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

In his Evil, and somewhat lazy lair, JM shakes with fury as GUNTHER breaks the sad news of The Censor's downfall via phonecall.

JM: NOOO!!! The Censor was my baby! Figuratively speaking of course. MY brainchild. What better way to destroy the NeS than to take out all the good parts! No edited movie on TV ever compares to the unedited film! The Heros shall pay for this dearly!

GUNTHER: That was you? I thought The Censor was his... uh... Its own unique villain?

JM: You fool! It was all a ploy! Make the Heros think we had superior numbers! Did you not read the Dark Alliance Guidebook they handed out at the last meeting?!

GUNTHER: No. I, GUNTHER, do not need to read some trivial book to succeed in my evil plans. This 'Alliance' is only out of a combined convenience for all of us.

JM: The Censor to me was like Geronimo to you. My knight on the board. But now that this extra piece is gone my plans are going to need a more 'hands on' approach.

GUNTHER: Wait, are you trying to tell me...?

JM: Yes. I have completed my research. And not a moment to soon. I have enough of an idea of how to use these stolen powers for the greater Evil.

GUNTHER: Speaking of Evil... I have my suspicions that Evil Geb plans to betray us all at a most critical time. We should eliminate him now.

JM: Double FOOL! Evil Geb is my 'get out of jail free card'!

GUNTHER: I thought we were using a chess board analogy but I assume it's all board games now?

JM: (without missing a beat) Evil Geb is my rook! The Censor was my knight because he was less expendable, but I still have others at my disposal. Don't worry about Evil Geb. His time will come, but for now he still serves ME! MWAH HA HA HA!

GUNTHER: So who are you?

JM: Eh?

GUNTHER: I mean, if we're all just chess board pieces to you, what exactly do you consider yourself? I know you're not the king.

JM: Why's that?

GUNTHER: I think it's quite clear that High Imp is the King. You've already eliminated both one rook & one knight. And it's obvious you consider yourself more valuable than either of them.

JM: Fine... I am a bishop.

GUNTHER: And the others?

JM: If High Imp is king & I'm a bishop, plus Evil Geb the rook & the late Censor as a knight... then I would have to say that Geronimo would be your knight, Buck Takes would be a rook at best, and Lucifer would have to be the other bishop. the unrevealed villains & henchmen we have at our disposal would be pawns. Like Arnie.

GUNTHER: Are you forgetting someone?

JM: Who?

GUNTHER: Uh... Me.

JM: That is easy. You would be the queen.

GUNTHER: ...

JM: What?

GUNTHER: Seriously? The queen? Do I sound like a woman to you?

JM: Honestly I don't know. You always use that voice changer/masking device. Besides, I'm giving you some credit. You're the next most valuable piece. I put you even higher up on the list than me!

GUNTHER: Sometimes I really hate you JM. REALLY...

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

In the evil villain base, beneath the sinister visage of the "My Little Pony" poster--

JM: Aha! That must be YOUR My Little Pony poster, GUNTHER! That proves you're a woman!

GUNTHER: It's not my poster.

JM: Quiet, I'm going back to my evil plotting. I shall now reveal my MASTER PLAN! It involves... a rubber chicken! And, and - bizarrely colored swamp monsters! Uh... and a trio of sexy vampirelles!

GUNTHER: JM?

JM: Yeah?

GUNTHER: You suck at improv. Just wait for the Writers to give us our lines.

Meanwhile (NeS count: not enough, apparently), far away on a movie set of a Paraguayan village, our *ahem* "heroes" surround the poor, if possessed, Paraguayan boy named Geronimo.

For those of you who wish to know exactly which of the so-called heroes are present, so that you may target your unrelenting judging accurately, they are as follows:

Losien, the fair newly-made main character of this story, looking as sexy as much as she lacks self-esteem.

Losien: Uh, maybe ganging up on a kid isn't such a good idea, if you're right, Mr. Narrator.

Her older-by-five-hundred-and-five-seconds brother, Gebohq, once not-so-fearless leader of the NeS heroes.

Gebohq: Yes, you're right, sis, and my gut tells me we should just hightail it out of here!

Their young and magically-talented friend, Cool Matty.

Cool Matty: We'll hightail it out of here, alright, and we're taking Geronimo with us! He's too dangerous to leave loose with that mysterious GUNTHER still ready to control his mind!

The heads to Cool Matty's tails of the coin of marriage, Mimiru.

Mimiru: Listen, I got an idea. We'll keep things simple and just knock the kid unconscious. Everyone wins. Well, except maybe for the kid.

The perfectly shallow, power-playing number one member of Hero Force One, Citizen Rex.

Citizen Rex: Great! I'll knock him out with a nearby mic boom pole. ...which is invisible. Obviously. Wouldn't be much use if you could see it on film. Any fool knows that!

And Citizen Rex's meek counterpart, Al Ciao.

Al Ciao: And any fool knows that you can walk through solid-if-invisible objects, as you did just a minute ago, right?

With a surprisingly attractive giant-robot pilot for a girlfriend, Mia.

Mia: One minute twenty-three seconds ago to be precise, my lovable Al. Almost long enough for even me, an S-rank Mark Four Raj-class mech pilot to have not bothered to keep observing.

A writer for this story who swapped places with his character counterpart, Liberius Vir the Writer, to get away from it all.

Liberius Vir the Writer: So Citizen Rex has the ability to recklessly create plotholes on the fly, hmm? Other writers might find that a problem, and I intend to prove them wrong! If only so I can at least stay alive...

And his character counterpart's talking Yorkshire terrier, Captain Von Trufflesnout, pacing about as if he were leader of this group of people.

Capt. Von Trufflesnout: There's no time to waste! Let's get moving before the child does!

The mentoring restaurant owner of CRIS B.'S CHIKIN SHACK, Cris B.!

Cris B.: Good thinking, lil' guy! I got a hold of Geronimo and Rex will knock him out. Where to next?

And last, but not least, the incarnation of April Fool's Day and Gebohq's true-yet-estranged love, Rachel Pi.

Rachel: Disneyworld, of course! We've got a deal with the devil to make!

Losien: A deal with the devil to make?

Rachel: A deal with the devil to make.

Geronimo: No, but--!

Before Geronimo can finish speaking, Citizen Rex swings an apparently invisible pole that knocks Geronimo unconscious.

The Writers' Realm.

Geb the Writer: I'm confused. Is the movie set of a Paraguayan village, or is the movie set in Paraguay, and the set happens to be of a village?

Scratching his head over this obviously important question, GTW wanders out of his editorial office, intending to ask one of his fellow writers. He walks over to Al Ciao the Writer's cubicle, where he hears noises of something like combat and explosions booming.

GTW: Al?

Looking in the cubicle, he sees Al Ciao in front of a massive 72" flatscreen hooked up to the computer, on which he is playing a video game. Surround sound speakers are wired haphazardly around the cubicle walls, and electronic game boxes are strewn along the floor.

ACtW: Yeah! Eat flames, minions! Bwahahahahahahaha!

Seeing he will get no help from this quarter, Geb moves on to JM's cubicle. Music blares from that direction. Looking inside, he sees a jukebox, a disco ball, confetti, martinis, and half-naked women all clambering upon JM, as drunk as he is.

JMtW: Yeaaaaah, thash it, baby...

His eyes roll back in his head as he struggles to stay conscious. One of the girls has passed out and is snoring in a puddle of booze on the floor.

GtW: *sigh*

He goes over to Lib's cubicle. It is empty and dark. Cobwebs and dust everywhere. Underneath the desk, a colony of dust bunnies have developed sentience and made a nest.

GtW: Only one place left to turn.

Going back into his office, he picks up a special red phone and holds it to his ear. A few rings, then...

CMtW: For the last time, if this is someone complaining about the new upgrades, I'm gonna go Attila the Hun on your butt!

GtW: Er, no...

CMtW: Is that you, Geb? I TOLD you, don't bug me about writing for the NeS! I'll get to it when I get to it! Now SCRAM!

A dial tone. Geb slowly hangs up and stares thoughtfully at the ceiling.

GtW: Well, I guess I'll have to invoke my editorial privilege and make an executive decision.

He screws up his brow, deep in thought.

WHICH WILL GEB THE WRITER CHOOSE? Will it be Paraguay? Or only a set of Paraguay? If you think he'll pick the former, text REAL to 4269. If the latter, text SET to 6942. Five lucky numbers will be chosen from those who anticipate him correctly, to receive an AMAZING PRIZE - a free tour of the NeS offices, conducted by a REAL LIFE NeS WRITER! Text now!

Geb the writer: And my decision is....uh... neither. I'm going to say it was actually a Paraguayan village replica found just outside of Paraguay, which is mostly used as a movie studio film lot for the hit Paraguayan show, All My Llamas. And power is supplied to the area by a plot-hole power plant. Yup.

Suddenly, heavy objects. Thrown at him.

Geb the writer: Gah! That last one's going to leave a B.U.M.P.!

And now, back to the story -- the Never-ending Story Thread, that is -- where Losien and the other protagonists of varying goodness (Gebohq, Cris B., CoolMatty, Mimiru, Citizen Rex, Al Ciao, Mia, Liberius the Writer, Captain Von Trufflesnout Jr. the Third, and Geronimo) are now back in Disney World. There, a furious battle still rages between the forces of Disney and Hell, and Lucifer, known better as Jim Seven, half-watches the ensuing battle with glazed eyes. Out of the group with Losien, Rachel walks towards the ruler of Hell, pushing Losien with her with an arm over her shoulders.

Rachel: Alright, Losi, you know the plan.

Losien: I do?

Rachel: Yes, and if you forgot already, you're going to have to improvise as the main character. Now go!

Rachel pushes Losien next to Jim Seven. She looks back to Rachel and the others, then sighs and turns her attention back to Jim Seven.

Losien: Uh, excuse me, Mr. Seven, sir...

Jim Seven seems to take no notice of her. She straightens her posture, clears her throat, and speaks up.

Losien: Hey! Jim! Answer me, Gucci-suit soul salesman!

Jim: What! Oh, it's you guys. What do you want?

Losien: Uh... well, we want you to help us stop JM. Stop him from destroying the NeS.

Jim: Look, protecting the NeS ain't my job anymore, lady. Besides, did you forget that it was I who helped JM gain his power from Citizen Rex? --and no, not that Citizen Rex standing with you, I meant Al Ciao.

Losien: Er, yes, I did forget, actually.

Jim: Well, let me fill you in on current events while I'm at it. JM and the rest of our Dark Alliance has helped me turn the tide of this battle, as you can see before you. The forces of Disney have been beaten back, and High Imp is, at this very moment, taking my prisoner, TotallyEvil, back into Hell's custody. In return, I will help JM bring the NeS to its knees. He will have whatever glory he gains from that, and I will have a stronger Hell for it. Now, unless you have a better deal for me, I must be going.

Losien: Uh--wait, yes! Yes, we do!

Losien stands there, racking her brain for ideas.

Jim: Well?

Losien: Uh-uh-uh--you can have me! I'm the main character of NeS now, which means you'd have control over the NeS through me. If you stop JM, I'll be yours.

Jim: Except I already own your souls. Once again, you forgot that you and most of your friends here technically died and became my subjects in your last little escapade with Master Thand. Most of you, except your brother, Gebohq, over there, who I'm still convinced hasn't truly given up his mantle as the main character. If he gives himself to me--

Rachel: No!

Jim: Stay out of this, wench.

Rachel: Losien is the main character! I've tested her myself. And you're wrong about having our souls. You no longer own the paperwork -- Evil Geb does.

Jim: That can't be... you're tricking me!

Rachel: Ask him for yourself.

Just then, Evil Geb saunters into the scene and up to Jim Seven.

Evil Geb: Hey, Jim, so High Imp's on his way back to Canada with TotallyEvil, and JM wants us to-- oh look, company! Wanna slug 'em out together? It'll be fun!

Jim Seven: My forms for their souls, Gebiyl. You have them, don't you.

Jim Seven's fiery fury flares up as he glares at Evil Geb. Losien and Rachel stand back with the others to watch the train wreck in progress.

Evil Geb: ...fuq.

Elsewhere, a small, private jet manages to land in an open field within the walls of Morchazima. The first to step out of the plane is the jet's pilot, Cynthai. From appearances, Cynthai is an unremarkable, short and stout-ish built woman with trim, ginger hair and wearing what seems to be a utilitarian jumpsuit. In actuality, she is CynthAI, the robotic assistant to the other passenger in the plane now stepping out. The other passenger, named Angela Langely, is a taller, thinner woman with shoulder-length brown hair and wearing a blue sweater with a knee-length black skirt and boots.

While Cynthai examines their surroundings with focused fascination, Angie glances some nearby ruins with cold indifference.

Angie: It would figure that we'd find Thand in picturesque ruins like these. The place makes me think of a commercial for Machu Picchu.

Cynthai: Ma'am, these archeological remains have significant influences of ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Atlantis as well. It's clear that Thand must have had a personal hand in its construction.

Angie: Try to restrain your drooling and your assumptions. We have a job to finish.

Cynthai: You spoke of him luring us into a trap earlier, ma'am.

Angie: I did, but we'll be ready for him. We still have to find the man first, though.

Cynthai: I think he made finding him easy for us.

Cynthai points at a nearby sign that says "Appointment with Arkng Thand" with an arrow pointing down a corridor. Angie slaps her palm to her forehead.

Angie: He wants to insult my intelligence? Fine. Let's move before he wises up. Take the lead, please.

Cynthai: Yes, Ms. Langely.

Angie and Cynthai cautiously follow the signs down corridors and through chambers, down into the bowels of the earth past great spider webs, until they reached one final grand chamber. It shows signs of once housing great treasures, including something that would have sat on a raised coffin-sized pedestal. Now, though, the chamber is bare, and sitting on the pedestal is Master Thand, wearing his usual immaculate three-piece mist-colored suit, his book-bound colored traveler's coat, and puffing cobalt-blue smoke from his golden-wood pipe. His attention is currently occupied upon the ornamental golden fob clock that appears to tell time in NeS pages.

Thand: Page 33 has already started, and yet they seem to be running late. Curious.

Master Thand turns his attention up towards Angie and Cynthai, who stood visibly by the doorway. Stealthy, the two women were not.

Thand: May I help you two?

Angie: You tell me... Thand, yes?

Thand: Are you sure I'm the one you're seeking?

Angie holds out her hand, and Cynthai places a computer tablet in her hand. Angie taps on the tablet and begins reading from it as she and Cynthai approach closer to Thand.

Angie: Arkng Thand. Male. Appears to be at least fifty years of age, actual age theorized to be conservatively dated at five thousand years. Ethnicity possibly Middle-Eastern in origin, height approximately five foot ten inches, weight approximately one hundred fifty pounds, white hair and beard, grey eyes with vision-corrective glasses. Affiliations include the NeScholars, now retired, and with the Champions of Atlantis, known then as Adai Theos. Rumored to have once been the strongest man alive, now considered the wisest and most knowledgeable.

Angie hands the tablet back to Cynthai, and the two are now within conversational distance of Master Thand.

Angie: I think even Helen Keller could identify you with that profile, wouldn't you say?

Thand: You've yet to tell me why you are here.

Angie: You're right, of course. You're reputation for your intelligence is certainly not unfounded. Sherlock Holmes himself would have had difficulty nailing that fact down. Tangent aside, my reason for being here is simple: I and my assistant are here to take you back with us to Proctor Research, where my superior will interview you on ancient history you have undoubtedly experienced first-hand and expand that knowledge for all of humanity. Forgive us if we seem rude, but you are a very difficult man to track down, and I won't be taking "no" for an answer.

Thand: You would forcibly drag and detain an old man against his wishes for interrogation?

Angie: Of course not. I couldn't do that even if I wanted to do so, as I'm about as physically fit as an average American waddling onto a treadmill and collapsing before it even started. But I know a few things you don't.

One, I know that, no matter how smart you are, you are still only one man that, at the end of the day, still needs to eat, breathe, sleep, and rely on others when you and your tools cannot provide. You may be a remarkably self-sufficient human being, but you are still human. You have limits, however incredible they may seem, and you are capable of mistakes, however few and small they may be. Your knowledge requires the use of others far less intelligent and far more prone to mistakes. If you care about others, you are obligated to share your knowledge for the betterment of all. If you care only for yourself, you build your house of knowledge with a faulty foundation, and your isolation will only serve to bring that house down upon you. Either way, it is in your best interest to return with us so that you may share what you know of the world.

