed one or both of them in his "demonstration." However, as the intruder stepped into view, the attention of all three men was drawn to him instead.
"Why, hello!" the intruder greeted before any of the others could speak. "I am here on quite important business, and I was hoping one of you fine gentlemen could give me some directions."
"Only thing we're gonna show you is the door!" McLeach growled as he stood up hastily, grabbing the crossbow that had lain at the side of his chair and aiming it at the intruder. "Actually, we ain't even gonna let you get that far!"
He let a bolt of energy loose. The intruder ducked beneath it easily, rushing McLeach, slashing out with the blades upon his wrists. McLeach fired again and again, but to no avail; the intruder zigzagged and was soon right next to him, a blade swinging out toward McLeach's throat. McLeach fell over backward; the strike passed far overhead. The intruder, however, took the opportunity to plant a boot in McLeach's chest to hold him down, turning both blades downward upon the poacher, and McLeach could now see that the blades contained small guns.
The intruder became aware of Clayton hoisting up his cannon. As it fired, the intruder backflipped out of the way, performing a whole series of flips and losing his trenchcoat in the process. It was then that his secret appendage, a rather unique tail, was revealed; Clayton and McLeach gaped. The Joker had seen stranger.
"What manner of beast are you?" Clayton gasped.
"Well, that's rather rude, don't you think?" the intruder replied. "Where ARE your manners?" He opened fire with his guns: one pointed at McLeach and the other at Clayton. The two men scrambled to leave the room and get to safety before any bullets could hit home, disappearing down the hall.
"You haven't answered my question!" the intruder said, singsong, before simply letting loose with a laugh that required him to throw his head back, his dark braid swinging over the small marbles that were rolling across the floor.
Just before the marbles exploded, the intruder leapt into the air, sailing toward the Joker, crying out, "THE FLOOOOOOOOR IS LAVA!" He landed on his hands, swinging his legs to avoid an array of thrown knives, then sprang up to his feet, backing the Joker against the wall with his wrist-blades crossed at the Joker's chalk-white throat. The stinger of his scorpion-shaped tail curled up over his shoulder, pressing against the Joker's forehead, just not enough to pierce.
"I'm sorry," the Joker sputtered, "we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. What exactly did you say you needed directions to, again?"
"A little lost lamb that wandered away from the flock," the intruder stated, smiling widely.
"Well," the Joker replied, grinning just as widely, "I'm sure they'll be more than happy to tell you." His eyes flicked back over the intruder's shoulder.
The intruder swiveled his head around to see Hades, Cyclonis, the Dark Ace, Ursula, Grimhilde, Cruella, Sykes, Terminus, the Badun brothers, and Harley Quinn lined up behind him, weapons or hands filled with magic all pointed at his back.
"Lay off Puddin'," Harley growled, "or we'll make ya INTO puddin'."
The intruder removed both blades and his tail from the Joker's skin. "Now, now, there's no need for this to end in violence," he said quickly, hoping to avoid biting off more than he could chew. "I just want to know where my little lost lamb has wandered off to. The shepherd is getting dreadfully worried, and sent me to bring her home."
There was a shuffling among the crowd; they parted to let Maleficent through. "Intriguing," she said with a sly smile. "And whom is this 'lost lamb' of which you speak?"
"Why, Cinder Fall, of course," Tyrian stated. "Her fairy godmother was adamant she be home before midnight, and yet it seems she is still at the ball."
Orange flames erupted from floor to ceiling, and two shadowy figures were visible within. As the fire settled, Jafar and Cinder were revealed. "WHAT manner of disturbance is going on here?" Jafar snapped.
The intruder needed only a glance at the pair of them to know all he needed to know. Jafar's crooked headdress. Cinder's hair, which she'd obviously tried to smooth down but remained slightly tousled. The way her red dress hung just a bit to the side, as though it had bee pulled on hastily.
A giggle escaped the intruder's lips, followed by "…And she's found a Prince Charming."
"Tyrian Callows," Cinder said coldly, hatefully. "What are YOU doing here?"
"The better question is this: what are YOU doing here?" Tyrian asked. "Salem has been ever so worried about you. We thought perhaps you had died, and what would have become of our Fall Maiden then?"
"If Salem was so worried," Cinder seethed, "where were all of you when I was frozen atop Beacon?"
"We thought you could handle things yourself," Tyrian replied. "It was, after all, something you ALWAYS assured us you could do. We were simply taking you at your word." He glanced around the room. "Seems to be quite the crowd you've fallen in with."
"Leave," Cinder growled.
"I don't think I will," Tyrian chuckled. "I think I want to see what makes your new friends so special that you won't come home to see your family."
"Maleficent promises power," Cinder told him. "Power is something all of us have in common. Those of us who do not have power are aware of their place. The rest enjoy the spoils of war. We have our losses, but hardly ever are we set back permanently. We are not confined to the relics of Remnant. There is so much more to discover outside of that world, Tyrian, and Maleficent has shown us a glimpse of it. But then again, you're here. Salem must have known about the other worlds before, it seems. And she never saw fit to tell any of us until she needed an errand boy."
Tyrian appeared shocked, though it was difficult to tell if it was genuine or mockery. "Do you mean to tell me you've given up on Remnant? The four relics? The four Maidens? But we were making so much progress, Cinder!"
"And we will make more," Cinder stated. "But you should be well aware it is wiser to bet on more than one horse."
"Hmmm." Tyrian appeared pensive, though, again, it was difficult to tell what of his actions were truly reflective of his feelings and what was simply for show. "Perhaps I'm interested in these…spoils of war you have found on other worlds."
"And perhaps," Maleficent broke in, "I am interested in these relics of which you speak. And four Maidens of power…subjects Cinder has only hinted at. There is much we can learn from each other, Tyrian Callows…if you prove yourself worthy."
