yeah.
but there are a few other things that bug me; what about the equivelant of mr vorgen in rayman's universe? and in attack of the space lizards, diego gets sucked into the black hole as well. think about it...you see what i'm thinking?

Chapter 71

The cavern was collapsing, falling apart. As though an earthquake had hit it, huge cracks were appearing in the cavern floor, dividing it. The rock was literally melting, transforming slowly into a lake of lava. The destroyed mining vehicle that Finn had attempted to use only minutes before was sinking slowly into a pool of magma.
Rayman emerged at the top of the shaft, passing Finn’s maimed corpse, running for his life. He was alone. His stinging eyes were watery, and his filth-covered face was streaked with tears. She was gone. Forever.
He ran across the cavern towards some kind of elevator that led up to a hole in the cavern roof. He wanted to get as far away from this place as possible. A horrible shrieking was emanating from the shaft – the shrieking of the mist as the tortured spirits of the dead found themselves caught in the midst of a firestorm.
He reached the elevator, but before he stood upon it, it rose out of the floor. It was a circular metal platform that drifted up through the air, with no obvious machinery operating it other than some form of propulsion unit on its underside, which glowed a luminous green. Rayman had to jump up and grab on in order to prevent himself from being left behind. He pulled himself up, breathing heavily, as the elevator left the cavern and began moving up the vertical tunnel above. The heat of the fires, however, could still be felt, and the sounds of the destruction could still be heard.
The elevator travelled upwards, gaining speed. Rayman wondered where he was going, where the elevator was taking him to…
And then, it began to slow down. He emerged into a large engine chamber of some form that stretched for miles in both directions. The elevator stopped and clicked into place. A siren was wailing.
He was definitely back in the factory complex itself. But what was happening? He could feel the entire complex quaking. And, at the same time, he felt as though the entire facility was lifting off the ground…
He searched for a viewing port, anything that would give him the answer.
Eventually he found one by a vast machine. It was a large, circular viewing port, lined with large rivets. He peered through, and gasped in awe.
Sure enough, the entire factory complex was leaving the ground, floating up into the air. It had been transformed from an industrial site into an airborne vehicle of titanic proportions. Rayman couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He saw that a number of cylindrical engines around the complex’s rim were propelling it up into the sky.
The trails of flame emitting from these engines was having a horrific effect on the landscape below. The white mist – the Dark Particles, the spirits of the dead – that normally shrouded this land had been burnt away, and the once brown rocks were now a smouldering black. Huge craters were being blown out of the ground. The scarecrow army was fleeing, getting as far away as possible.
But the worst was still to come.
As the complex reached something like three hundred metres above ground level, it began to change shape. The huge cooling towers lowered from the top of the complex to its base. Rayman realised what they actually were – the main engines of this nightmarish vessel.
There was a supersonic boom, and the cooling towers suddenly ignited. A huge cloud of fire, bigger than anything Rayman had ever seen, rushed down to the ground.
The complex immediately gained speed, and before he knew it, he was looking at the planet – from outer space.
The effect of the complex’s main engines was devastating. As the flames hit the ground, a wall of fire several miles high rushed out in all directions, engulfing a huge chunk of the planet. What the fire didn’t destroy, the shockwaves did, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. The entire planet was crippled. Rayman couldn’t help thinking of the billions of denizens below – all of them about to die.
For the first time in his life, he felt the taste of defeat. So this was how it was to end. He had overthrown a tyrant and his followers. The plans of a maniacal traitor had been stopped. But what was the point if the people he had fought for were to die?
He felt crushed. He felt tears squeezing out of his eyes. This wasn’t how he’d meant it to end. Somewhere down there was Alternate Globox. Was he to die too? And what about Rosa? He remembered her kiss. Had they been in love? He didn’t know for sure. Had the prophecy she seen about his arrival on this world also included the hint that her planet was to be destroyed?
He remembered what he had been told about this prophecy – all it had said was that he would arrive, and a great victory would ensue. It had never said who would achieve that victory. But Rayman now knew.
Mr. Vorgen. He had been the one destined to be victorious here.
Rayman felt a severe loneliness, mixed with a terrible guilt. Could he have saved the people of this world?
But, no, wait…
There were questions in Rayman’s head. Questions not yet answered.
Why had Vorgen been mining the spirits of the dead? What did he need them for?
Rayman had the sudden, chilling feeling that the events he had just witnessed were not the end of the nightmare. He had a horrible feeling that this was only the beginning…
And if that was the case, did that mean that the 'victory' spoken of in Rosa's prophecy hadn't actually occurred yet? Had Vorgen truly won - or was something greater to happen in the future?
He began to wonder where the complex – or rather, space vessel – was heading. He looked out of the viewing port once again, and something caught his eye. Something familiar.
A black hole.
The space vessel was arcing slowly towards it.
It was as though Vorgen was, without realising it, taking him home.

whoa. that was unexpected. reminds me of futurama actually...
"let's drive towards that blackish...hole-ish thing."

