A/N: Trigger warning upcoming for depression and suicidal ideation. In happier news, the song you're going to want to know for this one is "Chase the Morning" from Repo! The Genetic Opera.
...
Judging by the smells of the freshly-cooked food, the clanking of silverware, and the presence of all seven of his co-founders, Mozenrath felt safe saying "I think we can declare this Strategic Brunch Meeting a success. An apt name in more ways than one, considering how much strategy it took to get us all here at the same time."
"It's almost disgraceful to know how long ago some of you were still in bed," the Huntsman sighed.
"It's actually disgusting to know how long ago some of you were up and about," Roman replied.
"Pass the salt?" Yzma asked.
Mim handed her a shaker.
"This is pepper," Yzma said dryly.
"What did you expect?" Mim then began chortling.
"Sugar," Yzma replied. "I expected you to have switched the salt out with SUGAR. I need it for my coffee. How are you telling me you stopped at handing me pepper instead of going for the actual biggest inconvenience you could've caused?"
That struck Mim silent. She stared dead ahead, seemingly wondering what she'd let herself become.
"Well, we're well into the 'brunch' part," Aghoul pointed out. "Shall we discuss strategy?"
"We just sat down," Wuya sighed. "We don't have to launch right into work."
"I wholeheartedly disagree!" Mozenrath thudded several packets of paper onto the table. "After all, you're all skilled at multitasking."
There was a chorus of groans as he magically passed the packets around. One for each attendee.
"Well organized, if nothing else…" Snatcher flipped through the papers, noting the bullet points for discussion.
Mozenrath reached over and slammed Snatcher's papers onto the tabletop. "No peeking. Some of my best dramatic reveals are in there, after all."
Mozenrath then stood before the others: "We're in our final recruitment drive. But also in need of a few crucial pieces to the puzzle before we can launch the invasion that changes our status quo. After consultation with Commander Peepers, who we have to thank for this excellent meal, I of course came up with the idea of syncretizing the more practical missions with the round-ups of our last teams.
"Each of you has been assigned one mission as well as a list of assigned recruits. You can pull the recruits in at your own pace – I'm sure each of their skillsets will come in handy in trying to reach your overarching goal. Your packets have been personalized to detail your mission as well as your list of recruits. Let's start with George, known to most of us as the Huntsman. As you know from the copious amounts of paperwork I've shared with you, Vexen wants to accelerate the replica project to the next level. The target he has in mind is a…unique case. The data he'll need for it is currently stored in the databanks of a high-tech suit of armor that's been, well, shall we say…lost. The way to find it is through a gauntlet of battle and skill. No difficult task for you, of course. Fight your way to the top, get the armor back, and deliver it."
"Did you just say 'gauntlet of battle and skill'?" Aghoul chuckled. "I think we'll make a gimmick punster of you yet."
"NO," Mozenrath snapped. "That was an ACCIDENT."
The Huntsman looked over the details in his packet, nodding. "This does not seem difficult, especially with the recruits you have assigned."
"Oh, and one more little thing," Mozenrath told him. "I was going to pick up the reality-shifting sands myself…but it's just across the way from someone I want in YOUR corner. So I'll be sending you along with the proper payment."
"Duly noted," the Huntsman replied.
"Onto Yzma," Mozenrath said. "You, I want to send after a special resource. On the world where Mim and Aghoul bested Morgana and picked up Irmaplotz, there's a well-hidden airborne archipelago that happens to contain every type of magic known to that world, each with a different isle dedicated to it. In the right hands, it becomes a veritable armory. I have some preliminary ideas for what we could use from it. You're going to plant a flag into it. Though I'd watch out for the local law enforcement. They call themselves 'Protectors,' and they can be, well, sticks in the mud."
"Joy," Yzma sighed. "Then again…" She traced over the map of the isles that Mozenrath had included for her. "This does look like a suitable grounds to begin with a new Yzmopolis…"
"And yes," Mozenrath told her. "Redecorate however you want. But the magic belongs to us. And when I say 'us,' I of course mean me."
Yzma nodded. "Duly noted."
"Wuya!" Mozenrath continued. "You get a more personal touch. I have a couple of missions here dedicated to putting an actual dent in the Overtakers to show we mean business. So I asked myself: who on their team would be the most delicious for one of us to bring down? And the answer was obvious. You're going to kill Ganondorf."
"That's it?" Wuya snickered. "That's not a chore. That's a vacation."
"But on that note," Mozenrath went on, "I'm still admittedly angry about the Tesseract. Not at any of you anymore – well, not much. But the fact that Loki decided to stand against us, to guard his treasures from us, AFTER ALL THE RESPECT I'VE PAID HIM IN WORSHIP OVER THE YEARS – "
"Why was your pre-George type just the worst men?" Wuya asked.
"The Mukhtar isn't the worst," Mim added.
"And the unicorn – " Aghoul began.
"WASN'T A MAN," Mozenrath finished for him. "WE GET IT. I MET SOMEONE WHO LIKED ARCANE KNOWLEDGE AND MISTOOK SHARED INTEREST FOR ATTRACTION. THE JOKE CAN DIE NOW."
"Well, if the joke is DEAD," Aghoul teased, "then for me, that means it's still kicking!"
Mozenrath looked like he was going to explode. "You…get…Asgard. Your…mission…is to get…revenge…on Loki. I don't…care…how. Just make…him…pay."
"Ooh, this is going to be a fun one!" Aghoul crowed. "And you've given me such a macabre assemblage as well!"
"Mim!" Mozenrath quickly turned to her. "We have other enemies who need to be sent a message. Overtakers are one. I have that covered on two fronts. But you know who could REALLY use a wake-up call?"
"Those goody-goody heroes!" Mim beamed.
"EXACTLY!" Mozenrath beamed right back. "And where better to strike than the happiest place in the multiverse? You're going to Disney Castle. Do as many murders as you want – which I guess would mean genocide on the whole town – but what I REALLY want you to come back with is proof that the Cornerstone of Light has been DESTROYED. Once and for all. Allowing us unrestricted access to the castle should the need arise."
"I'll bring back half the shards and scatter the rest!" Mim crowed. "I suppose that's why you've given me so many nonmagical types. To get past that barrier."
"Well," Mozenrath admitted, "that and…your assigned list is some of the more…volatile of the prospects. You're the one I trust to wrangle them."
"GOODY!" Mim clicked her heels under the table.
"Roman!" Mozenrath proceeded. "Garfield and Ragdoll brought back intelligence that the Seekers of Darkness have attempted to bait us to Glenwood. Which means that's exactly where they want us. Which means in turn that I HAVE TO FIND OUT WHAT'S THERE, NO MATTER WHAT IT IS."
"I am wholeheartedly agreed with you on that," Roman replied.
"Even though it's an obvious trap?" Wuya deadpanned.
"Then wouldn't you like to know EXACTLY what kind of shit they can have set up for us?" Roman urged. "Whatever's in Glenwood could just be the prototype. Do you really wanna walk in without that intel?"
"I knew Roman would agree that there's a benefit to walking into an obvious trap," Mozenrath went on, "which is why I knew he'd be a perfect fit for this mission."
"Not a big fan of the implications there." Roman flipped a page. "Also, WHY DID YOU GIVE ME ALL THE FUCKING FURRIES?"
"I just tailored each recruit list to the team captain," Mozenrath answered. "Your assigned list matches your skillset and personality."
Roman raised a brow at him.
"And also your little shootout with Rémington in the hall outside my apartment was a cacophony I could've lived without," Mozenrath said flatly. "Enjoy your Faunus!"
"Shoulda known…" Roman's visible eye rolled.
"Which brings us to Mr. Snatcher," Mozenrath went on. "While I'm largely looking at magical power sources, there is one alternate method of energy that interests me. A device called a 'qwaza,' which converts musical energy into raw power. The world I'm sending you to runs exclusively on these devices, and music is a cultural cornerstone of it. I want you to bring me back a decently-sized qwaza, and I think you know how you're going to get it."
"Through performance and persuasion!" Snatcher realized. "A city of music? I'm certain I can bring the whole populace to its knees with a single song!"
"As for me," Mozenrath concluded, "I'm going after another of the more magical power sources. On the isle of Neverland, there's a particular tree that's home to all of the resident pixies. Once every eight years, a harvest moon shines upon it, and the locals collect its light to make a pixie dust variant ten times more powerful than the original. To translate to the non-magically-inclined, in our hands, it would be a nuclear bomb. Now, the harvest moon night is still a ways off by Neverland time – most of you will probably be wrapping up your goals – but I wanted to oversee the blue dust collection personally. And that concludes assignments. Any questions before I proceed to specifics of how you're going to operate in the field?"
"Yes," Aghoul said. "Can I bring Mim on mine?"
"No," Mozenrath told him, "because I gave her a mission too. You heard me tell it to her. Just now."
"Can I go with Ghoulie on his mission instead?" Mim asked. "Don't get me wrong, causing madness and mayhem in Disney Town is a dream come true, but it'll feel so empty without someone to share it with."
"I gave you two separate missions," Mozenrath said through gritted teeth. "Stick. To. Them."
"I have a question." Wuya put up her hand. "Sending us each out on our own seems boring AND dangerous."
"That's not a question," Mozenrath told her.
"Oh, I apologize." She cleared her throat, then merely changed the inflection of her sentence: "Sending us each out on our own seems boring and dangerous?"
"Especially for Roman Torchwick," Yzma brought up. "You're REALLY going to just send him to trip an obvious trap BY HIMSELF?"
"Hey now!" Roman snapped. "I'm not completely incompetent!"
"How're the wounds from being trapped in that thorn tangle healing?" Wuya teased.
"Wha – " Roman flinched. "Who TOLD you?"
"Setzer Gabbiani," Wuya replied.
"WHEN?" Roman yelled.
"This morning when I stopped by the shop," Wuya teased.
"I ALREADY PAID HIM THE HUSH MONEY TO NOT MENTION THAT!" Roman groaned. "Well, I've just been suckered."
"Though really," Snatcher countered, "if there's anyone we've got to worry about, it's Miss Yzma. Always running into every pitfall and pratfall there is to be run into."
"You KNOW what – " Yzma's voice raised. Then she paused, holding completely still. Then she relaxed; "Yeah, no, I can't argue with that one."
"May I propose an alternate plan of action?" Snatcher suggested.
"No," Mozenrath told him.
"Rather than eight concurrent missions run by a single team captain," Snatcher said, "I should think we'd be better served by two rounds of four, each run by a pair of captains. Divided of course by those of us who are currently romantically involved. Each will pool their missions and complete both in succession. That at least gives strength in numbers even before the recruits are dragged into it. After all, who knows how competent they'll be in practice? And did I not hear you say your own mission wouldn't begin until the others had ended, Lord Mozenrath? Would it not then make more sense to join another – say, Mr. Liu – on his mission first? Or would you rather have it remembered that you merely laid about while the rest of us broke our backs for this project of yours?"
"You say that like I have a conscience," Mozenrath grumbled.
"No," Wuya reminded him, "but you DO have an ego, and I know you want those bragging rights."
"If I may," the Huntsman reminded him, "you had wished to oversee the purchase of the sands personally. I recognize the honor you have given me in trusting me with the delivery, but would it not slay two dragons with one spear if you and I were to return to Knockturn Alley together to make that purchase as well as the collection of my first apprentice?"
"Wh – no!" Mozenrath sputtered. "I thought this out to the last detail! You can't just change my plans!"
"Mozenrath," Yzma sighed, "do I REALLY need to remind you what happens every time we plan anything out to the last detail?"
"It goes wrong," Aghoul clarified. "Horribly, terribly, MORBIDLY wrong."
"You need to learn more flexibility!" Mim teased, temporarily turning her arms loose as rubber and waggling them to make a point.
"Okay, stop that," Roman told her. "It's creepy."
"Mozenrath…" The Huntsman sighed. "You may argue if you wish, and I shall undertake my own task alone. The others, you know well you cannot dissuade from doing as they please."
"Darn right," Wuya confirmed.
"But I must reiterate the point," the Huntsman went on. "With no backup plan installed in case of failure…assuming everyone is wholly competent…then you set us up for that very failure."
Mozenrath twitched. "Are you saying we should double up because I'm INCOMPETENT?"
"No," the Huntsman replied. He sighed. He hadn't wanted to admit this, but it seemed to be the only way to push the argument. "I am saying that it has already been proven that I am not half as strong on my own as I am with another. You will not fail your mission. But while I would not like to think it is likely…" Here came the painful part, but not as painful as trying to convince Mozenrath to admit anything similar. "That I may very well fail mine. Accompany me and you can guarantee my success."
Mozenrath thought it over. "Flattery. I know that's what you're doing. Still and all…you do have a point. I'd KNOW that armor would be retrieved if I came along to supervise. All right, I'll relent. Two waves of four missions each. Mim and Aghoul are partners, Roman and Snatcher, Wuya and Yzma. And from there out, I'll be concentrating on George's and my own task list, so all I can really do is hope you'll all behave. And I already know, having said that, that at LEAST two of you won't."
Mim and Aghoul raised their hands to confirm this.
"Can we move on now?" Mozenrath asked. "Because this is going to fall flat if you're not properly equipped. I've put some hard work into a few…trinkets that'll make your lives easier. So any more objections – "
Mim opened her mouth to speak.
"Objections that are ON TOPIC – " Mozenrath went on.
Mim folded her arms, drooped onto the table, and pouted.
"Before we move on?" Mozenrath looked around the table quickly. "No? Nothing? Good. Let's keep going. I'm sure you've realized that even before the double-up, I was going to send several of you who didn't have the power to Corridor across the multiverse. And no, I wasn't going to leave you to the mercy of the skimmers. I think we all know Snatcher would just crash his anyway. No, I've come up with an alternative."
Four devices that resembled wristwatches were levitated over the table, heading to Yzma, the Huntsman, Snatcher, and Roman.
"These are upgrades to Zorg's teleporter," Mozenrath explained. "Now with a magitech fusion. They'll allow you to teleport as though you were using a Corridor. Not to mention the Side-Along capability – if you're touching anyone or anything at the time that isn't the ground or floor of the world you're on, you'll bring it with you. Now, there's a single safety protocol I need to go over with this device – NO ARGUMENTS, ROMAN; YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS. Now, you've probably all heard me say this, but you DON'T teleport to a location on the same world you're already on if you haven't been there before. Teleportation requires knowing your destination and being able to visualize it in your mind. If all you have is the vague area or the coordinates, and not a good idea of the obstacles that'll be there, odds are high you'll fuse yourself with a wall by accident. Smaller objects and living beings, these can compensate for, with the exception of sizeable trees. But KNOW WHERE THE WALLS ARE before you go anywhere. If you can't remember what a room looks like, play it safe and go by foot."
"Wait," Yzma realized. "That doesn't make any sense. How do we get from world to entire world without that danger?"
"Inter-world teleportation is different," Mozenrath told her. "When you arrive from another world, you automatically get directed to a point that's an intersection of that world's ley lines, or the veins of its earthpulse. Wherever two or more cross, it creates what's known colloquially among sorcerers as a 'Safe Point.' To the naked eye, they're not usually visible, but once you know what you're looking for, or if you're steeped enough in the right magic, they'll look something like this."
He drew a horizontal circle in the air, and it lit up, forming a bright green glow.
"Though they can also look like this – " Mozenrath waved a hand, changing it to a pair of greenish light comets chasing each other's tails. "Or this – " Now it looked more like a crest of light floating above two glowing rings. "Or this – " It appeared to be almost a compass made of light. "Or this – " The circle was shimmering blue. "Or this, this, this, this, this – " So many circles and designs of light and color demonstrated themselves before Mozenrath called the whole display off. "Depending on the world's natural aura. Don't get hung up on it. All it means is that if you're going from one celestial entity to another celestial entity, vague notions are fine. But if you're already ON the world, and you're thinking of fast-traveling, you'd better be able to visualize the end point. Oh, and finally on that subject, if at any time the teleporters take you to a version of one of the North or South Poles without you wanting them to, you are absolutely allowed to sue Zorg and I'll set up the trial proceedings."
"That'd be a fun way to spend an afternoon," Mim mused.
"Now, the other little shortcut I've given you is these." Mozenrath produced a bag, emptying it out onto the table. Numerous stones fell out – perfectly spherical, but black and pockmarked like volcanic pumice. "Some of your recruits, to be frank, are dead. I'm the only one out of the eight of us who can necromance. These are one-time-use stones that will allow a non-necromancer to call a soul back to life and give it a physical body that resembles what it had before death. Just throw one in the nearest body of water, picture who you want, say their name, and they'll rise from the water as the stone dissolves. Your amount of free resurrections is limited to the stones you take, so use them wisely."
"So it's basically a bath bomb," Wuya told him.
"…How is it a bath bomb?" Mozenrath asked.
"It dissolves in water," Wuya went on. "It's the exact function of a bath bomb."
"Last time I checked…" Mozenrath twitched. "Bath bombs didn't have the ability to RAISE THE DEAD!"
"I say we call them 'death bombs,'" Aghoul suggested.
Mozenrath let out a loud groan. "ANYWAY, if you throw a DESIGNATED NECROMANCY STONE into the water and you don't get who you want, then they're either alive or they're somewhere you're going to have to do a more complex ritual or a breakout to get them back from the dead. Yzma, there's a name starred on your list for that EXACT reason. Yours too, Mim. Anyway, ANY MORE QUESTIONS should be answered by the packets. And of course George gets the privilege of traveling with the person who made the plan."
"So can we finish brunch?" Mim asked.
"Didn't you hear, dear?" Aghoul teased. "Any other questions will be answered in the packet. Why not consult that?"
"Righty," Roman teased, "you didn't make a contingency plan for if we could go back to eating after you gave the speech. How could you overlook that?"
Mozenrath slumped into his seat, head pitching forth to rest on a bare section of table. "You are all INCREDIBLY lucky that I like you."
...
Things in the basement laboratories were decidedly more tense. It would've been one thing if Vexen and Randall were quietly not speaking to each other. But they'd decided to give each other the silent treatment very loudly, with stamping feet, errant hands knocking things off each other's tables, and scoffing sighs whenever the two had to cross paths.
Making things all the more volatile was when Ravess came back to pick up the things she'd tended to leave in the basement from visiting so much. There was more stamping, more invasion of laboratory stations, and one outburst from her when she found out that one of her violas had been smashed and no one would admit to having done it. The other two didn't dignify her rant with any kind of response.
Eventually, it got so bad that the other frequent laboratory users gathered up in the engineering wing for a conference.
"I'm just worried about them," Drakken urged. "Especially Vexen, of course, since we're friends and all, but…if things keep going on like this, it might end in murder."
"Yeah, not big on that," Shego added.
"Well, somethin's gotta give here," Zorg grumbled. "Those three are bein' so disruptive I can't think two thoughts in a logical order. Unless you want my next weapon line to start being gun barrels taped onto sword hilts backward, we'd better find a way to clear this up."
"I mean, we could just let them kill each other," Irmaplotz said. "We can resurrect them."
"No can do," Herb replied. "That'd just make it worse. SO much worse."
"Then we let them come to blows," Otto suggested, "and offer NO aid. The one who stands last is the one we keep."
"Wow." Zevon rolled his eyes. "Simply put, WOW. I knew that WHAM ARMY members were supposed to be cruelous and vivicious, but that's a new low, even for you."
"Look," Herb sighed, "I might not know any of them all that well, but if we lose two of them, I'll be sad. Just putting that out there."
"And I need Ravess to start hanging out down here again," Shego argued. "Because I like her, but I also like the couch. I don't want to have to choose between her and the couch. She needs to come back down here and talk to me while I'm firmly seated on that couch, doing another round of personality quizzes."
"That is INCREDIBLY valid," Deymos told her.
"So what about trying to get them all to make up?" Jack Spicer asked. "Don't things like locking them all in the same room or forcing them to fight a common enemy usually bring out that friendship stuff?"
"The trick is figuring out one of those where they don't just kill each other," Irmaplotz replied. "Of course, Otto wants that, apparently."
"I never said I WANTED it," Otto sighed. "I was posing a logical solution. I am somewhat attached to Vexen at least. The others remain to be seen, but have potential."
"I mean," Zorg pointed out, "all else fails, I just put in a bid for my own little sequestered fortress of solitude. Soundproof. Problem solved on my end."
"Have you no HEART?" Herb pleaded.
"No," Zorg replied. "Unless you're askin' in the context of all those glowy-eye shadow things with the little twitchy antlers, in which case, I'm not one of THOSE."
