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.

159. No Rest for the Wicked

A/N: It's not super important, but if you know the song "My Power Will Be Crystal Clear" from Sofia the First, that'll add flavor. Also, trigger warning for attempted necrophilia. I don't think I have to tell you which character is responsible for that one.

...

Then, after a short awkward silence, Yzma pointed directly at the four intruding Cinnamons; "Well? GET THEM!"

Ven quickly twirled his glimmering Keyblade into hand; "Not a chance!"

And the two sides lunged at each other.

Mostly, anyway. Sofia of course had to stay inside the Barrier. And Prisma still had next to no way to fight. She flicked an anxious glance to Mera, who was backing away into the tall flower stalks.

"Mera!" Prisma gasped. "Are you okay?"

"If I fight this fight," Mera panted, "there will NOT be enough left of me to handle the Azurine job."

"Then let's go!" Prisma lightly wrapped her hand around Mera's wrist and took off running into the flower forest. Mera had no choice but to follow.

Wuya soared through the air toward Ven, charging a glimmering ball of green energy in each hand. Ven leapt to meet her and quickly evaded it, initating a Sonic Blade attack that kept him charging at her from all angles. Green electricity went crackling through the air in an attempt to fry him. Still, he kept at the Sonic Blade move.

"You realize you're doing basically nothing here, right?" Wuya asked as she backflipped and arced over Ven, red hair streaming. She gave him a coy wink.

"Because I'm not trying to hit you," Ven said through gritted teeth. "I'm initiating!"

Wuya landed on the toes of one foot, spinning to launch another round of projectiles. "Initiating? Initiating WHAT? Into a fraternity?"

"No!" Ven yelled, blocking all of her fire. "Initiating THIS!"

In a flash of light, he lifted off the ground, fully flying while a shimmering prismatic aura encased him. At double speed, he flashed toward Wuya, blade slicing.

"Right," Wuya realized. "This is a Keyblade thing." To counter the Sky Climber, she gestured with her arms, making the tall flowers copy their movements and reach forward to wrap around Ven. Resulting in a confetti of flower petals where he cut through them.

Stork, in the meantime, was ducking and dodging Yzma's hammer at every turn. Again and again the hammer head slammed into the ground, leaving a circular impact, and Stork had to pivot and draw in a limb so that it would miss him by a hair.

"You know what?" Yzma flipped the weapon upward, dismissing the hammer head. Her free hand loaded a dart into the atlatl; "I've been waiting for this moment. I always was a fan of cruel irony. Do you think you'll be able to dodge me once you're a LITERAL cassowary?"

"A what?" Stork flinched.

"A cassowary!" Yzma spat. "Like your name! Cruel irony!"

"…My name's Stork."

"WHAT?" Yzma yelled. "You're telling me I spent all that time working on a potion SPECIFICALLY for if I ran into you again, playing off the idea of turning you into the very flightless bird you're named after, only to learn that IT WAS NEVER YOUR NAME?"

"I mean, if you wanna give me wings, go ahead," Stork said with a leer. "I'm sure it'll make me sooooooo much easier for you to catch – YIPE!"

The hammer was back out. "Forget the potion!" Yzma growled. "I'll come back to it when I've got it RIGHT! …Flightless stork, remember flightless stork…"

Papyrus and Indus glared each other down. "I WARN YOU," Papyrus told the muscle-bound man. "I AM A VERY SKILLED WARRIOR. I KNOW THE TRICK TO THE ULTIMATE OFFENSE."

Indus gasped. "The ultimate offense! But everyone knows that the best offense – "

"IS A GOOD DEFENSE!" Papyrus threw up a wall of bones that shielded him from Indus completely.

"Well, TWO can play at that game!" Indus barked, responding by putting up his own Barrier to shield him from Papyrus.

Leaving the two of them standing across from each other, each holding up a shield of some sort. Making no move to attack otherwise.
"Wow," Mera sighed. She and Prisma had circled back around, hidden in the flowers to watch the fight. "This is a new low of dumbass for him."

"WHAT are they doing over there?" Yzma yelled over her shoulder to Wuya.

"Ruining our shot!" Wuya realized.

Because Indus could only have one Barrier up at a time. Meaning as soon as he'd conjured one for himself in the standoff against Papyrus, he'd brought down the one holding Sofia in place. The small princess began to run away.

Wuya changed course, shooting toward Sofia. Rapunzel got there first – she'd been stalking the Barrier, looking for any way to break through, and this was her golden-haired opportunity. Rapunzel threw herself in front of Sofia, ready to take whatever hit Wuya dished out –

The Amulet of Avalor glimmered. Rapunzel's hair shone bright. It erupted from its ties, undoing the braid and weaving itself quickly into a golden sphere around Rapunzel and Sofia both. Wuya crashed into it, bouncing right off.

"WHAT?" Wuya attacked the golden sphere again. And again. And again –

Ven was able to ram his Keyblade directly down upon her, twisting like a corkscrew. Wuya was thrown across the field, landing hard.

"Looks like even though your shield guy was stupid…" Stork began.

"Ours pulled the smartest move yet!" Ven crowed.

"THANK YOU!" Papyrus called back. "I CAN ASSURE YOU I INTENDED EXACTLY WHAT JUST HAPPENED!"

Prisma giggled. "Mera, I have a naughty idea!" She pointed to the four skimmers.

"…You know what?" Mera realized. "That's actually gonna work."

So they took the opportunity to burst from the foliage, racing to the skimmers. Prisma hopped upon the black model while Mera took the white. "So long, suckers!" Mera yelled as they revved the skimmers, raising them into the air.

"OH! OH!" Indus cried. "I want to do that too!" He ran the long way around Papyrus and the bone shield to get to the gray skimmer.

"STOP!" Papyrus yelled, attempting to give chase, but Indus conjured a Barrier directly between the two of them, and Papyrus ran into it, falling to the ground with a soft "Owwww…".

"You know what?" Wuya realized. "I think it's about time we cut our losses…"

"And get away with our gains!" Yzma concluded for her.

They abandoned Ven and Stork, barreling toward the purple skimmer. Before the others could catch up, Yzma and Wuya had leapt aboard, Yzma at the wheel and Wuya riding behind. Yzma set the skimmer to a hard takeoff, rising sharply; Wuya's skirt and hair billowed as she gave a goodbye salute to the Cinnamons below.

"It was very thoughtful of them to make it WHAM-ARMY-colored," Yzma noted, regarding the purple sheen. "Anyway, as I was saying, TO THE MYST – "

Wuya gently slid a hand over Yzma's mouth. "Sweetie? Let's not say the bad luck trigger words until we get there, okay? Okay."

Ven, Papyrus, and Stork skidded to the center of the field, watching after where the villains had disappeared into the sky. "Should we go after them?" Ven asked. "I still have my skimmer?"

"NO," Papyrus told him. "THOSE WERE JUST MATERIAL THINGS."

"Material things that weren't the Condor," Stork added.

"WE HAVE THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS HERE!" Papyrus stated. "OUR FRIENDSHIP! AND THE HOSTAGE THEY WERE KEEPING!"

"And the fact that none of those skimmers was the Condor," Stork reiterated.

Rapunzel's shield came down, locks of hair unfurling like flower petals. "You okay?" she asked Sofia.

"That was scary," Sofia told her, "but also really cool. I didn't know you could do that with your hair!"

"I didn't either," Rapunzel admitted.

"I wonder if the amulet had something to do with it." Sofia cradled the Amulet of Avalor. "I can't believe I have it back!"

"THEN THAT'S ANOTHER MORE IMPORTANT THING WE GOT!" Papyrus declared.

"So, you…you know her?" Stork asked Rapunzel.

"Honestly, I thought that night was a dream," Rapunzel admitted. "I was transported all of a sudden to this…volcano, with dragons, and Sofia was asking me how to deal with an evil princess. I just gave her the best advice I had." She looked to Sofia. "Did you? Dare to risk it all that day, I mean."

"Yup!" Sofia chirped. "Amber was the one who risked getting hurt by Ivy so we could get the kingdom back. But it all worked out in the end, and she's okay!" She then turned away. "But James…he's…"

The tears came full force. "They dropped him in the ocean!" Sofia bawled. "And he's – he's - !"

"No," Ven breathed. Then, more angrily, "NO!"

"So it's a payback mission," Stork noted. "They won't be allowed to get away with that."

"It's…" Sofia sniffled, wiping away her tears with a sleeve. "It's about more than that. Now that they have those flying machines, they can get to the Mystic Isles! The source of all magic in the entire world! They could hurt the people there, too…and then take the power of the Isles to do anything they want!"

"WELL, THEN, WE REALLY HAVE TO STOP THEM!" Papyrus insisted.

"We'll do what it takes," Rapunzel said with determination.

"We've gotta follow them to the Isles," Ven declared. "If there's a way we can all – "

Rapunzel shook her head. "No." She looked to Sofia, who had begun silently sobbing once more. "Not yet. First, we should find somewhere to regroup and catch our breath. Then make a plan."

Seeing Sofia in despair, the guys all had to admit Rapunzel was right –

"Actually, yeah."

"Good call."

"I CAN MAKE SPAGHETTI FOR US TO EAT WHILE WE DISCUSS IT."

...

There was a room in the Gododdin inn that was sweaty-hot and shivering-chilling at the same time, to the point where drafts were being generated and steam rose. It's simply what happens when someone with immense ice magic gets into a fight with someone whose very soul is hot soup.

"I didn't force her to become the Shepherd!" Elsa snapped as frost spiraled out from her feet. "She picked that herself, and you just can't accept that!"

"That doesn't change the fact that she never would've felt pressured to do it if you HADN'T LEFT THE GODDAMN ROOM!" Giovanni yelled, tomato-scented steam billowing off his skin.

"And you expected me to make that decision in a split second?" Elsa argued.

"You knew," Giovanni reminded her. "You knew DAMN well this was gonna be hard. Someone showed you how hard it would be, and you just cut and ran!"

"But I didn't MAKE Molly take up the title!"

"You don't know her like I do! She gets guilty over everything, and she keeps putting herself last if she thinks it might help somebody else! She once tried to give up her Epithet because some Bigger Bad wanted to steal it, and she thought that person had a RIGHT to her special power! When you left, all she knew was that SOMEBODY had to be Shepherd, and she was compelled to fix it!"

"Stop acting like I'm some kind of - !"

There came a sharp rap on the door. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Giovanni simply said "It's open."

Laphicet pushed the door wide, glaring at both Giovanni and Elsa with intensity. "STOP," she said, coldly, like a threat.

"Oh, you of all people know better than that," Giovanni argued. "You LIKE Bear Trap, and thanks to this witch – "

"Molly made a choice," Laphicet insisted, "and you two are arguing over it instead of respecting it, as though she doesn't have any free will. But that isn't even the worst part. Molly's sick right now, and she's one room over. She's trying to get some sleep, and all she can hear is you two yelling at each other. You think THIS is helping her any?"

"Oh…" Giovanni's eyes widened. "Shit."

"I'm sorry," Elsa said softly.

Giovanni wanted to tell her off, to say that she had a lot of nerve to act like the sorry one, but he knew that would only make things worse. "I gotta check in on her," he said hoarsely, shoving past Laphicet to go to the adjacent room. Laphicet floated after, and Elsa tagged along.

In the large, soft bed she'd been assigned, Molly gave a hoarse, hacking cough. She pulled the blankets around herself a little tighter, shivering from fever. At her bedside, Lailah watched. Upon the entrance of the others, Lailah looked to the door; "Please. If you're going to keep being loud – "

"No," Giovanni said. "We're done with that part."

"So you forgive me," Elsa surmised.

"Never said that," Giovanni grumbled. "But we can hash it out later. Besides, I think we both know this is one of those things where we get mad at each other and then one of us ends up saving the other's life later and we become reluctant partners in crime before it blossoms into an actual friendship. So it can wait."

"I…" Elsa didn't know what to say to that. "Okay."

Giovanni hustled to Molly's bedside. "Hey," he said softly. "Heard you weren't doing so hot."

"No," Molly admitted, shivering. "But it's okay. I knew this would happen. I just want you guys to stop fighting."

"We're done fighting," Giovanni assured her. "Anything I can do to help you feel better?"

"I wouldn't mind an extra blanket," Molly said softly.

"One extra blanket and a bowl of soup, coming up!" Giovanni told her. "And don't tell me you don't want the soup. I know you want the soup."

Molly smiled. "Yeah, soup sounds pretty good. But can I ask for something else too?"

"Anything, Bear Trap."

Her eyes shone, on the verge of tears. "Can you just believe me when I say I wanted this?" she asked, voice cracking. "I've always wanted to be able to help out and make a difference. This is the kind of thing that's made me feel the most special since my mom…you know. I've always felt like I should take a back seat to Dad and Lorelai. But then you told me to start standing up for myself and taking back my own self-respect. That's what I'm trying to do now. Something for me. And something that can help other people, but it's also for me, okay? I don't care about Elsa leaving. I think it's fine, and I know she was about to come back. Becoming the Shepherd was my choice, and…the last thing I wanted was for someone else to get in trouble for something I did!"

