The great white hole in space had managed to turn into a blazing white light that surrounded Troy and Auron. Auron casually glanced around as Troy quickly shielded his eyes - for a moment, Troy had completely lost all sense of time and exactly what frame of such he'd actually entered the big nothing. Regardless of how long Troy had actually been standing there, he shivered as a frigid air quickly siphoned heat out of his body.

"...where are we." Troy finally spat.

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" Auron said with a chuckle.

"Laugh it up old man," Troy's shuddering grew more obvious by the second. "You're the warm-blood here, not me. What are we doing?"

Auron froze for a moment, looking over to Troy. "...are you alright? You look cold."

"Ugh," Troy wrapped his arms around his shell, not doing the body underneath much good. "What kind of living conditions are these anyways, do you actually FIND this comfortable?"

"Would you like it a little warmer?"

"Will you QUIT looking at me like that? Of course I'd like it warm... er." Troy trailed off as suddenly his body temperature rose back to a cozy level. Troy stared at his hands in disbelief, spinning around frantically again to see what had caused the temperate climate. The white void still withheld any answers.

"If you're done, we should probably get inside."

"Get inside wh... okay, you're seriously freaking me out here. Can you PLEASE tell me what's going on?"

"We're going to the Covenant headquarters, obviously. Right now though I'm just going to subject myself to your train of thought. When I say, we're going to the Covenant headquarters, this obviously wasn't what you had in mind. May I ask what you WERE thinking of?"

"Something a bit more headquarter-y than a gaping hole in space."

"Did you ever have an imagination to speak of?"

"Yes. Then the Vast ate my brain. Can we get on with it?"

"Sure, let's go."

Auron resumed his walk. Troy slid behind him, staring a hole through the rough red robes that tauntingly swayed back and forth.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Troy mumbled.

"Nope." Auron said flatly.

"Right, that was a stupid question." Troy glanced over his shoulder. "Dare I ask how we DO figure out where we're going?"

"Well," Auron continued. "You might consider this a whole lot of nothing, but then again if you were lost anywhere in a place you'd never seen previously you would interpret everything around you as nothing that you can actually make sense of. So if you wanted to regain your bearings, what would you do?"

"Look for a landmark."

"That sounds like a good idea. You'd want to look for a landmark representing the Covenant base then."

Troy slouched. "...saying it's a landmark would imply that I KNOW WHAT REPRESENTS THE COVENANT BASE."

"well, let's examine this in a more broad context then. If you wanted to enter a friendly compound where would you go?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"Surprisingly, no."

"Then I'd go straight to the front do..." Troy's face plowed straight into a cold metal object with a painful, low-pitched *dong*, sending him to the ground clutching his snout. "...UNNGHFF-" Troy looked up, trailing off as he saw what he had collided with. Sitting in front of him, between him and Auron, was a simple grey iron door. Auron walked around to the front of it, twisting the simple handle downwards. With a loud click the flimsy door swung inside. Inside was a dimly-lit metal hallway with heating pipes running along its roof. Auron heaved a sigh, turning to kneel down to Troy and offer him a hand.

"Now was that so hard?" Auron whispered aimlessly.

NSx: cHApTEr 10

305hlkfretsdfcbnm3klhp

tAkE ON ThE woRlD(s)

"Well," Auron rolled his shoulders, causing his robes to shift in a breeze that seemed to manifest out of nowhere. "I'm pleased to say that you've passed the first test of induction. I'm glad to see you have an open mind that's open to different forms of interpretation. Do you happen to realize how you managed to find the entrance to this hallway?" Auron tilted his head at Troy, beckoning him to follow down the brightly-lit yet lifeless corridor.

"You asked me what I'd do to get in... and... it looks like I did it." Troy trailed off, shifting his attention to the endless sets of doors that sat across from each other in the hallway. Only upon questioning the accommodations in his head did he realize that no end to the hallway could actually be seen.

"Willpower. That's a major asset in this field of exploration." Auron lifted up his hand, weakly flicking one finger forward. Troy blinked, and upon opening his eyes stumbled to a halt again. The end of the passage sat in front of the two; another simple door of the exact same construct of the others down to the pattern of blemishes near the turn-handle. "It's harder to pursue something without a latent urge to succeed, than it is to not have any lead whatsoever but a burning desire to realize its true scope. Comprehending the nature of this reality draws many parallels to the pursuit of knowledge on any front."

"So where did I happen to subconsciously whisk myself away to?"

"This is the prison dimension of Shambhala. Myself, I was like your friends in an earlier time... part of an endangered species, made up of people who both possessed the traits necessary to harness the powers of the keyblades and sought some resemblence of domestic order in this cosmic war at the same time. Fewer still were those that truly stood up to the insurmountable questions regarding their own identities in relation to these invaders. We banded together under common leadership, utilizing the Vast in the ways that Peach and the others will soon come to know, and crossed over to other worlds to gather and spread knowledge in return regarding the Heartless, Nobodies and Vast. You happen to be the latest to join our ranks."

"Well you can't be the first Keyper, that I already know."

"Of course not. But I was guided here all the same... by some forces more material than others."

Troy's stare remained fixed on the door handle. "So this Shambhala, what's it all about..."

"As you've obviously noted, the fabric of reality in Shambhala possesses an acute weakness to pure will. In layman's terms, its own physical construct can be entirely controlled through thought. I've given control over the exterior of our headquarters to you, and everything that you and I have witnessed is your perception of our installation. Obviously, you had no idea of what exactly it was going to be, and the building blocks of your personal entrance began to take shape as your determination to pierce your way inside settled."

