ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FAN FICTION — EVEN THOSE BASED ON FICTIONAL PEOPLE — ARE ENTIRELY MADE-UP. ALL DANTE REFERENCES ARE RESEARCHED… POORLY. THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS LEWD SEXUAL HUMOR AND DUE TO ITS LONG INTROSPECTIVE MONOLOGUES IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE. _|_|_|

Kenny

Big shocker of a confession: I'm not much of a reader.

I'll get through maybe one long book per summer, if I feel like it. It's not that I don't read, I just don't like being told to, so my interest kinda winds down when it's homework. At school, my girlfriend would tend to be the one sitting right next to me, making me go through textbooks and assigned novels (often stripping as a reward, though that generally got my mind right off books completely). I can't really get into things that don't immediately interest me. Unless it's, you know, work-related.

I have difficulty concentrating on the things I'm supposed to read as it is… having the probability of listing in and out of that weird, dreamlike state was not going to be helpful, now. Fortunately, I was surrounded by others who not only were avid readers, but who had a working knowledge of the particular texts the League currently needed to pour over. Kyle's bookstore job was definitely a bonus, after Henrietta's stacks of texts.

None of us was necessarily a specialist, though. Yeah, we had Stan on the geology end of things, and Ike, Timmy and Bebe as pretty solid research and communications experts, but not even Henrietta had a working knowledge of, well… spiritual things outside of her once-preferred religion of Cthulhu Cultism. She was able to help Stan through understanding the possibility of his blood relationship to the man who'd founded the Dagon cult (and I'll be honest, I was able to keep myself a little more focused now that I knew there were things like the Old Ones still out there, close to us), and knew her way through the Inferno well enough, but other texts were only passing interests to her. We did have Kyle and Ike looking into things on the Torah end, since Henrietta had mentioned the possibility of Damien's recruitment of Biblical beasts, but Damien himself had flinched at the mention of another text entirely.

My confrontation with him in the Goths' office felt like it had taken place years ago, now. The harder it became to sleep, the stranger it was to try keeping track of time. Trying to get by without Red was hard enough. Her parents had called me twice, looking for her, and I'd made up some bullshit apology about having to work for the first call, and left the second to go to voicemail. I still hadn't listened to it, three days later.

Shit just started stacking up. The only reason I knew it had been three days was thanks to Karen and the guys reminding me. Three days. Three fucking days and I'd gotten maybe a grand total of five hours of real, planned sleep.

I'd beaten Immortality, Goddammit, that didn't mean I never wanted to rest ever again. I had to get some fucking sleep, but there seemed to be thousands of outside forces trying to convince me that closing my eyes would be the end of—fuck, I didn't even know. The end of something. Me, maybe. My perception of reality, probably.

When I lay in bed, awake, alone, all I could think of was that we'd started following Damien's breadcrumbs too late. Hell would rise up before we even saw them building. Tenorman would get that Carnival going, and we were too late. We were just plain too late.

Then I'd close my eyes and my brain would go blank, letting me concentrate.

I wasn't dreaming when I slept, anymore. Visions came more steadily when I was wide awake, and attempting to be a functional member of society. Pretty much the only way I could force myself to concentrate was to inundate myself with League work.

"They're just trying to call you out," Karen told me, the afternoon of the third day since the art opening. "They're trying to get to you through nightmares, they're trying to put you out of commission."

"Then I don't get why we're stalling," I muttered.

We were in the kitchenette of the League base, our home for the past four years. As I half-heartedly managed to eat the sandwich my sister had prepared for me, the two of us looked for the umpteenth time over the list and charts of mine sites in our area that Stan, Kyle and Ike had compiled over the past couple of days. "We aren't stalling," Karen sighed. "We just need another big break of information."

"Tonight, right?"

My sister nodded. "You sure you'll be all right?" she double-checked with me.

"If they're calling me out, Karen, I have to take missions no matter what," I reminded her.

Karen was silent for a few seconds; her answer then came in the form of placing her hand on my shoulder as she said, "I'm going to help you any way I can, Kenny. I want to help you with anything you might come across. And that goes for on the field, too. You know that."

I ticked my head up and gave her a kind of affirmative grunt. It was basically all I could manage right then, since I was still so out of it.

There was some comfort in having my sister close, not just now, but in the field as well. Like always, the Guardian Angel would have my back. That allowed me to focus on other things like refueling. At least I could manage enough coordination to eat.

As I thought those exact words, I reached out to grab a bag of potato chips and knocked over my glass of milk.

Great, I thought. Never assume things can't possibly get worse. Then stupid shit like spilling your drink happens. Or it rains. Or your enemies steal your girlfriend.

But I was getting distracted again. My thoughts needed to be on the matter at hand, which was obtaining specific information.

Despite my sister's elementary education, she retained only a margin of her Book of Mormon teachings, which, of course, was understandable. Luckily, we knew just who could help us with that bit of required reading. So the Wolf at the Goths' door had been something of a blessing in disguise (despite the actually, oh, really tragic events added to it), since a few of us had to take a courtesy trip to Home Depot for extra tools and lumber needed to fix up the shop.

The objective that evening was practically simple: a group would be stationed around the premises, concealed until the sky grew dark, and a smaller group would head inside, as a buffer for either Stan, Karen or myself to have a little talk with Gary Harrison. Having recently returned from his Mission, Gary was, according to Stan (the most frequent of us to visit the store), never at a loss to discuss his experience, stories, or teachings. All I wanted was some kind of clue that would lead to our understanding of why Damien had flinched upon the naming of that text.

As it was, I placed TupperWear, Mosquito and the Coon "in charge" (I quote for the Coon's case, mostly) outside, with Endgame, Marpesia and Harmony rounding the group out; Karen and I went inside, along with Stan and Kyle, the latter of whom was fighting the nagging urge to get rid of the sweatshirt he was wearing.

"At least this place is air-conditioned," he complained, tilting his head to the ceiling the moment the four of us crossed the automated threshold of the enormous store.

"Just take it off if it's hot," I mumbled, absently checking my phone. The only thing on there was the time, and the alert for the voicemail from Red's parents. I'd been checking it somewhat obsessively, as if at any second I'd just get a text from her and everything would be fine.

Kyle groaned. "It was hard enough trying to come up with something to tell my parents."

"About what?" I blankly checked around us for anything unsightly. Nobody around us who seemed out of place; Kyle was the only one in close proximity with red hair.

"…My arms," Kyle explained, sounding hesitant to speak. Oh. Beyond that, too, we'd come slightly more prepared than we'd been in the past: each of us wore at least a hint of our uniforms under our street clothes; in my case, the finishing touches were stashed in Karen's purse.

I shrugged to show I understood. Kyle wasn't convinced, and pressed, "Dude, you okay? You awake?"

Just the mention of the word awake made me yawn.

I wasn't at my best, but we did, at least, have a plan that I figured I'd be able to follow, no matter how out of it I might have been. It was understood that, if needed, any of us could head onto the field at a moment's notice. That was just the way we needed to operate, now. It had been working for a while, and it was our best course of action. Objective number one, however, was making sure at least one of us could get some one-on-one time with Gary.

We hadn't checked in with him, I realized, since the night the Harrisons' home had been targeted. If Damien wanted more out of the guy or his family than just the slight Ginger connection, he was taking his time. Meaning that this was one case we weren't going to fall behind on.

Every possible lead was a step closer toward the mines, toward the lamp, and toward the Carnival; toward the Dreamlands. Make things fit, and we'd find what we needed before Hell could have too much of an upper hand.