"Don't waste your time on him," Cinder growled. "He – "
"SILENCE!" Maleficent barked, and the sound of thunder crashed in the distance. "You DARE speak to me in such a manner? I shall make this judgment for myself."
Cinder bit her lip, silently fuming.
"It would be an honor, Mistress," Tyrian stated, breaking out into an even wider smile, punctuated by a longer, louder laugh.
...
The colorless pebble, the enlarged grain of sand that had once held the end of all Fantastica, had been placed in the twelve-faceted design. With its addition, the spell was half complete, and this pleased the WHAM ARMY. But they knew they still had a long way to go, and in order to continue, they would have to figure out where to find the next element, as well as give Mozenrath a primer in magic so he could at least defend himself.
And in between, life went on.
Mozenrath had really wanted to eat his breakfast in his personal kitchen that morning – at least, what passed for "morning" in a place where time was artificial – but two things steered him toward the communal kitchen. One was a sense of obligation to get to know better these people who seemed to be strangers to him, but whom he had apparently known for a duration of time. The other was that he had run out of bagels in his quarters, and he was in quite the mood for a bagel.
That led him to the communal kitchen, where, as he retrieved a bagel, he found Roman leaning over the table, watching something on his scroll. As the video progressed, Roman broke out into laughter. Mozenrath did his best to actively avoid Roman until the redhead beckoned, "Hey, Righty! You gotta watch this! It's hilarious!"
"O…kay…" Mozenrath relented.
Roman placed the scroll in front of him. Mozenrath could now see the title of the video Roman had been watching: "Cruel World from Floop's Fooglies but every time Floop says Dream it gets faster." The content was a rather eerie song accompanied by a music video that seemed equally at home in a children's television show and a horror film. True to the title, every time the word "dream" was uttered in the song, the entire thing sped up until the singer was as high-pitched as the cry of a mouse.
"What…am I watching?" Mozenrath asked in disbelief.
"It's 'Cruel World' from 'Floop's Fooglies,'" Roman said by way of explanation, "but every time Floop says the word 'dream,' it gets faster."
"I…can see that," Mozenrath replied, unimpressed.
"It's this meme Peter showed me," Roman went on. "Fegan Floop is the main character in this weird kids' show, and people took this song and did all kinds of stuff to it in videos. Here." He took back the scroll and switched videos, placing a new one in front of Mozenrath. "This one's better. Watch."
This one was entitled "Cruel World but every 'dream' is Isle of Dreams, every time Floop asks a question it gets louder, and 'free' is slowed down 500%."
"And the purpose of this is?" Mozenrath asked.
"It's funny!" Roman said with a light laugh. "Come on, Righty! Don't you have a funny bone in that skeleton hand of yours?"
"I don't get it," Mozenrath said dryly. "Would it make more sense if I remembered things from before?"
"No," Roman sighed, swiping back his scroll. "Just forget it." As Neo entered the kitchen, Roman immediately rushed to show her the video, which made her face light up with delight.
Xayide practically floated into the kitchen. "Good morning," she greeted.
"I guess it is," Mozenrath said as he popped his sliced bagel into a crystal-powered toaster.
"You really shouldn't need things like that," Xayide told him. "Here." She flicked a hand and the bagel halves levitated up into the air. They spun around, and flames whooshed around them, toasting them to perfection. They landed back on Mozenrath's plate.
"Thank you for reminding me that I still lack the basic knowledge of magic required to toast a bagel," Mozenrath droned.
"Hey, while you're doing that, can you toast one up for me too?" Roman asked. Neo nodded and pointed to herself to indicate that she wanted a bagel as well.
"Very well," Xayide sighed. "Roman Torchwick and Neo, correct?" Two more bagels soared through the air.
"The two and only," Roman confirmed. "So, Righty. You're getting back on the horse today with the magic?"
"I have to get my powers back," Mozenrath insisted. "I just…" He felt useless. Having to be carried to safety during the battle against Maleficent's mercenaries was bad enough; his helplessness being used as a bargaining chip by the enemy was even worse. And now he couldn't even toast a bagel when apparently, that should have been a simple task. He bit back waves of rage and inadequacy. Maybe, in the part of his life he couldn't remember, he would have told Roman how, exactly, he felt. But he didn't trust Roman. Roman was still new to him, as was Neo. As, for that matter, was Xayide. He finished his thought: "…have to for the sake of practicality."
Xayide lowered the toasted bagels before Roman and Neo, and Mozenrath decided he wanted a condiment on his. "Where do we keep peanut butter in this kitchen?"
"Just stocked up on it," Roman informed him. "Thank Mim and Aghoul for that. That cabinet right there." He gestured.
Mozenrath opened the cabinet only to find Peter curled up inside it, practically upside-down, swirling the dregs of a jar of peanut butter with a celery stick while watching a video on his own scroll. "You're out of peanut butter," he said casually, crunching the celery stick between his teeth and never taking his eyes off the scroll.
Mozenrath shut the cabinet door, turning to Roman with a scowl. "Is he always this infuriating?"
"Now, that's a trick question," Roman replied. "You actually didn't know him before the whole amnesia thing, so, specifically, no. But you generally ARE infuriated with the stuff that goes on around here on a daily basis."
"Good to know," Mozenrath said with a pensive nod.
"Roman," a muffled voice sounded from within the cabinet, "you may want to check your ph – I'm sorry, your scroll."
Roman glanced at the device, opening up a new text that consisted of a link to "Isle of Dreams but a sped-up version of Cruel World plays after every question." As the music started up and Roman began to laugh, Mozenrath figured he'd had enough social interaction for the moment and attempted to slink off with his bagel. He was thwarted when Garfield walked through the door from the opposite direction, crashing into Mozenrath and causing him to drop the bagel on the floor.
Xayide sighed, flicking a new bagel into the air and heating it up.
"Heard 'Cruel World,'" Garfield commented. "Is it meme o'clock already? Also, you got the stuff for waffles in here?"
