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.

181. Struck by Cupid's Whip

A/N: Trigger warnings for cannibalism and dubcon orgies that involve mind/emotion control.

...

Naminé had a brand-new sketchpad and very little idea of what to do with it. After everything she'd seen through Kairi's eyes, all the stories she'd learned from Sora's memories…there was simply too much she hadn't yet drawn. She wasn't certain where to start.

So, for now, the pad served mostly as a place for her to write down important notes. Such as the address of the building where Shuichi had told her to meet him.

After checking the location against what she'd written down, she entered the old detective agency office. Inside, Shuichi and a new friend of his were deep in conversation with a pixie that Naminé had seen several times around town.

"That's really all I remember," said Yuna, who sat on the large wooden desk. "I don't know why I forgot."

"Ah!" Percy King beamed up at Naminé. "It seems our specialist has arrived. She will certainly be able to shed some light on things."

"Naminé!" Shuichi stood up, smiling at the memory witch. "Thanks for coming down."

"Always," said Naminé. "I just hope I can help with your case. What's going on?"

"This is Yuna," said Shuichi. "She's here because she thinks she's…missing a piece of her heart. Which is pretty weird, but at this point, I've kinda learned to expect the unexpected."

"We have wrapped up our interrogation in which we learned the long and short of Yuna's situation," said Percy. "First of all, it seems our client has a checkered past."

"I've done some horrible things," Yuna admitted. "But I don't feel bad about it. That's the problem. I think maybe I should. I think that's not how I used to be at all. Now, though, I just want whatever will benefit me. It seems like a good way to live…but even without other people telling me why I should feel guilty, I know it isn't right. I mean, not even morally. I know it isn't me. I've only recently started to wonder if maybe the problem isn't me, but…someone taking away a part of who I am."

"One might assume this to be a bizarre leap of logic," said Percy, "until her testimony pointed out that there is a very important gap in her own memory. A span of several days missing, before which she felt whole, and after which she was employed with Maleficent, the local dictator."

"I don't even remember how she convinced me to work for her," said Yuna. "All I know is I was talking to one of her associates, and she gave me and my friends an assignment."

"Maleficent?" Naminé asked. "Or the associate?"

"Ursula the sea witch," said Yuna. "The thing I remember right after the gap is being in her cavern underground."

"Ursula had a cavern here?" Naminé was stunned.

"Right," Yuna realized. "I guess people don't like to talk about it much anymore. She had a lab set up right under the castle, where she would strike deals. I helped her find people who she could take advantage of." True to her word, there wasn't a twinge of regret in her voice; she simply stated a fact for the testimony.

"We were wondering if you could look through Yuna's mind and see if you could find that lost memory," said Shuichi. "If it's okay to ask, of course."

"Yes," said Naminé. "It's more than okay. I'm not really sure what's going on myself, but I want to help."

"What do I have to do?" Yuna asked.

"Well…most of it is what I have to do," said Naminé. "You just need to hold still."

"I suggest you get comfortable," said Percy.

"Do you have a warm blanket?" Yuna asked. "How about a pillow?"

Such things were found in one of the back supply closets. A makeshift bed was created, the pillow large enough to serve as Yuna's mattress while the blanket draped over her. Immediately, she rolled over and snuggled in, drifting off to sleep.

"I can definitely see her streak of only wanting what benefits her," said Percy. "She's treating this like a luxury hotel. The thought of how someone can be so morally indifferent astounds me. Then again, that is exactly why we're all here."

"I'm going to take a look through her memories now," said Naminé. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," said Shuichi.

Naminé took a deep breath, then extended a hand over Yuna, who was out cold and blissful. Naminé reached out, her heart to Yuna's, forming a connection, a chain link. She rifled through the memories like files in a cabinet, searching for the correct time period.

Something of interest. A memory from Radiant Garden, when it was Hollow Bastion. Naminé took a closer look, inserting herself directly into the scene.

She stood in the city so familiar, but so different. So many incidents had left Radiant Garden in a state of disrepair, but this was the worst Naminé had ever seen it, with buildings left to rubble and charred planks. On the horizon rose a massive cocoon of water: the Rising Falls, which kept Maleficent's stronghold hidden away from the public. The smell of wildfire was in the air; part of Radiant Garden was burning, though Naminé couldn't see where, precisely. She looked through Yuna's eyes, continuing onward down the street to take care of some errand, passing civilian after civilian. They were all doing the same, simply trying to go about their business. The city was burning and everyone was letting it. What else could they do? Even when they passed a collapsed home in which the arm of a crushed former occupant was visible in the rubble, all they did was step over and around it, because it was the tenth such incident any of them had observed that day. From only a few blocks away, there was a horrid noise, the whinny of a horse but shrill and grating, and the sound of hooves thundering toward Naminé – no, toward Yuna – with doom on their heels. Yuna immediately flitted as fast as she could, knowing she had to escape whatever horror on horseback pursued her –

Naminé gasped as if breaking the surface of the ocean and getting a deep breath of air. She was back in the detective agency office, feeling lightheaded and guessing that much of the color had gone from her face.

"Naminé!" Shuichi rushed quickly to stand before her. "Are you okay? Was that – "

"I saw the city when Maleficent reigned," Naminé explained. "It was…it was just…so many people were hurt, and dying, and there was destruction in the streets, and some kind of evil creature was loose, and nobody…knew what to do. All they could do was…try and live their lives as best they could, because fighting back usually meant death."

It put a new weight on what had happened when Sora had first reached Hollow Bastion. The first hope the kingdom had seen in ten years. A boy who had just the right combination of destiny, skill, will, and luck to be able to end the menace that no one else had been able to touch. Him, and Donald and Goofy, and Beast too, and the Princesses of Heart, and even Riku had done his part to end the Darkness, much as he'd played into its rise. Only thanks to them was it stopped.

Others had come before them and not been so successful.

"But I felt what she felt," Naminé went on. "She had…sadness. Guilt. She didn't know any of the dead she passed, and she tried to just keep moving on, but she felt horrible. Awful. She was grieving for them deep in her heart." She looked to the slumbering Yuna. "She's right. She wasn't always this way. She used to feel…so much." Naminé swallowed hard. "If she felt like that over strangers she didn't know…I wonder how hard she would have taken it if someone she loved was ended that way."

Perhaps that thought wasn't even relevant. But in a case like this, any detail that stood out was worth mentioning. Something had to have happened to transform Yuna. Perhaps a personal tragedy explained at least a part of it.

"We still need to figure out what happened before and after the gap," said Percy. "You've found your way to a point before it. Theoretically, all you should need to do is travel forward until you find the distortion…but given your reaction to your first delve, I'm not sure I want to advise it."

"I have to," said Naminé. "If I don't do this, she'll never know."

"Naminé," Shuichi said softly. "If it hurts too much – "

Naminé shook her head. "No. I have to. And even more than that…I have to understand. What it was like."

She didn't know how else to put it. It didn't matter, because Shuichi understood. "Be careful."

In a flash, Naminé was looking through Yuna's eyes again, all that while ago. Flying toward the pixies' district to meet up with Rikku and Paine. The former gave an excited wave; "Yunie! Over here!"

Paine just gave a nod. "Hey."

"Super exciting day planned!" Rikku said. "It's been getting rough around here, so we thought we'd take a little vacay. Just down to the beach and back."

Paine added, "We're meeting up with – "

It cut to black.

Naminé soared forward for what should have been days' worth of memories. The lights came back on, so to speak, in a cavern filled with strange machinery with a bubbling cauldron at its heart.

"How did we get here?" Yuna asked.

Rikku shrugged. "Search me. Sleepwalked?"

Paine gasped when she realized Ursula was there. "You're – "

"Ursula, the sea witch," Ursula said sweetly. "Yes, yes, I know. Perpetrator of an awful evil that has infected the kingdom. Maleficent's regime has been responsible for so much loss, after all. Wouldn't you like a guarantee that you would never have to feel such a loss? After all, you've been incredibly lucky so far, never to have witnessed a tragedy that you couldn't erase from your mind."

"That's weirdly specific," said Rikku.

"But she's right," said Paine. "We're in danger here. Let's go."

"But wait!" Ursula protested. "What if I could promise you a position of safety within the city? A favor for a favor. You do a little something for me – and, by extension, for Maleficent – and you'll have not only safety, but untold riches! Why, you could even one day rival the old Ravenswood estate!"

Naminé frantically rewound, placing herself in the void of the missing memories. She felt around in the dark corners, but it was an empty room. Nothing here to uncover.

That was incredibly concerning.

She exited, back in the agency office once more. "Something's wrong," she said. "Very wrong."

"I thought that was rather apparent," said Percy, "but please do elaborate."

"When I fixed Sora's memories – " Right. Percy wouldn't know. "Sora is a friend. There was a time when I…caused him trouble. I gave him two sets of memories. In order for him to keep one, the other had to be suppressed. I let him keep the one that was true…but in burying the lies, some of the truth had to go with it, too. I buried those memories, the real and the fake, deep within his heart. They're locked down there with powerful chains. If I really, really wanted…I could bring them to the surface, but I worry about the damage that would cause to Sora. The one thing I didn't do was take any memory out. Not the real ones and not the lies. Everything still exists in him. It just needs to be revealed." She shook her head. "That's not what's going on with Yuna. There's a blank space, and the memories that should be there are…gone. Like someone just reached in and took them all away. I can't bring them back because there's nothing to bring back."

"It sounds like confirmation that foul play was involved," Percy muttered.

"And so was Ursula the Sea Witch," said Naminé. "I got to know her through Sora's memories. She IS foul play. She's the first thing Yuna remembers after the part that's missing. I don't want to assume the wrong thing…but it seems almost certain that she's the reason for the gap."

"We can't exactly interrogate her," Shuichi muttered. "There has to be a better way…"

"They were in a cave I don't remember seeing before," said Naminé. "But it still felt…familiar for some reason."

"If we could figure out where it is," said Shuichi, "we could search it for clues. I guess the important question is…how did you know it when you've never seen it before?"

"Hm?"

"I mean…if you know it through someone else's memories, then that's someone we could ask," said Shuichi.

"Or Yuna could just lead us there, since she remembers it," said Naminé. "After she wakes up."

Shuichi had himself a laugh of embarrassment. "Guess I made that more complicated than it needs to be."

"But…you're right about something," Naminé realized. "I must know that cave either through Sora or Kairi. I don't think either has been there…but it's connected to one of them. Maybe that will mean something later."

"I'll keep it in mind," said Shuichi. "Could be a Truth Bullet."

"I'm sorry?" said Percy. "I wasn't aware firearm ammunition was involved in this case."

"Oh," said Shuichi. "That's just what we called evidence back at the Academy when we were on a case. I guess it's a word from those games Tsumugi was trying to replicate. She was the one who first started using it. I should probably hate it for that, but it's just second nature to me now."

"If the notion doesn't cause you any distress, I see no reason not to use the term," said Percy. "In any case, I suppose our next move is to await Yuna's awakening and follow her to the potential scene of the crime. It is merely too bad that Naminé's power only goes so far as to examine the memories of the living and not of places. I'm certain that if those walls could talk, they would have their fair share of stories to tell."

"Walls don't have memories," Naminé confirmed. But the realization was hitting her with a soft gap. "…Water does."

"Pardon me, but it sounds like you had some sort of epiphany," Percy commented.

"Water has memory," said Naminé. "It sounds silly, but it's something I've been working on with Yen Sid and Merlin. Any water that has flowed through the same place long enough can tell you some of the events that happened there. If we can find water – or any liquid – in that cave, we might be able to get a picture of what we're missing. I can't do it on my own, though. I'd need to call Katara. She's been like my study partner for the project."

"We'd be glad to have her on board," said Shuichi.

"You put in a call," said Percy. "The rest of us will…wait for Yuna to awaken, I suppose."

"I mean, if Shuichi and I brought back some coffee from Nine Bean, the smell might reach her in her sleep," Naminé suggested. Almost mischievously. "I could make the call on the way. It would just be a quick stop and we'd come back."

"Then let's go," Shuichi suggested. "Percy, are you okay watching Yuna?"

"I am more than up to the task," Percy vowed.

Shuichi and Naminé hurried out of the building, making a brisk walk in the direction of Nine Wood Hills. Naminé had her phone out, beginning to dial Katara's number, but then she paused. "It's…kind of too bad we don't have time to sit down at the coffee shop and talk."

"Yeah," Shuichi agreed. "I think we do need to talk about…how Lea was acting when he told us about Strelitzia."

How he'd acted was using sly hints to make it very clear that he wanted Naminé and Shuichi to stop dancing around each other and become a couple already.

"We could talk about it now," said Naminé.

"We could," Shuichi agreed.

But it wasn't just the kind of thing they could discuss while on urgent business, when their minds were preoccupied, their attention divided. At the same time, they just said "The case first" and dropped the subject.

...

The WHAM ARMY ball waltzed on, decadence and gaudiness radiating from every corner. It was a villain's dream; a haven for hedonism.

Striker had to remind himself that he was within his rights to enjoy it.

He'd turned up in all white leather, tight pants and a fringe shirt with intricately embossed cowboy boots and a rhinestone-studded ten-gallon. The kind of thing it had felt good to slip into again. Still, there was a sense of oddness, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. First off, because he had always taken pride in being the antithesis of the upper class and this was certainly an elite event, but that was a lesser concern. After all, the WHAM ARMY were hardly on the same level as demon royalty; they embraced their own rottenness. Moreso on his mind was the fact part of him was still afraid of losing control permanently.

Things had happened. Things he didn't like thinking about. Reasons he'd for a while become a hollow shell filled with only rage.

("Shut…THE FUCK…up!"

"But…but you love The Ballad of Striker! We even added an extra five verses of a fictional story about you wrestling Leviathan into submission!"

"Just STOP. Things are gonna be changin' around here. No more playin' around."

He'd left his other guitar back at Crimson's. He'd asked them to have it burned. But he had a spare, of course, in case one got destroyed on the job. He took it by the neck, swung it high, and bashed it into the cave floor, over and over again, until only splinters remained.)

He was better, now. He'd met some very special sinners who'd set him right. That should've been the end of it. Still and all, he was battling second thoughts about even being at an event like this.

("Is this how you wanna die in the end, Striker? We all bite the big one eventually. Do you wanna go out with nothing to your name but a reputation as a rodeo clown, or do you wanna go out having made something of your miserable life? You better not have died under there."
"I'll make something of myself. You'll see it. I'll prove it.")

Though maybe he wouldn't even have anything to worry about if not for the fact that he was letting himself lust again. Not love, of course. He didn't do that (or, at least, that was what he'd convinced himself). Just good old-fashioned admiration of another body that worked well with his own. Whiplash was arousing in every sense. But the last time Striker had let someone in close to him physically like that, well…

("Striker. You know how these cleanses work. They stop when they've taken enough. All a guy's gotta do is make sure it eats up enough that it'll be satisfied. It's that old saying about how I don't need to outrun the bear. I just need to outrun you.")

He was well aware that this wasn't safe.

He also knew now, more than ever, that no risk meant no reward.

"I presume something about that particular wall is fascinating in a way invisible to the naked eye." Whiplash was standing next to Striker, all of a sudden.

"Real funny," Striker admonished – though he did smirk a bit. If only because Whiplash's idea of "formal wear" was ridiculous. He couldn't exactly swap out his armor for anything else, given how intrinsic it was to his body, so he looked as he usually did, but with one difference: a bow tie cheekily affixed around his neck. "Nah, just thinkin' on past regrets."

"Targets missed?"

"Could say that."

"Well, let me know when you're finished with your excursion into the past," Whiplash said. "There's a dance waiting for you in the present. Very impatiently."

"I get the picture." Striker seized Whiplash's hands, pulling him into a slow dance. "But just so we're clear."

"Yes."

"This thing. You and me. It's surface-level."

"Purely physical. Though the company isn't unappreciated."

"Glad we're on the same page, then."

Whiplash chuckled. "Here I was afraid all you would know how to do was square dance."

"Stereotypin'?" Striker teased. "For shame, Mark. For shame. But you don't wanna challenge me on the square. They say my do-si-do is as graceful as my kills."

"So it wasn't a stereotype. Or, rather, it was correct, meaning you are the stereotype."

"Yeah, but I'm the best example of it." Striker winked.

He really was feeling high now. Things had been rough, up and down – actually, his whole life, he'd been predispositioned to either high heights or desolate lows, joy and anger, but given recent events, he wasn't sure he'd been in this particular state for a shamefully long while. He felt, to be clear, like he could take on demon royalty in hand-to-hand combat and rise victorious.

In fact, that didn't sound like a bad idea. No demon royalty in the area, but things could be improvised.

"You ever get the urge for the kill?" Striker asked, already knowing the answer.

"Often," said Whiplash. "In fact, it's rising right now."

"Not me, I hope."

Whiplash chuckled. "No. Not you. Simply that it would be a shame to let this night be boring."

Striker scanned the crowd; Whiplash was doing the same. "What we need is a decent target. Hard to come by when everyone's scared into submission, but maybe someone here's a fighter. Give a reasonable challenge."

"It also is less than ideal that many of them have had their magic removed by the crystals on their islands," Whiplash grumbled.

"Yeah," Striker agreed. "Can't show you what I could REALLY do to somethin' powerful. Y'know I'm the most indispensable killer the whole WHAM ARMY's got?"

"Is that so?" Whiplash asked mischievously. "You haven't seen what I can do."

"Mark, baby," Striker crooned. "I'm sure your skills are adorable. But you don't gotta feel inferior just 'cause you're standin' in the presence of the best."

"Hmm…perhaps remember those words for yourself," Whiplash teased.

