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.

163. Hell Is Other People

A/N: First of all, we keep on with the horror comedy. Second, there's also a scene involving a certain brand of snotty rich people and a certain type of manipulator among them, and bigotry of several regards rears its head big-time. Third, there are two songs you need to know for this one. One is "Things Are Not What They Appear" from Pocahontas II. The other is "I Was Made for Loving You," which is originally by KISS, but for the actual audio-mental image I'm going for, listen to the cover by Sershen & Zaritskaya featuring Halocene.

...

Yzma's group had set up a filming location just outside city limits, in what had only a few moments ago been a rolling field. Darla had seen with her own two eyes Wuya changing it into a parking lot studded with cameras on tripods, and as the rest were settling down into their custom director's chairs, Darla was still gaping, eye twitching.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?" Prisma huffed.

"…This really is magic," Darla sputtered.

"No shit, Captain Obvious," Mera responded. "Can we get back to the program?"

Morgana indicated a frilly pink chair, proportioned so the tiny Darla could be on eye level with the others. "We made this just for youuu-ouuuuu!"

Darla scrambled up into the chair, taking her place in the lineup of chairs.

"All right, everyone!" Yzma said, looking up and down the straight line they'd arranged themselves into. "Circle up!"

"Couldn't have told us to do that BEFORE we all sat down, could you?" Morgana retorted.

As everyone started to shift and move, Darla clapped her hands; "Ah-ah-ah! I'll take care of it. MAX! Kindly circle us up, will you?"

Max's hands moved deftly. He picked up each chair for only a moment, arranging them in a proper circle.

"Oohoohoo, you're so strong!" Prisma tittered.

"Yeah, well, plenty of people are strong and also idiots," Mera said quickly, nervously. "It's not like it's a big deal."

Wuya took a moment to give herself a classy outfit built around a maroon sports jacket, a cream-colored scarf, and a plum-colored beret. "You said you had scripts," she told Mera.

Mera brought forth a host of journals that had obviously belonged to her at a teenage phase in her life, judging by the bright colors and interesting materials that went into the cover of each. A couple even had to be unlocked with a small key. "Okay," she began. "So all of these kind of revolve around a murder-mystery or espionage theme. I had a type. This first one, this is about a girl who may or may not be based on me and she gets mixed up with someone that the mob has a hit out on. Not the Banzai Blasters; a REAL mob. So she goes around trying to figure out who this mystery woman is, but here's the twist: there is no mystery woman. It's a fake name that the police used to try and draw out the mob. So anyway, this girl goes road-tripping all around the world to try and figure out – "

"This sounds great and all," Wuya broke in, "but also familiar. Specifically Alfred Hitchcock's 'North by Northwest.' That's the exact plot of it."

"Wha – this is an original story I came up with by myself!" Mera snapped. "I didn't worldbuild all this stuff just to get accused of ripping off some guy I don't even know about!"

"Is there a scene where a crop duster chases your lead character through a cornfield and tries to mow her down?" Wuya asked.

"No!" Mera snapped. "It's a HELICOPTER and she's in a PUMPKIN PATCH."

"What's this story called, anyway?" Wuya asked.

Mera had to flip back to the first page of the journal. "I gave it a working title of 'South by Southeast' – okay, yeah, if this movie you're describing is a real thing, then I see what you're talking about."

"What else have ya got?" Morgana asked.

Another journal was pulled out. "So this woman, who again may or may not be based on me, checks into a five-star hotel run by a female entrepreneur," Mera began.

"So far, so good." Wuya nodded.

"Except her dad, where she got her old money, doesn't like the main character and is willing to go so far as murder to get rid of her," Mera went on. "Except. You're not even ready for this plot twist. You couldn't guess! It turns out her dad's been dead for years, and it's really the entrepreneur lady in drag! So she corners the main character woman in a poolside changing room and – "

"Psycho," Wuya interrupted.

"Like you're one to talk," Mera spat. "I'm just talking about a twisted story! You hang out with people who do worse!"

"No, no, no, YOU'RE not the psycho!" Wuya groaned. "It's the plot of another Alfred Hitchcock movie! 'Psycho'!"

"How have I twice now ripped off a guy I don't even know?" Mera yelled. She threw the book over her shoulder, selecting another. "Okay. This one, this one I wrote when I was about five years old. For some reason, all the bees in the world go crazy and try to attack people. It'd probably go down well with the meme crowd, with all their bee memes or whatever."

"That's 'The Birds,'" Wuya sighed. "Also Hitchcock."

Mera shot the journal like a Frisbee into the parking lot. "All right, so how about this? Our leading lady is friends with a circus clown!"

Wuya thought it over. "Solid start. Let's see where it goes."

"But then there's a horrible accident at the circus, okay?" Mera spat. "So the main character gets this debilitating fear of clowns! Until one day she sees a person who looks just like her old friend out of clown makeup, and she bullies him into wearing clown makeup and acting like a clown so she can relive having that friendship all over aga –"

"It's the same person," Wuya droned, "the circus accident was staged to kill a different character entirely and cover it up, and this is 'Vertigo.'"

Mera lifted another journal, glaring daggers. "Two strangers meet on a train."

"Just stop," Wuya sighed.

"Excuse me!" Darla piped up. "I know Alfred Hitchcock, as anyone who's anyone does around these parts."

"You're way too young to be watching his movies," Wuya told her.

"Please," Darla scoffed. "Like anyone's gonna stop me. Anyway, I know he worked on 'The 39 Steps' and 'The Man Who Knew Too Much,' but I've never heard of any of these weird movies you're talking about. Are you sure you have the right person?"

Wuya pointed at Darla. "Remind me what year it is."

"1939," Darla responded.

Wuya looked to Yzma. "He hasn't made any of those movies yet in this world. He probably hasn't had those IDEAS yet in this world. We could still use them, it would be before he ever did, and if he tries to make them, we sue HIM out the butt for plagiarism."

"I have no idea what any of this means," Yzma said, "so I'm going to nod and agree with you."

"All right, mega Hitchcock ripoff it is," Wuya decided. "And just to rub it in, we're going to make a Frankenstein's-monster plot of all those ideas so we can get in every iconic shot Hitchcock ever did before he gets the chance to."

"Knew my ideas were original," Mera muttered.

"Can I suggest the throughline?" Darla asked. "A handsome, charming, and…gigantic man is found dead." She looked up to Max. "Want a cameo as a dead body?"

Max flushed. "M-my first role…it's an honor…"

"And the only one who can solve the murder case is a sweet young girl known as…The Littlest Detective!" Darla threw her hands in the air.

"Sold!" Yzma told her. "We have a winner!"

"Yeah, one more thing," Mera said. "There's gonna be at least two romance plots in the whole kit and caboodle. One dysfunctional, one that's more schmaltzy. Who do we cast?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Morgana replied. "Wuya and Yzma as the leads in true love, of course. And as for the couple that doesn't have it together…why, don't you and Prisma just have a certain chemistry together? In the acting sense." She chuckled to herself.

"I – " Mera went red. "We've never acted together. How can you know?"

"Well, you're good at what you do," Prisma told her, "and I'm ALWAYS good at what I do, so I don't see why it wouldn't work! Let's play lovers!"

"And I'll be the strong, independent female side character who doesn't need a love interest!" Morgana decided.

"You bet your ass we need one of those," Mera agreed.

"Um, excuse me?" Darla said. "Not that I'm judging. But two couples where you're both played by women isn't going to go over well in Hollywood."

"Oh, right," Wuya realized. "1939." She glared at Darla. "YOU don't have a problem with it, do you?"

"Please." Darla flicked a hand dismissively. "Like I don't know about the men Flanagan entertained behind closed doors. I know that using that information to blackmail him was just a cruel thing that no one should ever have done! But…he was about to give Little Ark Angel the red light. So I gave him a little motivation in that area."

"That's cold," Morgana said. "I kind of love it. Just don't do it to us or it's ice cube time."

"The point is, I've seen it all, and I don't judge by this point," Darla stated. "I'm only saying that it might draw some of the wrong kind of attention."

"I thought you wanted the wrong kind of attention!" Yzma blurted. "Didn't you say so?"

"Well, yes," Darla clarified, "but I meant that in terms of the press. If we go ahead with this, the audience might respond with…literal violence and death threats. And we don't have the advantage of a professional security detail. Though we do have Max."

"I'd like to see the angry mob that thinks they can get the better of us," Yzma said proudly. "The greatest sorceresses and criminals this world has ever seen! Together, we're invincible!"

"Now, that I like to hear!" Darla swung a fist.

"Let's get to work!" Yzma clapped her hands. "Wuya, darling, whip us up a few sets. Mera, the script is in your hands. Prisma, I want as many crystal props as possible, then rendez-vous with Wuya to get us some truly glamorous costuming! Morgana, prime that trident for special effects that look exactly like the real thing! Darla, you be sure to get in all your vocal warm-ups. I'll handle makeup, since of course I know all the tricks that could make a corpse look alive, and Max, find us quality refreshments and keep them coming!"

"I already have some." Max brought forth a silver tray with an ornate lid. Yzma thought at first she was hallucinating the familiar smell until Max lifted that lid delicately with his fingertips. "Spinach puff appetizer."

"WHAT?" Yzma froze up.

"Maaaaax," Darla growled, "you know how much I HATE spinach puffs."

"Eat your vegetables," Max argued.

"Hmph!" Darla folded her arms and turned away, nose upward.

Yzma then leapt down from her chair, crossed over to the tray, and smacked it out of Max's hand. "GET THAT OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

"My spinach puffs," Max said in complete monotone as they scattered across the parking lot.

"Now go get us some REAL food!" Yzma demanded. "I don't want to see a spread that's more than twenty percent vegetables! Now let's MOVE!"

The sets were raised, a wave of Wuya's hand inspiring them to arise from the ground and formulate themselves into complex environments. A table of props held a glimmering array of household objects recast in crystal. Cameras appeared to catch every single angle of the action in the filming area. Max painstakingly put the finishing touches on a pastry plate where the treats were arranged in the exact shape and colors of Darla's face.

The inciting scene had Max lying on the floor and acting the role of the corpse. Only half of him could really be in a shot at a time, but the effect was put across. "Oh, no!" Darla cried sweetly, dressed in almost too many pink ruffles and bows. "My dearest friend is dead! I must find out what awful perpetrator has committed this heinous crime! This is a job for…" She produced a deerstalker hat, Sherlock-Holmes-style, except it too was pink and covered in ribbons. Slapping the hat over her perfect curls, she crowed, "THE CUTEST DETECTIVE! If I can't solve this mystery, no one can!"

"You go, Miss Dimple," said Max.

Darla's eyelid twitched. "Maaaa-aaaax…you're supposed to be DEAD, remember?"

"Sorry."

They cleared out a large area for the helicopter chase in the pumpkin patch. Wuya was the only one of the group who could pilot a helicopter (and refused to explain how she'd learned to), so she was put in charge of it. The others arranged the patch for optimum feng shui.

"So I think you should start here." Darla was leading Yzma through the rows of pumpkins. "Then weave around this way, take two lefts and a right, do a pirouette – "

"Hey, Prisma." Morgana turned a large pumpkin around to face front. It held a crude carving of Ursula that was meant to look as shoddy as possible, including a speech balloon that said "I'M STUPID!"

Prisma slapped a hand over her mouth, shaking with laughter. "You can't make fun of one of the Wicked Nine that way," she wheezed.

"Oh, please." Morgana rolled her eyes. "She's probably doing the same to me right now! Well, without the pumpkin and with some kind of ancient magical revenge scheme, but still!"

"Wanna see mine?" Prisma turned around a pumpkin she'd been carving with a set of crystal knives. It was a self-portrait, with smaller crystals jammed into the pumpkin's flesh to accessorize the drawing. "It's my favorite person in all the worlds."

"Hey, girls?" Mera marched over. "Not to break up the party – those look nice, by the way – but has anyone seen a rope lying around? I was gonna sling it over a pulley and use it to haul some of the set pieces around so I don't have to literally break my back doing it. It's got two comically large hooks on it."

"I think I saw it over by the helicopter," Morgana said.

"Okay, great!" Mera gave two thumbs up. "Thanks!"

"How did it end up by the helicopter?" Prisma asked.

Mera shrugged. "Iunno. I have a bad habit of misplacing things in inappropriate places."

The sudden roaring of the helicopter revving up clued them all in that the aircraft was going aloft for filming. Wuya ascended to the heavens in her metal bird, and true to Morgana's word, the rope Mera had lost was draped over one of the lower skids of the copter, the hooks dangling and clanking.

"Greeeaaat," Mera sighed. "Now I need a new rope."

"Action," Max said into a megaphone that made his quiet monotone nearly deafening.

"Time for me to shine," Wuya said with a toss of her hair as she put the helicopter into full speed.

"Wait a minute," Yzma said from the ground. "Why is there a rope with hooks dangling from the skid?"

She and Darla both knew where this was going. "RUN!" Darla screamed.

All of Darla's intricate chase choreography went out the window. She and Yzma bolted around the field like madwomen trying to avoid the helicopter – but eventually, the cable that Wuya didn't notice was the undoing of them all. The hooks snagged through Yzma and Darla's clothing, hoisting them both high into the air as the helicopter climbed.

"GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!" Darla screamed as she was flung around in the sky. "MAX! MAAAAAX!"

"WUYA!" Yzma yelled. "LAND THIS THING NOW!"

"Hm?" To Wuya, it had almost faintly sounded like someone had tried to say something over the deafening whir of the blades. She peered out the window. Neither Yzma nor Darla was anywhere to be found in her line of sight, the cable keeping them under the copter. "They must be on lunch." She shrugged. "I can probably practice some stunts with this thing in the meantime…"

So she angled the helicopter at a dramatic turn and made a nosedive. Pulling Darla and Yzma along behind, the both of them screaming wildly.

"Think we should do something to stop this?" Mera asked.

"But it's so funny!" Prisma laughed.

"She'll figure it out," Morgana chuckled.

"Thought so," Mera said, and the three went back to watching Wuya pull loop-de-loops as Yzma and Darla shrieked. Max went running after them, unable to reach high enough, his feet crushing the pumpkins to paste.

Fifteen minutes later, as Wuya was following Yzma around set pleading "Baby, honey, kitty, I'm sorry, I didn't see you, don't be mad at me, please, I didn't know – " and Yzma was having none of it, Mera and Prisma decided to take the time to work on one of their scenes. Specifically the one where one of the anti-heroines was accosted by the other in the pool changing room.

Prisma was behind the curtain, acting the role of the innocent victim in the shower. Mera held in her hand a glass dagger, one formed by her own Epithet, and she leered, getting into the mind of a killer.

"ACTION!" Morgana yelled.

Mera stalked her way up to the curtain as Prisma hummed. She raised the dagger high, then threw back the curtain –

Prisma gave a shriek of feigned fear that was indistinguishable from the real thing.

She was very naked.

Mera froze in place, eyes locked on Prisma. "Gah…" The knife didn't move.

Prisma scowled. "Well? Stab me!"

"I thought you'd be wearing a swimsuit or something," Mera sputtered. Goodness, Prisma was gorgeous, and she gave in to the temptation of letting her eyes just travel the length of her, top to bottom and back again.

"Who wears a swimsuit in the shower?" Prisma asked. Then she smirked; "Do you like what you see?"

"Wha – no! I mean not NO, but – " Mera was crimson as a cherry. "This is really distracting me!"

"Oh, I bet it is," Morgana teased in a sultry tone.

"Can we do this later?" Mera barked at Morgana. "The whole naked murder thing? I'm not feeling it right now!"

"We could switch roles," Prisma suggested. "We haven't filmed that much yet. You could be the naked one."

"I – I – I NEED A BREAK!" Mera ran for her trailer – a shimmering purple capsule that had been magicked up just for her. (It was the least gaudy of all the trailers present.)

Eventually Yzma calmed down and forgave Wuya for the helicopter, and Morgana was pulled away from camera duty to provide special effects for a particular scene. "What we'll need is a swarm of bees," Yzma explained, "and I mean an absolute SWARM of bees that chases Wuya around!"

"Try and scare me," Wuya said flatly. "I've seen bigger swarms of bees than any of you can imagine."

Yzma and Darla took seats behind the nearest cameras. "Three…two…one…" Darla slammed a pink clapboard so the crack resounded across the set. "ACTION!"

Morgana fired on the set. Where her trident struck, an absolute cyclone made of conjured, illusory bees rose up.

"Oh no," Wuya droned. "Bees. How scary." She then turned to make a halfhearted jog away from them.

"YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT!" Yzma yelled at her.

"You know what I think?" Darla realized. "I think this scene ISN'T scary enough. We need a little more. What if it wasn't just bees? What if there was also a thunderstorm?"

"BRILLIANT!" Yzma crowed. "MORGANA! MAKE IT RAIN!"

Morgana sent the trident's energy into the clouds above. Sheets of water started pouring down.

"MORE WATER!" Yzma yelled.

The rain came down in sluices. Wuya pulled out an umbrella to hold overhead as she ran from the rain and the bees.

"NOW ADD THUNDER AND LIGHTNING!" Darla squealed.

CRACK. BOOM. The flashes were practically blinding.

"ADD A TORNADO!" Yzma yelled proudly.

Wuya now really was impressed and a little afraid by the time the actual cyclone, black whipping wind, came to try and mow her down. Along with the bees and the thunderstorm.

"POISON-DART FROGS!" Darla screeched.

It was soon raining frogs of all rainbow colors. "ANYTHING ELSE?" Morgana called over. "I'M TAKING REQUESTS!"

"ADD A HEARTLESS!" Yzma cried. "ONE OF THE BIG ONES!"

"We're losing the point of this scene," Wuya groaned as the Behemoth stampeded toward her.

Darla and Yzma cackled to high heaven as the scene grew more and more chaotic. Then, when filming was wrapped up, Yzma yelled, "CUT THE EFFECTS!"

"YOU GOT IT!" Morgana waved the trident, and suddenly all was calm. No more thunder, no more tornado, no more frogs, no more bees.

Except the Behemoth was still chasing Wuya. "I THINK YOU MISSED A SPOT!" she yelled in panic.

"Oh, right!" Morgana laughed nervously. "Since Heartless are primarily made of Dark magic, I SUMMONED one instead of casting an illusion. Whoopsie! Silly me!"

The Behemoth had finally abandoned Wuya and was coming straight for Yzma and Darla at full speed. The two knocked over their directors' chairs, scrambling to get away.

"WHY ME?" Yzma yelled.

"WHY YOU?" Darla retorted. "WHY ME?"

Wuya, Prisma, Mera, and Max fell in line alongside Morgana. "All right," Morgana declared, "let's go kill that thing."

It took them the better part of a half hour to wrangle and slay the Behemoth, but eventually the deed was done. Mera and Prisma had bounced back and were ready to shoot the obvious Vertigo ripoff in which Mera was to dress as the circus clown, her character truly the same person as the circus clown but not about to tell Prisma's character that because it would own up to several murders.

Prisma stood at one end of an ornate, high-windowed hallway. "Come out and let me see you!" she said sweetly, as per the script.

"No!" Mera yelled back. "You can't make me be her!"

"You can't look that awful," Prisma retorted.

"Oh, no, I rock this outfit," Mera said. "In fact, I'll prove it."

She opened the door at the hallway's end. Stepping into the shafts of light pouring through one shimmering window, she was illuminated. This being an Yzma production, she wasn't just dressed like any old clown in baggy pom-poms, but rather in a sparkling dress built to resemble a circus big top. Her makeup was a rainbow upon her face. Exiting that room, she looked the picture of a circus princess.

Prisma had a line here and she knew it. But she couldn't remember it, and her heart seemed to be blocking her throat anyway.

"Uh, hello?" Mera hissed. "You have a line!"

"Y…you're beautiful," Prisma gasped.

"Speak up, sweetie!" Morgana urged.

"I always knew you were pretty," Prisma babbled, "but this is – you look – AH!" She buried her face in her hands and ran away.

"I actually like that take," Wuya muttered to Morgana. "Really captures the hot-running emotion of the situation. Also she'll be humiliated if we keep it in the final cut. It'll be hilarious."

"You know we're keeping the take of you being almost mowed down by a Heartless, right?" Morgana told her.

"I know none of us is safe from ridicule here," Wuya said flatly. "But if Yzma and I are going down, you're all going down with us."

"Oh, too bad," Morgana sneered, "because…" She went full singsong. "All my scenes are perrrr-feeeect! Na-na-na-na-naaaaa-naaaaaa!"

Wuya spun the camera 180 degrees as she smashed a Darla Donut into Morgana's face. "Not anymore."

Eventually, filming wrapped. They'd managed to pack the entire film into one day – it helped that all the improvisation and screwups turned into the actual takes, and that they had no higher priority other than getting this done. All they needed was a PR agent to bring it to Hollywood itself.

"Not many willing to work with Miss Dimple," Max grumbled as he stood in front of the agent he'd found. "Only one agent agreed." He moved his ankle, revealing the man. "Meet Lucky."

"Hi, y'all!" Lucky waved. He was very tiny, with delicate paws, owing to the fact that he was –

"A SQUIRREL?" Yzma yelled. "I…hate…SQUIRRELS!"

"Not as much as I hate squirrels!" Darla snapped. "You couldn't have found a human agent for this, Max?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Lucky snapped. "You're lucky I'm willing to do the gig at all! You're a laughingstock in this town, Darla! But I see big potential in you. We could make you a big star all over again! All we need is the right hit picture. Show me your script!"

"Here you go, LUCKY," Darla said through gritted teeth, passing it to him.

Lucky paged through it. "Wild and vicious bees, good…stabbing scene in a shower, very good…an aircraft chase through a field, all very original content, this'll be fresh and new – " His eyes boggled. "What? The mass murderer and the morally conflicted damsel KISS?"

"I can guarantee you it's way healthier than most rom-coms you've been publicizing," Mera huffed.

"You don't know the allure of a villain and a hero, star-crossed by fate, never able to be together because of their differing morals!" Prisma insisted.

"No, no, no!" Lucky shook his head. "It's not that! It's that they're both WOMEN!"

Yzma and Wuya exchanged a glance. "I keep forgetting that's a THING here," Wuya said.

"I'm sorry," Lucky said, "but even though I think there's nothing wrong with it in your personal life, this'll NEVER make the big screen! You'll be chased out of the state! Parents will accuse you of moral corruption!"

"They'd be right, but not for those reasons," Wuya said.

"Now you LISTEN HERE!" Yzma shook her finger in Lucky's face. "You can be as discriminatory as you please – "

"But this is MY picture!" Darla shoved herself in between them. "And I'm paying you GOOD MONEY to sell it for me! I don't care how weird you think it is! IT'S A WORK OF ART! Now go do what I paid you for – "

"And you'll never work in this town again!" Yzma finished.

"I think you meant 'or,'" Lucky said. "Wow, embarrassing for you!"

Yzma saw red. "Whyyyy youuuuu…SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK-SQUEAKER SQUEAKEN!"

"Why would I owe you an acorn?" Lucky asked.

"BECAUSE IT'S THE ONLY PHRASE I REMEMBER," Yzma yelled, "AND ALSO YOU'RE FIRED!"

