A/N: And at long last, I'm back! The world's gone crazier than usual, and I am absolutely okay. A hearty thank-you to all who reviewed, favourited and followed!

So, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Gravity Falls is still not mine, and neither are the collected works of H.P. Lovecraft, least of all Fungi From Yuggoth.

As it soon became apparent, the members of the zodiac had all been busying themselves with their own affairs when the impossible shape appeared in the skies over Cipheropolis.

Dipper and Mabel had been joyously scouring the markets for a DVD copy of Ghost Harassers; Wendy was leading her troops on an exercise run across the rooftops of the city; Pacifica searched the local clothiers in search of clothes fashionable yet practical enough for her purposes; Gideon did his best to keep his convalescing parents as comfortable as possible; and Soos and Robbie, meanwhile, were simply trying to make sense of the madcap city they'd found themselves approaching.

But the moment that colossal agglomeration of rust and gears pierced the clouds and blotted out the sun above Cipheropolis, everyone dropped what they were doing and made a beeline for the Rallying Flag Hotel. Even those of them who'd never seen or heard of the place until that day found themselves drawn directly to the Rallying Flag, following instincts they could neither explain nor resist.

Somehow, all of them knew – without even looking up – that the shape in the sky was headed for the hotel…

Dipper and Mabel were first to arrive on the scene.

The moment she'd realized that the panicked crowds had grown too thick to navigate, Mabel had turned to Dipper, ready to very carefully ask for a shape that would help them through the streets – only to find that her brother was already sprouting wings and close to seven feet tall.

Right, almost forgot. He's spent the last thirty years being the Shapeshifter; by now, transforming's easier than walking for him. Silly me.

So, she'd clambered aboard the giant hummingbird-like creature that Dipper had become, and they'd both gone rocketing away across the skylines, dodging chimneys and soaring over rooftops at a speed that would have left conventional aircraft in the dust. Given that there wasn't much to see apart from pollution and ad hoc architecture, Mabel had spent most of the ride alternately covering her eyes against the brutal gusts of air and giggling like an idiot at every violent swerve Dipper took.

Eventually, they'd skidded to a stop right in front of the hotel, Dipper's clawed feet striking sparks on the road as they did so. Then, as Mabel hastily dismounted and Dipper resumed human form, Gideon had burst through the hotel doors, hobbling as fast as his crooked little legs could carry him.

"What is it?" he gasped, struggling for breath.

"Your guess is as good as ours. Can you sense anything about it? I mean, there's got to be someone up there thinking about stuff, right?"

"Jheselbraum hasn't taught me how to reach that far just yet, so no thoughts or emotions so far. All I can tell is that there's a lot of minds in that thing, whatever it is."

"Perfect," said Dipper wearily. "Just what we needed: an invading army right on our doorstep."

Mabel patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Lighten up, bro-bro: we've got an army of our own, remember?"

"If you can call a few hundred undertrained refugees with alien weapons an army, then sure," said Gideon.

There was a chuckle from somewhere overhead, and then Pacifica hovered into view, still carrying a shopping bag in one porcelain arm. "Don't forget the telekinetic doll," she added blithely.

A moment later, Wendy landed smoothly on her feet next to them, having jumped from the top of the building just across the street; after a slight delay, the Society of the Enduring assembled around her, leaping, flying, oozing or simply lumbering into a battle-ready formation. "Is that the new-and-improved Fearamid up there?" she asked breathlessly. "Is Bill back on our trail?"

Dipper shook his head. "I dunno, the Fearamid looked pretty weird when they threw me out of it back at the start of this mess, but it didn't look that crazy."

"Besides," Gideon chimed in, "If that was Bill up there, he'd have attacked by now – blown up half the town, killed a few people, done something to terrorize y'all at the very least. Right now, that thing's just sitting pretty. Almost like it's… waiting for something."

"Waiting for what?"

"Good question. I don't have the answers right now, but…" Gideon's brow knotted suddenly. "Someone's coming," he whispered urgently.

Immediately, everyone tensed up, half-expecting a blast of Weirdness to erupt from the thing in the sky and wipe Cipheropolis off the map. When no city-levelling blast arrived and Gideon clarified that the 'someone' was approaching from around the corner, the Zodiac prepared themselves for battle: Wendy drew her axe; Gideon readied a derringer-sized blaster; Pacifica telekinetically summoned up an arsenal of debris; Dipper became Shifty again, and moulded his arms into a brutal pair of five-foot-long Swiss army knives; and Mabel prepared to summon up all the power she'd mastered so far (inadvertently breaking several clocks and watches throughout the neighbourhood).

But to their mutual surprise, the decomposing army that finally rounded the corner was led by two familiar faces.

"SOOS!" Mabel shrieked.

"Dudes, you have no idea how good it is to see you!"

Almost in unison, Mabel, Wendy and a suddenly-human Dipper broke ranks and tackled the mechanic to the ground in a titanic group hug.

"I'm here too, by the way," deadpanned Robbie.

"Oh, sorry. Little bit carried away there. Anyway, it's great to see you again RobAAAAARGH WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYES?!"

"And why are you surrounded by zombies?"

"And why do some of them look like Soos? And is that a zombie version of Dipper and mein there as well?"

Robbie winced. "That's a very, very long story. The short of it is that I'm a necromancer now. And blind. These dead guys see for me, and they've been helping us across the desert for the last few weeks. Not bad for someone who started off as a zombie shepherd, believe me. Now, it's my turn for questions: Dipper, why did you have Swiss army knives for arms a few seconds ago? Where did the army of mutants and the levitating doll come from? And what the hell did you do to your hair, Wendy?"

"Way to focus on the important details, Robbie," said Wendy, her gills flaring in exasperation.

There was a long and awkward pause, as the assembled members of the zodiac belatedly noticed the unearthly stillness that had suddenly descended upon them. By now, the streets were deserted, the people having either retreated indoors or fled for the outskirts of town; in any case, they'd taken all the usual hubbub of the city with them. In their absence, the refugees now watching from the hotel windows held their breath in anticipation, and the Society of the Enduring braced themselves for the worst. Even the shape in the sky had gone deathly quiet, effectively plunging all of Cipheropolis into a terrifying silence that only grew all the more arduous for the time spent waiting for something to break the impasse.

Then, without warning, something dropped from the chaotic jumble of tarnished mechanisms overhead and plummeted out of the sky like a meteorite; however, just before it actually hit the ground, it paused in mid-air about fifteen inches above the cobblestones and stayed there, hovering just above the street. Now that it was in full view, the object turned out to be a thirty-foot-long sheet of metal bordered with guardrails, equipped with a tiny stepladder and gate barred with a chain – making the whole thing seem uncannily like an amusement park ride to Mabel. There was even a little "YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO RIDE" sign on the railing.

