The Scramble [Complete]

[Ganondorf]

While the others had discussed leaving or staying when the group had finally noticed that two groups were converging on their position, Ganondorf had spent the time in consideration. Obviously, to leave alone was suicide. With only the barest knowledge of the workings of this place, any of them would be easy pickings for anyone out there. And, as Ganon knew intimately, death was quite often the least worrisome thing that could happen to someone.

On the other hand, to wait was to risk the possibility that these groups were out to capture them anyway, which would be no different than striking out alone. In the end, Ganondorf had the choice taken from him as the groups had arrived much more quickly than he would have thought. Fortunately, they seemed more focused on each other than the fountaineers, the reason for which became obvious as they spoke. As the final words were said, a newcomer to their group, some read-haired swordsman immediately darted to the side of the man who was named King. Additionally, the short creature who bore a strong resemblance to Samus, ‘Proto Man’ Ganon remembered overhearing, was posturing towards one of the more imposing characters that had arrived.

With a sigh, Ganon clasped his hands behind his back and worked on picking his words carefully. Placing himself equidistant between the two groups, off to the side so that he could see and address both at once, the Gerudo King began.

“First, allow me to thank you both for the cordial invitation,” Ganondorf said, investing the word cordial with just a hint of a questioning tone. “However, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

Casting a telling glance in the red-haired swordsman’s direction, he continued, “I’m neither some dog, to run in a pack and pay homage to my master, grateful for the scraps given me.”

He then glanced towards the receding form of Whirda, “Nor am I such a fool as to run off alone, in some misguided show of bravado and strength, not paying any mind to the wisdoms of alliances or fellowship.”

Returning to shifting his gaze between the two obviously in charge, Ganondorf decided to grace them with a sinister grin. “No… I will not be beholden to any man. False promises of freedom under the rule of a King, and power directed by another’s hand… these things hold no value to me.”

Finally, Ganondorf turned his back on the two groups, a show that no other words would sway him as well as placing himself in a position to face the other fountaineers as he concluded, “I’m sure that there are those among you who can see the truth in what I say. These people seek to control and manipulate you in their childish posturing for power. I’ll have no part of that, but I can’t speak for the rest of you. Do as you like. However, I’m sure there is a place where we… WE can be the ones in charge. Where no man will dictate how your life should be lived. I will find that place.”

His gazed took them all in, stopping to locks eyes with the ones whose eyes were visible. “I hope that when I do, you will be there standing with me.”

[PepsiWhirda]

Facing the portal, prepared to take the plunge that would shape the next phase of her life, Whirda paused. Her ears perked. An explosion in the distance, from the direction of the fountain. She squared her shoulders. The affairs of those strangers should be none of her concern, and truthfully they weren't, but Whirda had known, too many times, the feeling of being thrust into unfamiliar territory. She had borne the weight of change so many times, decisions like the one she made to separate herself from the group were simple ones. Discord and unfaithful allies were two of the principle ingredients of a concoction that resulted only in death, by her experience.

But those people... some of them were children. Some were not fit to adapt as she was. Had it been too selfish, she wondered, setting off on her own? Without consulting any of them? Aside from the red-haired one, the mass of flesh and arrogance subtly bent on bringing the other newcomers under his banner, the group was young, certainly, impressionable, probably, weak, perhaps, especially when facing an army.

Still, Whirda didn't turn. In her time in Luskan, still what she considered the best eight years of her life, her mother instilled in her a simple litany. To isolate yourself is to ensure survival. Befriend only those you are certain you can trust. The logic had kept her from certain death innumerable times.

The plan came to her almost unconsciously. Omnilium. She had felt the power brewing inside her from the start, the sensation that she was the same, yet somehow different. At the fountain, the red-haired one had used it to summon clothing, seemingly without difficulty or more than a flicker of thought.

Whirda brought that power to bear, crafted a specific vision, and after several minutes, the osprey appeared before her. The bird was sleek, with ruffled brown-black plumage and sharp, yellow eyes. Whirda's message was already clutched in its talons. She smiled. The bird reminded her of an old friend.

"Go," she whispered, and the bird beat its powerful wings and was gone, streaking back over the blank expanse to its only ornamentation, the fountain. Back to Nyx and Eighteen, back to the green-skinned orc woman.

The message it delivered was simple: There are those who will always seek to control you. Be cautious with your trust. If it goes to hell, if you need an ally or an escape, follow me, find me, but I cannot stay here. Not now. Whirda

It was a final gesture of... of what? Friendship? Alliance? Two paradigms to which she'd never lent an ounce of credence. Loyalty, perhaps. To kindred spirits, embroiled in a conflict for which they hadn't asked, weren't prepared. It was a hollow gesture. They would not make the decision to follow on their own. But now it was done. There was no going back. Of that, Whirda was certain.

She swept a strand of white-blonde hair out of her face. Her weapons hissed from their sheaths. Before she could reconsider, without looking back, she stepped through the portal and was gone.

[Violet]

Her lungs were beginning their slow burn as her body went into a full-on sprint. The closer she got to her targets, the clearer they became, and just beyond them, a series of strange, glowing arches. One of the figures, presumably male and on horseback, caught sight of her and sped towards her.

As he approached, she began to make out his features: his skin was a slightly darker tone of green than hers, his face squared and utterly masculine, with a well-kept beard of black hair lining the lower half. Two thick cables of equally dark hair hung around his neck and draped over his chest, falling towards his lower abdomen, braided and secured with thick metal circlets and red leather straps. His shoulders were very broad, decorated with thick plates of metal and hardened leather with frightening spikes jutting from each of their centers, with more of the circlets decorating the edges. From his back, she could see the hilt of a weapon, but he was still too far away for her to make it out. His chest was encased in what looked to be mail and leather, a stunning work of art by an Orcish blacksmith whose pride was worked into every metal link and strap holding it together. Bits of fur and bone further enhanced the beauty of his armor, and caused a sharp pang of jealousy to steal through her.

In the back of her mind, she reminded herself that there was still danger, and pulled her daggers from their sheaths, ready for attack. He had the features of an Orc, and could very well have been, but how many times had she seen one brother attack another, cruelly and mercilessly rending their lives for their possessions, or just because they were too caught up in their bloodlust to care?

When he was within earshot, and she could see his face clearly, his eyes the color of the sky, Garona shouted, “Who are you?”

The Orc reeled his mount to a stop, the horse shaking its head, mane twisting majestically around it’s thickly muscled neck. It was strange seeing an Orc riding something other than the wolves they bred especially for such a purpose. Horses were more of a human transport, not Orc. “Now’s not the time,” he replied, voice deep and gravelly. He exuded an aura of leadership, and reminded her of someone from her world, someone of importance, but she couldn’t quite place him. He didn’t seem to be very dangerous, at least, he didn’t seem to be aggressive towards her. Good. It relaxed her just a little to know that she seemed to have at least this little piece of familiarity in a place that seemed to be everything but. “This place is about to get really dangerous. I’d advise you get behind us.”

Before she could ask him what he meant, and if she could offer her help, he rode off without another word.

“Fantastic,” Garona sighed. She looked back towards the arches from which he came, seeing another figure that must have decided to stay behind. Get behind them? Who were they? Sure, he was an Orc, like herself (well, okay, half-Orc, but still. She didn’t know them, and for all she knew, it was a ploy to gain her trust. Trust led to betrayal. Betrayal usually led to death. Despite the implied “immortality”, she was more than a little skeptical.

Deciding it was best to follow the Orc, Garona sped off back towards the fountain and the cowardly bunch who decided to stay behind like the pathetic prey they were. She made it back just in time to watch their little squabble, and for Ganondorf, the monster with the red hair and sickly colored skin, to step forward and demanded their names. He didn’t have the balls to go investigate them before, but now makes demands? It surprised her, but she should have expected it. Someone who looked as robust as he who didn’t take any initiative to protect others weaker than himself would find themselves on the wrong end of her dagger soon enough. She had a low tolerance for false heroics.

There was a storm of demands and questions from the growing crowd of people, to which Garona noticed even more had joined their fray. A few were also on horseback, much like the Orc, giving her the impression that they, too, were part of the two separate groups of observers on either side of them. It meant that there were perhaps more of those strange, glowing arches over there, too. What were they? Were they doorways into another world, like the Dark Portal had been? Was that how they got here, and did it mean there was a way out of here after all? It had to be. She would accept no other explanation.

The men on horseback conversed with one another, trading heated arguments and accusations. The Orc who approached her earlier was there, standing beside another man, a human called Aragorn, whose features were strikingly handsome.

Garona admired his raw, physical beauty. His face seemed to be lovingly cut from stone by a master artisan, the flesh a pale golden cream. Along his jaw, a spray of week-old stubble resided, framing a set of plump pink lips. They belonged to the face of a female, but seemed to enhance his masculinity even more in their perfection. Eyes as pale as an early morning sky took residence in the deep caverns beneath his pleasantly hewn brows, and his hair, a blond so dark it was almost brown, hung just past his shoulders in wavy strands. It was moist with sweat, adding to its sheen. The rest of him was simply clothed in a dark cotton cloak and matching tunic, with a pair of leather pants encasing a pair of powerfully muscled legs that strained beneath the fabric.

He was a warrior, she thought. His entire being exuded nobility, of a strength a man who wanted not for his own gain, as indicated by his simplistic trappings, but for something that mattered even more than gold and riches. He was a leader.

“If I hadn’t come here, you would have taken all these people,” the human glared at the other man who claimed to align himself with an “empire”. Was it true? Where would he have taken them? Surely to their deaths, she thought in the back of her mind. Death, or slavery, or maybe even both. Neither course would have been one she would have willingly supplied herself to. She found herself instantly disliking this human who called himself “Bradley”.

“And what were you coming to do, King Aragorn?” The scorn was practically dripping from his words.

An eruption came from around the fountain. The discontent was clear amongst the group who had just found themselves trapped within this white void. Aragorn’s shoulders squared, his face settling into a peaceful gaze as he took them all in, rebuffing Bradley’s accusation with an affable hint of a smile. Garona liked him in that moment. She liked him a lot.

