46. The Check-In
"The World of Four Nations," Vexen went on to explain, "is exactly as it sounds. Its populace is divided into four distinct peoples: the Water Tribe, the Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom, and the Air Nomads, the latter of whom are all but extinct. Each people has among it individuals who can manipulate or 'bend' the corresponding elements in a process that works entirely outside of magic. It would only make sense for the waters to be kept among the Water Tribe. But which settlement? North or South? Choosing the incorrect one would result in a detour that could prove fatal. Perhaps the solution is to choose a midpoint and seek information from there…"
"All right," Roman interrupted. "We get the point. No rest for the wicked. So let's saddle up and – "
"You're not going," Vexen said flatly. "You forget that Mozenrath's life is on the line. We cannot afford any incompetence. I shall lead the team deployed to the World of Four Nations. Mozenrath will accompany us, if only that we may bring him directly to the waters and heal him there. Beyond that, Wuya has both the skill and demeanor required for maximum efficiency. Mim's demeanor leaves much to be desired, but her powers will admittedly be quite useful. I shall also require Xayide to accompany us, and that comprises the entirety of the team. Entry is closed."
"I don't believe this!" Yzma groaned. "He is closer to all of us than he is to you! Why do YOU get to go and not the majority of us?"
"Because your lack of magical ability will slow us down," Vexen stated. "That, or subpar abilities, before Aghoul chimes in with an argument."
"I believe my abilities in other respects far make up for my lack of magic," the Huntsman argued. "I shall accompany your team."
"No," Vexen insisted, "you most certainly shall not."
"I am traveling with you," the Huntsman growled, "whether you wish me to or not."
"I will freeze you to the spot," Vexen threatened.
And he received a threat right back: the tip of the huntstaff was thrust mere inches away from his face. "You WILL let me accompany him," the Huntsman snarled, "or you will pay the price!"
Vexen sniffed. "I see threats as a bargaining tactic are in fashion. This is the second one I have received in a matter of hours." He reached up to gently nudge the staff aside. "Very well. You may accompany us. I trust you will remain focused. Know, however, that if you cause us to lag behind, you will be cut off and left where you stand so that we may regain the proper momentum. Am I clear?"
"As crystal," the Huntsman said, only slightly less dangerous in tone. He lowered the staff.
"As for the rest of us?" Snatcher ventured.
"I have made an exception for the Huntsman," Vexen replied. "No amount of threatening can persuade me to make more."
"It will be easier if you back down," the Huntsman suggested. "I will make sure Mozenrath survives this ordeal. You need not worry."
"And having me around won't hurt," Wuya teased.
"Nothing brings out the fun in a situation like a good old-fashioned race against death!" Mim chirped.
"Why race death?" Aghoul added. "Winning is only a hollow victory."
"Aghoul has just demonstrated why he is not allowed on the team," Vexen snorted. "Now, if all but those I have specified would LEAVE this bay." He strode over to the PA system, depressing the button. "Xayide, report to the medical bay at once."
No sooner had Vexen stepped back than Yzma cut in, stating, "I need to use this." Before she could argue, she jammed the button down, announcing, "Attention, everyone! This is the beautiful and glamorous Yzma speaking. The intruder known as Zevon is my son. I am henceforth letting him out of his cell to roam the base freely. Do NOT kill him. That is all."
"Zevon is your WHAT?" Wuya said in shock.
"We can discuss this later," Yzma replied.
"No," Wuya insisted, "we are discussing this NOW."
"No," Vexen broke in, "YOU are staying here to prepare for our voyage while Yzma and every other half-baked waste of space in this room will be leaving immediately. And I do mean immediately, before I am forced to take measures."
Yzma, Roman, Snatcher, and Aghoul all turned to storm out of the area, the former three fuming and the latter mildly put off.
On the way, they found a new occupant to the outer laboratory; Garfield perched upon a stool, fiddling with the dial on a Bunsen burner to create the most luminous flame possible. Upon the exit of the other four, he looked up expectantly, impatience written on his face with anxiety between the lines.
"He's fine," Roman said immediately, knowing what Garfield was thinking. "Iceman said it's just a few hours until he's back to seeing if he can fit in your sock drawer."
"We tested it," Garfield said somewhat absently, "and yes, he can fit in the sock drawer. He said it's a good place to gather his thoughts."
"It's Righty we actually have to worry about," Roman sighed.
"Y'know, I barely know the guy," Garfield replied, "but here's hopin' he pulls through for ya."
"Here," Yzma told Garfield as she stalked over to Vexen's side of the laboratory. "If you're going to mope with arson, use these." She swiped a thick stack of papers whose top sheet read "CONFIDENTIAL AND IRREPLACEABLE DATA! TOUCH UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES!" and handed these papers over to Garfield.
A slight smirk appeared on Garfield's somber face. "Like you're reading my mind," he said as he took hold of the papers, separating the top three from the stack and lowering the corners into the fire to watch the paper catch alight, turn black, and fall into ashes.
"Now if you'll excuse me," Yzma stated, "Vexen interrupted a very important mother-son bonding session for me to be here."
"Okay, what is UP with that?" Roman asked as he, Yzma, Snatcher, and Aghoul continued to stalk out of the laboratory. "You have a KID now?"
As Yzma tried to give a condensed version of recent events with just enough backstory for the tale to make sense, Garfield turned the tap of a nearby sink and flicked the remains of the papers into the water before the flames could singe his fingers. He would go through several more sheets before realizing that what he was burning consisted of several printed repetitions of "Nice try. Did you really think I would leave my most crucial data in the open where you miscreants could access it?".
