A/N: This fic is canon divergent from Voltron: Legendary Defender as of the finale of season 3. I actually put working on this fic on hold until I had seen S3. I was not going to put it on hold through October to get S4.

38. Royal Welcomes

Roman and Mozenrath stumbled through the streets of the city of Brakmar, lagging far behind their companions. Roman would, every now and again, have to rest his hand against a wall to keep his balance. Mozenrath was bent over in his stride. Neither could stop complaining.

"I have regrets," Roman groaned. "So many regrets."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have drank like a kangaroo that just spent the last year crossing the desert and has only been able to find scant water supplies up until the point of coming upon a vast lake," Yzma retorted.

"THAT'S your analogy?" Aghoul snorted.

"Can we just…stop?" Mozenrath grunted. "This headache is more persistent than a daeva with a grudge." He didn't want to admit it, but he felt as though he might very well fall asleep midstride.

"No," the Huntsman stated. "We've too much work to do. You'll have to fight through what I believe is a caffeine crash."

"And a MASSIVE hangover," Roman added. "Seriously, can't we just stop for a catnap? No offense to Kitty over there."

"That nickname better not stick," Grany muttered.

"We still have to figure out how to invade an entire kingdom and steal one of its most heavily guarded treasures!" Wuya reminded them. "Something I WOULDN'T trust in the hands of you, Roman Torchwick. And speaking of things I don't trust in your hands, you've had that compass for a while. You got us into the city, you found us an ally of dubious trustworthiness…"

Rémington shrugged. He couldn't really complain about that description.

"…and now we know where we're going," Wuya concluded. "You had your turn. Now hand it over."

"All right, all right," Roman sighed, fishing the compass out of a pocket. "It's somebody else's turn to be in charge. And I nominate the second best person for the job after me."

Yzma and Wuya immediately held out their hands to receive the compass.

"You don't seem to have been paying attention up to this point," the Huntsman chided them as Roman staggered past them to shove the compass at Snatcher.

"I am most honored, Torchwick," Snatcher stated as he pocketed the compass. "As it happens, a plan is formulating in my mind. We COULD force our way into the walls of this…plant kingdom." Rémington had briefed them all on the basics about the Sadida people. "Or…we could be INVITED in. I'm certain we can come up with all of the trappings of diplomats from the other side of the world."

"You could claim to be Cra," Rémington suggested. "The redhead has the ears for it."

"Is that a compliment?" Wuya asked.

"It depends on the Cra," Rémington replied.

"Which kingdom could we all CONVINCINGLY call home?" Snatcher asked.

"Eh…looking at all of you…none," Rémington observed.

"A coalition, then," Snatcher decided, "of peace-seekers from several kingdoms, looking for Sadida to join the cause! The cause of…of…Mr. Smisse, what DO they care about in this world?"
"Protecting dragons," Rémington answered without missing a beat.

The Huntsman visibly flinched.

"Then a dragon rights activist group we shall become!" Snatcher decided. "And a wealthy, influential one at that. Miss Wuya, I'm certain you can provide. We shall need vehicles! Forged royal endorsements! And of course, we shall need to dress the part. I am well aware that here, we are as of yet unknown. The people of this world have no need to fear our faces or names. All the same, as a protective measure – "

"You're going to make us all dress in drag, aren't you?" Aghoul sighed.

"I was going to heavily suggest it," Snatcher corrected. "It is of course entirely optional. I will be leading the charge as Madame Penelope Frou Frou."

"Count Fiammetta Incandescent in on this," Roman said immediately.

"I guess I don't see why not," Mozenrath added. "Is this something I would normally object to?"

"No," Snatcher said altogether too quickly. "Not in the slightest. Now, we need to get inside the gates and speak with whatever passes for a ruler among the plant people. See if we can't get him to reminisce about the conflict that led to the storing of the Eliacube. Once we know where it's stored, if we can't talk his majesty into letting us view it ourselves, I'm certain our more thievery-inclined compatriots will have no trouble liberating it."

"I like the sounds of that," Ragdoll commented.

"Mr. Smisse," Snatcher asked, "where in this city might we make our machinations in peace? There will be a fair bit of magic involved, and we can't risk prying eyes."

"Then you'll want to get out of the city," Grany answered.

"He was talking to me," Rémington argued.

"We're BOTH Mr. Smisse!" Grany retorted.

"Anyway, you'll want to get out of the city," Rémington continued.

"That's what I just said!" Grany huffed.

"Now hold on," Wuya said. "I never agreed to all of this. Maybe I'm sick of you calling on me for every little thing you could do without magic. Vehicles, I'll do. But I'm not wasting energy on clothes if we can find them in the city. And couldn't most of us swap genders with that transfiguration potion we saw on the way in?"

"Absolutely cheating," Snatcher remarked. "We're going to do this properly. There will be no transfiguration – "

"Not even this?" Mim spun a series of pirouettes, cackling madly. Her voice deepened as she did so, and when she came to a halt, she had swapped the body of a short, plump woman out for a short, plump man.

"Are you still into THAT?" Grany whispered to Rémington.

"Actually, yes," Rémington answered, to Grany's bafflement.

"CHEATING," Snatcher accused, pointing at Mim.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Mim asked. "Complain?"

"That is EXACTLY what I am going to do about it!" Snatcher growled.

"Complain all you want," Mim replied; "I'm not changing back."

"Brothers Smisse," Snatcher sighed, "change of plans. Direct us to wherever we may purchase the appropriate clothing for a covert operation. You will need to work with Torchwick and Mr. Merkel to procure the necessary funds, which will add up to quite a sum."

"Ragdoll," Ragdoll interrupted. "We're on a job, so it's 'Ragdoll.' Please."

"Madam Mim," Snatcher went on, "you…can think about the fact that you're still cheating."

"I believe the name is now 'Mister Jim,'" Mim corrected.

"If you want a shopping district, take the next left," Grany stated.

"You heard the man," Rémington reiterated. "We have pockets to pick. I bet Grany and I can come up with more money than both of you."

"You're on," Roman challenged. "I'll get TWICE what you get."

"With a hangover like that?" Yzma chided.

"We'll see how it all comes out in the wash," Ragdoll said cryptically.

"Of course," Snatcher mused, "should this plan go belly-up at the critical stages, we should be at the ready to simply burn the entire forest down and take what we want by force. These plant people, they're subhuman. It should be of little trouble to subdue them all."

"Suggestion," Roman interrupted. "Can we just START by burning the forest down and skip the charade?"

"Hmm…tempting," Snatcher mulled over, "but no."

"Having them take care of their own clothes will be a relief," Wuya admitted quietly to Yzma. "Zapping up everything everyone wants at the drop of a hat gets tiring."

Yzma nodded in agreement, trying not to think too hard about all the requests she herself had made of Wuya. "A sentiment I'm sure Xayide is sharing right about now."

"I wonder if the others have made her snap yet," Wuya mused.

"She's a sensible woman," Yzma replied. "She isn't going to snap."

...

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Xayide screamed, storming away from Snipe as quickly as nonmagically possible; she could feel an unbidden twitch coming to her eye.

"Aw, c'mon!" Snipe begged, following. "Just one time!"

"One time will turn into just twice, and then into weekly, then daily," Xayide growled, not dignifying Snipe by turning around to face him. "And I am NOT wasting my magic on washing your RANCID socks and underthings!"

"I don't even WANT them washed more than once a week!" Snipe argued.

"That was an argument against the proposition more than anything," Xayide huffed.

A sudden harsh noise pierced the air: someone was attempting to use the warship's PA system, which, given the Cyclonian militarism, had been built to sound throughout the whole Terra. "Testing," Vexen's voice resonated, filling every room. "Testing…good. Will every inhabitant of this ship report to the control room AT ONCE? There is an urgent matter that MUST be discussed IMMEDIATELY."

"Immediately, hm?" Xayide repeated.

"Zap us both there right now!" Snipe ordered.

"You're a strong-looking man," Xayide replied. "A few flights of stairs should be no trouble for you." She vanished before Snipe's eyes, leaving him to take the long way.

Xayide and Irmaplotz were the first to appear in the control room, having utilized magic to get there; Vexen awaited them without so much as a greeting.

"Where's the fire?" Irmaplotz asked casually.

"I shall explain once we are all assembled," Vexen said sharply.

Neo, Ravess, Snipe, and Garfield eventually found their way into the room. "You!" Snipe yelled, pointing at Xayide. "You're mean!"

"We're all mean," Irmaplotz reminded him. "We are an evil organization bent on multi-world domination."

"What did my brother do to offend you now?" Ravess sighed. "I would apologize for it, but I would rather not associate myself with his actions in any way."

"I am not his maid," Xayide said through gritted teeth.

"Ravess, hear me out!" Snipe begged. "All I asked was for one little – "

Ravess didn't wait for the end of the sentence; she simply smacked Snipe on the back of the head.

"OW!" Snipe grunted.

"So, uh, apparently there was some kind of problem you needed us for?" Garfield asked, hoping to end the conversation about Snipe.

"Yes," Vexen stated. "If I could have your attention."

All looked to him.

"This ship has thus far been powered by a crystal," Vexen explained. "One that I understand it took some effort to procure. This crystal powers several systems onboard the ship: most importantly, the control. We are in a stationary position at the moment; if control is lost, we will lose the ability to halt this ship from drifting. Unfortunately, the crystal we acquired for this ship was not built for inter-world sustenance, and it is, as we speak – "

The lights flickered on and off to prove Vexen's point.