She punted Lucky into the air. Morgana took aim as though the squirrel were a clay pigeon, shooting the trident and blasting the hapless PR agent halfway across Hollywood.

"We did the rest of this ourselves," Darla figured. "We can sell this film ourselves too! Who wouldn't listen to a bunch of beautiful starlets? And Morgana."

"That hurts," Morgana said flatly.

"You didn't single me out," Yzma realized. "I'm one of the beautiful starlets."

"Don't worry," Darla told Morgana. "There's always someone in the crowd who pities the underdog."

"How is that supposed to be a consolation?" Morgana huffed.

"You know, Darla," Yzma said, "with your flair for the dramatic, propensity to end up in comedically dangerous situations, and hatred of squirrels…you're starting to remind me of someone I regard very dearly in my own heart. You, Miss Dimple, are just a smaller, pinker, fluffier Yzma."

"What can I say?" Darla tossed her curls. "I like it big and loud, and maybe a little bit jazzy sometimes."

"ALWAYS jazzy!" Yzma insisted. "Or swing!"

"Write that down for the OST!" Mera barked.

"You know," Darla told Yzma, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

...

Some called it Limbo. Others, informally, "The Ghost Zone." Either way, the greenish void filled with floating isles was known as an "afterlife for ghosts." It wasn't quite, exactly, a place that dead souls went if killed officially a second time. To be a dead soul and die again had a wholly different set of circumstances. Actual by-the-book ghosts, however, had slightly different rules. There had to be a place for them to go when they were destroyed without being completely obliterated. They were ghosts, after all.

"Which is a completely different thing from the Final World, I should clarify," Aghoul explained. "THAT plane is for things that are just about gone forever but hanging by a thread. Though both dead and dreamers can still visit it every now and again on vacation. Not that there's much there to do."

"I think the quartz structures are stunning!" Albert called up to him.

"We could swing by if you wanted to give them a look," Enmu suggested. (His construct was back to sitting by Albert; the two of them had gotten a seat across from Carrion and Helen and the four of them were having a very in-depth talk about nightmares yet again.)

"I never asked for a cosmology lesson," Vexen huffed. "Just go find the ghost you need, and make it quick."

Enmu parked alongside a wild, lush isle of verdant greenery: a tepid jungle cut through with a babbling river. At the edge of the island, one could see a great stone skull-shaped mountain rising.

"This is our stop!" Aghoul declared.

Deymos was as close to the wall as he could get without actually touching it. "Does anyone else hear…really sick rock-and-roll?"

"Well, that's part of the reason we're here," Aghoul said. "But it'll make sense once we come back."

"Off we go!" Mim grabbed Aghoul's forearm and dragged him out of the train.

Vexen sighed. "Finally, a reprieve."

There was a loud CRUNCH and a bellow of frustration. Victor was trying to smooth out his dented hand, which had been crushed almost beyond recognition.

"I told you," War reiterated. "I even take thumb wars seriously. You should've taken me at my word."

"…A reprieve from the macabre madness of Mim and Aghoul, at least," Vexen groaned, slumping against his seat and listening to its ominous squish.

In the thick of the jungle, Mim and Aghoul hacked their way through with the latter's scythe. All the while, the sound of heavy electric guitars and a distant woman's voice echoed in the distance. "I do love a good hike through an environment that has fifty ways to kill you at least," Mim sighed. "Isn't this romantic?"

"Why, it is, isn't it?" Aghoul threw an arm around her waist and drew her close. "Why, in a place like this, so far away from civilization, the things we could do and no one would see…"

She nuzzled her nose into his neck. Lengthening and sharpening her teeth subtly so she could give him a foreplay nip that left a real mark.

Then a blur of black-and-white pinstripes accompanied by a gruff growl of "'SCUSE ME, PARDON ME, COMIN' THROUGH!" zipped past.

"Was that – " Mim realized.

"In the ectoplasm," Aghoul confirmed. Then sighed. "Let's go get him while we can still make this one stop total."

"You'll owe me," Mim grunted.

"Oh, believe me, I'll pay you back in interest," Aghoul vowed.

The pale and grimy man who'd run past, dressed in a rumpled pinstriped tuxedo and a pith helmet he'd wrangled just for the occasion of being chased through the jungle, heard a rustle in the trees beside him. "Oh, come on!" he roared. "We ain't even halfway to the death trap gauntlet I set up! Didn't wanna pull this out this early – "

He reached into his pocket, withdrew a bazooka half his size, and mounted it on his shoulder. Only for the creature that emerged to not be his pursuer, but instead –

"A FUCKIN' RHINO?"

Mim let out a whoop as she stampeded to keep pace. Atop her back, Aghoul whooped like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Then he turned to wave down to the runaway ghost; "Why, if it isn't my old friend Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!"

"Hehehhhhh!" Betelgeuse gave a cocky tip of the helmet to Aghoul. "Third time's the charm! You ARE the ghoul. Did that stinkin' race-traitor ghost hunter throw you in here too?"

"Actually, no," Aghoul replied. "We're here to recruit him. Please tell me you've heard of the WHAM ARMY."

"Oh, right," Betelgeuse replied. "The worlds-famous discount Chessmen ripoff!"

"One of these days, we're really going to have to question Sho about who these Chessmen are," Mim snorted. "But if he's going to say they're better than us, then I REFUSE to hear that information anytime soon!"

"Trust me," Aghoul said, "WE'RE the originals."

"YOU'RE the originals?" Betelgeuse snorted. "Almost like the originals weren't, hmm, who was it – oh, you, me, and the guy you SCARED OFF THE FUCKIN' TEAM!"

"I didn't SCARE him off the team!" Aghoul argued. "I just…well, you know." He smirked. "It was almost worth it, you know."

"For that old hag?" Betelgeuse asked. "What, you went blind all of a sudden?"

"I must've," Aghoul replied. "She was middling ugly. Now, Mim, here – SHE'S got a face that would stop time itself. You should see her as a human. I'm the luckiest ghost in the world!"

"No accountin' for taste, as usual!" Betelgeuse grinned from ear to ear.

"You're talking about that Gregory, aren't you?" Mim realized. "Why doesn't he just go get his girlfriend back now that Aghoul's done with him?"
"Mimsie – " Aghoul coughed.

"Girlfriend?" Betelgeuse's eyes widened. "GIRLFRIEND? That what he told you? Oh, this is rich, this is PERFECT, this is the best day of my life – "

"Well, he said it was the only woman Gregory couldn't stand him consorting with," Mim recalled.

"Y'know, that Gregory, poor fella, he was an abused kid when he was younger," Betelgeuse said in mock sympathy. "His ma never gave him a break."

"What's this got to do with what we're talking about?" Mim asked.

"Think about it," Betelgeuse told her with a wink.

It hit Mim. "Oh…OH." She burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Ayam Aghoul, I knew you were the scum of the worlds, but I didn't know you'd go as low as to have a tryst with the mother of one of your best friends – and when she was so awful to him, at that!"

"I had to shoot my shot at least," Aghoul argued, "and she had a VERY good time, or so she reported."

"Ayam Aghoul!" Betelgeuse gestured to Aghoul, who was illuminated by a rainbow of blinking lights. "LITERAL MOTHERFUCKER! Oh, also." He stopped on a dime. "Jungle ahead's full of death traps. Might wanna stop if you wanna keep your guts on the inside."

Mim ground to a halt, kicking up dust. Aghoul leapt down to the ground, and Mim re-assumed human form.

"WOOF WOOF," Betelgeuse said once he saw her. "You weren't kiddin'. That is one ugly bitch."

"Oh, you flatterer," Mim replied, flustered.

"You set up a gauntlet of traps for the hunter?" Aghoul asked.

"Plan was to fake him out and run him right into the minefield," Betelgeuse explained. "You're about to fuck that up, ain't you?"

"Well, I do so hate to waste death traps…" Aghoul thought it over. Then he shrugged. "But we need him. Well, we need his girlfriend, but there's no her without him, so there it is. Also, we're bringing the two of them down to Ozzie's with us on the party train."

"Fuckin' figures," Betelgeuse grumbled. "You got a way of ruinin' my day whenever you show up, Ayam. That's why we're friends, of course."

"It's an art," Aghoul bragged.

There was a brief sound of something metallic approaching on thrusters. Then, before anyone could process it, that something shot out of the jungle and landed in front of all of them, blocking their way. A man who looked to be made entirely out of metal, though in truth, it was actually an advanced suit of techno-armor whose face was programmed to emote with that of its wearer. Green energy flickered around his head in the shape of a short beard and a wild mane. He swapped his fists out for a pair of multi-barreled machine guns, cocking them both at Betelgeuse.

"Wuh-oh." Betelgeuse cringed.

"Your time is up, troublemaker," the hunter said in a smooth, deep voice. "I can think of a thousand ghosts who will pay top dollar for YOUR hide."

"Excuse me!" Aghoul put up his hand.

"Not now!" the hunter snapped at him. Then he realized there was someone else here besides his prey. "Wait a minute. Who are you, and why are you interrupting my hunt of the most dangerous game?"
"That's right," Betelgeuse confirmed. "The most dangerous game: ME."

"He's actually my friend," Aghoul said, "and I have an employment opportunity for you and our resident siren."

The hunter sighed. "You're not here to convince us to put our differences aside and prioritize friendship above violence, are you?"
"Well, not when you put it like THAT," Aghoul spat. "Moreso that I'm asking you to call a temporary truce because if all goes according to plan, loyalty will win you far more rewards than infighting among ghosts."

"That's exactly what I said but flowery," the hunter replied, deadpan.

"Now, Betelgeuse here is tricky prey for sure," Aghoul went on. "But is he really and truly the biggest prize that famed ghost hunter Skulker could take?"

The hunter – indeed Skulker – raised a metal brow. "Where exactly are you going with this?"
"I have someone I need hunted," Aghoul told him. "Prey even MORE difficult and far more valuable. What I'm suggesting is that you forget this filthy old pervert."

"Look who's talkin'," Betelgeuse muttered.

"Instead," Aghoul went on, "I have to offer a very magical being, one who uses illusions and trickery to outwit his hunters. A powerful beast that only the most powerful and skilled could ever think to bring to heel. A beast with two golden horns."

"You're talking about Loki of Asgard, aren't you?" Skulker realized, deadpan.

"In fact, a creature – " Aghoul halted himself. "Well, if you want to spoil the punchline, then yes."

"But no one even knows what happened to him after his death on Svartalfheim!" Skulker protested. "Believe me. I've been LOOKING."

"Well, there's your problem right there!" Mim snapped. "He isn't DEAD!"

"…Not dead?" Skulker repeated. "He's already regenerated into a new form?"

"No, you nitwit!" Aghoul scolded. "He never died in the first place! He just used illusion to make it LOOK like he did! He's been masquerading as Odin this whole time!"

"You…have proof?" Skulker said with mild intrigue.

"Not on us," Mim told him, "but think about it. Which story is REALLY more believable? Loki killed by Dark Elves, or Loki faking his own death so he could slip onto the Asgardian throne unnoticed?"

Skulker took a moment to think about it.

The Jeopardy theme started playing.

"Hey!" Skulker snapped at Betelgeuse. "Turn that noise off! It's conflicting with the concert."

"Killjoy," Betelgeuse muttered, but the music did stop.

"Now that you say it," Skulker realized, "the idea of Loki of Asgard pulling a stunt like that is far more believable than the alternative. And knowing this, you still decided to pick a fight with him?"

"We had to," Mim insisted. She held up her hand, turning it so Skulker could see Caleb's mark. "At this point, we HAVE to finish it."

"Oooooooh." Betelgeuse cringed. "Been nice knowin' ya, kiddies."

"We're not giving up the ghost yet!" Aghoul urged.

"But that mark…you KNOW what it means," Skulker told him. "Though I don't even know what effect it would have on the undead. Perhaps you'd be sent here, to the Ghost Zone. Or perhaps to the Final World. Or perhaps you'd simply…"

Betelgeuse conjured a puff of purple smoke to expand outward and dissipate as he made a hissing "Poofffffff" sound effect.

"Yes," Skulker said, pointing at the smoke. "That."

"Well, now you see why we need YOU so badly," Mim urged. "Between your hunting skills and your lover's hypnotic song, we can counter that glamorous ghost he's got swinging around and bragging about 'the greatest show,' and then we move on to the BIG prize."

"Hold on a minute!" Betelgeuse put up a hand, which was now shaped like a big red STOP sign.

"It's like if Discord suddenly started swearing and skirt-chasing," Mim muttered to Aghoul.

"You see now why I like Discord so much?" Aghoul muttered back.

"The guy who marked you is CALEB MOTHERFUCKIN' COVINGTON?" Betelgeuse was absolutely incensed. "Yep, heard enough. You're kickin' his ass for us if it's the last thing you do. He already backed Ozzie into a corner."

"I'd heard there was a territory war," Aghoul replied, "and anyone who can threaten a Hellish prince needs to be taken down a peg."

"Well, there's a good point here," Mim said. "Could all our new infernal friends come along and help us bring down that imposter king and his one-man show?"

"I mean, I'd love to," Betelgeuse said, though he looked slightly twitchy. "But. Y'know. Completely booked. Got a hair appointment at three, brothel at four, that'll take about three hours, then I got dinner reservations at seven, can't miss those, real expensive, symphony concert at nine, then I gotta stop putting off organizing my bookshelves, really can't let that go one more day – "

"You're afraid of Loki," Skulker realized.

"WELL, DUH, I'M AFRAID OF LOKI!" Betelgeuse yelled. "You think I don't know how suicidal this is to go up against a literal GOD who is employing the ghost that's been RIVALING A PRINCE OF HELL? Nobody in the whole of Ozzie's is gonna go for it!"

"Well, I'm hoping at least one will," Aghoul said, "but we'll save that for later. I think her ego's big enough anyway."

"Why d'you think I'm sendin' in you and your army instead of me?" Betelgeuse continued. "Look, buddy, pal, you and me, we go way back, and I love ya, no romo, but if my three options are Covington's ass not getting kicked, me having to walk into fuckin' Asgard in the middle of a goddamn LOKI-OCRACY in order to kick that ass, and having someone else kick that ass and take the heat for me, I know which one I'm going with."

"I can't even be mad at that logic," Aghoul realized.

"Neither can I," Mim said. "Especially since it means we're less cowards than him and we can flaunt it!"

Skulker put away his guns, returning his hands to normal. "I couldn't agree more," he said. "Which is why I'm abandoning the chase. Skinning him undead would be one thing. Proving I'm not afraid of the prince of Asgard where this one so clearly is? THAT is victory."

"Your funeral," Betelgeuse said. "Which works out for me, come to think of it…yeah, you should go do it!"

Skulker looked to Aghoul and Mim. "You have yourselves a deal," he said. "I will be the one to deliver Loki's head on a plate." He grinned. "And you wanted to speak to Ember?"

At the opposite edge of the isle from where Enmu was parked, an enormous amphitheater had been set up. Flames bordered the wide stage. It was far too big for one singer – but had just enough room for all the enormous speakers that one singer liked to have to project her voice and her guitar all across the island. She was a younger woman, her pale off-blue skin showing through a black one-sleeved crop top and a pair of tight pants. Her belt buckle and combat boots alike were festooned with skull shapes; she wore eyeliner that curled down from her lower lids dramatically and meandered across her face. Most striking of all, though, her bright teal ponytail was standing upright, flickering like a flame.

She danced alone, strumming power chords on her electric guitar and belting out a scintillating melody. Into a microphone, she yelled words about rebellion, about self-expression, about violence and villainy.

And after she'd played the outro riff, she was met with a standing ovation. She gave a start; hadn't she been all alone, Skulker her only audience out there in the forest with his quarry? But Ember McLain never was one to turn down applause, and so she let its warmth fill her, the flame of her hair growing brighter and taller.

"Thank you, thank you!" Ember said into the microphone. "But we all know I deserve it." She then gave a glance down to see who exactly was applauding her.

Skulker, but that was expected. Mim and Aghoul, who she'd never seen before. Betelgeuse had actually sprouted several more pairs of hands in order to make the applause sound more like it was coming from a thundering crowd.

"Hang on." Ember glowered at him. "Aren't you supposed to be on the run from my boyfriend right about now?"

"Talk about ingrate," Betelgeuse responded, rolling his eyes.

"That was WONDERFUL, my dear!" Aghoul leapt up onstage. "Ayam Aghoul's the name and I've got the gig of an afterlifetime for you."

"A gig?" Ember's eyes lit up. "You want me to play for an audience?" Then she flinched. "This isn't some kind of trap, is it?"

"If it is, I'll be the one to handle it," Skulker replied.

Ember rolled her eyes. "Sure thing, Mr. Macho Man. You're totally the muscle of this relationship."

"Hey!" Skulker pouted. "I'm plenty tough!" He pounded a fist against his metal chest. It sounded hollow, and Mim wondered exactly what was in there.

"You'll be playing for your fellow monsters and evildoers, of course," Aghoul told her. "I need your beautiful vocals and hypnotic guitar to counteract a magical musician who also happens to be a ghost. And after that, well, we dethrone the king of Asgard, which means you can play for that whole city."

"Play for Asgard…" Ember's eyes were sparkling with the prospect of fame. Then she snapped herself back to reality. "Okay, here's the deal. I want two hundred upfront, my own dressing room, and I don't pay for meals. Got it?"

Aghoul passed her a small sack of munny. "You'll have the room if we get the down time," he told her. "We've been on our feet for a while, you see. But you can definitely have your own car on the train we're taking to meet your co-star."

"That sounds – " Ember did a double take. "Wait, what? CO-STAR? Listen here, pal, Ember McLain headlines! She doesn't play opening act!"

"Don't you argue with us, missy!" Mim hopped up onstage alongside her, getting right up in her face, pointing a finger angrily. "This Caleb fellow is powerful, and the only way we're winning this battle of the bands is with more firepower! If he wants to bring one bombastic singing voice, then we'll just have to provide TWO! So either you duet or you simply don't get to do it!"

"And I'll take my munny back," Aghoul snapped, snatching the purse.

Skulker had climbed onstage by that point. "What harm can there be, Ember?" he asked, arms out in a shrug. "After all, you'll only have all the more room to prove yourself the better of the two."

Ember smiled back. "You do know how to flatter me."

"Maybe…you should return the favor?" He was almost pleading.

"I'll call you a good hunter when you actually catch something instead of either losing it or befriending it," Ember said with a pointed glare at Betelgeuse.

Skulker gave a defeated sigh.

Then Ember rushed up to him, planting a kiss on his metal cheek. "But you are sweet. I'll give you that much. You're the only ghost actually worthy of the title 'boyfriend of Ember McLain.'"

"A title I wear with honor!" Skulker said proudly, putting an arm around Ember's waist. She responded by laying a hand on his chest.

"Blech." Mim stuck out her tongue. "What a disgustingly happy couple!"

"Don't let the married act fool you," Betelgeuse snickered. "The little lady here had a full-on radical feminist phase and banished the hunter clear outta town! I've been trying to use that to throw the fella off his game and off the trail, but apparently they've got a thousand excuses for it."

"I only need one reason!" Skulker growled. "I NEVER DISAPPEARED."

Ember waved it off. "I may or may not have conveniently challenged Skulker's ego to send him on a goose chase just before deciding to help get rid of the rest of the men. That way, I could take my anger at him out on everyone else's boyfriend while getting to keep mine. Have cake, eat cake. I've since then learned the 'all men are toxic' rhetoric is dangerous anyway."

"Too bad you're taken, sweet cheeks," Betelgeuse said with a wink. "If you ever wanna get with a REAL man, though…just say the name three times."

"You are of age, right?" Aghoul asked her. "MARRYING age, perhaps?"

Ember's face went flat. "And of course, there are those men out there who make me want to go on a man-hating rampage ALL OVER AGAIN."

"Do you want me to fill their faces with ammo for you, darling?" Skulker asked.

"Nah," Ember decided. "I'll take care of that myself if it comes to that."

"But just so you know," Skulker said, "either of you lays a finger on her and I'll mount your heads in my trophy room, regardless of if it's me or Ember who gets the final blow."

"Understood," Aghoul groaned.

"Helen's hotter anyway," Betelgeuse said with a shrug.

"The train is on the other side of the island," Aghoul explained. "Let's get moving! I'll tell you the whole sordid story on the way. It's quite an entertaining one!"

The five boarded the train to be greeted with Mambo No. 5, a crowd of dancing villains, and Vexen developing a severe eye twitch.

"Aw, now this is my crowd!" Betelgeuse headed right for the power trio of his friend group. "Yeah, a little bit of Nehema in my life! A little bit of Helen by my side! A little bit of Paige is – "

He was immediately interrupted by Tony leaning right into his ear to make a piercingly loud alarm sound that blared through the whole train: "MEH! MEH! MEH! MEH!"

Actual blood dribbled from Betelgeuse's ear. "All right, fair, deserved that one."

"HA!" Ember pointed and chuckled.

"Are we SURE we're not already in Hell?" Vexen cried. "BECAUSE I CERTAINLY FEEL LIKE IT!"

...

Against a backdrop of night, Cape Suzette was a jewel, a shimmering white pearl of city lights. It seemed there was hardly a building whose architecture wasn't impressive in some regard (if you ignored the Higher for Hire shack). The way it was nestled in a high-cliffed cove, with its narrow inlet the only way to cross by sea or air, only made it look all the more alluring. No one of high society would think to pass up visiting here, and no one of immoral intent would think to move on by without trying for a heist or two.

One of the hallmarks of the city, of course, was the Spruce Moose: the largest aircraft ever created in Cape Suzette. The city saw most of its commerce done by air travel and trade, and so at first, the idea of the gigantic beige airplane had seemed genius. Then it turned out that the plane couldn't actually fit through the entrance to the cove unless it was pivoted sideways in a specific way, and that was not a safe or efficient way to transport goods at all. So the Spruce Moose was grounded, moored in the ocean, left afloat as a nightclub for the crème de la crème of society. Sure, it had been hijacked by mobsters once, but that was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.

Or so the patrons thought.

It was the night of the Gala for the Incredibly Rich and Uselessly Wealthy. Not the kind of place you'd see the crew of Higher for Hire (especially since the last time they'd shown up to one of these, they'd been offended to the point of no return by the snobbery). Anthropomorphic animals of all sorts showed up in black ties, white ties, sequins, feather boas, jewelry that cost more than a cheap skywriter plane, and shoes polished to the point of being able to see one's reflection in them.

Archibald Snatcher had done his best to replicate the style in his fashions for the WHAM ARMY contingent. He himself was testing out the color pink, which he didn't often, a billowing chiffon skirt sparkling every time he took a step. Rhinestones in his golden beehive wig played off the glitz of the skirt. Don Karnage had demanded to be dressed in what ended up looking like a caricature of Marie Antoinette, with ribbons, ruffles, tassels, a bustle, and a voluminous wig of white. All in blue and gold. Mad Dog had insisted on a dress that turned out in keeping with the Lolita style, with lace, bows, and exposed calves. Dump Truck had opted for a slinky black-and-white cocktail dress with feathers stitched in at important parts. Roman had a long coat, a top hat, and tight pants, all black with accentuating off-white pinstripes. Any bit of metal anywhere on his ensemble was a stunning gold. Pinstripe had just requested to wear the suit he already had on, and the others had deemed it formal enough. Meanwhile, Tawna got a neon-bright cocktail gown of pink and blue, with cutouts showing skin artfully. Foulfellow had on a clean, non-tattered suit of blue, and he seemed to be treading carefully, not at all used to looking this put-together and half afraid he'd ruin it haphazardly. Gideon sported a black tuxedo with a wide black bow tie.