Chapter 72

Minutes after Vorgen’s space vessel had vanished into the burning skies and the apocalyptic wave of fire had faded, a survivor emerged from the charred, burnt wasteland where the Gatherer complex had, just minutes ago, been standing.
It seemed incredible that he had survived, but scarecrow commander Sickle Straw did not care about how he could possibly have escaped the flames and the shockwaves. He got up slowly, wondering why he seemed to be struggling to stand upright, realising that his left arm was missing – all that was left was a blackened stump of straw and material that had was now burnt and singed beyond recognition. His uniform was in a similar state too.
Sickle Straw looked around. The landscape was unrecognisable, having been changed completely within a split second. It had been completely flattened. He could not seen any other survivors, but somewhere close by he heard someone scrabbling.
He walked forward, fell heavily and realised that part of his left leg, from the knee down, was also missing – having been burnt away, just like his left arm. However, being a scarecrow, he felt no pain. Sickle merely felt a sort of fascination as he peered closely at his injuries. He would need to replace what he had lost.
The sky was completely dark, the clouds wreathed in smoke. Sickle wondered where Vorgen’s space vessel had gone. He looked around for any sign of his brothers. Carefully, awkwardly, he dragged himself across the ground and came across the body of one brother, Thorn Straw, who was quite dead.
Sickle felt an inward rush of anger. Vorgen was responsible for this. At that moment, Sickle felt an indescribable rage, a hostility towards the enemy who had done this to his brother.
Other scarecrows – albeit not very many of them – began to emerge. Like Sickle, the majority of them were injured, missing limbs. One of them had lost his head, and was scrabbling in the dirt, searching for it. Upon finding it, this scarecrow pulled his head firmly back onto his shoulders.
Upon seeing Sickle, they began dragging themselves towards him, rallying around him.
“The army has been decimated,” one of them rasped.
“I see that.” Sickle replied, irritated by the obviousness of the statement. “Thorn is dead, but what of my other brothers?”
“Hack, Hook and Crusher Straw are dead.” Another of the scarecrows answered. “Rake, however, is alive and on his way here.”
“What about Cutter, Thistle, and Hammer?”
“They are unaccounted for.”
Sickle dismissed the latter three. They too were probably dead, along with Hack, Hook and Crusher. His anger mounted.
The band of survivors steadily grew larger, but after about ten minutes, it stopped. Rake Straw appeared after another few minutes. Sickle acknowledged him by laying his remaining hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Rake was in bad shape. One leg was entirely missing, and his other leg, from the knee down, had been burnt away. One arm was gone too, and his torso was a shrivelled, smoking mess.
In total, including Sickle and Rake, the surviving scarecrows numbered roughly only about fourteen. When they had attacked Vorgen’s complex, there had been thousands and thousands of them. Now there was only a little team of them.
“What now?” Rake Straw rasped.
“Vorgen has committed an atrocity.” Sickle answered, his voice low and contemptful. “A crime against the scarecrow race.”
“Your commands?” One of the scarecrows asked.
“First we must rebuild.” Rake said bluntly. “New troops and weaponry are required. Only then can we consider reasserting our authority over this world.”
“That is correct.” Sickle agreed. “And once we have regained our former strength, we must pursue Vorgen.”
“We must?” Rake sounded doubtful. “I am unsure as to whether that is the wisest course of action, Sickle. Vorgen’s army was evidently very powerful…”
“Yet he has retreated.” Sickle countered. “Why might that be? Perhaps because our attack did more damage than we thought…”
Somehow, Rake doubted Vorgen had retreated because of losses or casualties. But he didn’t say anything.
“But if that is the case, we should not forget that Vorgen is indeed a powerful enemy,” Sickle continued, “even now the Gatherers may be regrouping, preparing a counterattack… if that is the case, then we must be ready for them. We must even be prepared to strike them ourselves. Attack is the best form of defence.”
The scarecrows were listening intently.
“Not only that,” Sickle slowly looked up, into the sky, “but this world has been ravaged… perhaps pursuing Vorgen into the void of space may present an opportunity to claim new worlds…”

oh god!