"Though it ain't like you're the biggest competition to beat," said Striker. "Seen that ghost fella around the circuit. He's got an impressive résumé. The lizard seems to be competent enough."

"Myself, I would keep an eye on the other armored one," said Whiplash. "Not the ghost, but the…buffoon. He's powerful enough when he has focus."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT ME?" The bellow came from literally clear across the room.

Striker and Whiplash both flinched, saying in sync, "How did he – "

Kamdor came thundering over toward them. He hadn't changed his appearance at all for the ball, as he couldn't really see how to improve upon perfection. Zevon was hot on his heels, dressed in a blue robe that might put one in mind of one Emperor Kuzco but with more glitz. The Corona Aurora perched atop Zevon's head.

"How DARE you make such accusamisations!" Zevon yelled.

Kamdor stamped right up to Striker and Whiplash, hoping to intimidate both. "I'M the greatest hunter and tracker in this organization! Neither of you have ANYTHING on me! And I'll prove it! Right here and right now!"

"But why stop there?" Zevon asked. "Let's make this a real competey-ition. After all, I'm sure SKULKER AND THE MUKHTAR WOULD BE OVERJOYFULLED TO KNOW YOU WERE GARBAGE-TALKING THEM!"

And that brought Skulker, Ember, the Mukhtar, and Miltia over like a magnet. "I understand a challenge is being issued," said the Mukhtar.

"Hah!" Skulker laughed. "I would like to see the pitiful attempts you would make to outdo my skills. Whatever target we choose…I'll have it dissected before you can even get close to it."

"It's merely too bad that nothing and no one here is a reasonable target," said Zevon. "All of them too submissive and depowered by crystals."

"I spotted an amphibian man and a skeleton accompanying a band of humans," Skulker pointed out. "They might be able to put up a good fight."

"But not as good a fight as I can put up," said Zevon.

"YOU!" Kamdor guffawed. "Zevon, you may be the brain, but you're a slouch when it comes to brawn!"

"I know," said Zevon. "That's why you won't be hunting ME. I wouldn't want you to anyway. This robe is dry-clean only and you'd mess it up. No, I say we let the Corona Aurora do the hard work."

He set his sights on the animate Mozenrath-shaped ice sculpture that still wandered aimlessly through the crowd like a lost jellyfish. "Him," Zevon declared. "First to shatter him is the greatest hunter in the WHAM ARMY." He threw a hand in the sculpture's direction. "Ba-BAM!"

Immediately, the sculpture was infused with superhuman ability. Fast speed, instantaneous reaction time, and a lot of the same spells that Mozenrath himself could cast. And, as the cherry on top, an instinct to flee. The sculpture began running as far away as it could from where the hunters were outlining their challenge.

"Go," Zevon said slyly.

Striker, Whiplash, Kamdor, the Mukhtar, and Skulker didn't need to be told twice. They all took off like rapid-fire ammo after the sculpture.

Striker swerved first, passing by the buffet table. He was hoping for some sort of lasso or whip, and in times like this, he had to get creative. So he seized the corner of the tablecloth and yanked –

"WHAT?" Mozenrath stood up in anger as he watched the competition play out on his magical screen. "NO! NOT THE TABLE – "

The dishes only jumped up a couple inches; Striker had deftly pulled the cloth with skill and grace. He twisted it into a rope and slung it over his shoulder before taking off again.

The dishes all landed gracefully on the table, exactly where they had been – except the punch bowl, which was seized by Kamdor before it could land. "HA!" Kamdor held the punch bowl high above his head, the red liquid sloshing.

"Awww," Mim and Roman groaned at the same time. "I was gonna spike thaaat…" Roman held up a clear bottle of liquid THC while Mim held up a pouch of unfiltered human blood.

Skulker was the first to actually gain on the statue, his armor offering him a speed boost as he went airborne. He soared closer to the ice, reaching out, ready to gloat.

The statue turned around and hit him with a Thundara that sent him reeling. As Skulker went tumbling through the air, the Mukhtar slunk through the crowd, keeping an eye on the ghostly armor.

"Too easy," the Mukhtar said slyly, bringing out a fresh, new magic-capturing lantern.

There was a bright flash of light, and the next think Skulker knew, he was inside the lantern while his armor went crashing to the floor. Islanders went scattering left and right to avoid being crushed by it.

"WHAT?" Ember screamed.

"My boyfriend just beat up your boyfriend," said Miltia. "I knew he would."

"SKULKER?" Ember ignored Miltia, running to the fallen armor. She popped open the helmet to find the suit empty. A relief, since it meant he wasn't harmed, but it also meant that his actual body was in the Mukhtar's possession. "Oh, you are NOT getting away with that," Ember snarled.

The Mukhtar dropped to all fours, frog-leaping to increase his speed. He bounded to the ice sculpture, which turned to defend itself again. The Mukhtar was ready, dodging the next Blizzara spell and whipping a single magic-restricting manacle at the ice. It latched around the faux Mozenrath's right wrist, and Zevon had been accurate in giving it only that one point of casting.

There was a sound as if a giant (or Max) had taken off at top speed behind the Mukhtar, running across the ballroom with thunderous abandon. It was obviously gaining. The Mukhtar turned to observe a massive glass creature filled with sloshing red – only with quick reflexes did the Mukhtar avoid being completely crushed by a thick glass hoof.

"GO, PUNCHBOWLIO!" Kamdor ordered, taking a loop around the other side of the ballroom so he and his massive creation could corner the statue together.

Then the tablecloth wrapped around his ankle, and Kamdor was yanked off his feet with a "WHAT?". Striker leapt from behind, bounced off his shoulders, and continued on as Kamdor fell in his wake.

The Mukhtar wasn't out of the game just yet. He did realize, however, that the ice sculpture was a secondary concern. The bigger problem was Punchbowlio, who could very easily kill the entire competition if not brought down. The Mukhtar drew his sword, leaping to scale the colossus and seek its weak points.

The great monster swatted, trying to get the Mukhtar off its back. That left Striker wide open to corner the now defenseless statue. He drew a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other, ready for the kill.

The Mukhtar drove his blade into the back of the glass titan's neck. (Predictable weak spot.) The massive monster shattered into millions of shards.

"PUNCHBOWLIO!" Kamdor screamed. "NOOOOOO!"

The ice statue veered. Several tons of glass and punch were now coming down on where it had been – meaning where Striker was about to charge full tilt. He skidded to a halt, staring in horror at the glass rain.

There was the sound of a SNAP, a sharp but not wholly unpleasant pain around his waist, and Striker was being pulled into the air, far above the falling glass. Whiplash had rounded up his signature vehicle – a flying board in the shape of a saw blade, attuned to his armor – and returned to the scene of the competition, only to be distracted from the real goal when it became clear that he would have to use one of his whips to get Striker out of trouble. Now Striker was being pulled like a parasailer alongside the sawblade, connected to Whiplash's arm by the metal whip around his midsection.

"Why would you do a thing like that?" Striker asked indignantly. "I had it under control, and – and you're sabotagin' yourself, not lettin' me go down!"

"Maybe I want a better competition than having you handicapped immediately," said Whiplash. "Or maybe if we made use of each other's resources, we could cull the other three before focusing on settling things between us."

("It's that old saying about how I don't need to outrun the bear. I just need to outrun you.")

"You're a goddamn idiot." Striker seized the whip, giving it a yank to pull himself onto the spinning blade.

"I didn't hear a 'no.'"

"Because that wasn't one. These other yahoos first, THEN we settle this."

When Punchbowlio had shattered, the Mukhtar had landed perhaps less gracefully than he intended to on the floor. He wasn't hurt, but he did stumble, and the lantern jostled free from his belt. It shattered; in a rush of electric green, Skulker shot back into his armor, leaping up to his feet in one motion.

"Time to end this charade," he declared.

"I'm helping," said Ember, who was tuning her guitar. "Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, except MAYBE ME gets to mess with you!"

She poised her fingers on the strings, staring down the Mukhtar.

Miltia then pounced on Ember from behind, stopping her from playing the chord. "Leave him alone!" she yelled. She tried to pull Ember's ponytail – not a great idea. It was fire. Miltia shook her singed hand and focused on knocking Ember off balance.

"GET THE TARGET!" Ember screamed at Skulker, who didn't need to be told twice.

The ice sculpture was finally in a bind. Whiplash's flying blade was faster than it, and it was still hobbled by the magic-stifling manacle. It ran, but Whiplash and Striker were soon overhead, and the sculpture knew its time was up.

Whiplash produced another whip; Striker held the far end of it. "It's over," Whiplash declared before steering the blade into a spin.

Striker was given momentum as the whip went taught and he was thrown into centrifugal force around the spinning Whiplash like a moon around a planet. Whiplash disconnected the whip from his wrist, and Striker went careening downward, directly onto the sculpture. Striker pivoted, flinging the whip at the sculpture, and it hit, binding the Mozenrath effigy –

Allowing time for the Mukhtar to slice it in half at the waist. The torso went collapsing one way. The legs another.

The former was smashed by Kamdor, who reappeared in a massive leap. The latter was melted by rays from Skulker's onboard weaponry.

Whiplash landed near the other four. "Well," he declared. "That was inconclusive."

"Hardly," said the Mukhtar. "What we have learned is that Mozenrath has an elite tracking force, and when we pool our skills, there is no target that can escape us."

Skulker, Kamdor, Striker, and Whiplash stared at him in disbelief before they all started mocking him at once –

"Oh, how SAPPY and ADORABLE to have found the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP – "

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"

"Sounds like somethin' a two-bit outlaw might say to boost his ego – "

"You got LUCKY – "

Up at the thrones, Mozenrath leaned over to the Huntsman. "So you're going to step in and teach them a hard lesson about the real Huntsman here…when?"

"I prefer to let them squabble," said the Huntsman. "I have nothing to prove at this time. Those of us in the know are well aware that those five are second-class at best."

"Mature," said Mozenrath. "But not very fun."

"I somehow suspect getting involved in that…" The Huntsman gestured to where the five where arguing. "Would be even less fun."

"Good point."

Around this time, Ember finally was able to hit the chord. However, thanks to Miltia still throwing her off balance, the beam of her magic was incredibly off target. Not to mention that in all the scuffle, she had accidentally hit the dial changing it from the power chord she'd intended to an obsession-inducer, one that she'd once used to make that ridiculous Danny boy fall head over heels for his goth friend. The faux-love spell hurtled across the ballroom, hitting several Mystic Islanders and setting up some very strange couples on the way.

"Oh, crud," Ember gasped when she realized the beam was headed right for Kamdor.

Kamdor, at the time, was watching as Whiplash and Striker shook hands. "Gotta admit, we make a good team," Striker said with a smirk. "But that's ain't news, now, is it?"

"Perhaps we can set aside the question of who is the better tracker for another day," said Whiplash. "After we've shown these three idiots what we're really made of."

"THAT'S IT!" Kamdor yelled. "WE SETTLE THIS RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW! AN ALL-OUT BRAWL, LAST ONE STANDING IS – "

Zevon gasped, seeing a magic beam riddled with pink hearts zooming toward Kamdor. "LOOK OUT!"

In a blink, he'd teleported Kamdor away from the beam to stand beside him. "Phew," Zevon sighed. "That could have been…bad."

"There's no telling what would've happened if that had hit me!" Kamdor agreed. "We might've had to discuss some topics that should stay quiet!"

"Things could have gotten EXTREMICREDIBLY awkward," Zevon laughed. "But! Crisis avertationed!"

Skulker cleared his throat loudly, staring at both of them. He then pointed to where the beam had actually hit once Kamdor was out of the way.

No one had the idea of Striker and Whiplash staring at each other with doe eyes of adoration on their bingo card that night. And yet.

The Mukhtar glowered at Ember and Miltia. The two pointed to one another; "She did it."

"Why should we run from our feelings?" said Whiplash. "Why not call it what it is?" He sank to one knee. "I have never met anyone, human or demon, like you."

Striker brushed back his hair and giggled like a teenager with a crush. "Stop. I ain't good enough for ya. You're the real MVP around here."

"Look what you did!" Skulker yelled. "STRIKER JUST CALLED HIMSELF NOT BETTER THAN SOMEBODY ELSE!"

"You deserve nothing less than eternal devotion!" Whiplash said.

"I love you," Striker replied, licking his lips. "I REALLY love you. Love, love, LOVE you."

"And I love you," said Whiplash. "Adore, admire, idolize…worship."

"Ugh, this is weird!" said Miltia. "Turn them back to normal."

Ember held up a hand. "No. I wanna see where this goes."

"What do you say we get somewhere a little more private to…show what we appreciate about each other?" Striker suggested.

Whiplash responded by picking him up, twirling him around, and pulling him into a bridal carry before scuttling off the dance floor.

Ember doubled over in laughter, slapping her knee. "Oh, this is TOO good!"

"They're going to be seriously pissed when they snap out of it," said Miltia.

"Yeah," Ember agreed. "At you. You were the one who made me miss my shot."

"You were shooting at my man!"

"Well!" Zevon declared, storming over to them. "I hope you're happy! On their way past me, Striker told Whiplash he was more refreshing than driving on a dark desert highway with the cool wind in his hair, with the warm smell of colitas rising up through the air!"

"Seriously?" Miltia groaned. "Now he's just quoting Hotel California!"

"It's a guitar." Ember pointed to her instrument. "Its magic is based on rock music. Of course he's quoting Hotel California. It's an all-time classic."

"Whatever," Miltia sighed. "Not our problem."

Then came the immense crash.

While all the commotion had been going on regarding the chase for the sentient ice statue, Snipe, who'd insisted on coming to this party no matter what was done to try and stop him, had decided that things weren't about him enough. It wasn't even enough that he'd managed to show up wearing a leather vest, no shirt, and spiked collars on his neck and every limb. So he decided, quite out loud, "You know what? I'm gonna make my own sub-team! We're gonna be called the SNIPE ARMY!"

Within a few minutes, the SNIPE ARMY was arranged. He'd managed to get Indus, Shrimp, Twitch, Mad Dog, Dump Truck, Gideon, and Xerxes on board. Chrysta, being obedient to any order she was given by any commanding villain, was also found at this meeting of the minds.

"Uh, I got a question," said Dump Truck, who was dressed in a suit that seemed to have been stitched together out of things found in the bottom of someone's laundry basket.

"I don't care!" Snipe barked. "This is my team, and what I say goes!"

"I just want to know what the letters in 'SNIPE ARMY' stand for," said Dump Truck. "Since WHAM ARMY is an antonym."

"Uhhh…that's actually a good question." Snipe thought it over. "It stands for…uh…Snipe…Needs…Icky…People…Evil…ARMY! Yeah!"

"What a unique name!" said Indus, who was shirtless but had very nice pants on. A pause. "Have I told you yet that my Epithet is Barrier?"

"I approve of this on principle!" Chrysta said cheerily. She was dressed in a glittery red dress that Prisma had conjured, studded with crimson crystals.

"Best team," said Xerxes, who of course wasn't dressed up because he was an eel. "BEST TEAM!"

"Now," said Snipe, "we gotta do something real big to prove to people that we mean business and they shouldn't be messin' around with us! Somethin' reeeaaally evil!"

"We could take over the Mystic Isles," said Mad Dog. He was dressed in a similar suit to Dump Truck's. He'd also had a crisis earlier that he didn't have a fancy top hat, so Dump Truck had just handed his over and gone without.

"Yzma already did that!" Snipe barked. "I don't wanna do what Yzma did! I wanna do something that's more ME!"

"We could stage a heist," Twitch suggested. He was in the form of a winged unicorn, preening in every pose. "I come in pretty handy on heists."

"No heists," said Snipe. "Too much sneaking. Not enough bashing! I wanna WRECK something! Something that somebody worked really hard on!"

"Yeah!" said Shrimp, who was wearing an opalescent shell as a hat. "Somethin' that somebody worked hard on, as hard as the fellas in charge worked on that buffet table!"

Gideon, who was wearing a tuxedo several sizes too big and clearly falling off, pointed to the table, a question in his eyes.

"Yeah." Snipe mulled it over. "YEAH! We're gonna destroy THAT TABLE!"

"Gee, I dunno," said Shrimp. "Is it really the best idea to make the bosses mad?"

"What's more evil than BETRAYAL?" Snipe laughed.

"I do not want to betray the WHAM ARMY," Indus said sincerely. "They are nice to me."

"Are they, though?" Twitch asked. "Are they nice to anyone, really?"

"That's why we're not gonna quit the team or get ourselves kicked out," said Snipe. "But we're still gonna betray 'em! And we're gonna betray 'em by flipping that table so it makes a huge crash and everything breaks and all the food gets everywhere!"

"And then nobody has anything to eat!" Mad Dog cried triumphantly.

"There will be lots of broken glass on the ground," said Dump Truck.

"Eh, I got nothin' better to do with my evening," said Twitch.

"I am going to do whatever you tell me because that's how I work now!" said Chrysta. "If you want me to flip the table, then I'll flip the table!"

The SNIPE ARMY lined up at the back edge of the table, which was now down its cloth thanks to the ice statue chase. "READY?" Snipe called out.

"READY!" everyone else chorused. Except, of course, Gideon, who just nodded.

"FLIP IT!" yelled Snipe.

By the time Mozenrath noticed, it was too late. "Wait a minute! HEY! LEAVE THE TABLE ALONE – "

As Snipe gave a massive yell, he and his cronies managed to flip the entire table. There was a cacophony of broken glass and splattering food. Then the SNIPE ARMY shared a cheer of victory.

"Do you think they're happier, since their heads are emptier than ours?" Roman asked. "I feel like they have to be living in this fantasy bubble that shields them from the woes of the world."

"Likely," Snatcher agreed.

