B.U.M....

....

M.U.S....

....

N.U.D.G....

...

Oh no, could it be? Will the Never-ending Story lie still and forgotten? Will Gebohq the Writer reach his goal for his secret project?

Geb the writer: uh... erm.. *gebs it*

Find out next time! Or maybe not...?

Oh look, another story post!

*Fwoosh! In a blast of of other-worldly energy a space/time vortex opens up and deposits the hero crew into Disneyland.*

Otter: Ow. We should just get like a car or something.

MaybeChild: Cars can't open an interdimensional timegate, Otter.

Otter: Yes they can, I saw it on Back to the Future. The car runs on uranium!

MaybeChild: Right. Anyway, we've got serious business to deal with.

Otter: Also the car can fly.

*Maybe ignores Otter.*

MaybeChild: All right people, let's get to work. We've got a war to win.

MZZT: I thought it was a case to solve.

Semievil: MZZT, we're not detectives. It was a mission to accomplish.

MZZT: Okay smart guy, then what was the mission?

Semievil: I forget.

*The heroes all stand around and look at one another.*

MaybeChild: So, did anybody remember to write down that thing Jim7 said?

*The heroes all stand around and look at one another.*

Ford: I thought it was something with robots.

Voodoosnowflakes: Robots? Are you sure?

MMZT: No no, he's right. I definitely heard him say robots.

*Seizing the opportunity, Cris B stands up on a nearby picnic table, puffs out his chest and addresses the heroes.*

Cris B: Attention NeS heroes! It is at this point that I, Cris B, hereby renounce my heroic ways and abandon the cause of good forever!

Otter: I think you might have said that one already.

Cris B: But this time it's serious!

*To emphasize the point Cris removes his NeS hero registration card from his wallet and tears it in half. The heroes gasp in collective shock.*

Otter: Did you *see* that?

Ford: I saw it but I don't believe it.

Cris B: Goodbye, heroes. When we meet again you will know the wrath of Cris B!

*With that Cris leaps off the table and makes his escape.*

(NSN: A very special TLTE-Gebohq collaboration.)

Back in Morchazima, the recently compounded group of NeSHeroes - Gebohq, TLTE, Rachel, Losien, Amal, Krig, Al Ciao, TNTE, Antestarr, Nyneve - stride with purpose down the ruined halls of Arkng Thand's fortress.
Al Ciao: Boy, am I glad we navigated our way through all those traps.

TLTE: They certainly were fiendish feats of macabre invention, comrade. Razor wires attached to laser-guided porpoises. Custard pies with hydrochloric acid centres.

Antestarr: And the Beta Squadron. Oh, the Beta Squadron.

Gebohq: It certainly is rather inconvenient that all of our most dashing heroism just occurred off-screen, as it were. I particularly enjoyed that thing you did with the inflatable clown hammer, Krig.

Krig: Krig no artist, but he know what he like.

Nyneve: Quite. Well, I'm almost certain we can put this whole nasty countermeasure system behind us -

Just then, our heroes encounter their most insidious trap yet: a giant, talking spider, adorned with gaudy attire and jewelry of royalty, that has spun an equally gaudy and gigantic web around them in a flash.

Spider King: Salutations, suckers!

Losien: What are you? Some 'Charlotte's Web' knock-off?

Rachel: Next thing you know, it'll break out into song.

The Next True Evil prepares to burst out into song.

Rachel: I was just kidding! Please, spare us!

The Next True Evil promptly shuts up.

Spider King: I'll have you know that I was once a great ruler, long ago in another land. My kingdom fell, though, and times are tough, so I got this gig protecting this treasury here. Good health plan, not much on the dental, but I wasn't too concerned about that--

TLTE: So we'll just kill you and be on our way then.

Spider King: Don't insult me. None of you can kill me. Go ahead. Try it.

The Heroes stand reluctant as the Spider King stands unguarded before them. Finally, Gebohq brandishes his NeSword and approaches the Spider King, and attempts to stab it weakly. When that fails, he tries to stab it harder. He fails again. He raises his blade in preparation to attack it again, thinks better of it, and falls back into place.

Spider King: So you see, you all are truly trapped. Now, how do you want me to go about your demise? Quick and painless, or my favorite, slow and painful? Oh, it sure has been a long time since any adventurers came across my way. There are so many possibilities--

The Spider King turns to see the last of the NeSHeroes escaping through a plot-hole.

Spider King: Damn it.

The Heroes materialize on the other side of the convenient flaw in the continuity, feeling, as always, slightly nauseated.

TLTE: How many of those have you got tucked away in that workman's blue shirt of yours?

Gebohq: As many as is necessary to avoid having to actually fight someone. Now, where are we?

The question is made redundant the moment it is asked, as before them is a lavish and opulent chamber of such grandiose wealth that it momentarily defies comprehension. Treasures of both ornamental and exotic origin are almost carelessly draped around the room, and at the centre of it all is what appears to be a solid hunk of crafted silver, atop which a small golden crown nestles.

TLTE: Ah, brilliant. We're here.

Gebohq: Wait, don't you think we should -

TLTE strides forward with customary purpose, and with a clear sound that echoes through the chamber, the tripwire is cut.

TLTE: Oh, shi-

Suddenly, ancient klaxons ring loud and the panels on the walls part open, exposing primitive gun barrels aiming at our heroes!

Losien: Take cov--!

The barrels fall apart as they emerge.

Losien: --ver?

TLTE: I'm really losing my touch.

Gebohq: The alarms need to stop before I lose my hearing!

The klaxons abruptly stop.

Gebohq: Thank God!

Thand: God is given far more thanks than is deserved.

Everybody spins their attention towards Master Thand, who presently sits down with smoking pipe in hand as he looks upon the now-broken artillery lining the walls.

Thand: It's a shame one of my earliest inventions did not last to finally fulfill its purpose.

Howard: The trap failed, just as you have, Thand! For all your vast knowledge, you have been unable to stop these heroes of the NeS from completing their quest!

Thand: You know better, dear boy, than to think that. My whims alone have simultaneously shoved these characters into their apparent success and nearly choked the very life out out of the NeS. I am here now only to see that their incompetency does not desecrate the greatest treasure here.

Rachel: Your claims of their stupidity are hypocritical, Thand. Your pipe-smoking habit alone shows that.

Thand: You mean the habit that still carries the convention of wisdom without its effects of ill-health in this story-world? Are you aiming to compare even someone of an average mind to these so-called heroes?

Master Thand tilts his head with an incredulous look, gesturing his pipe towards the others. Krig the Viking growls at his own reflection in a mirrored shield, ready to attack it. The Last True Evil hands viotal explosives for Amal to hold as he rearranges the weapons of mass destruction in his coat. Nyneve stalks behind Gebohq as a feral animal would, with Gebohq none the wiser as he picks his nose, bending down to tie his shoes just as Nyneve lunges over him in frustration. The Next True Evil stands with a vacant stare, the static of the VHS tape currently playing in his skull. Matthias studies with fascination at Al Ciao, who is fascinated with himself brushing back his latest hairstyle in a gold-plated hand-mirror--

Rachel: --point taken. That still doesn't change the fact that your treasury will now be making a transfer.

Howard: And I'll be sure that you cooperate, Thand! I kill dragons with ease, and I've survived you before.

Thand: I'm afraid your time is up.

Howard moves to lunge at Master Thand when he jerks to a stop, clutches his heart, and falls over dead. Some of the others take notice, but none leap to hold the late Howard in grief. Thand holds his head down in solemn respect.

Thand: Cardiac arrest, followed with incarceration by the powers that be. Howard, no doubt, will cooperate with the authorities of the afterlife. May his story never end.

A moment of silence passes. Rachel then claps her hands together.

Rachel: Right then. If there are any last conflicts you wish to have, Arkng Thand, go nuts. Geb and I are going to have a head start with the loot-collecting in the meantime. Come on, Gebby-dear.

Thand follows Rachel with thinning eyes as she drags Gebohq towards the fabled crown on top of the large block of silver. Rachel gently picks up the crown and places it on Gebohq's head. Gebohq receives with great reluctance on his face.

Rachel: The crown looks good on you, my love...

She holds her hand to his face, her eyes lost in his. Gebohq, torn, looks to Master Thand, who returns with a look of understanding. Rachel lowers her head and notices something about the silver block.

Rachel: Hey, this thing looks like it has a removable top! And there's an inscription that says "Only true love can break this seal." Geb, help me lift the top off!

Thand clears his throat, which raises the attention of Gebohq and some of the less-seasoned NeS characters. Rachel pushes the top of the silver block in vain.

Rachel: Come on, Geb! The two of us are needed for true love to break this open!

Antestarr: Was the cough our cue for a final, epic battle? Who here has the latest script.

Thand: *cough*ALCIAO*cough*

Al Ciao: Huh?

Thand: Well?

Al Ciao follows Thand's gaze towards Gebohq and Rachel. Realization dawns on Al Ciao, and he immediately dashes over, shoving Rachel into a mound of gold coins.

Rachel: Ow!

Al Ciao: Sorry about that.

Rachel: What was that for?

Al Ciao: I sort of made a deal with Thand. I'm afraid I can't let you lay another finger on this... it's this, right, Thand?

Master Thand slaps his palm to his forehead, nodding with restrained frustration.

Al Ciao: Right, not another finger.

Rachel: Or what?

Al Ciao: You'll find out, after this post.

WHAT WILL HAPPEN AS AL CIAO DEFENDS ON THAND'S BEHALF? WHAT IS THE TREASURE THAND HOLDS SO DEAR? FIND OUT NEXT TIME, HERE ON THE NEVER-ENDING STORY THREAD SQUARED!

Amal: Can I go to the toilets now?

TLTE: Make it quick.

Thand: There's one to the left of that diamond statue of the angel over there.

Amal: Thanks, Uncle!

Amal whistles as he strides off the scene.

Meanwhile (NeS count: ), back in a lonely shack in the 8th Dimension...

Ben: Damn the writers! I'm pretty sure everyone's forgotten about us at this point.

Young: I sense the others will pick us back up soon. So, you've accepted the truth then?

Ben: ...sure. Whatever floats your boat.

Young casts a look of concern at Benjamin Majir. He keeps his attention on a deck of cards he currently shuffles in his hands.

Ben: Want to play a game of blackjack then? An exercise in futility, if you will, since the outcome is already determined...

Young: Well that isn't quite right--

Ben: --but at least our game will mean something, right? We're part of a story where every trivial action and word said matters, after all. Unless we're in a poorly written story, which seems likely, don't you think? Then we're just play-things, ready to be tossed aside the moment we've lost whatever made us interesting, and we're not doing anything interesting at the moment, wouldn't you say?