For thirty seconds, the zodiac could only stare at the platform.

Soos was the first to break the silence. "Dude," he muttered, "Is it just me, or is that an elevator?"

"More importantly," said Wendy, "Is it a trap? I mean, it might not be Bill up there, but we still don't know who's in control of this thing."

"You didn't see the guy in the chariot, dude?"

"…what guy in what chariot?"

"There was a chariot dragging this thing across the sky," said Robbie helpfully. "I couldn't see who was in it, but I'm pretty sure it flew back inside. Maybe the driver's waiting for us."

Pacifica looked from Robbie to the sheet of metal and then back again. "Maybe it's a trap, or maybe not," she said at last. "Maybe this has been set up by Bill or maybe by something we've never seen before…. But if there's someone out there that's powerful enough to drag that thing around the sky, I don't think they'd need to bother with traps."

"Thank you," said Gideon smugly.

"Question is, who's going to put this thing to the test? I mean, there's still a risk of – Mabel, wait!"

Ducking under Wendy's arms, Mabel marched over to the waiting elevator, unclipped the chain and stepped aboard. A moment later, Dipper joined her.

"Well, that's over and done with!" said Mabel, cheerily. "Anyone else along for the ride?"

As a precaution, Wendy and Robbie left their respective armies guarding the hotel (minus the two zombies Robbie needed to see with); the seven members of the zodiac would be traveling minus their entourage for a change.

As soon as they were aboard and the chain was clipped back in place across the entrance, the platform rose suddenly into the air with a sharp jolt that nearly sent the zodiac toppling over. "Elevator" didn't really do this thing justice: the platform rocketed into the sky at a speed not seen since the extinction of commercial airlines. Within the first five seconds, they'd risen above the rooftops and were ascending steadily towards the clouds; ten seconds, the city's disorderly skyline looked like a jumble of cheap plastic models squatting amidst the world's biggest sandpit; fifteen seconds, and Cipheropolis was a dwindling blob in a haze of sickly yellow and grey.

Twenty seconds later, the shape in the sky loomed overhead, a giant clenched fist of pipes and gears and rumbling mechanisms and cables wide enough to span a city street. There was power around this thing, a spark in the air that Mabel had long since recognized as heavy-duty magic, and as they drew closer, they could just about hear the heavy throb of billions of machines tirelessly at work within the dilapidated walls. The more Mabel listened to it, the more it sounded like some giant iron heart furiously pounding away inside a steel ribcage, as if this floating piece of junk was somehow alive.

Then, just as it looked as though they were going to continue ascending until they crashed headlong into the base of the thing, a fifty-foot stretch of bulkhead slid apart, revealing a hatchway wide enough to encompass the entire elevator. Inside, the interior of the shape was at first nothing more than a shaft stretching sharply upwards, but as the elevator continued rising and Mabel's eyes gradually adjusted to the gloom, she realized that she could see machinery in the distance: giant smelting vats ablaze with light; welding torches sending hailstorms of sparks flying into the darkness; pneumatic pistons thundering ceaselessly for unfathomable reasons; and most tellingly of all, mechanical arms at work on robotic assembly lines.

It was, Mabel realized, a factory.

Eventually, another hatchway opened above them, and the elevator shivered to a halt in the centre of what had to be some kind of concourse: all around them, staircases and catwalks and elevators rumbled off in every direction imaginable. However, the next port of call was of secondary concern next to the army standing between them and the stairs. All around them, hundreds of misshapen semi-human figures stood in readiness, their bodies layered with glistening crimson armour, their pincer-like hands bristling with unrecognizable weaponry.

"What are they?" Dipper whispered.

"Rust Thralls," said Wendy, readying her axe. "I've seen them before: they're Bill's toy soldiers. If he wants entertainment and he can't be bothered making it himself, he sends the Thralls in to raise hell."

"Then why aren't they attacking?"

"Good question. Looks like they're waiting for something…"

"Or someone."

As if in answering, there was a loud crash from somewhere in the distance, followed by the sound of several dozen oil drums toppling over like ninepins. "Sorry!" hollered a voice. "Still haven't quite gotten the hang of the brakes on this damn thing. Just give me a minute while I put these horses back in my head…"

There was a pause, as the echoes gradually died away; for almost thirty seconds, the gigantic concourse was silent except for the sound of the wheels in Mabel's head spinning.

"Is it just me," she began, "Or did that sound like-"

"Who else could it be?" Dipper finished. "I mean, you remember the time he-"

"-backed the car into a dumpster and got it stuck to his rear bumper, yeah! But how could he be here?"

"Maybe it's another one of Bill's tricks. Maybe the Henchmaniacs are just using his voice to lure us in. I mean, we all saw what Bill did to him back in the Fearamid."

"Or maybe they're keeping him prisoner here," Wendy added. "For all we know, this was the playground Bill made foor him.

"Or, maybe… just maybe…" But of course, Mabel couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence: the tension in the air was so thick you'd need an ice-cream scoop just to breathe, let alone focus. She was so excited and simultaneously agitated, she could barely stand still; a moment longer, she'd probably start bouncing up and down on the spot out of sheer nerves.

And then, with a muffled roar of sound like the rumble of a passing freight train, a long figure rocketed into the concourse at an impossible speed, his feet not even touching the ground. Weaving past the ranks of Rust-Thralls, he descended less than ten feet from the elevator and landed on his feet with an earthshaking thud directly in front of the zodiac.

He wore the same clothes, the black suit with the bolo tie and the fez. He had the same build, the same broad shoulders, the same once-fit physique marred by a more-than-middled-aged paunch. A quick look at his hands confirmed that he had the expected number of fingers, along with the rough, calloused knuckles of a lifelong brawler. He even had the same heavily-lined face, the same cinderblock jaw, the same slightly-bulbous red nose… but for the longest time, Mabel couldn't quite bring herself to believe that it was really him. Even with the newfound sense of hope she'd found in the last couple of days, she couldn't quite forget the doubt and paranoia of her time in captivity – and neither could any of the other zodiac.

Then a jubilant smile erupted across the new arrival's face, and in that moment, there could be no doubt.

"Kids!"

"GRUNKLE STAN!" Dipper and Mabel shrieked in unison.

As one, the two of them leapt forward and engulfed him in a hug so powerful that it nearly sent Grunkle Stan toppling to the ground like a felled tree. "You," he laughed, "Have no idea how good it is to see you two!"

"Mr Pines, as a valued employee, can I get in on this group hug as well?"

"Aw, get over here and join the huddle, Soos! And Wendy, if that's you under the buzzcut, you're a Mystery Shack employee as well: join the hug!"