Mozenrath thought about telling them off for the table, but he wasn't the first to have the idea. Snipe suddenly found himself lifted into the air like a kitten by the scruff of the neck, dangling from way too high. As it turned out, he was pinched between two of Max's immense fingers. Max swung Snipe around to stare him in the eye.

Snipe waved. "Uh. Hi."

"We worked hard on that table," Max growled. "Apologize. Now."

"We?" Snipe yelled. "Who's WE?"

The question was answered in chorus by four new voices: "BY US!"

Noodle Burger Boy, Hyper-Potamus, Hangry Panda, and Crushroom all flew up on jet rockets to stare Snipe down. All were wearing black tuxedoes, and Snipe now noticed that Max wore the same. "Do you know how many good pickles you just threw on the floor, mister?" Noodle Burger Boy yelled. "WAY, WAY TOO MANY! And that's coming from me!"

"I'm already hangry," said Hangry Panda. "Don't test me, bub."

"I'm just soooooo sad that you crashed all our nice food!" Hyper-Potamus sobbed without actual tears. "Did you even see the icing that Max piped onto the cakes? All those beautiful little rosettes! It took him hours!"

"Hours I will never get back," Max growled.

"Should Crushroom crush Snipe?" Crushroom asked.

"HEY!" Snipe yelled. "Crushroom can't crush Snipe! If anything, Snipe crushes Crushroom!"

"Nope!" Noodle Burger Boy chirped. "Wrong! MAX crushes SNIPE! Hee hee! Hee hee!"

"Any last words?" Max asked.

"I DON'T WANNA DIE!" Snipe yelled. "…FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS WEEK!"

"I was talking to them," Max snarled.

"It's open season for taunts!" Noodle Burger Boy declared. "How do we feel about a big ol' SNIPE ROAST?"

"You've got fewer brain cells than the kids who jump into the monkey exhibits at the zoo," said Hangry Panda. "And what brain you do have is all slush like one of my mango kiwi smoothies."

"You're a big meanie-head!" Hyper-Potamus whined. "An awful bully-face who has no manners!"

"Crushroom has no complaints other than the table-flipping thing," said Crushroom.

"Well, I got plenty!" said Noodle Burger Boy. "What happened to your hair? Did you trip and fall in a candy vat? Are those supposed to be your muscles, or is that just what happens when you eat too many noodle burgers? Why do your eyes look like gross olives? Oh, and what's your favorite food?"

"Uh…flamecorn?" said Snipe.

"Well, I decided that flamecorn is STUPID now!" cried Noodle Burger Boy. "Okay, big guy! CRUSH 'IM!"

"Wait, wait, WAIT!" Snipe yelled as Max let out a feral growl. "What can I do to be spared? I'll do anything!"

"Anything?" said Noodle Burger Boy.

"Anything!" said Snipe.

"Aaanything?" said Noodle Burger Boy.

"Aaaaaaanything!" said Snipe.

"Aaaaaaaaaaanything?" said Noodle Burger Boy.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanything!" said Snipe.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanything?" said Noodle Burger Boy.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanything!" said Snipe.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanything?" said Noodle Burger Boy.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanything!" said Snipe.

"STOP," commanded Hangry Panda. "The word 'anything' sounds stupid now."

"I say we subject Snipe to one night's hard labor!" Noodle Burger Boy declared. "For the rest of the ball, he's on waiter duty!"

"Wait." Snipe's eyes widened. "Anything but THAT! I thought you were gonna make me go fight some really tough monster that nobody could kill or something! I'm not a waiter!"

"WAITER DUTY!" chanted all four robots. "WAITER DUTY! WAITER DUTY!"

"Waiter or crush," Max reminded Snipe.

Snipe sighed. "Fine, I'll pass around horse dervishes or whatever."

"ONE OF US!" chanted the bots as Max finally put Snipe down. "ONE OF US! ONE OF US!"

"Oh, and you need to wear the uniform!" Hyper-Potamus declared.

"That fancy-pants suit you guys are wearing?" Snipe folded his arms. "No thanks!"

"It wasn't a SUGGESTION," Hangry Panda snarled as Noodle Burger Boy, Hyper-Potamus, and Crushroom approached with sadistic glee in their eyes and a black jacket in their hands.

The robots pounced. Snipe couldn't escape. Before he knew it, his glorious leather and spikes had been replaced with black-tie staff attire. Max then passed him a serving platter. With a sigh, Snipe trudged back toward the kitchen.

"And since we don't have any food ready, 'cause SOMEBODY smashed it all," Noodle Burger Boy called after him, "you're gonna have to help us cook NEW food!"

"We're breakin' out the HARD recipes!" Hangry Panda yelled.

"This time," Max added, "YOU pipe rosettes."

A familiar clapping sound got Max's attention. "Ohhhh, Maaaa-aaax!" Darla Dimple called out.

Max leaned down to loom over Darla, who was dressed all in pink, in a number that looked reminiscent of a fairy princess – including faux butterfly wings. "Yes, Miss Dimple?" Max asked.

"Those Philistines destroyed all my Darla Dimple promotional strawberry crème cupcakes," Darla sighed. "The ones with my face on top in icing. Could you make about a hundred new ones?"

"Of course, Miss Dimple."

"Thank you, Max!" Darla batted her eyes innocently. "You're the best!"

Max left to get to work on that, wondering if there was any way he could use Snipe's help to speed up the process or if that was best accomplished by banning Snipe from his corner of the kitchen.

Coco Atarashi skipped over to Darla. "Nice dress," she said. She was dressed in a similar fashion, though her dress was more purple, with long sleeves and faux roses on the skirt. For the occasion, she'd even dyed the rest of her hair lavender to match the dress.

"Thank you!" Darla said. "Yours is ALMOST as nice. You look like a completely different person!"

"lol no," replied Coco. "Still me."

"Oh," said Darla. "Well, that's a pity. I just can never understand half of what you're saying, you know!"

"OK Boomer," Coco replied.

"I'm not a Boomer, whatever that is!" Darla scoffed.

"What's ur birthday?" Coco asked.

"July 25, 1931," said Darla.

"Boomer," Coco reiterated. "Born in the 30s. Actually, no. Not Boomer. Silent Gen." She scowled. "Also, a Leo? Ew."

Darla rolled her eyes. "Did you come over here for any other reason than to antagonize me because you're jealous of my beauty and talent?"

"Iunno." Coco shrugged. "Just lookin for someone to hang out with."

"Might I suggest looking elsewhere?" Darla scoffed. "Personally, I was going to go rub elbows with our new resident thespian and see if she would want to be the costar of my next production."

She gestured over to where Symonne was deep in conversation with Cat. The latter was dressed in red, a simple dress that allowed her bizarre appendages plenty of room to move. Symonne, on the other hand, was dressed in a leotard with frills and a black-and-plum Harlequin checker pattern.

Coco's heart caught in her throat. She choked on air. It was the first time she'd laid eyes on Symonne, and at that moment, she knew.

She'd just found her latest crush.

"Who…who dat?" she stammered.

"That is Symonne," Darla answered. "Roman found her in this awful medieval world where movies haven't been invented yet, so I was going to introduce her to the glory of the silver screen! She actually has quite an extensive theater background, so she has the qualifications. Apparently, she's one of those immortal or slow-aging types, so she may be young, but she's had hundreds of years to perfect her craft!"

A being who was about twelve, physically and mentally speaking, but had been around the block for way longer than twelve years. Just like Coco herself. Coco pointed to herself, stunned, then held up two fingers.

"You…two?" Darla said. "Oh, you TOO. I guess you have that much in common, then – "

Coco had taken off running toward Symonne and Cat.

"WHERE are you going?" Darla stamped her foot, then stormed after Coco before Coco could end up sniping her new costar.

"The key is method acting," Symonne told Cat. "The only way to perfect standing in for someone else is to walk a mile in their shoes. As a bonus, of course, the actress is not liable for any actions undertaken while in character. Say you were assigned to play…Lunarre. What would Lunarre do at any given moment? I think 'steal Maltran's purse and all the candy from her secret stash in the barracks' sounds in character for him. Meaning that if I DIDN'T do that, I would be failing at my own art. And, of course, since what any witnesses would see would be my stunning impression of Lunarre, all blame would flow back to him. An unfortunate side effect, but I couldn't risk MY position by coming clean, now, could I?"

"I didn't know acting was so evil," Cat said in awe. "Maybe I should start."

"Mainstream theater will be hesitant to cast your face, unfortunately," Symonne told her. "But at least you have one. I couldn't get directors' attention because, well, if I'm not wearing an illusion, I'm invisible on my homeworld thanks to Maotelus. A horrid curse, to be bereft of stage presence. I say we take opportunity of our new situation to finally get the dues we've been denied, or would have been denied."

Then in came Coco, who tried to strike a pose that was casual yet poised. It ended up coming across like she was trying to lean over as far as possible without actually falling. "Hey."

"What is the meaning of this?" Symonne asked. "Have you also come for my invaluable acting advice?"

"Yup," said Coco. "Defo that."

"Def-o?" Symonne repeated. "Well, you have one interesting script you're reading from."

Darla then skidded in between the two. "Symonne!" she said sweetly. "Ignore her. My name is Darla. Darla Dimple. And I'm here to tell you about a brilliant new opportunity! Have you ever heard of moving pictures?"

"I've been updated, yes," Symonne replied. "Are you starting one?"

"I don't have a screenplay yet," Darla admitted, "but it's only a matter of time. I've spent enough time working on movies to know how they work. I think that with your exotic, raw talent and my refined mannerisms and beauty, the two of us could produce the next blockbuster."

Symonne snorted. "Don't think I missed how I'm 'raw' next to your 'refinement.' I'll need to see a demonstration of your skills so I know whether your gald is where your mouth is."

"I have plenty of films I can show you," Darla promised. "Be prepared to be amazed."

"I think I'll set my expectations lower and be pleasantly surprised," said Symonne.

"Can I be in the movie too?" Cat asked.

"Ew, no," Darla spat. "Animals are one thing, but you're…"

"My sister," Symonne growled. "Not in blood, but in spirit."

"…See?" Darla said with a large, fake smile. "That was me ACTING like the kind of person who's hateful toward cats and…um…whatever you are! Just a character! Of COURSE you can be in the movie! Which I'm realizing is going to have to be a horror film for unrelated reasons to your face."

"What a fake," Coco scoffed. "LOLcow alert."

"I still have no idea what you're saying!" Darla reminded Coco sweetly.

"She called you some sort of cattle," Symonne explained. "Granted, I've never seen a lol-cow, but I have seen plenty of rappigs. I presume it's something native to your homeworld."

"…Close enough," said Coco. "Anyway, you, uh…ever play the Reaper's Game?"

"An unfortunate side effect of Maotelus' curse is that we seraphs were forced to the border of the Netherworld," Symonne said. "Not fully among the dead, but at enough of an in-between stage where we could see hapless dead souls wandering aimlessly. They were useless to us, but I will admit the Reaper's Game of Glenwood did stand for solid entertainment value on quiet days."

"O rly?" Coco smirked. "Well, I AM a Reaper. And I used to run the game."

"Hmm." Symonne looked her up and down. "You're a little…visible for a Reaper."

"OK, ex-Reaper," Coco said, "but I still have all the powers. And look!" She popped out her wings.

"Show-off," Darla sighed.

Symonne gave a slight smile. "Tell me. Were you a by-the-book Reaper, or did you use your position of power to make your games a little more…interesting?"

"Liek, did I psychologically wreck some dude cuz he was acting like too much of a main character?" Coco asked. "Did I blow up part of Shinjuku just to raise the stakes? Yes and yes."

Symonne's eyes widened. "You and I may just be kindred spirits. You see, I'm under a particular oath that allows me to keep my singular powers. I cannot kill…but that has only served to make me more creative. As such, I respect the art of torment. As a master of illusion, psychological torment especially fascinates me. I can't say I've ever managed to destroy a named location, however. You'll have to tell me more about this 'Shinjuku' so I can judge the size of the area."

"Used to go there all the time to pick up games and manga," said Coco. "Kinda sucked. But ur from an old-timey world, right? Like classic RPG world?"

Symonne tilted her head.

"Fantasy with swords and magic n stuff," Coco clarified. "Sometimes u go in big dungeons u explore and there's a fight at the end."

"That would be an accurate description, yes," Symonne affirmed.

"Shinjuku tech would blow ur mind," Coco said. "Anyone tell u abt video games yet?"

"I presume some fusion between film and game," said Symonne.

"Like a movie," Coco said, "but u make the main character go where they're supposed to go. Sometimes u can even change the story."

"An interactive storytelling experience…pre-recorded?" Symonne's brows raised. "That must have taken some potent artes."

"Is that liek magic?" Coco asked.

"In the simplest terms, yes," said Symonne.

"I wanna know all about how magic works where ur from," Coco said. "We have some too, but we don't do oaths n stuff. U tell me abt magic and I'll tell u abt Shinjuku and the rest of Tokyo."

"I may as well update you on the state of Glenwood in general, then," Symonne agreed. "It would also likely benefit us both to trade some information about each other, such as our stories in the broad strokes."

"Ur name's Symonne, right?" Coco asked. "I'm Coco."

Symonne nodded. "A pleasure, Coco."

"Excuse me!" Darla tried to break back in. "We still haven't finished discussing our film deal – "

"I already said yes," Symonne said bluntly. "There's nothing more we need to discuss." She turned back to Coco. "The first thing you need to know about Glenwood is the dichotomy of seraphs and humanity. I, of course, am the former, thankfully…"

"You're IGNORING ME?" Darla screeched. "How can you ignore ME? Don't you know who I am?"

"I'll talk to you!" said Cat.

Darla wanted to shut that down immediately, but then remembered that placating Cat was necessary to getting in Symonne's good graces. "Fine. Whatever. Tell me about ugly cat stuff."

Meanwhile, Verosika had seized Valentine and was dragging him out to the palace courtyard by his ascot. The courtyard served as a secondary celebration chamber, with pastel plants lining the open green for socializing. At the far end, another Yzma-shaped fountain had been erected, and quite honestly, it looked like Yzma puking water violently.

Verosika had slipped into a strapless minidress, holographic pink, and pole-dancer platform shoes, with her silvery hair pinned up. Valentine caught himself thinking about how much he envied her ensemble, and realized that him looking at that aspect instead of admiring the figure of the literal succubus was the final nail in the coffin on him ever thinking he was into women. Ah, well – no great loss of identity, all considered.

"You're sure they're out here?" Valentine sighed.

"I know," Verosika vowed. "This kind of spell is predictable. They make like they're headed straight to bonetown but then get distracted at the nearest pretty location available for reflection so they can gush to each other about how wonderful they are and get all…wordy. Ugh. This is why I work EXCLUSIVELY in lust – there they are."

Whiplash and Striker were sitting on the edge of the Yzma-puke fountain, clasping each other's hands and obviously deep in a very sugary conversation. When Verosika saw Striker actually giggle at something Whiplash had said, she knew it was time for an emergency procedure.

"We're on, kid."

"But I don't know if I can undo Ember's spell!" Valentine protested – his anxiety slipping through as his drawl faltered. "I can't even undo my own!"

"You can when you're with me," Verosika said. "Just cast what you usually would, and I'll run it through a filter to turn it in reverse. Start spellweaving on the cue word 'fuck.'"

"Really a classy choice," Valentine scoffed.

Verosika walked up to the fountain, beginning an impromptu song. Though the tune was slow, seductive, ethereal, the lyrics weren't exactly congruous: "Wake up, wake up, wake the hell up. You've been put under a goddamn mushy-gushy spell and now you think you're in the most disgusting love. It's the worst thing I've seen, and I come from Hell, and send that shit straight back above…where it belongs. Wake up, wake up, wake the fuck up."

Valentine sent out an array of magical hearts on cue; they passed around Verosika and turned black with her seduction infection. Then she waved them onward to Whiplash and Striker. When the hearts collided with the targets, both men suddenly recoiled from one another. One could only assume that beneath Whiplash's mask, his expression was one of shock and rage. With Striker, no one had to assume.

"What – the – GODDAMN HELL WAS THAT?" Striker yelled, his eyes glowing.

"The ghost girl," Whiplash seethed, clenching a metal fist. "She hypnotized us. We left our senses behind thanks to HER!"

"That little groupie skank," Striker hissed, bringing his pistol back out. "Tell Skulker he's gonna have to find a new date for the evening."

He rose. Verosika slammed a palm into his chest, stopping him where he stood. "Leave it," she said, as though scolding a naughty puppy.

"DID YOU SEE WHAT SHE JUST DID TO US?" Striker snarled. "Bitch can't be afforded the right to LIVE."

"She's a decent guitarist and I need her for future performances," Verosika warned him. "We have a concept album in the works."

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR – "

"I SAID LEAVE IT!" For just the briefest of moments, Verosika stopped being a humanoid and was suddenly a massive pink demon with bright eyes and dagger fangs.

Striker knew when he was beaten. Succubus trumps imp at rock-paper-scissors, after all. He did, however, let out an agitated rattlesnake hiss. One could almost hear the accompanying rattle.

"…Did anyone else hear Theo calling me?" Valentine said suddenly. "There it was again! I'd better go. He obviously is looking for me." Then he bolted.

(Letheo and Albel had gone back to sparring, with Simon playing referee and judging them based on his own criteria, including docking points for "reminds me of Grace." Letheo hadn't even noticed Valentine had left – though he did feel a little bad about that later.)

Verosika shrank back down to her usual form, rocking the holographic minidress once more. "Sooooo…you and your date have anything to get back to?"

Striker turned back around to the fountain. Whiplash wasn't there. A quick scan of the courtyard saw Whiplash talking to Blizzard some distance away. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Striker. The two met eyes, then immediately turned away from each other. How did they even come back from all the horribly saccharine things that had been said on the fountain's lip?

