1. Villains of a Sort

At the outer reaches of the kingdom of Radiant Garden, there was a dilapidated castle known as Villain's Vale. It was erected in the shadow of the much larger castle that belonged to the kingdom's civilians and Restoration Committee. Once, Maleficent and her many associates had gathered in the shadowy darkness of that castle, utilizing its many resources, such as its raw magic pipeline and its extensive library, for their own gain. Now, however, they were forced into the rickety Vale, their numbers considerably thinned. Captain Hook had been deemed unfit for the operation long ago, and Maleficent had turned her back on him, opting to use him as a transformative vessel for the Darkness instead during the year of Sora's sleep. Oogie Boogie had more or less turned in his resignation when last he and Maleficent had worked together, and she wished nothing more to do with him. That left only Hades, Ursula, and Jafar to answer her call…as well as Pete. How Maleficent had ended up with Pete on her side, she to that day was not quite sure, and it almost seemed beneath her to even entertain the idea of working with him, but all the same, he seemed to be serving his purpose well, and he had yet to truly and utterly disappoint.

Maleficent looked around the circular chamber at the heart of Villain's Vale to see them lined up around her: Ursula, Jafar, Hades, Pete. It was this group she had to rely on in order to plan her next move. Apart from Pete, they were all known backstabbers and connivers, and any one of them could turn on Maleficent or each other in the blink of an eye. That only made them all the more suited for the job.

"We've little time," Maleficent insisted sternly to her associates. "That fool Lea foiled my plans to retrieve the Date Escape."

"I'll bet that was embarrassing," Ursula chuckled.

"SILENCE!" Maleficent rounded on Ursula. Jafar, Hades, and Pete all flinched at the outburst, but Ursula remained unfazed. "The king and his little friends were all simply lucky. However, they also realized there is strength in numbers. Perhaps we are to take a cue from them. Against any one of us, they are weak. Against many of us at once…"

"We're unstoppable!" Pete volunteered.

"Do not interrupt when I am speaking," Maleficent snapped.

"Eh, shame about the captain and the bag o' bugs," Hades grumped.

"They were more hindrance than help," Maleficent reminded him.

"Still, couldn't we have gotten a few more people to back us up?" Hades inquired. "I mean, look at all the key-brats running around out there. And every one of them doesn't bat an eyelash at the thought of fighting a god. We REALLY wanna put them in their place, we gotta pack a punch. What about that lion guy Pete was talking to over in the Pridelands? Didn't he have a load of Darkness?"

"Y'mean Scar?" Pete clarified. "If I never work with that guy again, it'll be too soon! Oh, sure, he was good at beatin' people up, but it was always whine about this! Whine about that! Ooh, nobody listens to me when I'm not the king, la-dee-da! Ix-NAY on it!"

"I'd heard tell of a swordsman in the Land of Dragons whose prowess with the Darkness was nothing short of impressive," Jafar brought up.

"Shan-Yu," Maleficent clarified. "The leader of the Hun army. He could prove promising…"

"Or," a disembodied voice echoed throughout the chamber, "instead of putting your denarii on a tired old horse, you could put it on a unicorn."

"WHA?" Pete scampered to hide behind Ursula. "WHO SAID THAT?"

Ursula rolled her eyes. "Minions," she muttered.

A mass of blue light, roughly the size and shape of a human being, glimmered into view in the center of the circle. When it abated, it left in its wake a young man clothed entirely in royal blue with a billowing black cape. His manner of dress marked him immediately as hailing from the same parts as Jafar. Hovering over his shoulder was a most bizarre creature: an eel that could fly, sporting a toothy grin.

"That would be me," the young man introduced, giving a bow. "Mozenrath. Lord of the Black Sands."

Before Maleficent could say a word, Jafar burst into laughter, throwing back his head. Once he'd composed himself, he announced, "The boy lies. The Black Sands are just outside the borders of Agrabah, and they are ruled by the tyrannical Lord Destane."

"They WERE ruled by the tyrannical Lord Destane," Mozenrath corrected, "until I deposed him and robbed him of his humanity."

Something about that phrase struck a chord with Hades, but he wasn't quite sure what it meant. He had the most peculiar feeling he'd seen this young man before.

"And you would be Jafar, the royal Agrabanian vizier?" Mozenrath countered. "The tale of your exploits has reached all the way to the Black Sands."

"I'm quite sure it has," Jafar replied.

"The story of how you overpowered that entire kingdom is adorable," Mozenrath scoffed, "but all in all, it's nothing compared to what I've accomplished."

"Mozenrath actually VERY impressed with you!" the eel told Jafar, confused as to why his master had just lied.

"XERXES…" Mozenrath gritted his teeth. "NOT. ANOTHER. WORD."

"Enough of this idle chatter," Maleficent said stonily. "Tell us why you have come here."

"I've always set my sights high," Mozenrath began. "Back home, there are many kingdoms I've wanted to conquer. In fact, you could say I wanted the entire world. It's come to my attention recently that there isn't just one, but SEVERAL worlds out there for the taking. Ever since Aladdin's little spiky-haired friend with the enchanted sword turned up, tongues have been wagging. So I decided to take a little 'world tour' for myself. As it turns out, there's an infinite number of worlds ripe for the conquering. My intent was to become overlord of them all."

"And this affects us how?" Ursula interrupted.

"You're giving us more reason to eliminate you as competition than to join forces with you," Maleficent pointed out.

"I'm not finished," Mozenrath growled.

Hades was still musing to himself about how, oddly enough, he was sure he'd seen this young man before. But where?

"As it turns out, taking the worlds into my own hand is…" Mozenrath searched a moment for the right word.

"Impossible?" Xerxes supplied.

"Difficult at best," Mozenrath concluded. "But then I heard about you. You want to call the worlds your own too. At first, the idea of a division of the spoils was less than appealing. But now, I'm willing to let you all have your fair share of the profit so long as I get to keep a few worlds of my own. In short, I would like to propose that we work together. I've mastered a few of the Dark Arts myself, you know. I think you'd find me a useful asset to your little team."