"Yet," Zevon huffed.
"If we're really going by logic here," Irmaplotz went on, "enough of us want this conflict to resolve peacefully and get our friends back that it'd make more sense to do that than to make it worse or leave it alone at this point."
"Hear hear," Drakken said. "I don't really want this rift to get any wider. Octopus, Zorg, you two are going to either pitch in or butt out. No death battles and no private soundproof labs. Well, no private soundproof lab for Zorg right here and now to solve this problem, anyhow. Maybe private soundproof labs for all of us later down the line for efficiency purposes because that doesn't sound like a bad idea."
"It'd kill the community vibe, though," Herb sighed.
"Yeah, the community vibe is sorta wrecking the entire lab right now," Shego reminded him.
"So what can we do?" Irmaplotz asked. "Obviously some wacky scheme that gets them to realize that they like each other enough platonically that it doesn't matter that one of them cheated on the other's long-term relationship with the third and then dumped them both after the third guy aired his bedroom life in order to get an ego boost. Yes, I heard how insurmountable that sounded as a sentence out loud, but if it stays in my head, I PROMISE it sounds more reasonable."
"I refuse to let reasonablility stand in my way!" Zevon crowed. "No problem is insurmountingable if you don't BELIEVE it is!"
"How naïve," Otto sighed.
"Soooooo…" Deymos shifted. "I dunno what we're gonna do about the adulterer duo, but I…kinda have an idea for a way to cheer Vex up after all that. Maybe put him in a better mood and open his mind to things."
"Did you just say you were gonna try and put Vexen in a good mood?" Irmaplotz asked.
"No," Deymos corrected. "I said a BETTER mood. Trust me, I know what I'm working with. I've got this idea for a kind of…road trip vacation we could take. Believe me, once he knows what I've got, he'll bite. I get him out of the lab, we have a little fun, and we're that much closer to this all blowing over."
"Hmm." Drakken thought it over. "On one hand, you were able to break through to him before during the whole 'exposure therapy' incident. On the other, you wouldn't be going to all this trouble if there wasn't something in it for you."
"Does that MATTER?" Deymos protested. "So I get something I want. And he gets something he wants and you get what you want. I believe that's called a 'win-win-win.' Do my ulterior motives really have to come into play here?"
"Just for the sake of the gossip," Zorg asked, "what are those motives, exactly?" He grinned with anticipation.
"Oh, I thought he could help me get a backstock of nunya business and secure me a political foothold in Notaboutya," Deymos snarked.
"Good luck getting the truth out of him," Shego groaned.
"We had a hard enough time getting the first Demyx to be honest," Irmaplotz sighed. "At least this one's admitting to it."
"Trust me," Deymos urged. "It's a lie of omission. But I really can get Vex back on his feet. Same as I've been doing in Twilight Town. That gets him out of your hair, and all you have to do is work with the other two. Take recon at least so we have a game plan."
"And how do we know we can trust you to bring Vexen back unharmed?" Otto asked. "Perhaps your endgame goal is to cut him off from the WHAM ARMY entirely and leave a gaping hole in our scientific division."
"Trust me," Deymos said, softly yet confidently. "I wouldn't hurt him. You're just gonna have to believe that."
"Well, I think we need a little extra insurance before I can believe that," Drakken grunted. "For example, a chaperone to make sure you don't pull any funny business."
"Who'd you have in mind?" Deymos asked.
Drakken pointed to a nearby chair.
"…Okay," Deymos replied. "I'm sure this is some kind of insult to my intelligence, like 'Deymos is so stupid, a chair could watch – '"
The chair unfolded and sprang into shape as something more humanoid. Tsumugi's swishing skirt and long blue locks cascaded into place.
"WHAT THE – " Deymos flinched away, which took about three seconds for him to fully complete.
"I've been upgraded after Discord tore me apart!" Tsumugi said eagerly. "Now I can cosplay as even more obscure characters, like mecha or anthro! Or pretend to be a chair, which I suppose is the best fit for someone as plain as me."
"Sweetie, we've been over this," Drakken told her. "You're a beautiful young woman, and anyone who doesn't see that is shallow as can be."
Tsumugi folded her arms and pouted. "You don't know what you're talking about. But I don't want to argue about my ugliness that we all know about."
"So, um…speaking as a taken guy who's not interested," Jack pointed out, "do you…you do know you're actually really pretty, right?"
"Speaking as the girl he's taken by and who is also not interested and pretty sure she's not into girls," Irmaplotz added, "he's absolutely right on that one."
"Please don't try and flatter me," Tsumugi huffed.
"Yeah, she's in denial big-time," Shego noted.
"With today's beauty standards for young women?" Drakken added. "I'm hardly surprised."
"Anyway," Tsumugi went on, "I would be honored to watch over your mission with Vexen and make sure you don't hurt him or cut him off from the team! As Chameleon-Bot, I can keep a close eye on you and record any evidence of suspicious behavior!"
"And I'm not PLANNING on any suspicious behavior," Deymos assured, "so cool. You're on board. I bet you could cheer him up a lot more too. Or, y'know, the Vexen equivalent of being cheery. Now, all we gotta do is wait for the replica unveiling."
It didn't take long for that to happen. Randall finished up the door frame he'd been working on, an exact copy of a wood-and-glass door from the back stockrooms in a shop in Knockturn Alley, and had to depart in order to place it where Mozenrath wanted it. Because of course it wasn't actually going to act as the route to Knockturn Alley, and no one could figure out what kind of complicated maneuver Mozenrath was planning with it. Once the floor was clear, Vexen strode out to announce that "My creations have been completed. Come and look upon the newest advancements in replica technology."
He'd brought with him two all-new lifeforms, faces that definitely hadn't been seen aboard the warship before. One of them was definitely human: a boy on the older side of teenage, his soft pale hair gathered into a tiny ponytail and his skin almost worryingly just a few hues lighter than it. He was clothed in a white sweater and taupe pants, with a leather breastplate and knee pads indicating he'd been designed to function in battle.
The other was anything but human: a hunched, rather stout creature resembling a bird with no visible wings and instead a pair of clawed hands. His elongated face ended in a sharp beak. Despite his bad posture, he was still very tall, meeting the height of the adult humans in the room. His wrinkled, deep-purple skin was offset by an array of sparkling red robes.
"I present to you the pinnacle of my creations," Vexen explained. "This boy, Simon Laurent, was officially deceased. However, with a perfect record of his memories, I was able to restore him perfectly to the last cell. He is designed to act as an operative for reconnaissance."
Simon seemed preoccupied with his right hand, which looked like a normal hand. And it seemed that was the problem. "Great," he huffed. "All that work for nothing."
"In Simon's realm," Vexen explained, "a sort of extradimensional train that tallied sins versus good deeds, physical bodies were marked by tallies of the evils they committed. Simon wore his misdeeds as a badge of honor – a flagrant disregard for the system of the train, which attempted to condition him otherwise. A perfect fit for our operation, I should say. And don't worry, Simon. I've taken your love of the tally into account. Go ahead and damage something in this laboratory."
Simon, who apparently still had a lot of pent-up rage from his life before replication, immediately grabbed a flask off Otto's station and hurled it at the wall as hard as he could. There it shattered.
"Was that truly necessary?" Otto sighed.
Simon felt a twitch on his palm. A familiar, comforting sensation. He raised the hand to see a bright green "1" etched on it in living light.
"YES!" His eyes lit up. "I've got my number back! Of course, it's nowhere near where it WAS…"
"In time," Vexen told him. "The tally system I worked into your epidermis will only count upward the things you do that could be categorized as…immoral. It will not count back down with any redemption. You may bask in the fruits of your labor. As an added bonus, should the numbers cover your entire skin and hit their maximum, they will then condense into scientific notation and take up considerably less space, leaving a lifetime of room to fill."
"And you WANT me to drive it up?" Simon beamed – then immediately scowled. "Why should I do what you WANT me to do?"
"You will have certain orders," Vexen told him. "But many of the decisions that decide your tally will belong to you. I merely encourage you to let your spirit take flight. As for why you should obey what orders you do receive…I believe you initially had no qualms acting in the name of a Conductor. Amelia Hughes."
"She wasn't it," Simon insisted. "She was just a fake! Just like One One! The REAL Conductor is still on that train somewhere, waiting to rise to power!"
"So they are," Vexen replied smoothly. Of course, he knew the truth. Simon had met his idol, found out that she wasn't as clear-cut or as approving of him as he'd thought, and gone immediately into denial. "Still and all, the creed of your band of brothers, the Apex, was to act in the Conductor's name. And as per that Conductor's beliefs, the train belonged to its riders. With the Apex dissolved, you belong to a new brotherhood: the WHAM ARMY. We are not so short-sighted as to say that an extradimensional train belongs to its riders. We believe that all worlds belong to us. That they are ours to do as we please with. To destroy as we see fit. More importantly, to claim power and dominion over. Will you not align yourself with an association that seeks to view all of existence the way you viewed the train? Especially since you seemingly have no Apex left to return to."
Simon thought it over. "I'll give you guys a trial run," he determined. "But that's the thing about doing what I want. I have the right to decide you're not for me."
"If you wish to believe that," Vexen told him, "then by all means. After all, if you are not symbiotic with our cause, we would rather you be…removed from our ranks and set free."
"Good," Simon snapped. "Then we get it."
"Uhhh…" Shego leaned over to Otto to whisper, "The kid knows Vexen means if he doesn't obey, he's toast, right?"
"It is better he remains naïve," Otto hissed back.
"But Simon is only the pinnacle of my advancements in humanoid replication," Vexen said proudly, his smirk practically splitting his face. "Equally – or perhaps even more – impressive is what I have created using data Mozenrath has brought me from a world's external heart. I present to you skekSil, Chamberlain of the Skeksis order. A being that no longer existed in any true capacity before the replication, as he had merged with his…hmm." Vexen thought it over. "How shall I put this?"
"Mystic," skekSil clarified in a smug falsetto. "UrSol was Mystic."
"Yes, yes, I remember that from the records of the crystal." Vexen waved it off. "I am moreso looking for an analogy. SkekSil and his counterpart urSol were as Unversed and the remnant heart of light, or Heartless and Nobody. UrSol was a creature of peace and skekSil of war. Together, they made up a complete being: SilSol. SilSol currently encompasses both halves…but a replica is intended to be an exact copy, is it not? He is purely skekSil, with none of urSol's influence."
"Think I see how it is," Zorg realized. "These…Mystics, was it? They were the pure good half and this beautiful bird man the evil."
"Oh, no, no, no!" skekSil argued, still smug as could be. "Is not so simple. Are evil Mystics, as there are FRUSTRATINGLY Skeksis who turned to peace and good. Heretic was one. Used to be Conqueror until he decided he wanted such foolish fripperies as love and artistic fulfillment! Bah! Heretic was weakling! …Admittedly, Chamberlain is also weakling, but intricate mind makes up for withered body. Which is why Chamberlain knows flattery when he hears it." He fixed a suspicious eye upon Zorg.
"Flattery?" Zorg replied. "Now, I resent that. See, I've always had a taste for the unusual, the nonhuman, the…beautiful in more unique ways. And you might be one of the more unique things I've seen." He gave a wink.
SkekSil sighed, shaking his head. He looked to Vexen. "What is title of impudent man in gaudy coat?"
"He is one of our weapons engineers," Vexen replied. "I suppose the closest profession in your society would be a blacksmith."
"Blacksmith is transparently manipulative," skekSil teased. "No one is allowed to be more manipulative than Chamberlain. But perhaps we see just how far Blacksmith is willing to take his flattery."
"Blacksmith," Zorg repeated. "So you'd be from one of those backward planets that's stuck in the past. What would you say sounds more appealing? A taste of the advancements in modern weaponry you never got to see once in your entire life? Or somethin' more akin to your old favorite toys with an electric twist?"
"You can discuss weapons LATER," Vexen snarled.
"I still don't get it," Jack admitted. "If it's not good and evil, then what's the split?"
"In all beings," skekSil explained, "there are two desires. One is to create. Is passive desire that requires little ambition. Mystics are desire to create and avoid the battle. Mystics sequester selves, working on useless skills while hiding like cowards. Other desire, Skeksis desire, is to HAVE. Skeksis pursue action and conquest! Skeksis operate on much superior desire to possess only best that can be had! Power, immortality, wealth and territory!"
"Again," Vexen clarified, "a good fit for our association. Though I must add that skekSil in particular caught my eye due to his interesting history."
SkekSil frantically waved both hands; "Is story for another time! Need not know all Chamberlain's past, no! Will learn later! Is not important NOW!"
"Is that…reluctance?" Vexen teased. "Are you not willing to boast of your many victories?"
"Moment is about Scientist and Replica," skekSil said quickly. "Chamberlain should hold tongue and not intrude upon such important exposition."
"Yeah, that guy messed up and he doesn't wanna talk about it," Irmaplotz said casually.
"You DARE!" skekSil barked.
"Well, don't you worry about that one single stitch," Zorg told him. "After all, you catalogued my mistakes and you'd have a document I wouldn't allow to see the light of day. Or the dark of a drawer. The light of a fire, that works."
"Interesting." SkekSil cocked his head. "What are Blacksmith's mistakes, exactly? Perhaps Chamberlain could be persuaded to divulge some of own…"
"Nice try," Zorg told him. "How about for now, you keep yours and I keep mine?"
SkekSil thought it over. While Zorg's furtiveness could've implied that he had only been trying to flatter skekSil again…it more likely meant that he really was telling the truth, and not about to admit something very embarrassing.
"Ma-a-an, that is IMPRESSIVE!" Deymos blurted. "See, guys? I knew he'd come up with something awesome. And here I was all worried when I accidentally let Xion get away, but this is WAY better."
Now, everyone understood Deymos game, all at once. Everyone except the replicas, who had no idea of the context. And except for Vexen.
His eyes widened in shock. "You…" Vexen sputtered. Then up surged the anger; "You had XION? And you let her get AWAY?"
"Yeaaahhh, that was my bad," Deymos said. "I mean, she's probably running around the back streets of Radiant Garden somewhere. I doubt those jerks in the castle were able to track her down after how far out I took her. But that girl almost cut me to ribbons! No great loss if you ask me. These two are WAY better!"
"DEYMOS!" Vexen was immediately upon him, grasping the front of his shirt. "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU VERY NEARLY BROUGHT ME ONE OF THE PROUDEST CREATIONS I EVER MADE, ESPECIALLY UNDER THE DURESS OF XEMNAS, AND YOU LOST IT?"
"Yep," Deymos replied calmly. "That's what I'm saying."
Vexen let go of him and immediately began to pace. "I was right. She IS being pieced together again! Or perhaps is already whole! And she is ripe for the taking!" He whirled on Deymos; "I must FIND her! I will scour the whole city if I have to! I refuse to let some of my greatest handiwork roam free without my direction!"
"If I may," Deymos offered up, "since I lost her, you probably want me to come after her to make up for it."
"Want?" Vexen seethed. "The word you are seeking is 'REQUIRE.'"
Deymos knew he had to make it at least a little convincing. "Aw, maaaan, that sounds like a lotta work." He shrugged. "But I guess I can't weasel outta this one."
"Excuse me!" Tsumugi piped up. "I would like to come along and ensure that nothing underhanded happens on this mission! After all, the previous Deymos – or Demyx, I guess – did betray us horribly!"
"He wouldn't – " Vexen stopped himself. "No, you are correct. We cannot afford to be sloppy where trust is still called into question. After all…" His voice grew sharp. "One never knows who will betray you. Even those you called close."
"HEY!" Simon stamped his foot. "You were just calling me and the Chamberlain your best work yet, and now you wanna go ditch us for somebody else? No fair! I can already tell you I'm WAY better than her, whoever she is!"
"Then you may prove your utility in the field," Vexen told him. "Accompany us to Radiant Garden and help us to apprehend her. Then we shall see which model is truly superior. SkekSil, you will take this opportunity to prove yourself as well. Both of you – and Tsumugi, at that – have had little chance to hone your skills and earn your place in our establishment."
"Chamberlain would be honored!" skekSil replied. "But perhaps on such important mission, could utilize weapons Blacksmith offered."
"Question's still standin'," Zorg reminded him.
"Chamberlain should like two wide and curved blades," skekSil told him. "From there, add whatever magic you desire."
"I got an idea that's gonna blow your mind right outta that pretty little head," Zorg said with a pearly grin.
"You'll see." Simon folded his arms. "I'm better than some girl you made before me. And if you want the proof? I'll make my number HIGH. Zero to one hundred in an hour!"
"I think that's everyone," Deymos noted. "Oh, wait!" He whistled. "Hey, Xerxes!"
Xerxes flew in; apparently he'd been entertaining Noodle Burger Boy, Hyper-Potamus, Hangry Panda, and Crushroom off to the side. "What happening?" Xerxes asked.
"We're going on a road trip!" Deymos told him. "Gonna go poke around Radiant Garden and find Xion. Wanna come?"
"Yes!" Xerxes lit up. "Xerxes want come! Mozenrath NEVER bring Xerxes on missions anymore!"
Then, unfortunately, Noodle Burger Boy yelled "ROAD TRIP! YEAH!". Which caused the other food robots to set off cheering.
"NOT…YOU." Vexen glared them all four down. "You would only be a hindrance on this mission."
Noodle Burger Boy's eyes glinted crimson. "I don't like your tone, mister."
"Not HALF as much as I dislike YOURS," Vexen seethed.
"Now, now!" Drakken stepped in between them. "I've been meaning to give the Sisterhood of the Noodle Burger a test run as well. If you don't mind just…getting them out of the house to see one of the worlds? You could let them go do whatever they wanted while you did the REAL important part of the mission."
Vexen sighed. "Fine. I will take them as far as Radiant Garden and assume no further responsibility for them."
The four robots began to dance around, whooping wildly.
"We get to go with Big Sister!" Crushroom yelled.
"FOR THE LAST TIME, I AM NOT PART OF YOUR SISTERHOOD!" Tsumugi barked.
"Well?" Simon urged. "Adventure's waiting!"
"Last bathroom break, everybody!" Deymos declared. "And weapons break if you need those. How about we all meet up in the control room in an hour so we can portal out?"
"Is sound plan," skekSil agreed. "You must be Strategist."
"Nah, that's the other little guy with the one eye," Deymos corrected. "I'd prefer you called me 'Melodious Nocturne.' You know, like, the one thing Xemnas ever got right. You want them to use yours, Vex?"
Vexen bristled. He thought it over. Then: "If nothing else, 'Academic' will suffice."
"Nocturne and Academic," skekSil repeated. "Song and science. Not dissimilar to Mystic and Skeksis. Hopefully Nocturne will prove more driven than Mystic."
"Yeah, I gotta hit that bathroom," Simon admitted.
"And I have to make sure my databanks are preloaded with enough textiles for the proper cosplays!" Tsumugi was hopping up and down, clapping happily.
"I NEED TO BRING CONDIMENTS!" Noodle Burger Boy cried, skipping off with his sisters in pursuit.
"Xerxes probably use bathroom too," the eel added. "Just in case."
"Chamberlain should like to consult briefly with Blacksmith about weapons on short notice," skekSil said.
"I gotta pull a few things together in general," Deymos said. "Meet you there, Vex."
The group split up. And the others, the basement crew who'd watched, all dispersed as well. All but Drakken, who felt a feather-light touch, a single fingertip on his shoulder.
"A word."
Drakken turned to look up at Vexen. "Yyyyeeeesssss?"
"This all seems…well-coordinated," Vexen told him. "Is there an alternate reason Deymos wishes us to undertake this endeavor?"
Drakken realized he could be honest. "He never said what that goal would be."
"Very well." Vexen looked off to the side. "All too often, I forget that he only plays the part of the fool. His knowledge may be scant, but his wit is far too sharp for his own good. I will be thankful for the chaperones."
"I mean, this could turn out to be something good," Drakken suggested. "Like some kind of bonding mission."
"Yes," Vexen said absent-mindedly. "A bonding mission. Still and all…I will be on my guard. I suggest you do the same, in case whatever he has planned has repercussions here."
"You know," Drakken urged, "I'm really starting to think all this distrust is why he wanted to go on the trip in the first place."
"You know," Vexen replied, "it could be a suitable place to get him to show his true colors, if there are true colors to be shown." Without a further word, he stalked off.
"Oh," Drakken realized, all alone and speaking to himself. "Now I get it. He really DID start it because of the distrust. And I'll say it here and now: he BETTER know what he's doing!"
