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 SHOUD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE. _|_|_|

Butters

After Disarray had fallen from the top of the Helter Skelter, I took what time I could while at that perfect vantage point to take stock of the rest of the Carnival grounds.

From that height, I was able to see all of the circles, outlined in chalk, stark white on the volcanic earth under a rising red haze. The larger circles around the perimeter seemed closer together, but the spaces between the lines grew as the target shape of the nine of them closed inward. Piles of rubble could be seen at points on each of the circles, and what I was standing on was probably about to become another of them. The rubble signified the other attractions, meaning the others had either made it out or been crushed. Knowing all of them, they must have made it out.

By the time I had defeated Disarray, only one was left standing… two, really. There was a shack at the center, situated directly in the shadow of the looming Ferris wheel. I'd noticed that thing on my way in, but now that I really got a look at it, it seemed larger than I had expected. Red lights surrounded it, and the shadow it cast seemed to be from its own source of back light. I stared at it, and after a few seconds, the gondolas swayed a bit and the Ferris wheel moved. Just a little, and sharply, as if it were some sort of gear being tightly wound. As it moved, I felt the earth shake, and looked up at the glowing volcano. A few molten rocks tumbled down from the mouth of it, and I watched their trajectory.

The rocks fell and crumbled and hissed in the space between the three oddly out of place white tents situated nearish the base of the volcano. My heart skipped, and something told me I needed to go there. The tents and the Ferris wheel were not situated on any of the chalk lines within the Carnival grounds, and the tents at least were in a different place than the last time I'd seen them.

I grinned when I realized what was making me want to check them out. It was the chaotic energy coming off of them. Something was really not right about the way they were situated, about the way the red haze seemed to ignore them. The energy they were giving off was random; while the other rides seemed to fit into a pattern, the tents didn't play by the rules.

Neither did I.

I peered out over the edges of the Helter Skelter. The best way down was either a terribly shoddy metal slide over a pit of lava, which would almost certainly kill or maim me, or the stairs I'd climbed up in the first place. I stepped over to the stairs, and as soon as I placed my foot on the first step, the building heaved and began its collapse.

"Well, shit," I muttered, and started sprinting the rest of the way down.

Had I not been running for my life, I probably would have appreciated the poetics of the tower crumbling bit by bit above and around me, but I saved my satisfaction until both my feet were on the ground. The bridge I'd crafted for myself was gone, and the rubble all seemed to be falling into the lava and getting sucked in or staying within my little island-like spot. Quick as I could, I heaved myself into the falling staircase, angling my shoulder to point what was left of the structure over the rivers of fire. Luckily, the plan worked, and I clambered over the ersatz bridge and turned to watch the rest of the Helter Skelter groan, die, and sink into the pit. The land itself within the flowing rivers was sucked inward, until Attraction VII was just another pool stemming off the volcano. I smiled. No going back.

I walked around the circles and past the rubble that had been Attraction VIII. I felt nervous going past it, but pressed onward to find the tents, assuring myself that Marpesia was okay. A destroyed ride had to mean a win, and as far as I'd seen, the only one left to bust out of his was Mysterion.

So, then, where was Attraction X? Where was the Coon?

There were only nine chalk circles in the ground. Nine was the Bullseye, illustrated even more so by the Ferris wheel's shadow. A circle in a circle.

In what Damien had called the Book of the Inferno, and according to Henrietta and her roommates, there were only nine circles of Hell. That was the whole point of the Goths' coffee shop bearing the Tenth Circle name. Cartman had been given a ticket with the Roman numeral X on it, and Damien and Tenorman were building… something. Meaning that Cartman's Hell didn't exist yet. Either that, or they'd somehow figured out a way for him to create it himself.

Not that that would have been hard. I mean, I'd fought him plenty over the years, and I'd even loosely dated him for a bit (not that he even called it that, but we definitely dated in our first year of college). I knew as well as these damn Ringleaders how to make Cartman's life a living hell. All you have to do is take away his ego and he'll feel like there's nothing left.

The thing that Cartman takes pride in most is himself. He's always been like that. But he can't face himself, and he never could. He hated to lose, but he hated it even more when he was the cause of his own ideas' destruction, and he'd end up denying he had any hand in whatever that particular thing was. At the end of the day, he was a perfectionist who didn't actually know what perfectionism was, or what it was he actually wanted. He just wanted others to compliment him on whatever he had to offer, even if he had to force them to do it. If they didn't bite, he'd lash out or move onto the next thing. Always about him, always striving toward something to do with coming out on top or being the best.

So, take away his pride, and he'd be crushed.

My heart sped up, and I picked up my pace, walking the circles until I passed through the shadow of the Ferris wheel and could make a direct line toward the tents. Something was really, really telling me to go there.

I narrowed my focus and kept going.

Into the wire, I asked, "Henrietta and Gary, can you guys hear me?"

"Hey, Professor," Henrietta said, without a hint of static interference behind her. "You made it."

"Yeah, and I've got a question. What're the Nine Circles again?"

"Let's see… Limbo." Endgame. "Lust." Toolshed. "Gluttony." Red Serge. "Greed." Mosquito. "Wrath." The Human Kite. "Heresy." The Guardian Angel. "Violence." Me; Chaos. "Fraud." Marpesia. "And Treachery." Mysterion.

"And what was the name of the unfinished tenth painting that Wilcox made?" I asked.

"The plain white canvas?" said Henrietta.

I was getting closer to the tents.

"That was Pride."

"Thanks," I said, and started running.

"Why?" asked Henrietta. "What's going on in there? I'm so fucking pissed you guys aren't wearing cameras."

"Timmy," Iron Maiden concurred.

"I'll call you again if I'm right," I said, and ended the conversation there.

I ran for a few minutes more, then slowed my pace as I approached the three white tents. They seemed to be spread further out than they had looked from my earlier vantage point, and were surrounded by tons of things suggesting that the area was unfinished. There were boards and rope and paint cans and discarded brushes and all sorts of things strewn about everywhere. Damien had wanted to 'build,' but this was almost too literal for him.

I slipped around through the construction equipment, picking up a few things here and there that might be useful: a few pieces of chalk, a heavy-duty pair of scissors, a roll of red duct tape, a flare gun, and a can of red spray paint. I left most of the rest, since the entire place would probably come more in handy for Toolshed than anyone, I mean, if he needed a nail replenishment, this area was sure to have him covered, and I doubted the Ringleaders meant that by design.

None of us were clearly meant to find this place, or at least to make it this far.

I hid behind a stack of crates and took out my binoculars to survey what I could of the rest of the grounds. I'd appeared to have traveled a huge distance, even though I'd only been walking and running for half an hour maximum after leaving my ruined ride. I heard the grinding of an enormous gear, and turned my gaze on the Ferris wheel. It sharply turned again, and the lights seemed to grow brighter.

All of a sudden, on the air, I heard seven strange ping noises. Followed by a voice I hadn't heard in what felt like forever:

"Oh, for fuck's SAKE."

"Eric?" I said in a whisper, and lowered my binoculars. I clipped them onto my belt and climbed to the top of the stack of crates, using a couple paint cans to give me a boost. "Eric?" I asked again, in a stage whisper, cupping my hands around my mouth to get the whisper to travel at least a little.

Nothing but the wind.

I narrowed my eyes and jumped down, and ran to the closest tent. I walked the entire circumference of it, but there were no flaps in it anywhere. It was nailed tightly to the ground; glancing around quickly beforehand, I rushed to one side of it and snipped at the fabric directly at the huge nail with my new scissors, and inched the tent flap up a tiny bit to peer under it. Darkness inside, just darkness.

"Eric?" I asked again anyway.

"Eric?" my whisper echoed back at me. Scores of eyes appeared in the darkness.

"Holy shit, nope, nope, nope," I said, and dropped the flap and ran back to my shelter behind the stack of crates.

I dropped to the ground and caught my breath, then sat and tried to just listen.

I set my wire for a one-way call. "Coon, this is Chaos," I said, "you copy?"

Static.

"Cartman, it's me," I tried again. Static. "Eric, say something."

Six pings sounded from somewhere close by, followed by a long, frustrated yell that, indeed, belonged to Eric Cartman. I took a deep breath and tried to go by sound and not sight when I got back up to look for him again. If the yell was all I was gonna get, I had to make it count. I was so close, I knew it. I could find him, we could be done with this.

It wasn't close enough to be the nearest tent, but it couldn't possibly be the one furthest away, so I rushed to the one in the middle.

Luckily, more words came.

"You already did six, you piece of shit stupid fucking riddle Goddamn bullshit!" Yep, that was Eric. "What do you want from me?"

"Eric!" I said with relief, in spite of my surroundings. I couldn't find an opening in the tent near where I was standing, so I set both hands on the canvas and started moving along one side.

"Fucking piece of Canadian bullcrap!" the Coon shouted at something. "Do it again!"