"...that doesn't even make sense," Troy glanced away again. "What happens when any of YOU try to get inside then?"

"Well, see, that's the thing." Auron remained still. "There IS no single discernable physical entrance into our region of shambhala. We all fought our way in, so to speak, just as you just have. This experience in particular just serves as a prologue to the creation of your own private domain within Shambhala that happens to be linked to ours."

"...private domain?"

Auron slowly pivoted around, leaning his back on the door. "...Shambhala is not a natural occurrence. There are limits to the modifications that you are able to make to Shambhala, most of which are unexplainable by natural phenomeona and most likely held back by outside forces that still haven't discovered. There's a possibility that this patch of space-time was created and maintained by intelligent life that predates anything we've encountered."

"Go on." Troy mumbled.

"Well, with that said you obviously can't think anything into existence that COMPLETELY flies in the face of the physical laws of the universe or otherwise pushes those limits. That aside however there are a great number of paradoxes that affect our manipulation - although we can force it to create any physical dimensions that we please, all our efforts in Shambhala have been unable to create a space larger than 29345 cubic meters. We can synthesize machinery that we have seen and used while having absolutely no education as towards its construction yet not be able to create weaponry of any kind. All physical states of matter are under our command yet we are unable to create solids with a density or strength of molecular connectivity greater than that of industrial-grade steel. I could go on for days you see."

Troy strode towards Auron with a baseball bat in one hand. With one mighty swing Troy brought it down over top of Auron's head - losing his balance as he suddenly found his hand empty. "...wow, they've REALLY got every loophole covered."

Auron raised an eyebrow as he stood back on his feet, turning to plant his hand firmly on the final door's handle. "Now, if you'll beg my pardon, you should see what has been carved out of Shambhala thus far." Troy jogged forward as the handle twisted down with a loud click, and the hallway gave way. Auron lead the two out of the dank hallway and into what looked like an enormous hotel lobby, with jade-green ceramic tile flooring and towering walls of polished white metal. Pillars of black marble dotted the sides of the corridor, interrupting lines of fine leather couches and chairs. More doors lined the sides of the chamber, and at the far end an enormous plate glass window looked out into deep space.

Troy ground his teeth. "You just said th..."

"I know I did. And this is what I mean by anolomies," Auron began to walk forward, Troy jerking along behind him. "this chamber has actually been here since we first entered, and no one is able to manifest the powers of Shambhala within it. At the same time though it has been absorbing random thoughts from our subconsci and decorating itself as necessary. From what we've been able to surmise this is a commons of some sort. This space was already intended for habitation. By whom though, that's something we try not to think too hard about."

"And where do you go from here?"

"The antechambers connected to this room lead into the domains of the Covenant members. Those are the constrained spaces I just told you about. Each has been linked to its first inhabitant and visitors are not able to manipulate them without consent from their owners. More security measures we figure. That doesn't stop us, however, from creating more subchambers leading from this room, but if anyone tries to link themselves to a second room their first resets."

"You're telling me all this why?"

"Because soon you'll have one of these rooms to harness for your own purposes and to experiment with, obviously."

Troy cocked his head. "...and you're just fine with me playing Simon Says with the space-time continuum?"

"Haven't you been doing that already?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"I think that's all you need to know about this space for now, it's time that we moved on to the actual structure of the Covenant."

"The Covenant itself?..." Troy watched as Auron began to wander away. Auron stopped, slowly pressing an index finger and thumb against his temples. Troy watched with a blank stare as Auron hummed to himself, twitching as he returned to his stoic stance.

"The Red Mage, White Mage, Monk and Dark Knight are currently inside Shambhala. I will summon them here. Please, have a seat."

"The... what?... I'm just going to shut up this time and-" Troy turned to head toward the nearest couch, but nearly found himself nearly tripping over an endtable that sat immediately behind him. On it sat a pair of plates, one made up of various sliced meats and cheeses and the other with an enormous pile of chocolate chip cookies. "...oh what the hell is this supposed to be now."

"Something to break the ice with I'd assume," Auron glanced around as several of the doors around them began to click and shake. "The White Mage never misses an opportunity to show off her homestyle cooking."

One by one humanoid figures strode into the room from their respective openings, navigating to the center of the room where Auron and Troy stood and seating themselves accordingly. Troy looked them up and down, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact. He did a double take once he had realized that Auron himself had sat behind Troy, causing him to stumble back and fall onto the sofa next to Auron. "...wait... four people?"

"The Covenant is not an army," Auron mumbled. "It is an organization. This is not the entire ensemble; many of us are often out on missions or otherwise out on leave. We do have home worlds after all... well, most of us anyways." Auron planted his hands firmly into the cushioning, pushing himself to his feet. "...alright. I'd like to announce that the world we have identified as Plit is now relatively safe from Heartless and Vast incursions. This was not entirely my doing however. The organization that has been beating us to these contaminated worlds, and withholding information regarding said Heartless and Vast from them while arming them with the keyblades, has identified itself as the Nepenthes."

"Wait, what?" Troy blurted. "Exactly how many times has this happened before?"