The further out you got into interspace, the stranger the sights you would see. And Randall Boggs' mission was to go as far as he possibly could from all civilization.
Not an easy feat, since the skimmers aboard the warship weren't exactly designed for non-humanoid bodies. But he made it work, twisting around the seat and relying on the cargo he had strapped to the vehicle to help serve as a buffer in case he should slip. His voyage took him past all sorts of points of interest, from isles with lakes of fresh water to clouds of dust inset with the fragments of stone ruins. At last, he settled on a wintry outcrop, a snowy asteroid bordered by high walls of ice. Around this small foothold in space were several disheartening views – to one direction, a spherical dust cloud that was swirling angrily, and to the other, a vortex of green energy that drew in the smaller meteorites, swirling ominously, stretching up and down as far as the eye could see and then beyond.
Here, Randall planted the door. Again, he was baffled. It made a perfect entry point to the shop Vexen had taken the sample from! What was Mozenrath going to do with it if not use it to slip into that shop undetected?
But his orders had been clear. Take the door to the middle of nowhere. Make sure one couldn't easily get from its location to anywhere else without the use of a vehicle. And plant it.
The final step was to contact the Huntsman and let him know the door was in place. After two rings, Randall heard a voice that distinctly wasn't the Huntsman's: "I take it you placed the door."
"Mozenrath?" Randall flinched. "Does the Huntsman know you have his scroll?"
"Yes, and I can't say he's too happy about it either," Mozenrath answered, "but he'll deal. Congratulations. You've completed phase one. As for phase two, you'll have to wait for our call. When you receive said call, activate the door, then LEAVE. Don't get followed. Is that clear?"
"The instructions? Yes," Randall replied. "Why you're having me do all this junk in the first place? Could use some clarification!"
"I'd like to keep this on a need-to-know basis," Mozenrath replied. "Once it's worked, I'll fill you in on the details. But I do so hate to spoil a surprise."
"And what am I supposed to do until you call back?" Randall spat.
"Use your imagination," Mozenrath replied. "I'm sure boredom isn't the worst challenge you've surmounted. Now if you'll excuse me, I have my end of the plan to attend to."
"I THOUGHT IT WAS THE HUNTSMAN'S END OF THE PLAN!"
"Things change, Randall. I thought you of all people knew that." And the line went dead.
Randall sighed, slumping backward into the snow. From flat on his back, he stared up into the gorgeous sky above. How strange it was that when you went from planet to planet within a world-specific solar system, it was inhospitable, cold and airless. But out here, someone could just go for a fly, maybe even live out here. Judging by some of the structures Randall had passed, at one point, somebody probably had.
Not that he wanted to waste too much mental energy thinking about that. What did he care about a bunch of dead people who had no relevance to his current situation whatsoever? Especially when they had no need to use energy.
Instead, his thoughts drifted over to Ravess. Because all the way out here, no one could judge him for it. He had expected things to go so differently from the way they had. The best-case scenario would've been her being upfront. And he hadn't even been frustrated with that at the time – he was just sick of Vexen thinking he was better than everyone else.
He also didn't really regret blurting. Had to come out somehow. Might as well stick a pin in Vexen's ego.
But what he'd thought was that if it ever came to that, she'd come crawling to Randall the moment Vexen rejected her. And beg him on bended knee to be the one. And he'd have to say no, because he'd made it clear he wasn't going to be a consolation prize.
Ravess had not done that. She'd rejected both of them and stormed away. That…was unexpected.
And something not very simple to think about.
Randall peeled himself off the snowy ground, making his way to the skimmer. He'd had a hunch he might be out here in the wilds for a while, so he'd brought one more piece of cargo: a plastic container full of German chocolate brownies. Except that in Monstropolis' homeworld, there was no Germany, so Randall knew them as "Giantitan chocolate," such as the chocolate particular to the mountain city of Giantitania where monsters who didn't fit in (literally) to regular society often went to pursue the quiet life. But pretty much everyone else in the base called them "German." So there it was.
He sat back down in the snow, taking a jagged bite out of a brownie, its coconut icing giving soft crunches in his lizardlike teeth. About Ravess: she'd displayed a lot of attitude. Confidence. Self-assurance. Maybe Randall just hadn't wanted her to be the kind of woman who begged. Maybe, now that he knew she wouldn't fold, that was why he couldn't get her off his mind.
Or maybe it was the other way around. She'd said he couldn't have her, so now he wanted her.
He wasn't supposed to be stuck here wanting her. She was supposed to be stuck somewhere wanting him. He hated it. But he admired her for it. Too bad she was likely never going to give him a second look again.
Then again…that was quitter talk. He hated quitter talk.
At any rate, he knew he should at least focus on the innovations he was building for the WHAM ARMY. Those would be surefire successes. The Unversed energy harvest, the Pachelbel's Cannon –
Wait. The Pachelbel. That had been her idea. Maybe it could be the proverbial stone that killed two horned scaly birds with forked tongues.
Yeah. That could work.
...
Dr. Doom, Blackheart, Imperious, and Amora the Enchantress had been called to council by the one entity that any of them could reluctantly abide standing above them.
"The Mad Titan approaches quickly," Loki told them all from the Asgardian throne. "Our timing must be perfect, not a second out of place. As a reminder, 'Odin' is to tour Asgard, at such a pace that he shall arrive in the castle's bailey at the very same moment the Mad Titan's fleet descends. Victor is to remain hidden here, putting the final touches on our arsenal to oppose him. The Black Order will not go quietly, but they are no match for the Overtakers."
"Black Order?" Blackheart sniffed, smirking. "Sounds like someone ripped off my aesthetic."
"Indeed," Loki affirmed. "All five of them combined could not match your power." Or so he hoped, anyhow. The four he'd only known through hearsay would definitely fall before a true demon, but he still shuddered to think of the conversation he'd had with Thanos' mouthpiece, the Other.
A feeling he packed away. Insignificant. He would not allow it to rule his actions.
"Until such time as the Mad Titan arrives," Loki went on, "the four of you will stand guard against any…other interferences. I am certain we all well know there will be other interferences."
"Shall we place bets?" Imperious asked. "Upstart heroes? Insolent WHAM ARMY?"
"I rather hope for the WHAM ARMY," Amora replied with a grin. "More attractive men to be had there."
"All threats shall be quickly and quietly neutralized," Loki went on. "Think of it as though you were indeed the bodyguards to the rightful king of Asgard. Oh, my error…" He grinned broadly. "You are. And the world shall know the truth of it once the Titan falls."
"No Mad Titan can stand against MY beautiful might!" Imperious insisted.
With a shimmer of glamour, Loki took the form of Odin. "Then it is time our procession begins," he stated. Then, with a twinkle in his visible eye; "Did I almost forget? We are not all assembled."
"Loki," Doom admonished. "Did you add to our ranks without consulting me on the matter?"
"I think you'll be quite pleased with the newest member of our entourage," Loki replied. "Shall we give him a grand welcome?"
He gestured to the front of the audience chamber, and Loki's partner and lieutenants could see the new force of evil he'd invited to join the party.
...
It had often been said that the worst place to be in the chamber Where Nothing Gathers was in Vexen's chair. It was the lowest seat, undoubtedly by design to curb his sharp tongue. (Which hadn't worked, of course.)
But in truth, though it was the seat of disrespect, it was not the least desirable place to be in the room. Any cohort of Xehanort knew in their bones that the greatest fear came when one stood on the rounded floor, feet planted firmly on the tile that bore the Nobody sigil, and when the Superior looked down upon you. It was then that you became glad you had no heart, or you might've been thrown into panic.
Once upon a time, that Superior had been Xemnas. Isa might've preferred that. Xemnas was nothing to trifle with, but he had weaknesses, and there was an air about him that made him easy to tune out. Isa was perhaps one of the few who'd been able to sidestep Xemnas' tomfoolery and carve his own path while avoiding the bulk of punishment. Maybe if Xemnas were there that day, Isa could keep on that path.
But Xemnas had been moved to Vexen's seat. The chair of disrespect. Ansem found this hilarious, of course. No, the new Superior was the old man, Master Xehanort, the one who existed practically in paradox given that his heart was supposedly split between two future reincarnations of himself in that very room.
He didn't glare the way Xemnas used to. He reclined in his seat, an almost playful smirk playing at his lips as he drummed his ever-moving fingers on the arm of the throne. And Isa was left to fear what might become of him under this new rule.
The Master spoke: "Ansem says you showed hesitance to exert might on a worldline."
Isa spoke calmly: "Ansem overstepped his bounds and made a move we never agreed to. His destruction of the Aku worldline was in direct opposition to your grander plan involving the Keyblade War. I spoke out against his treachery."
"You do not know all that Ansem and I speak of behind closed doors," Xehanort replied. (And Isa didn't doubt, by the look on Xemnas' face, that Xemnas didn't either.) "Furthermore, eyewitnesses have put forth that your concern was not that of his treachery."
"Am I to be put on probation for poor wording?" Isa asked.
"The Seekers of Darkness must share loyalty above all else," Xehanort replied. "And yet without the chains of bonded hearts. We are devoted to our cause, and sever emotion from the equation when it does not allow us to channel the Darkness required to achieve our ends. After all, it is those of the Light who claim that their friends are their power. This is a falsehood, a painful truth covered by a shell of lies. Friendship is a setup for a fall. A fall we cannot afford to take."
Isa couldn't help but smirk. There was something more going on here. "Master Xehanort, would it be imprudent of me to ask who hurt you?"
Xehanort changed the subject: "When we first gathered to discuss the addition of the sleeping Sora to our ranks, an old friend of yours returned to this very room. He called you by your true name. You looked him in the eye. This interaction has not changed you, has it? Tell me, Isa, does the thought of our eventual goal become hampered when you ruminate upon this memory?"
It did and it didn't. Isa hadn't wanted to end the worlds in the first place. He couldn't have cared less about the new world Xehanort was hellbent on building: the universe that was little more than a grand experiment and its lab report. He'd joined the Organization for two reasons: to find someone long-lost to him and to regain his heart. Once there, he'd found a third reason: power. Now the Organization was new. He could have his heart at any time, he was fairly certain the lost friend was dead, and he still did crave power. But it wasn't about power anymore. It was about Xehanort's new world. His experiment. And Isa could hardly see how Ansem and Xemnas were truly able to care about it either, given their past schemes.
He'd stayed. Because the new world would give him power. And give him a place to be himself, with his heart. And…
Because it hurt too much to admit that Axel – Lea – had chosen a wiser path than he. Because he needed to spite his old friend, prove that Lea wasn't the boss of him, prove that he hadn't signed away his very soul and was careening toward damnation while Lea had gotten out on impulsivity alone.
But he did miss summer days in Radiant Garden, parading the town square with ice cream in hand and laughing over things that made no sense at all. He strangely even missed the cool dark of the underground laboratory where the thick metal door separated him and Lea from Subject X, leaving them to have to pass notes through the bars. Isa and Lea would bring back souvenirs from around the city for her, and that had allowed the two of them to grow closer on the adventures of obtaining those items. He'd written it all off as folly, as outdated nostalgia.
Here, on the precipice of a goal he hadn't known he was signing up for in the beginning, which did he find less tolerable? Fighting for an uncertain future, one where he could be himself at the cost of letting Xehanort determine who that was? Or becoming the sort of naïve idiot who could be entertained by Lea?
(Maybe he knew the answer. He wasn't sure he wanted it to be the answer.)
But hearing Lea call his true name had put all those old memories back in his mind, even as he swung without mercy. And now they wouldn't stay dormant.
Horrified, he realized he'd been silent for too long. There was still a small window in which he could say something to redeem himself – but what? That he cared more about Xehanort's nebulous experiment than Lea? That was what Xehanort wanted to hear, but it wasn't necessarily true. On the other hand, he wasn't about to throw himself to the dogs over Lea.
Xehanort took his silence for the answer he sought. "You are conflicted," he diagnosed. "A task must be set to prove your loyalty. You, who once dealt out missions without setting foot too far outside this very castle, must now excel at a mission of your own. Failure will equal termination. Only a complete success will affirm your place here, in the Organization that will survive the crossings of existence."
Isa bowed his head. "I understand." Maybe such a mission could teach him what he wanted for himself, too.
"It has come to my attention that our prior No. i has been recompleted," Xehanort went on.
"No. i?" Isa replied. "Are you simply making up new ranks?"
"About what was your final conflict with Lea?" Xehanort asked. "What was the weapon that Xemnas tasked you to observe? What did he count on to rise should Roxas have fallen?"
These were questions Isa should've known the answers to. But he didn't. It horrified him how many holes there were in his memory about these exact subjects.
"…Memory tampering," he muttered. "Like Castle Oblivion."
"She was a tool for the Organization to wield bluntly," Xehanort went on. "You saw her as a hindrance to your own goals. She was expunged from existence, but the will of a foolhardy scientist has brought her back to the realm of Light. Reconnaissance suggests she wanders the city of Radiant Garden, her heart incomplete as she seeks a place to belong. You are to go to that city and find her before any of our enemies can intercept her. Bring her back to the True Organization so that we may utilize her as a vessel and weapon once more."
"And yet you must already be aware of the problem posed," Xemnas broke in. "You now recall that No. i was the source of a rift between you and Axel. Something Number VIII cared about far more than you. It is the final barrier between you and your freedom from such a hollow friendship. You will eliminate his last hope of recovering the toy he considers a friend. You will deliver her and your loyalty to us. And you shall never speak his name again."
Isa clamped his teeth down hard, pointed canines sinking into his lower lip. It really was the perfect test. He remembered a dull frustration, the Nobody equivalent of envious rage. Whatever they were sending him after, Lea had cared about her more. The soldier they wanted would see this as a golden opportunity for revenge.
It came with a price, however. The price of knowing that he and Lea could never reconcile again, not if he stole the girl away. It should've been easy to pay, but Isa realized that he'd been treading a fine line, always walking with caution. Ensuring he did not attack Lea, bring him to true harm, do anything that could permanently burn that bridge. All while he undermined their foundations. He had never truly decided whether to support or abandon Lea. He'd just aimed for something in the middle. Something that, much like Nobodyhood, didn't require emotional investment or risk.
Now he had to decide what side he was on. And he still couldn't even really answer that, not then and there. Best to set out, then see what was revealed.
"I shall not fail," Isa promised. (Because the consequence of failure was his own eradication anyway. Couldn't very well reconcile with Lea if one of them was dead.) "However, before I set forth, I do have a rather nagging query."
"Speak," Master Xehanort commanded him.
"You question my loyalty," Isa replied. "Poor wording is again your primary evidence. Yet there is a member of your Organization that comes and goes as he pleases, and is currently absent from this very proceeding. Where is Braig's accusation?"
This was met by a low, foreboding sound. The sound of Ansem laughing. Isa felt his skin prickle.
"Unlike you," Ansem stated, "Braig is handling a matter we have requested. A potential new member of the True Organization. See to it that he isn't engineering your replacement."
He should've known. Isa still doubted Braig's honesty, but he also was well aware the man was supernaturally good at covering his tracks. What he couldn't have guessed was a new member. One that needed to be "engineered"? Qilby was still incubating. Couldn't be him.
As Isa turned to exit the chamber, his mind stirred. What could Braig possibly be bringing to life in the castle's laboratories?
...
"Wakey, wakey, Kittybeard."
The hellion's mind grasped for consciousness. His eyes slowly blinked open as half-formed memories swirled around his brain. Flashes and fragments: a boy in a white cloak – four seraphim, each a different element – a calculating general – a bloodthirsty laugh – a little girl in black.
None of which matched the scene before him. A sterile white room, where the hellion lay on an operating table. And there was a man standing before him, a thin man with an eyepatch and a gray-streaked ponytail. A man who the hellion already did not like.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Braig said sarcastically. "Is your memory still a little fuzzy? Not surprised, since I had to rebuild you from the ground up. I'm not one of those necromancers who can just snap his fingers and bring back a corpse, y'know. Your soul took work to fish out of the void, and that body was even harder to come by. All the same, you gotta remember SOMETHING. How about your name?"
The hellion grasped for it. "The…the Lord of Calamity."
"Good start," Braig replied. "But that's a title, not a name. How about 'Heldalf'? Does that ring any bells?"
Heldalf. Yes, it was all clearer now. The curse placed upon him, for everyone he ever cared about to perish before his eyes as he labored in immortality. The years he spent attempting to avenge his grim fate by bringing an end to the world. The Shepherd and his friends…and…well, here was where it still got fuzzy. The specifics were eluding him, but the concepts were all too familiar.
"I am Heldalf," the hellion replied. "He who would bring about an end to the worthless world."
"Okay, we're just gonna correct one teeny-tiny little part of that sentence," Braig said, "but not before you get a load of yourself." He retrieved a hand mirror, passing it to Heldalf. "Maybe this'll bring back even more."
By positioning and repositioning the mirror, Heldalf could see himself clearly now. He was long past human, corrupted with Darkness that made up his entire body in swirling blacks and purples. Armor plating denoted his clawed hands and feet. He was no small man, towering tall and broad. A golden lion's mane cascaded from all around his head, spilling down his back, and his face was somewhere between human and leonine.
Because he was a hellion. One who had given in to malevolence completely. Let himself become inhuman as despair had consumed him. Giving over his existence to that despair, and to rage and apathy all at once.
"Yes," he said. "I know now."
"Back to that small asterisk," Braig brought up. "You were gonna erase the world. Problem is, there's more than one. World, that is. I know, that's a lot to sink in. I dunno if you ever got a load of what was going on in the Calix around that time, though, because that'd make you a believer. Or, back in MY day – well, that's a story for another time, but let's just say the Goldipen incident reminded everyone that they weren't alone in the universe."
"More than one world." Heldalf's upper lip curled, revealing a fang even more wicked than Isa's. "Was there to be no end to my torment?"
"Apparently not," Braig told him. "Well, okay, there is ONE way out. …Nahhhh, it's not your style."
"TELL ME," Heldalf rumbled.
"Okay, okay!" Braig put up his hands. "Don't have a cow. Much as it looks like you could put away one for dinner. Listen, I'm part of this little group called the True Organization. There was a false one beforehand, but you should be glad you missed out on that one. We gotta get our ranks up to thirteen before we can make our play, and when we do, then we can wipe out ALL the worlds, every last one, and make a new one. A world where old curses don't apply anymore."
But hadn't the boy in white purified his curse? "Did you return this curse to me?" Heldalf snarled.
"Me?" Braig laughed. "Now why would I go and do a thing like that? More importantly, HOW? You can see I'm no seraph. No Shepherd, either. Worked for one, once. Didn't care for it. The point is, when the worlds are bathed completely in the Light of Kingdom Hearts – you know, the heart of everything ever – then all that malevolence will burn right outta your body and take your little loneliness curse with it. From there, I guess it's your choice whether you want death or a fresh start."
"And if I do not believe in your words?" Heldalf asked.
"First of all," Braig told him, "what other options do you really have? And second…" His golden eye glittered. "We're old friends. I wouldn't lie to you about this."
Looking at that eye, Heldalf felt a strike of connection. He'd known this man somehow. And this man knew a lot about his world – claiming to work for a Shepherd, even citing the murky ancient legend of Goldipen. From deep within, he felt almost a desperation to believe Braig. Maybe only because Braig had given him a second chance where the boy in white had simply cut him down in the end.
"Very well," Heldalf said. "I shall work alongside your True Organization for as long as it suits me."
"Now, the boss might take some umbrage with that phrasing," Braig corrected, "but I won't tell if you don't. That you're on the market for other options, that is. But we are asking for a little…insurance first. Something to prove you're what the legends say."
"You would doubt the Lord of Calamity?" Heldalf snapped.
"I've got my reasons to," Braig replied. "But we can put that all behind us once you do me just a small favor. And I think you're gonna like this one. You remember that world you came from? Of course you do. You just told me it's the only one you know. Anyway, I'd like you to go back there and finish what you started. Gather up some cronies, push the balance of malevolence, get a real war going again. No time limit. We got a while yet. Once you wipe Glenwood and the worthless rock it's on right off the map, then you get an official seat on the Organization, I collect on my bet with Dilan, and we move forward from there about getting you that ultimate purification."
Now, Heldalf did like that. Glenwood was unfinished business. "I can assure you that I will succeed. Whether in your name or mine is another matter."
"Think it over!" Braig encouraged. "This is your chance to get out there and really find yourself."
Already Heldalf was thinking that while two of his lieutenants had perished during his lifetime, there was a third still alive. One who could not defy his commands.
Already Braig was thinking that the WHAM ARMY would definitely take the bait he'd dangled, and that was going to be the real test.