Where the heck was the opening? I moved from one side along to the next and nearly tripped over a nail. I frowned down at it, took my scissors out again, and snipped at the fabric, but this tent wouldn't give. Scowling, I shoved the scissors back in my belt and kept going around the edge.

"Do something again!" he was screaming now. "Make a sound again! Fuckin' anythin'! I'll do anything, I'll do whatever you want, just get me out of here!"

"Eric, hold on," I said, frantically pushing through the various folds in the tent to find an opening. There had to be one, somewhere. "I'm right outside, can you hear me?"

"I'll give up, Damien, is that what you want?" Eric shouted. "Hey, Kenny! Butters! Someone, just… fuuuuuuck."

Oh, no. I knew that particular bargain. He really was close to giving up.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," I said. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Until…

The back of the tent parted.

I folded back a flap and was faced with a stark white wall. Fixed in the center of it was a stark white door, outlined in red, and bearing the words, in sloppy red paint:

X. PRIDE.

"Pride?" I read off. I set my hand on the knob, and turned it.

It didn't budge.

I glowered at the painted words, then, figuring this might be a way to fight back, I took out the can of spray paint I'd picked up, shook it, and sprayed a red line through the label, X. PRIDE. "I don't think so," I said, tucking the can away again.

"Butters, I know you can figure out this stupid riddle, help me out, here!" Eric shouted from inside.

The knob turned.

There were nine pings.

I opened the door, and was instantly hit with a blinding, bright white light, like a camera flash that refused to turn off. It got brighter the longer I looked at it, so I shielded my eyes and looked down and away. "Eric?" I called in.

There was a pause for a second.

"Eric?" I called again.

After another pause, I heard Eric start laughing, but it wasn't his one of his usual laughs. It wasn't a triumphant laugh, or a 'someone just said something stupid' laugh, or an 'I won' laugh. It was absolutely feeble and hardly even sounded like him for a second.

"Great!" he said after making that sound. "Great. Cool. Cool. Now I'm fucking hallucinating talking to Butters. That's fun. Hey, hallucination Butters, what's up."

"I'm not a hallucination, it's actually me," I called in.

"Ha, ha. I get it," he answered flatly. "So funny, Scott Tenorman. You just wanted me to go crazy. Good fuckin' job on that. You really got me. You win."

God, it hurt to hear him so defeated. I tried again: "Eric, it's me. Where are you? I can hear you, but I can't see you."

Again, there was a pause.

"Yeah, a'ight, whatever," Eric said. "If you're actually there, Butters, throw me a Goddamn rope or somethin'."

Well, I could do that. "Hold on!" I called into what only appeared to be an empty room. Eric's voice was coming from inside, though, so he had to be in there.

I propped the door open with a loose brick I found, then ran back to a pile of construction materials and shuffled through things until I found a length of thick rope. I hoisted it up around one shoulder and rushed back to the rear of the middle tent. I pushed the door back open, dropped the rope, and gathered up an armful of it.

"Okay, incoming!" I called into the room.

I really wished I had a pair of sunglasses; the glare was excruciating.

I tossed the rope in as far as I could, then grabbed hold of one end of it, but fed in a bit more.

A faint thud came from inside the formless brightness, and then I heard the words, "Huh. Well, fuck me." The rope started to shift around as though someone were moving it, and then the other end was tugged a couple times. I tugged a couple times back. "Holy shit!" Eric exclaimed. "Butters! Get me out of this fucking place!"

"Just follow the rope!" I hollered.

The rope was pulled taut, and I started to pull on my end as well, making sure it didn't go slack before it was meant to. My heart was beating so fast. None of us had had any idea where Eric had gone, and now I was so, so close to seeing him again, to bringing him back from whatever Hell he'd been in, to getting him reunited with the team.

After several seconds, I finally heard footsteps, and I was just getting ready to face the brightness again when out of the tent rushed the Coon. He ran right into me, bringing us both to the ground. The door slammed shut behind him, and an enormous mechanical screech echoed throughout the Carnival. I heard still more rumbling in the distance, but the loudest thing was the pounding of both of our hearts as the Coon clung onto me.

I got us both sitting up, but he didn't let go. He was out of sorts, but not quite crying, and he had his face pressed into my chest. "I gotcha," I said, and wrapped my arms around him.

"Holy shit," he said in a trembling whisper. "Holy shit, Butters, you have no idea how happy I am right now, I'm so seriously. I'm so happy. Oh, thank God. I've been in there for fucking ever."

"It's okay," I said, and patted his back a couple times. "You're gonna be okay."

But he was shaking. He was relieved, but he was shaking. And he hadn't let go of me. Eric had been in the Carnival longer than anyone, and if what I had seen through the door in that tent had been his surroundings for over twenty-four hours, no wonder he thought he was going crazy. The bright light coming from that formless space was overwhelming.

"Where the fuck did you even come from?" the Coon asked me, face still buried in my shirt. He probably wanted to pass out. I probably would have let him.

"Oh, uh, I beat my ride," I said. "My Hell. Most people have, the team I mean, and we should probably see them soon, so…"

"Wait, beat?"

"Yeah. The numbers were like designations. They led us each, separately, to an attraction where we were... well, tested, I guess."

"Huh. Okay."

I set a hand on the back of his head, and asked, "You gonna be okay?"

"Me? Yeah," he said, trying to pass off his fears as usual. "Pff. Yeah."

I let myself laugh a little, hugged him just a little tighter, then carefully helped him up to standing. He appeared a tad disheveled, but seemed fairly steady on his feet. "Okay, let's go," I said, dusting off his shoulders a bit. "Follow me."

"Where?" the Coon asked.

"Oh, just, away from the tents," I said, leading the way, "I wanna get you somewhere—"

"No, I mean, how can you see anything?"

My heart stalled for a second. "What do you mean?" I wondered.

"I mean, everything's all black, you—you stupi—why is it all black?" He'd been about to go for an insult, but stopped himself. He only did that when he was really concerned about something. "First it was all white, now it's all black."

It felt like a jagged stone had been hurled into my chest. I turned around slowly, and saw that he hadn't moved. He was holding his head, trying to get his bearings, but he hadn't taken a step. "Eric…?" I asked, cautiously.

Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.

I walked back up to him and studied his face from all angles, trying to search his features. His mask has a white coating over the eyes, which can sometimes make it hard to discern his expression, so I took off his mask and Coon ears and tucked them into my belt for a better look.

"Aye!" he snapped, grabbing at the side of his head.

"Just, let me check something," I said.

I turned his face to look at me, and he fought me for a second but I held firm. I studied his eyes, but his didn't follow mine. He was moving them frantically, but they weren't focusing on anything. They couldn't.

His eyes were no longer brown, but a dusty, cloudy, unnatural grey. All the light seemed to have been sucked out of them, and his pupils looked so small.

"Oh, shit," I whispered. My heart skipped, and I frantically held up four fingers just a few inches in front of Eric's face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I don't know!" he snapped.

"Eric, answer me!" I said desperately. "They're right here, my hand is right here. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Right where?" he asked. "I don't know. I don't… I don't know."

"Oh, shit," I repeated, louder this time. I drew my hand back, then cupped it over my mouth, afraid I'd choke and get emotional. That was the last thing either of us needed.

"What the fuck?" Eric demanded, trying to look at me. "Butters, what's going on? What the fuck? Can you see?"

My breathing felt short, and I warily took hold of his shoulders again. "I…" I started, "we're… we're gonna figure this out."

"Figure what out? Are you telling me I'm…" That was when it hit him. His breath caught, and he started shouting, "Are you telling me I'm fucking bl—"

"Maybe it's a temporary thing!" I offered to cut him off. Spitballing, I continued, "You were just in that bright space for a really long time. You don't even know how long, really. And there's all kinds of like, magic and stuff going on, and…"

"Shit," Eric said. He took a step, but stumbled.

I caught him and helped him back up, putting all my energy behind supporting his limp dead weight. "Woah," I said, "woah. I gotcha. Hold on. Just… hold on. A-and, like, I mean, actually hold onto me, okay?"

Eric's cloudy grey eyes sort of focused on the ground. They darted around searching for something, anything, as fear crept onto his face. All of his anger drained and was replaced by doubt. His stubbornness and pride disappeared as his skin paled in worry, his eyebrows unknit and his fire was gone. He'd faked plenty of maladies when we were kids, right up through high school, but this was genuine. His expression and body language conveyed nothing but real, uncharted fear and concern and absolute uncertainty.

I wanted to say it wasn't like him, but then again, he'd always tried so hard to be so much else. Right now, at his most defeated, Eric was more himself than he'd probably ever acted in his entire life.

"Hold… hold onto me," I tried again. "We'll get you—"

"What's the point?" he said, his voice an echo of what it should have been.

"Just hold on," I said, forcing strength into my own tone to counteract his lapse. I grasped his upper arms, and shook him a couple of times to get him to take hold of me. He set his hands on my lower arms, but was barely able to keep hold. I stepped backwards, and he took a step forward; I repeated the action again, and then again. "We're stepping…" I said, carefully watching the ground, "we're walking…"

I guided him over to a row of wooden boxes and stacked paint cans that were fairly low to the ground. "Okay," I said, slowly easing him down to sitting. "Okay."