And then there was Giovanni. As requested, Snatcher had made him a dress, pink and festooned with sequins. It cut off before the knee. Then, to drive home the point that he was still a man despite the skirt, Snatcher had given Giovanni a matching sport coat with wide shoulders, every bit a man's jacket but in the same shade of soft pastel pink and given sequined embroidery on every hem. Black Oxford shoes capped it all off.

As the group entered the club, they were stopped at the door. "Handbags, please," said a snooty-looking dog in a staff uniform.

Snatcher's high-pitched chuckle was clearly nervous. "Are we not to have anything on the floor? What if I should need to touch up my rouge?"

"For security reasons, there are no bags allowed," the dog stated. "Could have weapons in them, you know."

Which was exactly the problem. All the weapons they normally used were in Roman's enchanted bag. Apparently they'd have to go unarmed.

"If you need something from a bag," the dog went on, "you can take it out and carry it in separately, or take the bag outside the plane."

"No, no, it's no problem!" Roman said quickly as he passed over the bag. "We'll make do with what we have. I COMPLETELY understand your concern; you can never be too careful these days!"

The others handed over purses and wallets as well. Giovanni checked in a bag of cool marbles, lamenting he couldn't take them as a conversation starter.

"Enjoy your evening," the dog said in a tone that lacked any semblance of enjoyment.

"Oh, we will!" Roman said as he ushered the others inside.

The club's main room was absolutely cavernous, transformed from a cargo hold into a ballroom studded with tables under white cloth. One could see a bar at the far wall, a few different restrooms, and just a few too many "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" doors to tell which one led to the cabin.

"Okaaaaay," Roman sighed. "So the hostile takeover option's out."

"I just feel naked without my gun!" Pinstripe complained.

"We'll have to play this smart," Snatcher said with a grin. "Of course, I'm quite used to this by now."

"And what exactly is the plan being?" Karnage asked. "Surely you are not to be asking everyone to leave in all politeness so we may be jacking-high the craft of the air!"

"If we get to the high ground in the cabin, much of that won't matter," Snatcher said. "But let's give it a moment first. Assess our options and all that. A new opportunity may present itself if we get a sense of the situation…who's here, what's the lay of the land, who can be bought and sold."

"Divide and conquer?" Roman asked. "We split off and play the role of cooperative party guests who are maybe just a little too inquisitive?"

"Why, you read my mind!" Snatcher replied. "I of course shall be the main attraction, but some may be more willing to reveal secrets to those of different dispositions. Do keep a sense of tact, however. And DON'T let on."

His gaze flicked pointedly between Foulfellow, Karnage, and Giovanni.

"Oh, what," Giovanni scoffed, "you think I go around advertising to everyone that I'm a villain?"
"That is exactly what you do," Roman reminded him.

"Oh, right," Giovanni realized. "Well, not this time, okay? This time…" He grinned. "There's a buffet at stake."

"BUFFET?" Mad Dog and Dump Truck's heads swiveled toward the lineup of fancy food.

"Okay, team!" Roman hissed. "Break!"

They scattered into the crowd, disappearing among the forest of elegantly-dressed rich people. Not two minutes later, however, five more guests of dishonor checked into the party.

At their head was a tall, wide human, dressed in a suit and cape of glittering gold, his dark hair pulled into short pigtails fastened with ribbons. He looked the picture of elegance, if straight out of the early 1600s. There were many who would say that with the face he had, he certainly needed to be a snappy dresser.

"Name?" the dog at the door droned.

"Do write me in under 'J. Ratcliffe,'" the man said. "Plus four guests."

His much slimmer companion in a suit of maroon and gold cleared his throat loudly. "I'm sorry, I thought our agreement was that YOU were a guest of OURS. This is your 'trial run,' after all." He leaned over to the dog. "Check us in as 'Arthur Watts.' And four guests."

"Whaaaaat?" Demyx whined. His blue tuxedo looked as though it needed a good ironing. "Way to diss the rest of us."

"Excuse me," Hans broke in, "but of the five of us, which one's actually royalty? Check me in as Prince Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles." And he was dressed like it, too, in a resplendent coat of white and gold.

"I know of no such nation," the dog said. "I'll write you in as Ratcliffe, Watts, and three guests."

"I'll settle for it," Watts decided with a sigh.

"Your handbags, please," the dog continued. "As I keep having to explain, it's for security purposes. In case of weapons."

Demyx passed over a black leather backpack, Watts a billfold, and Hans a coin purse. The fifth of their group smirked, having no bag to check in. "I get it," Mercury Black said smugly. "Wouldn't want anyone to tote a couple of big guns in here and make a scene, would you?"
Watts shot him a sharp glare.

"Enjoy your evening," the dog said.

The four Overtakers and one Overtaker-to-be moved into the ballroom. Mercury snickered; "Too bad he didn't check the weapon in my pants."

Demyx and Hans snickered. "Good one," Demyx said.

"How immature," Watts scoffed. "I'll remind you, Mercury, that half the reason we're here is to test the modifications I've made to the 'weapons in your pants.' The other half, of course, being to see if Governor Ratcliffe is up to snuff as an Overtaker in the field."

"I can assure you there is no problem in that regard," Ratcliffe replied. "I do understand, though, that you need to have it proven."

"There's definitely a percentage of the reason we're here that's the food," Demyx said.

"Now, as we went over the plan," Watts said. "Lay low and blend in until such time as an opportunity presents itself. Then we will demonstrate the meaning of the name 'Overtakers.' Until then, no shenanigans. Are we understood?"

"Most certainly," Ratcliffe replied, "and I'm offended you would even think – "

"Oh, I don't think YOU'RE the problem," Watts said, eyeing up Hans, Demyx, and Mercury.

"We'll be good, Dad," Hans snorted. "Promise."

"You'd better," Watts sighed. "Off you go, then. We can at least enjoy ourselves for a while."

Hans, Demyx, and Mercury went one way. Ratcliffe went another. And Watts looked up to the security cameras mounted up high, fiddling with a ring. The ring's illumination confirmed that the cameras did in fact connect to a computer system.

Snatcher integrated himself into a conversation, smooth as you please. This was about to be his night. "How very amusing!" he bubbled in response to an anecdote told by an old bear. "In fact, it reminds me of – "

"Pardon me!" The bear's date, a hen, recoiled. "I don't recall having invited YOU here." She looked Snatcher up and down. "Particularly seeing as you're wearing THAT."

Snatcher flinched. This didn't usually happen. "I beg your pardon! I spent quite a bit of hard-earned money on this ensemble – "

"Then ask for it BACK," said the hen, "because the stitching on the seams is so obvious. It looks practically handmade! How tacky!"

The others of the group laughed raucously.

"Are we sure she's telling the truth, though?" a tall, slender wolf interjected. "After all, you see how bare her neck is. Not a diamond to be seen!"

"Why, it was an oversight, a fashionable faux pas," Snatcher argued. "As for the seams…I've only JUST noticed! How embarrassing! I shall be demanding a refund immediately! I swear, the hardships they force upon us elites – "

"I'm not sure I blame the dressmaker," said the wolf. "After all, with a face like that…why would he even try to complement it with anything good?"

Snatcher was gobsmacked into silence as more laughter went up.

"Now shoo!" The hen beckoned him away. "We'll be waiting to be joined by some REAL high society."

"…My apologies," Snatcher growled, backing off. Cursing them all out mentally. Apparently rich people were the same no matter where you went, except at least Lord Portley-Rind's ilk had thought Madame Frou Frou was gorgeous.

Well, if there was any comfort to be had, it was that if Snatcher was encountering this much failure, then surely the others were having just as difficult of a time. Especially Roman –

The laughter of another group, much more good-natured, reached Snatcher's ear. He turned to look, and his jaw dropped in horror.

"It's true!" Roman laughed. "Li'l Miss was the laughingstock of the town after that. Really should've known better."

"I should say!" said a dog. "I'm almost embarrassed just hearing about it!"

"Embarrassed for you having to be in her presence, that is," a cat chimed in.

"I say," said a duck, "you mentioned being a hunter, yes? Can you boast any particularly interesting trophies?"

"Depends," Roman said. "Do we qualify a giant capybara as interesting? The animalistic type of animal, of course."

"Do tell us the tale!" the duck urged.

They loved him. Roman Torchwick was blending into the crowd as seamlessly as could be, and Snatcher was the one sidelined. Snatcher had to fight a streak of white-hot rage upon this realization. He couldn't afford to sabotage his progress, and he knew better than to try and make a fool of Roman simply because misery loved company. All the same, he couldn't stand to watch much longer, and so he stalked off to another table. Throwing one glance over his shoulder – no, Roman hadn't seen him, hadn't even noticed his huff or come over to ask about it.

Well, there was plenty of time left. Snatcher could show him up yet.

Hans picked at the buffet, loading a plate full of finger food, when all of a sudden Demyx seized him and dragged him across the buffet line. "You gotta check this out!" Demyx urged. "They have a chocolate fountain!"

"Oh, wonderful," Hans sighed. "CHOCOLATE."

"What do you have against chocolate?" Demyx asked as he slowed in front of the five-tier fountain of liquid heaven. "Everyone likes chocolate! Everyone who's not allergic to it, that is." He chuckled.

Hans got a smile out of that. "You know, I do appreciate its versatility as a murder weapon at least. But no, it was the favorite food of the disaster sisters. Do you know how many times Anna tried to shove chocolate down my throat? There's only so many times you can put up with a girl stuffing your face full of chocolate cream puffs before it gets WEIRD! And that number of times is ONE!"

"Awww, they're in the past," Demyx urged. "I think you should reclaim the chocolate. You know how to appreciate it better than they do, after all. For example. With a fountain like this…you could fondue ANYTHING." He picked up an appetizer from Hans' tray.

"Demyx, that's a bacon-wrapped shrimp," Hans said flatly.

"You think I didn't notice?" Demyx dipped the shrimp in the fountain.

About this time, Hans noticed that the other person at the fountain was Mercury. And Hans had to watch as Mercury dipped an entire deviled egg in the chocolate.

"Who RAISED you?" Hans barked as Mercury took a bite of it. "A pack of wolves?"

"I wish," Mercury said around a full mouth. "You should drop the snob act. You're missing out."

Demyx popped the chocolate bacon shrimp in his mouth. "Mm-mmmm! There's nothing you can't improve with bacon and/or chocolate, and that includes each other."

"You two are disgusting," Hans scoffed. "You want to know what's actually appropriate to use a chocolate fountain for?" He delicately dipped a strawberry into it. "This." And then he nipped a bit off the fruit. His eyes widened. "Oh. Wow. I forgot how good this stuff is, actually." He pushed the rest of the fruit into his mouth, then dipped three more strawberries, shoving them into his cheeks like a hamster before he'd even swallowed the first one.

"Welcome to the good life," Demyx said with a grin, filling the half-shell of an oyster with chocolate.

Tawna and Pinstripe were attempting to chat with a very large, very fluffy gray cat, who was looking at them with derision. After some time, the cat cleared her throat; "I'm sorry, but who allowed you into this club?"

"What the - !" Pinstripe did a double take. "What's the big idea? Why, I oughta – "

"Oh, no, you're passable at least," the cat scoffed, "though that suit has seen better days." She reached over and flipped the hair of Tawna's mohawk. "But THIS? This is downright unacceptable!"

Tawna slapped the cat's wrist. "Hands off the hair," she snarled.

"If you want to play the role of some motorbiker gangster," the cat sniffed, "the place you want isn't here."

"Why youuuuu…" Pinstripe snarled ferally.

"Stripes," Tawna hissed. "Don't. I love you, but don't – "

"YOU THINK YOU CAN TALK ABOUT MY GIRL THAT WAY?" Pinstripe lunged.

Tawna managed to hook him by both elbows from behind, holding him back. "Nooooonononono this is a big no!"

"Tawny, she just DISSED ya!" Pinstripe reminded her. "I can't let that stand!"

"I'm not happy either," Tawna seethed, "but you're kinda making it worse!"

"SHE'S THE ONE WHO MADE IT WORSE!"

"Oh, my!" the cat squealed. "They're MAD!" And she made tracks across the ballroom. More eyes were drawn to the man throwing a tantrum in the midst of the party and the woman trying to stop him from committing actual violence.

Meanwhile, Demyx and Hans looked at Mercury in utter disbelief. "Prove it," Demyx said. "Munny where your mouth is."

Mercury shrugged. "You asked for it." He dropped to the floor, launching into a breakdance, pulling off flashy Air Flares to the rhythm of the orchestral symphonies played for ambience.

Demyx and Hans exchanged a smirk. Then Hans pointed at Mercury; "HOW UNCOUTH!"

"EWWW, WHAT IS HE DOING WITH HIS BODY?" Demyx added.

The two of them walked away laughing as Mercury crashed to the floor, surprised by the sudden influx of rich people who'd come to jeer at him.

"YOU SET ME UP!" he yelled, shaking a fist.

"Why, of course I've flown a plane before!" Foulfellow was telling a dog laden with diamonds. "I've flown at least three, in fact! I know every part of a plane's, er, steering device, from the flibbertigibbet to the rudder! Why, I once flew from Timbuktu all the way to Sri Lanka, and I tell you – "

"EXCUSE me!" The dog turned sharply away from Gideon, who'd snuck up behind her. "Were you trying to pickpocket my jewelry?"

Foulfellow gasped and pointed at Gideon. "THIEF! How dare you!"

Gideon wasn't offended; this was standard procedure. But it was the third failed attempt this very night, so he gave a finger-snap of extra frustration before storming off.

"Well, I never!" the dog huffed as she watched him go. "Can you believe the nerve of – WERE YOU JUST TRYING TO TAKE OFF MY NECKLACE?"

Foulfellow quickly hid his hands behind his back. "Oh, will you look at the time! I promised a dance to that LOVELY young woman in the – " Without even bothering to finish his lie, he cut and ran.

Watts sat alone at a corner table, flicking through several video feeds on a smartphone. His rings had offered him a way into the system linking the cameras (primitive as far as computers went), and now he had access to visibility of every nook and cranny of the ballroom. He'd figured out pretty quickly that without the luxury of bags, anyone who wanted to buy drinks at the bar had to have their credit card out in the open. But not for any length of time that would allow someone to memorize the number. Unless, of course, that someone had access to the security cameras and the ability to hyper-enhance the images taken from the bar.

"I'd like to buy a round of martinis for my friends and myself," Watts said as he slid in. "Oh, dear, I seem to have forgotten my card! Will it be all right if I give you the number instead?"
"Happens all the time, sir." The bartender nodded. "Whenever you're ready."

"It's 5-5-5-5…"

Watts could've gone back and gotten enough cash out of his billfold to cover the cost. But where would the fun be in doing things the legal way?

Eventually, the crowd of gawkers at Mercury found a new target. Karnage was attempting to dance all by himself, and it was a spectacle for the ages: high kicks that showed off up his skirt, footwork out of Irish riverdancing, almost senseless spinning round and round.

"I feel sorry for whatever man ends up married to her," one socialite mumbled.

"I feel sorry for HER," another muttered back. "Those genetics. She looks almost like that pirate, what was his name? Carnage-something? The poor woman. I'm glad I'm not her."

"Be doubly glad you're not THEM!" A finger was pointed over to Dump Truck and Mad Dog, who were doing a tango together.

"Why is everyone looking at us?" Mad Dog whined.

"I don't know," Dump Truck responded. "Rich people in this city would get angry if they saw two men dancing together. But we're dressed as women, so that can't be it."

Mad Dog ripped away a hand to slap to his forehead. "Idiot! We look like two WOMEN dancing together!"

"Oh, we do, don't we?" Dump Truck realized. "Oops." He gave Mad Dog a final twirl and the two separated.

Watts passed Ratcliffe a martini as the latter was entertaining a crowd. "Of course, it takes a certain caliber of man to keep such a settlement in line," the governor was saying. "If I'd been given ranks of proper Englishmen, I would've had far less work to do, but then again, that simply would've given them excuse to send a lesser governor." He took a sip. "The Englishmen, however, were nothing compared to the savages."

Watts choked on his drink.

"Uncouth people who dressed in animal skins," Ratcliffe went on. "Someone had to bring civilization to them. I should say I tamed the wilderness in that regard."

Watts had pivoted around to the back of the crowd, looking Ratcliffe dead in the eye and swiping across his neck with the flat of his hand.

"And how do they repay me?" Ratcliffe barked. "By hoarding the gold that rightfully belonged to England!"

"Oh, dear," said a dog in the crowd. "Those are…er…strong words."

Watts buried his face in his non-martini hand.

"But as long as we can be honest here…" The dog lowered his voice. "Good for you. I've been thinking we should do something about the Indian 'problem' for a while now."

Watts sighed in relief. He couldn't care less if Ratcliffe was racist among other racists, but he'd thought for certain they were about to be thrown out of the party. Turns out this was a very particular breed of rich people, and Watts probably should've suspected that from the start.

"I say a strong hand in government is the place to start," Ratcliffe went on. Utterly amused by Watts' panic and subsequent relief. He wouldn't have brought it up in the first place had he not already heard several of the whispers of the elites in attendance, what they thought of people who weren't like them. He was simply telling them what they wanted to hear, and it happened to be the truth as well. "You know, I've had aspirations for a while now of running for public office…"

"Do tell us about your campaign!" Watts blurted, trying to get back into the conversation.

A duck turned away from the bar to see Giovanni smiling at him. "Hi," the human said. "I'm Giovanni, and man, is this party dull or what? I'm trying to see if anyone here, like, wants to let their inner rebel loose and go do some vandalism or something to shake it up."

"SIR!" the duck cried.

"Right," Giovanni grumbled. "Low profile – "

The duck hadn't even registered the vandalism comment. He pointed at Giovanni's outfit; "Why are you wearing WOMEN'S clothes? What sort of…DEVIANT are you?"

"It's just a skirt!" Giovanni yelled back. "What, like you need tits in order to wear one! They fit guys just fine, you know!"

"How utterly crass!" the duck gasped. "Foul language AND this disgusting display!"

The duck's date, a female goose, grabbed his arm to pull him away. "Let's not waste any more time on this…this HERMAPHRODITE," she scoffed.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Giovanni yelled after them. "WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? I SHOW UP HERE WEARING A SKIRT AND YOU ALL LOSE YOUR MINDS! WHAT IS THIS, THE FIFTIES? ARE YOU IN A CULT OR SOMETHING?"

He sighed, turning away. The next socialite to see him gasped and promptly fainted away upon realizing that the pink-haired person in the dress wasn't a woman.

Giovanni blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyes from moistening. "This so doesn't hurt my feelings," he said to himself. "I'm a villain. I'm used to trash talk. And I'm definitely not crying…it's all this dumb cologne that's irritating my eyes…"

Mercury, Demyx, and Hans hustled over to Watts and Ratcliffe, the latter of whom was explaining his little game. "I spoke of savages because they had first," Ratcliffe said with a grin. "Did you really think I would commit such a faux pas in such company?"

"You have to understand I'm used to THEM." Watts gestured to Demyx, Hans, and Mercury.

"Why did you call us over?" Hans asked. "And why are you acting like it's such a big emergency?"

"I've been keeping a bird's-eye view from my eye in the sky," Watts explained, taking out his phone. "I'm in the security camera system, taking note of anything of interest." He held out the phone toward them. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but this seems of INTEREST."

Demyx and Hans gaped. "No," Hans gasped.

"YES," Demyx said with a positively malicious grin.

It was a still shot of Madame Frou Frou storming away from the latest group to reject him.

"That's what I thought," Watts said. "But what are your thoughts on THIS?"

He flicked the screen. Now it showed Roman sitting at a table full of people, everyone laughing at some bad joke he'd just told.

"It's like a two-for-one sale," Demyx said gleefully.

"Oh, it's going down," Hans added with a leer. "How do we want to play this?"

"Boot to the head?" Mercury asked.

"If I may," Ratcliffe broke in, "I have a far more…entertaining suggestion."

Snatcher had gotten a group of elites to laugh as well. But not for the same reason Roman had ("And I said 'Mixer? I hardly know her!'"). Rather, he'd sat down and tried to start eating one of the courses served. Forgetting completely that there was a very specific order in which you used the ten forks lined up at the side of the plate.

His hand quivered over his next guess. He lowered it, picking up the utensil –

They roared with laughter all over again. "Wrong!" a dog guffawed. "I'm beginning to think you simply married your way into money!"

"What a clueless gold-digger!" a duck laughed.

Snatcher had had enough. He stabbed the fork into a slice of the main course, a sliced poultry breast, and shoved it into the duck's face. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but is this not YOUR KIND?"

"How RUDE!" The duck stood up and stalked off.

Snatcher took a big bite of the meat. (He legitimately was confused as to how there was bird being served here in a room full of birds.) He chewed it slowly, deliberately, as a threat.

"All inappropriate comments on our feathered guests aside," a cat pointed out, "you just took a bite that was two inches wide instead of the traditional one inch!" And the peanut gallery once again began laughing.

Snatcher slammed his fist down on the table. Not paying too much attention to where. He was about to tell his present company off – but instead ended up hitting the rim of the plate so that it catapulted backward onto him, staining his gown with three types of sauce. Now the rich people were in tears, howling at him.

Snatcher picked up the plate, tossed it away like a Frisbee, and flipped his chair over on his way away from the snobs. He'd never been this much of a failure at this sort of event. Everyone here seemed to hate him, and he'd endured abuse upon abuse. And maybe, just maybe, he could've tolerated it if not for the fact that –

"When did you say your book was going on sale?" a businessman asked Roman. "I want to be the first to read it!"

"End of the month," Roman answered. "You know what? Hit me up and I'll even sign your copy! Friend to friend."

They loved him. Roman Torchwick was somehow blundering his way into popularity, and all Snatcher's charm was doing nothing. Thoroughly fed up, Snatcher could no longer resist the temptation to storm over there and ruin Roman's night however he could.

He never made it that far. His hand was seized and he was pulled into a slow dance with a stranger.

"Good sir, unhand me!" Snatcher spat.

"Oh, dear me, I would never think of pushing the boundary of a lady!" his partner, Ratcliffe responded. Then he leered; "Then it's a good thing circumstances are the way they are, isn't it?"

Snatcher's eyes widened. "I – I don't know what you're talking about – "

"Is that so, Archibald?"

Snatcher began to hiss "How in the – "

"Why, you have friends here," Ratcliffe went on. "Or didn't you notice?"

Roman himself had gotten up to join the dance floor, since his particular in-crowd had decided to do so. He scanned the room, looking for that telltale glittery pink. There it was – no, wait, Giovanni. Roman shrugged. He was sure that if he'd been able to play the crowds this easily, then Snatcher would have them all eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Cutting in," said a sharp male voice. Roman's hands were seized, and he was yanked into a close dance, his partner's arm locked around his waist.

