Chapter Seventeen
Mushroom Village Royal Castle
The harmony of Kooperific dissonance was interrupted with an even more displeasing sound: the cacophonous cry of self-proclaimed brat, Bowser’s only daughter Wendy O. Koopa. Running down the dip-stained red carpet, once royally sparkling, she barely managed to stop from tripping over unconscious and drunken soldiers. Bowser was waiting at the end, sitting akimbo in his throne. Snoring loudly, he slept with the Princess’ long train hung ripped and torn from his neck. Larry, of course, slept beside him, ready to commence with buttering as soon as he woke up. Wendy thought about just screaming, but she decided to add a directive to that. “King Dad!”
Bowser and every other living soul in the room woke with an unpleasant start. Even the upholstery was noticeably rattled. Bowser normally would’ve gotten mad about Wendy’s tantrums, but he reminded himself that she barely did that anymore. This was the first time she’d done so, in fact, since they’d first taken over. “Wendy, my putrid slime bucket, what’s the matter?!”
Though many soldiers stayed and half-heartedly listened, many grasped their stomachs and headed for the nearest restrooms and started retching. The army was truly in a pitiful state. “Oh, King Dad, it’s terrible! Ludwig has left the royal grounds, Iggy is not back from his scouting mission, and the Nimbian Army is approaching us now! They’re already in our territory!”
Bowser lazily eyed his daughter and rolled the situation over in his head, which wasn’t quite fully functional yet. “To the Inferno with the Nimbians! My army stopped the Mushroomers; they can stop the Nimbians.”
“Yeah!” Larry chimed in. “King Dad’s army is invincible!”
Wendy shot a piercing glare at Larry before resorting to her most convincing concerned face for her pop. “But Dad-dy, most of the troops are drunk and lazy. We’ll never force enough of the old Koopa spirit down their throats in time.”
Bowser scanned the area. Wendy wasn’t far off after all. Several Koopas were sprawled about the red rug, a few Paratroopas were hanging on spinning chandeliers, and those awake were groaning and clutching aching stomachs. Only then did he realize the urgency of the situation. “We’re gonna have to. Quick, contact Iggy and get him back here as soon as possible. A combined, direct assault is the only option now. Larry!”
Larry, whose concentration was presently fixated on glowering at Wendy, snapped to attention. “Here, King Dad!”
“Get Kamek and Kammy up here now; tell them to bring Stario and Luigi with them. Oh, and see if they can’t try and round up Ludwig.” After both the excited Koopalings had their orders, Bowser rose from his chair, but fell ingloriously to the floor. “Don’t look at me, ya creeps! Wake up and get to your arms! We’ve got a war to finish!”
The Death Egg
Ganon stampeded out of the comm. room, slamming the door behind them and then angrily smashing his fists against a wall. Only Snifit 2 was brave enough to approach him. “Master, why are you angry?”
Ganon’s answer couldn’t have been readily distinguished from the sharp sting of the back of his right hand. Snifit 2’s precarious situation, namely being tangled amidst a mass of wires in a corner, was enough to prevent a further flood of questions from the other team members. “How long must I suffer this?! I can’t believe I have to join forces with that inane, naïve chef. He’s a chef, and I’m the Dark Prince of the Gerudos, yet I’m forced to seek his help? I only hope he doesn’t suspect our immediate deceit after the battle is won.”
“If the battle is won, Shadow,” said Robotnik. “And if that sly hedgehog doesn’t have spiny plans of his own. Always runnin’ around at the speed of sound…”
Smithy nodded absently, thoughtfully considering something. “Yes, but many frogs in West Africa have been known to switch genders in same-gender environments. I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he looked up, brows furrowed, “life will find a way.”
Wart gargled something incoherent and then added, “Java.”
King Dedede whole-heartedly agreed… I think. “Quack quack quack quack… qu-ack!”
Andross pounded a disembodied hand against the metal flooring, his equally disembodied head speaking, “Then it’s settled. We’ll pretend we’re not actually being forced to work with that Cretan. We’ll just call it a… strategic, temporary alliance. Besides, someday we’ll all be checked into a loony bin, and the psychiatrist will bleed us of all our embarrassing failures through shock treatment and those rubber duck things that squeak when you squeeze them.”
Grutilda pulled Snifit 2 out of his wiry prison. “Then off we go to fight a war against our very selves; may the stars forgive us, lest they punish us with liberal elves!”
“They can do that?” asked Andross fearfully.
