Here it is folks, as promised, the epilogue. Wander over Yonder is owned by Disney. Enjoy.

The Revenge: Epilogue.

Time: 09:25 GST (Galactic Standard Time)

Location: Unknown.

For what felt like an eternity, the Doctor stared into his own reflection. Although in his humble opinion, the man starring back at him was not someone he recognized.

"My god… what happened to you?" said the metal-man to his other self. "You used to be somebody. You used to be the terror of two galaxies. You used to bark orders at a legion of mercenaries and slaughter-bots. But now look at you. You're nothing. Nothing but a glorified errand boy."

For another minute or so, the Doctor just stood there in silence, but when it became clear that his reflection wasn't going to reply he spoke up again.

"Oh well, it'll all be worth it once I'm running this galaxy. Then they'll see. They'll all see!"

Ordinarily, such a rant would have gone on for several more minutes, but the sudden realization that he was holding something reminded him that at the moment he had other responsibilities.

Knock!

Knock!

Knock!

"Who is it~" said the Night Mayor teasingly from somewhere behind the door.

"It's the Filler Brush Man. Who the hell do you think it is?"

"Language, Doctor. Language."

"Just open the door!"

"Alright, alright, I'll let ya in. You ol' sourpuss."

Beeeep!

A few seconds later, the metal door slid open, and the Doctor entered his partner's office.

"You know; I'm getting really sick of that No Swearing Rule of yours." The robot-man grumbled as he walked towards the dandy bat's desk. "Just because you used to be a priest doesn't mean you can…"

"Deacon."

"What?"

"I was a Deacon, Doctor. Not a Priest. There's a difference."

"Whatever! Here's your stupid paper."

And with that said, the metal-man slammed the morning newspaper against the man-bat's desk and prepared to storm out of the room.

However, before he could even take one step towards the door, the Night Mayor used his unnatural speed to get right in front of him.

"Somethin' wrong, Doctor?" he asked, sounding almost genuinely concerned. "You seem a might upset."

"Upset? Why the hell would I be upset?" the scarred automaton asked sarcastically. "Just because I came this close to ruling the entire universe, only to have my plans thwarted by the efforts of lesser minds. Just because I spent the better half of three years drifting through space like a bum! Just because I ended up in this pathetic little Podunk Galaxy, a trillion miles from nowhere, playing lackey to Churchy La Rube! No, I'm not upset at ALL!"

"Glad to hear it." The dandy bat said jovially; seemingly unfazed by his partner's outburst. "But just the same, I'd like to give you somethin'. Sort of a token of my appreciation for all your hard work."

And with that, the vampiric politician reached into his left pocket and began to fish around.

'Oh, this should be good.' The metal-man thought sarcastically as he rolled his glowing red eyes.

"Ah! Here it is!" the Night Mayor said ecstatically as he pulled out the tiny trinket and held it up for his partner to see.

Immediately, the automaton's eyes went wide with amazement.

There, sitting right in the center of the man-bat's steady palm, was a tiny statue of the Doctor; carved from what appeared to be solid ivory.

"Oh my god…" he said with quite awe.

"I knew you'd like it."

"You… You made this?"

"But of course. Carved it myself just last night." The dandy bat replied warmly. "Go on. Take it."

Needing no further prompting, the Doctor quickly seized the tiny figurine of himself and began examining it gingerly. The detail. The craftsmanship. Everything about it was just so… so…

"Magnificent." The metal-man muttered before turning his attention back on the man-bat. "I… I don't know what to say."

"No need to say anythin'." The Night Mayor replied kindly. "Just keep it with you always and remember it as a token of my appreciation… and a warnin'."

"A… warning?" the Doctor repeated confusedly. "Warning about what?"

This time the dandy bat did not answer right away. Instead, he just closed his eyes and took a long deep breath; clearly needing a moment to choose his next words carefully.

"I'm a changed man, Doctor." He said finally, after what felt like an eternity. "The decades of shadows and secrecy have tempered my rage. And in many ways, I'm not the man I was when I first crawled out of Zolomon's accursed inferno. But I ain't no fool."

For reasons he could not even begin to understand, the metal-man suddenly felt very, very afraid.

"I never go into business with someone without first learnin' a thing or two about 'em. And Doctor, I've learned plenty about you." The Night Mayor said, his tone now deathly serious. "I know about your past. I know about your bigotry against organic lifeforms, such as myself. And most importantly, I know about your penchant for betrayal. So whatever half-baked scheme you've got cooked up to backstab me, I suggest you forget it. Otherwise, you're gonna end up in worse shape than the gentleman who donated that chunk of ivory. Savvy?"

Still much too scared and confused to give a proper reply, the good Doctor just nodded his head slowly.

"Good." The dandy bat said, before disappearing and then reappearing in the chair behind his desk. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to check on the weather."

And with that said, the Night Mayor picked up his newspaper and opened it to the desired section.

All the while, the scarred automaton just stood there in frightened confusion.

'What the hell was that all about?' he asked himself. 'And what did he mean? Where did this ivory come from?'

All of these questions, plus a thousand more, were answered once he caught a glimpse of the newspaper's headline.

And those answers filled his clockwork heart with a greater, much more primal sort of fear.

"The wind blows hardest just before you reach the mountaintop." The Night Mayor said casually, not even bothering to look up from his paper. "Just keep that in mind, and you might make it out of this in one piece."

Once again, the Doctor gave no reply.

He was much too fixated on the headline to say anything.

Those words.

Those three little boldfaced words.

Separately they were meaningless.

But together, they spelled out a message that made his internal fluids run cold.

They read as follows.

King Drakor Murdered.

End Notes:

Coming in July: The Pillow Talk.

Stay Tuned.