At that all-too-familiar shriek, the guardian turned. Great, just great; as if this place couldn't get any weirder. Knuckles sighed in exasperation, but at least Kefka wasn't setting buildings (and people) on fire again. He growled under his breath as the clown approached, drawing himself up to his full, if unimpressive, height when he spoke. "It's Knuckles," came the near-snarl, "and I've beaten you twice before." He smirked. "I guess I must've busted more brain cells than I thought."

Knuckles eyed Kefka, the clown looking even freakier than he normally did in the dim light. Were those stitches holding his mouth together? Then again, Knuckles had those all over his body, for whatever bizarre reason. Maybe this place changed people; he hadn't heard anything of that sort, but on the other hand, Knuckles spent most of his time away from Paixao. Pushing those thoughts aside from now, he frowned. "What are you doing here?"