Maleficent thought it over. "Tell me…Mozenrath," she beckoned, "what have you done thus far that you believe puts you at our level?"

"Well, for one…" Mozenrath gestured toward Pete. "Your level seems to be this cat and above."

"HEY!" Pete snapped.

"And for another," Mozenrath went on, "it seems that at the tender age of eighteen, I've already dethroned the feared Lord Destane of the Black Sands, 'emptied out' his empire, resurrected an army of undead Mamluks to serve as my personal subjects, and – "

"Wait, that's it! That's IT!" Hades realized. "You…" As recognition washed over him, so did a distinct shade of red-orange. "YOU!" Flames flared up all over his skin.

Mozenrath turned in surprise to get an eyeful of the angry god. "Me?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though the sight of Hades in such an enraged state was truly frightening.

"YOU'RE the one that keeps robbing out of MY Underworld to build your army!" Hades roared. "For a YEAR now, some little PUNK has been stealing soul after soul from me, putting them back in the worlds of the living, and all I've EVER had to go on for identification was a picture drawn by one of the ones you sent back!"

"Sometimes they disappoint," Mozenrath sighed. "Some of them have to get sent back before they can ever be put to good use. Basically, if you trip and knock something over within your first hour, you don't make the cut."

"NOT the issue here!" Hades roared. "I have been stuck with this lousy Underworld gig since before you were bor – no, before your WORLD was born. But you know what the one thing I can't stand is? When someone MESSES WITH IT."

"I don't resurrect them in full," Mozenrath pointed out. "If it makes you feel better, I only deal in the undead. I could resurrect them in full, but then they start complaining about 'labor rights' and 'food' and 'basic physical needs.'"

"Oh. OH," Hades replied. "So you don't even go all the way. You just half-bake it. SOMEHOW THAT ANNOYS ME MORE!"

"This is most displeasing," Maleficent informed Mozenrath. "It seems you have been betraying us since before you brought your proposition to us."

"That's a bit of the pot calling the samovar black, isn't it?" Mozenrath told Maleficent. "After all, I seem to recall at least one of the people in this room having gone through a death or two." This was accompanied by a quick glance at Ursula, who gave a shrug. "And where's that bag of bugs you brought back to keep around? Are you just hiding the evidence on that one?"

"INSOLENT FOOL!" As Maleficent roared with anger, she raised both arms, and there was a flash of thunder that sent Pete right back to hiding behind Ursula. When Maleficent's staff came down, its base struck the castle floor, and two thick vines studded with black thorns erupted from the ground and wrapped around Mozenrath, digging their sharp points into his skin just enough to be painful without causing him fatal damage.

It was only now that Mozenrath realized he might have made a mistake or two in his approach. He struggled, only to flinch hard from the pain. Maleficent's magic was also blocking his own so long as the vines made contact with his body, and though he tried to fire up his gauntlet to burn the plants away from him, there was no result.

"It is not your place to question my methods," Maleficent informed Mozenrath. "And CERTAINLY not your place to call my own actions into question in order to justify your own! There is no alliance between us, nor shall there ever be!" Her angry countenance gave over to a smirk. "And yet…you may still be of use to us."

"We could turn him into a Heartless!" Ursula volunteered. "Then he'd be useful, all right!"

Panicking, Mozenrath snapped the fingers of his right hand again and again, but Maleficent's vines were holding their own magically.

"But if the boy is as powerful as he claims," Jafar pointed out, "not to mention as skilled with necromancy as Hades has confirmed, then we run the risk of him becoming a sentient Heartless…or worse! Leaving behind a sentient Nobody!"

"I got an idea," Hades proposed. "How about I take him back to my place, I figure out a Tartarus that will keep him in agony for all eternity, I stop getting robbed blind of my souls, and we all live happily ever after?"

"Perhaps putting him in your custody is the best course of action until such time as we can discern a proper way to put him to use," Maleficent decided.

"NO!" Mozenrath growled. "You…will…REGRET THIS…"

"Y'know what, kid?" Hades put a hand on Mozenrath's shoulder. "I really. Don't think. We will."

A Corridor of Darkness opened up around the two of them, and then they were gone, leaving only Maleficent, Pete, Ursula, Jafar, and Xerxes.

"Uh…what do we do with the weird flying eel thingy?" Pete asked.

Ursula gave a low chuckle. "I have a pair of eels of my own, you know," she told Xerxes. "And they would find you simply adorable! In fact, they'd eat you right up! …Literally."

With a cry of panic, Xerxes bolted from the room, speeding out a window. Maleficent sent a blast of green lightning after him, but the eel was just a hair too fast, and the energy collided harmlessly with the wall.

"Forget the eel," Maleficent resolved, telling herself as much as the others. "We have more urgent matters to attend to."

...

Hades' Corridor opened up in the lower levels of his shadowy palace in the Underworld. "Welcome to the Land of the Dead," the god introduced to his prisoner. "It ain't much, but really, it ain't much. It is, however, mine. You are WAY past due for playing by my rules, kid." He left Mozenrath bound in the center of the room as he crossed it to open a door with a barred window set in it. "Kind of a shame, actually. I usually don't roll out Tartarus punishments until they're, y'know, actually dead. But are you ever in for a treat! You see, Tartarus is where the worst of the worst get individual punishments tailored to – "

"I know what Tartarus is," Mozenrath seethed. "I'm not an idiot."

"Good," Hades told him as he swung the door wide, revealing a meager cell carved of stone beyond. "Save me the breath. Not that I need it, since, y'know, immortal. Anyway, welcome to your new home until I figure out juuuuuuuust what punishment is right for ya."

He returned to Mozenrath's side, grabbing the young sorcerer by the shoulder. He then threw Mozenrath forward so that he stumbled into the cell, lightly brushing the vines that bound him with a red-hot hand at the same time. The thorny vines burned up, temporarily freeing Mozenrath. By the time the sorcerer had whirled to fire off a spell at Hades, Hades slammed the door on him, and it locked.

