Chapter Nine: Stars on the Summit
Thick clouds of something resembling a dreamy mist had come to settle atop the higher altitudes of Star Hill. Where before all of the hundreds of star satellites that had fallen from the Haven above could be seen glowing angelically out of the Hill’s crust, now there was only an endless sea of gray darkness, like pipe smoke. As Mallow and Chef Torte had crossed the halfway point near the Blue Down Falls, the mists had come swirling and hissing in like water released after a lifted sluice. The occurrance had seemed remarkably odd even then and especially after several failed attempts to knock it away using the famous meteorological powers of the Nimbian race.
It goes without saying that a very disagreeable Torte grumbled and griped the whole length of the climb. “Moi still does not see vhy ve haf to go oveir zhis stupid mountain. Couldn’t ve haf juzt taken a ferry?”
Mallow sighed and looked back over his shoulder, staring far down into the shadows below them. It seemed the further they climbed, the darker the path they’d traveled became. “A ferry would have been no quicker than our current road even if I had been able to predict the coming of these mists, and I’m quite sure you would have found something to complain about on a boat, too.”
“You know, zhis vould be much easier if you stopped being so condescending. Moi has zhe right to be a little bit grumpy. I haf feelings too!”
Mallow stopped mid-stride and turned around, his normally white face growing steadily red. He lifted a finger and pointed it deep into Torte’s face. “Listen here, Torte. You’ve done nothing but complain since we started this thing, and I’m starting to think all of that partnership and journeying crud you pulled back there was a ruse. I admit that I never really trusted you, but the more you throw these childish fits, the more I’m inclined to leave you and finish this on my own. You’d better shape up or I’ll break my staff under your nose; is that clear?”
Chef Torte gulped and shifted his eyes nervously. “Zhat’s crystal clear, buddy. Vant to shake on it?”
Mallow rolled his eyes and pushed away, stumbling on a mini-avalanche of pebbles before regaining his footing to continue. Behind him, he could hear the Terrapin speaking some kind of foreign curse, but he really could have cared less. Both of them had been terribly irritable since the clouds had moved in, and the longer he dwelled on the matter, the more he began to think the mists were actually causing some of their problems. If such a ridiculous thing were true, then the haze had to be induced by sorcery, which would mean someone of great strength was trying to hinder their progress. The thought was very discomforting, but at least it offered some resolve against Torte’s constant bickering.
“I do not think these mists are natural, Chef Torte. And though you will think me a fool for it, I’m willing to venture that they are the cause of our irritation. Come now, though, before you protest; have you not felt heavier and more laden with worries since their appearance?”
“Perhaps moi has been a little more angry since zhey came. But vhat kind of clouds cause people to be mean?”
“Like I said, they aren’t natural. What’s worse, I can’t seem to disperse them no matter how much thought or energy I pour into it. If someone really has created them, then either that person is more skilled than I am in controlling the weather, or there’s a really powerful shielding spell involved that I can’t break through.”
Chef Torte yawned and pulled his pack up a little higher. “Do you zhink it iz safe for us to go to sleep, zhen? Moi is very tired, but I don’t vant my zhroat zlit during zhe night.”
“We’ll definitely need to take turns keeping watch if we set up camp now. You’re right, though; we won’t be in any condition to save the Mario Brothers if we reach them sleep-deprived and deluded.”
“Look!” Torte cried out suddenly. “Chinchillas in zhe mist!”
Mallow balked at the claim, but upon turning full around, he saw that Chef Torte’s words were not far from the truth. Instead of chinchillas, however, the creatures poking out of the blue mountain’s crust before them were three Mukumuku, gopher-like monsters that were originally indigenous to the vast expanse of prairie that Star Hill had crashed into nearly a millennia ago. How they managed to adapt to such an adverse environment was beyond the knowledge of even Plit’s most well-learned scholars. One of them sniffed loudly and then ran a thin tongue over a furry arm. “Muku!”
“Did zhat zhing just try to talk? Mallow, vhat are zhey?”
“Trouble,” he replied and pulled back the shimmering sapphire cape, which fluttered to the ground behind him. He quickly unsheathed his Ribbit Stick and held it high in the air, bringing it down with a speeding whoosh that could be heard echoing across the rocky landscape. “Flee into your burrows; let us pass!”
One of the group squeaked a mighty warning and twitched its whiskers dominantly. As if by command, the others followed suit and let their shrill voices lift above the hanging smoke. “Mukua Muk!”
“Zhat does not frighten us!” Chef Torte called back and turned to Mallow. “Vhat are ve vaiting for? Let’s bash zhese little devils and be on our vay.”
“Watch your back, Torte,” Mallow said and pulled on the Terrapin’s shoulder.
The agitated chef turned about, watching in a growing horror as fifteen of the cute little creatures popped up in a brutally deceptive semi-circle behind them, and then, as he slowly noticed thirty new, but nearly identical, Mukumuku complete an entrapping battle ring, his heart jumped fast to the back of his throat. “Zhis might not go so vell.”
“Muku makat,” the leader of the pack said, and the gleam of a successful hunt filled his soulless eyes. Already the smoke that pressed in from all sides seemed thicker, and the richness of the blue below their feet turned smothering, almost as if the very ground would open a gaping maw and swallow them whole. “Muku!”
Chef Torte was close to losing balance when the Nimbian Prince broke into a war cry, one that surpassed even the terror he’d let loose when they’d battled back in Seaside Town. Seeing no honor in being bested yet again, the Terrapin let out his own foreign call and rushed into battle, his pan weapon angled forward aggressively.
The whistle and crack of Mallow’s staff reverberated across the scattered craters beyond the veiling mists of Star Hill and like death the wails which followed were short and reedy. The Prince turned on a knife’s edge to plunge his Ribbit Stick down against the skull of another Mukumuku, and soon he felt the vibration of shattered bone mass ring into his arms. Presently, though, a particularly crafty brand of the vermin had shot out of its hole to scrape three red scratch marks deep into Mallow’s back. He cried out and whirled around to counter, but instead only found the motionless, limp form of his attacker and the smiling face of Chef Torte hovering over it. “Now you owe moi one, Cloud Boy.”
Mallow smiled wryly and held out a hand, absorbing the moisture in the air all around him and consolidating it into a singular ball, then let it out. A column of streaming water poured forth and drowned a line of three Mukumuku, while Chef Torte jumped in after the jet had tapered, using his PAN OF POWER to thrash any who dared remain. Mallow dipped into a spin and came out in time to break the neck of another monster that had appeared, teeth frothing, beyond the Terrapin.