He offered them a home in his lands. He guaranteed freedom and comfort, something that Garona had barely had the chance to experience in her own homeland. There had been tales of a time long ago when the clans had lived prosperously and peacefully on Draenor, but that was no longer, and was certainly well before her time. She wondered, no, hungered, to be part of that peaceful lifestyle again, but the skeptic within her kept a safe distance.

Before anybody could respond, Bradley wheeled his mount around and countered with his own offer. “We will make you comfortable, and by that, I mean a real place to live, not some stone-walled shack.” Funny, but stone-walled shacks were what she was accustomed to, and it was perfectly fine for her. He spoke about them as if it were something beneath him, to be ashamed of even considering. No, she didn’t much care for this man at all. “Make use of the technology available to us. There’s no catch. You can stay there, or go somewhere else.” He laughed mockingly as he continued, “Go see his Kingdom, if you want.”

Aragorn took the insult gracefully, not rising to the bait Bradley threw his way. “I am not forcing anyone,” he replied. “You can go with him, or come with us, or you can go to any one of the other verses. I just don’t want the Empire to twist you against us.”

A silence hung over the crowd, Garona included. For her, the decision seemed to be an easy one. She wanted to follow this man, and his Orc companion, if only for the familiarity of having one of her own kind around. However, he alluded to other “verses”, which she could only surmise were other lands or realms, other than his or Bradley’s. It piqued her curiosity, she admitted, but what of those verses would she be welcome, and which would she needlessly put herself in even more danger?

No. She couldn’t do that. She could become familiar with their lands, to explore her options, and then explore from there, she decided. Establish a base, and work her way outwards. Although she thought of these other newcomers as complete cowards not worthy of breathing the same air as she, she would let them go and make their own way around. Eventually, they’d run into each other again, and when they were on more even ground than now.

Stepping towards the Orc and the human, Garona sheathed her weapons, and drew one arm across her chest, her fist resting against her heavily beating heart. “I would like to follow you, if you would have me. I am sure you can use my skills, especially against people like that,” she cast a heated glare toward Bradley, who responded in kind. Oh yes, she would have fun with that one. She drew her gaze back to Aragorn, her lips turning downwards into a frown. “The moment I sense betrayal, however, will be the moment my weapons seek your heart. Do not cross me, human, or your life will be forfeit.”

Aragorn considered her words, and nodded. “You have my word.” He looked over to the male Orc, then back towards her. “Tell me, what is your name?”

Garona hadn’t supplied it to any of these strangers before now, and was somewhat leery over sharing it now. A name meant a way of identifying her, a way of breaking her cover when it was most needed. A name could be traced with magic, a sort of tracking method used by those powerful enough to use it.

After several moments, Garona’s shoulders squared, her jaw lifting. She would not be a coward.

“My name is Garona. Garona Halforcen.”

[Nyx]

In the midst of the two Kings' rivalry, the blood mage began to giggle. The noise resonated throughout the blank canvas that was The Fountain of Infinity. It seemed to clash with the woman's dark-looking features, promising a kind of innocence it was unlikely she could deliver. She clapped her hands together delightedly as their heated argument drew to a close. “Bravo, my lieges,” she drawled, clapping thrice more in a deliberate act of sarcasm. “Your double act was quite the little spectacle.” Bold words coming from a woman who wasn't sure her magic would be able to save her this time, but Nyx knew well enough that in a war of words, conviction is half the battle – and she had that in abundance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure drawing itself from the fountain. He looked odd, but Nyx's gaze caught his for the briefest moment, and she found herself intrigued by him. There weren't many others who shared her red eyes, let alone those who seemed to burn brighter than her own. She was impressed, even from a distance. Her heart sank a little as he withdrew from the group, but undoubtedly there would be time to meet him later. The Omniverse couldn't be that big, right?

Truthfully, Nyx hadn't given much thought to choosing sides. As far as she was concerned, they were all in the same boat, here. Was there any real proof that these two 'Kings' had any jurisdiction anywhere? The blood mage was confident she could run some spiel about how she commands lands of her own, and how exactly would they be able to disprove her words? It sparked an idea, and an interesting one, at that. An idea which was equally mischievous and risky as it was logical.

She took a step forward towards Bradley and Aragorn, studying each of them intently for a moment before finally speaking. “And are we supposed to just take you at your word? What proof do you bring of the power you claim to hold?” She lifted her head in something of a defiant gesture, lightly folding her arms across her chest. It was at that moment her attention was drawn towards Whirda's osprey – apparently, in all the excitement, she hadn't noticed the 'windy girl' slip away. She unfurled the message with interest, regarding Whirda's words with due consideration.

It was definitely an interesting proposition. Now, three imminent solutions seemed to present themselves – choose a King, or choose Whirda. Of course, Nyx could always choose her own path... but in such alien lands, was that really wise? There was a marked difference between the Fade and this place. Nyx felt infinitely more comfortable dealing with demons than she did with these alien creatures.

Rolling the message up, she returned it to the osprey, just in time to watch Garona reappear and ally herself with King Aragorn. It was an unexpected twist – she didn't seem like the type to readily submit to another's leadership. The threat at the end comforted Nyx a little, it felt more like the Orc she knew.

The question remained – what would Nyx do? Would she choose a side with one of the feuding Kings, and become a pawn in a war she didn't fully understand? Would she follow Whirda, and choose freedom? Would she openly confront these Kings, challenging them to battle? Or would she carve her own path through this unforgiving universe?

At the very least, she could let the kings justify themselves before deciding.

[Blink]

"So, storm trooper, huh?" Joker asked, mostly to himself. He was loitering near the rear line of the white armor-clad soldiers, trying to look inconspicuous. "It just so happens that I might be in the market for a new line of work." He was talking specifically to the soldier in the far corner of the ranks, and being ignored by everyone else. The storm trooper he was speaking to was making head movements to glance at him. "I've been in a couple storms in my day, and I've been known to, as you youngin's might say...'troop' it up. I could be a storm trooper, right?"

The man in front of him didn't say anything. Instead, he moved into a firmer position of 'attention', as if he was deliberately trying to ignore The Joker.

"I mean, the benefits have to be pretty nice, right?" He continued on. "What kind of deal do you get on dental? It has to be better then those guys." He looked down the ranks of storm troopers to the 'other' side. On the side Joker was on was a nearly formulated rank of clean, bright storm troopers, covered head to toe in thick white armor. But on the opposite side of the tiny group in the middle was a gaggle (heh, gaggle) of dirty looking soldiers in much more primitive looking gear. Not that they didn't look equally dangerous - Joker always had a thing for the 'ugly' look on people. But there was something to be said about 'perception is everything.' "You would think that with people running around with metal armor and lasers, you'd go ahead and put horseback on the backburner, eh?"

At first, he got no response. Joker looked mildly annoyed, curling his mouth to the side as he scrunched up his face. But then the storm trooper turned to the left to look at the scarred face of this Prime that was speaking to him. His voice was metallic, like a robot through the mask. "It's all different here," the soldier answered. "Swords are just as strong as a laser or a bullet."

"Oh, really now?" Joker took another look at the little group in the middle of the organized mobs. "Still, you have to give them points for fashion. Swords or not, there's always something to be said about the dirty, grimy look." He then turned his attention to the storm trooper in front of him. "You ever think about filing a complaint with HR about these uniforms? White is so last season." He then took a moment to brush his gloves hands down his fancy, purple and yellow striped jacket. "I don't expect you to look as fabulous as me right off the bat, but you could at least try to impress a potential co-worker."

The storm trooper actually took a moment to look the lanky individual up and down. He had never seen anyone quite so...strange. He had these shiny black shoes and a make-shift business suit on, but the shoes were pointy-tipped and the suit was striped in these strange colors. He had a colorful flower on the breast pocket of his jacket, as well as white gloves covering his hands. His face was the strangest of all: bright white, as if he had make-up on, green poofy hair and two ugly scars on the sides of his mouth - still stained red as if it had never been washed.

"Quite dashing, wouldn't you agree?" The Joker asked, following a 'Superman' pose with his wrists on his hips, chest puffed out. "Doesn't it just scream 'sophisticated?'

But all the storm trooper could muster in response was: "How did you get those scars?"

At first, The Joker was surprised. Even the soldier next to him had to take a look, proving that he had been eavesdropping the whole time. Of everything that the soldier could said, asked or did...why did he have to bring up the scars? Then the look of shock faded to this big, almost scary smile across the painted face of The Joker. "You want to know how I got these scars?" He pointed with his covered index finger at his lip, right over what used to be a slick cut across his face. "It was from my father, you see. He was a champion dart player. He used to practice around my head, to hone his skills. And one day, well, he had a little bit too much to drink and..." His smile faded for a moment. The Joker's eyes twinkled. The storm trooper's head turned to the side as he sensed emotion coming from his strange man. "The dart sliced right through my lip. Can you believe it?"

The storm trooper brought a hand up to the shoulder of The Joker. "I'm so-"

"And do you want to know the worst part?!" Joker practically shouted, his eyes suddenly filling up with rage. He showed his yellow teeth, snarling in anger as he told his story. "He didn't even win! He scarred me for life and he didn't even win the damn game!"

"R-really?" Was all the soldier could blurt out.

Joker had deteriorated from rage to sobbing against the metallic shoulder of the storm trooper. Then he looked up, into what he assumed at the eyes of the storm trooper and smiled - smiled with tears still forming in his red pupils. "Nope!"

Just as quick as he had changed from mood to mood, The Joker pulled one of his purple-handled pistols out of the inside pocket of his pin-striped jacket and held it to the forehead of the stormtrooper. Before the unnamed gunman could say anything, Joker blasted a hole right into his helmet, in one side and out the other. Blood spat out of the back of his head as he fell back. As he crumbled to the ground, out of ranks, the storm trooper that had been previously eavesdropping turned to the side. No other soldier even so much as blinked at the ridiculous story that was being shouted behind them. Joker looked to the shocked trooper and put a finger to his lips. "Sssshhh," he insisted. "He's trying to sleep."

The storm trooper took a second to process the fact that the fancy looking pistol was being waved in front of his face, and then turned to look forward, as if nothing had happened.