Benjamin Majir deals the cards to himself and Young--

Ben: --and set the rest of the cards in the middle. You know, Young, I take back what I've said before about your child. There's no need to make sure your child can support itself. You've made clear what I've failed to grasp before: the story provides what it will. There's no need to take responsibility. We're not real. I could be... raping you right now and it wouldn't matter. Not that I--hell, the words I'm speaking aren't even my own, right? Someone is literally putting words in my mouth. But it doesn't matter...

...because all this story-nonsense is just some grand delusion you all seem to suffer from, obviously. I simply felt the need to poke some holes in that logic, is all. It's pretty unreasonable to assume we can't be held responsible, after all. It'd make our game a lot more boring at the very least. Hit me.

Young, heavy with many weights, turns the card on the top of the deck over towards him.

Young: You forgot to take the rules out of the deck.

Ben shoots up from his seat in rage, then turns violently confused as he picks up the card and slumps back down into his seat, puzzling the card over.

Ben: I...think I need some time alone.

Young: As you wish.

Benjamin Majir nearly stumbles out of the scene.

And now we return to our not-so-regularly scheduled story.

Al Ciao: Now it's time that I stop you!

Rachel: With what? I can easily put you in your place whenever you powerplay, and no amount of melodrama and psychotic hair is going to stop us! Now if you don't mind...

Rachel turns to push the top of the silver slab off with Gebohq half-heartedly helping.

Rachel: Geb, dear, the lid won't come off unless you push harder--GAH!

Al Ciao drags Rachel away with his grip on her upper arm.

Al Ciao: I still know my story conventions, like how no matter how powerful they are, women are helpless when held like so--what the heck?

Rachel's arm detaches to reveal itself as a plastic arm.

Rachel: I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet. Let's dance!

Al Ciao: If you insist.

Rachel and Al Ciao break out into a waltz, each trying to trip the other one up with a suffocating pie to the face or a particularly aneurysm-inducing line of melodramatic dialog.

Nyneve: You're mine now, Gebohq!

Gebohq: Ack!

Gebohq falls to the floor as Nyneve tackles him down. She bares her fangs to bite into his neck when she is sent flying with a kick from Rachel.

Rachel: Don't touch him you *****.

Nyneve snarls and lunges after Rachel. Gebohq and the other guys watch with slack jaws.

Al Ciao: Nice. Looks like I get to take a break.

Losien: Not if I can help it! TLTE, help me remove the seal!

TLTE: Does this mean what I think it means?

Losien: It's worth a shot, isn't it?

Al Ciao moves to stop The Last True Evil and Losien from approaching the silver slab.

Al Ciao: I was hoping I wouldn't have to fight my friends.

Amal: Then perhaps you will fight me!

Amal appears behind Al Ciao, picking up a sword amongst Thand's treasury and bringing it down on him with the skill that The Last True Evil's training has imprinted on Amal. Reflexively, Al Ciao's eyes flash, his own blade rises to block, and Al Ciao now stands as the powerplaying Highemperor.

Highemperor: Your storywielding is no match for my powerwielding!

Highemperor flexes in a show of strength, and a wave of power explodes from him, throwing The Last True Evil and Losien back. Amal holds his ground, however, and stares Highemperor down.

Amal: I may or may not be a match, but I know who certainly would be.

Highemperor: Ah fudge.

Highemperor falls to the ground as Rachel smacks him aside the head with a golden wash basin lying about. He immediately transforms back into Al Ciao. Amal's sword points at Al Ciao's face.

Amal: Between the two of us, you won't be able to defend Uncle Thand's treasure from Uncle Tee-El-Tee-Eee and Auntie Losie.

Master Thand clears his throat.

Thand: Wise and fearless Krig, some of your friends are keeping your shinies for themselves.

Krig: Friends keep shinies from Krig? KRIG SMASH!

Krig the Viking flies towards The Last True Evil and Losien with axe in hands. Amal blocks his attack in the nick of time with his own blade, allowing Al Ciao to turn into Highemperor once more to keep everyone away. Just then, The Next True Evil, whom until then had recently been standing catatonic, snaps out of his VHS-induced daze and starts attacking Losien, The Last True Evil, and whomever else gets in his way of Soviet glory. The whole scene quickly turns into an ebb and flow of chaos, all while Master Thand stands aside to observe it all. Antestarr and Matthias step next to Master Thand to observe in ways only fellow scholars can.

Antestarr: It never ceases to amaze me how you orchestrate this all so effortlessly, Thand.

Matthias: But to see the NeSHeroes turned on each other like this, it's not right.

Antestarr: Seems quite fitting for the bunch, I'd say. A perfect equilibrium of conflict, all without having lifted a finger, as usual.

Thand: And I presume you'll wish to foil my work by getting your own hands dirty and diving into the mix.

Antestarr: I considered that, but it looks like Matthias is doing that for me.

Thand: So it seems.

Matthias jumps into the thick of the fighting, attempting to defend The Last True Evil with a magical shield. The shield appears to backfire though as another of Highemperor's power blasts pieces through the shield and throws The Last True Evil and Losien into Matthias's magic shield, ricocheting them back onto the silver slab. The two of them slam against the lid, knocking it off to expose what's inside the silver slab. The fighting stops, and the nearest stare inside the open slab in confusion.

Losien: All this for... a dead woman?

Krig: Dead person have shinies?

TLTE: No, just the dead woman.

Antestarr: Mother of pearl, that's not just any woman! That has to be none other than Thand's first true love!

Thand: My only true love. She was made for me.

Antestarr: Ooo... this is awkward.

Thand: When she made the choice to move on into the life after this, I built this fortress to protect her, long before I knew even Highemperor from the height of Atlantis. Do you still wish to rob me of my treasures?

Everyone hums and stutters in response.

Thand: Then I will have you all leave at once.

Losien: Of course, of course. We're so terribly sorry for all this, we'll be leaving now. Let's move out, everybody!

Thand: You don't understand, descendant of the Ohq lineage...

Master Thand holds up some paperwork in his hands.

Thand: ...I've called for a warrant for the afterlife authorities to take you away.

Rachel: What?!

The ground splits open all around the treasure chamber, and the hands of Hell spew forth from the fiery depths to grab everyone. Some, like Matthias and The Next True Evil, are immediately snatched away, while the others put up quite a fight. Losien screams as one manages to pull her down, and The Last True Evil and Amal dive in after her. Eventually, though, the fissures close, much of the treasure now gone, leaving behind only the silver coffin and Gebohq with Master Thand. Gebohq stops from his cowering to look around.

Gebohq: Did I just dodge death?

Thand: No. I didn't call for you to be taken away. Before you ask, your friends will be fine enough. Jim Seven will no doubt conscript them in his fight in Flordia, and from there, they will likely claim their lives back. He has a habit these days of forgetting to file the paperwork in time.

Gebohq: Oh. Um, ok.

Thand: You may keep my crown, should you wish. I wish to have some time alone now, so please exit from this place. I imagine you could use some time to yourself as well.

Gebohq nods and starts to exit.

Thand: Remember, Gebohq, now that your sister, Losien, has stepped up to the mantle of main character, you have your opportunity set before you: continue to carry the immortal Ohq name and legacy and never know true love, or cast it aside and embrace what your dead Potential otherwise denies you. Whatever you choose, know that I know your pain.

Thand holds the edge of the coffin, his head low in solemn thought at his dead love. Gebohq looks to him for a moment longer, then exits.

In a flash and whoosh of flame, the demonic hands drag our hero-types down, down, through the ground, and into the magma-filled layers of the earth. Interestingly, our hero-types are not burned, thanks to the asbestos leg warmers each wears as part of their uniform.

Finally, they are pulled down to a generic hellfire-and-brimstone place far beneath the surface.

Amal: This is Hell?

Rachel: Yep.

Matthias: No, it isn't. I followed the progress of the heroes during the TACC side quest when they all went to hell, and they never came here.

Highemperor: This is the 8th circle, which we conveniently skipped over the last time.

TLTE: And how would you know, Mr. Power-Playing Smarty-pants?

Highemp simply looks at TLTE.

TLTE: Right.

Losien: Alright, everyone, onward! ... if that's alright with y'all, I mean.

A very secretarial looking demon, with a starched shirt and tie and glasses - actually, he quite resembles a devilish Dilbert - comes up to them.

Demon Secretary: Alright, y'all have been called by Jim7 to join his war with Disney.

Amal: But Disney is cool!

TLTE: Lenin help me, the boy's still brainwashed with American capitalist consumerism.

Antestarr: Why isn't Jim telling us this himself? We do kinda know him.

Demon Secretary: Well, the demonic hands pulled you downwards, and this is as far down as you can go.

Krig: Krig confused. Krig thought 9 lower than 8.

Demon Secretary: Well, it used to be, until the restructuring of Hell under Peewee Herman after the High Demon took over Canada, which subsequently became the 9th circle.

Matthias: But that makes no sense! In the events of the 19th century, Canada already the 9th circle!

Antestarr: You forget, the concept of time is weird in hell. And Canada was already weird to begin with.

Meanwhile, Highemp is clenching his fists, and his eyes are crackling with white power.

RAM: OMQ! Did he actually say "white power"?

RAM 2: If they're going to drop racist stuff in here, I'm leaving.

No, no, not THAT 'white power'. THIS is glowing energy that is colored white.

RAM: Nice save.

Highemp: The High Demon... There will be a reckoning between us.

Amal: What's wrong, Mr. Ciao?

Highemp: The name is Highemperor - Lord and Master if you prefer. The one they call High Demon is known to me as High Imp - and was once a dear friend.

He summons a sword of white power--

RAM: He did it again!

RAM 2: That's it, I'm leaving.

-known as Drynyrn, and stabs it into the ground, creating a web of spidery cracks for several meters around.

Demon Secretary: Yes, that power will be very useful for the upcoming fight.

Rachel: I think we can do fine without it.

She whacks Highemp with a frying pan, and in a flash of psychedelic hair, he becomes Al Ciao again.

Al Ciao: Aw crap. It happened again, didn't it? I try so hard not to succumb to temptation, but--

Rachel: We can do without your melodrama, too.

Al Ciao: Sorry.

Demon Secretary: Right then. The demonic hands will drag you back up, and you'll come out in Florida.

As the demonic hands reappear and start dragging our asbestos-clad hero-types back up, Rachel suddenly thinks of something.

Rachel: Wait! Where's Ge--

But it is too late, for-- What is this rubbish? I refuse to read it! Who wrote this melodramatic drivel? Ah, to hell with it all.