"Groupie skank ruined the moment," Striker mumbled. "Maybe the whole thing."

"Stop being a drama queen." Verosika rolled her eyes. "Come party with me for a bit, then. See if you can make him jealous."

"I don't want him jealous."

"Okay, then forget about him," Verosika said. "Geez, it's not like you're ever out of options. What, do you actually like the – "

There came the hiss once more.

"You don't scare me," said Verosika, "but I'm gonna change the topic anyway because I'm not getting any answers from you any day soon. So. Been a while since we worked together."

"Yeah. It has."

It was an unlikely friendship. There was a time that Striker would've thought of Verosika as a puffed-up lapdog of Lust who swayed her succubus privilege against folks like him. There was a time that Verosika would have known this and laughed it off while scheming revenge. But things had changed. A lot of very, very odd things.

But that's another story.

"Any word from the Big Guy?" Verosika asked. "He's been quiet on my end. Good thing the WHAM ARMY came around or I'd be bored out of my gourds." She poked her chest to make sure Striker got the innuendo.

"Really?" Striker grinned. "I've been gettin' missions left and right. Wish he'd let me in on that Lexicosm business, though. That Zora seems like a real barrel of laughs."

"Fuck," Verosika hissed. "Why you before me?"

"'Cause your skillset is incredibly specific while I'm a jack of all combat trades?" Striker teased. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll call when he needs to seduce a prude."

"I hate that you're right," Verosika growled. "Anyway, with this going on. Are you gonna be able to pull off running both operations?"

"Sure!" Striker insisted with a grin. "I do what I want, remember? I take the jobs that interest ME. Neither of 'em's gonna get everything they ask outta me…'less they pay up."

"Then I'm game," Verosika added. "Think I'll mooch off their bed and board, though. They're good company."

"Damn straight," said Striker. "No reason to leave now. Party sure is livelier over here…though that might not be a compliment to our hosts."

After all, the "Big Guy" and his associates would hardly be caught doing anything as ridiculous as ripping crystals out of the walls and ceiling of an enchanted ballroom in order to make a giant pile of randomized magic rocks and use it as an impromptu throne upon which to declare one was God. Which is exactly what Sho Minamimoto, who was wearing a ripped-edge vest over a bare chest and roughed-up dress pants, had finished doing.

Striker gave a snicker at the antics ("THAT'S RIGHT, I'M THE PRIME NUMBER, THE ABSOLUTE ZERO, THE INFINITE LIMIT!"). "Where else are we gonna get this good of a show?"

"Well, don't write the other team off yet," said Verosika. "They have charm. And hotties. Maybe you'd even be able to find somebody to fuck over there. Unless you're married to the idea of Mr. Metal Mask."

Striker rolled his eyes. "Don't make me blast you back to Hell."

"I'd like to see you try." Verosika paused. "I'm hardly one to worry about anything. Ever."

"I take it that's the prelude to you being worried about something and making me deal with it."

"Mozenrath and the Big Guy," Verosika said. "Not exactly the types to get along, especially with the BIG mission."

"Oh, re-laaaax," Striker scoffed. "Ain't like we're takin' out every world at once! That's a job for the immortals to finish off, remember? We're just watchin' the fireworks. And like I said. They want WHAM ARMY territory blown sky-high? Then they better pay REAL good. Also, don't act like that Mim woman wouldn't want to take out a whole solar system for shits and giggles."

"That's…not wrong," Verosika chuckled. "And if the Big Guy finds out we're not all-in on wrecking literally everything 'cause we need some places to party?"

Striker chuckled. "Vee! It's almost like you ain't never played two high-paying clients against each other before. I'd'a thought that'd be Succubus 101."

"Yeah, well, I actually care about my position in both ranks," Verosika said coldly.

"So do I." Striker's voice went hard. "You know exactly how much I need this. All of it."

"Hm." She nodded. "That reminds me. He was at the club the other night. Tried to get his info and track him back down. Thought you'd want it."

Striker bristled, rage flaring behind his eyes. "And?"

"Already gone by the time I scoped it out," said Verosika. "Face it: he's living out of his car, and that means he can drive anywhere and everywhere. I do have some good news for you, though."

Striker snorted.

"He very recently had a foursome with three stone statues," Verosika said. "I'd be surprised if he lived."

"He'd better," Striker seethed. "After what he did to me…I ain't gonna have him die at any hand but mine. Never thought I'd be so glad that Crimson fuckin' lied to me."

"Okay, this is starting to get homoerotic," Verosika warned him. "If you obsess over killing him too much, you're gonna fall for him all over again, and – "

Striker let out the loudest hiss yet.

"You know I'm right," said Verosika. Completely calm.

Striker shook his head, smoothing back his hair to try and regain his composure. "Won't happen. I got things to distract me now. Things to do."

"Like Whiplash," said Verosika.

"…Maybe," Striker muttered. "We both said things we can't take back 'cause of that stupid spell."

"It was fucking magic," Verosika groaned. "It didn't mean ANYTHING. You two just have to get over it and you can go back to heartless fucking in peace."

"You better be right."

"Striker. This is my entire line of work. I know I'm right."

They were suddenly stopped in their tracks by coming upon Lunarre and Undertow. Lunarre had finally changed out of his ratty assassin's garb, now wearing a black vest embroidered with shining gold and breeches to match. His fox-tail hair was braided for the occasion. The two of them had set up camp against the wall, watching the dancing crowd wistfully. Hungrily.

Striker and Verosika stopped in their tracks. They exchanged a glance, wondering the same thing. Then they gave in. "Okay, fine," Verosika sighed. "What's this about?"

"The buffet got tipped over," Undertow reminded her. "Not like it was any good."

"At least it was food," Lunarre added. "But now, alas, we are left without any sustenance…and I so desperately crave a brownie."

"I could go for that brownie too," Undertow said mischievously.

"You're mopin' around 'cause of chocolate?" Striker sighed. "You can't just get your asses in the kitchen and make some yourselves?"

"No, not a BROWNIE," Lunarre corrected. "A BROWNIE." He gestured over to a crowd of Earth-aligned fairies, none of whom had wings and all of whom wore wide-brimmed hats and dirt streaks.

Undertow gave a laugh. Obviously he'd been onto the double meaning all along.

"Oh," said Verosika. "That makes more sense. Just go get one."

"We might tick off one of the more powerful creatures!" Undertow argued. "We can't just swim in there and bite a head off!"

"We have to be sneaky about this," Lunarre chuckled. "I'm formulating a plan as we speak to draw one away from the crowd."

"Why bother when you could pick a good vantage point and snipe 'em?" Striker asked. "It'd be easy. For me. Maybe not for you…"

"That still might start a riot we don't need," said Verosika. "Feels like we need more insurance. Usually, I can calm a riot just by singing a few bars and getting everybody too horny to care, but it's gonna be tougher to affect faeries. That said…I know who can."

"You were about to call?" Nevan sashayed over toward the little group. She'd changed nothing about her appearance save putting her hair up in a high bun framed by red-orange bangs. This meant there was no longer anything covering her chest. She had a running mental tally of people she'd had to electrify for staring, and the higher it went, the more satisfied she felt with her choice.

"I need a faery to seduce a faery," Verosika affirmed. "You and me, we duet after the boys bring home the bacon. Get everybody relaxed."

Nevan nodded. "Brownies were never quite…flamboyant enough for my tastes to begin with. I do not care to let them live."

Striker nudged Lunarre's shoulder. "We're in. Let's go."

"And I gotta stay here?" Undertow pouted.

"A big lug like you would blow the entire operation," Lunarre told him. "But rest assured, we'll save you a leg."

Lunarre and Striker darted into the crowd, practically vanishing among the dancers. Verosika, Nevan, and Undertow didn't even see exactly how they took down their prey – they only saw the geyser of blood that ensued when the brownie was taken down. Screams ensued throughout the crowd.

"Calm down," Verosika sang sweetly, and Nevan joined on harmony. "Calm down. Calm the fuck down. Why be alarmed when you could get heavy and warm?"

The other brownies completely forgot why they'd been so shocked but a moment ago. Everything was fine, and in fact, they were all feeling quite frisky. Couples locked together, lips on lips and other body parts too.

Striker and Lunarre came back carrying the corpse of their target – Lunarre at the feet and Striker at the shoulder. "To the kitchen!" Lunarre cackled excitedly.

There was a loud clearing of throats. He and Striker looked over their shoulders to see that they were being stared at, quite disapprovingly, by Vincent, Victor, and Albert, all three of whom had their arms folded.

"And where do you think you're going?" Victor asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

"We're hungry!" Undertow yelled. "Those idiots who tipped the table left us no choice!"

"Tsk, tsk," Victor clicked. "You were really just going to eat one of our esteemed guests…"

Undertow, Lunarre, and Striker all got ready to babble excuses and argumentation.

"…raw?" Victor finished with a wink.

"And not even going to share," Albert sighed. "We cyborgs miss the taste of real meat, you know."

"Don't go in there without us," said Vincent. "We know how to PROPERLY prepare human meat and season it accordingly. Or, in this case, fae meat, which I suppose would have a similar but sweeter flavor."

"Or spicier, given the magic," said Albert.

"All right." Lunarre rolled his eyes. "We'll let you spice it up. But don't go taking more than your share of the meat!"

"You comin', Vee?" Striker asked.

"Well, I'm coming, all right," said Verosika, "but not with you. I think I want a piece of that brownie orgy we just stirred up."

"I think that is a delicious idea," Nevan agreed. "You boys go enjoy your cannibalism while we enjoy the finer things in life."

They hurried forward in the hopes of getting completely consensually ravaged by horny brownies. Striker rolled his eyes before helping Lunarre, Undertow, Vincent, Victor, and Albert cart the body into the kitchen.

"The first thing we'll need is the oregano," said Vincent.

"The second thing, the cumin," said Victor. "An essential ingredient."

"To be sure," said Vincent.

"What of the cayenne?" Albert asked.

"Perhaps on YOUR portion," Vincent scoffed.

They entered to see Max dutifully decorating cupcakes one at a time, only for Snipe to eat whole each one he set down on the table, making net zero progress.

"Howdy!" Noodle Burger Boy greeted. He gestured to the dead brownie; "Are you here to turn that into burgers?"

"No burgers," Albert growled. "I DESPISE hamburger."

Noodle Burger Boy stared at him for a good minute before his eyes went red. He simply said "We can no longer be friends" and then turned away to resume his own work.

"I daresay you made an enemy," said Victor.

"And not one who will be as accommodating as I," Vincent added with a chuckle.

"Let him start his war," Albert said. "I am more than prepared to fight against a fast food mascot."

"At least it isn't one of those life-size furry ones that has a musical instrument," Victor mused. "Something was always…off about that genre."

Vincent and Albert each gave an involuntary shiver of agreement.

Once the meat was fabricated, panned, and in the oven, it would take an hour to roast through properly. Already the pork-like smell was beginning to come through, but mixed with the unmistakable scents of spring rain and fresh-cut grass. Lunarre decided to take the time to wander back out onto the dancefloor and check on his old friends.

He started by tapping on Symonne's shoulder. "Well? How is the – "

"Do you MIND?" Symonne rounded on him in fiery rage. "I am in the midst of a CONVERSATION! Can you not see that?"

"Well, excuse me for being friendly!" Lunarre scoffed, turning up his nose to stalk away.

As he left, he could hear Symonne telling Coco, "While this 'visual kei' sounds like a spectacle for the senses, it seems a bit too…upbeat for my tastes."

"Then I got just the thing 4u," Coco said slyly. "Nagoya kei. Trust me."

Lunarre's next stop was Maltran. She'd changed into a strapless ballgown with a massive billowing blue skirt; her pink curls were styled atop her head in a gorgeous pile. She was also carrying her spear out into the middle of the dancefloor with a sly grin.

"And where are we going with that?" Lunarre asked as he slipped in next to her.

"Daria and I were admiring Letheo and Albel's fighting techniques," Maltran explained. "The next thing I knew, we were comparing our own, and I was challenged to a duel. Both of us must remain alive and uninjured, but all else is fair game. I intend to prove myself. After all, the Blue Valkyrie can hardly lose to a fish out of water."

"Oooh, can I watch?" Lunarre asked. "I need to kill some time while dinner roasts."

"…You managed to find someone to cannibalize, didn't you?" Maltran sighed. "Disgusting."

"Just for that, I WON'T save you a toe."

"And however shall I recover from this slight." Maltran rolled her eyes. "But yes. You may watch as I claim my victory."

Daria was floating near another small group. Daria herself was clothed in a gown that was also strapless, and the bodice of which was an ornate breastplate of red leather and gold before leading into a long, straight skirt of deep ruby red. She too had a spear in hand. Behind her, Morgana was ready to play cheerleader, holding a pair of enormous anemones to use as pom-poms. Her gown, yet again strapless, was a deep, rather ugly and swampy green color with small white shells sewn in to decorate the hems and waist. Hopper had also decided to observe; he of course didn't wear a full suit, being an insect who saw no need, but he had managed to get a four-sleeved blazer fashioned out of green leaves stuck together with sap, and wore it proudly.

"What are you doing here?" Maltran asked him. "You weren't part of the agreement."

"Neither was he." Hopper gestured to Lunarre with his two right hands. "And I came over because the boys are done fighting and I need some real entertainment around here. Nothing is more openly hilarious than two people trying to destroy each other. Sure, there might be some G-rated restrictions on this fight, but hey, sometimes you gotta kick back and enjoy some children's programming."

"I suppose…" Maltran scoffed. "Well then. Shall we begin?" She braced her spear.

Daria did the same, glowering at Maltran like a shark ready to move in for the kill. "You humans always think you're better at everything. I think it's time you learned some humility."

"That might work, if I were a human," Maltran said with a grin. "As a Hellion, I would say the advantage is in my favor."

"We'll see," said Daria.

Morgana had gotten ahold of a literal coach's whistle, which she blew. "All right, line up and get ready! On your mark…get set…DUEL!"

Maltran and Daria flew at each other in a flurry of spinning spears. Morgana gave a wolf whistle to Daria; "KICK HER TAIL, HONEY!"

"TAKE HER TO THE FISH FRY!" Lunarre cheered for Maltran.

Hopper didn't care who won or had the upper hand. He was just having a good time laughing at every near miss the spear points made adjacent to exposed skin. "Oh, this is QUALITY art."

The scene caught the attention of one particular wallflower. The Ebony Maw, dressed in golden robes with glittering silver embroidery, had a few reservations about attending this night, as he had not too long ago been united with a direct and deadly enemy of the WHAM ARMY. Mim and Aghoul had forgiven and forgotten (or, more accurately, accepted and remembered), but he wasn't certain how well the tale of his recruitment would go with the others, so he decided to wait. To formulate the exact words needed to tell the story so it would come off the way he wanted it told.

But the frenzy of Daria and Maltran's duel was so close to him that he was drawn in, striding gracefully over to see the parrying pair. He watched without a word until the end of it, when Maltran planted her spear point into the ground, hoisted her entire body into the air, and slammed both feet into Daria's head.

Daria went spilling onto the floor with a grunt. Morgana rushed to fuss over her, only for Daria to put up a hand and reassure her that "I'm fine" with a grin. She then widened that grin into a smirk at Maltran: "So you got lucky. Congratulations. I'll let you keep this victory just because I know you wouldn't want to be humiliated in round two."

"And I'll pretend to buy your reasoning," Maltran said mischievously.

Her attention was caught by the sound of the Maw applauding. "Well played," he told her. "A stunning attempt, given your mortality."

"I choose to take that as a compliment," Maltran said with a grin toward Ebony. "I suppose that's also a claim that you could outdo me."

"Do not challenge me to spar, fair maiden," said Ebony. "After all, even if it were only in jest, there is no way you would walk away alive, and I should hate to deprive our forces of such an asset."

"Is that so?" Maltran chuckled. "Well, in the interest of keeping this a lighthearted affair, I won't attempt to disprove you."

"A wise choice."

Then Morgana blurted out, "Hey, aren't you that guy who was working for Thanos before you ditched him to run with us?"

There went all Ebony's attempts to diplomatically deploy a strategically altered version of events. Still he tried to salvage it: "Yes, I was for a time a herald of one who was quite opposed to this particular venture. And I was indeed devoted. Yet you must understand…though I believed in Thanos' cause, it was for my own purposes that I followed him."

"Seems like we have that in common," said Maltran.

Ebony was caught off guard. "How do you mean?"

"I was the lieutenant of Heldalf," Maltran said. "A man determined to end a world in order to put a stop to his own misery. I, too, had experienced my share of misery, and I was through with that world. So I aligned with him. I fought for him. I chose to fight for him because of my own desire. And in the end…" She shook her head. "In the end, I think I realized I never was on my own path. Perhaps I am now. Of course, this is all speculation. I don't know of your 'Thanos.'"

"No…I think he would have had much in common with your Heldalf," said Ebony. "A man driven by pain, but also by cruelty and desire. A man who promised me everything I could wish and more…provided that what I wished was a particular emptiness, a hollowing. At the time, my goals aligned. I, too, wished for an end to suffering…but not to go quietly, on my own, into the dark. And so I chose to proclaim the good news: that Thanos had come to liberate all worlds by culling the population, reducing us to numbers that would once again be able to use our resources wisely. He fashioned himself a hero, and I continued the narrative. Yet there were depths to the story that I was privy to from the very start. Such as his love for Death itself, and what he wished to sacrifice in order to catch the eye of the reaper. I did not see these two motivations as contradictory. On the contrary – were it not for his desire for Death and his ideal of himself as the hero of the story combined, he would not have needed me to reconcile these aspects in front of his captive audience. I was given greater purpose than ever I had before. I believed myself to walk the path of destiny. Yet along the way, I wondered if it truly was MY destiny, or merely a stepping stone. When you devote your body and soul to someone…you diminish, of course. You know this well."

