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.

174. Sin Tax

A/N: Quick content warning – you know now we're having a quick stop in the world of A Bug's Life, and one of the characters has a very unfortunately aged name that I normally don't feel comfortable saying in general conversation, but it didn't logistically work out to change the name/avoid it due to the brevity, and if I attempted to keep the character herself out of there, the absence is kinda glaring and everyone knows. So it is written out and I'll re-address it if I ever bring her back around, which I doubt.

In lighter news, it is not required but highly suggested that you know the song "Taxman" by the Beatles, and yes, it's going to be used for EXACTLY what you think.

...

"And, to make an incredibly long story short, the only way I could end the pitch was by emphasizing that it had a quiet motor," Emet-Selch said. "As it were, the washing machine has been transferred from the communal room to the quarters of Scaramouche the Merciless, I am ten thousand munny richer, and I still to this moment have no idea how I even ended up in the scenario in the first place."

"You learn to get used to debasing yourself to such shenanigans," Vexen told him.

The two of them hiked through the forest toward what was apparently an old haunt of Emet-Selch's, or at least a place he knew about. They'd left Deymos and the others far behind, and hopefully they'd all already gone home and forgotten about this disaster.

"I hope you were not expecting to be regaled with conversation for the entire distance," said Emet-Selch. "I've not got the will for it."

"Of course not," said Vexen. "This is a mission of business, and for once, I'm with someone who will act like it."

They moved forward in silence. There was an occasional attack from a Heartless mob, but Emet-Selch was able to cut them down quickly. Vexen had panicked when one of the infamous Tonberries of the continent ended up in their path, but Emet-Selch, seemingly already knowing how difficult they could be, set Zalera on it, and nothing remained thereafter.

The quiet was both calming and unnerving. Vexen could practically recreate hypothetical conversations, in his own mind, of what the others would be saying if they were there just then.

(Albert would probably have brought up "…how much I despise hamburgers," leading Simon to yell "WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST HAMBURGERS? YOU BURGER-HATING FREAK!" and Tsumugi would ask "A burger? Do you mean a burger, or do you mean a 4kids-style large onigiri?" and skekSil would say "Hmmm" and Vincent would say "Albert, we don't have time for this" and Victor would say "No, I think we DEFINITELY have time for this" and Agnus would be taking notes furiously while Arius shrieked about there being a pebble in his shoe as the Helpsie gave them bad directions and Deymos would be singing that stupid song from the coffee shop and the Sisterhood of the Noodle Burger would be his backup singers.)

He needed to stop. Get them out of his head. He was with the actual productive party now. Still and all, it seemed he could use a distraction to drown out the intrusive thoughts.

The TwiPod was still in his pocket, actually. Despite himself, he withdrew it, placing an earbud and cycling through the fare. Deymos had amassed a truly incredible library; Vexen couldn't even name a fraction of the artists. Out of curiosity, he cycled through a list of created playlists until the name of one caught his eye:

"Vexen"

He stopped in his tracks. Why? Why would Deymos do this?

"Is aught amiss?" Emet-Selch asked.

"Just Deymos," Vexen replied. "As per usual."

"Ah, I understand thoroughly."

Vexen picked up the pace again. Well, now he had to know. He wasn't going to leave this stone unturned. He selected the playlist, then gave it a listen.

The first song led in with strong drums. "Your heartbeat is pulsing at night in your chest. It's gold and it's glowing with all the life you have left…"

Well, it was certainly saccharine enough.

"Run where you'll be safe, through the garden gate, to the shelter of magnolia…"

Wait. Was that song on this list because of the Twilight Town manor garden where he and Deymos sat and battled his fear?

He rode out the song. "You have bent your shoulders to hold the weight of the world. You will surely shatter…"

And hadn't he? But this song spoke of a safe haven.

The next song. A harsh guitar riff that completely interrupted the carryover vibes from the last song. "I've been watchin' you for quite a while now. It's getting all too hard to bite my tongue…"

Well, why was this one here? The narrator seemed to be a man persuading a prospective lover to turn to evil along with him.

"Your lover's got no clue what you want, but oh, I do!"

Why had the face of Ansem the Wise come so easily to him? Why was he juxtaposing that with Deymos?

"Angry with their boring conversations! And sick of doing everything they say!"

Well, yes. Particularly if "they" were Xemnas.

"But if you side with me, I'm controlling, but you'll see that you get to pick the dirty games we play!"

What was he trying to imply with this?

Starting to suspect, Vexen passed from song to song, and the lyrics were telling him a definite story:

"This is what I live for. This, this wondrous chill. And yes, it can be lonely, but hey, do what you will. Nobody likes me; everyone's afraid of me…"

"Wild and exciting, I'm breaking you down. You're making a comeback; I'm taking your crown! Nursery rhymes, I'm singing my dreams, I'm lost in the woods and you're baring your teeth!"

"They couldn't think of something to say the day you burst. With all their lions, with all their might, and all their thirst…"

A perfect balance of songs that described someone cold, someone struggling with demons, someone who was the obsessive subject of the observer's affection.

No. There was no way. That couldn't be the message he was supposed to take from it.

The second-to-last song. The intro, so familiar. Of course, it only hit him when the lyrics began: "Undercurrents pull at your heart – "

Sayu. That ridiculous song. Atlantica.

Quickly he skipped to the next. Of course it was the song from the coffee shop. "I saw it in the news; you told me they were wrong…"

It didn't fit the others at all. This one was definitely about lovers on the rocks. A breakup. If anything, it seemed more characteristic of what Vexen was thinking of Ravess.

"Do you even know how much it hurt that you gave up on me to be with her? Revenge is sweeter than you ever were…"

What, was Deymos suggesting that Vexen had somehow hurt him by being with Ravess? No, it was far more like him to plant the seeds of the idea that Vexen would want to take revenge on his ex-lover. By whatever means possible. Well, not in any way that would fracture the WHAM ARMY, of course, but moving on to what would look like an obvious trade-down, someone who rivaled her talent in music, that would certainly be revenge at its finest –

"HE KNEW!"

Emet-Selch sighed, looking back over his shoulder. "Who knew what?"

"He KNEW," Vexen reiterated, pointing at the TwiPod. "That's why he gave it to me! Because he knew I would snoop, I would find the list with MY NAME on it, I would listen to it, and that's when his message is driven home! This whole time, the revenge he'd spoken of was against Ravess, he was trying to REMIND me of it in that shop and on the train, and the method he was hoping is that I would pretend to be his – "

He halted. "No. Not pretend. The rest of the list told me otherwise. How could I have missed it?"

"…You're saying that Deymos left you with a loaded music player and hoped you would find a very specific set of files and listen to them in a very specific order," Emet-Selch said. "That is quite the leap."

"No, not for someone who knew my predilection for reconnaissance missions," Vexen said. "And not for someone who, himself, was skilled at reconnaissance missions. The devil was ALWAYS in the details. He'd been hoping this entire time that I would – that I would fall for him somehow! I knew he couldn't have been doing this out of the goodness of his own heart! The nerve! The absolute AUDACITY!"

"Ah, unrequited love," Emet-Selch said. "The bitter taste that never quite washes out. I would expect him not to take this lightly, you know."

"…The other one did," Vexen realized. "Not my Deymos – our Dey – THAT ONE. But the one that defected to the Overtakers, the one that's still Demyx. THAT is why he thought I was depraved for replicating him. He somehow thought I reciprocated!"

"Shall I eliminate the problem?" Emet-Selch asked.

"Destroy him?" Vexen recoiled. "Are you INSANE? That's the last thing we're doing!"

"There are other ways to drive home the point that you're quite off-limits," Emet-Selch told him. "Though would it be so horrendous to cut ties?"

"This isn't like you and Ozma."

"Why isn't it?"

"Because – well – because – " Vexen gripped the TwiPod hard, almost enough to break it.

Because of sneaking through the RGUG and tapping out the rhythm to stupid songs to get the group back in line. Because of Tetris in Zanarkand. Because of the garden where they shared calming music. Because of the sludge pit at Baaj.

"I…cannot…believe…him." Vexen's teeth were clenched. He was angrier than ever.

Emet-Selch's brows raised. "Don't tell me he – "

"You are NEVER to tell him that he figured it out before I did!"

Emet-Selch could only stare, dumbfounded, for a moment. Then the laughter began – restrained, classy, but laughter nonetheless. "Oh, what a beautiful third-act twist! The lead, the object of the satellite's affections, has returned the sentiment from the very start!"

"Not to the level of any of these songs," Vexen huffed.

"You can still deny it, you know. We can pretend this conversation never happened."

"No," Vexen said, "because if I do that, you're going to go right back to pretending I feel about him the way Ozma feels about you, and you won't let up until I give you any reason to think otherwise."

"Perceptive. You would be a good match for him indeed."

"He always was…the safe place," Vexen realized. "The one member of the Organization who was almost ranked as low as me."

"I thought you were fourth – "

"I think we all know by now the numbers meant nothing!" Vexen snapped. "It was…the thrones. You think I don't remember the only other Nobody whose throne was almost as low as mine? We were disposable, we were hated, we were outcasts and we KNEW that, and perhaps if we'd…realized it sooner, then…we wouldn't both have been sent to the frontlines."

"Likely you would have just been benched."

"Or escaped," Vexen muttered. "Curse him. Why did he have to go through all of this?"

"Because if he'd been upfront with you," Emet-Selch said, "you would've dug in your heels and never even realized you loved him."

"It isn't LOVE," Vexen corrected. "It's just – it's more like – we're complementary."

"Ah. I see."