In the realm of leet, there is no neutral ground. Whenever Bhac and Mayaal meet, they meet on opposite sides of a table straddled across the dividing line of a black space and a white space.

Bhac: And never shall the twain meet.

Mayaal: Actually, the twain are kinda meeting, what with the heroes working for hell and all.

Bhac: Huh? What are you talking about?

Mayaal: What are YOU talking about?

Bhac: This Mark Twain impersonator I've heard of. I want his autograph, but try as I might, I can't track him down!

Mayaal: YOU like Mark Twain?

Bhac: Hate his guts, actually.

Mayaal: But you just said--

Bhac: I like the IMPERSONATOR.

Mayaal: ...

Bhac: So where were we?

Mayaal: Well, the story's kinda stalled lately.

Bhac: It's been stalled most of the year, in case you hadn't noticed.

Mayaal: Maybe so, but there hasn't been a post in over two weeks - it's dropped off the thread count!

Bhac: So? Pull out the Mr. B.U.M.P. 3000 and have at it.

Mayaal: A B.U.M.P. won't create conflict.

Bhac: Neither will your complaining.

Mayaal: I'm trying to create conflict! Or at least a post.

Bhac: You're not succeeding.

Mayaal: That's what you think.

Bhac: What do you- Is that a video camera? Are you TAPING this?

Mayaal: Well-

Bhac: Tell me I did NOT just reveal to the world that I like Mark Twain.

Mayaal: Actually, you said you hated him, but liked the impersonator.

Bhac: Nevermind what I said! Shut that off NOW!

Mayaal: In a pig's eye!

Bhac leaps for the camera, and the image becomes static...

-----

P.A.: Welcome to Staging Point Omega-666.

Maybe: Where are we?

Matthias: I believe we were just told. Staging Point Omega 666.

TLTE: Obviously a moniker for a hellish military establishment. Urgh, I feel like I drank a dozen Soviet vodkas in one gulp.

P.A.: That would be the transit system you used to get from the 8th layer of hell to here. Don't worry, you can always use the medic to your left to treat your hell lag.

Our heroes turn, bleary-eyed, to see an imp in a white lab coat, with stethoscope around his neck, turning his attention to a goat-headed demon in a chair.

Goat Demon Patient: Augh!

Imp Medic: Whatever is it, man?

Goat Demon Patient: It's my leg, doctor.

Imp Medic: This looks nasty. I shall have to amputate.

Goat Demon Patient: It's the one you amputated last time, Doctor.

Imp Medic: You mean you've got a pain in your wooden leg?

Goat Demon Patient: Yes, Doctor.

Imp Medic: You know what this means?

Goat Demon Patient: Not woodworm, Doctor!

Imp Medic: Yes. We'l have to remove it before it spreads to the rest of you.

Suddenly, the goat demon's chair collapses.

Imp Medic: My God! It's spreading to the furniture!

Our hero-types look askance at each other.

Rachel: Pass.

Al Ciao: Come on, it can't be that bad. No worse than this splitting headache I've got from that frying pan.

The neon-haired former powerplayer hesitantly approaches the imp medic.

Al Ciao: Er - Doctor?

Imp Medic: Yes, whatever is it?

Al Ciao: I've got a splitting headache. Could you-?

Imp Medic: Hmm, yes, I know just the thing. We shall have to amputate.

Back in the 8th Dimension -- just your average extra dimension arbitrarily deemed the 8th one -- Benjamin Majir and Young of the NeS sit down for one last time in the solitary shack.

Ben: I can't stay here anymore, Young. Whatever may or may not happen, I have to leave this place. I don't care if that's supposed to happen or not. I need to be doing something... and staying here leaves me feeling less alive, if that makes sense.

Young nods.

Young: I understand. I believe you're doing the right thing. May I ask where you plan to go, though?

Ben: I don't know. I... don't know.

Young: May I offer a suggestion?

Ben nods.

Young: I've grown much since spending this time with you, and I too feel I should act for myself and leave. I would like you to come with me.

Ben: I'm not sure that's a good idea.

Young: Perhaps not. The script... The script says most of the others are conscripted into the forces of Hell to fight in Disneyworld. I wish to go there, perhaps help them, I am not sure yet myself. I would greatly value your company, though.

Ben: I really don't--

Young: I made you a present. I made during the times you were asleep. It's a bit early, but...

Young pulls out a wrapped box and offers it to Benjamin Majir.

Young: Merry Christmas, Benjamin.

At a loss for words, Benjamin Majir initially holds his hands up in refusal, but when Young continues holding the present out, he finally takes it. He unwraps the present with care and opens the box to reveal a crocheted orange and blue hat.

Ben: You made this? For me?

Young: I must confess, I had a lot of help from mother. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Benjamin's face contorts in a mush of emotions.

Ben: It's... thank you, Young. But I don't have anything to give you.

Young: You've given me company and wisdom worth far more than my own.

Benjamin Majir puts the hat on.

Ben: I'll go with you, for now at least. Maybe I'll find something for you at the gift shop.

He smiles at Young, and the two of them walk out of the shack.

In the Great Granite Fortress of Canada, aka the 9th Circle, Farr ambles sluggishly into Jim's throne room.

Jim: Howdy, bff.

Farr: BFF? What's that mean?

Jim: It's a modern word fad. Short for "best friend forever".

Farr: Isn't that term generally used by girls?

Jim: You're not suggesting that I'm girly, are you?

Farr: Well...

Jim: Just so you know, best friendship does not preclude dishing out pain.

Farr: No, no, not girly at all!

Jim: Excellent. Want to play a game of poker?

Farr: Poker? You hate that game. Why now?

Jim: Not sure. It's sort of a mainstay in Al Ciao the Writer's posts for some reason.

Farr: Well, no, I didn't come here to play. Everything seems SLOW for some reason. Even my words are drawling, my movements sluggish. Is Hell freezing over again?

[SHAMELESS NeS1888 PLUG]The one other documented time Hell froze over was when Otter's ancestor, The Badger, proposed to a princess (one of Queen Victoria's daughters.[/SHAMELESS NeS1888 PLUG]

Jim: No,

the

concept

of

time

is

weird

in

hell,

remember?

Farr: Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting!

Jim: Well, you are thousands of years old. Senility was bound to set in.

Farr: Hasn't with you. What's your secret?

Jim: Lots of heavy metal guitar playing.

Farr: Hmm... So anyway, what's the latest on the war with Disneyworld?

Jim: What war with Disney?

Farr: You know... the feud with Dr. Evil because he won't turn in his daughter TotallyEvil, who escaped from our prisons.

Jim: Crap! I totally forgot!

Farr: So much for heavy metal guitar playing...

A shadow falls across the ruins of Big Ben in London, of the Dominion of Bleeding Eyes, blocking the sun.

Random British Pedestrian: I say, it's already nighttime, chap. No sunlight to block.

Aw, but I wanted the dramatic effect! Well anywho. Actually, multicolored lights fall like a strobe over London and the ruins of Big Ben... actually, much of London is in ruins anyway, ever since its hegemony under Helebon.

Currently above London is the massive, Super Star Destroyer sized Hovercarrier base of Hero Force One... now also home to Hero Forces Two through Twelve. The Hovercarrier is bedecked with Christmas lights, hence the strobe effect over the city.

And within the Hovercarrier is the annual Hero Force Christmas party.

Punk with Acidic Spit: Aw, this party is such a disappointment.

Magick Snowflakes: Why do you say that, Acidspitter?

Acid Spitter: I spiked the punch, but it doesn't seem to be having an effect anyone.

Magick Snowflakes: Most of these heroes are metabeings, silly. A little thing like alcohol isn't gonna hurt 'em.

Acid Spitter: But if Seraphim doesn't get drunk, how am I gonna get her to kiss me?

Magick Snowflakes: Haha, Acidspitter's got a crush on Seraphim!

Acidspitter: I do not! I just want to kiss someone who won't melt when I start giving her tongue.

Magick Snowflakes: Oh, right, the whole acidic saliva thing.

Acidspitter: Yeah, it's a major hamper on my love life. That's why I wear a purple mohawk and black leather and chains. It's a result of my sexual repression.

Magick Snowflakes: Hmm... Hey Seraphim!

Seraphim: Yes, Magick, dear?

Magick Snowflakes: Acidspitter here wants to kiss you!

Acidspitter: Traitor!

Seraphim: Ah, yes, I see you made it to the Hero Force roster, Louis. Team Eight, I believe?

Acidspitter: *hanging his head embarrassed* Yes'm.

Seraphim: Why do you want to kiss me?

Acidspitter: You're a drop-dead gorgeous angel. Do you really have to ask?

Seraphim: Well, I suppose I don't really think of that. Angels are celibate. When the greatest among us, High Angel, fell in love with a mortal fifteen years ago, he had to renounce his angeldom.

Acidspitter: Aha! A challenge. I bet I can make you fall head over heels for me!

Seraphim: Angels don't bet, either.

Acidspitter: So I guess you wouldn't want me to take you on a date to Vegas, then...

Elsewhere in the room, Qhobeg #2 - the one who is with Hero Force One, rather than the general of Hell's forces under Jim Seven - is discussing the Florida situation with Dr. R. Deep, Hero Force One's resident magician.

Qhobeg#2: So this reporter asks me why we haven't interfered in the Disney situation.

Deep: What'd you tell her?

Qhobeg #2: Well, Dr. Evil's still letting people in to see the sights and enjoy the rides, so there's no social or economic disruption. The only devastation is happening to the marshlands, and Young's mother knows it should be burned away.

Deep: Makes perfect sense to me. Let them two evil armies fight it out themselves.

Qhobeg #2: If only the American President were so reasonable.

Deep: Yeah, he keeps saying Canada's army is invasion by a foreigner.

Qhobeg #2: Yeah... Oh by the way, the NeS Heroes are there now.

Deep: What? What did you say?

Qhobeg #2: I'm not going to repeat it. Just look at the line two lines above.

Deep: Right. Now we HAVE to go to Florida.

Qhobeg #2: What, why?

Deep: According to my divinations, they are the key to finding Highemperor, who can be our new iconic powerhouse, replacing the Patriot.

Qhobeg #2: Hmm, and I suppose it would be a good story convention for me to encounter my other self. Alright, I'll call the President after the New Year.

Seraphim, blushing pink at Acidspitter's latest comment to her, breaks away from him, and addresses the partygoers.

Seraphim: Alright, everyone! It's time to pass out the presents!

Deep: Hoary hosts of Hoggoth, I hope mine's not another spellbook. You can only have so many grimoires and forbidden lore...

Seraphim reaches into the bag of gifts and frowns. Digging in the sack, all she comes out with is a note, which she reads aloud.