"Not now," Auron shot back. "...anyways, it turns out one of their agents, referring to himself as Sirius, managed to supply our friend Troy Kiemen with an incredibly powerful keyblade which he has developed potent skill with. With some effort Troy was able to prevent a Heartless-Vast hybrid symbiote from driving a developing nation into open war with the most powerful monarchy of the region. Troy temporarily cooperated with Sirius to create a system with the world governments with which to identify and supply latent Keypers on Plit, but it seems that Sirius had overstayed his welcome and soon found himself losing trust with the local authorities. From here I was able to step in and pick up the slack, resuming development of the world's defenses against Heartless/Vast contamination while at the same time administering Organization knowledge to the general public as per protocol A30B. My return was hindered by repeated attempts of a Nepenthe-grounded organization of off-world Nobodies to steal away the Chronicle keyblade from Troy, during which I scouted him as a potential candidate for Covenant membership. Needless to say I was extremely pleased with his performance both in combat and as a diplomat between the various kingdoms of the world concerning matters of the symbiote contamination."

Troy slouched forward with his head resting on a palm.

"It is for these reasons and my own personal reccommendation that Troy be instituted as the Warrior paragon."

"The who and what?" Troy jerked back to an upright position.

"In the process, though, I would like all of you to introduce yourselves and gradually relate your experiences with the Covenant to him, such that he is able to process his purpose for being here and his responsibilities in the future. Allow me to start. I fir... Troy, stop it."

Troy sat with the plate of cookies on his lap as he systematically demolished them. He wiped crumbs off his mouth, spewing out more as he spoke. "...ofh, that'sf fhine, go aheafd."

"As Troy already knows, my name is simply Auron. I am the Covenant's Samurai paragon and in charge of off-world preemptive security injection and counseling, and assist with membership maintenance and recruitment. I am trained in negotiation and diplomacy, but moreso, the arts of the great katana which my keyblade, the Muramasa, takes the form of."

Troy and Auron's gazes shifted across the gap between them and the other veteran Covenant. A young woman on the end stood up and stepped forward, barely five and a half feet, dragging a bright burgundy ponytail behind her that nearly touched the ground. Her eyes shared the same color, but both ultimately clashed with the dull-blue snug-fitting leather jerkin and dark khaki shorts.

"Hi!" she bowed her head. "My name's Monica Raybrandt. I'm the Covenant's Red Mage paragon. I don't know what to say beyond that I'm another diplomacy buff, besides that it's a lot more exciting for me to gloat instead that I probably know your keyblade better than you do and I can help you maintain it and keep it in tip-top shape. My weapon of choice is the longblade, with my Daedalus keyblade shifts into, but I think I'm pretty handy with general purpose magic myself."

Troy frowned as everyone's stares shifted to a slightly-annoyed and shirtless Nightmare, nearly fully collapsed in the sofa. His arms lied limply over the top of the back cushions, his heavily-armored greaves sticking out far into the aisle and crossing at the ankles. Nightmare scoffed as he and Monica exchanged annoyed stares, and emitted little more than a grunt when Troy's eyes crossed his. Troy's inflicted Nobody-wounds seemed to ail him little anymore.

"Siegfried, are you just going to-" Monica snarled.

"Oh, it's okay..." Troy said weakly. "We've... met."

"Where are the oth... oh." Auron's gaze shifted to the nearest sofa on Monica and Nightmare's side, seperated from the other by one of the room's gigantic pillars. "What are you two doing over there?"

"If Sieg didn't have as nearly a fat ass as he does, we might have been able to have a face-to-face discussion." a gravelly voice came from a fiery-red rodent-like humanoid, his stare drilling a hole into Troy even harder than Nightmare's. He sat in a similarly-relaxed manner, folding his arms and crossing his legs. The heels of a pair of buttoned green-yellow sneakers bobbed with dull clicks against the lobby floor, and a pair of spike-like growths shifted along top of the knuckle areas of his flexing fingers, concealed in single-unit white gloves. Behind his head was an uniform strip of dreadlocks.

Troy moved forward as the veteran extended an arm out to him, stumbling again to a stop as he realized his target was now standing immediately in front of him. He exchanged a sheepish handshake, leaving his thumb limp in an awkward attempt to avoid gouging it on the bony spikes on the topside of the receiving hand.

"Your chakra's pretty good. I don't think we'll have any issues."

"Whuh?" Troy huffed.

"Knuckles the echidna, Monk paragon. You're probably at the point where you couldn't fight your way out of a paper bag without your keyblade, but we've all been there. I can help. I wield the Sphairai... when I remember to, anyways."

"We make him get that part over with, typically he doesn't know what to say," Monica sighed. "Usually he'll just start punching things instead. Or take you to his room so you can watch him sit cross-legged in a coma."

"I'm pretty sure the term is meditating." Knuckles suddenly backed off again, glaring a hole through Monica as he slumped back down onto the sofa.

Troy stared blankly into the air as more grumbling between the Covenant seniors carried on in the background. Slowly he turned his gaze to the far end of Knuckles' sofa, where the last present member waited. A girl sat with her stubby legs barely reaching over the edge of the sofa cushion, clothed in white and red pantaloons that covered all but the tips of her boots. She was wrapped up in a similiarly-styled doublet, pearly white with inward-pointing red triangles embroidered around its edges. A simple beige cord tied the jacket together in the front. Her head was disproportionately large, making up a large portion of her 3-and-a-half feet. Her skin was darker than the others, broken up by a black button nose, bright red eyes and fiery red hair that was tied into a short ponytail at the back.

"Is this?..." Troy pointed at her.

"Her attire does make guessing a little easier I suppose." Auron answered.

"Ah, okay," Troy turned back, matching gazes. "White Mage, your cookies are AWESOME."

Her eyes suddenly widened, and just as quickly she shrunk reclusively backwards, hiding a blush. "T-thank you."