When Kyle gave me another disbelieving look, and after Karen grabbed my arm to keep me walking straight forward, I replied in as level a tone as I could manage, "Sorry, man. I'm tired, but I'm good."

"Any new… uh…?" Stan wondered.

Now, while I'm not a reader, I kind of do enjoy writing, to be honest. Growing up, we didn't have much in the way of books at our family home, so I used to write my own stories to tell Karen when we were little. A lot of them were based on stories I'd hear at school, fairy tales and things like that, but every once in a while, I'd have an interesting dream that I'd write about for her. (This stopped when I started having wet dreams in third or fourth grade, but I'd keep telling her the clean stuff.)

That being said, I had more or less written about my own dream experiences before… just not to the extent that Wilcox had advised the four of us to. I'd spoken to Karen on the subject of the dream journals, as well, and she had warned me that the more I wanted to see something, the less likely it was that I'd actually dream about it. All the more reason to find that lamp.

So I knew exactly what Stan was asking: any progress? Any new windows, new doors, new dreams, new leads?

No.

Nothing.

Just three fucking days of feeling like shit, feeling like I had no grasp on reality.

Doubt was starting to set in on my mind something awful. Hopefully a talk with someone like Gary would get me seeing things in a slightly more optimistic light, but I knew I wouldn't be able to breathe normally until we broke through to the Spaces Between, stopped Damien and Tenorman's little plots, and saved Red, among the others who had to have been in the same predicament.

I shook my head, only able to process one thing at a time. Red wasn't the only one in the Dreamlands: Sally Turner's parents, Sargeant Yates' wife… everyone being used as blackmail and bait were stranded somewhere. It was the why, though, it was the fucking why that we had to figure out. Obviously, there was construction going on. They were building Hell up. But it bothered me that there was not yet a solid why.

Why bring Hell to Earth, unless there was a good fucking reason? Why recruit an army? Toying with the Circles meant that everything would get thrown out of balance, even Hell. So where the fuck did we come in? Why was any of this necessary?

Most importantly: were we on the right path toward coming out on top? Or were we just getting pulled along on one long, sick ride?

I couldn't doubt.

I hadn't before, and I should not have been giving in to something like that now. It just sucked being so exhausted, so spent, so worried all the time. Three days and my drive had just gone down, in increments by the hour, it seemed.

So I let Karen pull me along, I took Stan and Kyle's worried glances, and I kept my mouth shut, not knowing what I might start saying or how I'd say it. I had to blink to keep myself awake, in the harsh fluorescents of the superstore. The light was garish, blinding, and overwhelming, but it wasn't just the light that made me feel like something was off.

When we'd made it to the department that Gary Harrison worked in, Toolshed's technician was not alone. Something else, too, showed in the nervous stance Gary was taking on, which was rather uncharacteristic of him. That guy always seemed so damn pleasant and upbeat about life, I didn't think he could even really get nervous.

What seemed to be putting him off was something that was instantly not okay in my book, either: a pale-faced, fire-headed man, whose build was the very definition of gangly, stood over the service desk at which our former classmate was working, watching his every move. Watching, at least, when his lecherous yellow eyes weren't falling on another person, this one a well-framed blonde girl around my sister's age. Gary was trying his hardest not to let the man's wandering eyes bother him as he handed the girl a packet of information, and pretended not to notice when the man followed the girl a few paces before turning back toward an aisle as she left with someone who was obviously her father.

As the gangly Ginger man turned, his eyes lit on Karen, and he smirked at her before returning to Gary's desk. I already hated the guy, and it was not helping his case to be a redhead. Which, honestly, was something that bothered me in a different way: despite our knowing that a lot of real Ginger involvement with Tenorman's side of the Carnival was forced or the result of blackmail, the 'ringleaders,' so they called themselves, were getting to me all the same, making me instantly blanch at the sight of anyone who wasn't my girlfriend that bore that distinguishing feature.

I hate to say it, but, yeah, even Kyle. The guy was like a fucking brother to me, but over the past three days, I'd been finding him increasingly difficult to approach or speak to. It was all on me, too, most likely. I was paranoid. Doubting, and paranoid, and only half-awake.

Not a good mixture for someone who's supposed to protect the fucking town.

In many ways, I felt like I was already in Hell.

I moved when Karen got me to move, but kept an eye on her around the strange new man still haunting Gary's desk space. As we approached, the clearly less pious of the two men rounded the station and, speaking only to Karen, flashed a white grin as he greeted in a purr, "Good evening. Please, don't hesitate to speak to me if there is anything I can do for you."

Karen was stunned speechless, not to say that the rest of us weren't. My sister stuttered over an unclear syllable for a moment, but it was once the man's eyes began wandering down from my sister's face that I interrupted harshly, "Can I help you?"

The man gave me an odd glare, passed a look over Karen again, then tapped the top of a binder on top of Gary's desk. The well-kept Mormon had been watching the man suspiciously and uncomfortably the entire time, but he straightened up, and turned the binder open. Tucked into the front pocket, I noticed, was a crisp white envelope. Not much of a stretch of my unreliable imagination to guess that it was sealed in red wax.

I was glad that we'd been compelled to pay Gary a visit, and much moreso for the fact that we'd come prepared for anything. If nothing else, I was pretty fucking ready for a fight, should one arise, after this strange man's blatant oggling of my little sister. Who had a boyfriend. And was my sister. Ugh.

"Keep up the good work, Harrison," the man said to Gary as he began following in the path of a female employee who crossed past the desk with a customer. The man watched the woman, probably in her mid-thirties, walk the path toward the registers at the front of the store, but continued, "Tonight might be a good one to take some work home with you if you want that transfer."

Gary nodded, holding his breath so as to not speak out about the man's behavior, then finally let out, "Yes, sir."

Another glance at Karen, and the man said, "Now, why don't you see what you can do for this little angel?"

Not okay. Not okay.

But he was gone before I could yell at him about anything. Karen, on the other hand, walked us toward Gary's service desk and immediately leaned against it to hold herself up more steadily, and demanded, "What is with that guy?!"

"Dude," Stan commented sourly as he and Kyle caught up. "New boss?"

"Oh, they're doing all sorts of shifting around," Gary answered, as if unaffected. Sheepishly, he added, "Hi, guys. Hello, Karen."

"Um, hi. Shouldn't you report that?" Karen asked, gesturing after the man. "That's really not okay."

Gary bit his lip, wanting, I could tell, not to speak ill of another person. "He's… look, he has his own methods for, um… running floor operations."

"Methods?" Karen frowned, folding her arms. "He's a total asshole to women! Are you going to just sit back and let him do that to female employees and customers?"

The Mormon flinched at her simple cussing, but, despite seeming concerned about the welfare of the women around us, he simply stammered, "I'm sorry, Karen, but he's been like that since he came in three days ago. I can't—"

"Aren't you a manager by now?" Stan pointed out. "You could…"

"Oh, gosh," Gary lamented. "I'm looking into a transfer, so I've been limited..."

He seemed ready to elaborate on the subject when a man's voice rang out over the loudspeaker, signaling that shoppers had twenty minutes to complete their purchases before the store would be closing down for the evening. Perfect, for us.

Gary heaved a sigh, and returned to his paperwork. "Sorry, guys," he said, dolefully, "was there something I could help you with? I'm one of the head closers, so I've gotta kinda get things in shape, but let me know if there's anything specific."

