Part Two: Descent
Looming ominously, the now crimson sun hung onto the submissive horizon, beating its last rays of heat down on Ryanoshi’s backside. The situation was tense as scores of frantic Mushroomers hurried about as flitting flies, collecting data read-outs on the approaching energy signatures, transporting them, transferring them, analyzing them, and then repeating the whole tiresome process for a second and sometimes third time. Ryanoshi crossed his arms, trying hard not to look down on the frenetic creatures as inferiors. He’d told General Winston that it was all quite unnecessary, but his subtle warning had elicited more of a panic than he’d hoped it would. Things were undoubtedly too worrisome as they were without the immense burden of stress.
“Commander Thomas reporting for further instructions, Captain Ryanoshi.”
They’ve given me a rank?
The commander was very young, probably in his late twenties. The telltale signs of a Mushroomer were present: round, squat body, organic head, featureless face, bland, wide feet. It was always a daunting realization that Mushroomers had come to, if not in every sense of the word, rule Plit.
“I wasn’t aware of this. I suppose you’ll be the second-in-command of my ship?” Ryanoshi looked over the diminutive commander’s shoulder, seeing no sign of a faked distraction when an answer didn’t come. “How long until we take-off, Commander?”
Given a definite question, an answer was finally provided. “Our ship should be ready in thirty minutes, though pre-flight checks will most-likely be necessary. Perhaps one hour? Should I shorten the pre-flight checks?”
“No, just do whatever you think is best. Use this,” Ryanoshi said, handing him a comm unit, “to warn me five minutes in advance of the departure. Now, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to be left alone for contemplation.”
The young commander snapped off a martial salute, turned on his heels in an admirable display of precision, and marched off in a direction Ryanoshi reasoned would take him to the ship, which he’d recently been told was called the Peace Keeper. Strange, Ryanoshi thought, that The Mushroom Kingdom’s pacifist causes seemed to always lead them into war, in some way or another. Perhaps it was time for a non-violent revolution in terms of government practices. Although he respected and admired the princess Toadstool, he definitely did not always agree with her goals and aims. His was not the concern of the Mushroom Kingdom, though. His was the concern of Plit, and if commanding a ship he only knew about from detailed technical manuals was the way to save his home, then so be it.
With the navy shipyard’s elaborate lighting system and automatic transitional sensors, Ryanoshi hardly recognized the setting of the sun. If he’d known that that sunset was the last Plit would most likely ever see, he might have given it one last appreciative glimpse.
~*~*~*~
Stario ran.
The land was scorched, a broken shell of its former self. If his speed would’ve allowed a clear visual, Stario would’ve seen what remained of the once lush and thriving Mushroom Way. His battle with that monster had ruined it. The ground was now infertile, and it would forever more be so. The darkest of dark magic had seen to that. Now the mysterious Shimrra was gone, just as his victory was nearing completion. Stario didn’t think of why that was so. Neither did he think of what or who might have been his unexpected salvation. He only worried about the princess, locked away in her own cell by the hands of what was told to him to be his archenemy. That desire for rescuing Peach only brought more mind-wracking questions of himself. He tried desperately to convince himself it was only for the greater good, but every time he saw her or heard her speak, something unknown clicked inside of him. Those anomalous feelings were at war with his new self, tearing him up inside as he struggled with the never-ending present, the endless now, the interminable always. Why should he be made to struggle? And yet, why was he chosen by the Stars?
That’s when he saw it.
It was in the distance, a few miles distorted by the flatness of the beaten land. A bloody mist rose from a mixed mist of bodies and armor. Bright yellow flashes of coherent light shot from both sides and in between, mixing in the chaos and erupting large areas into nothingness. Now the sides were chosen, and now the war was ending, but where were the Mushroomers? He only saw Nimbians, a race which he faintly remembered mostly because of Prince Mallow, one of the very few still very clear memories in his mental grasp. For a moment he considered he might be dreaming, but the horrible reality of the situation put an end to that. What had he missed all the time he’d been imprisoned?
Regardless, he knew which side best represented his views, and Bowser’s was not it. Scoping the area and picking his first target, he was off in a yellow, red, and blue blur, converging on what was surely going to be his first victim. Surprisingly, he was there faster than he would’ve imagined possible. With a leaping kick, he connected with the first Koopa, permanently removing its head from its armored body. Before he could pick his next opponent, he realized half the field had stopped. Both sides, honorable Nimbians and vile Koopas, were staring at him, motionless. Lifting his hand in a questioning gesture, he realized why. His arm and the rest of his body was aflame, but not in the red and blue sense of the word. He was burning with fluorescent, sparkling yellow, the twinkling of stars. Without considering the advantage, something snapped inside of him, and he was upon them.
The first one exploded in a fiery mess, while the second fell back, lifeless and blackened. Ten ran against him, the first five dying on contact and the last five perishing to effortless punches and twirls of his radiant cape. Tired of the ridiculously simple ground battle, he took to the air with a mighty upward lunge, feeling the fighting wind and gravity batting his face and rustling his mustache. Turning back down, he shot off several fireballs, exploding entire areas of Koopas before throwing his hands back and diving into the ground. A thunderous war sounded and he looked around, finding everyone dazed.
The illusion of invincibility was over when a star bullet hit him in the head. He felt a sharp pang and then felt back, bringing his white gloves back crimson-stained. Angered, he’d had enough. Full of contempt for the enemies of whose deeds he wasn’t even exactly straight on, he pulled out his red and blue sword, watching it hiss and engender wreathing star plasma tendrils. Rearing back his arms, he swung with all his strength, bringing down five Koopas in one swipe. He turned, struck, whirled, and riposted, all unconsciously. Still, the hordes came on, even with the Nimbians doing their best to fight. They were all horribly outnumbered. And in the distance, towering above the rest, Stario could make out Bowser bellowing and tearing into hapless Nimbians. Full of a sudden, inexplicable rage, he rushed, intent on destroying the reptilian king.
