Ending Will Be Up Tomorrow

Dieselworld will conclude tomorrow.

It's been an awesome journey, and I'm glad that you were there to see it--even if you're reading this for the first time, long after the last entry is published. Please, tell other people about this, and please feel free to give me feedback yourself.

I'm told that there's just one more track for the soundtrack that needs to be recorded. When that's done, I'll post all of the remaining tracks to here and YouTube.

Plus, as you'll see, it's not all over. In the weeks following the final entry I'll be making some posts about some elements that fed into the story, which will include a hilariously shitty short story I wrote in middle school that became part of Mark's story. You will laugh, because I suck.

And the story itself may not be entirely over either.

Anyway. It's been a blast, you guys. Thank you. 

#130

The final battle has arrived.

Mary takes the initiative of explaining to Harold Coppola that She and Her friends intend on aiding him and his party in capturing Mark. Though concerned at first, a little mystic tampering ensures that they believe this is a good idea. The participants get into position; and once they're ready, Mark is released.

As Coppola and his landing party rig up their equipment, two “zombies” rush down to him.

Mark doesn't even recognize Susie anymore. If he did, he'd just believe she was another zombie and try to kill her, ignoring his feelings, and filled only with rage over the fact that someone had zombified her. His anger has been grounded as a universal constant. There's only one way to slow it down at all.

Susie and Mina drive him back, with the same streams of concussive light that the Old Man was wielding. He's almost surprised for a second before the shock is eaten away. Then, it's back to hateful screaming, which almost breaks Susie's heart. But we have to remember that Susie is somewhere else.

She's remembering Mary's words to her and Mina, when they were out on the Ocean of Dreams, fighting something symbolic. The voice was the gentlest she's ever heard.

“There are many things that Men cannot do that we can.”

This truth echoes as Susie's beams lock with Mark's. But Mina keeps shoving him back. They have to get him within the frame.

“There are experiences we possess which even the most creative of Men on this or any world cannot fathom. Pains beyond bearing; joys redefining ecstasy. And it is not just motherhood, for we are often contained to merely that. We are not simply sisters, mothers, daughters, or lovers. We are mages. We have Uncountable components secret even to the primary order of the Incomputare.”

And indeed, Susie Sanford and Mina Berkley are Incomputare, but they are the priestesses of the Grandest Ritual. They are the shapers of Life itself, now; for they are daughters of Ishtar, of Aphrodite, of Epona, of Sophia and Shekinah. They are the Daughters of the Fates and Norns, and for all their erect rages even the sons of Borr and Saturn and the Lords of the Underworld have no Fury like their scorn. For the Lady lurks in the pages of books and the pigments of the canvas, and has been with them since their youthful days. May Mark beware.

“Never forget the greatness of your friends, Susie, and never forget the strength of your cousin, Mina. But always remember that behind every great hero is a heroine. And there's often one ahead of him, too. Jacob, Mark, and You must all play their role in this tale, and they and others may end up seeming like the 'main characters' up ahead. But never forget this simple fact:

“Girls rule.”

It was through a man—You—that the world was remade in such a creative way. This new world of jungles and crystal. But the force would never have been in him at all if it were not for someone else.

The force is now battering Mark back. He doesn't stand a chance. And now, by magic, he's within the frame.

“Now!!”

Up on the hill, Coppola signals for his second-in-command to open the tube. She does so, and a stream of sticky concrete begins to splatter all over Mark.

He gives a cry of confusion as the stuff covers him; it slips through his Armor, sealing his mouth shut. The suggestiveness is the last irony he'll ever know. It's not concrete at all; it's actually a substance recovered from a very far distant world, which hardens upon a heavy impact, into a layer harder than steel. As it covers him, he's paralyzed, and they let it cover its own layers, so he's sealed in a sort of oblong shell.

The rectangular frame at his feet instantly generates a box of scarlet energy around him, fed from Coppola Station's massive tesseract reactor, which rivals any of the fuel cores the Empire has ever used. It will take a tremendous amount of energy to shatter such a field, and the frame also draws in potential energy from the air itself. Soon, it will take miracles to have any heat at all; the air inside will become liquid within hours. But hours won't be needed, much less given.

Mark still has his innate abilities, including telekinesis. Though the decreased available energy prevents him from blowing apart the monolith he's sealed inside, he can crack it. He can't bring his Armor with him anyway, for the “concrete”, although it cannot bind with the Armor itself, has bound to the natural level of bacteria on the Armor's surface. It can't get out unless Coppola wills it.