Soos and Wendy obediently piled into the hug, Wendy's newfound strength very nearly knocking the entire huddle flat on its collective backs. For the next minute and a half, the five of them could only stand there, hugging one another and too overwhelmed with emotion to speak coherently – all while the rest of the zodiac looked on in bemusement.

Eventually, Gideon coughed and asked, "Can we get in on the hug as well?"

"Gideon, if this is your way of asking for a job at the Mystery Shack, you might want to rethink the terms a little."

"Har har har."

"What happened to you, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked, as the huddle finally parted. "What is this place? And… why are your eyes glowing?"

There was a distinctly uncomfortable pause, as the faint glow in Grunkle Stan's eyes slowly faded. "Sorry," he said at last. "That happens sometimes when I get a little carried away. Long story. Oh, and don't worry if you see my shadow starting to act up: he's basically harmless."

Mabel stared down at the inky-black pool of shadows that Grunkle Stan cast on the floor; maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed to have more than the usual number of limbs, and all of them appeared to be reaching out for her. And… was something moving under Grunkle Stan's skin, or was that just a trick of the light?

"But how did you get here?" she continued. "How did you escape from your prison?"

"Easy: I had help. It took a lot of work, but Ford and me broke each other out and made it as far as this place: it's called the Forge."

"The Forge?" Wendy echoed, incredulous.

"You've heard of it?"

"Just about every single mutant and monster I've recruited has heard about it! This is supposed to be the place where the Rust Thralls are made, Bill's own private weapons factory. God, you know what you've done? You've just stolen Bill's own personal toyshop! But what about the Ruinous Toymaker? I mean, I've heard so much about him in the last few months, and no-one's ever seen him, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't just let you just walk off with this place."

"Who's the Toymaker?" Dipper asked.

Grunkle Stan coughed nervously. "Uh, yeah about that-"

"MABEL!"

Recognizing a familiar voice, Mabel turned around just in time for a human-shaped blur to slam into her at high speed. A split-second later, the glossy dark hair and the sweet, studious face of Candy Chiu was staring up at Mabel, arms wrapped around her in another crushing hug.

"Candy! It's so good to see yoAAAARGH YOUR EYES AND YOUR HANDS AAAAAARGH!"

Candy blinked, dull crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Oh," she said at last. "These things. The Toymaker gave me these. Aren't they great? I can see in infra-red! I don't even need glasses anymore!"

"But… but…"

Mabel's jaw flapped aimlessly in the air as she struggled to think of a response. Finding none, she looked to Grunkle Stan for answers. "By the time we got here, she'd already been halfway converted," he explained. "Whatever Bill did to her, it was bad enough that she thought volunteering for this stuff was the only way out of it. We've tried to talk her into letting McGucket patch her up with tank-grown replacements, but she just doesn't want to hear it."

"Why would I?" said Candy, grinning fit to burst. "I'm better now!"

"Hang on," said Wendy, her tone once again distinctly suspicious. "Why were you trying to get McGucket to patch her up?"

"I was just getting to that-"

From somewhere just above their heads, there was a polite cough. "Sorry," said a familiar Appalachian-accented voice, "But could we pick up the pace a bit? It's just that I've been waiting to introduce myself for a while now, and I'm feeling a bit stupid sitting here in the dark…"

Grunkle Stan sighed deeply. "Come on in, then; they're about as ready as they ever will be. Brace yourselves, guys."

And then he lowered himself into the room, and it took all of Mabel's self-control not to let out a yelp of shock at the sight: it looked as though someone had tried to make a centaur out of scrap metal, only to spill coffee all over the blueprints and end up making a lobster-human hybrid instead. From the waist up, the figure clattering along the wall towards them was still somewhat recognizable as a human being, if only vaguely. From the waist down, he was a metallic horrorshow of arms and legs, a pulsating, concertinaing mechanical nightmare.

But there was still no getting around the fact that, for all the extra eyes and additional limbs, he was still Old Man McGucket.

"Hello," he said, almost incongruously shy. "I'm told I used to know you. I hope you're not offended if I don't recognize any of you; Ford's been trying to help me remember, but it's still uphill work."

There was silence, as the members of the zodiac silently digested this.

"Is everything alright? You look a little upset."

If anything, the room grew even quieter. In the end, Wendy was the first to break the silence: "You mean after all the trouble we went to help you remember your past, Bill just wiped it away?"

And for the next ten second, everyone was talking was talking at once.

"Dude, please tell me we don't have to look for his memories again; I lost that dysentery chart a long time ago."

"Probably not gonna be as simple as that, Soos."

"Aw, I was hoping we'd get a second viewing of Robbie admitting he got bailed out by a twelve-year-old."

"Am I just keeping a tally of things I'm never gonna live down, or something?"

"But how could have he just erased all the memories? I mean, I'm pretty sure Bill doesn't actually have that kind of power over human minds. I mean, unless he actually operated on McGucket's brain and… oh crap, that's exactly what he did, isn't it?"

"Stop reading his mind, Gideon."

"But I wasn't! I was just thinking about it!"

"Then don't."

"Mabel, are you alright? You're looking really pale."

Mabel had no idea how she looked at that point, but in that moment, she felt as if she was on the verge of throwing up. Her stomach was slowly being squeezed from the middle like a tube of toothpaste, bunching itself up into one great big dumbbell of incoming puke. Ice-cold beads of sweat were gathering on her forehead, and despite the warmth of the concourse around them, she actually found herself shivering as the chill worked its way down her spine. What she'd witnessed had been bad enough already, but the implications were even worse; already, the all-too-familiar sensation of crippling guilt was pressing down on her, slowly crushing her into the floor with every passing minute. She thought she'd been able to purge it from her brain the moment Dipper had remembered himself, but now it was back again, worse than ever. And there was still one element missing from this particular reunion, one thing that she dreaded seeing more than anything else – because she knew it would almost certainly be the worst of all.

In the end, she had to ask, even though she didn't want to; the only alternative would have been to stand there and let the sudden silence eat her alive.

"Where's Grunkle Ford?" she asked quietly.

There was a distinctly pained pause. "He's… a little different now," said Grunkle Stan. "Getting out of prison changed him. A lot, actually. He's still in there, but it's a bit tricky to understand him, and sometimes he gets confused and…" He sighed wearily. "It's still him, okay? I just need you to keep that in mind."

He glanced over his shoulder and called out into the darkness surrounding the concourse. "Ford? You can come out now."

For a moment, there was only deafening silence. Then, from out of the shadows, a lone figure slowly floated towards them, looking for all the world like a marionette carried on invisible strings: nothing about him moved even slightly, his posture remaining completely fixed and his flight unerringly level as he slowly drew closer to them. Nor did his expression change at any point, instead remaining perfectly neutral even as he set eyes on the zodiac: no smiles, no frowns, not even the slightest hint of a raised eyebrow.