"…Failing," Vexen said flatly.

"So what?" Garfield asked. "Roman said most of the weapons and stuff are powered by smaller crystals anyway."

"We haven't truly been piloting the ship anywhere," Ravess added. "What does it matter if we lose control?"

"I had thought you might ask," Vexen said, removing a tiny crystal from his pocket. He turned and placed it into a device that in turn projected an immense hologram in the shape of a map of interspace, marking the location of the warship as a glow of red amid a field of green. "You see where we are," Vexen began. He pointed to a swirling image that was quite far away, but not far enough, given the scope of the map. "This is a black hole that destroys all that enters. We are out of its range at the moment, but note the proximity." He pointed to a cluster of small blips in a different direction. "This is a field of tightly packed interspacial debris – one might liken it to 'asteroids' – that would tear our ship apart if we attempted to pass through." He pointed to a third direction. "This space seems to be occupied by an old world, long dead. I have taken readings, and as best as I can tell from this distance, it is moments away from its main celestial body simply exploding and creating the effect of a supernova."

"And WHY are we parked so close to all of these dangerous things?" Ravess sighed.

"The point is," Vexen went on, "given a loss of control and our ability to remain stable, we run the risk of drifting into any of these phenomena. At best, the ship would be torn to pieces after our evacuation. At worst, we would find ourselves without the time to evacuate."

"So we move the ship," Irmaplotz suggested.

"Not a possibility," Vexen replied. "Doing so would put far too much of a strain on the already failing crystal, and given that we would pass by at least one of the aforementioned dangers on our way to safety, we would inevitably find ourselves in the worst-case scenario: no time to evacuate."

"Easy," Garfield chimed in. "We just have Xayide juice the thing back up with magic."

"IF YOU THINK," Xayide practically screamed, "THAT I AM ABOUT TO WASTE THAT MUCH OF MY ENERGY ON THIS SHIP – "

"SILENCE!" Vexen barked.

Xayide glared at Garfield in the absence of words, her red and green eye each boring into his soul separately.

"Xayide is correct," Vexen explained. "To have her restore the crystal would require her to pour a constant stream of magic into it: a task that would cause Xayide herself to fail almost as quickly as the crystal. I understand, Garfield, that you come from a world where you are not used to magic as we know it. How is it, then, that you have already become overly reliant on magic? It is not to simply be wasted on tasks either too menial or too arduous to complete. That is why I only use my own power when I deem it absolutely necessary."

Xayide stood up a little straighter, casting her glance around the room. Garfield appeared miffed, but he had backed down. Xayide could only hope that Vexen's words had instilled a small bit of reprehension in the others for having asked so much of her.

"There is only one solution to our current dilemma," Vexen stated. "We must replace the crystal. We require a far more potent power source, and I know just the thing. There is a world known colloquially as Galra Space thanks to the race that has completely conquered it, and within this space, there resides a creature as large as a planet: the Balmera. Its secretions crystallize into stones powerful enough to support a warship of this size through interspace. We must travel there and collect the largest crystal we can acquire."

"Field trip," Irmaplotz commented with a smile. "Nice."

Neo nodded fervently in agreement.

"I'm down," Garfield agreed.

"If it will save me from having to pour my energy into a dying crystal," Xayide said coldly, "I am all in favor of this trip."

"Will there be stuff to bash?" Snipe asked.

"We will most certainly be met with resistance," Vexen informed him. "The Balmera is inhabited by a race that will not take kindly to us doing what looks to them like outright thievery of their crystals. I believe the Galra themselves have made a settlement there, and as much as their lust for conquest mirrors our own, I do not believe they will see us as kindred spirits once they realize we are taking what they believe belongs to them by right."

"So I get to bash 'em," Snipe reiterated.

"YES, brother," Ravess sighed. "You WILL get to bash the opposition with your mace."

"YEAH!" Snipe roared.

"And you, Ravess?" Vexen fixed an interested gaze upon the archer.

"Me?" Ravess gestured to herself. "Well, why wouldn't I come along? I hardly want this ship to be torn apart. It's the only home I've ever known. And I do trust in your leadership, Vexen."

"As I trust in your collaboration," Vexen replied, and there was a shared look between them that lingered perhaps a bit more than normally would have between two professional co-workers. It passed, and it went unnoticed by any of the others present. "Without further ado," Vexen said suddenly, tearing his gaze away from Ravess' eyes, "we shall go." He cast a Corridor of Darkness. "Follow me. And be prompt or be left behind."

He strode confidently through the portal. Ravess quickened her pace to be the first to follow. After her went Xayide, then Irmaplotz, Neo, Garfield, and finally Snipe. When the Corridor closed, the warship was left empty.

...

Mozenrath wandered through a veritable forest of gowns and glitter, casually glancing around for something he could see himself wearing for the sake of the charade. The Smisses had found the group a sizeable shop that stocked fashion, though given Brakmar's reputation, it was reasonable to think the majority of the clientele was there, much like the WHAM ARMY, to find disguises. Mozenrath was unsure exactly what he sought. Nothing in particular seemed to him the sort of thing a female dragon rights activist would wear. Nothing in particular seemed to him the sort of thing he, Mozenrath, would wear.

But the show had to go on, so he plucked three items off the racks at random, hoping to find something that would allow him to get this phase of the plan over with. He breezed toward the fitting room only for Snatcher to step into his path.

"Ah, ah," Snatcher chided. "You're not planning on wearing any of THOSE, are you now?"

"Is…there a problem?" Mozenrath glanced back and forth between Snatcher's countenance of disapproval and his fabric bounty.

Snatcher ripped one dress out of Mozenrath's hands. "This is not your color." The second. "This won't flatter your figure." The third. "And this – " Snatcher stopped to give the last dress a glare of utter disgust. "Lord Mozenrath. I MUST question your taste. No one with any sense at all would give THIS ensemble a second look. Not quite sure who would even have made it to begin with."

"All right," Mozenrath sighed, "what do YOU think I should wear?"

"As much as I endorse a good swapping of the palette," Snatcher mused, "I don't see why you should divert from your traditional royal blue. I passed something a while back that should more than suffice…" Muttering to himself, he turned and stalked down the aisles, Mozenrath in tow. At last, he found his treasure, pulling a deep blue gown with a billowing skirt from the rack. "And there you are," he announced, shoving the dress at Mozenrath.

"I…guess I'll go put this on," Mozenrath said doubtfully, taking the gown to the fitting rooms, which were small alcoves separated from the rest of the shop by thin curtains.

As Mozenrath entered, Yzma exited a fitting room, clad in a nearly form-fitting gown covered in pink sequins. "Well?" she asked with a wide smile. "What do you think?"

"I think I asked you to dress as a man," Snatcher snorted.

"And I think I'm leaving that to Mim," Yzma told him. "You said it yourself! Nobody here knows who we are! The drag is just for fun! And I am not lowering myself to TROUSERS."

"You wouldn't look bad in them," Wuya commented from where she had been leaning against a wall. "All the same, I understand the sentiment."

"Miss Wuya," Snatcher cajoled, "you would make quite the dashing gentleman. What stands in your way?"

"If I play the part," Wuya asked, "how much of my hair to I get to keep?"

"Well…er…very little, compared to – "

"Then I'm not being a man," Wuya resolved. "Though a change of clothes would be quite fun." She reached out to the nearest rack, running her hand over a gown of purple velvet with a plunging neckline. "Yes…this will do."

"At least tell me you have alternate names selected for yourselves," Snatcher sighed.

"Hmm…false names," Wuya mused. "What do you think, Yzma?"

"Well, I used 'Amzy' once," Yzma recalled. "It could become a standby."

"You said you would never use that name again," the Huntsman's voice sounded from among racks of suits.

"Well, do YOU have any better ideas?" Yzma asked. "I'll be Amzy, and Wuya can be…Ayu."

Wuya shrugged. "I'll take it."

Mozenrath emerged from the fitting room, his hair loose and cascading down over his shoulders. He moved slowly, letting the skirt of his new costume billow about him.

"So?" Yzma asked. "What do you think?"

Mozenrath caught sight of himself in the nearest full-length mirror. "I think…" He smiled at his reflection. "I think I like this plan better than I thought I would."

"This isn't even the finished product," Snatcher reminded him. "We've still your makeup to attend to."

"And your hair!" Yzma crowed. "I call dibs on doing his hair."

"I'm…actually looking forward to this," Mozenrath said gleefully, giving a twirl to watch his skirt spin.

From the next fitting room over, a voice sounded out: "And, making her grand re-entry into the spotlight, I give you…" Roman flung the curtain aside to reveal himself decked out in a ruffly white gown with a snow-colored wig curled atop his head to match. "Fiammetta Incandescent!"

"And, making her debut…" Rémington slid aside his own curtain, emerging in a black gown with a high neckline over a bust line that had been padded out to levels far past believable; a raven wig tied into a waist-length braid swung around him. "Katana Scimitar."

"Two things, Mr. Smisse," Snatcher groaned. "First, the beard ruins the entire look."

Rémington clutched at his chin protectively. "You're not suggesting I…"

"Yes, Mr. Smisse," Snatcher insisted. "If you wish to be convincing, the beard must go."

"You could always just not do the drag," Wuya commented.

