Taking Back the Crown

by JCMorrigan

Mozenrath. Archibald Snatcher. Roman Torchwick. Mad Madam Mim. Yzma. The Huntsman. Wuya. Ayam Aghoul. Their mission: take over the multiverse, or look fabulous trying. Rated M for swearing, steamy implications and VERY bloody battles. Contains slash and het shipping.

125. Arms Race

A/N: We've got a trigger warning in play for discussions of bigotry, racism, and neo-Nazism! Also, there's a little bit more visceral horror in the same context as it was last chapter.

...

The laboratory was already bustling. While many of the mechanical engineers were out of sight in their wing, and Zevon had taken his friends into the potions alcove, that still left Yzma, Amy, and Bushroot gathered around Yzma's station as Drakken and Vexen hauled the skeletal frame of a robot into the area.

"Wow, Amy," Bushroot said lovingly. "You really know a lot about mutagens! I can't believe you were able to whip up such p-p-potent ones so quickly!"

"Aw, that's nothin' special!" Amy dismissed with a flick of her hand. "Now, you, you're the one who knew enough about plants to make all those watered-down perfumes and infusions that can pass as rejuvenators and aphrodisiacs!"

"St-stop! Your mutagens are way m-more impressive!"

"No, your plants!"

"I could just die from a sugar overdose," Yzma said dryly. "Will you two stop with the compliment war? The point is, with Bushroot's plant knowhow that gives us a wide variety of seemingly-effective snake oils – " She gestured to one of two clusters of vials: the one on the left. "And Amy's mutagens for backstock to give to those who know the true nature of our business and are willing to shell out the big munny – " Now she gestured to the cluster on the right. "Business at Liquid Assets will be BOOMING!"

"No offense, purple pookie," Amy brought up, "but I thought the strong stuff was on the left, and the harmless stuff was on the right."

"I didn't realize we were sorting them!" Bushroot gasped. "I thought Yzma was just mixing them all up in the two piles!"

"No, you idiots!" Yzma hissed. "I VERY CLEARLY MADE SURE – "

Except she wasn't sure. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two identical clusters: exactly the same amount of vials filled with pink liquid.

"I f-feel like you wouldn't have this p-p-p-problem if it wasn't all pink," Bushroot told Yzma as the latter smacked her forehead repeatedly with the heels of her fists.

"Oh, but the pink's so cuuuuute!" Amy protested. "I think the pink should stay, but you should start labeling your bottles with glitter stickers to tell them apart!"

Yzma slammed her head down on the table hard enough to jolt the bottles.

"Weeeeeelllllll," Amy suggested sweetly, "we could always find out what's in what bottle by slipping a little bit of each one to a guinea pig…"

"Where am I going to find THAT MANY GUINEA PIGS?" Yzma growled. "All we have is CATS, and this would violate the pact enchantment!"

"I th-think Amy means p-people test subjects," Bushroot clarified.

Yzma sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "Oh. That…" She slowly smiled. "That sounds like an afternoon of entertainment."

A loud clatter from behind caught the attention of all three; they spun to see Drakken and Vexen having dropped the silvery robot on the floor. For they had intended to work on it in a certain corner of the lab, an open space between two of the workstations, but it seemed that space was currently occupied by an enormous plush couch.

"WHY IS THIS HERE?" Vexen screamed at the couch's lone occupant, who sat curled up to only take up half of it.

"Because," Shego replied, repositioning her legs on the couch cushions slightly as she paged through her magazine. And left it at that.

"Shego…" Drakken's teeth gritted, and perhaps the faintest red of anger was starting to show on his blue skin. "We need this space to do our MAD SCIENCE."

"I mean, you want me to hang around and do your dirty work, right?" Shego asked, flipping a page.

"Yesssss…" Drakken growled.

"And you actually kinda like having me snark at you, right?"
"Don't push your luck, Shego."

"Well, I'm not chilling out down here unless I have a comfortable place to do it," Shego insisted, glaring up over her magazine at Vexen. "That gonna be a problem, Jack Frost?"

"You've taken up VALUABLE SPACE with a NON-VALUABLE PIECE OF FURNITURE!" Vexen gestured wildly. "IT'S TWICE AS BIG AS IT NEEDS TO BE TO ACCOMMODATE YOU ALONE!"

"Super comfy, too," Shego told him. "You should try it. Oh, wait, that's right. If you do anything inherently comfortable, you'll suffer an instant heart attack. My bad."

Drakken sighed. "It's no use. Once she's made up her mind…there's no stopping her."

"Perhaps BEFORE SHE HAD MET ME," Vexen seethed.

Shego held up one hand, making it glow brilliant viridian. "You wanna put your money where your mouth is?"

Vexen took a frightened step back. "That power…what IS that? It's like no magic I've ever seen?"

"Duhhhhhh," Shego told him. "That's because it isn't magic. I'm gonna say this slowly so you can understand it: it's ray. Dee. Ay. Shun."

"Radiation…" Vexen repeated. "A mutation on the nuclear level."

"Wha – what made you think you needed to DEFINE 'radiation' to me?" Shego barked.

"I see now why Drew wishes so fervently to clone you," Vexen mused. "In fact, your power could bolster my replicas – "

"NUH-UH!" Shego yelled. "IX-NAY! NO WAY! And don't you think about going behind my back, or else I'm gonna rip out your lab table with my bare hands so I can install a hot tub in its place!"

"Why do you put up with her?" Vexen sighed, shaking his head.

"Because we're friends," Drakken said with the most resentment possible.

"I fail to see how," Vexen groaned.

"Well, actually," Yzma broke in, "it's rather clear Drakken is drawn to those who are rude and bossy. You'd know that if you were in the slightest self-aware."

Any further argument was quelled by the sudden appearance of the new scientist, carrying a box full of mechanical parts in his hands. He wouldn't have been much to note at all, save the fact that he was traveling not by foot but by the spidery clanking of the four metal tentacles that emerged from his back.

Otto sensed the silence that descended when he approached. He stopped, adjusting his goggles. "Is there a problem?" he asked the room at large, voice already dripping with scorn.

"I have just…one question," Yzma answered.

She and Drakken pointed at the metal arms in unison, screaming out, "WHAT ARE THOOOOOOOSE?"

"They are my arms," Otto replied, unamused. "Or at the very least, the appendages I use to make my work more expedient. And they told me you were the scientifically advanced and intelligent."

"Very interesting," Vexen murmured. "A definite shortcut for the nonmagical."

"Yeah, well, they're not cooler than MY robots!" Drakken huffed, turning away and folding his arms.

"Wait." Shego lowered her magazine. "I kinda wanna see where this is goin'. So you're a new guy down here?"

"My name is Otto Octavius," Otto replied, "though in the field, I tend to prefer the moniker of 'Dr. Octopus.'"

"I liiiiiiike," Shego said with a smirk. "Fits your whole aesthetic. Me, I had to repurpose a superhero name into a supervillain name, and I should've changed it when I had the chance, but too late now."

"And that name would be?" Otto asked.

"Shego," she replied.

"Hm." Otto thought it over. "Not ideal."

"You're telling me," Shego grunted. "So. What do you do? Robots? Freaky clone things? Magic potions? Or are you another plant fetishist?"

"I dabble in several fields," Otto replied. "Robotics, as you can see."

"Engineering is around the corner," Vexen sneered. "As are the imbeciles who profess in it. You would be better off wasting their time."

Otto took a look at the dropped bot. "Then why is there an android out here?"

"BECAUSE NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Drakken yelled.

"But I am also quite skilled in genetic manipulation," Otto went on. "You are aware of the Rhino? It was I who grafted his plate armor to his body."

"Hardly a genetic manipulation," Vexen scoffed. "A purely external application."

"A pity that Sandman had to turn out so softhearted," Otto sighed. "But then again, what can you expect but a soft heart when you transform a man into sand? Animate sand, controlled by a centrally-located consciousness and able to take on infinite forms."

"How convenient that your proud achievement is nowhere to be seen!" Vexen barked. "My replicas would surpass it. I created from memory and empty tissue a perfect recreation of an already-existing being, allowing him to believe he was, in fact, the original!"

"And where is this replica?" Otto asked, smirking.

"…I suppose we both have had our struggles with our creations turning traitor," Vexen relented. "It still does not change the fact that your Sandman could easily be bested by my crowning achievement: a replica that – "

And he shut himself up.

"Uhhhh…Vexen?" Drakken asked. "Are…are you doing okay?"

Vexen was not doing okay. He had no idea why, but he was almost about to brag to Otto about a construct that he had never actually created. Something about complex memory manipulation that reflected the eye of the beholder. Well, at the very least, he could bring up the hypothetical he had developed for such a replica.

"…A replica SYSTEM," Vexen corrected, "allowing the replica to sap energy from the world's very Heart and use it to become an unstoppable weapon of destruction."

"Pouring all the energy of the world into one clone?" Otto scoffed. "I have hacked entire cities and had their resources at my disposal. I very nearly had the technology of the world wrapped in my tentacles."

"Girls, you're all pretty," Shego scoffed.

"You just think you're AAAAAAALL THAT, don't you?" Drakken accused Otto.

"What an informal term," Otto replied. "But not inaccurate."

"So?" Drakken urged. "What are you here for now? Mutation? Robotics?"

"Mozenrath wished for me to prioritize weapons technology," Otto stated.

"Very well." Vexen gestured to an empty workstation. "You may set up over there."

"Wait!" Yzma cried as Otto began to empty out his box; Drakken and Vexen were returning to work finding a new place to situate their bot while Shego kept reading. "What just happened? You were all arguing with each other, and then – "

"Oh, honey," Amy told her, "you said it yourself! This group's a magnet for rude bullies. Insulting each other is the way they show affection! …Or establish pack hierarchy. Either way, they've made peace, and really, if we made Otto go sit around back with Spicer and the Overkills, their squishy-soft little hearts wouldn't be able to take it!"

"That…" Yzma blinked. "Makes too much sense."

Yet Drakken noticed Vexen's stiff movements, and more importantly: "Your eyebrows are furrowed."

"What difference does it make to you that my eyebrows are furrowed?" Vexen grunted.

"You're angry about something," Drakken realized, "and it isn't him."

Lowering his voice to a hushed whisper, Vexen informed him, "Just now, I almost claimed to have created an incredibly specific project, one that I could have described down to the smallest detail. But what stands is that I never did any such experiment. Why would I have such intimate knowledge of a project I never created, and why did I believe but for a moment that I had?"

"Maybe you dreamed it?" Drakken suggested.

"I do not confuse dreams with reality," Vexen argued. "And before you say what I expect, my age is not affecting my memory."

"I wasn't going to say that."

"There is a reason I almost made that claim," Vexen resolved, "and I want to know what it is."

...

The first thing the Huntsman was motivated to do after waking up was stride on down to one of the communal kitchens and round up some eggs.

Egg foo young, specifically. A comfort breakfast that he knew he'd eaten at some point in his childhood, but deities only knew when, because they sure didn't serve it at the Huntsclan Academy. He assembled a jar of sauce he'd made a while back, several eggs, a handful of green onions.