Mozenrath's plasma bolt bounced off the door, then the back wall, then the side wall, and it kept bouncing for a good while of time. Mozenrath ducked and dodged nervously until the bolt ricocheted harmlessly out another barred window in the back of the cell. So it was magic-proofed. Mozenrath knew he shouldn't have expected less from the Lord of the Dead. He took a look around. The cell was somewhat rounded, with curved walls and ceiling, and one raised platform of solid stone, draped over with a black cloth, might have been a bench or a bed. The window out back overlooked the sickly green River Styx, which almost seemed to glow against the gloomy backdrop of the Underworld.

With a sigh, Mozenrath sat down on the hunk of stone and indulged in a good old-fashioned session of feeling sorry for himself. How was he to know that laying down his terms to Maleficent would land him here? Hadn't the others she worked with all done worse?

There had to be a way out of this cell, he surmised, but the answer wasn't coming to him. And furthermore, he was beginning to feel a sort of drain on his soul. They said the Underworld was cursed to slowly remove the magical powers of all who entered. Mozenrath was starting to feel it.

If only Hades had known. He turned his right hand over in his left, peeling the gauntlet off to look at the bare bone beneath. He was almost half dead already. Didn't that exempt him from crimes against the dead? More likely, if Hades knew, he would have seen it as an excuse to come up with a Tartarus punishment faster.

...

As Hades made his merry way down the hall, glad to have locked away the offending necromancer that had plagued him for the past year, he almost thought to hum a little tune. He hadn't felt this good in a while.

Which meant it was only a matter of time before Pain and Panic turned up with news that would spoil it for him.

"Hades!" Pain quickly rounded the corner to greet his master. "Your gruesomeness!"

"What is it," Hades sighed. "I was in a good mood, y'know."

"Uhhhhm…well…" Pain stumbled over his words. "See, I don't exactly have GOOD news…but it isn't BAD news either! It's just…kind of…annoying news?"

"Spit it out," Hades commanded.

"Lord HADES!" Panic came skittering around the corner. "Nice to see you! Sooooo, how was your trip to the – "

"WHAT HAPPENED?" Hades interrupted with a bright orange flare.

Panic gulped before turning to Pain. "I, uh…I see you didn't tell him that the…problem soul requested another meeting with him, did you?"

"Oy." Hades rubbed his temple, cooling back down to blue. "THAT guy, is it? All right. Where is he making a scene now – "

"Oh, he's in your throne room!" Pain said cheerily.

"WHAT?" Hades was now crimson. "WHO! LET HIM! GO UP THERE?"

"He just kind of…waltzed in!" Panic said shakily. "W-w-we tried to stop him – "

"OBVIOUSLY NOT HARD ENOUGH!"

"But he's already dead," Pain pointed out, "so a lot of times, when we turn into monsters, he just walks right past us and – "

"Okay, okay, okay." Hades took in a deep breath, and as he inhaled, the blue washed back over him. "I'm fine. I'm cool. I'm just going to go up there, tell him there was NO mistake, inform him he is SUPPOSED to be here, and make him leave ONCE. AND. FOR. ALL."

He stormed past his minions, who exchanged glances. "Gee," Pain muttered, "we got off lucky that ti – "

"Oh, and both of you are in for a roast when I get back," Hades called back over his shoulder.

The soul awaiting Hades in the throne room was not that of a patient man. He paced back and forth, his low-heeled leather shoes clicking ominously on the floor as he did so. His intricately embroidered red jacket billowed. It was rather funny, he thought, that the dead should get to keep some form of clothing when they arrived in the Underworld. What was not funny was that he'd ended up with a red top hat, of all things. Had his death been at all fair, he thought, he at least should have gotten to keep the white one. They always said you couldn't take it with you, but for some cruel reason, fate had decided he could take the wrong one with him.

He stopped by Hades' table, looking down at the chessboard pattern and tiny figurines that studded it. It was all intricate work, and he couldn't resist picking up a miniature carved chimaera to get a better look.

"Excuse me, but who said you could touch my things?" Hades asked from the door, already exasperated.

The soul set the manticore back down quickly. "Only a look, milord," he said innocently, his voice deep and thick with a British accent. "Quite well crafted, that is."

"Yeah, yeah, let's cut to the chase," Hades sighed. "You're here to tell me for the third time – "

"Fourth, milord."

"For the fourth time that you don't belong down here. Despite the fact that you are very obviously dead."

"In my defense, milord," the soul protested, "you haven't fully heard me out on it."

"Then go ahead," Hades groaned. "Explain. What don't I know here?" He crossed the room so he could lounge in the throne while he heard the soul's plaintive excuse.

Once Hades was seated, the soul cleared his throat. "You see, milord, death can only have come to claim me by accident. One moment, I was sitting in the Tasting Room of my dreams, about to dine on the finest cheese known to mortal man, and the next, I found myself down here, with absolutely nothing to indicate that any sort of death had occurred. I only figured that with so many souls coming into your domain on a daily basis for so many years, occasionally, there are mistakes made!"

"Death doesn't make mistakes," Hades sighed. "And by the way, I looked at your file after the second…or I guess make that the THIRD time you tried to talk to me about this, and it lists a pretty clear cause of death. Said it right there on the ol' papyrus-and-vellum. Name: Archibald Penelope Snatcher. Cause of death: Allergenic attack to dairy."

"Now, that's where the mistake's been made, you see," Snatcher elaborated. "For I'm not actually ALLERGIC to anything."

"File said you were. File's not wrong. Death doesn't make mistakes. Only thing that happens is that some people can't accept how they died. And you're dead. End of story. Now get out of my throne room."

"But milord – "

"NOW. Before I actually get mad at you."

Snatcher didn't leave. Instead, someone else came storming in, his footsteps heavy with anger. Snatcher and Hades both looked around to hear the commotion just outside the door.

"I'm sorry," Panic babbled, "Lord Hades is VERY busy right now – "

"DON'T care!" a new voice grunted.

"Hey, uh, you can't go in there!" Pain added.

"I do what I want!" the new voice snapped. "HEY! Will you GET OFF ME?"