Rémington thought it over. "…Eh, worth it." He plucked a dagger from the folds of his dress and gave his small beard one rather messy chop that left the floor littered in hair.

"We'll trim it up in the final stages," Snatcher stated.

"And what was the other thing?" Rémington asked.

Snatcher gestured to his own chest area. "No woman of your stature is nearly THAT well-endowed."

"I'm starting to think you're just trying to ruin my fun," Rémington grumbled. "I suppose you can get away with more, since you're so – "

"WATCH IT," Roman growled.

"I actually prefer not to pad at all," Snatcher said casually, "and to this day, no one's commented."

"I am in complete sympathy with you in regards to your lost beard," Aghoul told Rémington as he found his way out of the maze of clothing, clutching a lavender dress with flowing sleeves. "Mine was burned off, and incredibly disrespectfully so." He gave Mozenrath a meaningful glare.

"…I did this?" Mozenrath replied. "Because, as you know, I have no memory of this if I did."

Aghoul gave a dismissive "Hmph" before heading into the fitting room Roman had previously occupied with his gown. Wuya took over the room Rémington had abandoned in order to don hers.

"And what about me?" Grany asked. "You're not going to put me in any silly clothes, are you?"

"Not unless you want a big, fluffy pink bow," Rémington said slyly.

Grany bristled. "Anything but that!"

"All you have to do is not talk," Rémington reassured his brother. "We'll call you…Honey Crisp. No one will know the difference."

The Huntsman made his presence known, carrying a gray suit jacket and pant. "You're NOT serious," Snatcher groaned. "We are trying to make an IMPRESSION. You seem to have made it your mission to select the absolute most boring pieces of clothing in the entire shop."

"I have found what works for me," the Huntsman stated. "In my experience, disguises are used to blend in, not stand out."

"Well, blending in doesn't get you invited into the royals' inner circle!" Snatcher argued.

"Nor will the skull of the creatures we are supposedly protecting," the Huntsman reminded Snatcher. "Let me dress as I wish, and I shall do the same for you."

"Fair enough," Snatcher resolved.

"Where are we to keep our previous clothing?" the Huntsman asked.

"Madam Mim has volunteered to keep it all inside of her purse," Snatcher informed him. "…Where is Mim, anyhow?"

"Right here!" Mim crowed; she hadn't had to worry about shopping for clothes, as she had chosen to transfigure them along with her body, and wore a smart red shirt over lavender trousers.

"Where were you just now?" Roman asked.

"Sabotaging the men's bathroom," Mim cackled.

"It's the men's room," Rémington told her. "I don't see what more you could have done to it than there already was."

"If the staff doesn't figure out how much of the plumbing I diverted," Mim said hushedly, "we only have an hour left in this shop before the entire place floods."

"Then we'd best hurry to the next phase," Snatcher counseled. "Let's see. That's everyone accounted for except for…"

Peter came spinning like a tornado out of his own fitting room, coming to an abrupt halt, letting the long golden locks of the wig he'd chosen fall half in front of his face. His dress of choice was silver, shimmering, and incredibly short. "Were you about to ask about me?" he said teasingly.

"He has nicer legs than you, Roman," Yzma pointed out.

"NO, HE DOESN'T," Roman said altogether too defensively.

"And you, Archie?" Peter asked.

"DON'T call me that," Snatcher growled.

"Then don't call me 'Mr. Merkel' when I'm on a job," Peter replied, not losing his smile even for a moment. "Well? What are you wearing?"
"I've had my eye on a certain number in this shop for a while," Snatcher admitted. "I had to get the rest of you settled first." He turned to look at a confection of pink ruffles wrapped around a mannequin that was proportionate to his own dimensions. "Pink isn't normally my best color, but I've a good feeling about that one."

Once all were dressed in their chosen fashions, they hustled toward the cosmetics section of the shop. On the way, Snatcher quizzed them: "Are we all settled on aliases? I, of course, shall be Madame Frou Frou. We have Mad Mister Jim, Katana Scimitar, Honey Crisp, Fiammetta Incandescent, Amzy, Ayu, and…?"
"Hunter Thorn," the Huntsman said. "As before."

"Are you sure that isn't your actual name?" Aghoul asked.

The Huntsman said "Absolutely sure" at the same time that Yzma said "Of course it isn't."

"That's right," the Huntsman said sourly. "You were listening."

"I won't tell," Yzma promised. "Pinky swear." She put out her little finger.

The Huntsman simply gave her hand a glance. "I'll take your word for it."

"Who did you ACTUALLY tell your name?" Mozenrath asked.

Somehow, the Huntsman found he had a hard time telling the truth. "That is between me and the person I entrusted with it."

"But that's – " Yzma tried to interrupt.

"NOT NOW," the Huntsman growled threateningly.

"I'll be Ghoulia!" Aghoul crowed, his new lavender ensemble offset by a jet-black wig teased into an updo.

"Because what else would you be?" Roman muttered.

"Have you forgotten about Sarah Smiles already?" Peter teased.

"And that just leaves…" Snatcher gave Mozenrath a pointed look.

"I'm thinking on it," Mozenrath said defensively.

"The alias is important," Snatcher emphasized. "It has to be one you can not only remember, but conceivably BE. It has to fit even better than the ensemble."

"Look, I already couldn't figure out how to pick out a dress," Mozenrath replied. "Why can't you just pick out my name, since you're so good at it!"

"Because…I can't believe I have to say this…it MUST come from the heart, or you won't believe you're being the part!" Snatcher groaned. "Which reminds me, it's not too late to change 'Amzy' or 'Ayu.'"

"I'm attached to it now," Wuya argued.

"'Amzy' was going to be all I could think of anyway," Yzma added.

They reached the cosmetics, at which point the group opened up whatever tubes of lipstick and containers of eye shadow and blush they thought would accent their clothing well.

"ExCUSE me!" A muscular salesman stormed toward the dolled-up miscreants. "In this store, we pay for things before we just start putting them on! Do I have to teach you this the hard w – "

Peter, Rémington, and Roman each held out a handful of kamas. "The stuff's paid for," Roman emphasized.

The salesman seemed satisfied as he swept the coins into hand. "Carry on."

Mozenrath found himself shoved into a chair as Snatcher began dusting makeup over his face and Yzma teased his hair atop his head. "All right," Mozenrath said as he shut his eyes in order to allow Snatcher access to lining them. "I know that the great Archibald Snatcher is a connoisseur of fashion. What else should I know about you? You seem plentifully take-charge. I'm guessing you were in a position of some power before joining us?"

"Sadly not," Snatcher replied, carefully tracing out the contours of Mozenrath's eyelids, mindful to not be as deliberate as he had been when fixing up Roman's face. "The opposite, in fact. I was on the road to power before I met you lot. I had it all lined up. Then the Lord of the Dead's hand slipped, and I found myself behind even square one."

"That's unfortunate," Mozenrath commented.

"Shame, really," Snatcher lamented. "I was the only one in town who'd actually worked for power. And yet they relegated me to the working class. Shut down at nearly every opportunity! And who occupied the throne, so to speak? The lucky ones who'd never lifted a finger in their lives! The ones who had everything handed to them on a silver platter! And all the while, I worked down to the bone! Yes, at times it was painful, but it was worth it."

Something in Snatcher's words stirred deep within Mozenrath: it was a sentiment he shared, though he couldn't exactly say why. The thought of someone ending up with power that Mozenrath had rightly worked for because that someone had merely stumbled into good fortune was enough to make Mozenrath's fist clench. He wished to say as much, but as he opened his mouth, Snatcher quickly told him "Hush, now" and began to paint his lips.

"I was willing to sacrifice, I was," Snatcher carried on. "To have a station in society, to be able to command, to be LISTENED to…well, I was just about willing to die for it. Not that…anything about the position would have killed me, mind you. Just an expression. But WERE there anything in my way, I was prepared to weather it."

Mozenrath realized he had been wondering what exactly Roman saw in Snatcher all this time, and he had his questions answered right then. This man, he knew, was a kindred spirit to him. The lipstick gave his mouth a reprieve, long enough for him to say, "I think I know exactly how you feel."

"Not surprised," Snatcher admitted. He gave Mozenrath a brief clap on the shoulder. "Your face is finished."

"And your hair is just…about…" Yzma pinned a final curl into place. "Done!"

Mozenrath opened his eyes, turning to look in the nearest mirror. The effeminate face that stared back beneath neatly coiffed locks was hardly recognizable and absolutely gorgeous.

"It's still missing something," Yzma muttered. "What is it? A ribbon?"

"That would make it altogether too busy," Snatcher rebuked.

"I know what it is," Wuya announced, walking over from where she had finished beautifying Aghoul to the best of her ability. "I know I said no magic, but you get it just this ONCE."

She passed her hand over Mozenrath's hair, and it was graced with a sprig of tiny flowers in a blue that matched Mozenrath's dress.

"Those are nice," Mozenrath complimented. "What are they?"

"I don't know," Wuya admitted. "I just conjured up a flower I thought would look nice."

"Really, now!" Mim chided. "Any reasonable witch would recognize a flower in the genus Brandisia!"

"Brandisia," Mozenrath repeated, testing out the word. Something about it felt quite delicious on his tongue. "Well, Mr. Snatcher, good news. I think I have my alias. You can refer to me as 'Brandisia.'"

"Excellent," Snatcher said as he settled a almost silver-blonde wig atop his head, tucking away his meager dark hair. "Now, I suggest we get a move on before Mim's little plumbing stunt kicks in."