It took about five minutes for Joker to return from his trek to the fountain. When he stepped up to his spot in the formation, he was noticeably skinnier then every other storm trooper (who, he realized, was all the exact same height and weight). But aside from that, he looked like every other storm trooper you might ever see - save for the green hair coming out of the helmet, the leather gloves fingers, the flower on the chest or maybe the tall, black pointy shoes.

"Hey," Joker whispered to his new storm trooper buddy. "I'm Bob. What kind of dental benefits do we get?"

[Omni]

The four Primes actually smiled a bit at Nyx’s question, despite themselves.

Bradley chuckled. “You really do get all sorts in the Omniverse. Having to prove ourselves never really crossed my mind.”

It was at that moment that a gunshot ran out through the air. It wasn’t in their immediate vicinity, but close. Dredd spun round. He pointed to four stormtroopers. “You, you, you, you. With me.”

King Bradley’s voice dropped. “It looks like,” he said his smile sinking into an expression of anger, “An opportunity has arisen to show what we’re personally capable of.”

Aragorn and Thrall simply watched.

The line of stormtroopers split as Dredd and his lackeys strode through. At the back was a stormtrooper clearly not theirs. For one, he was noticeably skinnier than all of the others, and green hair was poking out of his helmet.

“Hello sir!” said the soldier, doing a wavy salute as Dredd crossed the distance between them. His voice dropped into a mock military drawl. “Another faaahn day to serve this -”

Dredd leapt onto him, knocking off the Joker's helmet as he slammed him to the ground and pinned him with his body weight. The Joker protested, giggling, muffled due to the fact that his face was pressed against the floor. “Well, you’re a handsome man and all, but -”

“SHUT UP!” roared Dredd. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket. “You’re lucky you’re a Prime, otherwise you’d be dead right now.” He cuffed the Joker’s hands together, then stepped off him. He motioned to the four stormtroopers he’d been with. “Take him back to the transports.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

There was a noticeable increase in the tension in the air now. Aragorn might have protested, but the man had killed a member of the Empire’s army. He’d have done the same.

Dredd stamped back to the fountain and snarled. “Anyone else want to see what we’re capable of?” He pulled out his gun, cocked it. “I got a lot of rounds.”

[Samus Aran]

Samus didn’t take long making up her mind. She trusted neither more than the other, but preferred either option to wandering out into the wilderness with no knowledge of what was out there. From the sounds of it, the Empire had access to real technology, whereas the Kingdom did not. With the Empire, she could quickly find out how things worked here, and whether or not the place was real after all. On that front, she had a sinking feeling. Whether or not it was, she doubted this was going to be a quick mission.

She turned and nodded to the group. “Good luck,” she said, and then walked over to join King Bradley.

[Violet]

While the others branched off to follow the leaders of their respective branches, Garona took her place just off to the side near Aragorn and Thrall. Her choice was the lesser of the evils, although there were other choices that would have made more sense given her profession. However, the more she thought of her decision, the more she wondered if this was a sign that it was time to change her ways. Perhaps she could use her skills in ways that were more beneficial than murdering for the sake of selfish gains. Or playing someone’s lapdog. She’d always felt something akin to remorse after each kill; it never left a pleasant taste in her mouth, especially when those kills involved children.

She was never proud of herself for those jobs.

Her gaze roved over the hodgepodge of alien creatures, her eyes coming to rest on one in particular. The man with the hair of fire and the skin of the Forsaken made her own skin crawl. There was something about him that didn’t sit right with her; maybe it was just something about his appearance that unsettled her so, or those smooth-as-silk speeches he made. They seemed so…manufactured.

Call it a hunch, but she was willing to bet that he had other motives than just getting into the good graces of those around him. Trust is betrayal. Betrayal is death, she thought. She trusted no one other than herself, of course, but there had been times when she was not so careful and it ended up almost costing her her life. It was a hard-earned lesson, but the adage had stuck with her since her last near-fatal encounter.

Despite her own misgivings about trusting others, there was no reason why she shouldn’t think he was being disingenuous. She didn’t know what he had done before he arrived, and he hadn’t treated them anything less than with cordiality. The only thing she held against him was his failure to step forward, do the honorable thing, and accompany her or, hell, anyone else, in investigating a potential danger. It was considered cowardice amongst the Orcs. Perhaps it was different for his people. After all, the Orcs weren’t known to make decisions that had their preservation in mind. They typically acted first before thinking it out, but that was behavior usually reserved for the peons, not the higher echelons of clan government. Usually.

After a long while of observing, she waited a short time more before peeling off from her chosen faction to approach Ganondorf. There was a compulsion she felt that forced her to approach him, her face blanking as she closed in. “Ganondorf,” she growled, and watched him turn to face her, a pleasant, passive expression passing over his features as he greeted her in that sickly sweet manner she’d become too quickly accustomed to.

“Garona, right?” He gave a slight bow, as he extended a hand towards her, an invitation she ignored. She snorted derisively at his gesture, and he withdrew. Something passed through his strangely colored eyes, but it quickly vanished.

“Names aren’t important;” she said. “I couldn’t help but overhear your latest speech.”

Ganondorf paled just a little, but his composure never faltered. Point for him. His voice dropped so that only she could hear, and replied, “We cannot trust these strangers, my lady. They offer false promises and security, but why else would they be here, fully armed, some with their own small armies, if they didn’t intend us harm?”

Garona thought for a moment, recalling Thrall’s warning. “The Orc who stands with Aragorn had told me things were going to get dangerous.”

“Which is exactly why they cannot be trusted,” Ganon’s voice had the edge of a hiss, but he hid it well. “They wish to enslave us, to fawn their power over us. If the others wish to follow that path, then so be it, but I will not. If you see the fallacy of following a stranger’s shining promises in hopes of living a peaceable existence, then perhaps I could convince you to follow me, instead.”

“No,” she said flatly.

Ganondorf’s thick brows lifted, surprised.

Garona’s expression darkened as she caught and held his cooling gaze. “The truth of the matter is, we do not know if there is any other way out of here except through them. The one known as Bradley is arrogant and seems to be a dishonorable man. He blatantly disrespects another clan leader, something that is very undiplomatic. It was something I hated about my own people, and nothing good ever came from such attitudes. Aragorn, however, maintained a peaceful attitude, and remained respectful, even in such a situation. He never faltered. A chief who has the best interest of others in mind displays similar behaviors. The other…” her eyes travelled to the one known as Dredd, and caught sight of one of the newcomers who had managed to get himself into trouble not even an hour of arriving. “The other just seems like a prick.”

Ganon chuckled. “Do you regret your decision?”

Garona shook her head. “What is there to regret?” She returned his smile, but it wasn’t nearly as warm as his. “I plan to explore as much of this new realm as possible, starting with his first. If it is as destitute as the others have alluded, then it wouldn’t be too difficult to do what needs doing.”

The corners of his lips lifted as he asked, “And what is that, my lady?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.”

Garona snickered. “Ganondorf, I do not much care for fancy speeches or shit like that, something you seem to be very good at. Something all three of these others seem to also be good at. Do you see a connection with my logic?” He observed her quietly, not even bothering to respond. “I don’t give two shits what you think, or what you can promise me, just the same as I do not care about what they can give me. I do not trust you as far as I could throw you…no, I take that back. I could probably throw you pretty far if I wanted to.”

He bristled, prepared to respond, but she cut him off before he could even start. “It could have been very different had you not displayed such cowardice in the face of a possible danger. You call yourself a king, but I have never met a king who sat back while somebody else too it upon themselves to investigate trouble. A real king not only protects those lesser than him, but he goes in head first. Tell me, creature, what is your excuse?”

[Nanoha Takamachi]

The thought of trying to escape towards one of the other gates did pass through Nanoha's mind, but it didn't take long to banish the idea entirely. As the two groups closed in on the fountain, it was becoming clear that they were here to talk, not to fight. Envoys of some kind, or leaders, with a large escort. Regardless, it was obvious that trying to get away on foot wasn't an option; as she watched one rider broke off towards the green skinned woman and, after a brief pause, the lady became to head back toward the fountain.

For there to be two large groups such as this, seemly organised, this Lost Logia must have been active for some time indeed. Nanoha wondered what the likelihood of meeting anyone she'd recognise from the TSAB record in this strange place would be. It was possible that other poor souls had been trapped within this pocket dimension too. All the more reason to locate the Lost Logia itself and seal it.

As the riders, one group on their horses and the other on hover bikes (what quaint forms of transport the latter ones were), neared the fountain, Nanoha decided that observation was the best bet here to begin with. See whom they were, what they were like, and what they came to talk about. She also suspected they were here to parley with, to recruit, to befriend the newcomers to this strange land. Most likely, their haste was to beat the other side to the fountain. Or at least not be the last one there. It didn't take long for her musings to be proven correct.

The events that followed were bemusing, bizarre and sometimes exasperating to Nanoha. She kept her silence, knowing that others would ask more questions that needed, and just watched the proceedings. Ganondorf, in his tall pompous demeanour, made a speech that Nanoha could respect but rang hollow to her. Two more newcomers appeared, one of them apparently more decisive than the rest of the group had shown to be; for he had chosen who to go with almost instantly. The other, a man of insane appearance and even more insane behaviour had managed to have himself become the first one to not get to make a choice. Although, she thought wryly, he did make the choice in an indirect kind of way. Some of the others made their choices, one side or the other, or even to go off alone into another portal. Samus had wasted no time after considering the matter for a bit, and strode over to stand with the man called King Bradley. There was a look in her eyes that Nanoha barely caught a glimpse of before her visor became opaque again. Something akin to regret, perhaps at what little choice they really had here. Did they venture out into a world they knew so little of, alone, or go with one of these two warring, hateful, factions knowing that they truly could not be trusted. It was a choice that Nanoha regretting being forced to make, but she nodded gentle to the suited woman as her helmet turned and looked her way for a moment.