...
The hourglass showed four humanoid silhouettes in succession: one manipulating a stream of water to float through the air, one kicking a large chunk of rock out of the ground and smacking it away, one displaying a graceful boxing technique with flames surrounding its limbs, and one twirling to send a cyclone of air rushing.
"This can only mean one thing!" Merlin proclaimed. "Mozenrath's next target is the World of Four Nations!"
"What's the World of Four Nations?"
"Lemme guess," Cid sighed. "A mess."
"Well, yes," Merlin admitted. "A political nest of thorns, if you will. Yet somehow, I get the feeling you'll fit right in, Sora. Let's see…for you, I believe the world is in the era of Avatar Roku. Oh, no, nonononono, I've just remembered, that's far in the past from you. You will be arriving during the era of Avatar Aang! Ah, yes, a good place to start! The Fire Nation will only just have been passed to Fire Lord Zuko a short while ago. That should give you an excellent window of political peace…oh. Oh, dear. I suppose Mozenrath aims to throw it all into chaos."
"Then we have to stop him," Ruby said firmly.
"That's the attitude!" Merlin encouraged with the swing of a fist. "I presume the same team will be going after him? Sora, Ruby, Papyrus, Stork, and Jasmine? You have, after all, cultivated somewhat of a personal relationship with him."
"I thought he was my nemesis," Aladdin joked.
"TOO BAD!" Papyrus replied. "FOR WE HAVE STOLEN HIM! SO THIS IS WHAT HAVING AN ARCHNEMESIS IS LIKE. I MUST SAY, THE CONCEPT SOUNDS MUCH BETTER ON PAPER."
"I guess the five of us sort of are the Mozenrath-stopping team," Sora observed. He then looked to Riku; "I'm guessing you want to focus on cleaning up some of the other worlds."
"We've let Atmos go for too long," Riku confirmed. "Its broken kingdoms need to be fixed."
"I agree," Kairi stated.
"Can't argue with that," Nick added.
"I can argue with that," Xander sighed. "After that last experience, I could use a break."
"We'll decide who stays and who goes together," Riku stated.
Ruby nodded toward Sora. "Ready when you are!"
Sora looked to the other direction to exchange a nod with Papyrus, who proclaimed, "IT IS TIME FOR US TO STOP OUR NEW ARCHNEMESIS ONCE AND FOR ALL!"
"Technically, he was also originally my archnemesis," Jasmine reminded everyone. "I still owe him for Dagger Rock."
"And I suppose I have to go along to make sure you don't all die horribly," Stork sighed.
"You know you love us," Sora teased.
"And that's just unfortunate for everyone involved," Stork grunted.
The five stood together. Sora put out his hand; the other four put hands in on top of his. "Let's do this!" Sora exclaimed.
Riku turned to the hourglass. "What is Maleficent looking for next?" he asked.
The hourglass repeated the symbols of the representatives of the four nations, followed by a panoramic view of a vast kingdom from above.
"The Fire Nation?" Merlin wondered out loud. "It seems you now have more than one reason to travel to the World of Four Nations."
"We'll be on the lookout!" Sora promised as he, Ruby, Jasmine, Stork, and Papyrus lifted their hands apart.
"I shall prepare you with the proper coordinates at once!" Merlin stated as he led the quintet out of the room.
"All right, everyone," Riku announced to those who remained in the room. "If you're not taking a break, then we have some serious work to do."
...
Zevon was still waiting in his cell when Yzma returned for him. "I heard your little announcementation," he stated. "Do you think it's enough to put me in good standing?"
Yzma was already sliding keys around a ring, searching for the one that fit Zevon's cell. "Anyone who doesn't regard you with the proper respect will have to answer to me," she replied dryly. "Besides, this isn't the strangest way we've made an ally." She fitted key to lock, clicked the door open and swung it wide. "Well!" She threw her arms outward. "We've got thirty years of catching up to do!"
"How do you proposite we start?" Zevon asked as he stepped out of the cell.
"I want to see just how good you are at potion making," Yzma told him, handing his potion belt back over to him. "Your repertoire seems to be lacking."
"How so?" Zevon asked indignantly as he fastened his belt around his waist.
"Transfiguration," Yzma said with a smile. "My specialty! How versed are you?"
"I dabbable," Zevon replied.
"What do you say to helping me brew a new batch of a potion that is sorely needed as of recent events?" Yzma suggested.
"I would say…LET'S DO THIS!" Zevon proclaimed.
Without needing a cue, Yzma and Zevon began to jog out of the dungeons, footfalls completely in sync.
"One more question," Yzma proposed as they entered the hall. "How do you feel about rollercoasters?"
"I find them exhilifying!"
"You ARE my son!"
...
A warship that encompasses an entire kingdom is sure to be equipped with several bars. Roman had sought them all out some time ago, marking which ones had the best aesthetic. And it was in one of these bars that he found himself alone, sitting on one of the stools and lighting up a cigarette. Taking a long drag, he found it almost wasn't enough, contemplating how foolish it would be to try and smoke multiple at once.
Was it a bad sign that an associate's ill health broke him up so? Perhaps. He took assessment of the dread that grew within him, the thought crossing his mind that were it Neo in Mozenrath's position, the void would seem deeper, and were it Snatcher –
Well, he didn't want to even contemplate that one. These were the risks of getting attached, he thought, when he knew full well that life was never fair. Yet here he was.
