After 10 new failed attempts, and Cherubella expressing her concern about running out of writing paper, Jimbo opts to be more concise and writes:
I want many opportunities to become what I want to be.
This way, he hopes to ensure he won't be born as a cockroach and might make one of his fantasies come true, like becoming a hero or an emperor.
Cherubella rolls up the piece of parchment and places it on the empty pan. The scale shakes once more. Jim watches the process, his hand and face resting on the edge of the desk, and jumps when for a moment the scale threatens to throw the paper into the air. The instrument's movements calm down, and the scale reaches stability.
"An equilibrium point, good," the angel says. "We may proceed."
"About time!"
Cherubella guides Jimbo to the golden machinery and instructs him to climb into the open valve, its container exactly the perfect size for souls. Jim, still enchanted by the promise of reaching a fantasy world, enters the machine without hesitation. The angel pushes the lid and, with a grunt and much effort, manages to close it.
"So does this thing fly, or what?" Jim asks, his voice muffled by the surrounding metal.
"Not exactly," Cherubella says as she takes her seat, peeks through the sight, and begins manipulating the levers on the sides of the chair. The left lever moves the tube's horizontal axis, and the right lever moves the vertical axis.
"It's moving! Is this normal?" Jim exclaims.
"It's normal," Cherubella replies without taking her eye off the sight. Beyond paradise lie star clusters. Galaxies of different shapes and sizes, with Fantasia being a compact but vibrantly colored one, shaped like a dragon or a winged beast.
"Thanks for everything, Cherubella. Although I do have one question..."
"Yes?"
"Doesn't it cause problems for you guys to send reincarnated souls back remembering that heaven exists and who they used to be?"
"They don't remember."
"Huh?"
"The soul washer erases and cleanses memories. One or two might remain, but they slowly fade into the subconscious when they are babies or during their first few years."
"You didn't tell me that!"
"You didn't ask."
"W-Wait! I have one more thing to add to my requests!"
"Geronimooooo!"
Cherubella presses a pedal beneath the seat, and the soul washer activates. Like inside a centrifuge, Jim begins spinning round and round, getting so dizzy it becomes impossible to think. Cherubella blows her trumpet in a farewell gesture.
"Good luck. I hope I'm assigned to you again," the angel says, and hits the pedal a second time. The cannon fires, leaving behind a trail of frosted blue smoke.
Like a comet traveling faster than light speed, Jim screams as galaxies and nebulas flash by like blurry streaks around him. He clutches his head and scrunches his face, trying to preserve his memories and his personality, but his mind is already starting to blur.
Cherubella? St. Peter? Who are they?
"You're Jimbo! You're Jimbo! You're Jimbo!" he repeats constantly while hurtling toward the Fantasia galaxy. He enters the cluster, his trajectory dodging stars, asteroid belts, and gas planets, until finally, a world with a geological resemblance to planet Earth appears before him.
He crosses the atmosphere and enters the clouds. The scenery clears, revealing a quiet, beautiful little village on a green mountain surrounded by forest, where villagers work happily, far removed from the grand events of the world. But before Jimbo can reach the cabins, aquamarine chains materialize out of nowhere and coil around his limbs.
"What the hell is this?!"
Letting out another scream that no one hears, Jimbo is dragged in the opposite direction at breakneck speed. The idyllic mountain landscape shifts to a plain turned battlefield. Jim is yanked through the smoking arcs of catapult projectiles, clears the three walls, and phases through the stone of the castle walls.
On a metaphysical plane impossible for human eyes to see, the magic chains crash and fuse Jimbo's soul with the gray crystal.
...
A navy-blue wave ripples through and dyes the dungeon core, which slowly begins to spin and emit an echo, similar to wind hitting the walls of a cavern.
The astonished faces of King Marc and his family; Hilda and her soldiers; and Arrax and his disciples are illuminated by the blue glow.
"Incredible..." murmurs King Marc, before his view is blocked by Hilda's back as she steps up to the front line with her sword drawn, ready to face any danger.
"Be careful, Your Majesty. Dungeon cores are hostile toward any being that does not belong to their domain."
"Did it work?" mutters Arrax, just as amazed as the rest, until he catches himself and coughs to clear his throat in an attempt to play it off. "I mean... It worked exactly as I expected. Your Majesty, rest easy. I have everything under control."
The castle shakes again. A reminder that the enemy continues to close in.