Epilogue

He was looking out at a place where no other creature in history had ever been to. He took pleasure in thinking that he would, of course, probably be the only creature in history who would ever marvel at the pitch blackness outside the protective shell of his vehicle. After his plan was carried out, he and his servants – creatures he himself had created – would be the only beings left in existence. Every universe would be effectively ended. With every second, his dream came closer to becoming a vast reality.
He was a scientist, though he didn’t dress – or even look – like one. Whenever someone thought of a scientist, they thought of an elderly creature in a long white laboratory coat, with spectacles, shabby clothes, and untidy grey hair. But he didn’t conform to this stereotype.
His clothes were unlike anything anyone would have expected, but they gave him an aura of strength, of toughness, and power.
His torso was covered by a strange piece of cyan armour, forged from metal and fashioned in the shape of a human ribcage, which from a distance made him initially seem like some kind of large zombie. Over this armour he wore a dark leather jacket, and his hands were fused inside metal gauntlets. On his head was perched a cap – also made from dark leather – of the type worn by greasers or manual labourers in bygone days. A large bandolier snaked across his torso from one shoulder to his waist. His black trousers sported multiple pockets on the thighs, and his feet were encased in dark leather boots with metal rims. Razor-lined metal pads covered his broad shoulders.
His skin was a decayed grey – the colour of a festering corpse. His body was nightmarish and grotesquely misshapen. His chin was covered in a maze of long, thin scars, tiny trickles of some horrible black pus or blood oozing out of them. His blood vessels were bloated and swollen. Lines of glistening metal surgical staples crisscrossed his flesh, running along sickening, varicose stitches. His eyes were obscured by dark goggles.
Since the dawn of time, he had accumulated many names – names that had been bestowed upon him by religious and spiritual orders and movements. He found a dark pleasure in knowing that just about every denizen in every universe had heard of him by one name or another. The Surgeon. The Sawbones. The Unholy Healer. The Physician Of The Shadows. The Barbarous Doctor.
His most senior servant had recently made contact with him to inform him that harvesting operation six billion and thirty had come to a successful – albeit premature – end. He did not care about how early the operation had finished, though. His servant had assured him that enough Dark Particles had been gathered. As far as he was concerned, his plan was moving ahead of schedule.
But he had learnt something else from his servant. Something not to his taste.
Over the course of time, he had been manipulating the universes. Over countless millennia – countless millions of years, in fact – he had been hiding behind the scenes of reality, like a foreboding shadow in the background of time and space, influencing every bad thing that happened.
Over time he had penetrated innumerable worlds and his servants had extracted every Dark Particle they could find. And whilst some worlds were having the spirits of the dead drained out of them, he ‘prepared’ others to undergo the same process. In order to make these worlds ready for harvesting, he had to enable the Dark Particles to leak out of the realms of the dead, like water from a split pipe. His servants, being designed merely to fight and to harvest, were unsuited to cracking open the realms of the dead. He needed someone else to do that.
And so he had influenced the various worlds – engineered the appearance of evil armies that would ‘accidentally’ open the realms of the dead, paving the way for the arrival of his servants.
But there had been one world where he had struggled to break open the land of the dead.
He had manipulated evil races on this particular world many times before – but all of them had so far failed to actually reach the entrance to the afterlife and open it. Robo-pirates, Hoodlums, Rabbids… they had all failed. Because they had been stopped. By a certain creature whose existence he was well aware of.
At first sight, every evil being sneered at this little, insignificant runt. But he knew better. He was aware that this ‘insignificant pipsqueak’ was a hero like no other. And this hero was now aware that his servants were harvesting Dark Particles.
Luckily, he doubted this little hero knew the true purpose behind his servants’ operations. And he wasn’t going to let this creature stand in his way. Unlike many warlords and power-mongering commanders, he wasn’t going to underestimate this hero. And now, with a cruel satisfaction, he had finally bypassed the hero and got to the death land on the creature’s home world. He had done so by manipulating a powerful race. The Space Lizards.
The Space Lizards, despite suffering defeat – just like all the other forces that had invaded the hero’s world – had accomplished his goal; they had opened the realm of death. More than that, it had been destroyed. Meaning that this world was now crawling with exposed Dark Particles.
His grotesque face twisted into a painful leer, and he spoke.
“This is just the beginning, little hero. The beginning of the end.”

THE END

Well... that's that. Fanfic number two finished. Stay tuned, because I'm hoping for Attack Of The Space Lizards and The Alternate One to be instalments one and two of a trilogy of fanfics. Thus - a third fanfic is now in development, which will see Rayman pitted against the ultimate enemy!

By the way, Aeojrtfao, I noticed you've got a few questions regarding the characters of Vorgen and Diego.
Your first question regards Diego being sucked into the black hole, yeah? In Chapter One of The Alternate One, Rayman crashes down onto the parallel world in a space vessel. We presume, therefore, that he has survived the black hole by commandeering a derelict Space Lizard craft. Diego, however, after openly stating in Attack Of The Space Lizards that even deities cannot escape the forces of nature, does not appear on the other side of the black hole - presumably he failed to act swiftly enough to save himself, and is thus now dead. Another possibility you may have in mind is that there could be an alternate Diego. Maybe there is - however, in accordance with what I have planned for fanfic number three, I do not intend to focus on this.
Your other question was about the possibility of there being an alternate Vorgen in Rayman's universe. We will find out whether there is in the third instalment of the fanfic trilogy.

Hope that clears things up a bit.
So, hopefully in about a week or so, I'll be able to get some chapters for fanfic number three up.

Yeah, somehow this guy sounds like a Vorgen equivelant.

Awesome fic. I can't wait until the third one comes out.