“Zhey juzt keep coming! Ve von’t be able to hold zhem off much longeir.”
“No, no, they’re waiting for something to happen,” Mallow said, and it was evident now that all of them were holding off on the original voracity of their attack. Each of the three groups of ten waited patiently, content not to rush the pair of warriors but only to keep them trapped. Even as Chef Torte tried to make sense of it all, a great rumble started beneath them. “Brace yourself; here it comes!”
The ground beneath them softened and then rippled like the deepest of blue waters, spreading out in small waves that oscillated to the edge of the Mukumuku ring. A feeling of being swallowed by the crust of the Hill returned, and Chef Torte screamed in agony as something rough and white gripped his leg. “MON DIEU!”
The Terrapin’s cry jolted Mallow to action, serving as the impetus to propel him through the air in a flip to land near Torte. He brought the Ribbit Stick crashing down, and there was a bass moan that erupted from beneath them. An explosion of blue dirt and mud shot like lava from a volcano, followed by the appearance of the terrifically large and animated skeleton of an elephant. “A Mastadoom!” Mallow said, horrified, and he backed away. “Run!”
But the Mukumuku had laid too clever
a trap, and at every point the two warriors tried to escape, a determined
pack of the nasty little rats decided to gather. “Muku!” the leader skirled,
and from behind them came the ear-splitting roar of the ivory monster.
It appeared from the primal reverence the creatures were showing that they
made a habit of worshipping the massive skeleton, and in turn, it would
provide them with leftover kills: a mutually beneficial relationship.
“Ok, Torte, listen carefully,” Mallow began, his useless Ribbit Stick now returned to its scabbard. “Any physical attacks we deal out won’t do a thing against this guy’s hide. If you have any concentrated energy capabilities on that pan or a way to cover our escape, then now’s the time to use it.”
Torte nodded his head and thumbed a sizable red button on the side of his PAN OF POWER. A low hum was emitted that was almost certainly the sound of something charging up. “Juzt distract him vhile I get zhe breakeir veapon ready.”
Not bothering or even having time to ask Torte what that was, Mallow simply rushed forward, both of his hands splayed wide and shooting long, arcing bolts of lightning. The bolts of electrical discharge fell loud on the Mastadoom’s bones, crisping and blackening white into gray. As far as vital damage, though, the attack seemed to be a complete and utter failure, an observation made all the more obvious when one of the skeleton’s immense tusks came crashing down to split Mallow in half.
The Nimbian Prince was swift enough to dodge the strike, but the resulting shockwave threw him to his face, leaving his body momentarily paralyzed. The fight was not yet won, however, and before the Mastadoom could bring the full force of his strength to bear, Mallow had rolled left and come up in a reasonably competent battle stance. Seething in anger at its missed opportunity, the giant beast plunged forward and lifted its trunk high into the air. Remembering faintly what such a move heralded, Mallow formed a shield around himself much akin to that which Lakilster had used to protect Mario from harm during his adventures in the Flower Fields. “Go back into the accursed blue, fell demon!”
Tons of boulders rained from the sky, crashing and flickering against the shield over Mallow’s head. The Nimbian screamed in pain as each rebound shook his bones to jelly and rattled his brain. The humming from behind whined and then swelled to something louder.
“Take zhis, you perilous pacoderm!” Torte called out. From his PAN OF POWER shot a white-hot beam of pure energy nearly a meter in diameter that struck into the very core of the Mastadoom.
There was a bright flash and then a deafening crackle of air like thunder before a marginal clarity returned, revealing only a scorched-black crater where the monster had been. Left shaking in their burrows were the Mukumuku, only five of whom were brave enough to persist their attack. It was the work of another minute and a half for Mallow and Chef Torte to rid themselves of the pests.
Staring calmly around at the terror they had invoked, Mallow mumbled something incoherent and strode over to his cape. As the Prince snapped the neck of the cloak and continued up the hill, Chef Torte let out a comparatively soft “Mon dieu!” and followed close behind.
“There’s no question about it,” Mallow said as Torte caught up with him. “Someone’s trying to stop us from reaching the other side of Star Hill.”
The chilled Terrapin flapped his arms up and down a few times and then followed by stamping his feet hard against an unyielding ground. “Vhateveir zhey are doing, it’z getting colder. I suppose zhat ist common for higher altitudes, zough.”
“Here,” Mallow said and reached into his pack to pull out a drab, heavy brown cloak. “It’s a coat made of wool from sheep that graze the valleys at the foot of the Barrel Volcano. Despite the name, the fabric is quite comfortable and locks heat in remarkably well. Try it on.”
Chef Torte shuffled his plump shelled body into the attire and wiggled around until it settled. It felt absolutely heavenly, a feeling so sensational that it made him want to fall asleep. “Zhanks, Mallow. Zay, veren’t you going to use zhis? Aren’t you cold?”
Mallow shook his head. “No, Nimbians keep heat in or out naturally; it would take something several times frostier than this mountain air for me to require the use of that coat. I brought it along for the extra space in my pack only, though it seems you’ve found another use for it.”
Torte nodded thoughtfully, amazed that the puffed up Prince he’d thought a simple-minded brat would be so generous. It almost made him rethink betraying the boy later on, but Chef Torte wasn’t known as deceitful for just any old offense. A paltry act of kindness couldn’t up and melt his vengeful heart, not by a long shot. His head grew heavy with tiredness as Mallow began to whistle and then broke into a low song:
Sky’s blue grace I won’t forget,
The clouds that breeze by, soul’s
content,
And further on the green grass waves,
But not up here where the weather
saves.
I in the face of fears will stand,
And save my friends for a peaceful
land.
“Do you know any songs, Torte?” Mallow asked, rousing the drifting Terrapin from his walking slumber.
“Oh, moi? Vell, maybe zhis vone song I learned vhen I vas a kid:
Oh! Moi’s baloney has a first name, it’s-
“Here’s where we’ll set up camp,” Mallow interrupted, causing Torte more than a little frustration. It was just as well, though, as he couldn’t remember the rest of the words. They got to work immediately, excavating a small plot of blue land for fire and tossing in a bundle of sticks that Mallow had stuffed in his pack. Chef Torte pulled out a sleeping bag and spread it evenly over the ground, falling face forward onto it and rolling up. He fell to sleep almost instantly.
