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KOOPALINGS: THE TEENAGE YEARS

by Eightane / Foxy Boy

CHAPTER XXII: FATE'S COLLUSIONS

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The stream of Toadies ramped up as more corpses piled on. Not one koopa within palace walls fell... Brooke and Kurt were too well-versed in the hard life, they knew how to cut down marauders. Roy had his own talents, though he was handier with fists than guns. The King stood back, arms out, while children hid behind his gourdish stomach and head. They shook, but kept calm, as their mothers had explained if things like this should happen. Their king smiled as much as able in these proceedings, his denizens did him proud. The bully-prince was like Steven Seagal when the chips were down. What he couldn't get to with bullets he hit with roundhouse kick or hard shoulder chop, enough to rip ligemnts or liquefy bones in these little Toadies. They were made to hit hard but couldn't take much abuse... Thousands upon thousands of puppets with breath, and spells they couldn't finish before headshots or judo finished them.

More than one had been conditioned for greater damage, though. The elites tumbled, even pushed down their fellow evil fighters just to walk over them, dodge the firing, and some got uncomfortably close. At one point, two did acrobatics to bypass Roy, his ghetto friends, the other armed koopa soldiers holed up in here, until they were right at Bowser's feet. The monarch's blood ran cold, seeing red in their irises... But his belly was searing. With a lungful taken in, he let go with a blast of blue fire. They were caught up, and became the only ones to make a sound when life left them. It was gobbletigook, made worse as their necks charred and bubbled. When his breath was done, they were coal-black husks on the floor of stone.

Roy looked back just long enough to see and shout "Total fuckin' ace, King Dad!" Even while he shot forward with automatic clips, killing three Toadies he never even saw in their eyes. Bowser did a playful salute, and felt good to see his son look forward again, concentrating. Brooke aimed for the chest with these minions. Kurt seemed more of a chin-splatterer, it got to the brain stem and so accomplished the same.

X' had his own death-toys, and held the strangest gun; it shot shurikens, which split skulls like dicing potatoes. His kills tended to hit the floor in pieces more than anyone's. Before long, the influx of dark fighters had to trickle down and stop. And it did, when the garbage pile of bodies reached so high, they could no longer even crawl in.

For a sum of three minutes, there was reprieve and the start of lightest calm. Parents collected their offspring and headed up stairways for the castle's safer reaches. Most able-bodied men and women stayed, though, there was no way it was over. And indeed there was soon heard splashes, muffled through the pile of crumpled Toadies. Those outside were working through the refuse.

The sounds were in the moat, where the failed and fallen were thrown to, displacing water, filling the ring below the gate. The pile started shrinking; Roy and Brooke set out strategies in shrill words exchanged.

"You take the left flank, they're gonna break that first!"

"Good deal, you can hit what I miss 'til they get to pouring in both sides, they're gonna get there!"

"Watch your ten-o-clock, three almost scrubbed you! Gotta think like the peckerwoods 'emselves!"

They weren't arguments; the prince and the fair warrior acted a team, as if they'd done this for years. Bowser wondered silently if they were an item; just a father's supposition towards a bachelor son, no disrespect to the woman who kept toe-to-toe with the bullet count. The kids that had clustered behind King and Army-Chief had been dispersed by their folks; looking back and finding this out, Bowser walked up, closer to the backs of the four who fought like true stars of action. His hands were big as their heads; he still had his lava-temp air he could issue. He had faith in all of them, and started being the ally that he'd wanted to all the while.

More marauders crawled or squeezed their way through the stacks of the dead; most were simple pawns and fell no different. Three more elites sped around the blasts from Roy's muzzle, though, and one fell right into the sword of a Troopa standing by; its body sank on the blade and went still as gravity did the work. But the pair that remained squared off with Roy; one grabbed his gunbarrel and held it with shocking strength, wiping a left hook across his chin. It had him reeling but he took the gun with him, throwing the fucker off through cenrifugal force as he half-spun down. The second one answered with a boot to his forehead. He punched its ribcage as it pounced, sprawling it out but for a moment, then it was back up and ready to fight. The first jumped on his back, and pulled a wand with serrated-edge staff from its robe; a combination magic-melee weapon, and its epheral glow showed that any contact would spell doom. Its steady hands brought it up to just a millimeter from the artery down Roy's unshielded throat... And Bowser reached it, slammed it down on the floor and liquefied its organs with that might. It was then set ablaze, even hotter than the previous set, but no sound escaped it; the bronchial passage had caved already.