“Enough!” Ganon shouted, frustrated. “This incessant babbling is getting us nowhere. Instead, let’s do what we always do before a battle for training.”
Everyone groaned.
“Snifit 2,” Ganon commanded at last, “drag out the game of Life!”
Barrel Volcano
The Grand Convocation Chamber of the Magikoopa Brotherhood was definitely something to behold. Fourteen magnificent pillars crafted out of marble and depicting the sacred history of the people rose up several meters on either side of the long, horizontal slab of rock that’s roots were placed firmly in the lava. Standing in front of each of the pillars was a black-cloaked Magikoopa, the highest ranking that was presently attainable. Kamek would have most certainly achieved that rank if he had still been in the company of the other Magikoopas, but instead, he maintained the lower rank of blue. At the foremost of the slab rested a throne carved of jutting, red stone. In it set an odd Magikoopa sporting a black cloak with several celestial bodies stitched into it. Kamek cringed at the revolting display of pompous grandeur. It was unbecoming of such a solemn order. Still, he was their guest, and he would not risk the future of his home by pointing out such oddities now. That would come later.
Joining him on either side to create a sort of delta formation were his cousin, Kammy, wearing the rank one step lower than blue, purple, and who he thought was his employer’s eldest son, Ludwig. Staring indifferently as the lead Magikoopa waved his hand in a grand encompassing gesture of silence, he waiting for the figure to speak. “Brother Kamek, it has been many years since you abandoned us for those reptilian scum. Now you dare show your face among the Order?”
“We’ve not come to beg forgiveness, Zarith,” Kamek corrected, addressing the figure with contempt and by name only, “but to prompt an alliance against a greater evil that threatens the very existence of Plit!”
At those words, the entire chamber filled with the sounds of anxious chatter and whispered mumblings. It took another silly wave from Zarith to quiet the fourteen elders. “Although your opinion doesn’t hold much weight among the Order anymore, you still have enough of our respect for us to hear you out. Speak quickly and with persuasion.”
“I’ll speak as long as I wish, and you will hear me out.” Receiving no challenge, Kamek began. “Nearly one day ago, it came to my attention, while my cousin and I were on a mission, that a new force had come to Plit, one never seen before. It was battling with Stario, the mortal divinity created after the Crystal Star fused with Mario. For today’s purposes, I’ve saved the readings I collected from that dark being. By searching Stario’s mind, I was also to gather that his name is Shimrra. Now, receive!”
Vermik snarled, hoping the elders or their silly little leader wouldn’t discover him. Of course, they didn’t. However, with his guard up against one thing, he failed to block out Kamek’s telekinetic message to all in the chamber. Upon feeling it, he, along with everyone else in the room, fell to his knees in agony and disbelief. How could anything be so evil? His admiration was cut short when he realized an angered Kamek striding towards him. He’d been discovered. He tried to escape, but a revealing blast from Kammy unveiled his disguise. Although the elders and Zarith were preoccupied, Kamek recognized him. “Vermik! You treacherous rat, why?!”
Vermik placed a minimal curse on them that blinded them only for a second. It was enough for him to disappear. He’d been discovered this time, but the evil that was on Plit would not allow his deceit even if Kamek had not discovered it. He would lie low in a place of seclusion until everything blew over. Then, he thought, he would make his big comeback. And so, the room was plunged into shock and disbelief, and amidst the chaos, Vermik vanished into nothingness.
Kamek cursed and ceased the message of evil he’d sent. “Zarith, you fool! Now you must see the danger we all face. Before Plit is destroyed, you must agree to join Bowser and possibly even the Mushroom Kingdom. Without us, they will not be able to stand up to the Dark Magic that this new force emanates. Only we have the knowledge to contend with them. You must not falter.”
Zarith, seeing the distraught faces of all fourteen of the elders, could only reluctantly agree, and at the request of his fellow Brothers, hand leadership over to Kamek. “Now,” Kamek proclaimed, still donning his blue cloak, “the time has come to do something we’ve never attempted before: save Plit!”
The rallying cry of agreement could’ve surely been heard even outside the tumultuous region of the Barrel Volcano. Shimrra and his puppeteer were not the only things so dangerous to Plit, however. The courses of many major powers were preparing for decisive moves to grab power and strike at their enemy, which may or may not have been agreeable on. Soon, the rising tensions would explode in a fiery battle that could only have one ultimate end. The truly unthinkable would happen.