Giovanni's gut twisted. "Yeah. That…wow. I have been a pile of shit, haven't I? I'm so, SO sorry, Bear Trap. I should've been more supportive. I just…got worried for you."

"I know you get worried for all your minions," Molly replied. "But also you have to accept that we're able to be villains – or heroes, or in-betweens – on our own too. You taught me how to be a villain if I wanted. So if you trust me, it also means you trust yourself."

A sigh, and Giovanni admitted, "Sometimes it's harder for me to do that than I let on. But don't go telling anybody." He rose, turning to leave. "I'm gonna track down that blanket and a decent-sized bowl. You just try to get comfy."

As he passed Elsa on his way out, he muttered to her, "I'm still not happy with how you ran away. But I can't really say this is your fault anymore. Sorry, I guess."

Elsa nodded. "Thank you."

As Laphicet moved back to her place beside Molly, Lailah stood to cross to Elsa. "Elsa, could you come outside with me for a minute?"

"…Sure," Elsa replied.

Lailah led Elsa out of the inn, out to the streets of Gododdin beneath the soft night sky and its scattering of stars. As they paced away from the building, they crossed Rose on her way back to base.

"Hey!" Rose greeted. "What're you two up to?"

"Just having a little chat," Lailah replied. "You're welcome to join us if you wish."

"I'm game," Rose told her. "You and I haven't hung out in a while, come to think of it."

She settled in on Lailah's other side, and Lailah began to lead them on a walk around the village, alongside the steep mountain faces that made up the perimeter.

"I know what you want to talk about," Elsa said. "The way that I ran."

"Well, yes," Lailah told her. "Why did you do that?"

"It was all just so much," Elsa replied. "All your warnings, and knowing about this responsibility I'd have to take on…it scared me, okay?"

"I seem to remember you telling me the same thing about becoming Queen of Arendelle," Rose reminded her. "You got freaked out and you ran out. Sounds like this is just how you deal with things."

"I'm not a coward!" Elsa argued.

"For one," Rose replied, "maybe you should stop beating yourself up about it. Nobody here's perfect. I've got blood on my hands and I can barely cook. So you mess up and you run away. It's your thing. You gotta own that."

"Rose is correct," Lailah affirmed. "We all have to come to terms with our shortcomings and our failures." She trailed off there.

"Did you?" Elsa asked. "Have to come to terms with a failure, I mean."

Immediately, Lailah pointed up in the sky; "Look! I think I see a constellation! Don't those stars over there look a little like a butterfly? Maybe I'm the first person to notice this and I'll get to name it!"

"Wait, what?" Elsa flinched.

"Lailah's powers work on an oath system," Rose told her. "Basically, she swore to not talk about certain things, and now she's able to use the Flames of Purification. Usually it's Maotelus she can't talk about, but the whole thing with Shepherd Michael going ballistic and killing people is kind of a gray area. It also wasn't her fault, but you can see why she wouldn't wanna talk about it. Anyway, whenever she hits something she can't or won't talk about, she changes the subject."

"I see," Elsa said. "Lailah, it doesn't sound to me like you were responsible for what one of the past Shepherds did – "

"Or maybe it's a moth!" Lailah went on. "Yes, a moth with wings the color of the night sky!"

"Let's just steer it back around to you, okay?" Rose suggested. "What're you gonna do now?"

"I've…been thinking about that," Elsa said softly.

Lailah gasped; "You're not going to abandon us now, are you?"

"Yen Sid gave me a task," Elsa reminded them. "And I failed it. There was one thing he wanted me to do and I couldn't do it right. Now a child is suffering because of me! You don't need me here anymore. I should just go back home and face whatever consequences are waiting for me there."

"Uh, hello?" Rose reminded her. "The sorcerer guy said something about things not always going the way you planned, right? He never said you had to be Shepherd. This might've still been part of the plan."

Elsa shook her head. "There's just no way."

"But there is," Lailah argued. "Molly may be the Shepherd, but you're still the bridge between the elements. You were the one who heard my voice and followed it. Which means you're the only one who can hear the voices of the others! Molly won't be able to!"

"Really?" Elsa said, eyes widening.

"Listen now," Lailah told her. "Use your heart. Do you hear them? The voices calling out to you?"

Elsa placed a curled fist over her heart, shutting her eyes. Surging up from the edges of her consciousness, there came a three-part harmony. A soprano, like a young girl. A tenor, perhaps a boy on the cusp of adolescence and adulthood. A deep bass, from a more mature man.

"I hear them!" Elsa gasped. "All three of them. A girl and two men!"

"Edna, Mikleo, and Zaveid," Lailah stated. "All of them are in the same state I was. If we don't find them as quickly as we can, then they'll become dragons the way I almost did, and it will be irreversible. Technically, so long as Molly and I travel together, we can purify them. But it will take us longer to find them without your help."

"And that's not even cracking all the danger we'll run into on the way," Rose added. "Hellion assaults, for one. And I get the sneaking suspicion at least one of them is hiding out in another of the shrines, which means more obstacles, and the more people we can get to help out, the better."

"They'll also be in the same state of mind that I was," Lailah contributed. "Meaning that when we come across them, they'll be inclined to attack. They'll need to be tamed long enough for Molly and me to use the Flames. Your powers can go a long way with that."

"So what is it?" Rose asked, an edge to her voice. "Still wanna ditch and go home? 'Cause you can do that. But you haven't even messed up that bad right now. Molly's cool with what happened. If you leave our friends when they're turning into actual monsters, though, you will be messing up. Big-time."

"I know it sounds frightening," Lailah urged. "But please, please muster the courage! I get more afraid for them with every day that passes!"

Elsa sighed. "I have to trust myself," she said. "I have to swear not to run this time. I didn't want Molly to get hurt, and I didn't want Giovanni to get worried." She looked Lailah directly in the eye. "I can't let your friends meet an even worse fate."

"So you're in?" Rose reiterated.

"I am," Elsa promised. "I swear. I won't leave them this time."

"Thank you," Lailah told her. "What you're doing for me is something so wonderful, I…I can't…" She blinked, sniffling. "I can't even talk about it right now and that's nothing to do with my oath!"

"Then let's not," Rose suggested. "Also, wanna head back to the inn? If we're gonna head out tomorrow, we'll need to rest up. You're navigator, Elsa."

Elsa nodded. "Sleeping won't come easy, but you're right. We'll need it. We should be awake as soon as the sky is."

They turned in their tracks and headed back to the inn. There, deep in the halls, another conversation of considerable weight was taking place in one of the locked rooms.

"I'm tryin' to find the right words," Harley sighed, lying in her half of the double bed. "It's like…I'm sorry this is hard on you, but I'm not sorry he's comin' along. I love both of ya, y'know?"

Yang sat at a simple vanity, brushing out her hair before sleep. "I get it, Harley. That doesn't change that we're just…" She sighed. "You know I'm not gonna give up on this mission. And you know why. But after this, if you want anything to do with Roman, it's gonna have to be separate from me."

"Are you givin' me the ultimatum? You or him?"

"Wha – no!" Yang sputtered. "Okay, granted, it's tempting. But what I mean is…you know how I need time to go visit Ruby sometimes? I do that, and you go hang out with the orange slimeball. And then, when we come back, we each leave what's part of our separate worlds where we found them, and it's just us. Can that work?"

"I think so," Harley said. "But also…couldn't ya tell him why you're stickin' around? Maybe it'd make a difference."

"It won't," Yang told her. "Trust me. It just won't."

"At least try? Pretty please?"

"Harley – "

There was a metallic clicking sound. Their lock had been picked from the outside. The door swung open with a creak, and Roman Torchwick himself strolled into the room.

"Get the FUCK out," Yang snapped at him.

"BAD Romy!" Harley flung a pillow at him, smacking him in the face.

After regaining his bearings from the pillow, Roman said, "You know, we wouldn't have to do this if you'd just given Catboy back his hammer. We need it for the operation right now." He spotted Gideon's hammer leaning against the wall. "There you are. Don't mind if I do."

"Seriously, take it and GET OUT," Yang growled.

Hoisting up the hammer, Roman told her, "You're not the most gracious of hostesses, are you? Always assuming I'm out to kill you."

"Because you are," Yang snapped.

"If you don't like it, then you can leave!" Roman replied. "But don't think you're talking me out of it. This is personal, so if one of us goes, it's you."

Harley was inclining her head toward him, making throat-clearing sounds. Yang gave a deep sigh. "Roman…I'm not leaving the mission either until we're done, and I think you should know why."

"This oughta be a laugh," Roman muttered. "All right, hit me."

"You know how you have that girl who got taken?" Yang reminded him. "Symonne? When I think about that, you and her…I can't leave this alone. Because I know, and don't even fucking try to deny it, that she's…your Ruby. Someone you swore to protect. Or you wouldn't be doing all this. If someone ever took Ruby away from me, I'd be fighting tooth and nail to get her back, and I'd take all the help I could get. Even from you. So whether you like it or not, I just…can't take myself away from trying to find her. To get you two back together. Because she's your Ruby."

Roman was silent a moment, almost stunned. Then: "You realize I don't give a single solitary shit about you doing this, right?"

"I know," Yang told him. "But it's not about you giving a shit. It's about me doing what's right so it doesn't eat at me. You, unfortunately, could use my help, and it's over the one thing where I actually think you deserve it. So you're stuck with it. And you can keep trying to murder me all you want. I think it's pretty clear at this point I can beat you. Anyway, now you know why I'm not giving up either. We both just have to grin and bear it until Symonne's back."

Roman gave a dramatic eyeroll, then turned to stalk out of the room. "Have fun steaming up that mirror." He pulled the door harshly closed, making a sonorous slam.

"Told you he wouldn't care," Yang said to Harley. "But…I kinda wish he had, just for your sake."

Harley felt the pit in her stomach churning. "So you two really can't be pals. Not even over me."

Yang finally settled herself down in the bed beside Harley. "I know you just want a big happy crime family," she sighed. "And I'm sorry you can't have it. But…you need to learn when to just…move on."

"Maybe I should call this all off – "

"Didn't you hear what I just said? What HE just said? Not until Symonne's safe. I guess…this whole idea wasn't bad in that regard."

"Thanks, sweetie," Harley said softly.

Yang kissed her on the cheek. "Let's just sleep on it, okay?"

Roman made his way with the hammer down the unpaved roads of Gododdin, back to the cavern, into the Igraine shrine and to a smaller chamber just off the entrance. There, Snatcher awaited with the Vermillion Ore crystal.

"Finally," Roman sighed, shrugging and letting the hammer down.

"The women had hardly any need to be rude about it," Snatcher said snidely. "Some of us are attempting to do business, you know. How much lip did they give you?"

"Don't even ask. Let's just get this show on the road."

Roman hoisted the hammer high, then brought it down hard, crushing one of the smaller branching-off crystals. Snatcher then brushed the resulting dust into a small dustpan, taking it over to where he'd set up a table to pulverize it and then mix it into sweetened water.

Roman went for the next swing. Crushed another crystal. And Snatcher commented, "All right, what did they say that's got you out of sorts?"

"Wha – why?" Roman groaned. "Why do you think – no. Why do you have to do this?"

"Out with it, Roman."

"Look, they didn't play on my heartstrings if that's what you're asking," Roman replied. "They gave me a half-assed attempt at sympathy. I don't care. But Goldilocks did in fact remind me that our Purple Princess is still…out there, in the clutches of the bastard whose MEMORY kept her wandering around that dead hole we plucked her out from. I just wanna do right by her. That's all."

"And we are!" Snatcher encouraged. "Even now, we work through the night to fund the expedition that brings us closer to her return!"

"Maybe I shouldn't be so attached," Roman mused. "I mean, I already have a Neo, and a pair of bitchy twins."

"Well, you're not the only one dismayed about this," Snatcher reminded him. "As you'll recall, I had no one to speak of. ONE friend in the distant past, and he gave up on me. And a rat whom I remember far more fondly but is as of now deceased."

"Hold it." Roman put up a hand, palm out. "Just realized. You ever tell Righty about the rat?"

"No. Why?"

"Because before we met him, we were also deceased. Now, I understand this may cause certain conflicts of interest with the cats of the house, but…"

The look of pure, unadulterated hope that flickered across Snatcher's face was quickly suppressed. It still made Roman smile. Snatcher went on, "Now, my interest in parentage was all but null, but still and all I was reminded day after day that everyone else had SOME sort of family and I hadn't managed to acquire anything but a trio of imbeciles. You don't think I'd wondered? What it might be like to…well…have some sort of progeny. Someone to follow in the footsteps, to carry on the legacy! If it's going to be anyone, well, Miss Symonne is a more than tolerable choice. I daresay I shan't even have to worry about keeping her in line. She's already most in line with the both of us, after all."