Another soul burst into the throne room, with Pain and Panic each grabbing an ankle and trying to drag him back.

"Seriously?" Hades sighed. "THIS is how you try to stop them from getting into my room?"

The newcomer was tall and lanky – offsetting Snatcher's somewhat-tall-and-heavyset figure – with bright red-orange hair and heavy mascara and eyeliner. One assumed it was on both eyes, since his right eye was swept over by one red-orange bang. His jacket was white, his bowler hat black. He pointed at Hades with a gloved hand. "You."

"What about me?" Hades groaned.

"Send me back," the newcomer demanded.

"Hmmmm," Hades mused. "Let me think about that for a minute. NO."

"Send me back RIGHT. NOW," the soul reiterated. "I should NOT be here."

"Welcome to the club," Snatcher sighed.

"And why shouldn't you be here?" Hades asked.

"BECAUSE I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!" the soul cried in exasperation. "Furthermore, I am not supposed to DIE! Do you know what the last thing I was saying was before I ended up down here? I was SAYING that I was going to do what I do best! Lie! Steal! Cheat! SURVIVE! And right after that, HERE I AM!" He spread out his arms to indicate the throne room and, by extension, the whole Underworld.

"Ooooh, death by irony!" Hades had himself a chuckle. "That always smarts, doesn't it? Doesn't get you any brownie points, though. Now get out of my palace."

"Not until you put me back," the soul insisted.

"What's your name again?" Hades asked.

"Torchwick," the soul sighed exasperatedly. "Roman Torchwick."

"Let's see. Torchwick…" Hades waved a hand in a circular pattern, and a scroll appeared in his hand. He unrolled it to take a look. "Name: Roman Torchwick. Cause of death: Eaten by a Nevermore that crashed into a ball of flame on a falling airship that exploded upon impact with the ground. Yeesh. Last words…'I'll do what I do best: lie, steal, cheat, and survive.' Yup. All right there in the file. That's some irony, all right. At least you one-upped Archie here on the last words front. All he said was something about the taste of cheese, and it was so cliché that I'm pretty sure he was just making it up to sound smart. Anyway. While I have enjoyed getting that good LAUGH out of your final words, if there's one death I'm NOT undoing, it's getting eaten, burned alive, and blown up in succession."

"Then you'll reconsider the alleged allergy attack, I take it?" Snatcher asked sweetly.

"NO!" Hades snapped, bright orange sweeping over his whole body. "ONE of you is bad enough! There is no reason I should have to deal with TWO people who can't understand that dead! Means! DEAD!"

"But I shouldn't BE dead!" Roman argued.

Simultaneously, Snatcher growled, "For the final time, there's been a MISTAKE!"

"THAT'S! IIIIIIIIIIT!" Hades stood bolt upright. "I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU TWO! I GAVE YOU ENOUGH CHANCES TO LEAVE!"

"So what are you gonna do to us now?" Roman asked smugly.

...

The door to Mozenrath's cell opened briefly, and Mozenrath wondered if they'd come to collect him for his stay in Tartarus. Instead, two others got dumped on the floor, the door slammed behind them.

"And you can all STAY THERE until I find the perfect punishment for ALL THREE OF YOU!" Hades roared before storming away.

"Well." Roman was the first to get up, brushing himself off. "That could've gone better."

"I would've gotten my life back if you hadn't broken in and argued, you know," Snatcher grunted, slowly getting back on his own feet with support from the wall.

"D'you think that maybe he would've given me MINE back if you hadn't BOTHERED him half to death?" Roman argued.

"I see my punishment started early," Mozenrath sighed, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

"So, what're you in for?" Roman asked him.

"Does it look like I want to talk to you?" Mozenrath snapped.

"Fine. I see how it is." Roman leaned against the opposite wall. "You don't want to talk to me. And YOU – " He pointed to Snatcher. "Don't GET to talk to me. So let's all do each other a favor and not talk at all."

"Oh, certainly," Snatcher replied, half sarcastically; he didn't much want to make conversation with these two either. He took his place against the back wall, leaning next to the window, and the three prisoners stayed put in silence, resolving to ignore each other as hard as they could.

Mozenrath caved after a mere sixty seconds. "Necromancy," he sighed. "I'm in for necromancy. I populated my entire empire with souls brought back from the dead, and as it turns out, Hades doesn't like it when people take the dead out of the Underworld without his permission. Well, when the WRONG people do, anyway. Apparently, if you're a dark faery who runs in the right circle, you can go right on ahead and take whatever and whoever you want."

"So you're not even dead," Roman reiterated.

"No," Mozenrath confirmed. "I'm not dead. Not in the traditional sense, anyway."

"So you're dead in the non-traditional sense, then?" Snatcher posed. "Is that your way of stating you've some existential crisis?"

"No." Mozenrath held up his right hand. "It's my way of saying I was trading my life force for my magic anyway."

"Magic," Snatcher snorted. "No such thing."

"You'd be surprised," Roman countered. "I thought that too, until my boss from Hell – and no, not literally, or else she'd be able to cut us a break – let me in on some of the secrets of life."

Mozenrath knew better than to try and fire another plasma bolt or anything else destructive in the cell. The Underworld's "curse" had also drained most of his power by that point anyway. However, he was able to conjure up a faint blue glow around his right hand, opening up his eyes so he could see the others' reactions.

Snatcher was absolutely stunned. "How're you doing that?"

"Magic," Roman answered for Mozenrath. "Though I thought you had to be a woman to do that. Which one are you? Summer? Winter?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Mozenrath called off the glow. "I'm a sorcerer of all seasons. This gauntlet is the source of my power. However, as I said, it requires a payment of life force in order to grant that magic."

"Did you say you were an emperor?" Snatcher asked. "Of sorts, at least?"
"There's no 'of-sorts' about it," Mozenrath clarified. "I have an empire. Everyone and everything in the Black Sands is at my disposal."

"And I don't suppose anyone there is coming here to spring you," Roman posed. "None of those souls you saved from this place."