But even beyond that, even beyond the span of one tale, a greater enemy still lurked in the darkness, waiting for the perfect time to strike…
Chapter Eighteen: The Finale
Part One: Discovery
A warm palette of rich oranges and reds began to paint itself against the rapidly darkening horizon. Plit’s hand nimbly beautified the atmosphere with its wondrous dexterity, pleasing the eyes of foot-weary Nimbian soldiers one last time before it retreated. Soon more universal bodies would take over, including something reminiscent of a falling star, shooting through the dark expanse, with a… rainbow tint?
Mallow acknowledged the show of naturality only with a fleeting glance of ephemeral distraction. When Plit’s glowing sun rose from the opposite side of the world the next day, things would not be so pleasant as it had left them. The Nimbian Prince regarded the ruby and juiced-orange flavor hues as a sickening mixture, resembling that of something more akin to crimson. Blood, Mallow observed bitterly.
The fleshy snap of a hardened, albeit weary, military salute stirred the air and turned Mallow’s attention. His worried eyes fell on the young Colonel Omnib, freshly promoted from his equally record-breaking rank of Lieutenant Colonel. Mallow would’ve been the first to express pride in the determined and skillful recruit who’d seemed so inexperienced only a few years earlier, but he also felt fear. It was the same fear he was sure his grandfather figure, Frogfucious, had felt for him when he’d set out on his own daring adventure, one that was certainly full of its own dangers. In all honesty, he’d have rather seen none go to battle. Yet, as the tirefully overused saying went, desperate times called for desperate measures.
“Prince-General Mallow, the Nimbian Army awaits your Highness’ orders.”
Mallow returned the salute as best he could and turned to a grassy cliff, edging a jutting, natural platform that overlooked an immense valley. In the valley, the white expanse of their army stood in four massive squares of one-hundred troops each. At the head and middle of each square stood a fully-dressed major, each commanding the prodigious square sections of soldiers. With a hailing hand, the army fell under a blanket of silence.
His mood was gravely somber, but for the sake of those who felt the same, he started grandly. “You stand here before me with your eyes trained on the last rays of light and hope that many of you will ever see. It baffles me that the same many of you are trained as well as our military’s skill in such matters allow, yet you’ve seen no action, and have no actual experience. It saddens me that that time must be now, against a threat we were sure would never come.
“But now sureness and expectation has been violently flung into reality, and I say again that you stand before me, ready to march into death bravely and never return. Any pretense of falseness I harbored before we came to this solemn ground of calm before the storm must now be revealed. It is indeed true that we are up against the entirety of the newly-formed Koopa Kingdom, including those seven deadly wands that bested even the Mario Brothers. But it is also more frighteningly true that E-PEANUT now looms above our planet. It is most clear that even without any irrefutable evidence, they are planning something much worse than conquering our lands. Even if we are blessed by the Stars and are destined to win against our long-time enemy this night, it might be too late. In fact, I find the odds are stacked against us in a most horrible way. The day after tomorrow will not come; at least that’s the way I see it now. So, for the Stars and for ourselves, let us show Bowser and these otherworldies that as long as we Plitians have a breath left to take, Plit shall stand!” Unexpectedly, a chorus of poignant praise and spirit erupted from the light mass covering the landscape. Mallow couldn’t have cared less then, but his grave omen was going to come true.
~*~*~*~
“Who’s there?!” Peach shrilled, her voice rising an octive.
“Vhy, it’s moi, zhe greatest villain zhe vorld hast eveir known.” The room was suddenly bathed in artificial, fluorescent light. Crazykoopa and the surprised princess found themselves completely surrounded by four massive Iron Knuckles with imposing axes. To make matters worse, Toad was unconscious and was being carried by a large Whomp. “I’m so lucky. After I made zhat business proposition vhiz Ganon, I figured my troops could use some training, so, I zought, vhat betteir vay to train zhan to beat zhe snot out of our bozeirzome prisoneirs?”
“You wouldn’t dare hit a princess!” Peach growled, getting ready to slap Chef Torte silly.
The maniacal chef simply snorted and reeled back, letting the fury of his PAN OF PAIN send Peach spiraling into a pile of crates. “You monster!” shouted Crazykoopa frenetically. He struggled against the binds of two immense Iron Knuckle hands, but to no avail.
“Monsteir? Really? Oh, zhank you veiry much! Don’t be fooled, zough. I remembeir vhat zhat princess did to Smizy avhile back. I’m not taking any chances. Besides, you’ll get your turn soon enough. Chef Torte ist not vone to keep his victims vaiting for zheir dooms!”