Eventually, he was close enough for Mabel to recognize specific details, and all at once the nightmare was coming true: he was dressed in black, just as he had been on the day he arrived through the portal, but instead of his old adventurer's gear, now he wore a heavy black cloak that looked uncannily like the skin of some hideous bat-winged monster draped across Ford's jutting shoulders. He still wore the tattered remains of his old turtleneck and trousers, but his boots and gloves were gone; his body was now so thin it seemed starved, and the flesh on his bare hands and feet seemed to have hardened into a rough, bony shell. But worst of all were his eyes: once full of life and always agleam with determination, now they were nothing more than pitch-black craters in his skull… and as he drew closer, Mabel realized that she could see stars in those empty sockets.

Dying stars.

"The mirror is intact again," he whispered, his voice a distant, rumbling echo of impossible sound. "But nothing can erase the cracks. Yes, the glass is cracked but so very clear..."

He paused, and then his lightless eyes seemed to focus on Mabel. Pale lips drew back in a ghastly parody of a smile, revealing teeth like marble tombstones set in dark grey gums, and in that moment, it took every last atom of Mabel's willpower not to scream.

She was dimly aware of Dipper's hand in hers, and the way that his grip seemed to warp and change as the seconds ticked by; it turned out that Dipper was so frightened that he was instinctively shapeshifting into any form that might help him escape or fight for his life, and growing all the more frantic as the possibilities gradually dwindled.

Then, at last, Grunkle Ford spoke again:

"Hello, Dipper. Hello, Mabel." Two oily black tears fell from his starry eyes and coursed along his cadaverous white face like veins. "It's so good to see you again."

Mabel opened her mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a choked sob of terror. A quick glance around her revealed that the others were similarly muted, all of them frozen in fear as Ford advanced on them; only Grunkle Stan and McGucket seemed unaffected.

"Ignore the oldest emotion: it is only an illusion of the senses."

Wendy seemed to recover herself first, and just about managed to gasp out the words "what are you talking about?"

"All who treasure life fear death above all."

"What?"

"You feel fear in my presence; the living instinctively kneel before death. Weirdness has altered you beyond the norm, and so you will gradually become immune."

"Like I said, guys," Stan reassured them, "It's still him. He just goes on these weird spiels from time to time. Give him a couple of minutes and he'll be back to his old nerdy self… for a while, anyway."

"But what happened to him?"

"The same thing that happened to all of us. Bill Cipher intended to break us: some of us he meant to remake us in his image; others he meant to destroy entirely… but we have beaten him at his games. We are now elevated, either through the gifts he offered by miraculous accident, and now we can take the fight to Bill."

"Great!" squeaked Dipper, clearly trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Let's form the Circle and get this over with!"

"The Circle is no longer an option."

"What?"

"The pieces of the puzzle are broken. The patterns on the pieces have changed. The ritual is useless now."

"Oh."

"The only recourse is war."

Dead silence reigned for almost a minute and a half.

Then, Robbie let out a flat mutter of "What."

"It can be done. You have an army. Gideon has an army. Wendy has an army. Fiddleford has an army… but more importantly, we all have power."

"But why is that?" Dipper asked. "Why did we get these abilities? I mean, I can kinda understand why Pacifica and I have powers; Bill gave them to us. And Wendy, she stole them from across the Wastelands. But what about Mabel and Soos? They weren't given any powers. And from what I've heard so far from Robbie and Gideon, they were only given a tiny bit of power so they could work or suffer."

"Weirdness changes everyone and everything. A curse placed on the land may leak into the bodies of those imprisoned in it. A meaningless gift may grow overtime."

"Ah."

"The important thing is that we are armed with powers… and those powers can only grow stronger with every passing day. Soon, these weapons can be turned against Bill himself."

"Alright then, General Patton, what's the plan?" Robbie snarled, rapidly losing his grip on composure. "How are we supposed to bring down Bill now when he's got the entire world under his thumb? The guy's all-powerful! We had a giant walking shack-mecha the last time we tried to fight him – well, Dipper and Mabel did, I was still a statue – and even that didn't work! How can we stop him on our own when he's basically a god and our best weapon isn't working anymore?! You're the genius here, so tell me! Give us some goddamn plans!"

"Robbie…"

"Sorry, but the point stands."

"I don't have a plan."

"Oh, even better!"

"I…" For the first time since he'd appeared before them, Ford appeared uncertain. "My mind… didn't escape the transition from Human to Other intact: there are distortions, fixations, elements that cannot be controlled. I cannot lead you to war. I can only advise you and fight alongside you. The task of leading must fall to those who have led before, to those who first took the fight to Bill."

As one, all eyes turned to Dipper and Mabel.

"You've got to be kidding me," they said, in perfect unison.

"Death cannot lead us to war. I-"

Suddenly, Ford's speech shifted and warped, the deep, monotonous syllables dissolving into a long stream of incoherent gibberish: to Mabel's ears, it sounded like the time Grunkle Stan had accidentally played that Bulgarian language lessons tape in reverse. It carried on for almost thirty seconds, and it only seemed to grow more incomprehensible as time dragged on.

"Sorry," said Stan, once the typhoon of gibberish had finally subsided. "He does that."

There was an awkward pause.

"You stopped Bill before," said Ford at last. "You can do so again. You led us before, even when all hope seemed lost. You can do so again."

"But how?" Dipper demanded. "We don't know if we're strong enough, we don't know how to improve our powers, we don't know where to strike first –"

"We don't know what we're doing!" Mabel concluded loudly.

Grunkle Stan shrugged. "So, what else is new?"

"There is one other thing I can do for you, before we begin. Bill chose four of us to act as his agents, his harbingers of doom in the wars against reality, and ordered the Ruinous Toymaker to build him an arsenal worthy of his favourite toys. These weapons can be turned against Bill just as surely as any of the powers we wield. And so, since Bill is no longer in charge of us, as Death I must present them – in the order I see fit…"

He took a deep breath, and the dying stars in his eyes flared into supernovae.

"COME AND SEE," Ford boomed. "Pacifica Northwest, step forward."

Without hesitation, the tiny doll hovered off the elevator and knelt before Ford, though it was clear to all and sundry that she wasn't sure why she was doing so. A good look at her face revealed that she was every bit as frightened as the rest of them, but for all her fear, she met Ford's gaze without the slightest tremor.

"And lo a black horse; and she that sat on him had a pair of balances..."

From the depths of Ford's nightmarish coat, an ornate wooden box suddenly floated out, opening itself as it did so. Inside sat a necklace of braided silver, adorned with a pendant shaped like a set of scales; and as Mabel watched, the necklace magically glided free of the box and draped itself around Pacifica's neck.

