Ruins at the Edge of Madness, Beyond the Gateway at the Edge of Discord, North-Eastern Continent, World B.

There is a gathering being held. Or rather, there is one happening. The participants, nine in number, are dismayed and distraught by their presence in this place. Though the sky is clear, the air fresh, their hearts are heavy and their hopes seem smashed.

The rebel expresses his frustration at the meeting, "What's going on? I thought we had won! Why are we here again? We'd made it out, and conquered Chaos!"

The knight lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, and says, "I am sure none of us know, and so what does it benefit us to complain? Here we are again, and that is that."

The youth snorts in contempt, "Okay then, if we're still here, how do we get out? I don't want to be here anymore."

"Yeah, no offense, guys," says the thief, smiling broadly, "but that's kinda my problem. All these guys and just one girl? Not my kind of party."

The enchantress blushes and runs a hand through her hair nervously. She's normally so calm around men, despite the advances, but something about the thief's advance, however weak, embarrasses her. She's never noticed that she's the lone woman in a group full of handsome, fit men. "Whatever's happening," she says, averting her eyes, "must be big. I mean, we're all still here, right? So maybe there's something going on?"

"Well when you say it like that," the wanderer chimes, "we really shouldn't be just standing here. I mean, if there's trouble, we should be out there fixing it, right?"

"What, and rush right into trouble, not knowing what's happening? Seems unwise," answers a man in black, leaning against a piece of rubble. The mane on his jacket makes him look something like a lion, and his growl is one the others don't dismiss.

"Yeah, well I can't just stand here doing nothing," says the athlete. His words don't carry malice, and his smile disarms any misunderstanding. He's a vision to behold, and his cheer brightens the spirits of those in the company who seem less than pleased with their situation.

The soldier shrugs, as though to convey an apathy he certainly does not have for their fate. "So what do we do, then? Running into trouble seems to be a bad idea, and none of us are game for just sitting here. We have no idea what's going on, and, like always, we're gonna have to deal with it. So what do we do?"

The nine fall silent at his questions. None of them know what to do. None of them even know what's going on. They look about themselves for a clue, but to no avail. The entire area seems so barren, even the flames that once lit the wastes have died now.

"Hey, anybody seen the warrior?" the wanderer asks.

"No," most say, till the thief, some distance from the others, says "Yes."

He points beyond a pile of rubble, and, as the other eight crowd around, the seated figure of the hero. At his feet lies the broken remains of his blackened armor. He looks different now. Redder. His face is buried in his hands, and it seems he has not yet noticed the nine's presence.

They jump down the rubble to where he's sitting, and as they skid across the stones, he raises his head. His expression changes as they crash and fall atop him. When everyone has pulled themselves together, he addresses the group.

"I know this looks bad," he begins.

"You can say THAT again," the thief quips.

"Yeah, looks is a bit of an understatement," the wanderer adds.

"And bad it is," the hero continues. "And there's a lot you need to know about. Things have changed. Things have gotten worse. But I need to know, are you all still with me? Are we still a team, working to get everybody home and to conquer evil?"

"Of course we are," says the enchantress.

"Now and forever," the knight replies.

"We're with you, hero," the liegeman adds.

"Please," the hero says, "call me Mid."

Shores of the Cardian Isles, just without the Dragon King's Gateway

"Up, you worthless traitors," the stalwart barks. "Each of you betrayed us before, but now you'll be singing a different tune."

The first to his feet is a man in long, golden robes. His powdered face, littered with sand, already flexes into the perfect mask of penance. "Remember, if you will, that some here betrayed us more than others."

Knocking the despot down, the stalwart barks, "I know only too well of each treachery. Bring them to me."

"Oh-ho-ho! This'll be fun . . ." croons the jester. "Can't wait to see what you've got cooked up for us this time!"

"The traitors, as you requested," the champion says, kicking two men significantly larger than he forward.

"Do yer worst, you lousy hunk of metal," the phantom spits, not at all afraid of the stalwart and his threats.