I caught Stan's worried glance, and he gave me a slight nod before saying to Gary, "We've got some basic stuff for home improvement work to load up on. If I give you a list now, can you add it to my tab?"

"Sure thing," said Gary, smiling despite his obvious nerves. A quick look around told me that the new head of staff had circled around again. His yellow eyes fixed on our Mormon friend, causing Gary to straighten quickly, snap his folder of evening work shut, and duck under his desk for another binder, which he set down forcefully on the shining top of the work station. He flinched, and mumbled, "Sorry. I'm... I haven't been getting really good sleep lately."

"Yeah?" I wondered. My mind began listing, but I ignored the dizzy drowsiness that seemed to be coming on.

"Maybe it's the weather," Gary shrugged. "I don't know. I'm readjusting, still, or something. I got so used to Detroit."

Through the wire I was wearing, I heard the Coon scoff, "He served his Mission in fucking Detroit?"

"Shut up," I warned.

"What?"

"Not you, Gary."

The Mormon regarded my odd little pass-off, but was, once again, unaffected. He warily eyed the man stalking past the rows of home improvement merchandise again, then drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he flipped through the binder to the list of M names, marked with a yellow flag. "Your dad's?" Gary wondered. "Stan?"

Kyle had, I noticed, begun wandering aisles himself, pretending to be pricing certain items while keeping an eye on the manager; Stan was similarly watching the odd man's movements from where he stood, but snapped back to the conversation at the mention of his name. "My dad's what?"

"Tab," Gary clarified. He did sound tired.

"No, dude, mine."

I nearly nudged Stan to get him to stop leading into possible League territory, but remembered that a reveal was, in this case, almost inevitable. Select people knew who we were, of course: Henrietta, Token's parents, Wilcox... if anyone else had to know, I figured the second eldest of the Harrison boys was one of the best in town with keeping secrets.

"You don't have a tab."

Karen turned pale when the Ginger man passed her another suggestive look before he slunk around a corner. I was itching to go beat the man senseless for being so ocularly invasive, but other than that, I had no foundation for disliking him. Yet.

"For fuck's sake," I grunted, "Gary, man, that new boss of yours is a class A letch. Probably pedo. Report that shit."

Gary shakily tapped the desk, trying not to get upset. "Kenny, please," he said, "there's really only so much I can do. He came in unexpectedly, and I've hardly gotten to know him, so—"

"You don't have to," I pressed. "He's obviously sick."

"But—"

The man in question stalked back through the same aisle again, this time with a cell phone raised to his ear. I caught him saying something about "closing operations," but little else.

"Wait a sec. I should've—Stan." I shifted only my eyes to watch Kyle grab his boyfriend's arm, to see a look of instant understanding and shock set into his face. "We've seen him. That Ginger guy."

"What?"

"We've seen him," Kyle insisted in a hiss. While Stan remained in the dark, Kyle rolled his eyes and insisted, "Harbucks."

Stan did a subtle double-take before his eyes snapped open wide. "Shit," he whispered.

Gary cleared his throat. While trying to let on that it was only the curse word that bothered him a little, he began warily, "Guys, can I help you? The store's closing, so I need to do a sweep to relieve people. Not that I don't want to help out if I can, I'm just…"

"Dude, Gary, hold up, we just saw that guy," Stan insisted. "Your new boss, manager, whoever he is."

I felt a hand on my shoulder but did not turn. It was too natural.

"I don't understand."

"He was just at Harbucks a few weeks ago," Kyle added. "New manager over there. And when we were leaving he—"

The speakers overhead began to crackle, and faintly, a grating, hurdy-gurdy version of Radiohead's "In Limbo" to play. Yeah: damn good thing we came prepared. I could feel everyone around me hold their breath. The grip on my shoulder tightened. I knew whose touch it was; why wouldn't it be there?

"It's okay, Red," I heard myself say.

"Kenny?" Karen tried, nudging me from the side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a strained nasal voice sounded through the high, vast walls of the enormous building, "we apologize for any inconvenience, but we are issuing an early closing this evening. We strongly encourage all non-employees to return tomorrow, when we open at ten o'clock. Thank you. Be sure to pick up a flyer on your way out for a new town event."

With baited breath, Gary began, "Sorry, guys, this is weird. I didn't hear anything about an early close. L-look, Karen, I'm sorry about what happened, um… if you guys still need anything, come on back tomorrow, but right now I should go do a floor sweep so—"

The speakers crackled louder, as the hurdy-gurdy music was superimposed with the real song, lyrics and all: "You're living in a fantasy world / I'm lost at sea / Don't bother me / I've lost my way—"

Someone touched the small of my back. This time, it was not Red's touch—it was hot, as if I'd been touched by coals. I whirled around, only to fall into somebody's arms. And then everything seemed to be right again.

I drew in a deep breath; the harsh fluorescent lights were replaced with something softer, and Red caught me from tripping forward. I stood back, and saw her. Plain as day. My heart began pounding, and nothing else around me affected me anymore. I pinched my arm. She was still there.

And she smiled.

I swear to God, I was not hallucinating. I couldn't have been. Right?

But—

"Red?" I began, warily. I hadn't even been able to check in with her again, after the fiasco three nights prior. Doubt returned to me, this time in the form of disbelieving the very strange dreams that had been causing me to second-guess and feel that we'd fallen behind in the first place. Red was right there in front of me, though, with me, with all of us…

"I'm all right," she said. She hugged me tightly, and, warily, I pulled her in. And I could feel her, heartbeat and all. Red was there, and whole, and breathing; she smelled like a garden. Every one of my senses told me that she was with me.

Why doubt? Who told me to doubt?

"He can't bother me too much, if I've got you around," Red continued on.

I grabbed at her long, soft hair, and drew in a long breath. My eyes stung. "I thought they'd taken you," I whispered.

"Kenny?"

"Mmhmm?"

I stepped back to look at her. Damien was fucking with my head, making me think she was gone. Had that honestly been the nightmare all along? That she'd been right there, and something had been shadowing her away from my view…?

"I love you," Red told me, stroking my cheek. I felt it perfectly, yet I was still too afraid to blink, just in case the moment left me.

"Red," I breathed with relief. "Thank God you're here. I thought I was dreaming."

She stepped back, let go of me… smiled sadly, and whispered, "You are."

She was still wearing her formal dress from the night of the event.

Suddenly, I heard my sister's voice scream out, "BEHIND YOU!"

Harsh light beat into the room once again as I tried desperately to cling onto Red's image, but I'd been jarred out of sleepwalking: my circles un-crossed. Red was, once again, nowhere to be found.

But that could mean only one thing, to me: the Spaces Between were not as unreachable as I'd thought. They were everywhere. Possibly crossing directly with our own physical reality. "KENNY!" Karen screamed.

"Don't give up," I swore I heard Red speak.

No time to think, no time to move.

I was forced awake.

It had entered my mind, the moment I'd first seen the guy, that Gary Harrison's new boss was among Damien's recruits. No shit. Spot-on sleuthing, Kenny McCormick. What else is new in the land of obvious coincidences?

He was directly behind me when I regained consciousness, and I half expected him to pull a gun on me. As it was, though, he simply struck me across the face. My sister screamed, and I buckled forward, my cheek stinging in the spot that he'd hit. When the initial shock subsided, however, I realized that, somehow, the man had drawn blood—I hadn't just been hit, the fucker had scratched me. Clawed, more like.

"Stand by," I managed to get out into the wire.