"And how does Rachel factor into this?" Roman teased.

"She doesn't," Snatcher grumbled. "Not that I'm ungrateful for her company, but you know quite well – "

"That you're an absolute tsundere. Anyway. Moving on. So we both miss Symonne. And that's all fine, we're moving as fast as we can, but you do realize we can't prove she's still…in one piece."

"Now, don't you even go thinking about that!" Snatcher shook a finger at Roman's face. "I won't have you bringing down our valiant rescue mission with such thoughts!"

"You're not even worried?"

"I think you know the answer to that one, Roman."

Roman thought it over. "Right. Yeah, of course you are, and you're sure as hell not gonna admit that to anyone or the whole domino chain comes crashing down."

"Don't imply that I'm anything less than optimistic," Snatcher replied. Roman knew what he meant. It wasn't an actual insistence that he was optimistic. It was a plea to not have to face the fact that he wasn't.

"Well, at least one of us is the face of hope here," Roman sighed. His eyes drifted to the table, where the first bottles awaited. "Okay, if I'm gonna get through this, I'm gonna have to do it my way." He let the hammer drop, marching to the table. "But you're gonna have two jobs."

"Roman, that is INVENTORY," Snatcher growled.

Roman plucked one bottle up, shaking it. "Which is why job number one is to only let me have the one. I have no idea exactly how strong the pull is here, so no matter what I do, no matter what I say, no matter how much I cry and beg, you do NOT let me touch any more of the stock that's supposed to go to our most valued sheeple. Got it?"

"I suppose I can spare ONE, given the size of the source," Snatcher relented. "And the other task?"

"I also have no idea how off the shits this is gonna make me," Roman said. "Your job is to make sure I don't run over the edge of a balcony or other such disasters while I'm out of it."

"Reasonable. Manageable."

"Okay, good." Roman uncorked the bottle, downing its contents without removing his mouth from the lip until it was drained. "Ahh…" He set the empty bottle back on the table. "Tastes like shit. Already feel kinda better, though."

They returned to the routine. Roman breaking up crystals, Snatcher stirring the dust into neatly-arranged bottles. And at first, it wasn't even clear Roman had taken anything, to the point where both of them were wondering if the whole thing was just a sham. (Not that such a revelation would have impeded their snake-oil sales.)

Until Roman felt so much more in the groove, speeding up, bringing the hammer down with more force than before. "WOO-HOO!" he howled. "I am on FIRE! Watch this, I'm the crushmaster! BAM! BAM! BAM! Fuck you, giant rock! I win, you lose! Ha-HAAAA, look at this! I made this giant rock my bitch, all right!"

Snatcher really had to work hard to suppress his laughter at this display. But so far, it didn't seem his job would be too difficult –

Until Roman finally bashed the entire crystal into dust, leaving nothing left for him to do.

Deeper in the temple, Foulfellow and Gideon led an eager crowd on the first night tour. Of course, being that he knew next to nothing about the history of this temple, Foulfellow was making a lot up.

"What kind of rites did the Shepherd use this temple for?" someone asked.

"Rites?" Foulfellow replied. "Why, all the rites! Rites of baptism, rites of passage, the right to remain silent! You see over there? That's where the Shepherd would celebrate, er, his sixteenth birthday, which is a very holy occasion! Now, step lightly! We're about to move into the SEVENTEENTH birthday chamber!"

The "seventeenth birthday chamber" was filled with hellions that they'd somehow not managed to clear out earlier. "Oh, GOODNESS ME – " Foulfellow gasped. "Technical difficulties, mere technical difficulties! We'll have to go around this room – "

Then Roman barged past the entire tour group, eyes sparkling and Gideon's hammer held high. "MY EMBLEM'S A PUMPKIN BECAUSE YOU'RE ABOUT TO BECOME SQUASH!" he cackled, slamming the hammer down on hellion after hellion.

"I – erm – " Foulfellow watched him with wide eyes. "…All part of the show, my friends! After all, what is a spelunking expedition without the true experience of the dangers inherent? But I can assure you this is a controlled situation – "

With all the hellions bashed to oblivion, Roman took off for the door across the room. "GONNA FIND MORE TO DEAD-IFY! KILL! KILL! KILL!"

As he left, Snatcher came hurrying through the room; "Roman, you get back here this INSTANT! Roman, you're making a fool of us before the tour group, and YOU KNOW IT!"

Once they were both gone, Foulfellow and Gideon exchanged a shrug. Then went back about the tour.

"This is where the seventeenth birthday rite would be held. Over there, on that torch, is where they'd burn the ritual sacrificial lemon…"

...

After the destruction of Deepground, Deymos had convinced the rest of the group to celebrate by ordering takeout. Crushroom was all too happy to deliver, and Tsumugi spent the night grilling the three new recruits about their thoughts on anime.

"I bet if you were a character," she told Albert, "people would love to cosplay you! Only the coolest people would dress up like you!"

Night fell, and everyone broke off to their rooms for the night, sleeping in hospital cots that were actually quite comfortable. The question of where exactly Xion was…that was a matter for the following day. Though Vexen had already spent a lot of time silently brooding about it, and it looked like he was probably going to brood about it in his dreams too.

As the group dispersed, Victor brushed past Vincent; "Meet me in my room. I want to talk."

Vincent just nodded, at the time.

Now here they were, Vincent quietly slipping into the room where Victor had staked out his territory. "I'm glad you called me here," Vincent stated. "As a matter of fact, I also wanted to talk to you. Hopefully about the same thing."

Victor sat rather lazily on the cot's edge, crossing one leg over another. "We've been through so much," he said, "and yet are unsure exactly what we call ourselves."

Vincent nodded. "Then we were thinking of the same matter. The matter of…what we are."

"I am happy to be your friend," Victor assured Vincent. "And I will be happy to do so no matter your response tonight. It seems, however, that there's a possibility we are more than just that." He smirked. "After all, you are lovely in this light. And in every light. I meant what I said: even at your most monstrous, you are radiant to me."

Well, that was almost too much right then and there, so Vincent averted his gaze. "You were the only person I can remember truly caring about," he admitted. "Perhaps Winston. Possibly Draco. But about you, there's no question. Do you remember the same things I do? Our first day at RMU?"

Victor chuckled. "I don't think I could forget it no matter what happened to my mind. You were a pompous ass, and you managed to bring to light every insecurity I ever had in a matter of five minutes. I spent an entire night in the cold just to be rid of you, and returned to our shared room horribly ill."

"Then you do remember," Vincent said with a nod.

"Do you want me to continue?" Victor asked. "Because I want to remember it aloud. I woke up halfway through the day, and I didn't know what I'd expect…but it certainly wasn't that you'd miss your first day of classes, risking your prestige, to call in the physician and ensure I was all right. Nor did I expect the hot chocolate."

Vincent could feel color rising in his face. "I don't know to this day what made me do that," he admitted. "Basic generosity, I suppose. But I'm grateful that I did. You're the one person I feel deserves my best." He quivered. "I spent so much time trying to get back to you…"

"I'm here," Victor told him, "and so are you. Far away from Myers. It's almost worth making a vacation out of. Sure, there are dangers and thrills, but not the ones that gave us any grief. And we have a friend along with us as well."

Vincent tensed. "I don't want to think about him just now. This is between the two of us."

Victor nodded. "Then am I correct in guessing your feelings? That you…care for me, in a romantic way?"

"I think I do," Vincent said quietly. "If nothing else…you're too important for me to ever lose again."

"Then allow me to be old-fashioned." Victor rose from the cot, striding over to Vincent. Vincent chanced a look in Victor's electric eyes, now really unable to keep from flushing as Victor took Vincent's hand into his own metallic fingers. Victor placed a kiss to the back of those white knuckles, and asked, "Vincent, will you be mine?"

All the words were knocked right out of Vincent. He could only stare and breathe, heavily due to the race of his heart.

"Take your time, of course," Victor told him. "But be sure and look me in the eye."

Because Vincent could never lie to Victor while looking him in the eye. They both knew that.

"…Yes," Vincent finally managed, hoarsely. "I…I will."

"And you wouldn't mind sealing it with a kiss?"

"No…"

Victor confidently, almost casually leaned forth to press his lips to Vincent's own. Vincent was kicking himself; how could someone he'd been so close to for years make him so embarrassingly flustered? But it was a small price to pay for this. This, which felt right. He let his eyes shut, his emotions washing over him.

Finally, he was free, free of it all, and Victor was here, here with him, professing a love that Vincent hadn't realized he'd wanted for so long –

The cold shock of fear shot through him. What if he lost it all again?

His hands seized Victor's forearms, pushing him back slightly. Careful not to use his newfound strength to harm any part of Victor. "Don't leave me," Vincent growled. "I won't let you."

Victor saw the ferocity, the conviction in Vincent's eyes, and responded with a warm smile. "Please don't let me. I don't want to."

This time Vincent closed the kiss, praying that there would be no second car accident, nothing to ruin this. He'd had his doubts about this Vexen character, but if this was the result of going along with Vexen's little game…couldn't he afford to set his suspicions aside, just for a while?
Eventually they disconnected. "Would you prefer to stay the night here?" Victor asked, gently wrapping an arm around Vincent's back. "We wouldn't have to do anything untoward…unless you wanted to."

"I'll stay," Vincent told him. "In the same bed. But let's reserve THAT for another time."

Victor chuckled, lightly shoving Vincent toward the cot. "Go on."

Vincent tentatively approached the bed. What could Victor have to do that he didn't immediately follow?

Victor, of course, thought it was simple routine. The lights were so bright. He flipped the switch –

"NO!"

Vincent tore across the room, slapping Victor's hand aside to throw the light back on. It had only been dark for a split second, but Victor was horrified when he saw Vincent's wide eyes, trembling body, bloodless flush. A panic attack if he'd ever seen one.

"Are you all right?" Victor asked, gently as he could.

"Leave…the lights," Vincent huffed. "Please. I can't…not the dark. I don't remember why, but I think it's because of…"

Oh. That would be right. Myers would've left him alone in the dark for hours on end, when not conducting experiments. "I'm sorry," Victor said softly. "I truly am. The light makes for some wonderful ambience anyway." He reached out to gently fold his hand into Vincent's. "Come with me."

He guided Vincent to the cot, and managed to coax him into climbing on, lying down. Victor lay beside him – technically, the bed was only built for one, but it was roomy all the same, so two could share if they didn't mind being in extremely close quarters. Remembering the old tricks, Victor kept one hand on Vincent's forearm and used the other to gently stroke through Vincent's smooth, dark hair, maintaining eye contact all the while.

"I should've known you'd remember," Vincent mumbled.

"You're all right now," Victor told him. "You're here with me. I won't leave you this time, and I won't let anything take you away. I'll kill whoever tries. You won't have to go back to that basement, not back to the dark."

Vincent tensed, pressing himself closer to Victor. He wanted to say something in kind, something that would return the sentiment, but his mind was still racing after the dark flash had triggered all that adrenaline. Now, all he wanted to do was be calmed, let Victor lull him to sleep. So he did, making a resolution to pay Victor back somehow the following morning.

His eyes shut. His breathing evened. "There you are," Victor whispered. "I hope you dream of only good things." Then he frowned, knowing he couldn't control that. There was every chance Vincent would be plagued by the memories he did have during sleep, and there was simply nothing to be done about it on Victor's end.

He shut his own eyes, focusing on the warmth of the body next to him. Sleep came easy…at first.

Hours later, Victor heard the crash, and it jolted him out of a dream. (Nonsensical, but not a nightmare, thankfully.) Down the hall, in the waiting room for the ward –

"If anyone asks, that never happened."

"Xerxes tell no one!"

Victor stifled a gentle laugh. He took a look at Vincent, sleeping soundly across from him, and made a judgment call. It was just a few feet down the hall, and he wanted to investigate.

Because much as he realized he loved Vincent, there were more bonds in his life that he knew he had to keep up now.

"I'll be nearby," he whispered. Vincent didn't answer, too deep in slumber. Victor slipped out of the bed, practically tiptoeing down the hall.

As he'd heard, Albert and Xerxes were the ones who'd shown up in the waiting room in the dead of night. The crash had come from a stack of board game boxes, which were now all scattered on the floor, pieces mingling with one another. Albert was trying to pretend he'd had nothing to do with it even though he was setting up the chessboard on the table in the middle of the room.

"You're not challenging the eel to a game, are you?" Victor asked.

Albert's head snapped up from looking at the chessboard. "Oh." He was obviously surprised. "Hello, Victor. Is it a problem if I am?"

"If you want a challenge, then yes, it is," Victor told him. "Then again, if you want a better-matched opponent…"

"You're offering?" Albert asked. "But then what will Xerxes do?"

"Chess confuse Xerxes anyway," Xerxes admitted. "Just agreed to play to make Albert happy."

"He's taken quite the shine to you," Victor noticed.