~*~*~*~
Undimmed by the resilient darkness, a flash of red luminance filled the guest room. A flood of familiar senses inundated Luigi’s mind and finally body, allowing him to only catch the tail end of the latter occurrence. The pain and thud of his body hitting the ground barely registered as his blurred vision slowly focused. Next he heard the scream of Clever Guy.
Wide, unblinking eyes focused on the small Shy Guy standing not two meters in front of Luigi, the creature’s left hand scorched and black-red. “Fool, my beautiful hand!”
Luigi then knew what had happened. He remembered building a fireball just as the magic vine had closed around his neck. All the while, the magic fire had eaten through the equally magical vines. Finally, when the two types of sorcery combined, they reacted violently, turning back on the more susceptible source and its master. Now Clever Guy was fuming.
“Well, if you want to play rough, then fine. Battle transformation!”
A sturdy pack Clever Guy had strapped to his back began to shake. Three blinking lights, red, blue, and green, flashed on and off brilliantly, signaling the start-up sequence. All at once, four spindly, metallic appendages burst from their restrained compartment and shot out into four different directions. The remainder of the pack was eaten by the main body, the latter of which formed a chair with an incomprehensible set of controls located conveniently on either side. Clever Guy was immediately seated and strapped into the center. As he played with his toy’s controls, the arms and legs of his creation moved by the talent of notable precision engineering. “Meet CG Alpha, the first in a series of warrior robots that will revolutionize war. You would know that of course, because I borrowed the numbering sequence from your history’s own Greek culture. And because of them, I’ve devoted my entire life to learning… for power. Now you will feel the pain and arduous path I’ve taken to become who I am all at once!”
Acting to threat rather than subsequent action, Luigi considered diving to the left but instead made a hasty jump to the right. The mental deliberation must’ve been apparent because Clever Guy’s bot sensed his movement and jumped to the right, landing against the bed and falling over. Surprisingly, the failed attack didn’t buy the plumber any time. The robot’s arms lengthened and flipped it up right, its legs adjusting.
Luigi then recognized two machine gun barrels jutting out ominously from either side of the control body. Atop the body, there was an apparatus resembling a dish with a spike point protruding from the center. A coil of wiring ending in a ballpoint wrapped itself like a snake around the central spike. He didn’t even want to think about what that was used for.
The robot enemy lunged again, this time dead-on target. Luigi, recently deep in thought, only had time enough to shoot three blazing fireballs at the incoming attacker. Unsurprisingly, they hit the center of the body. Instead of damaging the protective cover surrounding Clever Guy and the controls, as he thought they would, the fireballs did something entirely unexpected. They were absorbed into the armor, flaring the metal with a red-hot tint, then burning out. That was definitely a bad sign.
Burning metal hitting Luigi’s shirt, finding its way to his skin; Luigi screamed and was plowed against the room’s wall. The robot disengaged before he was crushed, but that it was because Clever Guy was only toying with him wasn’t an encouraging thought. This battle was one that would most likely not be won.
Luigi was hunched over, gasping for lost breath and weakly clutching his right arm. It didn’t feel broken, but pain was wracking its length. His muscles were definitely giving out under the barrage of physical stress. The massive size of the robot was enough, but its fighting style was perfected, its reflexes acute. There was no way he could compete against such a heartless adversary.
“Luigi, your lack of skill surprises me, especially for such a celebrated warrior. I suppose it all proves my notion that technology really does overcome pithy organic sentiments.” Clever Guy waited for a contradictory response, but upon getting none, he continued. “I’m done toying with you. Do you have any last words before I crush you, worm?”
Luigi didn’t respond. His innate calm nature was being punished severely with impossible tests. He couldn’t withstand any longer. No challenger had ever presented such a problem, and the battle had just begun. He couldn’t feel sorry for himself, though. He only had to think of Stario and the massive battle he had to be fighting with that mysterious creep at that very moment. He had to go this one alone.
Searching for a physical answer about the room, and finding none, his eyes eventually fell on an open window on an adjacent wall. The current battle arena was much to confined and irregular. His chances of a living victory would be much more favorable if he took the fight outside, though they still would be uncomfortably low. Something was going to have to give way, and he had to make sure it wasn’t him.
Timing the maneuver in his head, he feigned a move to the left, watching the sensor monitor on the robot react adeptly. As Clever Guy went one way, Luigi dashed in the opposite direction, sailing feet first out the window and waving both arms in a circular motion in a reflexive attempt to gain an impossible balance.
A sharp, transitional pang began at Luigi’s feet and vibrated violently inside both knees as his legs hit the grassy courtyard. Fortunately, Bowser’s want for impressive yard upkeep was null, so the vegetation was thicker and softer than usual. Luigi followed up his rough landing with a dead run, cutting through the dense thicket of bushes and sculpted plants, appearing near the courtyard’s central fountain after only a moment of sprinting. The fountain was a five-pointed star, four sprouting water columns placed evenly around it. A circular stone pathway hugged the fountain and split off into four directions. Luigi had taken a more direct path.
Above the surrounding organic maze, Luigi could barely make out the bloody horizon, sinking to the other side of the world. It all seemed so far away. Was he doomed to die in the princess’ courtyard away from all the people and creatures he cared about?
He turned around, watching inexpressively as Clever Guy and his mechanical aide crashed through the dense forest of fauna, emitting a presence somewhat more daunting than Luigi had. “You pulled a tricky little move there. Too bad it wasn’t good enough. Then again, how could I expect it to be? No one can overtake Alpha in hand-to-hand combat. Now stand still so I can obliterate you without further labor. I really must be delivering that sword to King Bowser.”
Trying to stall for a miraculous redemption, Luigi queried something that had been on his mind for well over half of the battle, “But you don’t just plan to hand Exor over, do you? I’m guessing you’re not called Clever just for the laughs.”
Clever Guy’s frustrated frown molded into the crafty grin of before. Both facial gestures were disturbing. “You’re much smarter than you first appeared, plumber. But then, only a Koopa as ignorant as ‘King’ Bowser would be stupid enough to accept my responsibility of bringing the sword back alone. Pfft! That sword will only ensure that I one day claim the rule that is so rightfully mine.” Clever Guy paused for a fleeting moment, seeming to reflect on the idea of Plit under his hand. “It is a dreadful shame that you won’t be around to see my glorious reign, at least not in the secular sense. Perhaps you will view my ascent from Star Haven?”