I knelt down in front of him and, keeping my left hand on his right shoulder, tried to assess the situation. "Okay," I said again. "Focus. Can you see anything? Anything at all? An… an outline? A color?"

Visibly trembling, Eric fought to answer. His eyes moved as if to scan the horizon, and his shoulders slouched, his hands grasped numbly at his knees, the corners of his mouth twitched downward as he tried to control his unsteady breathing. "No," he answered.

Just then, the tablet he'd had with him, which still lay on the ground behind me, let out nine soft pings. I glanced behind me, then back at Eric, who completely tensed up. "No…" he said again, this one a new thought. His unfocused eyes went wide, and he gripped his makeshift seat and leaned over himself, then let out a long, anguished cry on yet another, "No!"

"W-what…?" I wondered.

"I f… I forgot to… I… I lost." Eric said. He leaned fully over himself and held his head in his hands. He was practically hyperventilating as he choked out, "I lost. I lost."

"What do you mean you… oh… oh, Eric," I said.

"You said you beat somethin'," he said. "You said everyone beat somethin'. Mine was a riddle, and I didn't solve it. I actually figured maybe you might even know what the fuck it meant, but I didn't… I didn't know… I didn't fucking know!" He took a few heaving breaths, and let out another long, guttural cry. "I just wanted out! I lost. I lost… I lost, I… lost, I lost…"

He took another several breaths, then lowered his hands and tried to look at them. Reality sank into his face, and he was terrifyingly still. "I lost," he repeated, now simply stating a fact. "I lost," he repeated, his voice breaking. "Butters?"

"Y-yeah?"

"I don't think I get another chance."

I glanced back over at the tent. It was still standing, which, if a ride crumbling meant a win, possibly suggested that Eric did have another shot, but I couldn't figure out how to word that. Right now, all I wanted to do was try to get his confidence up.

I stood and started pacing, then called into the wire on an open frequency. "Can anyone hear me?" I asked.

After a second, Mosquito answered. "Chaos, where are you?"

"Well, I'm not really sure," I said, taking in our surroundings, wishing I'd left a trail behind me or clocked how far I'd run or something, "but I'm going to send up a flare. You're gonna want to hurry."

I took out my new flare gun and sent a shot skyward. I waited a few seconds, and then the Human Kite said into the wire, "Marked. Got your location, Chaos. We're on our way."

Trusting that they'd be there soon, I turned my attention back to the seemingly broken man before me.

The Coon just sat there, looking vaguely downward. He'd started mumbling, "I could see inside that stupid white room. Why can't I see outside it? I don't get it. Why can't I...?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my own racing thoughts, and began pacing again. I spoke loud enough for Eric to hear me. "Okay… okay… we're gonna figure this out. It's… it's probably just temporary. That's a thing, right? Just temporary blindness. Don't worry. Don't worry." After a few more rounds, I stopped pacing, not knowing what to do next. I turned and regarded Eric. His head was hanging so I could no longer see his face. His shoulders were hunched up. His hands cradled the sides of his head. He looked so… crumpled. Completely worn down. I had never seen him so shaken. I thought of what he'd stated earlier and realized he was probably right.

Eric Cartman had come out of his Hell, but he'd still lost.

In a listlessly weak tone, so different from anything I'd heard from him in all the time I'd known him, he voiced, "Where are you?"

Those small-sounding words snapped me right out of my funk. I moved right to him, kneeling down in front of him again, and placed my hands gently on top of his own. "I'm right here. I'm right here. Can you feel my hands?" Eric nodded, and I gave them a little squeeze as a sign of solidarity. "Okay. I've got you. I'm not moving away. We're going to figure this out together."

I assessed him again in my new position. His facial features were disturbingly slack, almost like he wasn't even feeling anything right then. But I knew that wasn't true. We were both navigating this, frankly, traumatic moment, and, understandably, he was probably in shock. He had every right to be. On the other hand, I couldn't stand to see him like that right now. The few times Eric had gotten a shock, he'd simply shut down. I couldn't let him be so defenseless while we were still in the thick of this infernal Carnival, when his even-more-maniacal-than-him half-brothers were out there ready to swoop in with new horrors any moment. Of course, I would protect him (not solely because Harmony's credo still lived on in my renewed credo as Chaos), but it was simply too unpredictable (dare, I say, chaotic) an environment for him to not at least be on his guard. As much as I wished it were possible, I knew I couldn't protect him all on my own.

I looked back at his eyes, which still lacked any focus. I'd only seen him reach this level of defeated once before—in R'lyeh when he'd suffered another horrible injury. But this was worse. Even then, literally paralyzed in the heat of battle in R'lyeh, he'd still been focused. He'd still acted a hero. Even though I'd helped him, there was no doubt that he would have eventually figured something out. I was so used to seeing determination in him. I was so used to seeing focus. But now, I saw nothing. No light, no spark. Nothing. And then, he himself said:

"I'm blind."

"No…" I tried to assure him, still not fully grasping the reason behind the situation myself, "no, Eric, it's…"

"I'm blind," he interrupted. He was crying, but not sobbing. Tears were just coming out of his eyes, and he didn't do anything to make them stop. "I can't help anymore. I can't… I lost, I… Butters, I lost."

"It's… it's okay, we can still—"

"I'm sorry," Eric said, and he had never said that unprompted, or without wanting something. He let out another long cry, then slid his hands from under mine, reached forward, grabbed the front of my shirt, and said, his voice raw, "I'm sorry."

I swallowed to try and keep my own emotions at bay. "So… s-so maybe you lost your Carnival attraction, Eric," I said, moving my hands back over his. "That's okay. We're still gonna defeat the whole dang thing together. Right?"

"I dunno."

"It's okay. We're… well, we're gonna get you used to fighting without… w-without your eyesight, and then w—"

"But I'm not even worried about that!" he admitted, lifting his head as though to focus on me.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I fucked up so hard."

"I mean, maybe, but…"

"No, Butters, I fucked up so hard."

"Eric, how? I wanna help you, but I can't unless you tell me how," I said as gently as I could.

"Butters," Eric said warily.

"Y-yeah?"

Shaking again, Eric asked, "Can I tell you somethin' I've never told anyone and probably shoulda?"

"Sure, Eric, anything."

He let go of my shirt and I eased my own hold on him, just keeping one hand on his shoulder, hoping he was steady enough on his own. Then, he took a deep breath, let it out, and said, "I stole Kenny's eyes once."

That was… not what I was expecting him to say, but not out of the realm of possibility for things Eric Cartman has done in his life. "What?" I said strongly.

"D'you remember Chef?"

"What does Chef have to do with Kenny's eyes?"

"Just listen to me, Butters!"

"Okay, okay!"

Eric rested his head back in one hand and drummed his fingers on his knee with the other, also tapping that foot impatiently. "One time, Chef married a succubus, and she killed Kenny and I had some fucked up shit goin' on with my eyes and I didn't wanna wear glasses and my doctor was an asshole and I was eight years old and pretty stupid—" and that was huge of him to admit— "and…"

"Yeah?" I prompted, just to let him know I was still listening.

"Kenny was dead," Eric said, "so I froze his head and took his eyes and had surgery and I probably shoulda told him but I never did."

"I'm sorry," I said, allowing a few seconds of anger, "you stole Kenny's eyes and got them transplanted into you?"

"Yeah?"

Something very close to rage crackled inside me.

"Eric, we've been through a buncha your shit before," I reminded him, trying to keep my cool, "so why only bring this up now?"

"Cuz I've been thinking about that for a while. I think that's why I was able to remember all the other times Kenny died. Because I kinda saw all of 'em. Even way before the Cthulhu shit went down, I always remembered, but no one else did, so I just figured I missed somethin' and then when Kenny found out I remembered he got super pissed so I never told him that I had his eyes. Maybe it's even why I was able to talk to Cthulhu, I dunno."

"But your eyes aren't blue," I said.

"Nuh-uh, they were for a couple days till Kenny came back that time," Eric said, and he was completely shaking now. "Butters."

"What."

"Butters, what if they knew?" Eric asked.

And there was a shock again. Of course Damien would have known.

"She was a fucking succubus, Butters!" Eric shouted, lifting his head and trying so hard to focus on me. "She went back to Hell. She killed Kenny. She knew. When I lost in that fuckin' tent, Butters, I didn't lose my eyes, my eyes were already gone. I just lost Kenny's eyes, Butters."

I took a deep breath.

"Eric…" I started, wondering just where on Earth (or anywhere) I could possibly begin to start figuring out next steps to this situation.

"Butters."

"What, Eric?"

"I just… what if me losing just fucked him up somehow?" Eric wondered. He was almost pale as bone as his fears all shot to the surface. "Cause there's like... a connection or some shit between us? I dunno how to talk to him, Butters, you gotta help me. If I'm blind, I'm blind, but I'm worried about Kenny."