"KENNY!" Karen yelped.

I got one look at the gangly man, flicking my blood off of his fingertips and onto the floor, before Stan took charge and shouted, "Everyone down! Now!"

Before I knew it, I was being thrown behind Gary's work desk. Still dazed, I took stock of the others: Karen was controlling her own sense of panic in order to watch over me, in my disturbing, listing state; Kyle had grabbed an exacto knife from one of the desk shelves and was acting as a primary lookout. Before I could read more of Stan's reaction, I saw Gary, gritting his teeth, press a button underneath his computer.

"What was that?" Stan wondered. "What'd you just do?"

"K-Kenn—Kenny's bleeding!" Gary stammered, clearly confused and overwhelmed. His hair and attire gave off his usual, calm air, but panic was etched all over his expression. "So I—"

"I'll be fine," I mumbled.

"Yeah, I don't know about that," my sister said, pressing her right palm to my forehead. "Kenny, where are you?"

She took hold of either side of my face and stared right into my eyes. Just as I could have sworn Red had been doing moments ago.

That question was so fucking loaded. I'd hardly been processing anything all day. I knew that we were on a mission. I knew that we had people to talk to and objectives to achieve, but I knew that I was off. Damien was attacking my reality; the life I'd worked so fucking hard to earn, he was trying to strip it down. Kill me off.

Death is Immortal.

Shatter one reality, and he could shatter anything. Anyone's head, anyone's heart, anyone's dreams, if he could creep through them so easily.

So where was I?

I was in the same place I'd always been. But Spaces were colliding around it. There'd been a rip in everything that lay Between our world and Damien's, and pretty soon there'd be no way to perceive them separately.

I shook my head. "I'll be okay, Karen," I told her. "Let's just send this thing back to Hell."

Gary let out a yell, and it was echoed by a grating growl.

"Gary, what was that thing you pushed?" Kyle asked.

Shaking, breathing quite unevenly, Gary managed, "That button calls the police."

"What?!" I snapped. "NO!"

It'd go straight to Yates. No.

"…Guys…?" Stan warned us. He was the only one of our group currently standing, but he very slowly, cautiously shifted to kneel.

He didn't make it before I heard a woman's voice shout, "What's going on?"

I got up to my knees, forcing myself to pay attention and stay alert, in order to have the same view Stan did. The gangly man who'd clawed me was of the same ilk as the dusty woman from the art gallery, all right. I saw clearly the female store employee that the letch had been eyeing minutes before, rushing toward the desk.

An enormous Leopard leapt into her path. She stumbled back and screamed, and both Stan and I were ready to rush in, but the beast snapped the woman in half before either of us could move.

"FUCK!" we both shouted… which, of course, only got the huge creature, itself nearly half as tall as the large shelving units around us, to notice us.

"Guys," Stan tapped into the wire, "I think we've got a night ahead of us. Can we get someone inside?"

"What just happened?!" Gary tried not to make his words sound like a demand.

"Dude, can you do us a favor and stop asking?" I requested.

"Gosh darn it, Kenny, I'm sorry, but I'm really confused, and just what on Earth is that thing out there?!" He paused for a second before adding, "And pardon my language!" Oh, boy.

"Gary, Kenny, guys, let's just—one thing at a time," Karen requested. "Kenny, let's you and me get Gary and anyone else who's still working out of here. Kyle? Stan?"

"We've got this," Kyle said, "and the other guys'll be in soon."

"Other—who?" Gary insisted. "Please! Someone tell me—"

"Okay..." Stan took a quick survey of the room from our makeshift barricade, then drew in his breath and began rummaging for a black box two shelves under Gary's computer. "Really only one way to explain this right."

"Stan, no offense, but what are you doing?" the terrified shop employee asked. His voice swelled from attempts to stay calm and rational to peaks of absolute confusion and terror. I kind of couldn't blame the guy. "That's—that box isn't, um—"

"I know, dude, it's cool, but, uh, kinda got something to tell you."

From his jeans pocket, Stan pulled out his keys. The growl from the enormous cat sounded from just a couple feet away, and as Stan fitted a key to a lock on the black box as he removed it from the shelf, he asked, "Kyle, can you, uh...?"

"We're actually doing this?" Kyle wondered, opening the question to me and Karen as well.

It was a tough call, of course, but it was one we needed to make. If we were going to talk to him... particularly if he was going to continue to be a Carnival target, Gary Harrison had to learn a couple of things. "Go for it," I urged.

Kyle nodded, said, "Sorry about this, dude," to Gary, then stood, outstretched his right arm, coaxed the desk chair up off of the floor, and hurled it toward the Leopard. I heard an irate yowl sound from the cat, and Kyle shouted, "Okay, he's definitely pissed off, Stan, you might wanna hurry!"

The click sounded from the box a second later, and from it, Stan pulled out a stocked toolbelt, a perfectly matching backup to the standard one he wore on the field as Toolshed. He then un-zipped his windbreaker, revealing his white uniform shirt underneath, and dug into the box again for a pair of personalized work gloves.

"What the living heck is going ON?!" Gary yelped, backing away from us by means of scooting along the floor.

Stan rose, pocketed his keys again, and stepped past Gary to a display with various work goggles. He selected an orange-tinted pair, ripped off the cardboard and plastic coating, and slid them on, saying, "Sorry, not the best circumstances to fully explain, but, uh..." He cleared his throat, pulled both screwdrivers from the belt, and continued, now affecting his voice to the tone he'd adopt for League purposes, "Just charge my tab. I'll pay extra if you want."

Gary was more than stunned. "Toolshed...?"

"Toolshed!" Kyle echoed. "Need you! Now! Kenny, Karen, if you guys're gonna leave, I'd pick now as a pretty good time!"

I nodded, got to my feet, and, along with Karen, helped the bewildered Gary up.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on!" Gary cried out, as Karen and I began making a dash for the door. "Stan Marsh is Toolshed?! Stan Marsh is—"

"YES," I said quickly. "We'll fill you in, but for right now, let's take that final floor sweep you were talking about. How many people are still on the job?"

"I—I-I-I don't know, t-twenty?"

"Okay. Where'll we find them?" I wondered. As we ran down the main, open area of the building toward the front door, I looked down aisles, trying to locate anyone that needed a push outside and out of harm's way.

"I don't—" Gary cut himself off with a startled yell, sounded at the sight of the Leopard, who had made a dash toward and after us. "It's a—a le—a leopa—"

"It's the Leopard," I corrected.

"What?!"

"Move!" Karen cried out, pushing me and Gary down the nearest aisle.

I hurled down a large, thick display stand that we could use as a barrier, mostly in the interest of getting changed. Fast. A nod to my sister and she opened her pocketbook, in which she'd stashed my hood and gloves.

"Sorry about this, man," I said to Gary, who was untying his uniform apron as I pulled my mask out of my jeans pocket.

Gary shook his head. "I'm not getting too much right now, but if Stan's Toolshed, and if I just saw Kyle moving things without touching them, then that means he's gotta be the Human Kite, which would make you—"

I nodded. "We're all in the Shadow League," I confirmed. "Me, Karen… a whole bunch of us."

"What is this 'the Leopard' thing?" Gary demanded.

"Long story," I admitted. "Listen. We don't have time to explain right now, but there's a lot we need to fill you in on."

"Me personally? Why me?"

"We have pretty good reason to believe you and your family are being targeted right now." I pulled off my long-sleeved shirt, to expose the uniform I'd been wearing underneath. "Plus," I added, as Karen slid my caped hood on over my head for me, "we could use your help."