He abandoned the thought of smoking two cigarettes in the same blow in favor of trying to smoke and drink at the same time, sliding off the bar stool to search the bottles behind the counter. Atmosian liquor was different from Remnant fare, and he found himself perplexed by most of the names. No better time, he thought, to experiment and figure out which one would cloud his mind the most. Keeping his cigarette clenched between his teeth, he selected a bottle of something bright green and removed its stopper.
As he searched out a glass to pour his peridot-colored bounty into, he was interrupted by an encroaching voice: "Torchwick, do tell me you aren't attempting to smoke and drink at the same time."
Roman set down his glass, removing the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling a curlicue of smoke. "And if I am, are you going to stop me?"
Snatcher sauntered into the room, claiming a seat upon one of the stools. "I may attempt to talk you out of it. However, unlike Mr. Vexen, I am not about to expressly forbid you from doing anything."
"And you have a good argument why I shouldn't just be roaring drunk right now?"
"It appears to me, Torchwick, that now may be a good time to keep a clear head."
"Clear head, huh?" Roman abandoned the green liquid, walking back around the bar to take a seat next to Snatcher. After another drag of his cigarette, he leaned one arm onto the bar. "He's the entire reason we aren't rotting in Hell. If it weren't for him, we would both be literally dead. And technically, it's his fault you and I are as close as we are. He might not be great at parties, but he's smart, he's loyal enough, and he's fun in his own weird way. I would follow him right back INTO Hell. But now, he's about to bite it, and I'm not even allowed to do anything to try and get him out of the grave. I know at the end of the day, he's just another boss. I can find a new one, easy. Or I can be my own boss, but against my better judgment, I'm starting to think I should have voted for someone else to take over the WHAM ARMY when Righty got amnesia. The worlds don't end because Righty dies. But they do seem like they'd be missing something." He sighed. "I just want to shut my brain off for at least a day. Or however long it takes for us to be back to business as usual." The cigarette returned to his lips.
"I'm well aware of your concerns," Snatcher replied. "I share most of them, in fact. We owe quite a bit to Lord Mozenrath, and strange as it sounds, he has been a faithful friend to us. Should the worst happen, I'd miss him quite a bit. We're kindred souls, he and I. He knows what it means to sacrifice for power. Not that you don't, of course – "
"No, I get where you're going."
"But we are on a level of understanding at which we've built a connection," Snatcher finished. "Not to mention that without him, none of us would be here in the first place. There wouldn't be a WHAM ARMY to speak of. Should he perish – " Snatcher suddenly latched onto something Roman had said. "Hold on. You'd said you actively don't want his mantle?"
"I just think somebody else might be able to do the job better than me," Roman stated casually. "That's not for you to tell anyone else, of course."
"But who do you have in mind?"
Roman seemed surprised that Snatcher had even needed to ask, regarding him with a look that conveyed that exact sentiment. "You. It's kind of obvious."
Snatcher shrugged; somehow he hadn't been expecting to hear that. "I shall take it. I suppose that means my suggestions carry quite a bit of weight."
Roman nodded.
"Then might I propose," Snatcher said, "that instead of shutting down during the period it takes Mozenrath to recover, we put our talents toward a more practical use? You seek a distraction, and I could use one myself, but given the difference of time passage between our ship and this World of Four Nations, drinking ourselves into a stupor may require us to remain in such a state for several days."
"I'm not seeing the downside."
"Think productive, Torchwick. Mr. Vexen and the others are all capable of traveling via magic, leaving the ship unclaimed. You, I, and a team of our choosing could commandeer the ship, travel to another world, make some sort of conquest or obtain a valuable possession, and bring it back just in time to meet a fully healed Lord Mozenrath and impress him with what we've done!" Snatcher's eyes sparkled as he grinned.
"Y'know," Roman admitted, "I might just have to take you up on that idea. It probably does beat the alternative." He stubbed out the end of his cigarette on the counter.
"Of course it does, Torchwick."
Footfalls were heard at the entrance to the bar; Snatcher and Roman spun on their stools to see Rémington walk in. "So this is where they keep the booze, huh?" Rémington remarked.
"Help yourself," Roman said with a gesture toward the bottles lined up behind the bar. "And no, I don't know what's what. It's an Atmosian surprise!"
Rémington, allured by the bottle of green Roman had left out, poured himself a glass of it, not bothering to offer to anyone else. "What are we talking about?" he asked before taking a swig.
Snatcher spun his stool back around to look at Roman, and the two locked stares. "Should we?" Roman asked.
"I don't see why not," Snatcher told him. "He does seem particularly like-minded to you. Then again, I don't see any alternate reason why we SHOULD…"
"You're talking about me behind my back, aren't you?" Rémington accused.
"No," Snatcher assured him, "we most certainly were not. Give us a moment to work out the details, and we shall let you know – "
"Actually, y'know what?" Roman interrupted. "Let's just go for it. Rémy, Archie and I are putting together a little team for a heist. And you fit the bill of what we're looking for."
"What, exactly, are we looking for?" Snatcher asked.
"I thought you'd know," Roman told him. "It was your idea."
"Well, you're the one who just asked Mr. Smisse!"
"What kind of heist are we talking about?" Rémington asked, leaning over the bar and resting his elbows on the counter.
"Anything," Roman told him. "We pick a world. Any world. We're probably floating by some interesting ones right now. And we take what we can get."
"I'm in," Rémington said with a smile.
"Who else should be part of our little expedition?" Snatcher wondered out loud. "The other Mr. Smisse? Miss Neopolitan?"
