As the mental struggle continues ...

Phaross' hand continued to squeeze and Betty had started to lose hope, but the arrival of Madame Misstery gave her the added strength to keep fighting. Though Madame Misstery was not here. Not really and not in any way she could help remove the hand from Betty's throat. Only in Betty's mind, thoughts sent to her from far away.

Then she felt a shift. Something not of the real world, but in the realm of thoughts and dreams. The grip upon her throat loosened. Not much, but enough for her to force a little air into the throat of her real body. Then Betty saw what had happened. Both the projection of Psycona, and his true form of Zjahn Zjmit had grabbed a hold of Phaross' arm, pulling with all their might. Now her hands, her real hands, moved, clutching at the gloved fingers that threatened to take her life.

"I will not fall to the weak-willed!" Phaross roared in both the real world and in his thought projection. "I will not!"

A wave of psychic energy rolled out from Phaross, sending a rolling mass of dust and dirt and ash coiling away, blanketing the unmoving body of Principle as it passed. The grip intensified once again, Phaross understanding that she held the power to fight against him. Betty looked down at her body and Phaross, and felt herself waver, all but ready to succumb to the darkness of death. Whatever Madame Misstery had added to the battle, it wasn't enough.

"I can't win." Her voice croaked, even though it came from the psychic projection of her. "Madame! Help me!"

"I am, but you must help yourself. Think, girl! Think!" Madame Misstery's voice circled her, resonating within Betty's mind. "What has he lost? What has he abandoned? What is missing from the entirety of the man?"

Betty couldn't think. She saw through dimming eyes the effort both Psycona and Zjahn Zjmit put in to fighting their evil persona. The hero, had become disillusioned with his lot. Who had sought affection from those he saved on a daily basis. That thought himself unwanted. Unloved. Unappreciated. He looked desperate and Betty could sense the weight of all the deaths his dark side had caused upon him. Yet, he still thought of humans as something lesser.

The alien. He, too, fought with every ounce of strength against Phaross. He, too, had the weight of so many deaths on his conscience. But he knew he was once loved. He knew that, once, he had the adoration and appreciation that his efforts deserved. Yet, he, too, did not see the humans as anything but sapient animals. There was little humanity in either of them, and, for certain, none in the mind of Phaross.

Now, psychic, green flames erupted around them and, even in her projected body, her mental essence, Betty could feel the heat prickling at her skin. No humanity. What humanity Phaross, and Psycona, and Zjahn Zjmit had had become lost when Phaross had despatched the human persona of their shattered mind. Sean Smith had held that humanity. He was that humanity, but he was gone, lost. Torn from Phaross' mind and dissipated.

Or was he? Betty had seen him. She had looked through his eyes as she had forced Phaross to recall the moment he had first manifested. Some part of Sean still existed, if only in a memory. With the last vestiges of her strength, she bore her mind into that of Phaross, causing his body to jerk and convulse, but he did not relinquish his hold upon her throat. A last ditch effort to pull the broken mind of Phaross back from the brink. Betty's eyes flickered closed, her last breath gone.

The grip upon her throat loosened once again. Loosened and then flexed open. She had reentered her body, now, but she still saw the projections of Psycona and Zjahn Zjmit as they held on to Phaross' arm. And one other had joined them. A little man. A nondescript man. The kind of man that few would care to see if they passed him on a street, crowded or not.

With great calm, Sean held Phaross' wrist, pulling it further from Betty and she collapsed to the ruined ground, coughing and hacking as she drew in filthy air that felt more precious and more welcome than any she had breathed in her life. She hiccuped a painful laugh, wiping the back of her hand against her cheeks to clear away the soot-blackened tears.

"You can rest now, Betty." He sounded so confident. Unlike how he had ever sounded before. Sean stepped before her, facing Phaross. "This is up to us now."

"No. No! I have the strongest will here!" Phaross tried to back away from the illusions of his other personas, held in place by their hands. "I can wipe you all from my mind. This body is mine! This world is mine! I will not let you in!"

"You don't have a choice." Sean's voice had a calmness, a peace, a serenity to it that mesmerised Betty. "Alone, none of us can stand against the hatred and the guilt and the jealousy that corrupts you but, together, we have more than enough will to put you back where you belong."

"I belong where I choose to belong! I will not be caged!" Phaross fell to his knees, struggling against the hold of his other selves. "I will not!"

"Not a cage. Never a cage." Sean stepped forward as the others released Phaross' arms. All three stood, surrounding the villain. "But a part of a whole. Denying you will only force you to fester within our mind, and that isn't right. It's not ... humane. We can no more exist without you than you can exist without any one of us. We are one being and it is long past time we accepted that."

Sean held out a hand toward Psycona and the heroic persona took hold without pause. In turn, he held out his hand toward Zjahn. As he took hold of Psycona's hand, he held out his other, hesitant, with a curl of the reptilian lip, toward Sean. The circle complete, all three stepped forward, passing into the body of Phaross, blinding light emitting outward, causing Betty to turn away, covering her eyes with her arm.