Clever Guy asked too late. Luigi was gone. After a frenzied search, the plumber’s voice was abruptly made audible. “Don’t count on it, you pompous jerk.”
Clever Guy whirled around but was attacked from behind. Green-sleeved arms reached around his neck and constricted much as the magical vine he had controlled had done earlier. If he died then, at least his fate would contain a sort of aesthetic irony. He wasn’t about to give up just then, though.
Trembling hands grabbed a hold of a frenetic control, raising a left metallic arm up and around. The appendage grasped Luigi’s collar and picked him off like a bug, flinging him high over the fountain into a collection of bushes. Clever Guy compensated for the loss of time, charging up his Energy Absorption Facilitator. The raw magic energy Alpha had absorbed from Luigi’s triple fireball attack earlier should’ve been enough. Pushing the releasing mechanism’s initiation button, he braced himself against the control chair’s arm, still trembling, but this time anticipating his impending kill.
Luigi was quick in finally understanding the dish’s purpose, but the EAF was much faster. A beam of raw, fluorescent energy shot out, catching him squarely in the chest. He fell back, pounding pain covering his body and warm blood washing over his chest. Trying desperately to hang onto reality and failing, Luigi slipped into unconsciousness for the second and last time of the battle.
Then he woke up. It wasn’t blood that had crept across him; it was water! The pain was real, but he’d only tripped into the fountain while backing up, hitting his head against the bottom. Eyes adjusting to the hydrogen and oxygen compound, he barely made out the tail end of the energy beam zooming harmlessly by, a meter above him.
He waited anxiously, listening for the clink-clank, telltale sounds of the approaching robot. When they didn’t come, he waited again, this time more patiently. Hearing nothing for a long while, he carefully pulled himself out of the fountain, greedily inhaling the precious oxygen. Clever Guy had jetted.
That’s when Luigi saw the fighter. It was to the right, stationed awkwardly on its side and tangled in rough foliage and vines. Despite its position, it seemed wholly intact. He searched the cockpit, finding nothing. He reasoned that it must’ve been dragged there by one of the Koopalings or any member of Bowser’s army, and when it tilted they just left it there. After considerable labor, he managed to get it upright. Wishing for the best, he jumped in and powered it up.
~*~*~*~
The fighters dropped on the airfield as hard rain on a cloudless, sun-filled day. A barrage of searing red lances plunged down on the active tarmac, picking off multiple targets and destroying anything moving. Someone had ratted them out.
Ryan-oshi pumped his two strong hind legs for all they were worth, urging his stride to lengthen and covering the distance from his ship to the command complex in one heart-pounding minute. He grasped the nearest door handle, spun around on the heels of his boots, and fluttered in, barely noticing the trail of burnt pavement behind him. Inside, things weren’t much less chaotic.
Winston stood above an observation balcony extending from the overlooking second floor, shouting orders to a frenzied command crew. Ryan-oshi surmised it wasn’t the proper time to say, “I told you so.”
“There you are, Ryan-oshi! By the Stars, you were right. But how did they appear so quickly?” Winston was wild-eyed and unkempt, staring dazed at the Yoshi from across the room.
“Though I told you they don’t have cloaks for their larger ships, they must have had them installed on their fighters, or at least the ones that are attacking us. There’s something I think you should notice th-”
“Not now, sir! Not now! Things are hectic enough without you… oh, quickly try to raise the Star Wing. Get them in the air, man!” A shocked officer ran off down another hallway.
“General, you must listen to me.” Ryan-oshi waited until he had Winston’s attention. “They’re not trying to destroy us. They’re stealing our ships.”
Winston looked out the observation window across from his balcony. One by one, the capital ships were flying off. Abandoned E-PEANUT fighters were purposely ruined, scattered about the tarmac. They were looting the Admiral’s fleet. Well, of course, he was in charge of both branches currently, so they were looting HIS fleet. Winston stared at the Yoshi, unblinking. “What do we do?”
Ryan-oshi only hesitated for a moment, searching his mind. “Find me the best working fighter you have and eleven of your best pilots. I have an idea.”
“Sir,” shouted a technician, rolling his chair away from his control panel. “A fighter just landed with our insignia on it. You’ll never believe this, but Luigi Mario is the pilot.”
Part Three: Decimation
The rolling hills of the once green and lush Mushroom Valley were scorched and wreathed in coursing black-purplish tendrils of dark energy, derived from the exploited hate and contempt of the land. Feelings of tension and anger were on the rise, expelled from the forces of good and fed into the evil ones like raw fuel. The deepest malevolence was approaching Plit, traveling through the enigmatic wormholes of the universe at fantastic speeds. Even then, their power could be seen and felt as heavy, back-bending burdens. The eastern sky had long been dark, but now was full of a red, gleaming glow, a nefarious source of light. The morning was nowhere near. Something ill was settling on the chill easterly wind, and its name was Doom. Plit would be hard-pressed to see the morning.
A diminutive figure walked along a high precipice, head-bent. A deep ebony cloak was tied loosely about its body by a rough, dark purple rope, barely recognizable from the rest of the attire. One sickly, festering hand was clenching the other’s wrist, wringing it in frustrated pain. The left hand gave off thin trails of snaking smoke, filled with a venomous green exhaust. The skin was bubbling like swamp water, sagging and hanging limply on gnarled bone. Infected dermis ran up to the wrist, scorched black, and then ended halfway to the elbow.