"Um, excuse you?" Roman snapped. "I was in the middle of – "
"In the middle of what?" His partner, Mercury Black, sneered at him.

"…Fuck," Roman whispered.

"Now, don't go making a scene," Mercury told him. "After all, you can't afford to blow your cover, can you? Check your weapons at the door."

"What are you doing here? Answers. Now."

"Trying to remind you of the good old days," Mercury said as he spun and dipped Roman. Expertly in charge of Roman's every move in this dance. "Finally saw your boyfriend, and…really? That's trading down if I ever saw it. Or did you pick the biggest loser you could find on purpose just to spite me?"
"The biggest loser I've ever slept with was YOU," Roman seethed. "What's your game here? I know you didn't show up just to reminisce on the horrible old days."

"Hm…I'm not so sure I'm the actual biggest loser here," Mercury mused. "I mean, you've been watching what your queen's been doing all night, haven't you? Or HAVEN'T you?"

"Tearing it up as usual."

"He's almost been a bigger laughingstock than me," Mercury hissed. "They've been insulting him all night. Maybe you didn't notice over this 'book deal' you just signed, but I think it's clear you're FAR too good for him."

"You're…lying?" Roman was uncertain.

"Just ditch the dead weight already," Mercury said, leaning up to whisper in Roman's ear. "You'll never make Overtaker, but I'm willing to let you off with a warning if you figure out where it is you really belong."

Roman twisted sharply to try and break Mercury's grip. Mercury held fast. "Don't go," Mercury told him. "You'll miss the show."
The sudden clinking of three forks on three glasses pierced the air, so sharp that the partygoers couldn't help but stop to take a look. Even the music cut.

"Heyyy!" Demyx greeted. "Isn't this just a great time?"

Roman's eyes widened. "Please, PLEASE tell me that's the WHAM ARMY version."

"Nnnnnope," Mercury hissed. "That one's ours. You know, the real one."

Watts and Hans flanked Demyx, and Watts cleared his throat. "We have something rather important we wish to say to all present company," he said. "It seems there may be something rotten in our midst."

"And you know the best way to flush out rot, don't you?" Hans posed.

"In song," Demyx confirmed. "We've got a little number we'd like to play for you tonight." There was a flush of water, a bursting bubble, and he held his sitar. The audience oohed and aahed, but also really wondered where this was going.

Roman and Snatcher, so many feet apart, were both shoved to the floor as Ratcliffe and Mercury walked over to join them. Demyx began with the opening chords. "Elite society of Cape Suzette," Ratcliffe began. "I present to you tonight's entertainment…and revelations."

"Things are not what they appear," Demyx sang. "As tonight will make quite clear!"

Ratcliffe reached into the crowd, picking a new dance partner. Karnage. Whirled him around the floor.

"But what is real will be revealed," Hans sang. "I can feel the moment's near!"

Ratcliffe sent Karnage spinning back into the crowd.

"Things are never what they seem," Demyx sang.

"That will be this evening's theme!" Hans chimed in.

They then reached out the crowd, plucking their own partners – Demyx and Dump Truck, Hans and Mad Dog. "Amusing sights for your delight – " Hans said as he dipped Mad Dog low.

"Perhaps a few to make you scream!" Demyx guided Dump Truck through an awkward two-step, then shoved him back toward the crowd.

Snatcher had barely gotten to his feet when he could feel Ratcliffe at his back, thick hands on his shoulders. "You'll be surprised to see whose disguise is the cleverest one of the lot!" Ratcliffe belted. "After our show, the whole world will know who's pretending to be what they're NOT!"

Then he'd gallivanted away, cape billowing, leaving Snatcher quite nervous.

"If a jester's grin – " Ratcliffe gestured to Hans, who bowed. "Or a dancer's spin – " He then indicated Demyx, who twirled. "Should be pleasing, please say 'Yea!'"

"YEA!" the partygoers chorused, swept up in the moment.

Mercury stood on his hands, using his feet to kick several plastic balls into the air. "If a juggler's feat should be incomplete," Ratcliffe sang as Mercury intentionally let the balls fall, "he's the one you greet with 'Nay!'"

"NAY!" the crowd yelled.

Ratcliffe pulled Pinstripe close to him in his left arm and Foulfellow in his right. "If the fools we see should look like you and me," he sang, "then before the night goes by…"

He then was flitting around the crowd, getting into the face of a different person on each word:

"Ask why!" he told Giovanni.

"Why!" he yelled at Tawna.

"Why!" he bellowed to Gideon.

"Why!" he sang to Karnage.

"WHYYYYYY!" Ratcliffe clapped a hand on Roman's shoulder. Then he danced back across the floor to gently tap Snatcher on the collarbone, whispering threateningly, "Why?"

Before Snatcher could argue, Hans had taken his hand and waist, dancing with him across the floor. "Things are not what they appear," Hans said, winking directly at Snatcher.

Snatcher shook his head, mouthing a "No."

"And the finest proof's right here!" Hans let go, gesturing right to Snatcher.

Snatcher wanted to run. He thought about it. But the crowd was thick, and he barely had time to formulate an escape route before –

"How I regret when we first met, I realized my own worst fear!" Ratcliffe sang, getting up close to Snatcher. (He wouldn't. Would he?) "Things are never what they seem! So in keeping with our theme…"

His hand snapped out, seizing. Snatcher's wig was forcibly ripped away.

"A CHANGE OF HAIR!" Ratcliffe bellowed proudly. "A DRESS TO WEAR! What a nightmare is our dream!"

"Is that a MAN?" someone yelled in the crowd.

"He was trying to trick us!" someone else screamed.

"It's another deviant!" cried a third.

"How utterly disgusting!" a fourth screamed.

"Seductive 'neath his veil," Ratcliffe went on, "I saw this two-faced male as a danger to one and all!"

Snatcher was rooted to the spot, not at all certain what to do next. Had he been armed, well, it would've been a different story. But he had no way whatsoever with which to strike back.

"Trickery, I thought!" Ratcliffe boasted. "What could these vagabonds have brought? And you think she's the belle of the ball!"

Snatcher was backing away, feeling all eyes on him.

"Things are never what they seem!" Ratcliffe proclaimed.

"HE'S RIGHT!" the crowd chorused. "HE'S RIGHT!"

Roman tried to make a dash toward Snatcher, but Mercury cut him off, standing in his way like a football player blocking a saving play.

"Many don't say what they mean!" Ratcliffe urged.

"HE'S RIGHT!" the crowd yelled. "HE'S RIGHT!"

Mercury leapt up onto a table. "A powdered face is just the face to conceal an ugly scheme!" he yelled triumphantly, pointing at Snatcher.

"Only one thing's really clear!" Ratcliffe spun. "THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY APPEAR!" He finished with a flourish.

Watts responded to the whole song and dance with polite applause.

Finally. A break in the crowd, leading to a pair of restrooms. Snatcher bolted, heels clicking at lightning speed. He almost ran to the ladies' room out of habit – but no, that would only do him in, so he barged into the men's, out of sight.

Roman tried to make a break after him, only to feel Mercury's iron grip on his forearm, reeling him back. "Can you really afford to make a scene?" Mercury hissed.

The men's room was empty. The one man who'd been using it had hastened out without even washing his hands when he'd seen Snatcher enter. Snatcher ran right for the sinks, slamming his hands onto the porcelain in raw rage. Snarling at the mirror.

"How DARE they!" he roared. "How dare they tear ME down in such a way!" Again he punched the sink, bruising up his own hand. "They'll live to REGRET THIS, they will! The lot of them, I'll make their lives unending torment if it's the last thing that I – "

He caught the gaze of his own reflection. His natural hair seeming so threadbare over the grandeur of the rest of his outfit – though the new stains brought the whole thing down several notches anyway.

"I'm ruined," Snatcher breathed to himself. "I've not been here an hour and already I'm ruined. There's no going back. I'll be fortunate to even make it out of here without a mob forming, carrying me off to do who-knows-what."

Then he was silent. Still fuming, but unsure what the point would be.

A muffled voice: "YOU can't go in there like THAT!" And a reply: "DIE MAD ABOUT IT!"

"No," Snatcher gasped. "No, no, not him – "

Giovanni Potage kicked in the door and burst into the room. "What was THAT?" he yelled.

"My ultimate downfall is what it was." Snatcher didn't look at him, eyes trained on the mirror.

"Damn it," Giovanni hissed. "We were so close, and then they had to go and show everyone who you REALLY were!"

"Are you…" Snatcher turned to glare daggers at him. "Are YOU implying there's something wrong with who I really am?"

"Well, duh," Giovanni replied. "Why else do you think they're all mad at you? Face it: you, as you, were never gonna make this work. You put me in this dumb dress! Why did you think THAT was a good idea?"

"BECAUSE YOU ASKED FOR IT!" Snatcher yelled. "Hardly ever do I do things for anyone else, but I break my back over your request and you have the nerve to blame me?"

"It is so your fault!" Giovanni spat.

"THIS IS NOT IN THE LEAST MY FAULT!" Snatcher roared.

"Well, MAYBE if you weren't such – such GUTTER TRASH, we could've gotten away with it!" Giovanni went on. "But nooooo, let the ugly, stupid one take the lead, THAT was such a good idea – "

In a lightning flash, Snatcher had seized Giovanni's forearms, pinning him up against the wall threateningly. "NOW YOU LISTEN HERE," Snatcher snarled. "You've NO right. This, NONE of this was any fault of my own; it was those meddlers! So don't act as though I'VE anything to be ashamed of here! And then you go for the lowest blow imaginable? As though I don't know what I am. As though I haven't become PROUD of it! It should hardly matter at all what I look like, not among our sort! But where YOU'VE gone beyond the pale is to insinuate that I'm some common IMBECILE! If there's one thing I know, it's that I'm not the village idiot, no matter what Lord Portley-Rind and his ilk might say!"

"Look at you!" Giovanni urged. "You're wearing a DRESS! And you're a cis guy! The hell is with THAT?"

"HOW DARE YOU?" Snatcher yelled. "THIS – " He gestured to the gown. "THIS IS MORE THAN JUST A DISGUISE! IN FACT, IT'S A WAY TO SHOW MY TRUEST FACE WHEN I'VE BECOME SO USED TO HIDING IT! One day, I'm to be able to show that face while wearing my own name and signature clothing, and even then, to think I would give up the ART, the theatricality and the design! And YOU'RE hardly one to talk!"

"You really think that, don't you?" Giovanni snapped. "That you did nothing wrong here? That you're not worthless? That you're SMART? Or it doesn't MATTER how you look? And you think that dress is at all okay?"

"WHY YOU – " Snatcher drew his hand back to strike. "I'LL PROVE ALL OF IT TO YOU RIGHT HERE AND NOW!"

"So you DO believe it!" Giovanni yelled. He took the arm Snatcher had just released and pointed it at the door. "GOOD! I KNEW IT! Now go tell THEM that!"

Snatcher's hand stopped an inch from Giovanni's face once he realized the truth behind the other man's mischievous grin. "…What have you done?" Snatcher asked, looking from Giovanni to the door.

"You don't take that shit from your friends," Giovanni said, "so don't take it from strangers. To be clear: I lied. I KNOW this isn't your fault, I KNOW you're the team genius, and as a fellow man in a skirt – albeit for completely different reasons – I dig the Frou Frou persona. Fuck gender roles! Fight the system! But you let a bunch of weirdo asshats tell you lies and you run away because you think THEIR opinion matters?"

"Their opinion controls our destiny," Snatcher reminded him. Still fighting the residual desire to smack him.

"I can kinda tell you wanna smack me," Giovanni called out. "Go ahead. Right on the face. I am so ready. Gimme a black eye!"

Snatcher flinched. "Now you're just making it awkward."

"Yeah, well, I was just ready to take a hit if it meant you figured it all out. That's what friends do, right?"
"That…" Snatcher sighed, shaking his head. "That is HARDLY what friends do, and yet nonetheless…you, Mr. Potage, are inscrutable."

"Can't be scruted." Giovanni shrugged. "Seriously, if you wanna hit me – "

"Not if you're going to enjoy it." Snatcher let him go.

"I swear I'm not that kinky," Giovanni argued. "Pretty much the only thing that gets me going is climacophilia."

"And that's…?"

"Falling down a flight of stairs," Giovanni muttered.

"…WHY is your preference – "

"Even I don't know, okay!" Giovanni yelled. "That's not the point! The point is – the point is it doesn't matter if their opinion controls our destiny! We're the villains! We don't have to play by the rules! If we want something, we just fucking take it! This is a code red! Time to kick some ass! And you know what? Based on what I know, I bet you could walk out there and give them a damn good reason to suspect those jerks right back, since you KNOW they've done worse than us!"

Snatcher raised an index finger. "I could," he realized.

"Then get this heist back on track!" Giovanni urged him.

Snatcher still stared at the door.

"If you're wondering what Roman thinks of you," Giovanni pointed out, "you already know he's got big heart eyes. Don't even ask."

"Yes. I know."

"Also…" Giovanni rocked on his heels. "You want an ego boost? Because I wasn't supposed to say this, but…well…it's gonna make you not want Rachel as your daughter anymore – "

"She isn't my daughter."

"Okay! Great! Good start! Because…" Giovanni looked around to make sure no one was listening. "She…kinda…sorta…has a crush on you."

"Don't lie to me," Snatcher replied.

"I couldn't make this up!" Giovanni urged. "She thinks both you AND Roman are cute in different ways. She's kinda got this thing about your hands? But also she knows you're both way off the market and don't do the whole ace thing or girls, so it's more of an eye candy thing. Don't believe me? When we get back, juice the answer out of her. I KNOW you'll get the truth."

He put forward a fist. "Men who appreciate skirts…fist-bump?"

Snatcher finally remembered how he was supposed to approach this hand gesture. He basically punched Giovanni's hand with his own.

Giovanni shook his hand in pain. "Okay, see, there, you got in your hit."

That wasn't really what Snatcher had been going for – he'd moreso overdone the fist-bump – but it would do for now. "All right," he said, straightening out his skirt. "Let's go expose the truth about our whistleblowers."

He took two steps forward and then was immediately thwacked in the face by the door bursting open from the other side.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm late," Roman panted. "I had to – " Then he realized what he'd done. "Shit."

"Ow…" Snatcher rubbed at his face where the door had slammed into it. "Was that truly necessary?"

"Don't try me," Roman grunted. "I've just had to fight my ex practically to the death so I could get a shot at his nuts and get over here."

(Mercury staggered over to the buffet, grabbing at ice cubes to shove into his pants.)

"He was feeding me some bullshit story that you were the party outcast even before you got outed," Roman laughed nervously. "But that – I know you. That's not what happened. Right? Right."

Snatcher's dry glare said it all.

"…Well, shit," Roman muttered. "Yeah, it's official. I hate rich people. Even when they like me."

"I suppose it's natural they'd be drawn to you, of course," Snatcher sighed. "You do have the looks, the charisma, the allure…"

"But?" Roman raised a brow.

"But nothing," Snatcher replied. And was silent.

"You still should've been the queen of this floor," Roman told him. "Anyway, I'm done playing nice. I'm getting back to our weapons one way or another and we're gonna raise Hell. But I can't do it without my dance partner." He extended a hand. "So. May I?"

Snatcher gently placed his hand in Roman's. "Yes, but not just yet. I've got an idea that just might get us what we want quickly and efficiently."

"Yes!" Roman pumped the fist of his free hand. "Love to hear it! So what's the play?"
Not a few moments later, Snatcher had clambered up onto a table, arms out to keep his balance atop it. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Gala!" he announced.

"EW!" someone yelled, pointing. "HE'S BACK!"

"Yes," Snatcher said, dropping his face and placing a hand to his heart. "I did deceive you all. But it was a necessary evil in my work as an undercover investigator."

"What is he playing at?" Watts murmured. He then gave Ratcliffe a nod; "I'm going to secure our insurance." And off he strode.

"For you see…" Snatcher gave a dramatic look around the room. "I've recently come across evidence that THAT MAN is in collusion with the feared Don Karnage!" He pointed at Ratcliffe.

A gasp went up from the crowd.

"LIES AND SLANDER!" Ratcliffe barked. "Who are you going to believe? That gruesome oaf or the one who revealed his deception?"

"Well, that depends," Snatcher told him. "On what they find in your bag, that is, and what they think of the link it proves between you and the air pirates who even now stalk the borders of this great city!"

The crowd was looking frantically back and forth between the two.

"Who do we believe?" someone yelled out.

"You will believe the physical evidence in the bag!" Snatcher declared. "Come with me to the bag check and you'll see the TRUTH! If it should incriminate me instead, then so be it!"

Roman took his hand to guide him down, and the two of them set off for the bag check area. "Step lightly, now!" Snatcher barked.

A great many of the elites followed him.

"He CAN'T have evidence of that," Hans sighed. "We don't even know who that guy is!"

"Perhaps we shouldn't have underestimated our rivals," Ratcliffe growled, marching after them.

The doordog handed over Demyx's black backpack. Snatcher unzipped it, turning it upside-down over the floor. It turned out to also be enchanted to hold more than its outward appearance suggested, and out fell two swords and two pistols. The crowd gasped.

"But there's more!" Snatcher announced, taking one more bag off the shelf as the doordog tried to protest. "See here!"

The other members of his contingent flanked him. He withdrew a weapon; "They were in possession of THIS gun, disguised as an ordinary cane!" Snatcher tossed it over to Roman.

Roman caught it, holding it aloft. "Look at what they tried to get on this plane!"

"And this wicked blade!" Snatcher tossed the mythril sword to Foulfellow.

"How horrifying!" Foulfellow gasped. "What SCANDAL!"

"This mallet!" Snatcher passed it to Gideon. "This grappling hook!" To Tawna. "And this – THIS IS WHAT THEY THOUGHT TO GET PAST YOU!" He held up Pinstripe's machine gun, then passed it to its owner. "These fans, truly blades in disguise! This…this baseball bat with a knife strapped to it!"

"If I were the bad guy who owned this," Giovanni said as he took the bat and held it up on display, "I'd be calling it the 'Soul-Slugger Doom Bat.' Just saying."

"And the final nail in the coffin!" Snatcher threw three swords to the ground. "The weapons of AIR PIRATES!"

Karnage, Mad Dog, and Dump Truck immediately dove for the weapons. "Bad goodness me, this is most awful, yesno?" Karnage said, unable to fight his smirk. "The implication that the great, fearsome, and handsome Don Karnage, who is not me, is here amongst us!"

"I say we root him out and take him down!" Tawna yelled, fist in the air.

"Are we gonna stand for this?" Roman asked.

The doordog had had enough, pushing to the front of the crowd. "But that isn't their bag!" he spat. "IT'S YOURS! Those items belong to YOU!"

Snatcher, Roman, Foulfellow, Gideon, Pinstripe, Tawna, Giovanni, Karnage, Mad Dog, and Dump Truck exchanged glances and smirks. "Is that so?" Snatcher said slyly.

"Well, in that case…" Roman aimed the Cudgel at the crowd. "Party's over."

All weapons turned on the socialites. They were so horrified, they didn't even notice the thin stream of water that had scooped up the Overtaker weapons, floating them across the floor to their owners.

"That's right!" Roman barked. "We WERE the bad guys! But we're done playing nice! Now that we have the upper hand back, here's how it's gonna be. This party has officially been taken over by the WH – "

"Attention, all Spruce Moose passengers," a calm British voice boomed over the PA system. "This is your new captain, Arthur Watts, speaking."

The entire plane jolted.

"Brace yourselves for takeoff," Watts explained. "This is a hijacking, and trust me, it's got very little to do with the miscreants whose necks you've been breathing down."

The unmistakable sensation of the Spruce Moose lifting off into flight rocked the entire ballroom. Watts had managed to take the cabin, and now he was in charge.

"WHY?" Roman yelled. "WHY DOES HE HAVE TO DO THAT? THIS IS MY SHOW! NOT SIR SHITTY STACHE'S!"

"Well, the dance floor is still ours," Snatcher reminded him. He put out his hand. "I'll have that dance now, if you're so inclined."

Roman grinned back at him. "I'd be honored."

Pinstripe opened fire. The partygoers screamed and ran about, seeking places to hide.

"Don't worry!" Pinstripe called out. "Youse guys're just side casualties! I ain't aimin' for you!"

"Actually, do not be worrying at all is correct," Karnage clarified. "Everyone here is Toons and has the imperviousness to murdering."

"EVEN BETTER!" Giovanni leapt out into the crowd, bat swinging. "NOW LET ME AT THOSE OVER-FAKERS!"

Demyx strummed a dissonant chord. Water forms filled the ballroom, pushing past the fleeing rich people.

Roman and Snatcher clasped hands, swinging each other out onto the floor. Roman's free hand held the Cudgel, blowing fire at random. Tables were upended by the blasts, Toons had to exercise the utmost slapstick physics to keep from being charred, and water forms started going down. Snatcher's free hand held a single fan-blade, whipping out at any Demyx creation that got too close to him.

Then they let go, switched the hands of their weapons, and clasped their opposite hands, dancing the opposite direction, round and round, as explosions and gunfire rocked their world.

Pinstripe leapt up onto a table to get higher ground for firing indiscriminately. Water forms were downed again and again. "TAWNY!" he yelled. "I'LL COVER YA!"

Tawna ran, then slid on the floor beneath the bullet hail, skidding right up to Demyx. With a flip, she was back on her feet, aiming a kick for his head.

"WAH!" Demyx parried with the sitar shaft just in time.

"That's right, crybaby!" Tawna kept dealing blows. "I didn't even NEED that grappling hook! And just because this whole water guitar thing is super cool doesn't mean I'm not gonna smash it into little bits!"

"It's a SITAR!" Demyx argued, spinning it to keep parrying her. A task that was growing more difficult by the second.

Ratcliffe and Karnage approached each other, a broadsword drawn by one and a cutlass the other. "So you have been saying that things are not their appearances," Karnage said slyly. "Well, here is a revealing for the ages!" He ripped off his wig, casting it to the ground. "IT IS I – "

"The very air pirate you accused me of aiding and abetting?" Ratcliffe smirked.

"NO ONE, AND I MEAN NO ONE, INTERRUPTS DON KARNAGE'S DRAMATIC REVEALINGS!" Karnage flew into battle, his cutlass repeatedly biting at Ratcliffe's broadsword.

Giovanni and Hans had engaged in a similar duel. "Did you really bring a baseball bat to a swordfight?" Hans laughed cockily.

"Nine, ten, eleven – " Giovanni counted as their weapons clashed.

"Wait," Hans realized. "What are you doing? Why are you counting? What – "

"THIRTEEN!" Giovanni gave his lucky strike to the sword. The shockwave reverberated through Hans, temporarily paralyzing him. Then he watched the metal of his sword fall away into so many little chips from the impact.

"…At this point I really should see it coming," Hans sighed.

Giovanni put away the bat, holding up an orb of steaming-hot soup in each hand. "You can run," he crowed, "but you can't hide from SOUP!"

Hans turned tail. "Just because I'm running doesn't mean that banter was good!" He tried to feint, but ended up with a splash of burning soup on his back. "Ugh, this coat was new, too!"