"I do." Maltran nodded.

"Even now, I suppose I have not truly chosen," said Ebony. "I was merely presented with another path, one that seemed more fruitful. I am loath to let opportunity slip away. Yet it also seems they have no desire to keep us leashed – that we may act with free will, so long as we do not betray the cause. Perhaps there is more room to move here."

"Only time will tell," said Maltran. "Do you even know what you would want, without Thanos or anyone else to guide you?"

"An interesting question," said Ebony. "I ask the same of you."

"I notice you didn't answer," Maltran replied. "That tells me all I need to know. And, to be perfectly candid…I think our answers are the same."

Ebony smiled, bowed his head. "Maltran, herald of Heldalf no more." He presented his hand to her, palm open. "It seems we have much to discuss between us. Might I ask you for a mere dance or two?"

Maltran delicately took his hand. "I would be honored."

"OOOOOOHHH!" Morgana screeched. "I think they liiiiiike each other!"

"Do not mistake a dance or two for a courtship," Maltran barked, and Ebony's glare backed her up.

"Of course not!" Hopper put up all four hands. "You kids just go have a ball out there. No expectations." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Just some good, clean fun."

Maltran and Ebony scoffed, moving away from Morgana, Daria, and Hopper to find a quieter place to dance and converse.

"Bet they'll kiss by the end of the night," Morgana posed.

"I say within the hour," Hopper replied.

"You know, it really was just a conversation," said Daria. "We have no proof it will go one way or the other."

"Of course we don't!" Morgana agreed. "But that just takes all the fun out of it!"

"What's the point if we don't needle them a little?" Hopper agreed.

Daria realized the game. "Oh. I see. Well, then…maybe we'll have helped them realize."

Discord and Deymos had been playing the social field, moving throughout the ballroom before running into one another. When they did, Quentin Beck and Neo just so happened to be nearby. Quentin wore a sequin-coated tuxedo of garish purple and green, and he'd even put dyes of the same colors in his hair, teasing it into somewhere between spikes and curls. Neo wore a loose, lacy dress with quarter sleeves, mostly pink, though its top layer of skirt stopped at the thigh to give way to a second, cream-colored layer of lace, which stopped above the knee to let the final layer of chocolate-dark lace fall right at the kneecap. A Neapolitan dress.

"Well, isn't this a reunion!" Discord laughed. "Arguably the four people outside the nine grand chairponies who keep this operation running."

"You said 'chairponies,'" Deymos pointed out.

Discord rolled his eyes. "Old habits die hard. You spend enough time on one particular world and it will happen to you too."

"Oh, believe me, I've been there," said Deymos. "Took me a while to realize that sometimes a swamp is just a swamp and doesn't come with an eternal adjective-turned-noun. In my defense, swamps were WEIRD to me. It's like an ocean, but two feet deep? What's the point? Why not just go full ocean at that point?"

"I'm sure the swamps haven't told you because they simply like seeing you suffer," Quentin said snidely.

"Har dee har," Deymos retorted. "You know what I meant. Anyway, Dis-bro is onto something. We are kinda second-tier importance, aren't we?"

Neo looked quite offended before gesturing to all three of her companions at once, then back to herself. The expression on her face said it all.

"Yes, yes, you've been here since the very inception of the team while the rest of us came along later," Quentin groaned. "And yet who is it that continually arrives in the nick of time with a brilliant plot twist in order to save the day from certain peril? Why, none other than the great Mysterio!"

"And technically, I have a history with the team that's older than Mysty or Dis-bro," said Deymos. "It just wasn't…the me that's ME. And also he betrayed everybody. But hey. Still means my fate is entwined here. The entwinement is real."

"HA!" Discord laughed. "All of you thinking YOU'RE what greases the wheels. Did we already forget that I'M the one who saved us all from complete and total obliteration?"

"Forget?" said Quentin. "You never told us about this in the first place!"

Neo put out her hands to ask when, exactly, Discord had done any such thing.

"Why, all the way back when – " Discord then gasped, clamping his hand over his mouth. They didn't know because he hadn't told anybody. And he hadn't told anybody because that would have involved admitting that he'd recruited Aladdin to foil their plan for their own good. "Actually, you called my bluff. Good on you for seeing through it! But I suppose it takes a braggart to know a braggart."

"I mean, I thought you were talking about when you sicced Aladdin on Mozenrath in order to stop him from destroying the known multiverse," said Deymos, "but we can ignore that part if you REALLY want."

Discord, Quentin, and Neo gaped at Deymos. After a long pause, Quentin said, "Why would he have recruited a HERO? That isn't his style! You're making things up, and I would know, because that's the kind of trope I would use in one of my own embellishments!"

Neo nodded, folding her arms. Confidently asserting that Discord wouldn't have done a thing like that.

It was Discord, however, who spilled his own beans: "How on EARTH did you know about that?"

"Wait," said Quentin. "It's true?"

Neo's jaw dropped.

"I mean, I was just going over the stuff I was caught up on to explain how we got here," Deymos said. "Vex told me a lot of it, and I got some accounts from the other members of the old guard, and when one part of the story didn't add up, it didn't really take a genius. Think about it. Aladdin shows up at the last minute to stop that apocalypse spell from being cast. How did he get in the building? Somebody had to put him there. Not one of the spice rack, because why would they just send one guy instead of doing their whole 'power of friendship' bit? Not their style. And it happens to be the ONE guy who can break a blood magic seal and the ONE guy who continually puts Mozzy in his place without ever actually killing him or his. That's a little too convenient. Now, this could've been any other villain's doing EXCEPT for that whole 'we put the heroes behind an impenetrable magic barrier' thing, so it had to be somebody whose magic didn't play by the rules. There's also the fact that you'd apparently been spying on us for months, since you showed up in Equestria to try and pull some weird cosmic chessmaster bit way, waaaaaay back at the beginning when the squad stole the Elements of Harmony. And then you waited until that black hole to finally throw your hat in here. So you were definitely playing cosmic babysitter to the team. Also, about the black hole? Showing up to stop the WHAM ARMY from accidentally destroying themselves through their own adventure? Pattern much? It's like your whole thing. So yeah. Somebody put Aladdin on the WHAM trail to stop the nuke spell from going off, that somebody wanted to help us in the only way that would get through to Mozenrath, and it was somebody who had chaos-brand magic and had been spying. Pretty obvious. I'm surprised the bigwigs haven't figured it out yet."

This time, the silence was even longer as Discord, Quentin, and Neo gaped at Deymos.

Then Discord blurted, "Well, you can't TELL anyone!"

"I mean, too late," said Deymos. "I just told those two. They're the only ones, though."

Discord rounded on Quentin and Neo. "NOT A WORD."

Neo pointed to her own mouth, reminding Discord that she hadn't any words to say anyway.

Quentin, however, tried to argue back: "But this is SUCH a dramatic turn of events! How can you expect me to keep this a secret – "

"What kind of bribe do you want?" Discord asked. "Special effects? Set pieces? Just putting money straight into your pocket? Because whatever you want, it's YOURS, so long as you keep QUIET."

"I'll have my list of demands to you tomorrow morning," Quentin said. "You're aware I'm going to milk this for ALL it's worth."

"And then some, yes," said Discord.

"Hang on!" Deymos put up a hand. "You can MAKE money? Then what was with the whole sidequest about rounding up supervillains to rob banks? You could've just stepped in!"

"I could have," said Discord. "And I thought about it. But look how much fun we all had and how many friends we made by needing to do things the hard way! After all…the original idea was to recruit the BEAGLE BOYS instead of the Fearsome Four. I think we can all agree that would have been a massive downgrade."

"And that was MY debut role to boot!" said Quentin. "Had that mission been unnecessary, I might have joined with far fewer fireworks! Or, worse…not joined at all."

"That's right," Deymos recalled. "You weren't down with murder until you touched the alien evil incarnate."

"I was changed for the better," said Quentin. "After all, what director truly doesn't know the value of a well-placed character death for emotional catharsis? Though I wouldn't go so far to say it was ENTIRELY the Symbiote's doing. I would say it lowered my inhibitions…and the rest was personal growth."

Neo had been tapping at her scroll this entire time. She then sent the text, which rolled over to Discord.

"Let's see…" Discord set his scroll up in the middle of thin air in order to look at it better, then zoomed in by literally making it ten times its original size. He cleared his throat, then put on a falsetto to read the text: "I get it. Roman can be a stubborn – oh, LANGUAGE, Neo! – and seriously, if you hadn't sent a hero to, erm, MESS things up, then we would've all been dead. I love him, but he's got two brain cells and I usually hold onto them for him!"

Neo glowered at him.

"What?" Discord asked. "Didn't like the voice? Well, forgive me for having headcanons!"

Neo rolled her eyes stubbornly.

"I always imagined you having more of a commanding tone," said Quentin. "Yet fun-loving and mischievous."

Neo pointed to him to indicate that Quentin got it.

"She has a point, though," said Deymos. "You did save our skins. Well, not mine. I wasn't there. Except, yeah, mine, because I would've been blown up too, I guess. You were a complete sneak and a liar about it…and honestly? Respect. So no hard feelings from me."

Neo nodded and smiled at Discord.

"Me three," said Quentin. "Provided your checks cash."

"Oh, they will," Discord promised. "You know…I'm actually rather touched that the three of you want to keep my secret. You see, THIS is the sort of friendship I'd been looking for the whole time." He sighed. "I should've just joined from the start when Mozenrath arrived on my doorstep that first time in Equestria. Alas, I was in the midst of an…identity crisis. I wasted quite a bit of time figuring out where I should be."

"Eh, you made it here eventually," said Deymos. "And at least this isn't your literal second incarnation on the team after the first one nearly got everybody screwed over."

"That I know of, anyway," said Discord. "The point is…I'm glad to be with my real friends now."

Without warning, his arms extended immensely, like rubber, and wrapped around Neo, Quentin, and Deymos. He pulled them all tightly into a big embrace.

"HEY!" Deymos yelled.

Neo, however, leaned into it, throwing her own arms around the group.

"If you can't beat 'em," said Quentin. He and Deymos finally joined in on the group hug.

When Discord let them all go, he cleared his throat. "You won't tell anyone I did THAT either. People might think I'm going soft."

Neo mimed locking up her mouth.

"Out of curiosity," said Quentin, "have you been trying to act our silent guardian from the shadows in other respects?"

"Here and there," said Discord. "I wouldn't want to step in unless it was a matter of life or death. That said, one of our newest recruits seems to be going through something that feels all too familiar. Or at least…had gone through something. He seems to be over it now, but…his emotions smell a lot like mine used to. There's a story he hasn't told us yet, and I almost feel personally obligated to set things right."

"Whomst?" Quentin asked. "Perhaps we can assist!"

"Striker," said Deymos. "He means Striker. The guy's been in this weird flux of enjoying himself and angsting out, and Ember casting a love spell on him made things go WAY weird."

Neo and Quentin stared at Deymos yet again.

"I swear I'm the ONLY person who pays attention to his surroundings around here!" Deymos argued. "Anyway, I think Verosika mostly has the Striker thing covered. And, to be fair, it's Verosika Mayday. Her even ACKNOWLEDGING you has curative powers. Though I'm probably gonna lose my whole idol-worship of her after working in close quarters, which honestly won't be a bad thing."

"Yes, but what about the other one?" said Discord. "It seems the key to this current incident lies with Mr. Scarlotti. Now, him, he's more sure of himself, but it seems that if we ever want to know the real story about Striker and why EXACTLY he smells like identity crisis, the first step is to steer Whiplash back toward him."

"Okay, easy," said Deymos. "We send in a mole. Not you. We send YOU and he'll know something's off."

"We'd need to send someone who speaks his language," said Quentin. "A warrior. Someone who has a rough background, who knows the value of violence in exchange for wealth. Someone experienced in the criminal underworld from a very young age. And given present company, that really only leaves…"

Neo beamed, standing up straighter.

"…the prospect of me making up an original character who fits the bill," Quentin finished. "After all, he's never MET me, though I'm sure he knows of a Mysterio on his version of the world, because apparently my world got shoved in a cosmic photocopier at some point. But he might just buy that I am a rougher, tougher Mysterio – "

"Or send Neo," Deymos said flatly. "She's literally pouting because she thought she was gonna get picked."

Indeed. She was.

"Oh, all right," Quentin sighed. "You go talk to him. Do something to get his mind off that love spell. Weaken his defenses with innocent bonding, then hit him with the emotional catharsis we've been waiting for!"

Neo saluted as she took off in Whiplash's direction. She already had an idea for how to approach him. And an idea of who should come along with her. She hadn't forgotten, of course, that while she was Roman's apprentice first and foremost, she was also a Huntsgirl.

As she left, she heard Deymos: "By the way, I can only assume that the reason we're even all standing here is because none of the Xehanorts know about that 'destroy everything' spell yet. Protip: DON'T LET THEM GET IT."

Her first order of business was to grab Albel away from the conversation he was having. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU WORM?" Albel snapped at Neo as she seized his upper arm and started to just literally drag him in the direction she was going.

Neo did not slow or stop. Instead, she barged in the direction of where Miratrix and Kamdor were trying to catch up on what had happened since they'd separated. Miratrix was clothed in a stunning plum-colored pantsuit with golden embroidery in the shape of a dragon that twisted around the waist of her jacket and curled around one of the pant legs.

"Why am I not surprised you ended up in such a comedy of errors?" Kamdor laughed. "After all this time, you're still incompetent!"

"Which one of us defeated two Lorwardians in armed combat?" Miratrix retorted. "And which one of us experienced a fiery demise the MINUTE he didn't have me around to watch his back?"

They glared at each other. Then Miratrix smiled, and Kamdor wouldn't let on, but he did too. "You never used to talk back to me," he said.

"You never used to let me get away with it," Miratrix replied. "But you taught me an incredibly important lesson on the day you betrayed me."

"Oh, REALLY?"

"That I have no reason to stand down to you," said Miratrix. "From here on out, you can say goodbye to my subservience."

"I wouldn't want it anyway!" Kamdor spat. "I can do just fine on my own! WITHOUT your help! So you'd better find your own thing to do!"

Miratrix's smile widened into a smirk. "So you finally gave up on using me. You respect me as an equal."

"I NEVER SAID THAT!"

"I guess you didn't." She was grinning now. "Do I have the sorcerer to thank for that? He seems to be your latest lifeline to avoiding a gory end."

"Don't bring Zevon into this!" Kamdor spat. "I don't depend on him! I don't NEED him! I keep him around because – because he's useful!"

"And for the record," Zevon called over from some distance away, "I'm not even offendencated by that, because I LIKE being useful!"

"So the solution to all my troubles was to get you a boyfriend," Miratrix taunted. "Had I only known earlier."

"A BOYF – WHAAAAT?" Kamdor roared. "ZEVON ISN'T – IT'S NOT – I'M NOT TRYING TO HIDE MY FEELINGS FOR HIM!"

"There's no tsunyandere flirtationousness happening here!" Zevon called over. "And now I'm going back to ignorating you!" Which he did.

"Take a joke," Miratrix advised. "Or people might think you protest a little…too…much. HEY! WHERE ARE YOU – "

Neo had seized Miratrix with her free hand and was now dragging her along with Albel.

"I am as perplexed as you," Albel growled. "It seems she has some grand purpose in mind for us."

Neo nodded, then inclined her head in the direction of Whiplash and Blizzard.

"There's been some sort of drama I DON'T care about regarding the armored mercenary," Albel huffed. "I would rather not have gotten involved."

Neo gave a slight nod that put across that that was just too damn bad.

"Which one?" Miratrix asked. "I haven't cared for the trivialities."

"The one in red," said Albel. "A mishap involving a music-based love spell."

"So that's the reason for the earsplitting guitar chords earlier," Miratrix muttered. "Neo. What EXACTLY do you intend us to do?"

Neo didn't answer. She just halted in front of Whiplash and Blizzard, with Miratrix and Albel brought to a stop at her flanks. Finally, she let them go.

" – It was literally magic," Blizzard was arguing. (He couldn't exactly change out of his armor either, but he hadn't added any accessories for the occasion.) "If you don't just let it go, I'm going to assume you ACTUALLY had some kind of feelings you're mad about airing."

"Do…not…TEST me," Whiplash hissed.

Neo gave a slight cough to get the pair's attention. As they turned to regard her, she shifted into the uniform of the Huntsgirl.

"This is Huntsclan business?" Albel said, quite baffled.

"Why should that involve us?" Whiplash hissed. "Take it elsewhere."

Neo responded by reaching up and rapping on Whiplash's metal mask, as if to ask if his head were hollow.

"At least hear the little lady out," said Blizzard. "I wanna know where she's going with this."

Neo began by holding out her hands, conjuring a miniature illusion of a dragon that frolicked and played on her open palms. Then it vanished in smoke; Neo put out her arms to indicate her surroundings, then shrugged.

"I have no idea what you're saying," Whiplash told her point-blank.

"…I do," Miratrix realized. "Do none of you find it odd that among the myriad of magical creatures that attended this ball, there's not a single dragon to be seen?"

"Don't be stupid," said Blizzard. "There's dragons here. Right over – I mean, there was one – "

It soon became clear to all five that there wasn't a dragon to be seen in the entire ballroom.

"Maybe they don't live on the Mystic Isles?" Whiplash suggested.

"For DRAGONS not to be a representative population in the archipelago from which myth and magic spring?" Albel scoffed. "Neopolitan was right. There ISN'T anything but air under that helm."