"I don't give them that much room to move," Mozenrath admitted. "This might be the first and only time I'll regret that." He shifted to better face his two companions. "So, now that you know why I'm here, why are you two here?"

"By complete and utter mistake," Snatcher grunted. "I was reportedly given a sentence of death when I did not, in fact, DIE."

"So, what, you just got teleported down here at random?" Roman asked.

"The last thing I remember before coming here," Snatcher reminisced, "was at long last achieving my dream of becoming one of the White Hats of Cheesebridge, with all the power I could want at my disposal, and enough status to ensure I'd be cheered and praised by the whole town!"

"Are you saying you took over this…kingdom of Cheesebridge?" Mozenrath asked for clarification.

"More or less," Snatcher confirmed. "The White Hats and their Cheese Guild oversee all that goes on in that town, from dawn till dusk and after. Course, most of them were absolute blowhards with no respect for the men who TRULY worked to keep the town in order, such as myself, and I took my fair share of insults from them, I did, but I digress. I'd concocted a brilliant plan to ensure myself the seat. The local Boxtrolls had always been hated and feared as monsters. All I had to do in order to obtain permission to capture them was to pin a crime upon them. A crime such as…the theft of a child. For ten years, I worked down to the bone capturing every last Boxtroll in order to get them to fashion me a machine that would allow me to be unstoppable. A sort of…large riding machine, tall as a building, from which one could cause the appropriate amount of destruction."

"Like a Paladin." Roman nodded. "Go on."

"Then, once the Boxtrolls had served their purpose, I was to make a show of crushing them and showing off the boxes of the dead to the head White Hat, Lord Portley-Rind, and in turn, he would be so grateful, he would make ME the next head White Hat," Snatcher went on. "However, the slippery little beasts fled at the last second. I was forced to simply use the machine and take Lord Portley-Rind's daughter hostage instead. Still got me the hat. And so I found myself at last in the Tasting Room, where the elite conducted their business while sampling only the finest and most elegant of cheese." His demeanor took a sudden downturn. "And this…Lord Hades has the NERVE to accuse me of being ALLERGIC TO CHEESE TO THE POINT OF DEATH! It's all been a cruel mistake!"

Mozenrath couldn't hold back a smile. "You know, I like the way you think," he told Snatcher. "Before I ended up down here, I was looking for someone to help me conquer not just any one kingdom, but all the worlds. Turns out I was looking in the wrong place. I could've used somebody as smart and ruthless as you."

"Well!" Snatcher straightened his coat, looking pleased as punch to receive such a compliment. "I thank you, milord!"

"I don't suppose you were much of a conqueror." Mozenrath made a lazy gesture in Roman's direction.

"Are you KIDDING ME?" Roman sputtered. "Where I come from, I had an entire kingdom running scared. I was working with the people who were going to change the world by force, though the less said about them, the better. No self-respecting Dust shop owner ever turned me down when I asked them to hand over the merchandise. I had an entire army of animalistic terrorists at my beck and call! I was in a warship, gunning down an enemy army! …So that my boss could take the spoils. But I still had fun with it, and that's what really counts in the end, right?"

"And how'd you end up in this cell?" Mozenrath pressed.

"You won't believe this," Snatcher laughed. "Heard all about it. This one got cocky in front of a giant monster and his last words were telling somebody how what he did best was lie, steal, cheat, and…"

He glanced over at Roman to be met with a sullen glare.

"…Survive," Snatcher concluded weakly. "It's…not all that amusing, now that I think of it."

"I wasn't supposed to die," Roman elaborated. "Ever. Though while I'm here, I will say that working for either of you sounds like a lot better of a gig than what I had."

"Could've used more men like you," Snatcher replied, "and less like the softhearted idiots I'd got saddled with. Needed to be convinced they were 'ridding the streets of evil' to get them motivated to do anything."

"Yeesh." Roman flinched.

"Hm." Mozenrath was thinking things over. "You know…I just may have a proposition for you."

"And what's that?" Snatcher asked.

"Eventually, this door has to open to lead us out of here and into Tartarus," Mozenrath reminded his cellmates. "At that point, I'm planning on making a great escape and picking up where I left off. The more I listen to you, the more I'm surprisingly not annoyed by everything you say, and the more I realize you're exactly the kind of men I'm looking for. However, I don't want to waste my time on people who are all talk. So here's my idea: you two help me escape this place…and you can come work for me. After all, I can get you two back to the realm of the living pretty easily."

"And who says we want to work for you instead of going back to where we were?" Roman asked. "We had it pretty sweet."

"Really?" Mozenrath countered. "Because all I heard was that one of you was working for a boss you hated, and the other was just about to join a government that never did anything but look down on him."

Snatcher and Roman simultaneously thought to themselves that Mozenrath had a point.

"Put a weapon in my hand," Roman said at last, "and I'll do what you need."

"We're going to Tartarus," Mozenrath reminded them. "The land of extreme punishments tailored to torture the worst of the worst. There will be resources we can work with."

"The big problem will be getting past Lord Crankypants," Roman brought up. "The minute one of us puts a toe out of line, he's gonna know."

"Not unless he's good and distracted," Snatcher offered. "Which I just so happen to know how to do."

"What, annoy him to death like you did the first time?" Roman asked.

"As a matter of fact, no," Snatcher clarified. "I'll need some sort of paint – actual rouge would be best – something that can act as hair, and…" His eyes fell upon the cloth that was draped over Mozenrath's stone bench. "That."

"You want it?" Mozenrath got up off the bench, balled up the cloth, and handed it over. "You can have it."

Snatcher took off his coat, tied the cloth around his chest, then shrugged his jacket back on to be able to carry it hands-free. "I'm hoping we'll find the rest of what we're looking for in this Tartarus," he grunted.

"And what, exactly, is your plan?" Mozenrath asked.

Snatcher began to spell it out, interrupted at one point by an enthusiastic "NO WAY!" from Roman.

...