They dumped all their stolen kamas onto the counter and booked it, and not a moment too soon, for that was when every toilet began to spew up sewage.

...

In a twinkle, Xerxes found himself surrounded not by the shadows and spotless surfaces of Vexen's half of the laboratory but instead floating in midair beneath a warm and sunny blue sky, heat radiating down from above and highlighting the brightness of the surrounding greenery.

Xerxes was confused, first and foremost. He hadn't yet made the connection between his leap and the star shard. It took a moment for him to even realize he was no longer in the base. Finally, he admitted it to himself: he was nowhere near home.

He refused to let go of the shard. It was his treasure, and now it was the only thing he had – besides his collar – that was connected to the place from which he had come. He wondered: would Mozenrath know he was missing? Would anyone? Would anyone take steps to bring him back?

His stomach rumbled. He hadn't had anything to eat in quite some time, and realized he was hankering for food. He began a drift through the trees that surrounded him, and his internal worry about suddenly being so far from home was somewhat alleviated by the comforting warmth of the climate.

The trees gave way to a clearing, and Xerxes could see a spacious village teeming with life. People were taking advantage of the outdoor warmth to do all sorts of tasks outside, from cooking food over fires to weaving baskets to dancing in rhythm. Copses of tall trees encroached upon the village, and within these, the people were climbing, harvesting coconuts and bringing them down to store.

Xerxes' stomach bubbled again, making him very seriously consider the coconut.

He zipped into the nearest grove, setting down the star shard only momentarily. The harvesters, upon seeing a flying eel with a wicked grin enter their domain while making noises that could only be malicious laughter, were sent into a screaming panic:

"WHAT IS THAT?"
"IT'S A MONSTER!"

"GET IT AWAY!"

As the people retreated, Xerxes dug his teeth into the nearest coconut, ripping it open so he could drink its contents.

The fracas had not gone unnoticed by a certain high-ranking member of the village: a young woman with long, dark hair, clad in red and creamy off-white. Upon hearing screams of a monster, she targeted the eel with her eyes. This wasn't her first monster, and it was far from the largest she'd faced. She took up a rowing oar that had been propped against a wall and barged toward the creature.

As Xerxes tore into the meat of the coconut, he was suddenly broadsided by the flat of the oar; he tumbled across the grass. "GET OUT OF OUR GROVE!" the young woman demanded, swatting at him with the oar again; Xerxes quickly darted away before he could be crushed by it. As he flew past the young woman, she followed him, striking out again with a grunt of exertion. Xerxes quickly ducked to pick up the star shard and get out of dodge as quickly as he could. Clearly, the coconuts of this village were not meant to be his bounty.

Searching for a place to hide, Xerxes made note of a cavern mouth in a hillside, and, thinking the darkness would be adequate to conceal him, he hurried inside.

He did not expect the cavern to already be occupied, and by others who were not native to this world, no less.

Only a few moments before Xerxes' intrusion, Grimhilde and the Dark Ace had taken refuge deep within the cavern. Beyond its rocky mouth, it gave way to sand that bumped up against the ocean water; the far wall was the roaring cascade of a waterfall, and beyond that was access to the open sea. Beached on the sand were all manner of boats, from small canoes to ships practically big enough to carry the entire village's population. It was among these boats that Grimhilde and the Dark Ace escorted a bound-up Xander.

"Listen," Xander was attempting, "I think we all just got off on the wrong foot. All a big misunderstanding. I'm sure if we sat down and talked it out, we'd see that there's no need to have me captured and tied up. If you want something from me, just ask!"

"What I require," Grimhilde told him, "is your heart."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Xander replied, "but I'm not really interested. I can see how you'd fancy me, though. Don't worry. I'm sure there's someone out there for you – "

"She means literally," the Dark Ace said smugly.

"I must tear it out," Grimhilde explained, "and destroy it."

"…Oh," Xander replied, deflating. "I, er…I can't really let you have that."

"You have no choice," Grimhilde reminded him.

"Not that I want to have my heart crushed anytime soon," Xander inquired, "but…why haven't you done it already?"

"Your heart is but one of two I need," Grimhilde explained. "I must have the hearts of two of the Fairest of All, each a different gender. They must be destroyed at the exact same moment in order for the spell I am casting to take effect. There are numerous other preparations as well. We shall take you to one of the remote islands of this world and set the beginning of the spell into motion. As for the other heart…she resides here, on this very island. We will return to collect her shortly."

Xander wondered fervently if there was any way out of his predicament, and, as a matter of course, if there was any way he could find and save this other "Fairest of All" before Grimhilde could sink claws into her. Yet he had nothing to offer in reply to the Dark Ace prodding him lightly in the back with his superheated blade, forcing him to board a canoe at which Grimhilde rode in the helm.

Diablo circled the cavern, cawing as he surveyed, pleased to watch one of his mistress' many enemies subdued by two of her loyal assistants. He gave a caw that was more like a low cackle.

That was when Xerxes sped into the cave. The eel needed only one look at Grimhilde, the Dark Ace, and Xander to know that his hiding place was not away from prying eyes after all. He didn't have to recognize any of the people or assess their situation in order to know he would be seen.

Yet it was not Grimhilde, the Dark Ace, or Xander who noticed Xerxes. It was Diablo. And as it happened, the raven still remembered the eel as being at Mozenrath's side when Mozenrath had made his first appeal to Maleficent: the moment he had marked himself as a target through his disrespect to the Mistress of All Evil. Xerxes, for his part, did not notice Diablo; the raven was hidden in the shadows of the cave, and his black feathers camouflaged him perfectly.

Xerxes simply sped through to the other end of the cave, clutching the star shard tightly between his jaws as he burst through the waterfall. Diablo ceased his cawing and silently followed, determined to track down Mozenrath's familiar to the point where he could finally rid existence of the pest.

"The raven has gone silent," the Dark Ace commented as he prepared to shove the canoe out to sea.

"Diablo goes where he pleases, when he pleases," Grimhilde explained. "He will return when he sees fit. Now send us on our way."

"At once," the Dark Ace vowed, and the canoe floated out onto the water, through the waterfall unnoticed, out onto a wide, open sea.

A sea over which Xerxes was flitting at top speed, unknowing of Diablo only a few yards behind.

...

At the edge of Brakmar, Mozenrath, Snatcher, Roman, the Huntsman, Wuya, Yzma, Aghoul, Mim, Peter, Rémington, and Grany assembled around the place Wuya had chosen to create the transportation needed.

"I think I'll go with something…sporty." She flicked her hands outward, and a bright red convertible, stretched out with enough seats to fit ten people and one Bow Meow, materialized. "Well?"

"I don't even know what that is," Rémington told her. "It's going to get questions asked about it."

"How do most people travel around here?" Wuya asked.

"Well, we do have vehicles with wheels that are sort of like that," Rémington informed her, "but less…polished."

"Talk me through it," Wuya commanded.

"Can I keep this one to sell later?" Rémington asked.

"No," Wuya said flatly.

It took some time for Rémington to describe the right type of vehicle needed; Wuya reworked the car into a trolley similar to Ruel's.

"Does anyone need a bathroom break before we go?" Yzma asked.

Mim put up a hand.

"I mean to actually use the bathroom," Yzma clarified. "Not sabotage the pipes."

The hand went down.

"And you, Mozenrath?" Yzma asked. "How's the caffeine crash?"
"I'm fine," Mozenrath grunted in response.

"And your hangover?" Wuya asked Roman.

"Geez!" Roman groaned. "When did you two become our moms?"

"Mom?" Yzma repeated. "Who said anything about being a mom? I'm not a mom!"

"Do I look like I want to spend my time taking care of the rest of you?" Wuya added. "Now, get in the car. No fighting, and if you have to ask if we're there yet, we aren't."

The Huntsman took the wheel; Roman and Snatcher both bid for it, but were shut down. The journey took the crew over all sorts of terrain. Peter made sure to ask if they were "there yet" every fifteen minutes or so, just to aggravate the Huntsman. When the conversation wasn't dominated by Peter testing everyone's limits to not throw him out of the vehicle, Rémington and Grany briefed the others on a light history of the World of Twelve and what they would need to know in order to be convincing. At last, the trolley rolled through a thick forest, with wooden buildings cropping up in between the trees to forge a town. The people, all of dark complexion with hair the bright green color of leaves – and, in the case of the adult males, sporting this hair in such a way that it covered their faces in entirety – all turned to give a gaze of curiosity to the passing trolley.

"Now, remember, brothers Smisse," Snatcher said quietly, so as not to risk his natural voice being heard by anyone in the vicinity, "most of us have very little to lose if our disguises are seen through. However, the two of you have a reputation. If you're found out, it's over for all of us. Whatever you do, DON'T drop the act."

"We get it," Rémington told Snatcher.

"We're not – " Grany began, but Rémington nudged him rather hard with a toe.

"You don't talk," he emphasized, "remember?"

Grany nodded, slightly miffed.

The trolley pulled up to the tallest tree in the forest; several guards, of an obviously different race from the townspeople given their light complexion, fair hair, and pointed ears, approached with bows in hand. "Who goes there?" one of them demanded.

"A coalition devoted to the protection of dragons," the Huntsman answered through the driver's seat window. "We wish to speak with your king."

"What makes you think you deserve an audience with him?" a guard asked roughly.