"Oh, and one more thing," Braig went on. "I did get you one lackey. After all, you're kinda powered down compared to where you were when the brat got you. Experiment a little and you might find that you can unlock new abilities in combination with this guy. There's just one catch."
A sonorous roar sounded from far below, muffled by many floors.
"And there it is," Braig confirmed. "This isn't just any ordinary lackey. I got you a bona fide dragon. A corrupted malak – sorry, seraph. Old habits die hard. He's long gone now, of course. No mind, no heart, no free will. Just raw power. You could say I welded him together out of some scraps. He's been designed for you specifically. Maybe you two can even figure out a way to outdo armatization."
Heldalf nodded. "I can make much use of a dragon."
"Aren't you gonna ask its name?" Braig urged. "I worked hard on the name."
"I hardly care," Heldalf replied, "but it seems you will not be sated until you tell me."
"Like I said," Braig stated, "I worked hard on it. Had to fit a theme, y'know. Your trusty steed's name is Zel'xed."
...
As it turned out, Velvet Crowe was an excellent nurse. No wonder, since she'd spent twelve years tending to a constantly-sick Laphicet, but she also knew her way around burns. She'd gotten Emerald cleaned up and cooled down with a bath (one that had taken some interesting turns given the new state of their relationship), then bandaged her loosely, making sure she wasn't too constricted by fabric. Her usual pants had to go on account of being too tight to accommodate the bandages; instead, Emerald found herself in baggy sweatpants. Finally, she was set up in an upper bedroom of the mansion, her feet raised with a short stack of pillows. Velvet brought her a bowl of grated apples, which tasted far better than Emerald would've expected based on that concept alone, and also brought her some company.
"Iiiiiis THIS your card?" Magilou flipped around one of the cards in her battle deck.
Emerald snorted. "No." It wasn't even a playing card. It was a silly photo of Entrapta and Catra making funny faces, with the words "Get well soon!" scrawled on the bottom of it.
"Oops!" Magilou teased. "My bad. Man, is this card defective. You might as well keep it." She passed it to Emerald. "How about THIS one?"
"Ace of spades," Emerald affirmed. "That's the one."
"Oh, but what's this?" Magilou turned the card around, and the back of it had another photo, of Globby stuck to a wall in a giant heart-shape of goo while Once-ler gestured to him dramatically. This one had "Stay AWESOME" written on it, with some gold glittery star stickers for effect. "Hmm, looks like this one can't work in my deck anymore either. You'd better hang onto it too."
Emerald looked slyly to Eleanor. "Did you have something to do with this?"
"Me?" Eleanor put a hand to her chest. "I don't know what you're – no, I didn't!"
"Right," Emerald replied. "So that card from Ezor and Car Crash wasn't your idea."
"What are you talking about?" Eleanor replied. "Car Crash took the group photo with the other Banzai Blasters, and Ezor's card doubled up with Dr. Ohn and Dr. Lopez."
Emerald smirked. "And I also didn't see either of those. So how would you or I know about that?"
Eleanor looked aside, shuffling her feet. "I didn't want you to think I did it so you'd thank me," she muttered. "I just wanted to do something nice for you, so I went around and asked for some help…and everyone else wants you to feel better too. All I did was bring up the idea. It's really everyone else that loves you."
They loved her. It hit Emerald like an arrow to the heart. Not just her three new girlfriends, but her whole family here.
"If you're ready for some more solid food," Velvet told Emerald, "then just give the order."
"Actually," Emerald replied, "I could maybe go for some soup in a bit."
Velvet nodded. "I'll make an old specialty from Aball. Curry and pork sausage, if you don't mind the spice."
"I would LOVE some spice," Emerald replied. "Sheesh, you guys are really going all-out."
"Well, we're a team," Eleanor told her. "Of course we – "
Giovanni kicked in the door; "DID SOMEBODY SAY SOUP?"
"…A WHILE ago," Emerald told him. "You missed the cue. Sorry."
"DANGIT – " Giovanni took a deep breath, then exhaled it. "Anyway, first of all, Emerald, I brought you a little something." He set a thermos on the table. "I made Locus pick a fight with me out in the courtyard. Just a casual spar, little slap-fight. Because I can only generate healing sweat-soup during battle, and I wanted to bring you some."
"Right," Emerald remembered. "You magically turn sweat into soup."
"I PROMISE it tastes better than it sounds," Giovanni urged. "Though if you wanna make a contest of it, have Hurting Hand make her sausage curry soup anyway. Then tell me which one's better and why it's mine."
"I think I have to take you up on that challenge," Velvet told him.
"But of course," Giovanni admitted, "I am a selfish villain. And I'm also here because I want something."
"Shoot," Magilou told him. "I bet you I'll be able to grant all your wishes easy as 'magikazam'!"
"So after our fight," Giovanni explained, "Locus went back to sulking, and then Bear Trap came out to the yard and she sat down and started sulking too. So I asked her what was wrong, and – "
"Why is Locus sulking?" Eleanor broke in.
Giovanni slapped a hand to his mouth. "Shit. I wasn't supposed to tell you that part."
"Well, out with it!" Magilou urged.
"Okay," Giovanni replied, "but you gotta PROMISE not to ever bring it up again! It's kinda one of those things where he's afraid if it gets out, it'll look like he's trying to cross a boundary, and he just needs to be disappointed for a little bit, OKAY?"
"Our lips are sealed," Velvet told him. "I'll go ahead and speak for all of us. Whoever talks is my next meal."
"Depending on which way you meant that," Magilou teased, "that might be an incentive."
Giovanni sighed. "Locus liked Emerald and he was gonna ask her out but then she hooked up with the three of you and he's kicking himself now because you're obviously an OT4 and he still has feelings but also he would never break you guys up and so he's trying to get over it. There. That's all."
Emerald flinched. "Oh. That…was probably my bad. I could've saved him a lot of time if I'd just told him I was a lesbian when we met." She thought it over. "Aaaand I can see how he thought some of our conversations were flirting. Yeah, that's on me. I'll figure out a way to fix it without letting him know how I knew."
"He is NOT trying to get your attention," Giovanni reiterated. "That's the LAST thing he wants. He just wants to move on and find somebody else to crush on so he can see you as a friend."
"Well, he's a good guy," Emerald replied. "Whoever gets him next is a lucky girl."
"This was about something else," Velvet reminded the group. "Something you wanted."
Giovanni gave a start; "OH YEAH! So anyway, Bear Trap came out to the sulk corner, which surprised me, because as far as I know she doesn't have any unrequited crushes that ended horribly. I mean, I'm pretty sure she's got a thing for Innominat, but he – she – can't remember which one they are today – "
"She," Velvet supplied.
"She seems to like Bear Trap fine," Giovanni went on. "So I knew that wasn't it. So I sat down with her and asked if she wanted to talk. And…well…" A heavy sigh. "I shoulda known this conversation was coming. She misses her friends. From the world I got her on. Her dad sucked and her sister made her feel like trash, so first she asked if she was a bad person for not missing them, but I reminded her that real family is the one you find. Specifically the family that does crime together. Did her dad and sister ever invite her on a heist? No. Blyndeffs zero, Giovanni like five hundred. But she had these two other gal pals back home, Feenie and Trixie, and it's a weird coincidence because I've got a relative named Trixie but whatever, and she misses hanging out with them and doing preteen girl stuff. Then she started crying, and that meant I started crying, and the point is…have you guys, Eizen, and Rokurou thought more about going to get your memories back?"
There was a silence. Then Eleanor said it: "What does THAT have to do with Molly?"
"Oh, right," Giovanni realized. "You guys wouldn't work out the connection. I wanna take Bear Trap on a fun mission to do something super cool and badass and get her mind off all the bad stuff. I thought if you guys were still going back to Lothlorien or wherever, she and I could tag along. Have a little swords-and-sorcery style quest."
"Hm." Velvet thought it over. "We were discussing that not too long ago."
"In fact," Magilou revealed, "we used our latest haul from pickpocketing WATYR Fest to pay Doc Terminus for a huge upgrade to the Van Eltia! Soon we'll be able to sail the ocean between worlds as well as the high seas! In other words, we can go wherever we want and swindle whoever we want!"
"This could be great for Molly!" Eleanor gasped. "Velvet, you can invite along Laphicet and they can bond more! After all, Laphicet is a friend Molly's age."
"That's true," Velvet affirmed. "Though she does carry some aspects of an Empyrean thousands of years old, but when she and I talk, I don't see Innominat anymore. It's my Laphi. The same child who used to love adventure. Which means this could be good for both of them."
"Whoa, whoa!" Emerald protested. "Does this mean I don't get to go?"
"I mean…we talked about waiting until Emerald was healed up," Eleanor admitted. "Can we – "
"Not an option," Giovanni told her. "Because I've already arranged the SECRET EVIL SCHEME we're gonna be pulling on the whole trip. Are you ready for this? This is so smart; I'm so glad I came up with this. So we get on the ship and we move out, and I was HOPING we were gonna have a cool ship or something with a secret compartment because we're gonna stash Sandman and Electro in it. Bear Trap never gets to know they're there. We distract her long enough that she DOESN'T see the two of them slip out at a certain point. Then we keep going to Log-Roll while the two of them touch down on OUR homeworld. They'll hunt down Trixie and Feenie, we bring them back into the fold, I bestow upon them new minion names, and Bear Trap will be OVER THE MOON! MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"
"That's…actually a pretty clever plan," Eleanor said happily. "Though I don't quite see how it's evil."
"Of COURSE it's evil!" Giovanni insisted. "It involves subterfuge, trickery, deception, and kidnapping!"
"And your backup plan for if the girls want THEIR families on board?" Magilou asked.
"Cross that bridge when we come to it," Giovanni replied. "Come on, just…even if we get them back for, like, a day, and the three of them can have a play date, it'd make her so happy. And the guys already agreed to their half, and I wanna get this worked out as soon as possible."
Emerald gave a sigh. "You guys should go. He's making me all sentimental. Any more of this and I might actually cry."
"But you still need attention," Velvet told her.
"You guys did such a good job that I can ride the memories of the experience for a while," Emerald told her. "All while I get a more…professional caretaker."
"How about Kronk?" Eleanor suggested. "He's thorough, attentive, polite…"
"And he can invite Wrong Hordak along as his lovely assistant!" Magilou cheered. "Once his foot's less sea-urchiny, of course."
"I think those guys can handle it." Emerald smiled. "You guys go. I'll just get some extra rest. Turns out THAT'S a luxury I didn't know I was missing."
Velvet put a hand softly on Emerald's head. "We'll be back soon." She then removed her hand, pressing her lips to the green hair. Magilou and Eleanor lined up to give their kisses as well.
"All RIGHT!" Giovanni pumped his fist. "Operation Neo Trio is under way!"
"Though I can't help but wonder what horrors await your desecrated homeworld," Magilou mused. "Are you sure our frightful supervillain duo can withstand it?"
Giovanni shrugged; "How chaotic can it be?"
...
In fact, in the wake of Cyclonis' attack, Sweet Jazz City was chaos. There was fire and looting in the streets, and the only police officer left to try and do anything about it was Percival King, because Alastor had killed all the rest. And Percy really couldn't do much because Ramsey Murdoch had forced her to take a vacation to Redwood Run to catch up with Howie Honeyglow in the most remote possible locale where none of them would encounter any trouble.
Bliss Ocean was using the chaos as a catalyst for new attacks on Epithet users, riling up crowds at pivotal locations. The supervillain known as the Songstress had risen early, wreaking destruction upon the city, and this time without the Fleecity army in place to bring her down.
And in the midst of what seemed to be Armageddon, one more evil had managed to escape captivity and was once again loose on the streets.
"HahahahaHAHAHAAAAAAAA!" She was short, slender, ghostly-pale, with a mane of thick lavender hair that cascaded past her waist. She was still clothed in a sweater vest and mildly torn dress pants. "Oh, you think you're so SMART, Sweet Jazz City and its various authorities, but MERA SALAMIN RISES AGAIN!"
She punctuated this with a dramatic gesture, flinging her hands out to either side. And in doing so, bumped her pinky finger against a lamppost.
"OWWWWWOWOWOWOW DAMMIT!" Mera shrieked, doubling over and holding onto the finger. All because of her Epithet. "Fragile" allowed her to unleash devastating attacks upon others, making herself a powerhouse in battle. She could also break apart other items in her vicinity…and people, if need be. But the cost was a fragility in her own body as well. Her clothes were always scuffed, her nail polish always chipped, and, most frustratingly, her bones brittle, leading to constant risk of breakage and deep-set chronic pain.
"LADY MERA!" The cry came from her ever-present assistant, Indus Tarbella. A tall, very well-muscled man whose pants matched Mera's but whose deep-tan chest with its decorative tattoos was on full display, unhindered by any sort of shirt. A perky, spiky white haircut really brought out the expression of constant confusion in his eyes and the naïveté of his smile. He rushed to Mera, reaching for her hand. "Are you all right?"
"Don't TOUCH me, idiot!" Mera waved at him, careful not to actually strike him, because that would result in another injury for her. "I just broke my stinkin' finger. Ah, well, you win some, you lose some. And I'm not gonna let a little setback stop me from enjoying my NEWFOUND FREEDOM! Oh, Indus, we're free again to do whatever we want! Find the Arsene Amulet! Steal more Epithets! Scour the globe to find a counter for this stupid pain! Hijack as much loot as we can get along the way! I dunno, maybe become king and queen of some remote village or something! THE WORLD IS OUR OYSTER!"
"You could say…" Indus beamed. "There are no BARRIERS in the way!" He paused. "It is funny because my Epithet is Barrier."
"…Yeah," Mera sighed. "Hilarious. Anyway, we can go anywhere! We can do anything! It's WONDERFUL! …Um, where do you want to go, and any ideas on what we can do?"
"My head is empty," Indus replied.
"Yeah, that's no surprise," Mera snarked. "Also, I'm kinda having a hard time thinking past this broken pinky. Kinda just wanna go to the hospital. How's that for an anticlimax?"
There was the clearing of a throat. A sultry voice saying "If I may."
A small vial filled with a sloshing pink potion was thrust into Mera's face. That potion was held by a bony hand, which was attached to a bony arm, which was attached to a bony woman. Another woman, a little more voluptuous, tossed her long red hair dramatically and fired off a smirk as the first smiled wide enough to show all her pearly teeth.
"How dumb do you think I am?" Mera asked. "Criminals running wild left and right and you expect me to drink some shit you just handed me? Please. This isn't my first rodeo."
Yzma flinched. "I…er…that's not how this was supposed to work. I was going to heal your finger, and then – "
Wuya put up a hand. "Hold on. I got this."
She reached out, grabbing a random passerby. Roundhouse kicked him in the crotch. Listened to him scream as she poured the vial's contents into his mouth, turning the scream into gargles.
Then he stood; "What was THAT all about?"
"You are better, right?" Wuya asked.
"Yeah," the man replied. "But WHY – "
"Then you're free to go." Wuya shoved him along.
"Now then." Yzma produced a second vial. "Back to business."
"I know this con, lady," Mera huffed. "The first one was a decoy to win my trust. THAT one's poison."
Yzma's eye twitched.
"All right, then." Wuya seized another passerby and dealt another kick.
Howls of pain, gargling pink liquid, "What was THAT for?", shoved back to his route.
"We can keep doing this ad nauseam," Wuya informed Mera. "We brought a lot of vials."
As Yzma proffered the third vial, Mera sighed. "Fine. If only because you couldn't have predicted how many times I'd balk."
She accepted the vial, popping the cork with her good hand. Then she downed it in three swigs. "Tasty."
Mera could feel the subtle clicks of her bones fusing back together the way they should be. She held up the afflicted hand, wiggling all the fingers. "Hhhhhhuh."
"There's more where that came from," Yzma told her. "In fact, we're aware of a particular…condition you have."
Mera knew to play this smart. "Condition? I don't know what you're talking about."
Indus did not know to play this smart. "Lady Mera, they must be referring to the fact that your Epithet causes you near-constant pain and makes your skeleton brittle!"
"WHY DON'T YOU PUT A BARRIER ON YOUR MOUTH?" Mera snapped.
"Must hurt," Wuya said slyly. "In more ways than one. You're not like other people, so you went all the way with that. The world never played nice with you, so you stopped playing nice with the world."
"Yeah?" Mera retorted, folding her arms. "You got a problem with that? You a cop or something? I thought they all died in some freak demon accident."
"Actually, quite the opposite," Yzma said slyly. "My girlfriend and I are on a rather complex business venture, and we're looking for like minds with particular skills. You just so happened to catch our eye."
Mera raised a brow. "Well, this sounds shady as hell."
"You've heard of Bliss Ocean?" Wuya posed.
"There is no way I'm joining BLISS OCEAN," Mera spat. "Epithet user, remember?"
"No," Wuya clarified. "I was making sure you knew them for reference. The organization we're from is an even larger-scale operation than Bliss Ocean. We're kind of a big deal."
"An aggregation of criminals, villains, murderers, cons, and glamour royalty of all kinds!" Yzma cried triumphantly. "United by our desire for conquest and our extravagant pageantry!"
"Conquest?" Mera replied. "Like, okay, that sounds pretty sweet and all, but I'm looking for something else first and foremost."
"A cure for your Epithet," Wuya replied.
"Bingo," Mera replied. "Without having to lose it completely, of course."
"Because you've come too far with it to take the easy win," Yzma said with a nod.
"Because I've come too far with it to take the – " Mera flinched. "Wait. How did you KNOW?"
"Mera, Mera, Mera." Yzma sighed. "Look at me! What do you see?"
"A crazy lady. Also why the hell are you purple?"
"Yes, but what else?" Yzma urged.
Mera thought it over. "Cute…outfit?"
"I'M OLD!" Yzma cried. "I AM VERY, VERY OLD! First of all, the fact that you didn't even comment on it makes me like you even more than I already did. And second, LOOK AT ME! Look at all of THIS! Do you know what most people ask when they see me? They ask 'What is holding this woman together?'."
"Not me," Wuya clarified. "I asked myself 'Do you think this gorgeous bombshell might be interested if you play your cards right?'."
"For the twilight years of my life," Yzma ranted on, "I've been regarded as a weakling! A joke! A laughingstock! And yet…here I am. Poised on the brink of conquest of epic proportions. Soon to be empress of more than just a silly little Kingdom of the Sun. Why, I'm about to snuff out the light on all of them."
"Cool," Mera replied. "What does this have to do with me?"
"Really?" Wuya sighed. "Let me spell it out for you. You're not doing so hot right now. Nowhere to go, that whole amulet heist fell through, not sure what your next step is, and, oh, that's right, your body feels like it's on fire. Pretty pathetic, but not too different of an origin story from the rest of our flock. We've learned how to work through weaknesses and turn them into strengths."
"And let me spell MY question out for YOU," Mera growled. "Can. You. Fix. My. CONSTANT. PAIN?"
"Off the top of my head," Yzma replied, "no. Probably not. At least not right away. Never say never. But is that really what you want? Or would you rather live a life where you can achieve great things in spite of that pain? After all…when you DID plan on softening out that Epithet, what were you going to do?"
"Do?" Mera replied. And she realized she had no answer. "The cure is all I've ever looked for. I don't…I don't actually know what I wanna do when I get it." A long pause. "Huh."
"I think we have had a lot of fun on our adventures," Indus suggested. "Remember all those times you tricked people and stole things and were so happy about it?"
"Yeah," Mera said softly. "I guess…I'd still be a thief, or a con, or something."
"Now, this is important," Wuya urged. "Conscience? Yes or no."
"Please," Mera huffed. "The things I've done to get my cure? I had to abandon my conscience a long time ago."
"I just tune it out and don't think too hard about the moral implications of anything I'm doing!" Indus said happily.
Yzma sighed, rolling her eyes. "Do we HAVE to bring him? He's just going to be Kronk all over again, and I don't know if I can take that!"
"HEY!" Mera yelled. "You want me? You take Indus too. We're a package deal. If you can't handle that, then we're done here."
"So you're saying this does sound interesting," Wuya noted with a smirk.
"…Yeah," Mera replied. "Because you know something? You're right. No frigging clue what I'm supposed to do once I've normalized out. Along the way, I guess I corrupted pretty bad. And honestly? Compared to the life I had before, playing the good girl and staying locked up in my room so I wouldn't get hurt?" She blinked a little too often. Hiding tears. "Crime's better. By a long shot. So no. If I had my cure, I wouldn't give it up. I'm a thief, I'm a con, and I may or may not have a body count depending on what qualifies."