"Ask Boat Lights," Roman told him. "She's been doing the bagels."
"What did you just call me?" Xayide asked indignantly.
"Boat Lights," Roman reiterated. "You know, because of the…" He wagged his finger back and forth between his eyes.
"Neo appears to have mismatched irises as well," Xayide observed. "Why isn't she 'Boat Lights'?"
"Because Neo is already Neo."
Neo nodded, though she made a quick gesture between her eyes followed by a thumbs-up at Xayide; she approved of having a teammate with heterochromia.
"So are we having waffles, or what?" Roman asked.
"I suppose," Xayide sighed, beginning to search out the ingredients for waffles; it wouldn't take much to fling them together into a baked good. She was starting to think that perhaps there were some things too mundane to rely on magic for, but she felt it would be more diplomatic to indulge her teammates.
There was only a slight rumble of warning before Snipe crashed right through the ceiling and landed on the counter. "HA!" he yelled. "I KNEW I could punch my way out of that stupid forget-me room! Like that room could actually make anyone forget me!" He stood up on the counter, turning to look at Mozenrath. "Hey! You're back!"
Mozenrath stared blankly before asking, "And you are…?"
"Oh, no!" Snipe yelled. "You didn't forget me, did you?"
"I honestly don't know you," Mozenrath replied, still trying to process the fact that a man had just punched his way through the kitchen ceiling.
"NO!" Snipe practically shrieked. "The forget-me room! It WORKED!" He turned to Xayide in a panic. "You remember me, right?"
"We've never met," Xayide told him, which was true.
"What about you?" Snipe asked Garfield.
"I've never seen you before in my life" was the answer, and it didn't even occur to Snipe that he didn't recognize Xayide or Garfield.
"ROMAN!" Snipe leapt off the counter, grabbing Roman by the shoulders, his fingers digging in uncomfortably. "You remember me, right? It's Snipe!"
By that point, Roman was having too much fun with the entire situation. "Snipe?" he replied, unable to hold back a sly grin. "I don't know a Snipe. Have we met?"
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Snipe bolted from the room.
"Aaaaaand that's my cue to leave," Mozenrath grumbled as he stormed out through the same door.
"You're evil," Garfield told Roman.
"Newsflash," Roman replied. "We're ALL evil. So, Boat Lights. How about fixing that hole in the ceiling?"
Xayide scowled at the newest request in what seemed like a barrage of them, but she wanted a giant hole in the kitchen ceiling about as much as everyone else did. "So you are one of the new recruits brought back from that city called Gotham," she identified; at her will, the plaster of the ceiling began to reform. "Are you the arsonist or the limber thief?"
"I'm the pyro," Garfield said proudly. "My doll-licious partner in crime is currently emptying out the contents of that cabinet over there."
A muffled "Hello" sounded from the cabinet.
"And you're the witch from Fantastica," Garfield continued.
"None other," Xayide said with a smile; the ceiling was finally patched up. "It seems there are all sorts on this team."
"It's rather too bad that our esteemed leader is currently suffering amnesia," Peter voiced from the cabinet. "I'm sure under normal circumstances, we could truly enjoy the variety that has gathered to work for him."
"Whoa, now," Roman said rather sternly. Then, in a rather quiet tone, "I'm not exactly sure Righty is fit to be leader material right now. He's still getting to know all of us. He doesn't even remember who he is or what he can do. It's nothing against him, but should we really be giving an entire army over to a guy who can't remember who he is and has no magic to speak of?" He sighed, and Neo sighed with him. "I like Righty. I really do. And I hate that it had to come to this. But Archie, Eyeliner, Lavender, Mimsy, Corpsey, and Huntsy and I have been talking over this when Righty isn't around, and we're all kinda in agreement on it." He stared after the door Mozenrath had left via. "I couldn't even tell if today was him being regular stick-up-his-ass or amnesia stick-up-his-ass."
"At least he is training to regain some of his power today," Peter pointed out.
"Yeah, some," Roman huffed. "We're just going to have to answer the million-lien question sooner or later: if Righty doesn't run the WHAM ARMY, who does?"
...
Tucked away in a patch of interspace that was seemingly empty for quite a wide radius around and where you hardly ever ended up unless you knew where you were going, there was a small celestial body, far too small to be called a world, a planet, or even a moon. It was just big enough to hold one moderately sized building and give enough room around said building for potential patrons to park their flying vehicles and take a small walk in the front yard. The building that occupied this floating body was a shop with wooden walls and a bright red roof; a hand-painted sign proclaimed in gold-leaf script that the name of the building was "The Liminal Space."
This was where Dr. Wesley Terminus did most of his work when not in the service of Maleficent.
A door in the back of the shop led out to any of four worlds of Terminus' desire, depending on the settings of a magical dial. He had only just set the dial so that the door could open out into Villain's Vale, offering him easy passage back and forth between his temporary Radiant Garden home and his place of work. Usually, when he returned to the Liminal Space from Villain's Vale, he made sure to twist the dial so that the back door simply led into a storage closet. The day of Tyrian's intrusion, however, he simply forgot, leaving the passage connected.
He had just finished completing a deal with one of his most reliable suppliers, who had brought him a bundle of unique tools. Terminus shook hands with the supplier, then forked over the payment he'd promised. The inventory he'd just been delivered would sell for a much higher price anyhow. He planned to present some of the more deadly options to Cruella and see if he could pique her interest, but not offer anything for free, never offer anything for free. If Maleficent herself asked, he would have been far too petrified of her to say no, but Cruella could be bargained with.
As he watched his supplier's black cape swish out the front door, setting off the little bell that rang anytime a person entered or exited that way, he was suddenly startled by a female voice greeting from behind him, "Hi hi, Doc!"
Terminus whipped around to see Harley standing in the middle of one of the aisles of the shop. "Harley!" he practically yelped, his heart rate racing. "How did you get in here?"