Two, I know that you seek knowledge. Therefore, you cannot stand idle and isolated indefinitely, since to gain knowledge requires gaining experience, searching for things hidden, cross-examining with perspective from others. The search for knowledge is never-ending, since the source of knowledge itself is always growing. Remaining aloof and producing a poker face more infamous than Lady Gaga's song has its advantages, but ultimately not for those who seek knowledge above all else. You have only chosen to live as long as you have because of your drive for knowledge, and there is knowledge out there that you can't afford to be patient in seeking for fear of it disappearing and lost forever. If knowledge is more important than your own pride, it is in your best interest to return with us, before it's too late.

Third, and most important, I believe you've evaded the notice of others for one very personal reason -- you do not wish for them to discover your true identity. Should the public know who you truly are, you would not have hope of seeking truth as you would be burdened with the attention and lies of others who wished to share in your fame. There's been rumor, but I'm certain it's fact. You are not just a very old man, you are the Adam of humanity, the first man. It explains so many other unanswered questions, namely the reason you pursue knowledge so deeply. For this reason, I believe you have no choice but to return with us, if you wish for your identity to remain a secret.

Silence smacks the air around them. Master Thand sits in his place, his attention sticking solely on Angie and Cynthai and his pipe held away from his mouth. Slowly, he places the pipe down by his side.

Thand: Yes, you are correct on all accounts, and I will go with you.

Surprise falls on Angie, and she nearly backs away. She collects herself, however, and smiles.

Angie: Thank you, Mr. Thand.

Thand: May I ask one question?

Angie: Sure, but I can's say I'll answer it.

Thand: Who are you two? I had been expecting other company.

Cynthai: You don't have to answer that, Miss.

Angie: What? You don't know who we even are? Of all the-- you're supposed to be some all-knowing old man and we're too insignificant to be picked up on your radar? What, were you expecting the pool boy for your monthly moat cleaning? Some inspectors to see if your ruins are up to code? For Pangu, Askr and John McCain for your weekly First-Men-of-Earth bridge game?

Cynthai: He's just trying to get under your skin, ma'am. Don't give him the satisfaction of answering--

Angie: Oh, I'll answer, alright! The most intelligent man alive just got blindsided by a lowly nobody woman with failed her high school geography class despite the fact that she could have skipped classes if she wanted to badly enough. He's going to know our names -- it's the least he can have after all that. I'm Angela Langely and she's Cynthai and we got you!

Thand: Cynthai, you say? Your assistant is an automaton then.

Angie: Yeah, so? You have something against that?

Cynthai: Oh no.

Thand: There are a few things you should know then.

Master Thand picks up his pipe once again and puffs from it.

Thand: First, your assistant is not working for you as you have been led to believe, nor even for your superior, Mr. Proctor. CynthAI is under the direct service of the Taxman, and has blackmailed Mr. Proctor, through some rather obscure legal loopholes and old-fashioned fear, to use his resources to track me down. While I'm sure Mr. Proctor would benefit from my knowledge, he and his research company had no personal desire to find me or even knew of my existence until his hand was forced into flushing me out into the open. The Taxman, the personification of Taxes and the first automaton of which I created, provided Proctor with what information he had. Like Death itself, Taxes wishes to grab hold of me, though I have broken no tax laws, so it is forced to keep me on the run. If I return with you, Cynthai will see to it that I never reach Mr. Proctor and instead have me sent to the Taxman. As you've correctly concluded, fame has its complications.

Second, your search for me has unavoidably pulled you out of your bubble and into the world of which you actually exist. It is not a world governed by reality or even much of a pretense of reality, but a world of fiction, where you and I are but players on a stage as Shakespeare once put it. It is a story-world governed by tropes, stereotypes, and perception, where the impossible is possible and the special and unique is neither. If I return with you, any knowledge I can impart would be of little use, since fact and reason are as much of a farce as you and I. I've attempted to work with and rely on the best of others -- the NeScholars -- and only succeeded in making the pursuit of knowledge more difficult. My reputation from knowledge is built in part because of these tropes and twists of tales, and the cost is my solitude.

Third, and most importantly, I am allowing the two of you to leave, without further delay or difficulty, with the promise that you will not return here. I will not be found here much longer, and should you find me again, I will unlikely be as kind to you as I have been. I feel it only fair that you know these truths, Angela, as you are a promising young woman with the potential for a fulfilling life. Cynthai, you may tell your master that I am well and that I send my well wishes.

Now, please leave, as I am expecting other company.

Angie stares at Cynthai dumbfounded, then at Thand in disbelief before shuffling out of the chamber. Cynthai, visibly shaken, looks at Master Thand once more with pleading eyes before following Angie out of the chamber. Master Thand returns his attention to his fob pocket watch.

In front of the Disneyworld Castle - which is tattered and aflame, with crumbling turrets - our heroes watch, entranced, as Jim confronts Evil Geb. The Devil has pulled a Tommy gun - such as a stereotypical mobster lord might use - and is aiming it Evil Geb's way.

Evil Geb: Seriously? A tommy gun? Aren't you the Lord High Big Bad?

Jim: I'll have you know, this is a PITCHFORK-666 model, revamped for the next generation in hellish weaponry. It channels my personal hellflame into the chamber, from which it is discharged via trigger pulls as a spray of condensed anti-energy packets colloquially referred to as bullets-- Hey, where'd he go?

During Jim's explanation, Evil Geb has taken the opportunity to geb it.

Jim: Consarnit!

He speaks into his super-duper all-purpose villain wristwatch.

Jim: BUCK TAKES! Get out here! We need to track down Evil Geb!

Buck Takes: *through the wristwatch mic* Slight problem here.

Jim: Deal with it later!

Buck Takes: No can do, I'm kinda stuck with this.

Jim: Fine. What happened?

Buck Takes: Er, well, you know how the Book of Gold gave me the ability to turn anything I touch into gold?

Jim: Yeah?

Buck Takes: I just tried to use the bathroom.

Jim blinks.

Then he lets out an ear-blistering stream of cuss words, a tirade as inspired as only the Devil could render it.

Random passersby spontaneously combust. An eclipse occurs. The heroes' wristwatches begin ticking backwards. Cheese rains down from the sky. The NeS heroes suddenly find all their clothing and equipment (except for their undies) vanished from off them (he's the Devil; a reverse rapture, you dig?). "O Fortuna" plays in the background. Corpses get up off the ground as zombies and skeletons and begin doing the electric slide.

Losien: Oh dear! *shyly trying to cover herself, despite the fact that her privates are still covered by undies*

Rachel: Bahahahahahahahahaha! A prank worthy of me!

Al Ciao: Hush! I'm trying to listen to O Fortuna!

Mia: Interesting. A spontaneous eclipse, and the moon is on the other side of the planet right now.

Captain von Trufflesnout: Mmmmm, cheese...

Cris: No, no, no, you stupid undead! The Electric slide is hopelessly out of style! Do the macarena! Like so!

Cool Matty: Excellent! With people spontaneously combusting all around, no one will notice if I toast a few!

Mimiru: Matt, control your pyromania...

Citizen Rex: Impressive. Small potatoes to what I could do, of course.

Liberius the Writer: Interesting how our watches were going backwards before they disappeared along with our clothes. I wonder if it was just equipment failure, or if time was actually turning back?

The unconscious Geronimo comes to his senses, and groggily sits up. His eyes take in the spectacle of the scantily clad NeS heroes, and all the pandemonium caused by Jim's hellish swearing. A hunk of cheese bonks him on the head.

Geronimo: Eh. It was crazier when I delivered pizza to Hugh Hefner's place...

Back at Morchazima, Angie and Cynthai have been walking back to their plane in silence. Cynthai opens her mouth to begin speaking when she is interrupted by a humanoid flash that nearly bowls the two of them over.

Cynthai: What was that?

Angie remains silent.

Cynthai: Yes, well, we have to have something to talk about on the return trip...

Elsewhere in Morchazima, the humanoid flash halts nearly on top of Master Thand as...

Master Thand?

Master Thand(?): Boo!

Master Thand: You're late.

Master Thand(?): You're no fun.

The false Master Thand who had entered the chamber steps back a few paces and dissolves into the form of Evil Geb.

Evil Geb: So you wanted to see me? Make it quick.

Thand: Very well. Listen to what I have to say, as the very thread of the Never-ending Story depends on it...

Evil Geb, however, immediately does the opposite of listening, and instead constantly replies with responses such as "yeah", "uh-huh", and "ok" in attempt to encourage Thand to speak as fast as he can. This goes on for quite some time.

Thand: ...and you must follow my words to the letter. Do you wish me to repeat what I have just told you?

Evil Geb: Yeah, ok, uh-huh, go on--WAIT! Ah damn it! Now I have to wait for you to blather on all over again!

Thand: ...

Evil Geb: Uh, I mean, I need to make sure I listen to you again so I can follow what you said exactly.

Master Thand sighs and hands Evil Geb an envelope.

Thand: The envelope contains a document of what I have just told you. For someone so obsessed over saving time, you waste much of it.

Evil Geb: If that'll be all then--

Thand: Not quite. I have one last thing to say.

Evil Geb: And what's that?

The structural integrity of Morchazima starts collapsing immediately.

Thand: You have missed your window of escape by approximately 40 seconds.

A large chunk of foundation falls between Evil Geb and Master Thand, and as it tumbles to the side, Master Thand no longer remains.

Evil Geb: Time to see if the old man really is always right...

As Jim continues to swear uncontrolably and it continues to rain cheese, the heros stand around waiting for him to finish... or something better to happen. Liberius the Writer, bored with inaction and slightly cold from standing around in his boxers decides to walk over to a nearby gift shop that miraculously was still standing and had some merchandise that had not been looted... yet...

LibtW: Hmmm... Let's see what we have here...

LibtW browses the aisles looking for something fairly close to his size. Cool Matty and Al Ciao come strolling in nonchalantly. LibtW glances up briefly at them before grabbing an 'Incredibles' t-shirt and putting it on.

Al: So is someone going to actually do something soon or can we go find something to eat?

LibtW: Isn't it still raining cheese? Can't you just catch some?

Al holds up a small block of colby-jack cheese that has a few huge bite marks already in it.

Al: Oh I already have. But it's not all that fresh. And my taste buds are crying for something else right now.

LibtW: Ahhh... I see.

CM & Al start looking for some clothes as well. All three of them grab one of the Micky Mouse ears umbrellas from the rack for good measure. After LibtW finds a pair of '101 Dalmations' shorts with the spotted print and puts them on he looked at himself in the mirror and groaned in disgust.

LibtW: Ugh... I guess beggers can't be choosers. So CM, shouldn't you be out there chasing after Geronimo or something?

CM: Nah... He got hit in the head with a cheddar wheel. He's out cold right now so I think we're all good.

Al: So do either of you have an idea of what we're supposed to be doing right now?

LibtW: No clue. I thought about tricking the devil by offering to sell him my soul for something, mainly just to get him to shut up. But that wouldn't work.

Al: Why's that?

LibtW: Uh... Al? Are you forgetting I'm not from this world? I'm a Writer. Any contract I made with him would be null and void because he couldn't ever get my soul. The minute he figured that out he'ld take back whatever I got out of the deal in a heartbeat.

Al: Oh... What about you CM? Any ideas?

CM: Nope. Well, maybe set some things on fire, but I can't see how that's going to help anything. Besides, Mimiru would just force me to stop... again.

Al: Damn. I was really hoping the Plot might move along again soon.

LibtW: In the meantime, if you guys are still hungry... well, mainly Al... I think I saw a corn dog stand nearby. Anyone up for it?

Al & CM finish putting on their stolen merchandise and join LibtW at the door. Al takes the last bite of his cheese block.

Al: Corn dogs? I hope it's better than this cheese at least.

CM: I'm up for it. I don't know how much more of Cris's Chikin I could manage.

LibtW: It's settled then. To the Corn Dog Stand!

The three of them simultaneously opened thier umbrellas and stepped out the front door and into the hail of cheese.

Evil Geb darts through the collapsing ruins of Thand's fortress at Morchazima, dodging falling debris like a pro. He ses the exit just ahead.

Evil Geb: Ha! And that old fool Thand said I wouldn't be able to make it!

A lithe figure, silhouette dripping with menace, steps in front of him.

Nyneve: You won't.

Evil Geb: Nyneve?!

Nyneve?!

Random Audience Member: Nyneve?! Who the #*&@$&* is Nyneve?

Evil Geb: Consarnit! If we have to wait for exposition to tell new readers who Nyneve is, I really WON'T make it out here in time!

Nyneve is the only surviving NeSferatu, a type of vampire that feeds on the life of stories and characters. As such, she craves bloodink, such as flows through Evil Geb's veins.

Short enough for ya, Evil G.?

Evil Geb: Yah, good job. Oh, and I like that 'Evil G' name you called--

Nyneve: WRAAAA!

Nyneve leaps forward and fastens her fangs to Evil Geb's--

Evil Geb: Evil G!

Er, to Evil G's neck, and begins feeding. Evil G becomes limp, and Nyneve drops his lifeless corpse to the floor. Daintily wiping her lips, she sees two items of note on Evil G's corpse - the documents Thand gave him, and the paperwork for Jim's ownership of the NeS Heroes' souls.

Nyneve: This could be interesting...

Seizing them, she disappears as Morchazima implodes.

-----

In Canada - otherwise known as the 9th Circle of Hell - Evil Geb (or his spirit, or what-have-you) appears. He looks around for a moment before realizing where he is. He punches the air triumphantly.

Evil Geb: HA! The old man was wrong. I only missed my window of escape by 39 seconds!

-----

In Disneyworld, Florida, our heroes (such as they are) have all scrounged Disney-themed articles of clothing. Al looks quite disappointed when Mia's hot red undies are once again covered. Really, all the guys look disappointed, but most of the other guys were drooling over Losien instead. Well, really, Al was also drooling over Losien too, but he hid it so Mia wouldn't get mad.

Mia: Whoa, back up there, Narrator! What was that you just said?

Al Ciao: Where's the Censor when you need him?

Al Ciao is saved because at that moment, Jim stops his hellish swearing.

Jim: Eh? What was that?

Demonic Flunky: I said, Evil Geb has just appeared in Canada.

Jim: Excellent! Now bring him to me!

Demonic Flunky: That appears to be a problem.

Jim: Why?

Demonic Flunky: Er, he keeps gebbing out of reach.

Geb: I'm sure I could sue for plagiarism, couldn't I?

Jim looks as if he's going to begin swearing again, but Citizen Rex steps in, brandishing his white sword Drynyrn. Of course, how fearsome can he look with a Donald Duck shirt and polka dot shorts?

Citizen Rex: I will lead the manhunt for Evil Geb.

Jim takes one look at Rex and bursts out laughing.

Rex: ...

To prove his point, Rex flings Drynyrn through the air. The top tower of the Disney castle is sheared off, and the sword returns to Rex's hand.

Jim: Okay, you've got my attention. What's in it for you?

Rex: Evil Geb stole my powerplaying abilities. I intend to get them back from him.

Jim: What? You don't want to bargain for your friends' souls?

Rex: Why would I?

CM: Hey!

Jim: Very well, you can lead the manhunt for Evil Geb.

Mimiru: Wait! Aren't there other villains we have to track down, too?

Geb: Sod them, Evil Geb's stealing my shtick!

Mia: But aren't there other mysteries to solve? Like what the significance of Ye Olde Historie Fantastique is, or why GUNTHER had subverted our mech base?

Liberius: We'll figure it out later.

Al Ciao: More likely it'll completely be forgotten...

Gebohq: What will be forgotten now?

Al Ciao: My point exactly.

Liberius the Writer B.U.M.P.s into Gebohq.

LibtW: Gah! What'd you stop for? Let's move already!

Gebohq: Where are we going again?

LibtW: Oh hell!

Losien: To Canada!

Thand, having escaped the destruction as planned, arrives at another base of operations, deep within a mountain.

Thand: It seems I was able to test out the device after all. Rather successful test, I might add.

Servant: Yes, Master. Very successful. Even Angie was unable to see through the veil.

Thand: Any indications of the veil breaking yet?

Servant: It began to waver the moment she left. We are monitoring her, she should snap out of it soon.

Thand: Good. Let us see how she reacts once she realizes what happened. Oh, and find out who she is, will you? It intrigues me that she was able to find me without having any knowledge of her.

Servant: Yes, Master.

Meanwhile, as Angie arrives at the jet, ready to depart, she stops in shock.

Angie: Cynthai... how did you get ahead of me?

Cynthai: What do you mean?

Angie: You were walking behind me just now.

Cynthai: Ma'am, I've been on the jet the whole time, as you ordered me to. You told me to monitor the situation from the outside.

Angie: I... what?

Cynthai: Ma'am, are you alright? Ms. Langley?

Angie suddenly did a 180, looking back at the crumbling fortress.

