Having seen the first moments, when Kalamitus was first chosen, I could see the writing on the wall. In truth, what I wanted and intended to do was no different from the terrible choices that had placed Kalamitus on his own throne: I hated the establishment, and I would have preferred literally anyone else. Except... I frowned, still sitting on my throne and looking down over the two, and glanced up at the Lord Beneath, whose hands had returned to their former position.

Except that my hatred for Kalamitus was entirely down to his attitude, and what he'd done to me, specifically. For all that I know the former Dungeon God had been equally a shithole, and was just whiny on his way to execution. It... didn't strike me that way, though.

"As you no doubt saw," Kalamitus said, "there are consequences to behaving rashly."

"Zip it," I said, immediately pissed that he was trying to manipulate me again. I doubted I'd hear anything out of him that wasn't slanted towards his own survival. "I don't want to hear your voice unless I'm asking you a question, Kalamitus."

I felt a lock appear on Kalamitus, as though the words I'd said in a moment of heat had become law. I noted that, not entirely idly, but I didn't try to reverse the decision, and I didn't dwell on it. I'd gotten what I asked for, and I assumed in the moment that I could change my mind if necessary.

All I could really think about in the moment was that Kalamitus had been a whiny brat then, and he was a whiny brat now. I had to force myself back to being emotionally neutral, reminding myself of what the beanpole had said. The fact that he was still an asshole today didn't necessarily mean that he had always been like that. That wasn't how people worked; they--we--grew and changed based on the shit that happened to us. I mean, I had changed a lot. Frankly, the implication that we could never change--that I was still the same murderous asshole as I had been--that was an insult. I didn't want to look at anyone else like that, especially when put in exactly these circumstances.

I mean... here I was, faced with improving my lot in life by killing someone. In a way, it was the same as it was back then, but I had grown, and changed. For all I knew, he had before, and would again. I had turned my life around by being contrite, by accepting the judgement of the law for what I did, for not fighting it, but for all I knew, my life would turn around again, someday.

I looked up at the Lord Beneath, a question on my tongue, but it was a good couple minutes before I had the nerve to ask. "If..." I paused, almost losing the nerve, but finished asking anyway. "If I were to decide, that the one who deserved death was me... what would happen?"

"You would choose the Administrator and the God, and then you would die," the Lord Beneath said, quite simply.

The fact that he had a ready answer confirmed my suspicion, for all that it wasn't really a solution I liked. "So I could."

"I never told you otherwise."

He hadn't. In fact, his phrasing had been very clear: I would determine who would die, and one of each would walk out. As much as this was the pair's trial, both could be declared innocent as long as I was prepared to die in their place.

"But they would still be unlocked, or whatever."

"Hm." The Lord Beneath made an interested noise, again. "What leaves are a God and an Administrator."

I frowned, concentrating on the phrasing. "That's... distinct from a Dungeon God, and a Dungeon Administrator?"

"Correct."

I nodded, noting that once again, there were dumb things being kept secret. The thought made me frown. Come to think of it, we now knew that the Fairy Dungeon was originally another world's Nightmare--an original Administrator. It might stand to reason that Muratama, the strange Dungeon God that Louise had contacted, might be his paired Dungeon God, that was never unlocked, wouldn't it? Except... he wasn't paired with any dungeons. Overcome by curiosity, I opened my mouth to ask, but Kalamitus' warning popped into my mind--if the Lord Beneath answered the question, I'd never be able to tell anyone else.

It might be better just to tell people my suspicions, than to know the answer and never be able to say anything.

My mind, slowly, caught up, and I found myself looking at Kalamitus. I didn't hate the beanpole, and I didn't want him to die, but that was what he wanted, and the problem with Kalamitus seems to be down to the fact that it was never a job he wanted. It seemed... like a bad idea to ignore the precedent and pretend things would work out in this case if they didn't before, but equally, Kalamitus seemed to be a poison pill, one I wasn't sure we wanted on our side. If he was truly competent and well-meaning, then--despite what I wanted--it might be best for him to continue on in that role, but how would I figure that out?

This, clearly, was the point and purpose of having the trial, and it was why the Lord Beneath was prepared to show me any history I needed to make a decision. A series of decisions like this--maybe all of them awful--would help decide our future. I was mostly okay with taking this seriously, but what did I need in order to make the best decision?