"And he's…made me realize that…" Vexen sighed. "That without his constant annoyance, I'm actually quite bored."

"Well, thank you for THAT lovely compliment," said Emet-Selch.

"As if you didn't know your own dryness," Vexen responded.

Emet-Selch smiled. "Well played. So what is the next step? To crawl back and grovel?"

"He wouldn't be expecting me to do that," Vexen said. "In fact, if I know him, he never left Rin's. He's waiting for me to have found this playlist."

"Again, a large leap."

"You don't know Deymos the way I do, and that is NOT a large leap to assume when it comes to HIM. But he's expecting me to finish whatever I broke away to do." He looked Emet-Selch dead in the eye. "I don't even know what that is."

"You will know when it behooves you to know."

"Well, then, let's finish it," Vexen urged, barging ahead. "Because I HAVE to finish it before I can go back. That's what he's EXPECTING, that's what he WANTS, and that's who I AM, which is exactly why he wants it!"

Emet-Selch trailed behind. "You seem quite miffed for one who's just discovered that the one he's always secretly admired returns the affection."

"I'm FURIOUS!" Vexen yelled. "But that's always how it was going to BE, wasn't it? When we return, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, and THEN we'll sort out what we are! Which, if nothing else, is going to be an immensely salty slice of humble pie at Ravess' table!"

"Then I suppose our agenda is set in stone," said Emet-Selch. "Also, halt for five paces; you don't even know where we're going."

Vexen let Emet-Selch take the lead again. "When are you going to explain to me where, exactly, we ARE going?"

"In one mile."

That gave Vexen enough time to listen to a few of the songs again. The softer ones. Then he and Emet-Selch broke through the tree line to see a massive tower of off-white stone, as thick in diameter as the Radiant Garden castle but seemingly as tall as the sky itself.

"What – " Vexen gaped. "What…is this?"

"It's always been here," Emet-Selch said as he proceeded toward it.

"It's always – but HOW?" Vexen sputtered.

"'Tis hidden far from the civilizations of the continent," Emet-Selch explained. "As was by design. Humans were never meant to find this place. My status as 'human,' of course, is questionable. Now, listen closely. There are a few…particulars."

Vexen pocketed the TwiPod, listening intently.

"We are here to visit a very knowledgeable friend," Emet-Selch said. "One with whom I have not spoken in…well, far too long, come to think of it. Though time passes for him at the same rate as for myself, so perhaps not that long at all. However, as we proceed inside, you will let me do the talking. To them, you are an animal. A primate. As I would have been, if not for the Dark God's gifts. They will observe you. You will not stare, you will not comment, you will not cry out, you will not acknowledge anyone who has not addressed you first. You will ask NO questions. Is that clear?"

"What sort of beings live in that tower?" Vexen asked, starting to worry that he'd gotten in over his head.

"Beings older than I," Emet-Selch replied. "Older than humans. Older than the Age of Fairy Tales. I believe that would make it…two universes ago, yes. However you're expecting them to look, that won't be it."

"How can any of this even be here?" Vexen sputtered. "You're telling me that there's been an ancient race just – just WATCHING since before I was born?"

"Before your ancestors were born," Emet-Selch clarified. "They keep to the shadows, reticent to integrate into human society. After all, as I said, you are but animals to them. The friend I am visiting, however, became quite intimate with some aspects of the world you know. Infatuation does strange things even to the grandest of voices. He has the knowledge you seek. A very particular old ritual that I never bothered to learn, but I heard him speak quite fondly of on several occasions over tea and biscuits."

"How did you just befriend a – "

"The time for questions has passed." They stood at the threshold. "I will lead. You will follow."

Without warning, he transformed into the massive Grimm, vaguely humanoid but so much taller and broader, cloaked in pure Darkness. He reached forward and rapped a claw on the tower's looming gate.

It cracked open but a couple of inches. "Who's there?" asked a high-pitched voice. One that sounded almost timid, meek.

"I seek an audience with the Grand Voice," said Emet-Selch, his voice booming and echoing.

Vexen could tell that whoever had opened the door was bristling. "The Grand Voice is not taking audiences."

"Turn me away, if you must," said Emet-Selch. "Then describe me to him, and use the name 'Hades.' I wonder how he will react when he learns that you have cast me from his doorstep?"

"You're bluffing," said the meek voice.

"Do you wish to test it?" Emet-Selch countered.

"Why've you got a simian?" asked the voice.

"Do not tell me you're still not accustomed to the practice of keeping pets," Emet-Selch retorted.

The door creaked – for a moment, back toward its original position. Then the sentry thought better of it and opened it for good.

Vexen gasped sharply upon beholding her. She had silver skin, furred in places, and a head that looked like a dessicated skull. An array of sharp horns protruded from the mane at her scalp. Innumerable tentacles writhed about her, seeming to converge at a point on her back.

"If you're lying," she said, "then you'll pay the price."

"As expected," said Emet-Selch. "How lovely to see you, Wexle."

Wexle didn't ask how the visitor knew her name. She simply turned to lead them down the hall. "Proceed. Don't veer off the path."

"What is the – " Vexen hissed.

Emet-Selch put a finger up to his face. Vexen had no recourse but to be quiet.

Emet-Selch then strode down the hallway in Wexle's wake, and Vexen hustled to keep up with his massive footsteps. The hall was dark, intricately carved, with a vaulted ceiling. It led to a stairway, and then another, and then another, and after a few more stairways, there was another ornate hall. Along the journey, Vexen caught flashes of motion. Oddly shaped creatures: dragonlike in shape but covered in thick fur, feline, insectoid, bipedal, quadrupedal, tiny, enormous, bat-eared, long-maned, anything but human.

If only he could ask questions.

Wexle brought them to a chamber that had been outfitted to resemble the forest outside: a biome shielded by glass windows, in which trees and grass grew lushly.

There stood the most bizarre creature of all, with his back to Wexle, Emet-Selch, and Vexen. Nine feet tall and skeletally thin, he had a lion's mane, his face marked by sunken eye sockets and a mouth that was open to either side of where the lips met, as though a slasher had carved open his cheeks to reveal rows of neatly pointed fangs. There were spikes on the rest of him, too – two neat rows on his neck, and bony protrusions seeming to come every which way off his upper torso. Vexen saw all this when the creature turned to address his visitors.

(He also saw the incredibly gaudy yellow-and-black striped coat that the creature was wearing.)

"A visitor," said Wexle, inclining her head. "He requested you."

"I know no such creature," said the one they'd come to see.

Wexle looked up to glower at Emet-Selch. "Liar."

"'Twas not a lie," said Emet-Selch. "Merely a gamble. I can assure you the reaction I had promised would have taken place had you told him that I, who have gone by the name Hades – "

"Oh, I know that voice," sighed the one they'd come to visit. He drooped his head slightly, shaking it.

"Looked more like this." There was a rush of Dark, and Emet-Selch looked as his human-shaped self once more, the Grimm stripe of white in his dark hair.

"A simian?" Wexle asked.

"No, no…" The other sighed. "Leave us be. We have much to discuss, apparently."

"With him?" Wexle seemed confused. "I never thought I would see the day when you – "

"Leave us BE, Wexle."

So she did, sauntering off into the forest.

"It has been a while, hasn't it, Ludwig?" Emet-Selch asked slyly.

So there was a name. Ludwig. "You disappeared a millennium ago and never bothered to make contact," he replied. "How was I supposed to know you would ever return?"

"To those as you and I, Ludwig, a millennium is but a short vacation," said Emet-Selch.

"And the time we spent conversing even shorter," Ludwig replied.

"But you no longer needed me, yes?" Emet-Selch prompted. "When Zanarkand fell and took with it the one thing that kept you tied down."

Ludwig bristled. "I will never make such a bold mistake again."

"Anyroad, I've brought a peace offering." Emet-Selch bowed, holding out a hand. On it appeared a red lacquer box.

"How old are those?" Ludwig asked. "If you've been saving them since last we met, they're bound to be horribly stale."

"Would I truly be so classless?"
"You did not answer the question, so I'm inclined to say yes." Still and all, Ludwig used a deadly-looking claw to delicately pry up the lid of the box, revealing an assortment of tiny, artfully crafted cookies. He used his other claw to take one and place it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Vexen winced as he saw the chewing take place through the slits in Ludwig's cheeks.

"As I thought. Stale."

"Think of it as a memento of our glory days."

"What have you been doing all this time?" Ludwig asked.

"It surprises me that you ask," Emet-Selch responded. "After all, doing so implies that you missed my presence. That you wondered about me. That I meant something of value to you, however small it may have been."

"Don't twist my words," said Ludwig. "Just answer. Where did you go?"

"Home," Emet-Selch told him. "I had business to attend to there. Truth be told, I was chasing something that refused to be caught. Only now have I been reminded that the worlds are larger than what I knew. Only one other has ever understood the true scope of how much."

"You want something," Ludwig huffed. "Don't pretend you came here out of sentimentality."

"Ah, you still know me," Emet-Selch replied. "But truly, I did miss your company. This is long overdue. Perhaps, if you don't feel so much revulsion at the thought of entering a domain of simians, you could see what it is I've only recently been up to. A venture that you would find interesting if naught else."

"Explain this 'venture.'"

"The blackest hearts," Emet-Selch said. "Blacker than mine own. Though perhaps not the cream of the crop, we are a force to be reckoned with. There is an empire that spans worlds waiting for the taking. They've created a device to unite a multitude of kingdoms at one central point. I think they're going to see it through, if you ask me. They come from all worlds – not simians alone, but a few other sorts. They've given me renewed purpose. I don't suppose you need any of that?"