But Mark turns himself to blood, and through the deafening crack he does smash his casing open, and he begins to flow out. This has been anticipated. Though he has very little room, he reforms into his humanoid form—which carries his soul with it. He is now isolated from his Armor, in a way that doesn't violate the spells that bind him to it. He's still hairless, and his face is still twisted with a predictable emotion. The area around him still crackle with fuel-lightning.

“Now!!” they shout again, and the field drops. You steps in front of Mina and Susie, and raises Your hands.

You is possessed by Madame Levingt, as She doesn't want to try the voodoo doll trick again—there's no need for You to die now. Though You will learn to use the fuel-armor again in time, even with Your soul, there isn't time to pick it up, and so She has to act. Plus, She has greater knowledge of what the fuel can do than anybody. So as Mark charges, She begins to fire a chilling beam of the fluid.

This type of fuel acts in such way, with such icy frost, that it penetrates even in Mark's higher-dimensional brain tissues—for the fuel itself is multi-dimensional. They need to stop his brain in order to have him enter stasis. And so as his body freezes, he finds himself losing his ability to think. His hot anger, both preexisting and in reaction to this, buys him a bit more time, but soon it is too late.

The fuel hardens into crystals, and soon Mark stops both moving and thinking. The Moonchild has been captured.

Coppola and the others seem hesitant to approach him, and with good reason. But Madame Levingt climbs down and stands next to him, showing that it's safe.

“By Gekkos...” he whispers. “Is he dead?”

“No,” She says with a smile.

“Good, good...” Coppola seems aghast, once more with good reason. “And you have reason to believe these crystals won't defrost unless exposed to several hundred degrees?”

“Just keep him refrigerated well and it will be difficult for him to escape.” Of course, it was more complicated than that, but She'd be helping them out, till the critical moment.

“Very well. We can transport his Armor and its...container, using the frame.” He pauses. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem! It's like I think I told you. We're fellow explorers. Anything that'll help you will probably help us.” Her smile widens.

Susie relaxes her powers, and Mina does as well. This causes Jacob and You to feel safe coming near them. And as the crew of Coppola Station loads up Mark and his Armor, they begin to talk.

“That was incredible,” You says. You doesn't know what else to say, because it's a true statement on Your behalf.

“Glad you liked it,” Susie replies. She seems out of breath, but it's only a pretense.

There is a pause, but it's not born out any one thing in particular. It's the start of something that they've all wanted for a very long time.

The scene goes through a transition, to something mercifully slower.

“So you...have that...power, from now on? To use magic?” Jacob asks.

“It'll take practice. And I probably won't use it often. Yorick can use the fuel like he did, too, from now on.”

You is only tangentially aware of Your part in it all; but regardless Your part was objectively a good one.

“If he wears the armor, right?”

“Yes. Which I don't think he'll need anymore.”

Sure enough, the regeneration circuits Mary Levingt placed in Your armor have done the job. You has made a full recovery from death; there are barely even any scars. But of course, throughout it all, there has been a great cost on all of them. An invisible one.

They talk briefly about how Susie and Mina were chosen to carry magic into this world when they crossed the Dream Ocean, and what that necessarily means for the days ahead, now that the world has been terraformed—a fact which now almost seems to be an afterthought. They say that She called this changed Earth a “fantasy world”, where any number of new adventures can be had. But as they explain this, there's a crack in their voices, suddenly. And they and the two men begin crying.

They cry in sadness, for Amos, for Aurel, for Lex and Marcel, and for Mark. There's sadness for everyone who died when Earth-Beta-2 was destroyed, and even for those from Earth-Beta-4, whom they never even met.

They cry in anger, against Inspector Fox, against the Emperor, and against the stubbornness of Klaus and Doctor Kai, and everything in between. They allow the anger to burn them, as it burned Mark, and they feel it course through them over matters both silly and horrific.

They cry in fear, for all the times that they could've died and for the time they did, and for when it looked like they had lost everything and seemed like they would have to go on alone. Fear overtakes them for the vastness and cold emptiness of the afterlife, and the wriggling limbs of things they saw at the edges of space and time.

They cry in joy, for the fact that they're all still beautifully alive; and for the fact that now they know it's over, and there's no more confusion, and they can just go on living, which is all they ever wanted.