Mallow had laid out his own mattress of Nimbian cloudsilk and was now propping up a book on his stomach to read. It was an epic poem, a high-thrills adventure brimming over with fantastic creatures, wondrous characters, and heroic battles. His head filled with such daring tales and rid of the memory of the terrible battle that had happened before, Mallow eventually nodded off.
~*~*~*~
“Aw,” Jax crooned mockingly, “don’t they look so cute all wrapped up in their little blankets.” Afterwards, the entire lot of them broke out in vicious laughter, and even Flit cackled in.
Scratch nodded his head vigorously and stuttered in between giggles, “And they won’t even know what hit them! We’ll bag them and get the money all before next week.”
Flit fluttered into the air and hovered over Jax. His head bent down under his shell belly to stare critically at their leader. “We are going to move out of this dreadful land after we get paid, right?”
“Correct, my dear Flit,” Jax affirmed and pulled up a belt across his waist. “The Mushroom Kingdom has gone to the whiny little Mushroomers now that Bowser’s kids have abandoned him. There’s no more pride in illicit trading, you know what I mean? Even a simple mercenary’s finding it hard to make a living these days.”
Snap grumbled and straightened his shades. “Where are we going to go, then? The Koopa Lands might be controlled by Bowser’s kids, but the laws are even more rigid, and Dark Land is lifeless crust.”
Jax clipped a wooden shield onto his right arm. “You’ll dash right into a bloody fight, but when it comes to moving our operations, you get all teary-eyed. We’ll be heading for Dinosaur Island across the wide blue sea, boys, and no one will find us there.”
“Sure,” Snap countered, “but what’s there to get a job?”
“That’s just it, Snap, we won’t have to get a job.” A gleam passed over Jax’s eyes. “We’ll live off the land and the sappy native folks’ good will. It’ll be the high life!”
“The high life,” Scratch repeated and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s hurry up and get this over with so we can break waves.”
“What will we do if they wake up, oh fearless leader?” Snap asked with a hint of contempt in his voice.
“Maybe if we sic your tongue on ‘em they’ll bore to death, alright?” Scratch said and then resorted to a fit of sniggling.
“Well,” Jax said finally and placed a tattered black cape over his back. “Let’s go to it.”
And with that, the four dastardly mercenaries skulked through the night mists, slinking from one star formation to the next until they popped up nearly ten meters from their silently sleeping victims. Jax motioned for silence and then gestured Flit up into the air, cautioning him with his mouth and foreclaw to keep his wings hushed. Next, he signaled for Scratch and Snap to cover him in a rough triangular formation as he sauntered down the hillside to intercept their quarry.
Scratch nervously rolled the snoring Terrapin over on his back and slipped the PAN OF POWER out from his clutch. Where before it had glowed in action, it now lay dormant, obviously engineered to operate only in the hands of its owner. No matter: at least the wacky chef wouldn’t be able to wield it. Snap did likewise to Mallow, instead taking his intricately carved Ribbit Stick and laying it across his chest to examine it. The piece was a real work of art and would probably fetch an ample amount of coins on the black market. “Ok, they’re unarmed,” Snap whispered to Jax and stepped back.
“Remember, though,” Scratch quietly reminded him. “The white one is a sorcerer.”
Jax nodded in understanding and squatted down to sprinkle something over Chef Torte’s face and then Mallow’s. There was a short little spat of mid-sleep coughing from each of them, and then they lay silent. “Excellent,” Jax said, this time aloud. “It worked like a charm. They’re unconscious and won’t be able to wake up or hear a thing for five hours straight: plenty of time to lug both of them back down for a transfer.” He grabbed the short legs of the Nimbian and grunted, turning to look up at his companions. “Well, don’t just stand there like a bunch of idiots. Get your sorry back ends over here and help me!”
“Be gone, scavengers. Make haste and plague some other road!”
Shining like a star above was the blinding silhouette of Eldstar, who now came down to speak once more. His voice boomed with the authority of all the ages of Plit, stretching back to the shaping of the lands and the peopling of the very plains. “Throw down your weapons. Disperse!”
“Run for it, boys! This one isn’t worth the pay!” Jax screamed, and none of his men were willing to make an argument out of it. The Ribbit Stick and Chef Torte’s pan weapon were dropped carelessly to the ground. Scrabbling on hands and knees, the team of no-goods picked themselves up and hurriedly rushed back down the Hill.
Eldstar watched them go sternly and then turned his caring eyes on the still forms below him. Both were here as he had felt, and in the blink of his eye, they began to stir. “Awake, Mallow, Prince of Nimbus Land, and Torte, Foreign Chef Warrior. It is a new day, and the forces of darkness even now rally for the beginning of their nefarious plot.”
“Eldstar,” Mallow called back faintly, but his voice croaked and fell on dead lips. There was no sound, no vibration, not even the slightest tremor in the air.
“Mon dieu! Take me home, Grandma!” The Terrapin’s senseless words also became silent, and then there was stillness.
“I have clouded this Hill to safeguard your passage until you reached the summit, here where my dominion is strong enough to chase off those vermin. For you see, a great shadow has befallen Star Haven, and all that once was just and good is now in grave peril. All the seven of us, the Star Spirits, have been caged within our very realm, and in our stead, the Enemy has sent an equal amount of Shadow Spirits bearing the form of each of us. As I now relate this tale to you, the Mario Brothers and their company have set out to retrieve the energy of these seven fell spirits. Do not despair; another quest has shown itself, and now the choice lays before you to accept it or decline to the ruin of all.”
Chef Torte’s eyes widened, and his mouth gaped open when Mallow answered. “We accept this task and will follow it to whatever end.”
“Then hear me well when I say this: to you is left a most important chore. On the eve of destruction, the Shadow Spirits seek the undoing of righteousness and wish to awaken an ancient evil long forgotten by fable and lore. Deep within the forsaken caves of the Dark Mines rests an orb of terrible power that when activated will release a chaotic entity and all of its woeful wrath upon this world.”
“Zhe Dark Mines?” Chef Torte asked. “Isn’t zhat zhe undeirground place vhere Bowseir set up shop during his attempt to conquer Dinozaur Island?”
“That is correct. And you must go there to find and protect it. Against what power you will have to stand up against, I cannot be sure, but there is one in that land, a Yoshi, whose aid you should seek. As time is short, I must not dwell on that matter but leave it to fate and address this final warning: in guarding this orb of which I speak, take care not to fall under its spell.”
