Her name, if it could indeed be called a name, was Schala Zeal. It was also, at the same time, not her name - and nor had it ever been. A fundamental of existance smattered across the fourth dimension with little care for the fragile order of the third. Something damaged below the molecular levels - subtly, poisonously different on planes where microscopes and PET scans and devils fear to tread. One of those universal quirks pointing to the fact that the drama of the planet might very well be a comedy... or at least an exercise in surrealistic painting.

For her name was Princess Schala Zeal - Heir to the Dead Floating Kingdom, the Martyr of Mammon, and Devourer of Time. And her name was also Kid Ashtear. These were not equal alisaes sharing a blue-eyed throne, no seperate but equal definitions. No - these were nothing less then completely unrelated defining factors enough to make apples and oranges close familiar cousins seperated by a trifling. The wall between Kid Ashtear and Schala Zeal was proud and strong and built with the bricks of fourteen thousand years minus sixteen.

That was why she was a paradox.


Even Angels Lose Their Way
01 - paradox
New Porre City, 2013 - Unified FATEed Timestream (Lavos Entity, Chronal Trigger/Cross ++)

par·a·dox (pair-ah-docks)
n.
Etymology: Latin paradoxum, from Greek paradoxon, from neuter of paradoxos contrary to expectation, from para- + dokein to think
1.A seemingly contradictory statement that may nonetheless be true.
2.One exhibiting inexplicable or contradictory aspects.
3.An assertion that is essentially self-contradictory, though based on a valid deduction from acceptable premises.
4.A statement contrary to received opinion.


A little known fact: paradoxes can most certainly still feel pain, despite the rather lofty nature of their malady.

"OI! Bloody hell!"

Then again, it would take alot not to feel pain when you're suddenly and forcibly ejected from the four-dimensional edge of the timestream after unification with your immortal Lavos-augumented genetic clone. Or if, when landing, you kind of - y'know, tripped, and skinned your knee, and lots of people were staring at you bleed on the sidewalk, which you .. how do you know what a sidewalk is? There aren't any sidewalks in Guardia Kingdom, the ruins of Guardia Kingdom, or El Nido - well, at least not ones that are concrete, which... okay, you don't know what concrete is either. Except that it's grey and rough and you've never seen it before but you have, haven't you? Well of course you have. Because you're fourteen thousand years old and capable of bending the fabric of time to suit your whims as well as in a close personal relationship with the planet's biggest, meanest, and all-around nastiest alien parasite. That's why. But.. bloody hell, no you're not! You're Kid! Kid Ashtear, that's what you are - and any bastard that says otherwise is gonna get his ass kicked so hard he'll kiss the moons! And all that.. darkness everywhere forever and - is nonsense, and you do not know what a sidewalk is since you have no way of looking forward through a wormhole like it's some kind of movie screen just for your own twisted immortal entertainmant and.. WHY the bloody hell are all these people staring, can't they see that Serge is missing!?

Yup.

Hurts.

Pretty damn confusing too.

"What the hell?" Breathe Kid, breathe. You ARE Kid, yup, and you're not gonna think about all that darkness shit or the way you could feel the lava/time/space/dimension below you flowing like lollipop-red liquid/solid snack treat... nope, nope you're not. You're gonna stay sane and Find Serge. Because if you find Serge, Serge will make things make sense. For someone whose very existance was even less plausible than her own, Serge was surprisingly good at that. Especially since he never bloody talked.

"Where is this? Who are you people? I.. oi, mate, I'm talking to you. Hello? Hell-LO!?"

Serge was not there. There were lots of people lookin', staring at her, and suddenly her skirt felt too damn short by far. Like someone had cut off her ability to exist in this open space at the knees. Maybe kicked it for good measure. There eyes were mirrored and amazed, reflecting back her own confusion in the way their bodies whirled around her, and out to the oblivion that was beyond her line of site and thus her personal sphere of existance.

Serge wasn't there. Why wasn't Serge there? Serge had been there before. Serge had helped her... oh, but Serge hadn't been there for years, and had never been there - and fuck, no, she was not bloody listening to that side. Kick it's ass so hard it'll fly strait out of her mind, yeah, that's it. And the more she turned around, the more it looked the same - those mirrors, mirrors all arond mocking her with patches of sky that shouldn't be here, beause she was in the dark zone with Serge, wasn't she, and they were...

Free?

Free. In the middle of New Porre City. it just was - New Porre City, that is. No questions asked. She was too busy, looking for Serge...