As he reached for the vegetable oil, he found that it passed into his hand without him actually having to open the cabinet. He didn't question this until he'd already begun to coat a skillet in it. Then he whipped around, giving that cabinet in particular a suspicious look.

It was closed. So the Huntsman knocked.

"Occupied," Peter said from within.

"Does it simply bring you joy to hide in such places?" the Huntsman sighed.

"You know me so well." Peter kicked open the door, unfolding out from the cabinet. "So, what are we making?"

"Eggs."

"Looks like more than just eggs. But I approve. You wouldn't be willing to share, would you?"
"You aren't going to let the issue go until I allow you a portion," the Huntsman sighed, "so yes, I suppose I am."

"Are we making omelettes?" Hämsterviel bounded into the kitchen, taking a deep whiff. Then: "Ewwww, what kind of off-color omelette is that supposed to be, you bumbling buffoon with your assorted cooking implement arsenal in place of weaponry? There is not even ketchup!"

"It isn't an omelette," the Huntsman corrected. "It is egg foo young. Eggs, green vegetables, and pork in soy sauce, to put it simply."

"I suppose I can give such a disastrous delicacy a chance," Hämsterviel relented.

"I was not offering to share," the Huntsman told him.

"But I'm getting some," Peter brought up, "and knowing that, Jacques wouldn't think it fair he didn't get any, now, would he?"

So the Huntsman rounded up even more eggs for a triple batch.

"Mornin'." Montana came strolling into the kitchen. "Makin' eggs?"

"I suppose you're going to argue for a share," the Huntsman grumbled.

"Ain't lookin' for somethin' so fancy as that," Montana replied with a nod toward the bowl. "I'll just be makin' one 'omelette du fromage.'"

"With ketchup?" Hämsterviel asked.

"I think you're going to have to let that one go," Peter told him.

Soon, the kitchen was filled with the warring scents of the egg foo young and the simple Southern-style omelette.

"I like this place so far," Montana admitted as he stirred eggs into curds.

"I wondered if it might be too chaotic for your tastes," the Huntsman admitted.

"Nah," Montana replied. "Tell ya the truth, I gotta have some chaos around me ta stay the cool head. Y'think I ain't used to the Sinister Six by now?"

"You certainly didn't seem used to working with Quentin Beck," the Huntsman pointed out. "He was more extreme than your other cohorts by a distinctive length. I will warn you his ilk is the sort you'll find in this fortress."

"Ain't necessarily a bad thing," Montana replied. "The flash distracts 'em; then we get the work done while they ain't lookin'."

"Ah, misdirection!" Peter remarked. "From what I've heard, that seems a Mysterio tactic more than anything. Perhaps your extreme opposites are not, in fact, so opposite?"

"Could be," Montana said casually. "Also, put that right back where ya found it or I'm gonna hafta use force."

Hämsterviel grumbled Tantalog obscenities as he marched the ketchup bottle he'd been carrying right back to the fridge. "Do none of you have the refined palates of a galactic gourmet?"

"If ketchup on omelettes is refined," Montana sighed, "don't think I'm gonna be travelin' outer space anytime soon."

"Technically, you already are," Peter pointed out.

Mozenrath breezed into the kitchen. "Don't stop on my account," he said briskly, making a beeline for his intended cabinet. "I'm just here to pick up the necessary sustenance before it's back to the drawing board." A bagel in his hand.

The Huntsman whirled and pointed; "DON'T."

Mozenrath was caught red-gauntleted holding a bag of coffee beans. "Snipe and the Rhino spilled mine," he grunted.

"And you KNOW how well your plans turn out if you start using caffeine in place of sleep," the Huntsman reminded him. "Your hard-won victories will be undone by madness."

"They were already undone by a pair of motorcycles. I doubt it can get worse."

"Put them back, Mozenrath."

Mozenrath slammed the cabinet door on the coffee. "I don't remember asking you to police my diet…" he muttered as he took a large bite of the bagel and stormed out of the kitchen.

Megavolt was next to wander in, wordlessly determining that the cereal he was looking to eat directly out of the box was in a cabinet that required him to stand on one of the counters in order to reach. As he did so, he listened in on the conversation taking place.

"You now see a taste of what you're in for," the Huntsman told Montana. "Hard work destroyed by motorcycles."

"We do not even have context!" Hämsterviel realized.

"I'm not certain context would necessarily make it better," Peter chimed in.

"I ain't put off," Montana said as he folded his omelette over a cheese filling. "Truth be told, ya don't get this kinda entertainment around the Enforcers."

"WHAT – " Megavolt fell off the counter and hit the tile hard, sugary flakes spilling over him in an avalanche.

The other four flinched. "Are you all right?" Peter asked.

"I am hoping you are not!" Hämsterviel said gleefully. "Please, do tell me you have suffered several compound fractures!"

"Again." The Huntsman gestured to the fallen rat. "This is the bar."

"Point taken," Montana replied with a smirk. "He don't work yellow good as me, I'll say."

"No, no, NONONONONONO – " Megavolt leapt up and bolted from the room.

"I wonder what agitated him?" Peter remarked.

Speeding to overtake Mozenrath in the hall, Megavolt pulled out front of the sorcerer to block his path. "WHY WOULD YOU HIRE FOUR OF THEM?" he screeched.

"…What?" Mozenrath asked, completely baffled.

"They all sound the exact same!" Megavolt protested. "The four of them. The Huntsman, the gerbil alien guy, the doll guy, and the new guy with the shockproof suit. I think he's that one, anyway."

"…Those four couldn't possibly sound more different," Mozenrath told Megavolt. "This sounds like a you problem. Which means it's not a me problem. Which means – "

And in a flash of blue, he was gone.

Megavolt stared at the place he had been in disbelief. "Four," he repeated to himself. "Exact same voice."

...

When most of the others in the castle had gone to bed, and the sun began to touch the horizon of Radiant Garden's edge in a brilliant frieze, Aqua darted out from the bastion, heading to the gate. Her heart pounded furiously, as though this were something far higher-risk than it was. She should feel this way about a threat, or a secret mission.

But this was a date that might not even have been a date.

All the same, she wasn't one to back down from a challenge, and so pressed onward until she'd reached the Comet Observatory. From up here, Radiant Garden was only distantly visible, Aqua's friends and loved ones now hundreds of miles away – save the pertinent one.

She hurried into the Fountain dome, boots clicking on the tile. "I'm here!" she greeted.

Rosalina turned to smile softly at her. Oh, Aqua would die for that smile. "I'm glad!" Rosalina replied. "Are you ready? And did you bring what I asked?"

"Uh, yeah," Aqua said breathlessly. "Two extra dresspheres. But I'm a little confused. Where are we going that I'll need both swimwear and ice skates?"

"Somewhere wonderful!" Rosalina gushed, reaching out; Aqua instinctively put her hands forth to let Rosalina take them. "I think you'll love it. I at least hope you do!"

"I can't wait!" Aqua replied, hoping the thudding of her heart, now twice as fast, wasn't audible.

Lyrae was the star to escort the two of them through the vast space until they landed on the narrowest of soft sand beaches, walled in by enormous rocky cliffs. Before them stretched out an expanse of shimmering water; the skies overhead were like nothing Aqua had ever seen.

She craned her head up, gasping as she took it all in. She had never conceived that so many stars could be seen at once. The black of the night was tinted with soft pastels from overhead nebulae.

"You were right," Aqua gasped. "I love it!"

Rosalina giggled; "We haven't even gotten to the best part!"

She raised her wand, summoning up a rain of stardust that showered over her, transforming her gown into a one-piece swimsuit. Aqua took that as her cue, activating the first of the dresspheres she'd brought along: a two-piece bathing suit, high neck and bottom cut like shorts, in a deep navy color.

Beneath the starlight, in front of the shimmering sea, Rosalina was gorgeous; Aqua felt herself turning red as she was now privy to the exposed limbs she hadn't seen before. The blonde turned to Aqua, holding out a hand and smiling; "Come, explore the Cosmic Cove Galaxy with me!"

Aqua gingerly reached out. Touched that hand. Clasped it.

Then the two of them were racing across the soft sand, leaving behind ephemeral footprints as they rushed into the waters.

Rosalina let go of Aqua's hand once they were both underwater so that both could swim freely. Aqua had to actively remind herself not to gasp while submerged. The sea here was filled with all sorts of colorful corals and immense seashells: a rainbow hidden beneath all the dark above.

Rosalina quite clearly had a destination in mind, and Aqua followed her until they passed through a rocky tunnel and emerged in a much larger pool on the other side of the cliff. They surfaced for air, and Aqua took a long look at the skies above, at the mysterious stone tower erected off to one side at the pool's edge.

"What's that?" she asked.

"We'll use it later," Rosalina told her. "First, we need to enjoy the water as much as we want to!"

From there, no direction. No goal. They swam along, diving and resurfacing as whims took them. Aqua spent a lot of the time floating on her back, marveling at just how many stars she could see.

"Are they all other galaxies?" she asked once Rosalina paddled back to her.

"Some are," Rosalina confirmed. "Others are simply stars. Others are whole worlds. And there may be some that are things even I can't define."

"And you see this every day from the Observatory?" Aqua asked.

"I see much," Rosalina replied, "but you can only have this view from this place. All worlds share the same sky, but the way that sky looks is never the same in two places. That's what makes it all so wonderful. They're connected, but each is different in such a special way."

"Kind of like our friends," Aqua realized.

"Yes," Rosalina agreed. "Exactly like our friends."

After another long while paddling about, Aqua at last turned to Rosalina and said, "I'm ready to check out that tower if you are."

"Then let's go!" Rosalina swam on ahead.

Aqua followed her up a spiral of stone steps that wound around the tower's outside. At the zenith, there was a quite ostentatious red button, rounder in diameter than either of them.

"Step on it," Rosalina encouraged.

Aqua, feeling bold, leapt onto the button full-tilt, both feet pressing it down. Once it was activated, a radiant wave of magic was expelled, encircling the entire celestial body on which the two women stood. And the entire sea froze over into a perfect pool of ice.

Rosalina had just finished casting herself into a shorter dress and a pair of skates. "I hope it lives up to the lake from your childhood," she told Aqua.

Aqua, understanding, changed back into her regular clothing, though using the second dressphere to swap her boots out for pristine ice skates with shimmering blades. "This surpasses it by so much," she said lovingly.

On the ice surface, Rosalina extended her hand again, and when Aqua took it, the two pulled close together, skating along in tandem. First, they moved as one, in perfect unison; then Aqua lifted Rosalina into the air, leaning back to skate edges as she held her high. When they landed, Rosalina skated out front, twirled, and encouraged Aqua to copy the move. They leapt into a dual spin, then landed, Rosalina taking Aqua's hand and Aqua knowing to lean back until she was again skating on the blade edges, Rosalina serving as her fulcrum as they spiraled round.

As with the swimming, they didn't keep track of the time they spent skating like this. It was only ever when Aqua pulled to a stop, huffing, "Whew! I'm beat."

"There is more to see, if you want," Rosalina told her. "We'll take it slowly."

"Sure!" Aqua replied, realizing her nerves had calmed by a good bit.

They used a smaller star to launch to another celestial body entirely: a much smaller planet, covered in shallow water that only reached the ankles. "I find this planet relaxing to stroll upon," Rosalina related.