Jacob holds Mina, and You holds Susie, but as they all just cry together, they all come together and hold each other. For they've just needed each other all this time, and now things can start off on a better note.

It's finally over. The saga ends, and it's time for the heroes to go to whatever home they have.

#129

The Old Man senses what's coming and blinds Mark with a flash of light. At the back of hir mind, ze issues the thousandth apology to him, for what is coming. When the flash is gone, the Old Man is gone; and in hir place, a young fellow, dressed in clothes strange to You and Susie, can be seen.

Moments later, there is a flash of light to the group's left. Two men and a woman have apparently just teleported down...or something. Once again, there's more confusion. But one of the men is very old, and instantly they can recognize him as Harold Coppola.

The new figure who was once the Old Man approaches them. “Hey, man!” he shouts out, as he's running. The trio seem weirded out by his presence.

“Dude!” He seems to pretend to be out of breath. “Are you guys, like, the Children of the Moon? Man! When I ended up here I thought it musta been you guys...”

“Um, I'm sorry...sir,” the woman says, her expression reflecting her feeling of oddity. “We're not, uh, Moonchildren. We're just explorers. Now, how did you get here?”

The young man just grins stupidly, but it's a false smile.

“You look very familiar,” Harold Coppola says then. “Very familiar indeed. You remind me very much of a figure I almost knew once—Zay Arkmoor. I don't know why I see such an uncanny resemblance, however.”

“The name is Zay Arkmoor, dude. The Satanist Detective! That's what my chums call me, at least, these days.”

“Great Cyaegha!” Coppola cries. “Mister Arkmoor! How did you come to be here?”

“Look, I really don't know, man. But listen. It's gotta be the Moonchildren what brought me here. I know it! It's just one of those feelings, y'know? Hey!” He points over at Mark, who is, in fact, fooled by the disguise—and held passive, by Madame Levingt. “Maybe he's a Moonchild? You think?”

The group takes out a device which Jacob instantly realizes is a dead ringer for the tricorder from TOS. In fact, it seems to have been designed specifically for that resemblance. In his mind, he feels himself begins to call the other man “Spock” and the woman “Bones”, though he figures he'll never be formally introduced to them.

Mina picks up on the reference too, but she doesn't care for it; she keeps glancing over at Mark, who is only barely being held back. He seems to be twitching profusely.

“He does seem to emit the sort of energies you've estimated, Master,” “Spock” says. “Should we initiate capture protocol?”

Coppola strokes his wrinkled chin for some time, just staring at Mark. Then he sighs. “Yes, I believe so,” he says gently.

The young figure seems to smile at this, and then turns and walks away.

“Are they going to...contain him, then?” Susie says weakly. “Is it going to happen?”

“They won't do all the work,” the young man says. “I think we have a role in it too.”

“What?” Her voice isn't holding up. “I refuse to help. I want to just hide in The House and wait until it's all over. Am I allowed to do that?”

“No,” he says simply.

“Why the fuck not?!”

“Because if I remove this disguise and use my powers, they'll know I'm not merely Zay Arkmoor. They'll see me as a Moonchild and...'canonically', Mark is the only Moonchild they've met. But you and Mina will carry out a special task for Mary. You will have to do something as well, at the end.”

“What am I doing?” Jacob asks.

The young man's face doesn't show any particular feeling as he says, “I'm not sure. Perhaps nothing.”

Beat.

“...what.”

“Sadly, I do not know if you really serve a purpose at this point. But there is a certain energy about you that I know is important. Unfortunately, I can't explain it right now.”

“Welp.”

“Indeed.”

The landing party is making preparations. Jacob sighs heavily, and Zay ignores him, taking the rest of the group aside.

(Permission for photo used granted by alexkon)

#128

They're now standing outside McGee Manor. Mark has no more targets to attack, but his rampage hasn't ceased. Faint thoughts of how he looks right now and opinions on popular literature are intercut with the desire to exterminate all living things in existence. In the future, he senses a battle with an adversary that defeats him, but he doesn't care. All zombies must be destroyed.

Including those ones standing outside a familiar-looking House.

He screams, just an inarticulate cry, but the Old Man raises hir hand. “Mark!”

The savage roar stops instantly. The voice seems familiar. That not-quite-man not-quite-woman voice.

