The camera pans up over the Ruin Festival ground. By some small miracle, everything in the area remains unspoiled with no signs of damage, despite the fact that the entire town was pelted with meteors just half an hour ago. Whatever, Trevor. The flags are still flying, reflecting the courage and determination of Adlehyde’s citizens in the face of adversity and fiery death. Or something. We see the three dormant Golems — Lolithia, Barbados and Diablos — being prepared for airlifting by the most terrifying winged demons ever. I mean, these guys have brain-eating zombie grins that would put Tightass to shame. And as if that weren’t enough to send me into the corner, curled into a ball with a blanket over me, they take the opportunity to burst into a fit of exposition. “[Squatt] is a slave driver. Why do we have to take this junk back?” one wanks. “We have to do what we’re told…we’ve got to get this done,” another replies. Well whaddaya know, even flesh-munching demons have some sense of duty. I wonder if they get pay rises? As the demons begin to lift the first Golem, their scary grins are replaced by not-quite-as-scary constipation grimaces. I laugh myself silly as we fade out.

‘Uggh…does anyone have some Exlax?’

Back at King Adlehyde’s deathbed, Cesuelia apologizes for defying him and giving Squatt the Tear Drop. Yeah, sure. If you were really sorry you wouldn’t have done it in the first place, Miss Morality. Didn’t they teach you that at the Mary Sue Abbey of Religious Indoctrination? And, of course, daddy dearest forgives his precious snowflake immediately. Never mind the fact that she just let the Tear Drop fall into evil hands, the one thing he was adamant that Must Never Happen. This game makes no sense. Excuse me — I’m just going to bang my head against a wall until the madness stops. I may be some time.

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There, all better now. Cesuelia tells her daddy not to talk, and that he must conserve his strength — a cliché classic piece of dialogue which, in 99.9% of instances, indicates that the reaper’s scythe is about to fall. I swear, it’s like a death sentence. If you’re ever injured and somebody tells you not to talk, you’d better start praying. Either that, or hope they say “Feel free to talk all you want! There’s no need to conserve your strength!” Cesuelia isn’t done yet. “It’s my responsibility to reclaim the Tear Drop,” she dumbasses — I for one totally thought it was the chef’s duty — causing the king’s wanky adviser, Minister Johan, to exclaim “Princess!” in such a horrified manner that I wonder if she’s just strangled a puppy or something. She ignores his cry, continuing her monologue (even her dad’s impending death can’t shut this girl up). “I have made my decision. Our resources must be conserved for the reconstruction of Adlehyde!” she declares. “I have trusty friends. With their help, I will reclaim the Tear Drop.” This dialogue is so awkward and stilted (or should that be Stilton?) that’s it’s actually making my flesh creep. I think I need a shower. While she pours her wank out, her “trusty” friends stare in morbid fascination, desperately trying to block her out by placing their hands over their ears.

Then just fucking do it instead of wanksting for another half hour.

Sensing that the Oscar is within her grasp, she turns to Indy and Rudy and pleads for their help. But, you know, in the flattest, least dramatic way possible. “I need to reclaim the Tear Drop for the future of Filgaia,” she concludes, again. Like we didn’t understand the first couple hundred times it’s been mentioned. Do you ever get that feeling of deja vu? Like the game designers are just recycling entire blocks of dialogue? Do you ever get that feeling of deja vu? Like the game designers are just recycling entire blocks of dialogue? Do you ever — okay, point made. Cesuelia steps towards her boy toys, but Indy intercepts her. “I understand,” he says, rapidly depleting whatever cool points he may have accumulated. But wait! “We were going to volunteer anyway, but you shouldn’t come. You’ll just slow us down,” he finishes. Indy, I love you. Yes, I know that, despite this, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that the prissy princess won’t continue to tag along, but can’t a 12-year old tiny-penis’d homo dream?

Cesuelia, unable to comprehend that someone has told her “no”, does a 360 spin. No, I don’t mean she suddenly changes tack — her sprite actually rotates in a full circle. I think this is the game designers’ interpretation of ‘shock’. “What?” she whimpers. “I don’t mean to…” Okay, I’m actually feeling a little sorry for her here. Sure, she’s an annoying, saccharine wankstain, but she doesn’t seem to know any better, and her dad’s about to go up to that big ol’ throne in the sky. I’m going to think about cutting her some slack.

………….

Okay, I’ve thought about it. Do I really have to tell you guys what decision I came to? Indy begins to explain exactly why he and Rudy don’t want to carry her useless ass around any longer, but tries to break it to her gently: “If I had known who you were, I would have thought twice about working with you. I don’t trust royalty. I never have and I never will. I kind of had an idea, but you still haven’t told us the truth with your own mouth. Hide your identity and roam the land, eh…how romantic. You can count me out.”

ZING!

A-the-fuck-MEN. I really can’t think of anything to add to that smackdown. Her heart ripped out, torn into pieces then trampled into the royal blue carpet beneath her feet, Cesuelia hangs her head. At this point Minister Johan sees fit to intervene and give his two Gella. “That’s enough, Dream Chaser!” he commands, probably agreeing in secret with every word Indy said, but bound by fealty to act with loyalty towards Princess Priss. Speaking of Cesuelia, even after having her dreams crushed and fed through a blender, she doesn’t have a bad word to say about Indy. She’s giving me toothache. “I apologize for my behaviour,” she replies earnestly. “If people find out who I am, they become distant. I was lonely…but my passion to save Filgaia is no lie. How can I convince you?”