"Why? What can I do?"

Karen handed me my gloves, and as I yanked them on, I lowered my voice to the tone I affected as Mysterion, and said, "For starters, might be helpful to pray. None of us are very good at it."

Gary gnawed at his lower lip. I heard a growl sound from the end of the aisle. As I slid off my jeans and secured my utility belt into place, Gary—shaking like hell but bravely gritting his too-white teeth—took a pair of scissors from the pocket of his apron, then gathered up the garment into a ball, and tied it together such that the strings still dangled. He cut the neck to add extra dangling strings, then peeked up over the side of our barrier at the approaching enormous feline.

"You should stay down," I warned him.

He gave me a nervous, disbelieving look. "Sorry, um… M-Myst—gosh, you're actually Mysterion…" he said, processing as he spoke "but I'm kind of processing a lot at once and I'm pretty sure this is just a really bad dream, so I'm gonna do the only thing I can think of and go with it."

"I promise we'll explain," Karen assured him.

Gary shook his head. "Nope, right now, I'm just going to think I'm dreaming. Please understand."

"Oh," I told him, "I do."

"What're you doing with that apron, then?" Karen wondered.

Gary shrugged. "Cats love string."

"What?"

"Gosh, I hope this works."

Without another word, he hurled the balled-up garment over the Leopard's head. Motherfucker—it was really that easy. The large cat looked up as the piece sailed overhead, and made a bite for it. No sooner had it snapped its jaws shut, however, than an enormous coil of chain wound itself around the Leopard's neck.

The Leopard let out a yowl and tripped backwards, one huge paw coming down on the makeshift ball, the other just narrowly missing a moving figure who I recognized after a quick flash as the Human Kite, fully in uniform but sans-glider.

"One too many escaped fuckin' Carnival animals, lately," he complained, yanking down on the other end of the long chain, which was still mostly coiled around an industrial-sized spool a foot or two off to Kite's left. "Mysterion, you active?" he called over.

"Active and out," I said, tapping Gary and Karen on their backs to get them to stand and start for the door again.

"Good," I heard Mosquito announce through the wire; "we'll trade—Endgame and TupperWear are on their way in, if we can get you out here."

"What about the Leopard?" Gary wondered.

"Keep that damn cat in here," I instructed. "If we—"

The Leopard made a quick jerk, and bit down at the Human Kite; his aim was deflected at the last second by a hard hit across the skull from Toolshed, who darted in on the scene from the edge of the aisle to the right of the one we were making our way out of. Toolshed whacked the Leopard a second time with his newly-acquired sledgehammer, the force of which caused Kite to let go of the massive chain.

Though he made another grab for it, the Leopard took chase after the three of us, so I pushed Karen and Gary ahead, grabbing a gun from my boot, where I'd earlier stashed it. I whirled around to see the enormous cat descending on me, but a second later, TupperWear landed on its neck, kicking the beast to the ground as he shouted, "Move! Everyone, move!"

"Come on," Karen urged, grabbing my wrist and yanking me out of the way.

My feet hit the ground at a rate faster than my brain could process. I was still afraid that I might again slip into that struggling no-man's-land between a waking dream and reality; despite everything, I was still looking around in the physical world for Red. It was tough to tell what was a nightmare, what was perceived, and what was real. More than anything now, though, I was just getting sick of it—sick of being jostled around, of feeling that way, of not being able to trust myself. So I did the best I could, I shook the thoughts off, I kept on going. That was my devotion to my work: just keep going.

The front doors were wide open, and I saw at the entrance Endgame, with Kite's glider in hand ready to be passed off, pushing a man out, who must have been a straggling employee. Gary attempted to sigh, though his breath caught—his mix of relief and nerves was understandable, and he certainly wasn't the only one in a whirlwind of muddled emotions regarding the situation.

"Red Serge did a scan," Endgame informed me, as Karen tugged Gary out toward the parking lot. "We're clear on civilians in here, but you're not gonna like what's going on outside. We might need you negotiating, though."

"Negotiating?" I repeated in awe of our opponents' tenacity. "What the fuck are they up to?"

"I don't know, but I hope Mosquito and them can get these people out of here. Me and TupperWear are gonna stick it out in here."

I nodded, and prepared to take my leave, but as I did, Endgame grabbed my arm. I had to guess that he was staring straight at me, but I could see nothing even resembling an outline of his eyes behind the dark glasses he had to wear on the job. He'd been a great addition to the team, right from the start; I never could have guessed that he'd end up taking things as heavily as the rest of us did, but given that he was among those of us who apparently attracted a high volume of strange happenings to our town, I was glad for his service. Not to mention attention to detail:

"It's the Leopard in here, right?" he checked.

"You got it. Toolshed and Kite are holding him back right now."

Endgame let himself smirk. "Bet Toolshed's in heaven."

"Better than the alternative," I agreed.

"Huh, no shit." Shaking his head, he continued, "Speaking of that, I've got a feeling we're all gonna be getting Carnival tickets here, pretty soon."

"Yeah?"

"Based on what we've got outside, shit's about to start."

I thanked my teammate and continued along behind my sister and our Mormon friend.

Once outside, we were welcomed by a screaming silence. A harsh red light flooded the nearly empty parking lot, and marking out a central location for the idling helicopter—the GSM's preferred mode of transit—were taut lengths of yellow police tape.

Rather, however, than the usual warning of Police Line: Do Not Cross, or just regular old Caution, the tape was plastered with the thick black words: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here. Finishing the circle of yellow tape was none other than our very own county sargeant.

I was so done with him.

"Yates!" I shouted. "What are you doing?" I could only assume his presence was what prompted Endgame's negotiation assumption, though I had no idea how effective anything I could say would be.

The cop gave no answer at first. He looked over at us dully, but even through the nothingness that he projected, I knew that those eyes of his had seen Hell. Time slowed to a crawl before he spoke… just enough time for me to notice the crowd of people being ushered into the helicopter. My heart sank, knowing we were too late to divert the path of any of the employees who'd just fled from the terror inside the building.

"YATES!" I hollered again. "Those are innocent people! Tell me you know what that fucking helicopter is and that what you're doing is completely un-civil."

He regarded me silently, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then, after a glance over his shoulder, said simply, "Sorry, Mysterion, but this is the way things've gotta be."

With that, he boarded the helicopter behind the last of the innocent people caught in the evening's cross-fire. Fuck if they were getting away with that, though…

"Don't fuck with me, Yates!" I shouted, storming forward. Stunned, Gary followed, and Karen grabbed his arm to keep him back. "We can't work together if you side with them on this," I warned the officer. "Ever again. You got that?!"

"What… but he's the head of the police force!" Gary sputtered in disbelief. His breathing had become uneven, and I saw him wringing his hands slowly as he surveyed the terrible scene. "What's he doing? What's any of this?"

"They're not wasting any fucking time," I noted, "that's for sure."

"What?" Gary asked, panicking. "Who are 'they,' Kenny? What the heck is going on? Where's that helicopter taking everyone? That's—I know all of them!" Karen and I rushed forward to grab Gary back as he made a run for his fellow employees. "Ke—M-Mysterion, please, let go, I have to—gosh, where are all the rest of the cops when you need them?"

"Cops're never around when you need 'em." Never thought I'd be as at-ease upon hearing the Coon's voice as I was at that very moment. "That's where we come in."