Angie: How did he do that?! Damnit!

Cynthai: You're beginning to worry me, Ms. Langley! Please tell me what's going on!

Angie: I'll fill you in on the way back. Let's just get far away from here.

Cynthai: Yes, ma'am.

Thand, watching the monitor, chuckles to himself.

Thand: This could work out very well for myself. It's not often I have to think on my feet!

Servant: What I don't understand, Master, is how this is helpful. If she saw through the veil, then it failed.

Thand: No, it performed exactly as I wished. The reality distortion lets me weave a story as I like, and they'll believe it. Eventually, however, we have to relinquish control, they will always find out. But the key is to mislead. Once they see through the veil, they doubt everything that happened. They begin to believe everything was a lie. The secret is to create a story that, while fantastical, is also not far from the truth. What I told Angie was not entirely false, but she will think it is.

Servant: What if she finds out?

Thand: Oh, I imagine eventually she will. She's far more intelligent than the rest to come this far, in this manner. But by then it will be too late. All I need is time, now.

Has Thand found a way to weave his own story? How does he plan to use this new device? STAY TOONED!

Master Thand stands watch over his reality-distorting device, which is incidentally the same one activated back on page 18. The braided and blended multi-plothole in the center of the device glows a silver light, and a thread of its unique power -- to combine all the possible and impossible into pure essence of story -- briefly touches the platinum wand in his hand. However, "wand" does not quite accurately describe the item, as it could easily pass as a sewing needle, or a writing utensil, or any number of other similar things...care to enlighten us, Thand?

Thand: It is all that which you've mentioned. If you wish to call it by a name of its own, it is known as a "ahnd."

"Ahnd?" Like "wand" without the "w" or like "and" with a snooty accent?

Thand: Yes. And "wand" serves well enough for narration too, as my reputation as a wizard is not entirely unfounded.

Servant: If I may ask a question, master?

Master Thand turns to his servant.

Thand: Of course. What do you wish to know?

Servant: Well, you have the ability to control the Never-ending Story itself, to wield the story, yes?

Thand: It would be more accurate to say that, over my very long lifetime, I have gained the knowledge - the experience and intimate understanding - of the Never-ending Story necessary to simulate and stimulate story-wielding. From a practical standpoint, though, the answer is yes.

Servant: I see... I think. What I wish to know is that if you can, for all intents and purposes, act as a story-wielder, then why do you need a device that changes reality? Isn't that the same as wielding the story?

Thand: Your assumption is understandable but incomplete, through no real fault of your own. After all, you are a minor, nameless character existing only as a surrogate for the inquisitive audience. Were you not serving me, what existence you have would almost certainly be squandered.

Servant: I am, of course, grateful that my purpose is to serve you. Please forgive me if an explanation is not worth your time.

Thand: Whether worthy or not, such is warranted at this point. Fortunately, there is little to expound. Like any tool, this device is an extension of my innate ability, as a shovel may be a tool to replace my hands for digging. It is a tool that, with the necessary skill, could be used by any story-wielder to draw power from and amplify their own control over the story -- useful especially since the act of story-wielding is a delicate art. For me, this device is a fail-safe, a back-up plan should I ever need one. Too many gifted people before have fallen in their hubris, often believing that they could never fail. In the case of Angela Langley, however, I wished simply to test its capabilities on someone who was worth its use.

Servant: So, in your wisdom... you remember that you are still only human: defined by shortcomings, failures, and lying?

Thand: Do not sell humanity's capability so short! Your point is valid, though, and yes, to think and act as if I was not human would spell my doom. Even if I were a god, without flaw or the desire to lie, it would only ultimately weaken me in a story world, where strength flows from having flaws, from having the character to struggle with those flaws, to reach and journey beyond oneself, to embrace existing in a world of what-if and not what-is. I aim simply to learn and know, owning what is true through my very character. Reason and belief, fate and free-will, good and evil: these all are stepping blocks to ascend towards truth.

Servant: Master, I worry now that, somehow, your enemies will discover this personal information you've revealed to me and use this knowledge against you.

Thand: Ah, but you do not realize that, were I concerned, I would be confident in my privacy, as I just finished a rather boring exposition. It's unlikely that anybody, yourself and the audience included, will care long enough to remember anything I've said just now.

Zzz...whu... oh, are you finished? Tune in next time, for a far more entertaining installment of the Never-ending Story Thread Squared!

(Non-Story Note: I mostly just felt a need to further delve into Thand's current mindset, so please pardon the exposition-y nature of this post.)

Meanwhile (NeS count: seriously, why do you want to know?), in the depths of Hell (Canada), Evil Geb continues to dodge the Canadian authorities with seemingly no effort.

Evil Geb: *yawn* And here I was hoping for a good chase before wrecking some havoc on Hell. I'm almost tempted to turn myself in out of sheer boredom! Y'all honestly think you can catch me when even the Ever-ending Plot couldn't do so?

Just then, Evil Geb steps in a decay-filled mass of pus and blood and ink scratching and spilling across the ground, momentarily sticking him in place.

Evil Geb: Uh-oh...

Panicking, Evil Geb desperately attempts to conjur any power he can to escape from the grip of the goo. The Canadian authorities catch up to him.

Canadian Authority #1: There he is! Grab him!

The Canadian authorities do exactly that, hand-cuffing him in the process.

Canadian Authority #2: You have the right to be denied your rights--what the... where'd he go?

Canadian Authority #1: Looks like our man just made himself a rather sizable plot-hole.

Canadian Authority #2: Not again! I'm not supposed to be even working today!

Canadian Authority #1: That's Hell for you, partner. Let's move before the plot-hole closes!

The Canadian authorities dive into the plot-hole after Evil Geb.

In the Massassi writer's offices, pandemonium is breaking loose. Geb the Writer and Cool Matty the Writer are at each other's throats, and Al Ciao the Writer is desperately holding them apart.

GebTW: You retconned my post!

Cool Matty TW: I had to, with that crap you wrote about Thand knowing Cynthai!

GebTW: You broke the Prime Directive of improv - always saying yes!

Cool Matty TW: Screw your fancy-shmancy media training! Some of us are simpletons!

GebTW: Boy, you said it!

Al Ciao TW: Please, y'all, quit! A conflict between you two - the father and editor of the NeS, and its webhost - could be disastrous!

Geb and CM round on Al Ciao.

GebTW: What do you know? And why haven't you written in three weeks?

Cool Matty TW: Yeah! And what about that stupid explanation by Thand a couple posts ago? We're sick of Fun Highemp Expositions Int'l!

GebTW suddenly looks sheepish.

GebTW: Er... that was me.

Cool Matty TW: What? You've gone to the dark side!

GebTW: Um...

Cool Matty TW: You were the Chosen One! You were supposed to bring balance to the NeS, not leave it in darkness!

Al Ciao the Writer and Geb the Writer look at each other.

Geb TW: Right...

CMtW: I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND, Gebohq!

CMtW steps up on top of one of the desks.

AltW: Geb, maybe you should just, play along.

GebtW: Uhm, okay. CM! You... underestimate my power?

CMtW: Don't do it, Geb!

GebtW: Oh forget it, this is too stupid.

GebtW kicks the desk, knocking CMtW backwards onto the floor.

CMtW: Ow! That hurt, you know!

GebtW: Sue me!

AltW: Hey, you two, settle! Listen, CMtW, you broke the unwritten rule, so you know what happens. When you retcon, it means the retconned writer gets to retcon one of your posts, at a time of their choosing.

CMtW: Say what? Where does it say that?!

AltW: It doesn't, it's unwritten!

CMtW: Then how can it be a rule?!

AltW: Because I said so!

CMtW: Who died and made you king?!?!

Suddenly, AltW jumps over the desk and wrestles with CMtW. GebtW follows, trying to separate the two. During their fight, someone new enters the office.

Unknown Writer: Uhm, hello? I'm here for the writing position?

Too busy with their in-fighting, they do not acknowledge her. She notices their fighting, and steps back towards the door way.

Unknown Writer: Erm, actually, on second thought, I think I'll stick with journalism. It's a lot safer.

The unknown writer scurries back out of the door, and flees the building.

So, loyal followers of this story, you may be asking yourself "what are our heroes doing at the moment? What's taking them so long?" Since I am currently bound by law now not to say anything the Writers may constitute as slander, I cannot suggest that you focus your righteous rage upon their incompetence and laziness...

Liberius the Writer: *ahem*

...because they are neither, of course. Instead, since the script for the next scene has not been provided, we must assume that the heroes are still traveling from Florida to the 9th Circle of Hell (Canada). This journey, obviously, takes at least a couple days, though it may seem like a couple decades with all the stops they've made, the latest of which landed them at a Convenience Store of the Damned.

Gebohq: I can't speak for everyone, but I'm not exactly in a hurry to go to Hell.

Rachel: Dear, you don't need to remind everyone that you're a sniveling coward. Nobody's forgotten that. I know I sure haven't.

Gebohq: Don't you have plots or puppies to kick, protector?

Rachel kicks Gebohq in the shin.

Gebohq: OW!

Mia watches the two bicker from a distance.

Mia: Look at those two, Al. It's a shame they don't have the happy, perfect romance like the two of us, don't you think?

Al Ciao: Yeah...

Mia: Something wrong?

Al Ciao: Uh--of course not.

Holding Mia by his side, Al Ciao turns his attention to Citizen Rex, who is currently examining the copy of Ye Olde Historie Fantastique with Cris B. and Liberius the Writer.

Cris B.: So how's the book going to help us out? Does it have a recipe for an irresistible chikin dish?

Citizen Rex: Don't be absurd! The book must contain some secret code for ultimate power, kept secret and handed down throughout the ages.

Liberius the Writer: I wouldn't hold your breath. It's just a history book of the NeS. A dry one at that, and full of contradictions.

Cris B.: How do you know? You haven't even opened it!

Liberius the Writer eyes the book in his hands, and folds it under his arm.

Liberius the Writer: I'm a Writer. I know these things. I'm afraid it won't be as useful as you all had hoped.

Citizen Rex: You Writers seem to have a knack for poor writing, if that book we've quested for is truly worthless.

Liberius the Writer: Slander! It's for character development. Obvious to anyone with half a brain.

Liberius the Writer shuffles over to Cool Matty, Mimiru and Geronimo, who just stepped out of the store with frozen treats.

Geronimo: Thanks for the ice cream!

Mimiru: Of course, lil' guy.

Cool Matty watches with worry as Mimiru holds Geronimo as a mother would their child.

Cool Matty: Don't get any ideas now, Mimiru.

Mimiru: Afraid I might trick you into it too easily?

Cool Matty: Yes. And now that we're married, it's not like I'd be getting some any other way.

Mimiru: What's that supposed to mean?

Cool Matty: Uh...transition please, Narrator?

Apart from the rest of the group, Losien stands with an open map in her hands. She glances up to see the others and frowns.

Losien: HEY! THIS ISN'T A #*%!-ING VACATION TRIP! GET MOVING! THAT WAY!

Everyone stares at her with wide eyes, immediately moving as demanded.

Losien: Oh geez, the pressure must really be getting to me...

As our heroes bicker, the Law of Dramatic Convenience(TM) comes into play. The plothole Evil Geb--

Evil Geb: That's Evil G!

Er, yes, the plothole that Evil G opened up appears right outside the Convenience Store of the Damned. Evil G dives through, turning it into a tuck and roll before somersaulting to his feet.

Evil Geb: Ta-da!

Unfortunately, no one is watching.

Evil Geb: Aw.

At that moment, the Canadian authorities jump out of the portal in hot pursuit. Literally hot pursuit. Flames lick their bodies. From Hell, remember?

Canadian Authority #1: Stop right there!

Evil Geb: Or what?

Canadian Authority #2: Or we'll make your life a living hell!

Evil Geb: But if I do stop, you'll just take me to Canada, where my life will be a living hell.

Canadian Authority #2: Er...

Canadian Authority #1: He's got a point pardner. Our lives are a living hell there, too.

A thought strikes Evil G--

Evil Geb: Ha! That's what YOU think. I saw the thought coming and slashed it in two with my Neversword before it could hit me.

Yeah, you're stupid enough without having a bump on the head.

Canadian Authority #1: Grab him! While he's distracted!

Canadian Authority #2: I've got him!

Canadian Authority #1: No, I've got him!

They suddenly realize that they've gotten ahold of each other.

Canadian Authority #2: Not again!

Evil G has sauntered inside the Convenience Store of the Damned, where our heroes continue to bicker. He walks up to the counter, where he sees VoodooSnowflakes behind the counter.

Evil Geb: Who?

VoodooSnowflakes, or Voodoo, or VS, for short. She was a character several pages ago.

Evil Geb: Bah, I've seen a thousand years' worth of characters; can't be expected to remember them all. So what are you doing back here, babe?

VS: Uh, well, I was sorta forgotten again, so I asked for my old job back. Beats waiting around for a man who never comes.

Evil Geb: Oh, him? Last I heard he was out in the boonies with a cowgirl.

VS's face turns red with splotches of purple.

VS: With another woman?!

Evil Geb: The term "cowgirl" does imply femininity, yes.

VS: I'LL KILL HIM!

She storms out of the CSotD, bumping into the two Canadian authorities as they come in.

Evil Geb: Uh oh.

He ducks behind the nearest patron.

Evil Geb: Shhh, pal. Don't say anything; those two are lookin' for me.

Citizen Rex: You don't say.

Evil Geb: Shwa?

Evil G suddenly realizes that the person he was hiding behind is none other than Citizen Rex. He didn't recognize him at first because of the Donald Duck shirt and polka dot shorts. A grins starts spreading itself across Evil G's face.

Citizen Rex: Laugh and die.

Evil G suddenly realizes that Rex's glowing white sword is at his throat.

Citizen Rex: Return that which you stole.

It takes Evil G a moment to remember that he tricked Rex, a few pages back, into thinking that he'd taken his powerplaying abilities away. He dismisses the thought, and brings up his dark Neversword in a swipe to knock Drynyn aside.

Evil Geb: Make me.

As Citizen Rex and Evil G salute with their swords and square off, the Canadian authorities see the commotion.

CA #1: Stop! That man is ours!

Rex: Sod off. You can have him when I'm through.

Geb: Losien! Keep those Hell cops away!

Losien: How?

Geb: Use the NeSword - as main character, it's your right now.

Losien: I don't know how to use a sword!

Geb: Here!

Geb tosses the sword, and Losien's hand instinctively comes up, catching and twirling it in a stylish flourish.

Losien: Wow. It... fits like a glove.

Geb: Now take care of those Canadian-- Oh. Nevermind.

Cool Matty has already deluged the CA's in flame.

However, as the flames die down, the CA's are still there. After all, they're from Hell, they're kinda used to fire by now.

Losien: YAHHHH!

She leaps amongst the pair of CA's, who radio for help, and more Canadian authorities start arriving by Halo-style dropships - studded with spikes and skulls, of course - forming a perimeter around the store and sending a squad inside to aid the pair Losien is assaulting.

Geb: Help her!

He fires a warning shot with his plothole pistol - by chance turning a dropship into a dozen bags of puppy chow - and our other erstwhile heroes leap into action.

Mia summons her mech, Raij, and together they start tearing through the squads outside the Convenience Store of the Damned as dropships' laser blasts and bullets score the mech's metal skin.

Al Ciao hides behind the store shelves, flinging cans of food at the Canadian authorities, and whenever one looks his way, he inspects whatever can he is holding at the moment intently, pretending to be a customer.

Cool Matty stares disconsolately at the battle, upset that these Canadian authorities are impervious to flame. Then he sees the dropships outside, and a smirk spreads across his face as flames dance along his fingers.

Geronimo distracts various CA's by delivering them pizza, taking them out of the battle for as long as it takes them to eat.

Mimiru has her own sword and is a whirlwind of metal death, limbs flying comically.

Rachel is flinging whoopee cushions at the hellish cops and shocking them with electrified buzzers in her hands.

Liberius the Writer is cheering the heroes on, thinking that this is MUCH more exciting than the Writer's Realm, but with a whole lot less drama.

Captain Von Trufflesnout is biting heels everywhere - sometimes even a hero's heel by accident.

Cris, however, has set up a chikin stand and is selling to both sides. He is quite peeved that the food of his competition, Geronimo, is outselling him.

----------

The Dark Alliance of villains is meeting once again, sans Evil Geb. The My Little Pony poster has been replaced with a Dora the Explorer poster.

JM: I believe we can now agree that Evil Geb is a liability.

Jim: Indeed. He has stolen the heroes' souls from me!

High Imp: He is fighting Highemp now, though, keeping him pinned down. I will go there now and kill them both.