"I still do not think you were at fault for that one," Indus told her. "You may have wanted him to die, but no one could've expected that electric guitar to fall on that crossbow."
Mera shrugged. "It's the thought that counts."
"So you're in?" Yzma asked excitedly. "Don't worry. I won't make you shake hands."
"HOLD UP." Mera put up a hand, palm out. "We've talked a lot about me. We HAVEN'T talked a lot about you. What do you guys…DO? Exactly. Prove to me this is a better gig than Bliss Ocean."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Wuya told her. "We'll tell you, of course…but it's going to be MUCH more effective when we show you."
...
The Huntsman tried to pretend that Knockturn Alley didn't fascinate him in every little detail. But Mozenrath could see his wandering eyes, even beneath the head coverings.
"It is a very different place from its equivalent on my world," he noted.
"That's why I had you marked down for this one, you know," Mozenrath replied. "Thought you might enjoy it."
"And how did you surmise I would enter without the help of a sorcerer?"
"You're resourceful. You would've figured something out. Probably asking me to open the gate while I was waiting on the harvest moon."
"I suppose."
Into the Liminal Space they went. Terminus was behind the grubby, cracked counter that day. Behind him, on a wall-mounted shelf, the bottle of swirled rainbow sands was clearly visible, its too-high price tag on full display.
"Remember me?" Mozenrath placed his left hand on the counter to sneer down Terminus.
"Not particularly," Terminus replied. "Should I know you?"
Mozenrath twitched. "I've – I've been on a multi-world spree of conquest and destruction. HOW DO YOU NOT – "
"We've come to make a purchase," the Huntsman broke in. "The bottle of sand on the shelf."
"I'm not sure you could afford that," Terminus told him, fidgeting as though he were preoccupied by another thought.
"You're not?" Mozenrath replied. "I beg to differ."
He let a money pouch fall onto the table.
Terminus looked from the pathetically small pouch to its owner. "That's all?"
"Open it," Mozenrath encouraged. "I think you'll be surprised."
Terminus, maintaining eye contact with Mozenrath the entire time, did so, turning the pouch upside down. A handful of coins and munny clinked down onto the counter. Followed by another handful. By this time, the pouch should've been empty, but still more riches came. And they kept flowing as though from a faucet, kept in extradimensional space within the pouch's enchantments. It took Terminus a while to realize this and even longer to react, and his counter was soon flooded with loot.
Quickly drawing the string on the bag, he said, "Yes, yes, this will suffice."
"Count it," Mozenrath told him. "Just to be sure."
"If you'll excuse me," Terminus said, fetching the bottle, "I HAVEN'T the time. I've just been given an order to outfit an entire pirate ship with enough Gummi to be interspace-worthy. You may very well have just paid the bills I'll need to accomplish that one." He shoved the bottle at Mozenrath. "Take care. Ta-ta. Safe travels and all that. Go on, GET!"
Outside the shop, Mozenrath grumbled, "We could've shorted him."
"It was best to assume the safe side," the Huntsman replied. "If he had been a faery in disguise, anything less than exact payment could've spelled our doom."
"I know, I know." Mozenrath sighed. "Let's just move to phase two already."
Phase two was to enter a familiar shop, dusky and packed to the gills with suspicious-looking artifacts. Upon hearing the door move, a ragged-looking old man made his way to the sales floor.
"How can I help you?" he asked in the most suspiciously smug voice he could have produced.
"First of all," Mozenrath said in a tone somehow even more smug, "there are two names on the sign. Which one are you?"
"Borgin," the old man replied.
"Good to know," Mozenrath said. "You have a partner, or…?"
"He's met with a bout of…bad health," Borgin replied. "Been laid up at St. Mungo's for days. Had his voice frightened right out of him. Can't even tell me who did it. But if I ever find out who made it so I have to work double time here, you can bet I won't be letting them off easy."
"What a shame," Mozenrath said, trying his hardest not to laugh. "At any rate, they say your shop is the place to go for certain items that…well, let's just say they wouldn't even think of selling out in the open one street over."
"It depends on who is asking," Borgin replied.
The Huntsman had already gone right to the display shelves. Borgin leaned around Mozenrath; "Careful what you TOUCH."
"I'm no fool," the Huntsman replied. He reached out to deftly pluck a single item from the display: a purple crystal suspended on a plain cord. He turned the crystal over in his hand.
"Ah, that," Borgin said with a toothy leer. "Valuable item, that."
"The Amulet of Candor," the Huntsman read from a card. "At least, that is what it is labeled. What do you think of that, Mozenrath?"
Mozenrath didn't bother stifling his laugh this time. "Candor. Right. How did it get that name again?"
"Because it can read your deepest desires," Borgin began. "It – "
"No." Mozenrath was still chuckling. "Wrong, wrong, and wrong. I know you got the name through hearsay, and what you heard was wrong."
"Like the children's game of Telephone," the Huntsman added, quite amused. "I shall be sure to tell him how you butchered his name, however."
"…Tell who?" Borgin asked.
"Not important," Mozenrath said, but only because it was important to preserve the humor of the situation.
The Huntsman approached Borgin with the amulet. "I wish to purchase this crystal. And this alone."
Borgin snorted. "If you think you know my wares so much better than I do, you'll be willing to pay top dollar for it."
"This is where it could've come in handy to short the Liminal Space," Mozenrath grumbled.
"We planned for this," the Huntsman reminded him, laying down even more munny.
Borgin inspected it. Bit a few of the pieces. Then swept it into a drawer. "Amulet's yours."
The Huntsman pocketed it. "I believe that will be all."
"Will it, though?" Mozenrath asked slyly.
"Ah, yes," the Huntsman said. "There was one…other matter to address. I shall locate the proper item while you explain the situation, Mozenrath." And he moved away again.
Vexen had said it was in the back of a closet. A closet they couldn't have used for this venture, because of this very property of its existence. The Huntsman located it easily, peering inside.
"I'm just…so sorry for the temporary loss of your assistant," Mozenrath told Borgin. "Was he well-liked around town?"
"Too much," Borgin spat. "A sharp wit and good looks don't mean everything – as I'm sure you're blind to. They flocked to him, especially the women."
"Aww, you think I have a sharp wit and good looks!" Mozenrath teased. "But how do 'they' feel about their icon being laid up and muted?"
"They want blood," Borgin replied. "Vigilante patrols go out day and night looking for his attackers. One day, we'll find them. And they'll know that we here in Knockturn Alley don't find the Unforgivable Curses so unforgivable."
"And you…agree it's a bad thing he got brought down?" Mozenrath asked. "Are you with the search party, or – "
"What's he doing in there?" Borgin had noticed the Huntsman feeling around the back of the closet. "Oi! You!"
"I am shopping the sales floor," the Huntsman said calmly.
"You can't be in there!" Borgin snapped.
"I'll put him in line once you answer the QUESTION," Mozenrath growled. "Are you out for blood too, or is it better he's out of your hair?"
Borgin now regarded Mozenrath with heavy suspicion. "As I said," he stated slowly, "things've been harder around here without him around. And he may have been a disagreeable lad, but I owed his bloodline a favor, and the clan didn't take too kindly to hearing it happened on my watch. If I find who cast those curses…" He leaned forward. "The Killing Curse would be too quick for them."
There was a click as the Huntsman's hands found the loose wall. It pushed aside, revealing the passage to the back storage area. The Huntsman leaned back to nod to Mozenrath.
"Get out of there," Mozenrath said lazily. "The man says you can't be in there."
The Huntsman stayed put. As they'd scripted.
"But I have…one more question," Mozenrath asked. "When he lost his voice. Was it from the wounds caused by the Sectumsempra, or did he get shaken by the Cruciatus Curse a little too hard?"
"He was – " Borgin flinched. "Wait. How did you – " Then his eyes widened. "IT WAS YOU!"
Mozenrath laughed. "Guilty!"
"YOU – " Borgin reached for his wand. "I'M NOT LETTING YOU LEAVE HERE ALIVE!"
But the man had practically promised a head start, with his intent to torture rather than kill. Mozenrath simply said "Gotta run!" before charging toward the Huntsman.
The Huntsman grasped his hand, practically flinging Mozenrath into the passage revealed by the false wall. He then followed, pushing the wall back into place behind them. The sound of Borgin's enraged screams echoed from the other side.
Neither Mozenrath nor the Huntsman was fool enough to think that would stop him. It was his own secret passage, after all. So they barreled down it, entering the larger storage rooms.
"THERE!" Mozenrath pointed. "Right where Vexen said it would be!"
A door of wood and glass, with a small chip in it where wood had been extracted. Identical to the door sitting on the snowy field in the ocean between worlds.
There was a BANG as Borgin apparated within the passage. The Huntsman flung the small door open wide, shoving Mozenrath into the space beyond and following after. This storage closet was lined with shelves, holding various potions. No room whatsoever for a secret passage, meaning this truly was closed space.
The Huntsman retrieved his scroll, hitting a number. It rang once. "Yello," Randall answered.
"ACTIVATE IT NOW!" the Huntsman yelled.
"Y'know, you could ask politely," Randall grumbled. But all the same, he swiped the key card for the door, watching its light glow red. Then hopped aboard the skimmer, taking off for warmer climates. As it turned out, waiting on a snowy plateau hadn't been his greatest idea given how lizardlike he was, and he needed to get warmed back up tout de suite.
"And now we wait…" Mozenrath said.
Borgin rushed the door from the outside. "I'LL MAKE YOU BEG FOR DEATH FOR WHAT YOUV'E DONE TO ME!"
He seized the handle, wondering how his opponents had been so stupid to think they could hide in such a small and silly place. He flung the door wide.
But instead of his potions storage closet, he was looking at a snowy plateau bordered by ridges of ice. Stepping onto it, he found himself in the vastness of interspace, beholding the majesty of the green vortex.
A single brownie in a plastic container awaited him: a very mocking welcome gift.
As Borgin tried to figure out the sense of where he was and why, Mozenrath helped himself to a few of the potions from the closet, tucking them away in his enchanted bag. The Huntsman took a set of bottles as well.
They'd heard the door open as Borgin entered the gummi wasteland Randall had set up for them. But to them, on the inside, the door was still closed.
"George," Mozenrath posed coyly, "explain this to me. We heard him open the door, and yet here he isn't."
"Of course," the Huntsman replied, almost equally coyly. "The door he opened links to the one that Randall created. It works on the principles espoused in Monstropolis, of modernized Eluvians."
"But George!" Mozenrath asked in mock shock. "If he's out there on that side…and the Gummi is on the other side where he's standing…then where are WE? What happened to this closet?"
"I can only presume it got…" Mozenrath could hear the Huntsman's grin. "Lost."
"Lost? On a cosmic scale? Why, then we must be in…"
Mozenrath pushed the door open from his side to reveal a different view for himself and the Huntsman, too. One nothing like the back rooms of Borgin & Burkes. It was a massive junkyard, filled with sharp scrap metal as far as the eye could see, except in one direction, where a crooked metropolis rose.
"A world designed to collect the waste of the cosmos," the Huntsman said. "A landfill for all worlds' garbage."
Mozenrath stepped out, grinning at the Huntsman, encouraging the latter to step forward as well. "Welcome to Sakaar."
...
Vexen knew that to simply Corridor into the middle of the city would be foolish. He and his team entered from outside city limits, working their way slowly through Radiant Garden until they reached the central districts.
During this time, he'd thought Deymos might annoy him with constant jabber, but Deymos kept mostly to himself, humming a little tune that wasn't horrible. That was good, because Vexen hadn't been in the mood to talk to him, and maybe he'd picked up on that.
What he hadn't counted on was Simon recounting the entire plot of a fantasy series he had authored and fostered a rather big ego over. It went on for several very long books and wasn't at all interesting.
"Once Nimos puts on the bracelet," Simon rambled on, "it allows him to see the shades of the dead. Which aren't GHOSTS. They're more like memories of souls imprinted upon where the living used to be. He realizes he can finally get the truth about the Decade of War out of the elven emperor, and so sets out across the Brinebilge Sea to find the palace where he spent his last moments. The emperor, I mean. Nimos is still alive. But the fin-folk who live below the waves have other plans."
And so on.
"Apex Captain has many, many good ideas," skekSil said, "and would make very good bard."
"I know." Simon beamed.
"Perhaps Chamberlain should help Apex Captain to reach success in bardic arts," skekSil suggested slyly. "Perhaps…literary promotions are needed. Allow Chamberlain to handle."
"I'll keep that in mind," Simon replied.
"Xerxes think skekSil kissing up to ride coattails," Xerxes piped up.
"Of COURSE he is!" Simon snapped. "But so long as he doesn't upstage me as the writer and lets me shine, then he can take advantage of my fame, fortune, and creative mind all he wants!"
SkekSil chuckled. "Excellent decision."
"You have such a wonderful imagination!" Tsumugi gushed. "I especially love the outfits you came up with in detail for your characters."
"Clothing details tell you about the culture," Simon replied. "I wanted you to be able to figure out the exact rank and bloodline of any character based on the little things about their physical descriptions."
"You should cosplay Nimos!" Tsumugi said, eyes sparkling. "I could help you make the costume! You'd look perfect!"
Simon smirked. "You know, after I taught Grace her lesson, I actually modeled my new Apex Captain outfit on Nimos. I had to make do with what I could find on the train, so the jacket wasn't EXACTLY right, and the undershirt was a modern tank top instead of the more medieval variant I designed, but I can assure you I never felt more powerful."
"So let's do it RIGHT this time!" Tsumugi squealed. "We can search through the shops once we get to – "
Vexen had to put a stop to this one. "We are NOT putting the search on hold for the purpose of CLOTHING."
"Uh, yeah we are," Deymos said suddenly. "You're not exactly a stranger around here, remember? You gotta change it up a little so people don't call in the cavalry. At least get a hood like the old days. And how long have you been wearing that outfit? The Organization? Before the fall? Doesn't matter. You need something that's more…you. Vexencore."
Normally, Vexen would argue. But the horrible thing was that he was right about the recognition piece. "I suppose a change of wardrobe would prove advantageous from a reconnaissance perspective…"
"Cool," Deymos replied. "Because I need some new threads, and I wasn't gonna let you stop me."
Once the group reached the main square, Noodle Burger Boy announced, "All right, sisters! Here's where we do OUR part of the mission!"
"You all know what to do!" Hyper-Potamus cheered. "Our super secret plan!"
"Ohhhh," Crushroom said, "you mean infiltrating the food establishments of this city and using them to get information."
"You don't know what 'super secret' means, do you?" Hangry Panda sighed.
But then they were gone, thankfully leaving Vexen, Deymos, Xerxes, Tsumugi, Simon, and skekSil alone. "Good," Tsumugi spat. "I don't think I could take much more of them trying to claim I'm part of their siblinghood. I'm an entirely different style of mech!"
They entered the Dressphere Emporium and began their search. Tsumugi immediately began rifling through the spheres that matched the picky descriptions in Simon's overly wordy magnum opus. SkekSil and Simon hovered as she did so. Xerxes chose to hang around Vexen and Deymos instead.
"Here." Deymos lobbed a sphere at Vexen, who only noticed its trajectory at the last minute and fumbled it. "Try this."
So Vexen did. A long blue coat, edged in white fur trim, with a voluminous hood. Beneath it, an outfit of similar colors, sewn to look like a polar explorer's but made light and thin enough for the summer. "I suppose it will suffice," Vexen said.
"It's you," Deymos replied. "SO you."
Vexen told himself that he really didn't care how it looked, so long as it was functional. And yet…this really did fit his personal style, didn't it? Insofar as he had one. It was the same color as Frozen Pride, at any rate.
He might be so bold as to even say he liked it. But not out loud.
"And you?" Vexen asked.
"Still thinking." Deymos gathered spheres into his arms. "Anyway, what's your plan for the runaway?"
"Not HERE!" Vexen hissed. He inclined his head to the shop's proprietor, who was lazily leafing through a magazine while leaning against the counter.
Deymos held up a finger. "Watch and learn." He summoned his sitar to hand, playing a soft, dissonant note.
A small jet of water formed in the air, careening to the proprietor. It split in two as it reached him, zooming quietly to either side of his face. A little stream of water entered each ear. He didn't react, not having noticed.
"And now he only hears what I want him to," Deymos explained.
"A clever enchantment," Vexen noted. "Is this part of how you pass unnoticed through risky areas?"
"If I can see who all I'm supposed to be avoiding, yeah," Deymos replied. "Only works if I know who I'm aiming for, though, so it's kinda useless against real spies."
"Still, rather impressive."
"Vexen give compliments?" Xerxes was taken aback. "Is REAL Vexen?"
"Of course I'm real, you nitwit!" Vexen hissed.
"And there's the proof of it," Deymos teased. "Anyway, you got a game plan, or…?"
"I am still thinking of how best to approach the problem," Vexen admitted. "We have narrowed it down to a single city. And that is with the assumption that she has not left the urban area. If she has, our search is that much more complex. Moreover, while I am fairly certain of what face we seek, her particular ability to morph to a viewer's memories in the past may just allow her a camouflage skill. She could be wearing any face in town."
"Yeah, that's not much to go on." Deymos was using spheres to suit himself up in a variety of gaudy outfits. "Continue."
"I am irked that she is not even the first experiment I have lost to this city," Vexen huffed. "The others have all been purged, of course. Maleficent would've seen to that."
"Wait. Others?"
"Subjects from before the Organization," Vexen revealed. "Those on which I perfected my techniques. It began with an installation of my Blizzard-related powers in my own heart."
"Those didn't come NATURALLY?" Deymos flinched. "But you're such an ice guy! Like, in general! You're COLD!"
"I am well aware," Vexen replied. "Much as you are fluid, unpredictable, and as much of a nuisance as uncontained water."
Deymos winked and fired a finger-gun at Vexen. "And proud of it."
"From there," Vexen went on, "I granted similar abilities to those you knew as Xaldin, Lexaeus, and Zexion, though with the corresponding elements. Zexion was already bestowed with such a natural capacity for magic, however…I hardly had to alter anything. Then came Subject X. A stray girl Ansem had taken in. I claimed to have found her true family and used that story to cover for my ushering her to my laboratory. It was the tests on her that taught me of the nature of the creatures of the heart. Heartless, Nobodies, Unversed, Dream Eaters. And a particularly strange phenomenon I dubbed the 'Lingering Will.' After that, I moved on to creating new projects. Certain of the city's more…forgettable subjects would go missing. I experimented with augmenting their minds, their bodies, their magical capacity, their very hearts. One might say I created monsters. I like to think of them as…enhanced warriors."
"And you NEVER brought any of this stuff up to Xemnas." Deymos' eyes were wide as could be.
"He knew," Vexen corrected. "After all, he and I cohabitated the same laboratory. He and Braig were unique individuals whose powers were so strong and innate that there was little I could do to improve upon them. Not to mention our working relationship demanded that I avoid the topic altogether. The only subjects they took a true interest in were Subject X and my first attempt at the replica. A being I called 'Lazard Deusericus.' He disintegrated within twenty-four hours, and yet was the opening of a whole new door."
"Whoa."
"Though perhaps my crowning achievement was my one-winged angels," Vexen mused. "Three young men I altered in an attempt to create an ultimate lifeform. The first two subjects were absolute failures. Their cells deteriorated rapidly. Angeal Hewley destroyed himself during Maleficent's initial assault on Radiant Garden, when we took refuge in the laboratories in hopes of ousting her. Genesis Rhapsodos experienced a slower decline; I've no doubt Maleficent eradicated him. At least it was a refusal to delay the inevitable, with him. No, the true tragedy is the loss of the one 'angel' that never deteriorated. The one whose DNA I copied for later projects again and again. Sephiroth was a turning point in my research, one that I – "
There was a sound of tinkling. Deymos had stumbled, knocking several spheres off the shelf. "I'm sorry," he said incredulously. "Did you just say SEPHIROTH? YOU MADE HIM?"
"That is exactly what I said. Were you not paying attention?"
"Was that 'one-winged' thing literal?" Deymos asked hurriedly. "Did he just have the one?"
"It was a way to mark the line as superior from the prior models," Vexen explained. "Rosso, Azul, and their ilk bore nothing like it."
"Nonono," Deymos babbled. "You don't get it – it's not about – Vex, the thing is – "
Even though he'd silenced their more sensitive conversations from the man at the checkout desk, Deymos still leaned forward to whisper, "Sephiroth wasn't destroyed. That guy's still OUT THERE."