"Iutycyr Tower keeps to itself," Ludwig stated. "We are through meddling in your affairs."

"A pity," Emet-Selch sighed. "It would be incomplete without you there. They're all your sort, you know. Half of them stoic and the other half willing to brawl over who gets the last biscuit."

Speaking of biscuits, Ludwig had been picking away at the box and eaten half of its contents. "While it sounds like an impressive comedy, I doubt I am in that dire of a need for a laugh."

"What have you done since last we met?" Emet-Selch asked. "Are you no closer to rebuilding your once-grand universe?"
"That will take time," Ludwig reminded him. "Millennia. Eons."

"Of course. So why not spend some of it in a place that's livelier than this? After all, since Yunalesca's passing, it seems you've just moved from one little prison to another." Emet-Selch smirked. "We could make it fun, you know. A wager. If this herd of blackguards happens to take their prize, then you would have a place reserved among them. If they fail, you could then slaughter every last one."

"WHAT?" Vexen yelled. "I WILL HOLD MY TONGUE NO LONGER! HOW DARE – "

"It was a JEST," Emet-Selch sighed.

Ludwig pointed an accusatory claw at Vexen. "A friend of yours, I presume."

"Quite so."

"He's beneath you."

"Doubly so."

"I AM STANDING RIGHT HERE!" Vexen yelled.

"And yet I find I have felt more…amused among the company of his sort than ever I have been," Emet-Selch clarified. "Save, perhaps, a long time ago, when once I spent every few days paying a visit to a friend who could not leave his home in Zanarkand, and speaking with him over matters of the multiverse that only he and I could understand."

Ludwig sniffed. "Such flattery."

"As long as I'm speaking," Vexen said, "I demand an explanation."

"Did I not tell you not to ask questions?" Emet-Selch told him.

"Well, it isn't a QUESTION," Vexen retorted.

Ludwig flinched. Then let out a laugh. "This is at the very least a spirited one. All right, we'll make this quick. What do you want explained?"

"THIS!" Vexen gestured at the tower. "ALL OF THIS!"

Ludwig sighed. "All right. In as few words as I can make it, I and mine hail from a universe that existed far before the world that fell to the senseless 'Keyblade War' and therefore long, LONG before this smattering of cosmic dust. We keep to ourselves, as the creatures that populate this world are but parasites. Our goal is to retake what once was ours, to transform this multiverse into a recreation of our own. I spearhead the operation. It will, of course, take eons, as I had said, so you needn't hold your breath worrying about it happening in your lifetime or that of your progeny several generations down. We are called 'Kivouachians,' after what we have lost. I am the Grand Voice, meaning a leader among my kin. Not one who can just go gallivanting off because of the words of a fair-weather friend and his guarantees that this particular tank of circus fleas is putting on a decent show."

"Then if that be your decision, I shall leave you to it," Emet-Selch said. "Though I will try to make a habit out of visiting more regularly."

"I'm sure you will," Ludwig said sardonically. "All the same, I'll have the others informed of your…general description. In all forms. You won't be turned down at the gate. Is that not enough for you?"

"There is the matter I came here to ask of you," Emet-Selch said. "Knowledge that you possess and I lack. An old ritual that you had mentioned, but never dared to let slip so long as you were loyal to Lady Yunalesca and Zanarkand."

"If he's so anti-human," Vexen asked, "why would he have been involved with ZANARKAND?"

"Because I was a fool," Ludwig said simply.

"As was I, once upon a time," Emet-Selch chimed in. "So many of us have been charmed by a wayward heart that leads us astray. Now, to the point, I will remind you that you no longer hold any loyalty toward Zanarkand. There is no more Zanarkand, in fact. Surely there would be no harm in letting slip a few of its military secrets?"

"Which one do you want?" Ludwig groaned. "Don't say 'Vegnagun.' That project was a mess from the very start."

"I was thinking more along the lines of…the Aeon transfiguration," said Emet-Selch. "That which Yunalesca reserved for a dire emergency."

Ludwig flinched. "I had all but forgotten about that one. For what are you using it?"

"Why, for the flea circus!" Emet-Selch spread out his arms. "We so happen to require one obedient monster, a warped divinity, created from a human soul. Our own Aeon to summon at will! A very elaborate way of keeping a hostage, really. From there, I suppose we shall see what becomes of it."

"You don't know?" Ludwig countered. "Usually you have plans among plans."

"I have found that it is healthy for me to retain a little bit of spontaneity," Emet-Selch stated.

Ludwig thought it over. "Very well. It's not as if you could do anything with it that I'd regret. It doesn't work on Kivouachians, after all, and you could transfigure the entire Radiant Garden without stepping on my toes. Follow me to the library, and I'll fetch – "

"But you have it memorized, do you not?" Emet-Selch grinned.

"Why should that – " Ludwig let out the deepest sigh yet. "You intend to cajole me into coming with you."

"YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT PICKING UP ANYONE ELSE!" Vexen yelled.

"I am going to go along with your wild assumption that the man you love is still waiting for you at a cheap hotel and assuming that you found the files he hid from you deliberately," Emet-Selch said. "In return, you are going to allow me to catch up with a companion from mine own past."

"I haven't agreed to go," Ludwig reminded him.

"I ask you not to abandon Iutycyr and join the flea circus full stop," Emet-Selch told him. "Merely to take a walk with me across the continent. Breathe in the fresh air. It will do you good. Unless you would rather we part here and now."

Ludwig needed a moment to think it over before he answered: "And where, precisely, are we going to enact this ritual?"

"First, we must needs stop at a travel station to either confirm or deny the existence of the most ridiculous rendez-vous I've heard of this past century," Emet-Selch stated. "From there, I suppose the only reasonable choices are Zanarkand or Baaj. Choose the more palatable, Vexen."

"Baaj," Vexen said. "It's closer."

The sludge had all been cleared out, but the strelitzias still grew too thick in Zanarkand. It made him feel like she was watching.

"Very well," Ludwig relented. "To this travel station, though I refuse to interact directly with any simian or variant thereof. Then to Baaj, to enact the ritual. Then back to Iutycyr, and you go where you will, but do NOT abandon me again."

"And don't forget," Vexen said, "before we do ANY of this, we'll need to recapture – "

The word caught in his throat. "…Actually, no. No. i turned out to be far more trouble than she ever was worth. I shall make a new creation, one stronger and more powerful than that failure."

"You came all this way for the girl," Emet-Selch said, "and now you've changed course entirely?"

"Well, that seems to have been the recurring theme, hasn't it?" Vexen barked. "And I'm only just now realizing that it never had been about the girl, and I'm the last to know that tidbit. The point is that I can outdo her. Improve upon her! In fact, I already have! I created three cyborgs FAR superior to her, and they've pledged their loyalty to me! Not to mention the Skeksis replica, and the boy…and…well. That was only the beginning. I'm certain I can do better yet. So let us claim this Aeon. My final masterpiece on this world before I move onward and upward to bigger and better things."

"Wonderful," Ludwig grumbled. "You've said so much bizarre shit in such a vague way that now I've got to at least know the context of what's going on. You'll tell me on the way."

"That we will," said Emet-Selch. "We shall await you at the gate, and not depart until you have caught up."

"I may yet regret this, but I shall be there."

"Oh, and Ludwig?" Emet-Selch pivoted, ready to take the first few steps away. "You've changed since last I saw you. Your mane is silkier, more luxurious, and you've got more spines now. It's a lovely look, to be honest."

"…Well, you look the same as ever," Ludwig muttered. "Which is the best choice you could've made; most changes would be downgrades."

Emet-Selch turned and walked away, putting up a hand to give his flippant wave. Vexen trotted after him. Ludwig wondered why he kept letting this man talk him into such ridiculous scenarios even after all these years.

...

To the residents of Ant Island all the way out to the grasshopper hideaway, there was only one City. Any other bug civilizations were far too far away to even bother marking on maps, since as big as the world is to a person, it is even larger to an insect.

It was just outside this City that P.T. Flea's circus had set up its newest, largest tent yet. That night, the troupe was performing for a very special audience of Ant Island royalty: Queen Atta, Princess Dot, their friend Flik, and a small company of bodyguards.

Atta, Dot, and Flik were settled into front-row seats, sharing torn-off bits of a candy circus peanut. "I don't know," Atta sighed. "I'm happy to support our friends. I really am! But I'm not sure I like the whole…circus environment." She scooted her feet around to avoid sticky spots on the floor. "Are they even paid properly?"

"Hey, it's got its pros and cons," Flik said. "Not sure it'd be my life, either. But it's what they wanna do, so I'm all for it!"

"I'd at least put in a request for better wages," Atta muttered. "I mean, I am the Princess of Ant Island. I have to have some diplomatic sway here."

"Queen, actually," Flik reminded her.

"Oh yeah!" Atta's eyes widened. "I AM the Queen! Ohhhh my gosh I'm the Queen. You know why I keep forgetting that? On purpose, because do you have any idea what it means to be THE QUEEN? I can't believe I actually inherited it. This is a mistake – "

"Atta," Dot said around a mouthful of sticky marshmallow fluff. "You're the best Queen we're ever gonna have. Besides Mom."

"If you can't do this," Flik assured, "no one can."

"We're not here to talk about royalty stuff anyway," Dot said. "We're here to watch the circus! You should relax!"

"Relax," Atta sighed. "Right. I can do that."

"And I'm sure P.T. would listen to any workplace improvement suggestions you have after the show," Flik told her. "I myself am noticing a couple ways the tent structural integrity could be improved. Oh, and what do you think about a trapeze that can convert into a – "

"It's starting!" Dot squeaked.