"We have received news," the Huntsman stated heavily, "that the dragon Phaerys may be in mortal danger, and we wish to prevent this from taking place."

The guards whispered among each other; the Huntsman caught the words "Phaerys," "Adal," and "Sufokia." At last, the guard who had addressed the Huntsman demanded, "Disembark from your vehicle. You will enter the throne room accompanied."

"As you wish," the Huntsman replied, shifting to leave the driver's seat. The door opened, and the entourage began to file out.

The guards were sent into another flurry of whispering, this time related to how this strange collection of visitors was mostly comprised of highly beautiful women. Surrounded by the Cra guards, the eleven were escorted into the tree and shown into the throne room.

The entire chamber was bathed in a soft sea-green glow, dimly lit. Wooden planks formed a walking path through an otherwise grassy floor. At the center, the wooden throne was elevated, situated upon a tiny patch of earth surrounded by a ring of water. Upon this throne, the king was positioned: a tall, broad man whose green hair all but obscured his face, twisting out into an elaborate beard. To one side of his throne stood a younger Sadida man, shirtless but clad in a red cloth that hung between his legs, both front and back, and played at touching the floor. To the other, a young Sadida woman with a smug expression wore a gown of red and a headdress fashioned in the shape of two wooden antlers.

"His Majesty, King Oakheart Sheran," the Cra guard introduced. "Your Highness, we came upon these…strangers attempting to enter the palace grounds. They say they bring bad tidings regarding the safety of Phaerys."

"Let me hear what they have to say," Oakheart demanded.

Snatcher knew his cue. "Your Highness," he began, putting on his sweetest and highest voice while giving a deep curtsy. "It is a pleasure to meet you, indeed. You are far more handsome than the gossip suggested. I may very well swoon."

Oakheart grunted; he knew flattery when he heard it, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy it. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Moi?" Snatcher placed a hand delicately over his heart. "Madame Penelope Frou Frou. I come with my faithful traveling companions: Fiammetta Incandescent, Brandisia Black, Lady Amzy, Lady Ayu, Hunter Thorn, Sarah Smiles, Katana Scimitar…" He sighed. "Jim…" A deeper sigh. "And…Ghoulia." He quickly regained composure.

"And the Bow Meow?" Oakheart asked.

"A mascot of sorts," Snatcher explained. "We call her Honey Crisp."

The young woman's expression grew rather serious. Snatcher could tell she found something about the situation familiar, but wasn't quite able to name the problem.

"We come from many nations," Snatcher explained, "from Cra – " He gestured to Wuya. "And Iop – " Now the Huntsman. "And beyond. We have collaborated with a single purpose: to protect the dragons of this world. We have heard whispers of a rival faction wishing to exterminate Phaerys, the poor dear, and are amassing numbers to investigate the matter and prevent any harm from coming to him. Of course, it may simply be all talk, with nothing to worry about whatsoever. That is the best-case outcome. But if it should come to the worst…" He trailed off, letting the others' imaginations do the work for them.

"We most certainly do not want that," Oakheart stated. "What is it you ask of us? Numbers?"

"At least one volunteer," Snatcher said, "willing to travel with us."

"Only one?" Oakheart pressed. "For such an urgent matter, it seems you would need more."

"At LEAST one," Snatcher reiterated. "Will you consider our request? You need not decide right away, of course. Perhaps by tomorrow, the answer will be more clear. In the meantime, we hope to enjoy the sights of the Sadida Kingdom. Most of us, myself included, have never set foot in this grand civilization."

Oakheart was rightly suspicious; this was the first he had heard of any groups dedicated to either protecting or attacking Phaerys. And if such a threat did lurk outside the borders, there was the matter of the much smaller and more defenseless Grougaloragran to worry about. But there was no telling if it was simply words made up by the strangers in order to attain some personal goal. All the same, Oakheart knew he could not simply oust the entourage based on the simple lack of knowledge about them. "I will require time to think it over," Oakheart stated. "There are a number of other matters I must attend to that are more pertinent to this kingdom. I shall return to this matter at dinner, to which you are all cordially invited. In the meantime, you may stay on the palace grounds, but not unsupervised. You will be given quarters in which you may relax after what I am sure has been a long and hard journey."

"You are too kind, your Highness," Snatcher replied. "We shall anxiously await your decision. Come, friends. We shall retire to the quarters we have been given." He turned as if to begin striding away, firing a wink to Roman.

Mozenrath remembered his line on cue. "You mean we came all this way and we don't even get to see the Sadida palace?" His voice was soft, high; he had practiced in order to sound rightly feminine without Snatcher being able to accuse him of "cheating."

"We wouldn't want to intrude upon the privacy of our guests," Snatcher replied. "The king has already been too generous, letting us stay within the palace!"

"I did so have my hopes up," Mozenrath moaned. "I wanted to see where the great victory against Noximilien took place."

"That has never been our objective, Miss Black," Snatcher said firmly.

"Papa?" the young woman piped up. "Might I please, please give our visitors a tour of the palace? I can show them where Nox's clock is kept and everything!"

King Oakheart smiled. "Very well, Amalia," he said. "You may lead the tour. But keep the guards with you at all times."

The young woman leapt over the water, landing gracefully on the wooden planks. "I am Princess Amalia Sheran Sharm," she introduced, "and I would be honored to be your guide."

"No, Princess," Snatcher replied. "The honor is all ours."

...

Amalia talked a mile a minute as she brought the WHAM ARMY and close to a legion of Cra archers through various corridors and courtyards, explaining the significance behind each one. The first place that caught the group's attention was not, in fact, the location of the Eliacube, but the monument Amalia had mentioned earlier: an enormous clock with spidery mechanical legs, once a functioning vehicle but now broken down and planted in the ground so deeply that grass was beginning to grow up over its base.

"The clock of Noximilien," Amalia introduced. "We brought it here to remember the battle. You know the story of Nox, and how he drained the wakfu from the world in order to turn back time, no? Well, what you might not have heard was this. I don't like to brag, but we won that day because I channeled the tree of life itself. But of course, I couldn't have done it without my friends. Tristepin Percedal gave his life for us that day, or so we thought. He turned out to be all right, but it was the intention that mattered. And Yugo, the Eliatrope king – yes, yes, I know, me, personally friends with Yugo! – he finished the fight against Nox. You know, if Yugo were here, he would definitely join up with you in order to find out if the dragons were being threatened."

"He sounds like quite the hero," Rémington commented in his own disguised voice.

Amalia stared at Rémington for a moment. She knew this "woman" seemed somehow familiar, but had no clue where to even begin trying to figure out why. "He is," she said after a pause of trying to place the face in her memories and turning up nothing.

"Does the clock still work?" Mim asked. "Say someone wanted to use it to wreak destruction over the whole planet. Hypothetically, of course. Because we would want to stop them!"

"DEFINITELY not because any of us would ever want to use it ourselves," Yzma hissed with a sharp glare at Mim.

Amalia simply laughed it off. "It's been rusting for six years. I think it would take the power of a god to get it started again. Now, this way! There is something very important I want to show you, but you can't look at it directly."

...

High up a tree trunk, a red door was inset, and Sadida guards with pointed spears posted all around it. Amalia led her tour group along a catwalk that surrounded the tree, leading right up to the door.

"This is where we keep the Eliacube," she explained. "It is safe behind this door. The Eliacube is one of the most powerful – oh, silly me, you knew that! It's the reason for everything that happened with Nox AND Qilby. But no one has touched it in years. I don't think anyone will try to use it to bother us again. No one who's tried already has succeeded anyway. Oh, I do wish I could show it to you, but that would be against all the rules, so you'll just have to imagine it. It glows the most beautiful sea-green color."

Roman, Rémington, Grany, and Peter eyed the door with interest, already wondering how they could break into the well-guarded room, either by diverting the guards or creating an alternate point of entry.

"Well, that about wraps up our tour!" Amalia clapped her hands together enthusiastically. "I'll show you where your room is now, and you can relax there until dinner time."

"And what will you be doing until then, Princess?" Mozenrath asked.

"I had not quite figured that out," Amalia admitted. "Perhaps enjoy the day with a cup of tea?"

"I am rather thirsty," Mozenrath lied. "Might I join you for tea while my friends relax in their room?"

"We can bring you beverages in your assigned quarters," a guard said gruffly.

"No, no, it's all right!" Amalia waved her hands at the guard. "Of course Brandisia can join me for tea, and anyone else who wishes to!"

"I shall take you up on your most gracious offer," Snatcher chimed in.

"Wonderful!" Amalia chirped. "I did so want to hear more about you and how you all came together! Will the rest of you be joining?"
"No," Yzma said quickly before anyone else could chime in. "We shall be retiring to our chambers to rest up, thank you very much. Though I will take you up on that offer of drinks. A lemonade for me, if you please."

Amalia, Snatcher, and Mozenrath went down the catwalk one way while the others, flanked by guards, went another. A pair of guards detached themselves in order to keep a closer eye on Amalia and her two cohorts.

And as the gears turned in the thieves' mind regarding how to gain access to the Eliacube inconspicuously, similar gears turned in Mozenrath and Snatcher's heads regarding the princess. With the right flair, they each thought, they probably had a chance of getting her to hand the Eliacube right over.

...

A glass coffin floated through the vast void of Galra Space, destined for nowhere in particular. Its occupant slept safely inside, not dead, but not quite alive. He might just have slept until his vital functions gave way and allowed him to slip into death.