"There's just something about wading like this," Aqua agreed.

They came upon a soft white rabbit whose ears ended in gold stars. His nose twitched. "Think you can catch me?" he taunted. "I'd like to see you try it! Boiyoing!"

"Oh, not today," Rosalina told him. "Aqua's all tired out."

"You know," Aqua realized, "if he wants to play tag, I think I have one round in me." And the idea of catching a rogue rabbit to impress the beautiful blonde played no factor in this whatsoever.

"All right!" Rosalina told the rabbit. "We accept your challenge!"

He took off bounding, and the pair split up to cover the tiny planet, rushing to attempt to corner him. After a merry chase and a flying leap, Aqua managed to tackle the rabbit, holding him in a tight hug. "I GOT HIM!"

Rosalina laughed and gave a round of victory applause.

"Looks like you were faster than me, boiyoing!" the rabbit sighed. "But there's always next time!"

As Aqua sent the rabbit on his way, Rosalina asked – was there a hitch of shyness in her voice? – "Can we go somewhere more secluded?"

"Um…sure?" Aqua replied.

And so they ended up on a small asteroid floating in midair above the main body of the Cosmic Cove, lying on their backs in a hemisphere of grass surrounded by a small picket fence. Above, the stars twinkled gorgeously. Nearby, a waterfall that spouted from seemingly nowhere cascaded off the asteroid, a twin fall running parallel to it.

"Thank you for coming here with me," Rosalina said earnestly.

Now the loud heart pounding was back, and Aqua was acutely aware. "It's been wonderful," she replied. "Though I…uh."

"Yes?"

"I'm…I have a question!"

"Go ahead and ask," Rosalina urged softly.

"It's just – " Aqua's voice hitched. No. If she could beat Vanitas, take on the Terra that held Xehanort inside of him, fight through a decade of Darkness, she could ask one simple question. "Is this a…date sort of date? Or a friendly date?"

After a long pause, Rosalina asked, "Would you…want it to be a romantic date?"

Now Aqua realized. She wasn't the only one here who was nervous. "I wouldn't mind if it was," she admitted. "That is – if it doesn't make things too awkward!"

"It can be," Rosalina answered. "It wouldn't be awkward. In fact, I…I was rather hoping it could be…"

They sat up to get a better look at each other.

"When you saved me," Aqua said, voice nearly breaking, "I just remember thinking you were the most beautiful person I had ever seen. And you never stopped being that in any sense of the word."

"You are wonderful," Rosalina replied. "Strong and kind, soft and brutal, all in one…I wanted to get to know you better. I still do."

"But you're thousands of years old!" Aqua protested. "I'm just human! How can I possibly be that interesting to you?"

"You're like the stars seen from this galaxy," Rosalina replied. "There are many who are similar to you…but only one Aqua."

Aqua went silent, eyes widening.

After a titter, Rosalina teased, "I have had thousands of years to practice lines."

"I can see that." Aqua had gone red.

"But they aren't really lines," Rosalina cleared up. "I mean every word. I would love to grow closer to you…if it's what you want."

"YES!" Aqua blurted. "I mean – yes. I want."

They began to lean toward each other, bidden by the stars and fate – until Aqua's GummiPhone buzzed.

"Sorry!" Aqua leaned back quickly. "I need to make sure it isn't an emergency."

And Rosalina loved that. Aqua was a caring soul, someone who felt for her entire flock. Someone who would want to make sure every last Luma was safe. So the princess watched adoringly as Aqua read the screen.

"It's just Papyrus," Aqua revealed. "He says there's nothing to worry about – which is a little weird – but he wants to know if he can come with us to Yen Sid's to train tomorrow." Fingers clicked on keys. "Of course he can. Why couldn't he? Ven should be happy that he wants to come along." Her response was sent. "Okay." The phone was packed away. "So…um…we were…"

They let the stars guide them again, once more, until their lips met and the starlight flowed through them.

...

Otto was settled in, using his robotic arms to piece together a new device altogether while his biological hands held a magnifying glass over it for the detail work. Vexen and Drakken had gone back to Project Nunya Business with the android, and Shego was now painting her nails lime. Yzma, Amy, and Bushroot worked together to pack extremely personalized bento boxes for various of their teammates, each with a smidgen of potion from a different vial dropped in so they could test which was which (and this time, the boxes were labeled with glitter stickers).

Among all of this, a yelp broke into the lab space. The sort of yelp that could only come from someone who had not in the slightest expected a rollercoaster.

"Sounds like new blood in the water," Shego remarked, blowing on her pinky nail.

"Well." Zorg came strutting briskly into the main room. "I must say, that was certainly a unique little innovation y'all installed there, very inspired. Not sure it's to my taste, but different strokes."

(He was clearly disheveled, physically and mentally.)

"What can I say?" Yzma shrugged dramatically. "I like having fun. I'm one of the only people down here who does."

"This is me erasure," Drakken grunted.

Shego chuckled; "Oh, please. You're about as fun as a sponge."

"SOMEONE never had to spend a whole weekend at Nana's with only sponges for toys," Drakken muttered.

"And who might we be welcoming to the fold?" Otto sneered.

"A bold assumption," Vexen huffed, "presuming he is 'welcome.'"

"Name's Jean-Baptiste Emanuel Zorg," Zorg said quickly, plastering on his best business smile. "Gadgetry of all sorts, from automated cradles to self-mourning graves, though where I shine is the arms business. Damn, it feels good to be able to say that out loud as the main sellin' point in a public setting! I've fueled wars on over fifty galaxies without ever havin' to see a single battlefield, which is good for me, since I'm gonna get this on the table right now, my business ain't with the warriors. It's with the killers. Now, I've been told that's what I got in this very room, given a few rare exceptions. Tell me I ain't been led down the wrong path."

"No, pretty much," Yzma confirmed. "Though Malfoy is one room over, and you can't get him to pull a trigger for anything. Not even a Kuzco Krunchie bar. We let him stay because he doesn't stop any of the rest of us from having fun."

"Though I feel the need to clarify we aren't mindless assassins," Vexen grunted. "I never had much truck for assassins, Graceful, fiery, or otherwise. Our work is multifaceted, with a conquest-oriented main goal that splinters into our individual desires from there. Murder is a necessary step along the way to most of our endgames."

"Y'know, I'll take it," Zorg decided. "I'll say you're some of the most reasonable people to talk to I've had the pleasure of meetin' over the last couple decades, that's for sure."

"And you said your area of expertise is…weapons technology?" Otto raised an unsure brow.

"Guess that means you partner up with Dr. O," Shego remarked offhandedly.

"Yes," Otto grunted. "I suppose it does."

"Now, don't gimme such a sour look, Doc," Zorg replied. "I'm sure the two of us are gonna be gettin' along swimmingly in no time. That or I run you outta this basement by whatever means necessary."

"Try me," Otto dared.

The curtain to the potions alcove was thrown aside; Zevon, Draco, and Irmaplotz exited together, making their way into the main laboratory. "And the worst part is I've run into him thrice since then," Draco fumed, "and he makes my blood boil upon sight! His hair isn't even natural blond! If I've got to look at that stupid smug face of his ONE MORE TIME – "

"Okay, I'm going to stop you right there," Irmaplotz told him, "because you just hit the fifteen-minute limit you give me to gush about Jack, and turnabout is fair play."

"Wha – how is that in any way similar?" Draco spat.

"Oh, I don't knowwwww," Irmaplotz mocked. "Just that you haven't been able to shut up about Drake Stone and how much you hate this guy you just met for…actually, it's been twenty minutes."

"ARE YOU IMPLYING – "

"You have a super thing for him? Yeah. Pretty much."

Draco reddened; "How DARE you – I ought to – you're not – SHUT IT!"

"How was that in any way a denial of what I just said?" Irmaplotz asked.

"No, he's right," Zevon brought up. "This obsesscination with Drake is obviousnately not adoramorous in nature. I get the same feelings of pure, undilutated rage when I think about Kamdor and how he keeps showing up to take my gemstones and get in my way! Most nights, I lullable myself to sleep thinking of his hideorrable helmet and how I'm going to bash it in with a more personalizated version of my mother's hammer! And then dream of engagerating him in battle a third time!"

"Okay…wow," Irmaplotz replied. "That…that recontextualizes SOMETHING, all right."

Zevon strode toward Otto's table; "I had heard you were now in charge of our armageddonry!" he declared. Then he spun to Zorg; "As are you!"

"I arrived more than twenty minutes ago," Otto pointed out. "Why wait so long to approach?"

"Draco had a lot to say about Drake Stone," Zevon relayed. "We were forced – I mean oblijugated to listen."

"Well, now!" Zorg put his best foot forward, stepping out in front of Zevon. "First client among the WHAM ARMY. What can Zorg Industries do for ya?"

"I wish to add a new gem to my staff!" Zevon held up his weapon and the Corona Pearl. "I wish one of you to forge it in place!"

Zorg's lower lid twitched. "Well, now, that's a…that's a mighty…classic weapon design ya got there."

"This isn't a live-action roleplay-themed restaurant," Otto chided.

"But it IS a den of wizards," Draco hissed. "Or are you too far up your Muggle – "

"Did one of you guys have something better in mind?" Irmaplotz interrupted.

"Now, I take it these are mighty powerful stones," Zorg observed. "Prettier than the ones I had to schlep around the galaxy lookin' for, I'll tell ya that much. …They ain't Infinity, are they?"

"They are the gems of the Corona Aurora!" Zevon announced proudly.

Zorg sputtered; "…Dunno what I was expectin', but not that."

"Does the term mean something to you?" Otto asked.

"Ancient, ancient stuff," Zorg related. "Mangalores practically worshipped the damn thing. My…my last client dropped its name, sayin' it was a real shame the trinket wasn't around to speed up a few things. Always wanted to get my hands on 'em, see what they could really do in a pinch – "

Zevon swept his items back out of Zorg's hypothetical reach; "They're MINE!"

"Zevon," Yzma sighed, "don't be a child."

"I'm thirty," Zevon replied. "I cannot be a child."

"That's not what I – " Yzma sighed. "I'm just a magnet for himbos."

"They do different sorts of stuff?" Zorg asked. "My client seemed to hint at such."

"No?" Zevon replied tentatively. "I don't think they do? No legend I read even implicied such a thing. Unless your client was an elder-itch being older than the galactixies themselves, they were obviounessly lying through their teeth!"

"Didn't have teeth," Zorg muttered. "And as for that other part, you should know that when you assume, you make an ass outta 'u' an' me. Point bein', ya found any of the powers that go with those babies?"

"They both seem to…shoot energy," Zevon revealed.

"Well, y'all can figure that out later, on yer own time," Zorg said, clapping his hands together. "It's us who got the pleasure of buildin' somethin' that can allow ya to do that."

"I wonder." Otto stood beside Zorg. "Are you thinking of some sort of weapon that could rotate chambers, allowing each gem to be used separately?"

"Bingo. And then some."

"Color me intrigued."