Indeed, the show was about to begin. A diminutive flea hopped out front and center; "Ladies and gentlebugs! Welcome to P.T. Flea's amaaaazing circus! Guaranteed to be the most eventful event in your entire life! If you're a mayfly, that is! Heheheh…heh…come on, is this a crowd or a honeycomb? Ehhhh? Anyway, I'm proud to say that thanks to our acts raking in MORE MONEY THAN EVER BEFORE, I finally had enough to start paying our performers a more livable wage!"

Flik elbowed Atta. "See?"

"But then I spent it on this big top instead," P.T. finished. "Pretty spacious, isn't it? For the first time in recorded insect history, our circus now has…pause for effect…still pausing…THREE RINGS! BEHOLD, FOLKS!"

Indeed, he stood in the center of the middle ring, and it was here that a trio of clowns came skidding out to start juggling water droplets and acting like buffoons. They consisted of Slim, the tall, slender walking stick; Francis, the effeminate but definitely male ladybug; and Heimlich, a butterfly whose wings were so small in proportion that he could've been mistaken for a caterpillar, but that suited him just fine.

In the left-hand ring, out came a sturdily built grasshopper, Molt, who hefted up high a fairly heavy plastic fork that had been left from a human picnic. The middle tines had been snapped off, leaving plenty of space in between; the black-widow acrobat, Rosie, wove and swung between the outer tines, creating intricate patterns.

To the right was a magic show: a praying mantis, Manny, who acted the part of a magician, had brought out a discarded Chinese takeout box. His lovely assistant and wife, a moth called Gypsy (rather unfortunately), hovered over it, ready to disappear into it and reappear on command.

"Without any further ado!" P.T. Flea hopped away. "ENJOY THE SHOW!"

The clowns went into a pantomime skit about bumblebees and the way they used dances to communicate and miscommunicate. Molt discarded the fork and began lifting other objects that were scattered around the ring, all while Rosie clambered up to a trapeze overhead and started swinging while spinning. Gypsy was lowered into the takeout box.

Despite her doubts about the working environment and its sanitation practices, Atta had to admit that seeing the performers in their element was simply wonderful.

Two more acrobats, a pair of pillbugs known as Tuck and Roll, were awaiting their cue backstage, chattering away in Hungarian (mostly about putting a bet on how long it would take for Heimlich to make another pun on "hungry" and "Hungary"). A sudden, unexpected thump off to the side caught their attention, and they scuttled over to check what had gone wrong.

Gypsy had been thrown backstage, tied up with long, thin blades of grass that bound her limbs and kept her mouth shut. She wriggled, her cries muffled until Roll took away the leafy gag.

"This isn't part of the trick!" she hissed worriedly.

High up above the center ring, a new trapeze was lowered. The audience gasped with awe; an acrobat they hadn't seen before, a young purple moth, was using it to twist and flip.

"Heyyy, wait a minute," P.T. muttered. "That one's not on my payroll."

"Attention all who've come to see this most PEDESTRIAN performance," Symonne announced. "There has been a change in the program. The old act was satisfactory, but lacking in true excellence."

"SOMEBODY GET HER DOWN FROM THERE!" P.T. yelled.

"Allow me to present a more skilled troupe of all trades!" Symonne hung from her knees, wings and arms outspread. "Tonight will be the last and greatest show of your miserable lives!"

That was when Gypsy came bursting from backstage, screaming, "DON'T OPEN THE BOX – "

Manny backpedaled several steps, which saved his life from the spike that impaled through the cardboard. With a few slashes, the mosquito proboscis that had nearly pierced his chest managed to open a panel in the cardboard, and Neo came striding out, giving a dramatic bow.

"EXCUSE YOU, MADAM!" Manny stormed toward her. "I DO BELIEVE YOU WEREN'T INVITED TO – "

Gypsy seized him by the shoulders and swung him out of the way as Neo's proboscis stabbed toward him again. She leered, going in for yet another stab.

Now Lunarre leapt in from backstage with a "HA!", tail stabbing out toward the trio of clowns. Heimlich, Francis, and Slim were forced to scatter every which way, and really, the only thing that kept Lunarre from landing a blow was the fact that there were three very attractive targets in front of him, and he was having trouble deciding which to eat first.

Symonne snapped her fingers. Maltran phased out of an illusion of camouflage that Symonne had given her, leaping into the third ring with a sharpened toothpick that acted as her lance.

With a "WHOA!", Molt put up his wrists to block the blow. Rosie threw a thread of silk at Maltran to try and slow her down; Maltran just cut through it and changed trajectory, hurtling to try and stab Rosie. Molt responded by picking up one of the heavier pebbles he'd been asked to lift, hefting it at Maltran; Maltran sidestepped it easily.

Atta, Flik, and Dot were all on their feet, ready to intervene. They hardly had time, however. Roman made himself known at that point, all of his limbs gripping a lit match that he flew round and round the rings. The tent caught aflame, and the fire began to rise.

"MY EXPENSIVE TENT!" P.T. yelled. "ANYTHING BUT THAT!"

"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?" Atta screamed. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"I'll tell you what we want."

The voice came from behind, sitting two rows back. The three ants slowly turned, utter horror etched on their faces. Their bodyguards threw themselves between the trio and the speaker.

Hopper casually leaned back, nibbling on one large piece of popcorn. "This is the best entertainment I've seen in a WHILE," he remarked. "What, you're telling me you're not enjoying this? Some people just have no sense of humor."

"Hopper," Flik gasped. "No. No, no, you're dead, the bird – "

"And yet here I sit," Hopper replied. "Looks like I wasn't quite as dead as you thought. And to be fair, you did a really, REALLY bad job of killing me." He slowly rose. "I wasn't a fan of it."

"Are you doing this to make demands?" Atta barked. "Putting innocent lives in danger for a RANSOM?"

"You ants just never get it," Hopper sighed. "It was never about the food, and it is no longer about keeping you in line. This? This is revenge, plain and simple. They say it's a dish best served cold, but I dunno, I think I prefer the fireworks."

Dim, the circus rhinoceros beetle who acted as transport, had barged onto the floor, knocking aside Maltran, Lunarre, and Neo with his hard carapace. He urged the other performers to follow them, gathering the smaller of the troupe under his wings.

Maltran, Lunarre, Neo, and now Symonne landed in front of Dim and his evacuees. "Leaving the stage?" Symonne gasped in mock offense. "Has no one ever told you that no matter what, the show must go on?"

"This is a universally understood unwritten exception!" Slim said haughtily.

"Wasn't that your brother?" Rosie asked Molt.

"He just can never show up for a family reunion without making it awkward," Molt sighed. "Seriously, if he wanted me to write, he could've done a lot less than set a troupe of assassins on us!"

Roman, having run out of tent to set on fire, chucked the match into the center of the middle ring and flashed a thumbs-up to Hopper.

"Well, that's my cue," Hopper said. "I'm just gonna cut right to the chase of what I came here for."

He vaulted over the bodyguards, tackling Atta to the ground.

"ATTA!" Flik and Dot rushed to her. Hopper batted each away with one of his four hands, using the other two to hold Atta down. Atta struggled desperately.

"P…please…" she begged.

"Oh, you're BEGGING me now?" Hopper laughed. "I think I like that. Not as much as I'm gonna like THIS, of course."

He placed a foot down on Atta's head and teasingly began to apply pressure.

"Any last words, Princess?" Hopper taunted.

"You…" Atta glared at him. "You can squish me. But it won't…mean anything. We'll always…find a way to…to put tyrants like you in their place."

Hopper rolled his eyes. "You could've come up with something a LITTLE less trite."

He brought his foot up sharply.

However, before he could bring it down, there was a noise. The sort of noise that will cause any bug with good sense to freeze in place. And so everyone did.

It was a scream. A high-pitched scream. Not one of distress, nor one made by any sort of human or insect. It echoed off the heavens, filling the tent with its ominous tidings.

P.T. Flea was the first to name it: "BIIIIIIIRD!"

Indeed, as the flames tore away the upper cloth of the tent, all could see a sparrow circling overhead. No doubt the lights had signaled that there was prey to be had.

"BIRD?" Hopper fell over backwards, scuttling away from Atta. "WHERE? NO BIRDS! NO!" He put up his four arms, shielding himself.

Flik seized Atta's arm, and Dot clenched her other hand. "Let's get out of here!" Flik urged.

Neo knew what would happen next: that Roman would drop out of the sky like a stone, landing beside the match. And so he did. She tapped Symonne on the shoulder and pointed her toward Roman, then gestured from Maltran and Lunarre to Hopper.

"They'll get away!" Lunarre argued. "They'll LIVE!"

Neo kicked him in the shin to make her point, then dove out to the ring. Symonne was in close pursuit.

"Don't argue, Lunarre," Maltran growled, seizing his arm and pulling him along to the felled grasshopper.

The entire tent was trying to evacuate. Most of the audience had managed to escape, and Dim got the troupe out the back. Before Atta, Flik, or Dot could reach the exit, however, the flames caught up to the door, whooshing up and trapping them inside.

"WHAT DO WE DO?" Dot yelled. "I'M SCARED!"

Neo and Symonne bent over Roman, pulling him to his feet. "No, no, no, not now," he whimpered. "I had it, I can't – not now – "

Neo could feel how his whole body quaked. She pulled him close to her side, and Symonne followed suit on the other. Then Neo waved for Lunarre, Maltran, and Hopper to catch up.