"Yes," Roman and Rémington said as one.
"We don't want to make Mr. Vexen's mistake of leaving the base without adequate forces," Snatcher mused. "If there are no further suggestions, perhaps we cap off our roster at that."
"I like it," Roman commented. "Also. Here's a thought. I'm guessing you want to start us out taking the subtle approach. No blazing guns until they're necessary. Acting like ordinary citizens until we get the information I need. Am I onto something here?"
"That is generally how I would begin, yes," Snatcher confirmed.
"Sooooo," Roman suggested, "what if you did the whole mission incognito as Frou Frou?" He leaned slightly forward, poking Snatcher in the chest. "Don't act like it wouldn't be fun for you."
"Well, I, er, generally save Frou Frou for when I need her, but…" Snatcher mulled it over. "It actually would be an incredibly satisfying way to go about it. For Archibald Snatcher to be the second persona, should one be needed."
"If we're going to do this," Roman told him, "we might as well make it a party. And I already know you're going to put the nix on me setting everything on fire on the first go, so that leaves the party department to you. I just thought that might be right up your alley."
"A very welcome suggestion," Snatcher confirmed. "That settles it. Whichever world we select shall know me primarily as Penelope Frou Frou." His smile grew wider; the prospect of wearing the persona for such an extended amount of time was enticing. "A brilliant idea as per usual, Torchwick."
"I'd ask you to stop flattering me," Roman replied coyly, "but why should I stop you from just saying the truth?"
"Will you be joining me as Miss Incandescent, or are you remaining Mr. Torchwick?" Snatcher asked. "I intend to select a world on which we shall be complete strangers, so no other assumed names should be necessary unless you wish to wear one."
"Eh, I'll stay Roman," Roman decided.
"I'm letting the beard grow back for as long as I can," Rémington argued.
"That settles it!" Snatcher pounded the counter hard enough that the drink in Rémington's glass slopped up over the rim. "I motion that we be off as soon as we can!"
Roman brought out his scroll, sending a quick text: "where r u?"
"My room" was the answer.
Not ten minutes after Neo sent the answer did she hear the banging of fists upon the door to her apartment. Thinking that whatever Roman wanted, it had better be good, she daintily crossed the distance to open the door and look into the eager faces of not only Roman but Snatcher and Rémington.
"Neo!" Roman greeted. "Wanna go on an adventure?"
She tilted her head to ask what sort of adventure.
"The kind where we infiltrate a random world, take whatever we can get that's valuable, and maybe, just maybe get to murder somebody on the way out," Roman explained.
Neo immediately perked up, smiling and nodding enthusiastically. It was good after all, she thought. She pointed to each of the three men in turn, then herself, then shrugged.
"Just us and Rémy's brother," Roman answered. "Where is that guy, anyway? Did you two pick up scrolls?"
"Where are we supposed to get scrolls?" Rémington asked.
"That would be either Miss Xayide or Miss Wuya's department," Snatcher reminded Roman, "and both are occupied at the moment."
"We'll get him one later," Roman said with a shrug. "All that matters now, Rémy, is that you know where to find Kitty Cat."
"He's not going to like that nickname," Rémy pointed out. "Anyway, I left him in one of the spare apartments."
"Are you guys sharing, or…?" Roman asked.
Rémington shook his head. "I'm sharing with my sweet sorcière and Ayam. There are enough beds in our quarters for us to alternate. Grany got an entire flat to himself."
"A flat for a cat," Snatcher remarked.
"Last I left him, he was curling up on the bed for a slight rest – " Rémington began.
"So a catnap," Roman interrupted.
After a moment of silence, Neo smacked Roman on the back of the head.
"Okay, I deserved that," Roman muttered.
They rushed to the apartment where Grany had been seen last, only to be greeted by the sight of Yzma and Zevon, dressed in white lab coats and dark glasses, bolting from that apartment; Yzma clutched Grany in her arms.
"REMYYYYYYYY!" Grany yelled once he glimpsed his brother. "I DON'T KNOW WHERE SHE'S TAKING ME!"
"WE NEED HIM!" Yzma and Zevon yelled in unison.
Rémington, Roman, Snatcher, and Neo had no choice but to follow the mother-son pair and their feline captive all the way down to the lab.
After all rollercoaster rides deposited their respective passengers at the proper destination, Snatcher, Roman, Neo, and Rémington found Yzma and Zevon setting Grany on Yzma's laboratory table in front of a cat feeding dish filled with pink liquid. Garfield sat some distance away, watching with interest.
"Mother," Zevon pointed out, "we have an audience."
"So we have," Yzma affirmed. Clearing her throat, she announced, "Ladies and gentlemen! As our first act of cooperation as mother and son, Zevon and I have concocted a potion meant to transfigure this rogue from a cat into a human!"
"Hold your applausing!" Zevon picked up.
Grany did a double take. "You know," he said, "if you had told me that's what this was for, I would have come willingly."
"It's been a while since you've been a human," Rémington reminded his brother. "Are you sure you're going to remember how to walk?"
"I'm going to remember how to use my sword," Grany retorted, "which I'll want back."
"But it looks so much better on me."
"You never USE IT!"
Yzma made a show of clearing her throat before saying, "Any time would work, you know."
"All right," Grany resolved, sticking out his tongue to graze the surface of the pink substance. After ascertaining that it didn't taste like one would expect poison to, he lapped it up with gusto.