After an indistinct amount of time that everyone took care to not examine too closely as to whether or not it was part of a montage, Zevon held a completely new staff in his hand. The metal where he gripped it was sleek, shiny. The lower end was carved into a dragon's claw, which Zorg and Otto agreed wasn't their usual motif but fit Zevon well. The top of the staff was adorned by a metal pentagon designed to spin around at Zevon's behest, controlled by dials set near the grip.

"And these switches?" Zevon asked, running his thumb over one of five.

"Pull the switch, Zevon," Otto urged.

So Zevon did, and absolutely nothing happened besides one metal panel sliding out of place to reveal an empty chamber.

"Wrong switch," Zevon muttered.

"Must run in the family," Yzma commented.

"A DIFFERENT switch," Otto sighed.

So Zevon did, and this time, the resulting blast of white-hot light from the chamber he'd opened, the one containing the Pearl, caused everyone in the room to leap or duck out of the way to avoid getting singed.

"WONDERTACULAR!" Zevon crowed.

"Now, you can activate and deactivate the Pearl and the Toru Diamond as you see fit," Otto explained.

"Not ta mention flippin' both them little switches at once turns 'em both on for two barrels," Zorg added. "Once the other three come fallin' into yer hands, we'll fix your new toy up to hold them, too."

"Once I have all five," Zevon explained, "I intend to wear them as part of the Corona Aurora. Though it will be nice to have an alternatial optinon."

"Well, four, then," Zorg told him, "an' save that fifth chamber for a rainy day."

"He can't accidentally kill himself with this, can he?" Yzma asked.

"If he's an idiot who points it at himself, he could," Otto grunted.

"But I'm under contract this time not to hide any killswitches in any new patents," Zorg explained. "A'course, fine print means the OLD patents are fair game."

Yzma blinked twice. "You know, I don't think I want to know."

"Mr. Zorg." Draco stepped forth. "It's quite an impressive contraption."

"Okay, did Draco just compliment somebody for real?" Irmaplotz asked. "Because that never happens unless he wants something."

"Who says I don't want something?" Draco reached into a pocket. "It so happens I'm also looking for a new staff. And the last piece I need fell right into my hands."

He withdrew his hand, opening it to reveal the base of Spinel's Rejuvenator.

...

"It is an honor to have you once more in command, princess," Zhao said with a smirk as he walked close to the left wall.

"Yes, well," Azula sighed, leaning back in her chair, "it's good to be back IN command. I can't believe I tried to make myself live with out it. …We're sagging right. Hold it up higher!"

Azula, of course, wasn't walking down the hall. She was riding in a litter, one with four poles to grip to lift it. And hoisting those posts were Jasper, Edgar, Horace, and Snoops – the former two holding up the left and the latter two the right.

"Sorry, miss – ma'am!" Snoops babbled.

"Your Highness," Azula corrected.

"Sorry, Your Highness!" Snoops squealed. "We're trying our best – " He was now walking on tiptoe.

"We're short, miss!" Horace protested.

Azula gave a sigh. "Everyone halt. Edgar, Horace, switch places."

So they did, and now the short ones were on diagonal corners, as were the tall.

"Why'd we get stuck haulin' the brat around the castle, anyhow?" Jasper hissed.

"I'm here because I accidentally walked in on Medusa changing," Snoops whispered back, "and this way, if she shoots me, then the princess will be livid! I'm counting on this being the one child she actually fears! I'll take a stand when I see her drop the gun!"

"Right," Jasper sighed. "Now that you mention it, I'm fresh off Miss de Vil throwin' a gin bottle at me head. Lesser of evils, I s'pose."

"Keep up," Azula hissed, "or I'll have to make an example out of you so the next litter-bearers don't get lazy."

"Or maybe not," Jasper retracted.

Suddenly, a bouncing flash of purple in front of the entire procession. "Ohoho, what's this?" Joker cackled. "I wasn't aware children got special treatment around here! Then again, Maleficent did have some sort of adopted son, didn't she? Always knew she was soft around the edges for kids…"

"I'll have you BURNED for such slander!" Zhao threatened with a clenched fist.

"So you're the one who nearly turned our forces against one another in Ba Sing Se," Azula observed. "For entertainment."

"Guilty as charged!" Joker snickered. "And you're the fire nobles who are ACTUALLY fun to mess with. Can you believe the last one was such a stick-in-the-mud, even making him angry wasn't funny? That's the only good thing about sticks-in-the-mud!"

"WHAT do you want?" Azula barked.

"Well, if you'd paid attention, I just said it," Joker reminded her, "but also, you currently have my butler." He gave a dramatic pout. "Why, oh, why would you betray our friendship, Edgar?"

"I – I didn't mean to!" Edgar went pale. "Her Highness asked, and I said no, but then she INSISTED, and I couldn't – "

"Bah, pathetic excuses!" Joker dismissed. "I want you back in my room picking up the evening's laundry on the double!"

"But – "

"DON'T DAWDLE, BUTLER!"

"I'm sorry!" Edgar cried. "But you don't know what he's like – I HAVE to do what he says, or else!"

And he dropped his end of the litter, sending Azula crashing down onto the other three bearers as he scampered off.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Azula screamed.

"YOU'LL PAY!" Zhao roared.

Joker was whooping with laughter. "Now, THIS is how you milk a stick-in-the-mud! And here I've got a pair!"

Zhao reached out to swipe at him with a flaming fist, but the Joker had springs built into his heels that he used to vault over the whole contingent before bolting down the hall after Edgar, cackling all the way.

"I'm not fond of that man," Azula seethed, getting up to dust herself off and not check to see if any of her litter-bearers had sustained injuries.

"I don't see the humor in any of his tricks," Zhao agreed.

Azula rounded on Horace, Jasper, and Snoops. "Find me a fourth bearer NOW," she seethed, "or else your mistresses will know exactly where to find you in a matter of minutes!"

"YES, YOUR HIGHNESS!" The three of them scampered off.

"Now, this improves my mood dramatically," Azula said with a smirk, watching them go.

...

"Now." Mozenrath looked from the compass globe to the map he had been drawing. "If my calculations are correct, the last three gems should be here – " An X drawn. "Here – " Another. "And here."

He sighed, proud of his handiwork. "I should think having an ancient legend from beyond time would give us a tactical advantage," he said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Ahem!" Aghoul broke in, appearing at the door – or, rather, the hole that had once been a door. "I'd knock, but as you can see, that isn't quite possible at the moment."

"What do you want?" Mozenrath's brow furrowed.

"Well, you see – "

"And it had better be good," Mozenrath interrupted, "because I'm about done with these interruptions. Say your piece and GET. OUT."

"Very well," Aghoul replied with a shrug and a big smile. "Tony Dracon is about to get violently murdered down in the control room. That's all!"

And he turned and stalked away.

"That was hardly worth bothering me f – " Mozenrath suddenly realized exactly what he'd heard. A long groan escaped him. "All right, FINE, I'll bite."

He arrived to see Tony feinting to escape the stab of Zemo's broadsword, using the miss as an opening to throw a punch. Zemo, however, was quicker, sidestepping so that Tony ended up plowing right past him. A booted kick was dealt to Tony's back as the gangster stumbled. Hastily, Tony drew a gun from a holster on his belt and pointed it at Zemo only to have the weapon knocked from his hands by the sword blade; he gasped in horror as it skittered across the room.

Various others were ringed around them, chanting, "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

Zemo cut downward, and Tony leapt in an attempt to keep his feet from separating from his body. The swordpoint planted into the floor, and Zemo used it to vault, two feet kicking Tony out of midair so that the gangster landed on his back. Tony must've had a few inches' height advantage at least and considerably more visible muscle mass, and Zemo was about to cut him to ribbons.

"Is there anything you, perhaps, wish to apologize for?" Zemo asked, trailing his sword across the floor as he approached Tony: a long, harsh scrape.

Tony sneered at him over the blood running from his nose. "I don't think so."

"Too bad." Zemo raised his blade high. "You could've had potential."

"Stop, STOP!" Mozenrath yelled, launching a sparking orb of blue that blasted the two further apart. He then marched out into the field, growling, "I don't know what this is about, but you two are going to DROP IT before I decide BOTH OF YOU AREN'T WORTH MY TIME!"

Zemo was first to his feet, sneering, "Oh, but I was only finishing what Dracon began!"

Tony wiped the blood out from his upper lip with a sleeve as he, too, rose, obviously aching. "Nobody told me I'd be sharing a base with neo-Nazi scum," he growled.

"I'd've thought you of all people would be sympathetic," Zemo cooed. "I've worked with the mob before, you know."

"But you haven't worked with my mob," Tony snarled. "I fought hard for my men, and you're not gonna trash them, behind my back or otherwise."

"Just…calm down." Mozenrath raised both hands, palms out. "Yes, the Baron is a HYDRA affiliate, but so long as he isn't an aggressor – "

"Well, he was," Tony spat. "You should've heard the things he was saying to me about Glasses and Joey."

"Zemo?" Mozenrath prompted. "Your rebuttal?"

"I could have said far worse," Zemo replied. "I did also say I was willing to tolerate their presence. And if we are being honest, I said what I thought of all three of them, which was equally unflattering."

Well. It was clear whose fault this was.

Mozenrath let out another long groan. "Zemo…see me in the principal's office."

Without giving Zemo the chance to protest, he seized the infected warrior by the shoulder and ported them both away, back to the study Mozenrath had been attempting to work in.

"Now, Baron Zemo." Mozenrath walked behind the desk, placing a hand on it as he leaned toward the other. "Perhaps I wasn't clear upon our initial agreement. Or perhaps I put too much faith in you being so willing to work with the Zerons. But there is a rather large stipulation that comes along with our alliance, and it just so happens to involve, much as I hate to preach something so virtuous, tolerance."

"Oh, but Mozenrath, I did – "

"NOT tolerance of EXISTENCE," Mozenrath snapped. "I had a feeling this might happen as the ranks expanded. Asking this many ne'er-do-wells to get along is a recipe for trouble. All the same, anyone who can't find it in their heart to play nice with the other children is going to face suspension."

"And you think me the worst of the lot, as far as that is concerned?" Zemo posed, not flapped yet. "Surely you should be more concerned with the troll-killer…or the one who hunts the magical for sport."

"Are there any trolls in this alliance?" Mozenrath jeered. "No? Then we don't have a problem with Snatcher. Did the Huntsman put several grievances aside to be here? Yes! Does any of this matter in the long run? Not in the slightest, because I just so happen to like them both BETTER. For instance, if Snatcher were to come along and say you'd threatened him, well. You'd be out the door faster than you could say a slur. And Huntsman? Ohohoho, just you try and antagonize him and escape me with your humanity intact. It's been a while since I've made a Mamluk, you know."

"I have no intention of harming either," Zemo stated calmly. "I merely called into question Dracon's operating methods."

"And why?"

"Well, because those he has chosen are…unconventional. As is the chooser."

He was picking his words more carefully around Mozenrath than he'd done around Tony. (Maybe Mozenrath was getting good at reading people.) "They work well as a team," Mozenrath related. "They get jobs done. They managed to help contain a sizeable threat back in New York City."

"Ah, you mean Mysterio."

"I know you're trying to get the blame off your shoulders and onto his, Zemo, and it's not working!" Mozenrath was positively singsong now. "Listen. I'm not anti-racist, Zemo. Some of my best friends, as mentioned, are racists! Buuuuuut…"

"You know, nothing good ever follows that 'but.'"