Auron picked up after another awkward silence. "Fires of the Vana'dielian Tarutaru race is the White Mage paragon. She knows a fair amount of magic but specializes in the healing arts. Proficient users of white magic are few and far between across the universe, magic that often fills gaps that our technology cannot. As a matter of fact, she is passing her skills onto a small number of disciples from previous worlds we have 'won'."

Troy looked around again, slapping his hands together. "Well! It's great to be able to meet you all, an..." Troy fell limp again as he watched the welcome wagon rapidly come apart at the seams, all already at least halfway to their respective doors. He ground his teeth and turned back to Auron.

"I apologize," Auron mumbled, adjusting his spectacles. "it's just that by now they are terribly used to my... recruiting drive. Not many possess the fortitude to endure our travels; physical, mental or both."

"Your membership DOES look a little lacking..."

Auron slouched slightly. Slowly his head turned to one of the nearby doors, and he raised a pointed finger to it. "That is your room. If nothing else, you should be pleased with its... accommodations after you are done mentally altering it."

Troy cautiously closed the gap between himself and the door. He gave a sheepish look over his shoulder as his hand rested weakly on the door's handle. Taking a deep breath, he twisted it fast and threw it open - and was shocked by what he saw. He jogged in, glancing around in disbelief. What lied inside was a perfect copy of his shoddy, wooden-board-construction Koopa Troop barracks hall, although only the bunk at the far end had a trunk at its base. Even the window on the far wall remained, giving an open view of Last Chance Ramparts' parade grounds. Any discussion of the room's physics were tossed to the side as Troy leapt to the opposite corner of the room.

"OmigodomigodomiGOD!" Troy hugged one of the parked go-kart's rollcage struts. The vehicle was parked in the open corner, in flawless condition.

"...like you subconsciously entered Shambhala, you created a room representing your most tangible definition of home. As a result, copies of all your personal belongings exist here... although I was expecting something a little more extravagant."

Troy's attention shifted to the window. He clasped his hands down on the sill, sticking his head out. "...I thought you said we were under area constraints."

"From what the others have told me, an intricate series of spacetime inflections and gravitational anchors are what create the illusion of outside areas, if people desire them. In other words, I wouldn't climb out there if I were you."

"Sorry." Troy lifted his leg back inside.

"Unfortunately I'm not able to give you a conclusive explanation on how to manipulate your chamber as you see fit... although you may find that it shifts around with your subconscious thought."

"I'm comfortable, thanks." Troy already lied on his mattress, clicking his heels against the foot of the bunk's frame.

Auron and Troy twiddled their thumbs and ankles respectively.

"...now what?" Troy mumbled.

"What?"

"Now what does the Covenant move onto now that I'm here?"

"We repeat the cycle. We make ourselves known to worlds that the Nepenthes try to propagandize, and we continue to battle them until we can figure out what it is about us seeking our hearts and civilians maintaining contact with the Vast that angers them so."

"So I might be giving someone the same mentorhood you gave me."

"Inevitably so," Auron looked to the 'window'. "For now, though, rest. Until that time comes you may do what you wish as long as you remain within Shambhala. Eventually you will be able to create rifts leading in and out of Shambhala and thus be able to return to worlds you have previously visited, Plit included. First however, you will require a great deal of training in order to do so safely and securely."

"After all this... I'm going to have to take you up on that offer." Troy weakly rolled to the side, slumping over the bed. Auron nodded to him, pivoting and exiting the room. The door clicked shut and fizzled in the air as it, too, took the form of the barracks entrance.

All the while, Troy stared at the wall with tired yet unclosing eyes.

Dull, awkward clunks, migraine-inducing and aesthetically unpleasing, a hammer being lifted and dropped with no target in sight. Soft blue lights rose from the darkness to look upon the sad state of affairs, dimming again as their emotion died down and resigning to hang in the air to create an aisle of shame. The translucent floor shimmered and shined, no ill effects being visited upon it as a pair of gigantic plated legs limped along top of it in agony. A grotesque pile of soldered and bolted panels made up the golem that trodded on the gleaming surface. A cracked black orb with a variety of lensed eyes sat at its peak, held up by a mess of tubes and wires that alternatively pulsed energy and viscous liquids through it. More sparks of light appeared up ahead, quickly moving about and turning in forced 90-degree paths to form a crude circle. Below, countless stars painted the cosmic landscape, far away and threatening to consume everything all at the same time.

Standing within the pattern, a tall, lanky man draped in loose-fitting jeans and a tattered, torn black bomber jacket continued to dab a long cigarette in and out of his lips. He glanced over his shoulder as the abomination closed in on him, making his dark shades glint and causing his grin to give off an unearthly light as his jagged teeth tried helplessly to interlock in some coherent manner. "Well well well. What do we have here... you can stop where you are, and give me a hearty thank-you for keeping your fuckin' iron lung there in tip-top shape, it seems you're taking pit stops more and more lately aren't you?"

"UNNGHHHHHGHH." Unknown machinery from within began to screech and scream in self-conflict.

The other man haphazardly let the cig drop from his hand, crushing it with his heel before moving towards the automaton. "How cute. What did they call you this time? I bet you have a heartwarming story of how you were some world's savior until the big bad Keypers decided to grow a brain and see through your halfass diplomacy." he leant forward, cupping his ear to the machine. He flinched back as it let out another anguished, hissing cry. "...SIRIUS! What the hell kind of name is that? See, this is why you've experienced SOME degree of success in making people shut up about dimensional ruptures, but that would never last, no. You have to have a badass presence, and you have to take badass measures! Raise your fists up high, tear the heavens, and drop those bombs on anyone that gets any fleeting idea in their tiny heads to oppose you! That's how the Lantz does his shit!"