"WHAT?" Vexen yelled so loudly that Tsumugi, Simon, and skekSil came scooting around to regard him.
"Is everything all right?" Tsumugi asked.
"…Yes," Vexen panted. "Go back to your costume design."
So the trio backed away, and skekSil could clearly be heard saying "Chamberlain has no interest in dressing as silly bird-demon from animated painting. Find someone else!"
"What..." Vexen hissed. "Do you MEAN…he is OUT THERE?"
"At least he was at the Battle of Radiant Garden," Deymos explained. "The one where they sent me to die. The RECENT one. After Axel, y'know…blew you up."
Vexen shuddered.
"Once the Heartless descended," Deymos went on, "the guy showed up to the party. He was targeting this spiky blond guy in black, this total twunk, and I dunno what kind of history they had, but one look at Sephiroth told me I couldn't beat him in a one-on-one, so I hightailed it."
"…Spiky blond?" Vexen repeated.
"What was the guy's name?" Deymos mused. "Something weather-related."
"CLOUD STRIFE?" Vexen bellowed, and Tsumugi, Simon, and skekSil came around the corner again.
"Everything fine," Xerxes sighed. "Go back to costume."
After sharing a communal shrug, Tsumugi, Simon, and skekSil returned to their quest.
"You know the guy?" Deymos asked.
"Of course I do!" Vexen hissed. "He is the Light to Sephiroth's Darkness, and Sephiroth the Dark to his Light!"
"What now?"
"I implanted cells from Sephiroth into Cloud's body to test the effect on a normal human specimen!" Vexen clarified. "They are two halves of a whole!"
"Oh, THAT would explain why they kept chasing each other around," Deymos realized. "I thought they were just ex-boyfriends."
"Is he still in the city?" Vexen urged. "Where did you see him?"
"Out by Villain's Vale," Deymos explained. "Shortly before I bit the dust Nobody-style. Dunno if he's still around, though. You can understand why I wanted to stay away from this city for a bit."
Yes. Vexen could. "If one survived," he said softly, "it is entirely possible that others survived."
"Maybe?" Deymos shrugged.
"In the absence of any other sort of lead," Vexen mused, "it must be considered. Could it be possible that Xion has fallen in league with my other experiments? They all held considerable ill will toward me."
"And after you improved them so much, too," Deymos said sarcastically. "How ungrateful."
"Yes," Vexen said. "I am beginning to see. There is now a plan in formation, and it will require the aid of EVERYONE, THIS INSTANT!"
And no one came around the corner.
"The one time I NEED them to come rushing…" Vexen seethed. "We will round them up physically."
"Hey, wait!" Deymos held up two dresspheres. "I need to know which of these is better." He swapped to one, which gave him a somewhat tight pantsuit with broad shoulder pads and a dipped V-neck. "This?" Then to the next, which put him in a white suit; his jacket hung off his shoulders, the embellished sleeves serving moreso as decorative items in the vein of a cape than anything else. "Or this?"
"Oh, for Kingdom Hearts – " Vexen swiped a garment grid, implanting both spheres into it. He shoved it into Deymos' hands, then passed his own palm over it in a particular way.
In a blink, Deymos was wearing the black pantsuit, but with the white jacket over top, the jacket now bearing the shoulder pads. The sleeves still dangled down the back. "What the – " Deymos flinched. "This is the best of both worlds! How'd you know how to do that?"
"Because Zexion's mother was obsessed with couture." Vexen was storming off. "Now HURRY!"
"Wait!" Deymos ran after him. "You're saying you knew Zexion's MOM? How deep does this all go?"
He didn't get that question answered. Xerxes flitted after them as they corralled Tsumugi, skekSil, and Simon – the latter of whom was now dressed in a black leather tank top and pants with an array of belts, with a bright red jacket that looked befitting of royalty over top. They all paid for their spheres, and Deymos removed the spell from the proprietor's ears before they left, just so it wouldn't raise suspicion if his hearing was altered later. The group reassembled out in the street, where Vexen put up the hood of his new blue coat to keep himself a stranger from the crowds.
He gave a brief recap of what he and Deymos had discussed. "My plan is twofold," he explained. "We will divide and conquer. One team shall search for any sign of Sephiroth, or any of the other experiments. The other, which I shall lead, will proceed to a…hideout of sorts I know we can use. Depending on the results, this situation may call for still more scientific endeavors to be performed. I would like a laboratory in which to work with them."
"Elaborate please," skekSil said. "What science is needed, and what would make need?"
"If every experiment I cannot account for has indeed survived," Vexen said, "and if they have banded together the way they threatened to in my old laboratory, then we cannot face them as we are."
"Could perhaps return to Blacksmith for more weapons." SkekSil drew a wickedly long curved sword from his hip: one of two matching blades. With the press of a button, its blade edge alit with a burning red laser. "Has done fine work, and in such short time, too. All for small price."
"Wait," Deymos realized. "Did you – did you DO him to get him to work faster?"
"You'd better not have ANYWHERE NEAR MY LABORATORY SPACE," Vexen seethed.
"How uncouth!" skekSil gasped. "How crude! Accusing Chamberlain of disrobing and copulating in public space? No. Chamberlain merely paid in favors that could be granted still clothed." He gave a soft snicker. "Blacksmith very responsive to marks left on skin."
"Oh, they just made out," Tsumugi realized.
"For one," Vexen hissed, "I will NOT be paying with loose physical favors for ANYTHING. For another, I refuse to put my utmost faith in Zorg Industries technology. To combat my experiments, we will need something designed by my own hand. I will settle for nothing less."
"Dibs on Team Vexen," Deymos said. "Sounds like it's gonna be less dangerous anyway."
"Then I'll find out about your experiments," Simon volunteered.
"Chamberlain has ways of getting information," skekSil added. "Will accompany Apex Captain."
"Are those ways related to making out with people?" Tsumugi mused.
"Ultimate Cosplayer will be SILENT," skekSil hissed. Then: "Also, no."
"Come with us, Tsumugi," Simon ordered. "You're a shapeshifter, which makes you a key to our success! No fantasy army could win without a shapeshifter!"
"I don't know…" Tsumugi looked sidelong at Deymos.
Xerxes flitted into her view; "Xerxes watch. Make sure everything okay."
Tsumugi thought it over. As much as Xerxes was written off, he did make a competent spy, and she knew he'd find a way to report to her any suspicious activity. Not to mention that before leaving, she'd bugged Deymos' scroll, and was still connected to it. If he made a wrong move, she could figure it out easily.
"Okay," Tsumugi relented. "I'll help look for the missing experiments."
"Team Simon," Simon rallied, "let's GO!" And off he charged.
"Wait, WAIT!" skekSil called after him as he shuffled at top speed for a Skeksis. "Wait for Chamberlain and Ultimate Cosplayer!"
"Yes, please wait for the group!" Tsumugi called, trying to keep such a pace that she was at a midpoint between the two.
That left Vexen, Deymos, and Xerxes. "Did she hesitate because she is a designated chaperone to ensure you do not betray us?" Vexen asked.
"I mean, I could lie," Deymos replied, "but you'd see right through it, so yeah."
"Then why did she leave so willingly? Surely she doesn't put the same trust into Xerxes."
"Xerxes offended," Xerxes replied. "I think."
"Yeah, well…" Deymos pulled out his scroll. "She also bugged this and thinks I don't know. So probably she's trusting that. And I'm not gonna mess with it, 'cause I wanna prove you guys can actually count on me. She can spy all she wants."
Vexen was taken aback. He really had to stop underestimating Deymos. (And perhaps that meant Xerxes was worth something, too.) "Then I suppose we can proceed."
...
The first stop on Odin's royal procession was the outdoor theater where the king had demanded a particular production be played. This show, "The Tragedy of Loki," was written as an apology to the son he'd lost on the battlefields of Svartalfheim.
One might've expected it to be far too campy and heavy-handed, with the characters Thor and Odin spewing please of forgiveness over the dying Loki. Yet it was written with a subtle master's hand. The dialogue was reminiscent of Shakespeare, the set direction of ancient Greek theater. A chorus explained the emotional states of the characters involved, and it was supposed to be quite clear that Loki had been ostracized and mistreated by those who were sworn to love him, right to the very end. Leaving a question for the audience: would Odin and Thor betray their own people in the same way?
An odd message to come from a play written by Odin himself. But a very clear hint that Odin wasn't really Odin. And only two people in the whole audience seemed to pick up on it.
"Look at him!" Aghoul gestured to Odin's – or, rather Loki's – private seat up front. "He's lapping it up like a ghoul at fresh blood!"
"And they say WE'RE preoccupied by pageantry," Mim huffed. "He's written this whole show about himself! Do you see us having done that? No! And it makes me angry because we should've beaten him to it!"
"There will be plenty of space in Atlantis to take over the theater circuit, dear," Aghoul reminded her. "For now, I say we focus on the REAL show."
"All it will take is one little glamour dispulsion," Mim cackled, "and Loki himself will be on display for all to see as usurper!"
"They'll kill him faster than we ever could!" Aghoul snickered.
One of the ushers made his way up to them: a blond man in robes of red and black. "I'm sorry," he said, "but you've made too much of a commotion. Now you'll have to leave."
"We paid good money for the tickets to this show!" Aghoul huffed.
"You want us to leave?" Mim spat. "Then make us!"
"That's the thing!" the usher said as he moved forward, seizing the forearm of Mim and Aghoul each in a hand. "I was always going to!"
Then they were in a back alley, shielded from view by several high golden walls. Who even knew how far they were from the theater itself?
"I see 'Lord Odin' has hired some competent security," Aghoul huffed.
The usher laughed. "You and I know the truth of who sits in that private seat! And that's why I was ordered to escort you out. After all, we can't have you spoiling the twist before we get to the climax of the show! But if you REALLY wanted someone unmasked – "
He gave a dramatic spin. His form and clothing shimmered, red and black giving way to shining silver with trailing bandages. Silver overtook his skin as well; a tall headdress rose up, and a fan-tipped staff came to hand.
"Then THIS ought to be dramatic enough to satisfy you for a while!" Imperious threw out his arms.
"DRAT!" Mim yelled. "We should've known he'd bring friends!"
"I don't see why we need to be too afraid," Aghoul said with a smirk. "It's only a mummy. I've dueled my fair share of them. It reminds me of the time I coveted the wife of Pharaoh Very-Unkhamen, but he wouldn't hear a word of it, so we ended up having to spar for her hand. She was a gorgeous woman, but such a nag – "
"ARE YOU DONE?" Imperious yelled.
"Hold on now!" Aghoul spat. "I was just getting to the part of the story where I reveal how I diverted Very-Unkhamen from noticing my power play by rambling about my past wives! See, what he hadn't noticed was that by listening to me, he'd failed to realize that there was danger CLOSING IN ON ALL SIDES!"
Imperious simply gave his fan-staff a twirl, raising it over his head and spinning it around his whole body. Every single magic-propelled skull that had been heading toward him from the side or behind was cut down and fizzled out.
"…Oh," Aghoul realized.
"Why should I need to see through your tricks when I'm ready for every one of them?" Imperious asked. "The better question is: are you ready for MINE?"
The fan-staff swiped through the air again. Aghoul didn't see a beam emerge, but he did feel the sudden impact of several small combustions on his skin, knocking him to the ground. "Well, those burns are going to look tacky," he grumbled.
"YOU!" Mim shrieked, hopping up and down angrily. "HOW DARE YOU! Why don't I give you a taste of your own medicine?" Up and down, bounce, bounce, and she was growing in size each time until she had become a veritable giant. She rubbed her hands together, generating sparks. "You're THROUGH!"
Aghoul shimmered into place on her shoulder, raising his own hands high. "Don't go crying out for MUMMY!" he cackled.
Mim let loose a barrage of forceful energy, and Aghoul added to it a streak of potent lavender that curled through the wave of sparks like a serpent.
"That's the BEST you can do?" Imperious huffed. "Then again…it was exactly what I was waiting for!"
He placed his staff before him, fan held out flat. It glowed, and he used the tool to harvest all the energy being blasted at him full force.
"STOP!" Aghoul realized. "HE'S SAPPING OUR OWN POWER!"
"I'LL BELIEVE IT WHEN I SEE IT!" Mim yelled back.
Then, because of the toll Imperious' draw was taking on her, she faltered on the spell that kept her large, and suddenly shrank back down to normal size, collapsing on the ground. Aghoul sprawled atop her.
"All right," Mim relented, "I believe it."
Imperious hefted his staff high; it glowed with burning energy that seemed ready to explode at a moment's notice. "I don't even mind missing The Tragedy of Loki now!" he crowed. "I'm about to write an even BETTER tragedy: YOURS!"
He then gave an incantation. The ground shook.
"Oh, dear," Aghoul realized.
"What?" Mim asked. "What is it? I don't recognize that one."
"It's a forbidden spell," Aghoul told her. "Cast the wrong way, it'll simply disintegrate the mage. But if you manage to pull it off…"
Dark shades rose from the ground, spewing from the shadows cast by Asgard's walls. They began to gather together in a cyclone that swirled over the isolated battlefield.
"…It calls up the shade energy from every soul ever defeated by the mage who lent the power," Aghoul finished. "In this case, ours."
"Oh," Mim realized. "Everyone I've ever killed, is it? That's…a few too many."
"Speak for yourself!" Aghoul thought. "You think YOUR kill count is high? Imagine MINE!"
The cyclone towered, and it was a wonder no one in the city spotted it. Or perhaps that was by design; after all, the Overtakers were skilled illusionists all around. Then the swirling behemoth collapsed upon itself, congealing into something with many limbs and many heads, about the size Mim had been as a giant.
The monster had a lion's face out front and the faces of numerous other wild predators set into its body, snarling and yowling. Its many arms ended in wicked claws.
"Behold the chimaera!" Imperious yelled. "Its only purpose is to patrol this city, track you down, and END YOU!"
As the chimaera bellowed fiercely, Aghoul and Mim each took a couple steps back, eyes wide.
"My dear," Aghoul suggested, "I think it's time to RUN FOR OUR AFTERLIVES!"
He seized Mim's hand. She was already thinking the same, and she outpaced him to the point of practically dragging him along – he smacked into a couple walls on the way. The chase took them through the winding streets, taking every odd turn, as the chimaera attempted to keep pace. Then, finally, it seemed they'd lost the beast.
"If we want to get anywhere," Aghoul huffed, "we're going to have to get rid of that thing!"
Mim then began to giggle; "This'll be the easiest thing in the worlds! It's made up of shades, remember? Then a proper Shinigami should be able to tear it apart!"
Aghoul's face lit up; "Why, yes! And we have not one but TWO Shinigami on our guest list! Shall we go invite them to the party?"
"I think it would only be impolite," Mim chuckled.
They held hands again as they skipped off into a Corridor of Darkness. On the way, Mim broke into song: "Someone said I am such a foolish girl. Who cares? It's better than withouuuut a liiiiiight…"
...
From the tallest suite of a glass skyscraper, two members of Bliss Ocean watched Sweet Jazz City burn with glee.
The taller of the two, a long-haired brunette in a cowboy hat and poncho, snickered. "Man!" Zora Salazar laughed. "This just keeps gettin' better for us, don't it?"
The other, a blonde android in a white suit, gave a high-pitched giggle. "Even the most powerful Epithet users can't handle this! This is the perfect time to pick them all off like fish in a barrel!" Yoomtah Zing danced in place, feet jogging up and down.
Such was the mission of their organization: to eradicate Epithets and their users. All done in a warped name of "equality" for mundies. Zora, of course, was a special case. She had an Epithet, and a powerful one at that, but still she resented the very concept. After all, it made duels so unfair. Nothing was ever achieved by the sweat of one's brow in her eyes. All you had to do was say your magic word and you would win. That was something she wanted to undo. And undoing was her specialty.
There was a time they sought the Arsene Amulet, hoping to weaponize it. Perhaps that way, they could've wreaked a lesser evil, ripping Epithets from people in order to show them the mundie life. But the amulet was long-gone. And without a device that could strip Epithets from users…well, that meant some eggs had to be broken for the omelet.
The window was one edge of a solitary conference room. A woman dressed in a frilly maid's uniform, all lace and skirts, placed a teacup and saucer at each of two seats of the long table.
Zora turned to see her putting the libations down. "HA! Lookit that, Yoomtah! The things they'll do to haze the trainees these days."
"What a stupid uniform!" Yoomtah agreed.
But the "trainee," who wasn't a Bliss Ocean trainee at all, scowled at them. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Mera grunted. "I'll get promoted soon enough. Then I'll be the one dressing the newbies like idiots. Anyway, transmission incoming in five."
She departed, closing the door behind her. Zora and Yoomtah took their places at the table. In five minutes, as promised, the television screen at the head of the conference room flickered to life.
A shadowy entity nodded. "Greetings."
"Yo!" Zora saluted.
"Hi hi!" Yoomtah chirped.
"What a wonderful day," the leader of Bliss Ocean sighed. "Don't you think, ladies?"
"Sounds like you already got a plan for the power play," Zora said slyly.
"Tell us!" Yoomtah yelled. "Tell us, tell us, TELL US!"
"I may have some…ideas," the Bliss Ocean leader revealed. "For example, I have reached out to the Songstress, and already this has opened up a myriad of possibilities. She can lend to us – "
He stopped. Flinched. "What is that noise?"
"Noise?" Yoomtah looked from the screen to Zora and back. "I don't hear a noise! Or maybe it's me. I creak sometimes!"
"No, wait," Zora realized. "I hear it too. It's like a…clickin'." She cringed. "Or a TICKIN'."
She quickly ducked under the table. "NO!"
Someone had planted bombs beneath the table. A pair of them. Digital displays on their cylindrical frames counted down the seconds, and they were about to run out.
"ZORA!" Yoomtah yelled. "SUNDIAL THEM!"
But by the time Zora thought to use her power, it was too late. The countdown reached zero. And –
And the pair of "bombs" just emitted a powdery pink gas that floated up through the room.
Zora's lungs filled with it before she could react. She gasped, coughed.
"ZORA!" Yoomtah yelled. "Are you gonna die? Because that'd SUCK!"
Then Zora shook her head. "It's not poison gas. It just smells all kinds of awful! Like dead meat and roadkill!"
"…That's IT?" Yoomtah replied. "What is this, a stupid prank?"
"Wait." Zora sniffed. "There's one more smell. Aww, smells just like baby mountain lion cubs! Y'know, like the pheromone that brings the mama lions to come protect 'em." Then her brow knitted. "Wait."
Around the corner, in the hall, Mera, Yzma, Wuya, and Indus were gathered behind a crowd of shaking cages. They'd all used the lacy maid dresses in order to sneak into the organization – Indus included, and he looked very pretty in it too.
"Three…two…one." Wuya smirked. "Yep. The bait bombs went off."
"RELEASE THE MOUNTAIN LIONS!" Yzma screeched.
She, Wuya, Mera, and Indus yanked the ropes that opened the gates to the cages. A sizeable pack of mountain lions was now free in the Bliss Ocean headquarters building, and every conference room on every floor was leaking the smells of food and family. The four who'd stuffed them into the cages were no longer of any priority, and the mountain lions went charging after the bouquet of smells.
Not long after was Mera treated to the sight of Zora and Yoomtah barreling down the hall screaming as three mountain lions chased them, snarling.
Mera then doubled over; "HA! Okay…okay, you guys convinced me. You're legit."
"That was a brilliant scheme!" Indus complimented. "I bet it will take them weeks to clear out all the mountain lions."
"If the mountain lions don't clear out Bliss Ocean first," Yzma cackled, and the other three joined her in cackling.
Wuya put out a hand; "You in?"
Mera stepped back, then put out her own hand – far from Wuya's. "I hope you don't mind if we air-shake," she said. "Wouldn't want you to break my damn hand in our moment of triumph."
They pantomimed shaking. Then Wuya said, "If you thought this was a good time, where we're going next will blow your mind."
"Hang on," Mera said. "Before we go, can I get a wardrobe change?"
"Back to the sweater vest?" Yzma sighed. "You can do SO much better."
"I KNOW," Mera growled. "That was a disguise from another heist. And I'm kinda sick of disguises. I'd like to get back to actual fashion now, please and thank you!"
Yzma gasped, eyes sparkling. "Now you're speaking my LANGUAGE!"
...
It began, each time, with a simple statement: "We are travelers from nearby village, curious to hear legend of one-winged angel Sephiroth. He was here during Heartless siege, no?"