"Show me..." how to phrase this? "...actually, how long am I allowed to take at this Trial? How long do these visions take to view?"

"You have an indefinite amount of time here," answered the Lord Beneath. "Historically, I have capped the time a single trial may take as one local year, planetary time. For your second question, any review of the historical record is viewed in one hundredth the original time."

I frowned, appreciating the time compression but not entirely enthusiastic to know that there was a solid cap on how long I could stay. "Once I start viewing records, can I skip forwards and back through the recording?"

"You can ask me to move through it, or to change what is visible, or you may attempt to take manual control over the recording. What is available to you will remain restricted to items pertinent to the Trial."

I nodded, then straightened. "I'd like to see a summary of Kalamitus' contributions to his own world's demise."

There was an awkward pause for only a moment, before the Lord Beneath spoke again.

"I am obliged not to provide any value judgments regarding the defendants," he said. "That includes subjective analytical requests, such as summaries."

"Fine," I said, frowning. The first thought I had was to ask was a full timeline of his efforts, and skip around, but it could be centuries of historical records, and it would just create a whole bunch of restrictions on what I could talk about later on. Instead, I cleared my throat and rephrased my query.

"I'd like to see a historical record... of people of Kalamitus' original world, talking about what he has done, his successes and failures, restricted to the time period around the last... say, six months before the last attempt of his people to..." I frowned. "...unseat you, or whatever the final goal of this is."

The Lord Beneath made a noise that I thought was approving, and there was a strange sense of effort, and then I was dragged into an enormously long series of mixed short and long video clips, awkwardly cut together into an unpleasant slurry of a movie that I remained stuck inside of. There was little to no transition, and I had to force my will to act on the playback mechanism, slowing things down so that I could process things with sufficient time to get an overall picture.

It wasn't absolutely negative, but it was mostly against him.

Among the earliest were hundreds--maybe thousands--of short clips of Kalamitus' vaguely aquatic-looking people, all with a sour look on their faces as they almost uniformly called the Dragon "lazy," "cowardly," or various words that meant "stupid." Mixed in were longer clips of meetings between Gods, Administrators, Dungeoneers, and others I couldn't exactly identify. Those were dry and technical, with the individuals who were speaking not particularly passionate about Kalamitus one way or another. There were also longer clips of what must have been news and talk shows, but the staging and technology of it was alien, if vaguely familiar.

There were some Priestesses of Kalamitus who were predictably ministerial, remaining firmly on his side in all matters, and plenty of individual Dungeoneers who talked happily about what they'd learned from him. Again, it's not as though there was nobody singing his praises, and as I watched, it became harder and harder to tell how much of the naysaying was just typical complaints from people who didn't like him, and how much was a real and genuine reaction to him being a dick.

Along the way, too... although I didn't get particularly vivid images and no exposition at all, I was beginning to piece together an overall image of an entire planet focused on a great single project, split into many parts. Of thirteen Dungeons built "down," I assume into the Labyrinthine Star, and thirteen towers built "up" from the surface of their world, of seven heroes chosen to conquer the Star itself, and of whole armies that those seven would lead into battle.

Or... something like that. Without a good guide, I was making a lot of assumptions.

Kalamitus seemed to fall out of public perception towards the end of the project, as people were more focused on other things. I could tell as the slideshow reached its end that the timescale had accelerated, and the people still talking about him did so less and were only those already attached to him. Some figures stopped appearing, presumably dead, but it all washed by me in an ongoing series of short clips with nothing in between.

I reached the end without any satisfying conclusion, and returned to the Trial room, frowning. I had a lot of questions, but I knew that too many of them, the Lord Beneath wouldn't answer--questions about whether the people I'd seen were biased, and what had happened in the world around him at the time. I wanted to know how that world had ended, and whether Kalamitus had been a part of it, or whether he had done his utmost to try to help.

The Lord Beneath wouldn't answer, and I glanced at the dragon, knowing that he would, but wondering just how much I could trust him.

To fill the time and clear my thoughts, I turned to look at the beanpole. "The myths that you were born from," I said. "Slenderman, and Dracula, and others. We've talked about them before."

That wasn't a question, and he just looked back at me, waiting.

"Is that part of why you don't think you would be a good leader? Because they were powerful and corrupt images from the start."

The beanpole stared at me for a moment, then away. "It doesn't only matter whether or not I would be a good leader," he said, a deep and sullen depression in his voice. "What I told you was that I don't want to live, Judge Applebee."