"You left the door unlocked, silly," Harley replied casually. "Is this another part of Maleficent's castle?"
"Er…no," Terminus told her. "Not really. This is elsewhere in space entirely. Which means you are VERY FAR from home and should be getting back – "
"Is this some kinda shop?" Harley asked, missing what was more than a hint. "Looks neat! Whaddaya sell here?"
Hoagy, who had been updating some of the wall displays, slid down off his ladder to approach Harley. "We'd be more than happy to show you around," he said cheerfully.
Terminus cleared his throat loudly. "What we'd be more than happy to do is have you go back through that door and forget where it took you – "
"Doc," Hoagy protested, "is that any way to talk to a potential payin' customer?"
Terminus saw the light.
"Payin' customer?" Harley thought the label over. "Well, I guess if I see somethin' I REALLY like…I got a little money on me, after all!"
"How rude of me!" Terminus completely switched gears. "Let me show you around! This is meant to be a one-stop shop in many regards, see. We began by simply selling Potions and other remedies." Of varying veracity. "But then we realized we could increase our traffic if we diversified. And so we sell Gummi parts…." He led her past an aisle containing exactly such things. "Assorted snack foods for long rides through interspace…" Harley was shown the corresponding aisle. "Accessories of all sorts, boosts your ability to last a battle like no one's business…" Some of them were legitimately as powerful as advertised while others were costume jewelry that Terminus had made up "facts" about. "Of course, we never lost sight of our roots." The aisle containing legitimate Potions as well as false remedies for such things as zombification and spray bottles of "Bee Repellent (Effective on Up To 60,000 Bees!)."
"But the heart of our shop is right here," Terminus explained as he led Harley to a corner of the shop dedicated to weapons of all sorts. Swords hung upon the wall, axes were lined up in a side display, and bows were featured prominently upon a rack. Unlike everything else in the shop, which had a 50% chance of being defective or falsely advertised, the weaponry all appeared well-crafted and polished to shining. "The armory. We have something to fit every need, from traditionalists to those whose tastes run to the more…exotic. What was your weapon of choice, again?"
"Well, I got a couple," Harley explained. "I started out with grenades, and I always keep a bag of 'em around as a backup. But after a sabotage job in a toy store, I picked up a baseball bat, and I've been kinda likin' it."
"A baseball bat, hm?" Terminus repeated. "A formerly uncommon choice that has been gaining in popularity by leaps and bounds! I believe I have just the thing for you!"
Hoagy knew exactly what Terminus was going to go for, and removed the item carefully from the wall display. It was based on the simple principle of wrapping barbed wire around a baseball bat, but the wire was embedded into the bat's metal rather than simply being loosely attached, creating a bat spangled with small spikes. "Give this one a swing," Hoagy encouraged. "Just not too close to the merchandise. Or the salesmen!"
"Huh!" Harley took the bat into her own hands gingerly. She swung it lightly; the weight was perfectly balanced. "Maybe…" Such a weapon would leave its victims far more grievously injured than her previous weapon, which was both blessing and curse, depending on what sort of circumstances Harley found herself needing a weapon in. "I'll think on it. In the meantime, ya got anythin' for Mr. J.? I wanted to get him a little gift! Thank him for everythin' he did to get me back on my feet here with Maleficent after the last Mr. J. kicked the bucket."
"And what sort of weapons does he favor?" Terminus asked.
"Well, he ain't picky, that's for sure."
"I may have just the thing," Terminus told her. "Follow me!"
The new delivery lay on the checkout counter, contained in a bag that seemed about the size of a purse tied with a string. "It's more than meets the eye," Terminus explained, opening the bag. "These are very specialized weapons from a faraway world. They shrink when in storage, and grow when in use." He removed one that appeared in the form of a fingernail clipper with a hilt; it grew to the size of a broadsword. "They are called 'Magiswords,' and each has a different function, be it as a weapon or, well…" He looked to see exactly what he'd drawn out of the bag. "A…fingernail clipper, apparently."
"Lemme try!" Harley fished around in the bag until she withdrew a Magisword in the shape of a great metal burger; it expanded to the appropriate size. As Harley flicked her wrist, a host of small cheeseburgers with tiny propellers to spin and keep them afloat appeared at the end of the Magisword. "Neat!" Harley set the Excaliburger Magisword aside. "Mr. J. does love weapons that look kinda silly. But they gotta be more than just silly underneath."
"Then might I offer you…" Terminus plucked what seemed to be an ordinary black umbrella off the shelf. "This? A blade on one end!" He extended a long sword blade from the shaft. "A gun on the other! Though we won't demonstrate that indoors. And finally – "
"It works as a propeller!" Hoagy concluded, grabbing the umbrella from Terminus and holding it aloft. He unfurled the umbrella into the open position, then pressed a small button that started the ribs spinning. Hoagy was lifted gently into the air by keeping a grip on the weapon.
"Now, now, now, get back down here!" Terminus practically tackled his partner, swiping the umbrella from his hands and closing it. "Don't you know it's bad luck to open umbrellas indoors?"
"Hmmm…" Harley thought it over. "I already know a guy from Gotham who has somethin' like that, and Mr. J. ain't no copycat. But maybe the butler could use it. It seems kinda like his style, and we can't have all the fun without him! What was his name again? Edward? Edmund?"
"Edwin," Terminus corrected.
"EdGAR," Hoagy amended.
"Edgar!" Harley snapped her fingers. "That's it! Maybe I'll stop back and get this for him. But it ain't Mr. J."
Hoagy was struck with inspiration. "Maybe we can actually finally get rid of that crowbar no one wa – "
"Everyone is practically tripping over themselves to get one of these!" Terminus interrupted, taking a crowbar off the wall. "It has a triple purpose! First, as you can see, it is perfectly capable of acting as an ordinary crowbar. Second, it carries a concealed blade." With a flick, he produced a sharp edge that extended from the bar, the bar itself now functioning as a hilt for a sword. "But from the OTHER end…" He tucked the blade back into place, flicking out another apparatus and extending a handle. The crowbar was now a pogo stick. This was the feature most customers had deemed too ridiculous and used as evidence as to why it was not worth their time.