Hopper was in an even worse state of panic than Roman, flailing and yelling. Lunarre and Maltran ended up dragging him unceremoniously by his ankles back down to the ring.

"Where do we go from here?" Symonne asked once all had caught up. "Any brilliant ideas?"

At the same time, Atta yelled to Flik, "IF YOU HAVE A BRILLIANT IDEA, WE COULD SURE USE IT!"

"Can't get out through the exit," Flik muttered, his eyes wide, reflecting the orange and dancing flames. "Can't go up. The only thing not on fire is…"

He shuffled his feet on the dirt floor.

Then he dropped to it, plowing his hands into the soil. "DIG DOWN! We're going to make a tunnel out of the tent!"

"You're a genius!" Dot dropped in alongside him to help with the work.

"Just hurry!" Atta fell to her knees, tearing at the soil.

Being ants, they could dig much faster and more efficiently than any human could, using their hands alone. Soon, they were under the surface of the soil. Neo looked from them back to her own group.

"It's as good of a plan as any," Symonne said.

She and Neo both dropped down, starting to dig until Symonne yelled "I DON'T KNOW IF YOU KNOW ANYTHING AT ALL OF ENTOMOLOGY, BUT MOSQUITOES AND MOTHS WEREN'T BUILT TO DIG!"

Maltran and Lunarre got the hint, joining them. Then Hopper realized that they were digging an escape route, and he practically collapsed, frantically tearing apart the ground. Roman pressed a hand to his head, willing himself to join in and completely failing.

Then his arm was seized, and he was dragged down into the tunnel in the soil, the bright lights of the flames winking out. A rush of brightness as the big top collapsed on top of the escape tunnels.

At that point, the sparrow got desperate, divebombing the ruins of the tent. It thrust its beak down the WHAM ARMY escape tunnel, biting and clicking menacingly. Lunarre, Maltran, Symonne, and Neo hustled to get Hopper and Roman as far away from the tunnel entrance as possible.

Roman was still frozen, fixated on the snapping beak. He'd just about made his peace with dying again by the time the others had gotten him further along, and he couldn't even remember the next events after that – only that he'd been in the tunnel, watching that horrible beak search for him, and now he was suddenly collapsed on soft soil between dewy blades of grass beneath a dark, star-lit sky.

"Well?" Lunarre asked. "Did they get AWAY?"

Neo shot up out of the cover of the grass, only briefly, to see that all of the ants had rejoined the circus troupe, and the whole lot was headed toward the City. She dove back down, giving a nod.

"And the bird?" Maltran asked.

Neo mimed a pecking motion. Sure enough, the sparrow was perched over the burning tent, still trying to pick away at whatever it could find. (There was a lot of circus food left over. Hopper's popcorn hadn't gone to waste.)

"THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" Lunarre yelled. "IT CANNOT STAND – "

"Calm yourself, Lunarre," Symonne sighed. "Sometimes, the plan has to change."

"No…no more bird," Hopper panted. "I want to…I want to get out of here. Get me to the place where I'm bigger than the birds, the one you promised!"

"You're sure you want to abandon your revenge for this?" Maltran asked.

"BIGGER," Hopper insisted. "And – and somewhere else. Where I'll WIN. Then come back for…them."

Roman quickly pressed a hand to his mouth, shuddering. Neo felt a pang in her heart as she realized what – no, who Roman was missing. Who he wanted to help him breathe again.

She could only softly pat him on the shoulder. He shook his head. "He's gone," Roman said hoarsely. "That's what happens when…when those things – "

"Heldalf wouldn't have wanted him dead," Symonne urged. "Not while he can use him as bait. A dragon is not a bird and a bird is not a dragon. Heldalf's servant is certainly no ordinary prey-driven creature. I do, however, think this is an excellent argument against us remaining our current size and shape, as we seem to have enough trouble when we're larger."

"Back to – back to the sombrero," Roman panted. "Bigger. Lastonbell. END IT."

"Wise words," Maltran agreed.

"B-but the morsels!" Lunarre whined. "Their carapaces would have crunched so very – "

"WE'RE LEAVING, LUNARRE," Maltran barked. "If you want to eat meat so badly, you can order it COOKED in Lastonbell."

Lunarre pouted, but ultimately relented.

"Will you be able to fly?" Symonne asked Hopper.

"FAR AWAY FROM HERE!" Hopper insisted.

"Then make yourself useful and carry Lunarre," Symonne barked. "What about you, Roman?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm – " Roman swallowed hard.

Neo made motions suggesting that she, Symonne, and Maltran had better flank him.

"Good call," Symonne replied. "All right, everyone. Act one usually has to end on a bit of a downer to keep the audience invested. It's act two where things get interesting."

And so they launched into the sky.

...

Tony Stark's resistance had turned an underground Sakaarian warehouse into what looked like an exposition center. Booths and benches were lined end-to-end, and those civilians brave enough to toss their hats into the ring were found working on weaponry of all kinds, grinding and shaping and forging.

The crowd was so thick and the resistance so diverse that no one thought to question Mim when she walked in, shapeshifted to be much taller and reedier – and was followed by Aghoul, Rumplestiltskin, Mysterio, and Ebony. Mysterio had used one of the holo-cubes that Zorg had designed for him to map out an illusionary appearance of a person who was not wearing a fishbowl helmet and instead was clothed as a Sakaarian. Rumplestiltskin had then one-upped him by adding more Sakaar-friendly outfits to himself, the Maw, and Aghoul via glamour.

"Well," Mysterio muttered. "This is certainly going to be a quintessential example of the revolution trope. It's like we hardly even have to lift a finger."

"En Dwi is cunning," the Maw replied. "He may not seem so, but there is a strange logic to his thoughts and actions, and by the time it is realized, it may be too late. To let down our guard would be foolishness."

"Shouldn't we be concentrating on finding our little friends?" Rumplestiltskin asked with that ever-present flair of mischief.

"Maybe," said Aghoul. "Except they're right over there." He pointed.

A young woman in all black. A man who looked incredibly disheveled.

"Now, we have to play this cool," Mysterio began. "Depending on how much information we reveal, this could be an incredible danger or pay off with an incredible reward. The most important thing is that we approach this gently, with a genre-savvy attitu – "

Aghoul had just walked right up to them. "Miss Rhona Burchill, I presume? And her consort, DJ?"

"Don't call me that," DJ replied. "C…onsort, I mean. Not DJ. That last one is my name. But she and I aren't a thing."

"So you're the zombie that Mozenrath told us to watch out for," Rhona added.

"Or you can do that," Mysterio said through gritted teeth. "Just walk up and do that."

The two groups merged. Introductions were very quickly traded. Then it was time to get down to the situation.

"I found what looks like a master terminal on an upper floor," said Rhona. "But last I checked, when I was running decryption, it said it would need thirty-two hours to complete the operation. That was thirty-one hours ago. We came out into the city to avoid being caught and simultaneously avoid being bored to death."

"And find food." DJ held out a handful of what looked like little orange candies with rough textures. "Want some? They remind me of shrimp."

"Shrimp?" Aghoul said. "How? They don't look like shrimp."

"No, they d…on't," DJ confirmed.

"Do they taste like shrimp?" Aghoul asked.

"No," said DJ. "But that's the closest thing I know to d…escribe them. Nothing else is even close."

Aghoul took one and put it in his mouth, chewing slightly. "He's right. It doesn't have the texture or taste of shrimp at all, but there's no other food I'd put it in the same ballpark as. I guess that's Sakaar for you!"

"We'll have to return to base shortly," Rhona said. "It's going to take a good hour at least to circumvent security and get back to the terminal. So whatever we figure out here, we have to make it quick."

"I'm sure we can come up with a ridiculously risky plan on the fly!" Mim scoffed.

"That's what worries me," Mysterio grumbled.

"And me," Rhona agreed, "but it's not like we have many other options, do we?" Then she took a step back. "Wait. Are you…"

"Quentin Beck?" Mysterio said. "Yes, but not whichever one is famous on your world. I don't know why it's my world that has so many parallels. You have a Tony Stark, but it's not the one I know about, and it's not the one the Maw here fought, and it's entirely possible we both have a Grandmaster, but maybe we don't, because I had a Tony Dracon and I think he's a one-world sort of deal – "

"Do the two of you know nothing of the linkage of your worlds?" Ebony's eyes were wide. "The joining of the Beyonder into a self-replicating multiverse within the multiverse? The need for the hundreds of timelines they represent and the delicate balance held? The quiet observance of the Watcher?"

Mysterio and Rhona both looked at Ebony with utter confusion until Rhona said "This wouldn't have anything to do with the Makluans, would it?"

The Maw sighed. "This will take far longer than the allotted time interval to explain, and so wait it shall. However, if ever you are approached by anyone claming to be from the 'Time Variance Authority,' I suggest you escape at all costs."

"I'll remember that part," Mysterio assured.

"And on the subject of Tony Stark," Rhona growled, "I can't BELIEVE he managed to round up a resistance this powerful! It's like he's trying to steal my thunder without even knowing that I'm here!"

"DOES he still remain unaware of your presence, dearie?" Rumplestiltskin asked. "You've a distinct profile, and smart enemies always know where their foes lie in wait!"

"Trust me," Rhona said with a smirk. "Tony has book smarts, but not the street smarts. This isn't any harder than that half a year I spent sitting in on Stark Industries' holographic board meetings, posing as an elected official for the company."

"You – HOW?" Mysterio asked.

"I'll explain later," Rhona told him. "It's a long story, and a fun one, too. It involves stage makeup, and I know you'll like that. But right now, we have to figure out how we're going to make sure this tournament can't be turned against us."