"Albert make Xerxes powerful monster!" The eel bared his teeth. "And tell Xerxes facts about Xerxes even Xerxes didn't know!"

"He's a fascinating creature," Albert stated. "Even moreso now that I've altered him. …Are you serious about wanting to play?"

"Yes, I am." Victor walked over, seating himself across from Albert. "I understand you're used to being rejected in every sense, but I can assure you that no, you aren't dreaming. I actually do want to share a social interaction with you."

"You don't need to be sarcastic," Albert muttered. But still, he was glad for the company.

"Only one match, though," Victor told him. "I have a place to get back to."

"Where?"

Victor looked back down the hall, then back at Albert. "If Vincent wakes up in the middle of the night, he'll need me. Not that he'd want to admit it."

"Oh," Albert realized. "The two of you are…"

"As of tonight, yes."

Albert almost looked disappointed. "I guess that was predictable."

Victor was suddenly struck with extreme suspicion as to Albert's reaction. Could it be…? He was very amused by the thought, and tucked it away for later. "Of course, a man still needs room in his life for friends besides his lover."

"Actually, I can buy you some more time, if you'd like," Albert replied. Then, without waiting on Victor's answer, he turned to Xerxes. "Do you know why you're called a 'Dream Eater'?"

"Can eat dreams?" Xerxes responded.

"Yes, exactly!" Albert grinned, showing off his pointed teeth. "Show me your colors."

Xerxes turned black-and-white again, taking the essence of a Dream Eater.

"Très bien," Albert commented. "Now, go down the hall to where Vincent is sleeping. You'll be able to see the dreams surrounding his aura. Vibrant and wondrous and grim and troubling. You may feed upon any and all nightmares you find. It will make you stronger to do so. Leave the pleasant dreams, however. He'll enjoy them more than a dreamless sleep."

"Xerxes FEAST!" Xerxes took off to find Vincent.

Victor raised a brow. "You, ensuring Vincent has no nightmares? How unexpectedly kind of you."

"I can assure you, it was a self-serving decision," Albert replied. "Now, then. Your move begins it."

Victor moved his first piece. "Tell me what's happened since we all left RMU," he said. "Or at least the parts you can remember."

Albert moved the next. "Why? Why do you want to know that?"

"Well, because in a strange way, I think I was used to your presence," Victor told him. "Enough to know well the sound of you rambling on about fish. I wouldn't mind if you wanted to do a little of that either. It truly has been far too long, and as we've established, it was perhaps hardest on you for us all to be separated."

He moved a piece. Albert took a very, very long time to decide upon his next move.

"Albert?" Victor urged.

"I don't know what gambit you're playing," Albert told him. "How am I supposed to know what move to make?"

"It's a game between friends," Victor told him. "Even if you lose, you don't truly lose. All you can do is go with the strategy that speaks to your heart."

Albert reached out. Gingerly moved a piece. "Even though I dedicated my life to marine biology…they made me take over the Kruger Corporation. My parents did, I mean."

"I figured as much." Victor made his move. "My condolences. I of all people know just how hard it is when you're told to make something in particular out of yourself. But I escaped what I was told was my fate. I'm sorry you never did."

"I suppose I did in some way," Albert replied, making his own move. "I'm here now, of course. And before that…I suppose you should have full disclosure that I know I knew Monsieur M somehow. How I knew him is a mystery to me as well. I have a suspicion none of us would like the answer, so it's just as well that I don't have it."

"If you discovered you were loyal to him, would you change sides?"
"What a blunt question to ask, Victor," Albert answered. "All the same…the strength with which I hope I don't discover any such thing gives me the idea that I prefer to be here. What about you? If you ever discovered you were loyal to Myers – "

"Why would I ever be loyal to Myers after what happened to Vincent?"

"I don't know," Albert replied. "But I want to know, all the same, your answer. It's my job as a therapist to ask the difficult questions, after all."

"I would be disgusted with myself," Victor answered. "I'd better have had a good reason. Though I'm not sure what kind of reason would ever, ever put him in my good graces. And I certainly wouldn't change sides."

"Good," Albert told him. "I don't think Vincent or I would like it very much if you left us. We'd probably have to kill you."

"I couldn't," Victor assured. "As for you…well, I'm still getting to know you. It would be a shame if you departed and painted a target on your back before I had the chance to. Rest assured, if you did such a thing, we would kill you."

"I'm glad we're agreed."

Victor smirked. "So how often do you visit the aquarium to indulge in what the lofty Krueger household refused you?"

"Every week if not more," Albert replied. "The sharks are a particular favorite of mine. I could give many reasons pertaining to their physical structure. For instance, the quality of their skin like knitted teeth."

"Really? I'd always thought sharks were smooth."

"Don't start," Albert warned. "But beyond that…I think there's something else that draws me to them. Perhaps the reputation they give off contrasted with their true disposition. Perhaps the way they flock to blood. Or perhaps their shape is simply pleasing to my eye. …If the aquarium is my vice, then what has yours been?"

"The bar," Victor answered. "I'm certain now I could name liquors with the same expertise you use to rattle off marine life. Not that impressive, is it?"

"Well, it speaks to your ability to socialize," Albert told him. "Something I never truly mastered."

"To be truthful, I don't often drink socially these days," Victor admitted. "Either alone, or with Vincent."

"I'm no teetotaler myself, you know. If Vincent were ever busy, and you wanted the company of a friend."

"I'll remember that."

The chess game had continued, and Albert captured another of Victor's pawns. "Victor, let's not mince words as to why we're here and who we are. You drink like a fish and I know fish like a…I'm not sure where I thought I was going with that. But it seems you're just as horrible and monstrous as I am. Tell me what it was like to make your first kill."

Victor shrugged. "Everyone says it's some kind of life-changing event. Vincent included."

"It was for me. It opened up a whole new avenue to ease my loneliness. If a person wasn't going to be of use to me anyway…" Of use. They both knew Albert really meant as a companion.

"I don't remember my first kill," Victor admitted. "Perhaps I was horrified. Or perhaps I was thrilled. But what I know is that after a while…it became part of a routine. Not a hobby, but a common solution to a problem. Now, you have to tell me all about this connection you have to…what did he call it again?"

"He called it the 'Realm of Sleep,'" Albert replied, "but that sounds a little pretentious, don't you think?"

"Coming from you, that's utter hypocrisy."

"It's a layered science, though," Albert said. "With as many subspecies and ecosystems in the dream world as there are in the ocean."

"I already know you want to talk my ear off about it. Why don't you get started?"

Albert lit up. "You may have heard some of the adjectives I told Xerxes to look for. They're actually some of the classifications that best label the different types of dream – "

They chatted, and they played, and Victor let Albert talk his ear off until they'd been at it for an hour and a half. Then, when they were both tired out, they abandoned the game, Albert slinking off to his own quarters while Victor returned to Vincent.

Vincent looked not just peaceful, but content, a soft smile gracing his lips. Xerxes was snapping at things in the air that Victor couldn't even see.

"Thank you for watching over him," Victor told Xerxes. "And pass a thank-you to Albert as well. For this, and for the hilarity when I tell Vincent who exactly assured his pleasant dreams."

"Night night!" Xerxes zoomed off.

Victor clambered back into the bed, snuggling up to Vincent. If Victor had to be very honest, he did indeed think Albert was a little charming, a little handsome. But he thought there was no way Albert could ever match up to Vincent, in looks or in chemistry or in anything else. Vincent was his, he was Vincent's, and finally, they were somewhere they could appreciate that simple pleasure.

...

When Topaz arrived at the holding cell, once again, Mozenrath, Miratrix, and the Huntsman were waiting for her, arms folded and brows knit.

"You know which one I want," Topaz said.

The Huntsman started forth, but Mozenrath put out a hand. "I want to hear her say it," he stated.

The Huntsman realized that he too was curious. "Yes. Make your request."

Without missing a beat, Topaz said "The fluffy one."

"The FLUFFY one?" Miratrix said incredulously.

"Is the cape not huggably fluffy?" Topaz asked, in the gruffest tone possible.

The Huntsman looked back to Amaterasu's pelt. "I suppose in some senses of the word…"

"Knock 'em dead, Fluffy," Mozenrath snorted.

The Huntsman gave a sigh as he exited the holding cell.

...

As with Imperious' chimaera, Aghoul figured that the Hidden would be ready to track him and his down whenever they returned, wherever they went. Still, he tried to get the jump on them by starting at the very edge of Asgard itself, on the bank of the waters spanned by the Bifrost.

"Now, here's what we're going to do," Aghoul hissed softly, huddled up with Mim, Sho, Coco, Carrion, Shape, and Letheo. "When the wind starts blowing in the direction it shouldn't, then that's when Shape brings out the you-know-what. When the waters stir without anything being dropped in them, that's when Letheo goes on offense. And when the ground begins to tremble – "

Immediately the eruption came. Gressil, bursting up from the ground in a rain of soil. Abigor, descending from the skies above, winds whipping fiercely. Wallow, splashing up onto the bank and making a beeline for the nearest person he could grab.

Exactly as Aghoul had expected. All he had to do was smirk. The meeting had been a lure. The Abaratians knew what the real signal would be.

Carrion went for Gressil, ripping a fistful from the rings of Nightmares around his own neck. The yellow, larval Nightmares squirmed in the hands of their master. Carrion thrust a fist toward Gressil – not to land a punch, but instead to connect long enough that the Nightmare worms could burrow deep down into the earthen fallen angel.

The effect was immediate. Gressil halted abruptly, shuddering to his knees, crying out. "WHY?" he screamed. "WHY IS IT SO HORRIBLE? HOW DOES IT STOP?"

"It is horrible," Carrion replied smugly, "because unlike most – including you – I have quite an imagination."

While this had gone on, Letheo had lunged right at Wallow, tackling him right back into the water. Beneath the rippling surface, the two engaged in a very dirty wrestling match. After all, neither was above biting.

Letheo got the upper hand for just a moment, thrusting Wallow's head above water. "OVER HERE!" the boy yelled.

Carrion turned away from the whimpering Gressil and hurled a clump of Nightmares right toward the sound of Letheo's voice. Letheo gave a yelp, shoving Wallow into their path. The Nightmares sank into his watery countenance, dissolving, dispersing within him. And then Wallow went under, howling.

"You could've hit me!" Letheo snapped.

"Yes," Carrion said, deadpan. "I could have."

"And it would've been hilarious, too," Mim remarked.

While those two enacted their thirds of the plan, Shape was left to fend off Abigor. As usual, Abigor was crowing with laughter, flying this way and that to confuse his target. Shape, however, had been more than prepared for this.

He drew the upper two swords from his back. Then the lower two, balancing two hilts per hand. He arranged the swords in a windmill of metal in his hands, then began to spin them rapidly, using a dexterous form of contact juggling to pass the hilts from one hand to another so quickly that the swords soon seemed from afar as one great circular blade.

The wind generated from this makeshift fan was enough to blow Abigor off-course and exactly where Shape wanted him. Shape toyed with him a while, stirring him up, getting him dizzy. Then he looked to Mim and nodded.

Mim set about retrieving an item from her enchanted bag. After all, they'd made a stop to pick up one last thing in the Abarat, something large enough that it would take Mim a while to even remove it. At last, she had in her hands a massive bat, used to knock around fallen stars in ancient Abaratian sport. With a yell of "THINK FAST!", she hurled it to Shape.

Shape dropped the swords, all four blades sticking in the dirt, and caught the bat, positioning it upright. He staggered under its weight. The last soldier of Gorgossium to primarily wield one of these had been Otto Houlihan, the Criss-Cross Man, who was renowned for brute strength in an area where Shape notably wasn't. What Shape lacked in muscle, though, he made up for in sheer tenacity. Not to mention that he was alive now and Otto wasn't, which gave him a considerable advantage and ego trip.

As he hefted the bat high, reaching it into the air, Coco mused, "What was that thing called again? A StrikerStar?"

"Star-striker," Sho scoffed. "Am I the only one around here whose memory isn't a total zero?"

"I like 'StrikerStar' better," Coco huffed. "Sounds like a good YouTuber name."

Abigor finally started to have a sense again of which way was up and which down. "Lowly worms," he seethed through gritted, pointed teeth. "No one can stop the wind – "

The star-striker came down on him from behind, propelling him on a fast track to the ground. He planted into the dirt. And no sooner had he done so than Carrion was there, letting Nightmares fall from his hand like raindrops. Inside Abigor, they became airy as wind, circulating the worst of horrors.

Abigor reared back and let out a cry of anguish to the skies above. Wallow had hauled himself onto the bank, panting heavily. None of the Hidden seemed to see what was in front of them anymore, driven into a frenzied panic by the worst of Carrion's imaginings.

"I didn't even have to lift a finger!" Mim chuckled. "Horribly done, but in the best way so!"

"Oh, this is satisfying," Aghoul cackled.

"I'm getting the footage," Coco assured, swinging her mobile device camera around to capture the writhing of each of the Hidden.