Foulfellow and Gideon had turned their sights to the panicked rich people. Under tables they crawled, finding anyone who was hiding. "I'll be taking this!" Foulfellow said as he ripped a diamond necklace away.

"Hey!" its owner shrieked. "Give that back!"

"Let me rephrase," Foulfellow said. "I'll be taking this and no one gets hurt."

Soon he and Gideon were doing a happy dance of their own, jewels practically dripping from them. In their wake, Mad Dog and Dump Truck pillaged the buffet.

All the while, Snatcher and Roman had kept on dancing, letting the others do the bulk of the dirty work. "Now THIS is my kind of party!" Roman laughed. "We should've led with this, really. Spared us both some embarrassment."

"I couldn't agree more!" Snatcher laughed in return.

"And full disclosure?" Roman went on. "This? This is WAY more fun than being the popular kid. Look, I'm not saying I'm SORRY or anything but – "

"But you're not going to pull any more sickening aircraft stunts," Snatcher told him, "and that's THAT. Then we'll call it even."

"Ooh, yeah…" Roman cringed. He'd completely just ignored Snatcher on that landing, hadn't he? "Yeah, that's stopping now."

They didn't see the blur of silver breakdancing his way toward them until Mercury leapt up directly between them, kicking his legs directly outward to either side. Roman was knocked back one way, and water clones dogpiled him. Snatcher fell the other.

"Seriously?" Mercury loomed over Snatcher. "What did he even see in you? If I have my information right, the way you died was…well, big fart."

"Ha, good one!" Hans snickered as he ran past, Giovanni in hot pursuit.

"It was an ANAPHYLACTIC EXPLOSION," Snatcher snarled, "and I won't be hearing – "

Mercury hadn't just insulted him for the sake of it. He'd done it as a distraction so he could swipe a small dish off the nearest table. With a flick of his arm, WHAM – he'd slammed it into Snatcher's face.

The dish rolled off unbroken. But the glass hadn't been the point. A puddle of half-melted butter had just been flung right into Snatcher's eyes, and it burned like the place Enmu was currently headed.

The WHAM ARMY was ostensibly winning. Demyx's water forms kept going down hard, and Tawna was effectively blocking him from making new ones. "I'm thinking we do a tactical retreat and leave the plane to Watts!" Demyx yelled.

"I do believe we've proven our point nonetheless!" Ratcliffe yelled back, whipping out his pistol. Karnage instinctively yelped and backed off, giving Ratcliffe the opening to escape with a parting shot. Karnage, being a Toon, dodged it.

As the Overtakers rushed to rendez-vous, Roman jumped up on a table. "ALL IN FAVOR OF GETTING THE CABIN BACK FROM SIR SHITTY STACHE?" He pointed. "I happen to have found out it's THAT DOOR!"

Pinstripe, Tawna, Foulfellow, Gideon, Giovanni, Mad Dog, Dump Truck, Karnage, and finally Roman himself bolted toward the door to the plane's inner workings. Pinstripe and Roman kept a steady stream of gunfire in the Overtakers' direction, even if none of it landed.

At first, they hadn't even noticed who was left behind.

Snatcher grasped at the edge of the nearest table, pulling away the tablecloth in a panic. His eyes were now swollen completely shut from the hit with the allergen, and all he knew was that mostly everyone had left. Left him all alone, that is. He attempted to follow without even knowing what direction they'd gone, and crashed into another table. China broke loudly.

"ROMAN!" he called out, hoping to mask his panic in a tone of rage. "YOU GET BACK HERE! I CAN'T SEE A THING!"

Hans put up a hand, pointing to him. "Boys, this may be the opportunity we were waiting for," he snickered.

To Snatcher, there was only dark, except a sort of flicker, a flare of light in one particular area in his vista of blackness. Then he realized that flare was moving, like a comet rocketing toward him, getting larger. Was it an actual light? Not one he should've been able to see like that through glued-shut eyelids.

It hit him at the same time the light did: Roman's Semblance.

"Shitshitshitshitshit – " Roman seized him around the waist, keeping him on his feet. Snatcher quickly threw an arm around Roman's own midsection, pulling them close together. "I gotcha, just hang on – "

"Oh, this is PERFECT!" Demyx slammed a chord, and a tidal wave of water rose to the ceiling. Instead of crashing down, however, it took a new shape in the air. Gelling, growing wings.

Satisfied, Demyx cast a Corridor of Darkness. "Adios, losers," he said with a smirk as Hans, Mercury, and Ratcliffe made their exeunt.

The water finally decided what shape it wanted to be. A massive, blue-tinted bird, beak opening hungrily.

Roman froze. Even without seeing the look on his face, Snatcher could feel the way he tensed, the way his breathing grew more shallow. "What've they done?" Snatcher hissed.

"Bird," Roman choked out.

"Roman," Snatcher urged, his tone low but urgent. "You're the only one who can guide us out when I'm like this."

"I know – I know – " Roman sputtered.

"You have it in you," Snatcher insisted. "You're stronger than it. You're stronger than THIS. If any man can defeat it, it's you, and I know it. You've got to do it because I know you can. Do you hear me?"

At first, Roman was silent.

Demyx gave a leer, quite entertained.

Then Roman broke into a run, pulling Snatcher along with him.

Demyx turned and left, entering the Corridor. Once it closed, the water-bird lost its shape, and all of it crashed down atop Roman and Snatcher, deep and oppressive and just like Lake Laogai.

Roman was terrified to the core. But he'd decided that wasn't going to stop him. He let the waters carry him out through the door into the outer hall, let them run off as the plane jolted, hardly even registered that he was on the floor outside the ballroom and he'd made it and he and Snatcher were only slightly damp from the whole ordeal.

"HEY!" Giovanni hurried back toward them, bringing the whole group. "I was just bringing the cavalry to shoot down whatever stopped…you…you already beat it, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Roman panted. "It's over." He raised a hand up to the ceiling, molding it into a thumbs-up. "I got this."

"As I knew you did," Snatcher told him. "Now, if ANYONE could assist me before this SPREADS – "

"Ewww, what happened to your face?" Giovanni asked. "No, wait, he slapped you with one of those butter dishes, didn't he? Hang on. We're technically still in fight state, so I should be able to – AHA!"

A pause. Then Snatcher asked, "What did you just do? I can't SEE IT."

"Right, I'm holding a thermos," Giovanni clarified. "It's a healing soup. I can make one per fight." He pressed it into Snatcher's hand. "Just don't spill it."

Snatcher gratefully downed it. It didn't quite taste like any one thing in particular – when he thought it was tomato, then it became more like chicken, and then he suspected it was bisque. The throbbing subsided from around his eyes, and upon pressing a hand to the swelling, he discovered it was receding rapidly. Soon he was able to pry one eye open, then the other.

"I do believe that worked," he sighed.

"Always does!" Giovanni said proudly. "I didn't put all that sweat into it for nothing! No, literally, that's what it's made of."

Snatcher did a double take. "…What?"

"Don't question it." Giovanni hoisted the Soul-Slugger Doom Bat over his shoulder, turning back to look down the hallway. "Now let's go kick some ass."

"I am getting SO SICK OF THIS GUY," Tawna groaned. "The hijacker, I mean. Not Giovanni. Giovanni's cool."

"There are still people of wealth aboard this craft of air, yesno?" Karnage recalled.

Most of the elites by that time had found the emergency parachute bay and were leaping down to safety in Cape Suzette.

"Eh, nothing much will be lost if they bite it," Roman dismissed.

"Quite agreed," Snatcher said with a nod. "As to Mr. Watts…"

Watts was greeted by the lot of them bashing in the cockpit door. With a sigh, Watts stood to turn and face them. "I'm really not sure how you keep pulling this sort of thing off," he told Roman. "Either you're the luckiest man in the world or you're leaning entirely on your subordinates."

"FRIENDS," Roman spat. "Though I guess you wouldn't know the meaning of the word."

"Actually, I do," Watts said with a nod. "As a matter of fact, that word is about to pay off for me in just a moment. See, the Governor has just proven his worth, and the team jesters had their fill of the buffet. I got center stage above you, and knowing that, I really don't NEED it anymore. Mercury's augmentations still need to be proven, since he decided BUTTER was a better weapon than them, but we can address that elsewhere, such as Tinnabula. And as for you – "

A Corridor of Darkness, courtesy of Demyx, opened up behind Watts. Watts backed into it, giving a playful bow. "Enjoy playing with your oversized toy," he said. Then the Corridor closed.

"He ALWAYS has to get the last word!" Roman yelled.

"Hey, guys?" Tawna pointed to the controls.

Karnage, Mad Dog, and Roman all dove for it. Karnage kicked the other two aside, taking the wheel. "Finally," Karnage crowed, "I, Don Karnage, am piloting a vessel over Cape Suzette! Do not be pinching me, for if this is dreaming, I am not wanting to wake!"

"Knock yourself out," Roman told him.

"So are we gonna, like…" Tawna shrugged. "Hover over different parts of the city, descend, raid, and come back?"

"IN EXACTITUDE!" Karnage crowed. "And be sure to cause destructiveness!"

"Just say the word!" Giovanni was dancing in place. "A real pirate raid, this is SO lit – "

"Oh, and Roman?" Karnage said.

"Yeah…?" Roman replied.

"You have promised no more of the aerial stunts, yesno?" Karnage asked.

"Yeah," Roman said with a nod. "I'm done. It's out of my system."

"Well, I am making no such promise," Karnage responded. That was all the warning the others got before the barrel rolls began.

...

Enmu rolled to a stop in a decidedly more ominous-looking place than any of the others they'd been to. Out the window, everything was a labyrinth of caves, the stone that made up the walls glowing a vivid red. Even inside the train, the passengers could feel the heat.

"We have stopped at Nightmare's domain!" Enmu declared. "All who are getting off at Nightmare, get off here!"

Vexen could hardly leave the train fast enough.

"Just send us a text when you're through and we'll be back to pick you up," Aghoul told Deymos, Tsumugi, skekSil, Simon, Vincent, Albert, Victor, Agnus, and Xerxes as they filed out.

"See you 'round, guys!" Whisp called after them.

Once Vexen's half of the party stood outside the train, Enmu fired up the engine, and off he rolled. Leaving Vexen's party with no immediate escape, should things go sour.

"All right, everyone," Vexen huffed. "We're looking for Nightmare. I'm not entirely certain what he's done with Arius, but we will not relent unless we obtain him."

"Th-th-then onward we m-move," Agnus said confidently.

They set off down the cavern tunnel. The stones glowed brighter or duller red as they passed different sections; the heat in the tunnel increased correspondingly. Vexen found himself sweating a flood pretty quickly, as those who are inclined to ice often do in environments of extreme heat.

"Holding up okay?" Deymos asked him.

"Perfectly fine," Vexen said as a bead of sweat rolled down his face.

"Cool." Deymos summoned up a sphere of cold water. "Then you won't get jealous if I drink this." He moved slowly to press his lips to it.

"Give me that!" Vexen swiped it, practically taking a bite out of it. The water was a welcome refreshment.

Deymos was smiling. It took Vexen a moment to figure out why: he'd engineered it so Vexen would end up with the water without feeling pitied. "Well-played," Vexen murmured.

"I do love when people assume I'm a cinnamon roll that can't scheme," Deymos replied.

Then the floors got sticky, which no one much enjoyed. "Ewwww," Deymos groaned as his feet sank into a tarry substance. "Why does Hell have to be everything gross?"

"If it wasn't," Vincent said flatly, "then it wouldn't be Hell."

"What?" Victor moved over to elbow Deymos playfully. "Afraid of a little slime?"

"Do you even know what this stuff is?" Deymos argued. "I would be less afraid of it if I knew what it was!"

"It feels…f-familiar," Agnus mused. "If I could p-place where I've s-seen it b-before…"

SkekSil and Simon were struggling with the goop also; skekSil tripped from behind Deymos, knocking him forward, but he was saved by the fact that Simon slipped and fell backward into him, the two replicas propping Deymos up and frankly putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure on his upper body. Victor was slapping his knee laughing.

"I could probably figure out what this was – " Simon attempted to pivot himself to a standing position, only to fall back on Deymos' chest again. "If I could get my footing to actually investigate it!"

SkekSil was also slipping any time he tried to move. "Would be much less awkward for all if Investor would stop laughing and ASSIST," he growled.

"Seriously, my sterum's about to break and I'm REALLY annoyed," Deymos grumbled.

"All right, all right." Victor reached in, grabbing onto Simon's shoulders first. "Since you're our lead investigator – "

It happened faster than anyone could comprehend. The slime around the four of them rose up, formed an enormous opaque bubble of black around them, and then swallowed them, flattening itself to the ground. Victor, skekSil, Simon, and Deymos were simply gone.

"VICTOR!" Vincent and Albert cried as one, reaching out to where he'd been.

"SIMON?" Tsumugi shrieked. "SKEKSIL!"

But it was Vexen's cry of "DEYMOS!" that was loudest.

The slime receded from the rest of them, pooling itself over the site where it had taken four of their number away. It rose up, gelling into a massive blob of off-black with a sickly rainbow sheen, detritus of Hell such as skulls and metal shrapnel caught up in it.

"I kn-know," Agnus realized. "I know now what it is…it IS N-Nightmare!"

Vexen gaped at the amorphous demon. The demon that had just swallowed (Deymos) three of his prized replicas. Could Mozenrath even restore (time duplicates) replicas? Of course, Vexen could rebuild them from scratch (but not a time duplicate, he couldn't do that). And no matter what, he had to think to the future, not the past, because they were (he was) gone (before he could even rope Vexen into dancing in the aisles of that stupid train).

"My friends…" Tsumugi whimpered. She would've cried, had she the capability to do so. Instead, she channeled her sorrow into pure rage; "YOU KILLED MY FRIENDS!"

Vincent erupted, cables ripping from his body and sparking. His metal skeleton expanded, doubling his size, making him absolutely monstrous. In a flash, Agnus had become Angelo Agnus once more, wings beating furiously.

With a scream of unbridled rage, Vexen launched a hundred shuriken made of ice at Nightmare.

The demon solidified quickly, and the ice shattered against it. It lurched forward; Vexen conjured a Blizzaga line, skating himself away. Vincent took his place, drawing back a fist, only for Nightmare to summon a host of bright lights – infernal mockeries of laser weapons – and blast a searing agony into his skin. Tsumugi ran up behind Vincent, vaulting off his shoulders to propel herself into the air, and in her disorientation, she couldn't decide on a shape – metal panels twisted and threads wove together and Nightmare glimpsed pieces of Paige, Nehema, Tony, Helen, War, Famine, Betelgeuse, Tsumugi's own face. She landed on the hardened shell, digging in her fingers and about ready to tear Nightmare apart, only for it to fling her back by growing a patch of long porcupine spikes where she'd landed.

Agnus bobbed and weaved as the lasers targeted him; he withdrew two chunky gray swords from the aether. "I kn-know some about this d-demon!" he called out, his voice echoing and reverberating. "In the absence of s-sigils, we have to find another way to f-f-freeze it in place!" He conjured up magical lights of his own, counteracting the laser blasts.

"Freeze it?" Vexen responded. "Is that so? That can be EASILY ARRANGED!"

Immense columns of ice jutted from the ground of the cavern. The Hellish heat fought to melt them, but Vexen reforged them, strengthened them, shattered and built them again to try and pierce through or engulf pieces of Nightmare. Nightmare was slippery, its amorphous body always managing to be where the ice wasn't, but the more columns went up, the colder the chamber became. And Nightmare was slowing down.

But there were two who hadn't participated in the fight just yet. Backed against a wall, Albert Krueger watched the others give their all against the demon.

He still couldn't believe Victor Blake had been killed. But it wasn't denial. It was a very strong instinct that things were not as they seemed.

"Xerxes," he said, breathless. "I need you to do something for me. It's very important."

"Xerxes do important thing for once!" Xerxes crowed.

Albert reached out for the eel, gently grasping him, pressing his forehead to Albert's own. Xerxes went black-and-white, the marks of his Nightmare form, and he could feel new thoughts entering his mind only to withdraw, as though they'd simply been the drill to tunnel a connection. "You are now my eyes," Albert explained. "Now you need to fly into the muck before it freezes so I can see what's on the other side."

"WHAT?" Xerxes jerked away. "NO! XERXES NOT STUPID!"

Albert removed something from his pocket and held it up: a small, round chocolate candy, embossed with a moon and star. "I'll give you a Block-It Chocolate if you do."

Xerxes snapped for the candy, but Albert closed his fist. "ONLY IF YOU DO," he reiterated.

Xerxes sighed. "Give candy. Xerxes trust Albert. But if Xerxes die, Xerxes will be VERY mad."

Albert tossed him the Block-It Chocolate. Xerxes practically swallowed it whole before shooting toward Nightmare like a bullet, splatting into an unprotected side and disappearing into the beast.

Albert shut his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of what was happening here in Hell. He now saw through Xerxes' eyes, blowing through a curtain of Darkness into another dimension entirely. A pocket dimension, a barren wasteland of desert beneath a red sky.

In this dimension, Victor, Deymos, Simon, and skekSil watched with awe as a duel between two men raged. One was an armored warrior, with no physical features visible, and he made no vocalization. For all they knew, it could've just been armor with nothing inside. It swung a sword menacingly.

As for the other man, he was a resplendent sight. Dressed in a suit of white and a fur-trimmed cape of red that had probably cost half a million dollars, his receding hairline was masked by the way his black hair was spiked to the back of his head, like a bird's plumage. He was armed with a flintlock pistol, again one that looked incredibly expensive, but he'd run out of bullets a long time ago. That wasn't stopping him from using the pistol's short barrel to effortlessly block the armored warrior's blows. He didn't even shake, his muscular body absorbing the shock of every move dealt against him.

He chanced a glance off to the side when his four guests showed up. "Ah, an audience," he said in a deep, sultry tone capped off with a smirk. "This should become interesting rapidly."

"You need a hand there?" Victor asked.

"SHSHSHSHHHH!" Deymos hissed. "He has it under control! Do NOT make me fight a fight that isn't my fight!"

"I can hold the knight at bay," the man said calmly. "You, however, may want to keep an eye on the sky."

Four pairs of eyes went straight up to the crimson sky. A host of human-sized skulls, teeth chattering threateningly, were descending upon them.

"Shit," Victor hissed.

"Maybe have not noticed us?" skekSil laughed nervously.

Simon withdrew a pair of grappling hooks. "Oh, they're onto us." He braced them as though they were swords. "Let's give 'em a fight to remember!"

"Do we have to?" Deymos groaned. "Do we REALLY HAVE TO?"

The skulls swarmed like wasps, and the four prisoners began to hack away at them. Simon hooked himself to the largest one, rappelled up to it, took a place on its scalp, and started stomping. SkekSil had his pair of curved ceremonial swords out, and he waved them wildly, not really looking like he knew what he was doing with them. Still and all, they bit into several skulls and forced them back. Deymos sent a host of winged water forms to counter the swarm, then joined Victor in looking at the duel that had already been going on.

"Why do I feel like we can't get out of here unless we do something about this?" Deymos groaned.

"Well, that depends on which one of them is the enemy," Victor said casually.

"We are both the enemy." The man in the suit was still just blocking the damage, not even making a move to fight back but instead demonstrating how useless the other's efforts were. "Nelo Angelo, however, is of Nightmare. I am an unfortunate victim like yourselves. Had I the Arcana, then Nightmare would know the true power of Arius."

Deymos pointed; "HE'S THE GUY!"

"That makes the decision much easier," Victor said with a smirk, exchanging his hands for a pair of blades. "I hope you don't mind if I cut in with your partner."

Then he had slid between Arius and the armored Nelo Angelo, effortlessly taking over the battle. His arm-blades clanged against Nelo Angelo's, summoning up a blazing field of electricity to sweeten the blow.

Deymos weighed his options. He could take a back seat, or he could make the obvious play that was low-risk and high-reward. Shrugging, he chose the latter, strumming a sitar chord that sent a thick sluice of water at Nelo Angelo's back while Victor kept his front occupied. Victor sidestepped, as did Arius, and Nelo Angelo was catapulted across the pocket dimension.

Albert had seen enough. He pried his eyes open only to see that his companions had nearly bested Nightmare. Vexen had frozen the demon solid, and its core, a floating orb covered in sigils, had become exposed. Vincent hurtled toward the core, a fist drawn back, ready to shatter it –

"NO!"

Albert was suddenly between Vincent and the core. "Don't kill it!" he warned.

"Albert, this is NOT THE TIME!" Vincent seethed. "Don't make me kill you on my way to it." The words felt sick inside his mouth, but if Albert was really willing to deny Vincent vengeance – vengeance for Victor's death – just to one-up him in their childish rivalry, then it was what Albert deserved.

Albert shook his head fervently. "Stop, ALL OF YOU! They're not dead, but if you kill Nightmare, you'll sever their way back! You'll lose VICTOR!"

Relief washed through Vincent – and then revulsion. He'd leapt to the worst conclusion, and he'd almost destroyed both Victor and Albert over it. Not that he was going to actually let on that he was remorseful. Vincent leapt back, and was soon joined by Agnus, Vexen, Tsumugi, and Albert.

"They're fighting inside of it," Albert panted. "Arius is there too. Meaning if you destroy Nightmare now, you'll lose the person we came down here for. I think they have to defeat the monsters in that dimension."

"Then we need to go in after them!" Vincent urged.

"No," Agnus said. "What we n-need is to keep the b-beast occupied so it c-can't take us all where it wants. If we all enter, we're all it's p-p-playthings!"

"They're winning," Albert affirmed. "They could win even faster if a certain Nightmare would HELP, and there might be more chocolate in it for that Nightmare if he does."

"What are you talking about?" Vexen sighed.

"HEADS UP!" Tsumugi yelled; Nightmare had realized it wasn't being fought, and, having thawed out a little, took the opportunity to strike. The group had to split – Vincent, Albert, and Tsumugi one way; Vexen and Agnus the other – to avoid being hit with the sludgy mass.

"I have no doubt Deymos can handle himself," Vexen called out. "Keep Nightmare subdued and in one place until they finish the fight!"

Vincent looked to Albert. "If you keep it distracted, I can land blows that will stall but not harm it."

Albert nodded. "Don't stay in any one spot too long, and I can hold its attention."

Vincent leapt back at Nightmare, accompanied by a newly-materialized horde of Dream Eaters. Vexen now focused not on piercing Nightmare with ice, but using the ice to fence the battlefield in, lowering the air temperature and slowing the sludge down. Agnus was getting better at countering the lasers with his own magic, as well as using the twin swords to deflect the beams away from his allies.

Vincent landed on Nightmare's back, hitting it with a fist and several sparking cables. He withdrew, letting the Dream Eaters dance in front of Nightmare like idiots to draw its attention – and looked right into the face of a second monster-form Vincent. One that was smiling giddily.

"You make a great power-fantasy cosplay!" said Tsumugi-as-Vincent.

"Don't smile like that," Vincent told her. "I don't do that."

"I think you look cuter this way!" Tsumugi said, really beaming. And she might've had a point if she were in Vincent's usual form instead of with half her metal skull exposed and dripping blood.

Vincent shook his head. "Just keep it busy!"