Panic (I do not panic)?

Where IS he (I do not care)?

No one was answering, and if they had she wouldn't have understood. Linguistic shift. The largest city in the empire.. maybe if there was some history professor near.. but no they wouldn't, they wouldn't, and they were all scampering off not, and the world was turning again without her permission. Mirror, sky mirror, sky, mirror, sky.. where was Serge? Oh gods, what if something happened...

"This isn't bloody rocket science. Need help here, I do, and you lot are..."

Blue and white and blue and white. They were making fun of her - organic and inorganic dancing all around. None of the faces were blue and white - oh, no. They were boring peach and brown, boring boring, nothing to do with him, not outside of...

"Serge? You there, mate?" her voice was getting creaky, and fine, because the ground just wasn't cooperating. And Serge would know her anywhere. They were both paradoxes. He'd understand... (comprehend fourteen thousand year in the temporal gutter? Don't be silly. That's not possible)."We've got ourselves into a bit of jam here, we have.. Serge? Serge!?"

Was she begging (I would have begged mother, but not for him)?

She was crying - and it was hot like the lava before it pools at the edge of time. But she'd sworn she'd never cry.. if only she could.. (I cried all the time when Mother started to rape the world. It's alright. Cry. You can now, since you're me). If she coudl find him, she coudl be ashamed, and that would be okay too.

At the very moment the pavement became so close, so black that she could kiss it, she did not hear the cars screech to a halt all about her. In this instance, the motions of time had stopped all on their own.

***

When you start out in this world, there's light. 'Cause before light there's always darkness, an it makes sense what with obstetrics and all bein' what they are. So it makes sense too that I was born here from the darkness at the edge of time.

Hmmmm.

"Are you alright, miss?"

His light. That's the light that's in my eyes - scorching me retinas and turning things all hazy and white and not ulike he was, when he chose to be, when the creatures in the darkness crept out from under the bed to threaten me.

"What's her name again?"

I should have a name now, shouldn't I?

"Doe. Jane Doe."

No. That's not my name. I know that right away. I also know that I am very old, and very wise, and very foolish. I'm old and young at the same time. How can that be? I am probably in shock - or at least I was. My hands are cold, and the sheets are very scratchy. This is not a real matress but a pallet, and the bars stick into my back.

I would turn.

Ugh.

But I cannot. My body is chained by forces far more malevolent than gravity. It is traitorous.

"Oh.. nother one of those crackheads out of seventy-fifth, eh? Looks like Lolita here was selling something other than dope..."

Crackhead? Lolita? No, my name is not Lolita either. Neither of their hands are on me, but I can feel their warmth above. Scratch voice and the smoother one, the one that could crawl down your throat and work you inside out if you let it. If I knew who I was, I might want to let it. But I won't now, because I can't really make out his voice, and I would be betraying me dignity in some way I can't understand by bonding to that kahlua tenor like some ducking to it's mother. I'm no sad little girl who likes pretty little boys.

Let us review.

This place smells strange. It smells like blood, and metals, and bile, and other unpleasant things. What wafts on the air most of all is a sad, languising lunch and the seaside scent of people crying - which is not really a scent at all, but a feeling I can't get out of the back of my head, and is probably normal for none of them to care. But I do not gag because of it. Instead, it seems almost bland to me.

How awful!

How boring.

How terrible!

How necessary.

Gasp!!!!

Yawn.

... sigh.

This is confusing. There are two morals in my head - angel and devil on my shoulder, and both of them have cute blue eyes. Two conflicting opinions on the matter so equal in strength I'm not sure what they mean. Must everything for me be an absolute choice between equal and opposite sins? I don't like that at all. I am too old/young for that by far.

"Will you shut up? For god's sake, she's just a kid."

"... Kid?"

Kid?

Well that's something right there. Kid is a brash tomboy who probably wears less clothing than her sis' would like her to. If you bother Kid, Kid will kick your ass, and Kid would probably not be laying on this uncomfortable, too well-lit cot in the middle of somewhere stagnant instead of up and looking for him, because he has answers even if he can't remember any of what happened. Kid is a doer, not a thinker, and Kid is horribly terribly flawed and tomboyish and Human. She has ordinary blonde hair and a middle toe that's longer than the big, which she is very embarassed about and would rather not anyone see. Her hair is stringy from runnaing about on the coean all the time, her body scarred from fighting monsters of the lesser persuation, and her ribs show almost sickly under the crop top she is no longer wearing.