"A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine," said Ford. "Rise, Famine."

Pacifica rose to her feet – and as she did so, a ghostly, spectral horse sculpted from pitch-black smog poured itself into existence before her. After a brief echoing neigh, it immediately locked its hooves in position and stood obediently before its new owner, head bowed in readiness.

"Oh," she muttered. "That makes sense. At least I already know how to ride; guess I can thank mom for those lessons I took back when I was little. But what's this thing around my neck doing?"

"Enhancing your powers," said Ford. "Boosting telekinesis, matter manipulation. Fusing with your being on a spiritual level."

"Doing what now?"

"Consider it mark of your progress: from now on there are no such things as limits. Continue to train, and you will grow stronger still – and stronger yet beyond even hat."

"Fair enough. Does this guy here have a name or can I give him one myself?" She patted the horse's mane, eliciting a weird, echoing whinny.

"Bill had no care for names; they were meant to serve as tools. If you wish to give your steed a name, then do so."

Pacifica thought for a moment. "Onyx," she decided, stroking the unearthly creature's mane again. "I'll call him Onyx."

The horse let out a happy-sounding snort. Then, without warning, he dissipated back into a cloud of smoke and promptly vanished into Pacifica's left ear.

"W… where'd he go?"

"Back inside your mind. He will remain a part of your psyche until you have need of him, and then he will take physical form again. Now… Wendy Corduroy, step forward."

Wendy Corduroy stepped off the elevator, albeit far more warily; even as she got to her knees, Mabel could tell she was itching for a fight.

"And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to her that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto her a great sword…"

Another box emerged from Ford's coat, this one large enough for a baseball bat to sit comfortably inside… but what lay beneath the polished cover was, as stated, a sword – three feet long and unadorned except for a tiny scarlet gemstone on the pommel. But as Wendy grasped the hilt, the sword instantly erupted into blazing crimson flames, seemingly harmless to the wielder but almost certainly deadly to anyone who got in her way.

"A companion to your axe and a revelation to your enemies," Ford explained. "Rise, War."

As Wendy got to her feet, another spectral horse rippled into view, red as her hair and hissing with fiery vapour. It nudged her with its snout as it cantered over to her, practically bucking her onto its saddled back as it did so.

"WHOA! Okay, I guess this guy suits me just fine. I'll call him…" Her face went blank for a moment. "Khan," she said at last.

As one, Soos and Robbie offered puzzled-looking stares. Somewhere in the distance, the ghostly howls of a Canadian Ham rippled across reality.

"What? I don't sleep through all my history classes, okay?"

"Let's just hope he's a little tougher than the waxworks version of Genghis Khan we met earlier this summer," said Mabel, completely deadpan.

As if in answering, Khan whinnied happily.

There was a pause, and once again, the figure in the dark cloak seemed hesitant. "Mabel," he said softly.

"I get it, you want me to step forward."

"No, I…" A look of pain crossed the deathly features.

"I missed your birthday," he said at last, and for the first time since she'd seen him emerging from the shadows, he seemed like himself: the droning, starry-eyed parody of himself was gone, and in his place was the same shy, regretful man who'd been reunited with McGucket in the Fearamid so very, very long ago.

"I wish we could have found a better place for you and Dipper to celebrate it," he continued. "And I know I've caused you a great deal of pain and doubt over the last few months of linear time… but I just want you to know that… Dszg szkkvmvw gszg wzb dzhm'g blfi uzfog. R hzd dszg szkkvmvw, zmw R pmld blf nfhg yv uvvormt tfrogb yvblmw zoo rnztrmrmt, yfg blf dviv mlg gl yoznv."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked. "What happened?"

Mabel looked blankly from Ford to Stan. "You understood that?"

"You didn't? I actually thought that was pretty understandable by Ford standards."

"Grunkle Stan, he was talking gibberish again."

"I swear, that time every word out of his mouth was English!"

Ford coughed with a sound like a dozen coffin lids slamming shut at once, seemingly changing the subject.

"I know these are hardly the best birthday presents I could offer you – hardly something that's worthy of you as a human being; believe me, I know my brother can offer far worthier gifts, once we have time for a proper party. And I know both of my gifts to you have Bill's dirty fingerprints all over them, but Fiddleford and I did our best to make them worthy of you in spite of their origins. Besides, Bill expected you to be imbued with the powers of Mabeland, not of the Endless Summer; so we had to tailor them to you as you are, not as Bill would have wanted you. And so…"

Once again, Ford's eyes blazed with convulsing suns and bleeding nebulae. "And behold a white horse," he intoned. "And she that sat on him had a bow…"

Once again, an ornate wooden box slid free of Ford's coat – but at the same time, Mabel's grappling hook slowly floated out of her pocket and rose sharply into the air.

Mabel was halfway through opening her mouth to say something when she realized that there was now a stream of mechanical components emerging from the box and incorporating themselves into the grappling hook: whatever had originally been in the box, Ford was disassembling it into the parts of an upgrade.

What emerged was a gleaming masterpiece of polished steel contained within a handcrafted leather holster: the grip was polished ivory, the barrel was carved with indecipherable runes, the cable glowed with an unearthly blue light, and when Mabel unholstered it, it almost seemed to become part of her hand. It was astonishing; it was magnificent…

It was the Grappling Hook 2.0.

"And a crown was given unto her… "

Another box was opened, and as expected, a tiny gold tiara sat inside: it was a thing of beauty, studded with emeralds and formed into elaborate swirls of gleaming metal like the waves of an ocean. And at the very front and centre of the golden band sat a single garnet, vivid magenta in colour – the exact same shade as Mabel's shooting star sweater, in fact.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, smiling up at Ford.

She meant every word of it, because she could see just how much effort Ford and McGucket had gone to just to remodel the crown: Bill wouldn't have given her anything that would match her colours; Bill would have given her something horrific, the better to torture her.

A smile brightened Ford's pallid features. And this time, instead of simply allowing the crown to float into position, he took it out of its case by hand and fitted it very carefully onto Mabel's brow. Immediately, she felt a surge of power rippling through her being – a spark of energy hissing through her blood like adrenaline: immediately, her abilities felt much easier to reach, the memories that activated her powers closer at hand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"And she went forth conquering, and to conquer," Ford concluded reverently. "Rise, Pestilence… and always remember that you won your game: Bill never broke you."

And when her horse appeared before her, it was sculpted from pure light, a dazzling, handsome steed of incandescent brilliance that glowed brighter even than the horses of Grunkle Stan's chariot. But whereas Pacifica's horse appeared stately and dignified whilst Wendy's was just as much a go-getter as its rider, Mabel's horse seemed… cute. Huggable, really.