"Turning down an invite to this ball wasn't exactly an approved option," Blizzard reminded the group.

"Prisma has set up scrying crystals across the Isles," Miratrix pointed out. "We should use them to look at the Isle of Dragons and find the reason for the absence."

Neo nodded fervently. She'd been thinking about it the whole time, and contemplated spying, but she'd talked herself out of it by realizing that there wasn't much the dragons could be doing that the WHAM ARMY wouldn't be ready for. However, right now, she needed a sidequest for Whiplash. This would serve.

"There is still no reason to involve me," Whiplash hissed.

Neo shifted back to her dress, pulling out her scroll and typing into it. Then she had it read aloud what she'd written: "Then I guess you can miss the payout."

"Payout?" Blizzard said. "What payout?"

"Dragons hoard," Miratrix pointed out. "Any CHILD knows that. If they have given us reason to strike, or left an opening in their defenses, there are riches aplenty for you. Divide it four ways. I don't want the money. Just the glory."

"As do I," said Albel. "Divide it three ways."

"Don't have to tell me twice," said Blizzard.

"…I don't suppose you would also be satisfied with the glory," Whiplash told Neo.

Neo put her hands on her hips, putting across the most offended energy she could. She wasn't giving up a third of a dragon's hoard, if it came to that.

"Follow me," said Miratrix. "I know where the scrying crystals are. I was using them earlier to verify that there were no outposts here for the monsters of legend from the world of the Rangers. Galactic threats are one thing, but if one of the fabled Ten Terrors pokes its ugly nose into my vicinity, I want to be prepared well in advance."

Neo, Miratrix, and Albel led the way out. Blizzard gave Whiplash's upper arm a playful cuff; "Get your mind off him."

Whiplash had to admit that this mission was sounding rather fun on principle. He'd so far never fought a literal dragon, and it would certainly be something to add to his résumé. He and Blizzard followed Neo, Miratrix, and Albel out of the ballroom.

Cloak and Dagger had been patrolling the dancefloor from above; they noticed the small exodus. Curious, they winged their way behind the group to observe what was happening.

Miratrix showed the way to a room of crystal spheres, each providing a view of one of the Isles. "There," she said, making her way to one in particular. "The Isle of Dragons."

Neo, Miratrix, Albel, Whiplash, and Blizzard crowded around the enlarged crystal ball, with Cloak and Dagger circling overhead like vultures. Indeed, according to the sphere, there was a large gathering of dragons amassed in the central cavern of the isle, both those from the Isles above and the earth below.

" – and that's why we need to bolt the harsh loot," said Everburn. "If we don't, then the connection might just bow to the lover, and we'd all be…spines."

"I take," said another dragon. "But when should the king sing?"

"When the bell rings," Everburn insisted.

"That soon?" The other dragon's eyes widened.

"It's clothes," said Everburn.

"They're…talking nonsense," Albel realized. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Well, that's disappointing," said Blizzard. "They're just goofing off with gibberish."

Neo, Miratrix, and Whiplash shook their heads. "You idiots," Whiplash hissed. "It's a CODE."

Neo pointed to the scrying sphere.

"Exactly," said Miratrix. "They suspected we'd be watching."

Neo pulled out her scroll, but Whiplash beat her to the punch, already recording the strange conversation. Neo put a finger to her lips, glaring at the others to be quiet, else the hidden message would be obscured.

Overhead, Cloak and Dagger chuckled. It seemed things were getting good.

The five brought the recording back to the founders on their podium after a good chunk of nonsense was recorded. The Huntsman agreed to hear it, and, already having an idea of what was going on, insisted Mim accompany him.

Mim needed only hear a few seconds before saying, "Yep, that's Gibberwitch, all right. They really thought they could fool US with that dialect?"

"What are they saying?" the Huntsman asked.

"Oh, the usual," said Mim. "They're going to try and inspire an uprising, then retake Yzmatopia by force. Tonight. Predictable."

The Huntsman laughed. "There is no way for them to be able to penetrate our defenses. It would be a fool's errand. Let them come. It is not often that the prey walks into the trap of its own will. We will take a multitude of pelts tonight."

"Sounds like they've got an alliance of sea monsters in the wings, too," said Mim, "but get this: they have no idea how they're going to get the monsters up here without any water between the Isles! So now they're arguing about if they should waste time figuring that part out or go without the monsters. Oh, this is delicious!"

"Keep an eye on this sphere and report back to me when the dragons make their move," the Huntsman commanded. "You have done well to bring this to my attention. You will be rewarded for this – "

"So reward them now, you old fuddy-duddy!" Mim argued. "I'll set up a magic link between that scry sphere and my own ears, and I'LL let you know when the party's about to arrive. Let the kids go enjoy the night and dance until they drop, Georgie-Porgie!"

"…Don't ever call me that again," the Huntsman groaned. "And…if Mim is surveying the Isle of Dragons situation, then I suppose there is no reason to occupy your time further…"

Neo clapped in excitement, then immediately grabbed Whiplash's hands to drag him out onto the floor and dance with him. Platonically, of course. In the name of diversion.

"WHAT – " Whiplash wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Just let her take you where she wishes you to go," Albel sighed. "It'll be easier that way."

"Should we join in?" Blizzard suggested. "I think we should join in."

"Very well," said Miratrix. "Though dance was never my strong suit."

"I disagree," Albel told her. "I have learned that there is a very thin line between dance and combat…and you are admittedly PASSABLE in hand-to-hand."

"That's your way of saying that I actually know how to move my body while you wasted your time studying only the blade," Miratrix said with a smirk.

"Do not test me, worm," Albel hissed.

"Okay, enough sibling rivalry already." Blizzard clapped each on the back so hard they almost both fell over. "Let's get our groove on."

Shortly after, J. Worthington Foulfellow, dressed in a suit with a top hat and tails but which was clearly stitched together from multiple suits he'd taken a shining to and not wanted to choose between, had gathered a small crowd. Of course, there was Gideon, who was in a button-down that still didn't fit him despite having so many tailoring resources at his disposal; his hands were swallowed by overlarge cuffs on ballooning sleeves. Pinstripe Potoroo had gone for another maroon tuxedo, this one covered in sparkles and sequins and with larger lapels than his usual fare. Tawna accompanied him in a pink chiffon dress, the sort one might associate with a prom queen, but with a purse in the deep-blue color of the streak in her hair. Don Karnage was in full regalia, dressed as a pirate captain of old, with a heavily embroidered jacket and a massive-brimmed hat with a cluster of colorful feathers stitched into the band. And, of course, Megavolt had gravitated over toward them, wearing an obnoxious yellow tuxedo with shining gold embroidery in the shape of lightning bolts.

" – and then I said, 'Well, this just proves I'm not ANY idiot!'" Megavolt related. The group guffawed.

"It's funny 'cause I'd never admit to embarrassin' myself that bad!" Pinstripe wheezed.

"A fine addition you'll make to our band of criminals!" Foulfellow declared. "Between you, me, Mr. Potoroo, the Don and our subordinates – "

"You watch what you call my girl," Pinstripe threatened.

"I mean, I am kind of the second fiddle here," Tawna reminded him. "It's fine."

"We could make a real name as a band of thieves," said Foulfellow.

"Yeah," said Megavolt. "And that name should be…THE FEARSOME FOUR! No, wait. Why does that sound familiar?" It took him a minute. "Oh, yeah! Because that's the name of the group I'm ALREADY in with the best friends I already have. Silly me!"

"Well, then, we've simply got to meet the other three!" Foulfellow declared. "Personnages of taste and refinement, no doubt!"

"Technically, we're the Fearsome Five," said Megavolt, "but Mim's the fifth, and you already know her. We've pulled off some pretty impressive crimes, y'know. Actually, how do I know you're the real deal? The Fearsomes are so famous, we're practically household names! There's MERCH of us!"

"No way," said Tawna.

"Okay, so Quackerjack hand-made little figurines of us and tried to sell them," Megavolt amended. "It didn't go well. People really just don't want toys of the public enemies who rob their city blind for some reason. But it was the thought that counted!"

"I can attest to this infame," said Karnage. "Word of your exploits reached as far as Cape Suzette and beyond! …Though, mostly, it was accompanied by the sentiment that the four of you were, mmm, how you say…morons. And yet you left an impression as morons most memorable!"

"THE air pirate Don Karnage actually heard of us and was impressed by how moronic we were?" Megavolt squealed. "This is the happiest day of my LIFE! Or maybe just this week. But it's the little things in life."

"I cannot say the same for our off-worlders," Karnage pointed out. "Though I suppose for the lesser of us two Dons, there was at least a track of racing to his name."

"Really feelin' the love here," Pinstripe snarked.

"But this fellow of foul?" Karnage went on. "This John who is not honest? What proof have we that he can walk what he is talking?"

"What proof?" Foulfellow scoffed. "Why, I'll show you – "

Gideon already had a hammer out.

Foulfellow just put a hand on it to lower it; "A DEMONSTRATION," he clarified. "Not a punishment. I'll simply steal from the most difficult target here, and you'll have no choice but to admit my skills!"

"The most difficult target here?" Pinstripe smirked. "You mean that?"

"Of course I mean that!" Foulfellow urged. "The skeletons, the specters, the giants, the monsters! Name any and I shall relieve them of any and all valuables without showing a bit of fear!"

"He really wants us to name ANY target," Tawna repeated. She knew exactly where Pinstripe was going, especially because the target they were both thinking of was in their line of sight.

"Any at all," Pinstripe reiterated, chuckling.

"Will the two of you just come out with it?" Foulfellow barked. "I know you're attempting to prove me wrong, so if you have an ULTIMATE challenge, I will take it NOW!"

Pinstripe and Tawna nodded. Then they pointed straight ahead; "Him."

The figure they'd indicated, with his back turned to the group and some distance away, was the Sheriff of Nottingham, who had taken advantage of the occasion to wear a royal purple getup fit for a noble. It had originally included a rather large ruff around the neck, but he'd gotten tired of it a while ago and ripped it right off for the sake of comfort. He chatted with Sir Hiss, also wearing purple to celebrate the fact that he now had a stronger claim to nobility than Prince John. The snake was curled around a crystal spire so that he could be at the Sheriff's eye level.

"H-him?" Foulfellow sputtered.

"Whaaat," Tawna teased, "you think it's gonna be hard to steal from an officer?"

"And one of our own, too!" Pinstripe said. "Can't believe you REALLY thought we were just gonna send you after one of these idiot magic creatures who don't see us comin'. Pickpocketing another WHAMMER? That's the real challenge!"

Foulfellow puffed out his chest. "And I intend to rise to it! Come, Gideon. I shall divert his attention, and as I do so, you will relieve his pockets of their burdens!"

Gideon nodded, raising the hammer.

"And don't use that."

Gideon put the hammer down.

"He is so toast," Tawna chuckled.

"Whoever the spoiled victor," Karnage commented, "this shall certainly be entertaining."

Foulfellow adjusted his hat and pulled at his patchwork jacket to make sure both were in the utmost pristine condition. Then he strode forward, confidently swaggering on his way to the Sheriff.

"So then the leprechauns tried claimin' they didn't have any money," the Sheriff said to Sir Hiss. "The leprechauns! Didn't take long to prove them wrong on that. All it took was one well-placed rainbow to show me the way!"

Sir Hiss chuckled. "Even Nottingham was more clever. Not that it mattered, against us."

"Pardon me, gentlemen!" Foulfellow inserted himself into the conversation. "Were we discussing the tax collection status of the Mystic Isles? A scintillating topic that is surely relevant to my own intentions!"

"And how would that be?" the Sheriff asked. "Hard to believe the WHAM ARMY would hire two tax collectors and not have 'em cross paths 'till now."

"Oh, I'm no collector," said Foulfellow. "It's merely a passing interest! One might call me a jack of all trades. Whatever the industry needed, I can provide a service. All aboveboard, of course."

"Aboveboard?" the Sheriff repeated. "This is the WHAM ARMY. Hardly anythin's aboveboard."

"Yes, but what I mean to say is that I toed the line by bending the rules," Foulfellow lied. "Much as I know you do in your own work."

"I see," said the Sheriff.

"You sure did show those leprechauns who's in charge around here, of course!" Foulfellow went on. "They've certainly learned not to mess with one so imposing and clever as yourself!"

"You seem very fixated on buttering the Sheriff up," Sir Hiss pointed out.

"Now, don't interrupt the man when he's givin' me compliments!" the Sheriff argued.

Sir Hiss sighed. "And it seems to be working."

"Hardly any creature on these isles that can keep their money hoarded away from me!" the Sheriff boasted. "All that's left to do is figure out a way to show the dragons who's boss so I can take what they've been hidin'."

"The dragons?" Foulfellow repeated. "Why, color me surprised! For you to have trouble dealing with the dragons!"

"Even without their fire, they're awful big and nasty in a fight," the Sheriff reminded him. "Now, I might be a man of many talents, but I know when to pick a battle, and I ain't bustin' down the door to their caves without some kinda insurance. And the thought of bein' resurrected ain't reassurin' enough."

"Then it might interest you to know the tip I heard through the grapevine," said Foulfellow. "Now, let's keep this between the two of us. It's rather hush-hush. But I heard…well…" He paused for effect.

"Well?" The Sheriff leaned in closer. "What've you heard?"

"I've heard that the dragons are – "

"NOW WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOIN'?"

Gideon had taken the opportunity to go for the Sheriff's pocket. The Sheriff had sensed his presence, and immediately slapped his hand over Gideon's, catching him by the wrist.

"Oh, my!" Foulfellow gasped. "Who is that ruffian? Stealing from one of our own? How dare anyone!"

Gideon sighed. Pretending they didn't know each other was standard procedure if a two-man con went sour. He waved his free hand dismissively.

"I say, return from whence you came and do not bother this gentleman again!" Foulfellow barked, pointing out to the dancefloor. "Otherwise there will be CONSEQUENCES to pay!"

Gideon sighed and tugged at the hand the Sheriff held.

"If you would," said Foulfellow. "I'll make sure he doesn't get within ten feet."

"I don't trust this," Sir Hiss said. "I'm almost positive I saw the two of them communing earlier – "

"Have a little trust in our teammates, will ya?" The Sheriff roughly shoved Gideon away, and Gideon set about disappearing. "Now, what were you sayin' about those dragons?"

"Well…" Foulfellow's mind raced. He needed a way to turn this into an excuse to get close. "Before we address that matter, I'm afraid there's another that must be discussed. You see, I didn't come here for no reason."

"I knew it," said Sir Hiss. "He's up to something."

"It so happens that you caught my eye from across the ballroom," Foulfellow went on. "A tall, handsome wolf like you…why, that's something I haven't come upon in all my years. Forgive me my forwardness, but I had hoped at the very least that you might grace me with a single dance. Then, should it not be meant, we can go our separate ways."

("He's NOT," Tawna chuckled from the peanut gallery.

"Oh, he is," Pinstripe chortled.)

"Well now!" The Sheriff laughed, a little flustered. "Been a long while since anyone's said such sweet talk to me."

"Are you going to believe this?" Sir Hiss said in disbelief.

"Why shouldn't I?" said the Sheriff.

"Because he obviously wants something!" Hiss argued.

"I think I've got a pretty good idea of what he wants," said the Sheriff. "And I don't see the harm in givin' it to him for just one dance."

Foulfellow extended his hand. "If I may."

The Sheriff took it, and the two whirled out onto the dancefloor as Hiss sighed in frustration.

This was perfect. With the hands-on manner in which they were dancing, Foulfellow's fingers were only a short distance away from the target pocket. He just had to kill enough time to make the grab without it seeming suspicious. "My word!" he said. "You are such a graceful dancer." Almost unexpectedly so, in fact. "Where did you learn?"

"All members of the royal court gotta know how to be presentable for social functions," said the Sheriff. "The question is where you learned. I don't s'pose you were a royal."

"Furthest from it," said Foulfellow. "In fact, many of my days were spent trying to simply make ends meet, hence the variety of jobs. Though how I learned to dance is rather a funny story. I was a fox used in a theatrical troupe, and at the beginning of it, I was, well, garden-variety. The sort who went about on all fours and barked."

"Not sure I follow," said the Sheriff.

"Oh, that's right," said Foulfellow. "I'm not even certain foxes like that exist where you're from. Everyone's the way you are. Upright on two legs, skilled in speech. Where I'm from, it's less so. Primarily, the world is run by humans. But I was cleverer than most! By studying my fellow actors, I learned their speech and movements, until soon, I could stand upright and pass as one of them! Once I surpassed their talents, I moved on elsewhere."

"Now, that's downright impressive." The Sheriff stopped to twirl him. "Guess it's true what they say, that foxes got minds like steel traps."

"I would avoid talk of steel traps," said Foulfellow. "Where I come from, those are a particularly sore subject with us foxes."

"My apologies." The Sheriff snickered. "Y'know, you remind me of a fox I knew. Slipperiest little rapscallion anyone ever met. Problem is, he put all his talents toward robbin' me blind of my hard-earned cut from the Prince's taxes."

"Hard-earned?"

"Shakin' down the innocent is hard work!" the Sheriff argued. "Now, this feller. Called 'im 'Robin Hood.' Stole from the rich to give to the poor. Now, what'd the rich ever do to deserve that?"

Having been one of the poor, Foulfellow had a few words on this, which, unwisely, he felt the urge to let loose. "Well – "

"Kiddin'." The Sheriff winked. "I'm sure you know that we took a sorta pride in their misery. Like I'm sure you did to whatever victims you suckered."

Foulfellow didn't have anything to say anymore.