As the helicopter blades began pulsing faster and faster, in stepped the Coon, who gave Gary a once-over (probably still hung up about that fucking Detroit comment, the idiot…) before holding out his taloned hands, ready to jump into action on the offensive. "We tried to stop 'em, but you ain't seen the worst of what's out here," he grunted, squinting against the harsh wind that the now airborne vehicle in front of us produced.

The wind whipped through the yellow tape, brandishing those words against the sickly yellow parking lot light: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.

The ground cracked within the taped-out circle as the helicopter rose, only to hover in midair barely one hundred feet up. Little by little by little, the crack began to spread, and I heard both a rumble and a growl from the evening around us. As light drained from the sky, I became aware of Mosquito, Marpesia, and Agent Harmony, all in position around us, and all aiming something in toward the center of the circle: Harmony and Marpesia both held steady .45s, while Mosquito, a good distance off directly in front of us, had one of his snipers at the ready.

"Um," Gary murmured, breaking the hush of nothing but wind. "So… Eric Cartman?" he guessed, pointing sheepishly at the Coon.

The Coon tensed, and shot me an awful glare.

"No reason to get uptight," I grumbled. "We need him. Wilcox and Henrietta know."

"So? That doesn't mean you go blabbin' who we are to Missionary Gary, here."

"Elder Harrison," Gary corrected under his breath.

"The hell ever."

"We did more or less agree to tell him," I reminded the Coon, who snorted. "Look, we've all got mixed feelings, but maybe fill us in on what this circle is, if you can."

"Oh, right." A faster draw than he'd been in quite some time, the Coon grabbed out his own .45 and cocked it in the direction of the stretching crack in the spot where the helicopter had been. "It's fuckin' bullshit is what it is."

Karen withdrew another gun from her purse. Gary looked ready to throw up. He paled, and his eyebrows knit in concern as he stared at the menacing spot. "Can… you elaborate a little more?" he requested. "I'm sorry to keep asking, I'm just so confused, and you say you need me, and I'm really concerned about everyone just getting lifted in that thing," he babbled, pointing up at the helicopter, "and I—who's this 'they' you keep mentioning, and—"

I nudged my sister as I aimed my own pistol on the widening crack. Pavement began to sink inward, as if getting sucked into a slow-pressure vacuum.

"Right after TupperWear and Endgame went in," the Coon began, "these assholes show up, and I'm pretty sure there's somethin' coming outta that crack pretty soon. Some Golem guy in the helicopter said something about an opening."

"Who is they?!" Gary insisted.

"Shortish version," Karen began to explain. "These guys, this 'they,' Gary, they're from… well, they're from Hell…"

"They're what?!" Eyes wide as saucers, Gary gulped for breath.

From seemingly everywhere in the lot, I heard a girl's voice cry out, "Gary!"

Amid the whipping of the helicopter blades and the faint echoes of the commotion from inside the store, the scream rang through the air, piercing the sky in terror, and for that instant, I knew precisely where the real world and what lay Between divided.

Human panic fueled Hell. Whatever it was that they were 'building,' whatever it was that Damien was soon to reveal to the town as his grand project, he was sure to feed off of the panic of the entire town. There must have been some kind of radius around the volcano—an area that Damien and his followers were planning to use as the tether between Earth and Hell.

"Amanda?!"

No one is more panicked than when loved ones are at risk. Come to think of it, nothing gets people bargaining more. Deals with the Devil are being struck left and right, and the more power is fed to him, I'd imagine, the easier it becomes to unleash the Wolf, Leopard and Lion, who prey on human emotion.

And up from the circle came the very head of that whole damned pride: a Lion, rivaling the Leopard in size and the She-Wolf in all her avarice, crawled up from the pit at the center of the taped-out circle. Riding on its head, and singing some God-awful refrain of the same song I remembered from the art opening at the Tenth Circle, was the one and only General Disarray. In the rotting, repulsive flesh.

In his arms struggled Amanda Harrison, Gary's youngest sibling, her red-brown hair in a braid that had then been wound around her neck, resembling a rope.

"AMANDA!" Gary cried out again, too stunned to move.

"Hold your fire!" I cautioned my team.

"Abandon hope if you enter here, What's the worst that could happen if the slate's all clear?" Disarray sang out into the night. The Lion he rode stepped lethargically over the yellow tape and its slim stansions. "Oh, a full party tonight," he commented, sneering down at us. "And look, Amanda, even your brother came."

"You let go of her!" Gary warned.

Disarray scoffed. "What're you gonna do if I don't? Harshly scold me?" He let out a laugh, at the same moment a black-clad figure moved behind him.

Damien.

Disarray was dressed rather similarly: both men wore black turtlenecks and pants, but while Damien kept himself simple and seemingly reserved, Disarray had donned a muted red cloak, and wore a cuff of shining metal around his neck, echoing the armor both he and Professor Chaos once wore. A chain connected the cuff to the cloak, and around Disarray's waist was tied a length of rope, which appeared charred on the ends. My own neck hurt just looking from it to the way he'd positioned Amanda's hair.

"Easy, easy," Damien cautioned his accomplice. "Can't hold all the events at once. Do you want to move up, or need I remind you that I am still the one giving orders?"

Disarray scrutinized the young devil, but relented, and said nothing else.

Oh, so he was trying to call shots in Hell. Interesting… but unfortunate, for everyone involved.

"Damien." I fixed my focus on him as I spoke, and his deep red eyes glowered back at me, inviting me to speak. Daring me to speak. Provoking me to say just one thing that he might be able to spit back in my face. "You fucking coward."

"Not one for pleasantries, are you, Mysterion?" Damien mocked me.

"Shut up. Where's Red?"

He didn't even laugh at me about it. All he did was, very straightforwardly, say the words, "You have the ticket, don't you? I need Miss Rebecca right now. No bargains. You can have her back if you can find her."

"We know where you're setting up shop, asshole," the Coon sneered. "Tell Tenorman to get his crazy Ginger ass out here. I got some shit to say to him. I got some shit to say to you, too."

Now Damien grinned. He brushed past the other two, causing Amanda to let out a scream. Disarray cupped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound. With hardly a sound, Damien jumped to the ground, patted the Lion's leg twice, placating the enormous predatory cat, and said, "There will be time for your words soon enough. We'll hear you out, brother, just give it time."

"Kay, that's really creepy actually hearin' you say that," the Coon admitted. Cocking his pistol, he added, "Don't suppose this'd do anythin' to you."

"You are certainly welcome to try. Though I'm sure I have much more interesting answers for you than your own dear mother would be willing to divulge." The Coon froze, and I saw him hesitate. "If you want answers, you won't shoot."

"I'll shoot anyway if you keep pissin' me off," the Coon growled. "Leave my mother out of it."

"She's a lovely woman, really. And very, very proud of you."

Damien flashed another grin. "Just like little Rebecca is of you, Mysterion," he just had to add. I held my ground, much as I wanted to beat him into the following year. "This entire town places every bit of their pride in you and your League. They adore you. They'd follow you anywhere, wouldn't they? Even right down to Hell."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I snarled.

"I'm building a dream, boys." His selective vocabulary was wearing me out, and at the same time inciting me to settle the whole fucking score. I just wanted all of the facts first. I wasn't going to go headlong into a fight when we could be potentially putting the town at risk. That pit the Lion had crawled out of was bothering me… we'd have to shut that thing off somehow. Not to mention get back those civilians, hardly even potential GSM members, out of that helicopter before Damien could put them to work, which seemed the inevitable outcome. "This was the best place to do so. My father's going to love it."