“But what does that mean?” asked Mallow. “How will we find the orb?”
“Farewell, intrepid warriors, and may your quest go unhindered. In the arms of mortals now rests the fate of Plit, as we shall diminish and fall reluctantly into shadow while the die is cast.”
Fairly soon after, Eldstar was gone, vanished as quickly as he had come. Left to contemplate the star-filled sky above was the most unlikely of pairs to be chosen for such an important task. And far, far to the north, where the rising scepters of Bowser’s Castle could be seen reaching like claws into the heavens, a storm was brewing…
Chapter Ten: The Approaching Storm
The normally disciplined mood aboard the Adamant had rapidly descended into a confused swarm of hasty decisions and ill-made directives. Bridge activities swelled as disorder spread through the ranks like an epidemic, and why shouldn’t it have? After all, despite a year of intense training in the toughest air force academy the shrinking Koopa Empire had to offer, novice cadets couldn’t be expected to act rationally when confronted with an unexpected crisis of such an unassailable magnitude.
To clarify a few points, it would be wise to note that the Adamant had been returning home from an extended reconnaissance flight in order to attend an emergency meeting of which required the immediate participation of the ship’s commanding officer, Admiral Arien Jade. Buffeted by strong gales of winds and bothered by a particularly voracious flock of ravens, the vessel was already hard-pressed when it encountered seven unidentified airships of equal strength and size over an unnamed cove of the Vista Sea. Even if the computer tagging system did not recognize the incoming vessels, the entire crew had fallen into a state of despair once they first laid eyes on them. Beyond any doubt, they had come unwittingly to combat the seven royal flagships of Bowser’s defected children.
If that had been true in whole, Jade’s prided ship would have been promptly blown from the sky, but discomposure was to gain a more complete control over her airship when the first message was intercepted, its source having been traced to King Ludwig’s ship, the Defiance, a name formulated mainly because Bowser’s eldest son was the first to leave his father’s trust.
“Adamant, this is King Ludwig, Sovereign Lord of the Pipe Maze. On behalf of my kingdom and those of my siblings, I request an audience with Admiral Jade of the Empirical Air Force. We have been summoned to attend a peace conference by word of Lord Bowser, himself.”
The opposite ship’s nervous lieutenant looked dejectedly at his brooding Admiral, who was seated rather calmly in her forward command chair. “Do you wish to take the call, madam, or should we begin evasive maneuvers?”
Arien placed a scaly claw against her temple and then removed it to beat her wings softly. She fluttered over and hovered beside her second-in-command; the female Paratroopa exhaled softly and punched in the encrypted transmission codes. “Admiral Jade at your service, King Ludwig. May I remind you that you are flying in restricted air space and that soon the full weight of both the Koopa Empire and the Mushroom Kingdom forces will come to bear hard upon you?”
Another channel opened up, easily breaking through any precautionary safeguards. “Permit His Highness’ brother to join the mix,” said King Lemmy jeeringly. “I don’t know if you are deaf or just as stubborn as I remember you, but didn’t you just hear Ludwig explain our invitation? We come at the behest of our father and your King.”
“I know of only one meeting King Bowser has called for this morning, and I can attest with the utmost confidence that neither you nor your revolting brothers and sister are invited,” Jade shot back, her face growing red with an indomitable fury. How was she or any of the other unwilling pawns to know that deceptive forces were already in the works and that not even Bowser was aware of Raul’s carefully orchestrated plans?
“Despite such outrageous claims,” another grating voice said, this one most likely belonging to the youngest and most loyal of Bowser’s sons, King Larry, “we shall not fall back. We’ve traveled too far to bow to the insistent wishes of one petty airship against our mighty seven. Stand down, or we shall open fire.”
Lieutenant Denet, a cowardly but apparently skilled Koopa, looked back pleadingly at Admiral Jade, asking with his eyes for a peaceful resolution. Upon seeing his desperate visage, the rest of the technicians and officers under the Lieutenant’s command grew restless and were weakened by an infectious terror. She regarded him harshly and then turned to speak into the communications panel, “It is only because you hold the larger fleet that you will be allowed to pass unfettered. I do not know what you are planning or how you could have possibly managed to come together without bickering amongst yourselves, but I shall not see our empire crushed. No, not this day. Not without a fight. Go now and continue with your ruinous plans, but before the sun reaches mid-sky, you will find yourself facing a more formidable opposition.”
The dead crackle of an inactive end pervaded the quiet air across the Adamant’s bridge, and all hands waited in agony for the wrath of their leader. Instead, she watched almost disinterestedly as the seven airships before them continued on their way, turning sharply on a direct course to Koopa Castle. “Lieutenant Denet,” she said, her voice dripping with doom. “Come stand before me.”
Trembling all over, the requested Koopa obliged and came to position himself not two feet from the Admiral’s face. Sweat poured down the length of his body, and by now, his knees had begun to quake violently. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You are a coward and a disgraceful role model for my crew. If it had not have been for your unforgivable fear in front of the impressionable minds of your inferiors, then perhaps we could have exuded a more confident presence in front of those traitors. I don’t think anyone will doubt that you deserve this,” she said coldly and then produced a gleaming sickle attached to the end of a medium-length chain that was wrapped tight around her waist.
She deftly snapped the chain, sending the curved blade sailing through the air, and before Denet could produce a strangled protest, the weapon’s tip had slashed across the front of his neck. Gurgling, coughing on his own life force, the lieutenant dropped to his knees before falling motionless to the wooden deck with a sickening clunk. His executor calmly anchored the end of the chain with a flick of her wrist and then yanked it back to recoil around her middle. At a placid beckoning from Jade, two orderlies rushed forward to drag his body off of the bridge, and behind them was left an infernal silence. “What you have seen here today is the proper amount of tolerance I allow for cowardice, namely, none. May you all note well the consequences. Now,” she said, taking on a more alleviated tone, “let us depart for Koopa Castle. I have a feeling that this day will prove to be an interesting one, indeed.”
~*~*~*~
The noon hours on the final day of Raul’s long wait began to wax, and at last he sensed the time to act had come. If all truly was according to plan, the Koopalings would have already passed over the surrounding Vista Coves and made their way along the winding Seafoam Drifts to somewhere just northwest of the castle. Slight variations in the airships’ progress had not been allowed for, but even the illustrious Raul was growing impatient. Steps to prevent Bowser’s inevitable interference had to be taken.