“Do you remember me?”

“I remember you, queer.” The Old Man is not offended, because ze self-describes as queer. Of course ze does, ze's a pansexual intersexed individual. But the intent, from Mark, is that of appropriation and hate. Presumably where that came from, there are also ideas of nonchalance towards pilfering other races as well.

Mina, Jacob, You, and Susie see that Mark's Armor has solidified. It matches that of the sketch of the Old Man from the Fennec Gang notebook. Ornate, and intercut with shifting patterns, symmetrical and orderly; but impossible to fully conceive. And it glows with that faint greenness that isn't quite green; it's more of a color beyond the human-visible spectrum. He looks like an ancient magical knight, which is frankly what he really is.

Jacob leans in to the Old Man, who is now merely facing tension on Mark's behalf. “Can't you destroy his body without having to get the past the Armor? Burn him apart via the eye-holes or something?” He feels bad even thinking that, knowing that maybe this man could have once been his friend. And Susie is his friend, and a good friend of his cousin, so when he gets his answer—or sees the result—he has to go comfort her, or face his own guilt.

“The Moonchild's soul is irrevocably bound to his, her, or hir Armor. That soul can continue to animate the Armor even in the face of total incineration. The body will eventually regenerate, and the energy required to split a Child's soul from the Armor is beyond the limit of a singular universe.”

“So we'd all be dead if you pried his soul away from it?”

“Yes.”

Jacob then leans back, and stands close to Susie. Her face is red, but the tears seem to be stopping now.

“I said I remember you, you piece of shit!” Mark shouts.

“And am I supposed to find your memory impressive?” the Old Man shouts back.

Mark doesn't vocalize, and before the group can even finish blinking he unleashes a wave of totally white light onto them. Madame Levingt gets a force-screen up even as they think they're going to die. They see the light break at a wedge and flow around them, incinerating the already-charred rubble of the surrounding city.

The Old Man is caught in the blast, but ze doesn't care. Hir robes are burnt off, however, and beneath is hir own Armor. And Mark sees this.

At first, he's confused. But then, he slowly realizes that that's why ze insisted on wearing totally covered robes; he would know that the Old Man stole his Armor.

For as the Old Man mentions, Armor-theft is the ultimate blasphemy amongst Moonchildren. And Mark knows that that's his Armor; it may have traveled through time to get here, but it's his and no one else's.

It's just another inarticulate scream as he launches a wall of the destructive light at the Old Man.

But ze is not unprepared. Ze is an Incomputare, and while such sorcerers know that magic is subtle, it can take on another guise when needed. And so it is that ze brings up another wall, to drive back Mark's.

The walls interlock and are at a stalemate. It's the first time in centuries that the Old Man has had a true mystic challenge; and so beneath hir Armor, ze begins to sweat. But ze knows ze will win. And ze knows that Mark will sweat more. That's encouragement enough, and hir raw Will holds the line.

In 2070, a pulse from the duel destroys Venus-20181, and the ripples from such a blast destroy the Earth of that universe, and all adjacent planets. Only two members of McGee and O'Grady's Boston Group survive to represent humanity...

All words are robbed from You, from Mina, from Susie, from Jacob, and even from Doctor Kai and Klaus. There's nothing that can be done to even begin describing this. But instead of merely having their senses assailed, they can all feel the emotions that course through these displays of magic. They all know at once that they're witnessing something that they only could dream of as children; and as bitterly terrible as this all is, this rising sense of total destruction, they feel the control in it, and they are all children again. Because magic is changing, and inspiring; and they haven't lost their own magic, they've merely forgotten it.

This is battle, and it's brutal and horrible, but still very much, at its core, beautiful.

The Old Man decides to resist brute force for once and drive spikes into Mark's wall. With grips formed in it, ze reaches and Red Seas the thing, creating a horizontal pulse outward. Both ze and Mark scream out from the effort, but it's the Old Man who gets in the first new strike. An undulating tentacle of that raw light strikes towards the younger figure. Mark responds with a similar casting, and the two strike at a midpoint. After that, it's just another pushing game. But they're almost the same being—they're evenly matched. The only difference is that of who is in the Armor.

Behind all this, subtler things are happening. A psychic duel is taking place, and one would think Mark's insanity would give him the advantage. But that's underestimating things. The Old Man has known every altered state of consciousness available to humanity. Ze's just as crazy as he is.