But the coffin was intercepted by a bright red comet, careening through space at an almost reckless speed. Driven by the comet, the coffin was propelled through the abyss, passing stars and asteroids, until it came into the atmosphere of a celestial body that one just might mistake for a planet if one didn't know better.

The comet slowed down just enough that when the coffin hit the ground, it cracked, but did not harm its sleeping tenant. Warm air seeped in; the eyes of the Galra soldier cracked open.

The comet landed just before him, at first amorphous but then taking shape: a tall, thin-waisted woman with a cat's head, clothed in crimson. She faced away from him at first as she stretched out her arms to either side. Then Mirage slowly turned to face the Galra soldier, looking directly into his woozy eyes.

A single crack split the glass right down the middle. Mirage teased her fingers into this fissure and ripped the encasement open. The soldier was exposed to the elements in full, flinching as he blinked awake.

"Sendak," Mirage greeted. "I believe I heard that only victory or death would stop you. That didn't look like either."

"You know my name." It was an almost accusatory statement; the question it contained was loud and clear.

"I know more than you can imagine," Mirage replied, hands on her hips. "And from what I know about you…I think you'll do."

Sendak's gaze hardened. "And what is it you intend to use me for?"

"It seems that if one wants to get any evil accomplished these days," Mirage remarked casually, "one has to assemble a team. Or at least that's what's in fashion. I figured I'd give it a shot for myself. Unlike the others, though, I'm not looking for conquest. I'm looking for one very important and specific thing. Something you might not realize you're an expert at accomplishing."

"Don't assume I will go with you simply because you released me," Sendak growled. "I am loyal to Emperor Zarkon alone."

"And how do you think he wishes to reward you for losing to a bunch of ill-behaved children?" Mirage prodded. "I'm sure you would be given the HIGHEST honor. That, or he'd simply have you killed. The moment the Paladins of Voltron captured you, you became a liability, not an asset. Go back to Zarkon, if you wish. Become cannon fodder. Or stay with me and be the cannon."

Sendak didn't want to come to terms with the truth of her words. His failure had been unforgivable. There was a large part of him that simply wanted to return to Zarkon and accept his fate. It was an oath of loyalty he had sworn, and he had always believed he would be faithful to it.

But deep down, in his core, there was the traitorous urge to survive. And that urge was complicating everything.

"What exactly have I accomplished that interests you?" Sendak asked.

"Intimidation," Mirage explained. "Fear. The Arusians see you as a demon. The Paladins, for all that they were able to do to overcome you, shook at the sight of you. I'm not looking for a throne. I'm simply looking to put fear in the hearts of the people of all worlds. When you have fear on your side, you have the most powerful empire of them all."

"I do not seek – " Sendak began.

"I know," Mirage interrupted. "But I also know what you DO seek. Revenge on the Paladins. Especially that Takashi Shirogane. Do what I want, and…well, actually, your revenge on them would serve my end perfectly. It won't be your reward. It will be your first mission. This world – this massive web of planets – basks in the hope that Voltron will protect them. Eliminate Voltron, and what remains?"

"Fear," Sendak answered. "You know so much. I wouldn't be surprised if you knew where the Paladins were at this very moment."

"You're catching on," Mirage said slyly. "They are due to arrive here soon. You and I shall have our chance then. We shall fight side-by-side, and the Paladins will be no more."

Sendak was still wary. This woman was undoubtedly untrustworthy. She knew far too much. And yet her words rang true; his urge to survive pushed him to, if not follow her, at least stay away from Zarkon, stay away from Haggar, stay away from the entire Galra infrastructure. And if she could make good on her promise? If she knew that Shiro and his young annoyances were on their way as a special delivery to Sendak?

Foolish as it was, he wanted to take a chance on her.

"I will help you," he vowed. "But only if the Paladins are our first mission."

"That is exactly why I brought you here," Mirage promised. "Soon, the Paladins will have to face their own fears. There are so many ways to go about it, you know. Destroy Shirogane first. Or make him watch the little one bleed out right in front of his eyes."

Sendak liked the sound of that.

...

Roman, the Huntsman, Mim, Aghoul, Wuya, Yzma, Peter, and the Smisses were led around another catwalk up the trunk of a thick tree to where a charming wooden door opened upon a small apartment. A series of bedrooms branched off a lounge with kitchen facilities. Every texture that could be wood was, and what wasn't wood was leaf green.

"These are your quarters," one of the Cra guards introduced. "You may do as you wish inside, but if you wish to leave, it will be with supervision. If you have any requests in the meantime, you may simply ask."

"We'll take the Eliacube, if you please," Aghoul attempted. Snatcher had to wince at his voice, which hardly sounded feminine at all and brought to mind fingernails on a chalkboard.

The guards stared at Aghoul for a moment before he burst into forced laughter. "Just a joke! But we will take enough lemonades to go around."

The group filed into the lounge, trying to mask how eager they were to get away from the guards. Once all were inside and the door was shut, Wuya cast an aura over the wood, causing it to shimmer.

"There," she said. "Now we can talk about anything without being heard."

"So I've been thinking about the Eliacube," Yzma began, "and I have some ideas."

"I'm going to shut you down right now," Roman replied.

"Hear her out," Wuya commanded.

"What, you already know it's a bad idea?" Grany asked.

"Once you get to know Yzma better," Aghoul explained, "you'll understand."

"We begin by distracting the guards," Yzma rattled. "A flash mob should do the trick. Who can resist joining in on a flash mob? While the guards' attention is diverted, Ragdoll will scale the back side of the tree using a pair of plungers, which we shall have to locate before we can implement any of this. When he reaches the apex of the tree, he'll cut a tiny hole into the back of the Eliacube chamber using several implements that we will also have to locate beforehand. This aperture should be just big enough for him to slip through. Once he does, he can unlock the doors from the inside, go back out through the hole, open the door, and walk right into the chamber! We'll have Roman waiting in a neighboring tree at a vantage point. Ragdoll will leave the chamber with the Eliacube, toss it to Roman, and use the plungers to go back down the tree. Roman can stash the Eliacube in that wig of his and rappel his way down his own tree. If any questions are asked about it, we will pass it off as a fashionable hair accessory. We then leave with the Eliacube, and no one is the wiser!"

There was a pause.

"NOW do you see why we don't let Yzma come up with the ideas?" Aghoul asked Grany.

"I have several questions," Rémington brought up. "If Ragdoll is going to break in through the back wall, why does he have to let himself in through the front door? How is he going to carry whatever kind of saw we need all the way up the tree? Why can't he just use the catwalk, since the guards are going to be distracted? And how do you know the guards will join in on the flash mob? Actually, I KNOW they won't join the flash mob."

"Then we'll use a conga line," Yzma amended.

"I do like the idea of boring through the back wall at least," Wuya admitted. "I could probably do that inconspicuously with magic. And if we don't have to worry about the front door, then we can just keep the guards occupied with…well, anything loud and noisy. A flash mob might not actually be a bad idea in that respect."

"I shall begin choreographing at once!" Yzma proclaimed.

"We should wait until nightfall," Rémington added. "There will still be a guard posted, but fewer people to walk by and get suspicious. We just have to make sure our distraction doesn't wake everybody up."

"After dinner, to be sure," Peter volunteered. "If we fail to attend, we won't just look suspicious; we'll come across as downright rude."

"Remind me why we can't just blow the whole place up and take what we want?" Mim huffed.

"Because Archie is in charge, and this is how he does things," Roman reminded her. "If he were here right now, he'd probably say something about making sure we don't burn bridges with the plant people so we could try and cash in favors with them later. Trust is a powerful tool of persuasion after all, Torchwick. And we want to stretch ours as far as it will endure." His accent slipped into decidedly British. It veered back out of echoing Snatcher as Roman punctuated, "Though if things go horribly wrong, I'm not ruling out blowing it up as an option."

A knock at the door signified that lemonades had arrived.

...

Amalia took tea in an outdoor courtyard, where sunlight filtered down through the canopy above. Mozenrath idly stirred his tea with a delicate-looking spoon, thinking about how he had been told of the Sadida's connection with plants and trying to reconcile that with Amalia drinking a byproduct of dead leaves.

"Your dresses are so lovely!" Amalia complimented. "Wherever did you get them?"

"You'd be surprised what fashions you can find while traveling the world, dear," Snatcher replied cryptically, knowing full well that admitting a purchase in a den of thieves might be a giveaway.

"So, princess," Mozenrath said after a long sip of tea, "tell us more about yourself."

Amalia smiled. "What's to tell? I am the Sadida princess, and part of the famous Brotherhood of the Tofu."

"I want to know more about that," Mozenrath went on. "What exactly you did – "

"Miss Black, you silly girl!" Snatcher interrupted, forcing a giggle. "She's so obsessed with the story of the Brotherhood, you know. Always trying to get more details, despite already KNOWING the story back to front!" Snatcher fired Mozenrath a meaningful look; he was asking Amalia for information that any denizen of the World of Twelve wouldn't have to inquire about.

"Sorry, Penelope," Mozenrath replied. "I always have been a fan of a good-versus-evil story." Though not the sort where good won, he added in his mind.