"Relax," the stalwart says, putting one of his boots to the phantom's neck and driving it into the sand. "When we are done here, you will all know my worst. Until then, I am in no hurry."

"Nor are we," states the warlock, kneeling beside the phantom. "You are not the only one with a plan."

"Plan?" The stalwart asks, grabbing the warlock by the throat and lifting him off the ground. "Who said anything about a plan? There is no plan, except for Chaos. And when Utter Chaos reigns, you will all know that."

"To the Void with these ones," barks another armored man, solid like a tree.

"The Void can burn and hang," The stalwart snarls. "Even The Void will fall to Chaos."

"Your words intrigue us," hisses a woman, beautiful, yet wraithlike in her ways. "Beware the pride that consumes those who hope to conquer The Void."

"And you beware the wrath of Chaos, raw and hard, pulsing and throbbing as it burns through Heaven and Hell, coursing like a fire in your veins as it consumes you." The stalwart answers, hurling the warlock at the wraith.

"Yours is a foul mood," states the witch, dressed in red and flanked by long black wings. "So we've betrayed you. Clearly you find our alliance necessary still, or we would not be here. What is it you're after."

"He's already said it," another man sings, beautiful as death, fearsome as the reaper. "Utter Chaos. Speaking of, where is our magnificent director?"

The stalwart steps past him and, as though in response to his question, points further down the shore. The nine follow him some small way, until they come upon a group of persons, drenched and weary in appearance. Some of them look pale and frightened, others pleased with a glee that could only be called ominous. Standing over this group was a man in a red cowl, long black hair obscuring his face.

"Are they ready?" the stalwart asks the man.

"Very much so," the man replies.

"But where is Chaos?" asks a young woman seated among them.

The man in red points to the stalwart, and the stalwart to the man in red. In unison they say, "I am here."

Astos' Castle, Far Reaches of the Elven Snowfields, Southwest Continent, World B.

"I find this all to be rather dull, this sudden lack of war, and general lull." States the tiny taru lady. Her passion for rhymes and smiling face belie a fierce disposition. "Now then ladies, let's not dally, we've some lives to save and troops to rally. This is no time for us to lag, we've a war to win before we can brag!"

Her companions seem equally upbeat, despite the nature of their fate. Trapped in this desolate world, powdered with the shards of crystals and haunted by Manikin footsteps. The three women, in the midst of such a terrible cold, remain surprisingly warm.

"Yeah! I can't wait to smash those bastards' heads in and grind their fuckin' skulls into the dirt!" Says the abomination- likely so called on account of her language, more than anything else. Her ears twitch in the wind. A single Elvaan standing in the remains of what once was a great Elven kingdom. Stranger still is the woman who most normal among them seems.

"Is this wrong?" The flower girl wonders. "We've come so far in our plan, and yet . . . is it wrong for us to play with the lives of others to this extent?"

"Oh now, dear, one mustn't fret! All our troubles in the dream world you ought not to so swiftly forget!"

"Yeah! I mean, what we're doing is right! Nobody can doubt that, right?"

"Is it all right? Are we no worse than the Gods who conspire to use people as the pawns in their games?"

"It seems to me you think the means make the ends the same. We're not doing this for money, for power, for greed or fame!"

"Not that those things wouldn't be pretty damn sweet."

"To us this war has never been about our own personal goals, wants or wills. To the Gods it has always been about vendettas, might and thrills."

"And we're so not going that way."

"Then why are we doing all of this? I just want to be sure we all agree."

"My dear friend, what an absolutely silly suggestion; the reason for our cause has always been the same question."

"And sadly, that's not 'where can I get some damn tacos?' much as I'd like it to be."

"You're right," the flower girl says, "The question has always been 'what would you do for love?' So are we doing this for love? Didn't we have people we loved inside the dream world?"

"We had things that had passion's feel, but I, for one, prefer a love that is real."

"Sounds about right to me!"

"Then it's settled."

"I'm glad you all feel that it is," says a warrior behind them. "Because it will make it so much more satisfying when I crush your hopes beneath my heel."