Buck Takes: That's fine and dandy, Mr. Imp. I have a proposition for the rest of you.

GUNTHER: I'm-listening.

Buck Takes: I have been approached by a company who would like to make a video game about us!

Jim: About our Dark Alliance?

JM: No doubt due to the fact that I am the glorious leader.

Buck Takes: Yes, it's going to be set in a place called Baldur's Gate, and they'll pay a buttload of cash.

JM: Wait a second. That's a Playstation video game that's been out for ten years.

Buck Takes: Right, and it's trademarked. The company I've been approached by wants to make a shovelware version to ship out to the colonists on the moon.

JM: Ahhh...

GUNTHER: Sounds-interesting. I-am-in.

Jim: Breaking copyright laws. Sounds perfectly evil. I'm in too.

JM: Me three! It'll be a hagiography to the wonder that is me!

High Imp: I will stay and seek out Highemperor. Don't worry, I'll knock off Cool Matty and Evil Geb while I'm there, GUNTHER and Jim.

GUNTHER: Eh-don't-bother.

Buck Takes: What? I thought you wanted revenge on Cool Matty for killing your father!

GUNTHER: That-was-just-a-story. I-couldn't-be-licensed-as-a-villain-without-either-thirsting-for-revenge-or-wanting-world-conquest. I-really-couldn't-give-a-rip-about-dear-ole-Dad.

Buck Takes: Ah...

JM: Wait! Before we go, let's ALL go down to the Convenience Store of the Damned, and finish off these heroes once and for all!

All Villains: Hear, hear!

As the Dark Alliance of villains converge on our heroes at the Convenience Store of the Damned, a familiar pair of women step out of their rental car that just happened to break down at the same convenience store...

Angie: Oh joy, how convenient.

Cynthai: Ma'am?

Cynthai points to the fighting breaking out of the store.

Cynthai: Perhaps we should return to the car.

Angie: Perhaps?

Cynthai: Point taken.

The two rush back into their car, locking the doors and doing their best to remain hidden. Angie, though, can not help but peek towards the chaos ensuing...

((Non-Story Note: I'm hoping to post more sooner than later, but at the very least, I felt these characters should at least encounter some of the other characters and the craziness Angie is yet not entirely aware of at this time.))

Cowering within their broken-down 2000 Honda Civic sedan, Angie Langely peers through the passenger window towards the ensuing chaos at the Convenience Store of the Damned across the street while her partner, Cynthai, stares at her own feet.

Angie: Do you see what's happening?

Cynthai: No, ma'am, and I'm hoping that they don't see us.

Angie: Fair enough.

Cynthai: And ma'am? About what happened before--

Angie: I don't like living in the past. It gets old quick. You're here now, and I could use another set of eyes.

Cynthai: Oh, ok...

Angie: Does that one look familiar to you?

The two had difficulty making much out in the craziness at the Convenience Store of the Damned, but they did notice a blur of jet black, forest green, dark pewter and autumn fire zig-zagging around a well-built heroic-looking man wearing Disney paraphernalia, with a fading floating asterisk over his shoulder, and wielding a silver blade of energy: Evil Geb and Citizen Rex.

Evil Geb: Haha! This is just like the good ol' days, Highemp!

Citizen Rex: For the sake of showing my Writer the error of his ways, I am no longer Highemperor but Citizen Re--

Evil Geb: Blahblahblah, come now, old friend! You're Highemp, ruler of it all! Don't tell me that Al Chump was your fun side!

Citizen Rex: If it wasn't for this curse of yours, I would put you in your rightful place!

Evil Geb: Curse? What curse? OH! You mean that lil' asterisk over your shoulder? Oh cheese--I can't believe it! The thing's practically faded into forgotten territory, man! I mean, how stupid do you have to be to have fallen for such a stupid...

Citizen Rex starts to growl and glow a silver light as the earth shudders.

Evil Geb: ...mind...trick...

The asterisk disappears in a pop, and Citizen Rex bellows, blinding everyone in a flash of light. Everyone stops (some have even fallen over) and stares towards Citizen Rex, who has now reverted to his Highemperor visage, complete with black tunic and red sash.

Highemperor: YOU WILL DIE! YOU ALL WILL SUFFER MY WRATH!

Suddenly, a demon not too unlike Highemperor himself appears between the two, hovering some feet above the ground, its sword and shield facing towards the former Citizen Rex: High Imp.

High Imp: Not before you will at my hands, old friend.

Highemperor: We shall see.

Highemperor shoots off from the ground as High Imp keeps the same distance away from him, the two skyrocketing into the clouds. Several (mostly) intimidating figures step forward, the one farthest in front showing off his bodybuilder form and donning in a loose-fitting black attire with pink trim with a white wife-beater underneath: the wizard JM.

JM: Good. It would have been distracting if High Imp didn't keep their spat far away.

JM clears his throat.

JM: OK, everybody, let's get the real party started! Hey Jim?

Jim Seven, known more commonly as Lucifer, ruler and original gangsta of Hell, rolls his eyes towards JM.

JM: I think we can call off the Canadian authorities now, eh? They'll just cramp my awesomeness.

Rolling his eyes away, Jim snaps his fingers, and the Canadian authorities begin packing up and moving out from the dropships they came from.

Jim Seven: I have business with Geb.

Among the heroes, Gebohq, wearing Disney merchandise as well, looks around confused.

Gebohq: Are you talking about me?

Evil Geb: No, he's talking about me!

Gebohq: Oh, good.

Evil Geb: OF COURSE HE'S TALKING ABOUT YOU, YOU DOLT! God, do I really sound as stupid as you? By the way, that beard and crown looks stupid! And I can't believe you actually cut your hair--

Jim Seven: I was referring to you. You have some paperwork of soul ownership that belong to me.

Evil Geb: Uh...time to geb it!

As Evil Geb attempts to high-tail it out, however, he runs face-first into a frying pan, falling flat on his back. He is then pulled up off the ground by the collar of his shirt by the hand of a woman wearing, you guessed it, clothes sold at the Disney store: the hand of Rachel Pi, April Fool's Incarnate.

Rachel: Not so fast. Your ass is mine.

Evil Geb: Ooo, kinky! I feel so wanted!

Jim Seven is about to move in on the two when JM holds him back.

JM: Let them play out their quarrel. Go deal with the other Geb.

Jim Seven: Last I checked, he is still a soul I haven't claimed...

Gebohq: What? No, you got it wrong! I totally died already, remember?

Jim Seven: You've caused a lot of other complications. I think I'd clear up a lot of them if I just took you out of the picture.

JM: Now that we have that settled, let's see... hey GUNTHER!

GUNTHER, a man cloaked in an oversized old-fashioned business coat and tophat limps closer to JM.

GUNTHER: What-would-you-like-from-me?

JM: How about if you cut out that incessant robot talk, for one?

GUNTHER: But of course! I was getting tired of the ROBOTIC DEMON VOICE myself.

JM: Right... look, why don't you just take care of Cool Matty for me, OK?

The young mage, Cool Matty, stands with his staff poised.

GUNTHER: Brilliant! I didn't want my TALE OF VAPID VENGEANCE to be wasted!

Cool Matty: You're the one who'll be wasted!

A rather Bill Gates-looking Texan businessman, Buck Takes, shuffles behind JM's side.

Buck Takes: Your Awesomeness, if I may, why fight them? With the Book of Gold in my hands, I can offer them more gold than they can imagine, if they join our cause. What better way for them to revel in your greatness than at your side?

Mimiru: Like hell you can bribe us!

Buck Takes: Everyone has a price, girl!

Mimiru: Not one I can't afford! I own more money in my piggy bank than you could ever conjure with that book!

Buck Takes: We'll see about that!

JM: Uh...not what I had in mind, but sure. Let's see who else in my Dark Alliance could use a playmate... Censor?

I can only do so much.

I hate it when other disembodied voices cramp my style.

JM: Quiet, Narrator. Don't worry, Censor. Just take of the mutt, will you?

You mean Captain Von Trufflesnout the Third, the talking yorkshire terrier?

JM: Yes, Narrator. Thank you for your trite exposition.

Capt. Von Trufflesnout: I'd like to see you try to censor me!

I'd like to see you try to bite at the heel of a disembodied voice.

JM: How cute. Let's see...

Her patience apparently fed up, Gebohq's beautiful sister and current main character of the NeS, Losien, steps forward, brandishing the NeSword towards JM.

Losien: This has gone on far enough! As the leader of the--

JM: Stop already! Don't get your panties in a bunch -- you're jumping ahead of the script here! You and I will have our awesomely-epic showdown where I pimp-slap you back in the kitchen making me a sandwich, don't you worry.

Losien starts to look down in submission, but as JM's attention turns elsewhere, she turns her gaze to assess the situation around her...

JM: Now where was I? Oh yes, our two surprise members. Dear Mia!

A nearby black mech opens its cockpit to reveal Mia, a rather sexy woman and seemingly-loyal girlfriend to Al Ciao, a rather unbecoming man with spiky neon orange hair.

JM: Crush your boyfriend's heart for me, please. And the rest of him too.

Al Ciao: What? But I thought you...you...

Mia: Of course I love you, dear. That is, I love Highemperor. But he would never let me have his child, he would never stay true to me.

Al Ciao: I'd stay true to you!

Mia: How I wish that were true, but one day, you will turn back into Highemperor, and he will take my baby away from me.

Al Ciao: Look, we can work this out--

Mia: Sorry, dear.

Mia brings the mech's foot above Al Ciao.

Al Ciao: AIEEEE!

Al Ciao flees in terror, with Mia in her mech following.

JM: And with that soap opera out of the way, that just leaves the Writer.

Liberius Vir the Writer walks over towards JM, to the shock of some and sighs of others.

Losien: But why?

Liberius the Writer: Because I want to leave my mark on this story, and what better way than to side with the much-more-interesting villains? Besides, they get all the real slutty hotties.

JM: And in return, since I'm too lazy to do it myself, I decided to leave the job of bad storytelling and such to an actual Writer.

Losien: But he can't write so long as he's in the story!

Liberius the Writer: I don't need to. I'll just provide JM every detail of your character history and the like for him to exploit. Besides, so long as I'm in the story, the other Writers wouldn't dare interfere with what I do as a "character" as they'd end up ruining their own story.

Just then, though, a swath of white duct tape slaps across Liberius the Writer's mouth, reading "I'll shut you up! ~Lib" across it. Liberius the Writer peels the tape off his mouth with apparent pain.

Liberius the Writer: I see my character decided to finally take a stab at writing himself. It won't work, you know! The other writers will find you soon enough, locked away as a madman among the insane. But I'll be here long enough just to leave my mark!

JM: BORRRR-ING! Let's move onto the awesome part now, OK?

With a twirl of his hand, JM materializes a cleaving tool in his hand, pointing it towards Losien.

JM: Time to edit the NeS a terribly awesome ending!

In the World of Writercraft - yes, I'm resurrecting that old and overused phrase from (p)AGES back - Al Ciao the Writer stalks up the aisle between cubicles, wielding a chainsaw. He is clad in rough black leather, with a Bowie knife on his hip and a rifle slung across his back. With a mighty boot, he kicks open the door to Geb the Writer's office, sending glass and splintered wood flying. Geb the Writer looks up in surprise, eyes boggling.

Geb the Writer: Al? What--

Al Ciao the Writer: This time you've gone too far! Prepare to die!

Geb the Writer screams as the chainsaw decapitates, sending a fountain of blood splattering across the office--

Geb the Writer: Al?

Al Ciao the Writer suddenly jerks out of his daydream, looking at the Editor standing at the entrance to his cubicle.

Al Ciao the Writer: Shwa?

Geb the Writer: You spaced out for a second there. Something wrong?

Al Ciao the Writer: Er, no, nothing.

Geb the Writer: Whew! That's good. I came over cuz I was afraid you might be mad that I turned your vicarious girlfriend against your character.

He saunters out. Al throws a malevolent glare at his back, pulling a switchblade out of his desk drawer and fingering it idly...

----------

Buck Takes and Mimiru are squaring off.

Mimiru: I have tons of money!

Buck Takes: Oh, yeah?! How much!

Mimiru: More than YOU can imagine.

Buck Takes: I dunno, I can IMAGINE quite a bit.

Mimiru whips out a Platinum credit card.

Mimiru: This has unlimited credit with the Swiss banks in Zurich!

Buck Takes: This is an unlimited source of gold!

He starts turning everything around him into gold, including a conveniently nearby mountain, home of the Ski Resort of the Damned.

Mimiru: You fool! You've just defeated yourself!

Buck Takes: Eh? What do you mean, girl?

Mimiru: You've just created far more supply than demand for gold - the price is divebombing as we speak!

Buck Takes: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Mimiru: Now, a Book of Lead that destroys all gold in the world except one piece you own - THAT would have been formidable...

In the parking lot, Mia's mech is leaving giant potholes in the pavement with each step as she tries to crush her ex-boyfriend--

Mia: And father of my unborn child!

Uh, sure. Anyways, Al has successfully dodged thus--

Al: Are you really pregnant? That's both... scary and fantastic.

Mia: Yeah, hun, it's cool, isn't it? DIE!

Another mech-stomp narrowly misses Al.

Mia: What the heck is wrong here? Al doesn't have gebbing abilities like, well, Geb.

Suddenly Al's ability to dodge vanishes into a plothole.

Al: Eeep!

A gigantic mech-foot squashes him into the concrete. When Mia raises it, a cartoonishly flattened Al is revealed.

Al: Owie...

Mia grins malevolently, and raises the mech's chainguns.

Mia: Goodbye, lover.

Al: But... why?

Mia: Weren't you listening? I just told you last post!

Al: Yeah, but this is your cue for a flashback.

Mia: Oh right.

----------

A day or few ago, Mia is in the office of the hidden mech base, speaking through a high-tech-looking radio to a man in a voluminous coat and top hat on a giant computer screen.

Mia: It is done. Arnie has been successfully framed, and now I'm in charge.

GUNTHER: Very-good-Mia. Now-that-you-are-in-charge-you-have-the-power-to-make-your-desires-come-true.

Mia: Oh yes, but I knew it was gonna happen anyway.

GUNTHER: Eh? How-did-you-know?

Mia takes the ancient tome Ye Olde Historie Fantastique by Hermes Trismesgistus out of her desk drawer and shows it to GUNTHER.

Mia: Apparently the god-magician Hermes Trismegistus time-traveled to the year One Million A.D. where he met the future version of some bloke called Master Thand, who told him everything that had happened in the past one million years. Hermes transcribed it into this book when he came back to this time.

GUNTHER: Hmm-that-could-be-a-very-potent-item.

Mia: Eh, a lot of it consists of the doings of this Thand person, but what I'm interested in is the part where it says a beautiful redhead bears Highemperor's child after killing him!

----------

Hiding in the car across the parking lot - still uncomfortably close to where Mia's mech has been rampaging - Cynthia's eyes widen.

Cynthia: Did you see that?

Angie: I know, that poor man has been crushed!

Cynthia: No, that book! It could tell us everything Thand will do in the next million years!

Angie: Book? What book?

Cynthia: In that flashback!

Angie: What on earth are you talking about?

Cynthia sighs. Meanwhile, Mia unleashes a hail of bullets against the defenseless Al, whose body jerks like a limp ragdoll underneath the onslaught as he perishes horribly.

Mia: Well. That's done. Now I can go luxuriate until I give birth to the wonderful child of me and Highemp!

Suddenly, a giant mech - WITH WINGS! - lands heavily on the parking lot. Through the window of the cockpit can be seen the former Dockmaster, Arnie.

Mia: Arnie?! What are you doing here?

Arnie: Command realized that I had been framed, and sent me after you!

The two mechs square off...

----------

Jim is chasing Geb around with a flaming pitchfork. Geb, as is his wont, is gebbing furiously.

Jim: Hold, still, imbecile! ...oh God, I just rhymed like a stupid Dr. Seuss impersonation.

Geb: Or Etrigan.

Jim: What? That paltry fictional demon ain't got nothin' on me!

Geb: He can certainly rhyme better.

Jim: ARGH! DIE!

He raises his pitchfork, only to see Geb's plothole pistol in his face.

Geb: Dodge this.

Jim's eyes barely have time to boggle, before the velvet blackness of a plothole envelops him...

----------

Al Ciao has appeared in Hell aka Canada upon his death. His body and clothes are conspicuously riddled with bullet holes, but since he's already dead, it doesn't affect him. A demon overseer - otherwise known as a Mountie - gestures with a cattle prod.

Demon Mountie: NeS hero, we have standing orders to throw you and your kind into the Master's dungeon.