“You demented fool! Let us go before E-PEANUT destroys Plit!”
“E-PEANUT destroy Plit? Hah! Vhere did you get a crazy idea like zhat?” Chef Torte didn’t notice, but Embert skulked back into the cockpit. “Anyvay, zhey are joining us for a raid on zhe Mushroom Kingdom space veaponry base near Seaside Town so ve can defend your puny little planet from a much greateir extermination fleet. Zhe time of reckoning has come, and vhen it’s oveir, Chef Torte vill stand alone!
“Now, zough, time for zhe entertainment. You, Crazykoopa, vill face vone Iron Knuckle. If, by some odd chance, you succeed, you vill fight two, zhen zhree, zhen four, and zo on until you drop dead. Now all I need ist zhe popcorn!” The Iron Knuckles did nothing. “Vell?! KILL HIM!”
Crazykoopa was released. He backed slowly against a corner in the cargo hold, edging along a row of boxes. The monstrous armor-clad beast was approaching him with heavy, noisy footsteps in an unrelenting march of doom. He looked to his left and right. No escape. What am I going to do now?
~*~*~*~
Ryanoshi stood disinterested on a mechanized, turbo-thrust platform that was currently levitating somewhere above the prodigious shipyards. The observatory vehicle was a prototype, but it served nicely as a reading deck while Winston readied the fleet. He knew his job wasn’t exactly over yet. Nearly as soon as they’d arrived, the aging Mushroomer general had asked Ryanoshi to captain one of the larger capital ships, mainly based on the Yoshi’s knowledge of space-worthy vessels and navy strategies. Ryanoshi tried to decline the offer politely, but when evidence was provided that they had no one else, he reluctantly accepted. Now, in a last ditch effort to prepare, he was reading over advanced technical maps and break-downs of the Mushroomerian Strike-class capital ship he’d be flying in. It was much more awing to see the real thing being prepared directly below him, however.
From above, the ship resembled an arrowhead, most likely the reason for its name, and it was painted deep shades of red and white, signatures of Mushroomerian culture. Beveled up near the center, a congruent arrowhead shape consisted of several layers of habitable volume, and was bristling with laser turrets, missile launchers, and two heavy bomb ejectors on either side. Near the back of the city-like top layer stood two geodesic towers, one for communications and the other one for stabilizing and maintaining the powerful force shield the ship sported. The underside lacked the complex layer system, but it bristled just as many swivel cannons and laser turrets, as well as a tractor beam and a subsequent cargo opening that glowed white with the presence of a force shield to keep oxygen in when unloading was being done. Finally, Ryanoshi noted the eight colossal engines that would, later that day, glow blood red as they pushed the gargantuan ship through space. The vessel’s domineering presence was chillingly palpable.
Mushroomerian space fighters were petite in appearance, but just as Mushroomers, they packed quite a punch when put to the test, or so Ryanoshi had been told by a prideful designer. The frame was incredibly thin and not very long. The two shielded engine thrusters near the back and the jutting bubble cockpit were the only deformities that one could notice. Sporting the red and white colors, it almost resembled a Mushroomer. Two laser guns barely rose out of the hull mere meters from the cockpit, while two formidable torpedo launchers jutted out from the sides but retained a contiguous look. Over the years, the Yoshi had been told, the design had continued to get smaller. What the fighter lacked in intimidation, it compensated with speed and unmatched maneuverability.
Several other blast boats and gun ships were also present, along with thousands of eager crew members anxiously awaiting boarding. It had been ages since Plit had seen space warfare, and anyone could tell that just from looking at the eager Mushroomers, blue-shelled Koopas, and Moleville Moles, as well as several humans. The majority of Yoshis in the Mushroom Kingdom, isolated to Yo’ster Isle, probably weren’t even aware of what was going on.
“Ryanoshi, sir, we’re ready to board.”
The centered Yoshi looked up, nodding, and then slipped on his golden pendant. He didn’t exactly believe in good luck, but he was obsessive when it came to consistency, and he always did wear it. He caught a ride with the messenger, and soon they were on the ground. “Ah, there you are. Couldn’t see ya up there.”
It was General Winston, now donning his traditional uniform. He looked more rigid than the drunk-faced commoner Ryanoshi had seen at the bar. Amazing how humanoids could clean themselves up that fast. Something was bothering the general even then. “Anything wrong?”