That was very new.

And, honestly, with everything going on, with every new admission Eric was sputtering out, every tear he was shedding and not brushing away, I got more and more concerned. Because, again, he was acting so much like the person he'd always pretended not to be that, well…

I was afraid that they had literally done it. That the Ringleaders had, when Eric had lost his battle, actually taken away the thing he prized most out of anything. He hadn't lost his sight as a price for not defeating his Carnival attraction; that had to have come from natural causes, from the actually blinding atmosphere of the bright room.

No. He'd lost his pride.

Eric Cartman had been completely and utterly stripped of his pride. The thing that was so much a part of his outward bravado that I could never know—that none of us could have known, surely—who he really was. And I was finding that out, instant by instant.

"You're what?" I wondered.

"I said I'm worried about Kenny, a'ight?" Eric burst, lifting his head again. His eyes really were just blank. "What if it's all my fault? I shoulda gotten another transplant, but I kinda kept forgetting about it. I shoulda told Kenny."

"I mean, yeah," I said, "that goes without saying, but I think the two of you should talk. It might help us fix all of this."

"All of what? Damien's the son of Satan and he's gonna take over the world, and it's my fault." He started crying again, and I saw years and years of pain in him. "These are Kenny's eyes, Butters!" he wailed. "What if I just killed Kenny?!"

"Shh. Eric. Calm down. You didn't kill Kenny."

"But I mighta!"

"You didn't," I said, and hoped I was right. "I mean, you really, really should tell him what you did. But you didn't kill him."

"I thought I could do it. I thought I could actually fucking do something for this team. But I fucked that up and now I can't… I can't…"

"Hey, hey…" He'd buried his face back in his hands. I started to reach forward with my free hand, then, realizing I needed a more solid connection just then, shed my gloves before reaching out once more to hold his face in my hands. My grip wasn't too strong, but it was firm. I continued, feeling like I was babbling at this point, but I needed him to stay with me, "Maybe you did. Maybe you made a bad call. We all do. But you know what? We accept it, and we accept our mistakes. All of our stupid fucking mistakes. And then we give ourselves a break, because God knows the world's not going to. Then, we move on and we're stronger for what we've gone through."

Eric sniffed, and seemed calmer for a beat. I thought maybe I'd gotten through to him, but he surprised me again by asking, "Who are you?"

Frowning, I replied, "What do you mean?"

"You're sounding an awful lot like…" He raised his head, looking toward me with a furrowed brow, but unable to focus. His right hand came up alongside my head, but he stopped short and quickly drew both hands back to strip off his finger armor, letting it fall to the ground. I realized that was probably a smart move, since he obviously wasn't great at depth perception just then. He cautiously reached out again until his fingers made contact with my new helmet. "Chaos," he stated.

At that point, it dawned on me that Eric had already left for the Carnival when I'd made that pivotal change. Wow, he had been gone a long time. I had forgotten to mention it in all the... chaos... of rescuing him. "Oh!" I exclaimed, then took a deep breath, and said, with full assurance, "Yep, that's me."

Eric traced the edge of the helmet, coming down to front guard, resting about where my cheek was underneath. "Why?"

Even though he couldn't return the favor, I looked straight into his eyes as I gave my explanation. "I've accepted every part of me. And that includes what I've done in my past. But chaos isn't inherently evil. I can make it work for me, and that is exactly what I intend to do. Harmony still... Harmony exists within Chaos and vice versa. It's a balance. They depend on each other." Injury or no, I couldn't go any farther with him until I got an assurance. "So, I'm gonna ask you. Given what I am, can you depend on me? Can you... trust me?"

"I kind of have to right now, don't I?"

Not altogether satisfied with that answer, I countered, "It's not a sign of weakness to admit defeat."

I saw that comment hit home in his relaxed expression. Eric kept his hand resting on my helmet, keeping that physical connection. Then, he swallowed and gave a simple nod of his head. It wasn't much, and it wasn't all that direct, but I sensed, in his own way, he was acknowledging my earlier question, giving consent to my request for trust.

It felt like the bond the two of us used to share, when we'd been the closest we'd ever been, was slowly resurfacing. In any other circumstances, I'd have probably reacted way more enthusiastically. Now, though, I was content to smile. Since he couldn't see it, I made sure to give his left knee a squeeze, where it had been resting since he'd moved. I trusted he discerned my own unvoiced meaning in the gesture: Thank you.

"So," Eric said at length, "what do we do now?"

"Well, to start," I decided, "take a deep breath."

Eric did, and he let it out shaking. When I saw a few streaks of tears at the corners of his eyes, I wiped them away for him. Eric didn't flinch. "Now," I said, sitting back again. "What do you think you should do?"

Eric paused, then said, "I fucked up." He then bowed his head and started bawling. So much for that. He dropped his head onto my shoulder. I hugged him and rubbed his back, and Eric didn't hold on in return, he just kept sobbing. In between sobs, he got out, "I-huh-fucked-huh-up. I failed. I—" Eric cut himself off and aggressively drew a breath in through his nose before he continued, "I failed my mom. I failed the team. I really am useless."

I patted his back a couple times and said, "Only if you can't move on from here."

"Yeah, I can't move," Eric said. "I can't fucking see where I'm going."

Goddamn, they'd done a number on him. "Don't give up here, Eric," I encouraged him. "Please. I know you. Come on."

He went quiet for a few seconds, then said, shaking, "What if I never see her again?"

My heart skipped. "Eric…" I tried.

"I might never get to see my mom again," he said, only half-voiced.

"Oh, Eric, no, you… you will…"

"I don't mean not gonna reunite or whatever, I mean see." He choked on his words, but pushed on: "Even if there is some kinda miracle and she's okay, the last time I ever saw her was… she was so scared and it's my fault she got taken and what if I'm never gonna be able to see her again. I came into this stupid Carnival early thinking, oh, I'd get her out, I'd maybe take care of some shit, but I fucked up. I fucked up so hard— " He couldn't finish; he just sat back and buried his face in his hands and let out a long yell.

I gasped and glanced around, afraid that the sound might alert Damien, Tenorman, or one of their innumerable recruits or other underlings to our whereabouts. At least the rest of the team were on their way. As Eric was working through his panic, I knew it was all really healthy stuff for him to be dealing with, but I also didn't know how far the broken pride would go. Would he want the others to see him like this? See him looking like he was ready to give up? I certainly didn't want him to throw in the towel now, and I knew deep down he didn't, either. He just had a lot bubbling to the surface.

"It's going to be okay," I said firmly, grasping his shoulder.

"How?" Eric asked, sniffling.

I knew I had to challenge him, appeal to the most quintessential part of him. Even if that white room had stripped him of it, it was still there inside. He couldn't exist any other way. "The Eric Cartman I know wouldn't give up," I said, giving him an encouraging shake. "How're you gonna fix that, huh?"

"I…"

"The hero I know would never give in. He'd keep fighting. I know you've got this. I know you can do this. Breathe. What do you do?"

Eric actually paused to give it some thought. He pressed his lips flat together, and his clouded eyes looked as though they were focusing on something in the distance. Finally, he sat back, plucked my hands off his shoulders, and held them tightly. Finally, he admitted, "I… I need help."

In a string of unusual circumstances coming from the usually haughty and boisterous Eric Cartman, I was once again thrown. That wasn't exactly what I was expecting. Still, Eric didn't look quite so lost, so I encouraged him.

"So ask for it," I said. "You say you need help, so you let your team help you. That's what it means to be in the League."

Eric let out a slight scoff. "What, are you a part of the League?" he asked.

"I belong wherever I need to," I told him. "And right now, I'm here with you."

Eric contemplated that, and nodded. He didn't fight me, just gave himself time to think. Whenever we got around to defeating his half-brothers in this seemingly endless quasi-hell, I wondered if any of this would remain in him. The thoughtfulness, the admission to his need for camaraderie and the help he'd always, deep down, known he had in the League. And in me.

"So," I asked him, "what's your answer?"

His blank, expressionless eyes stared down and away, and he took in a deep, shaking breath. After he let it out, he closed his eyes and asked, "Help me." He felt for the front of my shirt and grabbed hold with one hand, and I could see him fighting back more tears. This really was his weakest moment. "Can you? Can you help me get through this?"

"As Chaos?" I checked.

Eric's grip tightened, and he lowered his head. He grabbed my shirt with his other hand as well, and said, "As you."

I felt myself gasp. My eyes went wide. That meant whatever it needed to mean. Because Eric saying you meant… well… me. Whoever I needed to be at any given time. Eric saying you meant all of me, every last bit of me, including Chaos. He'd reached out to me for help, and was basically saying he'd accept it in any way I could give it.

I grabbed his shoulders again and said, "Yeah. I've got you."

Eric's breaths faltered. He seemed like he wanted to start saying something, but stopped himself. After a brief moment of struggle, he said, his voice cracking, "I wish I could see you."