The pair of Vincents alternated stepping in and out, dancing each other around Nightmare. Parts of the sludge thawed, and spikes began to bubble up, ready to shoot the dual Vincents – but when Albert activated his speed function and started just running circles around Nightmare, a pink comet-tail, the demon was confused out of being able to attack, leaving an opening for the Vincents to pummel it again. Agnus had by this time managed to form a dome of webbed magic, lines that traced around great gaps. Not a perfect shield, but still able to protect most of them from the brunt of the lasers. Vexen brought the ice in closer, molding it to Agnus' dome.

Inside Nightmare's pocket dimension, Arius figured that as long as he wasn't doing anything, he might as well dispatch a few skulls, and so punched about five of them into oblivion. By then, skekSil had weed-whacked the small ones into shards while Simon was puffing his chest about bringing down the big ones. Deymos and Victor had ganged up on Nelo Angelo, Deymos throwing him around with high-pressure water as Victor was hot on his heels to pummel him with his arsenal of weapons.

Nelo Angelo rolled, stood, and took a swing at Victor, hitting his arm-sword just wrong. Victor went stumbling, faceplanting in the dirt. Nelo Angelo pointed his blade at Deymos –

Xerxes was suddenly in his helm, slapping him silly with his tail. As the armored warrior batted at the pesky Dream Eater, Simon aimed both grapplers. "Hold out your swords!" he told skekSil. "We're gonna do the most boss finisher!"

SkekSil aimed both blades straight outward. The grapplers hooked Nelo Angelo at each elbow. Simon made to reel him in, but was in no way stronger than the armor. As Nelo Angelo threatened to pull Simon toward him, Arius stepped in, seizing the grapplers and heaving. The grapplers retracted, dragging Nelo Angelo toward the trio of skull-slayers at lightning speed.

And then, with an awful sound of creaking and crushing metal, Nelo Angelo was impaled on both skekSil's swords.

"And they say Chamberlain cannot fight!" skekSil crowed.

"Is it dead?" Simon asked.

Five columns of water blasted down on Nelo Angelo, forcing Simon, skekSil, and Arius to back off. When the waters receded, the warrior had been dismembered, metal plates scattered about the field.

"So…was empty after all," skekSil mused.

"Yeah, well, if I'm putting that much effort into anything, I'm getting something out of it." Deymos gathered up a few of the fallen armor pieces. "Are these ever gonna be useful? No. But I'm not leaving empty-handed."

A blaze of light shot down into the center of the dimension. "I should have known," Arius said calmly. "Defeating the proxy allowed us a route to the surface."

"I'm guessing our friends think we're all dead," Victor said, "so it might be prudent to go back now."

They burst out of Nightmare's back, displacing the sludge like water. In a line, they landed: Victor, Deymos, Arius, Simon, skekSil. Xerxes floated overhead.

"ARIUS?" Agnus cried.

"Agnus…?" Arius' eyes widened. All of a sudden, his demeanor shifted, and his deep, sultry voice was no more. In a high-pitched shriek, he exclaimed, "IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH TO GET HERE! WHY DIDN'T YOU COME TO SAVE ME EARLIER?"

"DEFEAT NIGHTMARE NOW!" Vexen yelled. "REUNIONS LATER!"

"Let's rock!" Deymos turned his sitar on Nightmare itself, strumming more walls of water.

Vexen was on point, freezing them immediately. Nightmare was battered again and again with solid walls of ice, then with a fence of columns that came twofold. It shuddered, hardened, and exposed its core once more.

Vincent and Albert were both ecstatic to see Victor once more. However, in that exact moment, a primal instinct drove their attention not to him, but to the spherical core of Nightmare. Victor had the exact same idea. All three of them ran for it, reaching it at the same time, each reaching out a hand to strike it –

As they touched the sphere, a blinding light emanated from the three hands. Sigils drew themselves in light beneath where they ran for the attack.

Vexen's eyes widened. "A Trinity Limit?" he sputtered.

Deymos leaned over him, asking quietly, "Did you program them to do that?"

"I did NOT program them to do that," Vexen hissed back.

The light flooded the Hellish chamber, then receded. And finally, there was nothing left of Nightmare but a thin film on the floor.

It took the others a moment to realize that the threat was neutralized. Then Vincent and Albert both tackled Victor, squeezing him tightly. "You're safe," Vincent panted.

Victor couldn't help but laugh good-naturedly. "So THIS is what gets the two of you to stop fighting." He gladly returned the embrace, one arm for each. "I'll be using this against you later, you know."

Albert was about ready to throw in some quip about how everything had been his idea, but then Xerxes was tapping on his shoulder saying "Chocolate please," so he just used one hand to pass over the candy instead of snarking.

Tsumugi assumed her usual form, sprinting toward Simon and skekSil. She seized one of their hands in each of hers, then hopped up and down, squealing. "YOU'RE BACK! I THOUGHT I LOST TWO OF THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT LISTENING TO MY COSPLAY RAMBLES!"

"Hey, I'm not that easy to kill!" Simon laughed.

"Someone was concerned for Chamberlain's well-being?" SkekSil was taken aback. "This feeling is foreign."

"YOU!" Arius' shriek pierced the cavern. "HOW DID IT TAKE YOU THIS LONG TO FIND ME? DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I'VE BEEN BATTLING A CONSTRUCT OF NIGHTMARE?"

"Yes, I d-do!" Agnus had discarded his exoskeleton, human in appearance once more. "You weren't f-f-fighting it at all; you were p-parrying its blows and p-putting in no effort!"

"My kinda guy!" Deymos chuckled.

"YOU CALL YOURSELF MY FRIEND, AND YOU LEAVE ME TO THIS TORMENT!" Arius screeched.

"Am I n-not here NOW?" Agnus gestured to himself. "You owe your r-rescue to ME!"

"The two of you can fight about it on the train!" Vexen yelled, storming over. "Arius. You owe your rescue to all of us, and with that in mind, you can repay your debt by putting your Summoner abilities to use in the temple of Baaj."

Arius' eyes widened. His voice deepened once more; "Radiant Garden…? You are – "

"Yes, yes, he is!" Agnus cried, suddenly off the defensive. "D-don't you recognize him? It's HIM!"

"EVEN," Arius realized, saying the name with an obscene amount of gravitas.

"It's 'Vexen' now, actually," Vexen explained, "but yes, I WAS Even, once. And to my understanding, you managed to COPY MY EVERY ACHIEVEMENT, RIGHT DOWN TO MINTING ONE OF MY ONE-WINGED ANGELS ON THE ARCANA?"

Arius sank to one knee. "It was out of respect," he urged. "You were an inspiration to me. It was my intent to gift you the completed replica formula should we cross paths again, but I began to think my exile was truly permanent."

"I didn't need you to finish the replica formula!" Vexen snapped. "I perfected it MYSELF! You see before you f – " No, no, no, three of them didn't know. "Two of my finest works! And I am en route to acquiring the pinnacle of my research once more."

Arius' eyes widened. "You have made new creations…"

"And you're going to help me get the most important one back from an angry god," Vexen spat.

"I feel like I should clarify the god is Nergal," Deymos broke in. "Otherwise you're probably imagining something way cooler than what's actually humiliating us."

"What must I do to serve you, Ev – Vexen?" Arius asked.

"He n-never bows to anyone like this," Agnus pointed out.

"You are the only Summoner who turned against his creed and used the powers of Summoning for evil and Darkness," Vexen reminded him. "And you heard me the first time! You are to find for me the Lost Aeon of Baaj."

"The city was wrecked beyond salvage," Arius said, getting to his feet.

"Yes, I know," Vexen scoffed. "But – "

"I never said it was impossible for me," Arius went on. "Or for you. The others are suspect."

"Gee, thanks," Deymos scoffed. "After we beat up that stupid knight for you and everything."

"However," Arius mused, "I would require my staff. It was repurposed as one of the Arcana – "

"What, this?" Deymos passed over the Arcana Bastone. "Been holding onto it for you."

Arius held the Arcana Bastone reverently, lifting it up in the air. "I am a Summoner once more," he declared. "The Aeon will be under our control. It is guaranteed."

"Now, I suggest you all start heading back," Vexen said. "I'll be contacting Aghoul to drive his ostentatious train demon back our way after they're finished with whatever ridiculous errand they're running."

"You don't need to tell me twice," said Simon. He led the expedition back out, everyone else turning to follow him –

"Deymos," Vexen said sternly. "A word."

Deymos rolled his eyes. "Great. The principal wants to see me after class." As the others moved out of earshot, he groaned, "What did I do this time – "

Vexen's hands shot out, practically autonomously, and gripped Deymos' upper arms like vises. "That was a diversion I cannot afford again," Vexen said, desperation creeping through his voice. "I must focus on myself and my creations, which means YOU ARE NOT TO FRIGHTEN ME AGAIN."

Deymos' eyes widened. "You actually FLIPPED when you thought I was dead, didn't you?"

Vexen immediately let him go. "I said I was distracted."

"No, you flipped!" Deymos teased. "You totally freaked out when you thought that thing ate me. I bet you screamed my name dramatically and everything."

"I did no such thing."

"I think you liiiiiiiiike me – "

"Just – just keep yourself out of immediate danger for the duration of this mission, will you?" Vexen folded his arms and walked off in a huff.

"Hey, you're in luck!" Deymos trotted after him. "Staying on the sidelines, AWAY from the scary stuff, is exactly what I've been wanting to do this whole time! It's a win-win! Now when Victor tries to pull me into duels, I can say I can't. Boss's orders." A pause. "Also, if the whole timeline thing meant the necromancy would fail on me, you so would've missed me."

Vexen almost found himself longing for the throbbing beats of the train's bubblegum pop. It would do well to drown out Deymos bringing up things about which Vexen didn't actually have all the answers.

...

Jihl Nabaat was confident, walking into the Sakaar arena, that whatever opponent awaited her stood no chance.

The WHAM ARMY had set her up as though she were unrelated to them. She "manifested" in the fields of junk, made her way up to the Grandmaster, and personally asked to be placed in the death tournament.

"You know, normally, I don't add people to the bracket who want to die," the Grandmaster mused. "They don't actually put up a fight and it isn't fun. Unless we put two people who wanted to die up against each other, then that might be more of an even match, or it might just be the most boring stalemate in the entire tournament and we'd just have to drop a bomb on them both that may or may not obliterate the entire first row of the audience also."

"Oh, I don't want to die," Jihl assured. "I just want to prove that I won't die by taking the top prize of the tournament."

"You know, I'd almost be tempted to let her go for it," Swackhammer said. "The Earth types, they like women shaped like her for some reason. Always end up drawing really gross fanart, but hey, if it sells..."

"Too bad we already decided the mascot," Topaz grumbled.

"No we didn't," the Grandmaster said hurriedly. "That was a joke. We definitely haven't already given the slot to an effeminate young man who has committed copious war crimes."

"Which for some reason goes down real well with the Earth-type girls," Swackhammer recalled. "Some of the non-girls too. Up until for some reason they always get to the phase where they try to erase the war crimes like that's not what drew them here in the first place."

"They have a right to approach fandom however they want, you know," Topaz said defensively. "You're not the OOC police."

"Anyway, what is it you do?" the Grandmaster urged Jihl.

"Painting?" Topaz asked. "Cooking? Crochet?"

"As in how she fights," the Grandmaster sighed.

Jihl withdrew her baton, flicking it as though it were a shortsword. "I can do a few rather impressive things with this."

"Minimalist!" the Grandmaster said. "I like it! You know, I'll cut you a deal. I have an opponent lined up who insisted on using his own…weapon, and the novelty factor was too big to pass up."

"He's gonna win the crowds for sure," Swackhammer assured. "Especially with all the toy deals we can license of him and his…weapon."

"So you go up against him first seed," the Grandmaster went on, "and you get to keep your little boppy-stick. I won't even make you trade it out. Fair?"

Jihl smirked. "I can assure you this 'little boppy-stick' will carry me far against ANY weapon."

And so when she strode into the arena, awaiting her opponent, it was with a proud smirk and a jaunty step. They had let her keep her own weapon, with which she could demonstrate just how much more she was under the surface than she seemed.

After all, she wasn't born into a race that could practice magic. That was monster territory. But she had paid several laboratories off handsomely to research monster magic, dissect it, figure out its inner workings and replicate it in technology. The magic-replicant generator that rested in the baton was one that Jihl had dubbed the "manadrive," and though it was technically a prototype, it hadn't failed her yet. Whatever poor sap she was fighting was about to find out why they called her "the Saboteur" back home.

She glanced up at the lights that spelled out the fight:

JIHL NABAAT

VS.

?

So they were waiting to throw her sacrificial lamb at her in a grand reveal. She could live with that. On her way to the center of the field, she waved at the audience, and they applauded her cockiness.

Once at the center, she halted, awaiting her opponent. Wondering what sort of weapon could've caused all that scuttlebutt. A sword? A gun? A chainsaw? She was ready for anything.

Anything except the revving growl that sounded off from the entrance on the other side of the field.

"It can't be…" She glowered at the doors. Then those doors opened, and she realized the truth, that the other person's weapon was –

"A CAR?"

Well, not exactly. More like a miniature flying saucer, the size of a racing kart. But it acted, in essence, like a car, and it took off for Jihl at top speed.

"Damn!" She now realized why they'd let her keep her baton. Because the other person was flat-out cheating. She positioned the baton, pressing a button to activate the manadrive, flicking a dial to twist it to Antimatter Manipulation Principle.

Given an extra boost, Jihl leapt into the air, twice as high as any person could. The saucer passed harmlessly beneath her as she flipped head over heels. Now she got her first glimpse of the driver: a definitely alien creature, with a wide and flat forehead, lips dangling at the end of what seemed like a short elephantine proboscis, and spindly limbs that seemed too small for the body they were attached to.

As soon as she saw him, she started hearing him.

"So you think you're clever, DO you?" the alien spat as Jihl flipped over top of him. "Well, I'll show you that heavy artillery beats clever!"

She landed. He practically crashed into the other side of the arena, but then turned the car around on a dime, speeding right back toward her. Jihl took a moment to glance upward:

JIHL NABAAT

VS.

NITROS OXIDE

"How clever," she grunted before using the AMP technology to sidestep five feet away from the saucer's path.

"Time to bring out the BIG GUNS!" Oxide slammed at buttons and levers on the saucer's dashboard. "Your reign of smugness is about to come to an end!"

He changed his strategy, driving the saucer around the rim of the field instead of aiming directly for Jihl. The controls he'd activated, however, dropped a steady stream of the cargo aboard the saucer. Red crates, green crates, circular bombs, missiles – no matter what it looked like, it was all explosives, erupting as soon as it hit the ground.

Jihl was put immediately on the defensive, AMP-ing away from explosion after explosion. She needed out of the blast range, and she needed a way to catch Oxide and hold him still so she could make his death quick but painful.

Step one: buy time. Oxide seemed to be keeping his saucer close to the ground, so Jihl went higher, using the AMP to run right up the wall of the arena, all the way to the invisible barrier that separated her from the audience. There, completely sideways, she began to run the perimeter.

"Oh, no you don't!" Oxide yelled, turning the missiles toward his now-moving target. She was just a stitch faster, the bombs exploding on her heels.

"Don't you ever shut up?" Jihl yelled down at him.

"OF COURSE I DON'T!" Oxide snapped back. "Also, if you think you can hide from me up there, then you forgot I'm driving a FLYING saucer…which I definitely didn't forget until just now!"

Jihl was able to roll her eyes once before the saucer started climbing to get on Jihl's level. So she went higher up the invisible barrier.

Barrier…oh, that was a good idea, actually. But it involved her needing to disengage the AMP and switch the manadrive to a different setting. And for that, she would need to not be on a steep drop to the ground. She started to slide down, at an angle so she could keep outdistancing the explosives launched from Oxide's vehicle. Her heels ground against the barrier as she descended rapidly, spiraling down and around the field.

"Up? Down? Where are you going?" Oxide yelled at her. "MAKE UP YOUR MIND!"

Up in the booth, the Grandmaster turned a sketchbook page toward Swackhammer and Topaz. It was a drawing of Oxide's saucer as a wheeled matchbox car piloted by a tiny figurine. "What do you think?" the Grandmaster asked. "If you were a penniless peasant consumed by thoughts of rebellion and only pacified by the daily entertainment, would you or would you not buy this?"

"Depends," Swackhammer told him. "Does it do that thing where if you roll it backward, it winds up so you can let it go and it'll move on its own?"

The Grandmaster was adding to the sketch. "It…does…now."

"I would buy ten," Topaz said. "Then line them up on a shelf."

"Why would you actually do that, though?" the Grandmaster asked.

"To have an army of ten Nitros Oxide cars," Topaz replied.

"No…I mean…WHY-why?" the Grandmaster pressed. "What actual benefit do you get out of having an army of ten Nitros Oxide cars?"

"I get a Nitros Oxide car army," Topaz said.

"That's the best you're getting," Swackhammer sighed. "Just give up already."

Jihl had reached the ground, using the AMP to take longer, quicker steps toward the center of the field again. And actually, Oxide descending on her made this move all the more advantageous. She switched the manadrive's function, from AMP to Shell. Then she stood still, letting the explosives come to her.

A barrage of missiles impacted an invisible barrier around Jihl herself, then bounced off of it, soaring right back up at Oxide's saucer.

"WAIT!" Oxide yelled as his own explosives hurtled toward him. "THAT'S CHEATING!"

"And what you're doing isn't?" Jihl scoffed.

She had to time this just right. The missiles impacted, and the saucer was thrown off balance, wobbling wildly, but Oxide wasn't out of commission just yet. Jihl needed to take care of that last part herself. She would need to be quick.

Flip to "Ruin." Transfer an orb of purple Dark-style energy (not actual Darkness, but a synthesized substitute) into her other hand. Flip to AMP. Launch upward, meeting Oxide's saucer halfway.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Oxide yelled.

Flip to "Fire." Jihl slashed and stabbed the manadrive baton rapidly as she kept ascending on the momentum from the AMP. The damage dealt to the saucer was immense; she could hear the engine sputtering out.

"YOU STOP THAT!" Oxide shrieked. "THIS SAUCER WAS EXPENSIVE!"

AMP once more, to leap off the thin air even higher and get above Oxide as his vehicle spiraled. Then Jihl took careful aim as she reached the zenith of her second leap, pivoting the Ruin orb just right in her hand.

Checkmate.

With a smirk, she sent the Ruin orb down toward Oxide.

His saucer crashed on the arena floor. He emerged from the smoking wreckage, coughing horribly. "Well," he resolved, "I may not have my saucer anymore, but at least I'm still alive – "

The Ruin orb hit him, and he stood corrected. Though maybe not so much "stood" as "scattered in a multitude of pieces."

Jihl cushioned her landing with the AMP one last time, gracefully bending her knees as she hit the ground. She stood up and tossed her hair, and the crowd went wild.

So she'd been right after all. How silly of her to even doubt that she could stand up to someone in a literal vehicle. "That will be all," she told the audience before stalking to the exit dramatically.

"So anyway." The Grandmaster turned his next sketch toward Swackhammer and Topaz. "I wanted to keep the car aspect, so here's a tiny plastic Nabaat driving an enlarged version of her manicotti baton or whatever she called it. It has six wheels. If you were a peasant with the same circumstances I described before, would you or would you not buy this?"

"Only if you can wind it up by dragging it backward," Swackhammer insisted. The Grandmaster, having forgotten that again, edited his sketch.

"I'd take eleven for the shelf," Topaz said. "And one more to sit on the dining room table and judge my guests silently with its beady little plastic eyes."

...

Enmu pulled to a stop in the Lust ring of Hell, which couldn't have been a further cry from Nightmare's realm. It didn't even look like what most would expect to be Hell. This particular area was a bustling city, neon lights of all colors bright against the night and advertising the guiltiest of pleasures.

The passengers disembarked, Aghoul, Mim, Sho, Coco, Carrion, Shape, Letheo, Valentine, Whisp, Ember, Skulker, the three Horsepeople, Paige, Tony, Nehema, Helen, Betelgeuse, and finally the construct body of Enmu, which was able to wander a decent distance away from the train.

Their destination: a palatial nightclub with the name "OZZIE'S" branded on it in lighting, all different shades of pink and festooned with hearts. Its upper pavilion was shaped like a circus tent; its door was shaped as a giant heart, with curtains protecting the view inside.

As the group approached, they were stopped by an imp who acted as bouncer, bright red skin and striped horns. "Who's the couples here?" he asked. "Ozzie's is for couples only."

"You must be new." War stepped up to the plate. "We're Ozzie's friends. No dates needed. But if you doubt me, here's my card." She passed over a small ID.

The bouncer read it once. His eyes widened. "S-sorry, Miss War!" he sputtered. "These are all your guests? You can invite as many as you want!" His eyes flicked over the group. "Th-that's Mr. Famine and Mx. Pollution, isn't it? Go on ahead! No trouble, no trouble!"

"That's what I thought," War said with a smirk. "Next time, remember my face. You're lucky I don't feel like starting a…fight."

Aghoul linked his arm through Mim's. "You're going to love it here," he told her. "It might look all cutesy and candy-colored on the surface, but it's a true house of debauchery!"

"Oh, I can't wait!" Mim cuddled in close to Aghoul. "Dare I say…how romantic!"

Inside, the club was largely shades of bright green and pink, giving the impression that one was inside a giant watermelon. A band of imps was on the stage, a bright green expanse bordered by pink hearts made of lights. Their music was sultry, as was the rest of the club – stripper poles and dancers' cages alternated with the tables.

Immediately, a cavalcade of colors in the shape of a lithe demon bounded over to them. He stopped, and the others could now see he was dressed as a jester, with sharp points all over – teeth, claws, tail, high heels. With every gesture he made, there was a distinct sound of mechanisms whirring.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he greeted. "Long time no see! The bouncer give you any trouble?"

"Yes," War affirmed, "but I set him straight."

"Hard to believe," said the demon, "since there's nothing else straight about him. Whoa, is that Ayam Aghoul? Ozzie's favorite extradition Houdini? Good to see ya, buddy!"

Aghoul nodded his head. "Likewise, Fizzarolli!"

"Heyyyyy hey hey now." Fizzarolli pointed at him accusingly. Or, more specifically, to Mim at his side. "What's with the one lady all over you? You're a king of lust, Ayam! Don't tell me you settled down and fell in – " He made dramatic gagging noises. "LOVE."

"Oh, no," Mim assured. "This is just very strong lust and loyalty. No love about it."

"Exactly!" Aghoul agreed. "You know me, Fizz. I wouldn't sink that low!"

"Well, you better not be in denial about anything," Fizzarolli growled, "or I'll have to kick you out on your lovey-dovey asses."

"I mean, for what it's worth," Betelgeuse chimed in, "if he goes soft, I'll pull double duty on lechery."

"He-hey, Beej!" Fizzarolli extended his arms.

"Fizz, my brother from another mother!" Betelgeuse embraced him.

"Like two peas in a pod," Helen chuckled.

"Anyone else think they sound alike?" Whisp whispered.

She was heard. "Yeah, sure," Betelgeuse replied. "If you mean he's the shitty off-brand Betelgeuse. If I talked like him, I'd probably be some sanitized version who pearl-clutches about some arbitrary line in the sand."