"Shouldn't you be off with the rest of Chaos' curs? Rather than here, hoping to hurt us with your ancient slurs?"

"Touching, lady. But my mission is special. You fools have all taken up the notion of hope, and I will crush and grind and smash and burn and slash and cut and bleed it out of you."

"Yeesh. You always this dramatic?"

"You remember the dream then, warrior?" The flower girl asks.

"Whore, be not surprised to hear that we still walk in it. And this cur now serves the men who seek to wake us all from it."

"That's unfortunate."

"Indeed. Want my advice? Run."

Interdimensional Rift, Connecting tube B-C, Far End.

"Hey, assuming we've been in here a hundred years, how old are you know?" The pirate asks, his mind idling as they continue their march. They've been awake for a few hours now, all of them surprised by their survival. None fully able to explain it.

"I thought that losing to a Manikin meant game over? Now we're still alive? And we're following her out of here? Seems ambitious, the whole project," says the gunner.

"Last time you lead us anywhere, we got lost for hours." Snorts the woman in the lead, trying to seem angry, when she's slowly becoming more and more used to and attached to her travelling companions. This woman, fleeting like a flash of lightning, is the leader of these wanderers in the dark.

"It was a fairly scenic route, though," the summoner says, trying to avert an argument already dying down. She means well, but a note of weariness escapes into her voice. This darkness has begun to get oppressive, and put her and her friends on edge. Still, she keeps a prayer in her heart and a hope that soon they'll be making their escape from this place.

"So what do we do if we get out of here?" The brawler asks, popping the question that's been on their minds this whole time.

"I should think that obvious," The dragoon says, replying with the one thought none of them dared to voice aloud. "We pay back the one responsible for our fate."

"Yeah, but vengeance seems a bit steep, doesn't it? I mean, it seems wrong to blame her for everything that happened," the gunner says.

"We did CHOOSE to come here, after all," the summoner says.

"Yeah, but she could've done more to help us than this," the brawler states, sounding unsure of this herself.

"You know, now that you think about it, can she even do anything? I mean, I never saw her do anything," the pirate mutters, more to himself than anyone.

"She's a Goddess, of course she could have done something. Let's not forget who brought us to this place, after all. If she had the power to drag us to this forsaken waste, she had the power to send us back."

"Well that's a nice assumption," the gunner tells the dragoon, "but who honestly knows about any of this? I mean, I've never met any Gods before. Have you?"

"You know, I think I have." The dragoon says.

"I might have," the pirate spouts, as though just realizing it.

"Me too," the summoner says, not at all convinced, "well, maybe."

"Maybe. That or an alien," the brawler adds.

"Yeah, killed one or two," the flash finishes.

"Well gee, guess I'm out and alone then, huh? I mean, I'd never even SEEN magic before getting here. To me, those things were impossible."

"You know what, that sounds like a good idea." The flash says.

"What does?" The pirate inquires, his confusion evident.

"When we get out of here, we'll make the impossible, possible. If that's getting revenge on her for trapping us here, then fine. If it's getting home, okay. When we get out of here, we'll do what WE want."

"You know, though," the brawler says, "when we all get home, I think I'll miss you all."

"Yeah, then let's make every moment count," the pirate replies.

"Sounds like a good idea," the summoner says as they fall silent and continue their march through the shadows, hoping to find their way back, even to the world they'd been prisoners in.

World C, Gateway to the Interdimensional Rift, opening C-B.

"Well, well, well," says the big man to the rag pile, towering over it like a giant. "Look who we have here!"

"It's been some time," the rag pile replies, pulling itself together, assuming roughly the shape of a person. "We'd begun to worry you would not come."

"Me? The greatest swordsman of all! Miss up on an opportunity like this! HA! I chortle at the notion!"

"We don't suppose you'd like some scissors."

"Such references are beneath us! Now is the time for BATTLE, then we shall amaze all with our brilliant knowledge of JUSTICE!"

"Indeed. Your son is well. We saw him, not long ago."

