That final cry of agony and dispair echoes throughout the entire forest. A slight chill runs down the spines of the four Light Warriors as they swiftly dispatch the weak Forest Imp. If there was a more hideous sound in existance, Psiko has never heard it, nor does he ever wish to.

Dressed from head to toe in bright, flashy red attire, he makes quite the spectacle wherever they happen to travel to. Very few people these days wear red, but it has always been a favorable color to Psiko. In fact, he thinks he looks pretty damn sexy in red, and with his incredible charismatic charms to back him up, there are few women that could successfully resist his witty charms. But one must bear in mind that this is simply how Psiko, the D&D-worshipping Red Mage, percieves things to be, and is not necessarily the truth of the matter.

At his side is an old, worn-down scabbard. Not more than ten minutes ago it had remained empty. After months of adventuring with his fellow companions, he finally managed to convince them to purchase weapons and armor, instead of spending all their gold to revive each other. Being the genius he is, Psiko managed to trace a direct correlation between the lack of victories in battle to the fact of an absence of equipment, and only then was able to talk Spek into spending any money.

Psiko had always wanted to have a sword. Growing up, he envied all those cool Fighters and Knights who went around slaying monsters. Now Psiko has a sword of his own, and even though he can hardly contain his personal excitement, Tracer's joy at having his own sword far surpasses that of Psiko's joy. This rag-tag band of motley fools found even more luck awaiting them within this town. It just so happened that only two hours ago, while prancing around in the forest, Princess Sara had been kidnapped by the notorious villian, Garland. Spek did not want to help save this Princess, but after Psiko explained the ongoing saga of Princess-rescuing, combined with Rose's persuasion through her special womanly assets, Spek gave in. But the fun had still been far from being over.

Indeed, they found that, after purchasing weapons and armor, there was only 200 gold left to spend on spells. With three mages in the group, it was a heated debate over who should learn the magic. In the end, Black Mage got his way after several botched backstab attempts. The feeling of a sharp blade penetrating the flesh is not the most pleasurable sensation, and sooner or later Spek would have to succeed in rolling that 20 on his attack roll, so Psiko let him have his FIRE spell.

NYYYYEEEEEEEEGHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!

The call of another angry Forest Imp brings Red Mage back into his 8-Bit sense of reality. The not-so distant memories of what transpired in Corneria fade from his entire memory, since it would only take up space which could be devoted to more seemingly-useless D&D rule varients. To maintain memories would only squander room within his precious built-in database, which would reduce his usefulness. No one needs memories, but someone will need to know how to effectively calculate the optional encumbrance penalties for a Fighter with a 13 strength that is trudging through a 5.318 inches of thick snow in the middle of a blizzard within the month of Olendir in the country of Algon on the thirteenth night of the moon cycle, at approximately 1:24 in the morning.

NYYYYEEEEEEEEGHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!

Another cry of rage joins the first one as a horde of imps begin to emerge from the darkness of the forest. Each imp cries out over and over and over until, to Psiko's ears, they merge into one monotonous screech. The horrific sound sends Psiko to his knees as his hands fly up to cover his ears; however, it is too late for him and he silently curses his low dexterity score. If only his Deity, NightShade, had opted to roll his weighted d20 on that check, rather than a regular d20...

Minutes pass by and the inhumane sound persists, soon accompanied by a foul odor as well. Man, Psiko thinks to himself, don't these foul beasts bathe themselves? That stench is putrid. Even Tracer smells better than that, although this does smell a lot like Tracer when he soils his armor...

That one thought sparks an idea in Psiko. Not a useful idea, mind you, because for that to happen Psiko would actually have to think for himself rather than giving himself entirely to the fate determined by NightShade's dice, but it is still an idea. He looks over at Tracer and sees a small stream of moistness trickling to the ground, staining the 8-Bit grass below. Psiko can only shake his head in disgust upon seeing this, knowing that Tracer was given an exceptionally weak bladder by his creator. Although sometimes, as luck would have it, that awful stench produced by Tracer's excretions was enough to drive an enemy away.

NYYYYEEEEEEEEGHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!
NYYYYEEEEEEEEGHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!
NYYYYEEEEEEEEGHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!