Raul grasped a smooth golden ring hanging from a knob crafted to resemble King Bowser’s saurian visage and brought it hard upon one of the Throne Room’s thick wooden doors three times in loud, successive raps that shook the surrounding stone. There came a primordial roar from deep inside the quarters and then a shout that would have convinced any other human to turn around and flee. “Did I not order solitude for this day? Go away or invoke my wrath!”
“It is Raul that calls you, King Bowser. I have urgent need to speak with you, and I shall not be put away. Have your replacement doormen undo the locks, or you will find that my own means of passage are just as convenient.”
For a time there was silence, but before Raul deigned it necessary to make any further threats, the massive entryway creaked open, revealing two heavily armored Terrapin and their king, sitting and growling in a large chair situated on the opposite side of the room.
“My honored guest,” Bowser hissed through closed teeth. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“A mist,” Raul began, “strays in the valleys and runs along your squandered domain like a thief in the night. Even now my band grows restless of the descending shadow over our heads, the storm that continues to rage in the distance.” He held the last note, studying Bowser’s face carefully and searching for any hint of confusion. “For this and other reasons, it has become quite clear to me that additional guests will be needed at today’s monumental meeting.”
At the mention of a change of plans, Bowser’s snout curled up in a tight snarl, as if to reassert his fading importance in the agreement. “Who else did you have in mind?”
“To put it bluntly,” he said, taking a step forward into a dusty shaft of light shooting through a high window, “I have requested that your children attend.”
Bowser’s reaction was swift and violent, full of the suppressed wrath he’d been bearing all those long years. He shot from his place of rest like a bolt of lighting, a coiling blast of molten flame and a rising bellow of interminable sorrow issuing from his cavernous throat. Not waiting to see if the roast had connected, the massive Koopa shifted his weight downward and tucked his body into a forward roll. His muscular girth pounded each ivory spike along his shell deep into the stone floor as his acrobatic tumbling proceeded, and only when he came up did the clouds of dust and shrapnel finally settle. Straining on the last gasp of held breath, Bowser swung back one mighty claw and released it in a low, vicious swing meant to separate Raul’s head from his neck.
Raul had side-stepped the initial attack, however, and before the Koopa King’s strike could complete its course, he had fallen to one hand and brought both legs around in a powerful sweep that disconnected Bowser’s feet from the ground and sent him toppling to the floor. The human had walked calmly over to place the heel of his boot tight against Bowser’s jugular before the pair of Terrapin near the door began to dash over, rushing to aide their fallen monarch. Raul dispensed with any indulgent pleasantries and pushed one hand out to his side, twisting it in the direction of the oncoming guards. Both spun in midair and, like rag dolls at the discretion of a particularly violent child, were flung hard against the opposite wall. Each martially dressed Koopa slid to the cold floor, mouth agape, black blood running freely.
“They abandoned me…” Bowser said finally, apparently lost as to the immediate danger he’d unwittingly placed himself into by confronting Raul. “My father, great and glorious as the rising sun, conquered all the early lands of our people, only to be felled in an instant by those humans, plunged into the fiery pit as a sacrifice to aid in my mockery.”
The entry doors began to shake and tremble under a hail of fists and spears, bolstered by the angry shouts of other guards. It would not be long before they broke through.
“My children, though,” the Koopa said, still breaking past the barriers of darkness as blood drained from his head and his eyes faded into shadow, “were to be our hope and our promise. They would rise out of the ashes of self-deprivation, win back the confidence and pride that had eluded us ever since the dark day when the prophesized Heroes crossed over to this world. Even Kamek, my aide and support through these years of disgrace, has now departed me, fearful of the hatred that I cannot control. My children! Yes, those are the sparks of my infernal passion. They, too, have left me, I remember, ashamed to carry the royal blood, unappreciative of the crown and responsibility laid before their feet. I am nothing now but poor sport to a human, it seems,” the King’s head turned to look upon the face of Raul. “The days of my life have gone down in the West, never to rise again. For all my transgressions, am I to be without hope?”
Through the power of Raul’s mind, the Koopa King had left his sorrows, placed them upon the ground for judgment. Under the human’s presence, Bowser had become himself, pitiful and wasted, a withered soul unable to weather another day. It was then that Raul’s face lightened, full of compassion for the aimless wanderer, the Koopa doomed to die in shame. “That is not your fate. Take heart; reach out for my hand.”
Bowser took it gratefully, willingly, and his soul descended into peace.
~*~*~*~
It was later that afternoon that Gaz of Rose Town was urged on by some other force to delve more thoroughly into the West Meadow of the Forest Maze than he ever had before. There, standing serenely among a gathering of deer, wigglers, and birds, was a blue-cloaked Magikoopa, and for just a second, the boy’s heart stopped beating. The enigmatic creature radiated a peaceful, yet mysterious aura that immobilized him, awed him. Before he could react, the solemn figure had turned and appeared before him, staring down sagely to meet his eyes.
Gaz, though still amazed, no longer felt afraid. Under those eyes he felt a curious suspense, but not fear. “Please,” he said, “who are you?”
“I am Kamek, my lad,” the kindly Magikoopa said and placed two warm hands upon the boy’s shoulders. “Pray tell, how did you come to find me?”
“It is my habit to travel through these woods in the early morning of each new day. I gather wild mushrooms and sell them in the shops at Rose Town, where I live,” the youthful Mushroomer proclaimed in pride. “I have been apprenticed to my mom for ownership of the Inn. Now tell me: aren’t you the same Kamek Mom has always told me to fear, the Magikoopa that has slaughtered untold innocents? If so, then why am I not afraid?”
He smiled warmly and looked far over the boy’s head, past trees, through leaves to see the smoking chimneys and hear the carefree conversations of townsfolk in the distance. “The Kamek you speak of is no more: he has been slain. I stand before you now as Kamek the Messiah, Savior of Plit.”
“This may sound weird, but in an odd, unexplainable way, I already knew that’s who you were. Something told me to come deeper into this part of the forest today, something that I could not resist, and now I know why.”
Kamek took the Mushroomer’s hand and sent through it all his reassurance and courage, though he was sure the boy already had plenty of the latter. “Come, let us retire to your village. As of late, we have much work to do.”
All around them, the woods grew quiet and still. New leaves and green vines formed as Kamek walked a path of life under the vibrant canopy, and, for a moment, the forces of Darkness that swelled in the North quailed in fright.