“Well, it’s just that there is a large energy signature somewhere in the distance. It just seems to be standing still, though, and it’s rather high.”
Ryanoshi traced a finger to another small blip on the radar. “And this, that’s Chef Torte’s fleet. I’ve seen it. That other one can only be one thing: The Death Egg.”
“E-PEANUT? But don’t they have other ships?”
Ryanoshi nodded solemnly. “Yeah, but not with cloaking devices. They’d definitely have an invasion force here by now, and with them to retain control. And remember you said something about those four ships breaking off from it on definite courses and then heading back out into space?” The general nodded. “Something’s wrong with all of this. Something’s very wrong.”
~*~*~*~
Luigi reeled in surprise. Lying horizontally in the guest room was a replica of the demented sword, Exor, that Mario had faced so long ago. But no, upon looking closer, it was the real thing, just without the eyes and mouth. It was a minature version of that sword that had been destroyed. Or at least he thought it had been.
Upon closer inspection, it was obviously connected to six wands via a system of wires and a strange machine in a corner. They were the wands the Koopalings had used to trap him and his brother! But where was the seventh? Larry must’ve still been on his scouting mission. But why did they have them all hooked up to that sword?
“Ingenious, isn’t it?”
Luigi turned around, his brows furrowed and fists clenched. Standing in front of him was a short Shy Guy, sporting a white coat and thick glasses. He looked strikingly familiar, except for his green color. “W-who are you?”
“The present situation is actually more favorable for me, plumber, to be the one querying,” he said with contempt. “In any case, though, you may call me Clever Guy. I’m the most intelligent Shy Guy on Plit, and that’s a fact.”
“Are you by any chance related to Genius Guy?”
Clever Guy ignored the comment and snorted, holding a wand in one hand. It was Larry’s! “The contraption you see in front of you is called the WPA, or the Wand Power Amplifier. It harnesses the power of magic wands, namely the seven elemental ones found on Plit, which I now have, into a free form transferable essence that I can channel into the greatest sword of power this world has ever known, Exor. Luckily, I was able to find the beaten creature and restore it as an inorganic substance. Its maximum power will be potent enough to destroy Plit, if push comes to unexpected shove. I actually conceived the idea of using Exor’s skeleton by reading a fictional story awhile back, but never the mind.”
The gravity of the situation finally hitting home, Luigi leapt from his stand-still position and flew through the air, a fireball building on his left hand. The blast would’ve connected if it weren’t for a magic-fueled vine suddenly finding itself around his neck. Luigi’s hands went up to his neck, but it was too late as the vine started to constrict and bring in reality. The blood was already pounding below and above his throat, pain blossoming in his head. “Finish him,” Clever Guy said bitterly, tapping Larry’s wand.
The pain was mind-numbing now, simply unbearable. Illusions and dots danced before his eyes; his thoughts rambled. Finally, he could carry on his existence no longer. As Luigi’s presence slipped into oblivion, he thought, with things being as they were, death might not be so bad after all.
~*~*~*~
“But King Dad, why did we only bring a few men?” asked Larry incredulously, recently retrieved from his scouting mission. He did have a point, from his view. Bowser and his six kids, minus the missing Lemmy and Ludwig, were joined by only fifty Koopa Toopas atop a mountain that was overlooking the Nimbian encampment. “They’ll murderalize us, especially without our wands!”
“Calm down, you dubious doorknob-for-brains! Jagger has led the massive remnants of our troops to a high alcove. Mallow will be totally unprepared thanks to your skulking skill, Sis,” acknowledged Iggy. “We’ll crush them!”
Bowser smiled at his kids’ confidence. It was times like those that made him proud to be a dad. Still, there victory would be absolutely certain when that crazy Shy Guy returned with Exor’s skeleton, fully charged. Then no one could stop him. That was all in the future, though. “General Jagger,” the anxious Koopa King switched on his comm unit, trembling with excitement, “charge!”
~*~*~*~
The entire Nimbian army looked up in horrific surprise as a dark, shadowy mass of Koopas, Goombas, and other vile servants of Bowser stampeded down the steep plateau behind them. It was a flanking ambush. Mallow was even taken off guard. How had they been discovered? Their element of surprise was totally gone. On the other side of the hill, he saw Bowser and his six kids as well as around fifty troops making there way down, whooping and screaming war cries. “What are we going to do, Mallow?!” cried Colonel Omnib.
Mallow looked back up at the approaching throng. “We can only do one thing.”