"Really? How's the little squirt doing? A shame we're on such good terms. It totally ruins all future opportunities for a big reveal of our familial connection, donchaknow?"

"He's fine. Found himself a girlfriend, it would seem."

"That so? Haw! What's she like?"

"Every bit as convoluted as you'd like. Not so strange as your granddaughter, but exactly the kind of poorly written finale you love so much."

"Amazing! He's going to outdo his old man! I can't believe it! I shall have to make her duel me for the honor of marrying him! And then he can duel me too, for the honor of getting married! Then we can all have an amazing garden party!"

"Begging your pardon?"

"Oh, no, that's just a line I saw in a movie."

"We are not familiar with this concept."

"Then I'll explain it on the way."

"We would . . . appreciate that. Our journey will be a bit . . . lengthy."

"Not a problem, ol' chum! Lot's to tell!"

Lufenian Ruins, Continental Bridge, World B.

"All has gone exactly as we have planned it," the scholar says, running a hand through his beard as he reclines on the remains of a sofa.

"Has it?" asks his wanderer, "I thought we'd planned victory in World D."

"Oh, no," the chronicler says, adjusting his glasses. "We planned for it. And we achieved it. We're here, aren't we? Every major player is on their way, and when they're all in ash before us, we'll take Absolute Virtue and wake the world from this nightmare its claimed as real."

"A cryin' shame we 'ad ter be the bad guys las' time, tho," the Engineer calls as he rummages through the rubble, looking for something to eat.

"I agree. Toward the end it became especially painful."

"You're saying you didn't enjoy assimilation," opines the scholar.

"Was it enjoyable being assimilated into her for you?"

"Not in the slightest. But doing so gained us access to this world. Now we are one step closer to ending the dream and making final the fantasy. Soon reality and reason will reign, and Final Heaven will be ours."

"Social revolution in every way," the chronicler whispers, as though to a lover.

"The rewriting of the status quo, and the shaping of all truth into our own."

"Our becoming truth itself. No more Gods, no more graves."

"Only reason, perfect and pure. And we, her unyielding guardians and sole dispensers."

"We'll be saviors."

"Heroes."

"We'll be free." The scholar says. "And there will be none to molest or make afraid."

Gaian Valley, Northeastern Continent, World B.

"The players are assembling, the field turns white for the harvest, and the battle prepares for its end. Are you satisfied now, old one?" asks the dragon to the man. He does not seem happy at all.

"Should I be? All I've ever wanted, I've been denied."

"Indeed, but you have fought long and hard for it, have you not?"

"What good has that done me? All my attempts at getting back what I have longed for have lead us here. There is not a person in this world who does not wish to slay me. And now, there is not even a way to turn things back."

"Indeed, your body is at last gone. Without World C, we have no way of reviving those who fall and starting the war again. This time shall be the last. It has taken all our strength just to allow this final conflict. The girl nearly destroyed everything. The scholar came dangerously close to winning. And yet I must ask you, are you in no way satisfied? You have one final chance to save your family."

"Should I be pleased? In all this world, I am hated. And do I deserve it? Every last drop. Were there Gods greater than we, by them would I swear in anguish. My own hubris created the scholar, and all who serve him. How could I ever find pleasure in this world I've created? What have I done? Even I cannot grasp fully the evils I have wrought."

"You wallow overmuch in your misery. Even I no longer can see all that will happen here. Why, then, ought we to worry? Let us allow this war to play itself out, as all others have. We are survivors, you and I. Soon you will see that the virtues you cling to hold no meaning for those who would not die."

"Then perhaps death is the only fate I truly deserve."

Cosmos' Throne, Sanctuary, Cornerian Sea, World B.

The heroes stand together, puzzled and confused. This place is new to them. Some of them have no idea what is about to happen, and some of them are afraid for their futures. They were called to this spot by a woman's voice. Each of them gaze bewilderedly at the other, unsure of what to say.

"So, anybody know what's going on?" the gray-haired boy asks, while wishing he had a hat. The skies here certainly look rainy enough.