"We are done here," Carrion declared. "Let us now see how the fallacious Lord of Asgard fares against a lord of NIGHTMARES."

He turned to stalk into the city, and the others followed – only to hear from behind:

"DON'T LEAVE US! PLEASE!"

"WE'LL DO ANYTHING!"

"WE'LL JOIN FORCES WITH YOU! JUST MAKE IT STOP!"

"Oh, I don't know…" Aghoul tapped his chin. "What do you all think? Should we employ known backstabbers who've turned on a dime and already sworn loyalty to our enemies? And more importantly: should we end the fun early?"

"I say we just laugh at their screams instead," Mim suggested.

"Then we're on the same page!" Aghoul crowed.

The group left laughing as the Hidden were forced to clawing at their own essences, trying to rip the horrific visions out.

...

"HEY!" Rose yelled at the Gododdin Inn. "IT'S PAST NOON ALREADY! WE NEED TO GET GOING!"

Of WHAM ARMY and Heathens, the Glenwood contingent had all assembled. They were only waiting on one person in order to shove off.

"I'm tempted to just leave him," Yang stated. "You know what? Actually, let's just leave him. It's not like we – "

Roman finally stumbled out of the inn, one hand pressed to his forehead. His bangs were far more rumpled than usual beneath his crooked hat; his visible eye was blinking blearily. "Can you not?" he groaned. "I'm having the hangover of the century."

"Looks like someone had too much fun with Vermillion Ore," Velvet grumbled. "Don't say I didn't warn you. You brought this upon yourself."

"There were…" Roman waved a hand. "Archie, wahta are the words?"

"Extenuating circumstances?" Snatcher filled in.

"Yeah, that," Roman groaned. "Nnnnhhhh…nope, I'm sleeping on the road."

"Mr. Foulfellow," Snatcher commanded, "round us up a comfortable blanket or two, and pillows to match, before we depart."

"Seriously?" Rose groaned. "You have to hold us up even LONGER now? Sheesh, get it together! And get your drug habits under control when we have urgent business!"

Roman pointed at her. "No."

"Let's just hurry and set up the wagon," Harley said. "Sooner we're all comfy, sooner we can go! I'll actually fetch those pillows so Foxy won't hafta."

The back of the WHAM ARMY wagon was converted into a large bed. Foulfellow and Gideon took the first shift steering. Roman burrowed into bedding beneath the cover of the wagon, declaring himself dead to the world. Snatcher started out sitting beside him, paging through a book he'd taken from the Gododdin inn's parlor without permission.

One wagon over, Molly had already been tucked into a similar setup, curled into a ball of blankets in the corner of the wagon. Laphicet and Giovanni flanked her, ready to attend to her every need. Giovanni, despite being well aware that he and Elsa would reconcile at some point, shot the queen dirty looks every time she glanced his way. So she sat at the rear of the wagon, arms folded in irritation as she watched their departure point vanish.

The two wagons bumped down the rocky mountain trail, through the cavern and out onto the pasture. Elsa broke her sulking every now and again to steer Rose a different direction; the Heathens wagon led and the WHAM ARMY followed. Just as well, because had it been the other way around, there would have been far more trust issues.

They hadn't been traveling long when Roman groggily reached out and grabbed onto Snatcher's pant leg, giving it a sharp tug.

"What is it?" Snatcher asked without looking up from his reading material.

"Bored and sleepy," Roman muttered. "Get down here."

"And why should I?"

"Want snuggles. And you have to take care of me. 'S rules."

Well, Snatcher didn't mind an excuse to not have to do anything for a while. He set the book aside, burrowing down into Roman's blanket nest and pulling Roman closer. Roman practically nuzzled into Snatcher in return, seemingly only really wanting to use him as a large heated pillow. Then dropped off to sleep again.

"Should we swap roles at the next stop?" Foulfellow called back.

"Can you not see I am otherwise engaged?" Snatcher replied curtly.

Foulfellow sighed. "He's using Roman as an excuse to make US do all the work! All the better to prove who's the REAL backbone of this team, eh, Giddy?"

Gideon nodded with a grin.

They stopped now and again where they found civilization. Some took breaks; others – primarily Foulfellow and Gideon – set up shop in the shadows of the alleyways, hawking Vermillion Ore to the desperate. The money went to fund the trip, mostly, though Foulfellow's pocket did obtain a papery lining and a distinct jingle.

Up they meandered, on a winding cliffside path green with grass, until at last they came to a parting of the rock wall. Beyond was a squat, blocky gray building.

"You're sure this is it?" Rose asked.

"Yes!" Elsa had climbed up front to sit beside her. "She's here. I can hear her! I can FEEL her!"

Everyone disembarked. They'd spent so long on the road that Roman had finally gotten some energy back and Molly was able to stand up on her own, though she kept a blanket wrapped around herself like a cape.

"How interesting!" Lailah gasped. "This is Morgause, the Earth Shrine. I wonder if all four of us were drawn to the shrines that were dedicated to our respective elements! This could give us a great clue as to where the other two might be already!"

"I'll still guide us to check them out," Elsa added. "Just in case this doesn't mean what we want it to mean."

"So what's the deal with this one?" Giovanni asked. "Like, the last one had magic fire stuff. What's this one about?"

"Morgause relies on the strength given by the earth seraphs," Lailah answered. "The challenge of passing through it will require the ability to destroy walls of solid rock. Unfortunately, the only earth seraph we know of…is deep within that shrine beyond those walls."

"Okay, okay." Roman put up both hands. "Looks like it's time for me to step in and fix everything. Knew this was coming."

"And what're you gonna do, Mr. Hot Shot?" Rose snapped. "You don't look like you have the muscle for wall-punching."

"I'd like to see him try," Yang remarked.

"I had a little bit of a different idea," Roman said. "After all, I came here looking to be inspired to round up some backup. I happen to know someone who can lend an absolutely nitro-powered blast or twenty. We won't just punch through the wall; we'll bring down the damn house."

"And we would need that why?" Yang asked. "Just have Giovanni hit me with the Soul-Slugger Doom Bat thirteen times and we're good to go."

"Wait," Roman realized. "You mean we could also get through this by having John Thicksoup beat you up? Tempting, tempting…"

"JOHN THICKSOUP?" Giovanni yelled.

"You have no say in it," Roman reminded him.

"I dunno," Harley said. "I kinda wanna meet this backup. Like you guys just said, it'd take a bit of a toll on Yang. I don't wanna beat her black an' blue just to get through this shrine!"

"I'll be FINE, Harley," Yang muttered.

"I mean, you guys can try what you want while I'm gone," Roman told them. "Then, when you've run out of options and still haven't cracked the place, I'll show up in the nick of time with some actual firepower. Deal? Deal."

"I do believe that what my dear, dear Roman is saying is that a two-pronged approach might prove more effective," Snatcher stated. "You attempt your route…we'll attempt ours."

"We'll be riiiiiight back." Roman fiddled with his wrist transporter. "Furries, gather 'round."

Foulfellow and Gideon stepped in, and Snatcher closed the distance. Then Harley bounded over; "Can I come along? Pretty please?"

"No," Roman told her.

"C'moooooon!" Harley whined. "Just one teeny-weeny itty-bitty little Heathen? We haven't hung out in forever!"

"I mean, I kinda feel like the takeaway here is that you guys do all need some time together without the other Heathens around," Giovanni pointed out. "Though I'll grow on you. I always do."

Yang shrugged. "Giovanni's right. You guys need your you time. And I need some quiet time without any annoying assholes, but ALSO a trusted chaperone to make sure said annoying assholes don't do anything out of line."

"It's a win-win-win!" Harley chirped.

"Ngh…FINE," Roman resolved. "You can come. One trip. That's it."

"YAY!" Harley squealed.

"Oh, and Harley?" Yang said. "If you don't come back before we're done breaking through the shrine…you have to buy me dinner."

"If I do," Harley replied, "you buy ME dinner."

"Deal." Yang winked.

"Last call!" Roman declared.

As Harley entered the circle, he had to admit he was oddly enamored with the idea of her tagging along, just the once. He had no idea how she'd managed to endear herself to him after making him so irate that he'd slapped her off a giant eel onto an exploding world. Or why she'd forgiven him for that. But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth; she was a capable thief and a source of positive energy.

The transporter clicked. Roman, Snatcher, Harley, Foulfellow, and Gideon disappeared from Glenwood. Where they stood now was unlike anywhere else they'd seen.

...

The next convening at Nine Bean Hill was a somber occasion. Vexen had come down from the feeling of resting on his laurels from the Deepground incident and was now ruminating on the fact that they had no leads whatsoever. Almost everyone else seemed to be similarly annoyed, but Vexen wasn't sure if they were also angry that they hadn't succeeded at their mission or if they were angry because Albert had figured out exactly how much of Radiant Garden was dried seabed.

" – and if you were to excavate the fossils, you could tell exactly how much water there was and where. The loss of the ocean must have taken a grand toll on the environment, of course, which is a sad state of affairs, but to my understanding, there is a beach somewhere relatively nearby, just not where the water level used to rise. I almost think if we could make it to that beach, we could find – "

"Will you CEASE?" Vexen pounded a fist on the table. Maybe coming here was a bad idea, because he not only had to listen to Albert babble but also there was that bubblegum pop music to contend with, particularly that one song about revenge that was playing right then.

Albert gave Vexen a forlorn look, then a dramatic pout, then a curled upper lip of anger, as though trying to see which expression would gain him the most ground if it came to an argument.

"How rude," skekSil huffed. "Chamberlain was quite enjoying conversation."

"No," Simon corrected. "Chamberlain was enjoying SUCKING UP!"

"Let's not ruin the atmosphere," Victor suggested.

"The atmosphere was already ruined!" Deymos groaned. "We've got nothing! Nowhere! No one! We're sunk!"

"Is there any point to this ridiculous escapade anymore?" Vincent grumbled.

"Everyone, everyone!" Tsumugi waved her hands about. "I think we have to remember what's important here. We may have lost the target we came to track, and we may even be at the point where we finally have to just give up. But we've still managed to come away with the greatest prize of all: our friendship!"

She was met with a silent orchestra of angry and incredulous glares.

Then Vincent tried to stand up to go take out his anger on her, but Victor pushed him back down into his seat hard: "NO."

"I am NOT giving up, okay?" Deymos spat. "I came here to get that stupid experiment back, and I – "

"How are YOU so invested in Xion now?" Vexen interrupted. "She is MY experiment, MY pièce de resistance, MY goal! Don't pretend you care about this mission any more than I do!"

"Are you seriously going there?" Deymos retorted. "Can't I want this because – because – well, because I'm the one who lost her and it's personal that I avenge that total embarrassment?"

Why had Vexen been so sure Deymos was about to say something else? Not that it mattered; this was the only valid response as far as he was concerned. (Right?)

"Then put your reconnaissance skills to USE," Vexen seethed through gritted teeth, "and FIND HER."

"MY skills?" Deymos put on a dramatically offended expression. "Excuse me? YOU were always the one turning in fifty-page reports to Xemnas! If anything, YOU should know where we're going next by now!"

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHERE XION IS?" Vexen was standing by this point, gesturing wildly. "THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT OF THIS!"

"Xion?" The high, tinny voice of Hyper-Potamus broke through as she passed their table. "Like the girl you told us about in the beginning? Oh, we found her a while ago!"

"AND ANOTHER THING – " Vexen kept going. Then he realized what he'd just heard. They all did.

After a stunned silence, Vexen rounded on Hyper-Potamus; "You WHAT?"

"We just followed the food!" Hyper-Potamus said excitedly. "Everybody in the city has to eat out at restaurants or get takeout, after all! There's a girl who matches the description and has no memories, name, or background working over at Nergal's Pizza!"

"So the small robots that you wrote off ended up – " Victor began with a teasing smirk.

Simon and Deymos pointed at him as one; "DON'T START!"

Tsumugi gasped, eyes sparkling. "This is WONDERFUL! You've just solved our entire problem for us!"

"No problem, big sis!" Hyper-Potamus chirped.

"I'm in such a good mood right now that I'll even let you call me that!" Tsumugi said with a warm smile.

"Where is this…Pizza of Nergal?" skekSil asked.

"Pizza," Vincent grumbled. "Of all the lowbrow venues…"

"Makes sense that it would be the place she'd hide, then," Albert pointed out. "Under the radar."

"I think you're just disagreeing with me to sound smart," Vincent grunted.

"Yes, but I'm also right," Albert retorted.

"I'll call up baby bro N.B.B.!" Hyper-Potamus declared. "He can show you the way over there!"

"When…we…recount this," Vexen seethed, "we…leave…out…"

"The part where Hyper-Potamus figured out our problem for us," Deymos finished for him, similarly irked. "Oh, believe me, I'll drown anyone who brings it up. That's your one warning, people."

...