This time the cry comes from outside the circle of imps, and seems to be even louder and more intimidating that those of these imps. Psiko knows, through his incredibly useless proficiencies, that this could be coming from only one thing: the Imperor. Others scoffed at the self-proclaimed Imperor, mocking his title; however, all who did so never lived to tell the tale. To lay eyes upon this ruler of the Impire would, undoubtedly, strike fear into the very fabric of Psiko's being. He has heard many rumors that this Imperor gains a hefty bonus on his intimidation rolls, and Psiko is less than eager to discover the truth of that matter. Just as he thinks his ears will explode from all the noise, it ceases. A large shadow begins to emerge from the trees, announcing the impending arrival of the Imperor. Psiko knows it is truly Game Over for him.

He will now die at the hands of these savage imps. Nay, not die! Psiko thinks to himself, We shall perish, not become terminated. Become Slain, not killed. A long-forgotten art in the modern day, but I just so happen to be the last-survivng expert. They'll see how a TRUE hero dies!

Then suddenly it happens. One moment Psiko is praying to the Almighty NightShade to save him, and the next moment his entire perception of reality is altered. He has heard rumors before about what it is like to perish, about the light at the end of the tunnel, and he dismissed it as nonsense. He is now on his way to Gamer's Heaven. He knows he is, because where else would he go? Then he notices a strange thing: the light is not white, like everyone said it would be. Nor is it red, like he had wished it would be. No, my friends, this light is blue. But not just any blue, this is the bluest of blues. The blueness consumes him as he flies through a gap in time and space, heading to an unknown destination.

He lands not more than a few moments later, hitting solid ground with a dull thud. He gets up slowly, simply because that is the 8-Bit way of getting up. He feels no pain, only his numbers would be affected. After a quick HP-Check, he notices he has received no damage thus far.

This can't be right! I perished back there, didn't I? If so, then how come my HP is not zero? Where am I?

He looks around, seeing a vast sea of nothingness. He is somewhere he has never seen before, a place of mystery. A small wooden sign hangs on a lamp post, reading: "End of Time". What a crazy notion! Everyone knows there is no end to Time! It is eternal, like an infinite loop within some sort of programming code! I had better point this mistake out to them, it could cost them on their future reaction checks.

He walks up to the old man who is leaning against the post, nudging him slightly to wake him from his slumber. The man wakens, slightly startled by this newcomer.

Who are you? asks the Old Man, And just how did you get here?

I do not know! I was hoping you could tell me where "here" is, exactly. The sign says 'End of Time', but everyone knows there is no end to Time.

Ah, but you are wrong in that belief. You see, even Time has to have an end. Everything does. But the end is not really the end of Time. It is a location which contains portals to various times and places in the past, present, and future. You will want to enter the fourth room on the right, which will take you back to the NES Era.

Wow. Are you NightShade?

No, I am Mydak0, God of Time. Now be gone before I cast Quick and beat your 8-Bit ass into the ground!

Appalled by this new finding, Psiko heads back through a newly-constructed hallway and into a large chamber which contains hundreds of doors. Fourth door on the left...here it is! He opens the door and is greeted by a strong pull that sucks him into a vortex, shipping him back into the confines of Time.

After a long journey through that eerie blue nothingness, he is sent tumbling to the ground at his new location. He looks up, expecting to see the familiar trees of Corneria, but is instead confronted with an image that boggles his mind. A mixing and merging of polygonal shapes and figures meld together to create vivid scenery and landscape that captivates Psiko's simple mind. The realm of 32-Bit astonishes the ancient Red Mage as he finds himself caught within a hysterical crowd. They all rush onward as a group, heading across the city toward some large buiding that stretches high into the sky. Various snickers and comments reach Psiko's ears as all the people gawk at this new oddity among them. A realization dawns upon him: he is an 8-Bit Mage in a 32-Bit world. A gruff man comes up to him and snatches his arm, saying: There you are! It is about time you showed up, we've been waiting for you! I had heard you would be an odd one, but I never imagined it being to this extent. No matter, come with me!

Psiko has no choice but to follow, since the man has a firm grasp on his arm and is lugging him along. As they get closer, Psiko realizes what this building is: an Arena. The brassy fanfare of trumpets blares out in greeting to Psiko as he is being dragged into the Arena. He soon finds himself being tossed, quite rudely, into the center of the ring. Within moments, the crowd becomes silent as they spot this odd competitor within the arena. Laughter rings throughout Psiko's ears as he tries to adjust to these new surroundings, scanning the area for sight of his opponent. He sees three other men, two standing on the other side, huddled together. The other one is walking up to him, but with the sun being high in the sky, he can't quite distinguish what this man looks like. Nevertheless, Psiko prepares himself physically and mentally for the worst...