"Sure," I said, "but the philosophy that you put behind your characters--"

"I am not responsible for how the Devil behaved," he interrupted, suddenly. "In some ways, yes, I modeled his parameters after myself, but if you want to understand that creature," he turned and looked at the Seven Sovereigns, lined up at the feet of the Lord Beneath. "Then you must speak to the Sovereign Saint. She is responsible for the hearts of living constructs."

I blinked, following his gaze. The six other Sovereigns all turned, looking at the last--a very pretty looking blue-skinned woman, with a lot of accents to her body shape and clothing that suggested innocence and purity. She fidgeted, for a moment, but stepped forward.

I looked at her, then at the beanpole, and then at the Lord Beneath. "Then, question: is she responsible for the ...the hearts, of the nightmare Administrators, as well?"

"I am," the Saint said, her voice--like everyone else's--as clear in my ears as if the distance between us meant nothing, her voice quiet and demure, giving a strong suggestion that she didn't want to speak.

I glanced at her, and across at the six others lined up. "You created the Nightmares alone?"

"No," she admitted, with some hesitation. "Each Sovereign has a hand in every fully realized creature, though we rarely need to interfere directly. The Saint lays down the foundation and is responsible for keeping people's hearts focused on the future of the species. The Sovereign Lord," she gestured towards another Sovereign, though I couldn't tell which at a glance, "is responsible for organizing and controlling them after they are created and empowered. The Sovereign Sage is responsible for education, the Warrior for strength training, the Mage for their magic, the Artificer for their equipment... and the Fool resolves the contradictions, and takes responsibility for those who go astray."

That was a lot to take in, and after only just a moment, I shook my head, clearing it. Of all of those, I recognized the Artificer, who had talked to me about Enhancement Sage, and the Fool, who... had intervened on my behalf. I guess.

It was a fascinating discussion to have, but that would only lead me further and further from the point.

"The point," I reiterated, for myself as much as for others, "is that you put philosophy behind what you did. It's not just in the character of the Devil, or the Hag, or the Voodoo Woman." I refocused on the beanpole, trying to keep as much on-track as I could. "You created the trap in the first place, when you encouraged me to trade human lives for power."

I thought I felt a bit of tension in the room at that, and glanced around, wondering just where it came from. It would have to have been from the Lord or the Sovereigns, but I couldn't pick out anything more detailed than that--my empathic sense felt like I was trying to peer through a frosted or gunked-up window, blurry and indistinct. Again, I pushed it back out of my mind.

The beanpole still didn't respond.

"I've spent my life," I said, suddenly feeling testy, "around people who don't think about consequences, the sort of people who would have more sympathy for a devil that was completely selfish and corrupted by greed than they ever would have sympathy for a good person forced to wear a devil's skin. Whatever else you are, you're not that kind of reprehensible person."

"That's not exactly a difficult bar to clear," the former Administrator said, still sounding tired. "Why does all of this matter? I said that I don't wish to live."

"Neither did the other Administrator." I focused on the Sovereign Saint, directing my question at her with a small act of willpower. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Yes." The Saint, who had stepped back when she wasn't the focus of the trial, stepped forward again.

"Why?"

Her face twitched, a frown coming and going in an instant, and she turned to look up at the Lord Beneath, but he merely glanced at her, providing no objection.

"In our iteration," the Saint said, her voice slow and measured, like she was being very deliberate in what she said. "The Fourteen Nightmares had been created to be ruthless and conniving. It took our people nearly eighty years to reach the end of the First Phase. We were much stronger because of it, but we lost too much time. In reflecting on the fate of our people, I believe that the ruthlessness of our Nightmares harmed our people in the long run. It was decided that the next iteration's Nightmares would be similarly intense, but would necessarily understand the role their death had to play in the Labyrinthine Star."

"On an instinctive level, the suicidal tendencies of the Nightmares are simply a willingness to die for their people. It is... possible, that depression, despair, and fatalism were unintended consequences."

I rankled at that phrase, a lifetime of depression giving me no sense of humor about depression being an unintended consequence. "Yes," I said, testily, "I think they might be."

The Sovereign Saint bowed her head slightly, but didn't reply. I just took a deep breath, trying to remain focused and objective. It was... weird, and honestly the whole situation felt weird, but it was all I had right now.