The Mystic Isles were scattered through the clouds, connected by a series of winding and ornate bridges. They saw the dawn and twilight brighter than anyone down on the planet they called the Everrealm. Though each magical creature had its own home isle, they visted one another often, mingling into a multicultural society of witches, dragons, unicorns, and so many more. Everything magical you could dream up was here: wishes, miracles, dancing deserts, giant beanstalks…

And crystals. The Isle of Crystals was one of the most famed of all, producing magical gems that were distributed to sorcerers both on the Isles and in the Everrealm. It was also one of the most beautiful isles, with flowers whose petals shimmered like glass and birds whose wings glittered beneath the sunlight. Past a purple and blue forest of crystalline leaves was the field where Azurine farmed the magical stones, growing them on vines and checking their progress. An ethical way to harvest crystals, without forcibly draining others' magic in order to enchant them.

In the center of it all was Azurine's farmhouse, built like a silo and painted sun-yellow. It was a simple building, for that was all Azurine needed. She came in from another day tending to the crystals, shielded by her great sun hat, and moved to the kitchen to seek something to drink.

She looked similar enough to Prisma that one might guess they were sisters. Azurine was a little shorter, slightly heavier, and different in face. But really, the biggest difference was visible in their attitudes. Azurine did not carry herself with any sense of importance, nor did she go out of her way to appear friendly. She simply wanted to do the work that the Isles relied on, and with no regard for credit. Even though she was lauded across the Isles, and in fact, one of the Protectors of the Isles had gifted her a blueberry pie as thanks. Humble though she was, Azurine wasn't going to turn down a good pie.

She noticed immediately when she came to her crystal-powered icebox to find the pie missing. It should've been sitting right next to the orange juice pitcher. Azurine's hand hovered over the empty shelf; "Where is it?"

Click. Click. Click. High heels on the wood. Azurine stood and whirled at the sound. How long had it been so dark here in her kitchen? Shadows played in every corner.

From one such shadow, a tall, thin figure stepped forth, extending an arm and holding out a familiar object. Dramatically, ominously, it prompted: "Looking for this?"

Azurine gasped. "My pie! Why do you have it?"

"I – " The thin figure halted. "Why do I?"

Another figure, curvy and long-haired, stepped up to tap the thin one on the shoulder from behind. The thin one looked back, seeing the item in her partner's hand, then quickly switched out the pie for it.

"I am certain you are most distressed at the loss of your dessert," the thin woman went on. "But the dismay you felt will pale in comparison to THIS!"

Yzma stepped fully out of the shadows, holding out not a blueberry pie but a wand of sea-green, embellished with as many gaudy crystals as would fit on it.

"PRISMA'S TERRA CRYSTAL?" Azurine shrieked. It should've been locked away upstairs. It should've been kept out of sight. It should've been safe, where no one could ever abuse it again. "Why…what do you want with it?"

"Why, to create my own personal Yzmopolis, of course," Yzma answered. "After all, what better way to subjugate the entirety of the Mystic Isles than by creating an array of crystals that drain the inhabitants of their strength while supplying myself with unimaginable power?"
Azurine scowled. If only she hadn't left her own Terra Crystal on the dining room table. "You'll never be able to do anything with it," she barked. "You're not a Crystal Master!"

"I'm not?" Yzma replied. "Oh, whatever shall we do about this problem? Oh, I know…"

She held the Terra Crystal out to the side. Another figure stalked forth from the shadows, seizing it. "Ahhhh…" she sighed. "It fits my hand just like it used to."

Azurine's eyes were wide, unblinking. "Prisma…"

"Hello, Azurine!" Prisma chuckled. "Long time no see, right? Though, then again, you probably would've been okay with me being exiled forever. And they say I'M the evil sibling!"

"Prisma, please don't," Azurine begged. "Enslaving the Mystic Isles won't give you what you're looking for."

"It won't?" Prisma replied. "You mean it won't give me power, recognition, and the dues I deserve?"

"It won't give you the affirmations you want," Azurine clarified. "Those can only come from you. And me, if you would've listened!"

"I've listened to you enough!" Prisma barked. "I've listened to you calling me awful names like 'narcissist' and 'selfish'! Well, I'm here to tell you that they're true! But I won't let YOU use them against me ever again!"

Mera, Wuya, and Indus stalked in from the next room. "Hey, Pris," Mera teased. "The monologuing is great and all, but when are we gonna get to the fun part?"

"Oh, right!" Prisma chirped. "The FUN part." She flicked the Terra Crystal at Azurine; "CRYSTALLO!"

Before Azurine could make a move, thin, spiraling crystals erupted from her kitchen floor, curling up into a cage around her, the bars tight together. "Prisma, you can't DO this!" she cried.

"Actually, for once, the annoying hero's right," Wuya pointed out. "You CAN'T do this."

"Why not?" Prisma asked. "Don't I have her right where I want her?"

"I mean, yes," Wuya told her, "but don't you think you're letting her off a little…easy?"

Yzma dramatically drew a finger across her neck, making an awful "cccckkkkkhhhhh" sound in her mouth.

"You mean…" Prisma's eyes widened. "But I can't do that!"

"Oh, DON'T tell me you grew a conscience all of a sudden," Yzma sighed.

Prisma dragged a toe across the floorboards. "If Azurine is…you know…then that means she can never tell me how special I am, the way I always wanted to hear."

Azurine took the hint. "Prisma, you always WERE the more talented one of the both of us! We can still make things right! I promise you'll get your dues!"

"See?" Prisma brightened. "Just like that! I want to hear that all the time!"

"So here's the thing." Mera stepped as close as she could to Prisma without touching her. "The chick's obviously lying. They always do when you have them on the ropes. That or they pull some stunt by making you choose between keeping them captive or saving a fake dinosaur."

"It was not a fake dinosaur," Indus clarified. "It was the fossilized skeleton of a long-dead Apatosaurus, and I successfully protected it!"

"I don't have time to get into all the reasons that's wrong," Mera sighed. "But the point is, Pris, do you really wanna keep your sister around when you know she's just sucking up to try and make an escape later?"

"It's the only way I'll ever hear it," Prisma pouted.

"I mean, from her, maybe," Mera told her. "But you wanna know what I think right now? I think you're one of the most infectious damn people I've ever met. You've gotten me to crack more legitimate smiles than…anyone, I guess. If you ever wanna know how great you are, then ask me. And I haven't even SEEN your work with that Terra Crystal yet. Still and all…I have a pretty good idea of what you can do."

"You don't need her," Wuya asserted.

"You should learn to believe in yourself!" Indus said with a warm smile.

"Well?" Yzma asked. "What'll it be?"

The choice ultimately rested with Prisma. She looked balefully to Azurine, then back down to the Terra Crystal in her hand.

"Prisma," Azurine said softly. "You can be better than this."

"Better?" Prisma repeated. "BETTER? So you STILL think I'm not good enough? That does it!" She flicked the wand. "CRYSTALLO!"

"NO – "

And then Azurine herself was a crystal, blue and Azurine-shaped down to the last detail. Perhaps she still could've been saved, with the right countercurse.

"Want me to really break her spirit?" Mera asked.

"Do it," Prisma seethed. "I never want to see her again."

Prisma lowered the cage bars, and Mera sauntered over to the statue that was Azurine. "Too bad you had to be such a bitch," Mera said, gently stroking a finger from the top of Azurine's forehead down over to her face.

An immense crack followed. It radiated out into a spiderweb. Then, the moment Mera withdrew, Azurine shattered. Now there was no saving her at all.

"That's it," Prisma realized. "She's…gone." She stared at the Azurine dust, stunned.

"It is okay if you need to grieve," Indus told her.

"It's really not," Wuya said flatly.

"She's gone," Prisma repeated. Then, breaking into a wide-eyed smile "She's finally GONE! Oh, happy day! I never thought I'd SEE IT!" She gave a twirl. "Now, the Isle of Crystals is finally MINE, ALL MINE! I should rename it the 'Isle of PRISMA'!"

And Mera caught herself smiling yet again.

"But don't just take my word for it anymore!" Prisma raced out of the kitchen. "You have to see what I can REALLY do!"

Once she was in the crystal fields, she whipped herself up a new ensemble, changing entirely from the modestly-dressed young woman that Yzma and Wuya had known her for until then. Her brown peasant's dress became a stunning, glittering gown of blue, with crystals studding every hem and seam. A translucent cape cascaded down the back of it. Bracelets, a belt, and a tiara sparkled in the sun. Even Prisma's own natural colors changed – her skin now almost ghostly pale, her hair going from deep auburn to fire-red.

Yzma, Wuya, Mera, and Indus came upon her as she cried out, "The bad days are over now!" Then Prisma broke into song, twirling again as she did so: "Yes, I'll soon be known throughout the land – " She came to a halt, pointing the Terra Crystal and forging a flock of origami-shaped birds from thin sheets of crystal. "My crystals finally in demand!" The birds flew around her in an orderly spiral, then took off for the skies. "And when I make my big premiere – "

Prisma tapped the Terra Crystal to the ground, and up from the soil sprouted a winding staircase of shimmering blue, edged in deep-violet polyhedrals. "My power will be crys-tal cleeeaaaar!" Prisma belted, making her way up the stairs, flowing and turning and opening her arms to the heavens. "I'll use the magic of the Isles to make new crystals grow! And if some creatures lose their charms, that's just the way it goes!" She'd reached the apex of the stairway. "SO LET'S GET ON WITH THE SHOOOOOW!"

Prisma traced a shape in the air with the Terra Crystal as she repeated, "I'll soon be known throughout the land! My crystals finally in demand!" When her work was finished, an ornate, glittering blue throne erupted from the crystal stairway in a cloud of rising smoke. Prisma took a seat upon it – "And when I make my big premiere!" She hugged the Terra Crystal close to herself dearly. "Then it will all be crys-tal cleeeaaar! My power will be crys-tal cleeaaar! Yes, it will all be crys-tal cleeaaaaaar…"

She didn't give a big finish, but rather tapered off, smiling with pure joy that she'd just murdered her sister.

Mera's jaw dropped. "Ho…ly…shit. I mean, I guessed she'd do flashy things with the crystals, but that voice was something else."

"Lady Mera!" Indus gasped. "Your face is flushing! Are you undergoing a bout of pain? Or perhaps heat stroke?"

"NO!" Mera yelled, turning bright pink. "Just – just SHUT UP, Indus!"

"MARVELOUS throne!" Yzma called up to Prisma. "But what about the rest of us?"

"Oh, right!" Prisma sprang up, hurrying down the stairway. "I'll get on it right away! Just you watch – "

"Okay, one thing before this goes anywhere else," Mera broke in. She pointed to Prisma; "What's with the color change? The dress I get, but why are you pale now?"

"Isn't it prettier?" Prisma asked. "Having brighter hair and this color skin…it looks so good on you, after all."

"I – um – " Mera sputtered. "Will you stop distracting me?"

"I'm not trying to," Prisma huffed.

"Anyway, I'm just saying that your natural colors are…really good," Mera muttered. "Actually prettier than the pale thing. Don't make me elaborate."

"Also, watch what tone you're calling not pretty." Wuya gestured between her own tan countenance and Yzma's lavender. "You think we're not pretty?"

"Oh, no, you're both GORGEOUS!" Prisma cried. "Okay, fine. You're probably right." A wave of her wand, and though the elaborate gown and jewelry remained, she was now back to the tan shade she'd been earlier, her hair once more auburn.

"Yeah, that's way better," Mera said, aware of even more heat in her face. "In a platonic and not creepy way, I mean."

"Now, about that farmhouse," Prisma went on. "Azurine sure put a lot of work into keeping it up by hand. It would just be a shame if someone were to – CRYSTALLO – oops!"

The first floor of the farmhouse was now completely crystallized, a bluish-purple depending on the angle of the light.

"And we're just getting started!" Prisma crowed.

"Mind if I chip in?" Wuya asked.

"Not at all!" Prisma told her. "Just so long as you keep to the pastels. We don't do the gothic look here on the Isle of Prisma, after all!"

The next stint of time on the Isle of Prisma was spent transforming the farmhouse into a small yet luxurious castle of crystal. There was an even gaudier throne settled on the second story, surrounded by plinths. Prisma used her Terra Crystal to place a crystal sphere of scrying atop each, fixing a different Mystic Isle in each glassy bubble.

"Now we can watch as my powers take hold!" Prisma declared. "I think I'll start with the Isle of Rompkins. No one likes Rompkins."

"What is a Rompkin?" Indus asked.

"Exactly!" Prisma waved her wand. Within the bubble, the tiny view of the Isle of Rompkins changed. Crystals sprouted from the earth and gems grew from the trees. The creatures there, mostly humanoid but very large and brutish, suddenly shrank down to the size of pixies.

"Good, good…" Yzma chuckled. "Make as many crystals as your heart desires. After all, this is only the beginning."

"I hoped you had more to this plan then that," Prisma admitted. "After all, this is bound to get the attention of the Protectors."