…This script is beyond awful. It’s getting to the point where I actually want to sue whoever crafted it. Reading the aforementioned awful script and remembering that he isn’t dead yet, King Adlehyde jumps into the fray. Verbally, of course. “Cesuelia…please…ohhh!” he cries, before laying back on his pillow. Well, that was productive. Cesuelia asks if she can hold Indy’s sword for a moment. He agrees, but is all “Sure, but your spaghetti limbs won’t be able to hold it”. She grabs the blade — which looks more like a dagger, but natch — and walks a few paces to the right. As she does so, Indy catches her Cheesy Dialogue Disease and lets rip with the verbal diarrhea. “It’s heavy…with the weight of its destiny,” he warns, trying to sound mystical, or profound, and failing like Tidus taking an IQ test. The pungent aroma of ripe Cheddar fills the air. Cesuelia, unlike me, is unperturbed by the appalling dialogue, and completes her arduous journey to the other side of the carpet, struggling to carry Indy’s sword.

What is she going to do, I wonder? Use it to commit seppuku, unable to live with the shame of not protecting her kingdom? Euthanise her father? Stab Minister Johan through the chest, doing everyone a huge service? Wield it in battle, discarding her plastic Barbie wand and showing the big tough boys that she can hold her own against the legions of monsters?

Just a few inches to the left, Cesuelia…

No. Instead, she — wait for it — cuts her hair. Yes, adding another selfless sacrifice to her expanding list, Cesuelia uses the sword to hack off a chunk of her blonde tresses. As she does this, the sprites of Rudy, Indy and Minister Johan look on in eye-bulging shock, as if she just slit her own throat instead of doing away with a few split-ends. The newly-styled Cesuelia hands Indy’s sword back, declaring that it “has severed her past”. I want to sever something. “I plead again,” she, well, pleads. “Please join me in reclaiming peace!”

And of course, seeing the princess give herself an impromptu hack-job is all it takes to persuade the previously unconvinced Indy that she’s the Real Deal. He and Rudy promptly welcome her into the full-time party, safe in the knowledge that she’ll be able to give them an expert cut and blow-dry every six weeks. Seriously, it’s completely beyond me how the hair-cutting is perceived as an act of supreme bravery. She cut her fucking hair, having probably been overdue for a trim anyway, and now all of a sudden she’s Xena: Warrior Princess? Throughout this nauseating scene, Cesuelia’s discarded lock of hair lies on the ground like a badly-dyed dead squirrel, making me feel even more sick.

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…SHE CUT HER HAIR. This does NOT make her a hero. Damn, that annoyed me. King Adlehyde stirs again, not complimenting his daughter on her new look — that’s going to crush her — and instead gives her this pearl of wisdom: “Be strong, Cesuelia. Protect what is yours. And be sure to condition every day in order to keep your sleek and shiny appearance.” And with that…he shuffles off this mortal coil. That’s it. No tear-stained, drawn-out farewells in this game! All three of the Trio hang their heads, as Minister Johan says brightly “Well, we can’t just sit around feeling sad.” He should so become a therapist.

Funeral scene. Not only is King Adlehyde being laid to rest, but also the dozens of people killed in the demon attack. That is one big funeral. We see an arty shot of the castle battlements as the church bell tolls and leaves blow past the camera. The Phantom Text God arrives to pay his respects, daubing pretentious text across the screen: “They gather here today…three separate agendas, but one common goal…” What, to get laid before the world ends? “The stage is set for the fall of Filgaia…The story starts here.” Huh? I thought it started about three hours ago. Obviously the events of the past recaps were just filler. And filler admitted by the game designers, no less. Mournful music plays as the camera pans down the front of the castle, showing various soldiers bearing the Adlehyde banner. Minister Johan presides over the event, but the grief proves too much and he wipes his eyes before retreating into the castle. A group of guards lifts the king’s coffin and, following Cesuelia (who, surprisingly, isn’t riding a black horse), carry it into town. The coffin is joined by several civilians’ coffins, which are…how can I put it…rather less ornate. Crowds of townspeople (curiously, there seems to be quadruple the number of actual survivors) grieve as the royal casket, followed by its train of Balsa wood crates, makes its way towards the church. As all this is happening, the credits are displayed in a black box to the left of the screen. Better late than never, I guess. Or should that be early? Whatever.

Among the crowds of mourners are Emma (without her Emma-Motor), Rudy and Indy, the latter two of whom are standing in the shade of a large tree. As the funeral procession turns left at the weapons shop, a group of kids run past, appearing to wave sticks. Well, people grieve in different ways, I guess. The last kid drops a ball (a ball? At a funeral?!), which rolls towards Rudy’s feet. Everyone’s favourite mute picks it up and hands it back to the girl, providing us with perhaps the most pointless action seen so far. As the girl turns to watch the passing cortege, more leaves dramatically blow past. It’d be fucking hilarious if the camera accidentally panned the wrong way and showed the director hurling handfuls of fallen leaves at a giant wind machine. We cut to the exterior of the church (meteor craters in the roof and all) and see the coffins beginning to enter, before the screen goes black and Phantom Text God scribbles “WILD ARMS” across the screen. This is the first scene in the game that actually strikes me as moving, even with the addition of Cesuelia’s funeral garb, which conjures up images of a refugee from a gothic Halloween ball.