"No. Don't care, either," the man in the black cape says, rubbing the odd metal casing on his arm. He looks at the clouds and shrugs. Whatever's going on here, he'd rather get away from it just as fast as possible.

"That's some attitude you've got there," says the guy behind him, running a finger along the crystal embedded in his cheek. "I hope you're not one of those brooding types. Never did get that. I mean, what's so bad about being a hero, that you've got to brood about it?"

"You're sure you're all heroes?" asks the youth in blue armor, shrugging widely, "Because the last time somebody told me that, it didn't work out very well for her."

"Perhaps she just lost her way on the path to heroism," suggests another boy in armor, "one mustn't blame God for personal mistakes."

"I hope I'm not interrupting," interrupts the cat-girl who's been standing nearby. "But I think you're all ignoring the elephant in the room."

"You mean there's something weirder than cat-women and guys in armor?" asks the other woman.

"Well, there's her, I suppose," the cat-woman says, pointing past them all to the throne, which, moments before had been empty. It was now occupied by a woman whose personage could only be described as radiant. Her skin was white like the heart of fire, and her gown purer still. Her hair was golden, and her voice like a song as she spoke to them.

"Welcome, warriors. You seven have been called here to save my world. Chaos, the God of Dischord, has raised up an army, and seeks to lay waste here, and then to all your worlds. I am Cosmos, Goddess of Harmony. I need your help, brave warriors. You are my last hope."

"Then you haven't any at all," the man with the metal arm says, turning to leave, "put me back in my world, and I'll deal with Chaos when he gets there."

"I cannot. The only way home is for you to help me. You must gather the crystals, and vanquish Chaos."

"Really?" the boy in blue armor says, "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"Stay your tongue," the other armored man says, "whatever doubts you may have, we'll deal with later."

"Oh, right." The boy in blue says.

"Please, brave heroes," Cosmos says, "will you not help me? We must join forces to stop Chaos, once and for all."

"Do we have any choice?" the crystal cheeked man asks. No answer comes to him.

World E, The World Full of Everyone's Favorite Flowers.

The pink-haired girl stands in the fields of flowers, looking about her. She has done what she can to make right the great wrong she has wrought. She has gathered together every last person she can to make possible the hope of all. She's set the stage, and called the actors. Now it is up to them to determine what the final chapter in the Endless Cycle will be.

As she ponders whether her actions absolve her of crimes committed in another world, a six-armed man with shaggy white hair comes up behind her. He puts an arm around her shoulders, and another, her side. His presence comforts her. They've been through so much together. He whispers in her ear, then points a short way off in the field, where two persons are emerging from pillars of light.

The first of these persons is a gentleman with a long, bronzed beard. He gazes about himself in wonder, until at last his gaze rests upon the two. Jumping and shouting for joy, he races toward them, embracing the two with a broad smile upon his face.

After him comes a woman with long green hair. She approaches slowly, looking ashamed. After an awkward moment, the pink-haired girl runs to her, and embraces her. All is forgiven between them. Though hell came up and consumed them and tore them apart, limb by limb, this one embrace dissolves the pain and melts the ice. Here, in this world full of everyone's favorite flowers, there can be no grudges. Forgiveness and mercy here lay claim to the hearts of man.

The four of them stand a minute, just happy to be with one another again. At last someone asks, "What happens now?"

"Now we wait," the pink-haired girl says. "we let them pick up where we left off, and pray they do better than we did. Now, we let them right the last report."

"One more, huh?" the green-haired woman asks.

"Yes," pink replies, "And it will be in my name. The last report, and the final cycle. I'll hold it on my conscience, and we all pray they make it here, to the world full of flowers."

"And home?"

"We hope for that, too. What happens now is hope. Let's make that our Endless Cycle. Yours and mine. We spread it from every person, world to world. We'll fill the world with hope, and let the darkness drown in it."

"For hope, then." The others say.

"For hope," pink echoes.

END OF PART 2: THE SCHOLAR'S REPORT.