There was only one thing to call him, really. Maybe it was another way of proving to herself that she could every bit as whimsical as she had been before Weirdmageddon, maybe it was another way of proving that she really was a good person… or perhaps it was just because it sounded good to her.

"Sunshine," she said, smiling. "Your name is Sunshine."

The horse whinnied proudly, and in that moment, all the guilt in the world wouldn't have been able to outshine the sense of triumph that filled Mabel's heart.

Ford cleared his throat uneasily. "As it's your birthday as well, Dipper-"

In spite of himself, Dipper actually managed a laugh. "Please don't tell me I'm the Fifth Horseman," he said, shaking his head in bemusement. "I mean, you're Death, so I'm pretty sure there can't be anyone else after you."

"No, no. Of course, Bill might very well have meant you to become the Beast from the Ocean to his Great Red Dragon, but that's beside the point. The point is, it's your birthday, and I owe you a present…"

Ford stretched out his right hand, and in the centre of his stark-white claw, a ghostly image began to form: at first, it was merely a blurry, transparent mass of colours slowly coalescing into a single shape, but in a few seconds, it had solidified into a solid object – one that Mabel recognized at exactly the same time as Dipper.

"Journal 3!" he exclaimed. "How is this – how can it – I saw it burn with the other two!"

"Indeed it did. This is a memory of the book. Look inside and see."

Tentatively, Dipper took the offered gift from Ford's hands and opened the journal to a random page. "It's just as it was," he whispered. "Right down to the additions Mabel and I made over the summer. But…"

His eyes narrowed. "Hey, what's all this about McGucket and the Gremlobin? This wasn't in the book before!"

"Examine the final pages."

Frantically flipping through the book, Dipper only grew more incredulous as the seconds ticked by. "This is impossible," he said at last.

"What?" Mabel asked. "Why?"

"The last few pages here… they're talking about things that never happened: according to this, the memory gun trick worked, Bill was erased, Weirdmageddon stopped before it went global and we were able to restore Grunkle Stan's memories! Then we went home and Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan went sailing around the world!"

"We did what, now?" Stan bellowed.

"This didn't happen, Grunkle Ford," Dipper plunged on. "You know that, right?"

"Yes. But this isn't just a memory of what was lost. It's a memory of something that might have been. All of this could have happened, and in some worlds, it did happen… but Bill cheated."

Dipper continued leafing through the book for a moment, eventually stopping at one page towards the end. Very slowly, his eyes widened.

"My grandnephew's fears are unfounded," he read aloud. "All I feel toward him is love and pride. He is a wiser man at thirteen than I was at thirty. He has an incredible future ahead of him—one in which he will hopefully avoid repeating my terrible errors."

There was a pause, and when Dipper looked up from the book, his eyes were shining with tears.

"I give you this memory not only so you can look back on the good times, but also so that you can understand yourself. I know of the past you share with Shifty. I know of the self-loathing Bill cursed you with. When those doubts rise to plague you again, remember this book, and know that you are better than Bill ever was or ever will be."

Dipper opened his mouth to say something, but emotion had clearly gotten the better of him. Instead, he simply threw his arms around Ford. And Ford, once again seeming more like himself than ever before, could only return the hug.

It was a long time before anyone was in any fit state to discuss anything close to business: the revelation of the Four Horsemen and the shock that had followed had pretty much taken the wind of their collective sails.

Eventually, though, the question had to be asked:

"What are we going to do now?" Gideon asked.

Mabel and Dipper exchanged nervous glances, as they swiftly realized that everyone was looking to them for the answer.

"Well," said Mabel, "I was planning on just finding Bill and kicking him back to the Nightmare Realm, but I'm open to suggestions. Can we actually do that, by the way? Are we strong enough to tackle him by ourselves?"

"Not yet," Ford replied. "Our strength is still growing. Even I have a long way to go before I could casually challenge Bill's power. However, there is always a weakness…"

Dipper all but punched the air. "Great! Let's hear it then."

"When Weirdmageddon went global, Bill altered the fabric of our world to keep out certain higher powers. The alterations he made are enforced by creations of pure Weirdness: he calls them the Cipherous Runes, and for their safety, they are kept hidden within the Fearamid at all times."

"How do you know that?" Robbie asked, more than a little suspiciously.

"I can see them. My vision travels as far as death my go, and death surrounds the Fearamid at all times. And-"

"Don't tell me: a lot of people are being killed there, I get it. So what happens without the runes?"

"The higher powers enter, and Bill finds himself face to face with an enemy he cannot hope to resist."

"Mr A," Dipper whispered.

"So all we have to do is attack the Fearamid, destroy the runes and that's it!" said Mabel excitedly.

"Oh is that all we've got to do?" Wendy grumbled. "I don't know if you know this or not, Mabes, but the Fearamid's been beefed up a bit since we raided it. It's now the most heavily-defended place in the entire planet – probably the entire universe, come to think of it. The only reason why I escaped is because Bill wanted to watch me run. Even if he doesn't have the Forge on hand anymore, he's still got millions of Rust Thralls in reserve; he's got the Henchmaniacs; he's got all the weird, gribbly things that showed up along with the Henchmaniacs; worst of all, he's still got all the freaky powers over reality he had at the start of Weirdmageddon. Like Ford said, we're tough, but we're not that tough yet. We need a different approach."

"We can't just sit here doing nothing while we wait for our powers to level up, though."

"What about guerrilla warfare?" Dipper suggested.

All eyes turned in his direction.

"Well, think about it: Bill isn't all-seeing in the real world. He can still be surprised, right? You saw how we caught him off-guard during the attack on the Fearamid. So what if we try that again? We attack places important to Bill, lure in his Henchmaniacs and whittle them down. Repeat enough times, we level the playing field: eventually, we'll have more troops than him and maybe enough power to bring him down in a head-on attack."

"What could be more important to Bill than the Fearamid?" said Pacifica dubiously.

But Wendy looked thoughtful. "From what I've seen, Henchmaniacs have their hangouts; plus, Bill does leave the Fearamid to take in the sights every now and again – admiring his handiwork, most likely. He seems to be pretty damn proud of his creations out there."

"So if we started destroying them, maybe it'd be enough to get Bill to send in the troops!" As an afterthought, Mabel added, "It might not be perfect, but we've got a start!"

"Just one question, though," Grunkle Stan interjected. "What about all the people?"

"Sorry?"

"The playgrounds you're thinking of destroying – people are imprisoned there, right? So what are we gonna do about them?"

"He's right," said Robbie. "I wasn't alone in my prison: there had to be thousands of people in my neck of the woods alone, all locked up and working like slaves. If we start fighting out there, they're gonna get caught in the crossfire."