And yet it did not die; whether by a spell it cast, or the last fleeting desperation of madness and instinct, it pushed up off the ground, still burning... Ran around as Koopas and Goombas dodged and recoiled away from it. The robe combusted and poured black smoke. The flesh made sickening smell as it boiled and bubbled on its hide. When at last its strength depleted, no longer able to stay sprinting as every part of it failed or caught fire, it ran straight into a young Goomba child, the last one in the room whose father was a widower and guardian but busied with the stream of killers oncoming. The poor toddler took third-degree burns to arms and face, and the Toadie knew not what he did nor where he was anymore. Shrieks from the tiny child got louder, until the dying elite was plucked off by a heel to the ear, rolling him clear. The father had been axeing Toadies who got close, and now he threw the double blade down on the nose of the burning half-dead asshole who scarred his only kid. The skull split in two. Grey matter fell out of what looked like a cracked giant walnut, or a mutant pirhana plant to the untrained eye. No more would come of this highly-trained hand of Kamek, and the father dropped to his knees, took the boy in his arms. When screams happened again as the boy's face his his chest, he swiftly leaned away, looked to the blood going cold on the floor, and wiped his hand across it; the only liquid here that could ease burns. He looked on his son's tears and his own started streaming down, unable to do more.

The last surviving elite - in this castle or indeed, anywhere, from what Kamek had managed to make - got haughty. It tried climbing up the spikes of Bowser's shell, intending to chant and make the king a bitter memory right in front of his people. Instead Bowser hopped and got it off-balance, swung around and grabbed its head as it fell in just one of his hands. He felt its final breath as he bore down with full power making a fist. Its skull he crushed to ribbons. Blood poured through his fingers, and the body was now just as loose as a wind chime. He dropped it where it left this mortal coil, and saw the stream of Toadies keep coming. They were all inferior minds, not by birth but by battle prowess... In this they wrote their own ticket to the afterlife.

One Toadie who was beyond his rank got the best of Roy... It took a gunblast to the liver, but got right up and ducked under Roy's big right cross, and roundhoused his shin. The bully prince winced, and tried shooting it point-blank but it was closer than the end before he realized. It punched him square in the collarbone, he responded through a sock to the chest. They were 1-on-1, both men practiced and hellish in the thick of it... But even Kamek's finest couldn't match up to the muscle of Roy, and when it took a hard left to the shoulder the bone dislocated in a way that threw it off. Even if it had the mettle to go on, the weight change staggered it, and Roy took this window to turn his gun around and beat it with the butt. Slamming it on the back, the head, over and over, until writhing jumps became twitches, then nothing. He kept going after motion was gone; this was personal, for getting him so close to losing. When he struck it one last time on the skull, the fragmentation popped its eye out the socket, clean of even stems or vessels that held it... It rolled forth like a dice or billiards ball, and where should it come to rest but at the king's foot. He saw it touch his claws and go still, too wet to roll further and 'balance out'. He saw Roy huffing but smiling, his son had prevailed in the matchup. His own dire smile wound through his teeth, huge as they were, and he leaned down, took the eyeball in his thumb and finger, and examined. The moment was right. The heat of all this ignited his worst nature anyway, or arguably, his best... Either way, he slowly strolled to his son, fearing no malice nor man, and saw Roy slowly look up to the side, view his apprach. He held the red-veined orb high, toward Roy. "This sprang from your hands' work. If you consume, it's a blessing only you have earned." Within Bowser's face lay love and meaning. "We too have ancestors."