But the one thing that made her exasperated, was the actions of the young robot Blues, whom she had taken a quiet liking too. He reminded her of many friends, and her dear Vivio. Though with a more male rashness to him, perhaps a product of whatever dark blot there was upon his past. Nanoha watched as he walked up to the stern looking man with the curious helmet, and provoked him with the destruction of one of the hover bikes. Much to her relief, no additional scene occurred, but Blues wasn't going to make himself any friends doing something like that.

With a sigh, Nanoha decided it was time to step into the oratory battlefield herself. The two men who seemed so content to glare at each other across the open ground held no interest to her, and she decided it would be best to speak with their more moderate counterparts. She stepped forward towards the hulking green skinned creature, curiously similar to the one that had appeared with the rest of the group at the fountain, and calmly held the gaze he turned towards her as she held out her hand in greeting.

"Hello there, I am Nanoha Takamachi, Major in the Time/Space Administration Bureau. Whom do I have a pleasure of greeting?"

She heard a faint laugh behind her, the helmeted man having a private joke all to himself. Normally she would ask what was so funny, like she would with her trainees, but it was already painfully obvious. These two sides were enemies, and each would find humour in their own way.

The tall creature stared at her quietly for a moment, then enveloped her hand with his and they firmly shook. She could tell from his face that he was surprised to feel that her grip was just as firm and unrelenting as his own. There was much to be found from the act of such small gestures and despite the calm focus etched across his face, Nanoha knew this to be a man of honour just from this alone.

"You can call me Thrall, known as the Warchief. I serve King Aragon and help protect the people that gather in Camelot, the land through the portal behind us."

There was a pause, as they released each others hands, and Nanoha looked Thrall up and down. She had no doubt he meant his words; a creature of honour and strength as he had no cause to lie to her.

She took a step back, and gave the Warchief a gentle bow before she spoke. "I must regretfully decline the kind offer you have made us, Thrall, for the time being. I seek knowledge and understanding of this place, for I know what it is that has created this dimension. I will come visit your Kingdom, but first I feel the most logical place for me to begin my search is the land with technology most akin to my own."

Nanoha waited a moment for his response, and was unsurprised at the sharp nod her gave her before turning his attention to the others who had yet to make up their minds. Hopefully they would get a chance to converse in the future, she found the creature intriguing.

Turning, Nanoha walked back towards where Blues stood, still glaring at the helmeted man. Gentle placing one hand on his head, she started at the unmoving man before her. His features were coarse beneath the helmet, and his body was clearly one used to the physical punishment of strike arts based combat. If the speed at which he had dealt with that odd man was anything to go by, he would be a formidable opponent. There was something about him, though, his look and the words he had said to Blues. A cold, hard, angry man stood before her. A man who pursued a justice that only he could truly see, never asking and only taking. She gave him a small smile, as empty as she could bring herself to make it, and tapped Blues on the top of his head with some sharpness. It rang, like there were hollows inside between all the whirring machines that he was comprised of.

"Now, now, Blues. You really shouldn't just blow stuff up to make a point to the man. It's a little rude, don't you think? Besides, there are ways of getting that sort of thing across that are much more potent." She flashed him a smile, and a wink, while Raising Heart whirled around her arm and flashed in a way that seemed almost mischievous. The robot looked like he was doing his best to bend his static features into a scowl, but turned away from Dredd and watched as Nanoha walked on towards the man who called himself King Bradley.

"King Bradley, was it? I am Nanoha Takamachi, Major in the Time/Space Administration Bureau." He could see a brief expression of impatience cross his face; he was obviously listening when she spoke with Thrall, but was too polite to cut her off. "I understand, by the look of your men's equipment, that your 'Empire' has some advanced technology. Is this purely technological, or do you have mages like myself?"

The king frowned at Nanoha for a moment, before quietly extending a hand towards her. "I'm sorry, Major, but I'm afraid I don't quite understand. Mages like yourself?"

Nanoha, smiling, took the hand he offered and shook it, a little firmer than she did Thrall's, and started deeply into his only eye. "Why, this sort of Mage."

In one smooth movement, she released his hand and swept her other out in an arc away from her. "Raising Heart! Please."

Standby, ready.

Now that Raising Heart's Axel Mode had been shown to function correctly, the transformation took barely a second. In a flash of magenta light, the rune circle appeared beneath her feet, and her barrier jacket shimmered into place around her. Raising Heart, in a growth quicker than lightning, shifted into the the staff, sliding gentle into place within the grasp of Nanoha's outstretched left hand.

I am a Mid-Childa/Belkan hybrid Intelligent Device, designation 'Raising Heart', designed to assist my master to the best of my capabilities in the formation of magical castings, data collection, information warfare, and being a classy lady.

With such a sudden display, the Imperial troops standing closest to Nanoha and Bradley had raised their weapons straight at her. The king raised a hand carefully, waving their weapons away. He surveyed Nanoha's changed appearance, and her Device, with intense curiosity before he finally spoke. His voice was soft, wrapped in the every familiar yet obnoxious tones of diplomacy. "I see, Major Takamachi, that you are more than you first appeared. We have people you might find some kinship with, but our technology is mostly a... Different breed to your own."

There was a pause, a silence broken only by the rattling of weapons being lowered. Nanoha could see Dredd glaring at her out of the corner of her eyes, but he hadn't moved his body even an inch. Clearly he wasn't overly concerned about Bradley's life; the king must have his own hidden surprises too.

"I take it you are interested in coming with us, to join the glorious Empire, Major? You will surely find yourself comfortable and with purpose among our people. If technology is what you are used to, then our lands are the best place for you to reside."

Nanoha stared down at her device, hoping that her decision would be the best one in the long run, then turned her face back upwards to stare straight into the king's one good eye.

"I will come to your Empire, Bradley, but do not expect me to join it just yet. If I may be so discourteous as to speak plainly, then I will tell you what I desire. I will travel to your world, and I will visit your libraries- I assume you have them- and I shall learn what there is to learn there. Then I shall visit the Kingdom, and there I shall do the same. Perhaps, once I have seen what you are both like from the hallowed halls of learning and knowledge, I will decide which one I prefer to join. Until then, I will be just as I am, as will anyone of these people here who choose to join me."

At that last line, she looked back at Blues and nodded gently. She hoped he would come with her, even if for a while, in an attempt to perhaps find himself a virtuous goal in life. She looked across at Samus, standing not far away from herself and Bradley, and gave her a curt nod as well.

If he was irritated by her flat refusal to become another member of his Empire, King Bradley did not show it. He smiled pleasantly and nodded, turning and gesturing towards the portal he and his forces had entered this White plain- this Nexus- from.

"By all means, Major Takamachi. I promise you and any with you shall find haven within the streets and towers of Coruscant. Our libraries are open to all. You will, I know, find our land to be the best the Omniverse has to offer."

She ignored his polite gesture, and walked on past. She may not have made any friends today, but until she had reason to trust these people, that was something she would worry about in the future. Hoping that Blues and, perhaps others, would follow suit she strode off in the direction of the portal to Coruscant.

Alone again, as she first had been, a one of her kind among people who were unable to see what she truly wanted to offer: just plain old friendship.

[Eighteen]

If Eighteen had grown up normal she would have seen this situation in a humorous light. To an outsider it would have been akin to any day-time teen soap-opera. Every now and then the members of this unusual group would stare in fascination of the unusual power that was Omnilium. One person would create an object, another a weapon and everyone was curiously compelled to understand what it was they were supposed to accomplish.

If it weren’t enough to whip out their Omnilium and discover together, some were prone to squabble and peck at each other as if fighting in a popularity contest. The way she saw it, some of these creatures were clearly meant to lead…while others were not.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched certain figures skulk away, while others came near. Soon enough there were what could only be troops, surrounding them, and the android moved no more than an inch backward to take stock of the situation.

As it was, the moment Whirda took off with her self-ambitions, Eighteen knew this would not be an easy group to fit into. Once upon a time she was able to lead a rally against aliens several feet tall. She had easily been one of the elite…but here, in this place, she was no one. It was giving her a strange sense of déjà vu.

The girl quietly separated herself from the group, allowing Nyx to make her own choices as the two groups all but fought over them. There was no use in making a rushed decision, considering this could very well be a trick…or some deeper plot.

Eighteen couldn’t help but, as she was wont to do in times like these, think back on what sort of life she had made for herself. Had she, in her haste to be human, given up a life of adventure and ultimately doomed herself to this weak and solitary life? It was a question that plagued her mind constantly.

Her arms folded against her chest and she stared at each of the so-called Primes that had become her acquaintance. Some had already made up their mind, others were in deep contemplation.

Did she want to live in a world thriving with technology? It sounded like home. It very well could have been, with the way Judge Dredd was dressed, as well as his troops. The other pair, they reminded her of stories she was sure she would have read as a girl. It didn’t matter…those memories had been wiped.

Then, again, it didn’t have to be that way.

So it was that Eighteen quietly walked around all the other people. Some of them were as tall as the horses their guests had ridden on, while she, being modest in height, was rather unobtrusive. She, with the emotional displays of a toaster, stood before the King of Camelot.

“As much as this will probably not end well, considering I’m technologically inclined…and well, I am technology, I feel the need to see what else is there to be seen. Besides…” she peered almost timidly, with a hint of that rare humanity, at the beast that had been the King’s mount, “I’ve always wanted to ride a horse.”

[Ganondorf]

With the actions of the green-haired stranger, things had gotten a tad more interesting. While the other side remained stoic, the man in the armor, who had named himself Dredd had swiftly moved to action and apprehended the stranger. There was something to be said for decisive action, and Ganondorf appreciated how smoothly things seemed to work for this Empire.

Some of his fellows, despite his words, had begun to align themselves with these groups, much to Ganondorf’s chagrin. Of course, while perturbed, he couldn’t blame them. Some people naturally gravitated to power and authority, of which Ganon had neither. As he thought about this, the green-skinned woman who had previously left strode up to him with determination and resentment plain on her face.

The disrespect in Garona’s voice brought rage boiling just beneath Ganondorf’s surface of calm. It was becoming increasingly difficult to contain the longer he remained with these people. The worst of it was, the question she had posed was a difficult question for him to answer and remain pristine in the eyes of the other newcomers. However… answering difficult questions had begun to hold a certain appeal to the Gerudo. A game of wits, then? So be it.