"Sometimes I wonder if Nox really was all that evil," Amalia mused, stirring her own tea. "He nearly destroyed my entire kingdom and killed my people…but he seemed to be trying to fill a hole in his own heart. Now, Qilby was evil. There's no question about that! He can claim he didn't want to be alone all he wanted, but a man who destroys world after world can never be trusted! Sometimes I wonder if he's definitely locked up in the White Dimension for good…" She shivered. "But that's silly talk. There isn't anything that could let him out. Except the Eliacube, and we have that locked up safely."

"Quite safely," Snatcher agreed.

Mozenrath's thoughts diverted down a side road. Did the people of the World of Twelve know about Corridors of Darkness? Using the Darkness, one could break into or out of any dimension one pleased. He severely doubted that simply tucking a villain away into an alternate dimension was a secure form of imprisonment.

"It is rather a shame we couldn't see the cube for ourselves," Snatcher continued, "given how hard you worked to protect it. We admire you greatly, your highness. It would be an honor to see the fruits of your labor."

"Thank you," Amalia replied. "I do wish I could show you. But it's a matter of security – "

"You don't trust us," Mozenrath snapped.

"It isn't that I don't trust you," Amalia said quickly. "It's that we've only just met, and – "

"That still sounds like distrust," Mozenrath taunted.

"Perhaps I could trust you if I knew you better," Amalia suggested. "Why don't you tell me more about yourselves? Why did you begin your mission to protect dragons?"

Snatcher and Mozenrath caught each other's eye. They hadn't planned that far.

"It…began with just Miss Black and myself, you see," Snatcher kicked off.

"We're the daughters of two Enutrof families," Mozenrath added, remembering Rémington's description of the peoples of the World of Twelve. "We grew up together in a town by the ocean."

"I was Miss Black's governess," Snatcher quickly invented. "What a rambunctious child she was, always taking me on this adventure or that! Her favorite place was on the seashore, where she would look to the horizon and dream of great adventures to be had across the ocean."

"Penelope always did take good care of me," Mozenrath added. "Well, except for that one day. The day when it happened."

"I made a terrible, terrible error," Snatcher said, picking up on Mozenrath's train of thought. "I had just taken young Miss Black down to the seaside so she could play when I was waylaid by a pair of acquaintances. We set to talking, and during that time, I had completely lost track of Miss Black!"

"I…went in for a swim," Mozenrath continued, "and…I…"

He and Snatcher said "Went too far!" as one, and both forced a round of chuckles to punctuate it.

"I noticed far too late how far out to sea Miss Black had swum," Snatcher said mournfully, "and only then because of her cries for help. She had tired out, and was beginning to falter in the water."

"I thought I was going to die that day," Mozenrath added somberly. "But then…well, the first thing I remember is the shadow passing overhead. Then I remember being lifted up out of the water and carried through the sky."

"It was a dragon!" Snatcher announced, sounding as though he were still in shock from the incident. "He brought Miss Black back to the shore, and I was ever so glad she was all right – "

"She just about choked me to death hugging me," Mozenrath snarked.

"The dragon spoke to us then," Snatcher continued. "He gently warned Miss Black to stay out of trouble. I thanked him ever so much for what he had done. And then he was on his way, quickly as he'd turned up."

"Since a dragon saved my life," Mozenrath concluded, "we figured it was only fair to do the same. For all of them. For the rest of our lives. The others in our little entourage also had encounters with dragons in one way or another. That's what brought us together. And now, we're looking for Sadida who fit the bill." He and Snatcher exchanged pleased glances, proud of themselves for playing off each other to form a coherent narrative.

"Oh, what a wonderful story!" Amalia clapped her hands together. "You know…I've had some experience with dragons myself. I have a very good friend who is a dragon…though he might not think of me as much of a friend right now. We had sort of a fight, you see, and he went off his own way. But I'm sure he'll come back around. We're also taking care of a baby dragon. Grougaloragran. There only are so many dragons in this world, you know. I wonder which you met."

Both Snatcher and Mozenrath knew better than to describe the dragon; they may very well have come up with one that didn't exist. "I suppose we will know him when we see him again," Mozenrath said. "If that day ever comes."

"So you're looking for Sadida to join you," Amalia mulled over. "I'm starting to think…what if I came along with you?"
Mozenrath and Snatcher immediately cringed.

"I've been to the Crimson Claws before," Amalia went on. "Again, not to brag, but I am one of the great heroes of this world thanks to what I did against Nox and Qilby. I think I'd be the perfect addition to your team!"

"But don't you have to stay here and attend to your royal duties, dear?" Snatcher said hurriedly.

"Not necessarily," Amalia replied. "This kingdom has gotten along well without me on my past adventures. Papa and Armand can handle everything. That settles it! I'll join you! For just one adventure. To make sure Phaerys is all right."

"But…we…" Mozenrath struggled for a counterargument.

"You said you wanted Sadida who would help you protect dragons, right?" Amalia said sternly. "Well, I am a Sadida, and I want to help protect Phaerys! Is there a problem with that?"

"None whatsoever," Snatcher relented.

He and Mozenrath now recognized their new mission: to find a way to get Amalia off their backs long enough to complete the theft of the Eliacube.

...

The great clock that had once served as Nox's vehicle of destruction had rusted for years, gathering cobwebs on the interior. The quiet seemed to have settled as a permanent fixture of the mechanical behemoth. The first footsteps to break that silence in six years were as loud as cracking thunder.

"This is what that fool Nox used the Eliacube for," Qilby remarked as he looked around the metal chamber. "Not even close to its full potential…but I have to admit he was creative."

"I suppose it needs this Eliacube in order to run," Tyrian guessed.

"Unless a sufficient source of backup power can be found," Qilby remarked, eyeing up a small pedestal that had served as the resting place for the Eliacube.

"Comin' up," Hades replied. He snapped his fingers, and a small sphere of deep blue crystal filled with pure Darkness appeared where the Eliacube had once served as the machine's engine. The clock began to whirr to life, an ominous tick-tock echoing throughout the chamber. "Bada bing!"

"This plan of yours is a long shot," Qilby told Tyrian.

"I know," Tyrian admitted, grinning widely. "That will make it all the better when we actually succeed."

"So, are we going for it right away?" Hades asked. "Or – "

"We have a few stops to make first," Tyrian stated. "I want to test my little theory about Mozenrath and his…friends."

"I have some errands I wish to run as well," Qilby added.

"You two call the shots," Hades said with a nod. "Though I will remind you that if you aim for the wrong target, I WILL make you both permanent fixtures of the White Dimension. You wanna go back there? You don't wanna go back there."

"Well noted," Qilby said somberly.

"Now," Tyrian announced, "let's have some fun."

...

A long hike took Riku, Aladdin, Nora, Ren, Nick, and Luna to the highest summit they could see: a tall mountain reaching for the blue sky. At the peak, they made note of a small rock formation: a column of flat stones that reached to about chest height of most of them, with a pink conch shell lying on top.

"What's that?" Nora wondered out loud.

"I don't know," Riku answered, "but someone built it for a reason. Let's not mess with it."

"It speaks to me of meaning," Luna added. "I feel as though it was not simply built for any reason, but for something deeply important."

"How do you know?" Nick asked.

"I have always been able to sense meaning to a degree," Luna explained. "Things that are sacred stand out to me. I suppose it comes with being an alicorn."

"Hey!" Nora realized, scanning the horizon. "You can see the whole place from here!"

"We're on an island," Aladdin observed after scouting around for himself.

"That does not leave our adversaries many places to go," Luna stated.

"Unless they used the Darkness to move," Riku pointed out.

"They still have not left this world," Luna informed him. "At least, the one you marked has not."

"They could just take a boat," Nora realized.

"We definitely spent enough time searching the forest that they could have gotten away without us noticing," Nick added.

"Maybe it's time to check out the village," Aladdin suggested.

"What village?" Nora asked.

Aladdin pointed downward. "That village."

At the foot of the mountain, a sprawling village was visible, its people moving about to attend to various tasks.

"Good idea," Riku said with a nod. "Let's go."

It didn't take the group long to hike down the mountain and enter the borders of the village. As Riku saw people weaving baskets from palm fronds and cooking on outdoor fires, he smiled, thinking of life back home on the Destiny Islands.

The oddly-dressed crowd – most of all Luna – drew stares from the people the further into the village they wandered. Attention was drawn to them, and passed from villager to villager until the right person for the job of figuring out who these strangers were and where they had come from was found. As soon as she sighted Riku's group, the young woman rushed over to them with a smile. "Uh…hey there!" she greeted, waving.

"Hey," Riku replied jovially, waving back.

She skidded to a halt in front of the group, and Riku noted that she looked to be about his age. "I don't mean to be rude," she said, "but everyone could kinda tell that you're not from around here, so we were basically wondering what you were doing here. Not that we want you to leave! Just…if there's anything I can help you with, go ahead and ask."

"We appreciate it," Riku replied. "Who are you?"
"Right," the young woman realized. "I didn't introduce myself. Probably should have done that first. Sorry, it's been a day. First we had that whole monster in the coconut grove, and now…" She halted herself. "I'm Moana. Chief-in-training of the village of Motonui, which you are in. Who are you?"

One by one, the others introduced themselves:

"I'm Riku."

"Name's Nick."

"Nora Valkyrie!"

"Lie Ren."

"Call me Aladdin."

"I am Luna."

At the latter, Moana flinched. "You can talk!"

"I am finding that seems surprising," Luna confessed. "You must not be used to my kind being able to speak."

"I've seen weirder," Moana said with a shrug. "Where did you all come from?"