"This Robin Hood," the Sheriff went on. "He was quick, he was sneaky, he was sharp as a tack. Somethin' tells me you're much the same way, but in a way I can actually tolerate." With a glint in his eyes, he lifted Foulfellow's hand to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss, one of propriety, to the back of his knuckled – and something like guilt started creeping up Foulfellow's throat.

"I would say that's…an apt description," Foulfellow said, swallowing that guilt back down. "Not to brag – "

"Oh, we don't have a problem with braggin' round here," the Sheriff assured him with a wink. "What'd you say your name was again?"

"J. Worthington Foulfellow. But most call me…" He sighed. "Honest John. And yours?"

"Eh, it's a stuffy ol' name I'm not particularly fond of," said the Sheriff. "'Sheriff''ll do me for now."

"Not very personable."

"I should think that's my call to make, and I say it's personable enough for me. Now, you were tellin' me somethin' about those dragons."

That was right. The connection to the original topic reminded Foulfellow to complete his mission; his hand had edged ever closer to that pocket. "Ah, yes. The dragons. I've heard through the grapevine that several of them, perhaps all of them, are planning to attack this very fortress tonight!"

"Why, that'd be foolishness, with the defenses we have!"

"Which is why the Huntsman is far from worried," said Foulfellow. "He's having Madam Mim keep an ear on the situation. Apparently, the plot was uncovered by several of his younger scouts, and also that Scarlotti fellow who's been the topic of much scuttlebutt tonight. The point is, if they attack, and they all fall at our hands, which I believe more than likely, then the hoard will be ours for the taking."

"Seems to me those Huntsman scouts will want first dibs," said the Sheriff.

"What they want isn't of any relevance to US," Foulfellow said with a grin.

"You sly li'l fox!" The Sheriff laughed. "I like the way you think."

Before this could get any more into the territory where Foulfellow thought it was going, he deftly plucked a coin purse from the pocket. "Ah, the night is still young, and its many pleasures call," he said, slipping the purse into his own clothing as he backed away. "Though this was truly…memorable."

He rather liked the Sheriff. That was the problem. And he had no business feeling affection toward anyone so lawful. Especially not when it could get in the way of important matters, such as the pickpocketing he'd promised his confidantes. He had to get out of here before he gave his mind and 'dropped' the purse to make it look like it had just fallen out.

"You take care," said the Sheriff. "But if you've got a mind for it…you could save the last dance for me."

"Perhaps I will," said Foulfellow. Then he scurried away at top speed.

The Sheriff returned to the crystal where Hiss awaited him. "You know he took your coin purse out of your pocket, right?" Hiss sighed. "I'm betting this was all some sort of dare to see if he could steal from the tax collector."

"Aw, ol' Honest John wouldn't do a thing like that!" said the Sheriff.

"What an ironic moniker," Hiss hissed. "Surely that alone would have set off the alarm bells! At any rate, if what you say is true, then kindly show me your purse."

The Sheriff reached into his pocket to do just that. Of course, it wasn't there. He turned it inside-out, looking at the lining to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Now, how could that've – "

Hiss cleared his throat.

"Consarn it," the Sheriff growled. "Why, that LITTLE – "

He made to storm back over to where Foulfellow had reunited with the other criminals, but Hiss put up his tail on the Sheriff's chest. "Let me talk to them," he said. "You know I have the power of…persuasion. I can teach them a lesson even your fists wouldn't leave."

The Sheriff stood still, in agreement that Hiss would go, but he kept on seething: "Playin' me like a fiddle, rainin' sweet talk down on my head, that man's trouble in a top hat and I ain't fallin' for his schemes or his…his slimy SELF again!"

Hiss slithered across the floor to where Karnage, Pinstripe, Tawna, Gideon, Megavolt, and Foulfellow himself were laughing it up. Without a moment's hesitation, he seized the nearest criminal with his coils and began to climb.

It was Karnage who felt the scaly coils wrap around his neck. He gasped; "IT IS THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW! …It is a lot longer and more flexible than I remember."

Hiss remained draped there on Karnage's shoulders. "How dare all of you!" he scolded.

"Are you trying to guilt us?" Megavolt laughed. "Do you even know who we ARE?"

"I know we're all part of the same syndicate," said Hiss. "Like it or not, the Sheriff is on your side, and my friend besides. I won't stand idly by while you make a fool of him!"

"I mean, he didn't really need our help," said Pinstripe, and the group was set off chuckling again.

Hiss extended his tail in Foulfellow's direction. "The purse. Now."

"And why should I?" Foulfellow argued. "I stole it fair and square!"

"I think you're going to WANT to give it to me." Hiss made direct eye contact.

Foulfellow's own vision swam with colors and spirals. His mind went into a hazy daze, and when he heard Hiss say "Now hand it over," he couldn't think of any reason that wasn't a good idea. He gave the purse back.

"Now go somewhere you won't cause trouble for a few minutes," Hiss commanded.

Foulfellow shook his head to clear it. "You know, I have half a mind to…well, I'm not quite sure, but it seems we should all be somewhere else, and perhaps not cause trouble for a few minutes."

"I promised Rhona I'd meet up with her to help her work on some gadgets," said Megavolt. "Wanna tag along?"

"Normally, the thought of listening to gab about this newfangled magic you call 'technology' wouldn't be of interest," said Foulfellow, "and yet…something seems to be urging me to accept the invitation."

"Huh," said Megavolt. "Weird. Eh…probably nothing." He shrugged.

"Come along, Giddy," Foulfellow said to Gideon. "I of course know everything I already need to about technology, but I'll give you the honor of explaining it to me and pretending I'm an idiot, just to make you feel better about yourself!"

Megavolt, Foulfellow, and Gideon hurried over to meet up with Rhona.

"…What's he think GIDEON'S gonna be able to explain to him?" Pinstripe said in disbelief.

"I almost just wanna follow them to see how that turns out," said Tawna.

The couple exchanged glances, then tore after the odd group, ready to watch some shenanigans.

Still atop Karnage's shoulders, Sir Hiss gave a dejected sigh. "And I had so hoped it would be different…"

"A statement most mysterious," Karnage said with a nod. "Might you be explaining this to me, my serpentinous friend?"

"It's just that…well, we'd so trusted the prince," said Sir Hiss. "Our former…associate. No, leader. No…someone I'd hoped could be a…well, let's say a friend. I suppose the Sheriff had him figured out long before I did. I'd hoped that here, among villains with shared goals, neither of us would fall into the sort of trap of…false admirers again."

"You would be letting one fox's lies determine the thickness of the thieves of the whole group?" Don Karnage responded. "He is to be ignored. There are far more worthy-of-trust alliances to be built!"

"I feel like you're rather missing the point," said Sir Hiss. "It wasn't just that the prince was a friend to me…it was that he…well, I…"

"Was like family!" Karnage filled in.

"No," Sir Hiss said quietly, but he really didn't have the gumption to say the words labeling what he'd really felt.

"And do you know who else is being like family?" Karnage went on. "The air pirates who serve under the magnificent Don Karnage, who is of course me! While I have chosen only the crop's creamiest two men of the hench to accompany me on this mission, I do admit I find myself missing the rest of the legions…even if I am not remembering their names."

"Quantity over quality, I see," Sir Hiss snarked.

"If it is an alliance worthy of trust you are seeking," Karnage went on, "perhaps you should become a pirate in the crew of mine!"

"A pirate?" Hiss recoiled. "No. Never! I mean…true, tax collection and piracy have quite the blurred line separating them, but, well, look at me! I'm simply not built for swashbuckling endeavors!"

"Then perhaps a more intellectualist role would fit a better suit," Karnage mused. "Your relationship to this prince, it was as his advisor, yesno? Though I am renowned for my well-decided decisions, it might be of use to have another to look over my strategies and affirm how strategic they already are. It would be a very easy job for you, of course."

Hiss had to admit the wolf was at least entertaining. Maybe spending a few hours bouncing ideas off him wouldn't be so bad. "You know, I may as well give it a go. It's not as though I can even put up the façade of being a law-abiding, devout Christian patriot these days."

"Ah, yes," Karnage affirmed with a nod. "When you are here, you are never abiding of the law. You are evil as evil is being, and that is far more freeing than pretending other the wise, yesno?"

"I…have craved freedom," Hiss admitted. "Very well. I am on board as your strategist for a trial period only. However, I will be employed at will and have every right to terminate our agreement."

"A right I shall give gladly," said Karnage, "because I am confident that you shall never use it once you have tasted the ambrosia nectar that is piracy!"

Hiss chuckled. "Tell me. What sort of exploits have you committed on the – well, the high air, I suppose?"

"You are wishing for me to boast of my victories?" Karnage said slyly. "You know you will not be able to get a word in wise of the edge."

"I'm resigned to it."

"Then let me tell you the most fabulous tales of the pirates of the air!" Karnage began. "Hmm, shall we begin with the heist of the jewel in the Khan Industries crown? Which was a jewel literally speaking but only in a crown metaphorically speaking."

Rumplestiltskin had been unable to decide how to present. Should he call back to his glory days as the Dark One of the Enchanted Forest? Or was it time to let the dapper, refined Mr. Gold take over? He had ultimately come to the conclusion that his mastery of reality would allow him to bypass the choice, at least when it came to aesthetic. If one looked at him from the right side – as Jihl Nabaat was currently doing – then they would see him as a rough-skinned sorcerer, standing on his own two feet, clothed in robes fit for a king and trimmed with iridescent dragon scales and golden-thread embroidery. However, anyone who was looking at him from the left – which was where Loqi Tummelt was positioned – would see the Storybrooke pawn shop owner even more cleaned up than usual, wearing a deep maroon tuxedo with a paisley waistcoat and leaning on a shimmering golden cane.

"So, is it true?" Jihl asked. She was clothed in a simple gown of deep green: low-cut in the bodice, with straps that showed off her arms, and bearing a flowing, floor-length A-line skirt that swished with every little movement she made. "Can you in fact see the future?"

"It's not as simple as all that," said Rumplestiltskin. Though perhaps he should think of himself as Gold, for that was the voice he'd chosen to speak from his dual-identity visage. "When I was the Dark One, I assimilated the powers of a seer for my own. I was never certain if they were contingent upon the Dark One's power or if they were untied to it, seeing how I obtained them separately. I seem to have my answer. There are no longer clear visions or strong premonitions. There are instincts and hunches that I know to be correct. It's clairvoyance, but blurred and muffled, at about half the strength of what it once was. And, since it seems to have split with the transfer of the Dark One, I am to assume the Captain has the bloody other half. Because that man being able to see even the slightest inkling of the future is something I'm certain we all wanted."

"What do you see in the future of tonight?" Loqi asked. He donned a jet-black military uniform with shining gold accents, epaulets included.

"There's to be an attempt to invade the fortress walls," answered Gold. "I can't tell by whom, though Neopolitan seems to have figured that out. Yet I've the strong feeling it's not as simple as dragons coming to take back their roost. And such strong feelings are never incorrect."

"What about us?" Jihl asked. "Myself and Loqi? What sort of future do you see?"

"Branching pathways," said Gold. "Most of which aren't visible. I can tell you stay together, or try to, at any rate. However, I don't need the powers of the seer to tell you that your relationship is far from true love, and likely always will be, should you continue on this path."

"How dare you!" Loqi snapped. "You cannot claim to know our hearts so!"

"Oh, but I can," said Gold. "Because I know your kind." He stared Loqi dead in the eye. "Jihl, she's less of a certainty, but you've spent your entire life choosing the way of the soldier, or so I've heard. There are only two ways that ends, and I think you know what they are."

"Enlighten me," said Loqi.

"One," said Gold. "You remain victorious on the battlefield. Until you aren't. You return again and again, and then one day, you don't. You'll die on a carpet of bloodied grass, thinking to yourself whether it was worth it to throw the rest of your life away for the sake of the fight."

"Irrelevant!" Loqi argued. "Mozenrath has the power to grant us life again."

"If he so chooses," Gold reminded him. "And if there are no other extenuating circumstances. I will tell you that after having lived as long as I have and studying the ins and outs of magic, I've learned that no matter how unbreakable a spell may seem, someone, somewhere has always devised a way to get through it or one-up it. It may be a difficult way, virtually impossible to achieve, but it will exist. Once you make the right enemy, they'll devise a way to keep you down permanently."

"Then what of the other way this 'ends'?" Jihl snapped.

"You stand down from the fight," said Gold. "You become a coward. She will walk away – and you might say you wouldn't." He turned on Jihl now. "But I've heard those words before. No one wants to be the wife of a coward soldier who disgraced his cause. Eyes will turn to you, tongues will wag, and you'll both wish he'd simply died in combat after too long."

"How can you predict what I will do?" Jihl spat. "Is this another of your 'strong feelings'?"

"Not a feeling," said Gold. "Not at all. A memory. Knowledge. Experience. Having lived several times the years you ever will, and observed the same story play out again and again. Some narratives have such predictable endings."

"It sounds as though you've been hurt," Jihl sad, "and you're taking out your misery by claiming the same thing will happen to everyone. It's rather pathetic, sadly."

"I will not die," said Loqi, "and Jihl shall not run."

"I agree," said Jihl.

"I, however, am now acutely aware of just how you acquired that defect." Loqi gestured to Gold's bad leg – the one that the reality illusion prevented Jihl from seeing at the time. "You wounded yourself to escape the front lines."

"If you're to point out what I already know," said Gold, "then I suggest you save us all some time and not waste the energy."

"A coward's method," said Loqi. "This you know. I have little tolerance for it. Yet you do not strike me as a coward. The man I see before me is no soldier, but he is a warrior. Do not underestimate how the centuries have changed you." He paused. "I knew of another man who was once meek, mewling, subordinate. The life of an immortal hardened his heart, and now he is one we all fear."

"Chancellor Izunia, I am to take it?" Gold replied. "Or, rather, Chancellor Lucis Caelum. I'm not certain if I should be flattered or insulted by the comparison."

"Do not mistake your rebellion for cowardice," Loqi warned. "And do not presume to know what magic has not shown you to be true. The Chancellor expected to be crowned king, and ever did he believe that the Crystal simply denied him his birthright. If that were the case, then why would the Crystal reject him at all? Once I learned of this story, I realized that I might have been sympathetic to him had he not thrown me to the dogs…but now I see it all for the delusion it is."

"You know," said Gold, "it isn't just the future that the seer's power grants me. It's a little bit of the past as well. When I look to your world, I can see faint hints of Ardyn's youth. I hope you are validated to know that it is as you say. He believed himself the heir. He believed the Oracle to love him. He believed his brother a terrible man with aspirations of washing the land in blood. And yet it seems that much of this is incongruous with the reality that surrounded him. A concerned Oracle, only fearing for his safety. A brother afraid of how far his delusions might carry him. A birthright he was never born into. Perhaps, once, he was even aware of reality, of how events truly played out…but as you said, hundreds of years and exposure to such strong Darkness warped his mind. As it does to us all. I know I've not escaped unscathed. However, I can say with confidence that my grasp on reality is firmer than his – and I should hope it is, given that reality is now what I master."

"What do you see in my past?" Jihl asked. "Anything interesting?"

"Not in the slightest," said Gold. "You were a textbook corrupt police officer, and outside of the mountain full of imprisoned monsters in the midst of your town, your life was stunningly ordinary. However, there is a sort of…inkling of something else that perhaps could have been. Another life for you. A different world entirely, one more magical. You had the makings of the right-hand of a powerful man."

Jihl grinned. "They never saw it back home. But I always knew – "

"Oh, don't revel in it yet," Gold taunted. "You would end up slain by his hand in your darkest hour. But I wouldn't put stock into it. It's a world that seems to never have existed. Only a path that destiny remembers could have been yours, once."

"Well, I think you made the whole bloody thing up to taunt me," said Jihl.

"Believe what you like," said Gold. "I cannot control whether you do."

"If you are such an expert on what constitutes true love," said Loqi, "then who here has it?"

"Difficult to say, with only half-foresight," Gold mused. "There are a lot of promising seedlings. Embarrassingly many, for all this company claims to be the embodiment of hate. And yet I can only say one with certainty." He gestured up toward the stage where the founders stood. Toward Roman and Snatcher, who were gossiping about the attendees. "Loath as they may be to admit it. Count yourselves lucky that as they are, they cannot procreate in the traditional sense, because any child they sire would be nothing short of a Savior that would be able to put us all to an end. I strongly recommend against ever giving them any unconventional routes toward the concept. At least not any that combine their genetics or magical auras directly."

"I doubt we have anything to worry about there," Jihl said. "They seem to have adopted all their children off the street."

"And they're not done doing that," Gold confirmed. "I sense more that they'll bring into the fold as family. No names, no specifics, but expect another to fall under their care…quite soon, in fact." He then sighed. "Are you QUITE done staring? As you can see, I'm already putting on quite the mummer's show for these two and their neverending questions regarding my abilities."

Jihl and Loqi turned to see who Gold was referring to. There stood Agnus and Arius, both clothed in immaculate white suits with long coattails. Agnus held a notepad and a pen, and had furiously been scribbling for several minutes.

"Fascinating," he said. "Simply f-fascinating. Your m-m-magical abilities…they are like nothing I have ever s-seen before! And this Infinity St-stone on top of it! If I c-could only understand it…replicate it…"

"Produce it for the masses," said Arius. "Though not at full potency. None should be more powerful than we."

"Trying to sell the Reality Stone will be more trouble than it's worth for both of you," Gold warned. "The sooner you realize that, the more pain you'll be spared. Choose someone else to scrutinize."

"Well, I'd been taking notes on D-Discord," Agnus admitted, "but he is…d-difficult to analyze."

"Impossible," Arius corrected. "Nothing of him follows any natural or magical law."

"That is how chaos magic works, yes," said Gold. "Actually, were I you, I would be more interested in that."