Lantz looked over in another direction as a loud squeak echoed in the infinite. A bored-looking Tarutaru girl sat half-slumped over a beanbag chair that had not been there seconds before, with her head resting in one palm. She had a head of slicked-down, pale blue hair that was tied into two smaller tails at the sides of her face, and hollow pupils that made it difficult to imply anything besides an agitated glare at their target. "You sure took your sweet time. No victory trophies either."

"You cold-hearted spiritual entity you!" Lantz suddenly spun around again to face the life-support system. "You've been gone how long and you didn't even think of bringing back Tetron some souveneirs!" he flapped one of his straw-like arms out, glancing at an enormous wristwatch. "...1435 years! Am I going to have to instate a curfew young man?" Lantz goosestepped over to the golem as it began to convulse. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Tetron watched with a raised eybrow as Lantz stuck his ear into the robot's face once again. Lantz's facial expression contorted all around as if he were computing one long insult in response to whatever the machine's interface was explaining to him. Lantz lurched back as if he'd eaten a hook to the gut.

"Hahah. Hahahaha! HAHAHAH!! Man, you are totally off your goddamn ROCKER! Well, I assume I'd be too if my physical representation died every couple years! You're sayi-ahahah... oh, I'm sorry, let me start again... E-Ederick and Ameile are running around kicking ass and taking names you say... I assume Mother Goose is going to send some of her emissaries out now that other childrens' tales heroes are making the jump into the real-world market! You DUMBASS." Lantz planted one hand firmly onto the plated chest of the abomonation and pushed. Every hydraulic system within the construct jerked forward at once and it collapsed onto its back with an earth-shattering crash. "Wait until the Master figures out what you've been doing..."

A thrum of machinery filled the air and a dull blue light washed over all three. Inbetween Lantz and Tetron a large glass cylinder had appeared, its own wiring having entrenched itself into the floor at a moment's notice. Within the sickly azure liquid that filled it, bobbing and swaying, was a smaller yet more physically built humanoid figure, that of a young man. Pale grey hair floated upwards around his head, but attention was suddenly shifted to one of its cold blue eyes as it opened. "...dare I say..." an apathetic, computer-generated voice slithered out of a loudspeaker on the machine. "...Lantz is right in this case. I see from the contents of your post-operation databank that you have quite the theory as to why Ederick and Ameile could exist within NSX. However..." the speaker crackled as suddenly several holographic screens appeared in the air, displaying a smorgasbord of archival clippings, biological data and text passages from an indeterminate time.

The speaker clicked again and its operator seemed to completely ignore what was being laid before him. "...theories are not evidence. Nor are legends. The saga of Ederick and Ameile is merely an instrument of morale, something that reaches all around the inner workings of NSX and gives us hope that Outer Creation can and will be salvaged someday from the Great Dark. They are, for lack of more eloquent terming, the prototypical wielders of the keyblades. And thus an example of the proper ones, I might add. I am not entirely certain what besides incompetence stopped you from retrieving Troy Kiemen's keyblade after it became clear that his ambitions were being corrupted, but I- yes, I am fully aware from your data entries that the Troy entity was both assaulted by rogue keypers and protected from you by many others. But the information he and his cohorts managed to distribute around World RTT-X9, known as Plit in common nomenclature, has already done an incredible amount of damage to its sterile nature. The large number of unearthed keyblades, combined with Troy and his comrades' influence, will inevitably lead to large-scale offworld exploration in pursuit of greater knowledge regarding the Heartless and Vast. You will remain here under my watch until I decide where to best use you. For now, Lantz and Tetron will carry out intervention operations in your place."

Lantz pumped an arm in the air. "That's what I like to hear. We'll be waiting on your call, big man."

Tetron bowed. "I could use some fresh air."

The android's head creaked to focus its lenses on the two as they vanished into paper-like rips in the air. A loud crackle echoed throughout the endless chamber as they violently crumpled into themselves. Silence loomed like an oncoming tidal wave, although to the two that remained it may as well have been vinegar washing over them.

"...you waged a mighty battle to prove your sentience," the man muttered through the sound system. "but my patience is wearing thin. You gave it to him. You gave him your power, the Soulscreen. If he were to ever fully learn of its proper use... the results could be catastrophic towards our cause. For you to grant him such boons under the premise that he is Ederick incarnate... it is nonsense. He is no savior, he is merely one of many that wish to turn NSX on its head in the pursuit of selfish, harmful truths. Were you not one of the most destructive weapons in the galaxy, I would say that you are rapidly becoming a liability. Now... I must think of a way to resolve this ordeal. I would like to make one more thing clear before you are dismissed."

The speaker coughed out another blast of static.

"...your memory lapses and identity crises resulting from Soulscreen transfer notwithstanding, you are Belphegor, one of many Genesis Devices. Such is a fate that you ultimately cannot avoid. Your lone-wolf self-righteous heroic antics must cease."

As quickly as the preservation container had appeared, it was gone. Belphegor sat in the light of the stars, a silent scream radiating out from his electronic mind as the twinkling lights around him gradually died out around him and he was swallowed again by the darkness.

