"Now... how about a pow-wow..."

Everyone seemed frozen. Scott was clenching tightly to his watch. Zana was seconds away from pulling herself into her hat, but Ashes halted her, holding her hands. The newly human-ish Sammy seemed confused, but understood that what I had just said was, in some way, bad. Trix was staring at the paper, and then to me; confused, then angry, then confused once again. Gabriella was silent; unlike her brother.

"Woah woah woah! Hey, I know that sounds bad, but..." He says, walking towards me. "...yeah, I've got nothing. I mean, we can't prove he did it. Maybe someone was just using his name."

"There are no coincidences." I repeat, flinging the paper off my tail. "Ihsrom told me as much when I met him in Saltmoore. The God of Gods doesn't just tell you something like that unless it means something."

Trixie flutters down to the paper; sounding heartbroken. "But... you don't think Mortsie was involved, right? I mean, there's no way..."

"The Dark was winning." I say, speaking loud, and clearly. "Ihsrom, and Mortigan, would do anything to maintain the Balance. What's the life of some distant alien creature compared to that..."

I was fuming at the thought; all the pieces lining up neatly in a row.

Belle was taken first, a sweet girl with a passion for Earth's fantastical games; the perfect fit for a hero of the Light. Then, I was taken, a balancing measure to kill or subdue the chosen. Then, Trixie... she wasn't a test subject. An Earthling for the Light, an Earthling for the Dark... and one for ****. Ihsrom's personal Chosen... or Mortigan's, if he was planning a Cull.

*clap* *clap* *clap*

The first sign of something going wrong was instantly apparent; the colors of the room invert as the others freeze solid in place. Trixie's wings are mid-beat, and Scott's watch ceases it's ever present ticking.

"Well done, Monster." Says the familiar voice of the man on the pink couch. "I do believe that is check-mate."

Ihsrom rises from his suddenly appeared seat, which had popped into being over by the door to the Kitchens. Unlike our first meeting, **** was not in baby-blue pajamas. He was almost entirely obscured by a cloak of shadows and stars, swirling about like the gales of a horrid cosmic storm. His skeletal hand held a perfectly straightened black rod, with a blade at the end, curving downward; a scythe, one with a blade that shone like the blazing sun. What little of his face that I managed to glimpse was a horror of fierce reckoning; a skull, with the very world in it's right-socket.

"You figured out quite a bit; Rangers... so damn pesky." Says Ihsrom, twiddling with his scythe as if it were a toy. "Now, I'm sure you aren't as silly as your Others..."

"You know, then." I respond, clenching my teeth as my tail sways about. "You know that they want ****. That they want to kill you."

The skull's jaw creeks; smiling. "Of course... we all have a time, and a place. I should know."

Ihsrom stops just within arm's length of me (not accounting for my current situation.)

"It's true. I killed you. I killed your Fiancee. I killed my daughter's new friend." He says, plainly. "I could say I did it for Ruyanei. I could say I did it for the Balance. I could say I did it for fun. But none of it would matter, would it?"

"It would help me decide who I'm trying to kill next." I answer through gritted teeth.

**** seems unimpressed at my response; almost saddened.

"I did it for me." He says, turning around, and walking back towards his pink throne. "I believed a wild-card like Earth would allow me keep my Kingdom for just a few hundred more years, Monster; just enough time for Mortigan to be ready..."

He takes his seat, pulling something from his cloak, and tossing into the air. "Now, I have less than a month..."

The world returns to normal, as the colors of the room revert to their original hues, and the thud of heavy metal impacting wooden flooring can be heard behind me. Turning round, I spot two lengths of chain; one a pearly white, and another, a tar-black. I reach for it with...

"Woah! Where did those chains come from!? Where did those come from!?" Yells Ariel in his usual girlish way.

My hands were restored; no, they had been changed. Reaching from newly regained finger-tips, and to just past where my elbows connected to my torso, each of my arms were now covered entirely with small, gleaming scales. On my right, a tar-black; on my left, a pearly-white. The chains, like serpents, strike up towards me; wrapping my arms quickly. The black chain takes my white arm, and vice-versa on my other side. As they begin to settle, engulfing my arms entirely, their rattling whispers quietly into the air; words left behind by a dying man.

"I'm sorry..."