And other subtle things take place, though in a much simpler way. They're subtle in that they happen to be taking place behind the assembled crowd. Coppola Station is appearing in the skies, having noted their particular redness, and how said redness indicates a magical duel.

Aboard the massive ship's bridge, Harold Coppola peers through his glasses, with the slight regret of his growing age. But he's never seen a battle like this before; and soon all these years adrift may finally be justified. He just knows he has to be careful.

“Ready a landing party,” he says quietly, in his grandfatherly voice.

#127

“You'll be safe in here,” Madame Levingt says. But in Your armor, You can see that phrase appear: “Madame Levingt says”. And Your APPLE instantly tells You that that sentence doesn't communicate the truth.

“I know that that's not your real name,” You says.

“What?”

“Your name isn't Madame Levingt or Mary Levingt.”

“The name is real, because I call myself by it.”

“You have a truer name, though, don't you? Something with three letters, starting with a G...”

There's a pause, as there have always been pauses throughout this narrative. In those pauses, You senses a tingle of grammar that might seems to be recycling itself. They're repetitive elements in a story that will be looped over and over again; the future selves of the people in this House are watching this all happen, and will travel back in time to make it happen, so they can do it all again...

“That is one of my aspects,” she says. “But in reality, I'm much more than even that.”

“How?”

“I can't explain right now. There's more important exposition.”

“God damn it!” You suddenly shouts. You's at Your breaking point. This quest has worn on You too much without catharsis. It needs to end soon or You'll go insane. That's not even hyperbole; You can't sense hyperbole, at least. “We're caught in a tug of war between a bunch of Gods and nothing makes any sense! Did you ever consider that we, as human fucking beings, can't deal with time and space being fucked up?! What sort of selfish end is all of this even fucking leading to anyway?”

“You...”

“No, be quiet!”

Mina grabs Your arm and tries to get You to stop. “I trusted you for a little while!” You continues. “But I guess that was a different aspect or something, not the feminine aspect of the cosmos or something...”

“I'm always the feminine aspect of the cosmos, You.” Her voice is kind, but You can sense She's just barely restraining Her Wrath. “That's what I am.”

“And whose Madame Levingt, then?”

“She serves her purposes.”

“No! Tell me right...”

“You...”

“...now.”

Susie helps Mina pull You back as suddenly Shekinah is towering over the group. Her features change to bitter vengeance, darkness tinged with mind-warping beauty; and unseen, a flicker of recognition enters Lefty Sinister's eyes.

“L.?” he asks.

And suddenly, She goes back to normal. She gasps.

“Sinister?” she says then.

“Libertas?” he whispers.

She becomes Libertas, then, and walks towards him. “I haven't seen you in ages, Sinister...I-I didn't even know that you were here. I guess I glanced over you...”

“Heh. Not surprising.”

“Are you still bitter?” Her voice is sad. It's totally different from that of any form the group has seen Her in. “Lefty, I...”

“Look, who was the other guy?”

“What?”

“The other guy. The guy you ditched me for.”

“Lefty, is that what you think...?” Her words catch a little bit. “You're the only one I ever loved, Sinister.”

“Yeah, and you were the same fer me. I woulda thought that meant somethin'.”

“Lefty...I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but...I'm God. I'm Shekinah. I don't fall in love unless I'm in a very certain form. You loved freedom so much that you called me to your side.”

He looks bitter, but they may be a pretense. He doesn't speak for a very, very long time.

“Didja miss me in that time, though? That's my second question.”

“Of course I missed you, dummy! But I have so many forms to be in, and I always questioned myself. It's not right for me of all beings to fall in love with a man. It's not done.”

“I bet I chained yah up, didn't I. Spoiled things for yah.”

“No! I was never defined by you, I mean. I was always the one in control. You respected that.”

“Heh.”

Another pause.

“Would you like me to get you your leg back?”

“No! I never want favors from yah. I always knew that wasn't right for me to ask.”

“I'm offering. I have that right, to offer.”

“That's true. Well, I'm grown fond of having a wooden leg. Symbolic of something? A nice reference? I don't know. I'm sure someone important who rather looks like me, so to put it, has had a wooden leg...”

“Very well. But hey, I have to talk later, okay? I will talk to you later. I just have to settle some things for now.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“I know you do. I read your mind, remember? And if you were lying, I'd smite you right away.” She grins, and he does too. “But thanks.”