My heart broke, but I remained solid for him. I couldn't just plain give him back his eyesight, and I certainly couldn't restore his once-strong sense of pride, but I could do everything I could to ease the transition.

I took off my helmet and set it to one side, then took Eric's right hand in my left and brought it up to rest against the side of my face. Eric lifted his head and opened his eyes, but, seeing nothing, closed them again after a couple seconds, once again allowing tears to flow freely. I was not used to seeing that kind of real, unabashed emotion in him. Just as he wasn't used to showing it.

Eric moved very cautiously as he ran his fingertips over my face. He brought up his left hand as well, and gently felt for my eyebrows, the corners of my eyes, my nose, my cheek bones, my jaw. And then he touched the thumb of his right hand to the corner of my lips. Using that as a guide, he leaned in closer.

And much to my surprise, he kissed me.

We'd kissed before, but never quite like this. It was an act of desperation, but I loved it all the same. I kissed him back, to answer his pleas for help. I closed my eyes as well. In the euphoria of the moment, I recognized that we were both going on instinct, but in a profoundly intimate way. This wasn't just a kiss. It was an affirmation of the pact we'd just made. He was promising not to give up in the face of defeat, and I was promising not to give up on him, to help him however I could.

When he pulled out of the kiss, I kept my eyes closed, and we rested against each other, foreheads touching, just connecting and existing together for a moment, holding onto one another to spite the trials that still lay ahead.

Then, I let my eyes open, the easier to gently kiss each of his eyelids, letting him know that he didn't have to worry, I'd lend him my sight. He moved his right hand to the back of my head, and grabbed me in for another kiss on the lips, this one firmer than before. I cradled his head in my hands and kissed him back, strongly, taking control so as to tell him that as long as I was there, he didn't have to be afraid.

And while I didn't necessarily approve of the circumstances that got us there… God, did it feel good to be wanted. I knew that this raw emotion was all him, too. He was desperate, and he wasn't holding back. This was his way of telling me that we shared something, that it was real. Maybe he'd had to be humbled to the point of exhaustion to admit it, but he couldn't hide how much he cared. And his pride wasn't stopping him from feeling or expressing anything anymore.

But if they'd broken him down to the point where he'd lost his pride, well, I was more than willing to help him build it back. He just needed to feel needed, and I sure knew all about that. I'd hit my lowest when I'd played vessel to Nyarlathotep's chaos and madness, and I'd gotten myself back. I was going to do the same thing for Eric. Because I knew him, and I cared about him, and I loved the fact that he trusted me enough to let me help him through this. He'd get his confidence back. I just had to help him realize that he was capable of doing so.

When we drew out of the kiss, he kept hold of me, not letting us part entirely. I patted back his hair and waited for the blowback, but it didn't come. He didn't immediately try to deny that the moment had happened, as he'd done many times in the past. If anything, we were on more equal ground now than we had ever been.

He more or less admitted that, too, when the next thing he said was, "I don't think I ever tell you this enough, but I care about you."

I let a couple tears of my own fall, and said, "I care about you, too, Eric."

"And, Chaos?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you. I really fuckin' missed you."

I kissed him again, and he not only let me, but kissed me back, and then I resolutely brushed the tears from his eyes and turned his hands palms up on his lap. I fitted his mask and Coon ears back into place, then gathered up his finger armor and placed the ten pieces into his hands.

"You ready?" I asked him.

"For what?" he asked.

"To show your brothers just how bad they underestimated you," I said, fitting my own helmet back on.

He got a ghost of that grin on his face, the one of pure determination, proving he could regain his confidence, and he said, "You bet your ass I am."

"You've got this," I assured him, clasping his shoulders. "You're the motherfucking Coon."

He actually laughed at that, then started sliding on his finger armor. "Got that right," he said strongly. "Let's do this."

– – –

Kenny

With Kite in the lead, we headed briskly to where Chaos's flare had lit up. On the way, I tried to check in via the wire with our crew still outside the Carnival. They needed updating on our situation and plans. I knew I'd get more grief for making the deal I had no choice but to make with them as well.

Sure enough, when I reported as much, Henrietta immediately affected her most dark-and-pissed tone to ask, "What... the fuck?"

Gary voiced his concern next. "I don't mean to question your intentions, Mysterion, but... was making a deal with the Devil's son really a step in the right direction?"

Suppressing a sigh, I acknowledged, "I admit, it wasn't ideal," and here several of my helpful teammates supplied their personal variations of sarcastic laughter and "no shit" phrases. I continued, "But it was a necessary decision in a dire circumstance. You can all can ride my ass about it later, okay?"

"Oh, damn straight we will," said Kite. "After we beat these jerks' infernal asses into the ground."

"Well," said Delphi, holding in her frustration, "tread carefully. That goes for all of you. And let us know when we're good to move in."

"Shouldn't be much longer now," I said, hoping that it was true.

As we continued on, I felt almost distracted by the fact that the fake Shadow that Damien had possessed me with was no longer tugging me forward or holding me back. I felt somewhat lighter, but the fact that I really had just struck a deal with the Devil's son started to cut into me. The air seemed to grow hazier, and thicker with the smell of sulfur, and to a certain extent it was all I could do to keep moving.

Angel breaking into the dark house—or whatever the fuck that 'ride' actually was—was lucky. Damien had seemed shocked that it had happened. He was faltering, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. He had… fuck… he had actually tried to gamble with the souls of everyone I cared about.

When my sister and I had left our parents' home, we hadn't lost anything important. The League was our family. Damien knew more than enough about all of us, so he surely must have known that. He knew exactly how to get to me, and he'd succeeded. If I hadn't made that deal, we'd all have been screwed. When I was sixteen, I had fought hard for practically a full year just for the right to live. Now my friends' actual souls, and the future of the entire fixed balance of Earth and its afterlife counterparts, relied on me doing just that. All I had to do was not die.

I could do that, right?

As the others continued on, Toolshed doubled back to run alongside me. "Dude," he said, "you doing okay?"

"Compared to what?" I said, knowing he'd have been able to see through any lie I attempted.

"Fair," he granted. Toolshed moved closer and said just for my benefit, "We know you did what you had to, Mysterion. If anything, we're all worried about you. But we sure as hell won't let you down. Not as long as we've got something to fight for."

I smiled and nodded to him. I knew they all had my back. Really, they were the best team, and friends, a guy could have. Like, a thousand times over. I knew I wouldn't let them down either. We'd beat this son of a bitch for sure, together.

It wasn't long after that that we'd reached the rendezvous location. Coming around one of the tents—some of the only structures left standing on the Carnival grounds—I could see Chaos standing by some piles of wood and crates. He was facing, finally, the Coon, who was adjusting his mask, probably after just putting it back on.

"Holy shit," said Mosquito.

Marpesia rushed forward, exclaiming, "Oh my god, Eric!" to tackle the guy in a hug.

"Dude, we've been looking everywhere for you!" said Toolshed. "Are you okay?"

Before he could respond, I asked, "Where've you been?"

Chaos answered for him, pointing to the nearby tent. "In there. There was this space of bright light, and Er—the Coon had been wandering around inside, basically since he got here."

Endgame let out a long whistle. "Were you really that lost inside a tent?"

"Hey! I tried, asshole!" Coon retorted. Now that Marpesia released him, the Coon took a step backwards, stopping only when Chaos held a hand out and tapped the back of his shoulder. "It wasn't just the tent, okay? It was, like, fucking infinity inside there."

"What, like it was bigger on the inside?" said Kite.

"Yes, nerd, it was."

There was something off about the way the Coon looked toward whoever was speaking. The angle of his head? Yes, that was it. He kept his face angled down. It wasn't a gesture of shame (I didn't think). What was it? Also, he didn't seem as... intense as usual. I supposed all that time stuck in an infinite space must have worn down even the Coon's reserves of defiance.

Marpesia asked, "What were you doing that whole time?"

"Mostly just walking around listening to the stupid—hey, where'd the thing go?" The Coon turned his head to the side.

"Oh," said Chaos. Once he had spoken, the Coon faced his general direction. Then he stood there while Chaos walked a couple steps to his left and picked up a flat object. Weird. That should have been right in the Coon's sightline. Chaos stepped back and, instead of holding it out for the Coon to take, he gently brushed his hand along his lower arm, the Coon raised his hand for Chaos to place the object on top. "Here ya go."

The Coon took the proffered item, but grabbed hold of Chaos's hand before he could pull away. Quietly, he said, "Stay close. Please."

My eyebrows shot up at that. "Okay. What the fuck?"

Chaos glanced at me, back at the Coon, then me again and rubbed the fingers of his free hands together in a telltale sign of nervousness. "Well, um, the thing is …"

The Coon raised his head, not really facing anyone, and simply finished, "I lost."

"What?" I asked, hoping the Coon wasn't going to supply more cryptic shit like those two obnoxious Ringleaders.

He swallowed and repeated, "I lost. You guys beat your Hells, right?"