Suddenly, Canada is enveloped in darkness for an infinite instant, and when it clears, something has changed. It is now Jim Seven standing before the Demon Mountie.

Demon Mountie: Rogue Canadian mobster, we have standing orders to throw you and your kind into the Master's dungeon.

Jim Seven: What?! I AM your master!

Demon Mountie: Nope, sorry. New master now.

Jim: Stupid plothole... who the frack is ruler of Hell now?

In the Great Granite Fortress on the eastern coast of Canada, which serves as capital of the Ninth Circle, a very bewildered Al Ciao has appeared in a throne room with every demon bowing to him.

Gebohq blinks as Jim Seven vanished before his eyes from the shot of the plot-hole pistol still smoking in his hands.

Gebohq: Huh. Didn't think that'd actually work. Hey everybody! I just...

He looks around to see everyone else preoccupied with their own fights.

Gebohq: Rats. Nobody's going to believe me either. Well, maybe my sister--Losien! I need to help her!

Spinning around to search for his sister, Losien, Gebohq quickly spots her holding her own against the evil wizard, JM.

Gebohq: Holy moly! Losien is doing more than holding her ground! She's giving him the beating of his life! Ooooo, that's gotta hurt! I didn't know an arm could bend that way! No way! She's totally using her story-wielding to summon an army of elite ninjas honey badgers on JM, and those things are not to be messed with! She's an unstoppable force! This is definitely far too much for anyone to see--

JM steps in front of Gebohq, ignoring the rabid ninja honey badger chewing on his head.

JM: Your involvement is annoying. Story-wielding from the side, really?

He raises his arm twisted upon itself in a Gordian knot, and with a snap, shakes it back to normal.

Gebohq: Would you rather it be from behind?

THWACK!

JM's backhand launches Gebohq into the air and towards the car currently occupied by Angie and Cynthai.

THUD!

Gebohq's body smashes the trunk of their car. There's a moment where Gebohq starts to sit up before falling back into unconsciousness. Angie and Cynthai continue to cower, peering over their seats towards the practically comatose Gebohq...

Liberius Vir wakes up and manages to raise his head slightly from the sticky counter top of oak.

Lib: Ugh...

His eyes are barely open as the Mother of All Hangovers pounds his brain. He doesn't remember much. Only that it involved a lot of Scotch... A lot being an under statement.

Barkeep: Holidays are coming, man. We have to close up for the day. It's time to go.

Lib: Why are you talking so loud?

Barkeep: Why can't you handle your liquor? Listen, guy... It's been three weeks. I've been able to let you slide but the owner is starting to chew me out. I gotta get you outta here. At least for a day. Besides, you kind of smell like wet garbage that's been sitting out in the sun. You have to pay your tab & hit the road, sport. I'm serious.

Lib: Uh... What my tab?

Barkeep: $256.75. You got a card or paying cash?

Lib quietly curses to himself that real scotch is far more tasty and more potent than the NeS stuff that he was used to. Also, and more importantly, that it came with an actual cost.

Lib: Um, let's just assume that I am a little shy this morning...

Barkeep: Evening.

Lib: Alright. This evening. Can I settle it next paycheck or not?

Barkeep: No can do, boss. You drunkenly told me last week you're a freelance writer. I know how you guys are. Either pay up or roll up those fancy sleeves of yours.

Liberius Vir checks his Writing companion's satchel for a wallet. It contains a whopping $7.45. He takes it out & begins rolling up his cuffs. Then, through the haze of his hangover he remembers he's supposed to be doing something... something to do with this thing in his pocket. He takes out a rather nice phone. There is an alert on the display.

"14 missed Posts!"

Lib: Well... At least I'll have something to read for the time being.

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

Several days later, Liberius Vir stumbles into the Writing Office, still slightly hungover. All eyes turn towards the door at the sudden activity. The closet door even opens a fraction as JM the Writer pokes his head out to see what's going on.

Lib: Has that door always creaked so loudly?

Geb the Writer: Who the heck are you?

Al the Writer: Well I'll be... Lib!

CM the Writer: Who?

Lib: Gahhh!... Stop talking so loud! I'm here. Spare me the 'me being absent for a while' jabs and just show me to a desk I can post at in quiet peace.

GebtW: Quiet peace? Around here? HA!

CMtW: Jabs? What jabs? Seriously, who is this guy?

Lib: Enough with the loud noises. I need to type...

GebtW: Write! Please write! This climax is killing me!

AltW: If only...

AltW sympathetically shows Lib to the desk of his former counterpart; taking his bag & jacket and setting them close by so as to be as courteous as possible.

Lib: Why is everyone shouting? In the name of all that is sacred, I don't ever remember it being so loud in here. Ever.

AltW: Shut up an post something.

GebtW: Complication! Conflict! Drama! Yes! We need a twist!

CmtW: Really, guys. Who is he? I need to know who's on the payroll.

GebtW: What payroll?

Lib: Shhh... indoor voices people.

(NSN... the previous post being not too far from the truth on my end)

Liberius Vir the Writer stands and watches as he sees his 'former' allies being knocked off one by one. He is enticed by how quickly the Dark Alliance dispatches the NeS heroes. And when JM beckons to him, he can't help but remember the saying 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.' The remaining heroes stare at him expectantly.

However, he has his own plans...





THWACK!

JM's backhand launches Gebohq into the air and towards the car currently occupied by Angie and Cynthai.

THUD!

Gebohq's body smashes the trunk of their car. There's a moment where Gebohq starts to sit up before falling back into unconsciousness. Angie and Cynthai continue to cower, peering over their seats towards the practically comatose Gebohq...

JM sees the opportunity and takes it.

JM: Sword.

And with all the powerplaying powers of HighEmp that he had taken, he summons a onyx sword within his hand. JM raises the sword & drives it deep into the limp body of Geb. Both Cynthai and Angie gasp and cringe at the spectacle on the back of the Civic sedan. LibtW flinches and turns away. After seeing the last of life fade away from Geb's eyes, JM turns to find a new target. Or rather his previous one... Losien. Sword in hand, he dashes forward and the two slash blades parrying and thrusting in a thrilling struggle.

JM: Have at thee!

Losien: ARRR!!!

JM: What are you a pirate?

Losien: No. It's just one of the many climaxes of the current story arc. I might as well have some fun with it.

After a couple of deflections JM continues.

JM: Oh? And just how would you know that this isn't THE climax of this story arc, eh?

Losien: I'm the main character! I'm not ready to just up and die because some Writer decided that the story needed a little bit of umph...

JM deflects a blow to his right and bring a hard strike down in front of him. Losien sees his move and blocks it by raising her sword infront of her face.

Losien: Besides, I still have plenty of Heroes on my side!

JM: We'll just see about that!

With his off hand JM snaps his fingers and it starts raining cats & dogs... literally. Captain Von Trufflesnout the Third lets go of CM's ankle and locates the nearest female dog & proceeds to do just what dogs do...

JM: Ha! How many allies do you have left?

Losien (a little worried): We'll come up with something.

JM: Just how many will fall before you realize you are beaten?

Losien: Never!

(Catch me Tomorrow for the next, plot filled, post of the NeS)

(nsp: Ok, so "tomorrow turned into a 60 work week. Sorry about that... moving on...)


JM: That doesn't even make any sense!

Losien: Yes it does!

JM: Sorry, babe, but I asked you a question pertaining to numbers yet you replied with 'Never'. It doesn't make sense. Perhaps you were going for funny. It might have been more amusing if you had picked an actual number. Like three. In which case I only need one more.

Losien parries another blow from JM and answers with a surprisingly powerful punch. JM falls back onto the drivers side window of Angie's car. Angie and Cynthai grab each other out of fear...

Censor: minds out of the gutter people!

...at the sudden action so close to them.

Losien: Why do you even care what I say, JM? This is a fight, not an English lesson!

JM: You seem to be mistaken. I encourage such behavior from you. I want to watch the NeS fail from bad writing! Grammatical errors only serve my purpose! And from you, the Main Character? It makes it all that much more sweet & potent.

Losien: Nooo!

JM: Oh, Yeah, my dear. I appreciate your help. Now be a doll and kindly die by my blade!!!

JM launches off of the car with a renewed vigor and catches Losien by surprise. She sees it but not soon enough. Although she deflects his swing it still catches her arm, leaving a nasty gash towards her shoulder.

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

Geb appears in a different part of Canada (Hell) in a rather whimpish set of flames. An imp waddles up to him. Geb looks down into a set of eyes reaching up to about his knees.

Imp: You a NeS hero?

Geb stands triumphantly.

Geb: I am Gebohq... Former Main Character, brother to the current Main Character, Story wielder extraordinaire, and all around not a cowardly man... at all... despite what you may have heard!

Imp: Oh. You're Geb.

The Imp does a once over on Geb and chuckles to itself.

Imp: Yep. Seems about right. Follow me. The Master wishes to see you... personally.

Geb: *gulp* Really? In person? Is that a must? Couldn't we just pen something in for a later date? Better yet, let's not do exactly what you were told to do and say we did? That sound good?

Imp: Listen, bub. You happen to notice where you're at? We don't do good around here.

Geb: Ok. Does it sound Bad enough for you to do it?

Imp: Orders are orders.

Geb: Oh, hell...

Imp: Exactly.

Geb reluctantly follows the imp to the Master's quarters. The imp leaves, slamming the door behind him. Geb turns around to see Al Ciao sitting in a plush leather desk chair with an ear wide grin fixed on his face... and a few bits of him missing from all the bullet holes still riddling his frame.

Al: Geb!

Geb: Al?

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

Mia and Arnie square off as a storm rages overhead in the parking lot. HighImp & HighEmp battle hard. From a spectator's view on the ground it looks fierce. However, it cannot be seen just Who is winning the fight.

Arnie: You will pay for what you did to me!

Mia: You did it to yourself!

Arnie: And how did I do that... traitor?

Mia: You took me to White Castles on our first date!

Arnie: You said you wanted some fried onion petals.

Mia: I was thinking more along the lines of a bloomin' onion from Outback Steakhouse! What kind of idiot could even compare the two?

Arnie: You seemed to have been enjoying it all the same.

Mia: That was before you tried to get me to... do things... after that.

Arnie: Don't even try to lie to me and tell me you've never kissed or more on the first date!

Mia: Hey! A girl wants what a girl wants! But not after her date scarfs down an entire Crave Case of Sliders! Every woman has her limits.

Arnie: Touché...

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

Meanwhile, Angie & Cynthai debate on leaving in the car.

Cynthai: Miss, I feel that to stay would be far too dangerous for both your fragile human form and my android shell. I suggest that we, colloquially put, 'hightail it outta here'.

Angie: I couldn't agree with... Eek!

The two are startled by a knock at the passenger window. Liberius Vir the Writer is standing outside with a pleading look as the first drops from the storm start to fall. He motions for them to let him in.

Angie: Cynthai, is this a good one or bad one?

Cynthai: From what I gather from all recorded optical data, he appears to be a turncoat from the side known as the Heros. Currently a Villain. However, said data also shows that he has done nothing major or harmful since we have been here. Perceived threat level indicates a lowly 17%. I would exercise some caution, although given the inclement weather and his lack of active treason, I see no harm in letting him in.

The rain slowly picks up as Angie weighs her opinion against the facts. LibtW stands in the wet weather trying to hide a bundled parcel under his arm from the water. Finally, Angie flips open the power locks and Lib gets into the backseat.

LibtW: Jeez lady. That took you long enough. I was starting to get soaked out there.

Angie: Who are you and what do you want from us?

LibtW: I don't want anything!

Cythai: My sensors indicate a mild exaggeration.

LibtW: What?

Angie: SPILL IT!

LibtW: Really! I don't want anything! At least not from you.

Cynthai: I detect truth.

Angie: Alright, strange man. What is it you DO want?

LibtW: My name is Liberius Vir. The Writer. Or rather Liberius Vir the Author if I read everything correctly.

Angie: Is it too much to ask for a little bit of sense and purpose from the crazy man sitting in my back seat?

LibtW: Maybe. I'm a little out of my norm here. The present is my future, but it is also the past. It doesn't feel like the past though since it's all happening now. And...

Angie: Are you sure he's not a threat?

Cythai: Processing... Minimum 23% increase though an exact number is undetermined due to a lack of a direct level of insanity.

LibtW: I'm NOT insane! Here. Take this. Read it. I believe it is what you two are looking for. Even more than Thand currently.

Angie suddenly perks up at the mention of the name.

Angie: What do you know of Thand?

LibtW: Not much. But it is what YOU should know by now that is what'll scare you. Take it.

LibtW hands the bundle to Angie. Cythai looks a little worried but Angie waves her off. She looks down. It's heavy. Apparently wrapped in a paper bag taken from the Convenience store.

LibtW: Alright. With that done I still have a few more errands to run to help get this whole mess settled out. Make more of that than I did.

Angie: What is it?

LibtW: A book. I stopped reading it since no man should know his own destiny. I don't know how mine ends. I don't know if it's going to get any better than what happens next; but I do know I didn't like the direction it was going so I stopped.

Cynthai: Calculating new insanity adjustments...

Angie: I think we're fine, Cynthai. I believe he was just leaving.

LibtW: Yes. I am. But I want you two to remember... When you do what you were just about to do, make a left at the giant moose and do not... I repeat... do not, stop and ask the mountie for directions.

With that last, odd, cryptic note LibtW stepped out of the car and walked directly towards CM. Angie unwraps the bundle and reads, with wide eyes, the bold & guilded words on the cover. 'Ye Olde Historie Fantastique by Hermes Trismesgistus'

Geb stares slackjawed at Al as the latter lounges comfortably upon a throne of skulls, or at least, as comfortably as a dead-man-whose-spirit-body-is-riddled-with-bullet-holes can be.

Al: Isn't this awesome? I'm the ruler of Hell now!

Geb: You...are?

Al: Yeah, when I died a few minutes ago, I came straight to Canada, of course - my Writer isn't gonna let me go that easy - but then some kinda weird plothole appeared and put me on the throne.

Geb recalls the vanishing effect his plothole pistol had on Jim Seven.

Geb: Oh, okay! Now we can love these poor damned souls the way the WriterGod intended us to, slowly redeeming them and welcoming them into Paradise!

Al arches an eyebrow petulantly.

Al: Why the Canada would I want to waste my time sending faceless fictions to a heaven I can never achieve?

Geb: What? But you're a hero, Al! Even when you were Highemp, you had a noble streak!

Al: I'm not a hero anymore, Geb, I'm a cynic. Hadn't you noticed? I am a slave to my Writer, his court fool, offering myself up for ridicule or melodrama as his whims demand. And the worst part is... I do it willingly. What other options have I? I'm not real. I'm a made up character in a made up story. There is no paradise for characters. Either we stay in the story, or we are forgotten.

Geb is gaping at him, slack-faced.

Al: But now I'm in charge of hell! Maybe I have a chance, with this power at my beck and call, to change my fate!

Geb finally recovers his voice.

Geb: No - don't give in to powerplaying!

Al snorts.

Al: Powerplaying? Hardly. I'm not trying to take over anything or prove my supposed superiority over anyone. I don't intend to enact a melodramatic destiny of any kind. I just want to carve out a little place where I can defy my Writer and maybe, just maybe, be happy.

Geb blinks several times, uncertain.

Geb: ...Al...

Al: I just wish I knew who was responsible for this fortunate twist of fate that landed me here; I'd give them Toronto as a duchy!

Geb brightens.

Geb: Well, if you must know--

Al: Majordomo! Gather materials and men to build me a pleasure palace! We'll open it up to tourists as well, so it can still be a plot hook and thus keep me relevant to the story and not forgotten. Most importantly, we'll need neural restructuring technology--

The majordomo, a bespectacled demon with a gray goatee and a Fonz haircut dressed in a red striped suit, interrupts.

Majordomo: Actually, we're short on both men and materials at the moment; we're still recovering from our war with Disneyworld.

Al: Rubbish! Whenever our soldiers die, they come straight back here!

Majordomo: While this is true, the trauma of temporary discorporation incapacitates them - be they demon lord or damned soul - to the extent that they cannot enter Canada on their own, but must be ferried across the River Styx by Charon, and he can only take a few at a time.

Al: The River Styx?

Majordomo: Lake Erie.

Al: That makes no sense! There are plenty of ways into Canada other than Lake Erie--

Majordomo: *coughing delicately* The River Styx.

Al: --and why hasn't Charon upgraded to a cruise ship or something?

Majordomo: Emigration policies being what they are, it would take even longer for the discorporated soldiers to procure passports to enter Canada by legitimate means, hence the reason Charon uses a small vessel - so it can't be detected.

Al: Bah! Can't I corrupt some Congressmen to correct that? Or get Charon a stealthed sub?