He gestured to where Megavolt and Rhona had cleared out a sizeable area of the dance floor on which to kneel down and assemble various machinery. Foulfellow, Gideon, Pinstripe, and Tawna were already watching with interest, but Sho ended up sliding down his mountain of crystal in order to get a better look as well.

"What they wield is science," said Gold, "but it's science that behaves uncharacteristically like magic. I would even call Elmo's powers magic, were I not extremely familiar with how magic should feel and look. What he has is clearly not it, and yet the similarity is striking. That, I am certain, can be replicated, as can their mysterious devices that act almost as disability aids for the magically uninclined."

"YOU!" Arius yelled over to the pair. "WHAT ARE YOU BUILDING?"

"A TRON SPLITTER!" Megavolt yelled back. "WHY?"

"WHAT IS A TRON SPLITTER?" Arius screamed.

"IT SPLITS EVERYTHING INTO POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE ENERGY!" Megavolt yelled back. "IT'S REALLY USEFUL FOR GETTING PAST OBSTACLES IN YOUR WAY!"

"WHY ARE WE YELLING?" Agnus and Rhona happened to butt in at the same time.

"Spare our ears and go closer," Gold encouraged.

Arius and Agnus gladly did so, and Arius immediately attempted to backseat-drive the construction of the splitter, as was expected. Agnus wanted to see every individual part and sketch it in his notes.

"Whoever she was," said Jihl, "she didn't deserve you, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Gold.

"Your military wife," said Jihl. "The one you seem to think I am."

"And she certainly would not deserve to be here among our ranks," said Loqi. "Not if that is her idea of acting in an organized troop."

"Please," Gold sighed. "Don't attempt to be more insightful than I am."

"Why not?" Jihl teased. "Because you're afraid we might actually succeed at it?"

"Take our consolation and move on," Loqi advised. "Consolation isn't something you'll get from either of us often."

"And that, I can see quite clearly in our future," Gold agreed.

Back where Karnage and Sir Hiss where conversing, Hiss gave a sibilant chuckle. "You mean to say you nearly got away with it simply because the pilot couldn't pass his test? And here I was thinking that your 'Baloo' was akin to Little John, but it's quite clear which of the two was more competent, and unfortunately, it's the one who kissed the rings right off the prince's fingers. Though if I were you, I wouldn't trust this 'Shere Khan' fellow far as I could throw him. He seems the sort to only entertain alliances so long as they're useful."

"Hmm…" Karnage thought this over. "That could be a problem, seeing as I could not throw him very far."

"Precisely!" said Hiss. "You would be better off with – "

"Someone much lighter!" Karnage decided. "After all, I could be throwing you quite a long distance!"

"That's not what I was – "

"Would you like me to demonstrate?"

"NO," Hiss hissed.

"Good," said Karnage, "because I am enjoying this conversation and am not wishing to ruin it. The point is that the hypotheticality is in my favor."

"Erm…yes?" Hiss couldn't figure out if that was the point Karnage was supposed to take away from it or not.

"And being that you are a serpent with the power of hypnotism," Karnage went on, "you offer me a distinct advantage that Khan could not hope to match. After all, he is not knowing one of THOSE!"

Then he was silent for a moment, because for some reason, he felt like something, somewhere, was going to make a fool of him for that statement, but as he went over it in his head, there was definitely no hypnotic snake at Shere Khan's side in Cape Suzette, so he dismissed the notion.

"Oh, trust me," said Hiss. "He puts a toe out of line and I would make him behave. Bend to your will."

"I do so very much like when my will is bending people," Karnage mused.

Commander Peepers then marched up to them, clearing his throat. "Sir Hiss! I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment." Gideon stumbled along behind Peepers, just happy as usual to be included in something.

"What about?" Hiss asked. "Can't you see this is an important conversation?"

"Oh, is it now?" Peepers countered. "Tell me. What decisions have you made that benefit the overall infrastructure of the WHAM ARMY?"

Hiss and Karnage looked to one another, confused.

"That's what I THOUGHT," said Peepers. "If you want to actually do something productive with your time, you'll come with me and my council."

"Wha – this is a royal ball!" Hiss protested. "A formal function! Hardly the time to conduct business!"

"That's what they all think," Peepers countered. "And that's why their defenses are all full of HOLES!"

"Who is this 'they' of whom you are speaking?" Karnage asked. "I seem to recall that most of our enemies in villainy have quite strong defenses and arsenals that have caused us to struggle – "

"WILL YOU JUST FOLLOW ME?" Peepers yelled. "And ONLY you, Hiss. This is a meeting for sidekicks. Bosses stay out of it!"

Hiss sighed. "I'm at least going to see what he wants, then I'll return once I've determined whether it's worth listening to."

"It is a night for making merry, after all," said Karnage. "How merry can one be made if you do not engage in socialism with all of those in attendance?"

"…You mean SOCIALIZING?" Peepers corrected.

"That is what I said, yesno?"

"No – I mean yes TO the no – I mean THIS IS WHY YOU'RE NOT INVITED."

Hiss slithered down to crawl alongside Peepers. "Now. Tell me this business you have in mind."

Peepers led him and Gideon away from the group. "What's the one thing we all know about the villain game?" he posed. "It's that the sidekicks are always the brains of the operation."

Sir Hiss stole a glance up at Gideon, who was inexplicably hitting himself in the face with a spoon repeatedly. "Are you willing to defend that statement?"

"The bosses have enough on their plate standing as the figureheads," said Peepers. "It's our job to make sure everything goes smoothly behind the scenes…and to take credit for the 'I told you so' if they don't listen to us and their plan falls apart. I figured it was only the smart move to start rounding up those of us who fit the bill to start discussing some of the improvements the faction will need with its increase in ranks. Item number one: the standard."

"Of living?" Hiss asked.

"No, the STANDARD!" Peepers argued. "The heraldry! The logo! The WHAM ARMY needs iconography that we can use to establish our presence and streamline our branding! I have a few ideas written down, and I wanted to bounce them off the two of you."

He withdrew a small pad of paper from a pocket and started flipping through it.

"Nyah, I say that one's the cream of the crop." The Lobster Mobster tapped one drawing with his claw. "Look no further."

Peepers stopped in his tracks, then turned to glare at the lobster who'd somehow snuck into this otherwise private meeting. (Wearing a conch shell as a hat for the occasion.) "No one invited you! You're not a sidekick! It should be Shrimp standing here!"

"Trust me, you don't want him," the Lobster Mobster assured.

"NO BOSSES," Peepers argued. "This is a SIDEKICKS-ONLY operation! You're going to ruin the whole thing with your extravagant expectations that completely ignore the foundations of what we're trying to accomplish!"

Gideon was now using the spoon to clean out his ear. It seemed he hadn't done so in a while.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Hiss sighed. "Besides, here's what I've learned, BEING a right-paw man. No matter how much of a foundation we build, it's the ones in charge who execute what we design. One veto from up above and everything's for naught."

"You think I haven't experienced that?" Peepers snapped. "You have NO IDEA the kind of person I used to work for. And even on his STUPIDEST days, that was no excuse to stop trying to turn our operation into something competent!"

"I have no idea?" Hiss repeated. "I have NO IDEA? Perhaps YOU don't know who employed ME! Once he got something into his head, he'd never let me override it in any way!"

"Oh, Lord Hater was the same," said Peepers. "Which is why I had to get creative. Sneak my ideas to him in more palatable forms! No, literally, I had to bake a pie once that had weapon schematics hidden in it. Sure, he…ate the schematics…but other than that, it was foolproof."

"Oh, please," Hiss scoffed. "Prince John would respond to literally any suggestion by putting his foot down, and I do mean he STAMPED it like an overgrown toddler and bellyached loudly enough that you'd mistake him for being in the midst of an assassination of his person!"

"Y'know," said the Lobster Mobster, "seems to me you boys have a whole lot in common, what with the bad bosses who used to push you around. What's the use in comparin' up who had it worse? Truth is, we all suffered in the iron claws of your Lord, your Prince, and Crab Louie."

"YOU WERE NOT CRAB LOUIE'S SIDEKICK!" Peepers screamed. "SHRIMP IS YOURS! STOP TRYING TO REWRITE THE PRINCIPLES OF VILLAINY!"

"Though what with Crab Louie, you had to listen to him 'cause he was bigger, badder, and able to destroy a whole lotta the ocean," the Lobster Mobster mused. "I never wanted to work for the guy. He just sent word that if I didn't come up with somethin' significant to take over, he'd be movin' in on my territory. But what was your excuse for stickin' around, eh?"

"Staying with Hater?" Peepers said. "Well…I…I kind of thought that was common knowledge by now."

"No, I ain't heard a reason yet," said the Lobster Mobster. "Enlighten me."

"Don't make me say it," Peepers growled.

"You…harbored a certain affection for him, didn't you?" Hiss said softly. "Even on his worst days, he seemed a light in the drudgery. Where he would go, you would follow, simply to watch that light sparkle. Waking up to the idea that he never cared about you beyond your value as a disposable tool was…world-shattering."

Peepers flinched, looking over at Hiss. "That's…exactly, one hundred percent correct. And since you had no way of knowing that context…I'm guessing you're speaking from personal experience."

"It is perhaps my greatest shame," Hiss sighed. "How could I have thought that the prince would ever put aside his own love of himself to give me a scrap from his table? Certainly he promoted me in rank…but I wanted a little more than rank."

"Hey, at least he was a prince," Peepers sighed, even deeper. "Lord Hater was a rock-and-roll couch potato who kept getting spaghetti sauce on his robes. Anyone would wonder why I ever felt anything for him."

"But it's because his…erratic behavior was a comfort, was it not?" Hiss put forth. "A foil to your tightly-wound springs. Almost as if being around him meant…"

"You didn't have to be so wound up for a while," said Peepers.

"See?" the Lobster Mobster urged. "You two got everythin' in common! Now, give us the moment we've all been waitin' for and smooch."

"WHAT?" Peepers and Hiss yelled as one.

"Same backstory, same perspective, same everythin'," the Lobster Mobster said. "Seems like a match made in the tropics."

"Were you just not paying attention to what we were saying?" Peepers snapped. "I couldn't date HIM! He's as uptight as I am! Even I couldn't put up with being with another me!"

"I agree wholeheartedly," said Hiss. "If I am to move on to anyone, it would have to be someone…dashing. Someone with a brighter outlook on life. A little vicious, and greatly ambitious, but someone who would be the brawn and the confidence to my brains."

"Like the sky pirate you were talking to," said Peepers.

"Like the sky pirate I was talking to!" Hiss agreed. "Wait. No. NO, I didn't mean to say that! He and I have only just met! And need I remind you that he took part in that awful deception played against my closest friend in the world?"

"Okay, okay, you don't need to get so defensive about it," said Peepers.

"Speaking of which," said Hiss, "have you rubbed elbows with the Sheriff as of yet? After that nasty Honest John business, I'm sure he could use someone with a legitimate interest. You're a bit smaller than his preferred, but I think you'd complement each other well. He's got a mischievous streak, and he can certainly swagger."

"I'm…not interested right now," said Peepers. "I mean. He sounds great, but it just feels like…" Peepers looked over at the Sheriff, who was glaring venomously at Foulfellow from several feet away. "He isn't the one. I can't really tell you why."

"Perhaps because you're still enraptured by Lord Hater," Hiss suggested.

"Please," Peepers scoffed. "Even if that was the case, I want to move on. I'll throw myself headlong into something else if it means getting rid of Hater."

"Then why not the Sheriff?"

"Because…it…feels like I'd be…betraying?" Peepers said. "Wait, why AM I even feeling this way? It's not like I'm with anyone! It's not like I LIKE anyone! I just…feel like if I found a new boss-slash-romantic-partner, it'd have to be someone that I at least liked better than my platonic friends. You know, like Discord. And Discord's a pretty high bar to clear. I mean, he's a total slob who spends half his time undoing all the cleaning I do in our shared apartment, but then again, Hater was too. And sure, Discord is loud and obnoxious, and he grates on my LAST nerve, but that's kinda what I liked about Hater, and – "

He stopped in his tracks, his eye widening. "Ohhhh, ZRIBDENK."

"I think we found our answer, boys," said the Lobster Mobster.

"I'm…um…you know what?" Peepers backed away nervously. "I just had kind of a huge revelation about myself, and I need to figure out how to process this information, and I really don't have the mental capacity to work on the standard anymore, so do you mind if we put that off? Take a rain check?"

"I never wanted to help you design the standard in the first place!" Hiss reminded him. Gideon folded his arms and nodded.

"I'll take that rain check," said the Lobster Mobster.

"NOT. A. SIDEKICK," Peepers reminded him. "Though I'm probably going to have to revisit the whole concept. The more I think about it, the more I think we need a proper staff instead of just having Mythros pick up after everyone. I'll…go restructure the hypothetical WHAM ARMY servant-for-hire posting a few times while I think about how to handle this Discord thing." And then he'd scurried off.

"And I will resume what I was doing BEFORE THIS FARCE," Hiss sighed. "Though…I will admit it's nice to know that there are others who…well, who understand. Regardless of lovers and feelings, I think I'm just happy to realize that…I've made more friends here."

"That's the spirit!" the Lobster Mobster told him, swinging a claw. "'Cause in the Lobster Mobster's mob – "

"You can't claim to be both a sidekick AND in charge of the entire faction," Hiss sighed. He shook his head and slithered back toward Karnage.

"Whaddaya think, Gideon?" the Lobster Mobster asked.

Gideon hadn't been listening, so he nodded.

"See?" The Lobster Mobster extended a claw toward him. "It's that kinda yes-man attitude that I'm lookin' for!" (He also wasn't sure exactly what point he had intended for Gideon to agree to.)

Around this time, Elena, Sofia, Rapunzel, Stork, Ven, and Papyrus reconvened. "Okay," said Rapunzel. "What do we know?"

"That they know the dragons are coming," said Elena, "and gibberwitch isn't a safe code language to use anymore. After we finish catching up here, I'm leaving to warn them."

"I'm coming with you!" said Sofia. "I just worry because if the dragons can't take back the Protectors' fortress tonight…when will they be able to?"

"Especially if the WHAM ARMY crowns a regent first," said Ven. "We still don't know what awful twist they have planned."

"But here's something we do know," said Stork. He counted it off on his fingers, repeating hands again and again: "We're currently trapped in a ballroom with two people who can spawn Nightmares out of thin air, a witch who can steal our powers with her crystals, an ancient magic crown with cosmic powers, at least five accomplished trackers who probably never leave a target alive, an ancient entity of chaos, a somehow even more ancient being from two universes ago, a monster cat mutant, the largest gorilla I've ever seen in my life, actual cannibals who have already cooked and served a guest, Roman's murder-machine sidekick, a potoroo with a machine gun, a sorcerer who's in charge of Reality itself, and Snipe. Did I leave ANYTHING out?"

"THE WOMAN WITH THE GUITAR THAT CAN LITERALLY MAKE PEOPLE FALL IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER," said Papyrus. "THAT'S DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO MIND CONTROL. OH, AND I THINK THE SNAKE CAN USE MIND CONTROL, TOO."

"So basically, the odds are stacked against us in every possible respect," said Stork.

"Okay." Rapunzel forced a smile, though her hair was strikingly silver-white. "Okay! It's fine. All we have to do is not get caught. That's easy for Elena and Sofia, since they're leaving."

"It might be prudent for the rest of us to leave with them," said Stork. "We're outmatched here."

"We can't," Rapunzel argued. "Not without knowing why they're holding this ball, or what that potion does. No one's been able to get close to it?"

"All the top ranks are sitting right next to it," said Ven. "None of us could get close without being seen. I'm not even sure what good it would do to send a picture over."

"WELL…THERE IS ANOTHER OPTION," said Papyrus. "IT'S JUST GOING TO BE EXTREMELY MORE DIFFICULT THAN WHAT WE PLANNED IN THE FIRST PLACE."

"Tell us anyway," said Rapunzel.

"WHAT IF INSTEAD OF PHOTOGRAPHING THE POTION," said Papyrus, "WE STOLE A BIT OF IT FOR OURSELVES? THAT WAY…ONE OF US COULD TRY IT AND SEE WHAT IT DOES."

"Are you SERIOUS?" Stork hissed. "Even if we could get past the core members alive, whoever drank that mess would probably keel over in the middle of the ballroom and die a horribly painful death as their flesh melted off their bones like acid!"

"YOU'RE RIGHT," said Papyrus. "IT WAS A BAD IDEA. I'LL THINK OF ANOTHER – "

"I never said I wouldn't do it," Stork said quickly. "Also, if we're going to steal something liquid from them, I feel like the fact that the punch bowl has already been replaced once could work in our favor."

"WE FLIP THE TABLE AGAIN!" Papyrus gasped. "BUT CAREFULLY, SO THEY DON'T SEE WHO DID IT."

"And then one of us can pose as staff and bring out a new bowl that's REALLY for scooping up the potion!" Rapunzel gasped. "Okay, this…might actually work."

"We really need to get going," said Elena. "Good luck on this, though."

"How are we going to sneak past the villains in charge?" Ven wondered aloud. "Even if one of us posed as staff, we'd be getting too close."

"Hmm…" Sofia shrugged. "Maybe if you played a song they loved, they would all leave their thrones to dance and get distracted?" She moved to follow Elena out of the ballroom. "It's just an idea!"

Once the two princesses were gone, Ven sighed. "It's a cute idea, and she's a creative kid, but that's never gonna work."

Stork, Papyrus, and Rapunzel, however, were all WHAM ARMY veterans, and informed Ven as one: "IT'S THE WHAM ARMY. IT'LL WORK."

"Oh," Ven realized. "Then…I guess we have a plan."