Kid cares more than anything else in the world about a boy she calls her 'best mate in the world', which terrifies her on some level, because she has the nagging feeling that he would probably make it just fine without her. Everyone else has left her already. He has a girlfriend who's hard and pretty and solidly ordinarily beautiful like a chunk of rainbow seashell, and she could make him stay behind instead of sailing the old waves of time killing monsters and having Adventures. She could be his best mate too. And that's not right at all, because they're partners in crime, mate! The unbeatable team! Serge n' Kid, the Assassins of Time! Nobody works together better than them, an' they've got lots to do even though this whole dimension business is worked out.

She's never had a friend like that before.

Her big sister is dead, and she wants revenge, but there's nothing to get revenge against anymore and so she is just very focused and very angry with looks to shatter glass but going nowhere. Lost medusa. Now there is nothing to center on but finding him, since she has lost herself in her other self. And so she will, because her humanity has caused the death of anyone else she might care to find.

Yes. That is Kid. And I am Kid, or so it seems. Very well then.

"Miss? She's waking up - see if you can find any relatives." He has noticed that my eyes are open.. blood hell, I don't wanna be sedated! I wanna get the hell out of here! Serge is me best mate, he might be lying out there bleedin' not knowing where the hell he is and..

"How am I supposed to find some random runaway hooker's rela-" scratch. Scratch. Instinct tells me that this'uns a bad one. Kind you don't wanna be anywhere near a back alley on a dark night if you're not the invincible Kid Zeal, y'know what I mean? Soul all eaten up by cynicism an' sucked dry. Never know what those blokes will pull. (I have just said that I am invincible in inner monologue, and this bears analysis. Kid gets her bravado from this Lucca character. I am Kid. I have bravado? I suppose I do now. Bravado it is then! The invincible Kid Zeal... 'luv'!)

"Just go, okay? Take it nice and easy, Janey. You're alright now - you're in the hospital."

"Kid... my name..."

Is Kid.

"Hmmm?"

"My name is Kid. Kid Zeal."

Zeal.

Kid Zeal.

Oi. So I'm Kid, eh? But I'm also Zeal, that's true enough. Genetics and all that, even if you've gotta know I've never put much stock in blood n' rubbish. I dare ya ta tell me that Lucca ain't me mum and keep yer balls! But I've also got another mum, I have, a mum I don't much care for. Crazy lot she was part of. All blue hair and strange dealings. Her fault I'm in all this mess. So like I said - I may be Zeal, but don't you dare call HER me mum, 'cause Zeal might wanna forgive her, but Kid sure as hell wouldn't, and like I said, I'm Kid, eh?

Zeal. Zeal's a gel named Schala, who loves pretty dresses and cute kittens and ickle kiddies and the like. Schala had blue hair, an' it was always perfect when it was up, because she was a princess right? But I've never put much stock in princesses either. Princess took me mum Lucca's best friend Chrono away from her, right, and then not a word of apology or anything. And Lucca always said it was rubbish an she was fine, but I could tell she wasn't, since I'm the one she raised from the beginning. Spent alot of time with her machines, she did. Too much time, some days, when you could tell she wasn't up to seein' them all at the palace.

Still a princess though, she is, and she's also a monster right? Because she was too weak to fight and just up and let herself die for everybody else, 'cept it worked out opposite of how she planned in the end, see? Giving up is stupid and weak, and dying is selfish.. guess I'm a selfish person, eh? Ended up living fourteen thousand years in a void full of soap-bubble dimensional rejects and tryin' to eat timestreams and such. No good deed goes unpunished, the Great Genius Lucca Ashtear always used to say. Schala's brother's a huge nutter too, I understand, all obsessed an' not healthy with her disappearin' thing... but that's okay, 'cause she's really worried about him, and loves him lots.

That's the kinda girl she is, see. Loving people. All the time.. givin' em poems and embarrasin' rubbish on girly paper to tell them the meaning of friendship. Or at least she was, before she became half alien, and then she was just bitter lots eh? But non crazy-alien freakness Zeal has lotsa.. manners and poise an' everything Lucca said I was s'posed to be, which kinda make sense now, but still.. its' wierd, 'cos I'm not really like that all the time am I? Or I don't wanna be. Bloody boring, sittin' around being nice and helpin' puppies and knitting sweaters and ... I dunno. Studying, I guess.

Can't really do anything about it, though, an' I know all this stuff about her in the back of my head. So much it's confusing, cos' she'd watch those bubbles like the vidscreens Lucca used t'make so we brats would leave her alone when she had important work to do. I'm Zeal. Right. So I better bloody well get used to it.