Majordomo: That would require an expenditure of souls that we currently cannot part with!

Al: Am I or am I not the devil? I can choose how to spend our souls any way I choose!

Majordomo: Well, it turns out that, due to some sloppy bookkeeping over the years, we've got an unknown but large percentage of damned souls who aren't actually supposed to be here.

Al: What? C'mon, good or evil, can't be that hard.

Majordomo: Well, there are of course differing theories on what is required to enter Heaven, and the prevailing theory depends on whomever is manning the Pearly Gates on any given day. Furthermore, some Muslims refuse to enter because they don't get seventy virgins, and some Hindu don't enter because Heaven bans pork but not beef, and...

Al: Alright, alright, I get it. Let's corrupt some more people, get some more souls, then.

Majordomo: Unfortunately, inflation is already a huge problem, that will be increased if we acquire more souls. The soul-euro exchange rate is heavily slanted against us, and really, we need to RELEASE souls to regain the spirit's dollar value.

Al: GAH! I swear, if I ever discover who did this to me, I am going to put their head on a pike!

Geb winces.

----------

In the upper corner inside the Convenience Store of the Damned, behind the currently unmanned checkout counter, is the store TV set, obliviously playing its shows despite the fact that nobody is paying attention to it, being far too busy fighting their archenemies.

But observed or not, the show must go on, and indeed it does - until the popular soap opera The Old and the Tired is interrupted by a special news bulletin.

Ying Hu Jackuzimama: We interrupt this program to bring you a special bulletin. It appears that the structure of power in Canada has drastically changed. In what was apparently a bloodless coup, Dictator-in-Chief James Sevenicci has been deposed and replaced by an as yet unrevealed new leader.

His new co-anchor picks up from there.

New Co-Anchor: Given Mistaw Sevenicci's long-wumahed ties to the mob, many ah vastly welieved to see him go. Howevah, some oige caution, pointing out that no one knows who the mystewious Mistaw Eight - as people have been colloquially calling the new leader - weally is.

Ying Hu Jackuzimama: Tell us, Dart, why are they calling him Mr. Eight?

Dart Wader, New Co-Anchor: Mistaw Sevenicci was nicknamed Mistaw Seven by his followahs, a mode'n wip of his family suhname, Sevenicci. The'efo'e, coitan pehsons think they ah clevah by wefehwing to his successah as Mistaw Eight.

Ying Hu Jackuzimama: Er... okay. Tell us, Dart, how in Canada did you get this position with a lisp like that?

Dart Wader: What lispth?

----------

NSP: So I was gonna write more, but I got sidetracked. Distractions (read: Skyrim) + laziness (read: Skyrim) = less writing. On that note, to all American Massassians, happy turkey day!

Within the heart of the Ninth Circle of Hell (Canada), Al Ciao, the realm's newly-appointed ruler, continues grilling the majordomo about his options, while Gebohq takes a seat and generally attempts to not draw attention to himself.

Al Ciao: So I at least get to have, like, a hundred sexy devil-girls at my every perverted beckon, right?

Majordomo: But of course.

Al Ciao: Yes!

Majordomo: After both you and the females in question have filled out Forms ES-69 through ES-38726 in triplicate, that is.

Al Ciao: Argh!

A secretarial voice chimes in on the speaker on Al Ciao's desk.

Al Ciao: What!

Silence.

Majordomo: Sir, you have to hit the button first.

Al Ciao: Oh.

Al presses the intercom button.

Al Ciao: What is it?

Secretarial voice: Your Evilness, there's someone here who wishes to see you.

Al Ciao: Tell them I'm busy!

Secretarial voice: Sir, she turned into mist and went on ahead before I had the chance.

Al Ciao: Doesn't this place have any security?

Majordomo: They were fired yesterday, sir. Out of a cannon. Seems there was a mix-up in the paperwork, as they were meant to simply fire the cannon.

A small mist seeps through into the office, and starts to coalesce into a female form.

female: I believe I have something that will interest you.

Al Ciao: And you are?

female: Nyneve.

Al Ciao: Why does that sound familiar?

Gebohq: Have you been reading the script again, Al?

Nyneve: I have in my possession the paperwork to the souls of most of your friends, Mr. Eight is it now, Highemp?

Al Ciao: Uh, look, it's just Al now. And I'm not about to just go on your word that you happen to have--

She interrupts him by holding the paperwork in front of him.

Al Ciao: --ah, well, uh...how do I know these are real? Majordomo, can you verify these for me?

Majordomo: I'm afraid I wouldn't know the first thing about it, sir. However, your advocate should be more than capable. He often took care of legal matters for Mr. Seven. I'll fetch him immediately, sir.

The majordomo exits, and Al Ciao, Nyneve and Gebohq sit around in awkward silence.

Gebohq: So... does anyone else suddenly question the meaning of their lives just now?

Al Ciao: No.

Nyneve: No.

Gebohq: ...oh. Okay.

Just then, a tall, slender man in a black business suit and red tie enters with a briefcase in hand. His hair is slicked back to reveal a sharp widow's peak, his goatee classically-evil, and his glasses slipping down his nose. He places the briefcase down on the desk and pushes his glasses up his nose.

D.A.: Devil's advocate, at your service.

Al Ciao: Can you verify those documents for me?

The D.A. leans forward to peer at the paperwork Nyneve is holding, adjusting his glasses as he does so.

D.A.: Looks to be authentic documentation of soul ownership for a Mister The Last True Evil, a Miss Rachel Pi, a Mister Al Ciao, a Miss Losien--

Al Ciao: Thank you, that'll be enough -- wait, did you just say my name?

Nyneve: You and just about all your friends who died in the previous story-arc, which technically gives me ownership of you and the dominion of Hell.

Gebohq: We're in trouble, aren't we?

Nyneve: As it so happens, I have little interest in control over Hell. In fact, I wish to make a very simple trade. I give you the paperwork for you and your friends, and in return, you give me the paperwork for his soul.

Nyneve points squarely at Gebohq.

D.A.: I should point out that, technically, just you are in trouble.

Gebohq: You're not helping.

Back at the Convenience Store of the Damned, a battered and battle-worn Losien falls from fighting to her last ounce of strength. The NeSword, guided by a power not of her own, continues to hold the defense against the unrelenting assault of JM's own magical blade, but even it too seems to drop with Losien's will. JM swats the NeSword out of her grip and to the side, his own blade pointed down at her heavily-breathing form.

JM: It was only a matter of time.

Losien: You'll...not win... Others...will take...my place...

JM: Is that so? Let's pause on that thought and take a look around, hmm?

JM gestures around with his blade. The battle in the sky between Highemperor and High Imp grows distant and detached. A running tackle from Mia into Arnie sends the both of them far away from the scene as well. The corporeal forms of Gebohq and Al Ciao burn up on their own as paper in a fire, with Jim Seven outright missing. Buck Takes, having his assets bought out by Mimiru, fights unwillingly under contract with her and Cool Matty against GUNTHER. Their fight seems to ends abruptly too, though, as GUNTHER summons a legal loophole that forces Buck Takes and Mimiru though it, into the Taxman's domain known as the System, while he cuts himself and Cool Matty out of the scene by calling upon the Censor to omit their presence due to full frontal nudity, strong language, and suggestions that women enjoy having sex. Cris B. and Geronimo, finding their customers lacking, pack up shop and take their competing businesses forty miles north. Captain Von Trufflesnout the Third continues humping female dogs with no Censor around to show him otherwise.

In fact, the only company present now includes the following: the two women in a broken-down car, Angie Langely and Cynthai; Liberius the Writer, standing nearby JM; and the only remaining fight, its participants being Rachel Pi and Evil Geb.

JM: As you can see, I've managed to ruin this story thread so well that most all the climactic battles fluttered away. I mean, really, did any of us care how those fights turned out? Speaking of... HEY YOU TWO! KNOCK IT OFF! NOBODY CARES!

Rachel and Evil Geb stop mid-action and turn their heads.

Evil Geb: Oh, is it over already? I was having so much fun too!

Rachel: What? Oh sh--where's Gebohq?

JM: Back in Hell, I imagine. I killed him.

Rachel: When I'm done with you, JM--

JM: Oh please, don't bother. It's not worth it. It's not even worth killing Losien now.

Liberius the Writer: What?! But that's your whole motivation! You kill the main character, and it kills the story!

JM: Oh you know that's not true. That would be something entertaining, something surprising. This whole plot has taken far more effort than it's been worth. I'm just going to... do something else. Something awesome, not this. I don't know. I don't care. You go ahead and do it for me, Writer.

He pauses for a moment, looking around as if to reconsider, before flipping his hand as if to dismiss it all. A bright flash briefly blinds everyone before they see that JM too is now gone. Everyone stands at a loss for words.

Evil Geb: And that's my cue to go--OOAAAH!

Evil Geb falls flat on his face, his shoe laces having been tied together. He tries to stand back up, only to be knocked unconscious by a smack to the head from Rachel's frying pan. Rachel drags Evil Geb's body by his foot and to Losien. With Losien's arm over Rachel's shoulders, Rachel helps Losien stand up. Rachel kicks the NeSword up off the ground and into her hand, which she uses to cut open a plothole and drag Losien and Evil Geb through. Liberius the Writer throws his arms up, then whistles for the Interdimensional Taxi. He calls Capt. Von Trufflesnout to him, who comes to him more out of habit than will, and the two get in the taxi, which drives off into the nothing it came from.

Silence.

Angie and Cynthai peer at their surroundings from their broken car.

Cynthai: I'll call for road service then, miss?

Angie: A psychiatrist might help too.

Cynthai: A what?

Angie: Nevermind.

A dramatic silence has fallen over Hell's throne room. Al is drumming his fingers on the armrest of the throne, staring wordlessly at Nyneve and her papers. Geb looks back and forth between them. The majordomo and Devil's Advocate look professionally disinterested.

Al: What do you even want his soul for? He's a nobody, worthless--

Geb: Hey! I thought you were my friend, Al!

Al: Hush! I'm trying to bluff her into releasing you-- oh crap.

Nyneve has raised an eyebrow, clearly within earshot.

Al: Dangit!

----------

In a suitably melodramatic fashion, which I am far too disinterested to narrate in anything resembling detail, Highemp and High Imp have been dueling in the sky, with sword and spell, witty taunt and defiant outcry, and in general any trope that is expected of an Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny.

Also, many rip-offs of Princess Bride, Matrix, and Star Wars were made. Examples include the following.

High Imp: My name is High Imp. You killed my beloved. Prepare to die.

Highemp: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Highemp: Dodge this.

However, they are so evenly matched that Highemp eventually realizes there will be no victor, so he summons his reserves to cast High Imp into the timestream, so that he will emerge sometime in the future - by which time Highemp will be ready for him.

Oh, and that last casting is when Highemp used his rip-off of the Matrix, above.

He descends down upon the parking lot of the Convenience Store of the Damned, seeing it practically deserted.

Highemp: Where did that Atlantean wizard fop go?

Angie: Oh, he disappeared in a flash of light. I'm not sure where he hid his special effects rigging, but--

Cynthai pulls Angie down hurriedly.

Cynthai: The idea is not to attract attention from angry, power-hungry demigods.

Angie: Pshaw, he's just using the same special effects JM left behind...

While they argue, Highemp sifts through the astral currents to locate JM--

Highemp: Actually, I'm really using my situational omniscience--

Shut up. Anyways, you've located him and teleport to him. He's in that dark dungeon place where the Dark Alliance have previously met. The Dora the Explorer poster has been replaced with one of Finding Nemo. JM is lounging in a chair, feet up on the bloodstained stone table.

JM: Ah, this is the life. Nothing to write, nothing to read... Hey! What are you doing here?

Highemp: I have come for that which is mine.

JM: Eh? Oh, you mean that powerplaying ability I stole from you a while back - but hey, wasn't that your future self? Well, I mean, your current self, because YOU'RE the one from the past--

Highemp: Silence, worm! I demand that you give it to me!

JM: Fine, whatever. I didn't really want it anyway.

With suitably flashy effects, the POWAH(c) is transferred from JM to Highemp, who smirks with satisfaction.

Highemp: Thank you.

JM: Hey, wait a second. If you're the past version, but you're absorbing the current version of your powers to augment your own, how does affect the timeline? The repercussions of--

Highemp: Do you really want a lengthy dissertation on branching timelines, historically parallel solidification, and complex temporal paradox resolution? Cuz I can do that.

NO! For the love of God, someone stop him!

JM: Er...

Highemp: Thought not.

He vanishes from the post in a flash of silvery-white light, for which all of our readers not named Al Ciao the Writer are thankful.

----------

Al: Wait a minute. How did you get these spiritual deeds anyway?

Nyneve: Got them from Evil Geb.

Majordomo: *murmuring to Al from the side* ...who took them from your predecessor, Mr. Seven.

Al: Okay, so if "ownership" of these souls is determined according to possession by right of might only, then why are we bargaining, instead of just taking them from her?

Devil's Advocate: Mr. Eight! Bargaining is an unholy tradition and cornerstone of Canadian culture! You cannot just--

Nyneve has smiled coldly, widely enough to reveal a sinister glimpse of her fangs.

Nyneve: You could try to take them from me.

Majordomo: Mr. Eight, if I might point out, our dossier indicates that she is a NeSferatu, trained by both Count Desmond and Merlin--

Al's shoulders slump.

Al: This is hopeless. We can't take them from her, but I can't let her take Geb's soul. He's my friend.

Geb smiles at Al.

Geb: Thanks, buddy. But it's okay. You have to save your soul and those of all our friends.

Devil's Advocate: Wait. *to Nyneve* You're a NeSferatu?

Nyneve: Yesssss...

Devil's Advocate: Of course. You are after the bloodink of this Main Character?

Geb: I'm NOT the main--

Nyneve: Correct.

Devil's Advocate: Then you do not want his ethereal soul. His bloodink flows through his corporeal veins. In his corpse.

Geb: You mean, my body back in the parking lot of the Convenience Store of the Damned?

Nyneve: Why, thank you, Geb dear, for letting me know where your corpse is.

Geb: Oh crap.

Nyneve: In token of my goodwill, I leave you the paperwork for all your souls, Mr. ... Eight, is it? Farewell.

She turns into bloody mist, and disappears.

Geb: We've got to stop her! We've got to save, er, me!

Al: *shrugging* No biggie. She only wants your body. We can just clone you a new one.

Geb: What? But then I won't have my bloodink anymore.

Al: So? You're not a main character anymore. Now you can be with Rachel. Isn't that what you want?

Geb hesitates.

Al: Geb. Please. For once, be honest about what YOU want.

Geb: Well...

Before we can have an earthshattering character-building moment - because God forbid that this story should ever have serious development of cookie-cutter personalities - the majordomo interrupts with, what else, an objection.

Majordomo: Actually, cloning is out the question.

Al: What? Jim practically made a career out of cloning Geb!

Majordomo: Which is why the finances and bureaucracy of Hell went to, if I may be frank, hell. Sir. A deranged mob destroyed all the cloning vats.

Al: We can't rebuild them?

Majordomo: Didn't we just have a discussion on how we don't have any money?

Al: *sigh*

Geb: Look, Al, really it's no problem, I'll just--

Al: No. We are gonna get you a body. Even if it's not a copy of yours, we can get you someone else's. A better body. Maybe someone's like... William Shatner's?

Geb's heart leaps at the thought of looking like his idol, Captain Kirk. He pumps his fist into the air.

Geb: Yes! Let's do it!

Al: Majordomo, make it happen.

Majordomo: Very well, sir. I'll send Mr. Simon out with an elite squad of demonic psycho-surgeons to apprehend Mr. Shatner and extract his soul so that your friend's may be injected.

He ushers Geb out to his rendezvous with the elite team.

Al: Wait a second. How come THAT was easy, yet I can't do anything else?

Majordomo: During his tenure as Protector of the Plotfractal, Mr. Seven enacted a blanket override regulation that any acts occurring for the sake of the story are to be executed and abetted posthaste.

Al: Okay, so can't I make a law that any acts that I command are--

Majordomo: Certainly. If you're willing to submit that to the bureaucratic legal enactment process--

Al: I know how this goes. It'll take ages, won't it?

Majordomo: Of course. That was why Mr. Seven never bothered to repeal the regulation after he retired from protecting the plotfractal.

Al: *sigh*

Majordomo: Also, you've put this off long enough, but it's the duty of the Devil to review the ranks monthly.

Al: The ranks?

Majordomo: Of all the demons of Canada.

Al: Crap.

----------

Many long hours later, the majordomo is continuing to drone monotonously through the list of demons, as each subtype steps forward by rank at each call of the roll. Al has long since tuned him out and is stringing Christmas lights throughout the throne room.