A bright red speedbag flew around in a chaotic circle as a flurry of white fists slammed into it. If one had examined it carefully, its entire surface was coated with pockmarks from what seemed like years of abuse from spiked knuckles. Knuckles continued to slam the training instrument around, letting out dull grunts. His entire chamber had been converted into a small gym, with concrete flooring, bordered with bright orange drywall. A series of small muscle-training machines and bicycle/stairtraining apparati lined one wall, with nothing but a small cot for resting on the other side. Knuckles glanced over as the rapping of metal rang out, still not giving the punching bag a moment of rest. "C'min."

The door creaked open, on Knuckles' side made of a white hardwood. Troy sheepishly stuck his head in, suddenly forcing himself through as he was instantly bewildered at what he saw. "What's all this?"

"My idea of comfort, that's what." Knuckles delivered one last hard punch to the bag, nearly sending it flying off its support as he stepped out of the way. "How can I help you?"

Troy rubbed his head. "...sorry. I just didn't know exactly the scope of difference between peoples' rooms in here when Auron said that they bent to their owners' wills." Troy's gaze turned to the rickety cot. "...really?"

"Was Monica's idea. I was fine sleeping on the floor but you know how women are."

Troy cleared his throat. "...well, anyways... I figured I'd just explore a little, get to know the neighbors a little more."

"Most of them aren't home." Knuckles grunted.

"...ah." Troy tilted his head. "Monks aren't quite social butterflies, I'm aware, but you don't have to be an ass about it."

"Heh." Knuckles smirked. "Looks like you aren't so fragile yourself. I think we'll get along just fine."

"Well now that we've broken each others' shells here, I actually DO have to get to know my neighbors. Was your journey here as screwed up as mine?"

"Do you know what makes me a Monk?" Knuckles grumbled.

"Do enlighten me." Troy shot back.

"On my world, before the entire spiel with the Heartless and Vast, I lived alone on a great floating island in the sky of the world of Mobius, guarding a gem of power that was never supposed to fall into the hands of... well, anyone else who knew that it could pump out enough raw energy to power the entire planet for eons, really. It was the duty of my father, my father's father, my entire ancestry. There I remained as they once had, shut out from civilization as a whole. If it weren't for the continuous stream of people on their way to kill me and claim it for themselves, well, maybe then I actually would've felt lonely or something. There were some that aided me... but not many."

"What happened?"

"...it's easy enough to foil the plans of whatever mad scientist or entrepreneur or corrupt military leadership or corporate entity, but... then, THEY came. The Heartless and Vast... I had spent my entire childhood training my body and cleansing my mind to become a deadly weapon, but that ultimately did little to stop them as they quite literally swarmed over the rock I called home and spirited the artifact away. I'd survived the onslaught, but everything I had worked for, what I had been told to live my whole LIFE for had blinked away in an instant and there simply was no direction for me to turn anymore, or anything for me to do for that matter. I lived as an outcast, and at that moment, an outcast without purpose. Auron came to me, and while I was a little skeptical of his timing, we began to search for evidence of it and those that had taken it... but in the end, I didn't even know if it WAS such a bad thing that the responsibility was off my back. I mean, they're just out there chewing on it for all I know, and it's obvious that they don't even know how to actually HARNESS it to blow something the hell up or whatnot. As a matter of fact, they had literally swept in there, taken the stone and left Mobius entirely. We assumed that it simply contained a metric ton of life force within it and it acted as a bugzapper to them. They swooped in, got distracted by it, and zapped it out while leaving the rest of the world intact."

"...that would make sense," Troy mumbled. "The Heartless and Vast don't even know what hearts they're actually looking for, so they could just take a big convenient mass of energy and chew through that hoping to find something of relevance... but, why are you here then? I thought you said you wanted that responsibility off your shoulders anyways."

Knuckles had already started digging in his earhole with one of his spikes. "Hello? I'm not going to keep this story going if you're not going to listen. What the hell else was I supposed to do? I had no other place in that world, I'd been stuck on a big floating rock in the sky for 20-odd years with no other life skills beyond flawless senses of hearing and smell, and the ability to beat the living tar out of anything that moved. Of course I was going to put myself to work for Auron, who already had another path of justice for me to follow. Oh, and that whole self-heart-discovery thing. I wager there's a bit of revenge mixed in there somewhere too."

"Well, I can't say that this whole explanation is any less absurd than mine." Troy muttered.

Knuckles shook his head. "Yeah, that's kind of why it's a DIFFERENT WORLD. I know you've been here for all of half an hour, but I don't think you're totally understanding the implications of those two words. Do you happen to know what gravity is, and what happens when you go somewhere where it's different?"

"Not a clue."

Knuckles snorted back a chuckle. "Boy, you're in a for a shock. Now, anyways, be happy I've given you most of my nitty-gritty, because now you have to tell me yo-" Knuckles threw his arms in the air as several heavy pounds made the door thunder. "WHAT IS IT? WE'RE KIND OF BUSY IN HERE!!"

The door swung open, stopping perfectly at a 90-degree angle with the wall. Auron was already halfway through putting his overcoat back on, but he still kept one hand free in order to push the bridge of his spectacles up. "We have a situation."

Troy sat back on the same sofa as before, taking up more than half of his as he slouched with his legs spread far apart and an arm slumped over the back of the couch. Everyone else returned to their own respective seats, with the exception of Fires, who was now accompanied by a young man and woman draped in blue and pink doctors' scrubs respectively. Auron stood in the center of the chamber, near a black marble desk that everyone had subconsciously coaxed the lobby into providing for what would hopefully one of their regular meetings.