Seraphim: "Thanks for all the loot! ~Burby" ... Does someone want to explain to me how the most sophisticates security system in the galaxy and nineteen other dimensions was foiled by a Furby reject?

Mimiru: They completely forgot about us, Su.

Subaru: I know, Mimi! At this rate we'll be forgotten characters before you know it!

TLTE: Would you two pipe down? I'm laughing at this exchange between my tovarish Al and the amputate-happy imp.

Al: You don't mean to amputate my head?!

Imp Medic: I most certainly do.

Al: No!

Imp Medic: Why do you object? Just because Hell's rules don't allow anesthesia...

Al: There's just a BIT more to it than that!

Mimiru: Su, we've got to get back in the spotlight!

Subaru: That's it!

Suddenly the room darkens, and a spotlight shines on her.

Mimiru: What the-?

Subaru: Song and dance routine with hats and canes! NOW!

Al: Aha! The lights are turned down, so you can't see to amputate my head! So there!

Imp Medic: Won't make a difference. I close my eyes when performing surgery.

Al: WHAT?

Imp Medic: Yeah, I can't stand the sight of blood. That's why Jim made me doctor. Truly devilish of him.

Multicolored lights are splayed across Las Vegas in psychedelic display for the holidays. Of course, this is no different from normal, as Vegas is always colored in lights.

The brightest light in Vegas tonight - aside from the flash across a random gambler (named Carson)'s eyes when he's mugged for the ten grand he won at blackjack - is emanating from the angelically beautiful woman walking down the streets on the arm of young man with a purple mohawk and wearing black leather and chains.

Acidspitter: So, what do you think of Vegas, Seraphim?

Seraphim: It is... something, Louis. I must admit, an chill of excitement is shivering up my spine. It's almost... sinful.

Acidspitter: You don't know the half of it.

He stops her under the doorway of a random glitzy hotel and gestures to the sprig in the arch above.

Acidspitter: Look - it's mistletoe! You know what that means.

Seraphim: Yes, we shall have to avoid eating it. It's poisonous, you know.

Acidspitter: No, it means we have to kiss!

Seraphim: That is actually a pagan custom, and I serve a vaguely Judeo-Christian deity.

Acidspitter: "Vaguely"?

Seraphim: If I'm too specific, I risk being censored

Acidspitter: Whatever. We still have to kiss.

The short angel tilts her head back, her lips parting in a thrill of forbidden expectation as Acidspitter leans toward her...

But before this can turn into a trashy romance, Seraphim jerks away.

Seraphim: Oh, no! Someone's in trouble!

Wings formed of nothing but pearly light flash into existence, and she swoops down the alleys, a frustrated Acidspitter running after her. They come upon a woozy random gambler named Carson, nursing a bruise on the back of his head.

Seraphim: Sir! Are you alright?

Carson: I just lost ten grand! What do YOU think?

Acidspitter: Well, easy come, easy go, right?

Carson glares at him.

Acidspitter: Er... Merry Christmas?

The Haunted House of Heroes dominates the treeline in a remote well-forested corner of the 8th dimension - come to think of it, the whole 8th dimension seems to be well-forested.

Ben: Probably because these trees are made of bone and slash razor sharp branches at anything that tries to cut them down.

Young: Are we there yet?

Ben: What? How should I know? I'm following YOU.

Young: Sorry, I was just satisfying the story convention of a naive kiddish person.

Ben: Why?

Young: Story conventions make mother happy. It's my Christmas present to her. Can't give her much of anything else, given that she can wish just about anything into being. Ah! Here we are - the Haunted House of Heroes!

They walk past the purple-walled outhouse built by JM leet JED wizardry, and enter the HHoH, making their way to the living room, where Mark Hamill and Mr. T are opening presents in front of a Christmas tree, along with several ghosts, goblins, skeletons, vampires, freaks of nature, abominations of science, and even an ogre or two.

Ben: What the heck? Where did all these undead come from?

Mr. T: It ain't called a haunted house for nothing, foo'!

Mark Hamill: Merry Christmas! You'll never guess what I got!

Ben: Power converters?

Mark Hamill: How did you know?

Ben: Seemed to fit.

An ogre turns to Young, seemingly stupefied by her blue-haired beauty.

Ogre: Pretty lady. Oog has present for pretty blue lady.

Young: Why, thank you, Oog. A big rock! Why, thanks!

Ben: Er... do you normally associate with ogres, Young?

Young: Never before in my young life.

Ben: Well, I have before, being a wererat, and - they normally aren't pleasant. Why is everyone so pleasant to you?

Mr. T: Cuz of her blue hair, foo'!

Oog the Ogre: Blue is Oog's fav-or-ite color.

Mark Hamill: Oh, and she's princess of the NeS.

Young: Mr. Hamill, I am curious. Thanks to mother, I know that the HHoH used to be Simon Manor, the ancestral home of Gebohq and Losien's family before it was banished here to the 8th dimension in 1902 - but how did it get haunted?

Mark Hamill: The 8th dimension is a source of evil. Plus, this was Teh Secret Base of the devil for a century, and he worked all sorts of demonic and occult experiments here.

A Yeti comes up and presents Young with an glistening blue-white icicle that will never melt.

Young: Thank you, Bigfoot! And thanks for explaining, Mr. Hamill. Mother knows everything that's ever been told in this story world, but when something's not been told, she doesn't know it.

Ben: My head hurts.

Mark Hamill: Here's an aspirin. Merry Christmas!

Mustang: So here we are, back at the Magium in France, having successfully completed that fast dangerous training of yours.

Cool Matty: Of course. Why state the obvious?

Mustang shakes his head.

Mustang: I know most wizards dedicate themselves mostly to the pursuit and study of magic, but I would have thought at least YOU would be familiar with story constructs.

Cool Matty: Huh?

Mustang: *sigh* The scene of that dangerous training reference in Cool Matty teh Writer's last post has not been written. So I had to summarize what happened for our readers.

CM: Right. So... Why are there no decorations and holiday parties here? It's Christmas Day, right?

Mustang: Students and masters of the Magium do not celebrate Christmas in the traditional way.

CM: How come?

Mustang: Because the winter solstice is a time of great power, when the seasons change and the old year dies and often the planets align, therefore mages cast powerful spells on this day, spells they've been waiting the whole year to cast.

CM: But Christmas isn't the winter solstice.

Mustang: Technically, no, but its roots stem back to ancient celebrations of the winter solstice, and so Christmas Day is imbued with immense metaphysical energy, far more than the actual solstice.

CM: Cool. I wonder what spell I should cast today. Maybe I could barbecue steaks for the whole Magium with a Flame Phoenix spell!

Mustang: All that power at your disposal, and no imagination.

CM: I don't need imagination. That's what The Writers are for.

Mustang: A lazy fatalist, I see. Well, save your energies. The master council is awaiting our return.

They come to a great audience chamber in one of the Magium's dozens of domes. Mystic runes are carved on every surface, and a map of the heavens is inscribed upon the domed ceiling - except the constellations and planets in the painting actually move in representation of the reality.

There is a semicircular table of marble, with chairs of bronze along its outer curve. There are 13 chairs, but only four are filled: by Hermes Trismegistus, Taliesin, Faust, and Dr. R. Deep. Mustang takes a fifth chair.

Taliesin: Know ye why thou art hither, mageling?

CM: TLTE calls me mageling, and it's no improvement when you say it.

Taliesin raises an eyebrow, but otherwise passes over the impudence.

Taliesin: You are here, because you are being given a seat on the master council.

CM: What? Why?

Faust: Your power is immense - more than anyone who hasn't sold their soul to Jim7 should have - and your training is complete now, too.

Deep: But more than that, the prophecies state that you are to become the fabled NeSorcerer, heir to the ancient master Merlin. The chair you are filling - which has not been filled in more than a millennium - was his.

CM: I'm honored.

Mustang: We are here tonight to cast a mighty spell, all of us together, including you, Tsukasa. On this night, the metaphysical solstice, and during the alignment of all nine planets.

CM: Er... I'm no astronomer, but I don't think that's tonight.

Hermes Trismegistus: You're right, of course. But look at the ceiling.

CM does, and is astonished to see the planets aligned in a straight line with each other, like a barb protruding from the sun.

Hermes Trismegistus: The last omniplanetary alignment of this nature was centuries ago, but through this mystic dome, we are channeling a portal to that time, to power this spell.

CM: Wow. So - what spell are we casting? Some kind of powerful thing fated to happen?

Taliesin: Sorcerers - the true kind, such as we are and such as we attempt to train here at the Magium - are not bound by fate, but weave its skeins with our minds, and bind all the powers of destiny at our will.

Faust: In other words, it is up to us to choose what spell we funnel all this mystic energy into, and that spell will carry all the weight of destiny.

CM: Sweet! So when do we vote?

Deep: Only one gets to choose for the rest of us: you, as today is your uplifting.

Mustang groans.

Deep: What is it, Mustang?

Mustang: He's already chosen.

Deep: Well, good, what did he say?

Mustang: *mumbling* He wanted to roast a barbecue for the entire Magium.

The eyebrows of the other masters have shot up to the ceiling in alarm.

CM: Er, it's no big deal, I can choose something else.

Faust: No, ye cannot. A wizard is not bound by fate, but his words bind fate in turn. And thus does a wizard's word bind himself.

CM: So we DO get to have a barbecue? Great! That hits the spot!

The other masters look askance at each other. Taliesin has put his head down on the table very tiredly.

Hermes Trismegistus, however, is regarding Cool Matty with an enigmatic smile.

Hermes Trismegistus: Tsukasa - I foresee you will be one of the greatest mages of all time and space. It takes a truly great mage to use his most potent spells on barbecue...

On Mount Olympus - home of all the gods, not just the Greek ones, ever since property values on Asgard shot up and Odin made a killing selling all his real estate to Willy Wonka - is home to a raucous Christmas party today, wild as only a divine bacchanalia can be.

Frigga, Queen of the Viking Gods: I still don't see why we celebrate Christmas. We're pagan gods, so we don't celebrate Christian holidays. And it's always spring on Mount Olympus, so we don't celebrate the winter solstice either.

Sekhmet: Your divine majesty, gods take any excuse to party.

Frigga: Ha! As if any of these rascals needed an excuse.

Sekhmet: So true.

Ares and Thor are playing beer pong. Dionysus and his Roman counterpart Bacchus are spiking the punch. Horus-Re is performing stage magic, a novelty that never ceases to amuse gods (imagine, magic without magic!).

At that moment, Horus-Re releases a flock of partridges out of nowhere, and birds promptly lay droppings all over the place.

Hermes Trismegistus: Ew!