Shimrra had never guessed the quiet human would have that much power. From afar he seemed slightly over the average weight for his species, wearing only a golden cape with a commoner’s hat. His complexion and mustache told him to be a simple worker, not a fiercely strong warrior. And he had seemed, even then, to be so effectively in control, the double-pronged sword not doing any good either. His defeat had come out of nowhere, a wide shaft of light pervading an endless night yet untouched. The luminous flash had been so strong, so pervasive. Only his instincts had saved him. With a cowardly hop, he threw himself off, arms flailing wildly. The right edge of the argent spasm had caught his left hand, seizing it and traveling nearly up to his elbow before he could cast a fettering spell. Now he stood wounded, perhaps mortally if he could not reach his master’s greater healing power. The infection of the star blast seemed to be spreading, slowly infesting the upper parts of his arms. The pain was constant, and the sight was gruesome to look at. Though his failure had been unexpected, he completed his mission of stalling the one called “Mario” until the invasion fleet could arrive. At least he had that to lean on if he were to die, either on the strange and foreign planet or by the hand of his master’s discipline. The edge of the universe crackled and sounded with a power greater than any ever seen, and soon all life on Plit would cease…
~*~*~*~
Crazykoopa awoke with a pounding pain blossoming repeatedly in the expanse of his head, unremitting. His eyes flickered open a moment later, analytic and deathly pale. A thin sliver of silver light was parted into even more minute sections by the grated ceiling. The Princess sat worriedly over him, pressing something wet and warm gently against his head. It was a stinging smoothness.
“Toad, he’s awake! And still the colorless gloom of death lingers on his skin. The blood made a river through the drain. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.” His eyes open, Peach’s voice seemed to redirect. “You had us all very worried, Crazykoopa. Welcome back, hero.”
Hero? He only remembered failing. And now they were in a jail.
“That’s right,” added Toad, a thin trickle of thick blood a dried bolt of crimson lightning painted on his forehead. Other than an additional few blotchy purple bruises, the loyal Mushroomer seemed to be relatively unharmed. “With those brutish Iron Knuckles out of the way, we were able to rush Chef Torte and drag you to safety. Unfortunately, before we could risk a dash to the hangar, Maria exited the atmosphere. We had to hide down here under one of the hall’s flooring. We’re invisible down here, Peach assured me, but the hallways are swarming with probe robots looking for us. We’re lying low until something happens.”
“Like what?” Crazykoopa asked wearily, the cold sweat of fear still hanging reluctantly on his brow.
A large rumbling, metallic crash was heard off in the distance, clanging sharply and then rapidly mellowing in a sloping decrescendo. The stillness of resumed quiet was interrupted fleetingly by a frenetic “MON DIEU!”
“I don’t know,” Peach responded, unflinching. The bumbling chef’s antics were quite common. She didn’t know why he’d brought a zeppelin into space, but he had. Something big was up that was undoubtedly making Torte incredibly anxious. “We can’t stay here forever though, even if we are safe for the moment. That deranged incompetent is likely to get us killed. Toad, any ideas?”
Toad shook his head sullenly and said, “Looks like we’re stuck,” soberly.
“Wait a minute,” Crazykoopa interjected, a colorful hue filling his pale eyes. “There might be a way. Help me to my feet, if you will. We’ll only have one chance at this!”
~*~*~*~
Snifit 2 walked briskly down and long, bland corridor, metallic flooring and walls gleaming off of the heavily lit ceiling. Rainbow hues shone in the distance, disappearing upon approach. At places, The Death Egg was a wondrous place, and he would do everything in his power to keep it that way. Snifit 2 was convinced that if the very probable situation came up where the Egg had seen its last, he’d go down with it. He wondered if Ganon was just as romantic. He didn’t seem like the honorable type, but the Snifit tried to avoid mutinous thoughts.
Snifit 2 whirled around on his heels, carefully avoiding tripping over his draped robes, and faced an outlined door, without any other distinguishing characteristics. Obtrusive knobs would distort the hallway’s magnificent effect. The small figure produced a square card out of his robe folds. He ran the object through the door’s outline, emitting a long buzz. The door hissed and then slid hastily into the wall.
He stepped inside unwarily, surety coursing through his veins. A direct order from Captain Ganon could not be allowed to engender time-wasting hesitation. The room was translucent, the walls thick-paned glass with foundations of contiguous bright burning lights, unflaggingly piercing. A short dais rose blandly from the center of the room, a geometric cylinder, featureless. On it rested a couple of identical, peculiar objects, two ancient keys, both suited for one and only one purpose. They were going to activate the Egg Beam. With it, neither the invaders nor Chef Torte could stand up against them. With the EB on their side, the entire universe would be theirs in short time.
“Snifit 2, what do you think you’re doing? The battle is at hand, and the universe’s gravity fields are shifting. Our deaths are approaching swiftly. And I am feeling overly dramatic. Look at me eat this duck.”
Snifit 2 ignored Smithy’s sudden indulgence. Besides, he had no soy sauce. “Thank you, but no. And anyway, I was just coming to tidy up. This room needed cleaning.”
Smithy finished off the duck. “I don’t blame people for their mistakes. I just ask that they deal with them. She’s hunting us. We’ll never make it to the shed alive. RUN!”
Snifit 2 waved away the inane concern. Everyone was used to Smithy’s constant incoherent babble. “I’m waving away your inane concern. Everyone’s used to your constant incoherent babble. Do you happen to know where Ganon is?”
“I don’t know, Snifit 2, and frankly, Darling, I don’t give a duck. Doesn’t ‘terra’ mean ‘land’ in Latin?”
A ripping rumble tore through the ship, and the sharp hiss of rushing air and breaking glass slammed against the closed door behind Smithy. The older Santa Clause reject fell flat on his face, grumbling through his thick beard. Snifit 2 was thrown across the room, splayed on the floor, arms akimbo. “Inferno’s Spawn! What was that?”
Smithy held out a small data pad. Rectangular, it was barely an inch deep. He entered a few numbers and pass codes, evoking a reassuring beep. His face rose, grim and gray, which it was always, but that’s not the point. “It seems the hallway just outside has been punctured by space debris, or perhaps a crashed fighter, one of ours to be exact. The invasion fleet has arrived, as well as our defected fleet. Chef Torte has joined us. The battle has begun. He shot that pony, Scarlet! It didn’t hurt nobody no how!”
Snifit 2 concealed panic. He and a very annoying insane loser were trapped inside a room adjacent to open space with Plit’s only chance of survival.