Wuya smirked. "Let them come."

"AND," Yzma added, "we'll go to them first!"

"I think you meant to say 'OR we'll go to them first,'" Indus corrected.

Yzma stared, blinked, then immediately turned and stormed from the room; "I give them all my time and attention and this is how they repay me…"

...

The hospital of Asgard was a tall, golden building, every inch of it shimmering with metal or crystal in such a way that many admitted to it had their spirits lifted upon beholding its beauty. Though modern medicine as Midgard knew it still wasn't practiced there, the magic employed by its healers made up for it, with very few conditions or wounds pronounced terminal. So long as the patients were brought there in time, of course.

Wearing Odin's face and shape, Loki toured the halls, offering a blessing, a prayer to each of the wounded or infirm. Many proclaimed they were beginning to recover, merely having seen the king at their bedside.

Glimda, she of the crimson hair, was laid up with a particularly nasty disease. It took a special sort of germ to down an Asgardian; if something was caught, it would take a while to treat. She seemed in good spirits, though, especially with Odin's visage at her bedside.

"May your recovery be swift," Loki said to her in a somber tone, "and may you walk among us in the streets of Asgard once again."

He passed to her a little magic, a glowing light that bathed her. Glimda inhaled deeply, mouth curling into a serene smile. "Thank you, my lord," she said sincerely. "Already I feel as though I am mending."

Of course she would. That was the nature of the spell that Loki had just cast on her. In the beginning, feelings of euphoria and mild recovery. But after some time passed…

"It is my honor to ensure the people of Asgard remain at the pinnacle of their condition," Loki said. "Each and every one of you is more precious than any riches found in any realm, and I will employ any means to preserve this population."

First of all, he was amazed she bought it without even questioning how many people Odin sent to die in his wars. But was he really amazed? After all, he wouldn't have said something transparent on purpose. No, this was a blind loyalty and devotion that clouded the minds of the people.

Second, as Loki turned to leave the room, he smirked to himself. The magic he'd implanted would be slow-acting. Within a few hours, Glimda's condition would spike, and painfully so. He almost regretted not being able to hear the ensuing screams of agony from her bed. And for what? An old spat they'd had, her stealing the limelight from him, flaunting her crimson locks and stirring his envy. She probably thought she'd done nothing wrong. Maybe she had done nothing wrong, but that didn't mean Loki couldn't still take revenge.

He proceeded into the next room to find a withered, blackened corpse lying in bed, face tilted up to the ceiling and frozen in a look of pure horror. Loki flinched. That shouldn't have been there by any stretch.

The healer on duty, a woman with golden hair, turned to look at Loki. "I think we both know what this means," she said. For she was no ordinary healer. Amora had come to the hospital in disguise, meaning to act as backup should there be complications. And now there were complications. Someone was walking around committing murder in broad daylight.

Loki didn't even need to guess at who.

"Well, I see the Hidden have failed as spectacularly as the Chimaera," he sighed. "I suppose if they have come this far and surpassed this many of our obstacles, we may as well accept their presence. In fact, at this point…we may even welcome it."

Amora smirked. "Would you like me to go offer hospitality to the men of the group?"

"I think that would only be good etiquette. I do so hope it impresses the women and children."

Amora strode from the room, her heels clacking on the marble. (Healers normally did not wear heels, but even in disguise, Amora had to have her fun.)

The WHAM ARMY had divided in order to not necessarily conquer, but have as much fun as they could while fanning out and seeking Loki. Aghoul had talked himself into the idea that Loki would definitely have to visit the morgue at some point, and so was down in that cold chamber, where bodies were kept not in metal drawers but in glass coffins to prepare their souls for expedition to the realms of the dead.

"It seems he isn't here," Aghoul remarked. "Ah, well!"

Because of course he'd really come here for a different reason. He approached one of the coffins, which had a beautiful woman beneath its lid, a golden-haired warrior in chainmail. "Why, you're a pretty young thing," Aghoul chuckled. "Shame you had to be taken from us so young. Though, then again, your soul might've been taken, but the rest of you's been gift-wrapped so nicely!"

He lifted the coffin lid. She was so cold, so still, so…perfect. Was there any harm in giving her dead body a little affection? Probably, but that was the exact appeal.

Aghoul bent over her like a prince come to wake her, pressing his frigid lips to her warm ones –

Why was she warm?

Her arms snapped up to wrap around his neck, pulling him in closer. For the briefest moment, he felt a jolt of panic, but it was instantly gone. She was the most wonderful woman he'd ever kissed, better than Mim, better than Hecate or Velma, and he would dismember himself for her, put himself through any torment –

Amora, who'd disguised herself as the alluring corpse to draw him in, pulled him closer, putting him deeper under her spell as her enchanted kiss washed through him.

Upstairs, a comatose warrior twitched, reliving traumatic battlefield vignettes in his sleep. A dark shadow loomed over him; a withered hand held a wriggling yellow worm.

"What you see must be causing you great fear," Carrion said, unheard by anyone. "They say truth is stranger than fiction. However, it is of my opinion that certain nightmares are far more frightening than any memory."

He lay the larval Nightmare on the man's collar, then watched as it snaked up into his ear. Instantly, violently, the man began to convulse. "NO!" he shrieked. "NO, STOP, GET IT AWAY!" Still unconscious, severed from reality by a wall of sleep.

Satisfied, Carrion turned to exit the room before any healers came by – only to find his path blocked by Aghoul and Amora.

"What is the meaning of this?" Carrion asked gruffly.

"You're Christopher Carrion," Amora said sweetly. "Lord of Nightmares. They say your heart was shattered by an enchantress. Have you truly given up on enchantresses' kisses, or only hers?"

"Aghoul, EXPLAIN THIS," Carrion demanded. "The answer had better please me."

"Why, Amora is our newest friend!" Aghoul answered. "Except she's not joining the WHAM ARMY. We're leaving to join her and the Overtakers!"

Carrion's eyes widened. "You've enchanted him. He is not himself!"

"You're not slow on the uptake," Amora said. "I like that. A sharp mind can often outweigh such an…unfortunate face."

Carrion shifted positions, ready to cast magic that would remove the obstacle.

"Ayam," Amora urged, "stop him."

Aghoul moved more quickly and swiftly than ever before, scythe in hand and spinning through the air. He held it at Carrion's throat, making it clear that if Carrion made one more move, his head and body would soon part ways.

"She hurt you so badly." Amora strutted up close to Carrion, her face inches away from his own. "Let me take care of you."

"WITCH – "

She slammed her mouth to his.

In a surgical ward, Shape's swords sliced. The patient was in tatters, long dead and unable to be put back together again. Shape had certainly learned a lot about Asgardian anatomy by looking at him. The surgeons might've had something to say about this, but Shape had learned about anatomy from their insides, too, and they decorated the floor around the operating table.

There was a heavy slam of a door. "More victims?" Shape spun expectantly.

Amora approached him, flanked by Carrion and Aghoul. "Not quite," she told him.

"Who are you?" Shape asked, wide-eyed."

"Your love," Amora answered. "The one who you will devote yourself to, from now until eternity."

Something was wrong, and Shape knew it. "Lord Carrion! What is the meaning of – "

Amora flicked a hand, pointing. "Detain him."

Carrion thrust his hands outward; polygons of light slammed Shape against the far wall. Blood ran down Shape's head as Amora stood over him.

"Now let's try this again." Amora bent to meet Shape's eye level, tilting his chin into her hand. "Christopher may be the one who disciplines you…but you answer to ME."

Her lips sealed shut his whimpers.

Downstairs, in a lobby, Sho had little interest in messing with patients when there was so much old-fashioned metal equipment with which to make modern art. A fairly large pile of scalpels, bandages, chamber pots, and other undesirables was accumulating. "The profoundness is times infinity!" Sho laughed. "Living, dead, or in between the two – it's always garbage!"

"What a wonderful piece," Amora said, stalking into the room beside him. "Despite your words, I sense it does not in fact depict nihilism in any form. No…this is a story of those who rise above the rubbish. You, and yours."

"Yeah, you get it!" Sho beamed, turning to look at Amora for the first time. His eyes went wide, and there was a choking sound from within his throat. Quickly forcing the awkward look off his face, he reached up to flick the brim of his hat. "And I can tell a woman like you isn't just looking for any common integer. No, you need someone EXPONENTIAL!"

"You seem a prime subject," Amora responded, leaning in closer. This was going to be the easiest one yet.

"You know," Sho told her, "I'm working on a little equation that should have a radical solution. The king here's a sham, a big zero. You want in on dropping his façade like a hot meteorite?"

"Oh, I know he isn't as he appears," Amora replied. "I would love little more than to work alongside you – "

She leaned forward. Kissed him deeply. He practically melted; she wrapped an embrace around him to keep him from falling right over. He mustn't have gotten much attention from women of her caliber, she thought.

As she pulled away, she finished her sentence: " – in serving him and his true purpose."

Sho nodded. "You say it, I'll do it. I'll move the sun and moon for you!"

She nodded back to Aghoul, Carrion, and Shape, whose services she hadn't even needed. "Why don't you go and tell the others about your little change in plans?"

In fact, Mim had reunited with Coco and Letheo on one of the upper levels. "Sux that they don't have balloons here," Coco groaned. "I wanted to try and get some 3-shaped balloons for my aesthetic."

"Did you at least take some flowers away from their rightful recipients?" Mim asked.

"Yeah!" Coco held out a bursting bouquet of blooms. "So pretteh!"

"Well, you shouldn't have." Mim thrust a hand into the bouquet, withering it immediately. "I HATE flowers."

"Boo," Coco said with a pout as Mim removed her hand from the shriveled petals.

"What about you, Letheo?" Mim asked. "Had any fun?"

He'd been through an addiction ward. He shivered. "I'd rather not talk about it." His dependency on the thuaz was different, and he didn't need anyone else to tell him that. That must've been why he refused to validate the claim.

"You know," Mim remarked, "with all the killing we've been doing, I bet we could repaint these floors a beautiful red by dragging the bodies around. It would especially look good in the children's ward, I think!"

"Oh yeah!" Coco gasped. "Because in color theory, red is for love and happiness!"

"That's not why she wants to leave a blood trail in the children's ward," Letheo said, dumbfounded.

In front of them, Aghoul, Carrion, Shape, and Sho stepped out, standing in a line that blocked them from moving any further down the hall. "There you boys are!" Mim called out. "Any luck?"

"It stops here," they said in complete unison.

Mim halted, putting out hands to encourage Coco and Letheo to stop as well. "This better not mean what I think it means."

"We could just ask you to leave," Aghoul said.

"You have already come too far," Carrion added.

"Now you will die in the name of Amora the Enchantress!" Shape barked.

"And of Loki, who we serve faithfully," Sho stated.

All four spoke in a completely flat, dead tone. Mim knew now. "They've been hypnotized!" she cried. "Why, that Loki! What a dirty, dirty, DIRTY TRICK!" She hopped up and down in anger.

"What do we do now?" Letheo asked, cowering.

The men were readying for battle. Carrion and Sho moved into position to start working magic; Aghoul's scythe and Shape's swords flashed in the torchlight.

"OH TEH NOES!" Coco gasped.

"Well, we could fight them," Mim mused. "But then there's a good chance we'd kill them."

"We can't do that!" Letheo urged. "Lord Carrion was the one who gave me purpose!"

"And Sh0 might be an idiot, but he's my idiot!" Coco added, similarly panicked.

"And we might not be able to bring Aghoul back with a death bomb, since he's already dead," Mim muttered. "That complicates things."

The four men ran at them, ready to attack.

"LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" Coco shrieked.

"Yes, yes," Mim said calmly. "That does seem like the best plan of action right now, doesn't it?"

When her brainwashed allies were but a foot from her, she linked arms with Coco and Letheo, vanishing them all in a twinkle.

Now, the three near-victims stood on the lawn of a very large building, a Gothic manor with towers aplenty. "I'll bet it's that seduction witch who got to them," Mim grumbled. "Shame on her, picking on Aghoul when she knows his weakness is pretty women! I bet she posed as a corpse, and then when he tried to have a little fun, she suckered him in!"

"And the fact that he was putting moves on a corpse doesn't, like, bother you?" Coco asked.

"Why should it?" Mim asked.

Coco and Letheo looked to each other, and shrugged. Because they knew why it would bother them, but Mim wasn't them, so it made sense.

"But I know just who we can rope in to break that Enchantress' heart!" Mim pounded a fist into the other palm. "Kids, we're going to school!"

"SERIOUSLY?" Coco shrieked. "Nooooes!"

"I've heard a lot of awful things about school," Letheo said, "but I've never been to one. It sounds like a place I never want to go."

Mim gestured to the manor. "That's the place right there."

"…Huh," Coco remarked, looking over the school, which didn't look very much like a school at all.

"That actually looks like it could be fun," Letheo said with a sharp-toothed grin.

...