“You ask for my excuse, Madam?” A sly smile, tinged with just a hint of condescension, graced Ganon’s lips as his green eyes bored down at her and he straightened himself to his full height. Normally, as he had with the others, he would attempt to remain polite, and offer soothing words to this woman. But his anger was too close to the surface now, and he suspected such words would be lost on this woman anyway.

“I’ll try to explain this in a way you can understand then. Try to keep up, my Lady,” Ganondorf continued, imbuing that last word with a slight acid. “You, yourself, claim that you do not trust me. I suspect this was the case before you left, correct? Myself, I had no reason to trust any of you then, and I still have my misgivings now.”

“Had I gone with you, we both would have been too focused on one another to give the task its due diligence. Had you thought before you spoke, you would have also seen this part of my wisdom in not accompanying you.”

The orcish woman bared her teeth at his word, her hands unconsciously moving to her blades at she met Ganondorf’s eyes with her own, blazing with anger. Before she could strike, or even reply to his words, Ganon continued talking, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a show of arrogance.

“You may have noticed that I said that was only part of the reason why I did not join you in your excursion. If you’ll allow me to continue before gutting me with your knives, I’ll explain the rest.”

Garona stared up at Ganon, the moment tense, before she moved her hands from her blades. “You should watch your tone, creature. I don’t appreciate it.”

“Nor I, Lady Garona, yet this is how you addressed me in bringing your complaint. I merely met aggression with aggression. I will, however, attempt to… temper my words as I continue. And, as you said you’ve no care for speeches, I’ll try to keep this short and sweet.”

“A leader… no, a King has responsibilities, as you’ve said. Yet, you neglected the most important responsibility a King has when you pointed out my failings: faith in his people. A leader who goes with his subordinates into danger is admirable, of course, yet it shows a remarkable lack of trust in them. I trusted that you would be able to do what you said you could do. Perhaps it is different where you come from, but I believe a true King allows his subjects to perform their duties without constantly looking over their shoulders to ensure they’re doing them right.”

The orcish woman suddenly looked unsure, her eyes darting aside for a brief second before returning to Ganon’s. Perhaps he could get through to her after all. Ganoondorf was, after all, a master of planting the seed of doubt.

“I don’t regret my decision to allow you to go alone. You’re a free woman, able to do as you please and deserving of my confidence that you will do so correctly. The only regret I have is that I sullied my image in your eyes. For that, I apologize,” Ganondorf finished with wide-spread arms and a slight bow of his head, his smile disappearing for a moment in a look of penance. The woman simply continued to look at him, whatever though she had kept hidden.

“I do believe it is time for me to go, my Lady. I will go alone, if need be, to a place where I can truly be free. If I fail, at least I do so in the knowledge that my failure was my own. I fail in pride that I did not attach myself to the coat-tails of another. I fail without being able to blame another for my inadequacies.”

Those last words said, Ganondorf strode away from the group. He didn’t rightly know where to, but something was tugging at his heart… a feeling of homecoming as he walked. Ahead, barely visible at this distance, a wind-worn archway of stone stood stark against the whiteness of the landscape.

[Ganondorf]

As the Gerudo King strode towards the gate in the distance, he took this last opportunity to look over the two factions which has vied for the newcomers’ allegiance. The closer of the two, those who had offered power and comfort still stood rather stoically, strange machines at their sides. Opposite them, their counterparts maintained a watchful sort of relaxation about themselves, horses in place of those devices the others had.

Remembering how these people had arrived, riding their respective conveyances, Ganondorf looked back towards his destination and he inwardly grimaced. An experienced walker he may be, but the gerudo much preferred to ride. With a glance backward, he wondered if those that the green-skinned woman would allow him to have one of their steeds. Immediately, he rejected that notion. Even if they would allow him to have one of their horses, they would undoubtedly desire something in return, and there was nothing Ganondorf was willing to offer them as recompense.

And then, an idea came to Ganon. He had summoned clothing earlier; indeed it had seemed as natural as breathing at the time. As much a part of him as his arm or his fiery hair. He wondered, then, could he summon something living… Omni had said that with that substance, that Omnilium, anything could be created. In that case, those clothes Ganon had created for the red-skinned man with the mustache were just practice, a way to ensure that this Omnilium really could be used to summon something. Now, came the true test of its power.

Keeping his back to the three groups behind him, Ganondorf closed his eyes and reached into the part of his soul that he instinctively knew the Omnilium resided. Pulling it forth, his mind formed an image of his desire. An old friend, and his only true ally for years, Ganondorf sought to bring this being forth into this Omniverse. His hands, moving as though shaping clay, slowly began to feel the contours of the being he was summoning forth and Ganon’s eyes opened to observe his work. Minutes passed like hours, as his desires were made manifest before him, until finally there he stood in all his glory.

Hair black as midnight, eyes like fire, standing head over even Ganon’s impressive height, mane and tail glistening and magnificent. He was exactly as Ganondorf remembered him, even down to the traditional gerudo blanket and saddle draped over him. With his first genuine smile since being brought to this strange land, The Gerudo King lightly stroked his friend’s neck and spoke softly into his ear before placing himself in the saddle. From behind him, someone spoke, “Nice horse… what’s his name?”

Ganondorf chuckled, half-turning to glance over his shoulder. “It’s a bit cliché, but his name is Mirage.”

Smiling again, Ganondorf sighed and patted the stallion on the neck, whispering, "His name is Mirage."

[Violet]

Oh, she was fuming! Her eyes narrowed as she watched him walk away, another one of his pretty speeches planted firmly in her mind. Of course, she suspected that things were different for other types of creatures, but it still boggled her nonetheless that he would stand idly by while others put themselves in danger so his pretty hide stayed untarnished. She’d never understand how someone could do that.

Garona clenched her teeth, her eyes hardening as she about-faced and marched back towards Aragorn and Thrall. “Have a horse for me, or am I hoofing it today?”

“Personal mounts are usually summoned with omnilium,” Thrall stated.

Garona’s eyebrows quirked. She must have missed something somewhere. “Omnilium?”

“Omni explained it to you before you arrived in the Nexus,” Aragorn said, his voice neutral, as if simply explaining a fact. Now that she thought about it, she did remember him, it, mentioning something about it. She didn’t know the exact mechanics of it, but wasn’t above asking about it.

“Yes,” she drawled. “I do not recall him explaining much else about it. How would one summon a mount from this substance?”

Thrall dismounted from his horse, the reins falling limply around its neck, and not once did it give any indication that it would bolt. The mount had the same clear blue eyes as he did, she noticed. The larger Orc stood in front of her and asked for her hands. She gazed at him suspiciously before laying them in his much larger hands. “When I first came here, I had difficulty with the concept, as well. Here, let’s start off with something small. I want you to think of something tiny…something that can fit in the palm of your hands. Let me know when you have something in mind and tell me what it is.”

Garona imagined food – she realized suddenly that she couldn’t remember the last time she ate, and thought it would be best to think of a snack as her first venture. “Okay, small…let’s try some jerky.”

Thrall quirked a smile. “Good choice.” He stroked his thumbs across her palms, sending a tingling ebb of energy radiating outwards and up her arms. “Think of that food, and then concentrate on where my fingers are rubbing. Imagine a warmth bubbling from there.”

Garona did as she was told, and gasped as tiny flashes of light manifested from her palms. They grew into small, colorful balls, and within a few minutes had dissipated into two handfuls of tasty looking meat. She flashed a wide grin as she pulled her hands free of Thrall’s grasp and chomped down on one of the hunks of food. “This is great!” she said between mouthfuls. “Oh, gods, this is amazing.”

Thrall chuckled, plucking one of the hunks from her grasp and munching on it himself. “Not bad for a newbie.”

“Hey! That was mine!” she bitched, her lips turning downwards in a pout.

“You can just summon more,” Thrall informed her, downing the last of the treat. “Now, remember that feeling, and try making a mount. Don’t rush it. For something big enough to transport you, it may take some time, so be patient.”

Patience she could do. It’s what made her so damned good at her job. So, heeding his advice, Garona summoned that now-familiar warmth back to her palms, which she had stretched ground-ward before her. The multi-hued bubble appeared again, growing bigger and bigger as she held an image within her mind. She knew what she wanted, something that would give her a link back to her own world.

Several minutes passed – how long, she was unsure, but finally, the light began to fade, and from it, the robustly furred form of a black wolf appeared. The creature was massive, standing nearly as tall as she, with thick, powerful muscles moving fluidly beneath all of its dark fur. It had a streak of light blue across it’s left eye, eyes that were, like her own, without pupils. They were a solid lilac with an ethereal glow.

“Very good,” she heard Thrall approve of her work, and glanced just over the animal’s head to see his pleased face staring back at her. “If you are ready, Garona, you may head towards the east, where you first saw us, and take the portal to Camelot, our kingdom.”

She nodded, pulling herself up onto the animal’s back, who was surprisingly docile. It was bareback, and the wolf’s spine could be felt just beneath her ass, but it would have to do until she could fashion some kind of saddle. Giving Thrall one firm nod of her head, she pulled the wolf’s mane to the right and headed towards the east portal.

[Thaal Sinestro]

As the others postured, prepared their weapons, snarled and in general attempted to alter their situation, Sinestro did what he had always done best: he waited. Fading back into the background of the group, he sealed his lips and allowed the tides of soldiers to crash around them.

The two massive forces met directly on top of them. Part of the game that Omni had laid out made animals as fast as speeders or jetbikes, apparently. More “fair,” he supposed, if the savage could move as quickly as the enlightened. What could be more of an indicator of a child’s game than the requirement of equality between its competitors?

Both sides were clearly military forces, and their commanders led from the front. It was an admirable application of intimidation to show the face of true power, inspiring fear the peons below. And still there was so much they could learn about fear.

“These Primes are not yours-”
“This area is not your jurisdiction-”

Perhaps more to learn than he had thought.

“I’m telling you to leave!”
“You and your men back off now!”