~*~*~*~
Twelve fighters emptied into space, hulls still burning from the egress route out of Plit’s dense atmosphere. The bright view of burning oxygen quickly reverted to the intense clarity of a violent space battle. E-PEANUT’s Death Egg stood obtusely in the distance, a giant ovular battle station being pummeled with heavy concentrations of coherent light. Around it, hundreds of fighters buzzed angrily around each other, trying to lock-on to a target. Ryanoshi found it interesting that while The Death Egg and a few of the fighters were showing up as yellow signatures, E-PEANUT’s fleet and a dark shadow barely visible against the backdrop of far space were evinced as red dots on his radar. It seemed that several troops had defected, but to whom? And now he noticed Chef Torte’s small complement of ships were glowing yellow on his screen. An unexpected alliance had occurred.
Ryanoshi quickly punched his comm. controls, eliciting the buzz of a private channel. Several indistinguishable voices were conversing anxiously. “Cut the chatter,” Ryanoshi commanded , irritated. “We’re horribly outnumbered, and though a surprise, the scenario looks grim. Stay tight and keep your guard.”
“Ist zhat you, Ryanoshi? Your channel wasn’t so private afteir all, zhanks to zhe splicing abilities of Genius Guy here. Ve need your help. Zhese vackos are trying to destroy Plit.” Chef Torte sounded sincere.
“Why should I believe you?” asked Ryanoshi incredulously. “You did kidnap three of my friends, and your bumbling hasn’t exactly earned you any additional honor.”
“Bumbling? MON DIEU! Oh, vell, zhis ist important. Vhy else do you zhink I vould haf even considered joining forces viz E-PEANUT? Come on, I double dare ya.”
“Your case is convincing,” Ryanoshi conceded, but not before adding, “but what have you done with my friends? You still have them in your baking gloved hands, remember?”
Chef Torte hesitated for a moment, thinking noisily. “Vell, about zhat, yeah, I do admit zhere vas some confusion on zhat matter. I zought zhey vere zhree wild and crazy guys I met at vone of zhose upper class party shindig thingies in Las Koopas, but it turns out zhey veren’t, so I vas going to let zhem go, you know, vizout sending zhree Iron Knuckles against zhem or zomezhing crazy like zhat, but zhey haf disappeared into zhe depths of my beautiful zeppelin. Perhaps moi could interest you in plush replicas? Say vere made viz love and care and beans, top grade. Beans, zhey’re good for your heart. Zhe more you eat zhem, zhe more you—”
“Chef Torte!” interjected Ryanoshi. “Enough of your foolishness. Did they really escape?”
“Vell, yeah; do you zhink moi would lie?” Chef Torte waited for a moment. “Your stunned silence ist very reassuring.”
“I suppose will help you, Torte. I’ll have to believe you here. Just don’t try anything subversive. My spare cannons will be always trained on your ship’s cockpit.”
“Don’t you verry, Ryanoshi. Afteir zhis whole zhing ist oveir, if ve survive it, ve’ll meet in combat, and I’ll vhup up on your scrawny tail!” Chef Torte screamed back, agitated.
“The challenge and feeling are both mutual, Torte,” Ryanoshi addressed the Chef by his last name again. “But for now, we’ve struck a temporary alliance. Prepare for your much-needed aid.”
Chef Torte didn’t answer. Ryanoshi closed the channel and sent a splice-counter. “Split up into two wings, five behind me and five behind Luigi. I know we’re the very definition of a rag-tag team of resistance fighters, but we are united under one cause. That cause is the salvation of our planet… our home. We are the Plit squadron.”
A chorus of emotional cheers with an almost elemental force rose up over the comm. channel, spurring within Ryanoshi a great since of pride. He would see Plit through to the next day or die trying. “Wing One, follow me tightly. We’re going to dispense the fighters bothering The Death Egg. Wing Two, form up around Luigi and aid Torte’s fleet. Good luck to all of you. Let us pray that our bravery will not be in vain. Starspeed.”
~*~*~*~
Stario wrapped both tense hands around the firm hilt of his sword, red and blue energy spasms shooting down its length. The star emblem emblazoned on the foundation of the blade gleamed through the night air, heavy and warm with the scent of death. With a mighty swing, Stario cleared a path of five villains, hewing and hacking mercilessly, eyes intent on Bowser’s figure. Finally, he reached his arch-enemy, charged with rage. All of the wrongs the Koopa King had done came back at that instance, along with the countless Nimbians dead around his feet. Something had to give.
Bowser was the first to star, digging his feet into the ground and roaring hideously, a reptilian-hissed bellow rumbling throughout the battlefield. Stario accepted the challenge eagerly, bringing up his sword to bear high over his head and attempting to crash it down on top of his foe’s formidable head. Bowser blocked high and parried with all the weight of his massive muscles, knocking Stario and his divine sword two meters to the side.
Stario rolled out of his blocked attack, coming up on two feet and one hand, the other grasping his sword firmly behind him. Yelling, he charged again, spinning, his cape and sword both a melded blur. Bowser desperately brought up his sword, plunging it forward. The blade caught the full force of both elemental blows, catching it and letting it fly off in another direction. Stario came out of his spin, breathing deeply, sword outstretched. Bowser was without arms.
Stario was in no hurry. Full of contempt, he swung the blade horizontally, cutting through Bowser’s fore armor and ripping a long, deep gash in his gut. King Koopa screamed horribly in his pain, grasping his wound and pressing in vain to stop the blood flowing freely through his fingers. With the other hand’s claws extended, he took a swipe, the tips of all five razor-sharp needles grazing Stario’s face. Luckily his eyes were missed, but his nose was gory, surely broken in the mauling.
Both combatants bleeding and perhaps mortally wounded, they flung themselves at each other, ten fierce claws meeting star-divined sword of power, a might clang and blast of energy pouring forth. Neither opponent saw that every warrior had ceased to battle, now fully concentrating on the war taking place among them between two lingering figures, intent upon each other’s destruction. The battle was magnificent, but the end was near. Neither side could hold out much longer, if not for fatal blow, for loss of blood.