"Why here?" I demanded. "Why this town?"

Damien merely smirked. He seemed incapable of doing little else but to mock me. He was so fucking pleased with himself. "It is ideal," was his answer. "Your kind have made it so."

"My kind?" I spat back.

"Surely you've learned by now that you aren't the only one who came from the shadows," said the young devil. He approached with tinctured footsteps. The smell of sulfur spread with every loud whip of the helicopter blades. I half expected the air around us to catch fire and consume the last of our clinging Circle of reality.

"I'm aware," I said as I held my ground. "So I've got a request. It's us you want. Stop fucking with innocent people and just take us."

"Who are you volunteering?" Gary hiss-whispered at me.

"Myself. My League. I'm 'volunteering' all of us," I clarified, loud enough for all to hear. "We're who you want? Leave the innocent out of it! Let them go. Human beings don't belong in the Spaces Between—"

"Oh, now, you see, I would let the 'innocent' go, dear boy, I gladly would," said Damien, pointedly, "but I am afraid they are far from 'innocent,' these collected many who have come to my door. This town is a den of sin. Your League is the culmination. The best of the best. You, the final links, the brightest beacons of mortal excellence… oh, you shall be the final act.

"You have been invited!" he shouted, outstretching his arms as the helicopter rose higher into the air above him. "Move past my guardians, Mysterion, and we are waiting. We shall take those of you fit to enter. Abandon hope, abandon the weak, and the Carnival at the end, at the far, vast reaches of your world and ours, will open its welcome doors!"

"Don't you get what you're doing?!" I argued. "You're merging worlds! Humans can't exist in the Spaces Between, you'll destroy everything. Heaven, Earth, even Hell! Nothing will remain but the Void if you—"

"All the more reason to build. Squatter's rights, boy. The Void is ours."

That announced, a parcel fell into his hands. Damien tossed the parcel, wrapped in what looked like a red paper bag with black twine resembling thorns, down at the Coon's feet. "DOWN!" the Coon shouted, his tone clearly indicating that he suspected a bomb. Karen pulled Gary to one side, and I fell back, pointing my pistol at the Devil's son.

Damien let out a bark of laughter. "You suspect such simple things of me!" he called out. "Hell doesn't play by human rules, boys, not anymore. All you'll find in that parcel are the tickets the rest of you will be needing to cross our fine iron gates. Bring a friend. See what happens."

"Stop running away!" I shouted.

Red eyes glared at me. I blinked. And then Damien was gone. The helicopter still hovered overhead, but Damien himself was nowhere in view. Its red, circular emblem the last thing I saw, the vehicle then took off in the direction of the volcano.

"Shit," I muttered to myself.

No time to really gather thoughts, yet, either. Next thing I knew, Disarray shouted out, "Hey, Shadow League! Catch!"

His words were echoed by another scream from Amanda Harrison. Gary's eyes had hardly moved from her once, and now they widened in horror as Disarray cast her off of the Lion's back. Gary made a run for her, as did the rest of us close enough to do so.

Between the four of us—myself, Karen, Gary, and, yes, even the Coon—Amanda's fall was broken, and as soon as we got her on her own two trembling feet, Gary un-wound her braid from around her neck, and hugged her, turning his back on the beast. I could feel the Lion's hot breath on us.

I looked up at Disarray, who casually leaned into the Lion's mane as if it were a large pillow. He beamed his twisted, burned smirk down at us, and said, "Well played, well played! You're getting the hang of the game."

"I still don't understand how this can be a 'game' to you," I spat at our revived nemesis.

"Life's a game, Mysterion," Disarray lisped against his lasting wounds from R'lyeh. "Writes its own rules. All you guys are rule-breakers. It's pretty fucking fun when you think about it. Up until now, we all won the same thing at the end: one-way ticket up," he continued, pointing to the sky, "or down." He yet again pointed accordingly. "Most of us end up… you know. Down.

"But who knew there were bonus rounds?" he sneered. "If I had any idea I could get ahead in the afterlife, I'd've gone all the way down a long time ago."

"What did you do?" the Coon demanded.

"Gotta go down before you can move up," Disarray laughed. "Chaos coulda had it, too. Even you, you little rat. You've got some good potential. Most of you do. Why just settle for up or down when you could be everywhere? Own everything? Heaven and Hell and Earth couldn't exist without all these Goddamn rules, till now.

"But the Between… oh, that shit can last way outta reach of universal laws. I really like that. And if we merge… we've got everything." He stood, yanking back on the Lion's mane triumphantly. "Look at me now, boys!" Disarray yowled. "Death was all I could've asked for! I've got Hell within reach, I've got Earth within reach, and you know how? Because I've seen it. I've been Between. I know where to build and how to build.

"So just see if you can catch me."

Not another word—the Lion took off, lumbering back, out of the parking lot and following the path the helicopter had taken. Toward the mountains, toward the mines, toward the Carnival.

"Build what?!" the Coon shouted, firing four times after the dead boy and his beast.

The Coon's shots were echoed by Harmony and Marpesia's pistols, as well as one explosive shock from Mosquito's stun-sniper. No damage was inflicted, and we were graced with nothing resembling a response. "I'm goin' after that asshole!" the Coon announced, breaking into a run.

"Guys, move out after the Coon," I advised the others. "Be on standby for other orders."

"We're on it," Mosquito responded.

Switching thoughts, I asked, "Toolshed, what's your situation?"

A moment passed, during which I helped my sister steady the Harrison siblings as they exchanged fast-paced words in concern for each other's safety, before I heard Toolshed respond, "Kinda fucked up, but what's new?"

"The four of you guys good against that thing in there?" I checked. "We've got the Lion out here, and some major shit going down."

"We've got this guy," TupperWear responded for that group of four. "You guys take care of that Lion."

"Careful," I cautioned. "Check in when you guys're done, we'll do the same."

I was given confirmation from the four inside, then made one last check-in, with Red Serge and Iron Maiden back at the base. They were keeping surveillance as best they could, and had Bebe on hand keeping up with research. "Delphi's got a copy of the Book of the Inferno, just in case," Red Serge informed me. "Those cats are the last things standing between you guys and those nine versions of Hell. Once you beat 'em, who knows what'll happen anywhere, so we're gonna try to stay a step ahead."

Nine versions of Hell. And there were already circles breaking between that and the living world.

Maybe there was no difference at all between true Hell and a nightmare. We were plenty tangled in both for a divide to be imperceptible. And Gary Harrison, for one, had noticed. The fear in his eyes had begun to fade, giving way to a full expression much more stern and focused than I had ever seen that young man display.

I knew exactly where he was coming from. He had not let go of his little sister, who still shivered with recoil from what I could only imagine to be several times worse than anything she had ever personally been through before. I sure as hell knew what that kind of protectiveness was like.

"Amanda," Karen was consoling the younger sibling, "are you all right? Is there anything we can do?"

Barely gathering herself, Amanda responded, in a much smaller voice than I'd ever heard the usually energetic girl use, "I never want to see that again. I never want to see that again."

"What did you see?" Gary prompted, patting back her hair.

"Nothing. It was terrible."

"But—"

"I saw nothing, Gary," Amanda insisted. "I saw what nothing looks like! It's like being asleep, and dreaming about way too much all at once, until there's absolutely nothing you can see in among all the colors clashing. I thought it was the white light of Heaven, Gary, but it wasn't. It wasn't." She broke down sobbing, then cried, "I'm not supposed to be afraid of something so bright!"