After what felt like hours, the light diminished. The green, pyrokinetic flames flickered and winked out and Betty chanced a look back at where Phaross, and the psychic illusions of his other selves,  had stood. Smoke whirled about her in whorls and zephyrs, but, through the dust and the ash, she could see something move. A cape flicked and curled in the breeze that had fallen upon the crater.

"By the Zjahul! What have I done?" The voice was not that of Phaross, or of Psycona, or Sean Smith. An alien, rasping voice. "Principle!"

Betty staggered to her feet, stumbling forward through the gloom, searchlights from the helicopters above returning, scouring the ground where she saw two figures. One huddled above the other, green, clawed hand pressing against the chest of the fallen Principle. Betty had never seen the true form of Zjahn Zjmit in real life, only in memories and psychic illusion, and he appeared even more impressive.

"Is he ...?" She left the question dangling in the air. A mournful, hope-filled question that she dared not finish.

"Alive. Barely. I'm just removing the blockage now." Zjahn turned to look at her, reptilian eyes flicking in a strange, alien blink. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'll be fine. I'll be singing karaoke again in no time." The response came out flippant, but she could barely hear her own, rasping voice. "Phaross? Is he ...?"

"Here. A part of me that I ignored for too long." Zjahn looked back at Principle and Betty saw the hero's chest begin to rise and fall. "A part of me that I suppressed, like many other parts. My mistake was that I thought I could control all the negativity that I felt. I could not. He offered to talk. Principle. I should have accepted that offer many years ago."

Zjahn stood, his eyes never turning from Principle as the hero's chest started to move in a regular rhythm. After everything he had suffered, it looked like Principle would soon return to the world, no worse for wear. He always did, though it had come close to the moment where, this time, he would not. Betty couldn't imagine a world without Principle. Hesitant, she stepped toward Zjahn, not because of how he looked, but because she wasn't certain who he actually was anymore.

"If it's any consolation, you can talk to me. I've been told I'm a terrible listener, which is odd considering I'm a reporter, but I'll do my best." She reached up a hand, touching the scaly forearm. It felt smoother than she expected. "I'd like to get to know you better."

"Who? Me, or 'Sean'?" Zjahn shook his head. "Sorry. I think it will be a while before I get used to experiencing emotions rather than suppressing them."

"Whoever you choose to be." She looked up to his face. His scales had a beautiful, iridescent quality to them. "And whoever that is, I'll listen to them."

Zjahn began to speak, only for a barrage of sounds to erupt around them. Rippling flares of flame fell from the night sky as several figures descended, surrounding Zjahn and Betty. Armoured figures, bearing heavy-looking weaponry. The figures set the dust and ash tumbling about them as they aimed their weaponry toward Zjahn.

"Zjahn Zjmit. Psycona. You are under arrest." One of the figures held out a pair of strong-looking shackles. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"Stand down, soldiers!" No-one could miss that voice. A deep, comforting voice that spoke of hope and safety. Principle had regained consciousness. "You'll get no trouble from this man. I'm right, aren't I, Zjahn?"

"Always." With one, last, lingering look to Betty, Zjahn turned toward the armoured man, offering his wrists for the shackles. "Old friend."

As soon as the shackles snapped into place, two armoured soldiers, bearing the emblem 'SRT' upon their chests, flanked Zjahn, holding him by the arms. Boot jets fired, sending all three soaring into the sky like rockets on the fourth of July and Betty mused that she would have to learn exactly who this 'SRT' was. She could smell a story. The other armoured soldiers took flight, tracking the three figures before them. That left her alone with Principle. Even Madame Misstery had gone from her mind, her task completed.

"Ms Burns. Do I need to say that the world owes you a great debt?" He held out a powerful hand and Betty shook it, thinking how gentle, yet strong, the grip felt. "You have my thanks and my gratitude. If you need help with your powers, Bastion are at your disposal."

"Thanks, but I think I already have a mentor. Though I think she'd despise that term." Betty tilted her head, looking North, and then smiled. "You should get back. Someone has been watching the news and is very worried about you. And someone else thinks they need feeding. Go! Scoot! Family time!"

Principle gave her a squint-eyed look before smiling. He always hovered above the ground, but she got the impression even he felt like he was floating whenever he thought about his son. With a look upward, Principle lifted himself to the sky, making a lazy turn in the air before pouring on the speed, the sonic boom following in his wake.

Which left Betty alone. She looked down to see that her beautiful dress had become little more than rags. Hobbling on shoes with one broken heel, she moved to retrieve her purse, taking out her cell phone. No signal, of course. No cabs anyway. People had started to crest the edge of the crater, but Betty didn't want to deal with the inevitable questions. With a thought, everyone in the vicinity failed to see the dishevelled woman making her way home.

She had a story to write.