The cell door swung open to reveal Hades' tall figure filling the frame; a host of Trick Ghost Heartless some thirty strong floated behind him. "Okay, so the bad news is that I'm too busy to take you to your punishments," Hades told the trio of prisoners, "so these guys are gonna have to do it for you. The good news is that I've picked out the PERFECT fate for each of you! Red Hat McAllergies is going to get to ride the classic wheel of fire, Ixion style; Mr. Death-by-Irony is going to get to drown for eternity at the bottom of an ocean filled with nasties; and as for Necromancy Pants, well, let's just say it involves a lot of spikes. A LOT of spikes. Oh, wait, that's BAD news for you, isn't it? That's only good news for me! Well, tough luck, babes. I'm off to finish up some paperwork and pretend you don't exist. Toodles!"

He vanished in a rush of flame, proving that he didn't need a Corridor of Darkness after all, though whether it was a matter of distance or of showing off to his colleagues, the three prisoners couldn't be sure.

The Trick Ghosts flooded into the cell, applying thick chains to the wrists of the prisoners – Mozenrath's left wrist to Snatcher's right and Snatcher's left to Roman's right. They then ushered the trio out of the holding cell by bumping into them until they went where the Ghosts wanted them to go. This was how they directed them all the way down the dark path to the caverns that housed Tartarus.

"You know," Roman whispered to Snatcher, "I didn't notice this earlier, but you have nice hands."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Snatcher hissed.

"It's a long walk and I'm making conversation!" Roman hissed back.

After what seemed an eternity, the Trick Ghosts herded them into a pitch black chamber. First, two lanterns, blue lights situated on poles, illuminated the three prisoners and most of the Ghosts. Roman took special note that the lanterns weren't bolted to the ground. Then an enormous cartwheel, intricately spoked, burst into flame in front of them. Chains at its center showed where Snatcher was apparently to be situated.

The Ghosts made a show of bumping into the prisoner trio before Roman halted them with an "All right, all right! We get it! We're going!" The triad walked up to the great flaming wheel.

"This had better work," Roman muttered to himself before flinging his right hand upward, taking Snatcher's with it. He caught the chain binding them on the edge of one of the wheel's spokes, bringing the metal down hard through the heat until the chain snapped. Roman then did an about-face and charged for the lanterns.

"He realizes they were about to unchain me from both of you to attach me to the wheel, doesn't he?" Snatcher pointed out in awe.

"Just let him do his thing," Mozenrath advised, reaching up to snap his own chain in the same way.

Roman body slammed a thick group of the ghosts, scattering them before he hit the ground and rolled. He came to a halt next to one of the lanterns, at which point he stood, grasped the lantern pole, and spun it around once for show. The Ghosts converged upon him, not concerned with Snatcher or Mozenrath, which was exactly what Roman had hoped for. He rammed the business end of the lantern hard into one of the ghosts, and it dissipated into a wisp of Darkness. Spinning back, Roman impaled another Trick Ghost on the other end of the lantern, causing it too to disappear. Snatcher and Mozenrath watched in awe as Roman strategically took out each Ghost – sometimes two or three at a time – with only the lantern. At one point, three of the ghosts managed to grab the lantern and snap it in half, wrenching it away from Roman; Roman countered by grabbing the second lantern and using it to sweep them all into the wall.

At last, there were no more Trick Ghosts left. Roman wiped his brow, then removed his jacket to show off a black tank and arms glistening with sweat underneath. "I am VERY hot right now," he remarked. "Not to mention that between all that fighting I just did and the fire in the middle of the room, the temperature is pretty high."

Snatcher made no comment, though he was certainly thinking a few things.

"Amusing," Mozenrath groaned. "Now we need to get to work."

They exited the chamber of the flaming wheel, searching the adjacent shadowy caverns. Weapons were easy enough to come by; the poor man whose fate was to be prodded by spears forever was somewhat grateful that the mysterious trio had removed three of the weapons from his torture queue in order to wield them for themselves. Another particularly gruesome form of torture best not described obtained the group a sewing needle. One room contained a very angry chimaera with a shimmering golden mane; it soon found one chunk of its mane severed off before the trio disappeared into the next cavern. And thankfully, one of the prisoners of Tartarus happened to be a man so insecure in his masculinity that his "punishment" was to be repeatedly dressed in chiffon and painted with makeup; units of rouge, lipstick, and eyeshadow were immediately confiscated.

"You really can find ANYTHING down here, can't you?" Roman asked as he and Mozenrath stood outside the door of the flaming wheel cavern from which they'd originated. "Almost wonder if we'd be better off doing an extended supply run down here."

"As fun as it's been," Mozenrath pointed out, "sooner or later, we'd get caught, and they'd send something a little stronger than Emblem Heartless after us."

"Stand aside, boys." The voice that commanded this was high and lilting, touched with an accent that seemed to encompass most of Europe. One almost couldn't believe that this voice was coming from Archibald Snatcher. When he emerged into view, he was sporting a makeshift gown thrown together from the cloth from the holding cell. His face was elaborately painted, and his thinning dark hair hidden by a makeshift wig of thick golden locks obtained from the chimaera. "I've a Lord of the Dead to charm," he continued, giving a sly smirk.

Roman and Mozenrath stared in awe before Roman gave a low whistle of approval.

"Once you've made your getaway," Snatcher told his associates, "send me some sort of signal, and I shall come running."

"Actually, I've been thinking on it," Mozenrath ruminated, "and if everything works out…I think you'll know exactly when we leave."

...

Hades had a long scroll unrolled in his throne room, and he was poring over its fine print when he heard yet another ruckus coming up his stairway.

"Hades can't see you right now! He's busy!"

"You're not supposed to do that!"

"Eh…?" Hades looked up from the scroll, eyes on the door. "Pain. Panic. Maybe next time, you might wanna, I dunno, TURN INTO A MONSTER OR – "

When Snatcher gracefully stalked into the room, Hades forgot his sentence. "Or. Or. Or-or-or hhhhhhow can I help you today?" He shook his head. "Gah. You succubi almost get me every time, you know that?"

Succubus. Snatcher hadn't been expecting to be handed an identity right away. He went with it. "Oh, you know how we succubi are," he replied in a seductive coo. "I trust you know what I've come for?"