Mosquito nodded and vocally confirmed, "Yeah."

"Well. I lost. It was really bright in the tent. I's basically staring directly at the fuckin' sun the whole time I was in there. And now I can't fucking see." I noted he gripped Chaos's hand tighter.

"What do you mean, you can't see?" I said.

"I mean I can't see." The Coon let go of Chaos and waved his hand in front of his own face. "At all. I didn't figure out whatever I was supposed to in the goddamn bright-ass tent, and I got taken out too early and it fuckin' burned my eyes out or some shit. So what's up, I'm kinda blind now."

"No way," said Mosquito. "Are you saying—?"

"I'm saying I'm blind. I'm not saying I'm giving up. I'm just saying, I'm blind."

The part of me that wanted to rip into him for somehow helping Damien expand a new Circle of Hell lost out to the part of me that was just glad to have the whole team back together. The Coon had been in the Carnival for days; if the infinite space in the tent had been part of the Between, as seemed to be the case, then no wonder he was out of sorts. Not to mention, he was the only one of us who had lost whatever challenge it was the Ringleaders had subjected him to. Cartman could—and had a history to prove it—fake a lot of shit, but even with the mask on, he looked vulnerable. If he was actually leaning on Chaos, with Butters being one of the only people who'd ever actually admitted to calling Cartman a friend at all, it already kind of showed that he was doing what he could with his situation. And we did still need him. I was also not one to let a person miss out on a chance to get justice for a shit deal done to them.

I blew out a large puff of air, trying to keep my head despite this, honestly, disturbing news. "Okay. Okay. We can work around that."

The Coon turned his head toward me. "What, you're not just gonna tell me to sit this one out?"

"Of course not," I said. "We need you. You're a part of this League. As long as you're willing, we need you."

After a slight pause, I saw the Coon fumble for Chaos's arm with one hand again, and grip it tightly. "Okay," he said, almost humbly. "Yeah. That's cool."

"How are you?" asked Biomech. I could practically see him trying to sort out the medical implications of our teammate's sudden blindness. "Can you fight?"

"Wait, TupperWear?" the Coon asked. "Didn't you get bitten by the Leopard?"

"Yeah. Hi," said Biomech, waving unnecessarily. He realized what he was doing after a second and lowered his hand, but not before Endgame stifled a laugh about it. "Also, going with a different name. I needed something stronger than TupperWear."

"Heh, what," the Coon asked, sounding a little more like himself, "like Pyrex?"

Endgame snorted.

"No, not like fucking Pyrex, asshole," Biomech said. "I'm Biomech, and I'm trying to be concerned with your situation right now. Can you fight, dude, or…?"

"Uh…" said the Coon. It was weird seeing him hesitate. He did seem uncomfortable about it, but there was a lot that was off about him at the moment. He tightened his grip on Chaos's arm.

Chaos, understanding, grinned. "I think we can work it out if we tag-team it," he said.

"What he said," the Coon agreed.

"I'll stay partnered up with the Coon as long as we keep fighting," Chaos offered.

"Works for me," I said. "I'm just glad you guys're both relatively all right."

"For what it's worth," Endgame offered, "I can't really see during an attack, either."

The Coon let out a huff of breath and said, "Yes, thank you, Craig, that super doesn't help me at all." Chaos frowned and punched him gently in the arm.

Endgame shrugged. "Eh. Bet you could figure out some sweet Daredevil shit, though, dude," he said.

"Whatever," the Coon said. "I'll figure… I dunno, somethin'."

"Sweet," said Endgame. "So what now?"

"Now," I said, "we figure out where Damien and Tenorman are, and we end this."

"Easier said than done," said Kite, "based on… literally everything they've put us through so far."

"I dunno," Chaos offered. "They must know we've all made it out of our rides by now."

Angel crossed her arms and said, "Damien did seem like he was getting kind of out of sorts and desperate. He actually yelled at his father on my ride."

"Hold on, hold on," said Mosquito. "You saw Satan?"

"Oh, well, no," said Angel. "Damien just kind of… yelled downward. I think this whole Carnival is a last-ditch effort to prove something to his father, and he's well aware it's not going according to plan."

"Well, wherever we head to look for them," Mosquito said, "we do it together."

"Amen to that," I said. To whatever extent that word actually meant anything.

"Mm, gotta say, though," said Red Serge, "we've also somehow got to get the Gingers out of here, which means getting the vans in. I could send Iron Maiden coordinates if I had my iPad or my phone, but…"

"Oh, shit, right," said the Coon. He tapped Professor Chaos's arm a few times and asked, "Can you, uh…?"

"Be right back," Chaos said. He took the flat object he'd recovered earlier for the Coon and brought it over to Red Serge. "Here."

Red Serge's eyes lit up. "Oh, sweet!" he exclaimed. "Yes!" He took the tablet Chaos was offering and hugged it. "I'm so glad this thing didn't get lost." To the Coon, he added, "Thanks for holding into it, dude." When the Coon didn't respond, he said, "Coon. Dude. Thanks for holding onto my tablet."

"Oh," said the Coon. "Uh, yeah. Sure." By this point, Chaos had once again planted himself beside the Coon and offered an arm for stability. "I think it's broken, though."

Red Serge inspected the tablet, and remarked after a couple seconds, "Looks fine to me." He swiped it open. "It's working okay, buddy."

"Okay, the fuck?" the Coon spat. "It was broken! I swear!"

"How so?" I asked.

"It kept… it kept making all these noises. It made this, like, ping sound a buncha different times."

"Ping sound?" Red Serge asked, scrunching up his nose. "What, like an alarm? Was there a pattern?"

"Not really," said the Coon, looking more perturbed by the second.

"Huh," said Kite. "Do you remember anything about how it made those noises? That might be something."

"It didn't make sense, though," the Coon insisted. "That's why I lost."

"Well, dude," Toolshed offered, "maybe we can help. What was weird about the noises?"

The Coon folded his arms and let out a heavy sigh. Chaos set a hand on his shoulder, and after a few seconds, the Coon began explaining: "Kay, so, uh… it wouldn't unlock, but first there were three sounds. And then there were, uh… three, one, five, four, two. Then six like, siren things, and it was red." He paused, and repeated under his breath, "It was red." He shook his head and continued for the rest of us, "Anyway, then it did seven times, then eight times, then six again but more like the other times. Ten when Chaos pulled me out, then nine once I got out of there."

I stepped over to Red Serge to get a close look at his tablet as he swept through it. He didn't operate many apps on his League-only device, and had multiple encryptions keeping it as un-hackable as he possibly could. He was scanning through the latest data usage as he repeated the numbers from the Coon: "Three, one, five, four, two… seven, eight, six, ten, nine…" He glanced up and added, "Nothing indicating anything wrong with the device, buddy. It must've been reacting to something."

"Anyone?" I asked, opening the quandry up to the group.

I'd expected Kite to be the first to come up with something, but Professor Chaos was the one who perked up with the solution. "Oh!" he said. "It's the Circles."

"What?" I wondered.

"It's the Circles," Chaos said, indicating the grounds around us with the index finger of his free hand drawing a circling motion in the air. "The, uh, the attractions, in the order we left 'em. Three, who was Three?"

"Me," said Red Serge.

"And I was One," Endgame said, raising a hand.

"Then me," said Kite, "then Mosquito, then Toolshed…"

"That makes sense…" Angel said. "I almost failed, but then busted out. That might be what the six sirens meant."

"Right," said Chaos. "The attractions all collapsed in the order the Coon heard the sounds from the tablet. I saw most of it from the tower."

Mosquito flinched, then asked, pointedly, "What tower?"

"Oh," said Chaos, shirking from Mosquito's glare a bit, "I mean, my ride. It was a Helter Skelter tower, and well, it's gone now. So's Disarray. Again. Anyway, I think that must be it."

Before anyone else could chime in, the Coon spat, "Fuck. Fuck. It was that easy? Goddammit!"

"Woah," I said, taking a step closer to where he and Chaos were standing. "Dude. It's…"

"No," the Coon snapped, "how did you all get that? I was… I was wandering around in that blinding Goddamn room for like, two fucking days, and then this one thing comes up and…"

"Um…" I tried.

"It's…" Chaos started at the same time, "well… I mean, maybe the Ringleaders set you up to fail."

"Thanks, Butters," the Coon muttered.

"I don't mean… Eric, I just mean that…"

"Wait," I said. Chaos looked over to me, and the Coon kind of raised his head. "Wait. Hold on."

Damien had said Cartman was helping him build. He'd stormed out of Attraction Nine when things had started to take a turn. He's not finished yet. That's what Damien had said, losing his grip somewhat, right before ending our fight.

"Cartman," I said. "Coon. Sorry. I think Chaos might be onto something. Look, like it or not, the Ringleaders are your brothers."

"No shit."

"They brought you in here first," I pressed on. "They set you up. But they didn't plan on you having this." I took the iPad from Red Serge and held it up.

"What?" asked the Coon.