"I don't care what Glasses looks like or what…what…" A brow raised. "What even is your problem with Joey?"

"What you're asking about is not mine, but one HYDRA designated. A disagreement of faith and heritage," Zemo related. "He is, you know, not one of those HYDRA would have looked fondly upon. My personal issue with him is his utter weakness."

"Ah," Mozenrath realized. "Jewish. I get it. You know, my own history with Judaism is a complex one, given that I was born to an Islamic family in the heart of Arabia. You can imagine the political and spiritual tensions. But after I abandoned Cassim and set out to make my own life in the Black Sands, I realized something that changed my life forever." His light demeanor dropped away entirely. "I DON'T CAAAAARE. People, ALL PEOPLE, AS A UNIT, aggravate me. Save the kindred spirits I'm trying to assemble. Why does it matter if this person and that person are fighting over the fine print in how to worship? I don't even follow Islamic code anymore anyway!"

"Then what do you – "

"My own little blend of paganism, Zoroastrianism, and Mithraism," Mozenrath answered coldly. "But that's beside the point. I want you to think very critically about this, Zemo. Who would be easier for me to get rid of if it came down to it? You, or everyone who doesn't fit your criteria?"

Zemo glowered. Ah, so now Mozenrath actually had his attention. After a pause, he attempted to argue, "I am worth every one of them combined."

If only Mozenrath had known what he meant was the entirety of the WHAM ARMY.

"Big words," Mozenrath replied. "Can you back those up with magic? With a superpower? With scientific knowhow? With the ability to show your face in public?"

Now Zemo was silent entirely.

"Obviously, you have some internal prejudices to work out," Mozenrath told him. "How you take care of it is your business. Make it more deeply internal or learn tolerance. It's another one of those things I don't care about. But if I find another of my army at the point of your sword again because of a bias that literally means nothing to me, you can consider yourself resigned."

"It is not as though I wish extermination," Zemo argued. "Unlike some within HYDRA."

"Have I brought that up as an issue? No. Does it matter? No. Get a clue or get gone."

"I simply believe that SOME are predispositioned – "

"Not listening."

"That I am, in the end, superior to all, even those I share race with – "

"Not li – oh." Mozenrath's brow furrowed. "NOW I'm listening. Because what you just said sounded like mutiny."

Zemo could tell from the ice in Mozenrath's voice that he'd finally pushed the envelope too far. "…It was not," he sighed. "Merely another excuse. I shall conduct myself with grace henceforth."

"Good man."

Zemo didn't really think it was fair. After all, most HYDRA affiliates wouldn't have even touched the idea of working with Abomination or Chemistro, and he'd been friendly enough to them! And it wasn't as though he'd suggested Tony's men should die. He didn't want that, for certain. No, he'd just pointed out what he saw as a disparity. One Tony should've been proud of, the way he was.

And he would have kept arguing if not for the fact that he was currently without any sort of failsafe to stop Mozenrath from turning him into a Mamluk. The way he'd had to wait to collar Amora. Perhaps if he waited just as long…

Except he didn't know that he wanted to take that route. After all, he knew he had kindred spirits here. There was one in particular he wished to speak to, in light of all of this. And would do so before taking any drastic action. Who knew? Maybe something would change after that conversation.

"I shall leave you to your work," Zemo told Mozenrath as he turned to stride out the door.

Mozenrath sat back down in his seat. "You know," he said under his breath with a smirk, "even I don't have to be good at reading people to know you're running right to the Huntsman. And I could've warned you…I have him wrapped around my finger."

...

Draco ran his hands over the new staff he held in his hand. At one end, a Crystal of Ix. At the other, the crystal that powered the Rejuvenator.

"Now, this was an interestin' little idea ya had indeed," Zorg told him. "Think I just mighta outdone myself on this one."

"You?" Otto raised a brow. "I believe I made it all come together. I was, after all, the one who figured out that the blade contained within the pink crystal could do no physical harm but was instead intended to revert particular organisms to a more basic state."

"An' I was the fella who pointed out that could pretty easily translate to reapin' magic energy with a few tweaks," Zorg rebutted. "Though how ya don't come up with the 'reap' connection for somebody holdin' a goddamn scythe, I ain't quite sure."

"Well, I was the one who guessed it could connect to the Ix!" Draco argued. "It was my idea; you two just put it together and made it work!"

"We can hash out the details about credit and why it belongs to me later," Zorg dismissed. "Why don't'cha go on an' give that little baby a whirl?"

Draco flipped a lever. A pink blade of energy glowed luminously into existence from the Rejuvenator half.

"What am I supposed to test it on?" Draco asked.

"Not it!" Yzma cried.

"YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE BLOODY MAGIC!" Draco yelled at her. His brow furrowed; "Perhaps I should test it out on Stone. See how he likes it when his power is in my hands."

"Noooooo, you don't have a thing for that guy at aaaaaaall," Irmaplotz said sardonically. "You just bring him up for no reason at random times. That means nothing."

The sudden sound of a cry of "Oh, GEEZ!" and a scaly purple streak blazing into the room got everyone's attention. Randall leapt from floor to table to shelf full of breakable glass (which broke) to wall to ceiling and back to floor, scuttling as fast as he could.

"NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE!" Vexen screamed, as it was his glass that had been broken.

Lady Caine was next to barge into the room, screaming animalistically as Tsumugari was held high.

"YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!" Vexen cast a slippery patch in her path, and Lady Caine landed flat on her back, sword doing dual flips before sticking into the floor beside her.

"Do I wanna know?" Shego asked, barely looking away from her Sudoku book.

"That creep set up base camp with Mim, Discord, and the big bonehead in the stairwell out the back," Lady Caine seethed, "and they're scaring the living daylights out of whoever they find. I was just RETURNING THE FAVOR." She blew a loose red bang out from between her eyes.

"Wait a bloody second!" Draco cried. "You're saying you got down here using STAIRS?"

Yzma swallowed hard. "Uh-oh."

"When the rest of us have had to take the damn ROLLERCOASTER every time?" Draco went on, fuming.

"No!" Vexen gasped. "You're not insinuating – "

"SUBJECT CHANGE!" Yzma yelled. It didn't work.

"Yzma," Vexen growled. "How long has there been a REAR STAIRWELL into the laboratory that did not involve that COASTER?"

"I thought there was an exit out of here?" Shego commented.

"It's one-way, sweetie," Amy replied. "Or was it?"

"Well…I…ah…" Yzma fidgeted. "You see, I was going to tell you all that there was an alternate option…and then I saw how angry the coaster made Vexen and I knew I had to milk this for as long as I possibly could before he started taking the stairs."

"I mean, fair," Irmaplotz told her.

"I'm ALMOST miffed enough to stop taking the coaster exclusively and putting in coins for the picture at the end every time," Drakken grunted.

"Finally," Vexen sighed. "I don't have to keep tearing those imbecilic pictures in half and discarding the side with me on it to save my reputation."

"I keep telling you you should save those!" Drakken whined. "They're fond memories of our friendship!"

"I'm just hearing there are pictures of the Iceman somewhere that have him making a stupid face," Shego brought up, "and now I gotta find the stash."

"They've been SHREDDED," Vexen seethed. "We're getting off topic. Yzma must ANSWER for her lies of omission!"

"No," Lady Caine growled, "we were getting off topic of THE JERKS IN THE STAIRWELL."

"No," Draco corrected, "we were getting off topic of MY STAFF."

"Well," Yzma pointed out, "if I may, Mim and Discord are both incredibly magical, so if you really want to test that staff, might I suggest disrupting their party?"

"I will accompany him," Vexen growled. "I want to see where these STAIRS are."

"Hold on!" Yzma held up her scroll. "There's one person I know will want to se this." She dashed off a quick text, and in a shimmer, Wuya appeared.

"You rang?" Wuya smirked.

"I've got a new staff." Draco held up the weapon. "And you're going to see how far your pupil has come. Follow me to the stairwell."

Wuya was silent a moment before shifting toward Yzma; "So I take it they found out about the stairs."

"I would, ah, appreciate it if you prevented Vexen from doing me bodily harm," Yzma tittered.

"Oh, good." Wuya smirked. "An excuse to suplex Vexen. I've been looking for one of those."

"MAY WE RETURN TO THE MATTER AT HAND?" Vexen screeched.

The stairwell above the laboratory seemed to be darker and more cramped than usual, with ominously dripping water that echoed as it hit the stone and moss growing just quickly enough that Draco, Vexen, and Wuya could see the image of it eating away at the rock beneath.

"Points for classic imagery," Wuya muttered.

The distant sounds of things with too many legs scuttling away became even more distant.

"SHOW YOURSELVES ALREADY!" Draco barked.

Then they came upon the lump that was stretched out across the stairs, blocking their path. The lump that looked altogether too much like a cocoon.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Draco sighed.

The lump writhed. Stretched. Broke. And from within, a moldy, rotting facsimile of a draconequus, its organs melting out of its body as black goo through an immense stomach wound, pried itself out of the cocoon.

"Welcome to your nightmare," Discord greeted. "Don't get too scared, now. Up ahead, it only gets SO much worse – "

"OCCLUMENS!" Draco flicked his wand at Discord, and Wuya waved a hand, manipulating her telepathic powers. Now, both of them were able to bat the manufactured hallucination out of their minds, leaving them in a clean, well-kept, moldless hallway with a brightly-colored and uninjured Discord.

"Unless, of course, you'd rather turn back," Discord continued. Then flinched; "Wait! Am I no longer projecting as utter terror? Why can I only pick up readings that ONE of you can see me as a dessicated undead?"

"And that one isn't impressed," Vexen stated, arms folded.

"Call your minions," Draco seethed. "I want a WORD with them."

"Oo-hoo-hoo, it's about to get extra terrifying in here!" Discord whooped. "Come on out, friends!"

Mim phased through the ceiling to drop beside Discord as a completely flesh-and-blood Destiny rushed to his side (Vexen saw it as a skeletal Destiny being revealed by a cluster of bats that had previously surrounded him, but he suspected the truth). "What's going on down here?" Mim asked.

"These party poopers turned off Des's nightmares," Discord said. "Which means we'll just have to rely on some good old-fashioned MAGIC."

Draco had already exchanged his wand for the staff, extending the pink blade; "I was HOPING YOU'D SAY THAT!"

With a slash, the immense curved blade had swept right through Discord.

"EGADS!" Discord cried dramatically. "THAT DID NOTHING AT ALL!" He broke down into giggles.

"Didn't it?" Draco smirked, spinning the staff and dismissing its blade. The Crystal of Ix now glowed in rainbow, though each color was in such a hue that it didn't go with the rest of the lot. "Look familiar?"

"That looks like draconequus magic to me," Discord remarked. "Now, where would you get – " His eyes widened. "NO."

He put out a claw. Snapped it. Snapped it several more times. And nothing happened.

"Never fear," Vexen told him. "Your magic will regenerate within an hour or so. As for the present, however…"

"I'll scare you extra for that one!" Mim shook a fist, beginning to change shape in a shower of sparkles.