"And if there's any better food in this district," DJ added.

"One of those things takes immense priority over the other," Rhona stated.

"Well, then!" Mim said. "Let's find a restaurant and get to work!"

"That wasn't the priority I was talking about!" Rhona barked.

"Ah, yes, by all means!" Rumplestiltskin replied. "Let's just have it out in the middle of enemy territory! I'm sure we won't eventually be figured out if we stand here and look suspicious long enough!"

"…Shut up," Rhona grumbled. "Okay, fine, let's leave and find somewhere to talk. And eat."

On the way out the door, Aghoul said, "Now, first and foremost, I actually was inspired to have a little idea for our insurance for the last round. That said, it's a very, VERY bad idea, which is why I want to put it up for the heaviest consideration."

...

Everburn and the other dragons of the Mystic Isles had formed a committee discussing their next move. The unfortunate part was that their council room, and in fact their entire isle, was now dotted with magic-sucking Prisma crystals, so use of fire and flight were limited. It had been determined that the dragons would have to regain their strength elsewhere, but the minute they made that exodus, Yzmatopia's alarm bells would start ringing. Therefore, they had to have a plan to the letter, and they had to commit to it whether or not it guaranteed full success.

One such strategy meeting had only just ended; one couldn't spend all one's time beating one's head against the same issue. The dragons needed to romp and exercise on the Isle in order to clear their heads and come up with new suggestions to contribute. Everburn, for one, had decided to sun himself on a large, flat stone: a common pastime for dragons. Trying hard to relax his mind, despite it swimming with thoughts of purple-bedazzled tyranny.

Then it was forcefully intruded upon by something that only added fuel to the fire. The most Southern drawl to ever come from any Briton, headed down the bridge to the Isle of Dragons and singing:

"Let me tell you how it will be! There's one for you; nineteen for me! 'Cause I'm the tax man! Yes, I am the tax man!"

The dragons gathered at the bridge to view the spectacle. In swaggered the Sheriff of Nottingham, swinging his arms gleefully as he sang his boasting song. Behind him, Max thundered along, looming tall. One of Max's fists held a rope that was connected to a sizeable wagon that rolled along behind the two, the arrangement set up so Max was pulling it along. In the wagon sat Sir Hiss and a pile of riches.

"Good mornin' to ya!" The Sheriff bowed. "It's that time of year again, you know, Yzmopolis can't run itself! We're gonna need you to pony up the standard allowance to keep the wheels greased!"

"What are you talking about?" Everburn snapped. "We PAID our taxes to Yzma three days ago! And we weren't happy about it!"

"Three days?" the Sheriff replied. "Why, that means I'm right on time, then. Every three days, said the empress, to make sure the government don't collapse right in shambles. Isn't that right?"

"Why, yes, yes, that's exactly what she said!" Hiss agreed gleefully.

"She's truly ruthless, isn't she?" Everburn growled. "Well, we have nothing left! We already gave you all of it!"

"Is that so?" The Sheriff put on a mock pout. "Well, I wouldn't wanna be tryin' to squeeze blood from a stone. That said, if you got nothin' to hide, you wouldn't mind me takin' a look around, seein' to make sure you didn't miss anything."

"WHY, YOU – " Everburn made a move to charge at the Sheriff. Several other dragons raised their wings.

"I'd rather not resort to violence, if it's all the same to ya," said the Sheriff.

Everburn charged. Max reached down and backhanded him away from the Sheriff, sending him tumbling and scraping on the rocks with one blow.

"Now that ain't a pretty sight," said the Sheriff. "I told ya I didn't want it to come to that. Now, is there anyone else who wants to put up an objection?"

The other dragons clammed up immediately.

"I always appreciate a law-abidin' citizen," the Sheriff said proudly. "Now, let's see about this 'no more money' problem you folks're havin'."

He strode right on into the dragons' innermost cave system. Sure enough, there was a mountain of gold coins and jewels.

"Seems ya missed a spot when you were countin'!" the Sheriff laughed. "I should think half of this would cover it. Any more wouldn't fit in the wagon!"

"But that's our hoard!" protested one of the dragons who'd followed him in. "Dragons need hoards!"

"You would keep it all bottled up like that?" the Sheriff scolded. "Shame on you, that'd put the economy into a standstill!"

"That's what Yzma's doing!" the dragon argued.

"No, Yzma's spendin'," said the Sheriff. "Meanin' all that cold, hard cash goes right back to you fellas."

"Then where is it?" asked the dragon.

"If you gotta ask that," said the Sheriff, "then you don't know the first thing about laissez-faire economics." (His pronunciation of "laissez-faire" could have used some refinement.) "Now, I'll be loadin' up the cut you owe."

A couple more dragons organized an attack at the outside of the cave entrance. Max wrestled them both into submission. Half of the amazing hoard was piled up in the wagon, and Hiss started counting, using his tail to grip a fountain pen and scribble figures in a ledger.

"A thousand, a thousand and fifty, a thousand and seventy – ooh!" Hiss chuckled. "This will afford me a bed fit for a king!"

"The empress and all of Yzmopolis thank you for your compliance," the Sheriff stated. "Now, we'll be on our way."

Max pointed two fingers at his eyes, then back at the dragons. By this time, Everburn and the other dissidents were back on their feet, and they knew it made the most sense to cower.

The Sheriff swaggered across the bridge to the next isle, Max and the wagon with Hiss in tow. "Should five percent appear too small, be thankful I don't take it all! 'Cause I'm the tax man! Yes, I am the tax man!"

His next stop was the Fairy Forest. "But we don't deal in money," the Sugar Plum Fairy protested.

"Well, what do ya deal in?" asked the Sheriff.

"Nothing that would be of any value to Yzma," the Sugar Plum Fairy insisted.

Hiss flipped a few pages in his ledger. "It says here the fairies' greatest treasure is a repository of magic known as the 'Pixie Cup.' Very portable, very potent."

The Sugar Plum Fairy's hands flew to her mouth. "You can't!"

"Oh, I can," said the Sheriff. "After all, I am collectin' the taxes, as is my legal duty, and I'd say this forest has gone on long enough gettin' away with payin' up nothing. To make up for all the money missed out in past years – "

"But Yzma only seized the throne this month!"

" – we're gonna need that Pixie Cup," the Sheriff finished.

The Sugar Plum Fairy folded her arms. "You will not be leaving with that cup!"

"Max?" the Sheriff prompted. "The little lady says no to what we offered. So how 'bout you collect somethin' else?"

Max's hand swiped into the forest. When it withdrew, there was a juvenile fairy – a brownie called Bridget, mud-stained from taking care of the forest – struggling in its grip. "HELP!"

"BRIDGET!" the Sugar Plum Fairy screamed.

"Yzmatopia could use a new maid," said the Sheriff. "We'll take her if the Pixie Cup's too much for askin'. Unless of course…"

The Sugar Plum Fairy aimed her wand at him.

The Sheriff folded his arms. "Go ahead. If Prisma accidentally left you enough magic to launch an attack, that's somethin' we'll need to address too."

The Sugar Plum Fairy's grip faltered. Thanks to the crystallization, she could do little more than shoot sparks. "We'll give you the Pixie Cup," she relented. "Just let Bridget go."

"Let's see the flower first," the Sheriff demanded.

The Pixie Cup, a golden bloom overflowing with shining magic dust, was loaded into the wagon, and Hiss documented it on his ledger. Bridget was handed back over; the Sugar Plum Fairy picked her up and held her tight so that she couldn't be grabbed again.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya!" the Sheriff said.

"You're a monster," the Sugar Plum Fairy seethed.

"All part of the job," the Sheriff assured her. Then he was off again: "If you drive a coach, I'll tax the street! If you try to sit, I'll tax your seat! If you get too cold, I'll tax the heat! If you take a walk, I'll tax your feet! 'Cause I'm the tax man!"

His next stop was the Isle of Unicorns, though for a moment, he was confused when what appeared to be several ordinary horses trotted up to him. "Now wait just a darn minute," he said. "This isle promised us unicorns. Now where're all those fancy-pants unicorns with all their money?"

One such "horse," a former unicorn known as Sky, stepped forward and glowered at the Sheriff. "You should know," he snapped. "Thanks to Prisma's crystal drain, our horns and wings have withered away."

"Oh!" the Sheriff realized. "Then you are the fellas I'm lookin' for. It just so happens to be tax-collectin' time – "

"How dare you!" Sky barked. "After all you've taken from us – "

"Sky." The Unicorn Queen stepped out front. "We have so little left to give."

"Is that so?" The Sheriff reached out and pulled on the bridle the Unicorn Queen was wearing: a golden affair, studded with gems. "This sure seems worth a pretty penny. I reckon the empress'd take a few of these bridles in place of coins."

"You can't!" Sky pleaded.

The Unicorn Queen stamped once on the ground to silence Sky. "You would have the clothes off our backs?" she asked the Sheriff.

"Well, the way I see it…" The Sheriff walked a loop around her, now also noticing the jeweled saddle that adorned her midsection. "You were all unicorns with horns and wings, and that's why those fancy bridles have that part in 'em that was supposed to loop 'round the horn. Right now, it's kinda saggin'."

The Unicorn Queen flinched. He was right. The upper part of her bridle no longer quite fit, without her horn.

"And these saddles!" The Sheriff clicked his tongue in disapproval. "They got these big holes cut in 'em! Now, that'd make sense if you were horses with wings…but I don't see any wings to be had!"

"No," the Unicorn Queen sighed. "We have none."