The Old Man doesn't say anything, knowing ze too could be smote. But ze knows that She knows that the matter at hand is pressing.

“The Moonchild outside must be stopped,” ze says.

“You mean Mark?” Susie interjects.

“I'm sorry, Miss Sanford, but he's no longer Mark. It's not as if he's taken the identity of the Moonchild; it's that he was born the Moonchild, and was raised as Mark. He was the mystic son of Kurq'wes, who was in turn one of the children of Inspector Fox. And as You knows, the Emperor Kai was also a Son of Fox. Thus, You and Mark are cousins.”

“...what?” Her face is twisted with concern.

“Spiritual cousins. Nothing biological.”

 “Oh. Well, that just makes it all better then, doesn't it?”

“Who's Kurq'wes?” Jacob asks, sort of already knowing.

“Kurq'wes was born Robert Kirk,” begins the Old Man. Shekinah steps back, allowing hir to explain; for after all, this is a matter of hir past. “When the Sons of Fox chose their lives, he decided to be a Scottish clergyman. In his life, he gained a great interest in faeries, something also pursued by Puck, one of Fox's other Sons. He abandoned Christianity to begin the study of magic, and in doing so became a powerful sorcerer. An Incomputare. When Fox began chasing his Sons across time to absorb their powers into himself, he went on a journey only attempted by one other, and in doing so encountered several beings which changed him into something more than human, beyond even Incomputare.”

“What quest was that?” questions Mina.

“I cannot say, for it is hidden by the very nature of the Incomputare—a story in itself, and one long in the telling. Robert Kirk eventually broke free from being Fox's Son. He became Kurq'wes, a name of unknowable significance. Though he appears to be a skull-faced humanoid, his true form is incomprehensible to beings even of my stature. He is a rogue element in this tale, as he created Mark, who we believe was initially never supposed to enter the story. Though the appearance of a Moonchild like Mark in my life at this stage is inevitable. Mark just happens to be the one who satisfies the end that my past self eventually had to face.

“We cannot know in rational terms what Kurq'wes desired when he created Mark. Perhaps he merely enjoys the chaos that arises from Mark's current actions. Or maybe he plays into my personal destiny more than I know. That investigation is still ongoing. But in any case, my story must be told in order to explain what is about to happen. I was born on Earth-Alpha as an ordinary human. I grew up in the 1960s, and was a hippie, which may be a phrase that You and Susie don't recognize, as American and indeed Western history is not actively taught here, due to the obvious presence of the Empire. I was a rather foolish young man, but I had the libertine spark that I still carry with me today. I was a teenage occultist, and had many adventures with a group of...well, no matter how much context I give you, I'll never be able to properly explain it, so sadly this story will be but a pointless background reference. All I can say is that in the early 1970s I was badly injured—killed, in fact. And that was when I met Harold Coppola—an Incomputare who had abandoned magic to become the Administrator of a space station.

“Coppola had, when I was just a boy, gone mad, and traveled into The Unscene in search of a being which he believed could destroy the Ultra, whom Jacob knows as the architects of the Multiverse. He was a sort of anarchist in that respect, not unlike myself. He was fascinated with me as a historical figure, and the two of us shared a homeworld in Earth-Alpha. At one point he acquired my remains, and using a certain process which I'll neglect to describe here, he restored me to life.

“Before he had added me to his collection, however, Administrator Coppola had also captured a certain mystical being. One who had had a particular sort of garb that he believed was meant to be the chassis of the creature he sought to use to destroy the Ultra.”

“He captured Mark?” Susie interrupts. “Does that mean that this is all...about to happen? These events?”

“He did; and they are,” the Old Man says simply. “And if I am to be here, nothing can be done about it. I will offer my apologies in due time. But please, I ask you to restrain your anger, because time is running out, and I need to finish explaining. Coppola had come to guess that the perfect being he sought for his plan could never exist in Nature, and so he had to create it. So he decided to acquire a Moonchild. But Mark was, or will be, too unstable. He needed someone experienced with the occult, of certain youthfulness, whom he could fuse with the Moonchild's Armor, which it had been separated from. So he forced me to volunteer.

“Needless to say the experiment was a success. I was fused with the Armor, but Mark became active. He sensed that someone had stolen his Armor, which is the primal crime for a Moonchild. Nothing could contain him after that, and...”

