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Rep took one look at Harrison's ******** ridiculous monetary plight and added with a roll of his eyes as he went to the moon hunter's aid.

"I wish you wurnae so ******** stupit."

He was not expecting to be stabbed in the a** with the long blade of an insanity-style B0nez as a very nerdy looking insanity!Harrison spoke up with an inexplicably English accent.

"I am not stupid at all. I compete mathematically with B0nez and I win."

"Oh for ******** sake what the <********> he yelped, putting Harrison and the money monster between him and his wish creation. "Can you ******** bribe him?" he asked hopefully.

Jake was too busy drowning in feels to make a wish.
Though if he could, he might have told Gale to stop picking on their glorious sensitive De- D-leader.

Kostya roused enough to hear the tail end of the invitation to make a wish. Blearily, he sat up, his vision both swimming and cloudy. Black bled in around the edges from the dizziness, and a brief carding through of his recent memories made Kostya shiver. There had been far too much touching in the last hour or two, and it had taken its toll. The pricking at the top of his spine returned, as it always did.

(He was learning not to turn his head to see who it was. It was easier to ignore, when he didn't see that there was no one behind him.)

The words curled through his mind, a welcoming embrace to a downtrodden soul. Syntax chirped, but it was a check on his vitals, not on his well-being.

Whatever you wish for, think it deep in your heart, and it will be granted.

If he had been more together, he would have known to avoid it. If he was less of a fool, maybe he wouldn't have wished for it to begin with.

Mimsy, grey in her glory and wreathed in fog, her eyes a calmer blue than he had ever seen. Mimsy, clad in her labcoat, skin unmarred. Mimsy, without the deadness behind her eyes. Mimsy, Mimsy, Mimsy.

(He would never write her name a thousand times, but he repeated her name in a litany of regret.)

"It is you," Kostya said to her, in Russian, but she offered no response but a slight tilt of the head. In her hands was a smoggy Svensyl, wisps of grey floating off it and reunited with her hair. She pressed the blade to his throat, its sensation cool, and he stuttered an inhalation.

This was not her. Even when silent, Mimsy had never been truly calm-- and this one was nigh beatific, even with the cool gleam in her eyes, glowing through the mist of insanity.

"I wish," he said, bitterness flooding him, "that I could wish that I was not so loyal. Instead, I wish for your friendship again. All you have done is hurt me, but I feel like it wasn't always the case."

Mimsy smiled, and it was not her, but she wore her face.

Leon didn't question why Kostya had to fight mimsy and harrison was fighting a big ol moneybags. Maybe he wanted a sugar daddy or something.

But wishes were being granted and temptation was indeed there. Pumpkins can wait, the life hunter reasoned and ignored the sad fruit and overly emotional D word hunter. It was a haze of madness that came after the words "Make a wish came wafting in the air, and one Nidhogg that urged him to wish for an endless buffet. It was thankful that deep in his heart that was not what he wanted.

It lay much further than that, back when the choice was made to arrive here, at a crossroads of another 'Yes and No' dillemma. He chose No and came along with the hunter to this place and its choices, but it always lurked deep within, the nagging urge to wonder, in a parallel life, if the choice was not..... no.

"I wish... to see what I would be like if I said Yes then." it was his purest wish, something that came from deep within. It was the unknown and much too late to take back.

The person who stood before him was much crueler than he expected to see, shrouded in fog other than a silhouette to show the time spent in much more controlled and rigid training and a different set of experiences. It was a grin that looked malicious and eyes that were much harder than he could dream staring at him back in a mirror. No chainsaw in hand was this- his wish, but hands that were honed in its true skill.

And it terrified Leon to his very core to see what he could have become. It was a monster in gray with a belt to go round his insanity afflicted torso.
"Would you look at that, I would have been a champion." the hunter exclaimed proudly as he unleashed the weapon that made him who he is now.
-And I thought you were a meathead now meathead, guess I was wrong-

Hunter 'Firefighter' Leon- 45/50
---------------------VS
Champion 'Boxer' Leon- 25/25

Noah couldn't help wishing, even if he was starting to suspect that trusting things that seemed too good to be true might not be the world's best idea.

The version of him that materialized out of nowhere had broader shoulders, an easy, relaxed smile, and carried a weapon that looked a lot like Lazarus, if Lazarus had been a three-foot-long sword. The other him nodded politely, its smile turning just a little cruel, then swung. At Noah.

I THINK I AM INSULTED, Laz said sulkily as Noah picked himself up from the ground.

I don't want you to be any different! Noah thought desperately, embarrassed. He might have thought, a few times, very quietly, how cool it would be to have a huge magical sword. Maybe. He ducked under the clone's sword and darted in to swing his own version of Laz at it.

Laz bit hard, and made a low, bubbly growling noise as he fed. Whatever this clone was, it was made out of Fear or some close analogue.

HP: 30/40
Dmg: 9
Charge: 1/3

Clone HP: 16/25

The clone was hitting considerably harder than Noah was. That was somewhere between embarrassing and infuriating. Noah smacked at its arm as it hit him again. At least this time he managed to keep on his feet.

I CAN FIX YOU NOW, Lazarus put in, sounding pleased with himself. YOU WILL NEED FIXING.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" Noah yelped.

HP: 20/40
Dmg: 2
Charge: 3/3

Clone HP: 12/25

IF YOU DON'T HIT IT HARDER WE ARE GOING TO GET HURT MORE, Laz warned.

"I know! I'm trying!" The thought that this was a better version of himself was depressing. How could he hope to win against that? Giving up was out of the question, though. He didn't think anyone depended on him, per se, but he did think that there were one or two people who might be sad if he actually died. He shoved past the clones sword and chopped hard into its shoulder, and felt a little better when it staggered. That had been sort of effective, anyway.

HP: 24/40
Dmg: 9
Charge: 1/3 (1 used)

Clone HP: 3/25