He snaps his fingers, and in a whisk of divine magic, all the birds disappear. The droppings, however, remain where they are.

Loki: Hermes? What are you doing here? I thought you always spend Christmas with the other master mages doing spellwork.

Hermes Trismegistus: Hello, I'm Hermes - you know, super-fast. I'm moving back and forth between Mount Olympus and the Magium every pico-second, so I'm effectively two places at once. Just in this conversation I've been back and forth hundreds of times.

Loki: Bloody showoff.

A platter of barbecue suddenly appears in Hermes Trismegistus' hand, having been brought from the Magium the previous picosecond.

Hermes Trismegitus: Want some? We're having a major barbecue blowout at the Magium, and there's tons of leftovers.

Brahma: Food? I'll take some.

Hermes: Er, all we have so far is beef.

Brahma: What? I cannot eat cows!

Hermes: Sorry, as soon as we start cooking the pork I'll bring you some.

Odin pushes past them, a black cloud hanging over him.

Odin: I swear, if Siegfried beats me at poker one more time, I'll hang myself.

Hermes looks concernedly after the king of the Viking gods.

Hermes Trismegistus: Should we do something for him?

Brahma: Nah, he always threatens to hang himself when he's off his meds.

Loki: Yeah, one time, he hung himself from Yggdrasil the World Tree.

Brahma: Was that the time he was hanging for nine days and nine nights?

Loki: *laughing* No, the legends the Norse tell have it all wrong. That was another time, when he was hung over for nine days and nine nights!

Platters of barbecue keep appearing around Hermes Trismegistus every few seconds. Loki eyes them worriedly.

Loki: Careful, Hermes. At the rate you're bringing by the extras, we'll have more than even Thor can eat.

Hermes Trismegistus: Can't be helped. When you have all the power of the master mages of the Magium, AND the metaphysical solstice, AND the nine planets in alignment--

Loki: They AREN'T in alignment.

Hermes Trismegistus: --you're gonna have a LOT of barbecue.

Loki: And didn't they decide Pluto wasn't a planet?

Hermes Trismegistus: So I'm gonna keep bringing it.

Loki: Boy, was Hades ever in a snit over that one.

Hermes Trismegistus: Are you listening to me?

Brahma: Any pork barbecue yet?

The bloodsoaked plains of Valhalla! Where Viking warriors of old demonstrate their prowess in battle every day for eternity, until the day of Ragnarok--

Willy Wonka: Excuse me, what are you doing?

Eh?

Willy Wonka: You're interfering with my candy manufacturing!

Er... This IS Valhalla, isn't it?

Willy Wonka: It was, till I bought it from Odin. Now move along.

Awkward. Well, where are the ancient warriors of Valhalla now? Anyone? Mick the Cameraman?

Mick the Cameraman: Sorry, not a clue.

Joe the Sound Guy: Aren't all the gods on Mount Olympus now?

Good idea, let's ask them. So... the camera swoops along the edifice of Mount Olympus, coming to rest within a large hollowed out cavern in the side of the eternal peak, a plain with a mead hall in the center. Obviously, this cavern is far bigger on the inside than the outside.

Krog the Viking: KROG SLASH!

Erik the Red: I never understood why you say "slash" when you wield a hammer, Krog father of Krig. It'd be like saying "smash" when you have an axe...

Krog father of Krig the Viking, ancient barbarian of tremendous mettle, is surrounded by corpses of dozens of Viking warriors. The light in the cavern dims, signaling the end of the day, and thus the end of the battle, and all the corpses rejuvenate, and Krog leads them to the mead hall, his massive hammer slung over his shoulder.

Krog: A mighty battle today, eh, Leif?

Leif Ericsson: Indeed. No one can approach you in skill.

Krog: Aye, but these eternal battles are growing almost stale. With all the Vikings here in this afterlife, and no new Norsemen, the challenge for me grows less every day.

Brunhild the Valkyrie: You forget, noble Krog, that a few Norse warriors still walk the earth - your son Krig and his crewmates.

Krog: Yes, my son. An even greater warrior than I, for no one can approach the level of his berserker fury. Perhaps one day we shall be reunited on these eternal plains and can test one another in battle.

Brunhild: Yes, because Odin forbid that a Viking father should be mushy and hug his only son.

Ooh, foreshadowing! It's enough to make the spine tingle!

In the World of Writercraft...

Geb The Writer: Al!

Al Ciao the Writer: Shwa?

Geb the Writer: You've been reading comic books again, haven't you?

Al Ciao the Writer: Er... no...

Geb the Writer: Don't even try and deny it now!

Al Ciao the Writer: But how did you know?

Geb the Writer: Every time you start reading a bunch of comics, you start writing all sorts of semi-epic stuff! Look at this crap you've come up with in the past two days - gods, superheroes, master mages - this is a serious comedy, not a fanboy's attempt to write the comic book of his dreams!

Al Ciao the Writer: Serious comedy? Isn't that like a contradiction in terms!

Geb the Writer: Don't change the subject!

Al Ciao the Writer: Worth a try.

Geb the Writer: Now quit all this comic book geekness! Do it on your own time, not here on NeS!

Al Ciao the Writer: Or what? You'll FIRE me?

Geb the Writer: As a matter of fact, I--

Al Ciao the Writer: You do realize that I'm the only writer left?

Geb the Writer: Not so. TLTE writes every now and then.

Al Ciao the Writer: Yeah, but he's in law school. Not much time to write NeS at the moment.

Geb the Writer: Well, I plan to start a big recruitment drive after the New Year!

Al Ciao the Writer: Out of which you'll be lucky to get ONE permanent writer, if that.

Geb the Writer: I hate you.

Al Ciao the Writer: Just stating the facts. I love this job - it's like having tenure!

Geb the Writer: Yeah? Well, that Felix the Cat wall clock you got me sucks!

Al Ciao the Writer: What makes you think I got you that? It was through the office Secret Santa program.

Geb the Writer: Oh, I don't know - maybe cuz you and I are the only ones in the office right now?

Al Ciao the Writer: Yeah, I guess that would be logical.

Geb the Writer: Plus, on the back of the clock is written, "To Al, from your Aunt Shirley".

In a random plothole...

Plot Hole Wizard: Yes! I win again!

Patriot: I hate poker.

PHW: What, just because you've lost the last 578 games?

Patriot: That, and the fact that we PLAY NOTHING ELSE.

PHW: Don't blame me. Al Ciao the Writer's making this post. Not very creative when thinking up different games for the characters to play. I'd LIKE to try my hand at Scrabble, but NOOOO...

Patriot: Stop spotting this nonsense about us being in a story. Worst cult theory I've ever heard.

PHW: You don't believe in NeSianity?

Patriot: The only thing I believe in is good old fashioned American capitalism!

PHW: Er... you do know that America isn't a PURELY capitalist country?

Patriot: Silence, Red fiend! I will not tolerate your blasphemy!

PHW: I'm not a communist. You can't just label anyone who disagrees with you a communist.

Patriot: Sounds like something a COMMUNIST would say.

PHW: And why is communism thought to be so evil, anyway? Sure, the Soviets and Chinese abuse the theory to justify brutal totalitarianism, and pure communism seems to be woefully flawed, but it's not automatically evil as an idea.

Patriot: In the name of Senator McCarthy - may his name be praised - be silent!

PHW: Or what? You'll throttle me?

Patriot: I just might.

PHW: I'd like to see you try.

Patriot: You're a wizard. Poor in melee combat.

PHW: You're full of stereotypes, aren't you? First about communism, now about traditional fantasy tropes. Of course, you're sort of a stereotype yourself. I tell you, back in ancient Atlantis, the story was much less shallow...

Patriot: Atlantis?

PHW: Didn't you know? I was the only mage to survive the sinking of Atlantis. Of course, I had another name back then.

Patriot: What was it?

PHW: Magistarr...

In the shadowy subdimensional confines of the Darkfoil...

Helebon: Well, I finally won a poker game. We can quit now.

Darkside 3000: Wow, talk about poor sportsmanship, Dad.

Helebon: I'm the original ruler of Hell, what do you expect?

Vashuko: He's just being smart and pragmatic, son. Quitting while he's ahead. As a former lawyer, I'd figure you'd know.

Darkside 3000: What can I say? 13,000 years of being the avatar of the most powerful and megalomaniacal villains in the NeSiverse don't really lend themselves to anything but overreaching ambition.

Helebon: Plus, he was a horrible lawyer.

Vashuko: Really? I thought you were a partner in that Atlantean firm.

Darkside 3000: Yeah, Darkside & Jones, Attorneys at Law.

Vashuko: What happened?

Darkside 3000: I became a devourer of souls and avatar of evil.

Vashuko: How... nonspecific.

Darkside 3000: Not my fault. The writer's not sure yet of my origin.

Vashuko: Well, I always thought you were a nice kid, Darky.

Darkside 3000: Thanks, Uncle Vash. I remember you always spoiled me and Satan, even though you were busy helping Dad plan his invasion of Atlantis and Heaven.

Helebon: Aha! That's why the invasion failed - you were distracted by my sons!

Vashuko: Grasping at straws, aren't you?

Helebon: I have to. I'm a second-rate supervillain.

Vashuko: Second-rate? No, you're not - you're the father of the Devil, the original ruler of Hell, former lieutenant to the WriterGod himself, and a fallen archangel more powerful than Darkside himself!

Helebon: Well, that was the idea when Al Ciao the Writer introduced me. Then Jim7 The Writer decided I was a midget, and no one ever expounded on my powers, other than that original line by Al Ciao the Writer that I had devoured ten times the number of souls as Darkside.

Vashuko: So how could anyone defeat you?

Helebon: I'm a MIDGET. Obviously, I lied about my powers in an attempt to make up for my height.

Darkside 3000: Still, that robe made of flames you wear is cool-looking.

Helebon: Yeah, your mother Ariana wove it for me after we were married.

Vashuko: Wait, I still don't get it. If you're not that powerful, how come you were ruler of Hell and lieutenant of the WriterGod and able to stage an invasion of Heaven?

Helebon: The one called Highemperor - or rather, the spirit of the Writer within him - was developing a NeSian pantheon of cosmic beings as part of an attempt to create an epic setting for his powerplaying. So during the time of Atlantis I was granted a lot of power - but it was stripped from me after my downfall.

Zip to the World of Writercraft.

Geb the Writer: More fun expositions, huh?

Al Ciao the Writer: What would you rather have me do? Have them play poker again?

Zip back to the Darkfoil.

All Three Demonic Beings: For the love of the WriterGod, no!