~*~*~*~
“We’ll have to go in soon,” said Ryanoshi as he moved his solitary queen to intercept his opponent’s bishop. He’d quickly taken a liking to the game of chess that Mario and Luigi had described from their previous realm and had yet to lose a single game. “A storm is coming.”
Yoshi groaned and cradled his head in two open hands. Growling in frustration, he nodded agreement and swept his pieces carefully off of the black-and-white checkered board. “Just when I was about to win, too.”
“I normally would not take such caution with rain clouds,” Ryanoshi admitted, “but there’s something about those that chills me. I’ll leave you to your village’s preparation duties: it is time for me to depart.”
“Why is it that you decided to move to Yoshi’s Island, anyway? Almost everyone is living exclusively on Yo’ster Isle now except you.”
Ryanoshi nodded and strapped on his saddle and pack. “That’s why I moved there. I don’t like crowds and noise, so the peaceful lull of Dinosaur Land is perfect for me. I think someday you’ll realize the bother of having too many friends around and join me as well, that is, if you ever tire of adventure.”
“Maybe so,” Yoshi said and held out a hand; Ryanoshi shook it and then turned to leave. Ahead, hazed by the afternoon sun, there could be seen a frantic Yoshi rushing down from the pathway that led to the egress warp pipe. “What is it, Synoshi? What did you see?”
“It’s Kamek!” he said and then let out several long breathes: clearly, he had run the entire distance. “I was negotiating a fruit trade in Rose Town when I saw him walk in with Gaz. He just has to be up to something!”
Yoshi threw a concerned look at Ryanoshi, who sighed and resolved to stay just a little while longer. “Are you sure it was him?” he asked, but then shook his head. “What am I asking; a Magikoopa is dangerous no matter who it is. When was this?”
“A little over an hour ago,” Synoshi said and plopped himself onto the ground. “I ran all the way here and didn’t look back. I would have tried to confront him, but I knew it wouldn’t be of any use. It’ll take all of us together to stop him.”
Ryanoshi seemed to consider the storm for a moment and then turned to address the larger, teal dinosaur. “Yoshi and I will go see what we can do. Get everyone secured for some inclement weather and then send out a party of your clan’s strongest to help us as soon as you can.”
Synoshi nodded and then trotted off to follow orders. Without speaking a word to each other, the two remaining Yoshis dashed towards the island’s only warp pipe, not wanting to express the rising dread within them.
~*~*~*~
It started plainly enough. Bowser was reborn.
“Now,” Raul recommenced and flicked five fingers across the Koopa King’s field of view. Two eyes opened, devoid of color and as white as infinity. “Tell me what you see.”
It had been little trouble to walk in and subdue such a feeble mind. The information regarding his children’s involvement in the upcoming meeting had been delivered calmly and with the usual enigmatic edge by Raul, yet Bowser had immediately resorted to an uncontrollable wrath and an equally unappeasable fury. Now, though, for the remainder of Raul’s life, Bowser would be a slave to his will, a loyal follower of his ultimate cause. He doubted the former king’s estranged offspring would mind, even if they did happen to notice the clear change in demeanor that had seized their father’s spirit of late.
“I see the Truth, and for it I crave,” Bowser answered dutifully, no longer in control of his thoughts. “In dreams I seek its warmth and have foolishly cringed, but now I am no longer blind to its radiance and promise.”
“Embrace that light, and whatever your path may be, it shall always straighten before your stride. Rise and take heart, faithful servant. A revolution is at hand.”
There was one last hollow crash from the throne room’s only entryway before the double barred doors splintered open, pouring forth with scores of half-asleep, half-interested guards and a handful of solemnly dedicated Terrapin. At the lead was a brusque, quick-footed specimen that moved with the air of one tried in the arts of stealth. Judging from the healthy amount of badges and other ceremonial patches pinned and pasted to the Terrapin’s shell, Raul surmised it was none other than General Jagger.
“Eminence Jagger,” Raul mocked quietly, looking as if he were going to break out in a tiresome yawn at any moment. “I hope the doormen didn’t supply you with too much resistance,” he sneered and took in the pair of dead royal guards with a purposeful wave of his hand.
“By the order of the Royal Edicts, you are hereby placed under dungeon keep until such time when your execution may be held. Resistance will be met with the swiftest of punishments,” Jagger answered, eyeing his troops proudly as they encircled the largely unappreciative center of attention. “Lord Bowser, he is surrounded. Come join with us.”
One unfortunate soldier stepped forward to take the king’s arm and lead him to the side, but his folly was soon brought to circle as the now possessed saurian snapped five gleaming claws out to bear and ran them up and through his helper’s face, evincing a horrible, frozen cry that sent shivers rippling over the encroaching crowd.
“Your king is dead, General Jagger,” Raul informed, and for the first time since the contest of wills had started, stepped forward. “His eyes see only Truth now, and his life is lived for the Cause.”
Jagger growled furiously and whipped out a long-range Bill Blaster with considerable deftness to train the attached targeting mechanism on Raul’s head. “If you spew one more syllable of this Cause crud, I’ll blow your head into oblivion. Now, shut up and wake Lord Bowser from whatever trance you’ve put him under.”
Raul simply snorted and waved his hand in dismissal. “What must I say to get it through your thick head, Terrapin? Your sovereign king is dead, done for, snuffed out, finished! In his shell rests my own influence and in his scales my desire for peace.”
“Time’s up,” Jagger said quietly, slowly, and then gestured to the thirty-odd troops under his command. Immediately, the same number of Bill Blasters, each of varying classes, were bearing down on the solitary human, his body now peppered with laser points. “Slag him!”
Red fire from exploding Bullet Bills scorched and burned past the space between them, tearing through O-zone and bracketing off the deep hollows in the rafters above and the open windows beyond. A blue and white striped incandescence that shimmered like water surrounded the human in a sort of hazed, flickering shield that bent the veritable light energy of Bullet Bill discharges and curved them back to their sources. In the span of half a second, thirty of the Koopa Kingdom’s greatest warriors lay sprawled about the Royal Throne Room, adding their black blood to the ebony and crimson carpets beneath.
“As you can see, we are quite capable of handling ourselves, General. I would advice you to lay down your weapons, lest more immediate consequences reveal themselves.”