"Where I'm standin', those bridles and saddles don't work for you anymore," the Sheriff concluded, stopping out front of the Unicorn Queen. "No sense in you havin' 'em."

The Unicorn Queen shook her head. "You are only getting what you want because you have the upper hand. There is no need to continue playing with us like a cat with a mouse."

"Or a wolf with its prey," Sky seethed.

"If you want me to be quiet," the Sheriff said, "you'd best pony up."

Hiss chuckled. "Pony up. They're horses…"

Several bejeweled bridles and saddles were heaped onto the treasure wagon, and Hiss recorded every last one. Then they set off again, the Sheriff cheerfully singing, "Don't ask me what I want it for if you don't want to pay some more…"

Over the course of the day, the wagon filled with all sorts of fantastical riches. A golden goose egg, a spinning wheel that could turn straw to gold, a pair of fairy-wrought glass slippers, magic mirrors, golden orbs, a magic harp, and so much more. Though the Sheriff was pretty sure one of the islands had managed to pass him a "cloak of invisibility" that didn't actually exist and was just thin air, but you couldn't win them all.

The wagon rolled up to Yzmatopia; Yzma and Wuya waited in the great hall to count the spoils. Hiss had done the work for them, and passed them the ledger, after which they picked out their favorite shiny items.

"Now wait just a minute!" said the Sheriff. "You asked me to collect taxes from EVERY member of the kingdom."

"Why don't I like where this is going?" Yzma asked.

"Well, Sir Hiss managed to turn up an important little piece of trivia," said the Sheriff. "You happen to own a business. A business under an umbrella you call 'Yz-mart, LLC.'"

"Now I really don't like where this is going," Yzma sighed.

"Well, I didn't know about all those fancy business types," said the Sheriff, "but when there's taxes involved, I need to know my stuff, so I did some homework on the subject, and it turns out that registering as a Limited Liability Corporation means you owe taxes for both your business and your personal statements."

"Wha – " Yzma sputtered. "I just wrote a businessy-sounding suffix on the end of the name! I'm getting taxed for THAT?"

"More importantly," said Wuya, "the taxes are FOR us. Are you going to tax us in order to pay us?"

"The law's the law," said the Sheriff. "If I were you, I'd comply with it."

"You're just having fun at this point," Wuya realized.

"Maybe so!" the Sheriff laughed.

So Yzma and Wuya rounded up a bucket of gems to pass over to him. The Sheriff held it for about a minute before passing it right back.

"NOW I've collected from everyone in the kingdom," the Sheriff said.

"Wait a minute," Yzma realized. "You palmed two of the jewels when we weren't looking!"

The Sheriff held up a glittering sapphire and a shimmering emerald. "You got a sharp eye, empress! But as the royal tax collector, I do deserve a salary, wouldn't you say?"

"Whatever," Yzma muttered.

"I respect the shrewdness," Wuya said with a nod. "Very WHAM ARMY. You'll fit right in. I'm also presuming you kept a cut of the wagon."

"Only what I was owed," said the Sheriff, a twinkle in his eye. "And Hiss, for keepin' the books, and Max, for bein' the enforcer."

"Ah, well, it's still a lot of money for us," Yzma resolved. "Well done. And in three days' time, we'll get to do it all over again!"

"So if we were to take a little vacation down to Nueva Vista," Wuya said, "and we left the kingdom in your hands for a while – "

"Well, I don't have hands," said Hiss, "but I could certainly look after things. We'll keep this kingdom running!"

"Then let's head out before we end up with another sidequest," Wuya told Yzma.

"Agreed," said Yzma.

...

By the time Vexen, Emet-Selch, and Ludwig returned to Rin's, Ludwig had only just gotten used to the fact that Hades' name was Emet-Selch now.

"Angel of truth," Ludwig scoffed. "Hardly accurate."

"Well, YOUR name means 'famed warrior,'" Emet-Selch said with a smirk, "and yet I see you continue your dealings in the field of politics rather than with a sword in your hand. Oh, my apologies, a sword AS your hand."

"Touché."

Vexen put his hand on the door to the inn. "I'm about to prove him right," he muttered. "I may never live this down. I should leave while I still can."

"Perhaps you're right," said Emet-Selch. "Either way, we can hardly stand here in the doorway the whole time. Would you rather abandon the whole charade and continue on without paying him any more mind – "

Vexen threw open the door and stormed in.

"You're playing with him," Ludwig said. "You WANT them together."

"We immortals must get our entertainment from some source," Emet-Selch replied.

Ludwig nodded. "Of course."

The two of them entered in time to see Vexen crossing to the area of the lobby where Deymos, Xerxes, skekSil, Simon, Tsumugi, the Sisterhood of the Noodle Burger, Vincent, Victor, Albert, Agnus, Arius, Discord, and Peepers were lounging by a bookshelf.

"And that's when I said – " Deymos stopped whatever story he was telling to wave at Vexen. "Hey! Found my playlist?"

"Your jaw," Ludwig hissed to Emet-Selch. "It's practically on the floor."

"I thought he MIGHT be here," Emet-Selch hissed back. "Not that he'd actually set up that entire gambit with the music files – "

Vexen seized Deymos by the upper arm, dragging him into the hall. "A word. NOW."

Deymos flashed a thumbs-up to the rest. Tsumugi let out a happy squeak, being the chief shipper on deck.

"Emet-Selch?" Peepers greeted. "He called you as his backup? Huh. Good move."

"Though where they got a KIVOUACHIAN is beyond me!" Discord said in awe, eyes wide. He shot up to levitate right in Ludwig's face. "Have you been here on this world the whole time?"

"Draconequui," Ludwig sighed. "Better seen than heard. No, wait, better neither of those things. I'm not going to be answering any of your questions."

"But I have so many!" Discord pouted. "Like this one: if you could swim in only one, a pool filled with maple syrup or a pool filled with peanut butter, which would you pick? And does the answer change if I add bees to the hypothetical?"

Before Ludwig had the chance to tell him off, the concierge Esteban passed by. "Ah! You're all still here! Is there anything I can – "

Ludwig turned to look down at Esteban. Upon seeing Ludwig's face, Esteban let out a high-pitched shriek – "AAAAAAA! AAAAAA! AAAAAAA – " – and went sprinting out of the inn at top speed.

Ludwig shook his head. "Simians."

"Okay, it's gonna bug me if I don't say it," Peepers sighed. "Peanut butter, UNLESS there are bees. Then I'll take the syrup."

"Why do the bees make a difference?" Vincent asked.

"The bees make ALL the difference," Albert said to be contrary.

"This is what you endure daily?" Ludwig asked Emet-Selch.

Emet-Selch smirked. "Is it not just a cavalcade of amusements?"

Down the hall and around the corner, Vexen finally let Deymos go. The latter started rocking on his heels, an ear-to-ear grin splayed on his face.

"So you know," he said.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Vexen sighed.

"Because you would've shot me down," Deymos said, "but not necessarily for the right reasons. I had to bring your pride around to the idea. NOW you can shoot me down if you want."

"Why do I have the feeling you would accept my 'rejection' by trying yet another thirty-step gambit to get me to fall for you?" Vexen sighed.

"You are so dodging the question," Deymos snickered.

Vexen let out a long sigh. Then: "Even if I – if we – regardless, I am in no mood to have my heart broken again. Not after – "

"You just OUTED YOURSELF!" Deymos leapt into the air excitedly, pointing at Vexen. "I can't break your heart if YOU DON'T CARE!"

Vexen gritted his teeth. "Fine! PERHAPS you've managed to charm me with your sheer ridiculousness. Perhaps I…took a lot of things for granted back at Organization XIII. Perhaps it does me very little good to be the voice of reason when there's nothing unreasonable to contrast to!"

"And my face is cute too, right?"

"It's an aesthetic."

"I'll take it."

Vexen looked off to the side. "Why did you feel the need to do this? Why would you bring these thoughts and feelings to the surface? The first one of you didn't bother."

"You didn't ask the first me what his name was," Deymos said plainly.

Vexen shook his head. "I can't afford it. Not now. I'm already weak enough as it is."

"So don't get with me for the right reasons," Deymos said. "You weren't listening to the one song I've been haunting you with? Don't date me because you like me, even though you do. Date me for REVENGE. Show up at Ravess' door dragging the biggest coward loser screwup in the WHAM ARMY – that's me – and show her that THIS is the bar she set. It'll drive her nuts."

"You're far from the biggest coward or 'screwup' in the WHAM ARMY," Vexen muttered.

"Hey, I don't say these things to self-deprecate," said Deymos. "I'm fully proud of these titles."

"No," Vexen reminded him. "I mean your competition is Jack Spicer and Snipe."

"Oh yeah…" Deymos pouted. "Just realized that dating her brother would be better revenge, actually."

"I would NOT consider doing that," Vexen said through clenched teeth. "This…this I might consider. But no matter what, I couldn't simply compartmentalize it away from…" He sighed. "I should've had my heart removed again."

"No, you shouldn't," said Deymos. "This way is more fun. LITERALLY. Without a heart, you can't feel the sensation of having fun. And you might hate fun in the traditional sense, but you find way too much of it in your experiments to want that gone. Anyway, if you're worried I'm gonna want sex out of you and not tell you about it, I've known from the START that you don't do that. I know what I'm getting into. Actually, doing it sounds like it requires a lot of work and mental energy I don't wanna expend anyway."

"You aren't asexual," Vexen told him. "That much, I remember. The other one of you is certainly having a ball with Hans."