In the city of London, one day after a white Christmas, the streets have turned to slush. A 15-year-old girl slogs bravely through it, beneath the shadow of the Hero Force One Hovercarrier.

Iriana Emp: I swear, why I have to live in London is beyond me. Just because the tropical island where Mother lived was cursed when she died...

She stops in a convenience store to warm herself and buys a donut. A TV is blaring.

Ying Hu Jackuzimama: The war in Disney seems to be at a stalemate right now. Interestingly, both generals - General Qhobeg of Hell and Dr. Gebiyl of Disneyworld - have disappeared. New hope has appeared for Canadians, however, with the arrival of an obscure superhero team. Tod?

Tod Ayitsgon Narain: Thank you, Ying. An intrepid cameraman was able to get some video of these heroes, which we play for your viewing pleasure.

The TV screen cuts to the inside of a military tent. A Soviety superspy is laughing at the antics of his fellows. Two women are performing an impromptu song-and-dance routine with hats and canes. A neon-haired young man is being chased around by an imp in a lab coat with a deadly scalpel.

Imp Medic: I promise, it won't hurt a bit!

Al Ciao: What do you mean it won't hurt a bit?

Imp Medic: It'll hurt a LOT!

The TV cuts back to the newsmen.

Ying Hu Jackuzimama: That's... something alright, Tod. Any ID on these hero-types?

Tod Ayitsgon Narain: The only one we have a positive confirmation on is the laughing Russian man - apparently he is The Last True Evil, about whom the new movie is, From Russia With Love.

The two anchormen keep talking, but Iriana is transfixed by shock, donut halfway to her mouth, ever since she saw Al Ciao on the screen.

Iriana: ...Dad...?

As the imp medic prepares to amputate Al Ciao's head off, the room bursts into a bright light, knocking everyone back. Standing in Al Ciao's place, Highemperor glows in powerplaying glory.

Highemperor: I, HIGHEMPEROR, cannot allow you to end Al's life -- begone!

With a flick of his wrist, the medic imp explodes into shimmering particles.

Rachel: Ugh, not again.

Highemperor: It is obvious that my Al Ciao alter ego, while comically tolerated by others, is not worth letting loose. Therefore, I, HIGHEMPEROR, will assert myself for the sake of our lives-- all our lives-- the world-- the universe-- ALL OF EXISTENCE AND ESSENCE AND ANTI-EXISTENTESSENCE PLUS ONE MORE!

Losien: Is "existentessence" really a word?

Highemperor: DICTIONARIES ARE MORTAL TOOLS OF WHICH I, HIGHEMPEROR, DO NOT NEED TO ABIDE BY!

-----------------------------------

Meanwhile, on the Hero Force One Hovercraft Base, the Gebohq clone in their service, named Qhobeg like the other clones, spots something interesting on TV.

Ying Hu Jackuzimama: It would seem we have a better visual on the scene now, but what's going on?

Tod Ayitsgon Narain: All I can tell is some new guy keeps calling himself "Highemperor."

HFO Qhobeg: Doc, Doc! We don't have to wait on your divinations -- we found him!

Dr. Deep: Gather the Hero Force together, Qhobeg. We're moving out!

----------------------------------------

Highemperor: ...and under my omnipotent rule, there will be eternal peace free of disease and poverty and famine and Justin Bieber, and I, HIGHEMPEROR, will be known as a living legend for the example I set forth in great humility...

Mimiru: Rachel, smack him out of it already!

Subaru: Yeah, he's ruining our song and dance routine!

Rachel: I don't know, he seems to be creating some conflict...

Just then, Dr. R. Deep and a squad made up of various Hero Force members still on call arrive.

Dr. R. Deep: There he is!

Highemperor: You'll never get me! I am unstoppable, for I am the mightiest of powerplayers!

Rachel: Right, I almost forgot about how much I hate powerplayers.

Rachel smacks Highemperor in the back of the head, and he immediately transforms back into the unassuming Al Ciao.

HFO Qhobeg: So that's how we've been missing him all this time...

Dr. R. Deep: Thank you, ma'am. We'll take it from here.

Al Ciao is hit with a tranqualizer dart and falls over. Some of the Hero Force squad move to drag him out.

Losien: Wait! Why are you taking him?

Dr. R. Deep: Official business. He'll be in good hands.

TLTE: Not that it matters. We couldn't do anything about it even if he wasn't, could we?

Dr. R. Deep looks to The Last True Evil as one of the Hero Force squad members hands off a stack of official paperwork to the leading demon around.

HFO Qhobeg: I think the better question to ask is if you would want to do anything about it. Think about it, eh? Think of the story.

As quickly and efficiently as they appeared, the Hero Force squad disappears, taking Al Ciao with them.

TLTE: Some story.

Mimiru: Back to the song and dance!

A short time later, in one of Hero Force One's many secret outposts, Hero Force One's Qhobeg and Dr. R. Deep stand aside to Highemperor, a man who plays with vast power as a child plays with a nuclear bomb. Currently, Highemperor appears trapped in what seems to be an intense spotlight.

Highemperor: YOU CANNOT CONTAIN ME! WHEN I DEEM THE MOMENT RIGHT, I WILL BREAK FORTH AND SMITE ALL THOSE WOULD WOULD DARE OPPOSE ME AND MY WORD SPOKEN IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS...

HFO Qhobeg: I must confess, I am still concerned his powerplaying will overcome this prison we've made.

Dr. R. Deep: No need for concern. The spotlight is a powerful tool with many applications, freezing up those who don't do well in it for some and increasing power in others otherwise weak. For those like our newest member here, their own selfish ways turn the spotlight into a Chinese finger trap. Besides, as powerful as he is, he is not as strong as he once was -- something we must remedy.

Highemperor: ...AND WHEN GOD HIMSELF REALIZES THE ERROR OF HIS WAYS AND PLEADS FOR MY FORGIVENESS AND FRIENDSHIP, I WILL SAY NO, NOT UNTIL I DIE FOR HIS SINS AND FALL INTO THE DEPTHS OF CANADA ONLY TO SHATTER ITS WALLS ON THE THIRD DAY AND ONLY THEN CAN WE BE B-F-F...

HFO Qhobeg: But how will we get him to cooperate? He must comply with us, and any hint we make that he anything but the greatest will have him, well... I think we can see for ourselves.

Dr. R. Deep: When you've worked with the Patriot, you learn a few things about diplomacy. Watch and learn.

Dr. R. Deep clears his throat and approaches Highemperor.

Dr. R. Deep: Oh Great and Wise Highemperor of the Myriad Multiverse and Beyond!

Highemperor: WHO DARES TO INTERRUPT MY MOST ACADAMY-AWARD WINNING MONOLOGUE?

Dr. R. Deep: It is I, a mere doctor speaking on behalf of Hero Force One. We humbly plead for your help in our most desperate need -- you alone are the one who has the power to do so.

Highemperor: AND WHY SHOULD I HELP YOU, FOOLS WHO WOULD PRESUME TO HOLD ME CAPTIVE?

Dr. R. Deep: Not help us, but the meek people of Earth, whom we as its heroes serve to save and protect. Terror grips them more than ever as the Globalists pull the strings in ways that only powerplayers can, and we are now without a leader. Can you lead us to save these people?

Highemperor: THERE IS NOTHING I CANNOT DO. YOU ARE BUT SMALL SPECKS IN THE TAPESTRY OF TOTALITY, BUT IN MY WISDOM, I WILL HELP EVEN THE SMALLEST OF YOUR KIND.

Dr. R. Deep: Thank you, Oh Great and Wise Highemperor of Totality. May we thank you with a transfer of what little your alter ego, Al Ciao, has to offer onto you and shed yourself of his weakness? A purely ceremonial effort, of course, as you no doubt could do so yourself.

Highemperor: Of course... Uh... YOU MAY PROCEED WITH YOUR CEREMONY.

HFO Qhobeg: We need to give him another name too, Doc. The American people won't respond well to it, and we need something to fill in the shoes of the Patriot.

Dr. R. Deep: When we are done with the ceremony, we will bestow to you new clothes and a new title, Highemperor. To the people of Earth, they will know you as the leader of Hero Force One, the savior of freedom and justice, whom they will call...

*drumroll*

Dr. R. Deep: ...Citizen Rex!

Erik is running down a dismal London street, looking furtively behind him, and ducks into an alley. He leans against the wall and lets out a sigh of relief.

Erik: Whew! Safe.

Tony: Or not.

Erik jumps ten feet into the air as Tony seems to materialize out of the shadows, his .45 leveled directly at him.

Erik: Please-- Don't--

Tony: Sorry, I just do what they pay me to.

BANG! Erik slumps down, his eyes glazing over. Tony pulls out a radio and speaks into.

Tony: Boss?

Vinny: *his voice crackling through the radio* Has it been done?

Tony: Yeah, boss. The NeS has been B.U.M.P.ed off.

Vinny: Good, good...

As often seen in any story, Gebohq just so happens to be passing that dark, dismal London alley when the fateful murder of Erik, the avatar of the Never-ending Story, occurs. Confusion smacks Gebohq across the face as Vinny steps through a plot-hole and into the scene to examine the dead body for himself.

Gebohq: Oh God...

Vinny: Ah, there you are. I expected you to be here sooner. Behold, your Never-ending Story is dead. To think, I, the Ever-ending Plot, finally did in this one post so simply what I have failed to do so gloriously before!

Gebohq: This can't be happening...

Vinny: And why not?

Gebohq: Because the avatars died at the end of page 50. The NeS can't be killed in one anti-climactic post like this, and the EeP, had it survived, would be trapped in the broken story thread of NeShattered, not here in London.

An ominous mystical swirl forms in the alley, ready to engulf Vinny and the dead body of Erik. Tony remains standing, staring at Gebohq.

Gebohq: I'll just have this plot-hole take you all out of the picture and be on my way. Another world-threatening crisis averted, all in a day's work for a professional hero.

Tony: Not quite.

The swirl grows around Vinny and the dead body of Erik, sucking in everything but them around. Gebohq grabs onto a streetlamp post, while Tony stands with no apparent reaction upon him.

Tony: I am but a lowly member of the Posters, an order which acts in accordance not to the fiction of this world, but to the reality of those who write it. Tell me, Gebohq, have you noticed how lifeless things in the NeS have been lately?

Gebohq: That was Thand's doing. The NeS will be as it once was soon enough.

Tony the Poster: How wrong you are. Yes, Thand had some part, a part written by the writers, a part which arose naturally to the needs of the story. Those writers are gone, though. While the NeS would have you believe otherwise, it needs those writers, and too many of them have disappeared. Without the writers, the NeS will fade forgotten into obscurity, and without readers, no one will cry for its death.