Al: Oh the weather outside is frightful -- no kidding, this IS Canada - but the fire is so delightful - hmm, I wouldn't exactly say hellfire is particularly delightful, but hey - and I've got no place to go - boy, ain't THAT the truth - let it snow, let it snow, let it-- Wait, what??

His ears have perked up at the majordomo's reading of the next rank.

Majordomo: Yes, sir?

Al: Did you just say "succubi"?

He turns his head to gaze at the current line of demons, and sees that in fact the majordomo has indeed just called the succubi. His tongue drops out of his mouth. For comical effect, it drops in a long length to the floor, which has the convenient side effect of making the horny she-devils - pun? don't know what you're talking about - titter.

Al: I definitely think I need to inspect these ranks more closely...

Majordomo: I would not advise that, sir. Succubi drain out the life force of their victims.

Al: I'm already dead.

Majordomo: And they will only let themselves be touched by someone who is pure of heart. You know, for corruption purposes.

Al: I'm pure!

Majordomo: You're the devil. By definition, you're not pure.

Al: It's just a title! Me, myself, I am totally and completely--

Majordomo: And any purity you might have retained you completely ruined when you ravished Mia like a bulldog in heat.

Al opens his mouth and raises his finger as if to object, then pauses. After a moment, his finger drops.

Al: Okay, you have a point. Carry on.

He goes back to his decorating, supervising a pair of Mounties as they haul in pine trees to ring around behind the throne. The majordomo finishes off the roll of the succubi, then announces the next rank, which anyone with half a brain coulda figured out.

Majordomo: Incubi.

Al: Whoa, hold on, full stop. You mean male counterparts to the succubi?

Majordomo: Indeed, sir. A demon chosen as an incubus gets, shall we say, enhanced equipment--

Al: Psh, already got that with a minor bit of powerplaying in Mia's Knightcar.

Majordomo: --unlimited stamina, pheromones that turn all nearby women into hormone puddles, immunity to STDs, switching between blanks and live ammo at will--

Al: Whoa, whoa, whoa! I think I'd like to be an incubus.

Majordomo: I am afraid that the number of permitted incubi is fixed, sir, according to the provisions of the 1734 Treaty with the Vatican. A new incubus may only be selected when another one steps down or dies.

Al: Oh, really?

He picks up a loose tommy gun that Jim Seven had left laying around carelessly on the floor, and shoots one of the incubi.

Majordomo: Very good, sir.

Al: Make me the new incubus.

Majordomo: Of course, sir. The person selected to become the new incubus is the first one to seduce a pure virgin after the decease of the previous one.

Al: Pure virgin, pure virgin... do I know any pure virgins?

He snaps his fingers.

Al: Of course! Get me a line to Hero Force One, stat!

----------

Judge, a psychokinetic Brit heroine, and Dr. R. Deep, a powerful mage in a trenchcoat, are eminent members of the world's premier superhero team, Hero Force One, which hasn't been mentioned for a few pages because of a certain editor's arbitrary declaration that all Continuity Creep references be kept to a minimum for this arc--

Geb the Editor: *ahem*

Al Ciao the Writer: What?

Anyways, Judge and Deep have received an urgent communication from their new flagship member, Citizen Rex (aka the Devil, aka Al Ciao, aka Mr. Eight, aka Highemp), saying that it is vital that Seraphim come to Canada right away.

Judge: Did Rex say what Seraphim was needed for?

Deep: No. But come on, there's generally only one reason you need an angel in hell - to do some seriously divine buttkicking.

Judge: Right. Hey, Seraphim's room is that way!

Deep: True, but she's been spending a lot of time in the company of young Acidspitter, of Hero Force Eight.

Judge: *shaking her head* Doesn't she remember what happened to the last fallen angel who left heaven for love?

Deep shrugs as they come to Acidspitter's door upon the Hero Force Hovercarrier. After three sharp knocks, a young punkish fellow with a mohawk and chains comes to the door, half-clothed.

Acidspitter: Oh, hey, dudes. Sup?

Judge: We need Seraphim right away. There's a situation in Canada.

Acidspitter: Right-o. Let her get dressed first--

Seraphim comes to the door, fully clothed in a shining dress of pure light, not a hair out of place.

Seraphim: Dress of light, angelic powers. Only takes an instant, dear.

Judge and Deep exchange glances, while Acidspitter declares he is going to accompany his girlfriend.

Deep: Very well. Here are the coordinates. Watch each other's back.

Acidspitter: Dude, I'm already watching her--

Seraphim: Shush! *giggles*

----------

It is not long before Seraphim and Acidspitter teleport into the throne room of Hell's Great Granite Fortress.

Al: Welcome, Seraphim-- Wait, who's he?

Seraphim: Hello, Rex. This is my boyfriend, Acidspitter.

Majordomo: Ah, it seems the new incubus has been chosen.

Al: Wait - but - what - you can't - I...

He continues to sputter incoherently as Acidspitter is inducted into the ranks of incubi, and all the perks that come with it, and then when he and a very pleased Seraphim return to the Hero Force Hovercarrier.

Al: Hell sucks.

Majordomo: That is sort of the point, sir.

Al Ciao: Places, people, places!

The cast of NeS ignores Al, as they have been doing for some time while he's barked out orders, encouragement, threats, and wheedling. He now switches once more the latter tack.

Al Ciao: C'mon, guys, please! Let's get this year's Christmas special right!

Geb walks in the door just in time to hear this comment. He has been out drinking eggnog, eating pastries, and getting it on in a dark room with a chick in a jester cap whom he fervently hopes is Rachel, but if she isn't, he really wants her phone number, cuz she is a TIGRESS--

Geb: Just let all my business hang out there, why don't you?

Sorry.

Geb: Al, what are you going on about? There is no Christmas special this year.

Al: That's not true. That's impossible!

Geb: Search your feelings, you KNOW it to be true!

Al stares at Geb for long moments, facial muscles working. After several moments, Geb raises and eyebrow and whispers a helpful cue.

Geb: This is where you go, "NOOOOOOOO!"

At last, Al can't hold back any longer and bursts out laughing.

Geb: What?

Al: *shaking his head mirthfully* It's kinda hard to hear you say a Darth Vader line when you have such a squeaky voice.

Geb narrows his eyes at Al, but Al quickly moves on.

Al: So what you do mean, there's no Christmas special this year? There's ALWAYS a Christmas special!

Geb: Well, none of the writers had any creative juices to come up with one.

Al: It's not like the previous ones were very creative...

Geb: True. But this year they're not even creative enough to plagiarize... well, you know, beyond that one overused quote from ESB we just did.

Al: No, no, no, this won't do. Won't do at all.

He presses a switch on his handy-dandy hero watch.

Al: Majordomo, we need some succubi down here! Fit 'em out like Rockettes, pronto!

He looks grimly at Geb.

Al: By God, we are going to have a Christmas special one way or another--

At that moment, a lightning bolt spears down out of the heavens and fries Al Ciao - or rather, his bullet-ridden soul - to a cartoonish crisp, because the Devil is really not allowed to use the deific name.

The handy-dandy hero watch, however, is unaffected, and a response to Al's command squeaks out of it.

Handy-Dandy Hero Watch: Joe's Pizza, may I take your order?

And now we return to our regularly non-scheduled story...

Evil Geb: Ugh... I feel like I've been side-swiped by a whale...

He attempts to rub his head, only to be restrained by what appear to be bonds as black as bloodink. Forcing himself to focus, Evil Geb sees himself just beyond the edge of a chessboard landscape known as 1337. On the side he is bound to, only a rookie villain and a Forgotten pawn are also bound captive, and standing on a large white square on the other side of the edge, Rachel and Losien.

Evil Geb: Ah, Rachel. So it was a whale after all.

Rachel: Right, he seems settled then. If you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend.

Losien: Wait!

But Rachel already disappeared in a dazzling burst of light, leaving Losien in the company of her faux-brother, Evil Geb. He starts to stand, ready to march forward as if the imprisoning bonds meant nothing. Losien snaps into a combat stance, prepared to stop him despite her own all-too-weakened state. As Evil Geb appears about to snap the bonds with his first step, though, he halts, staring at the nearest dividing lines of the chessboard squares. For a moment, they appeared to curve and crack in way only the finality of death does -- a decay-filled mass of pus and blood and ink scratching and spilling across and through the ground. The moment passes, and as Losien tries to find what Evil Geb is fixated on, all she sees is the clean lines of the black and white squares. She turns her attention to Evil Geb, who slumps down once more and belts a desperate and resigned laugh.

Evil Geb: You haven't seen the last of me, dear sister. I'll be out soon enough.

Losien: Another scripted quip to play the bad guy? Do you really want to escape and do evil that much?

Evil Geb: Oh, you misunderstand me. I don't want to escape now. I don't want to step out into that... infected world, to my certain doom. To everyone's doom. Here, I can delay the inevitable. It will come, though, and sooner than I'd like. It will end my imprisonment, only to sentence me something far worse. I should have listened to the old man when I could.

Losien: What are you talking about? What will sentence you?

Listlessly, Evil Geb stares at Losien.

Evil Geb: The end.

A crooked smile cracks his face.

Evil Geb: Heh heh. HehehehehahahahahHAHAHAHAHAHA...

Losien, visibly disturbed, turns and searches for an exit as she walks away from Evil Geb, shuddering in his resounding sad laughter.

Meanwhile (NeS count: warp factor 10), Gebohq and the elite squad of demonic psycho-surgeons have made their way just outside a Star Trek convention, where they have been waiting patiently for William Shatner to leave by himself...

Gebohq: Oh man, this is going to be great! I'll finally be the man I always wanted to be!

voice: I'd rather you be yourself, my love.

Gebohq spins around to see a woman dressed in a white Chinese dress standing nearby with her hands on her hips.

Gebohq: Rachel! What're you doing here?

Rachel: To stop you from making a big mistake.

Gebohq: But I need a new body! My old one is probably being taken by that vampire woman back at the Convenience Store of the Damned by now.

Rachel: You dolt! You were dead before that point?

Gebohq: I was?

Rachel: Yes! You died from having your body fly through a taxi windshield, remember?

Gebohq: Oh yeah...

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

Zip-pan to the Convenience Store of the Damned, where Nyneve screams in rage at not finding the body she was looking for.

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

Rachel: Besides, would you really want to kill William Shatner so you could have a body of your own?

Just then, William Shatner walks in to hear Rachel say that.

Shatner: Uh...

Rachel: I mean, he's pretty old. And fat too. Not even a good actor.

Shatner: Hey! Don't talk about me like that!

Gebohq: Yeah! Don't talk about my hero like that!

Gebohq blinks and does a double-take.

Gebohq: Captain Kirk!

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: There's our target boys! Get 'im!

Shatner: What the--

But it was too late. The demonic psycho-surgeons quickly overwhelm William Shatner, killing him almost instantly through sheer blunt trauma. Gebohq stares in horror as his childhood hero lies dead before his eyes. Rachel gently holds Gebohq from behind.

Rachel: C'mon, my love. I'll take you to get your own body back.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Hold it!

Before the squad of psycho-surgeons could advance on Gebohq, Rachel whisks him away in a flash of light. The squad look at each other, and at the dead body of William Shatner, with dumb expressions.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: So... what now?

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: We take the body back to Hell and stick some other sap's soul in it.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: Won't Master Eight be mad to find out we've failed?

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Who says he has to know? Besides, what's the worse he can do? We already live in Hell, literally.

The elite squad of demonic psycho-surgeons chuckle to themselves as they drag the body of William Shatner back to Hell...

Back in the Ninth Circle of Hell (i.e. Canada), the elite squad of demonic psycho-surgeons drag the corpse of William Shatner around, impatiently searching for a soul to pass off as Gebohq in Shatner's body.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: How about we just bump off General Qhobeg? He's a clone of Gebohq, after all, right?

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: Because that won't raise any suspicions! Too high-profile.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: What about that Matthias nerd currently down in the Manitoban Mines of Misery and Manic Mothers?

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: What a mouthful!

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: You said it.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: He isn't compatible, though. Besides, the mines are prone to regular riots. A mess of a place, really, even by Canadian standards.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Shut up! I found the perfect match for the body.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: You found William Shatner's soul?

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: What? No! I'm talking about The Next True Evil, you buffoon! Look!

He points to the chained form of The Next True Evil -- a specially-made partial-clone of Gebohq now nearly forgotten from his lack of character.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: Will it really work? The man seems brain-dead, with about as much personality of his own as a stick of butter.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Exactly! And just as impressionable. By the time we had him over to Master Eight, nobody will think that the soul in Shatner is anyone other than Gebohq!

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: Except for us.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Er, right.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: And the Narrator.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Uh, yes, him too...

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: And the audience!

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: If there's an audience, yes, but--

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: And anyone who might be spying on us.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Look, there aren't any spies around--

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: And anyone who reads the script!

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: SHUT UP AND GET THE SOUL ALREADY!

The other demonic psycho-surgeons begin prepping for the soul transfer.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: Pretty sure this Next True Evil guy will know too...

In the vastly empty realm of 1337, Losien notices two figures in the distance dueling each other with pistols and staves and magic of a rather predictable nature. A questionable compulsion pulls Losien towards them against her more reasonable desire to not get involved in battles to the death.

Losien: It's fine. I'm the main character. What's the worst that can happen? ...That didn't make me feel any more confident...

As Losien approaches the two figures, she can make out that one is wearing an all-white outfit not unlike a stereotypical scientist who really loved The Matrix, and the other is wearing an all-black attire likely found in the Evil Wizards Department of Villians Villa for half-off. They appear to be brothers if only because they both look born from a drunken night of love between Gandalf and a pink marshmallow. For some readers, they may recognize the two as Mayaal and Bhac respectively, also known as the Hands of the NeS, charged with guarding the NeS through order and, when necessary, continue conflict for Good and Evil. Losien starts to make out what the two are saying to each other as she draws closer to them.

Bhac: ...and I hate when the annual performance reviews roll around. We shouldn't have to compete with the outsourced work of the Protectors of the Plotfractal.

Mayaal: I hear you loud and clear, Bhac. The NeS isn't about to cut us out yet, though; it needs all the work it can get.

Bhac: That's one way of putting it, Mayaal. Another is that we're working triple shifts putting on the show of strife with each other, and for what? Our work hasn't been shown in pages!

Mayaal: Hey, don't get me started on that! I put in a requisition for character development back at least five story-arcs ago and--

Bhac: Shhh! Stop.

Mayaal and Bhac stand silent and still, which immediately cues Losien to do the same.

Bhac: Someone is watching us...

Mayaal: Seriously? Oh shi--*cough* You won't escape this time, Bhac!

Bhac: I don't need to escape from the likes of you, Mayaal! There's nothing you can do against my evil cunning!

Losien blinks in confusion as the two up their performance.

Mayaal: Perhaps there's nothing I can do, but what if I summoned a powerful character to my side? Behold, Amal! Mighty Storywieder and Student of True Heroism!

In a flash of light, a young and handsome, if somewhat briefly befuddled, man with perfectly golden hair -- Amal -- stands beside Mayaal. Gone are the wide eyes of wonder and innocence, and in their place, wisdom wrought of a sage and discrimination disciplined from a master spy peer out. In his right hand, Amal grips a revolver loaded with one of a few rare and powerful bullets able only to strike at evil known as Mayaal's Tear, the likes of which were passed down to him from his mentor who, in turn, received the unique ammunition from Mayaal himself. In his left hand, Amal holds a Placeholder blade: a brand of magical weapon found at most arms shops for relatively cheap, cast and cut from a low-grade plot-hole with the intent that it will be replaced with another specific weapon in time, in this case, the NeSword. It is obvious from Amal's stance that he was in the midst of a dangerous battle, or perhaps a training session with someone unaccustomed to safety.

Mayaal: Amal! The Left Hand of the NeS stands before you. We must put a stop to him before he secures his Evil across the NeS!

Amal assesses the situation, examining Bhac before turning to Mayaal knowingly.

Amal: For the good of the NeS!

Bhac: Aha! You're not the only one with an ace up your sleeve, Mayaal. Behold, I summon the most evil of warriors that which Amal will be defenseless against!

A veil of black magic sweeps beside Bhac, and when it falls, an older Russian man in dark Soviet spy attire stands. In the man's right hand, he holds an officer's sabre, and in his left hand, an AK-47. The man seems more bothered and bored than befuddled at his new surroundings, but soon snaps into paralysis as he sees the look of fear in Amal's eyes and understands.

Mayaal: Hold it! You can't do that! The Last True Evil is a good guy!