Each time, the Radiant Garden citizen that skekSil asked oh-so-innocently would assume he was from a different town on the continent: Luca, Kilika, Home in Bikanel. The fact that he was a type of creature they'd never seen before was shrugged off; the towns hadn't paid attention to each other much anymore, not since Maleficent's reign of terror had cut off all trade routes.
"I saw him!" the jeweler in Crystarium urged. "He was terrifying. That silver hair, that long sword…he was just like they all said. He was on the battlefield near Villain's Vale. Me? I was just – passing through, but I SWEAR I actually saw him!"
"The old man in Crystarium will claim to have actually seen him," the boutique owner in Nine Wood Hills sighed. "But I'm the only one to have gotten photos." They passed over a set of images, taken from near and far but all from in hiding. "And I wish I hadn't gone through what I did in order to get these."
"All we really know is that he showed up when the siege did," said the young woman running a fruit stand in the open-air market. "Then the siege was defeated, and so was he, I assume. End of story."
"He's definitely gone," said the Guadosalam shopkeeper. "I'm pretty sure he died in the skirmish."
"That's what EVERYONE says!" countered Gremlin Prescott when skekSil posed the possibility of Sephiroth's death in Gremlin Village. "But I know better! There are still feathers showing up around the castle district! Feathers too big for any bird! They get dropped in the waterways!"
"Well, I did see a guy who looked like he had one wing once," said the student who'd just gotten out of class at Balamb Garden Academy. "Didn't match the rest of the description, though. His hair was way shorter. But I saw him by the fountain. No one believed me."
"Never heard of him," said Nergal. "Do you think he would be interested in a pizza? When my daughter returns from her current order, perhaps I can send her to look out for him."
Gathering all the accounts, skekSil regrouped with Tsumugi and Simon. "It seems there is suspicious activity around castle district," skekSil stated, "particularly near fountain and waterway. Perhaps we should survey."
Simon pointed to himself with a thumb; "I'll handle that part!"
He scaled the massive fountains, standing at the apex of the water wall so he could get a good bird's-eye view. His scroll kept him connected to Tsumugi and skekSil, who stayed out of the area so Simon could remain stealthier.
"Nothing yet," Simon groaned into the scroll. "It's been an hour! I don't think anything's coming!"
"Has been fifteen minutes," skekSil corrected. "Keep watch."
"We could talk more about your books to pass the time!" Tsumugi suggested.
"No…" Simon groaned. "I'd love to, but I gotta stay quiet."
"We could text," Tsumugi suggested. "How about I text you my list of suggested anime?"
"Then I'd be looking at my phone and not the street!" Simon growled.
"Oh," Tsumugi realized. "Okay…"
"Chamberlain wants to hear about recommended animated magic drawings," skekSil told her, and that perked her right up. In truth, he didn't actually care about anime, but he did know how to play to the desires of his teammates.
Simon kept up his watch, wondering when he could just call it in that nothing was going to happen. But then, as a matter of fact, something did happen.
It wasn't Sephiroth. But it was a teenage girl. She appeared in the middle of the road, obviously having decloaked. She gave the area a survey – not looking high up enough to notice her watcher – and then made a break for the door to the waterway.
"Guys!" Simon hissed into his scroll. "I see somebody!"
"Sephiroth?" Tsumugi asked excitedly.
"No," Simon replied. "It's a girl. A teenager."
SkekSil gasped. "Could it be replica?"
"Didn't look like what the old man said," Simon whispered. "Her hair's brown. But he said she could maybe look like anything, right? And what I do know is she just turned invisible. She's cloaking! Which means she's trying to hide from everybody on purpose!"
Tsumugi and skekSil shared a dramatic gasp.
"I'm gonna follow her." Simon shifted to begin descending the fountain. "You guys wait for my next call!"
He hung up, slipping the scroll into his pocket. "You can't run," he whispered, smirking to himself as he took off after the girl.
Into the waterway he went, sliding along the wall slowly. She was keeping good pace, her feet striking the water and splashing to make enough cover sound for Simon to sneak along. He hustled to keep a balance between going silently and keeping up, and made sure to survey how she looked. Brown hair, too light for the Xion that Vexen had described. And she was wearing quite a strange uniform: a dark blue leotard set with plate armor in strategic areas, blue lights glowing softly on the metal. Probably housing the technology she'd used to cloak.
Of course, there were some people who'd recognize her immediately, but Simon wasn't native to Radiant Garden and had no way of knowing that she was Shelke Rui.
He lost her for a moment, and hastened his pace to follow. Then he broke out into the light, thinking he'd well and truly messed up. He stood on the edge of a valley that had once housed Radiant Garden's power generator: a massive glass monument that had given the pre-Maleficent city its energy. During her ten-year reign, however, Maleficent had shattered it, leaving a mess of glass shrapnel that even the Committee still hadn't been able to clean up.
"DANG IT!" Simon yelled, seeing nothing but the glass.
There was a tinkling sound. Down below. When he'd yelled, someone had reacted, disturbing the glass. And since he couldn't see anyone, he knew it was her. Cloaked.
"Eh," he grunted loudly. "I give up." And he waved it off, turning to stalk back into the waterway.
He waited there. Counted to ten. Then barged back out. He'd had several gadgets requested that were similar to those he'd used in the Apex, most importantly a pair of rods that served as grappling hooks. He disengaged their heads, hooking them to the upper ledge upon which he walked, then extended the cords inside so he could rappel down.
It was obvious that most people in town avoided this place due to all the broken glass and what seemed to be still-live electrical magitech. Which was why no one would enter from ground level. But once a person was on ground level, it was now clear to see a path picked through so that a person could walk on the ground without impaling themselves.
Simon slowly walked this path, careful not to make much more noise on the debris. It led him to a barely-visible hole punched into a wall: a sizeable door, hidden away by the angles of the walls and the broken shrapnel.
"Huh." Simon knew he'd have to be careful from here on out. If he was going into an enclosed space with a target, there was a heightened risk of being spotted.
The door led to a tunnel, and that tunnel opened out upon a vista that took Simon's breath away. It was more than just a cavern. There had been a whole neighborhood here, underground, homes and factories and other buildings. Tiers of rock led down to lower levels. It was all dilapidated, with walls falling apart, large buildings crumbling, bent iron beams barely holding the city together.
The metal was good. The other device Simon had requested as a pair of boots with magnetic soles, so he could stick to metal surfaces as he desired. Almost immediately he made his way to an arch braced with a lot of iron, switching on those boots and scurrying his way up.
From there, he made his way carefully around the hidden district, wondering how all of this had gotten down here. He went from beam to beam, roof to roof, sticking to the shadows. Mostly, the city seemed deserted, but he didn't want to take the chance that it wasn't. After all, he'd seen the girl enter here.
As it turned out, she wasn't the only one.
It took Simon a shorter time than expected to track down Shelke. He watched from a rooftop as she crossed a town square, yelling to a brunette woman dressed in red.
"Rosso!" Shelke called out.
The woman, Rosso, turned to regard Shelke smugly. "What did you bring?"
"Food." Shelke produced a bag – the same sort of enchanted model that the WHAM ARMY used, if a more commercial production – and began to draw items from it. Fresh produce. Many, many cans.
"Hmph." Rosso shifted her weight to one hip. "I guess you are not completely useless after all. Pack that back up so we can bring it to the stores."
Shelke set about doing so. "How are the weapons coming?"
Rosso huffed. "I do not know! That is Nero and Weiss' responsibility! Do not bother me with such questions!"
"…Sorry." Shelke stood up, hoisting the bag. "I'll get this put away."
"See to it."
Shelke took off. Simon now knew there were at least two other people here. This was getting interesting.
He located them in what appeared to be a parking lot, its asphalt cracked. That lot was host to a fleet of mechanical devices, robots that looked to be for military use. Among them paced two men. One was tall and burly, with spiky white hair; he opted for a flowing white jacket with no shirt beneath. The other had shaggy black hair; he was clothed in a uniform not dissimilar from Shelke's, with glowing blue lights. The strange folded metal contraption strapped to his back was a curiosity, but at this distance, Simon couldn't even begin to guess at what it was for. Judging from the conversation he'd heard earlier, these were Nero and Weiss. Hopefully the hair colors matched the names.
"Yes…" Nero ran his fingers over a shining machine. "Our army is halfway completed, brother. The insurrection is nigh."
"Patience, brother," Weiss scolded. "We still have halfway to go."
"But then…we will make them pay for what they've done to us. Won't we, brother?"
"Yes, Nero," Weiss said, confirming Simon's guess. "They will pay."
Simon could also tell that Nero was a little off-kilter, monologuing and repeating the obvious. Something had happened to that man. Something that had put him in the mask Simon only now noticed – his mouth kept restrained, as though he would bite if freed. If everything here was pointing the same direction, then Simon knew exactly what had done that, and it was the same something that had brought him to life.
He'd take a lot of comfort in knowing how much better he turned out than that wretch.
Simon wanted to take one last sweep before leaving. The area was pretty large – at this point he'd only just noticed the subterranean theme park in the distance – but there were at least a few more obvious areas to look over. And his hunch paid off when he noted a woman in armor as silver as her flowing hair striding across an open clearing, saying the name "Genesis" loudly yet firmly.
This got the attention of a man who had at first blended into the background. At one point, his hair had been ginger, and his skin pale but probably healthy-looking. Now, parts of him were bone-white, almost dusty-looking. The man was slowly disintegrating; hair was losing life, skin losing cells. That dust was settling on his red jacket, turning it slowly white. Only one part of him still had color to it, or at least a hue that wasn't turning white. In the dim light of the streetlamps, Simon could make out a single wing protruding from the man's back. Black feathers.
That was shock enough. But what would come next was the most important thing Simon would observe.
"What is it, Argento?" Genesis turned to stare her down.
Argento bowed, a closed fist over her heart. "I hath been to the city and bringeth thee news of importance."
Genesis nodded. "Get on with it."
"I hath seen him," Argento said, her voice quavering. "HE. The one who made monsters of us."
Genesis flinched, slightly. "Are you sure?"
"Genesis, thou knowst I cannot forget a face, even if I should try. Thus he engineered me. But had he not…that face wouldst be engraved upon my memory. He is here, and he brings with him interesting company. A small flying creature, likely another monster he hath devised. And the scout we hath spied long ago, who beareth the sitar in battle."
"They're aligned?" Genesis was taken aback. "All this time…the scout could have led us to him. If we'd known…" He shook his head. "What could have brought him here?"
"I knoweth not," Argento replied. "He weareth a cloak of blue and hopeth to conceal himself."
Simon cringed. So these were Vexen's old experiments. And they didn't seem too fond of him.
"Summon the others," Genesis commanded. "I think we need to put out a search party."
By then, Simon had heard enough. He flitted, stealthily making his way back to the entry. Only when he had used his lines to climb up out of the shards of the generator did he feel comfortable calling Tsumugi and skekSil for a rendez-vous.
"They had an entire district underground!" he ranted to them. "It's like a whole town! And they're using it to stockpile for some kind of insurrection! They're building weapons!"
"Mmmmmmmmmmm." SkekSil went pensive.
"Well, we need to find out more!" Tsumugi asserted. "Especially any proof that the girl is or isn't Xion!"
"How are we gonna do that?" Simon asked. "The place is huge! Listen, I planned every step carefully so I'd get back out without a scratch. But we don't know how powerful those guys are! If we poked around long enough to get caught, that might be the end!"
"But what if…there is better way to get information?" skekSil mused. "Perhaps a way to present selves as friends to cause. To ask and be answered."
"Great idea!" Simon replied. "Let's just walk into the danger zone, tell an obvious lie, and see how long it takes for them to turn us into ash smears on the floor!"
SkekSil gave another "Hmm" as though deflating.
"Wait." Tsumugi's eyes went wide. She rustled through a pocket, taking out the photographs from Nine Wood Hills. "I think…I might have an idea. It's risky, but if we can pull it off…"
Genesis had assembled his council. Argento, Nero, Rosso, Weiss, Shelke. And yet one was missing. "Where is Azul?" he sighed.
"Can we not proceed without him?" Rosso countered. "It's not as though he truly contributes."
Shelke was still getting used to the dynamic down here. She knew she was the odd one out, being the only person who hadn't been modified by the same scientist that had cursed the rest to monstrous existences. But in the wake of Shalua's death, she'd sought a path to vengeance. And it just so happened that her idea of vengeance matched up with the ideals of the current residents of Deepground.
A deep voice cut through; "Genesis! GENESIS!"
Azul, a hulking, muscular man who was warped beyond human with a hunch and pointed ears, came galloping toward the group, his jewel-blue hair fluttering behind him.
"What is it this time, Azul?" Genesis asked. "Don't waste my time."
"I won't," Azul promised, wide-eyed. "He's here, Genesis. He came home!"
"Even?" Genesis replied. "I know. Argento – "
"EVEN?" Azul staggered. "HE'S HERE?"
"Then he's not who you meant," Genesis realized.
"No!" Azul panted. "It's HIM!"
"Step aside, Azul." A new voice. "I can handle things from here."
Genesis gave a start. Could it be? He hardly remembered what that voice sounded like anymore, after these long years.
Azul shuffled off center, allowing Genesis a view of the guest. Genesis' heart caught in his throat.
Sephiroth looked the same as he ever had. A long, flowing mane of silver hair. High, pale cheekbones. A dark wing, almost blue at the tips, fanning out behind him, even more beautiful and full than Genesis' own. The only thing that had seemingly changed was his outfit of choice. He had preferred plain black leather back in his youth, and then opted for a more elaborate flared jacket with red accents later on. He hadn't crossed Genesis' path during the siege of Heartless, at which point he'd added layers of blue feathers. But now, instead of all that, he wore a long, black leather jacket with a decorative purple hem, and violet fabric spilling from beneath the epaulets as well. His waist was cinched with a fine silver belt.
"It really is you." Genesis gaped. "So you've returned."
It was a very good thing robots couldn't sweat. Through Sephiroth's manufactured face, Tsumugi Shirogane replied, "After Even returned, I couldn't stay away. Now. I'll need you all to tell me what happened since I've been gone."
...
For one to get from the mainland of Glenwood to the origin village of Camlann, where Braig had given his cryptic hint, one would have to climb the high hill of Elysia, then enter the temple of Mount Mabinogio that filled that hill. From there, the underground road would take you to Camlann.
Roman and Snatcher, having no magic to speak of, were at the mercy of their teleportation bracelets. Their Safe Point was fortunately close to Elysia, but from there, it was on foot.
Why Camlann? Because of its importance to Braig's foreshadowing. Maybe he had answers there, or maybe he had even set up a trap. But more than that, there was a name on Roman's list that was associated with this locale.
"Two birds, one stone," he said as he and Snatcher walked through the subterranean halls. "And you know I'm all about killing birds these days."
Snatcher nodded. "That I do."
The temple was enormous and labyrinthine; it took them a few wrong turns to finally get to the road to Camlann. At last, however, they ended up in the home stretch, parading through empty storage rooms within the temple.
"Man, is this ever a dump!" Roman commented. "I mean, I thought I had it bad when I was camping out in the Dust warehouse, but at least it wasn't HERE!"
Snatcher gave a thoughtful nod. "Draftier and far less comfortable than the building on Milk Street. I should say we made our way to much better."
"And here we are," Roman realized, "looking for somebody else who camps out in a dump like this. The cycle continues. Do you think she's gonna get what we're about?"
"I'll make her see it one way or the other," Snatcher vowed.
Without warning, they stepped forth, still in Mount Mabinogio, and suddenly were not anywhere near there anymore. Instead, they stood on a desert of white sand, marked here and there with black monoliths. A dark sky hung overhead, and a soft wind blew the sand into swirls.
Snatcher instinctively cringed, stepping closer to Roman. "What's happened? Some sort of malevolent magic? Need we be on our guard?"
"…It's the time-out desert," Roman said in awe.
"…The what?"
"It's not the exact same thing," Roman clarified, "but you know how Neo is an illusionist? Whenever she'd get SUPER mad at me – like those times I outed her – "
"And you'd best watch your mouth or you'll do it again to anyone listening."
"She'd change it up so wherever I was standing looked like a huge desert," Roman sighed. "And she wouldn't put it away until she stopped being mad. Of course, everything else still existed, so I'd be running into invisible walls trying to find my way around. Which means if I take just a few steps over here…"
And he did, just five paces. He softly bumped into something solid, though the air looked clear. "Wall of the temple," he noted. "We're still there. Someone's just making it look like we're not. And I'm not sure why, since I didn't even DO anything this time."
Snatcher nervously cleared his throat; "Hello? Is there somebody about, casting this illusion? You might very well be the person we've come to speak with, at that rate."
The wind picked up, and on it came a distinctly female voice, telling them, "GO AWAY."
"Nice try," Roman sniffed. "Look, we came all this way on foot, Archie walked in HEELS, just to talk to you. That's all we want. To sit down and talk."
"Why?" spat the voice on the wind. "There's nothing you want here. I've already had to put up with too many uninvited guests when that behemoth of a Nightmare arrived with the spectral train. If they hadn't decided to leave of their own will, I might've had to resort to violence. Which would you prefer?"
She was referring to Harley's group, of course, when they'd fought Cyclonis. Snatcher kept moving forward, where he remembered the road to be. "You would be…Miss Symonne, would you not?"
Silence.
"We've received word you worked for one Lord of Calamity," Snatcher went on. "Mr. Heldalf."
"Just Heldalf," the voice corrected. "You sound like a foppish nincompoop calling him 'Mr.'"
Snatcher bristled. "Now then, miss, that was quite uncalled for."
"You realize what is uncalled for is you intruding upon my domain," the voice replied. "As a seraph, I am entitled to a domain, and this is the meager scrap I have chosen. You could have gone anywhere else on this rock of a world and you came here."
"For you in particular, I will remind," Snatcher countered.
"Sounds like you're not too happy with this place, the way you talk about it," Roman observed, following Snatcher along the path of the road.
"Should I be?" the voice sneered. "All it's ever brought me is pain. But it's the same everywhere. I WAS taking matters into my own hands to arrange curtain call, but alas, a supporting player insisted upon an eternal epilogue."
"Ah, yes," Snatcher recalled. "Your lord wished not to rule the world but to end it. Rather bleak outlook if you ask me. Can't exert much power over a world what doesn't exist."
"I wouldn't WANT to exert power over a world that is WORTHLESS," the voice spat. "And you? What claim do you have to follow in the steps of the Lord of Calamity?"
"Quite the opposite," Snatcher assured. "Though 'calamity' is a specialty of ours. We're seeking to rule quite a large swath of territory. Details can be hammered out after the fact."
"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO GO AWAY?" the voice screamed. "I've already resigned to my fate, and it's the one I should've recognized from the beginning! I was never meant for happiness. The fight is skewed against me so all I'll ever feel is pain! For years and years I slaved toward a goal, and what do I have to show for it? YOU STAND UPON IT!"
Snatcher froze momentarily. Then cleared his throat. "Those are, er…some rather familiar words, Miss Symonne. If we could just have a talk…you see, I was once a lot like you. Well, except for the hermitage. Perhaps you can learn from a tale such as mine. I once thought myself – "
"I'm not listening to a story from a DAMN HUMAN!" the voice barked. "Why do you think you can tell me, an immortal being, what morals I'm supposed to learn from your maudlin production? Or is it that you seek applause for your own deeds? I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. I gave you enough chances. You stayed your course, so all that's left is for me to turn you away by FORCE."
Both men withdrew their weapons, aiming them straight forward. "Try us, bitch," Roman seethed. "I'm warning you: we don't go down easy."
A soft chuckle. "Impressive weapons. Maybe I want to play a little game instead. If you think you're so wonderful, so much more powerful than seraphim, then perhaps you should prove your worth. The stage awaits and the set is in place. Find me, catch me off guard, and defeat me in a show of true theatricality, and I'll relent that you were superior. But don't stop until I'm done in, or I'll use your blood to repaint the backdrop. Only one side or the other will exeunt with their life intact!"
"…Not where I wanted this to go," Roman muttered, "but okay, I can work with that."
"As can I," Snatcher grumbled.
"Then give me a performance I'll remember to my grave." The desert suddenly dispelled, leaving Snatcher and Roman in the dilapidated village of Camlann deep in its valley, the blood-red sky overhead. And their tormentor stood before them.
Smaller than Roman had expected. Long-lived, yes, but she had the appearance of a twelve-year-old girl. Her plum-colored hair was done up in pigtails; her pale skin was offset by an ensemble of black leather. She clutched in one hand a crystal-tipped staff.