And before she could actually settle on a creature, Draco had blasted her with the magic he'd picked up off Discord, firing it from the Crystal of Ix and sending her tumbling up the stairs.

"So it leeches magical energy out of your opponent and turns it into something you can use," Wuya realized. "Ohhhh, that's devious."

"But can you imitate the magic you've absorbed," Vexen asked, "or only convert it to raw energy?"

"You know," Draco realized, "I'm not entirely certain! Let's find out."

Mim, as a quite hideous dragon with a turtle-shell back, was hustling back down the stairs, smoke puffing from her mouth and ears. Draco waved his staff and she was suddenly walking on the ceiling, though not for long, as she soon became mired in gooey crazyberry-blue gum.

"As a matter of fact," Draco realized, "it CAN use the magic I've collected!"

"YOUUUUU…" Mim seethed.

"What?" Draco taunted. "Need to see the light?"

A small golden orb of magic floated up toward her where he pointed the staff, then erupted into a miniature sun, the sort of which might make others feel cheery. "YOU STOP THAT AT ONCE!" Mim cried.

"I don't think I shall!" Draco snapped. Though it did occur to him that the colors in his crystal had faded, and they also seemed to have depleted, like liquid draining out of a bottle. "It runs out. Good to keep in mind. Best be off, then. I want to get a good hit of draconequus magic in on Stone before I lose it all. Then strip him of his tricks for a good hour."

"That's nice," Wuya told him, looking at her vibrating scroll, "but I think we have other things to attend to first."

She turned the scroll out to the others so they could see the all-caps text she'd just received.

"No!" Vexen gasped. "It can't be – not him! HOW?"

Plain as day, the text on Wuya's screen informed the others that "GOAT DICK IS HERE"

...

"I must say," Zeron Alpha chuckled as he exited the training grounds alongside the Huntsman, "you have even more prowess than Varvatos Vex. I'd like to pit you against him."

"I would be honored to rid you of such a nuisance," the Huntsman replied. "Especially after that display of skill."

"I'm sorry," Roman said as he followed the two of them out, "is no one going to talk about how I lassoed Doggo from across the room and brought him close for the knee shot?"

"Don't call me 'Doggo,'" Alpha grunted.

"It isn't any use," the Huntsman sighed. "You're never going to hear your preferred name out of his mouth again. I believe, however, that test of skill settled my curiosity. You are more than skilled enough to accompany this mission."

"Oh, Huntsman!" A jovial, singsong voice with a jaunty German accent broke into the conversation. Baron Zemo approached, waving almost childishly. "So good to see you."

"Ayyyy, it's Baron Z!" Roman greeted, spreading his arms. "How's life behind the mask?"

"Stifling, but that is nothing new," Zemo said casually. "And as for you?"

The Huntsman could already smell his own suspicion. "Roman and I had been testing Zeron Alpha's mettle to ensure he could accompany us on a pertinent reconnaissance mission. Only the fiercest of warriors will be permitted."

"I see." Zemo glanced in Alpha's direction. "It would be fitting…that a rabid dog would fuel the raw aggression required. Let us hope he can channel it in the proper direction."

Alpha growled gutturally.

"I trust in Alpha," the Huntsman stated, "and, more importantly, in the sorcerer who sent his invitation."

"You have to give me points," Roman whispered. "At least I don't call you 'RABID Doggo.'"

"I know I would be more than qualified to join your little endeavor," Zemo stated pleasantly.

"I've no doubt you would," the Huntsman replied. "From what I've heard, your mettle doesn't need to be tested. Though should that turn out to be bluster in the field, you will face consequences. Anything you must admit, admit it now."

"Like the fact that I currently don't handle large bodies of deep water well," Roman said, "in addition to large birds." Then in a mutter: "No stigma, no shame, no sense in silence. No stigma, no shame – "

"I have no weaknesses to warn you of," Zemo stated. "Of that, you can be sure."

"Then come along," the Huntsman invited. "We're on our way to Villain's Vale to seek out any clues we've missed as to Maleficent's current operation. Her acquisition of new and powerful allies as of late has been more than concerning. The fact that she has recently taken territory, even more so."

Zemo joined their walk to the skimmer hangar. "Oh, and while we are working together," he brought up, "I was hoping to get your opinion on a little dispute I had with Mozenrath earlier today. You see, I think he's being rather unfair."

"I see," the Huntsman growled.

Four skimmers crossed the great and prismatic void of interspace. In the lead, Zemo and the Huntsman sailed side-by-side, Zemo explaining the current situation. Roman tagged along behind, with Alpha bringing up the rear.

"I see," the Huntsman said once all was related.

"Is it such a crime to think myself better than those I am better than?" Zemo asked sweetly.

"Perhaps not a crime," the Huntsman told him. "However, rank plays a role in our alliance. Mozenrath must be answered to at bare minimum. Even when what he requests seems unreasonable."

"Is that truly the best way to lead an organization?"

"It is how he has led so far," the Huntsman replied. "And I trust him wholeheartedly."

"Is that so?"

"Even when he has made judgment calls I couldn't agree with less," the Huntsman went on. "For instance, bringing on those I find undesirable. Gill Moss, for example. And I hear whispers of a horrid creature yet to come called a 'Skeksis.' Yet I am well aware that putting aside our differences shall yield more victory than doing otherwise."

"And what makes you so convinced of this?" Zemo asked.

"Because I had to learn that by being mauled by several dragons, a host of Fair Folk, and a Nyx," the Huntsman grunted. "What I learned is that trusting Mozenrath's intuition and setting aside my grievances with the others here will yield a tangible success. I have heard some of your own story. How you withdrew your trust in Amora, betrayed the others you allied with. How much success did that yield you?"

Zemo scowled.

"Correct me if I'm wrong here." Roman sailed up to Zemo's other side. "But didn't that land you a stalker with a grudge and an all-expenses-paid trip to space jail?"

"Consider my words, Zemo," the Huntsman said to the purple-clad warrior. "Seek alliances that will benefit you. You cannot take on the worlds alone. I say this not to be sentimental, but pragmatically. It. Is. True."

"So if Mozenrath tells you that one of the lesser fit is meant to be among our ranks," Zemo reiterated, "you so blindly believe him?"

"If Mozenrath trusts an ally," the Huntsman stated, "then I trust that ally. Need I remind you that he also put his trust in you? I wouldn't disappoint."

"Oooooh, you are on thin fucking ice!" Roman crowed.

"And I would start," the Huntsman growled, so low only Zemo could hear, "by not antagonizing a mercenary with a kill count of hundreds of extraterrestrials."

Alpha hadn't said a word on the whole ride.

Night had fallen on Radiant Garden when they descended into the Vale, parking their skimmers outside the castle. "Move quickly, quietly, and at my command," the Huntsman warned. "This shell of a fortress is likely swarming with Heartless. Be ready."

Alpha drew his weapons: a pair of laser-edged discs, blazing yellow. "Always."

Roman tapped the edge of the Cudgel on the ground; "Let's just get this over with."

The "shing" of metal as Zemo drew his own blade. "I shall be the first to find whatever evidence was left behind," he boasted. "Let the dog play with his chew toys."

Alpha snarled.

"Don't let him getcha down, buddy," Roman told him. "There's nothing embarrassing about needing chew toys for comfort later in life."

"They are not CHEW TOYS – "

"WHAT did I say?" the Huntsman rounded on his companions.

Roman mimed zipping his lip shut, and the quest resumed.

The Vale had been cleaned out. Hardly a trace remained that anyone had even lived there at one point. No more furniture. No more signs of daily wear. Not even books on the shelves or food in the kitchen.

"She was thorough," the Huntsman muttered. "Perhaps something of worth was left in the dungeons."

"A victim to interrogate," Alpha suggested. "Or the remains of one."

They slunk into the dungeons, carefully treading the length of the antechamber and peering into each cell.

"I'm just seeing a whole lot of nothing," Roman sighed. "They even cleared out the – nope, there's a skeleton." He walked into the cell. Kicked the bones. They crumbled into dust. "Yeesh, wouldn't wanna be that guy."

"I suppose they left that corpse as a threat to any who would come snooping," Zemo mused as Roman rejoined the group. "It quite unfortunately has no effect on me."

"Is this where one of you makes a remark about me 'chewing on bones' or 'eating raw meat'?" Alpha seethed.

"No," Roman told him, "you just microaggressed yourself. That one's on you."

Alpha growled once more.

The Huntsman dragged the door to the last cell open. "Nothing of worth," he sneered at the empty chains held down by cobwebs.

"This whole expedition has been for nothing," Zemo sighed.

"Oh," a new voice intruded, "I wouldn't say that."

The quartet whirled about to see a tall, slender silhouette standing in the way they'd just come from. The way they'd need to go if they wanted to return.

"After all." The intruder stepped forth. "It brought you right into my clutches."

Why. Why did this one seem so hauntingly familiar to Zemo?

"Oh, FUCK," Roman growled. "Not YOU. Anyone but YOU!"

"Did it not occur to you?" the intruder taunted. "This entire castle was but a trap for those such as yourselves who couldn't keep your noses out of our business. And it never occurred to your feeble mortal minds that perhaps the building was alarmed."

"Oh, really?" Roman retorted. "Then what startled it?"

The intruder's expression soured at the awful joke.

"Roman," the Huntsman urged. "Who is this enemy?"

"The guy who made our lives hell back in Asgard," Roman explained. "See, I like to call him 'Goat Dick,' but he prefers 'Loki.'"

That was why –

In a flash, Zemo had sprinted out, sword chopping through the air. Loki brought up his golden staff to block it, a shockwave of magic radiating from where the blade caught it.

"WHOA!" Roman cried. "What's your BEEF?"

"You," Zemo growled. "You may wear a different face, but I could tell it was YOU. You, who declared yourself so far above me, who declared yourself a god before me, who wished to SUBJUGATE me, use me as a TOOL!"

"I can assure you," Loki said with great amusement, "I've no idea who you are."

"An alternate iteration, perhaps?" Zemo pondered. "If there is more than one Loki, certainly there is more than one Zemo. A Zemo to have struck fear into the hearts of the people where you are from, to assert DOMINION."

"Ah, yes!" Loki chuckled, beaming. "I do recall, now. There is one of you where I hail from. A widower, quite devoted to his deceased children. He would go to any length to avenge those he grieves for so sentimentally."

He had to have known those were the exact words that would set Zemo off further. The Baron kicked out at Loki, who stepped back just far enough; then their weapons clashed once, twice, thrice.

A spin and Loki had knocked Zemo back as though whacking a baseball with a bat. Zemo sprawled near the feet of Roman, the Huntsman, and Alpha.

"You have bad blood with him," the Huntsman observed, his own staff drawn and glimmering green.

"That would be putting it lightly." Zemo leapt to his feet, bracing his sword once more. "I loathe his very existence, and count the days until I can see him slain."

Roman let out a loud cackle; "What a coincidence! SO DO WE!"

"Fight alongside me," Zemo growled, "and all grudges shall be forgotten. I wish Loki to meet his END. And once we've finished with this one…we move on to every other iteration that remains."

Alpha's discs blazed; "I like a challenge."

"As do I," Loki remarked, bracing his staff; his golden helmet and dark armor materialized onto his body. "Such a pity I won't find one here."