Every single guard on the way to the arena had called the Huntsman "Fluffy," and he wasn't happy about it.

As with Mozenrath and Miratrix, they made him trade away his Huntstaff, leaving it behind in the armory. He opted for a distaff that would handle in much the same way: welded bits of scrap metal, given a furnace core that would allow them to superheat on command.

Then they stopped him at one more station. Confused, he tried to remember if Mozenrath or Miratrix had said anything about this. There was a sharp, small pain on his neck, like a bite; he raised a hand to feel the affected area. A metal disc had been implanted there, and tugging on it made the pain return.

"It'll be removed if you survive the fight," said the one who'd implanted it.

The Huntsman was suspicious of it, but kept his questions under wraps for the time being. It wasn't like they'd tell him the truth if there was any further truth to be told.

He made to stride out onto the field, already hearing the holographic Grandmaster making announcements, only to be halted by a pair of guards.

"You're up against the Champion," one of them said. "You have to enter at the scripted time."

The other scoffed. "You won't last five minutes against him."

"Then I suppose I shall at the very least aim to survive six," the Huntsman growled.

He strained his ears to hear what the Grandmaster was saying: " – big, exciting match, so let's trot out the cannon fodder. Wait, did I say 'cannon fodder'? Okay, good, that was what I wanted to say. Look, we all know we're just here to watch the Champion turn the cannon fodder into a wet rag and dunk him in soap. Then use him to wipe the floor of the arena, which, it's a death arena, so it really could use a good cleaning, don't you think? Anyway, let's give a big hand to the person we've paid so much to get front-row seats to see the glorified execution of!"

"That's you," one of the guards said, and they finally stepped aside to let the Huntsman through.

He strode onto the field, head held high, footfalls heavy and confident. His very posture conveyed that he was ready to eliminate whatever threat awaited him, be it monster, machine, or construct of magic.

He thought he was ready for anything. The opponent who stood before him still managed to defy all of his expectations. After all, the Champion supposedly wielded the Meta's armor. No one human could pilot it alone.

Yet there, in front of the Huntsman, was one human. Not one of incredible size or strength, but a svelte man who looked to even be a few years younger than Mozenrath. The Champion stared at the Huntsman, a playful smirk on his lips and condescension in his eyes. He struck a strange figure indeed, given his manner of dress – a tight purple crop top that exposed his shapely midriff, a flowing purple skirt with a slit up one side that allowed for mobility at the expense of privacy, thigh-high violet stockings, hair of mingling black and gold that was bound back into two braids almost the length of his whole body. His left arm was either encased in metal or made of it, appearing as a complex gauntlet tipped in claws. Sheathed at his waist was a sizeable katana.

"This is what they send to die at my hand?" he scoffed, his voice somewhat deep and raspy but still that of someone who'd just left teenhood not too long ago. "Pathetic."

The Huntsman fumed. How was this possibly the Champion?

"There he is!" the Grandmaster called out. "The cannon fodder of the day! Don't get too attached now!"

The Huntsman looked up to the words displayed over the arena, hoping to learn the name of his opponent. He was greeted with:

ALBEL NOX

vs.

SOME GUY NO ONE CARES ABOUT

"This entire endeavor is now a personal quest of vengeance," the Huntsman snarled to himself. But now he knew: Albel Nox. There was simply no way this skinny little man was able to pilot the Meta's armor. He wasn't even wearing it. And it really didn't look like he'd be able to take the Huntsman on in battle either, not one-on-one. Was it all just hot air?

Or was he hiding a deadly secret?

"I find it hypocritical that you would call me pathetic, looking as you do." The Huntsman braced his distaff. "But then again, I am quite close to one who was also underestimated for the same reasons. This looks to me to be an easy victory. At the risk of tempting fate, I do hope you have something up your sleeve to impress me."

"You don't even know what you're challenging!" Albel retorted. "What I have up my sleeve…" He raised the metal hand. "Is MORE than enough to destroy you."

"Then shall we begin?" the Huntsman asked.

Albel quickly drew the sword with his right hand, the one of exposed flesh. "You can begin it. I'll end it."

They raced toward each other, quick as lightning, and staff clashed against sword. Right away, the Huntsman realized that Albel was more than he seemed. His strength was what the Huntsman had expected for his size, but Albel was very nimble, and more importantly, he was driven. No sooner had the Huntsman parried him than he was coming at the Huntsman from another angle altogether, focused on taking any possible opening to kill his quarry.

The Huntsman pivoted to fend him off, twirling the distaff to keep Albel at a hair's distance. Then his only warning was a flash of light –

He shifted to avoid the incoming blow. It grazed him, ripping open his tunic, leaving blood dripping down his arm in four shallow lines. Albel's metal hand pulsed with purple-pink light, the same blood running down its digits. Without missing a beat, he withdrew his hand for another shot.

The Huntsman evaded, ducking and rolling to put distance between himself and Albel. When he got to his feet, Albel was rushing him. Which wasn't a surprise, really. The sword was raised high, then came swiping down –

The Huntsman was caught off guard by the burst of white-hot magical energy that arced off the blade. He sidestepped, again a moment too late, and felt the heat graze the opposite arm from the one Albel had scored.

Out of the corner of his eye – there was something strange about that wave. Something he didn't register right away, even though he knew on a surface level what he was looking at. It wasn't made of pure unbroken magic. No, it was composed of –

Albel was back, using sword and gauntlet both. Because of course the Grandmaster would let the Champion use two unregistered personal weapons in order to get his show. (But what about the Meta's armor?) The Huntsman went back on the defensive, staff spinning – then feinted left, spun right, and simply kicked Albel in the solar plexus.

Albel went stumbling, and the Huntsman finally had his opening. He heated up the distaff, running to make a slash. Albel noticed a split second before he would've been cleaved, leaping deftly to the side and running around back of the Huntsman to try and make another blow.

Up in the box, the Grandmaster had begun another rousing discussion: "So between the cape and the general body type, the cannon fodder looks like he'd be a good hugger. Doesn't he look like he'd be a good hugger? Shame he has to die."

"I better not catch you trying to hug his corpse after," Swackhammer sighed. "Except that's exactly what you're gonna do, ain't it?"

"I've just thought of something," Topaz realized. "When we collect the pelt off his corpse…then whichever one of us wears it will become the hugger."

There was a pause. Then three sets of hands going in for rock-paper-scissors.

By now, the match between the Huntsman and Albel was simply a matter of parrying. "Your strategy is getting you nowhere," the Huntsman informed his foe. "This blind attacking is getting easier to block by the moment."

Partly hoping to get him to try something risky, catch him off guard. Partly a legitimate critique; Albel actually was somewhat impressive so far, but could have been so much better if he weren't ruled by his hot head.

"Hmph!" Albel tossed his braids. "You assume far too much. It would be too easy to destroy you THIS way." Sparks went up from where the two weapons met. "I'm merely building up time until Overclock!"

"Over…clock…?"

Albel leapt back a good distance. The Huntsman charged him, only to realize Albel had sheathed his sword, putting out his arms to either side. "And my Overclock begins NOW!"

There was a great shimmer. And suddenly, Albel's slender frame was encased in something much bulkier. Pure white armor on a black base, with smooth, round panels, built not for a knight but for a warrior of space. The glassy helmet obscured Albel's face entirely, presenting the Huntsman with an inhuman shimmer of gold. The only hint that this was at all the same person was the katana still sheathed at his waist.

There it was. The Meta's armor. Albel drew back a fist, aiming a punch at the Huntsman's helmet.

The Huntsman dove and rolled as though for his life – but he would sooner have his life taken than his helmet broken again. Even if it was a replica by Mozenrath's hand, it was still the closest he'd ever get to the skull of his first kill.

It all came to him in a flash. But he had to keep moving while contemplating it, because Albel had activated the armor's adaptive camouflage, effectively becoming invisible. The Huntsman gave him a chase, zigzagging, while going over the pieces that had clicked together.

What he'd seen in the wave of energy was a hexagonal structure, and within the center of each hexagon, either a line or an ellipsis. Except that wasn't what they were. They were the numbers 1 or 0. No one human should've been able to pilot the Meta's armor –

Feeling the presence of another being close to him, the Huntsman narrowly avoided another blow from Albel. That one would've broken not only the skull atop his head but the one within it, had it landed.

Albel was running the Meta's armor all by himself, with no AI inside. He'd spoken of needing to "Overclock" before being able to summon the armor, which was a term the Huntsman vaguely recalled. And now he knew exactly where. Even though his specialty was magic rather than science, he had learned some of the basics of technological beings. Albel's magic was binary code, his mind was enough to run an AI system, he used Clocking to build up his power –

He wasn't human after all. He was data, pure data. An AI given a flesh-and-blood body. That was how.

Now, if only the Huntsman knew how to fight people made of data.

He skidded, scooted, threw his staff out quickly to parry whenever Albel made himself known. Albel was speeding up still further, past what should've been possible, and the Huntsman recalled that the Meta's armor had temporal distortion functions. If he wasn't careful, Albel could pull a strike so fast he couldn't possibly deflect. He needed to figure out a way to end it, and end it now.

"Best three out of seven," the Grandmaster said.

"That – that's not a majority," Swackhammer told him. "You're just trying to get away with winning three matches and getting it handed to you."

"He has always been a very sore loser at paper-rock-scissors," Topaz said.

"Topaz, we've TALKED about this," the Grandmaster sighed. "Rock…THEN PAPER…then scissors."

"Wonder why no one puts scissors first ever," Swackhammer mused.

"Don't you start," the Grandmaster chastised. "Anyway, I say we go for best two out of seven – "

Data beings abided by logic, so the Huntsman had to rely on logic to save himself. What did he know about Albel? About data beings? He knew that the Meta's armor required a sizeable amount of AI power in order to run. Albel was probably putting the whole of his being into piloting it – he was the armor now. Or maybe the other way around, since each blow still came with a yell of "DIE, WORM!" or "IT ENDS NOW!".

That was why he wasn't using the sword anymore, of course. The gauntlet was encased in the armor – he didn't need to worry about it. But he couldn't use both the sword and the suit at the same time. Not that that helped any.

Maybe, if the Huntsman could divert him, get his mind on something else, Albel would be too distracted to run the armor properly. Maybe he'd even lose his Overclock. What would distract him so horribly, though? There wasn't much here. Not even a good weak point to bring down any part of the arena. (Well, now the Huntsman was just thinking like Mozenrath with that one.)

Unless…

There was one external factor. The one the Huntsman had just discounted. It was a long shot. He was assuming personal attachment where there may not have been any at all. But it was the only chance he had, so he had to go for it.

Albel dropped the camouflage, diverting all power to temporal distortion instead. The Huntsman had to act now, while he was visible and before he became faster than time itself.

A quick charge forward – go, go, go – and the Huntsman slashed toward Albel. Albel sidestepped; the Huntsman had hoped he would. The distaff missed Albel completely –

And severed the loop that kept the katana attached to the Meta's armor.

"NO!" Albel screamed, enraged.

The Huntsman picked up the fallen sword, transferring the distaff to one hand while he held the katana in the other. He flicked it to discard the sheath. Then stared Albel down, daring him to come get it back.

He'd been right; the sword was somehow special. The Meta's armor flickered, then dissipated completely like a hologram, leaving Albel's face exposed and the utter fury on it apparent. Albel raised his gauntlet high, more focused on getting back his sword than literally anything else.

The Huntsman needed only to make a few quick moves that took advantage of Albel's impetuousness. Albel charged straight ahead, only focused on the sword. Which meant the Huntsman was easily able to land a blow on him with that very sword, a rush of crimson erupting.

It was a superficial wound; Albel was nimble enough to have avoided the death blow. But it caused him to stumble back, long enough for the Huntsman to use his blazing-hot staff to knock Albel down, the flat of it slamming into unprotected areas of skin.

Albel landed flat on his back, exhausted and bleeding. The Huntsman took a stance over him, raising the katana high.

Albel winced.

The Huntsman planted the sword into the ground alongside Albel. "You did put up a good fight after all," he said. "I asked you to impress me, and you did so."

"Hmph." Albel smirked again. "You were more difficult to kill than I assumed."

"In different circumstances, perhaps you could have been my protégé," the Huntsman said. "In which case, you would not have made the mistake you did on this day. However, things being as they are, the last grace I will give you is to not be slain by your own weapon." He raised the distaff high, fixated on Albel's throat.

Yet Albel's smirk never wavered. "You truly are a fool if you think THIS is how it ends."

Extreme agony, the sharpest pain, erupted from the disc on the Huntsman's neck. He'd forgotten all about it, and now recognized it for what it was: insurance to keep Albel in the game. They were never going to let him leave alive.

The Huntsman fought to keep his balance and lost. He was the one who toppled next, vision quickly blurring as electrical pulses sent him comatose. The last thing he saw was Albel on his feet, picking up the katana, standing over the Huntsman as the Huntsman had done him prior.

Then, before Albel could strike, everything went black.