His transformation was accompanied by a great cloud of pink smoke. "BEHOLD!" Yzma cried, looking to Rémington. "We have restored your brother to his…" The smoke began to clear. "Human…body…oh, my."
Grany Smisse was one of the largest human beings any of them had ever seen, and his body was made up of solid muscle. His height was well in excess of six feet, and his chest brought solid brick walls to mind. This was all topped off by a mop of long, red hair upon his head.
Without looking at each other, Yzma and Zevon raised a hand each: her left and his right. They smacked a high-five.
"Welcome back," Rémington said dryly.
Grany put out a hand. "Sword. Now."
Rémington reluctantly withdrew the sword from his back and passed the hilt on to his brother.
"I will say this makes us far better equipped to infiltrate whatever our next target ends up being," Snatcher pointed out.
"Next target?" Yzma asked.
"Torchwick, the brothers Smisse, Miss Neopolitan, and myself are setting out on a simple mission," Snatcher informed her.
"And you can't come," Roman chimed in.
"The roster has already been solidified," Snatcher clarified.
"Fine by me," Yzma said. "I already have plans anyway."
"Mother and I are going to spend some quality time getting to know each other better," Zevon explained. "We're going back to our old homeworld."
"All right," Garfield chimed in, "I'm gonna stay back at base just so nobody can say I didn't volunteer. If we get invaded again, you're not gonna be able to pin it on me."
"An excellent idea, Mr. Lynns," Snatcher congratulated.
Peter chose this moment to walk out of the medical bay, still clothed in naught but underclothes and the spider-silk bandage. "Hellooooooo," he greeted. Bending both arms in an impossible position behind his back to stretch them out after being bedridden for so long, he asked, "Have I missed anything?"
...
"Have you drawn the proper sigils on the upper tower walls?" Merlin asked.
"Yes," Ienzo replied, "and triple-checked them."
"And the window frames have been brushed with seawater?" Merlin continued.
"Every last one," Aerith confirmed.
"And the protective stones," Merlin went on. "They have been placed in their proper locations?"
Ienzo and Aerith both nodded.
"Then without further ado…"
Merlin lifted his wand, reciting the incantation required to finish off the fortification of Radiant Garden.
Anyone looking at the castle from outside would have seen a shimmer pass over the entire structure from the uppermost towers down to where the walls met the ground; the spell continued down even further than that, into the cellars and where they met with the sewers.
"There," Merlin announced once the ritual was complete. "Now no one gets in or out by the use of magic."
"This should cut back on our Maleficent problems," Ienzo said with a nod.
"She's clever," Aerith reminded Ienzo and Merlin. "I just worry she'll find another way in."
"We're also clever," Ienzo stated. "We'll stop her."
...
Maleficent had been closed into her chambers at Villain's Vale for a substantial amount of time already, speaking to Salem, Hazel, and Watts through the use of the Seer. Tyrian had been shut out of the meeting, much to his dismay; Maleficent had stated that she wished to get to better know those who were strangers to her, and Tyrian, at that point, was no stranger. Hades knew it was about speaking directly to Salem and learning the story of the relics and the maidens in Salem's own words.
Maleficent was good at putting eggs in more than one basket, Hades reflected as he ascended the stairway of the castle into a Corridor that transitioned him seamlessly to the stairway leading up to his throne room in the Underworld. The group still had yet to make any headway on finding the Book of Prophecies. Hades had spoken to Maleficent on the subject, and she had informed him that the information could not be so easily extorted out of Sora without a game plan.
"Can't we just, y'know, hold one of his little pals hostage until the bird squawks?" Hades had asked at the time.
"How well did that work for Xemnas?" Maleficent had responded. "And how well has it worked for us to take even the possessions of our opposition hostage? I refuse to repeat the same methods again and again. No, there will come a better opportunity to ascertain the location of the book from our persistent enemy. A time at which we can leave him with absolutely no choice but to divulge its truthful location."
And she had left it at that.
They had yet found no way for her to be able to absorb the power of the Keyblades, but the blades' owners had not come back to try and acquire them, nor had the owners of the magic wands. Hades had no doubt that Crocea Mors, Magnhild and Stormflower were replaceable; those weapons were simply tossed in back storage closets in case they were needed to melt down for parts later on. Ursula and Grimhilde had been tasked with studying the sand samples brought back from Fantastica and figuring out their magical properties: how best they could be weaponized.
After speaking to both Maleficent and Grimhilde, before Maleficent had holed herself up with Salem's Seer, Hades had learned of his new mission. Maleficent planned for a territory grab; with it would come, hopefully, the access to new literature and weaponry that might put her on the right track toward absorbing the Keyblades and cornering Sora for good. When Grimhilde had turned to her Mirror to scope out the world they intended to dominate, who had shown up there but Mozenrath and four of his lackeys? Granted, Mozenrath had been in terrible shape, and it was likely, Hades thought, that he was about to die any minute. What he was doing so far from home was beyond Hades' ken.
Yet Hades had no intention of carrying out the mission himself. With the forces expanding, he wanted to bolster the faction with someone from his side. Someone who he trusted. A soul he'd been holding captive for quite some time, knowing of the great potential it bore, waiting for the right time to let it out.
The table within his throne room was the lid of the well of Hades' most prized souls. The worst of the worst, he considered it. The Underworld's "deepest dungeon." Those who deserved Tartarus, but he refused to condemn to it because of their potential. After all, Maleficent's forces sometimes required more power, and where better to get it?