“...you were forced to kill him?” Susie says breathlessly.

The Old Man says nothing.

“You killed him.”

“I did. I'm sorry, Susie. This is the past. I will not have a choice. My powers have helped Mary guide this all along, and if I cease to exist by failing to aid Coppola capture Mark, so that I may take his Armor and thus become the Moonchild myself, as I am now, the timeline will be altered. You will all probably be dead by this point. The Empire may succeed, and annihilate the Multiverse.”

“This isn't fair!” You suddenly feels bad, realizing what Mark's whole life has been. As tears begin to drip down Susie's face, everyone feels the grip of pity. She's just realizing now that in spite of everything, including the brief time they've known each other, she's come to know him in a way that makes her feel strange.

“I know, child.” And hir voice actually gains emotion now. But You knows this is all scripted. The feelings aren't real. “Coppola will come, and I will help restrain Mark. Please, think of all that has been lost to the Emperor, and to Inspector Fox. All of that loss will be in vain if my present form is not allowed to manifest!”

Jacob still feels empathy for the crying girl. But he knows that answers still have to be sought, if this is inevitable. Maybe he can improvise a way out later, who knows.

“Why is Mark going mad out there? Aside from all the power he's absorbed, I guess?” Jacob is speaking, and his voice is trying to stabilize the situation.

“Kurq'wes and others—sadly, myself including—have tampered with his mind. Used him to push forward these events. There are several sides to Mark now, all subtly different. Initially, he was a homophobic and close-minded culture snob. I changed him to suit my purposes, so he would be a champion against the Empire, and an apprentice sorcerer. This fate was taken away when Kurq'wes tried to get him to evolve further, which resulted in the creation of The Thicket. He eventually stabilized into a generally kind person, a fourth personality. These personalities were kept from conflicting until Fox attempted to steal his body. As aspects of Fox's persona overrode Mark's, it was a dagger stabbing into his psyche, and now those personalities are in conflict. The close-minded hatred he feels for zombies, conditioned into him for irony purposes, is now being fused with hallucinations brought on by his brain attempting to balance itself. He truly believes all life in this universe, save himself, is composed of that which he hates.

“And his mind has evolved. No spell of mine or even Mary's can override this madness. He is doomed, and for that, I sincerely apologize.”

“How can you say sorry?” Susie asks. “How can you 'apologize' for helping some monster use a man as a tool for his entire life?”

Once more, the Old Man does not respond.

“The intense magical energies spreading into this universe are attracting Harold Coppola,” Doctor Kai says, breaking his long silence. “It's time.”

The Old Man and Mary begin to walk towards the door. Following them, now, seems to be the only option.

#126

You and Susie hear a familiar cry up ahead. It's Mina, but they can't tell what feelings are in the shout. They instantly start running towards the sound, knowing Jacob is with her.

What surprises them then is that Klaus is with them too. He must have gone all the way around instead of directly towards You. His face lights up when he sees You, and though You has gone back to wearing the faceplate, You's also smiling.

However, Your armor is detecting a high source of fuel nearby. It doesn't take long for You to notice it, because it happens to be a twenty foot tall giant wearing a white variation of a Crimson Guard's outfit. This is a White Guard, the final elite in the now-dwindling age of Imperial politics.

Mina is shooting at it with her revolvers, but it's doing so little; the tiny spots of blood that are opened up by the shots are nothing more than mosquito bites to this titan. It's just been lumbering around, having lost contact with the Blue Tower, but now that it's being attacked it's going into a programmed self-defense mode.

Though this knowledge will never be known to the group, White Guards are giant clones made of the Emperor enhanced with Crimson Guard circuitry, following an assimilation process carried out by the medical cyborgs. They are the giants that Mark saw being transported in the Blue Tower, naturally, and they wield the enormous pronged staffs that he found so unsettling as their weapons. Right now, that staff is being uncertainly aimed at Susie and You. You detects a massive fuel source being cradled within the staff, and it's presently being charged.

The two barely hit the ground when a screaming burst of electricity flies over their heads. There's an explosion, however, which blows the pair to the side.

You rolls over and finds Yourself staring up at the sun. It's turned red, and indeed clouds are massing as they did over Imperial Central. It is here that You encounters something that You'll never know the truth behind; Mark is warping this sky. His presence on this Earth, without containment, is dragging the planet into a magical maelstrom that could wipe out its life. Which is something Mark is suddenly finding himself wanting to do.