He was the next to rush, ready to bring four WHAM ARMY captives back to Maleficent.

The Huntsman intercepted the initial blow with the Huntstaff; while the green gem couldn't eliminate the magic of a god, it could mute it, turning down its energy greatly. Alpha ran up behind the Huntsman, leaping up onto his shoulders and springing over them in a somersault, his discs swinging.

Suddenly, the Huntsman realized he was dueling an unwielded staff that moved of its own accord. Loki had turned away from it, drawing twin daggers that he used to counter each of Alpha's discs, striking golden sparks where they connected.

Zemo was once again descending from above, blade ready to cleave Loki in half, but the sword passed down through empty air, and Loki simply wasn't there, leaving the broadsword to clash with Alpha's discs.

Loki reappeared behind the Huntsman, both daggers drawn to plunge into his shoulder blades and incapacitate his arms as the staff held him at bay, but a faint yet ominous click warned him to move out of the way before Roman loosed a sparking red ball of Dust, hooked it on his Cudgel, and curved the shot to pass by where Loki was – or had been – without hitting the Huntsman. Loki sidestepped, twirled, then reached out and caught the ball, throwing it right back where it had come from.

"STRIKE ONE!" Roman yelled as he slammed the staff of the Cudgel against the ball. "No, wait, fuck, strike is when you miss – oh, whatever."

The Huntsman ducked and somersaulted beneath the staff, hazarding one large tear in his tunic as Roman's ammunition collided with the spearpoint. Blue energy began to go wild from the point, and Alpha was soon there, acrobatically dancing around the weapon to intercept each blast with a disc and prevent further damage from being done.

The Huntsman ran down Loki, only to find himself surrounded by twelve identical copies of the god. "What choice do you make in an impossible situation?" they asked as one.

The Huntsman began to strike at random, cutting down this one, that one, and they were all fakes, all illusions – oh, so that was his game. Literally all of them were fake, and the real Loki was –

But he was proven wrong when the real one blasted him directly in the chest with a bolt of blue, sending him slamming into the wall. Something cracked. Hopefully the wall.

Loki put out a hand, and his scepter came flying back into his grip. "I haven't even broken a sweat yet," he jeered. "Is this the best Mozenrath's army can do?" The scepter swung around to point at the Huntsman, charging up with blue.

And at the last second, swung to pierce the assailant who had attempted another attack from the side.

"NO!" the Huntsman cried, a hand reflexively reaching out.

Loki had been careful not to make a killing shot. After all, it would mean nothing among a necromancer's forces. The goal was to subdue and capture. And that was all the better, because Loki now got to watch the wounded Zemo stagger back, clutching the damp spot on his suit, as agonizing pain amplified by his viral infection radiated through his entire body.

"You…" Zemo panted. "Will not…surpass…me…"

"You say that as if I haven't already," Loki jeered. "And stay back."

That was directed at the Huntsman; Loki fired off several blasts in succession. The Huntsman cut through every one until he reached Loki and found his staff kicked out of his hands by a quick-moving boot, followed by the full brunt of the god's magic throwing him across the room.

At the same time, a half-dome shield of blue forged around Loki and Zemo, deflecting the rapid shots from the Cudgel that exploded their way. Roman kept firing until the shield rippled and the shots began to ricochet right back at him, at which point he seized a bar and swung around a cell door into one of the empty cells.

His scroll came into hand. He knew exactly which of his friends could put an end to this. Contact: "Eyeliner." Message: "GOAT DICK IS HERE"

Zemo held his wound in one hand and lashed out with the other. Thanks to the pain, he missed. And Loki slashed again, making the wound larger yet still nonfatal.

"What is one mortal to a god?" he asked, looming large over Zemo. "Countless men have declared themselves superior to the divine, but what is that but bluster?" The scepter was raised, drawn behind his back. "In the end, the truth is revealed: a mortal is but a mortal, while a god – "

A yellow disc clipped around the scepter-holding wrist like a cuff, sealing it to Loki's back. As Loki struggled to break free of his new binding, Alpha converted his second disc to a triplet of whirring drills, which he used to whack Loki in the head full-force.

A mortal would probably have lost their head entirely. Loki was just sent stumbling, his helmet clattering.

Alpha hoisted Zemo over a shoulder, barking "MOVE!"

Roman and the Huntsman were soon at his flanks, and they headed upward.

"You…" Zemo panted. "Held off…Loki…"

"If you are about to complain that I stole your thunder," Alpha warned, "remember who has you in his grip."

Well, Zemo had been about to say that, but it wasn't the only thing, so he just skipped to the second part: "Perhaps there is…worth in you. But don't expect groveling. I…am still…above."

"Just put a stopper in the dog jokes and I'll take it," Alpha chuckled.

"I now have a much better idea of how you were all incapacitated in Asgard!" the Huntsman called to Roman.

"Wha – did you seriously think we were all JUST THAT BAD?" Roman yelled back.

They hustled into the conference chamber, almost to freedom, when Loki reappeared, spreading out his arms as though to block their path. "Are we all but finished here?" he asked, a crackling blue aura surrounding him.

"Alpha," the Huntsman hissed, "keep Zemo back. Roman, you're with me."

Roman braced the Cudgel. "This ass-kicking is SO overdue."

Loki's feet lifted off the ground, the aura strengthening in intensity. "To challenge a god is but one matter," he proclaimed, "but to challenge an Overtaker? Now you shall see the TRUE MIGHT OF – "

The sound of a swish. And his aura dulled considerably.

"What – " Loki turned in midair to see a young blond boy pointing a crystal staff at him. The crystal being one of Ix, and glowing the color of his own power.

"Shut it," Draco Malfoy seethed, letting the blast fly.

Loki was rocketed above the heads of his intended victims. Wuya descended from above to kick him hard into the floor, where he was frozen over solid by a thick iceberg.

"HURRY!" Vexen waved them all toward the door. "We haven't much time before he breaks free!"

"Nice SHOT, Iceman!" Roman yelled as all hurried toward him. "Perfect way to end the rematch!" He mimed a chef's kiss.

"Believe me," Vexen snarled, "I have been waiting for this moment since – "

The ice shattered. Loki erupted to a standing position.

" – ASGARD?" Vexen staggered back. "No…I had thought XEHANORT waited for me!"

"YOU MEAN THERE WAS MORE THAN ONE PERSON YOU ASSOCIATED WITH THE WORDS 'GOAT DICK'?" Roman cried incredulously.

"LATER!" Wuya yelled, casting a Corridor and all but shoving her allies into it. She turned to blow Loki a raspberry before she, herself, disappeared.

A deadly beam of blue blasted at the space where the portal had been just after it vanished.

Back in the laboratory, Alpha brought up, "I believe I have a new patient for you, Vexen."

"CAN YOU NOT GO SO LONG WITHOUT A GRIEVOUS INJURY?" Vexen cried.

"Spare me the humiliation," Zemo grunted.

"Ah, so it's you." Vexen grinned. "I suppose I can't very well turn down an excuse to take a sample of Virus X…"

"Priorities, am I right?" Roman commented.

Zemo was laid down in a cot, and Vexen began to take precautions, masking up and donning thick gloves so he could treat the wound without contracting the infection. Several petri dishes were also laid out at the ready.

"I suppose I shan't mutiny, then," Zemo resolved. "After all, without your help, I can't hope to put Loki to rest, can I?"

"Not gonna lie, Baron Z," Roman replied. "Your sheer hatred of that guy just increased my respect for you ten times."

"It seems we have a common enemy to unite against," the Huntsman mused. "And he won't be the last Maleficent throws at us."

"So you mean to tell me that all who ally with Maleficent also ally with Loki," Zemo murmured. "The game suddenly became far more interesting."

"Trust me," Wuya told him, "if you hate Loki, your list of people to kill is going to grow an infinite amount the deeper you realize his connections go."

"I take it you've put aside all thoughts of superiority," the Huntsman stated.

"Oh, that isn't what is happening at all," Zemo told him. "Merely that I now pledge my loyalty to your army, with my oath not to turn on you…and that I will swallow my pride regarding certain of biases."

He gave a nod to Alpha. Alpha nodded back.

"After all…some of the previously-thought lesser have already proven surprisingly and unfortunately valuable," Zemo went on.

"I'd chalk that one up to a lesson learned," Roman decided.

"I would take it further." The Huntsman advanced to Zemo's bedside. "Your oath, that you will regard yourself as a member of our lesser ranks and not above."

"Have I not given enough?" Zemo asked. "Certainly, as a mortal who has fought alongside you against a god, my worth is outstanding to you at this point."

Roman and Wuya looked to each other. Then, in a moment of understanding, shared a nod.

"You know what?" Roman said loudly. "He's right!"

"I mean, he's no founder," Wuya added, "but as far as the tiers go…he's a cut above the rest of them."

"Definitely more useful in the field than that Dracon guy," Roman scoffed. "I mean, sure, you won't wanna kill him just to keep the peace, but you are WAY above that dude. So far above, it's not even funny."

"We will concede that you are in a rank of your own," Wuya said with a nod. "A place between the inner circle and the hoi polloi."

"Now, WAIT just a moment!" Vexen barked. "You mean to tell me this NEWCOMER ranks above ME – "

"Calm down, Iceman," Roman said. "Step out into the lab and we can tell you the logic behind your recent demotion."

The Huntsman knew, now, that Roman and Wuya were enacting some sort of scheme. And when those two shared a wink, it was confirmed. "I should like to reconvene as well," the Huntsman said. "We must discuss the implications of the Overtakers' monitoring their abandoned bases."

He turned to stride out of the med bay. Roman and Wuya followed calmly. Vexen practically shoved an ice crystal inside Zemo's flesh to keep the wound stabilized while he couldn't tend to it.

"And WHAT is the meaning of this demotion?" Vexen barked once he'd followed Roman, the Huntsman, and Wuya into the lab. Meanwhile, Alpha and Draco dispersed, the latter still determined to weaken Drake Stone's magic.

"There is no demotion," Wuya clarified. "Only delusion."

"See, the way I'm looking at it," Roman added, "so long as we don't let the guy think he's inner circle, what's the harm in letting him pretend he ranks above everyone else?"

"A false title," the Huntsman realized.

"He's a grunt," Roman clarified, making sure to keep quiet. "No more important than the clown duck."

"But he doesn't have to know that," Wuya said mischievously.

"I see." The Huntsman nodded his approval. "I shall pass the word to Mozenrath."

"And what of me?" Vexen seethed.

"Please," Wuya scoffed. "The only reason we don't tell you that you and Neo are basically second tier after the founders is because we know it will go to your head."

"Second tier after the founders?" Vexen's ire was replaced by a proud smirk.

"You see, this is exactly what I'm talking about," Wuya said dryly.

"Then I suppose I should return to tending to our…very special patient." Vexen turned to walk back toward Zemo.

"Though this turn of events does leave a sense of dread," the Huntsman related. "Maleficent's allies routinely grow in power. Had we not run…"

"Look," Roman sighed, "we are eventually gonna kick that guy's ass. No two ways about it. It's personal for me and you know it."