"I'm going to keep this as brief as possible," Auron mumbled. He waved his right arm weakly in the air and a series of holographic displays flashed into the air. "Several months ago the Cornerian military of the Lylat system had one of its smallest satellite worlds, Fortuna, cut off from homeworld communications. The radar station there housed fewer than 100 Cornerian staff and comprised over 70% of the planet's actual population. We had successfully intercepted a small-scale Heartless symbiote swarm responsible for the attack on the facility and managed to secure 3 abandoned keyblades near Fortuna's south and north poles for their use."

"And we're recalling this why?..." Siegfried grunted.

"A nearby space atoll is now experiencing the same phenomeona." Auron drew a circle in the air with his finger, somehow causing the screens to link up in a 3x3 square. A three-dimensional map of what appeared to be the Lylat solar system filled the composite screen, tilting, turning and finally zooming in to a neighboring sphere. "Katina, the desert jewel of Lylat. Katina employs even fewer military staff than Fortuna, largely due to its uncomfortable proximity to Solar, Lylat's central yellow dwarf star. Nonetheless, Katina's orbital relay station remains one of the keystones of their inner-system ballistics defense. As most of you are aware, in Lylat there is an ongoing civil war between Corneria's space navy and a large guerilla faction lead by dishonorable discharges from Corneria's highest tiers of research and development."

"And you're going to say that this thing was hit by a spaceborne mass of Heartless or Vast or something." Knuckles interjected.

"Well, that was literally what I was going to say," Auron sighed. "Corneria does have a modest keyper presence, but none that can react to this situation in a feasible amount of time. An emergency broadcast has just pulsed over Lylat's second quadrant, and the damage description therein matches that typically caused by a Heartless hive. From our past keyper scouting operations in the Lylat system we still retain connections with their chief of defense, and they have agreed to grant us top-level security access as long as it takes to purge the Heartless. This doesn't look like a terribly deep infestation..." Auron paused as the four screens in the bottom-right of the array blinked to show what appeared to be the blueprints of the structure, with an oozing, inky-dark patch washed over its bottom. "...but we must deal with it before it grows into something more troublesome."

"Go in, stab things, cut out. Works for me." Troy slapped his hands together as he rose to his feet, and started to head towards the main lobby door. He flinched as Auron cleared his throat.

"I will be sending three members on this mission." Auron folded his arms and surveyed his audience once more. "This should be a fairly tame exercise, so I would like Troy to be one of them, for orientation purposes."

"Me, new guy and Monica." Knuckles tilted her head towards the latter, who nodded in confirmation.

"Whoa whoa." Troy waved his palms in front of him. "What's with the voluntelling here, I kind of knew I was going to get mercilessly hazed here, but doesn't Sagfie-"

"Siegfried." Monica sighed.

"Whatever, I'm not good with accents."

"It doesn't have anything to do with accents." Knuckles said flatly.

"WHATEVER." Troy threw up his arms in disgust, continuing to ignore Siegfried's more-than-mildly-annoyed glare. "What do Dark Knight and Fires have to say about this?"

Fires jerked back in her seat, clearly caught off guard by the inquisition. "Uh, I, erm-"

The man sitting next to her nodded to Auron. "If you require her for a mission, we can remain here until then. We still have a lot of reading to do."

"Who are these two?" Troy stood with his palms folded behind his head, fidgeting impatiently.

"Goddamn you're deaf," Knuckles shook his head. "These are some of Fires' students that we were talking about earlier. They're trained medical professionals that're trying to glean off some white magic from her."

Troy glanced back over, finding the two had already advanced on him. The male of the pair was of an average human height, with a head of scraggly chestnut hair and similarly dull brown eyes shielded by slim perscription glasses. His maringally shorter female counterpart had most of her pale blonde hair tied out of the way of her misty green eyes, in a long, waist-length ponytail.

"Derek Stiles."

"Angie Thompson."

"Troy Kiemen." Troy nodded to each seperately, administering firm handshakes.

Auron watched a glint of light move across the floor, deep in thought. He looked back between Derek and Angie as he folded his arms in continuous contemplation. "...on the other hand, it may be beneficial to have Fires on as support in case anything were to go wrong, as Troy is still particularly out of his element. Are you two okay with Fires leaving for a while? The group should not be terribly long but I can't give you an exact timeframe as far as this operation."

"It's okay," Angie chirped. "We still have a lot of Fires' reading to get through."

"We can occupy ourselves," Derek added. "If you need your people for missions then we don't want to get in your way."

"I'm still here you know." Troy grumbled.

Auron distributed nods about his audience with an almost robotic motion. "Troy, Monica, Knuckles and Fires will depart for the Apex Deep-space Scan Facility in orbit around Katina in the Lylat system. There, they will work with the local authorities to deal with the Heartless hive burrowed in its depths while it is still benign. While the infestation is fairly limited and has not begun posing any life-threatening behavior towards the Apex crew, and thus you will be working on a leniant schedule, we must maintain good favor with Corneria. You are free to plan your actions as you please, but please work in the best interests of Corneria as you are able."

"Let's get a move-on then." Knuckles coughed.

"Hang on, what ab..." Troy raised an arm, but it flapped in defeat like so much wet pasta as he realized that the four of them had, again, been dumped into the white abyss that bordered Shambhala. "...I don't think I'm ever going to understand this place in the least."

"We might not be able to think that room in particular away from us..." Monica hummed. "But we can think ourselves out of it."

"Who's going to be doing the cutting this time?" Knuckles kicked at an imaginary ground. "Y'think Fires should do it? I mean, it's been a while since she's been out of the house so to speak. Hell, I don't think I've seen her bother to take out her keyblade for who knows how long..."

"Troy can do it." Monica said gleefully.