"Or worse," Wendy chimed in. "If Bill works out who's really attacking him, he'll do anything to draw us out of hiding – and the easiest way to do that'd be to torture or kill other human prisoners, then make sure we knew about it."

"How do you know that?"

A look of pain flickered across Wendy's face and vanished. "Way of the Wasteland," she said obliquely. "If you can't hunt the prey, bait the trap and make the bait scream. I've seen it done enough times by Henchmaniacs and bandit gangs. Done it a few times myself."

"Right, very creepy. Forget I asked."

"And even if he isn't planning on luring us in using innocent people, this is still Bill we're talking about," Dipper added. "We all know how petty he gets: the moment things start going wrong for him, he might just start rounding up any humans he can find and kill them just for the heck of it."

"So we need somewhere to put all these people," Mabel surmised. "Maybe we can hide them here in the Forge. I mean, this place has tons and tons of room. Plus, it's pretty important to Bill, right? He wouldn't blow that up if he got the chance."

Several tense seconds passed as they mulled this over.

"…Maybe we shouldn't make bets on what Bill would or wouldn't do when he gets mad," said Dipper at last.

"Agreed."

"What about the Shacktron?" Grunkle Stan suggested. "What if we strip the unicorn hair off that and use it to build a fortress for all the refugees. Sure, we might not have much, but maybe we can pull off that "bigger-on-the-inside" trick that they like to use around here, create enough room and shield it with the unicorn hair."

Soos chuckled nervously. "Uh, sorry, Mr Pines… but the Shacktron isn't an option anymore."

"Why not? It was pretty smashed up last I saw it, but if that unicorn voodoo's still in place-"

"Bill kinda rebuilt it into an evil robot body for GIFfany and had her chase me down."

"GIFfany?" Mabel echoed. "I thought she'd settled down with Rumble McSkirmish."

"Dude, I thought so to. I think she took it pretty hard when McSkirmish ran off to fight Bill and never came back. Long story short, her body got possessed by this weird talking oil slick called John, and I don't think we can get it back."

"The Black Signal," Ford intoned, his old self once again impossibly distant. "The Zero-Point Pathogen. The Sizzling Celestial Syphilis. The Dreamers' Dream was given a voice. Now it has a body."

"Is he alright?"

Stan sighed deeply. "Like I said, he does that sometimes."

"Well we need to think of somewhere to put all these people," said Dipper.

There was a ripple of musical laughter from the shadows. "What a coincidence," said a mellifluous voice. "It so happens that I have the perfect place."

Then, he appeared.

He looked human enough: in fact, from what Mabel could see of him, he actually looked quite pleasant – tall, dark and slender, always smiling and always jovial. Plus, after the muck and dirt of the Wastelands, the sight of his splendid crimson overcoat and tailored was almost refreshing. But as he drew closer, Mabel couldn't help noticing the faint ripples of power cast in his wake: by now, she could recognize magic energy almost on instinct, and this guy didn't so much reek of it – he sparked of it. Whoever he was, he wasn't entirely human – if at all.

"You!" said Dipper. "The man from Camp Acheron!"

"I saw you back in the City of the Dead!" Robbie exclaimed. "You were the one who taught me how to use my powers!"

"…The strange Dark One to whom the fellahs bowed… Silent and lean and cryptically proud…"

"So nice to see you again," the man chuckled. "Okay, introduction time: I've gone by many names in history – Nyarlathotep, the Black Pharaoh, the Crawling Chaos – but for now, you can call me Mr Carter… and I'm here to help you."

It took over an hour of complicated explanations before anyone was ready to trust Mr Carter, and even then, they insisted on keeping their weapons ready at all times.

And when he asked for a moment alone with Dipper and Mabel – or, as he called them, "your esteemed leaders" – to discuss their first port of call, Wendy nearly went into conniptions. After about twenty minutes of tense negotiations, they eventually allowed for a private conference, but not without leaving Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan on watch, just out of earshot but close enough to intervene if anything went horribly wrong.

Even then, Dipper and Mabel were very careful to stay out of arm's reach of the intruder in their midst.

And of course, they both had questions for their apparent ally.

"Why are you doing this?" Dipper asked, before Carter could get a word in edgewise.

"Because I thought the pertinent details should be heard by the leaders of this little resistance movement first."

"No! Not that – why are you helping us? Why are you helping Mr A? What's in this for you?"

"I have my reasons."

"You said Mr A offered you something in return for serving me a picnic; what is he offering you this time?"

"Nothing, at least this time. Frankly, I've earned all the favours I could ever need just by saving the sad silly bastard's life. If I wanted to, I could happily swan off to some tropical island in another dimension and spend the rest of eternity enjoying everything I could earn off Mr A's boons and never have to give a damn about Bill Cipher ever again. This time, I'm in this for my own reasons."

"And they are?"

"Oh, reasons."

Mabel let out a noise that could have made Bill Cipher himself jump in fright. "Oh would you just talk sense!" she yelled. "Stop being coy and tell us why you're doing this!"

Mr Carter chortled maniacally. "Oh, there's the Pines spirit!" he guffawed, clapping his hands with delight. "I'd worried that all the years of torment and hardship had eroded it, but there it is: the anger, the fire, the determination that can topple empires! Oh yes, I know I've placed my bets on the best horses in the hippodrome!"

"Are you gonna answer our questions or not?"

The chortling slowly subsided. "Perhaps I will, Mabel," he said at last. "Perhaps you'll understand better than anyone here."

"What do you mean?"

"We have something in common, child," Mr Carter purred. "We're both creators. Builders, artists, architects – whatever you want to call the vocation, we both take joy in creating something that will last, something that people can look upon and marvel. We both know what it is like to see our efforts take shape in physical form, to strive and struggle to extract meaning from the meaningless, to sculpt inert matter into something beautiful… and we both know the immense sense of satisfaction that arrives when we can rest from our labours and look upon our work. Nothing quite compares to seeing a masterpiece finished and saying to ourselves 'I did that. It was all me, in the end.' Nothing can take that away from you, not even Bill and all his tortures; that accomplishment will always be with you, gleaming in the dark like a beacon. You know what I mean: you've felt that rush of joy so many times, haven't you?"

And as disturbing as it was to admit she had anything in common with this impossible being, Mabel actually found herself nodding in agreement. Even in the depths of Mabeland, she'd been able to briefly take solace in drawing… and now that she was free, she had a shopping basket of wool and paints to look forward to when she next had a moment to herself.

"Thought so," said Mr Carter. "Yes, we each strive to create something wondrous. You have your sculptures, your sweaters, your dresses, and all those artistic experiments; and I have my designs, my long cons, my social experiments… but most importantly, I have a world."

"A world?" Mabel echoed.