One well-placed claw strike was blocked low by an adept parry, while the other claw grazed a leg. Sword met arm, drawing blood, and claw reached to seek revenge. Both warriors circling, blocking, parrying, riposting, trying to find a suitable opening, but coming across none. The ground was scorched and blackened, a deepening crater where the two foes battled endlessly. Now the sword of Stario rose high in the air. Now the claws of Bowser reared back to strike like a cobra. And now the two met, breaking through and piercing. The battleground was silent, and then the heavy rains came. The heavens twinkled blood red as falling stars raced against the sky.
Clever Guy broke the deathly stillness.
~*~*~*~
A stutter fire of blazing claret lancelets of searing energy fell from above at several different points, converging simultaneously on Ryan-oshi’s ship. His heavy green tail produced a loud thwap against the top of the cockpit as he pushed all of his weight into the control stick, barreling to the deep left. Distorted bolts pinged harmlessly off his shielded aft side, and then he was up again, dizzy with a stable ship. Sometimes he wishes his mind were even more mechanical than it already was. His eye shifted below them. In the midst of their salvation of The Death Egg, a rogue gunship was attempting to fire them up from behind. Ryan-oshi’d see to that.
“Plit Three and Four, form up on either side of my aft; I’m going to make a strafing run across the gunship below us before it blasts us out of the sky whilst we’re trying to swat those other flies. Once I clear the forward and center, drop one payload each. We’ll need the rest for the larger targets.” Ryan-oshi’s command was confirmed and agreed upon by two comm. clicks. “The remainder of Wing One will continue dog fighting. The Death Egg’s battery complements are essential to the fight against the other capitals. Form up!”
Three and Four formed a tight Delta Formation behind him as he guided his control stick slightly down, watching the twinkling stars against a vast expanse of dark shift suddenly until they were blocked by the hulking form of a defected E-PEANUT gunship. The pair of friendlies behind him quickly dispensed of any and all gun turrets within range. Ryan-oshi charged his lasers to maximum power before letting a barrage of mass carnage onto the bare hull of the bigger ship. Tiny blooms of explosive fire appeared across the metallic surface of the vessel, followed by the intense spray of shredded shrapnel. There were two more reassuring flashes of light and spewing of debris as he brought his fighter up and around. The gunship began to implode from the inside, pockets of explosions ripping through the hull from aft to forward. Sagging like dead weight, the ship slowly made its descent to Plit’s atmosphere, where it overheated and made a show of its demise.
“Commendable job, pilots, but we’re not done yet. Split up and take out the remaining bogies. We have to clear a path for The Death Egg.” Ryan-oshi clicked the comm. unit only a moment before a surprising voice sounded over the channel.
It was Ganon. “Your aid was both timely and appreciated, Sir Ryan-oshi, our opposing conflicts in the past notwithstanding. Perhaps you would consider joining our ranks?”
Ryan-oshi scoffed at the thought, but took the compliment in an obligatory stride. “Although your offer is well noted, Ganon, your faculties and means of using them have always been evil, up to this hour, and I say with much confidence that my formally joining with you and your like is an impossibility in one of the highest degrees. After this greater threat is dealt with, you will be tried for your crimes and punished justly.”
“And how will you do that,” Ganon queried smugly, “when we have your planet’s fleet?”
Ryan-oshi had almost forgotten until the grand fleet of The Mushroom Kingdom exited Plit’s atmosphere, several ships of varying sizes proudly displaying their strength for the extermination fleet before them. Whole squadrons of angry Pop fighters exited from their wide bellies, pouring forth their contribution of lasers into the enemy ships. “Ay, indeed Master Ganon, you do have the upper hand. We shall see in time.”
Ganon only replied, “So we shall.”
~*~*~*~
Maria was crumbling around them, pieces of petite furniture and flowered wallpaper tearing off the walls what with the constant hail of laser fire. Luckily, the actual hull would hold up for much longer. Peach thought Chef Torte had the most peculiar way of decorating a battleship. “Crazykoopa, explain to me what you’re trying to do again?”
Crazykoopa looked back over his rising and falling shoulders, footfalls flapping heavily against the metallic flooring, creating linear scuffs here and there. “We’re making for the hangar. Now that the crewmembers are busy fighting that doomsday fleet or whatever out there, they’ll hopefully be too busy to notice us… hopefully.”
Toad nodded frantically, trying his best to pump his short legs in a manner that would allow him to successfully keep up with his two taller friends. “Yeah, and even if a few try to chase us down, we’ll be able to take them. Chef Torte was stupid enough to not take our weapons away.”
Peach had both hands clenched on her skirt, lifting them up as she ran to avoid falling. Running in high heels was hard enough. “I wonder what Stario and Luigi are doing? Bowser’s still ruling our beautiful capital city, and the last I knew, they were captured! Things are so dismal. I don’t possibly see how all of this can turn out good.”
“Oh, but you don’t know how right you are, Princess Peach,” a figure said ahead, a red-cloaked Magikoopa. Several other losers were standing around him. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Changling, self-pronounced second-in-command of the Team Of Terror, Chef Torte’s elite warriors. Finding you and capturing you will earn me enough brownie points to catch up with Whomp. But never mind that!” he spat. “Let me start over.” He took a considerable amount of time clearing his throat. “I am Changling. I change what’s bad to good, and not back again!”
Someone resembling Chef Torte, but with the boyish charm of a youngster, meekly started, “A-and I am the Apprentice, cook and villain in training. I’ll bake you a sampling of pain. Oh, that was lame,” he added under his breath.
Next was a Shy Guy donning a quaint little lab coat and glasses, a vial of some bubbling liquid in his hands. “And I am the enigmatic Genius Guy, not to be confused with Clark Gable. I like moonlit champagne escapades and strolling on sunset beach, as well as petting peaches and digging for bronze trinkets. Sometimes I write about apple orchards.”
A loud crash introduced the next oddity, a mad-face Thwomp that was clearly agitated, foam forming around his yellowish, toothy grim grin. “Me Whomp, go Whomp on prisoners, URRR URRR!”