No wonder I was getting all confused before. There are lots of memories in fourteen thousand years. Best not to go there, Zeal.

"Kid Zeal!"

That's m'name. The one doctor I don't mind is calling out to the other. I suspect they'll try and look me up in some kinda computer.

"Yu-hunh."

Hell... I gotta get out of here and find Serge so's we can think of a way out of this, right? Knock this bloke out I guess... but I can't do that, since it's not moral and such. Hell. Somewhere in this brain of mine I know how to get into those computers too - make it look like I exist officially - but my name sounds made-up to him anyways, so I'll get of light I guess. Don't wanna get dragged off to some lunatic's house because his kid's named my name and we've gotta whole huge 'nother problem on our hands.

Serge. Right. Serge can get me outta here - he probably followed me or brought me in, just like when we used to get knocked out by monsters. Like with that set in Terra Tower. Nasty business, that. But best mates gotta watch each other's backs an drag 'em to medics and use up the last Tablets on 'em- it's a given.

"Oi.. mate. Yeah, you there - where's Serge?" See, I can ask that, 'cause Serge is unforgettable with that freakish natural blue hair o' his that I never could get right with all those dies in the Old Kingdom. My hand feels so... light, though. No gloves!? They prolly took the rest of my... damn pervert doctors. This thing feels like a... like a... dress. Which ain't upsetting, I guess, but wierd after such a long time. And perverted (Not that it's their fault, the poor men)! Just cos I'm young and cute an' dress proper for the heat and all they get ideas, like... it's improper! "You gotta find him... he's here, right? Inna hospital? 'Cause if he was taken too.. he's gotta be in the hospital, right? Since this is a hospital?"

Making sense is tertiary, y'undersand, 'cos I'm pretty sure they've got me doped up on something and there's shiny little overexposed spots running across me - er, my - corneas now. Serge better get here soon an' make them see the reason in raising the bed, because I'm really not up to it and he can be all scary looking with that big blade staff thing o' his. Well, scary for Serge. Serge ain't really looked scary in his life, I'll wager. Fer a champion monster-hunter and world-saver and war-wager and Arbiter o' Fate, my best mate is a bleedin' teddybear.

"Of course it's a hospital, miss"

Oi! No reason to talk down... I am a perfectly resonable human being, and this is really not the time.

"I wanna get out of this...," a draft "... bugger all! You bloody pervert doctors..."

"Now yourest. Your blood-oxygen levels are all over the map. Just take a nice little nap, and I'm sure we'll find your - brother? Serge, you said? - very soon. You just worry about getting better... Mike, run a search for a Serge Zeal in the database..."

Ow. A pinch! Silver, and long, and hurting... bloody.. NO!

"Serge Zeal. Riiiiiight. 'Zeal'. Zealous at what? That some new call service?"

Gotta stay awa....

When did they get so far away? The scratch man mand and the liquid man? Liquid, mmmm... just like water...

"Miiiike... Jesus, you're not a freaking cop! Just find the poor kid's parents if you can. These street kids are fragile... "

I must...

***

The woman walked into the building. It was a hospital. The floors were shiny, and it smelled like vomit.

Not a very flowery description, but nothing about the woman called to mind flowers anyways. Or any sort of foliage, for that matter. Her eyes were cold and hard and red as garnet and her head covered with a felt cap of some unknown name and fashion. The dress she wore was simple, and blended with the walls. And yet... the woman walked into the building not like she owned it, but it didn't matter at all in the slightest to her existance, and as such it had better get the hell out of her way.

Having more important things to do that notice airs and projections of strength, the emergency room staff did no notice that and invited the suit with the dangerous gait strait into their parlour.

"Are you here for.. Kid Zeal, is it?"

The doctor wore white, and responded on rote. New Porre was not a safe place - and as with most major metropolitan areas sported only rare, vague pockets of happiness. The woman was the sort of woman who used people, and he was fairly certain in all the arrogance of experience that he knew what she wanted from him.

"Oh, yes, she does like those silly nicknames," the woman gestured midly, waving about the pair of sunglasses she had just removed like a banner. A shrug- the universal gesture of helplessness, looked somehow out of place on her shoulders. "Her name is Schala Ashtear, and I'll be happy to take her from here."

"Schala Ashtear?" the other doctor questioned. His green eyes had no yet turned to jade - or if they had, then he put on a very good act indeed. Was he worried? That was.. sweet. Like something out of a telanovella.