Hades sighed. "You want another pay raise, don't you? Listen, babe, it's in the works for your entire division. But the harpies have first dibs, get it?"

"Oh, but certainly…" Snatcher strode closer to Hades, putting out a hand, reaching up toward the god's face. "We can come to some sort of…agreement."

"I, uh, I…" Hades sputtered as he let Snatcher's long, graceful fingers stroke down his cheek and across his jaw line. A sound that might have been the growl of a chimaera sounded in the distance, but Hades ignored it. "Could you maybe…back off a bit?"

"Oh, dear, I do apologize, milord." Snatcher stepped back. "Sometimes I forget my boundaries." He did his best to look demure and apologetic.

"Hey, it comes with the territory of being a succubus," Hades said with a shrug.

It was at that moment that the diversion paid off. Had Hades been looking anywhere else but fixatedly upon Snatcher, he would have had his attention drawn to the enormous flaming wheel rolling past his window.

"Hang on," Hades said. "You just called me 'milord.'"
Snatcher froze, gulping audibly.

"You know, NONE of my employees EVER call me by the honorific anymore?" Hades went on. "Nice to hear for once. Refreshing. Though seriously, babe, you can call me 'Lord Hades.' Use the name."

"I will be certain to." The sultry, aggressive tone was back in Snatcher's feminine voice.

There was a sudden sound of an enormous CRASH.

"What was that?" Hades wondered out loud.

"Probably nothing, Lord Hades," Snatcher covered quickly.

The next sounds that Hades heard were screams. Specifically the screams of Pain and Panic. He couldn't make out their words, but at least one of those words was "FIRE!"

"That does NOT sound like nothing," Hades muttered as he stormed down to the courtyard of his palace.

Chains were another thing easily found in Tartarus. It had been Mozenrath's idea to chain the chimaera up to the wheel of flame. It had been Roman's idea to ride the chimaera. Hades rushed out to the courtyard to see the chimaera bounding around, dragging the wheel of fire behind it, setting anything that wasn't a rock aflame (Pain and Panic included). Mozenrath sat right up front behind the chimaera's neck, holding onto its mane for a grip. Roman sat directly behind him, and the moment he saw that Hades could see them, he let out a loud whoop.

"WHAT THE – " Hades stared in shock. Then he whipped around to face Snatcher: "WERE YOU TRYING TO DISTRACT ME FROM THI – "

Snatcher was already gone.

The chimaera was on a direct course for a tunnel up and out of the Underworld. Mozenrath tugged its mane to slow it just enough that Snatcher could catch up. Roman leaned over the side, offering a hand. Snatcher caught hold, and Roman tried and failed to haul him onboard the chimaera – Mozenrath had to grab hold of Snatcher's other hand in order to get him atop the beast, settled in behind Roman. The chimaera sped up, making a beeline out.

Hades looked back to see all the walls that the chimaera and the flame wheel had blown through, leaving damage it would take weeks to repair. He flared up immediately.

"Meltdown in three," Roman counted down. "Two…"

"GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Hades' scream sounded from behind them.

"Aaaaaand there it is," Roman remarked with a smirk.

Hades gave a whistle. The massive jet-black and three-headed hellhound Cerberus bounded into view. "GET THEM!" Hades yelled, pointing after the runaway chimaera.

"Not to alarm you," Snatcher called up to Mozenrath, "but Lord Hades is releasing the hounds on us!"

"Then release the chains," Mozenrath said in a tone that sounded calm. In fact, he was having one of the most fun times of his life.

Roman and Snatcher quickly undid the hasty knot that bound the chains to the chimaera, and the firey wheel of punishment went rolling right backward. None looked back to see what happened when it impacted Cerberus, but they did hear three distinct doggy howls of pain.

Trick Ghosts swarmed up and around the chimaera as it made its way into the last leg of the tunnel; a light was ahead. Roman had been hanging onto Snatcher's extra spear (as well as his clothes), and gave the weapon back. Mozenrath took up his own spear. The trio hacked and stabbed at the Trick Ghosts until no more came to hinder their progress.

The moment the chimaera burst into the light of the realm of the living, Mozenrath felt his aura charge up with magic, almost as if the sun itself was powering him. "First things first…" He waved his hand in a circular motion in the air.

Roman and Snatcher felt the sudden rush of gaining corporeal forms: an absolutely indescribable feeling that they could never compare to anything else in their lives (or afterlives).

"He can't get mad at me for half-baking this one," Mozenrath chuckled to himself. "Well, it looks like you two are hired. For our second order of business, I'm taking you on a tour of the office."

He opened up a Corridor of Darkness on the chimaera's back, behind Snatcher. "Ladies first," he teased.

Snatcher stood, somewhat wobbly, before stepping right through the portal. Roman followed not long after. Mozenrath was the final to leave, almost slipping right off the bounding monster and quite glad no one was around to see him do it.

As the portal closed, the chimaera sped off to attack an unsuspecting Greek village. The incident would require the assistance of Hercules and a rather large cleanup crew before the day was done.

...

Mozenrath's Corridor opened beneath the black skies of the Land of the Black Sands, depositing first Snatcher, then Roman, then Mozenrath himself in the middle of a town square. Ghostly mists flowed throughout the mostly abandoned city.

"Welcome to the Land of the Black Sands," Mozenrath introduced, stepping out and extending his right hand dramatically to point to it all. "To the west, you'll see the Citadel. All around, you'll see an empire that is one hundred percent mine. And up above, you'll see the crystal…"

He trailed off. One of the great blue crystals he'd installed on poles strategically placed throughout the kingdom, the one that monitored this square, was glowing brightly against the jet black night.

"Is it supposed to be doing that?" Roman asked.

"I set those crystals up to detect magic," Mozenrath explained. "Now, it could just be activating because I'm here, or…"

He gave the immediate area a sweep. Every single crystal was lit up.

"Something's wrong," Mozenrath announced.

"Wrong how?" Snatcher asked.

"Wrong as in we've been invaded," Mozenrath clarified.