Every curse in the tongues of Koopas, Mushroomers, and even Goombas passed through the Terrapin’s mind in obscene, colorful strings, but none of them were properly vocalized. Instead, Jagger only growled and placed the allocated arms he possessed before his captor’s feet. “You have succeeded in taking our castle. What now are your orders, my King?” Jagger growled.
“Do not insult me with such paltry titles, General,” Raul snapped. “I have not come to conquer, but to enlighten. As we speak, Bowser’s seven children are on their way to sign a peace treaty, a unifying of all those still loyal to the Koopas, if you will. Your former king was quite belligerent, so I eradicated his will and bent its design to my own. You, however, will retain the rank of General and lead the soon-to-be amassed contingencies of the Grand Koopa Army against the Mushroom Kingdom. With our help, victory is inevitable.”
“Sir,” a lower officer blurted upon barging in but then nearly fell back in dismay. “Oh, no…”
“Continue, soldier. Bowser has deemed these that you see dead traitors to our kingdom. Tell me the news you bring, quickly!”
“Well,” he continued and swallowed, “the Seven Rulers of the Koopa Lands have arrived. They seek an audience with their father.”
General Jagger turned stone-faced to evaluate Raul’s complexion, and upon gaining only more confusion, he addressed the officer behind him. “Allow them to land. King Bowser will hear their plea in the Study.”
Raul watched complacently as Jagger and the nameless soldier darted out of the room to make the necessary preparations and assemble a greeting party. “At last,” he said through clenched teeth. “The time of reconciliation is at hand.”
~*~*~*~
After losing a short argument on whether they were really going to go through with it or not, Jinx and his comrades followed Advisor Hal into the Nimbus Land Royal Palace, anxious to meet Mallow but also wary of the circumstances in which the reunion would take place. There was no doubt in any of their minds that Hal was hiding something from them, no matter how valiantly his seasoned poker face tried to conceal it.
That the five golden statues which had once adorned the Entry Chamber were gone was even more discomforting. Jinx was about to mention as much to Hal, but the plump Nimbian cut him off.
“We have been remodeling, as you can see,” Hal said. “King Nimbus has ordered an expansion of the East Wing, and I believe there are plans for a more luxurious suite for his son’s benefit above the Throne Room.”
“Really?” Geno asked with marked incredulity. “That doesn’t sound like the Mallow I know.”
“Even though my knowledge of this kingdom is sparse, I know when I am being duped, Advisor,” Merlon said. “Our quest is too important to be hindered by your trickery. Explain yourself now or suffer the consequences.”
“There’s no need to be gruff, sorcerer. You may ask Mallow these questions soon enough. For now,” he said with a devious smile, pushing the doors in front of him open, “enjoy the presentation.”
Ahead of them, rising above an encroaching crowd of at least five hundred, was the solitary form of Mallow, who seemed to have his subjects entranced in whatever speech he was making. Even more surprising though was the absence of his parents, the Nimbian King and his Queen. Jinx shook away any lingering thoughts of disbelief and allowed himself to concentrate fully on the given speech.
“—and even as you gather here before me today, I see the nationalism, the pride in our people that inflames your very spirits. For years we have fought alongside our allies of the Mushroom Kingdom, and how do they repay us? By sending us threats of annihilation in replace of our immediate evacuation.”
Everyone in earshot, including Geno and Jinx, exploded in a fury of counters and complaints that rose into the air and nettled anything else the Prince might have said. The fallen Star Warrior pushed his way around, eyes widening upon discovering that the furtive Hal was slinking his way to the front of the room, throwing aside confused and hapless citizens. “Order,” Mallow cried, and again he shouted, “Order!”
Geno was already threading his way in and out of an increasingly confused and disorderly crowd, snapping his blue-green cloak to and fro, whipping his head around at second intervals to locate his friends, always unable to see them. The fifth time the Star Warrior turned his vision to face Mallow, he lost the target, seeing instead something that simultaneously awed and horrified him. Ahead, the figures of Mallow and his advisor Hal were meshing like metal, molten and seething sparks that flew about the room, burning through those unlucky enough to be in the way and setting anything remotely flammable afire. “Stars protect us!”
The two shapes were now unidentifiable, unified and morphing around themselves, changing, becoming something all-too-familiar. It was Skolar’s voice that rang out from the misshapen visage, but it was warped and uncaring, nothing like the scholar spirit that Geno had shared tales of adventure with. “Burn in those cleansing fires! Yes, the eternal furnace beckons you even now!”
“Merlon, stop him!” Jinx shouted over plaintive cries of agony that stringed through the air and shattered like broken glass. “Quell the flames!”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Geno could see the space before Merlon’s outstretched hands bend inward, forming a vortex of time that glowed and pulsated blue with raw energy. Seeing no reason to waste the distraction, Geno twisted his wrist; the end of his arm folded back mechanically to reveal a spinning, eight-barreled star gun. After a preliminary charge, the metal ejectors erupted, blowing out spouts of searing, five-pointed energy stars and loosing tangling ropes of fire power that tore into the Shadow Skolar, hazing his presence and inverting the space around him.
Geno was now only faintly green against a sweep of white-hot stars and the blazing holocaust that accented death all around him. The false Star Spirit’s mouth twisted open in a defiant skirl that shook the column supports and rattled bits of ceiling to crash into the heads of those below that hadn’t already perished in the relentless forest of flames. Without a second to spare, Merlon’s cooling ice bomb was relinquished, let fly into the surrounding area until everything crystallized into a frozen aura of artic chills. For a moment, Geno thought the entombed Shadow Skolar would stay that way too, but the beast’s coffin was already beginning to crack.
“Run!” Merlon shouted hoarsely to Geno, who was aided by a persistent Jinx. “We have to get out of here!”
“What about the citizens?” Geno cried back in disbelief. “They’re our number one priority here!”
“They weren’t real: only an illusion,” Jinx said matter-of-factly and started for a beam of light to the west that signaled their makeshift exit. The dead and cooking corpses of before were gone, just as if they had never been. Mallow, Hal, the Nimbian people, all had been only a shadow of the Dark One’s evil. “Our only hope is to escape before that thing breaks free of Merlon’s prison. Now, come on!”
At a loss of words, Geno begrudgingly followed, not wanting to look back.
~*~*~*~
It was late in the afternoon by the time the mangled bodies of Jagger’s former Elite Terrapin Guard were buried and the preparations for the castle’s study were made. It took another thirty minutes to usher seven troublesome Koopalings into the grand room where their lifeless father and his new puppet master awaited them, along with General Jagger and Admiral Jade, newly arrived and distrustful of Raul, but unable to do anything to the contrary.