The Colonel nodded and gestured the to army below them. Within moments, Mallow knew, several hundred would be dead. This, Mallow conceded to himself, might not have been such a good idea after all.
~*~*~*~
Crazykoopa jumped up into the air, leaping above the mighty swing of his opponent’s axe. Curling in on himself, he entered his shell, spinning and powering up. Luckily, his anger fueled the fire faster. Landing, his shell was aflame; reeling back, he shot forward, catching the Iron Knuckle squarely in his chest. Flame met armor and metal gave way as well as flesh. Crazykoopa hit the opposite wall and, dizzy, came out of his shell to watch the gouged Iron Knuckle collapse, still. Turning on his heels, he made a run for the door, but two more Iron Knuckles already grunted their anger and intercepted him. They brought both of their axes up at the same time, simultaneously crashing them to the ground.
Crazykoopa rolled out of the way and to the left, coming up knees bent and with one hand propping himself against the metal flooring. Perspiration dripping from the fire attack, he opted for a regular spin. Letting his mind fall into distortion again, he shot forward, catching the second Iron Knuckle. The hit didn’t result in a fatality, but the Iron Knuckle fell to the ground, unconscious.
The next one was incomprehensibly mad. It staggered slightly in bestial grief, but then charged, its axe raised up and to the left, ready to strike. The Iron Knuckle was on Crazykoopa before he could move. Without thought, the axe swung and caught Crazykoopa’s neck.
The Koopa’s head ducked in his shell, shivering with fear. Flipping backwards, he brought his head back out and reached into his shell. There were two sabers. He wasn’t exactly an expert with them, but his head couldn’t withstand the feeling of another shell attack. Crossing them, he yelled, meeting the Iron Knuckle in its subsequent charge.
Crazykoopa’s pair of weapons plunged deep into the Iron Knuckle’s armored abdomen, eliciting a scream mixed with pain and primal fury. Before the monster regained his senses and felt for its axe, Crazykoopa grunted and shifted his weight, bringing the sabers up in a strong cut that split the Iron Knuckle from waist to neck. Unable to proceed to the head, and without a need to, Crazykoopa fell back, exhausted, and drenched with slightly acidic, black blood.
“Vhat?! Impossible! Vell, neveirmind. You zhree, get him!” Chef Torte agitatedly directed three badniks. They cowered in submission and ran out. “You can’t find good help zhese days. I suppose it’s up to me.”
The last thing Crazykoopa saw before he fell into darkness was a multicolored blast from Chef Torte’s PAN OF PAIN converging on his face.
~*~*~*~
The artillery ranks went into adrenaline-rushed action, firing star missile after star missile at the oncoming hordes. Meanwhile, the unprepared infantry fought tooth and claw against Bowser and his small army. Mallow stood near the middle, always turning, always commanding, trying to keep spirits high while keeping strategies plausible. It was becoming increasingly difficult though as the infantry fell at an alarming rate, appearing to be mowed by the power of Bowser’s family. The artillery wasn’t doing any better. It was up to Mallow to create a distraction for the infantry to get organized. His plan might just take out a few of the baddies, too, Mallow reasoned.
Reaching for the sky, he opened his hands, palm upwards, calling on his inner self to engender that spark of specialized magic that he’d always carried. Finally finding it, he struck, tapping into the reservoir and letting loose. A hail of thunder and lightning, mixed with stinging rain, fell on both parties of enemies, driving them back and burning a few of them. “That’s it, Nimbians, regain your positions and reload. They’re coming back again! Don’t give up the fight! Rally to the forward and stand your ground!”
~*~*~*~
Stario’s essence was floating through a dark void, somewhere between Star Haven and Reality. He thought he saw twinkling stars, but they were almost translucent and came and went, much like dizzy spots. He couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t felt this strange feeling since, well, only a few days ago. That was the day he had died and became Stario. Now he remembered his neck being crushed by Shimrra, and the rest was all a blur. Where was he now? Was he alive? Was he dead? Was he neither?
It was then that a faint light, a glowing orb of luminous hope, made itself visible in the distance. Instinctively, he moved towards it, though he had no feet or any commonly thought of, secular ways of transporting himself. Nevertheless, he moved, or floated, forward, approaching the star at an unknown rate. Before he knew it, he was upon the orb. Now all that was left to do was reach out and touch it. Grasping it with both hands, he held on as the dreamscape of his collapsed like shattered glass around him, and a loud rumbling resounded inside his head. Everything went black.
And then Stario woke up.