We see Xaos sitting in the middle of the parking lot, waving that blasted staff around like a madman. Bandages obscure the face of Xaos from Bolar's fiasco where he pelted Xaos in the head with his trusted bagpipes
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Xaos: "Oh, Allo there, thy children. Come and gather, as thy fable continues"
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The cameraman zooms in on the darkened face of Xaos, holding it as still as he possibly can
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Xaos: "You see, thy story of Kyrax is somewhat of a facade. The names and events have quickly been altered to truly hide the good and evil of the people in it, as even I hath forgotten the true evils of what Kyrax stands for"
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Xaos looks around, butts his staff on the ground as the parking lot goes dark, only a glimmering light from a nearby streetlamp is on Xaos
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Xaos: "Not only hath you been in thy dark about thee evils of Kyrax and Syrna, but the truth of the matter of the fabled Kyrax is the true evil of good men. When you get down to very being of people, you see who they really are. You see the cowardice and the enstragement upon their psyche, and you get to peer into their very soul, to see if what they have is real. This is what is so fascinating about Kyrax. Kyrax hasn't been nestled into the minds of people because it has kept itself out of the Eyes of the Fallen. The Eyes of the Fallen, there is a name I've not uttered for many moons. That is for another time, children, another time indeed"
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Xaos stands upon his words and butts the ground with his staff again, the lighting in the parking lot re-appears. Every car in the parking lot is over-turned.
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Xaos: "You see, Bolar...you've awakened something very powerful. Something much more powerful than myself. However, it has been decided by the Eyes of the Fallen that I shall'st be thy channeled one. You hath not begun to understand the reprocussions of your actions. There hasn't been a true Mortal like I who hath been channelled for 100 years, and I will make it my duty to NOT disappoint the Eyes of the Fallen"
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Xaos walks between two of the overturned cars and sits down between them, pulling out a tattered book and feather-pen, writing incessently on the pages as the camera slowly fades