Harley, however, broke out in a great smile. "He's gonna LOVE it!"
The transaction was quick; Harley decided upon the spiked bat as well, just in case. "This is gonna be just what Mr. J. wants," Harley stated, though almost mournfully, and when Terminus handed her the crowbar, wrapped in tissue paper and packaged in a paper shopping bag, she gave it a rather sad glance. "I hope, anyway."
Terminus could sense something was wrong, and he resolved to not ask about it. It wasn't any of his business, and he didn't need anyone else's tragedy ruining his day. His resolve was easily broken by just another quick look at Harley. "Something…amiss?"
"It's just…since we got here, Mr. J.'s been talkin' to the guys and tryin' to get in with the upper-class crowd," Harley sighed. "He ain't had much time for me. And when I tried to save him from that scorpion guy along with everyone else – "
"You mean Tiarnán Celestus?"
"Tyrian Callows," Hoagy corrected.
"Whatever," Terminus replied.
"Well," Harley continued, "Mr. J. kinda…yelled at me after, about how he had it under control and he didn't need me to save him. I just thought…y'know, we're a team. So I thought maybe gettin' him a new weapon would cheer him up. Be my way of sayin' I'm sorry for gettin' involved when I shouldn't have."
"Seems to me that ain't no way to talk to a partner," Hoagy observed. "Look at me and the Doc. Sure, he sends me in as live bait for dragons sometimes, but we still look out for each other. Right?"
"Of course," Terminus confirmed. "After all, if you're dead, who am I supposed to do business with? Nobody else is qualified. And I'm certainly not going to be angry at you for making sure I don't die. Who would YOU do business with then?"
"I don't even wanna think about it," Hoagy replied.
"I know it don't sound right," Harley sighed, "but that's the way it is. He's the one who found me after the people I thought was my friends killed the last Mr. J. And he's the one who built me back up. He helped me get revenge, he showed me other worlds…I think he really cares about me. Even more than the guy before him. We just gotta get on the right foot, is all." She drew a deep breath, which came out as a heavy sigh. "But he said he wanted me to leave him alone for a while, so I can't give him the crowbar just yet. That's one thing that never changes with Puddin's. They always need a lot of time to figure stuff out without me. And I get it. Everyone needs their alone time. I can't smother him, y'know?"
Both Terminus and Hoagy could tell that there was something sinister lurking beneath the surface of Joker and Harley's relationship. From what little they knew of the Joker, it was hard to imagine him caring for a partner. Perhaps they were mistaken, but all the same, it was difficult for them not to feel a soft spot for Harley.
"I guess I better get back to the castle and figure out where I can make myself useful until I'm needed again," Harley sighed.
Terminus could have kicked himself for being so easily won over by her pout. "All right, all right. You can stay here as long as you want to. Just stay out of our way."
"You can have a coffee if you want," Hoagy offered. "Or a hot chocolate."
"For five munny," Terminus hastily added.
"I couldn't just hang around without pitchin' in," Harley protested. "How 'bout I help you put some of those Magiswords on display?"
"Do that," Terminus told her, "and the coffee and hot chocolate are free."
Harley grinned. "Then let's get to work!"
...
The balconies of the WHAM ARMY warship were protected by a shield that formed a bubble of breathable air around them; one could stand on such a balcony and get a good look out at the swirling colors of interspace. Mozenrath took a moment to do just that, with Wuya beside him.
"Had enough yet?" she asked teasingly.
It was stunning, Mozenrath thought. Here he was, in a place between worlds, looking out at a wider existence than he had known possible since the City of Old Emperors. It was an inviting challenge, for him to reach out and grasp it all. But, as with Roman, he felt wary of Wuya. He was allowing her to teach him magic simply because no one else seemed as qualified, but he wasn't sure he could trust her. Her being directly responsible for saving him from Maleficent's mercenaries was the only evidence he had that she wouldn't turn on him and murder him during this training session.
"Show me what I apparently forgot," he demanded.
"First," she told him, "breathe slowly and listen to me. Count your inhaling on three and your exhaling on four. I want you to be as blank of an emotional slate as possible before we begin."
"All right, if you insist…" Mozenrath sighed, rolling his eyes before taking a long, slow breath to the count of three.
"Magic can be very complex," Wuya explained. "If you want to get into the specifics, there are countless potions, sigils, and implements to study. The way I heard it, you had control of one of the most complex magical powers of all: the ability to raise the dead. And somehow, you did it all inside your mind. That's practically impossible. You had a very organized mind before Fantastica.
"Now, in order to get down to basics, we don't have to deal with all that. That gauntlet allows you to channel energy from within yourself to the outside and makes it into magic. And at the heart of that is, well, the heart."
"This better not be heading for some cliché," Mozenrath groaned.
"You can take the clichés or you can walk away without even knowing how to block an enemy projectile," Wuya snapped. "Good luck against Maleficent."
"I get the picture. Cliché away."
"To summon the energy within you, isolate an emotion," Wuya instructed. "It can be any emotion. Anger works better for destructive spells, but joy can cause its fair share of fireworks. If it helps, think back on a memor – " She stopped herself.
"I don't have any memories – "
"I realize that," Wuya sighed. "Just…think of something that makes you angry in general."
Mozenrath nodded. He could think of just the thing. "Got it."
"Then consciously bring that emotion forward." Wuya flicked her hand, and a clay statue appeared at the end of the balcony: the form of a teenaged boy with slightly spiky hair, clad in a hoodie. "Hold it in your hands." She extended both hands, palms up, and a ball of energy crackled to life between them. "Then, it's a matter of conscious control." She took the ball into her hands and shoved it forward; it shattered the clay image of Raimundo Pedrosa into a million shards. She turned to Mozenrath. "Any particular target you want to take out your anger on?"