Lastly, a timid little fireball appeared out from behind Changling, embarrassment and humiliation full in his eyes. “H-hi Peach.” She gazed sternly back at him.
“Well?” asked Changling, stamping his booted foot. “Get on with it!”
“Oh, yeah,” the Podoboo said, collecting himself. “I am Embert T. Podoboo; uh, go Dodgers!”
“Prepare for the ultimate!” Changling spat, contempt brewing in his shrill voice. “You have crossed Master Torte for the last time. Stand down, so that we may obliterate you!” The entire team entered stupid poses that diminished their already low level of intimidation.
Crazykoopa refrained from laughing. “Uh, yeah, well, you’re in our way, so…” He trailed off, and then broke into a fit of hysteria.
Changling was off in the blink of an eye, the Princess Peach under his arms. “Hey, I remember you! Oh, let me go! You already failed at impersonating Luigi that once. Get your filthy failure paws off me.”
Changling extended his claws mercilessly, eliciting a high-pitched squeal of pain, sharp and curt. “That’ll teach you to mock my profession. The rest of you, get to work dealing with these losers. Dispose of them as you will. The princess has an important part to play as of yet.” With that, Changling was off, bounding down the long hallway to who knew where.
Crazykoopa rushed Genius Guy and the Apprentice while Whomp and Embert hobbled towards Toad. Whomp let out an ERR before smashing hard in front of Toad, creating a long fissure through the floor. Toad, overbalanced, stumbled forward and fell face first on the cold ground. Embert jumped up from behind, putting the burn on him.
Crazykoopa watched both of his opponents circling him warily. He supposed they remembered the harsh punishment he’d dealt out to the three Iron Knuckles. Without thinking, he hurled himself bare shell straight into the Apprentice’s gut. The latter fell forward, whining pitifully. Genius Guy shook the contents of his vial and snorted. “Stupid Koopa thinks he is so grand. Even you cannot stand up to my latest creation!”
Genius Guy threw the potion inside of the vial to the ground, and it fizzed and popped as it reacted with the metal. Then, oddly enough, a rising figure rose from the puddle, an amorphous creature unknown to Crazykoopa. It was formless, always changing, but still managed to put across a menacing air. “Prepare for the ultimate battle, Crazykoopa!”
Suddenly the blob wrapped itself around the proud warrior, cutting off his wind pipe and binding his hands tightly and harshly against his hard shell. “Meet Morpheus, my newest creation. He feeds off of the variety of precious stones located on Plit: sapphire, ruby, emerald, diamond, and amethyst. Only the largest specimens will initiate the proper growth patters. Right now he contains only the sapphire, which gives him the formless liquid-like property of water. And yet with only one stone inside of him, he will still be able to beat you! And even though he is so cheesily similar to Chaos of Sonic Adventure, I have an illegal patent, so you are doomed!”
Crazykoopa’s face paled, and his eyes turned glassy. A bluish color drained into his face as the livid flesh tones of before left quite suddenly. He couldn’t breathe. It was the end… perhaps. Crazykoopa lit himself on fire all at once, his rage decreasing the time needed to go into his strongest attack. Immediately Morpheus screamed in pain and started to give off an effusion of steam and other gaseous elements. Hissing like a serpent, it disappeared into the framework of the zeppelin-made-spaceship. “Morpheus, no, come back! Oh, I should have gotten more stones. Oh, well, time to drink some, uh, Kool-aid, so I’ll be leaving.”
Just as Genius Guy was making his escape, Crazykoopa used the remainder of his fire to attack, knocking Genius Guy senselessly across the room before he could start dancing. He turned around, surveying the carnage behind him. Whomp was raised above Toad, Embert in a corner wavering and whimpering. Crazykoopa acted quickly, taking off his blue shell and hopping onto it. He sailed across the gleaming floor with ease, jumping off his makeshift surf and watching it fly with matchless speed into Whomp’s center, cracking his middle and sending him falling back with a deafening clank to the ground. He kept falling, descending lower into the ship. Crazykoopa helped Toad up and ignored Embert and Apprentice, still too scared to fight. “Come on, we have to save the princess!”
And believe it or not, no one even mentioned that Morpheus’ pathetic bit was just a cheesy set-up for his appearance in a later installment of The Good, the Bad, and the Torte. No, really, no one noticed.
~*~*~*~
Clever Guy happened upon the drizzly scene of blood and mutilated flesh nigh unto its completion, seeing both forces huddle over their fallen leaders, covered in each other’s fluids. It was a pitiable sight, he thought, brought upon by sheer ignorance. Alpha was safe inside its small cube, attached to his backpack. He held Exor vertically in one hand, slanting it across his shoulder. It gleamed through the rain with the power of itself and the elemental forces of the whole of Plit.
He considered himself looking like a beacon of hope shedding down on the darkness, and he decided to portray himself falsely as one, but then put the thought of deceit away. With Exor, he would no longer have to hide behind others. “Ah, this sight is one that was predictable indeed. Now the rain falls, and the end is near for all of you, and who has come to claim the throne of Plit but one of the most unlikely of all creatures, a Shy Guy, to be known as Shy no more.”
Clever Guy held Exor aloft. It whistled and zinged, mesmerizing the lot down before it in the deep, wide valley once green, now stained with blood and scorched with the black ash of fire. “Bow to me, your master, or I shall smite you with my blade. Behold, I have harnessed the might of Exor!”
Full of rage and sadness, a large group of soldiers rushed him, maces, axes, and swords rusted and bared. Clever Guy gave his sword a mighty swing, hacking them all down to size in one deft swipe. He snorted derisively, allowing himself a light chuckle. “Very good show, but a little rough on the landing. Bad form!”
A bolt of forked lightning, argent white light, shot out from the tip of Exor and struck in the midst of fifty troops, incinerating them all, leaving only a wisp of black ash and bone sediment. “Now bow before your master!”
“Not so fast,” said a voice, horrifically recognizable, soothing and warm beyond thought.
“That goes ditto for me,” said a gruffer voice, deeper, but still with a heavenly divination.