Roy thought, and almost showed a shudder, but verily he knew how to read his dad. He took the eye, opened his mouth, popped it in. Down his thick throat it was swallowed whole.

Smoke poured out Bowser's nostrils as his smile lit the lobby, and soon after the next line of Toadies started through the lowered pile. More fighting commenced... But it was not as it used to be.

The pile's growth leveled off. Kurt could easily hover and take out intruders with his raven feet, like true feral birds of prey might've instructed him. Brooke tagged the stragglers as they struggled through, but even she had less bullets expended the longer this went on. There wasn't a blockade anymore... Instead, Kamek's forces besieging them just dwindled. As bedlam in the castle vestibule petered out - less swinging axes, less sword slices or ammo clip expellings - they could hear the footsteps on the ground outside the broken gate. They were hardly there, and in a matter of seven, eight minutes at the most, only one set of shoes, as men and women in the blood-spattered lobby gasped but said nothing, only listening. Even their own hearts were louder in beating than the miniscule thing trying to force past body after body of towel-draped junior sorcerer.

It pushed three or four empty 'shells' of Toadies as it straind to get through. Every Troopa, the focus of Roy, the bloodthirst of Brooke and the machismo of Bowser all pointed their tools of slaying towards it, as two dead Toadies tumbled down the pile's side, nosed free. Out from this makeshift hole sprouted no evil pawn... It was a Hammer Bro, his face filthy and cut up, one eye blackened, his hat sliced and stained with red. He looked up to see thirty faces, all lowering weapons, only a millisecond from ending him after what he'd gone through.

He rasped and spoke it out. "The... Battalions at Soda Lake... I went to the trees outside the outpost, to get firewood... I saw th'... The slaughter... They caught me sneaking t' get back... I dunno how... I routed them... But the rest, I... I'm the last... Nobody else..." He coughed, but held his own, climbing down the pile. Troopas rushed up, took him by the forearms, helped him down. They saw his wounds were superficial but real, his legs weak with walking. They sat him down on the stained, gore-dotted floor. He was in shock... And Bowser walked up, hearing this survivor show optimism. "My King, you're alive! I... I'm not worthy..." He tried to lay forward, prostrate, but Bowser picked him up, set him vertical again, and got down as low as he could go, still putting shadows on the hammer-chucker.

The ruler of this broken land praised him. "No words have ever been more false. Your worthiness will be immortalized in bronze. It will be built, as all our towns, our armaments, lives and families rebuild. That you're even here now, means those who caught you are not." Bowser put his hand down, blood-covered as it was, and held it open. The hammer bro took it, and they shook. The King spoke more. "What you had in you, to bring you here, is what these lands thrive on. What constitutes us. And now perhaps I know this further than any past time. Your name, gloried soldier... I pray you tell us."

"... J-... Jake, your highness..."

Bowser stood again, slow, as his age was not slight nor his day nonarduous. "Arise, Sir Jake. My blade I may not have to knight you, but you are as I say. And as the inscription will bear, in the city square we'll craft into remembrance of all who were lost, and those who stay... When we are cleaned, and free again from this. You, Sir Jake, own honour."

Roy had seen much from his king, his father, today. His mouth's corner became the slightest smirk, and across the room, X' and his arm bent to bow towards a man whose new title had its justice. "Congratulations, Sir Jake."

"Good on ya, Sir Jake!" were the words of Kurt, lifting a wing to the air.

Brooke 'toasted' him with her gun's side. Roy saluted him with pointer and middle finger, no matter that he superceded knights. This moment deserved.

The castle floor erupted in cheers. They had something to edify. For now, there was rejoicing. Symbol of the many who earned it. Stand-in for the era they would live to begin.

Bowser and Roy came up to each other... The prince dropped his gun. For the first time in clear memory, their arms wrapped in hug.