This was more like listening to Guy Gardner than the leaders of their own armies. He remembered what it was like hearing the red-haired bastard prattle on as he drove him into the ground. How he longed to hear the screams of Kyle Rayner in that moment, how he imagined his suffering words flowing from the mouths of the whelps that surrounded him.

These fools played at order. They tricked themselves into the lofty ideal that their word was law, that anyone had anything to fear when looking at their smug, insane faces. They were men made of straw, waiting to be burned in a sea of Yellow flame.

“I propose we give these Primes a choice,” the one-eyed man said, as if he could strip them of their will.

The green one croaked out in a thick, gravelly voice, “Fine. But these Primes need to know what they’re getting into.”

“Prime,” the soldier asked from inside her suit. “What’s a Prime?” this time it was more of a demand than a question.

“And who are you?” the titan rumbled.

Those two questions, plain enough, opened the floodgates of frustration and confusion. Whatever false stoicism the Fountainborn once had crumbled to dust, their confusion and frustration overwhelming them.

The one-eyed general boomed over their squabble, “We are the Empire.”

“And we are the Kingdom,” the scraggly knight followed.

They postured and the posed, each puffing out their chests and made themselves to be the prettiest strong man for their audience. Speaking of gender, where were all the females in leadership? He was used to seeing at least one or two. It wasn’t a fact that worried him, only perplexed him. Perhaps he would have to find a way to bring Karu-Sil back. In this place, it might be possible to help her cheat death.

Again the man in blue opened his mouth, “I think everyone’s pretty confused right now. Let me start. You’re all in the Omniverse, and yes it is real. Everyone was like you at one point. We all arrived here, at this very fountain.”

Good, the Lantern thought. I can crush him like any other ant.

“The rest of us arrived elsewhere.” Sinestro smiled softly at the claim. “We,” he had said. As if he identified with the walking bags of meat he had lead into battle. That man, like any other King, sat upon a throne constructed of his lessers. It was his right. It was the way of the universe.

“We don’t know who Omni is, or what he wants. He explained omnilium to all of you, correct?” The warrior of a bygone age asked proudly. “We used that to build our Kingdoms, summon our friends. Primes are people like us, those who were chosen by Omni.”

“People who can use omnilium, that’s why we’ve come here. You see, you’re all important.” The two spliced their words like weavers. “And there are some, like the Kingdom, who would seek to use you for the wrong purposes.”

And then came the propaganda.

“The Empire is built on lies.”

“And what of your Kingdom?”

“We may not have your power but we have strength. You are different.”

“Different’s not the word I’d use. Better. I’ve seen your Kingdom, you live in muck. You want to use these people to make things better for yourselves, but you never will. Not with a weak leader like you.”

“If I hadn’t come here, you would have taken all these people.”

“And what were you coming to do, King Aragorn?”

He was wrong before. These men were nothing like Guy Gardner or Kyle Rayner. Somehow, they were worse. Squabbling children quipping back and worth, vomiting their aggression and attempting to grab at what they must have assumed were their feeble minds.

He was not a calf to be led to poisoned water. He was not a child whose hand had to be held. Did they expect him to be impressed? Expect him to be afraid? What idle notions of grandeur they must have had, to expect his knees to buckle and head to cow.

“None of you have any power over me!” he asserted from the back of the group, eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed and nose turned to the sky. None would break the courage of Sinestro with a revolting display of childish bickering.

“We are immortal,” one of the crowd chimed in.

“What I can do, is make you an offer. Come to my Kingdom. We will guarantee your freedom. We will house you, make you comfortable. It’s your choice.”

“And I will make our offer. Come to Coruscant. We will make you comfortable – and by that I mean a real place to live, not some stone-walled shack. Make use of the technology available to us. There’s no catch. You can stay there, or go somewhere else. Go see his Kingdom, if you want.”

The man from Korugar was still waiting to hear an appealing option.

“I’m not forcing anyone,” he said, thinking that he could somehow threaten a group of immortals. “You can go with him, or come with me, or you can go to any one of the other verses. I just don’t want the Empire to twist you against us.”

How little that simpering whelp had to worry about anyone sullying his name. Either side had twisted their own words and then choked on them. He wouldn’t be joining either of their pathetic hordes of thick-skulled goons.

And suddenly, as if by ironic magic, a red-swathed, sword-toting imbecile managed to come from the fountain, instantly make a decision and leap into the arms of the Empire. Sinestro scowled at the weakness of his fellows, almost disappointed in his loose association with the red-haired man. Some men were born to be dogs.

Thaal barely noticed as the small child wandered over to the large officer and began chatting. At this point, he was honestly feeling a bit beyond whatever they had to say. He was just a child after all, no matter how “interesting” he might have appeared to their mysterious host. It was all just going to be more pointless posturing and pointless carryi-

The lithe warrior couldn’t help but jump slightly as the bike suddenly exploded, tiny bits of hot, smoking debris flying through the air. He stared on in moderate astonishment as the encounter slowly diffused itself, somehow the show of force not drawing the rebuttal from either side. It appeared the child had some might to offer, after all.

It seemed that the freak show circuit had come to the titan, and he slowly advanced between the two parties. “First, allow me to thank you both for the cordial invitation,” more cordial drivel to cover whatever he was about to say. “However,” [i]Ah, and now comes the hook[i], “I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” The man had at least proven himself to be worth the attention that Sinestro had offered him. “I’m neither some dog, to run in a pack and pay homage to my master, grateful for the scraps given me. Nor am I such a fool as to run off alone, in some misguided show of bravado and strength, not paying any mind to the wisdoms of alliances or fellowship.”

He saw something in the Gerduo King that he saw in so many of his acolytes: ambition. Ambition is what tempers the strong from the weak, burning into them a sense of purpose, of meaning and place.

“No… I will not be beholden to any man. False promises of freedom under the rule of a King, and power directed by another’s hand… these things hold no value to me. I’m sure that there are those among you who can see the truth in what I say.

“These people seek to control and manipulate you in their childish posturing for power. I’ll have no part of that, but I can’t speak for the rest of you. Do as you like. However, I’m sure there is a place where we… WE can be the ones in charge. Where no man will dictate how your life should be lived. I will find that place.”

Yes, he certainly had ambition.

The leader of the Sinestro Corps couldn’t help but let his frown twist into a small smirk of appreciation. Ganandorf was a creature that he could stand by, at least for now, until he could bring his ring into this world. It would still do to wait until the others passed, though. Unlike the others, Thaal had no plans of revealing his motives to this new world so quickly.

“Bravo, my lieges,” and again the carousel turned. “Your double act was quite the little spectacle. And are we supposed to just take you at your word? What proof do you bring of the power you claim to hold?”

The point that the woman made might have made more sense if they hadn’t brought along a sample of their forces. Even if these rabble were all that they had in reserve, they were more than enough to overwhelm their ragtag group of strangers. Half of the idiots would stay and die while the rest of them ran if ever a weapon was borne. If only he had his ring, he would make a mockery of them all.

A gunshot rang out in the distance, a tiny red cloud forming in the ranks of the Empire’s men. Sinestro quirked his brow in confusion, unsure who was either strong or stupid enough among them to attempt such a bold act of violence so close to their leaders.

As a group of men led by the enforcer known simple as “Judge Dredd” quickly apprehended the man in a quick but poignant show of violence and intensity. It seemed stupid was the more likely of the options.

[Omni]

Some joined the Empire. Some joined the Kingdom. Some went their own way. Still some of them remained at the fountain – they hadn’t decided what to do.

Bradley turned to the ones who had accepted his offer. “Good. I’m sure you’ll all be happy with the arrangements we’ve made.” He turned to Dredd. “Judge, why don’t you show these men and women back to the capital?”

“What about you?” grunted Dredd.

Bradley smiled, then turned to Aragorn. “Indeed. It doesn’t look like these Primes are going to stop coming any time soon. It seems Omni got bored.”

“I wouldn’t hazard to guess at Omni’s motivations,” replied Aragorn. “But you’re right. It seems we are at an impasse.”

“In that case,” said the ambassador, “How about this? I’m sure you have things to do back at the capital, but what if me and your friend there -” he pointed to Thrall, “Stay here to talk to the newcomers.”

Aragorn turned to Thrall. Thrall nodded.

Aragorn turned back to Bradley. “What about the soldiers?”

“Well, it wouldn’t do to have an army greeting you the moment you woke up.” Bradley chuckled. “How about this. Five of your men, five of my men. Deal?”

The king’s facial expression was completely flat. “Deal.”

“Well,” smiled Bradley. “That’s that then.”

There was a prolonged silence. Aragorn turned back to the newcomers at the fountain.

“I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstances. I hope the next time we meet, we’ll be able to speak freely.” He turned to those who’d decided to come to Camelot. “You know how to summon, correct?”

Meanwhile, Dredd was glaring at those who had chosen to come to Coruscant. “Summon some bikes, or something,” he said, and waited.

Before long they were mounted up and riding out to their respective verses. A few looked back towards the fountain.

Bradley stretched his arms. “That’s better. I much prefer the quiet. But it looks like we’re going to be here a while.” He looked at Thrall. “How about it, warchief? Want something to sit on?”

“I’m good.” Thrall was sitting cross-legged on the floor, about ten metres across from Bradley. “I’m watching to make sure that’s not a chair-shaped snake, though.”

Bradley laughed. “You think too little of me. Honestly, you should come and see Coruscant some time. It’s a beautiful place, and I think I really have an eye …” he winked, “For beauty.”

Thrall sighed. “Bradley, if you and I were on the same side, I think you’d be in more danger.” He traced circles on the ground with his finger. This was going to be long.

[Maximillion]

A new entrant would appear, fading into view in a sprawled out position in the grass before the great fountain. His head tilted up as he started suddenly, opening his eyes and revealing a set of yellow-gold hues that stared up at the sky. Clad in purple, red and black, the figure would stare up at the sky for a few moments, blinking as though trying to clear his vision, then would slowly push himself into an upright sitting position. Shaking his head as though he were shaking unwanted thoughts from his mind, he grunted and slammed both fists into the ground, propelling himself a few feet into the air so he could drive his feet under him. As he landed, he would reach over his shoulder, laying his hand on the katana still sheathed there, just as it had been only moments ago when his Unit had come under artillery fire in the War.