He heaved the lid off the entrance, looking down into the swirling green pit below. They all blended together down there, held in stasis, neither rewarded nor punished. Hades was well aware, when this soul had arrived in his domain, that he was supposed to give the victim the maximum punishment he'd mustered up. The entities who had brought him there were absolutely furious with him, and had given him a harrowing ride down. But given the man's résumé, how could Hades really condemn him? He was a powerhouse. A powerhouse that had been stripped of much of his clout, but a headstrong spirit all the same, for him to have gotten into the exact trouble he'd gotten into. Definitely someone to be kept around in case he was needed. Was he needed now? Perhaps, Hades thought. Perhaps. The task he'd been given would benefit from having a fresh eye belonging to a smooth talker who lacked a lot of fear.
He generated a sphere of roaring fire in his left hand, then his right. He raised both hands high, then plunged the flames deep down into the well. Immediately, there was a reaction: an explosion of smoke and crackling electricity, surrounding a single human shape, tall and slender, that rose from the well.
The resurrected soul's feet touched down before Hades, and the smoke swept away to reveal him: a man clothed in black and purple, his skin deeply dark and his hair the shade of night, his strikingly violet eyes hinting at a simmering fire within him that was somewhat dimmed by recent circumstances, but waiting to be lit again at a moment's notice.
"What have we learned?" Hades asked with a sly smirk.
Dr. Facilier glared back at him. "Not to break our word."
"Good," Hades replied. "Now, have I got a job for you. I'd ask if you're interested, but I'm guessing it beats the alternative."
"Floatin' around in an ether between time and space, without a physical body to call my own?" Facilier described. "I'll admit, it gets old."
"Trust me," Hades told Facilier, sidling up to the man and habitually throwing an arm around his bony shoulders, "you were supposed to come off it a LOT worse than you did. Your little 'friends' are NOT happy with you. I was told in no explicit terms that if you ever tried to contact them again, whoo, boy, would you ever regret it! Seriously, how's it feel getting on the bad side of an entire pantheon?"
"That's something I thought you'd know rather well," Facilier said dryly.
"Y'know what?" Hades realized. "You're right. Stupid question. Anyway, on with the show." He began to stride forward, and Facilier walked right alongside him, coaxed into it by the pull of Hades' arm. "So right now, you're at square one. You were at about a negative two, but seeing as right now, you're a lot more useful to Maleficent alive than you are dead, I'd say square one is appropriate. Any magic you had is back to basics. Anything that relied on your 'friends' is now off-limits." They passed a wall-mounted torch with a blue flame, and Hades took that moment to remove his arm from Facilier and step away. "In case it didn't sink in yet." He gestured to the ground.
The torch cast a long shadow from Hades. But from Facilier, there was no shadow at all.
"It's sunken in," Facilier confirmed. "Guess I can't rightfully call myself the 'Shadow Man,' huh?"
"Now, that's where I beg to disagree," Hades told him. "See, commanding an army of shadows is kind of your schtick. You just need shadows you can actually boss around. I'm thinking we make you into a different kind of Shadow Man."
Facilier's curiosity was piqued. "Do tell."
Hades snapped his fingers, and a host of Shadow Heartless rose from the ground. "Behold," he announced, "the Heartless! Mindless creatures of Darkness that – "
"I know what Heartless are," Facilier huffed. "I don't know if you're used to workin' with people who actually pay attention to the Darkness, but I do."
"What do you say I make you an absolute LORD of Heartless?" Hades proposed. "You get to command everything from these…"
He clapped twice, then brought Facilier's attention to the window. Outside, a Dark Thorn raised its head and roared toward the upper extremities of the Underworld.
"To that," Hades promised. "And beyond."
"I like where this is goin'," Facilier admitted. "Here's hopin' the catch is worth it."
"Catch?" Hades tried to look ignorant. "What catch? Who said anything about a catch?"
"This is part of a deal, ain't it?" Facilier asked. "Don't con a con man, Hades. There's always a catch."
"No catch," Hades promised. "A price? Sure. But not a catch. All I ask for in your end of the deal is loyalty. Not even to me. To Maleficent."
"So y'all can order me around. Make me your valet."
"Well, there may be slight giving of orders," Hades admitted. "But I was thinking less 'valet' and more 'commander.' See, Mal's got a big power play in the works. We need a guy busted out of jail, we need a nation taken over in the name of Maleficent, and we need five meddlers nipped in the bud before they make trouble. Wait, make that four. One of them's gonna kick the bucket any minute now. Anyway, the point is, you get the Heartless, you get whatever else you want in your bag of tricks as far as we can give you by way of magic, and you call the shots."
"Why me, and why now?" Facilier asked. "Surely you've made similar power plays with other folks."
"Because ever since you showed up," Hades admitted, "I've been trying to figure out what to do with the guy who had the guts to try and bargain with the souls of an entire city."
"Then why didn't you turn me loose from the moment I showed up?" Facilier's violet eyes burned with derision.
"We have had a busy agenda, okay?" Hades told him. "So you got a little lost in the shuffle."
"If I'm going to work for this Maleficent," Facilier stated, "I want more than just power over Heartless."
"What else could you possibly want?"
"Respect," Facilier stated. "The respect I deserve."
"Then that's part of the deal," Hades promised. "I'll spread the word about what you did and what you're going to do. Trust me, you'll love the rest of the crew. Blend right in. Any of the lower-echelon minions get mouthy to you, they answer to me. As for me, Mal, and the big bosses, we give you what you deserve. Do well out there, and you get rewarded. Screw up, and I can't guarantee exactly what Mal will want to do with you, but trust me, it'll only be what you deserve. As you said. So. Whaddaya say?" He extended his right hand.