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A fly crawled over the wall, being a small conspicuous dot to the vision of Morton as he awoke from a nap he hadn't meant to have. These pain meds were fucking with him something fierce... All he recalled before coming to was the grudge, that plumber... Yes, the human pestilence what put him here and his love in similar straits. He felt his pulse in his extremities, which burned as their skin still lay sloughed or missing and under white bandages. He knew what would happen, once he could lean up off this hospital bed, leave behind the depressing scent of iodine and find that fucker's form. He strained from his shoulders and back, lifting himself off the bedding. He thought of reaching in the asshole plumber's skull, ripping out his brain stem, watching it drip juices on his shoes... He growled, and got higher off the sheets on a second go. It was so hard to do, and he still didn't make it all the way. With one last struggle, all the pittance of power that had come back to him, he launched off from his back; he screamed, feeling a tear in his lats, or somewhere near them... The scream was anger, not pain, but that had also been tripled now. "RRRRAHHHHH!!!!"

He made no other sound, since the door behind him swung open with prejudice, fast as its design would let it. Morton tried to turn and see, but his neck was in no condition. "Don't try", he heard from the enterer, "You'll vant to let me do ze work."

The voice could be no one else. He was not just distracted from grief now, but choked up hearing Ludwig had come to see him. And then, watching his eldest brother come 'round the bedcorner, arm in a cast, he further thought of no one else for now.

"L-Ludwig, you got banged up, huh?"

"Hah. As it looks, mine vas a mosquito bite, all s'ings compared." Ludwig chortled. His hair blew in the air from an A/C vent in the ceiling. "Sorry, now might not be ze time for joking."

"No, no... I'd call it a great time for that." Morton shifted, getting back comfy after straining to get upright had compromised this. He seethed with the soreness, but it was less than what he'd just endured by a mile.

"Careful! I can help, it's vat I came for. I heard from ze orderlies..." Morton listened, and knew Ludwig had learned the full story if they knew it. His brother, the heir, laid a hand on his scalp, one of few places not terribly hurt; its smooth bald skin was a comfort to the both of them. "... You've been s'rough more zen most generals. Lay back, let ze dressings do zeir job."

Ludwig found a chair, pulled it up to the bed's lower end, and pulled carefully up the sheets over Morton. With a quick survey, determining these too were not deformed by the burns, he slowly laid his palms on the soles of Mort's feet and started a massage. Care-driven, hoping for nothing more than soothing Morton's humours. He talked as if they hadn't seen each other in half a lifetime. "I vanna hear from you. Vat's your status right now, vere's ze pain. Vat did happen out zere in the outlands, in zat car."

With a sigh, comforted, Morton let his mind drift, but kept enough wits to be sensical. "I don't think I can say anything you haven't heard. I mean, I doubt I can talk about it... Right now. You understand."

"I do. Zen, just let me in on vere you are right now, mentally. Physically. Anys'ing."

"I..." Morton had to consider a second. "... It's tough to say. I'm healing quicker than I thought I would. Maybe faster than ANYone would have thought... I was just barely 'here' when I heard the surgeon say what it would be like for me. Might be a few days before I could lean up. Well, I shot that prediction down, heh..."

"You did, I just barely saw! All ze way up, and vith a tiger's roar! I'm rightly impressed." The hands worked pressure and stress out Morton's right foot, until it leaned as relaxed as it could. Ludwig moved on to the other one.

Morton looked at his brother, then away... The fly crawled into a tray and appeared to snack on some spilled soup. "While strength returns to me... Honestly I'm thinking on the man who caused this. My turmoil isn't for me, but... Well..."

"I know. Your beloved." Ludwig said this with utter respect, and being his brother, Morton could tell the legitimate from the practiced, poised tones of a man who would one day be crowned.

The star-faced koopa shut his eyes; a tear was therefore kept inside, never shed. "I don't know... What state he's in. Do you?"

Ludwig nodded, but took a moment to respond. "He's still vith us. I have faith he'll stand on his own two feet, the same as you vill. I... Don't feel it's right to sugarcoat right now, so just know, he might take a vhile longer to get zere. But he vill, and zat's of import." Ludwig had taken care not to put one breath of pause before getting that out. Morton didn't have to wait to hear it at all.