"Sanitized?" Fizzarolli struck an offended expression. "There's nothing sanitized about me and you know it! I'm all about that down and DIRTY."

There was a sudden appearance of even more color, and it took the WHAM ARMY newcomers a while to realize that the fifteen-foot-tall Prince of Hell headed their way wasn't an elaborate decoration. Goat hooves, a feathered tail, three faces set in an electric-blue mane, the proprietor of the club was dressed in a striped jacket that played well off Fizzarolli's colors.

"What's the holdup over here, Fizz?" Asmodeus himself asked. "Did that little bitch Luci manage to sneak past the bouncer agai – why, AYAM AGHOUL! This is a surprise!"

"A pleasure as always, Ozzie!" Aghoul replied.

"See you got a new toy." Asmodeus winked at Mim. "You treatin' him like a sadist?"

"Absolutely," Mim affirmed. "But he's MY toy, not the other way around."

"I never thought I'd be proud to say it!" Aghoul laughed.

"So what brings you down here?" Ozzie asked.

"Is Verosika playing tonight?" Aghoul asked.

"Damn right she is," Asmodeus replied. "Nevan, too. It's a double act."

"How perfect!" Aghoul cried. "Verosika I was expecting, but Nevan is even better! I'll need to talk to her before the performance. And I might have a little…adjustment to make to your roster." He gestured to Ember.

"Hi," Ember said flatly. "Ember McLain. Here to rock your socks off."

"Oooooh, I know all about you!" Ozzie gasped. "Don't really play too much of your music in here, since you don't do many songs about raw desire. It'd be like playing heavy metal in a church! But trust me, I know your reputation, and you've got a good set of pipes! You sing something a little more sultry and I can score you a spot on our stage for sure. Come on back and we can have a little chat with V. As for the rest of you…" He leaned over Coco, Whisp, Valentine, and Letheo. "Now hold on. Aren't you a little young to be here in the Lust ring?"

The four minors exchanged glances. "Well – " Coco attempted.

Then Asmodeus threw back his heads and guffawed. "Can't believe I got you with that one! I'm kiddin'. It's Hell; nobody cares! I'd take this time to ask around and get some questions answered if I were you. Trust me, at your age, I know you've got QUESTIONS. Sex ed just doesn't teach the important things these days!" He spread his arms out. "Go on, everyone make yourselves at home! Do as you please!"

The crowd dispersed. Asmodeus headed backstage, and Aghoul, Mim, and Ember followed, Ember blowing one parting kiss to Skulker on the way out.

Backstage, two women were chatting and laughing over alcoholic drinks. One was a succubus, tall and voluptuous, with pink skin and long white hair pulled back into a fluffy ponytail. She wore as little fabric as she could while still covering the important areas, letting her wings hang out. Her companion was not a demon but one of the Fae, with pale skin in an almost greenish cast, offset by long, crimson hair. She didn't even wear enough fabric to cover the important areas, instead leaving it to her fire-red mane to mask her upper body. Below that, a flowing skirt that seemed to be made of Darkness itself.

"V!" Asmodeus greeted as he walked backstage. "Nevan! You won't believe who's here!"

"Hello, dear!" Aghoul waved as he entered.

"Heyyy, Ayam Aghoul!" The succubus, one Verosika Mayday, put up a hand. "Good to see you around here. You patched up with Gregory yet? It just hasn't been the same performing without you, Beej, and Greg lined up to jizz your own pants in the front row."

"Unfortunately, no Gregory," Aghoul grumbled. "But we're not here to talk about him."

"You say that as though there's a manner of business to discuss here," the Fae, Nevan, chimed in. Her voice echoed on itself, sounding almost as though more than one person was speaking. "I thought Ozzie's was a place for pleasure, not business."

Aghoul's eyes traveled right to Nevan's bare chest, trying to peek past her hair. "Nevan, it always is nice to see you and the girls – "

A bolt of purple lightning struck Aghoul from above. Nevan chuckled; it had been her doing. "You never learn your lesson, do you?" she teased. "If anyone has claim to my 'maidens' – "

"It's me, got it?" Verosika barked. Nevan smiled proudly.

"The two of you?" Mim asked.

"It's not anything official," Verosika sighed. "Don't put a label on it. It's not that schlocky."

"But Verosika and I are each other's favorite playmates," Nevan confirmed. "We work well together onstage and off."

"Speaking of the two of you onstage," Aghoul said, "I have a proposition for you both. See, I'm going up against a particular ghost – actually, apparently you know him. Caleb Covington?"

Verosika and Nevan flinched. "HIM AGAIN?" Verosika barked.

"He's caused us a little…trouble." Aghoul raised his hand to show off the mark. "Oh, by the way, Asmodeus, you wouldn't happen to be able to circumvent this, would you?"

"Am I a Prince of Hell or not?" Asmodeus snapped his fingers, offended that Aghoul had doubted.

The marks dissipated from Aghoul's hand and Mim's. And from Valentine's, Whisp's, Coco's, Sho's, Letheo's, Carrion's, and Shape's.

"Wonderful!" Mim crowed. "Now all we have to do is finish off the ghost himself."

"Listen," Verosika insisted. "Nevan and I would love to kick his sorry ass. But we've tried a battle of the bands before. I don't know how, but he's got more mojo than us in the singing department. And that shouldn't even be possible."

"Which is why I brought in the cavalry." Aghoul indicated Ember. "Ember McLain, meet Verosika Mayday. Verosika Mayday, meet – "

"I'm sorry, you want to team me up with a trashy pop-rock idol from the teen music circuit?" Verosika flinched.

"I'M sorry," Ember retorted, "you want to team ME up with a washed-out nightclub singer who can't even capture the teenage demographic because their parents make them throw out their CDs for being lewd?"
"Now, you cut that out!" Mim warned. "We're going to need all three of you to beat Caleb's little show, so I'd drop the ego if I were you! You're both trashy pop stars at the end of the day, and that's what we need!"

"Don't put me on her level!" Verosika and Ember pointed at each other, yelling in unison.

"It may not be a bad idea to keep our options open," Nevan pointed out. "She could at least offer the raw power we need to counter Covington. I say we test her out."

"Ohhh, now I see what you meant about the lineup!" Asmodeus chuckled. "You want 'em to face off!"

"No," Aghoul corrected. "Actually, I want them to duet. Prove they can play nice."

"NO!" Ember and Verosika yelled.

"Verosika," Nevan cautioned. "Weigh the options carefully. We can be humiliated again or make use of what's at our disposal."

"Oh, and one more thing, if this sways," Aghoul brought up. "Caleb may or may not be working for a certain Loki Lie-Smith right now."

"LOKI?" Asmodeus was taken aback. "You're fightin' Loki? Are you insane? They say he's fought the big man upstairs!"

Verosika's response, however, was a little "Huh." And then "I do like a challenge. But I would need the extra musical firepower…unfortunately."

"Verosika, I know you got an ego the size of the Wrath ring," Asmodeus groaned, "but this is Loki we're talking about!"

"Yeah, it is," Verosika replied. "And?"

Nevan smiled mischievously. "No risk means no reward."

Asmodeus sighed. "You girls wanna commit suicide that way, don't let me stop you. But also don't say you weren't warned!"

Verosika glared at Ember. "But I'll need to make sure you can KEEP UP."

"And I'll need to make sure you can step up to the plate," Ember spat. "I'm joining you onstage. Bring your A-game."

"All will be proven in song," Nevan said with a nod. "You should choose a fitting one."

"You know 'I Was Made for Lovin' You'?" Verosika asked.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just patronize me by asking," Ember groaned. "Of course I do!"

"You ladies get to practicing," Aghoul said as he and Mim turned to leave. "And don't kill each other!"

"At least not until we've gotten what we want, anyway," Mim asked.

Out on the floor, the others were making themselves comfortable, or trying to at least. There was a buffet set up, with a special table reserved for more cannibalistic tendencies: dishes made with actual mortal human meat. Nehema and Enmu were loading up their plates from this area.

"Whoa, actual people meat," Coco said with wide eyes.

"Not anything surprising," Shape scoffed. "As a disciple of Nightmares, I have seen far more disgusting sights."

"You should go over there and eat some," Coco urged.

"I'm…not hungry," Shape muttered. "Nor do I want to offend a small girl."

"Please!" Coco groaned. "I've totes eaten people before. I'm a Reaper! Duhhh!"

"Then you'll likely be wanting a snack." Shape gestured to the buffet.

Coco paused. "No thx. Not hungry. Triple dog dare you to eat some though."

"No," Shape hissed, "I dare YOU, as I'm beginning to doubt you've ever eaten human before."

"No u!"

"No, you!"

"No u!"

"No, you!"

Neither of them ended up picking anything off the buffet.

At one of the tables, Sho handed over a rough sketch of a longtime annoyance of his. Skulker picked up the paper, eyes scanning it.

"He thinks he's the greatest common factor," Sho explained. "I say he gets subtracted from the equation. But it won't be a 2+2 operation. This is college-level trig. What do you say?"

"I say this…Joshua Kiryu looks like excellent prey," Skulker said smugly. He folded the sketch up, tucking it away in a pocket. "I relish the challenge of taking down a seraphic Composer. Especially with the way I'd be able to show you success where YOU failed."

"Shut up!" Sho barked. "I'm just making you take out the trash because I've got better things to do!"

"Sure you are," Skulker chuckled.

Valentine scoped out the tables, looking for a place to sit down, when he felt a tug on his sleeve. "Valentine?" Letheo whispered to him urgently. "I…think I need your help. There's a problem."

"Oh?" Valentine turned to him. "What's wrong?"

"Can we go somewhere private?"

They tried to meet up in the bathrooms, only to realize that in the Lust ring, bathrooms were not actually treated as sacred, private places. The two boys, wondering if they'd ever be able to remove the lewd images they'd seen in those stalls from their minds, eventually found a corner table that was relatively isolated.

"So you know that spell you put on me at Monster High to keep me from breaking down?" Letheo opened nervously.

Valentine swallowed hard. "A little shot of love, yeah. Just a couple of hours' worth."

"Well, that's the problem," Letheo revealed. "It's been a couple of hours, but I don't think it's worn off."

Valentine had no idea what to say to that. The idea both terrified and exhilarated him.

"How can I be me again?" Letheo asked.

"You're…sure you're under the spell still?" Valentine questioned.

"My heart beats faster when I look at you," Letheo told him. "And I don't want to stop looking at you. You look like the most beautiful thing in the world. I'm amazed you even spent that much time with me on the train. My breathing gets shallower. I think about what it would be like to kiss your mouth. It's…strong. I don't want it to ruin our friendship, so…how can I stop it?"

This couldn't really be happening. Valentine thought, for a moment, that he really didn't have to remove the spell if he didn't want to – but no, that wouldn't be fair to Letheo at all. What was more worrisome: he'd never actively removed the hypnotism before. Just let it take its course, and if it failed, then it failed. Did he even know how to do it?

"Let's take a look, shall we?" Valentine put up his sunglasses, examining the display. They gave him the readings from Letheo's heart, all of the love in it, all of the magic bolstering it –

Wait.

"Letheo," Valentine said in utter disbelief. "There's…there's no magic on you anymore. It's gone. All washed out."

"You're sure?" Letheo urged.

"There's…a lot of feeling," Valentine said, hardly believing what he was seeing, "but none of it's from me. It's…" He slowly lowered his sunglasses. "It's all from you."

"Oh." Letheo looked as though he'd just realized he was on a boat that hadn't been painted red and therefore was about to be swallowed whole by an Izabella sea serpent. "Then I guess I just…love you." He bit his lip.

"This doesn't ruin anything!" Valentine said quickly.

"Are you sure?" Letheo asked. "I can't even – I've only ever liked girls before. But I haven't actually known that many girls or boys, either, so I guess I haven't had time to really figure out – "

"Theo," Valentine broke in. "The truth is…" Could he finally bring himself to say it? "I thought…I thought I liked girls too. Now, I don't doubt you like either, but me, I've been lying to myself. I don't even like girls at all." It felt strangely liberating to say. Could he have felt this happy by simply admitting it earlier? "I prefer boys. Especially boys with wild, curly dark hair and a little reptile in 'em."

Letheo nodded. "I guess we both learned something about ourselves today."

"Theo. Did you get what I was trying to say with that last sentence?"

Letheo thought it over. Then his eyes widened. "Oh. I'M a boy with curly dark hair and reptile features. Are you saying – "

Valentine couldn't remember ever feeling this nervous about delivering his carefully-curated banter. "You still – " He swallowed hard. "You still wanna know what it'd feel like to kiss these lips?"

Letheo nodded fervently. "Yes. Can I?"

"Of course."

Valentine moved tentatively toward Letheo, but Letheo closed the distance with enthusiasm, smashing his mouth against Valentine's, and soon they were repositioning, their mouths coming at each other from all angles, tongues licking against teeth. And to both of them, it felt more right than anything.

From a table at the opposite corner of the club, Whisp watched them lock lips. She knew she should've felt joy for her friend, but her heart was heavy. Envy flickered within her.

"I know that look." Carrion took a seat across from her. "It is the look of the heartbroken. What waste of the world has captured your mind, and what must be done to take revenge upon them?"

Whisp sighed. "There's this girl. I can't stop thinking about her. But she's literally an enemy to our entire faction and she has orders to destroy us all. She did hesitate to pull the trigger on me, though. Should I be reading anything into that?"

"Forget about her," Carrion urged. "She will only bring you ruin and misery. I myself was shattered by one who named me her enemy. She and I were never meant to be. I was a fool not to see it, and I pursued her rather than putting my energy into eliminating her. She led me on for her own gain. Do not make the same mistake I did. The girl is not worth your time."

"Why does that just make me feel worse?" Whisp asked.

"Such is the curse of love," Carrion told her. "That is why I have renounced it."

"Really?" Whisp smirked. "You gave up on love because of one awful girl? I didn't think you were such a quitter."

"You know NOTHING of the subject," Carrion snarled.

"There are a million fish in the sea and a billion grains of sand in the desert," Whisp teased. "Why let one grain in your shoe break your entire foot?"

"You are a hypocrite to lecture me when you yourself are slavering over a girl who would sooner kill you than kiss you!" Carrion barked.

"You know what I think?" Asmodeus' voice boomed from above.

"How long have you been LISTENING IN?" Whisp yelled at him. The real question was how no one had noticed him there in his ostentatious suit.

"Long enough," Asmodeus said cheekily. "And I think when there's one hot little thing on your mind, someone you think you just can't move on from without pinnin' 'em down and – "

"Oh, ew, NO!" Whisp barked. "I'm not even ready to think about THAT yet! I just wanna…talk to her more. About world domination and everything she's going through. And I wanna dance with her again. That's NOT a euphemism."

"Must you believe all passion is a farce?" Carrion added. "That it is merely a mask for the desire to bed another? Then you know nothing of the sort."

"And here I thought you didn't believe in love either," Asmodeus chuckled.

Carrion glared daggers. "She was more than a hypothetical consort. I wished her to be my queen, my partner, the other half of my heart."

"Gag me," Asmodeus scoffed. "Anyway, the best way to get over an old flame is to find somebody new. A little revenge sex never hurt anybody – well, okay, it's hurt plenty, but in the most fun way you can imagine."

"If you're gonna keep making this about doing the do, then I'm out." Whisp rose to stalk away.

"I will follow," Carrion agreed. And he did just that.

"Just lemme know if you change your mind!" Asmodeus yelled. "I've got connections; I can hook you up!"

As Whisp and Carrion stormed off, Whisp realized it. "If we're so mad about Ozzie reducing it to that…that means we're BOTH still in deep, aren't we?"

"I refuse to be," Carrion snarled.

"I hate to break it to you," Whisp replied, "but I don't think you have a choice. They say the heart wants what it wants. We're just fighting our own hearts on it."

"What could a child know that I don't?" Carrion snapped.

"Hey, I'm older than you by several hundred years," Whisp told him. "I might be young for a genie, but I've seen way more than you have. I think this high schooler has every right to take you to school."

Carrion went silent. There was no way he was winning this fight. The one against Whisp, or the one against his own heart. But did Asmodeus maybe have a point in one single area – that the best revenge on Boa would be to give his heart to someone new?

The imp band wrapped up their set, moving offstage. Fizzarolli cartwheeled, front-flipped, and catapulted himself out to the front and center of the stage. "BITCHES AND BASTARDS!" he bellowed out. "We've got a special performance for you, one night only! A triple act, a threesome if you will! Succubus pop star sensation Verosika Mayday, the enchanting rock-opera diva Nevan, and, in an unexpected guest appearance, trash rock-and-roll heartthrob Ember McLain! You'll be remembering THEIR names, all right, as well as faces, cup sizes, and knack for making so-called straight girls question their sexuality! Get those panties ready to throw onstage, because we're about to rock and roll you!"

A moderately loud round of applause went up. There was some confusion as to why a ghost whose albums largely sold among high schoolers was playing Ozzie's, but all in all, entertainment was entertainment.

Fizzarolli twisted and twirled offstage, leaving Verosika, Nevan, and Ember to stride out and take his place. Ember made a final adjustment to her guitar. Verosika gave Nevan a nod, and in a flash, Nevan had changed shape, becoming an electric guitar herself: purple and spiky and able to change into a massive scythe if need be. Verosika took Nevan into her hands, pressing the guitar seductively close.

Then Verosika struck the first chord on Nevan, sending up purple sparks of electricity. She strummed a heavy, heart-pounding intro, her hair whipping in the energy created by the violet lightning, and she gave a scream of "AAAHHHH YEAAHHHH!"

Now the whooping from the crowd was even louder. Ember chimed in with the secondary guitar on her own instrument, whipping them all into a frenzy.

"Do, do, do do-do-do do do, do do do do do-do-do!" Verosika sang as she danced along the stage, Nevan in her arms. "Do, do, do do-do-do do do, do do do do do-do-do!"

Aghoul extended a hand to Mim. She took it. They leapt out onto the floor, grooving to the beat, with Mim spinning around and round like a top. Aghoul proceeded to dance like a white dad despite being neither white nor a dad.

"Tonight," Verosika belted, "I wanna give it all to you! In the darkness, there's so much I wanna do! And tonight, I wanna lay it at your feet! 'Cause girl, I was made for you, and girl, you were made for me!"

Letheo, overcome by impulse, seized Valentine's wrists and pulled him onto the dancefloor. As much as they'd enjoyed dancing at Monster High, this time, they knew how they really felt about each other, and there didn't seem to be an impending invasion from a rival villain faction. This time, they were dancing for real.

"I was made for lovin' you, baby!" Verosika called out. "You were made for lovin' me! And I can't get enough of you, baby! Can you get enough of me?"

Coco skidded out onto the floor, bouncing around in a silly manner. Sho wasn't far behind, slinking and slithering in an attempt to show up her childish dance.

Ember stepped up to the plate, yelling passionately, "Tonight! I wanna see it in your eyes! Feel the magic; there's something that drives me wild!"

Skulker was moshing right up next to the stage, pointing at his girlfriend proudly.

"And tonight!" Ember sang right to him.

"We're gonna make it all come true!" Verosika broke in.

"'Cause girl, you were made for me!" Ember leaned over, taking back her vocals. "And girl, I was made for you!"

By now, Mendelson Shape was dancing as well. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually danced for fun and not for a dark ritual. Of course, this meant he wasn't very good at it, and between the fact that he had four swords sticking out of the flesh of his back and the way he flailed about, he was drawing several stares. But he didn't care. It was Carrion who hung back, not wanting any part in this madness – so why was his foot tapping to the beat?

Verosika and Ember joined the chorus at the same time. But while Verosika's voice was a deep, husky alto, Ember hit an entire octave higher, a scintillating war cry. "I was made for lovin', you, baby!" they harmonized. "You were made for lovin' me! And I can't get enough of you, baby; can you get enough of me?"
They exchanged a look. That had actually sounded nothing short of wonderful, and they both knew it. Not an effect either could have produced on her own.

Whisp leapt into the dance fray with fast footwork, trying to simply dance Cyclonis out of her system. Dance until she forgot everything but the song.

"I was made for lovin' you, baby!" Verosika and Ember continued. "You were made for lovin' me! And I can give it all to you, baby! Can you give it all to me?"
War, Famine, Pollution, and Betelgeuse (their stand-in for Death) were now dancing in a chorus line, with high kicks and dramatic spins.

The singers transitioned into the bridge. "Haah…ohhh," Verosika moaned sensually, "can't get enough! Hoo-ohhhhh…"

Enmu and Helen came spinning out onto the floor together, each smiling a mile wide.

"I can't get enough!" Ember broke in, a high scream, a call to action.

Paige and Tony were swinging their hips, getting low, swinging their arms jauntily.

Ember pushed one of her highest notes: "I CAN'T GET ENOOOUUUUUGH!"

The audience went wild, and Ember's hair exploded into a gigantic blue flame. She and Verosika played a duel of guitars, grinning wildly at each other, until they hit the instrumental.

At that point, Nevan put on a little show from her position as lead guitar. Every time Verosika strummed, there was not only a small storm of violet lightning, but also a cloud of bats that surged into the audience and performed synchronized aerial stunts.

Ozzie and Fizzarolli took their places at two of the poles, grinding and sliding and twisting seductively. Nehema danced wildly with a stone-cold expression, everting across realities to get the best experience of this concert that she could in all its forms.

Verosika and Ember leaned in toward each other with a smile before resuming the chorus: "I was made for lovin' you, baby! You were made for lovin' me! And I can't get enough of you, baby! Can you get enough of me?"
Mim had decided to really cut loose, shapeshifting to a new animal every couple of beats. Aghoul had to adjust his style to dance with an elephant, a flying shark, a dragon, a viper, a wolverine, a moose, a manticore, and more. All the while reveling in just how jealous the other patrons must've been that their dates couldn't do this.

"Oh, I WAS MADE!" Verosika and Ember belted.

Paige, Helen, and Nehema had lined up to Charleston once more. Betelgeuse hopped along behind them, pelvic-thrusting.

"BABY, YOU WERE MADE!" Verosika and Ember pointed to each other playfully.

Enmu and Pollution were floating across the dancefloor with no discernible pattern, arms waving gently, bodies twirling slowly.

As Verosika took off on an impromptu vocalization, Ember kept going: "I CAN'T GET ENOUGH!"

Skulker, Sho, and Shape were forcing Carrion to dance with them. The worst part was that Carrion was enjoying it.

"NO, I CAN'T GET ENOUGH!" Ember yelled as Verosika warbled.

Coco, Whisp, Valentine, and Letheo bounced up and down in the mosh area, thrusting their fists in the air, completely high on energy.

Verosika came back to center stage to give one last "I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN' YOUUUUU!" and point out to the crowd before the song ended abruptly. Ember took a running leap into the audience, and they caught her, allowing her to crowd surf on her back.

Mim and Aghoul launched a host of skull-bombs up into the air, and they erupted in rainbow fireworks, kissing lewdly beneath them. The crowd went positively wild, as did the people lined up outside the club and even those who'd been bounced out; the audio had carried that far.

Verosika also dropped herself into the crowd, carried toward her usual table. When she and Ember were released, Verosika set Nevan on the ground, and the guitar resumed her more humanoid shape once more.