"Fegan Floop," Mozenrath growled.
"…Are you serious?"
"You know what I'm talking about, right?"
"Peter tried to show me some silly song involving him," Wuya answered. "I've been trying to put it out of mind."
"Well, I haven't been able to get that stupid song out of my head for the past hour, and the worst part is the first version I listened to SPED UP, and THAT is what has been playing over and over AND OVER INSIDE MY MIND – "
Wuya gasped. Mozenrath raised his right hand in awe. A blue aura was surrounding it.
Quickly, Wuya summoned a clay statue of Fegan Floop. Mozenrath mustered up all the annoyance he could think of at Peter, Roman, and their repetitive meme, and let a great sphere of blue fly.
Floop shattered.
A pair of hands clapping alerted Wuya and Mozenrath to their audience. Both spun sharply to see Irmaplotz and Xayide watching them. "Don't you have anything better to do?" they snapped as one.
"We were curious," Xayide explained. "I found it so difficult to put my method of casting spells into words that I was hoping you might offer insight to how exactly it is done."
"I just wanted to see if you were going to bring up anything about the method that my mom never did," Irmaplotz added.
"Flattering as this is," Wuya told the pair, "we are going to need privacy and quiet. This lesson requires concentration! So buzz off!"
Instead of Xayide and Irmaplotz leaving, a third person arrived. "Hello, then!" Snatcher greeted cheerfully, holding out a tray laden with teacups and one steaming teapot. "Just wanted to check how things were going. Back at full operating capacity yet?"
Wuya scowled at him. "What do YOU think?"
"Is that any way to speak to someone who's brought you tea?" Snatcher replied, a smile the others found somewhat inexplicable beaming across his face.
Wuya jerked the tea tray away. "THANK you. Now leave us ALONE."
"As your majesty pleases," Snatcher said with a dismissive shrug. As he turned to leave, Irmaplotz followed.
Xayide turned to walk after them, but Wuya stopped her with "Xayide. A word."
"Yes?" Xayide responded.
"Be careful around here," Wuya warned. "Once they learn you have magic, they'll ask you to do EVERYTHING for them. Draw your boundaries."
"I shall cross that bridge when I come to it," Xayide replied before turning to exit.
"Now." Wuya let the tea tray levitate in the air while she turned back to Mozenrath. "Lesson two."
"You've already shown me how to destroy," Mozenrath told her. "How do you CREATE? Like those statues you made for us to be able to make believe we were finally getting rid of the banes of our existence."
"You think Fegan Floop is the worst thing in your life," Wuya commented. "That's adorable."
"I WOULD be more scared of Maleficent if I knew who she was," Mozenrath replied. "And…I've been hearing something about a kid with a giant key? Is this something I need to worry about?"
"Later," Wuya said with a shake of the head. "To answer your question, creation relies almost entirely on being able to harness positive energy. Happiness. Tranquility. Think of something that makes you happy, and it will come to you."
"I…" Mozenrath looked worriedly out at the edge of the balcony, where the other two statues had stood. "Okay." He rifled through his memories. He knew fear and insecurity, the sort that came with unfamiliarity. He knew anger and frustration, the sort that came with being helpless despite apparently normally being competent in most situations. He knew disgust, distrust, and annoyance. But ever since the City of Old Emperors, nothing had made him truly happy. He had a sense of what the emotion should feel like, but no reference point for how to achieve it.
As he stalled, Wuya realized exactly what was occurring, and she bit her lip. There was nothing she could offer Mozenrath to assist him. Besides, if she tried, she would likely leave a mark on his large but brittle ego.
"What was lesson two?" he growled at long last.
"Mastering control over destructive energy," Wuya replied. "It can come in more shapes than just bolts. Though we may want to skip ahead to lesson three, which is deflection shields." Shields, she knew, could be created out of pure fear, and that was surely something Mozenrath had in spades, whether or not he wanted to admit it.
Just down the stairway leading to a lower floor, Irmaplotz observed of Snatcher, "You seem cheerful lately. I would have thought with everything that happened, you'd be a writhing mass of pure, unadulterated anger right now."
"Oh, things aren't optimistic in the slightest," Snatcher assured her. "True, we may have acquired one of the necessary pieces for our overall plan, but as it stands, our former leader is in a mental limbo, that leaves us in a state of anarchy, we weren't able to hold our own against Maleficent in Gotham, her side has collected an assortment of extremely powerful players we can only hope to be able to stand against, and I can't seem to get that repetitive song Torchwick has been listening to out of my mind. And so, to avoid becoming completely nonfunctional in our desperate hour, I have found my own way of maintaining sanity."
"Does it have anything to do with your shoes?" Xayide asked; the clicking said shoes were making on the floor hadn't escaped her. Snatcher was in fact sporting a pair of three-inch heels.
"As a matter of fact, it does," Snatcher answered, smiling more broadly. "I find it rather difficult to be in a state of complete distress while wearing such fashionable articles."
As they reached the bottom of the stairway, Yzma darted across their path. "WHERE IS HE?" she seethed.
"Where's who?" Irmaplotz asked.
"That infuriating, impossible, aggravating, vexatious little – "
A Visayan warty pig, stormy gray with eyes of asymmetrical size, went charging down a perpendicular hall. Yzma leapt to tackle him, but he was faster, leaving Yzma to crash onto the floor. "XERXES!" she screamed. "He's gotten into my potions AGAIN!" She peeled herself off the floor. "He has NO concept of changing size or of losing the ability to fly, and if he isn't caught soon, he'll either break everything in the ship or kill himself by leaping off a balcony! There MUST be a way to be able to rein him in whenever – " She cut herself off, startled by her own inspiration. "Actually, I'm beginning to get an idea…" She took off running down the hall after Xerxes, muttering to herself.