Fortuitously, Xerxes came speeding around the corner. "MOZENRATH!" he blurted before flinching; he had been keeping quiet for a reason.

"Xerxes," Mozenrath demanded. "What's going on here?"

"Maleficent come looking for Mozenrath," Xerxes hissed. "Maleficent remember Mozenrath say he from Black Sand. Jafar remember Mozenrath say he from this world. Mamluks all taken by Maleficent. Heartless all around waiting for you!"

Mozenrath's head snapped right up so he was staring up at the elevated hill where his Citadel was situated. For the first time, he saw it: a pair of Guard Armor Heartless standing at the gates. Other Heartless of the Armor variety were patrolling the Citadel perimeter.

"What are those things?" Snatcher hissed. "Machines?"

"Weird colored Grimm?" Roman guessed.

"Heartless," Mozenrath explained. "They're like the Ghosts that attacked us in the Underworld. There's a long and complicated explanation, but all you need to know is that they're magical creatures made of pure Darkness, and they don't like you."

The sound of large metal feet clanking along the street gave Mozenrath pause. Then he darted toward the door of the nearest empty house, beckoning Xerxes, Roman and Snatcher after him. The eel, the crime boss, and the exterminator all hurried through the door to get to the safety of the walls. They peered out the window to see a Guard Armor clank its way through the town square, making a quick survey before moving on.

"She took my kingdom," Mozenrath seethed, clenching his fist; a blue glow was surrounding it.

"Well, obviously this place isn't safe anymore," Roman whispered. "Got any backup plans?"

"She took my KINGDOM," Mozenrath repeated. "I'm going to take it back from her."

"Mozenrath, no!" Xerxes hissed.

"Is this 'Maleficent' who you were speaking to before you were thrown into a holding cell in the Underworld?" Snatcher asked.

"Yes…" Mozenrath answered.

"Right," Snatcher replied. "Then by all means, let's definitely take three meager spears and go to face her directly while she's got this many giant magical creatures overrunning your kingdom. That can't backfire in any way, now, can it?"

"I don't need your sarcasm," Mozenrath sighed.

"But you do need a backup plan," Roman insisted.

Mozenrath hated to admit that his new cohorts were right. Maleficent had him outgunned. And as much as his instincts said to fight, logically, if he wanted to survive, he had to run. "I have a backup plan," he muttered. "I scoped out a few worlds before approaching Maleficent. And it just so happens that there is one small kingdom that's already under my control. It's nowhere near as impressive as this one, but it will make a decent base until we can get on track." He gritted his teeth.

"Then," Snatcher suggested, watching another Guard Armor clank into the square, "I suggest we make haste elsewhere."

As Mozenrath opened up another Corridor, realization hit Snatcher. "Hold on. Did you say this place was on another WORLD?"

"Just GO, Archie," Roman hissed.

"Don't call me that" were Snatcher's last words before he entered the portal. Roman followed him, then Mozenrath, and finally Xerxes.

As the portal closed, the Guard Armor's head inclined slightly toward the house, but it decided there was nothing there and moved on ahead.

...

Mozenrath, Snatcher, Roman, and Xerxes reappeared on another world entirely. They were underground, with an enormous cavernous roof overhead. Then again, to say the cavern was enormous didn't truly do it justice. The trio plus eel stood on a white balcony in a subterranean metropolis that stretched out almost as far as the eye could see. Beyond it, on the horizon, other environments were visible, in striking colors: magma red, deep midnight blue, snowy white – and all underground.

"Welcome to Mt. Ebott," Mozenrath said, stepping back and gesturing with his gauntlet to introduce his second kingdom that day. "It's no Black Sands, but it is all mine. Right now, we're in New Home: the capital and cultural center. Below us is CORE, which has all the technology you could ever want. And if you can't find it in CORE, there will be a laboratory that has it in the Hotlands."

"Good," Roman sighed. "Because I have a very particular weapon that I need recreated."

"Beyond that are the lands of Waterfall and Snowdin," Mozenrath went on to explain. "Grand, open spaces for us to do whatever we want."

"Open…" Snatcher's eyes were on the streets below. "I'll bet."

"Is something wrong?" Mozenrath raised a brow at Snatcher.

"Oh, no, nothing." Snatcher gave a wave of the hand as though to dismiss the idea that anything was wrong. "By the way, where are your subjects?"

Mozenrath didn't answer.

"Your subjects," Snatcher clarified. "The people in this kingdom over whom you rule." His smirk was a metaphorical mile wide.

"Well…" Mozenrath scratched at the back of his head. "This world is a…special case. This kingdom was once a prison for a large part of the population on the surface. A magical barrier kept various monsters down here, and they made a home for themselves. Then, when the barrier was broken, they all left for the surface world…not knowing they were leaving their old kingdom right for the taking." He slapped on a smirk.

"So you just took a ditched kingdom nobody else wanted," Roman reiterated.

"No," Mozenrath tried to deny.

"You didn't CONQUER anything!" Roman went on. "You just walked into an EMPTY CITY and put up a flag!"

"Not even a flag," Snatcher said disparagingly with a click of the tongue.

"I TOOK WHAT I COULD GET," Mozenrath emphasized. "Stay with me, and we'll take bigger and better than this. We WILL get kingdoms with ACTUAL SUBJECTS. For now, you wanted a safe place to hide, and this is it. This is where you're going to get better weapons and better clothes. The locals had magic food that doesn't spoil, too, so you get food AND shelter. I don't see why you're COMPLAINING."

Snatcher sighed, rolling his eyes. "Quite right," he admitted. "It's better than being pursued by those enormous…THINGS back in the Black Sands. And a good deal better than being dead. Especially when we weren't supposed to be dead in the first place."

"I'll drink to that," Roman agreed. "Is there anywhere to get a drink around here?"

"There have to be a hundred bars in New Home alone," Mozenrath told him proudly.

"Then I'll stop complaining," Roman resolved.

"Just wait." Mozenrath strode to the edge of the balcony, overlooking the city and all the empty lands beyond. "Soon…we will have so much more." He felt more confident in that fact than ever.