"You're not bad, kid," Verosika told Ember. "Guess I underestimated you big-time. Still not on my level, but you're not bad."

"That was almost something resembling fun," Ember replied with a smirk. "I could see us releasing a few killer duets together. Or triplets, with Nevan. Nice work on the practical effects, by the way."

Nevan smiled softly. "Verosika's fingers are nimble as ever. She is the one to credit. Still, I never like a performance without a little spark to it."

"I'm in," Verosika said. "All the way. We kick Caleb's ass, we break Loki in half, and then we play Asgard."

"That sounds like a sufficient itinerary," Ember replied.

It took a while for Aghoul and Mim to round up the WHAM ARMY again: Skulker, Shape, Sho, Carrion, Coco, Whisp, Valentine, Letheo, Ember, and now Verosika and Nevan.

"You know," Aghoul told Asmodeus, "there's always room on the WHAM ARMY. I think if the old gang got back together, we could really show that Loki what's what!"

"Are you kiddin'?" Asmodeus recoiled. "HELL no. You ain't even gonna find a Horseperson who thinks that's a good idea!"

"It really doesn't sound like a good idea," Pollution chimed in. "We couldn't even stand up to a child Antichrist."

"Too many realities in which we are scattered across the fields of battle, our blood soaking into the soil," Nehema scoffed. "And I'm not sure how well your necromancer friend can bring back our sort."

"Well," Verosika resolved, "all of you are fucking pussies. I'm going. And you know what? If this goes well, I might even run with this 'WHAM ARMY' for a while instead of hanging around here. Sounds like they've got the party going, and I need a change of scene."

"I would be more than pleased to follow," Nevan agreed. "It seems this syndicate of underdogs is collecting experiences most foul and hellish…and theatrical. I want a part of it."

"Well, suit yourself," Asmodeus told them. "I'll put out the word that we need new sultry singers to take your places. Probably permanently, since you ain't comin' back in one piece."

"Don't underestimate me," Verosika scoffed. "I'll show you. I'm going where the Prince of Lust refuses to go."

"Well, I agree that you're all cowards," Mim huffed. "Let's go, Ghoulie! We need to wait on the train for Vexen to call in that he's finished up with that delicious, vicious slime."

"Now wait just a minute!" Asmodeus said. "I might be a coward, but I ain't gonna let a friend walk out empty-handed. You said your squad is called the 'WHAM ARMY', as in wham-bam-shang-a-lang?"

"Why, yes," Aghoul replied.

"I want names of the higher-ups," Asmodeus stated. "You tell them that if they have any business in Hell, they get a ticket into Ozzie's, cut the line, date or no date."

"Am I sensing something like guilt?" Aghoul teased.

"Just sick of you running off for centuries at a time and never showing your face around here," Asmodeus grumbled. "Maybe if I let your friends kick around, you'll put in an appearance once in a while."

"Do let's come back sometime, Ghoulie," Mim begged. "This place is so deliciously lewd!"

"Well, all right," Aghoul resolved. "I'll settle for that."

He passed Asmodeus the names and descriptions of his fellow founders – and Vexen, just in case. Then, at long last, the WHAM ARMY contingent made to leave, Enmu trailing after to serve as their chauffeur back.

Once they were gone, Asmodeus let out a sigh. "It ain't GUILT," he insisted.

"Who do you need to convince?" Fizzarolli groaned. "'Cause it wasn't me until JUST now."

There was a sudden commotion outside. The bouncer yelled "Hey, you can't be in there – " and all of a sudden, there was a mortal, not even dead, storming into the lounge.

"So this is Hell," he remarked. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to meet my denouement here after all."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Asmodeus spat.

"That would be a spoiler," said the mortal. "My question is: who do you think YOU are?"

...

And so it was that even though she had begun the morning cleaning out the Chinese Theatre, Darla Dimple returned to it that evening in a limousine, giddy at the crowds that had amassed for the world premiere of The Cutest Detective.

They'd managed to slap together an eye-catching campaign that showed settings and props from the film on posters, but none of the cast. Instead, the lead actress was billed as a "Mystery Star" and the rest of the cast left anonymous. Then the WHAM ARMY contingent had retreated to the editing room, Wuya and Morgana going to town on the film footage and doctoring it with magic until it looked exactly the way they wanted it.

Seeing the posters, the people of Hollywood had become curious. A mystery star? A film that had thrown itself together in one day and was already premiering at the Chinese Theatre? Many thought it surely couldn't be of any quality, but morbid curiosity drove them to figure that out for themselves. Whether there for a good time or to see how bad it could really get, the cream of the crop assembled at the nighttime premiere.

This included a small band of animal actors: two cats, a hippo, an elephant, a goat, a penguin, and a fish out of water. "I don't like this," the white cat, Sawyer, stated with trepidation. "Something's off about the whole thing."

"Well, that's why we need to see exactly what stinks!" the goat, Cranston, insisted.

"You mean besides you?" the fish, Frances, grunted.

"Oh, my, that wasn't nice," Tilly the hippo squealed.

"This really is a strange circumstance," said Woolie the elephant. "I almost wonder if…no, it couldn't be. Not even she would be that brazen."

"I say we keep an open mind!" The orange cat who led their number, Danny, had a smile on his face. "They really pulled out all the stops for this premiere, and I gotta wonder what kind of movie's waiting for us! Even if it is reason to be suspicious, well, we can't just sit back, can we? We gotta know for ourselves."

"Yeah!" chirped Pudge the penguin. "You're smart, Danny."

"Maybe a little too smart." Sawyer nudged Danny with an elbow. "All right, you convinced me. Let's go find our seats."

As they moved inside, the purple, crystal-studded limousine pulled up to the red carpet. Max was soon at its side to pull the door open, and its passengers exited.

Yzma was first, draped in lavender with fur trim. A jaunty matching hat sat atop her scalp. As she swaggered down the red carpet, Wuya strode after, clad in a striking red-and-black daxiushan with bright violet accents. Prisma had upgraded her blue Crystal Master gown with even more sparkle and a feathered hat. Mera wore a fluffy multilayered skirt under a long-sleeved bodice, the extra fabric acting as insurance for when Fragile came out to play. Morgana sailed down the aisle, a couple of inches off the carpet, in a deep green gown that reached up in a turtleneck. Clear crystals that resembled ice intermingled with aqua chiffon in the form of sea-foam on the green backdrop.

And then came the headliner. Darla Dimple herself, in a flouncy gown of pastel pink, heart-shaped crystals glittering on every major area.

Almost immediately, the camera flashes stopped. There was grumbling, and it escalated into booing. Darla kept her head held high as she proceeded toward the theater, and as she'd suspected, slowly, those cameras started to pop again, documenting how she'd had the gall to turn up here in all her infamy.

The six villainesses settled up in the top balcony; Max dropped off an array of multicolored sweets before taking a stand at the back. The lights dimmed, and the show began.

First came the title: "THE CUTEST DETECTIVE!" in swirls and curls. Then the words that were the equivalent of throwing a bomb into the audience: "Starring Darla Dimple!"

Anyone who hadn't seen her on the red carpet now knew exactly what they were all getting. An outcry went up.

"I KNEW it!" Sawyer barked.

"I…I couldn't have imagined," Danny said as he gaped. "Maybe…she's turning over a new leaf?"

"And I'm an amphibian," Frances droned.

"Danny's point does still stand," Woolie realized. "If Darla Dimple is trying to break back into Hollywood…then we should be aware of exactly what we're dealing with."

"Besides, the tickets are non-refundable," Tilly pointed out.

"All right," Sawyer sighed, slumping in her seat. "Necessary evil. But I will tear this movie apart the minute we get back home."

"Are we still on for dinner after?" Tilly asked.

"SHHHH!" Cranston barked.

They watched as Max was "murdered," and thanks to the clever magical editing, he managed to stay dead this time. (Cranston, Woolie, and Sawyer tried to pretend they weren't incredibly satisfied with the idea of Max being a corpse.) Darla, the Cutest Detective, vowed to solve the case.

From there, it was a beautiful cavalcade of cinematography that managed to shock and awe the audience, since, after all, it was stolen from movies that hadn't been made yet. However, as Lucky had feared, disaster struck at the first kiss. Specifically a passionate kiss between Yzma and Wuya.

Gasps went up around the audience. "Did those two women just…?" Sawyer blinked, to make sure she'd seen what she'd seen.

"That can't be in keeping with the Hays code," Woolie muttered, though he wasn't really judging.

"I…I can't believe it." Danny's eyes shone, wide as could be. "She really has changed. She's trying to give those women their shot in Hollywood even though they're, y'know…different."

"Never thought I'd see the day," Sawyer whispered back, "but…looks like you might be right. For once, she's looking out for other people."

The audience gasped at Mera accosting Prisma in the pool changing room, screamed when Mera was "killed" at the circus, laughed at Darla and Yzma's duel with the helicopter, and applauded the special effects during the Behemoth scene. But anytime the film turned back to romance, revulsion was expressed all through the audience. At Mera and Prisma's first kiss, made all the more realistic by their real-life hesitation, one human man down below actually threw up.

"Well, that's a bit over the top, if you ask me," Morgana grumbled.

The mystery was solved. Max was avenged. Yzma and Wuya adopted Darla; Prisma and Mera vowed to see each other again one day. Morgana was jailed for her crime of being the ultimate twist villain of the movie while everyone was looking at Mera. And the credits rolled – just the same seven names rotating through all the positions.

The outro score was met with booing and jeering. They'd hated it after all.

"Well, that's not fair," Tilly said. "I'd get it if it was because it was Darla, but…"

"I'm gonna do something about this." Before anyone could protest, Danny had leapt up from his seat, scurrying up to the stage in front of the movie screen.

"Danny…" Sawyer sighed. She knew his heart was in the right place, but he was about to sink his own reputation.

"Hey, everyone?" Danny put up his hands. "Excuse me! Can I have your attention for a minute?"
The audience fell silent to glare at him, unsure of where exactly this was going.

"Look, I walked into this movie not knowing what I was in for, just like the rest of you," Danny said. "When I found out this was Darla's production, well, I worried about what it would be and what message it would send. But this isn't the same old message of hate you think comes from Darla. This is something new. This is a message of love!"

"It had HOMOSEXUALS in it!" someone yelled.

"Well, two women as a couple aren't something we see in films a lot," Danny went on, "and I've been thinking for a while now that should change. Remember how we all used to feel about animals having lead roles? All we ever saw in the movies were the humans, so elevating animals felt…different. It felt weird to all of you. But now, I know some of you are starting to see it a different way. You've seen that we can make movies just as good as you humans. So what if these women love other women? How is that different from kissing a man onscreen? They've still brought us a great film with amazing scenes and romance plots that really made me feel something. Something good." Danny looked up to Darla in the balcony.

Darla, who was fuming. "No…one…asked…HIM…for help," she seethed with every breath in.

But he didn't notice her rage. "I think this is a sign that Darla Dimple is growing up and learning her lesson," Danny went on. "Maybe…it's time we give her another chance in the movies. She's a real team player now, and – "

"NO I'M NOT!" Darla yelled. "Someone get me down there NOW!"

Wuya transported the entire group down onto that same stage. "Now YOU LISTEN HERE!" Darla yelled at Danny. "I never asked YOU to defend my movie! And just because I don't freak out over lesbians doesn't mean I've changed my mind about you ANIMALS!"

Danny recoiled. "Darla…?"

"I know exactly where this is going!" Darla snapped. "You talk me back into the studio, I suddenly owe my stardom to a CAT, and I only have a career so long as I play nice! Well, I'M! DONE! BEHAVING! You hire the REAL DARLA or you get NOTHING!"

She was met with a chorus of booing.

Darla shrugged. "Your. Loss."

"Pardon me," Yzma said, stepping in, "but if our entire artistic endeavor is going to be salvaged by the well-meaning of a hero who's been a personal thorn in Darla's side, then we don't want it." She turned to the audience. "Go ahead and hate it!" she yelled. "I don't take charity from NUISANCES!"

"If nothing else," Morgana said with a grin, "it was memorable."

Well, that ended exactly the way anyone would expect: with an angry mob chasing Yzma, Wuya, Darla, Max, Morgana, Prisma, and Mera out of the Chinese Theatre and into the street. Wuya finally had the presence of mind to make them a Corridor, and the seven were transported from Hollywood to the Mystic Isles.

"Well, that was a diversion at any rate," Yzma said as she dusted off her lavender gown. "Now, WELCOME TO YZM – WHY IS IT PALETTE-SWAPPED?"
Yzmatopia was now completely green and black.

As all eyes turned to Morgana, she put her hands on her hips indignantly. "Don't look at me," she said. "I've been with you the whole time."

"And this just HAPPENS to be your colors," Wuya urged.

"You think I'm this drab?" Morgana spat. "That's offensive! The green and the purple were perfect!"

"Hey, guys," Mera sighed, "why are we looking for zebras when there are horses around? Or, you know, dumbass lobsters, sharks, and himbos. They probably thought they'd surprise us by repainting."

"Or it could be a hostile takeover by another villain," said Wuya.

"Oh, what are even the odds that this isle would change hands through TWO hostile takeovers within the last three days?" Prisma scoffed.

However, when they entered the council chamber to find Vor sitting on an ornate throne, Wuya was unfortunately validated. "Sometimes I hate always being right," she groaned.

"Who dares trespass on the castle of Vor?" Vor barked, rising from her seat.

"The castle of WHO NOW?" Mera slapped two hands on her mouth to keep from bursting into inappropriate laughter.

"I see you thought you could claim ownership of this castle," Vor went on. "Well, I'm here to hand you an eviction notice. This isle now belongs to someone TRULY powerful!"

Morgana aimed the trident. "Try us," she said dryly.

"You, destroy me?" Vor laughed. "I suppose you could do such a thing, if you were willing to sacrifice the body and soul that I've possessed to take form. Are you really so ready to destroy your precious Indus Tarbella?"

"Shit," Mera whispered under her breath, realizing now why Vor's masculine, broad-shouldered figure was so familiar-looking.

"Now." Vor put out her hand, calling into it a particular object. "Let's settle who the REAL sorceress is around here."

The moment they all knew they were in trouble was when the item solidified in her hand. A Keyblade, with a blue handle and teeth cut out to make a Wayfinder star in the negative space.

...

Enmu picked up Vexen's contingent on the way back. Vexen was quite glad to see that most of Aghoul's hellish friends had stayed back at Ozzie's, and as an extra bonus, since Verosika wanted to play music, Enmu shut off the bubblegum pop.

"VEROSIKA MAYDAY?" Deymos squealed, bouncing in the aisle. "I thought Ember McLain was a miracle, but you're my second favorite rock star who has 'Mayday' in her name!"

Verosika raised a brow at Deymos.

"Which is a bigger list than you'd think," Deymos told her, "so that's a compliment. Anyway, are you gonna play something for the car? Wait, you're not gonna try and start an orgy, are you?"

"No, I'll play vanilla," Verosika told him. "Since there are minors and asexuals present."

"Shall I?" Nevan asked. Then, without waiting for the response, she became the guitar once more.

Verosika pulled Nevan onto her lap, strumming a light yet wistful tune. "In my dreams," she sang, "I can see us in a tight embrace, doing all the things that we never really did…"

Deymos finally moved to slump in the seat beside Vexen. Vexen felt a relief at this; "Thank you for not abandoning me to the wolves again."

"You know if you wanted to freeze the party, you could," Deymos reminded him. Before Vexen could argue, Deymos stretched out and gave a loud yawn. "Man, fighting a giant sludge demon and going to a pocket dimension takes a lot outta you. If I'm not careful, I might fall asleep on the ride home."

"In that case – " Vexen attempted.

Deymos was already asleep by then, unable to fight it any longer. His head slumped over onto Vexen's broad shoulder, Verosika's song acting as his lullaby.

Vexen flinched. He opened his mouth to tell Deymos to wake up and get off him –

No. This actually wasn't horrible. This was within the physical touch he could stand, or even welcome. And after thinking Deymos had been killed by Nightmare for an uncomfortable length of time…well, he rationalized it as thinking Deymos deserved the rest. He turned to look out the window, just letting Deymos snore away on his shoulder. Since no one could see him with his head turned to look outside, well, no one could give him grief if he let himself smile a little bit.

Albert, Enmu, and Carrion had gotten back together as the nightmare club one last time. Albert and Enmu were experts now at making each other laugh with their descriptions of ever-more-terrifying torture, and Carrion cracked a few smiles of his own. It was a bittersweet thing to see, if you happened to be looking at them and you happened to be Vincent Edgeworth. Sweet because at least the annoyance in pink was happy. Bitter because he was off being happy without Vincent.

"Vincent, my dear?" Victor asked.

Vincent froze. His heart sank. He'd been staring over at Albert again. Why had he allowed himself to fall for that temptation? And Victor was on to him now. He had to be honest.

"I want to ask you a question," Victor said.

Vincent turned to face him. "Is it the kind of question where you want me to look you in the eye?"

Victor was smiling, almost mischievously. "How did you know?"

("I think I'm in love with you and your friend," Verosika sang. "Honest I do, I can't see you and me and her without each other – ")

"Vincent," Victor went on. "You wouldn't happen to have a little crush on our dear Albert Krueger, would you?"

And there it was. "I…I apologize for my wandering eye," Vincent muttered. "I know better. I really do. It isn't anything – "

"Vincent, I want you to answer the question." Victor was still smiling. "Is it just a passing admiration, something platonic, or…do you feel for him, just a little?"
"Why are you smiling?" Vincent asked.

"Whether I tell you depends on your answer," Victor told him.

Vincent inhaled, gathering his courage: "…Yes. I hate it deeply. Why him, of all people? What about him could possibly be an allure?"
"I'd suspected this all the way back at RMU, you know," Victor chuckled. "You seemed to enjoy being his rival maybe a little too much. And you brought him up a lot on our little date at graduation. Not that I really minded, of course. It amused me. I think the allure is in the way he annoys you and gives you attention. It validates you in some strange way. And he is pleasant to look at, to be sure. He looks like you, yes, but I can still see all the little differences that make you so distinct. To be fair, he also isn't bad company. A strange one, yes, but he understands the value of friendship among self-proclaimed villains such as ourselves. And he's very intelligent, especially when it comes to marine life."

"Victor, tell me where this is going," Vincent grunted. "Are you upset or not?"

"I'm not upset in the slightest," Victor told him. "After all, those who are committed don't lose their eyesight or their good taste. What matters is whether they act upon it. But this is where it gets interesting, for you see, you have romantic feelings for Albert…" He laughed, betraying how nervous he, himself, was to be admitting this. "And so do I."

Vincent flinched. "You…what?"

"I realized it when we were dancing in the aisle," Victor told Vincent. "For all those very reasons I told you, I find him alluring. I felt guilt also, the same as you, as though I was betraying you. But then, when you joined us in dancing, something occurred to me. First of all, when you and I danced together, that my affections for you certainly hadn't dulled. But then, when you and Albert faced off, when you competed and I watched you dance together…I must admit it set my heart fluttering. Vincent, when you saw him dancing with me, what did you feel?"

"Envy," Vincent admitted, "but it was envy that dissipated when I was part of the dance. I think I was jealous of both of you at once, getting to dance with each other. But I swear, Victor, I wanted you most of all – "

"Vincent, you're not in trouble!" Victor laughed. "Haven't you heard what I've been saying?"

"That you somehow also have fallen under the spell of ALBERT," Vincent sighed. "How did he manage to do this? Magic?"

"I doubt it," Victor replied, "since he hasn't actually attempted to make anything of it. No, I think the both of us just fell for his natural charm."

"What natural charm?"

"I fell for charm," Victor corrected, "and you fell for the inherent erotic tension of competition and insult wars."

Vincent knotted his hands together. "It was also…good to see you two having fun," he admitted. "For you to have someone that will actually indulge your wilder side."

"But it was best when you were there as well," Victor said. "Vincent, I want you to look me dead in the eye, because I don't want you to lie or dance around this one bit. If you could have both me and Albert…is that a chance you would take? You would not lose me, to be very clear. It's not a question of 'or.' It's a question of 'and.' Now, be brutally honest."

Vincent wasn't sure if he should answer this question. But he was starting to see where Victor might be going with it, just maybe, and he had to admit the thought wasn't terrible. "In a complete hypothetical where I would have no risk of losing you also," he muttered, "then I would…consider it."

"My answer would be the same," Victor told him. "Which leads me to what I've been thinking. Should we ask him to join us?"

So that was where he was going. "For him to…date both of us?" Vincent asked to clarify.

"Why not?" Victor posed. "If he wishes to do so, at any rate. You and I are both enthralled by him, quite clearly. And at the end of the day, if he isn't for us, then we know we have each other. We can move on from him together and laugh about this in the days to come."

Vincent tensed. "But it's ALBERT."

"See, I knew this would be a difficult sell," Victor admitted, his smile now faded to show that he was being serious as the grave. "To accept him into our lives would be far more difficult for you than for me. That is why I want you to be the one to ask. If you choose to invite him, then invite him, and we'll hope he responds in affirmative. If you ultimately decide he doesn't belong with us, then all he'll ever be to me is a friend and something nice to look at. You'll be my only one. The decision rests with you, and I won't say another word on it until you decide."

Vincent suddenly knew just how much he had to think about. He could just say "No," he could shut it down, he could deny all his feelings for that absolute idiot –

But was that what he wanted? And though he trusted Victor to be able to move on, was it really fair to deprive Victor of his shot with Albert, since Vincent truly did also want to take the same shot?

He couldn't admit that, though. He just couldn't. His pride silenced it. This was never supposed to have happened to him. Victor was easily drawn in by a pretty face, but Vincent wasn't supposed to be attracted to someone he hated.

(But "hate" was what he felt for Monsieur M. What he felt about Albert was nowhere close to what he felt about Monsieur M.)

"I…need to think," Vincent muttered.

"We can pretend this conversation never happened," Victor assured him.

"I'm not saying yes or no," Vincent clarified. "I'm saying…wait."

Victor nodded. "I understand. Shall we talk about something else, then?"
"I would prefer that, yes."

"You know, I'm a little sad that we missed out on the nightclub in Hell. Perhaps you and I should try and find a way back to it without actually needing to die and be damned…"

Albert hadn't heard a word of what Victor and Vincent had said about him, of course. He was sitting too far away from them and too close to Verosika. He gave the car a glance, looking at Deymos leaning on Vexen, looking at where Letheo and Valentine were nuzzling each other happily. Looking up to the seat where Vincent's raven hair and Victor's red stood out most of all as the two chatted to each other.

"Honest I do," Verosika sang. "I can't see you and me and her without each other. I hope you feel the same way too."

Hearing the song, it finally clicked for Albert. He'd been wondering for a while if he was secretly and annoyingly attracted to one of the happy couple he'd known from RMU. If he was jealous of one of them for having the other. But which one? It might have gone all the way back to RMU, seeing how he'd been practically obsessed with annoying the two of them (though Victor was never really annoyed so much as amused). Had he possibly, infuriatingly been in love with them for that long?

But Verosika's words spelled it out clearly. He knew which one of them he was in love with, and it was the worst answer of all.

It was both of them.