"Her heels were even higher," Irmaplotz pointed out, "and she's FURIOUS."
Snatcher shrugged. "Obviously, she's wearing them wrong."
While neither Irmaplotz nor Xayide could find any evidence to agree, neither could they find any evidence to argue.
Snatcher's shoes chose that moment to absolutely fail him; he took a step and his right heel completely snapped off, sending him crashing to the ground. Xayide and Irmaplotz both had to bite their lips hard to keep from laughing; Xayide may not have known Snatcher long, but she had gleaned immediately that he was the sort of person who might very well try to strangle you if you laughed at him.
With his good mood beginning to dissipate as of the introduction of frustrating humiliation, Snatcher pulled himself around into a sitting position, scooping up the broken shoe. "Miss Xayide," he grunted, "if you would…"
Xayide was beginning to see what Wuya had meant. It should have been clear since breakfast, come to think of it. With a sigh, she flicked enough magic at the shoe to reattach the heel.
...
Some time later, after Yzma had rounded up Xerxes, put him back to his original form, and stuffed him in an ornate gold birdcage in her laboratory, she walked out to the edge of one of the ship's balconies, looking out at the eternity of colors before her. In one hand, she gripped a small loop of leather and rhinestones. She tossed it up into the air to catch it on the fall once before hurling it off the edge of the balcony. It phased through the protective bubble that marked the end of breathable air and spun out into infinity, falling so far it would likely never be seen again.
"Test alpha," Yzma muttered to herself before turning and bolting back into the ship.
As she rounded the corner to the laboratory entrance, she found Xayide heading the same way. "Xayide!" she greeted. "Care to accompany me for a very important test?"
"Are you going to ask me to do something incredibly mundane for you with my magic?" Xayide asked derisively.
"I may ask you to pitch in with something complicated that involves magic," Yzma replied.
Xayide's stare made Yzma reconsider her stance. "Or…I could…rely on my own skill while you kick back and relax. Either way."
"I just need to get away from everyone else until they run out of favors to ask me for," Xayide sighed.
"Then come with me," Yzma encouraged. "Just pull the lever! Ahem…" She tapped the correct lever. "THIS lever, to be precise."
At the end of the rollercoaster ride, Xayide found herself at a loss for words. She mouthed a few syllables before finding her voice: "What…was the purpose of that?"
"It's just for fun," Yzma remarked.
"Fun," Xayide repeated as she followed Yzma deeper into the laboratory.
She was surprised to see a thick wall of ice cordoning off half of the available space. "Is this also for fun?" she asked.
"It is because MIM is roaming about the other half of the laboratory," Vexen's muffled voice sounded from behind the ice, "and I dare not let her anywhere NEAR my work."
Mim peered out from behind the table set up with Yzma's equipment. "I didn't touch anything," she said sweetly.
"Because I didn't let you," Vexen grumbled.
"Stop being such an iceberg and chill out," Aghoul encouraged, stepping into view. Spotting his opportunity for a three-pun combo, he went on: "I swear, most of the time, it seems he has an icicle lodged halfway up his – "
"I should KILL you," Vexen grumbled. "Really, I should."
"Well?" Aghoul asked Yzma. "Is it good and lost?"
"If test alpha fails, we'll never see it again," Yzma said dryly. "The recall stone, if you please."
Mim lobbed a sparkling crystal across the room at Yzma; she fumbled it briefly before catching it with a "HA!" Yzma then raised the crystal into the air and yelled, "RETURN!"
The loop of sparkle-studded leather materialized in the midst of the lab, dropping onto the table. "IT WORKED!" Yzma crowed as Aghoul and Mim burst into applause. "Now bring out the test subject!"
Aghoul produced the golden cage holding Xerxes. "This is for your own good," Yzma muttered as she popped open the door and slipped the leather collar onto the eel.
Xerxes shook his head. "Too sparkly."
"But this ensures that no matter where you go, even if it's halfway across the multiverse, we'll be able to call you right back here to where you can't make trouble," Yzma stated as she tapped the recall crystal. "If Mozenrath remembered who you were, he would be VERY pleased with us right now."
Xerxes hung his head. "Mozenrath forget Xerxes for real this time," he moaned. "Xerxes miss Mozenrath."
"We are all concerned," Yzma assured the eel. "Now keep that collar on and try and stay out of trouble."
Xerxes flew off slowly and sadly.
"Are you sure there's no spell we can put together to give Mozenrath back his missing memories?" Aghoul asked. "We're capable sorcerers! Surely we can think of something!"
"Take it from someone who has encountered a case of magic-induced memory loss," Vexen said from within the ice wall. "It is nigh impossible. What I witnessed was a calculated effort by a witch with specific power over memory. What she removed, she was able to store and replace as data. When Mozenrath's memories were removed, they were not stored. They were erased. Permanently. It would take nothing short of a miracle to restore them."
"This team seems inclined to believe in miracles," Xayide pointed out.
"Just be glad HE wasn't with you when you were crossing the swamp," Yzma muttered. "He would have talked you into sinking." She raised her voice. "At least we have made progress on the OTHER project. Largely because SOMEBODY finally decided she wanted to be helpful."
"If you didn't have the locator put together," Mim reminded Yzma, "you were likely to just keep using my amulet." She ran a finger over the purple gem, which hung suspended from her own neck once more. "And I'm not in the mood to let you have it again! You almost LOST it! Then I'd have to track down a whole new archnemesis to imprison in another piece of jewelry!"
"Well?" Aghoul suggested. "Let's see if it works!"
"It just needs one finishing touch…" Yzma approached a device that lay slightly disassembled on the table. She used a pair of tweezers to implant an arrangement of tiny crystals inside, then clamped the cover shut and turned it over to reveal it as a compass. "There! Our locator compass is ready for the next test!"