"I'm her sister. It's perfectly alright. Would you like to see my credentials?" producing the necessary documents and keycards, the oman relaxed herlself. The guilty are the nervous. "Because I can, most assuredly, produce the paperwork if you require..."

"No, no that's quite alright ma'am," the first man wanted the girl out of there, and noone could blame him. There were always more important things to do. More important heads and hearts to heal. A drop of water in the bucket cannot poison the lot.

Feh. Humans.

"Tell me - do you know someone named 'Serge'?"

But the other had different ideas.

"Serge, you say?" and suddenly, this vague little scene draw into focus. Garnet turned to ruby, the colors became more vivid, and her voice - her voice was altogether sharper in technicolor surround sound.

"Errr.. yes." They did not wish to notice this. Which was really terribly sad. Their profiles might have earned a place in the chronicles of angels. " The girl seemed in a great deal of distress, and kept asking where we could find a Serge. If you know who she's talking about it would probably do her good to see the man. She was almost hyperventilating... we had to sedate her."

"Ah yes - Serge. Her best friend, " the woman nodded, rehearshing infront of the mirror that was here and not here and held all the arcane, sacred secrets of the application of her makeup. As well it should. The demystification of beauty was a plague on this planet. "He too was injured in the car accident, but not nearly as severly as Schala was when she went missing. I'll take her to him right away, if you sign the releases now."

"Very well, miss..."

"Arcange."

"Arcange?"

"Arcange de la Septieme," the woman nodded, died green tresses bobbing in a nonexistant wind.

"Whatever. Right this way... Madam."

Madame...?

She did not like the implications of that assumption as to her .. station, be he was of no consequence anyways. None of them were. It takes a brillinat mind to grasp a paradox.

***

Warm. Warm and it smells like toast. Dun like that. Mmmm.. fuzzy. Fuzzy fuzzy comfy not like toast. Toast smells like burnt, and burnt is a scar on the heart.

"You were in temporal shock." The new voice ain't fuzzy, that's fer damn sure. It's cold. And flat. And pulled her back to wakefulness from the blissful sleep of the confused - those whome chaos partners at the ball and everything makes sense in a cinderella dress when that day the prince has come.

The new voice is focused, and to douse the phoneix of vision there is no light. The New Woman has too much rounge, too much eye shadow, too much green at her temples and black on her lashed. But somehow she makes it look exotic, and frightning, instead of the clown's weight in beauty it might have been on anyone else. Perhaps that's to do with the red eyes. Yes. That must be it. Bloody creepy, those are, as they fade into view. Something in 'em ain't like Karsh's used to be.

The strange woman, new woman, smells like toast and sandalwood perfume. She does not belong in a hospital.

"Gods.. not this again. Who're you? Where is this?"

Head pounds - it's like that when the walls of your skull keep crashin' in. And the drugs are wearing off now, so everything's too clear.. tingling little cuts on the nervous system mingling into a dull ache. Woman's inna chair, that's it, while she's tucked you into bed. Everything here's green and pink and flowers - granny furniture, too damn old, but new if you new from the other side of the tunnel.

Brush the hair back from yer eyes, and look - like right at her, 'cause you've gotta take this kind head on.

"You do not recognize me, my old enemy? And now.. now I am hurt. Hurt! You wound me to the core, ma cherie!"

Old enemy? Crazy witch. Brought Kid here for a bit of fun, eh? All thought she was some kind of harlot here.. no doubt when she was in a four-poster iron doodad of a bed right now. Vases of flowers an' such.. what, they thought she'd be high class? Bring it on, you bloody bastards. Kid Zeal's had one HELL of a day.

"What the... bloody hell, I don't need this right now."

Shove off the sheets. It's cold, but you're in your old clothes, so grin n' bear it up mate.

"My heart bleeeeds at your suffering, Zeal. But we are one and the same, don't you see? I used to try and help you.. I use to think that I was doing the right thing. That by giving him to you I'd make him happy. " Is it too much to ask that something make some sense around here? Bloody hell.. lady's chewing you out for some crackpot reason and you've gotta get the hell outta here so you can.. .figure out what to do once you're the hell out of here. Yeah. Plan! "But you're nothing but a disgusting traitor, and I should slay you right here and now. Do you think I couldn't?"

Slay....?

Oh, for the love of...

Your muscles ache. Everything aches. Bloody.. d'yer got a Tablet on you? Smile n' nod and stall for time and less pain, m'girl.