For a moment, Roman was struck by how young she really was. But he resolved not to let that bother him. After all, it never had for Ruby Rose or her ilk. So he aimed and fired.
She sidestepped by a half-inch, gaping. "How…how can you see me?" she gasped. "Seraphim shouldn't be visible to an ordinary human! But you're not RESONANT!"
"You're not exactly hidden well," he told her.
Snatcher looked about suspiciously; "Who're you speaking to?"
"Wha – she's RIGHT THERE!" Roman gestured to the girl with one hand and clapped Snatcher on the shoulder with the other.
And as he did so, she flickered into Snatcher's view. "This's got to do with your Aura, hasn't it?" Snatcher realized.
But before anyone could respond to that, he noticed the detail Roman had missed. The tint of color in her cheeks, where the rest of her was pale. The subtle swelling around her eyes. And the drip that ran down her face before him.
"Are you weeping?" Snatcher asked incredulously.
That was when Roman noticed it to. "…Shit."
The girl stamped her foot in anger. "My tears are none of your concern!" she barked. "The game is still in play. I'm just going to have to make it more difficult now! If you fancy yourselves the leads of this show, then find me and END ME, or I'll end you to no applause!"
There was a bright flash of light, obscuring her. A sound of footsteps. She'd used her staff to effectively create a flash bomb so she could run, hiding among the buildings.
"Shit, shit, SHIT," Roman repeated. "I didn't expect her to be like THAT. Look, it's not – it's not the fact that she's a kid. It's the fact that she's a kid with an attitude and a power over illusions, and here we are finding her all the way out in this dump, and – she's just like Neo, Archie. She's SO much like Neo. Right down to the killer instinct." He sighed. "Too bad we have to put her out of her misery."
He stepped forth, but Snatcher put a hard hand on his chest. "Haven't you figured it out?" Snatcher asked hoarsely. "Took me a bit, admittedly. Her tears were what cinched it. All that talk of being on track to destroy this world, of it only causing her pain, of wishing to be left alone. She asks us to partake in a duel to the death and then gives us several distinct advantages. I fear, my love, that she – "
"She just wants us to kill her," Roman finally realized, a weight settling into his chest. He shook his head; "No. No, I'm not letting that happen. Look, a less Neo-esque kid might get off with a mercy kill, but not…not that one."
"I quite agree," Snatcher told him. "I've still got to have some words with her, after all. Specifically in the matter of submitting to another's will simply when the deck is stacked against oneself."
"This Heldalf jerk. Fucked her up pretty bad, didn't he? Halfway between Salem and Lord Dipshit."
"Certainly. I motion that we seek her out and grant her a different sort of mercy."
"Good call."
They set out to wander through the village, peering into every abandoned home. At no point were they ever ambushed; Symonne obviously wanted to lose this fight.
Sudden footsteps. Roman caught a glimpse of black and purple rounding a corner. "There!" He pointed.
Snatcher forced his hand into Roman's so he could utilize Roman's Semblance to find her. Once he spotted the retreating shadow, he set off alongside Roman.
"I'll give you this much," the girl Symonne called out. Her voice then seemed to come from a different place in the village entirely: "You're both tenacious and clever. If you will not destroy me, then any further defiance against me and the dying orders of Lord Heldalf will not be tolerated much longer. You are correct in that I was willing to spare you, but for the wrong reasons. My illusions are tied to an oath. If I take a life with my own hands, I lose all of that power, and you see how it is more useful to me than the ability to kill. After all, death is not the worst fate that can befall one. But if you refuse to destroy me, and since I cannot destroy you, the game has changed. I am casting you out by any means necessary, and shall not relent until you LEAVE."
A column of flame erupted mere inches away from Snatcher. He and Roman flinched, but suspected it to be illusion. "Now, now, Miss Symonne," Snatcher urged. "I think we all know better than that. If you're truly immortal, then you can stop acting such a CHILD."
"I'M NOT A CHILD!" Symonne blurted. "Do you think me the kind of person who would waste a day frolicking in naïveté? To sing and dance as though the lies of happiness were the truth?"
"Now, I DO resent the sentiment that song and dance are childish matters," Snatcher huffed. "Why, I've made somewhat of a career out of doing so professionally. I've got a several-octave range, you know, baritone to soprano."
"Baritone to soprano?" Symonne scoffed. "Don't make me laugh. I can tell that's a lie."
Snatcher's response was to let out a high trill of a note that caught the wind of Camlann, soaring through the village like an eerie harbinger.
Silence followed. Then, from directly above: "So I was wrong about your range. That was SOMEWHAT impressive."
Snatcher and Roman turned to see her sitting on the edge of a roof above them, lazily kicking her legs back and forth as she looked down on her pursuers.
A toothy grin broke out on Snatcher's face. "Miss Symonne?" he said, a certain rhythm to his words. "You are Miss Symonne? Could you come down here so we could speak?"
Symonne retracted her legs, standing up so she could make another getaway.
"You put on quite a show!" Snatcher called after her, his tone becoming melodic. "I thought I'd seen a ghost. And you look like one, at that."
Roman nudged him with a shoulder, nodding his head. The purple-and-black silhouette was darting through another back street.
"Your violet eyes, your purple hair…" Snatcher went on as he and Roman strolled lazily after Symonne. Then he muttered to Roman, "There's a je ne sais quois to her." He spoke up again: "I'm told your master's dead and gone! How do I put this? I'm your…I'm your savior."
A sudden shift behind the both of them, and her voice came directly: "State your business."
Snatcher and Roman turned to see her glaring them down from down the street. "Business?" Snatcher replied tauntingly.
"What do you want?" Symonne asked icily.
"I want, I want to finally meet you," Snatcher warbled. "Give you something to cling to. Leave you with the hope that you will go to all you're meant to…all I've failed to. In you is a world of promise! We have both been kept in bondage." He was approaching, Roman keeping his hand. "But you can learn from all my failures."
Symonne shook her head. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." And then she'd darted off again.
"OR LET THEM THROUGH THE GATE?" Snatcher yelled after her.
He received his reply: "That either! A big risk!"
Snatcher nodded, contemplating the wall of Mount Mabinogio at the entry. "A large fence."
"A MISTAKE!" Symonne snapped.
As Snatcher and Roman resumed pursuit, Snatcher corrected: "A new friend!"
Then, as he was inspired, his voice leapt to high falsetto, encouraging Symonne to "CHA-A-ASE THE MORNING! YIELD FOR NOTHING!"
Symonne kept running, shaking her own head. She couldn't fall for this.
"CHA-A-ASE THE MORNING!" echoed behind her. "YIELD FOR NOTHING!"
She rounded the corner and there they were again. Somehow they'd headed her off at the square. Her brow furrowed; "How'd you do that?"
"Do what?" Snatcher asked innocently.
"See me," Symonne growled. "I'm a seraph."
Snatcher gestured to Roman; "My special friend can help me see."
Symonne nodded, smirking. "So he's the useful one, and you sing."
"YES!" Roman blurted, almost laughing.
Snatcher just rolled his eyes.
"But who are you?" Symonne asked angrily. "I know this world; you're not from here. Beyond the stars and constellations? Or did you spring up with the seasons?"
Snatcher didn't answer. Instead, he extended a hand to Symonne; "I propose we work together."
She stamped a foot; "I can't do that!"
"Never?"
"EVER!" She snapped. "If Heldalf found out that I'd gone out, or that you'd been let in – "
She realized she was using a dead man as her excuse. Because even after his death, she still feared him, and wanted to play by his rules.
Snatcher saw it right away: the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. The anxiety at invoking his name. "You've got to go, then!" he urged. "He can't hold you in death; see to it that he won't!"
Symonne shook her head. "Better that you don't."
Snatcher stepped toward her, pulling Roman along; "Don't forget a – "
Symonne leaned forth to argue, "Just forget me – "
"Purple rose needs – "
"Best if I – "
"To be encouraged – "
"Resume my life – "
"Outside – "
"Inside – "
"THIS VILLAGE!" Snatcher and Symonne harmonized.
Symonne clamped a hand over her mouth as Snatcher launched into the chorus once more; "CHA-A-ASE THE MORNING! YIELD FOR NOTHING!"
The morning. Symonne turned to glare up at the red sky. It had been crimson ever since Shepherd Michael had cursed this land, cursed Heldalf. What must a morning be like, outside of here? She'd known, once. She'd traveled this whole world and yet had trouble recalling anything but this accursed sky.
"CHA-A-ASE THE MORNING!" Snatcher and Roman were coming closer. "YIELD FOR NOTHING!"
What was she doing? Letting them get so close! She took a leap, springing herself atop the rooftop of the nearest shack. She glared down at the two men, hoping they'd get the message.
Snatcher became lost in his own song, letting go of Roman's hand to twirl about the square as though it were a ballroom; "Let your life be your dream! Impropriety, dishonesty! It's too late for me! Don't look back until you're free to chase the morning! Yield for nothing! Cha-a-ase the morning! Yield for nothing!"
He came spinning to a stop, looking up, spotting Symonne on the roof –
And as it hit him that he was seeing her without Roman's assistance, he blurted a yelp that he transformed into a high note: "YIE-e-eld for nothing!" Then, after a silence, he ventured, "Did that reframe things any?"
"It was entertaining," Symonne scoffed. "That's about all I can say about that. But remind me. What did you come here to ask me to do? Conquer instead of destroy?"
"You were right to guess we're from beyond the stars," Snatcher told her. "Rather eloquent way of putting it. It'd be a real shame if this couldn't work out, you know. Hard to find poets and lyricists on my level. We're representative of a syndicate dedicated to building an empire of vice and power across all worlds." He paused. "Are you doing something so I see you now? Why can I see you?"
"I didn't change anything," Symonne told him. "Ask your 'special friend.'"
Roman shrugged. "Aura's weird. If I had to guess, I just unlocked the ability to rub it off on you. Hopefully that means you're now immune to Apathy."
"I shall implore you one final time," Snatcher said. "Miss Symonne. Come with us. Join the WHAM ARMY, and be entitled to all you were ever denied in your years up to now. This is your chance to take whatever it is you want! Whatever you desired, the loss or lack of which caused you all this pain you keep going on about!"
"You still don't get it, do you?" Symonne seethed in rage, dropping to the ground before them. "I REFUSE to go with you. Heldalf would never have permitted me to do anything so frivolous!"
"If you don't mind my asking," Roman said, "why the FUCK did you sign up for that guy in the first place if he still has you that scared?"
"I WAS HONORED TO SERVE HIM!" Symonne insisted. "TO TAKE HIS BLOWS, DEFEND HIM WITH MY OWN EXISTENCE, TO HURT FOR HIM WAS A GIFT! HE WAS GOING TO TAKE THIS WORLD AWAY FROM ME – AND FINALLY, FINALLY I'D KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO REST PEACEFULLY! NO MORE FIGHTING! NO MORE TRAGEDY! AND NO – MORE – HURTING!"
Then her voice cracked. "I…I just wanted it to end," she squeaked. "The last act. I've been through so much, and there's still so much ahead…you see how young I am, even after decades…which means there's that much more to go before I grow, before I can die…all I want is for it to be over! Now that Heldalf's gone, I should have just taken it into my own hands and ended my existence! But something keeps stopping me! I'm never able to carry it out? WHY CAN'T I DO IT? WHY CAN'T I JUST DIE?"
She collapsed to her knees before Roman and Snatcher, finally exhausted. She buried her face in her hands. And then, realizing her dignity was all she had left to lose, she cast it aside, bawling loudly.
"Oh, gods, no – sweetie – " Roman was instantly on his knees beside her. She really was too much like Neo – maybe not in some of the small ways, but her illusions, the chase, almost everything about her reminded him of his own charge. He remembered when she'd been that small, when he'd run into her again on the streets of Mistral, when she'd broken down crying and he'd been all she had.
Which was on his mind, and the reason why he immediately, without really thinking it through, grabbed onto Symonne, enveloping her in both arms and pulling her close to him. The way he used to do for Neo.
She didn't stop him. She simply cried all the harder. Not remembering the last time she'd had anyone to lean on like this.
Roman ran a gloved hand through her hair. "You don't have to do this," he told her softly. "Life sucks. And it hurts. And it's tough shit. But you don't HAVE to pack it in. You just…probably need a second chance at it. Somebody to drag you out of the Underworld and make you get your shit together."
"I won't fit in," Symonne wailed. "Never! I'm not like them anymore – not like seraphs, not like humans! I may not have fallen to being a hellion, but all I do is bring misery and pain! There's NOWHERE out there for a person like me! Heldalf was all there was – him and Maltran and Lunarre, but now they're all dead! And I always thought Maltran and Lunarre were LUCKY! Because they wanted the same thing I did, and now they have it! I just want – I want to be with them again!"
Roman considered the death bombs. After all, that was something on his to-do list. But he wanted to settle things one-on-one with her before bringing that up at all. "You're going about this so wrong, Purple Princess."
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Symonne wailed.
"Well, now that's DEFINITELY your nickname," Roman told her. "Look, why does it have to be either fit in with the rest of them or die? Those are literally the worst two options! Look." He held her out at arm's length, a hand on each of her shoulders. "I knew – I know someone like you. And she didn't give up. You wanna know why? Because I kicked her ass into gear. You want someone to give you a reason to live now that the Calamity Lord's gone? Fine. It's me now and I'm telling you to shut the fuck up."
"What other option is there?" Symonne asked softly.
"Well…" Roman nodded toward Snatcher. "I could tell you. But he knows it better."
Snatcher approached somewhat awkwardly. Then, sensing what was expected of him, got down to his own knees. "You, like so many of us, have been had," he told her. "That's what the WHAM ARMY's for. A place for us foul-hearted miscreants to take back what was denied us. Not to end in flames and an explosion of cheese, not to fall back in line, but to reach out and grab hold of whatever it is we want!"
"And you have to want something," Roman told her. "Something that's not death or the end of the world. Something hurt you. What would make up for that? Taking something away by force? Killing the fuck out of whatever made you so sad? Seriously, kiddo, the sky's the limit here, and even then, it's not. Other worlds and all. You haven't even heard about those yet and you're already giving up. Look at you! You're a rotten little girl! Do you have any idea how much shit you could pull off with all those years you have left? Huh? So what is it? What's the key to happiness here?"
She sniffled. "I don't…I don't know. For so long, I've just wanted peace."
"Well, what went wrong?"
"I lost everyone I cared about," Symonne sniffled. "Maltran and Lunarre were the last ones left. I tried not to care, of course. I never meant to get attached to them. But before then…they were corrupted by malevolence, one by one. We…we were different from other seraphs. We were like what you're talking about, taking what we wanted, encouraging humanity to sacrifice for our benefit. We…we demanded they sacrifice their own lives for our glory and use. But this attracted the malevolence. They became dragons. I had to watch them be slain by other seraphs. I pleaded with them to stop, but they wouldn't…they said that the evil and malevolent had to die, and there was no other way. But they wouldn't kill me because I hadn't been corrupted…somehow. I still don't know how I don't bear malevolence, because I never wanted the alternative they proffered, of being one of them…I…I missed the way we were!"
Roman nodded. "Huh. So if I got your old family back – "
"No," Symonne said flatly. "I don't want them. I wasn't tough enough for them when they were alive. They knew I lacked the same capacity for malevolence, and they scolded me for it. I understood that I deserved their insults, and I loved them regardless, because they were only being honest with me. But after they were gone, it wasn't just that I missed them. It was the realization that I didn't know what hurt more: their deaths or their ridicule!"
"Huh," Roman replied. "So…let me tally this up. Abusive family. They got you into a murder-suicide cult, and you liked it, but they thought you were the weak link. Then they…turned into dragons? I guess? Is that normal?"
"Seraphs tainted by malevolence – by Darkness – become dragons."
"Okay, so it's normal. They turned into monsters, and then they all died, and then the people who killed them told you that they died because they were evil, but you wanted to be evil, so that was no good. Do I have my ducks in a row here?"
Symonne slowly nodded.
"You…certainly haven't had it easy," Snatcher said softly. "The outcasts never do."
"There's nothing you can do to make it right," Symonne whispered. "Nothing."
"Well, maybe we can't fix that whole shitshow," Roman told her, "but we can offer you a distraction."
"Not a mere distraction!" Snatcher corrected. "A new chapter. Beyond those families you've lost."
"Also, just checking," Roman said. "Lunarre and Maltran. Did they pick on you too, or…?"
She smiled. "Only in a way I could take."
"Good," Roman replied. "No reason, of course. Just curious."
(He still wanted to make headway with her, first, before putting anyone else in the equation.)
"Then how about this?" Snatcher asked, suddenly beaming. "You leave this horrid waste behind, come with us on our mission, and experience firsthand what it means to be part of the WHAM ARMY. Should you like what we've to offer, then you can continue on that career path. Otherwise I suppose you can do as you please."
"But you know the principle applies, right?" Roman urged. "If we can get you away from Calamity Lord and all this death talk, then something else can get you away from us."
Symonne took on a haughty look. "Are you sure YOU'RE malevolent? The two of you seem soft to me. All this time you've spent on me and my petty crises."
Roman and Snatcher exchanged a wary look.
"I mean, it's okay if she's a little shit too," Roman said. "Right?"
"We're not giving up our principles," Snatcher assured him. "It isn't softness we're showing. It's diplomacy. Softness would be abandoning the mission in favor of her and you know it."
"So?" Roman urged. "How about it? Wanna come with us on a magical field trip of fun and debauchery?"
"I suppose I can see what you have to offer me," Symonne mused. "After all – " She looked to Snatcher. "I always did appreciate the theater, and I can tell you're the same way after all that singing."
Roman ruffled her hair, nearly dislodging one of her pigtails. "Good girl. Okay! Let's get this show on the road!"
"You can't be serious!" Symonne huffed. "You came in here calling my name over and over and I still don't know yours?"
"Right," Roman realized. He reached up to tip the brim of his hat; "Roman Torchwick."
"And I would be Archibald Snatcher," Snatcher added. Bracing himself for the inevitable mockery.
She looked from one to the other. "Odd names. But then again, you are both odd characters. I suppose I'll see where this takes me and if the show is worth admission."
Roman stood, offering a hand to help Snatcher get back up to his feet as well. Then the two of them put out hands for Symonne; she ignored them and stood up anyway, which really only made her more endearing. "Where are we going, anyway?" she asked.
"Well, we're trying to figure out if there's anything on this world we should know about thanks to a hot tip," Roman told her. "Even if it is a giant trap."
"Walking into a trap?" Symonne scoffed. "How foolish."
"Well, how else are we supposed to know what sort of trap can be set for us?" Snatcher asked.
Symonne rolled her eyes. "If nothing else, this will be humorous." Which, really, was part of what was encouraging her to tag along. She'd never seen anyone as simultaneously malevolent and ridiculous as these two.
"Anyway," Roman told her, "we thought this place might be a lead, but we've been all over and unless you're the bait, there's nothing here."
"Let me guess," Symonne replied. "You don't care if I am the bait, because you would still need to trigger the trap regardless."
"Bingo," Roman told her. "Though if you turn out to be a giant fake, I'm gonna be real pissed."
Symonne nodded. "Duly noted."
"Anyway," Roman went on, "with no more leads, I'd rather just go where it's fun. And what's more fun than free money? I'm talking pickpocketing, cons, the whole nine yards. I wanna go where the real money is, and there's this desert city across the continent where – "
"They trade in mythril weapons," Symonne sighed. "Don't explain my own setting to me. I know this world intimately. But you are correct. If you wanted to take up thievery, Lohgrin would be the place. Are you suggesting we simply go there and start looting?"
"That is EXACTLY what I'm suggesting," Roman told her. "How long has it been since you've done petty crime anyway?"
She didn't have an answer for that. "I suppose I can make an attempt."
"But one more thing," Roman said. "There's another guy on the list I wanna pick up before we head over there. If only because I wanna see if leaving and coming back will get us a Safe Point closer to the desert. But also, I think he's gonna be a fun time. You'll love him! And he'll love you! I mean, he loves kids! …Well, okay, he kidnaps kids and sells them off to dark forces, but he won't do that to you now that you know that's his schtick!"
"Hmm." Symonne thought it over. "I think I would like to meet your friend."
"Well, he's not exactly our friend just yet," Snatcher admitted. "But he will be."
Roman reached down to put a hand on Symonne's shoulder. He then put his other elbow out; "Archie, will you do the honors?"
Snatcher looped his elbow through Roman's, then adjusted his transporter. "Off we go, then! A nice little outing!"
And just like that, Symonne was whisked away from her exile of hopelessness into a magical adventure.