Ludwig, being the oldest and controlling the more respected country of Pipe Land, allowed himself the opportunity of speaking the first words. “You can imagine our wariness upon first receiving your invitation, Father. It has been several years since we last met, but I fear all past animosities still run rapid in our veins. Perhaps you would care to explain why exactly it is that we are all here?”
The eldest Koopaling’s six siblings nodded their heads and muttered a chorus of agreement. It seemed the relative discomfort of all those summoned was unanimous, bolstered further by the presence of an unknown human. Bowser quieted their concerns with a voice more haunting and breathless than ever remembered. “My Son,” the saurian snake started off in a deep baritone voice that reeked of Raul’s wit, “I am overjoyed that you have decided to join me here. For years I have wallowed in defeat, mulling over my suppressed sins against you, my children. Now I am willing to make amends, and I believe acceptance will yield a product so glorious that the very hills of Plit will crumble at our feet.”
“Surely, King Dad,” Lemmy said through fits of snickering, “your words are dripping with butter, boiled and fattening. Snip to the chase, cutting down, hehe, cutting up. Why flatter us when we are already in your treacherous claws?”
“I admit that you have not one reason to trust me, but perhaps you will consent to my ideas anyway. Raul, would you be so kind as to begin the presentation?” Bowser’s massive head pivoted, freezing the air as it turned.
“Certainly, Lord Koopa,” the mysterious human said and grinned unevenly. With a slight bow towards the king, he rose and strode directly to a hologram projector near an arching window. A stammering attendant nearly tripped over his legs to close a pair of sliding curtains shut over the sun’s light when Raul frowned disagreeably at him. A map of Plit appeared above the projector, interrupted every so often by rippling picture oscillations. Raul moved his hand through the hologram, bringing up a more detailed map of the Mushroom Kingdom juxtaposed against the Koopa Lands on the other side of the screen.
“Here you can see the two most powerful lands on all of Plit, followed closely only by Dinosaur Land. For years the Koopas have reigned supreme in the seven habitable provinces of the Koopa Lands, forced to look longingly at the superior geography of the Mushroom Kingdom and its privileged, selfish peoples. Since the division between the Lord Bowser and his seven mighty children, each King or Queen has accumulated a massive army, greater even than the unified one of yesteryear.
“If only the eight rulers were to join again, however temporarily, the resultant force would be potent enough to crush the rival species of the Mushroom Kingdom and claim the lands that should have been yours all along! With the added aid of my personal experience, a victory will be all the more assured.” Raul’s glare encompassed the room, his will gathering them to his cloak. “You cannot tell me that this has not been what you have desired.”
“The case you have laid before us is convincing, to say the least,” Ludwig admitted. “Yet, I wonder, who are you, and how did you come to serve our father?”
“Raul has come to serve me through virtue,” Bowser answered. “No other questions are necessary on the matter.”
“Well, then,” Raul continued as if nothing had happened. “I suppose you will need time to think the matter over.”
“Quite,” Ludwig said noncommittally, his will faltering visibly under the influence of Raul’s enticing sway. “If we were to accept, who would be under control of the armies?”
“You, King Ludwig, your father, Admiral Jade, General Jagger, and myself will share the power of control, plus an additional share-holder of your sole choice.”
“Then I accept your terms,” Ludwig said, and none of his brothers or sister seemed to protest. “And I choose Lemmy as the other deciding vote of this War Council. All that is left is for you to close the agreement.”
“Consider it closed,” Raul said and stepped in line with Bowser, who immediately rose and held one claw up towards the now open window. Lightning spat from the newly-formed storm abroad, corroborating with the Koopa’s vicious claim.
“Now all will tremble in fear at the call of our names, the glory and the power of pride. For ruination, the insuppressible wrath our people, each and every sentient being will soon be under our domain, perfect and pure as the immortal heavens above!”
“So be it,” Ludwig said, eyes shut, claws closed tight in a hidden gesture of abominable fear.
Only Lemmy looked unconvinced, still sneering in disbelief while his brethren exalted and despaired in the moment. It was not over just yet. No, not by a long shot. There was something strangely warped about this Raul figure, and he would not rest until he uncovered the buried truth, no matter what the consequences.
~*~*~*~
Kamek was dreaming, his body safely snug in the upstairs bed of the Rose Town Inn, while his mind strayed into a depthless nightmare, consumed by an infernal fire.
The sky was purple and black, roiling and terrible with a quenching wealth of thunder and lightning that lit up the great dark expanse before him. High on a craggy cliff, the overhanging teeth of a molten beast’s endless, gaping maw, was a sole figure, devoid of life, absent of color. He spoke with force, with command, and his voice chilled the air and stilled the old wizard’s soul.
“Can you feel the triumph?” he said finally. “It overwhelms you, claims your resolve for mine. I am greedy for your spirit.”
“Demon!” Kamek spat and stepped forward, a brown staff suddenly visible in his wizened claws. “Be gone with you back into the Inferno! Leave this place unsoiled with your twisted lies and tempting reason!”
“My name is Raul,” the specter admonished, “as I am sure you already know.” His eyes glowed red. “Sik lo katma chi migh’duul,” he continued. “You only live to die.”
“Mine is not the only will you have to contend with, Raul,” Kamek warned. “Others will stop you, prevent your madness from reaching fruition.”
“I know of those whom you speak, Wizard, and yet I do not flinch in fright, but in disgust. Even now, Geno, Jinx, and Merlon have escaped one Shadow Spirit only to be tracked by another. Mallow and Chef Torte travel overseas to undertake a mission that has already failed, foolishly orchestrated by the accursed Eldstar himself. And your heroes, the bravest of all: Mario, Luigi, and the princess even now walk like the dead unto their fall, chasing a hope that was vain in conception.”
“Then what of me?” Kamek asked. “Why did you bring me here?”
“To witness the beginning of the end,” Raul said and turned to face an oncoming storm. It raged in the distance, now seething, now spurting bursts of flames that scorched the land like fury. All fled, only to be consumed by the earth and swirled deep within its hungry berth. Jetting columns and spiraling vortexes of those same cleansing fires erupted from the splitting ground, shooting off through patches of black light between the clouds.
“Then it is true,” Kamek said solemnly and bowed his head in forbearance. “He has come, and now we make our final stand.”