Disclaimer: I still do not own Wild Arms 3. On another note: I. LOVE. YOU. PEOPLE. It makes my day to get on the computer after a horrible day of school and read such great reviews. Heehee, Teefa and Co and Black Waltz 0, I love hearing the things you and your muses have to say! That's a crazy bunch right there! (I'm not sure if I'd love or hate to be inside your heads right now...) But, there's a big problem that's emerged: I've killed Gallows' Stalker… I'll give ya'll cookie if you keep it a secret. Mmm, a nice, crisp cookie with absolutely no form of arsenic hidden inside… I know you want it…

"Have no fear!" A dark purple wolf burst forth to throw a chilling shadow against the falling sun, "Lucied is here!"

Lucied could have sworn that there was some movement behind that giant boulder over there, but was too encased in looking for the source of the 'desires' that it was overlooked.

"Okay, at the count of three we charge. Ready?" Moor Gault took a deep breath as adrenaline rushed to everyone's head. "One…"

Lucied started to sniff the ground for scents.

"Two…"

Lucied trotted closer to the cliff edge.

"Two and Three-Quarters…"

And a giant metallic red gleam came into view from out of nowhere.

"No, you idiot! I said at the count of three! THREE! Haven't you ever watched The Holy Grail?!" But, Moor Gault's insults were laid upon closed ears as Star Roe charged at the Desire Guardian full speed. And full speed was rather slow for the fat little whatever it is Star Roe happens to be.

Lucied turned around to meet the strange and short attacker and—with the expertise of, well, a wolf—tackled Star Roe to the ground.

Star Roe smiled bashfully, shifting under the purple wolf, and, in a sad attempt to break the awkward tension, said—"Well, looks like Lucied's a girl in the third game!"

The loud sound of a hard punt reached the other Guardians.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!"

CRASH.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!"

BOOM.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!"

EXPLODE.

Lucied looked around satisfied greatly, and then turned, searching for anyone else. Not exactly sure what the hell that had all been about, the Guardian of Desire decided it best to just abandon these particular desires as some kind of crazy delusions and began to walk back from whence it—

"—Ahem!"

Sorry, whence she came.

Once the view was clear of any purple wolves, the Guardians slowly stepped their way from behind the boulder. Each chanced a peek over the edge of the cliff and down at the treacherous rocks below. It was now Fengalon's turn to try and break the awkward tension silencing the air.

"So…" He said while scratching the back of his neck with one furry paw, "Do we still go down there and skin him?"

"Well, we're back at square one." Moor Gault's statement was as clear as a Pike/Jet relationship. What? Am I the only one who sees that?

But, in actuality, the statement was more of an understatement than a clear statement.

It was more close to negative square one.

Or, maybe, a 'circle', if you will—a circle where everything random and horrible happened at exactly the wrong time and exactly the wrong place with Fate backing it all up and a circle where, instead of winding up at the beginning, you ended up at the negative beginning.

The negative square one circle beginning.

All nine—that's right; nine now—of the revenge-seekers were standing idly next to the pile of rubble formerly known as the Blue Palace. "All right" Moor Gault began solemnly, "What's Plan B in case Plan A didn't work out?"

Fengalon scratched the back of his head again. "Well, we were kind of hoping that Plan A would work… can we eat Lucied now?"

The negative square one circle beginning with no Plan B.

"Excuse me." Another fingered hand raised, this one a lot darker than the Love Guardians. "I think I have a plan that might work."

"Does it involve eating?"

"No… I don't think so…"

"Does it involve falling eight stories down a cliff?"

"No, definitely not."

"Does it involve any gender-confused mammals?"

"Yes!"

"Then step right up." Moor Gault waved a wing to motion for the person to announce the plan.

Celesdue moved forward and stepped on top of the pile of rubble defiantly. "You see," She began. "All we need to do is deprive Lucied of desires so that she starves!"

Well, it wasn't Einstein's Theory of Relativity, but it was as close to a Plan B as you can get when your allies are a group of strange, demented creatures with no goal in life other than to protect Filgaia (and all of them had yet to fulfill that goal).

"Okay, so let me get this straight: we tell everyone in Filgaia that they must ignore any and all desires so that we can starve a purple wolf who happens to be more popular then us." Moor Gault reiterated.

Celesdue nodded happily.

"Good. Now will this be before or after they barrage us with cats?"

"Apparently after." Moor Gault answered his own question as they entered the town of Jolly Roger only to get thrown out once again before the words even had time to appear above their head. Technically, they had just entered the town of 'Jol.'

Celesdue was still picking cats off her dress as they continued onto the next town. As the Guardians walked into the settlement, they each looked up to read the name.

"Ark of Destiny… Doesn't this place sound a tad bit familiar?" Fengalon wondered aloud.

"No problem." Celesdue marched on confidently. "This place is just teeming with people who are willing to believe anything." Celesdue stopped dead in her tracks as a ghastly green figure appeared before the nine.

"Beware…" The apparition moaned into the wind.

"Beware of what?" Celesdue asked.

"Beware…"

"Of what?!"

"Beware…"

"Dude, you're not helping us any!"

"Oh fine, destroy the mystic atmosphere." The ghost put his hands on his hips. "I mean, I try so hard to be all ghastly and come back from the dead and you all ruin it with your 'beware of what, beware of what?' What the bloody, friggin' hell do you think to beware of?! The Ark of Destiny of course. They'll send you right to the guillotine, they will."

"Hey! I got it now! You're that Lamium guy!" Fengalon shouted happily.

"No duh I'm Lamium. Now, if you want to live, just leave now." Ghost-Lamium spoke.

"What happened to you're voice and you're… persona?" Moor Gault questioned. The previous Lamium had been kind and gentle and caring. Maybe it was an imposter Lamium. A dead imposter Lamium who came here as an ally of Desire… Okay, or maybe he was just being obsessive.

The negative square one circle just widened a bit more.

"Well, it's a long story… once Beatrice left me it affected my entire body in a way that caused my brain, the center of my personality and memories, to—"

"Oh no! This story's taking a serious turn! Run away!" Moor Gault commanded the troops but soon found himself banging his head with a crimson wing. "Not that way, you idiots!" Eight—that's right, eight—of the Guardian Lords were now sinking in the endless sea of sand.

Gradually fading into the distance, as though just a voice in his head, Moor Gault could here the sniggering of a dead religious leader moaning in a ghastly voice, "Karma's a biiiiiitch…"

Make that a negative square one circle with eight little dots sinking in the middle with no Plan C.

"Okay, if we want to find our Guardians, we must follow the stories plot line closely and try and keep up with the times." Virginia said as she paced back and forth. "Okay!" She suddenly snapped. She ran over to Clive, "You speak only using words you've replaced with other words from a thesaurus."

("I concur," Clive replied without delay.)

She ran up to Jet. "You go lament about being an android then make out with me."

Then, she ran up to Gallows. "You provide comic relief at any cost."

Lastly, she pointed at herself. "I'll be cheery and endlessly optimistic and then become heart-broken, later dedicating the remainder of my sad life to avenging my fallen status and, in turn, involuntarily taking over the planet of Filgaia!" She paused after speaking and realized her mistake. "Ack! I didn't mean that last part! I didn't mean to be creative! No, I swear, it's been done before, it's been done before!" Virginia howled into the night sky.

Gallows sighed to himself. Trying to be in a cliché parody was hard with so many limitless possibilities and twists to stories that once may have appeared similar. Then, he remembered that thinking wasn't going to get them in any quicker. He needed to do something drastically stupid to redeem his cliché!

Amidst Virginia's continued wails, Gallows did the Chicken Dance.