Clever Guy looked down, seeing Bowser and Stario, completely whole and healed, both aflame with flickering yellow lights flecked with sparkling bits of bright whiteness. Both were powered by the Stars. Were the very forces of the Heavens against him to strengthen such mortally wounded foes and bring them together for a common purpose? He wouldn’t allow the impudence of such defiant gestures to get the better of him, not when he had Exor. They would still fall!
He screamed a scream he never knew he had in him, and with a simple command, Alpha came out around him, hugging him into the control seat. One giant robotic hand grasped the hilt of Exor tightly as the other extended a great shield. Fuming with blind anger and hatred for this new obstacle, Clever Sky leapt off of the high precipice, descending past terraces and jutting plateaus, landing in the valley, directly in front of the star warriors before him. “You will not stop me!’
“And you-” Bowser began, growling fiercely.
“-Will not pass!” finished Stario determinedly.
A chorus of agreeing sentiments rose up from behind them of what was left of the once opposing army. The common message was, “We will help you!’
“No,” Stario corrected sternly.
“He will kill too many,” Bowser completed. “We must face him alone, for we are not the only battlefield. Forces are arising in the sky, and our duty lies here. Flee to the towns and secure your families, and block the roads. The Day of Decision has come!”
Clever Guy snarled, his lips curling up in feral disgust. He didn’t buy all of the stuff they were saying. He figured it to be a trick of the Star Elders. “Enough of your incoherent babble. Prepare to die! Charge!”
Both sides, one against two, clashed with a mighty brilliance of power.
~*~*~*~
Ganon stood, hands clasped firmly against the small of his back. Slanted eyes peered angrily out of The Death Egg’s main viewport. All around him, tiny buzzing flies were shooting out lethal lasers and chasing each other around the black void, creating flashes of ruby light and yellow mushrooms of devastating explosions. There was a death every few seconds, and as for the carnage, there was no end in sight. Impatiently, he turned to Dr. Eggman, who was leaning back and forth, being poorly animated and all. “Dr. Eggman, stop that foolishness! Snifit 2 left over an hour ago to get the Egg Beam, his improved version of the B.A.S.S. Turbo. He shouldn’t be taking this long.”
“Yes, and that Smithy has gone missing too. Did you think you could fool me with a fake Chaos Emerald? Farewell, Sonic, my admirable adversary.” Eggman almost hit the floor in one of his spasms.
“I haven’t seen Wart anywhere, either. I wonder if he’s missing, also.” Ganon eyed Robotnik suspiciously, but the horrible frame rate was burning his cornea.
“No, Wart went out in his personal fighter to join the dogfight. Password is MA-RI-A. Maria!” Dr. Robotnik wandered off to another part of the ship, while Ganon silently tried to not think of Wart behind the controls of an E-PEANUT space fighter.
~*~*~*~
Princess Toadstool was deposited roughly against the cold hard ground of Maria’s cockpit, after some time of being uncomfortably carried through the long cabin under Changling’s shoulder. After wincing slightly, she saw two feet in green before her. Next came a familiar, irritating cackle. “Zhe Princess! Haf you and your posse been trying to escape again? Zhat vill get you nowhere! Even as ve speak, ve are matching zhe enemy force blow for blow. And I haf a very secret veapon zhat vill clear the sky even of our allies, Ryan-oshi and his gang, as vell as E-PEANUT. Soon, I vill rule zhe vorld. I vill claim vhat ist so rightfully moi’s!”
“You wouldn’t!” Peach accused, appalled. “You can’t turn your back on those who are helping you. We could reach some kind of peaceful agreement. How do you expect to rule a planet anyway? You’re a bumbling fool that got lucky.”
Chef Torte spazzed, pulling his tall chef’s hat over his face and throwing an embarrassing tantrum right there in front of Changling and the Princess. “No vone calls moi bumbling! Zhat vill be your undoing. Bring zhe corpses of zhose ozeir pazetic fools vhich my Team of Terror has undoubtedly taken care of by now, Changling.”
Changling woke up from a light sleep. “Uh, ok. Though I bet they lost.”
“Lost? Of course zhey didn’t! My team is invincible!”
About that time, Toad and Crazykoopa crashed into the cockpit, growling and angered with rage. Chef Torte looked at them, surprised, but still full of himself. “Vell, vell, vell, zhe heroes haf returned to lose, for zhe second time and not zhe first, twice, again!”
Our three good guy friends looked at each other knowingly.
“Stop vhiz zhe knowing looks! Changling!” Chef Torte called, agitated and off his rocket. “Get oveir heir! Let’s show zhem zhat trick ve do. Ready, and change!”
Changling was concealed in a blast of rising smoke, a thick plume that covered his entire length. When he emerged, he was none other than Chef Torte. Now two angered and frazzled Chef Tortes stood before them, PANS OF PAIN in hand. “Now,” both of them said simultaneously, “you vill taste DOUBLE TORTE TROUBLE!”
BAM!!!
~*~*~*~
Kamek stood high atop a formidable precipice overlooking a devastated valley, hundreds of dead Nimbians and Koopas scattered about the land. In the distance, he could make out two glowing figures, melded in fighting style and acute in senses, battling a mechanized walker with the gleaming sword of Exor in hand, much more powerful than before. The sight was one he did not expect. The mysterious dark warrior he had left fighting Stario was not to be seen, yet the star plumber and his archenemy were now fighting Bowser’s newest scientist recruit, while a pile of carcasses were heaped behind them. It was a confusing and ambiguous surprise.
One hundred powerful Magikoopas stood ready to do battle behind him, even his rival’s proud son, Zarith. Kamek did not give any orders, though. Instead, his attention was drawn to the sky, now lit up with a red haze marked with flashing lights. Two battles were being fought, one terrestrial the other celestial. He wondered if he was meant to interfere.
That’s when he spotted a slow-moving, hooded figure several meters away, hunched over and wounded. It took him only a moment to register the creature as Shimrra. Had Stario truly defeated him? Kamek signaled for his followers to stand down. It was clear that he wanted to take on the approaching evil on his own.