"Cut?" Troy scratched his scalp. "Cut what?"

"Our way out of here, what else is there around here to?" Monica stabbed a finger against the front of Troy's shell.

"I still don't get what y..." Troy trailed off as his vision distorted, melting the air around him into a vivid recollection of hours prior. Auron stood firmly in the main chamber of the Toad Town castle, gripping his blade tightly as it jutted out in front of him. Its vicious tip traced a circular pattern in the air with an accuracy and certainty reserved for penmanship. "...ohhhhh. You mean..."

"So you've seen Auron pull it off before," Knuckles sang. "Well that certainly makes explaining this easier."

"EASIER?" Troy spat. "You think this is any less smoke-and-mirrors to me than anything else I've seen in the past couple hours?"

"...if it's too much trouble for Troy..." Fires mumbled. "...I can do it."

"Last time you opened a gate you gave us a red-carpet entrance to the middle of a nebula." Knuckles groaned.

Troy bit his lip, separating himself from the three as they began to argue between themselves. Fires was very obviously getting swatted down by all the stray insults that Monica and Knuckles deflected off each other. He stared wistfully at Fires again, finally shaking the gloom from his head and pushing his way through the gaggle. "QUIT IT. Quit. It. Just... tell me what to do and I'll give it a shot. I don't want to be a burden on anyone here, so please give me a chance."

Fires' expression had gone from not existing to one of bewilderment. Knuckles muttered under his breath as he pivoted away from the other two to stare Troy down. "...alright, but we have to make this relatively fast, we're still on a schedule no matter how relaxed it is. Now, listen... you know how you carved your way into Shambhala, yeah? Auron was able to do his own little jig there and then dump you two into limbo right before the actual physicality of Shambhala for educational purposes, and you made yourself a front door..." Knuckles twirled his wrist in the air. "...like that."

"Go on."

"Well, that's mostly your keyblade doing that... it might not've looked like it, but it's a part of you, you know, so all it took was a simple mental request to tear up the more... subtle dimensional fabric directly adjacent to Shambhala in order to enter its core facility. To actually get all the way in and out of Shambhala, on the other hand, that takes a little more muscle. The core structure of Shambhala is set in stone, as you'd know if you listened to what Auron had to say about the main lobby, but you're still able to enter through your assigned subchamber. By bringing you this close to, and eventually into, Shambhala, Auron's attuned your keyblade to the joint so with a little practice you can skip in and out as you please. Your key makes an excellent weapon and... well, key. Anyways, you can actually stretch these modules from Shambhala's 'frame' as you please as part of your tenant contract so to speak, and-"

"Manipulate my room all the way through subspace to wherever I happen to be, tear a hole in reality, step through to it, and return my room to where it was."

Knuckles stared dully at Troy. "...w... well, uhh, yeah, that's one way of doing it."

Troy returned a similiarly-stony gaze. "Thank you for revealing one more mind-crapping thing about Shambhala that has absolutely nothing to do with my present situation. Now what dimensional abuse is required in order to LEAVE Shambhala? Yanking a predefined and familiar box through space-time sounds just a little easier than pushing it through in reverse, especially considering that I have absolutely no idea what or where our destination is. Is this like those comic books where the teleporting superheroes don't want to poof somewhere they haven't been before because they're afraid they'll accidently fill every orifice of their body with brick and mortar?"

"It's like you say..." Knuckles rubbed at his scalp. "...do it in reverse. Jab a malleable chunk of Shambhala out to where you wanna go. Except, again... well, I guess you actually explained it better than I was planning on. Just so we don't plow through someone's house while trying to park, or their planet for that matter, we have to use frames of conscious reference to determine where to settle down. Something like, since we're going to this space station or whatever, their local insignia or emblem. Then, cross reference clusters of lifeforms across the particular plane of space we'd be going to and use their subconscious recognition of it to draw an approximate physical manifestation. And then aim somewhere nearby to escape that little orifice-filling issue."

"Then let's do it." Troy stared up into the stale air, watching as, again, a swarm of displays calculating archaic digits and variables tore through the space in front of them and threatened to consume the group.

"W-wide-deep tera-parsec psychoanalysis broadcast in progress." Monica spat.

Knuckles stumbled back. "...did he just do all that himself?!"

Troy waved an arm weakly. "It's just like you say, all you gotta have is the resolve to do something... Shambhala will take care of the rest! I think I can get used to this! Listen you little submissive subspace, where are we going in the wide wide universe today?"

"Relevance levels increasing... we've got a lock." Monica dug in her pocket, flapping out a piece of paper emblazoned with a quartered red shield with crossed swords. "...adjusting for matter disruption. Planar coordinates are up!"

The Chronicle flashed into Troy's hands and he raised its shaft to eye level. "If this blade goes where I want it to... and Shambhala's free area goes where I want it to... then it's just a matter of pinching the fabric and putting a good gash into it." Troy huffed as he suddenly thrust the blunt tip of the keyblade forward, grimacing as it plunged into the void itself with a resulting ripple. Troy grunted as he worked the blade about, carving an uneven circle his height through space like so much paper. Yanking the cutting utensil out, he hopped back and hurled a clenched fist forward with every ounce of muscle in his arm. It impacted with the loose panel of reality, detonating it with the sound of shattering glass. Troy chuckled to himself as he stared into the even-moreso-mindbending wormhole beyond, beginning to feel the tell-tale suction. He let the afterglow sink in, eventually turning back to the dumbstruck Covenant seniors behind him.

"Anyone have to hit the can before we go?"