"It's okay," Gary managed, in response to her, keeping his voice calm. "I've seen it, too."

I started, at the mention of that, and asked for clarity, "What? Gary, you mentioned having strange dreams lately…" And hadn't I heard Stan mention that his 'nightmares' were more accurately described as feelings more than images, as well?

And my own worst nightmare was a quivering shadow.

My own shadow had remained unmoving since the night Red disappeared, but I had the feeling I needed to take clear stock in the clashing of this 'brightness' Amanda had mentioned, and the shadow quite literally creeping out from my past.

"I don't know what to make of them," Gary explained. "I don't know what to make of any of this right now." He glared daggers at me. "All of a sudden, I just happen to learn that the Shadow League hero I've been helping out since I started working here has been Stan Marsh all along, and you, and Cartman, and Karen and Kyle and who knows who else are all a part of it, and…"

"I know it's a lot to keep up with," I said, "and I'm sorry… I promise, we'll lay everything out for you as soon as we can."

Gary took in a deep breath, and kept his hold on his sister. "Listen, Kenny—I mean… I… sorry. Mysterion—"

Amanda lifted her head, and asked in a whisper, into Gary's shoulder, "Kenny?"

Karen smiled, and responded, "Yeah."

"So are you…?" Amanda began, keeping her eyes momentarily on Karen. My sister mouthed yes, then turned her attention back to me as Gary let out more of his thoughts.

"Mysterion, if you need my help, if your League needs my help, then, gosh, I'll try to do what I can," Gary said, "but I don't know what's going on. These—these things are all from… f-from Hell, and they took my co-workers, and… and just how the heck am I supposed to help, Mysterion?! How?!"

"Maybe 'support' is a better word," I clarified. "Can we have your support, Gary? Can we trust you to keep our identities secret?"

"You bet you can." He let out a sigh, then asked, "Do you need my, uh… support now? Or can I get Amanda home?"

I glanced off in the direction the Lion had gone. That needed my attention now more than anything. Disarray had specifically mentioned the Heaven, Earth and Hell connection. If we were going to have any kind of connection between all three, I had to understand more about the former. We needed support from the pious to defeat the damned. That just seemed like the most logical form of defense we had—it was the best way to keep the Circles unbroken, while those of us in the League, those of us who had quirks or ancestry that separated us from the rest of humanity, started up the attack to keep the Spaces Between where they needed to be.

"You can go home," I said. "But your family's under League surveillance and protection, now. We'll find you when we need you."

"I still don't get what's happening…"

"Gary." I lowered my voice to a harsher growl, causing him to snap to attention. "You are in danger, and we are going to help you. In return, we just ask for your support, and we might have a couple of questions for you. We haven't figured out the full extent of their objectives, but there are beings from Hell roaming the Earth right now, and they've got targets in this town. I'm not surprised that they're after the more devout people in South Park, either."

"This is terrible," Gary muttered. "I just spent two years spreading the Good Word and now—"

"So keep up your good work," Karen urged him. "It's all right, you haven't done anything wrong. This isn't about who's right and who's wrong in the spiritual world, but what's important is that Hell is attacking Earth, and that we are going to do all in our combined power to stop them. I'll explain a little more if I can." To me, she added, "I'll bring them home. I'm armed. You should go; this mission needs Mysterion."

I nodded, but I wasn't ready to leave my sister, off-duty, alone with a mission. It wasn't that I didn't trust her… I didn't trust anyone we were up against. Red had been dragged to the Spaces Between; I wasn't losing Karen, too. That pit in the parking lot was just the beginning: that was the first point of contact between Earth and Hell.

That pit led to somewhere Between.

And Stan had pointed it out himself: Karen was an outlier herself. She hadn't grown up in South Park, she was effectively 'pure' of having as long a history against odd phenomena, much more so than the rest of us. Damien was ripping apart families and targeting me, as well as the family Karen was volunteering to protect on her own.

She wasn't doing this alone.

"Coon," I said into the wire. "Harmony. Stay on the Lion, I'm going to catch up. Mosquito, Marpesia, fall back. I want you with Karen, Gary and Amanda."

"Kenny—" Karen tried.

I shook my head. "I'm not taking any risks." Her shoulders stiffened, then shook, but Karen nodded in understanding. "We need you, sis. God knows I need you," I added, pulling her in for a hug. Karen nodded against me again, then stepped back, and patted my arms reassuringly.

"We'll be okay," Karen assured me. She picked up the red-wrapped parcel that Damien had tossed at the Coon, and tucked it under her arm. It was probably safest with her, assuming that it contained exactly what Damien had announced. If there were enough of those strange tickets for all of us now, then there was no doubt that the Carnival really was waiting for us. "Don't worry, though. I'm not letting you head to that Carnival without me."

We waited a moment more, until I heard confirmation that Marpesia and Mosquito were close in range, and had visual contact on Karen and the Harrison siblings. Karen and I exchanged words of good luck to one another, and as I left, I heard Amanda ask, "Karen, are you really?"

"Yeah," my sister responded softly. "So don't worry, Amanda. A Guardian Angel sticks to her word, and I'm going to keep you and your family safe."

"Thank you," Amanda whispered.

"See you soon," Karen promised me.

"Keep me updated, sis," I asked. "See you soon."

We parted ways, and I moved through the night, past the large building that was serving as the battleground between half of my team and the Leopard, the second beast in charge of greeting the damned as they entered Hell; on I went, farther past the damaged parking lot, and into a dense thicket of trees and underbrush, every footstep carrying me closer to the Lion, General Disarray, and the Carnival that was stationed between the reality I wanted to preserve, and the nightmare that Hell had been building upon for longer than we had been aware.

There had been a breach. With all of my current doubts, that was one certainty. Damien had been watching us—that was speculation, but he was confirming the idea with every word he spoke to me. He had tabs on me, on Cartman, on everyone in the League. He knew that we were important to our hometown, and he knew who to taunt when it came to our worst nightmares. This operation must have been years in the making; Tenorman's Carnival-obsessed touch had spurred Damien's plans onward, and the dead, scheming General Disarray was only stirring the pot to an even more provoking degree.

Disarray had passed through the Spaces Between before; Damien and his followers had now broken through. We didn't have much time before he opened those Carnival gates to the public and let Hell seep through. He could only 'build' for so long… but at least there was a chance that we could still tear them down.

That night, however, had other plans. And the 'game' had only just begun, whether or not we wanted to play.

– – –

– – –

Authors' Notes:

South Park is -c- Matt Stone and Trey Parker!

Hiya! So, so sorry about the additional week's delay on this chapter… several things just kept throwing monkey wrenches into the plan to get this up in a timely fashion (illness and the schedule from hell being the main problems, argh). We still plan to move this story steadily along, though, and will hopefully have another chapter up within the next week or so~! ^^ We're moving into the parts that we have more of a buffer for (we have so much of the ending already written, haha…), and we're excited to move into the arc that finally leads into the Carnival. :3

Many, many thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying the story, we're having fun writing it! I'm not sure of a speculative posting date for the next chapter, but we'll see you very soon, please check my profile within the next week for a projected posting time for chapters 14 and 15! :3

~Jizena, and Rosie Denn

Also—We were also both quite busy last month writing for the South Park Reverse Mini Bang, which are now up… check out the site at for all of the art and ficlets if you're interested ^^

– – –