"What is the purpose of this?" Xayide asked.
"What we were trying to accomplish when we accidentally enchanted the Amulet of Avalor," Yzma stated. "A compass that could point us in the direction of whatever we wished and show us where what we wanted is hidden. The Amulet led us to a concentrated element of Entropy. But what we need now…" She raised the compass dramatically. "Is a concentrated element of TIME!"
Yzma then lowered the compass, and she, Mim, Aghoul, and Xayide could all see that it was spinning. At last, it ground to a halt, pointing at the far wall. "It's THAT way!" Yzma crowed, pointing at the wall.
"There are countless worlds in that direction," Xayide reminded her. "You told me so yourself. How do we know which one we are looking for?"
Yzma opened her mouth to answer…and realized she had no answer.
"Not to mention it operates on a two-dimensional plane," Xayide went on. "What if the world that holds the element is above or below us?"
"STOP POKING HOLES IN MY LOGIC!" Yzma screeched. "Do you know how difficult it was to put this together? Are you suggesting I start all over?"
"Not start over." A segment of the ice wall melted away, and Vexen stepped through to the outside, bringing with him a larger device. "Add to it. I had a feeling you would overlook such crucial details. That is why I went to work immediately on crafting the other half of what you need."
The object he carried appeared to be a glass globe set upon a pedestal with a slot carved in it exactly the right size and shape of the compass. He lowered the globe onto the table, holding out a hand. "If you don't mind."
Yzma gritted her teeth as she handed over the compass. Vexen inserted it into the lower half of the globe, then stepped back, suggesting the others "Watch."
The globe filled with black, then with stars: a celestial map. One star was twinkling much more brightly than the others: a bright blue color. Vexen placed a finger on the side of the globe, and the area around the star enlarged. "Not only will this pinpoint the world the compass points to," he explained, "but it shows where in interspace the world lies. From there, the compass can be removed, and once the search party is on the ground of the indicated world, it will function as a decent locator with little worry about the three-dimensional plane." He turned his attention back to the globe. "Fascinating. I don't believe I have been to this world before. I MUST take notes to give you the proper coordinates." He stepped back into his circle of isolation to rustle up a pad of paper and a writing utensil.
"And all this time, I thought you hated us," Yzma commented, suddenly realizing how unprecedented it was for Vexen to contribute to one of her creations.
"You are going down a path I don't particularly appreciate," Vexen snapped back. He returned, beginning to take down measurements to pinpoint the exact location of the World of Twelve.
...
Grimhilde, alone with her mirror, decided it was finally time to ask it the question she had been longing to ask.
She summoned the spirit as usual, and it asked her what she wanted. To which she replied: "Magic mirror, on the wall. Once I asked you the name of the fairest of all. 'Twas only one world on which you could seek, and thus you found the fairest unique. But now you see 'cross many worlds, a landscape new that has unfurled. Who in all these worlds can the fairest be, and how many exist whom are fairer than me?"
The mirror didn't miss a beat. "The answer, my Queen, I most certainly fear is not the one which you wish to hear. As the eyes open wider, the more I see, and it becomes increasingly clear to me that when the multiverse is put to the test, there is not but one fairest. Beings of all colors, short and tall, share the title 'Fairest of All.' Look hard as you can into my glass to see those who remain fair steadfast." A million images flashed in quick succession, more than Grimhilde's eyes could even process. "And all of the faces reflected in me have proven themselves far fairer than thee."
Red-hot anger boiled up through Grimhilde as she watched the images of innumerable "fairest of all" cross the glass. She wished to be rid of all of them, or to ascend above them. But how would it be possible with so many that needed to be eliminated to pave her way? The anger took shape, and she spun quickly so that the lightning that exuded from her spilled into the hall rather than destroying anything in her chamber. It very nearly hit another living being, however, as she was informed by the cry of "WHOA!" that sounded from the hallway.
Hades, having nearly been struck by Grimhilde's tantrum, peered into the room. "What's got your cape in a knot, Queenie?" he asked. "That was some anger management issues right there."
"I knew I would not be the fairest of all," Grimhilde growled, "but those that stand in my way to become such are innumerable! I must learn a way to either destroy them all or rise above them."
"Y'know, weird thing," Hades responded. "I'm not usually the one to go to for beauty tips, but when Jaffie and I were lookin' through the Black Sands libraries, we found a book that just might be of interest for you." He spread out his hands, and a leather-bound tome appeared in midair. "Cosmetic spells. Oy. Guess we know why Mozzy's such a pretty-boy now. You're gonna want the last page, babe."
Grimhilde seized the book, gripping it tightly as she flipped through its pages. The last page contained a spell entitled "To Become the Fairest of All Worlds."
A slow smile spread across Grimhilde's face. "This is exactly what I seek."
"Knock yourself out, babe," Hades told her. "Meantime, I gotta make like a tree. Malef's got me on chaperone duty for Scorpion Boy soon as she thinks up a good mission for him. That's gonna be more fun than a dory in the eye at least." With that, he vanished, the air around smelling slightly of smoke.
Grimhilde read aloud the passage she had found, hardly taking note of Hades' parting words. "If it is in the mind of thee to the ultimate fairest be, 'cross every plane and every star, to kingdoms near and dimensions far, then thou must craft this darkest art: remove two genders of fairest's hearts…"
Her reading distracted her when the smell of smoke intensified, and another column of flame delivered yet another guest to her chambers. She was snapped out of her reverie by Maleficent's declaration of "Grimhilde."
"Yes, Mistress," Grimhilde said stoically, setting the book on a nearby table.
"I require the use of your scrying power," Maleficent stated. "I believe I have devised the perfect test for our Tyrian. Perhaps we can fell two beasts with one blow."
"What is it you wish to see?" Grimhilde asked.
She should have known what Maleficent was going to ask for: "Find what Mozenrath seeks next."