Facilier was used to being on the other end of the situation. And he knew, were he most of his clients, that he wouldn't have shaken his own hand. It probably wasn't wise to forge such a contract with Hades. Why swear loyalty to a woman he had never met?
But he had little other choice. And perhaps Hades was right after all. Perhaps he would find kindred spirits in Hades' circle. And he had agreed to give Facilier as much as he deserved – which he knew would be a lot better than he'd gotten all his life.
He had to make the unwise choice. A second chance, no matter the circumstances, was all he'd hoped for. He couldn't turn it down.
"You've got yourself a deal," Facilier promised, shaking Hades' hand.
...
The city of Ba Sing Se had seemed the most natural midpoint between the two poles and therefore the proper starting point for Vexen's team to begin seeking information about which direction to go in order to find the location of the Spirit Waters. Thus it was there that Vexen proclaimed the search would begin.
Of course, transporting Mozenrath was no easy matter. Wuya and Xayide had made a suggestion completely in jest for how he could be moved about without too much jostling, and Mozenrath had unfortunately taken to it and insisted it be the method they used. With no better ideas, Wuya, Mim, Xayide, and the Huntsman each held a pole supporting a small litter upon which Mozenrath was borne, propped in a high-backed chair so he could sit tall and appear confident. Mim had given herself some extra height and muscle; the others simply had to bear the weight, which was admittedly heavier on their dignity than their bodies. Vexen walked out front of this display, leading the way.
"I told you that would only attract attention," Vexen grumbled.
"And is there any reason I shouldn't attract attention?" Mozenrath retorted.
"Here?" Vexen replied. "A multitude of reasons, none of which should be discussed in the open. Just count yourself lucky we were able to appear in the midst of the city. Had we used a traditional entrance, we would find ourselves under intense scrutiny from the moment of our arrival."
Unfortunately for Vexen, the very eyes he had hoped to avoid had set the odd crew in their sights anyway. Agents holding secret positions on the street corners took notice of the strangers' odd dress and their bearing of the litter as though it contained royalty. They chose not to confront the strange spectacle upfront, not yet having a complete assessment of it. But all the same, they followed.
"I intend to drop you off at a safe place," Vexen told Mozenrath. "I will give you further instruction once we are settled. Then the rest of us will begin to seek out information on the Spirit Waters."
"At this point," Wuya grunted, "I'm almost not sure if it's worth it." When she saw the glare the Huntsman had fired in her direction, she groaned, "It was a JOKE! You can't honestly say you like having to carry this litter around!"
"It is what has to be done," the Huntsman stated.
After a short walk through the winding streets among stone walls and triangular gables, they entered an inn, surprising the receptionist with their grand entrance, and paid for a room. They were shown upstairs, where they deposited Mozenrath in a spacious and soft bed.
Making sure the door to the room was shut, Vexen leaned in closely to Mozenrath's ear and hissed, "Ba Sing Se is a city of order and security. You should be safe here, but if anyone asks you anything, do not get cocky. Refuse to answer any and all questions about yourself or your purpose here. Should anything go amiss, contact us via scroll immediately. And whatever you do, stay as STILL AS POSSIBLE. Exertion of your body will only speed up the process of wasting away."
"I get it already," Mozenrath groaned. "Is there anything else you want me to not do, Mom?"
"Take this seriously," Vexen growled. "Your very life is on the line. Now, the five of us should return shortly with information and be able to transport you to a more useful location. In the meantime, I suggest you sleep if you can."
"You realize this is humiliating," Mozenrath sighed.
"You realize what we all have to lose if you do not keep what little health you have left," Vexen snapped.
"Fine," Mozenrath relented. "I won't move. And I won't talk to anybody."
"Good." Vexen turned on a heel. "Xayide, Mim, Wuya, Huntsman. Follow me."
It took them a moment to do so. Mim was the first to trot after Vexen, followed by a concerned-looking Xayide and Wuya, both of whom were unsure if they should say anything in parting. The Huntsman lingered, moving to stand over Mozenrath's bed.
"You needn't fear," the Huntsman said softly as he tugged at the upper edge of Mozenrath's blanket, tucking it snugly around the young sorcerer's shoulders. "I am aware of the blow this must feel to you. But it is temporary. You shall be on your feet again. I will ensure it."
Mozenrath very nearly lost control of his words then, almost tapping into the part of him that was becoming very frightened of the real possibility of his death and the fact that his last moments, instead of a grand power play, were going to be spent wasting away in a bed with no agency over how he left the land of the living whatsoever. But his barriers hardened, and he confessed none of this to the Huntsman. Instead, he looked up into the Huntsman's blood-red eyes with somewhat of thankfulness for the small gesture of adjusting the blanket. "I know," he said, sounding for all the world like he believed it.
But the Huntsman knew the truth.
"We shall return soon," the Huntsman promised before turning to leave the room and find Vexen standing outside the door, tapping his foot impatiently. The door was shut, and Mozenrath was left alone.
Mozenrath shut his eyes immediately, begging sleep to come. It was better than facing reality.
...
It had not been a pleasant day for Dexter Egan, the aging caretaker of the Wickford Castle Ski Resort. He still had no leads on the vandalism of the resort's library, having to keep the room off-limits and the intruder alarm set. Beyond that, Professor Beatrice Hotchkiss, one of the resort's more obnoxious guests, was still pestering him about her room having been robbed, though Egan wasn't entirely convinced she wasn't making it up. Now, as he sorted through papers at the front desk, he could hear the gossiping of Lisa Ostrum and her new friend whose name he couldn't remember filtering in from the adjacent reading room. Well, at least they were enjoying themselves and not complaining, Dexter thought.