Deymos shrugged. "The other me is missing out. I dunno, it doesn't matter that much to me. I can just do myself. Actually, now that we hired literal Verosika Mayday, I can have her make a mix that would make me hornier for myself…unless getting her voice involved would be – "

"Recorded succubus song is fine," Vexen muttered. "I just…keep trying to find a solid piece of evidence that I shouldn't give in."

"Maybe you just don't want to?"

Vexen shook his head. "No. It feels…more of a relief not to pretend that anymore. There are so many risks – but you make a compelling point that doing it for vengeance would allieviate a lot of them. The only thing remaining is…"

"You actually making VexDem a reality," Deymos finished. "And owning up to it. Actually, wait, it's VexDey. I'm using my real name now. THAT was the name we would've had back in the Organization – "

Vexen finally snapped back to look him in the eye. "HOW long have you been envisioning our need for a portmanteau name?"

"Since before I actually had the emotional capacity to do it right," Deymos replied. "Anyway, you like me, I like you, all that's left is if you want this to go anywhere."

"Why would you even ask when you've established the rest?"
"Because that's how it's gonna WORK with you," Deymos reminded Vexen. "You are the boss. You wouldn't get into any relationship where you're not. It's gonna have to be you who says go."

Vexen avoided Deymos' gaze again, looking down.

"…Right," Deymos said. "Not the right time. We'll just put a rain check on this for later. Anyway, the rest of the group's gonna wonder what's taking us so long, so – "

He turned to walk away. Vexen reached out and seized his arm again.

"What?" Deymos asked, turning to look at him.

"You are…error-prone," Vexen told him, "and cowardly when it suits you. But you're no, as you put it, loser."

He pulled Deymos just a little closer, gingerly brushing the back of the infamous mullet with his other hand.

"This…is a yes?" Deymos realized.

"Yes," Vexen replied. "I suppose it is."

"And you're giving me kiss clearance?"

"Just take the opportunity before I change my mind."

Deymos had to go up on his toes, and Vexen had to bend a bit, in order to make up the height difference. When their lips connected, however, Vexen had to admit that it felt like a weight he'd been carrying around for a while was suddenly removed.

He made sure it was quick, backing away and letting go the instant he'd had his fill. Deymos immediately pumped his fist; "SO worth it!"

And Vexen smiled at him.

"Now let's go!" Deymos waved him on, running ahead. "We got a mission to finish!"

Vexen followed at a brisk pace. Not even bothering to erase the smile from his face for public presentation.

When they returned, Albert said, "Ah, did you finally kiss?"
Now Vexen was snapped out of it. "What do you mean FINALLY?"

"It was obvious that the two of you were dancing around each other," Albert said.

"Everyone could see it!" Tsumugi added.

"Um…no?" said Simon. "I didn't? Where is this coming from?"

"I'm as c-c-confused as you are," Agnus admitted, going back over his notes. "I've written down every single interaction b-between them and n-no sign of flirtation…"

"Albert and Tsumugi could see it," Victor stated. "That's where we're going to end up."

"You mean someone stoic and organized can just…LIKE someone who's chaos incarnate?" Peepers asked. "That's. Uh. Good to know just from an objective standpoint."

"I NEVER SAID ANYTHING TO CONFIRM IT!" Vexen reminded the group.

"We so totally did," Deymos said with a wink.

Albert and Tsumugi slapped a high-five, the latter squealing and stamping her feet.

"If your telenovela is settled," Ludwig sighed, "might we move on to more pressing affairs? I would rather create this Aeon and be done with it."

Arius had been standing with his back to the group for a while. Hearing his cue to make his dramatic reveal, he turned around; "And I know where to begin."

The Helpsie was clutched in his hands. "Uh…hi," he said shakily.

"Well, you have a lot of nerve," Deymos greeted.

"More like a lot of nerves," the Helpsie replied. "Look, I'm ready to help you guys, okay? Just don't let the big cyborg beat me up again!"

"I'll be watching you," Vincent growled.

"I do know things," said the Helpsie. "I wasn't lying about that part. I know a lot of things about what's going on in a lot of places. And what I know right now is that there's a Summoner family going on a pilgrimage. It's actually for the daughter, but she picked her mom, dad, and brother as her Guardians. Anyway, they heard that the sludge got cleared out of Baaj, and now they're going over there to scope it out in case the Lost Aeon is there."

"Which we already know it isn't…" Victor said slyly.

"And yet, it may very well be," Emet-Selch finished with a smirk.

"You wish to turn one of this family into the next Aeon?" Vexen realized. He grinned. "Fresh blood sounds quite welcome. You will let ME select which of the four to transform, of course."

"But you guys have to get going NOW if you wanna catch up with the group," the Helpsie insisted.

"You had better not be lying." Arius squeezed the small creature.

"I'm not!" the Helpsie squealed.

"I don't think he is," Discord affirmed. "I've been to HIS realm before. His type theoretically gets along well with our type, and he's obviously very offput by whatever you all did to him. It'll serve us all best if we pool our resources and find a REAL victim that we can all enjoy together."

"Well?" Deymos shrugged. "What do we say? Put this team on one last mission?"

"I certainly would hardly trust anyone else to do it right," Vexen said with a smirk back at Deymos.

"Then let's make like my Nobody and run, run away!" Deymos crowed.

...

Rhona and DJ crept back into the room of the master terminal, pondering over all that Mim and Aghoul had said to them. What they'd suggested sounded, frankly, like a very horrible idea. Rhona couldn't see any way that it would end well. DJ, on the other hand, labeled it "so crazy it might work, actually" and thus was Rhona outvoted on it.

Whatever. She still had to figure out what they were up against.

She took a seat at the terminal, pulling up the decryption program. DJ loomed over her shoulder, eating out of a box of what might have been French fries except they were blue and in a viscous liquid state.

"Two minutes!" Rhona couldn't help but do a slight happy dance in her seat when she saw how long her program had left. "Perfect timing! Though I knew it would be."

"Cool." DJ stuffed another not-French-fries glob into his mouth.

"Can you not eat that next to the terminal?" Rhona reached out to push him away. "If you get that stuff on the keyboard and ruin my research, I'll make you pay DEARLY for it!"

"Fine," said DJ. "But it looks like the k…eyboard didn't need my help, actually."

Rhona noticed, for the first time, the globs of detritus on the terminal dashboard. Apparently the Grandmaster also liked to snack while working at this station.

Decryption finished. Rhona pumped a fist; "YES!". Then she started rooting through files, looking for anything that seemed important.

For a few minutes, she simply browsed, and DJ got lost in trying to figure out how to get every last not-French-fries glob out of the box. Then Rhona gasped sharply.

"What?" DJ asked.

Rhona ignored him, going right for her communicator. "Whiplash? Blizzard? ANSWER!"

"Don't yell at me!" Whiplash hissed back.

"What's up?" Blizzard asked.

"We're in trouble," Rhona said. "I just found the Grandmaster's plan for the final bracket."

Now interested, DJ looked over her shoulder at the screen. "…Oh."

"They KNOW we're a team," Rhona said. "They know about the WHAM ARMY. Every single name in our group is on this screen except mine, DJ's, and the five on the outside now. They're planning to shove us all into the ring in one final battle to be killed off."

"By Albel?" Whiplash sighed. "He'll only – "

"THEY KNOW HE'S WITH US," Rhona snapped. "He's listed on our team. They CHANGED the final opponent! We aren't going up against him anymore!"

"Then…who are we going up against?" Blizzard asked.

"Something called the…Mon-Stars," said Rhona. "And one other name – "

"YOU!"

Rhona and DJ whirled to see a troop of security guards storming into the room.

"I knew you weren't supposed to be here!" Joel snapped.

Rhona knew she would need only a moment to come up with a brilliant excuse. However, DJ needed only half a moment to do what came most naturally to him:

"Finally. Thought you g…uys would never show up. Take her away."

Joel saluted. "Yes, sir, Collector sir!"

"WHAT?" Rhona screamed. "NO! THAT'S NOT THE COLLECTOR PERSON! HE CAME IN WITH ME! HE'S A CODEBREAKER!"

"I don't know what this g…irl is on," DJ said with a shrug. "Just glad I got to st…op her before she ruined the final match."

Several guards seized Rhona by the forearms, putting her into a lock. She squirmed and struggled; "DJ! HOW COULD YOU?"

"DJ?" DJ looked around. "Anybody here named DJ? No? Thought so."

"YOUUUUUU – "

"Anyway, I'm just gonna…go," DJ said quickly. "Do Collector stuff. C…ollect things. Yeah. Great job on the intruder situation. See you around."

Then he was out the door, scot-free.

"HOW COULD YOUUUUUU!" Rhona shrieked. "THE WHAM ARMY IS SUPPOSED TO BE FRIENDS! FRIEEEEENDS, I SAY! THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I'VE EVER CARED ABOUT THOSE! AND YOU'RE MAKING ME WANT IT TO BE MY LAAAAST!"

She was quickly gagged. "Shut up, girl genius," one of the guards huffed. "Let me guess: you're in league with that infiltrator squad that's been rigging all the seeds to end up with the same alliance."

"Mmmrrrggghhh!" Rhona growled.

"What did she just call it?" asked another. "WHAM ARMY?"

"Seriously, shame we had to lose Albel in the final rounds," a third chimed in. "The good ones always get suckered into that conspiracy cult stuff, don't they?"

Rhona was elbowed in the solar plexus, causing her to seize up. Then she was frog-marched out of the terminal room. Thanks to the information she'd uncovered, she knew exactly where she was going and what she was facing.

And she was the only one of the WHAM ARMY who did.