"This."

The Coon let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, Mysterion, reminder that I can't see shit."

"Sorry," I said, my heart skipping a beat. He really was handling that fact surprisingly well. I didn't want to question why, yet, but I figured it was mostly shock.

"They didn't plan on you having the iPad," I said, handing the device in question back to Red Serge. "They didn't plan on you having the map. What was it like in that Attraction? You said it was blinding, and I mean, clearly, but what else?"

The Coon shrugged his arms out to either side, almost smacking Chaos with his left arm in the process. "It was fuck-all nothing, dude," the Coon complained. "It was nothing. Just bright light everywhere, nothin' else. Sometimes doors opened and I went through 'em, but they just led to more nothing."

"So," Marpesia said, "it must have to do with the expansion…"

Mosquito drummed the fingers of his right hand on the mallet he was holding over his shoulder. "What was the thing Disarray was singing at the gallery opening?" he asked. "Something about…"

Over the wire, Henrietta answered: "Nine full circles and a brand new pyre. The Tenth Circle."

"Thanks," Mosquito said. "That's it." To the Coon, speaking with sympathy laced with frustration, "He was using you to expand."

"That could've been that grinding sound we were hearing," Red Serge reasoned. "Every time a door opened, that triggered something that caused this place to grow."

"But," I said, "you had a map of where the rest of us were all along. Wait…" I realized, "holy shit. Coon… I think… I think you were one of the Ringleaders this whole time."

"Aye," he snapped, "don't blame me for—"

"I'm not blaming you, I'm thanking you!" I insisted. "You were in here first. Your Attraction wasn't any kind of ride or game like the rest of ours were."

"Sounds more like an escape room, honestly," Toolshed observed.

Kite perked up and added, "Oh, shit. Yeah. An infinite, impossible escape room. The Carnival's been growing this whole time. Which means…"

"The Tenth Circle's been growing, too," Toolshed finished.

"And if the room had no built-in clues," I continued, "they'd meant for you to just stay there. But you had this, and even if it didn't help you, it helped us. The iPad made noises in the order we beat our rides, but we don't know if it was before or after. Maybe it was reacting to you."

The Coon said nothing for a few seconds—just stood there looking shocked. Finally, all he could get out was, "What?"

I took a few steps closer, and in doing so really could see just how shaken the guy was from his whole experience in Attraction X. Not to mention the fact that he never did know exactly how to take a genuine compliment. So I started slowly:

"You know this team well enough that you'd know what kinds of challenges we could overcome. Damien and Tenorman might have set all this up, but they accidentally put you in the position to counter them. You being in here ahead of us had some kind of influence on the rest of the Attractions. You've been helping Damien build his Hell, but you've also been helping all of us. Maybe you didn't know it, and I doubt your brothers did, but I really think you helped us. You gave each of us, like, a fail-safe, an escape hatch to break out of their stupid games."

"Literally an escape hatch for me," Kite said almost under his breath.

The Coon turned slightly in my direction. Still protesting in (dare I say of Eric Cartman) modesty, he said, "It was just an empty room."

"But it moved," said Chaos. "Your tent was moving. The three Ringleader tents, I saw them from the tower. Everything else was stationary, in the shape of the Gingers' symbol. But the three tents moved. Yours moved closer to mine, that's how I found you."

"Dude," I said. "Cartman, you saved all of us. If you hadn't come in early, who knows how much more challenging our Hells would've been?"

"I was able to help Toolshed with his with no problem," Kite said. "I was wondering why Damien or Tenorman would've allowed me to go in, but… shit. Dude, thank you."

"Yeah, man, holy shit," said Toolshed. "You let us help each other."

"Same with me and Biomech," Marpesia added. "Sure, there was a second coin for Attraction Eight, but… he was still able to come through."

"And I found Mysterion," Angel said. "The other Ringleaders would never have let any of us help each other."

"Not to mention," Mosquito spoke up, "that we've been able to come back together so easily after beating our attractions. Yeah, that shit'd never fly with Damien."

"But you're a part of this team," I said finally. "You care."

"Shut up," the Coon said without malice.

I grinned. "You do. You care. And you helped us without even realizing it."

Chaos squeezed the Coon's shoulder, and said, "You really listen, Eric. You're a good friend."

The Coon kicked at some dirt on the ground and uncomfortably mumbled, "I said, shut up."

"No," said Chaos. "You've proven that you care about your team, so I think it's safe to say that your team is here for you. You knew what was really important to all of us, so we're gonna help you get back what's really important to you. We're gonna find her, Eric. We're gonna find your mom."

The Coon, seemingly too overcome with emotion to respond verbally, simply nodded.

"And for what it's worth," I said, stepping close enough to set a hand on the Coon's other shoulder, "we're gonna help you get through whatever it is that room did directly to you, too. All right? We'll figure something out."

"How?"

"I dunno," I said. I stood back and folded my arms. "I made a deal with Damien to try to keep all you guys out of Hell forever, so maybe I can finagle something else."

"You did what, asshole?" the Coon spat. And there he was again.

"Yeah, I know, shit move, but at the time my best option," I said.

"So speaking of options," said Mosquito, getting us back on track, "what do we do now? We're all finally back together. Damien and Tenorman won't be quiet for much longer."

"Well, regardless of what they do," said Red Serge, "we've gotta free everyone they're holding captive."

"And be wary of converts," Marpesia added. "Sargeant Yates is certainly giving his all to the Ringleaders, so there might be others."

"Either way, I think we're good to call in the others," Mosquito said. Looking to me, he asked, "What do you think?"

"I think we need all the help we can get, yeah," I said. "Now that we're all out of our attractions, there's no keeping anyone else out."

"Not so fast," someone said from behind us. Just as Marpesia had warned.

We all turned to find our former, if aggravating, ally, Sargeant Yates, standing not far off from a stack of crates with a pistol aimed in our direction. Behind him stood a number of unidentifiable Infras, all likely pyrite clones.

"How the fuck did you do that?" I barked.

Yates didn't answer, but from within the crowd of Infras came an unhinged laugh. The sea of bodies parted to let him through, and soon enough, there stood Scott Tenorman, planting himself solidly beside the Sargeant. He curled his fingers over his cane's tip and scowled at all of us in turn before focusing directly on his half-brother.

"You fucking bastard," he said to the Coon. "You were never supposed to break out of there."

"Oh, hi, Scott," said the Coon, letting go of Chaos to give an illusion of unbattered pride. He folded his arms and continued, "You know raccoons are crafty little fuckers, you can't keep 'em trapped."

"Oh, cut the horseshit," Tenorman snapped. "I know someone else let you out. You've all ruined a lot of really well-constructed plans, you know. But if we need to pick you off one by one by hand, then so be it."

"Where's my mother, Scott?" the Coon demanded.

"You want her? Good luck finding her."

Behind Tenorman, the horde of Infras drew weapons and began to advance. Just as I and the rest of my team began taking up arms, Red Serge said, "Oh, hold up! I've got this."

"You are not fighting them on your own," I cautioned.

"Nah, this is better, eh."

"What?"

"Okay, dude," Red Serge said into the wire as he stepped to the front of our assembled team. "I've got the iPad back. I'm back into the system."

"Timmy," Iron Maiden responded.

"Yeah, I know," said Red Serge, "but I actually think the Coon having this on him with the map and everything is what let the rest of us make our way through our attractions. Anyway, no time for that right now. We've got company."

"Ti-Timmy?"

"Yeah," Red Serge said. "You got the program open on your end, dude?" Red Serge grinned, and held the tablet up so that the screen faced outward toward the line of Infras that were encroaching. "Light 'em up."

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. Iron Maiden and I figured we could probably hack these assholes with the goggles Coon and Harmony found in the first place." Into the wire, Red Serge prompted, "NOW!"

"Timmy!"

The tablet screen flashed red a few times, and then yellow.

And every single one of the clones advancing on us stopped.

"Fuck yeah!" Red Serge exclaimed. "It worked! Hey, Iron Maiden? Make these fuckers fight each other so we can focus on other stuff."

I shirked back, and Mosquito called out, "Hold your fire!" to the rest of the team.

All of Tenorman's clones had gone still, and their goggles sparked with visible static. Yates picked his head up and glanced back at them, and that was when Tenorman balked. His eyes flared open, and he whirled around and demanded, "What are you idiots waiting for?! Kill them!"

They moved, but not exactly at his command.

"Timmy," Iron Maiden said over the wire.

And one of the Infras behind Tenorman picked up his gun, and shot a fellow clone, who exploded on impact, causing a chain reaction.

"Get down!" Yates shouted at Tenorman, and tackled him out of the way of a nearby explosion.

On and on down the line, the clones began fighting each other, going in and out with a spark from their goggles.

"Fuck! Yes!" Red Serge shouted, throwing both fists up in the air in a congratulatory move.

"Did you honest to fuck just hack them?" Kite asked, striding up and punching him on the shoulder.