The weather was ghastly outside, proving the worst of a Wisconsin winter. Dexter was sure that anyone who had planned to check in to the resort that day would be deterred, deciding to turn right around when they became aware of the blizzard conditions. Ergo, he expected to have a slow day when it came to check-ins. He kept his head down, focusing on his paperwork.
It surprised him when he heard the front door open and shut, followed by the sound of several footsteps, one set in high heels, crossing the lobby floor. A male voice muttered, "I hate the snow, I hate the snow, I HATE the snow – "
When Dexter raised his head, he was surprised to behold the crowd of five that had appeared before him. He supposed they must have been en route either to or from some sort of formal occasion. That, or one of those "live-action role plays" he had heard whispers of among the younger crowd. Two of the men were dressed all in black with flowing capes, almost looking more like bandits than gentlemen. One man, the one who was muttering the constant mantra of complaints about the weather as he slid his palms rapidly over his arms, was decked out in a suit marked by a long white jacket, topped off with a black bowler hat. The woman (at least, Dexter was convinced he was looking at a woman) leading the group was clothed in a floor-length blue cocktail gown, her red hair heaped high above her head. The only one who seemed to be dressed relatively normally by Dexter's standard was the shorter woman of the group, whose outfit, though layered with complexity, featured causal trousers. Dexter did think, however, that she must have had a little too much fun with hair dye. The entire contingent was dusted over with a light coating of snow from the fall outdoors, and each carried a sizeable suitcase, save for the shivering man in white; the short woman hefted two cases, and presumably one belonged to him.
"Can I help you?" Dexter grunted, doing his best to sound welcoming and rather failing at it.
"Why, yes," the tall woman in the blue gown answered. "My companions and I are seeking to reserve three rooms."
"Well," Egan sighed, "let's get you settled."
With a few quick strokes of a pen and some alternating sheets of paper, three rooms were set aside for the odd group. Dexter doled out three key cards.
"What brings you all the way out here?" Dexter asked. "This ain't skiing weather."
"No shit," the man in white muttered.
"Oh, and we so had wished to enjoy the mountain slopes." The redhead's voice was heavy with an accent Dexter didn't recognize, but placed as vaguely European. "Perhaps in time, the weather shall clear. We had reserved this time, after all."
"Might as well enjoy our vacation indoors," the shorter of the men in black remarked. "That, or we could just try and ski anyway." He nudged the man in white. "We could throw you out onto the slope and watch you try to dodge the weather. That'd be fun for most of us."
"NO," the man in white insisted. "No, no, and no."
"Now, I'm certain there will be plenty we can do to pass the time," the redhead insisted. "Is that not right, Monsieur…?"
"Egan," Dexter filled in. "Dexter Egan." He nodded. "About the only thing you can't do is use the library."
"And why not?" the redhead asked, pouting slightly. Perhaps she was a bookworm, Dexter thought.
"The whole place was vandalized," Dexter explained. "It's off-limits. And don't think you can sneak in there without me knowing. I have an alarm set."
"Oh, whyever would we want to flagrantly disregard the house rules in such a disrespectful way?" She seemed taken aback, flustered. Dexter began to wonder if he'd been too accusatory toward her. "Worry not, Monsieur Egan. We shan't trespass. I do hope you identify the perpetrator soon and bring them to justice."
"I do too," Dexter grumbled.
"We should probably keep you no longer," the redhead stated, holding her key card up in two fingers. "Thank you ever so much for checking us in to your gorgeous establishment. It is almost reminiscent of a medieval castle, no?"
"That's my job," Dexter reminded her, "and that was the point."
"It has been a pleasure," the redhead stated as she turned to lead her companions up the stairs to their newly rented rooms. As her gaze fell on the still miffed and snow-covered man in the white jacket, she dropped her suitcase, rushing to place her hands on his upper arms; "Oh, my poor dear! We simply must get you warmed up immediately."
The man in white responded to this with a smile as he leaned slightly back against the redheaded woman; Dexter could tell they were involved with each other. They walked up the stairs in this position of contact; the two men in black came right behind. The short woman rolled her eyes, which Dexter only just noticed were heterochromatic, and found a way to shuffle the newly dropped suitcase into her hands among the two she already bore before trotting up the stairs after her companions.
Dexter took another look at the name the redhead had used to sign into check-in. It was a bit strange to his eyes, but then again, he'd already taken on a guest named "Beatrice Hotchkiss." On that ground, he had no right to judge "Penelope A. Frou Frou."
...
A/N: First of all, the Wickford Castle is indeed from the Nancy Drew point-and-click video game series. I am rolling with a rather strange AU for that universe: my premise is that Nancy has never entered any of the locales in which the games take place, and the mysteries remain unsolved, leaving room for our villain protagonists to step in and uncover some things for themselves.
On Facilier: I realize the Hollywood-esque portrayal of Voodoo that surrounds him is not the most accurate, and recognize that this is problematic. I'm hoping to try and do some better justice by giving him Heartless to command rather than actively writing the Voodoo gods continuing to bend to his whims in exchange for evil deeds. However, given what's already happened in canon and the nature of this story, I admit that using him is always going to be a little problematic…and I enjoy his character so much that I felt passionate about including him. I welcome constructive criticism on how to better portray him going forward.