Letting the meteorite-infused Katana slide slowly from it's sheath, he would twirl it a couple times, testing the reflexes of the muscles in his hand, arm and fingers. He would then toss the blade over to the left hand and repeat the process. Being ambidextrous, this kind of feat came easy to him, at least when he was in ideal condition.

None of the wounds remained from the injuries he had sustained on the battlefield. His left arm, which had been blown off before the rest of his body, was live, healthy and intact, which he had noticed when testing it. After a few moments of this, he concluded that his limbs were in tip-top shape, so he sheathed the blade and began to stretch, rising to his full 6'7" height and allowing all of his limbs to stretch to their utmost, then he lowered his arms, took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

Where are you, Maximillion? Where are you? Where are you?

These thoughts kept going through his head as he willed himself, forced himself, to see all around him, and to understand his bearings.

He was now standing before an enormous fountain, which he somehow knew was called the Fountain of Infinity. He had no idea how this knowledge had come to mind, but he once again envisioned the silhouette with the wide, disconcerting grin. Who had that been? Maximillion thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowing, giving away that he was deep in thought. I can't help but feel as though there's an important element here I'm missing.

Meanwhile, beyond him, he was vaguely aware that there was a lot of talking, a lot of activity, voices and even some bouts of what seemed like absurdity as one green-haired fellow began mocking someone else, then got taken down, then others began to filter out into lines, as though to follow these men off somewhere.

Shaking his head, as though to break from his reverie, Maximillion' yellow-gold eyes stared at those who had lined up. A motley crew, true, and he had no idea which side looked the most appealing. However, he did notice that there were still a few by the fountain undecided. Using his best tactical know-how, he weighed up each of the men, paying special notice to the one referred to as Bradley. There was something about him that reminded him of the General of the Empire's Forces where he'd come from, who had led the troops against the Samurai Rebel Forces that Maximillion had been part of. It had been a fool's errand, after all, facing off with space-age technology with only swords. However, some of them - and he'd been amongst that number - did better in those kinds of circumstances than others. He had found it fairly easy to dodge most of the laser beams, only taking the occasional glancing hit, and to slice through bullets that had went flying his way. In the end, it had just been him and a handful of others, other men who had been trained with the same feverish intensity he himself had been, who stood alone amongst the crowd, steely-eyed and the look of I will die before I surrender strong in their eyes...

I know I'm being entirely subjective, but I'd rather not follow someone who looks as though they eat nails for breakfast, he said, remembering the kind, gentle soul of the seasoned ex-war veteran who had trained all the up-and-coming orphans who would later have the option of joining the Rebel Forces. Someone with kind eyes, yet a strong spirit. Is there none of those where I now reside?

But he wouldn't say anything aloud. He knew well that saying nothing would cause the attention to be drawn, at least mostly, to the ones who were speaking, and especially towards those who spoke the loudest. He had no intention of getting drawn into a war of words, least of all with complete strangers.

Let one appear who shows valor, courage and benevolence, and I may well follow him or her, perfect stranger or no.

[Nyx]

Nyx was amongst those who remained at the fountain.

She was unsure of exactly how long she had spent thinking, exactly. It was quite difficult to measure the passage of time when there weren't an awful lot of visual clues to go by. For one thing, the Nexus didn't seem to have a sun or moon – about the only visual indicator of passing time was the ever-changing fountain, though it evolved so slowly that she wasn't sure it was viable at all.

Slowly, the crowds dissipated as the Primes and the members of the opposing factions ventured through their respective portals. Nyx watched them leave, envying them in their ability to make such a snap decision. She used to be the type to make snap decisions, but that was when she was able to predict the consequences. Anything could happen here, and it was a fact she was all too aware of with each passing moment.

With a long, drawn out sigh, the blood mage turned away from the fountain, her gaze cast in the direction of the viny gate Whirda had chosen. The words Whirda had written echoed in her mind - “There are those who will always seek to control you. Be cautious with your trust.” Was Nyx right to choose to trust an individual over the might of a group? She guessed there was only one way to find out.

Reaching for the hilt of her dagger, Nyx toyed with it in her palm. Even just holding the weapon made her feel more confident. Taking a deep breath, the mage tried to convince herself she had faced worse. She had stood toe-to-toe with a demon and emerged the victor. This was just another portal. Right?

As she drew nearer, she extended a hand to gently touch the vines. They seemed to wilt away from her. Nyx couldn't say she was surprised... Natural magic seemed to sense the smell of death on her, and try to hide. She sometimes found that fact saddened her – she really wasn't as bad as the Templars wanted everyone else to believe. She just... wasn't good with people.

Letting her hand drop to her side, she stepped through the portal.

[Maximillion]

The ebony man continued to watch as events unfolded in front of him. He didn't speak a word, he knew the power of words and didn't wish to grant anything that wasn't wholly necessary. Who was he? Well, in his timeline, he had been born a significant amount of time ago. He had been born in a time when stone pyramids were being brought together to form triangular constructs in which foreign kings housed their relatives and ancestors and, some day, themselves. Although Maximillion's homeland had been several hundred miles from this, much of his younger years had been spent learning about these foreign men employing the aid of slaves.

Following this age, a significant amount of time after, finding that he had outlived not only his brothers and sisters but also his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, he found himself in an age where man had begun to research the goings-ons of the human body, the musculature, and some cultures had even begun to worship the human body. In this age, man had begun finding ways to use fire to smith the ores and minerals in the ground into sharp objects they could stab and cut each other up with. Of course, they would feed into their primitive desires for conquest, and each country, each continent, would strive hard to become more powerful, more capable of killing, than their neighbors. However, there would come another age in which the metal ores were smithed into small, sharp objects adorning the heads of sticks, with feathers at the end, and could be propelled through the air by the use of another stick with a flax string drawn along it, called bow and arrows. Then, some clever bastard came up with the idea to set the gizmo where it could be triggered by simply pressing down on a metal device, where the user could get much of the same power as they had been using, but with far less effort, although the items loaded into these devices, these bolts, were a great deal more durable, and were fired in greater succession during hunting and warfare.

Then came heavy iron constructs that could, with the use of an oiled fuse and gunpowder, propel balls of heavy-laden led that could smash into an enemy, or their ship, called a cannon.

And still, mankind was not satisfied.


More ages like this one had come to pass, and he had seen horses be tamed and used not just for practicality, but also for convenience. Once, they had drawn carriages. Then, they had been replaced altogether by these monstrous constructs, constructed entirely of metal, that would belch out smoke when people got inside the construct's head and began turning this wheel of sorts inside of it, usually a combination of metal and leather. They called these monsterousities cars, and the first amongst them was called a Model T Ford.

For all Maximillion cared, they could've been called horseshit. He didn't trust them, and he didn't like being a sitting duck, as he often felt like when getting into any kind of vehicle. It gave him less maneuverability, and if the thing he was riding in had been sabotaged, there was little he could do to prevent harm from befalling him.


Then time had continued to pass like this....bringing with it technology using solar energy, harnessing it into these 'pistols' mankind was fond of, and firing those beams of light out of the guns....

Then, just like in ages past, mankind learned how to make a bigger version of their latest weapons, a cannon that also fired light out of it. Then, as time went on, a select few human beings began to discover that other races occupied their planet, such as Vampires, Demons, and these things called 'Mutants', which Maximillion had long suspected himself of being.

Well, that was until he had learned that his father's premature death, death by pyre, had been brought about because the townspeople had suspected him of being a Warlock. Truth be told, he would meet his father's father, who dropped on him the revelation that his father had indeed been a being called Vampire, but one that could walk in the daylight, due to being a 'Pureblood'. This was, of course, back when Maximillion was a young man who didn't give a damn about such things. He would later learn of those who were born with parents of mixed lineage like him, but who devoted the entirety of their lives towards some obsession or another, whether it was trying to pass as the lineage of only one of their parents, or trying to kill those of the same race as one or both of their parents. Extremism, Maximillion had always thought. Yes, he was of dual lineage, but he identified as: Maximillion. No more, no less, just....Maximillion.


So on and on he lived, always wondering when he would begin to wrinkle up, have his hair go from it's normal raven black to a lighter gray, then white, and die; it never happened. Time would continue to pass, and he would continue to live. He took turns from being a passive observer to involving himself in the affairs of the mortal populace around him, but he felt no particular inclination towards them, or anyone else for that matter. He had admitted it countless times: he was a whimsical man, prone to flights of fancy. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and that often just involved studying things, experimenting with one element or another (whether it was people or things), and then interacting with the people he saw to see how well they reacted to his existence. Then, when enough time had passed, and enough people had come to live and then pass away, he would depart from his late next, go find another country or continent to inhabit, and repeat the process. For some unknown reason, he was occasionally zapped from one Timeline or Dimension to another, usually after meeting someone who actually had the power to do such things. In the most recent timeline, before he came here to the Nexus, he was sucked into a Dimension where he was a young boy raised by renegade Samurai fighting against an alien race referred to as Amanto. Much of his knowledge from the other realms, many of the powers he had in a few of the other Dimensions, did not work here. Here, he was an ordinary human being - more or less - and had no more power to him than the other human beings there.

Of course, that didn't stop him from using his intelligence, and his knowledge of combat, tactics and strategy to make the best use of even his human-level capabilities. He would fight, exploit knowledge he had of their alien technology to get a leg-in during battle, and would off his foes in ways they never saw coming.


Yet, in the end, even that hadn't been enough; his intelligence was significant, his cunning too....but even he had his limitations, and he had been killed in the line of duty.



Yet, Omni had found significance in him, and had brought him to the Nexus. Yet again, Maximillion was living another life, in another Plane of Existence, this time with all of the knowledge and skills from his past life, save for various abilities he'd been born with, such as the power to manipulate energy and various elements. However, something instinctual told him that, given time, he would be allowed to use this resource, this Omnilium, to regain the powers he'd once had, and use them with the same efficacy he had in times past.

He had a new lease on life, and he didn't want to go and spend his life doing reckless, careless, impulsive things; at least, not if it didn't amuse, entertain, or stimulate him in some way.