"Mostly Iron Maiden did, but we figured it might work, yeah!" Red Serge said with a wide grin.

"You're a goddamn genius."

"About time you realized that, buddy."

"You insufferable—" Tenorman started, and cut himself off with a long yell. I looked back over at where he and Yates were now standing, and I took out two shuriken to prepare for a fight. Tenorman looked back at his steadily exploding squadron, and let out an aggravated sigh.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he said. "I don't have time for this."

With Yates in tow, he left in the direction of the Ferris Wheel.

"Hold it!" I shouted after him. "Team, let's—"

Before I could finish, feedback from loudspeakers I couldn't even see shrieked from all directions before crackling on. The muffled music that oozed through the airwaves was now distorted and unrecognizable. The Ringleaders knew they were failing, and had only a few final tricks they could try to pull.

Damien's voice, attempting his usual haughtiness and calm, broke through over the speakers, taunting, "For the benefit of Mr. Kite, I'd like to direct your attention to the main event at the base of the volcano."

"That fucking does it!" Kite shouted. He tossed one hand up into the air, and a few seconds later I heard loudspeakers crashing to the ground from a few feet away. "That… rrrrgh, that piece of shit, he needs to stop calling me out, or I'm gonna…."

At a loss for words or even coherency, Kite called over a plank of plywood from the pile, caught it in both hands, and snapped it in half over one knee. He tossed the shards aside and yelled, "Fuck!"

Fortunately for all of us, but primarily Kite himself, Toolshed stepped over and calmly set a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he said. "Deep breath with me, okay?"

Still seething somewhat, Kite managed to nod. The two took in a deep breath together, and let it out together. "Okay?" Toolshed asked.

"I'm fine," Kite said, "but I still want to punch him."

"Right, I get that," said Toolshed. "Love the enthusiasm, but what's say we make a plan first?"

Kite set his hands on his hips and took another deep breath. He let it out, then said, "Yeah. Yep. Yeah. Plan sounds good. I'd love it if it could involve me ripping that asshole's throat out sooner than later."

"Sounds great, babe," Toolshed said, patting Kite's shoulder, "you can use my claw hammer."

That got a laugh out of Kite (and, more discreetly, Endgame). "Okay," Kite said, "so… what now? Obviously Damien's calling me out again and he wants us heading to the volcano, but Tenorman just fucked off to the Ferris Wheel and I doubt he's just gonna bide his time."

I looked over at Mosquito for a conference, but nothing really needed to be debated. "Shit," Mosquito said. "We have to split up again. He's doing this on purpose."

"If we're gonna make teams, we've gotta be strategic," I said. "So let's—"

"We'll go after Scott Tenorman," Chaos volunteered.

I whipped around and glared at him, to find that he was standing with resolve, his eyes completely clear. Chaos had redeemed and reformed himself. Maybe we'd lose Harmony in the League, and maybe Chaos would always sort of circle us on the periphery, but he was here now, and he was on our side. He was supporting the Coon in every way he could, and the power behind his words said, we're going to win.

"You sure about that?" I asked, rather than fight him on it.

"Completely."

"Seriously," said the Coon. "I've got some shit to say to him, and punch into him, and unfortunately I can't take him alone right now. Me and Chaos will go."

"No need to split your team in half," Chaos said to me. "Disarray was my mess to clean up, and Tenorman is the Coon's. We'll meet you back at the volcano once we're done. Damien is sure to be an opponent who needs more attention. That's all you. Give me this. Give us this."

I glanced over at Mosquito, and we shared a silent moment of understanding. I knew how apprehensive Mosquito was when it came to Chaos, still, but we had made it to the Bullseye of the Circles of Hell. Trust was our greatest weapon at this point.

Mosquito nodded to me, then walked over to Chaos, hefted the Carnival mallet off of his shoulder and held it out. "You're not going unarmed," Mosquito said. "Here."

"What—" Chaos tried.

"I know you don't pack weapons," Mosquito said forcefully, "and the Coon isn't at his peak capacity right now to wield anything." The Coon didn't fight him on that, which was really saying something. "This thing packs a punch, at least, and I've got my hands full with the rest of my arsenal anyway. I knew I kept this for a reason, and I think you're supposed to have it." Mosquito looked at the Coon, then back up at Chaos. "Maybe I took this as a symbol of overcoming my Greed, but I think all of us have been needing to swallow our Pride a little."

Chaos squared his shoulders, and gratefully took the large, weighted mallet from Mosquito. He stepped back, swung it out a couple of times, then grinned, and lifted his head. "Thank you," he said. And, after another second of contemplation, he held out his right hand.

Mosquito stared at it for a moment, then looked Chaos in the eyes as he shook his hand. "Good luck," Mosquito said, "Professor Chaos."

"You, too," Chaos returned. He stood back, set a hand on the Coon's shoulder to signal that it was time to go, and said, "We'll meet you back here soon. And then we'll finish this. All of us."

"Got that right," I said, giving him a nod.

He gave me an understanding look back, and then he and the Coon were off in the direction that Tenorman had gone.

"Okay, team," I said to the others. "We're heading to the volcano. Henrietta, Delphi," I said into the wire, "you're clear to come in. Red Serge, send Iron Maiden your best guess of coordinates for where the Gingers are being held captive. That's one of our top priorities, just getting people the fuck out of the Carnival gates before Damien tries anything more drastic than he's already done."

"Finally," Henrietta said. "Let's move."

I had to trust that the other two factions would be okay. That Chaos and the Coon could hold their own against Tenorman at the Ferris Wheel, and that Henrietta and the others could get the captives out safely. Our team had only grown over the past few years, and we were about to prove that not even Hell could stop us.

"Whatever Damien tries at the volcano," I said, "let's try not to get too separated." The others all agreed.

"And at all times," Mosquito added, "at least two of us have got to keep an eye on Mysterion. The terms of your deal were that Damien could have you as a Reaper if he kills you, right?"

"Yeah," I said, shuddering as I remembered that damning handshake. "Within Carnival grounds."

"Right. So that's not going to happen," Mosquito said. "Eyes on Mysterion. At. All. Times. Got me?"

Everyone gave their own affirmation, each in their own way. I was so lucky to have this team, every last one of them. We'd been to R'lyeh and back together, and we'd make it out of this, too.

"I mean," Kite said, "what could he possibly do that he hasn't already tried?"

"What indeed?" the voice over one remaining loudspeaker said.

"That was—" Kite started, mentally picking up a paint can from a spot near one of the tents, "fucking rhetorical!" he finished, lobbing the can up at the speaker, shattering it. He spun around to face the rest of us, and said, "We good? Can we go?"

"Yeah," I said, "just… if we do get at all separated, let's try to form large groups, all right? Three or more if possible. Duos if absolutely necessary. But yeah. We're all together, Damien's holed himself up at the volcano, and there are few places left in the Carnival to run now that the expansion's stopped. Don't play into his tricks, don't let him get too much under your skin. We can do this, guys. We can do this."

"Fuck yeah we can," Toolshed said.

With no other interjections from Damien, and no other business to resolve, we began our final journey into Hell on Earth.

The volcano loomed above us, wide awake and gleaming red. Sulfurous smoke billowed from the mouth, and lava was making its steady descent down the sides, carving narrow crevices into the earth around it. Yet somehow the air felt no hotter, no more stifling than it had been moments before. The red haze of the Carnival had dissipated somewhat with the collapse of Attraction X, the Spaces Between having fewer cracks through which they could slip to impact our reality.

At the top of the volcano was built a metal stronghold, topped with an antenna and emblazoned with the GSM logo: the radio tower, Damien's broadcast station, where he could see and puppeteer everything from as omniscient a distance as he could terrestrially manage.

From all around us, he delivered one more broadcast:

"You may have bested Cerberus, Dagon, and the Leviathan. Well done. But let's make things a little more interesting."

The ground underneath us rumbled, and a stream of lava suddenly hastened its descent in order to carve a large oval in the ground around us, stretching out several yards. "What the fuck?!" I yelped, and shouted to my team to stay close. But we weren't being forced apart, we were being closed in.

Up from the ground shot walls of volcanic earth, heating and cooling in the span of seconds to create a semblance of an amphitheatre all around us.

The ground split open again at the opposite end of the amphitheatre from where the eight of us were standing. The ground hissed and a deep roar rose up from the pit.

And Damien, from wherever he was, said into the crackling speakers: "Showtime."

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Authors' Note:

South Park is -c- Matt Stone & Trey Parker.

If you are reading this, thank you so much for sticking with us! I'm feeling motivated to get this cross-posted over to ao3 as well, and to keep plugging along at this fic at long last. I wanted to get to it so badly during all these lockdowns/quarantines/self-isolations, but 2020 was a shit year for writing unfortunately (add it to the list of tribulations). But while the motivation is here we are rolling with it. Hopefully we'll be back much sooner than later, but we are, at least, nearing the end of this story. Sorry to keep you all waiting so long. Thank you so much for reading.

~Jizena, and RosieDenn

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