All knew better than to betray right away that they came from another world. "I'm from another island," Riku answered, which was technically the truth.

"So," Moana asked, "can I help you? Maybe give you a tour of the village?"

"I'm sorry to have to turn you down," Riku replied, "but we're looking for a missing friend of ours. We followed his kidnappers to this island, but now we can't find them. They might have gotten off the island. Maybe you can help us in that way. We don't really have any way to follow."

"Not even a boat?" Moana asked. "You had to have gotten here by boat."

There was a silence before Nora said, "It got wrecked on the way in."

"Well, we can definitely get you a new boat," Moana affirmed. "And whoever your kidnappers are, that's definitely no one in Motonui. If your friend is missing, maybe I can help you find him."

"We'll take all the help we can get," Aladdin replied.

"Don't worry," Moana reassured the group. "The ocean is a friend of mine. I'm sure I can help you find your way to wherever they took your friend. I know my way around these islands pretty well."

"Thank you," Riku said sincerely. "We appreciate it."

"I just need to talk to my dad first," Moana explained. "He's the actual chief. Can't really just go out sailing somewhere without telling him." In the back of her mind was the fear that he would try to stand in her way, seeing as she was dropping everything to sail out with total strangers…but when someone came to her in such a desperate hour of need, how could she say no? "Just…wait here."

Riku nodded, and Moana took off running.

"You really think we should just let her come along?" Nick asked condescendingly. "We don't even know her."

"She knows her way around these waters," Riku affirmed. "We don't. And she seems honest. I can't detect any Darkness around her."

"I think she just really wants to help," Aladdin added. "I don't see why we can't let her."

"We're probably going to have to tell her the truth about where we came from," Ren said softly.

"We'll worry about that when it's time," Riku said firmly.

...

Centuries ago, the heart of the mother island of the world that housed Motonui had been stolen by a well-meaning but impulsive demigod, causing the heart of that world to become cursed and the Darkness to spread throughout the ocean, infecting island after island: vegetation died, fish became scarce, and monsters swarmed throughout the ocean, looking for the small boats of hapless sailors. All this had come to an end when Moana had returned the mother island's heart to her, restoring the natural order to the world and allowing the mother island, Te Fiti, to enter a peaceful rest. The islands that had been infected by Darkness began to rebuild from the ashes.

But the first islands to ever encounter the Darkness had been swallowed by it entirely, becoming utterly uninhabitable, and from this, they had never returned. The dead trunks of fossilized trees covered them in place of living palms. Instead of villages, they played host to the ruins of civilizations that could not survive. No fish dared approach these now forbidden-seeming islands.

It was on one of these islands that Grimhilde and the Dark Ace had taken Xander, making their base in a deep cavern. Grimhilde summoned her mirror to hang on the wall and show her what she desired to see while Xander was forced to sit against the opposite wall, not even daring to struggle, as the Dark Ace refused to sheathe his sword and was obviously ready to give a painful blow at any sign of resistance.

At that moment, Grimhilde had chosen to spy on the other Fairest she had in mind: a female. The Mirror warned her that she would not like what she saw, and Grimhilde found it proven correct. Moana, whose heart she had thought would be easy to collect and crush along with Xander's, was allying herself with Riku, Aladdin, Luna, Nick, Nora, and Ren. Facing that entire group was an encounter Grimhilde knew was not in her favor, even with the Dark Ace at her side.

"What do you suggest we do now?" the Dark Ace asked. "Shall we not simply pick another Fairest?"

"No," Grimhilde grunted. "I am set on this one. We can find a way to isolate her from the new bodyguards she has acquired."

"If you say so," the Dark Ace replied.

"It will take them time to find this island," Grimhilde promised. "Time allowed us to figure out how to obtain her heart. And soon, there shall be none else to stand in my way."

...

Much like everything else in the Sadida kingdom, the royal dining hall was shades of beige and green, with wooden walls and green banners abound. Oakheart sat at the table's head, with Amalia and the young man who had flanked him earlier – presumably this was Amalia's brother Armand – at his side. His "esteemed guests" – Mozenrath, Snatcher, the Huntsman, Roman, Mim, Aghoul, Wuya, Yzma, Peter, and Rémington – were seated at the opposite end of the table. Grany, under the pretense of being an ordinary Bow Meow, was forced to sit under the table; Rémington discreetly passed him a plate before claiming his server had forgotten to give him his own. In between both ends of the table were assorted members of the royal court: mostly Sadida, but a handful of Cra.

Oakheart stood, raising his cup. "I would like to propose a toast," he began, "to our visitors: protectors of the dragons of this world."

The Huntsman flinched again.

"A toast!" Rémington hoisted his own cup high.

Amalia couldn't shake the feeling that she knew "Katana" from somewhere. Perhaps she had passed through the kingdom when Amalia was younger.

That was when the doors to the dining hall were kicked open. "A toast!" the intruder said as he strode in. "Yes, indeed, a toast!"

Roman nearly screamed. He clapped a hand over his mouth so as not to make any noise or comment. He had hoped never to see the man who had just walked into the dining room again, and began to seriously contemplate if it was worth blowing cover to stand up and punch him in the face.

"Who are you?" Oakheart asked. "And who let you in?"

"Me?" Tyrian Callows put a hand to his chest. "Why, I let myself in. You really ought to hire some more durable guards, your majesty."

It was then that anyone who took a closer look at the door could see the bodies laying haphazardly outside.

Tyrian made one graceful leap up onto the table. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, spreading his arms and doing a 360, "I would like to bring your attention to the main event of tonight. For tonight is when history repeats itself. You all thought you were safe. You thought the story was over. Well, you just saw the end of act one, and I hope you enjoyed the intermission."

"Get to the point!" Armand yelled, standing and slamming his fist on the table.

"I'm waiting for the point," Tyrian replied cockily.

A booming explosion sounded outside.

"And there it is now," Tyrian chuckled. "Care to have a look-see?"

The Cra guards present drew their bows, aiming at Tyrian. Tyrian performed a deft backflip off the table as their arrows loosed, all ammo hitting the ceiling. He opened fire with his wrist-mounted guns; the WHAM ARMY hit the dirt and crawled under the table. Several guards' bodies hit the ground as well, though not of their own volition.

"I can't," Roman seethed, "believe…it's…HIM."

"Who is he?" Yzma whispered.

"I will explain later," Roman hissed. "For now, all you need to know is that I FUCKING HATE HIM."

Amalia gave a scream, charging at Tyrian. Several vines, guided by her will, snapped up from around the room in an attempt to bind and strangle him. Tyrian flipped and flopped dexterously out of their way, turning to bolt out of the room.

"AMALIA!" Armand put a hand on his sister's stomach, shoving her back. "Stay out of the way! This is dangerous!"

"That's exactly why I have to do something!" Amalia hissed, shoving Armand in return.

The WHAM ARMY, motivated by morbid curiosity, was the first faction out of the room, wondering what exactly Tyrian was playing at. Tyrian, however, was nowhere to be found. The tree trunk containing the Eliacube had been blown open, the chamber exposed. Two figures stood atop the tree, waiting for an audience before they did their dirty deed; the plan had required them to make their presence very well known.

Amalia, Armand, and Oakheart skidded to a halt right behind the assorted WHAM ARMY. "No," Amalia whimpered. "Oh, no, no, no…"

She didn't recognize Hades. But she did recognize the thin brunette man next to him. The man who, upon making sure all eyes were upon him, reached out to grasp the Eliacube – now visible as a glowing green stone - with the hand he had before holding it up next to the stump of the arm he'd lost. The cube morphed from its boxy shape into a lengthy arm with claw-like digits, and the man's entire appearance changed. Suddenly, his skin shone a brilliant white, his hair darkening to raven black. The sea green of his supernatural arm shone through in his eyes.

"Amalia," Armand said nervously, "tell me that isn't – "

"Qilby," Amalia said shakingly. "It's Qilby!"

Qilby put out his Eliacube-powered hand, opening a glowing green portal in front of himself. A similar portal opened up right before his audience, and he stepped through it to arrive in front of them. "Hello again, Amalia," he greeted. "And goodbye."

A tangle of vines shot toward him, but another portal appeared, and he was gone as soon as he'd come. Hades also disappeared in a burst of flame.

"Tell me that wasn't who I think it was," Yzma whispered to Aghoul.

"What, you mean the Lord of the Dead?" Aghoul replied.

"I said to tell me it WASN'T him!" Yzma seethed.

"Where did they go?" Armand demanded. "Guards! GUARDS!"

The sound of creaking and whirring called the attention of all to the very edge of the palace grounds. By the time everyone made it to where the great clock of Nox had been laid to rest, it had already gotten up and sped away, Tyrian standing atop it and giving a cheerful wave. As the clock made its getaway, Tyrian yelled out "ARRIVEDERCI!" before collapsing into loud laughter that echoed through the sky.

"AFTER THEM!" Oakheart demanded.

But before anyone could give chase, the clock disappeared into an enormous sea-green portal of Qilby's design.

"What could he want?" Amalia cried in panic. "What is he going to do? What are WE going to do?"

The WHAM ARMY eleven backed up into isolation. In a voice only soft enough to be heard by his colleagues, Mozenrath voiced the sentiment they were all thinking: "They just stole our Eliacube."

"So what now?" Mim asked.

"What do you mean, what now?" Mozenrath hissed. "We follow them, we take the cube, and we make them regret beating us to the punch."