So, standing at the Fountain of Infinity, he would remain there, stoic and silent, observing those there, seeing how they all reacted to one another, bickering and fighting as he had seen countless centuries of Mankind doing, behaving no differently than the humans of every timeline, every dimension doing, fighting amongst themselves because they lacked whatever faculty it took to unite their powers, and forge a more desirable existence for themselves.

Until, suddenly, at the movement of the woman beside him, who had the odd scent of Death about her, he found a certain question piquing his curiosity. Waiting until she was some distance away, toying with the portal that had vines wrapped around it, Maximillion would take a few steps forward.

"Which path brings with it the promise of the most learning?" He asked, his voice deep, rich, yet spoken a bit low, as though he wasn't used to using his voice that often. His stoic expression wouldn't change, and his accent - Babylonian in nature, which was (in one realm) a realm called Iraq - was fairly thick. His eyes, odd as they were, showed heavily of a deep intelligence, a constant gleam of curiosity about them that indicated he was the type of person who had to constantly be learning something to be satisfied. When he spoke, it would be made clear that he wanted to learn, he wanted things to study, to analyze, and he wanted to be as close to the densest hub of diverse activity so that he could study it all, at whatever level allowed him the most access, and allowed others the most reach in his direction.

"One will lay claim to power, another to numbers. One will lay claim to a greater purpose, another to freedom. But which path has, within it, the most to learn? Which has knowledge, and information, dating back centuries, if not longer, for a diverse number of people, groups, organizations, races and cultures? And which will bring with it access not only to archaic magicks I can study, but also advanced levels of technology I can play with, dabble in, and learn about to the utmost?"

He was a verbose man, this much would be made abundantly clear as he spoke. However, he articulated his thoughts well, and although he was a bit on the long-winded side, he had no problem conveying his thoughts so that others could more or less understand them.

This would be no easy sell, should anyone even feel inclined to bother trying to accommodate him....which, to be frank, most wouldn't. They typically only dealt with those who were easy to lead, easy to satisfy, and easy to manipulate.

He knew well that whomever might try and bring him with them may try to manipulate him, to use him towards their own ends.

He knew this well, and so long as his own needs were met, he didn't care.....

[Illidan Stormrage]

Link hadn't paid any attention to the proceedings for quite some time.

He sat cross legged by the fountain, hands cupped, eyes closed. There had been much commotion surrounding him; the arrival of a multitude of people, their horses and strange whirring devices, although he hadn't seen any of it. The intrusive sounds tried to penetrate his focus, but apart from a basic awareness of them, Link managed to hold his concentration.

What happened around him mattered little to him. These people were strangers and he was lost in a strange land. While that was nothing new to Link, having ventured into eclectic and perilous places on his journey to restore Hyrule, he knew instinctively that this universe was not anything from his world. The one thing that would bring him comfort here was the mystical instrument he carried ever since he entered the Temple of Time; the Ocarina of Time.

After he witnessed so many of the other Primes, as the voices referred to them as, summoning objects from thin air, Link decided he could do it also. Everyone who successfully crafted items from this odd substance of Omnilium was surprised at how easy it was. He heard instructions to imagine what he wanted and it would form in his hands.

Link didn't know how long he'd been sitting, willing his precious ocarina to reform, but so far it didn't seem as simple as others portrayed it. Every now and then he'd notice an alien energy swirling inside him, but it was slippery and thin and eluded his grasp. However, in the last few moments, Link managed a tenuous hold on a strand of that power, and delicately pulled on it until the flow changed direction. It ran slow at first, but picked up speed, and soon he needed to do little to keep the stream pooling into his hands.

He opened his eyes and witnessed a multicoloured orb coalesce in his hands. It sparked with all the colours of the rainbow and gave off its own pale light. Link focused on the energy, remembering the details of his cherished ocarina. He recalled the smooth contours, the indents of the finger holes, the sweet notes it produced ... and as he filled his mind with its features, the orb of Omnilium shrunk and reshaped into a luminescent, indistinct form. A few minutes later, the sheen faded and in his hands Link held the Ocarina of Time.

A wave of relief rushed through his chest. Link felt the stress in his muscles dilute and wither away. He got to his feet, turning over the summoned instrument in his hands. Everything was how he remembered it. Bringing the ocarina to his lips, Link gave it a few blows. His fingers were confused and disoriented at first, but soon the grooves of the surface reignited muscle memory and all felt normal again. He sounded a few more crisp notes, and satisfied with his quality, hid the ocarina within his tunic.

Link turned to face the crowd that filled the area. There were men with unusual devices, designed for travel he surmised, that idled with the sound of a low growling monster. They wore complex suits of armour, some more complete than others. The others, however, were much like Link. Winged horses stood obediently still for their masters, swords at their waists and chainmail over their chests. These people inspired more trust in the Hylian than the others. Despite one of the leaders looking like a green moblin, Link approached them and nodded curtly. The king, Aragorn as he introduced himself, returned the gesture.

"I am Link. I hail from Hyrule, although I doubt my home carries much weight here." He looked around the vast white, broken up only by their presence, the fountain and the far gates. "However, the land that you belong to here, I think, is the closest replica I will find. If you fight for justice, and do not accept the traitor Ganondorf into your folds, I will gladly use my sword and shield in your service." At least until I work out how to go home, he thought.

King Aragorn nodded, but it was Thrall who answered. "We accept your kind proposal, Link. Tell me ... why do you distrust this Ganondorf so?"

Link chuckled despite himself. "It's a long story, Thrall. A long, long story."

[Magus]

He listened to the grinning devil tell his tale, but only because some ethereal force prevented him from taking any other options. The charlatan who called himself Omni blathered on while Magus seemingly floated, frozen in the black and empty nothing he found himself in.

For a moment, he contemplated that perhaps this was the true form of the Destroyer of Worlds. That Lavos referred to itself as Omni.

But he knew it impossible. Lavos was cold, its rationale on a level far and away beyond Omni’s motivations. It… perceived things on a level wholly different from anything he had ever experienced. Though he hunted it for decades, he hadn’t expected such a complete omniscience of the creature.

It shook him. He watched it die and he couldn’t get it out of his mind that Omni was somehow a part of it. It couldn’t have been. Unless sustenance wasn’t the only reason the world was to be consumed. What if it was also to gather the energy to create this place?

He shelved the thought. No, this place felt alien, but in no way like Lavos. He took a breath and braced himself as the blackness fell away to stark, white nothingness, and the ground seemed to rush up to meet him.

Despite the harrowing speed, his feet touched down with the gentlest touch, and Magus got his first sight of something other than endless oblivion since he had been snatched up by this place’s supposed creator, and immediately felt as though he had somehow returned to the End of Time.

He stood on an enormous, pristine terrace of shining white stone reminiscent of a scene from antiquity. At the epicenter towered an ornate fountain made from rough, white stone and adorned with nearly a dozen intricate statues, as well as the façade of a grand Greek or Roman building behind it.

His mouth slightly parted, and his eyes widened the tiniest bit with astonishment. Not just at the intricacy of the fountain, but at its juxtaposition against a backdrop of endless, white, nothingness. The terrace was bordered with beautiful marble guardrails, and immediately beyond there was nothing but oblivion.

And it was beautiful and terrible at the same time. A creeping revulsion spread over him, and still he felt somehow compelled to touch one of the fountain’s statues. Even through his glove, he could feel the buzzing of some awesome energy, and it made him pull his hand away fast.

He tugged on the cuff of his glove, flexing his fingers open and then closed them into a fist. He repeated the action a few times out of habit, studying the fountain, and taking a sharp step back as the surface of the statue began to literally transform directly at the spot he’d touched it.

A tiny, black splotch appeared, and began to spread, and Magus was immediately aware that not only was the color different, but the material and craftsmanship was different as well. Try as he might, he sensed no magic at work.

“Impossible,” he breathed, watching as the blackness spread. As it did so, parts of the scene, including the façade, simply slid into the ground, solid stone vanishing away as water disappearing into soil, as other sections rose up out of the ground to replace them, also of the dark material.

The transformation spread further out as well, creeping toward him. He took three steps back but it spread beneath his feet and beyond him, up upon the guardrails, consuming all of it.

Soon, the entire scene at the fountain had become a much more Gothic-inspired affair, with a more traditional fountain at the middle, composed of four concentric bowls, each above the other, for a layered cascading effect.

It was incredible. If this Omni has simply created this, what else had he done?

Magus turned away from the fountain and immediately spotted people milling about not fifty feet away. He frowned; the fountain shouldn’t have distracted him from his surroundings. He wondered how long they’d been there as he swept his eyes over them.

There appeared to be two groups, who, judging by their states of dress, were vastly different from one another. On one side, a man sat in a comfortable-looking wingback chair, accompanied by what appeared to be armed guards wearing exotic, full-face armor. The man in the chair was dressed in robes reminiscent of his home. The apparently high technology his guards were equipped with strengthened that notion.

The group opposite them seemed much more akin to those of the time he’d spent most of his life trapped in; they were primitive, clad in metal armors and wielded swords. A monstrous, vulgar-looking green creature sat directly across the man in the chair, and appeared to be in charge of the medieval warriors who lingered nearby.

Twelve people, in all,

Magus sensed the animosity between them, especially between the grizzled, one-eyed man and the green creature. He made a quiet grunt as he noticed the similarities between the creature and the Mystics from his own world. Perhaps this thing was a Mystic. Perhaps he’d be swayed by Magus’ power.

Regardless, with nowhere else to go, he strode confidently toward them, careful to walk directly toward the center of the divide between the two parties in order to prevent an accidental show of deference to either group.

Once he was about thirty feet from either group, he stopped, opening and closing his fists and clearing his thoughts. His cape began to flutter behind him despite the absolute stillness of the air in this place.

“Welcome here,” the cyclops greeted, rising from his chair to stand bolt upright, facing Magus. The man wore a military uniform and was obviously well-decorated. A commander who had actually seen battle was always the most dangerous kind. Magus noted this, and began to reply when the massive, armored green man climbed to his feet and turned toward him, rolling both hulking shoulders and tilting his head to the side, cracking the vertebrae.