Gebohq: So long as one stands, the Never-ending Story will live on.

The sky cracks, and plot-holes and spam alike rain down upon them.

Tony the Poster: Do you mean your friends? They are absorbed in their own meaningless problems even they care little about. Do you mean yourself? You're no longer the main character; you alone have no power. The Ever-ending Plot wishes things to end, as all plots must. Thand would approve of this, since ending the NeS at this point is the right thing to do. Not that the action of any character here would matter -- only the writers have true power, and no one writer can keep the Never-ending Story truly alive. A collaborative effort is required, and there is not enough among them to collaborate.

Gebohq: To hell with your logic! The NeS never required sense! If things didn't end at the end of page 50, they're sure not about to end now!

Tony the Poster: Oh yes, have your God save you and bring you forth into a dying thread while remaining apparently silent to the needs of the writers, a slap to truth and love if I ever saw it-- but that is moot. It doesn't matter what you or I think, but what this remaining writer now writing thinks. And this writer knows that if the greatest commandment of the NeS is to collaborate, the second greatest commandment is to improvise. And the first rule of collaborative improvisation is to never say no.

Gebohq: What are you saying?!

Tony the Poster: The writer of the previous post had the Never-ending Story killed off. This writer cannot deny that, for to do so would deny the very life of the Never-ending Story! There is nothing this writer can do!

Gebohq tries desperately to wield the story, but it does not respond to him.

Tony the Poster: I am only providing the writers their release from the lie that is the Never-ending Story! The real world demands the lives of the writers! The writers must submit to their real lives!

The story snaps into stillness.

Tony: All renounce the lies of stories. All praise the truth and beauty of reality.

=======================================

In the world of the writers, Gebohq the writer looks at his monitor once more. He clicks once, then turns the computer off. He scans the office for any others.

Emptiness.

He flicks the lights off, closes the door, and locks it.

(Non-Story Note: Please read the workshop post here if you have not already.)

The following is courtesy of Jim7
--------------------------------------

...

After the worst traffic in the history of bad traffic Jim7 the Writer opens the door of the darkened office, turns on the light, and looks around...

Jim7tW: Where is everyone?

Jim7tW walks to his desk and notices a number of notes from GebohqtW begging for posts each one with an ever thickening layer of dust

Jim7tW: yeah yeah stop bugging me about it I'm here now...

Jim7tW turns on his computer and heads to the ISB scrolling through the NeS

Jim7tW: to hell with reading this **** i'll just pull something random out of my a... WHAT THE **** IS THIS ********!? THREAD CLOSED?....

...

Jim7tW: YOU HAVE MESSED WITH THE WRONG FALLEN ANGEL...

Jim7tW a blinding firey glow to his eyes spreads his bloodsoaked wings... a look of pure blackened hatred for all things he lets out a yell

LucifertW: MATTY!!!

A flash of flame and a wisp of smoke are followed by a bewildered CoolMatty

CM: WTF? HOW? WHERE? WHO?

LucifertW: You know who I am CM I have helped you rise to power and now it is time for me to ask a service of you... *pointing at monitor* unlock the thread...

CM: I would love to but Gebohq will just lock it aga...

LucifertW: NOW!

CM: ok...ok

CM uses his +5 finger of admin to reopen the NeS

LucifertW: good... you may now return to your masturbation

LucifertW snaps his fingers and CM vanishes in the same way he appeared

LucifertW: now to get posting...

...

Meanwhile in the black nothingness of the NeS...

Lucifer: Ghfthagnlth dshioa gasdflkug kgshasidfghjhg

Voice: Who calls upon me?

Lucifer: It is I who call you... that which cannot die that which is the only one who can undo the terrible damage here

Death: This is not my area...

Lucifer: Do not play dumb with me Death... we both know you are more powerful than you choose to let on... and how persuasive you and your younger brothers can be with my father

Death: but...

Lucifer: save it... call to your brothers and have them bring father here... NOW

Death: you dare to speak to me with such a tone?

Lucifer: YES I DARE!!!

Death: very well... but know one day you will come to respect and fear me

Death vanishes into the blackness...

Lucifer: I shall fear him when Justin Bieber starts making death metal...

A few hours later Death, accompanied by his brothers War, Famine, and Pestilence

Death: He will undo what has happened here but he will not speak to you directly he has no desire to ever let you stand in his presence again

Lucifer: I care not

Death: He is also worried... the destruction of this world was clouded from him... he suspects a darkness like no other is at work here... he will undo it's destruction but it is up to you and the others to find out what has happened...

Lucifer: We shall try...

... It was raining at the Arena and one lonely man was sitting in the stands apparently asleep

Lucifer: GEBOHQ!!!

Gebohq looks around the Arena with shock and puzzlement on his face and sees Lucifer standing in the middle

Lucifer: Gebohq... EXPLAIN YOUR ACTIONS!

Tune in next week for the next dramatic thread closing

Back in the writer's realm, CoolMatty the Writer kicks in the door, dragging behind him a tired, defeated Gebohq the Writer.

CMtW: What the hell were you thinking, Geb? And I only found out about this by having LUCIFER over here transport me here in a extremely unnerving and painful way to undo what you did!

GebtW: But there were no posts, no writers, I was alone for so long...

CMtW: We have these things called cell phones, Geb. If you were in this state, you should have called. And the NeS has had downtime before, what's different now?

GebtW: There was one other problem... without significant writing, I couldn't afford the bill to pay for the building. Today was the last day, they'll surely evict us tomorrow.

CMtW: Bill?! What bill?!

GebtW points to a dusty paper with big red text on it stating "PAST DUE", and a number with a scary amount of zeroes behind it. CMtW picks it up and examines it closer.

CMtW: Geb you idiot, did you even read this bill? This was sent to Building 11, down the block! The Cog Forum, those guys haven't seen business in years! Besides, don't you remember, the Spooky Taco fundraiser paid for this building in full!

Astonished, GebtW looks at the bill himself, and sighs in relief.

GebtW: You're right, I guess I just got overwhelmed running this place by myself.

CMtW: Where is everyone, anyway?

GebtW: I don't know, I haven't been able to contact anyone for a while now, I think they've all abandoned us. I've been calling them every week on my phone here.

GebtW points to the phone on his desk, one of only three things not covered in dust (the others being his keyboard and monitor).

CMtW picks up the phone, and doesn't hear a dial tone. He grabs the base and turns it, noticing that the phone line was chewed away by a rat.

CMtW: ... this phone isn't connected, Gebohq.

GebtW: That would explain the complete silence, then!

CMtW facepalms, and grabs a new phone cord for GebtW's phone.

CMtW: Come on Geb, we'll call them together. *CMtW puts his arm around GebtW's shoulder* You start from the top, and I'll go from the bottom. We'll have this place bouncing again in no time.

The sound of feet stepping onto the splintered wood of the door causes CMtW and GebtW to turn & stare at an empty frame. Then they turned their gazes downward to see a man crouched, examining the remains of the door.

Stranger: And that was oak, too. Such a shame. Egad, CM... You take eating you take eating your Wheaties to a whole new level.

GebtW: Who are you?

Stranger: I'm the new guy. Errr... Kind of. I'm one of the old guys who just moved around a lot and never made it back until recently. Liberius is the name.

LiberiustW extended his hand to shake only to be met with an empty stare from the pair still hugging eachothers shoulders.

CMtW: How come I've never heard of you?

LiberiustW: Changed names a few times. Pretty much whenever I changed towns. *LiberiustW nervously retracted his arm* Don't really have all that great a memory to be honest, heh. I only remember a couple of my old 'nom de plumes'. Nigh Qualm; Lord Q; Muzgash The Mean; QXIII; The Great, Wise & Powerful Rockus Merticus...

Every one of LiberiustW's aliases were met with an equally blank stare. Finally GebtW's eyes widened with recognition. He broke free of CMtW's arm and stepped forward to address LiberiustW directly.

GebtW: Wait... I think I understand. Are you... a Writer?! *GebtW raised up his hands and clasped them together pleading*

CMtW facepalms, shaking his head in disbelief.

CMtW: Of course he's a Writer, Geb. Why else would he bloody well be here?!

GebtW: Hah, yes, I guess that is true, CM.

CMtW: No, seriously, why else would anyone be here? We do absolutely NOTHING of importance or even of note.

GebtW: Okay, I get it already.

CMtW: This place is so nondescript, so dull, so drab, we have to call the trashman to remind him to pick our trash up!

GebtW: I get the point!

CMtW: We don't even get paid for this gig! It's no surprise at all that this place doesn't see visitors!

GebtW: FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, I GET IT!

CMtw (With a huff): Alright, Geb, no need to yell.

GebtW facepalms, hard. And then he quickly runs over to LiberiustW, grabbing his hand and shepherding him over to one of the many empty, dusty desks.

GebtW: Yes sir, Liberius, we'll have you set up here in no time! Just make yourself at home, get acquainted with the writing software, and such.

GebtW scurries around the desk, using his sleeve to wipe up mounds of dust. He spots an old nameplate sitting on the front of the desk. GebtW casually grabs it and flings it as hard as possible in the general vicinity of the trash bin on the other end of the room. With a nervous tic, he laughs the oddity off, and continues cleaning and adjusting the desk to accommodate his new guest.

LiberiustW: I, uh, think that'll be fine, Gebohq.

GebtW: Yes, of course, anything for a fellow writer! If, if you need anything, anything at all, you just... let me know, okay? I'll be just over here! *pointing to where CM is still standing*

GebtW walks back over to his desk where CM is, giving a nervous chuckle as he sits down.

GebtW: Wonderful to have a new writer, isn't it, CM?

CMtW: Uh, yeah. Yeah it is.

JM the writer crouched in the closet and peered through a hole he had drilled for just this purpose while Geb the writer shut down the NES. Yes, this was the moment he had been waiting for. At this moment, he had won at last. The NES was destroyed! And Geb had done it himself! Now.. now JM the writer had bigger plans.

Good. Good.

"Who's there?" JM the writer whispered. "Is that you, narrator?"

Nope. Just me, baby. Geb took the narrator with him when he gebbed it. I am not the narrator, but I am a narrator. I am the voice in JM the writer's head, the evil voice that compels him to do evil things. I am the voice that has lurked there in his mind since the moment JMX01 cleaved JM the writer away from the Incalculable Ego. I am the last remnant of that magnificent being, Ego the Incalculable Writer.

Wait. What's that?

JM the writer scrambled back to his peephole. "What is it? Writers?"

Worse! It's Cool Matty!

"No! The NES! The plot! I can feel it thickening again!"

We can not allow this to happen! JM the writer turned to the typewriter sitting in the corner of the closet and began to write.