"My home dimension. There is an Earth there, much like yours – but not quite like yours. Outwardly, its history seems identical to that of this one, from the rise of ancient Mesopotamia to the fall of the Berlin Wall. All the usual world powers are there, and all the usual political, social and economic foibles are in play. All in all, a world much like yours was before Weirdmageddon. But here's the thing: it's only come that far because I willed it so. For over seven thousand years, I have secretly helped shape the development of human civilization on my Earth, protecting it from the excesses of my fellow Outer Gods and the upstart forces of the Great Old Ones. True, there were a few stumbles here and there: the fall of the great empires, the Dark Ages, the great pandemics, the World Wars; there were even moments when my brothers and sisters made their presence felt. But I was always there to set things right: I worked on the Manhattan Project, but I ensured the Cold War never heated up. I allowed for minor conflicts, with the occasional bit of terrorism, famine and plague on the side, but never enough to endanger the entire world. I stacked the decks in humanity's favour, and because of that, the 21st century plunges onwards uninterrupted on my world: the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, the parties get longer and more debauched and all the more desperate, and the supernatural remains a secret. My world is safe because of me, Mabel Pines, and though the apocalypse is always forecast, no cataclysm disturbs it."

"But why? No offence, but you don't exactly seem like the kind of guy who'd do all of this out of the goodness of his heart."

"Quite so," Mr Carter chuckled. "You see, I've seen apocalypses many times before, Mabel: this isn't my first rodeo. And the important thing about the end times is that they represent a release. All the tensions, all the sorrows, all the anxieties and anger and obsessions and hidden madness a culture has accumulated over the centuries are finally unleashed in a colossal eruption of violence, iconoclasm and chaos. For a time, they live in a world where nothing is true and everything is permitted: any crime can be enacted, and any injustice can be set right. Regardless of whether the end was natural or artificial in nature, regardless of whether it ends in extinction or not, the past no longer has any grip on the world. All the fears that possessed the people have vanished – after all, the worst has already happened. And thus, the old trees of the forest burn, and new growth rises to replace them, and the people can live unhampered by the cloying grip of a bygone age… and that is something I cannot allow, not if I want that rich, full feeling of satisfaction."

"So your world's just another playground for you? You really are just like Bill, then."

Carter's head hinged backwards and split into a fang-lined maw, oozing flesh bristling with millions of dagger-like teeth. With a thrill of horror, Mabel realized she'd caught a split-second glimpse of the real monster hiding beneath Mr Carter's mask: this was a tiny preview of how he really smiled when he wasn't in disguise.

"See? You do understand me," he said, as his face slowly returned to normal. "Billions upon billions of years before humanity was born, I was once very much like Bill Cipher. For all I know, there are still a few interdimensional iterations of me that are still like him. Countless eons past, I lived a fairly simple life: I played my pranks, I schemed with the best of them, and I trampled the world under heel time and again from as long as my father remained asleep. But eventually, my games and stratagems ceased to entertain me. I could drive nations to war, turn brother against brother, have the babies strangled in their cribs and make the mothers drive their eyes out in despair… but what good would it do? Their suffering was so very short term, their deaths pedestrian and ultimately premature. In much the same way, an apocalypse ended the fun, cut short the suffering of my pawns. And so, I set my sights on much longer games with more rewarding stakes. So, I set out to build instead of destroy.

"The society I shaped from Earth's clay granted me a veritable theme park of suffering and despair: the people remain crushed in the grip of modern life, unsatisfied with mundane existence, frustrated by thwarted aspirations, and often never becoming aware of just how unhappy they really are. Every career leads to disillusionment, from science to the clergy. The mighty hunger for more, the lowly yearn for an escape, and those who try to make a difference are met only by apathy and contempt. Every now and again, I allow some unlucky soul to get a glimpse of the world beyond their own – Cthulhu rising from the ocean, Shoggoths lurking in the heart of Antarctica, the community of Deep Ones within Innsmouth, even my own little side-gig on stage – and they report what they see to the rest of the world. Nobody believes them, but on some level, humanity hopes that this time there will be an ending. But it never comes.

"Thus, my greatest achievement: a world that is forever teetering on the brink of the end times but never reaching them. The humans on my Earth cry out for release, for an apocalyptic climax that will free them from the endless cycle of suppression and disappointment, for the day when 'all the earth will flame with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom' as dear Howard put it. But it never arrives. The suffering of my world, my masterpiece, is eternal… as is my satisfaction."

"Or so I thought," he added.

Mr Carter paused for a moment, and for the first time since the conversation began, he seemed almost angry. "Now, Mabel," he said at last, "Imagine, if you will, the surge of anger and indignation that would flood your veins at the thought of someone – some spoiled brat with a god complex – barging into your home and casually destroying your best works. You'd be enraged, wouldn't you? Enraged and disheartened by the callous destruction of a labour of love, yes?"

"I suppose I would be."

"And can you imagine what might threaten my masterpiece in such a way?"

There was, of course, only one answer:

"Bill Cipher," Dipper and Mabel replied, in perfect unison.

"Exactly. Unbound by the laws of reality, Bill's madness threatens to spread beyond the boundaries of this dimension and infect others in their turn. And sooner or later, the Weirdness he pours into the multiverse will reach my Earth." Nyarlathotep let out a long-suffering sigh. "And so, for the first time in eons, my masterpiece is in danger, and I must act to ensure that my greatest success, my greatest joy is not consumed by the folly of an impetuous child with no idea of the doom he has brought upon himself."

In spite of herself, Mabel actually found herself grinning: it was odd to think of Bill Cipher that way, given that he was apparently as old as the universe, but somehow, the description actually worked perfectly for the demented triangle. She could actually picture him sitting up on the throne at the heart of the Fearamid, a gigantic blonde brat in golden silk robes, frying human slaves with a magnifying glass and throwing a tantrum at every setback.

"So that's why you're helping us? You want to stop Bill from wrecking all your hard work."

"Elegantly surmised, Mabel."

"What about this doom you mentioned?" Dipper asked. "What's Bill brought down on himself?"

"Ah," chuckled Mr Carter, "to understand that, you have to understand entropy."

"What has entropy got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Believe me, everything. But enough about that. It's time we talked of your next port of call: you have attacks to plan on Bill, and you have a human population to rescue. It's time we spoke of where you have to send them all. It's time to talk about The Cookie Jar…"

A/N: This chapter's soundtrack choice is In Golden Light, from The Secret World soundtrack

Gsv girxphgvi glow gsv gifgs gsrh grnv
Yfg srh vmwtznv'h mlg hl vzhb gl wvurmv
Uli vevm ru Yroo Xrksvi nvvgh srh uvzih
Zazgslgs'h dzprmt hgroo wizdh mvzi

Up next, the Cookie Jar! Any speculation on what it might be? Stay tuned, folks...