"That's not the problem," Wuya clarified. "When she decided to start expanding her ranks, thus came Loki. Which leaves us with the question: who or what is coming next?"

...

The handsome brunette man examined himself in the mirror. He smiled, quite liking what he saw. Just enough scruff to be enticing without the repulsiveness of a whole beard. Eyeliner and thick black mascara that accented his olive-green eyes, making them stand out ever more than before.

(No. She wouldn't like that. Grumbling to himself, he picked up a wet wipe and removed some of the makeup.)

Better, now. He flashed a debonair smirk into the mirror, using his good hand to adjust his short leather jacket.

A soft, polite knock came at his door.

"Ah, Swan!" he called out jovially, striding to open it. "I must say, I wasn't expecting you for another ten. Then again, you always were a prompt sort of – "

He creaked the door all the way open to find himself absolutely not looking at the person he thought he would be. The woman who stood in his doorway was taller (or did her horned headdress just make it look that way?), paler (was she…green?), and a good deal more imposing than Miss Swan.

"Captain Jones," she greeted. "A pleasure."

"Perhaps," Killian Jones replied. "Or perhaps not. Depends on where we go from here. Who are you, and what do you want?"

No way she wasn't here for business unrelated to magic. Not dressed like that, like a witch.

"My name is Maleficent," she replied, "though perhaps not the Maleficent you are familiar with."

"Ah," Killian realized. "The witch who went into an eternal snit because Snow White stole her daughter."

"Believe me." Maleficent's expression soured. "Of those I could think of as my children in any respect…there is not one whom I could not locate within moments and return to my side. It is a matter of if I wish them there."

"All considered," Killian said, "I don't think I can help you."

"Oh, I disagree," Maleficent said with the slightest of smirks.

And he was thrown backward across the apartment he'd been renting, slammed into the nearest chair, where dark ropes bound him so tightly he couldn't move a muscle not located above the neck.

"What the – " Killian attempted to struggle. It didn't work out.

Maleficent glided into the apartment, the door shutting softly behind her. "I have a simple question for you, Captain Jones. Answer it, and we can both carry on with our respective business."

"No, I've got a question for YOU," Killian snapped. "What's your game here? The hell do you want with me?"

"Captain Jones…" Maleficent let out a soft laugh. "You are in no position to attempt to take control."

The room around the chair exploded into dancing fairy lights, making ominous pops and crackles like something Henry Mills might rig up on the Fourth of July for a show. Killian cringed; he could feel the heat of the hostile magic.

"Fine," he spat. "Ask your question."

"What is it you desire?" Maleficent asked him.

"That's it?" Killian was taken aback. "That's all you want to know, is it? Then I'll tell you: my desire is to escort the beautiful Miss Emma Swan out on the town, wine and dine her, and hopefully return to this apartment for more carnal pleasures. After that, who knows? Perhaps a wedding ring and a picket fence."

"Is that so?" Maleficent regarded him with intense curiosity.

"What?" Killian replied. "You don't believe me?"

"It simply intrigues me," Maleficent told him. "You were once the most feared man on the seas of your world. You wear the rings of those you've murdered in cold blood, over petty disputes. You've sold those you care about to monstrous predators, chased down a rival over the course of three centuries so you could poison him slowly and observe his pain, and bartered the voice of an innocent young girl to best a god. How does one so ruthless and cutthroat become so docile, so submissive, so lacking in ambition? How does such a villain become reduced to the bare minimum required to be called 'heroic'?"

"Maybe because villains don't get their happy endings," Killian spat. "Heroes do. And I want my happy ending."

"Your happy ending resides with Emma Swan?"
"Aye. That it does. Even an idiot could see that."

Maleficent paced across the room before him. "How quaint," she replied. "And yet, if memory serves…the Dark One attempted to give you use of your lost hand."

"Aye…?"

"What was it he had said affected you, driving you to such acts of horrible violence?" She paced the other way. Falsified a laugh. "Ah, yes…permission."

"You're trying to convince me I'm a villain through and through, aren't you?" Killian asked. "That I can't change? Well, you won't win this battle. You think I lack in ambition. You don't know the half of it. This, everything I'm doing now, is my toil to achieve my ultimate goal."

"What would that goal be, Captain Jones?"

"To reclaim what little I have left!" Killian yelled. "If you know so much about my life, then you've seen it all, haven't you? Milah's been dead three hundred years, and the last blood link I had to her died at the hands of the green witch. I turned my ship around to guide him to Neverland to make up for what I'd done, and how did that turn out? My revenge was forestalled time and time again as the crocodile outwitted me until it became painfully clear that the only way to move forward was to abandon the fire that had fueled me for centuries and make peace with him. Even after he died, I wasn't RID of him; he crawled back! Then all this mess, what with the witch ruining the Enchanted Forest and the whole amnesia enchantment not just being the end of it, and the only way to get anywhere was to barter my ship to get back to Swan, because no one else had two bits of brain to rub together to come up with anything else! And in the end, it only worked because she was dating a monkey, meaning I most likely never had to make that barter at all! A captain without his ship, without the only woman he ever loved enough to give the helm of that ship, without the last memory of her, without anything to call home, without any last vestige of legacy, and if you think any of my crew decided to stick around after all that, well, you give them more credit than they would have ever deserved. But Swan! There's only one person to this day willing to give me anything CLOSE to happiness, willing to hear my words and fight alongside me and lie in my bed, and it's Emma Swan. She's the only route left to my happy ending, and if that means I've got to give up my heart's desire, well, it's not as though any of that was going to work out anyway, was it? So if you've got half a heart in you, you'll leave me be to live out this lackluster life with the closest thing I've got to Milah!"

"So it is Milah that spurs your despair," Maleficent said, halting her pacing. "Tell me, Captain Jones. Were Milah to return from beyond, would your tune change?"

"No," Killian responded. "No, it wouldn't, and let me tell you why: because once she learned of all I'd done since her demise, up to and including how I traded her son for my own security, she'd revile me. See, the other lovely thing about Emma Swan is that she's the only person around here gullible enough to give me a second glance."

"Have you no villains to fight alongside?" Maleficent asked. "No one to seek wealth, power, and revenge with you?"

"Are you SERIOUS?" Killian's expression was pure flabbergast. "Even the Evil Queen isn't bloody evil anymore! They all resign to it in the end, every last one of them! I hear even the Queen of Hearts died with love in her heart. The one person who couldn't be bothered to give a damn, sitting on her vault of hearts! There's only one path to the true end of the story, and that's giving up one's wicked ways for good! Or you end up dead as the Wicked Witch. Not a single bloody villain left alive in this town, and I'm not about to find out what happens if you're the last one!"

"I see," Maleficent said coldly. "Therein, perhaps, lies our problem. I shall ask you one last time, and I expect an honest answer. Had you kindred spirits, had you paths to pursue greed and glory, had you whatever your heart truly desired…what would it be? A calm life here, with the Savior in your bed? Or something more befitting of a scourge of the high seas?"

"YOU WANT THE TRUTH?" Killian bellowed. "FINE, I'LL GIVE YOU THE BLOODY TRUTH! EVEN THOUGH THERE'S ONLY ONE WAY THIS ENDS, AND THAT'S YOU SPREADING THIS AROUND AS SOME SORT OF BLACKMAIL, BUT I SUPPOSE THAT'S BETTER THAN DYING HERE! HAD I ANYTHING, ANYTHING IN THIS WORLD I DESIRED, IT WOULD BE MY SHIP BACK, A CREW OF FELLOW BLACKGUARDS, A LOVE WITH A SHARP TONGUE AND A LOVE OF ADVENTURE WHO I DON'T HAVE TO BLOODY TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THEIR LACK OF INTELLIGENCE TO GET ANYWHERE WITH, AS MUCH GOLD AS I CAN FILL MY POCKETS WITH AND THEN SOME, AND THE DAMN DARK ONE DEAD!"

The lights subsided, leaving only scorch marks on the carpet. "Very well," Maleficent replied, smiling almost mischievously. "I appreciate your honesty, Captain Jones. Though it now does beg a second question."

"HOW MANY QUESTIONS ARE THERE?"

"You knew the Maleficent of your realm," she went on. "A powerful dark witch, if misguided by the heart. I have her power and more, but without her sentiment. I have already assembled what you might call my own crew of fellow blackguards…a host of dark souls from various worlds, united by our causes and our methods. None of which involves playing the hero to attain a lesser 'happy ending.' I have considered indoctrinating you into our ranks…but only if such an arrangement is in any way enticing to you. I cannot guarantee you a love; that is something you shall have to work out on your own time. But allow me to lead you away from this pitiful town, and I shall put you in good company with those who would assist you in your quest for vengeance and wealth."

She could read the desperation in his eyes. He wanted her to not be lying. He wanted her to be able to offer him a way out so he didn't have to do this anymore, so he didn't have to pretend to be a stable and loving boyfriend who sat in on movie nights with the hero of the story and her insufferable son. His real identity was suffocating inside, a spark almost doused. Her offer was too good to be true. But he was so desperate.

"What's the catch?" he eked out. "There's always a catch. All magic comes with a price, and this may not be magic in the traditional sense, but it's far too good to come for free."

"There is, indeed, a price," Maleficent told him. "My Overtakers seek a powerful weapon of immense magic to combat our enemies both mortal and divine. Certain of my engineers can piece together something heretofore unseen…but all synthesis requires materials. The first we seek is the power of the Dark One. No one knows him better than you, who has pursued him for centuries and nearly caused his demise. I wish you to hunt him for us, and to bring him back to our captivity. There, he MUST remain unharmed until we can extract his power. After that…" Maleficent chuckled. "I suppose he is your plaything."

"So that's what you want," Killian choked. "Not me, but the Dark One, and I'm the only qualified hunter."

"That is not to say you are without merit," Maleficent stated. "There was a parallel to you I had once employed, as well. I deemed him unfit, and yet his absence leaves a certain void that I believe you will fill. An iteration of him that is more closely aligned to my allies' values rather than a bumbling buffoon."

"Well, that's quite reassuring regarding my job security," Killian said sarcastically. "But at this point, a beggar can't be a chooser. And I need a way out of this accursed Land Without Magic."

"Accept my offer and be a beggar no longer," Maleficent told him. "A pirate. As was meant."

"All right," Killian relented. "You have my loyalty. You'll have the Dark One on a platter." A smile worked its way across his lips; "And you'll have the best navigator in all the realms, should you need to travel by sea."

"Then I believe we have an agreement."

Her staff tapped the floor; the dark bindings fell away. Killian stood, flexing his limbs.

"Welcome, Captain Jones," Maleficent said officially.

He already felt so much better about all of this. He gave Maleficent an honest grin and twisted his brows in the most confident position possible.

"Captain Jones is the name of my father," he replied, "and I'd rather avoid that association for the time being. You want me on board…"

He raised his left arm, revealing the curved silver appendage that served in place of a hand.

"Call me Captain Hook."

...

A/N: It's my villain story and I get to choose which redemption arcs get undone. Once Upon a Time is canon-divergent after 4A (because I want OUaT Hans to be canon to my Hans). I haven't actually watched much past 4A because it wasn't to my taste, so apologies in advance for any glaring lore errors that come into play, even though I intend to only focus on a couple characters.