"You used me, Zeal," Lady seems to be in a trance. Like.. creepy-like. She's not even lookin' at you, is she? In come kind of a trace - starin' out at the walls and the window and the birds you can hear outside like she doesn't even see them. What the hell kind of hospital were you at!? Her voice.. her voice is angry. "You convinced me that I'd be making him happy. But I'm the only one who can make him happy, and you're nothing. I deserve to be happy! Not.. not someone like you... after what you've done. Even worse than taking him from me OR the Frozen Flame! The Dragon Gods left a message for me.. I finally figured it out... did you think I wouldn't remember? "

"I sure as hell know I don't."

"But you made a miscalculation," Oh yeah. Angry. More'n angry. This is your voice, isn't it? The tone you used to berate Lynx? The tone that called for blood and death and vengance (which is wrong, so wrong). The tone of curses and hexes and honor. This is the timbre and descant of lost souls and zombie servants, damned to walk the earth with but one thought in their minds for all eternity. And isn't she pacing? Isn't that green, green skirt slithering this way?

Shit.

"You forgot that blood is thicker than quantum physics, and we paradoxes don't have to always stick together.. TRAITOR. You never thought I'd try to find out after your little comments in Guardia, did you? Friends? Us? I don't know what I was thinking when we made that little pact during the First Porre Occupation... "

"Guardia...?" back up in to the pllows. She presses onwards. This is not a duel but a siege. "But I ain't been to Guardia in..."

Little bird, great bird, bird of prey whispers in your ear and tell so you so what you need to know with no reason behind it. Is she not hunching to sweep in for the kill? Her lips are at your earrings, and you can retreat no further little mouse-that-roared. There's a lamp beside you and it burns in the depths of her pupils. Light is playing tricks again - it's such a kidder. "And now you're here. And you're weak, my old 'friend'. I don't know why, and I don't care. And now I'm going to kill you, and then he'll be able to come back and everything will be fine. I'll have a purpose again. Do you know what that's like? Have you ever felt adrift, with fourteen thousand years trying to devour this word with your disgusting, vile energy that I once thought could be the melody to the harmony? "

The melody and the harmony. Flicker flicker. Look to the light, and get an idea - be devious and shut up the part that just wants to be nie and make friends and watch rainbows, 'cause she's not needed.

Serge. The melody and the harmony. She almost bite you - those are fangs... And birds are but the apeish cousings of...

"It's you.... I can't believe it's you. What have you done with him!? Why is he missing?"

Dragonite. She's done something! That bitch! That's why he's not here! It all makes so much sense and now look who's angry. Schala. Schala. Schala, Lavos loves you. Blessed daughter full of grace.

The cap is off now, and you can see it. Those fins instead of ears stuffed beneath something shaped so diffrent and yet so the same. Dragonite. Dragonite! That which lives for eternity and was never ever born.

Harle of the Seventh Moon - Phantom Orb - was also a paradox.

"Zut alors, ma cherie! It eez - how do you say - zee judgement hour? Zey have all forgotten zee elements, zee love of the planet, zee scraps of my world.. but I haven't. I have NOT. I will not be suspected when you just.. disappear in zee blackness, non?"

A paradox, just like you. This doesn't make sense. With the Melody and the Harmony - she is supposed to have vanished from the planes of memory into whatever Lavos-forsaken egg spawned her.

"Harle. You are such a bloody lunatic."

Look to the light, and edge your hand towards that lamp. It bounces off your amulet, glowing blue where it smashed as you bring it down on the back of the Seventh Dragon's head.

And you've had quite enough of this. Spring up, for god's sake! Get to yer feet! RUn to teh door. Harle is bloody dangerous, and now there's murder in the lashings of her hands.

"Unless... I understand, now," she growls into the floor. She's starin' at your pendant like it's a snake or something. Back away. Back away. "You skipped through time... you did not sympasize wit my search for ma chere Serge.. you skipped through time to find him! You nezer had to suffer, to wait... not at all! Merde! You kept zee amulet all along and you have tricked me twice. Come back here, you harlot! You traiteur! Paradox! You are nozing like me!"

Well, at least someone knows what the hell is going on. Even as that someone fades into the distance and you dash down the hallways looking blindly for an exit tended to by an little old man in a uniform.

"You stay the hell away from me, you psychopath!"

And now you're out the door. You've gotta think. This is one too many paradoxes. The impossible has happened and it's hunting you down.

The Great Genius Lucca Ashtear's plan had not been perfect.

Oh, hell...