Bhac: What? Listen to yourself. His alignment is right in his name! Besides, your boy over there isn't such a good guy these days, you know.

Mayaal: I demand a redraw! You knew damn well that those two weren't about to--

Losien suddenly steps closer.

Losien: TLTE?

TLTE: Losien!

The two rush towards each other and embrace. Amal relaxes his guard and smiles, slowly approaching Losien and TLTE.

Bhac: Losien? Oh, that's who was watching us!

Mayaal: You won't get away with this, vile--

Bhac: Oh quit it, already! It doesn't matter anymore.

TLTE: I know it's only been a story-arc since I last saw you, моя любовь, but it seems like years.

Losien: I'm just happy to see you.

TLTE: I've spent far too much time as it is neglecting you, and I don't want to waste a moment more. Losien...

The Last True Evil starts to fall to one knee and reach into a pocket...

Bhac: Oh no you don't! Not here. This is a strict "nothing lame" zone, so scram!

With a wave of his arm, Bhac casts his dark magic over The Last True Evil, Losien, and Amal, and in an instant, the three of them are no longer there.

Mayaal: So...where did you send them, exactly?

Bhac: Don't know, don't care. Might as well be on Jersey Shore for all I know and care.

Mayaal: That would be evil...

In a forgotten corner of the Never-ending Story, just off the road of Memory Lane, Tsolo stares at himself in a mirror. He sees before him that which he cannot reconcile. A darkness approaches behind him.

Tsolo: Darkside.

The darkness forms into the spirit of a shrouded figure.

Darkside: We need to talk.

Tsolo: There is nothing to discuss. You've become Forgotten.

Tsolo turns around to face Darkside.

Tsolo: And now you will become the lost.

Darkside: What of yourself? You cannot deny the failure you've become.

Tsolo: The truth is irrelevant. I must drive on to claim what has been Forgotten.

Darkside: And you can... if we become one.

Tsolo: If this has to do with that unspeakable act--

Darkside: Think for a moment of what there is to gain. We are not so different, the two of us. You know that together, as one, we can achieve all our goals, and nothing will be able to stop us.

Tsolo contemplates what has been said.

Darkside: Join me, and together, we can rule the galaxy as father and son!

Tsolo: What?

Darkside: Er--that is--join now, and together, we will make the very story weep in sorrow!

The Darkside extends a hand.

Stillness.

Tsolo takes it with his own.

Tsolo: No soul will know a greater loss.

The two envelop each other in a cocoon of dark power.

Silence.

The cocoon splits open, and from it, a new figure emerges. He towers in his terrible strength, his skin a pale parchment wrapping obsidian muscle that seems carved from the deepest oor. His hair, clear and colorless, runs full and furious from his head and blends with his cloak the color of emptiness, and his eyes tombs for the lost.

The figure once known as the Darkside and Tsolo now stands as Knowsoul. He stares down the road of Memory Lane.

Knowsoul: This time, the NeS will lose it all.

In the Writers' realm, the Massassi offices, Gebohq the Editor stalks through the rows of empty, cobwebbed cubicles, with only flickering bulbs set every few paces to light his way. Having made a few wrong turns in the maze of cubicles - one of which led him to Krispy Kreme, and yes, he swears it was an accident, and that he only chowed down on two dozen donuts, three milkshakes and an Extra Extra Extra Large coffee because he might as well not waste the opportunity - he is pretty frustrated, and this only compounds the anger he was originally feeling.

Geb: When I get my hands on Al, he'll be sorry he's not written in so long...

He rounds a corner, and there is Al Ciao the Writer's cubicle. Al's computer - an entirely legally obtained Alienware computer - is hooked up to a 120" flatscreen, currently displaying Al's third playthrough of Skyrim.

Geb the Editor: Al!

Al the Writer: Yeah?

Geb the Editor: You--

He stops short, noticing exactly what is on Al's screen.

Geb the Editor: Lightsabers? In a fantasy game?

Al the Writer: Yeah, it's an awesome mod, ain't it? I just had to download it.

Geb the Editor: They're double-bladed lightsabers.

Al the Writer: Yup, that part I did myself. Just copied the meshes and rotated--

Geb the Editor: You have one double-bladed saber in each hand...

Al the Writer: Iknorite? How awesome is that?

Geb the Editor: All four blades are a different color...

Al the Writer: Right! How crazy is it that no one thought to do that in the Star Wars movies or EU?

Geb the Editor: ... and the blades of your right-hand saber are flaming.

Al gives him a silly ear-to-ear grin. He's obviously been in perpetual nerdgasm for weeks.

Geb the Editor: *sigh* Well, I guess that explains why he hasn't been writing...

Meanwhile (NeS count: Meanwhile (NeS count: Meanwhile (NeS count...))), in the reception hall to what is now Al Ciao's personal Office Room to Rule Them All in the Land of Canada, the elite team of demonic psycho-surgeons approach the receptionist.

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Please inform Mr. Eight that we've returned successfully from an urgent mission at his request.

The receptionist sighs and pushes an intercom button on her desk.

Receptionist: Mr. Eight, sir? There's a group here that wishes to see you.

Al Ciao: I'm busy! And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Al!

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: Sir, it's your psycho-surgeon team. We've successfully grafted Gebohq's soul into the body of William Shatner!

Al Ciao: Is that so... well, don't waste any time getting up here then!

The group is waved into the elevator by the receptionist. The team had been issued to accompany the technically-dead Gebohq in search of a new host body, but as they failed to keep Gebohq with them, the team hatched a plan to trick Al Ciao - known as Mr. Eight - into thinking they had succeeded by killing William Shatner and grafting the soul of The Next True Evil - a Gebohq clone - into his body and pass him off as Gebohq. The team, with The Next True Evil in Shatner's body, go over their presentation once more...

Demonic psycho-surgeon #2: Remember, all the reports clearly show that Gebohq is an idiot, so if nothing else, don't do anything smart!

The Next True Evil: I've seen him myself, you know. I don't need your lecturing--

Demonic psycho-surgeon #1: We're here.

The group enters Al Ciao's office and nearly utter the first word in their presentation when they halt. Before them was not only Al Ciao, sitting in his vast ebony altar of a desk, but his Advocate to one side, and on the other, Gebohq and Rachel. Al Ciao pivots his throne-like chair towards the psycho-surgeons, while Gebohq stares at the form of William Shatner in paralyzing horror as the psycho-surgeons stare similarly at Al Ciao.

Al Ciao: Ah, so glad you all could join us...

Demonic psycho-surgeon #3: Uh--uh--LOOK OUT, SIR! THAT'S AN IMPOSTOR!

Al Ciao: Nice try.

Al Ciao pushes a button on his desk, and trap doors conveniently placed under each of the psycho-surgeons springs open, dropping each of them into hellfire far below. The trapdoors snap shut, leaving The Next True Evil in William Shatner's body standing.

Al Ciao: So, who are you really?

The Next True Evil: There's no point in pretending anymore -- I'm The Next True Evil.

Al Ciao: I see. D.A., have him killed and place the proper soul back into that body.

Al's advocate adjusts his glasses.

D.A.: That's no longer possible, sir.

Al Ciao: Look, I don't care what paperwork needs to be filled out, just do it!

D.A.: It's not that, sir. You just sent the only capable psycho-surgeons into the 10th level of Hell. They won't be found for at least another sixty-six thousand years.

Al Ciao: Oh. Whoops. Uh, take a seat, I guess. Hey, Geb, sorry you had to see this...

The Next True Evil, wary of the situation he was in, takes a nearby seat and watches the others carefully.

Al Ciao: Look, the important thing is that you got your own body back, right? So now we'll just get everyone else's soul contacts in order like you asked earlier and we'll all blow this popsicle stand.

D.A.: Sir, you can't do that either.

Al Ciao: I can do whatever I want, and if that means I have to sign forms for the rest of eternity, so be it!

Al Ciao reaches into a desk drawer and pull out the contracts.

D.A.: It's not that, sir...

As Al Ciao moves to hand the stack of contacts to Gebohq, manacles and chains forge instantaneously from thin air, apparently stopping him from handing the papers over.

Gebohq: You can fight it, Al! I'll help you out!

Gebohq moves to grab the papers from Al's hand as it seems to jerk back from the force of the chains. Al, however, doesn't appear to be influenced by the chains and manacles...

D.A.: The most evil person in Hell is always appointed as its ruler. Mr. Eight cannot give you the contracts because he does not really wish to give them. An evil person has their self interests at heart.

Al Ciao: I want to help my friends! I don't want this power! This position of authority that doesn't require me to be Highemperor at all...

Al Ciao struggles more with himself than his infernal shackles, nearly overcome with his Highemperor persona as he tries to free himself. Finally, Al resigns and slumps back in his chair, still clutching the contracts in his hand.

voice: Maybe I can be of assistance.

Everyone turns towards the door to see a wise old man in an immaculate colbalt blue suit and traveling coat, cupping his pipe up to his mouth not unlike a master detective.

Rachel: Master Thand! What're you doing here?

Al Ciao: And why don't we bother to just replace the entrance with a revolving door?

Master Thand: I apologize for my intrusion, though I'm certain what I have to offer will more than make up for my rudeness.

The Next True Evil: Is that so?

Master Thand ignores The Next True Evil and approaches the others by the desk.

Thand: I arrived to inform you that the Avatar of Loss, Tsolo, has merged with the Darkside. They now call themself Knowsoul, and they have already advanced towards their ultimate goal: to travel down Memory Lane to the forgotten beginnings of the Never-ending Story and consume it.

Al Ciao: And if they consume its source, they consume the whole NeS. We have to stop them!

D.A.: Sir, I must point out that, technically, it is in Hell's interest to let this Knowsoul succeed. The end of existence would be an end to our eternal suffering and to the heavenly powers themselves.

Thand: In an existence where plot-holes make every choice potentially meaningless, ending existence is one choice that is meaningful in its own grim way.

Gebohq: Didn't you say you were here to help?

Thand: Yes, Gebohq, though not as you might hope. I advise that Highemperor--

Al Ciao: That's Al!

Thand: --place a devil's wager on the quest.

Gebohq: A what?

D.A.: A wise suggestion! Mr. Eight, sir, you could offer a wager that hinges on the success of their mission.

Al Ciao: Yes, yes! Gebohq, I officially will bet on your success to stop Knowsoul from ending all of existence!

Rachel: I hate to burst your bubble, but it's not much of a bet. If Knowsoul succeeds, you won't be able to gain anyhing that you wouldn't have already gained by not placing the bet at all.

D.A.: Her logic is quite correct, sir. Your bet can't hinge on the success of Knowsoul.

Al Ciao: Hmm... how about this then: I wager that Gebohq personally won't have a hand in heroically stopping Knowsoul from ending existence. If I am proven wrong, I will relinquish the soul contracts and my seat as ruler of Hell for Gebohq to do as he wishes.

D.A.: And if you are proven right, sir?

Al Ciao: If I am proven right... I will have possession of Gebohq's soul in addition to the ones I already have... and assert myself as the main character of the NeS!

D.A.: Let me just add the obligatory fine print aaaaand....done.

The Devil's Advocate whips our the written wager and places it between Al Ciao and Gebohq.

D.A.: If you two will just sign the document, I'll file it in its proper place.

Gebohq: Can't we just give our word?

D.A.: There's far more than a golden fiddle and pride at stake here.

The Devil's Advocate hands Gebohq a raven quill. Reluctantly, Gebohq takes the quill, immediately dropping it in pain.

D.A.: It requires your blood as ink. The faster you sign, the faster you don't have to deal with the pain.

Quickly this time, Gebohq grabs the quill and signs the contract, immediately placing it down. Al Ciao, cringing at the pain as well, nevertheless signs the contract with more style. The Devil's Advocate snatches the contract up and begins filing it in a nearby cabinet.

Thand: You will not be able to stop Knowsoul on your own, Gebohq. You will need the help of some of your friends, who can be found back at your ancestor's residence in the 8th Dimension. You will also need my own help. For various reasons, my help will have to be rather limited, I'm afraid.

The Next True Evil: He'll just screw you all over for his own purposes, should you all have forgotten why we're in this whole Hell business to begin with!

Al Ciao: I doubt Thand would need to go through all this if he just wanted to take advantage. Still, the point stands: why should we trust you?

Thand: If you are looking for promises that I will do anything other than assist, I will have to disappoint you. If nothing else, should any of you pose an otherwise unavoidable threat to the NeS, I will do what I must to end that threat.

Al Ciao: Wonderful... fine, let's get moving to the Haunted House of Heroes! Advocate, have that Next True Evil guy be useful around here while I'm gone, will you?

D.A.: How, sir?

Al Ciao: I don't care! Just make sure he doesn't cause any trouble.

With that, Al Ciao snaps his fingers, and him, Rachel, Gebohq and Master Thand disappear in a flicker of hell-flame, reappearing outside the rebuilt Haunted House of Heroes.

Master Thand: Since you are no longer the main character of the NeS, Gebohq, you will need your sister, Losien, as she is required by story convention to lead the heroes for any hope of victory. You will also need Young, since she was destined to once put an end to Tsolo, though now she alone will not be sufficient to stop the fused Knowsoul. They can both be found inside.

Al Ciao: How do you know?

Master Thand gives Al Ciao an incredulous look.

Al Ciao: Nevermind.

The group passes JM's haunted outhouse and enters the Haunted House of Heroes. They are almost immediately greeted by Losien.

Losien: Geb! It's so good to see you! I have big news for you since I last saw you -- TLTE and I are engaged!

Losien holds her hand out to show the engagement ring, her smile beaming.

Geb: That's great!

Rachel: Yeah, just peachy.

TLTE: Is that Geb, Losien? We need to catch up on--

As The Last True Evil turns the corner, with Amal by his side, he stops and shoots a death glare at Master Thand, who in return peers in kind. Losien and Rachel do little better to hide their disapproval at each other, while Al Ciao, Gebohq and Amal look to each other in silent formulation of a plan to break the tension. Al Ciao moves to The Last True Evil and Amal, while Gebohq tries to move between Rachel and Losien.

Gebohq: Losien, I've got some bad news.

Losien: End of the world as we know it?

Gebohq: How'd you guess?

Losien: And I have to lead the band of heroes, right?

Gebohq: Don't worry, sis. I'll be there to help you! Not that I really have a choice...

TLTE: I'll be with you too, Losien.

Thand: He should not accompany us.

TLTE: Us? Like hell I'd let you dictate this quest, much less have Losien go anywhere with you and without me by her side--

Gebohq: Hey hey, TLTE, calm down.

TLTE: Did you forget everything he's done, tovarish?

Gebohq: We need him. Please...trust me. As my sister trusts you.

While still clearly on the verge of mowing down everything in gunfire, The Last True Evil manages to collect himself.

Amal: I'll go too. It'll be...like a family outing.

The Last True Evil mellows into something almost a smile as he puts his arm around Amal.

TLTE: Well said, Amal. Tell us, Gebohq, of our quest.

Gebohq: Uh...well, we have to chase after this Darkside-Tsolo combined force - calling itself No-Soul? -down Memory Lane and stop it before it can get to the beginning of NeS and eat it up.

TLTE: Fantastic! It'll be a great adventure and quite the road trip! It'll be just like that one time--

Al Ciao: Sorry to interrupt, but do any of you know where Young is?

Young: I'm here.

She steps out of a nearby room, where some can see a bald and very sickly Antestarr sitting in a chair briefly before she closes the door behind him. Young wears a white dress not unlike the outfit she wore when she first came into existence, and it appears almost like a hospital gown that quite clearly showing her late stages in her pregnancy. In her hands, she holds the hilt of an ominous-looking lightsaber, currently deactivated.

Young: I heard everything, and I will join you. Antestarr wants to help as well, but...

She turns to The Last True Evil, offering the hilt to him.

Young: He said he was entrusting the Darksaber to you, as he believes it may be needed in your quest. He also requested that you be careful to use a device he gave you... a Hyper-Time Modulator?

The Last True Evil glances at his belt, having almost forgotten about the device. He nods to Young, accepting the hilt and attaching it to his side.

Young: And that, should I go into labor during our quest, that you contact him immediately. He's rather worried about me.

TLTE: Of course.

The group stand around in awkward silence.

Losien: ...oh right! Follow me, everyone!

Losien, The Last True Evil, Amal, Young, Al Ciao, Gebohq, Rachel, and a trailing Master Thand all leave the Haunted House of Heroes and march on towards Memory Lane...

(Non-Story Note: I wanted to include Capt. Von Trufflesnout and Wai as well in this post, but it felt forced, and both these characters I see potentially flittering in and out of the group anyway, so I figure it'd be best left to their respective writers, should they want to use them.)