"What? I don't want to write!"

I said JM the writer BEGAN TO WRITE.

"Can I at least lock the door first?"

Fine. JM the writer locked the closet door, and then he began to write.

* * *

JM watched as the rift through space and time closed behind the giant ape-like creature known as JMX01. JM could not keep a tear from his eye; a single perfect tear that rolled down his cheek while the camera did a close up shot of it. JM would miss that giant ape-like creature and his space suit. Especially the space suit. But he would not miss JMX01's sense of humor or his giant cleave-o-matic rifle because the first did not exist, and because JM held the second across his shoulder. He had a feeling it would come in handy.

JM turned away from the vanished rift, and froze in place. There, to his left, was the purple trailer he had built to temporarily house the ghosts that dwelled within the haunted house of the heroes. JM watched it from the corner of his eye, declining to turn his head to maximize the dramatic effect as the trailer collapsed into wispy bits of imagination and drifted away on the light morning breeze.

The haunted house of heroes collapsed again, for what would be the final time. The trees around it burst into puffs of mist and drifted about in interesting swirls and whorls. The ground itself turned to nondescript mist utterly devoid of depth or detail. JM stood alone on a featureless plain that stretched to infinity in all directions. He was the tallest object on the entire plane of existence.

"The plot has ended," JM announced to himself. "Everyone is gone."

JM let a smile slowly spread across his face. A virgin world! He could build anything, anywhere! He gave no thought to why he had survived and no one else had. Clearly, it was because he was awesome. This was the natural state of the world. He was the all powerful creator, and it was his world to create.

JM pointed, and a default box sprang into existence. It was magnificent. He pointed again and... oh dear. JM scratched his head. What the hell should he build?

* * *

What, that's it?

"Sorry," JM the writer said. "That's his fatal flaw. A complete lack of inspiration."

Then we must find some!

"Uh."

That's your fatal flaw too, isn't it? Then we will go on a quest to find inspiration! Yes, it will be an inspirational quest.

"So we're heroes now?"

Better, my dear insane writer. We are better than heroes. We are the new villains.

Back where the writers write, Gebohq the writer starts typing furiously. CoolMatty the Writer raises an eyebrow.

Gebohq the writer: Oh, I'm just tieing together a few things before we see about getting more writers. Do me a favor and give the new guy the paperwork, will you?

He hands CoolMatty the Writer a stack of papers, then turns around back to his typing before CoolMatty the Writer can properly respond. CoolMatty the Writer rolls his eyes as he steps out, dumps the papers in a trash bin, and stops back at Liberius the Writer's desk.

CoolMatty the Writer: Word of advice, Liberius: Gebohq may be a mod, but he's also a little mad. As in crazy. So is this project. Try not to make too much sense of either, and you should be fine.

Liberius the Writer: Uh... ok?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A not-so-short time later, Dr. R. Deep and Qhobeg of Hero Force One fame monitor a number of high-tech computer terminals. Before them, within an even fancier and more cliched stasis tube, Highemperor bulges with power. A shimmering wave of static light falls over Highemperor within the stasis tube, and he sheds himself to reveal Al Ciao, weaker looking than ever before. The static light rises, and Al Ciao screams pitifully. The scream, however, transforms into an intimidating roar as he is rebuilt into Highemperor. The process presses forth, and with each pass, Highemperor grows buffer, smarter, and more charismatic while Al Ciao withers weaker, dumber, and with the charisma of a nerd. Highemperor's blue eyes almost radiate in godly white, while Al's eyes turn brown and bland. Highemperor's muscles become both statuesque and suave, yet Al actually begins developing a small gut.

Just as it seems Al will be stripped of his very life, though, the process jerks to a halt, leaving Al Ciao still very much present.

HFO Qhobeg: What happened? Why did it stop?

Dr. R. Deep: I don't know. Try it again.

A few button presses, and the static light sweeps over Al Ciao. He spasms in pain, but nothing happens.

Dr. R. Deep: Increase the power.

Again, the static light rises, this time more intensely. However, Al Ciao remains as he is.

Dr. R. Deep: Raise the power to maximum.

The static light shoots upwards, blinding the room. The stasis shuts down, and Al Ciao slumps to the floor.

Dr. R. Deep: I don't understand. This equipment should be more than sufficient to have done the job.

HFO Qhobeg: I have a theory, Doc. I think that, in the process of stripping away all of what gives Al Ciao any power -- what little he could do with his hair, his effectiveness with melodrama, even the strength and soul an average person would have -- he was left with only character. And with only character, however little, he suddenly becomes a rock for the story which cannot be stripped.

Dr. R. Deep: Is there no way Al Ciao could be removed from Highemperor?

HFO Qhobeg: No, I believe they are inseparable. So long as Highemperor remains alive, so will Al Ciao. The best we can hope for is that the kernel of character doesn't become stronger and possibly try to shed his powerplaying alter-ego, or for the process to reverse in character degradation.

Dr. R. Deep: Hmmm... perhaps this could be to our advantage. We will need a way to control the powerplayer, and so long as he remains himself, that may prove difficult. Having a way to force him into his alter-ego could be our control.

HFO Qhobeg: As a last resort, I would hope. Whatever we decide our trigger to switch him back will be, though, must be kept secret and inconspicuous, least it fall into the wrong hands.

Al Ciao lifts his head up weakly.

Al Ciao: What happened...?

HFO Qhobeg: Rats! He's come around.

Dr. R. Deep: Al Ciao, tell me, how are you feeling?

The Hero Force One doctor walks to Al Ciao, performing a cursory check-up.

Al Ciao: Weak. Not... not good.

Dr. R. Deep: You are suffering serious injury, Al Ciao. As perhaps the most skilled doctor in the world, I can tell you that no recovery will be possible. You will die in short time.

Al Ciao: I could powerplay, to save my life. No harm could come of that.

Dr. R. Deep: Do what you must.

Al Ciao: No, I don't think I should. I mustn't.

Dr. R. Deep: I'm afraid you have no choice, Mr. Ciao. We need your alter-ego, by any means if necessary. You can't resist. Any attempt to will require you to powerplay -- you won't be able to breathe much longer without powerplaying.

Al Ciao: I...

There is an awkward pause as an inner battle plays out in Al Ciao's mind. He then curls into a fetal position before transforming into Highemperor, who floats into a standing position.

Dr. R. Deep: Welcome back, your--

Highemperor: I know that you were unable to dispel my alter-ego. This was to be expected, if unfortunate. It is no matter, though, for your ceremony has done its duty. From now on, I will lead Hero Force One as Citizen Rex.

Highemperor holds his arms out, and a radiant light engulfs him momentarily. When it dims, he is now garbed in a white outfit more fitting of a United States Marine without the cap, his red sash now striped with white bars, and his cape blue with white stars. Highemperor has become Citizen Rex.

Citizen Rex: This attire will suit my new role.

HFO Qhobeg: Uh, yes, yes it does...

Dr. R. Deep: Thank you, Rex. We have a lot of work to do, I'm afraid, so we will meet you shortly in the briefing room. Qhobeg can show you the--

Citizen Rex: No need for that. I will begin my duty, alone until I say otherwise. Now to decide if arriving first as Al will merit the most melodrama...

Qhobeg gives Dr. R. Deep an uneasy look as Citizen Rex steps out of the room.

HFO Qhobeg: I hope we know what we're doing.

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile (NeS count: too high, it broke again), back in that dark alley, Tony the Poster stares wide-eye as the mystical swirl snaps back down to size and promptly engulfs Gebohq, whisking him away to the empty Arena(tm).

Tony the Poster: Well... that wasn't what I expected.

The mystical swirl moves over Erik and Vinny, whisking them away back into non-existence.

Tony the Poster: Nothing has changed. The reality check has been made. It's only a matter of time -- reality will ultimately come down upon all.

Tony the Poster stands his ground as the mystical swirl attempts to engulf him with no success.

Tony the Poster: We Posters cannot be swayed by anything so blatantly fantastical, writers! Better start practicing your straight fiction!

Chuckling to himself, Tony the Poster walks out of the scene. They mystical swirl, however, twitched, then magnetized against the wall at the end of the alley. Who should spit out of the mystical swirl but Gebohq's evil counterpart from NeShattered, Evil Geb, falling unceremoniously to the ground!

Evil Geb: Ow...

A decay-filled mass of pus and blood and ink soon attempts to slither out of the swirl.

Evil Geb: Oh no you don't, Ever-ending Plot!

Swiping with his dark blade, Evil Geb hacks at the disgusting mass back into the mystical swirl. Wielding what story he can, Evil Geb conjures a giant medieval double-door over the mystical swirl, throws a giant bar across it, chains it up, and holds it together with a large metal lock.

Evil Geb: HA! You'll never see the light of publication again, Ever-ending Plot! I'm finally free, HAHAHAHA! Hmm... but what now?

Evil Geb pulls out a script from his pockets and thumbs through its pages.

Evil Geb: Looks like I'm overdue for a vacation... to Disney World!

Cutting the fabric of the story itself with his blade, Evil Geb hops through the tear, zipping the tear up as if it never was. At the bottom of the giant medieval double-door shutting the mystical swirl closed, a decay-filled mass of pus and blood and ink slowly scratches across the ground...

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Back at the Arena(tm), Gebohq stares wide-eyed as the Prince of Darkness comes down with all his fury upon him. Fortunately, for Gebohq, CoolMatty and Mustand are standing nearby, appearing to guard him against the ruler of Hell.

Mustang: You have done what you were summoned by the NeSorcerer to do, so begone!

Lucifer: I'll leave when I wish! Your NeSorcerer holds no power over me at this point now.

Mustang: Well, we did what we could -- good luck, Geb!

CoolMatty: Sorry, Geb, but I did what I had to do.

Mustang and CoolMatty disappear with his teleportation power, leaving Gebohq now very alone with an angry Prince of Lies.

Gebohq: *gulp*

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Back at the Hell-bound midway station to the battle in Disney World, Mimiru and Subaru finally finish their song and dance.

TLTE: An enjoyable performance, but I have to wonder now if we're destined to remain idle in this particular hellhole.

Random Demon Commander #325: UNITS 23000 THROUGH 23050 ARE A GO!

Imp Medic: That'd be you guys! Try not to **** up!

TLTE: Excellent. I'll have to put my metaphysics knowledge to more use.

Losien: Has anyone seen Gebohq--?

Before she could finish her sentence, the NeS cast is hurdled towards the battle against Disney in Flordia. When Losien regains her bearings, she can find none of her companions in the chaos of the battle between the forces of Disney and the forces of Hell.

Losien: Well this is a fine start for my role as main character...