“Get up!”

Susie grabs You and yanks You upward; the Guard is getting ready to fire again.

“Use Your fuel thing!”

“My what?”

“Shoot that blazing fuel out of Your hands, or whatever it is You does!”

You can't, and You knows You can't. You tries to communicate this, but You has to jump aside again as another pulse of force narrowly misses You.

You stands again, and as the red skies become more and more noticeable, You begins to lose hope, and assume that without Your laser pike, or Susie's Tommy gun, this thing could be unbeatable.

Of course, the Tommy gun isn't that far away. There's the sound of echoing thunder just as a whole string of those tiny chicken pocks opens on its right side.

“Come on, yah idiots!” Lefty Sinister shouts. “I don't even know why I'm payin' kind to you chumps, but I've got somethin' cooking in my brain.”

Then he fires again. The clone gives a bestial roar and starts charging after him. Apparently lots of gunshots are enough to piss it off, but not those generated by the rate of fire of a pair of revolvers.

Lefty keeps firing in bursts as the thing comes towards him. It must be dumber than it looks, he realizes. It has a ranged weapon in its fuckin' hand and it's not even usin' it. But that's okay, because he's leading him towards the other big idiot.

Mark has begun to realize why he's so full of hatred for these scattering hordes of rebels and Crimsons running about. He indicates this by screaming, which is now, aside from massive bursts of force, his primary form of communication.

“GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU ZOMBIES!!!” he shouts, as he destroys a group of Allegiance members. He's not discriminatory, though, as he shouts the same thing again as he blows some Crimson Guards to paste and grue.

Lefty overhears this, of course, and decides to use it to his advantage. He keeps a safe distance from the marauding hipster as he draws the White Guard within range. Not like Mark really has a range, but still.

“Hey, ugly!” he shouts, and Mark pauses to look at him. “Here's a big zombie for yah!” He could've said something more creative, he realizes, but he's working and he always directs more physical energy into his work than verbal.

Mark gives a cry of rage and wastes no time firing his blast at the Guard. It barely registers what's happening as the upper half of its body is cremated. Charred ashes that were once a spine settle onto Lefty's ducking body, as he had jumped away at the last second.

The party stands at the top of the collapsed building looking down on this scene. It's impressive, to be sure, but it once again reminds them that they have no way of dealing with Mark at this time.

However, it is here that The House removes its disruption aura. It had never moved, as the Old Man had suddenly remembered that The House had miraculously appeared not far from the party. That is to say, it had reappeared where it had landed to begin with. Thus yet another piece of pointless non-story has taken place, to conform with equally pointless time travel bullshit. Of course, because of time travel, the pointlessness was always required to happen, despite serving, of course, no goal or aspiration of anyone ever in any way, shape, or form.

“Get inside, young ones,” the Old Man says condescendingly. It's here that the group first takes notice of hir, and allows themselves each some private irk.

But clearly this individual knows what ze's doing, so they have to take a chance, and go in.

#125

Inspector Fox sees his hand seize uncontrollably in front of him. It's like a dying spider. His spine rattles and shakes and fizzes with agonizing brightness. A million tenth-dimensional thoughts blaze through his brain as he struggles to dissociate himself from that possession attempt. Never again, he figures. Then he senses, in a diseased hipster way, that that thought's ironic.

He looks up, still on his back in the crater. Mark still rages nearby, but he's below his notice. But there are two figures standing over him. Mark and...Lefty Sinister.

But Sinister couldn't stand, not with Mack Greasy ripping his leg off. It's a fight to get his eyes to focus under the sun, which is now blood red for some reason, but at last he notices that Lefty's grabbed a wooden pole and has made himself a new leg with it. He's holding something, which Fox instantly recognizes as a weapon. One of the party's weapons; Moonchild's messing everything up, so he only gets its trope impression. What could it be...? Laser pike? Magic revolver...?

No, of course not. It's something Lefty's familiar with.

Fox gasps, and the sound comes out with a gurgle.

“No!!”

“Buenas noches, Inspector.”

It's only twenty shots, but the echoes in the ruined city makes it sound like more. Even above the Moonchild screams.

Lefty smiles as he looks down at the very mortal mess. He's gonna hang onto this baby; oughta really come in handy. For now, though, it's goin'-on-the-lam time.