For a spell, Morton looked and felt relieved. But then the tension came back; Ludwig felt it clear through his foot's heartlines. And it only got worse, over following minutes. "B-brozer, vill you be alright?"

"........ No." Unlike Ludwig's swiftness, Morton had to think before announcing it, but his was a grand conviction. "There's nothing about this that's okay. If you heard from them about the human-skinned queef that put me in this bed, and Tom in his, then you know what I'll do when I'm better."

Ludwig's mouth gaped just a hair. He kept massaging, but worked harder, fighting against the urges in Mort themselves to nip at revenge, its fantasies. But he didn't say it. Not just yet.

Morton spilled his heart's contents, like the lump in his throat wasn't there at all. "I had to be trapped in that machine, along with the ONLY person who takes me for who I am, while he bounded away. Scot-free and fucking soulless. This won't even touch all the times he's backed Dad into a corner. The bruises on our kid bodies, for years. Every damned dirty trick he pulled to snip our kingdom down like he's motherfuckin' pruning shears... I, I don't even know how to put it! There's so much ground to cover! I swear to you, Ludwig, I fucking SWEAR if Tom doesn't make it... I'll-"

"-He will pull s'rough, Morton. Ve know collectively it's going to happen."

Morton felt the touch of his closest sibling. The truth in Ludwig's givings, and more. He looked to his brother's eyes... It was so hard to lean up enough, but he forced himself, and there it was; the wisdom, the patience. No devious cunning, only hope. Love. And the hardening heart in his scarred chest began a melt. "You... Don't give yourself to lies. You never have. Ludwig...... Thank you. Thank you." Now it was too much to try and not weep. It trailed his face while he wished he could lift a hand and wipe it.

Ludwig let his hand guide upwards, cuffing Morton's leg in a soft holding rub. He stopped as soon as the burns being there were explained through Morton's wince. But the thought counted. Morton went on praising his brother. "I should tell you, there's no time better than now... Ludwig, there's deep knowledge in you. How you act, in your life, really everything. King Dad... He has it too, when pride didn't blind him. It's the best thing he could've passed down to you."

"Oh, Morton... I'm touched, entirely..." By now Morton has lay his head back down, resting as he should have been. Ludwig's smile went unseen.

"I mean it!... Well, hell, you do a sight better than Dad ever did, being a man. Don't tell him I said that." The chuckle was Morton's, after thinking so recently he might never do so again. "He's got a lotta time to make up for, even if he started today."

Ludwig stood. He was stable as could be, showing no influence of what they'd given him for his arm's procedure, but more pertinently giving off the regal glow he may need to, who knows how soon. Faint sounds of bomb blasts and magic tosses still reached them from outside. Ludwig stepped up to Morton's neck, and looked down with what the worse-hurt koopaling could only see as focus. "I s'ink you should know... .He deserves for you to. If he hadn't done vat he did, you vouldn't be lifting your back off zere for maybe longer zan ze surgeon prognosticated. Mario lives, of course, but he's... He's seen fit to protect us. I von't say sides vere switched. Zis is a matter of preservation, in mutual terms." He scratched his cast-held arm, but quickly remembered not to, while Morton's eyes stuck on him, dazed by hearing. "Mario's also... I guess I vould say, he's reached a higher plane of fighting. Zere was a compote, some manner of Mushroom essence, Dad gave to him. It serves all of us, now, it vould take a day to explain. And ze portion he didn't drink, ze residue, vas kept back... It flows in your veins." Ludwig saw his brother drool, so strong was his concentrating. "Injected vile you slept. He fetched his best doctor and the cleanest hypodermic. It vill pay dividends to get you recovered. He vanted nos'ing else."

"L-...Ludwig, I'm beside myself... Never would have guessed ANY of this..."

"It hardly matters if ve ever vould." Ludwig watched his brother rustle in bed, so taken aback he couldn't be still even in such injured state. "I vish I could scrub clean ze truth of years past, how you vere done by our forebear... But it's a vise man who vears his robes... Moreso as ze days elapse." He brushed a speck of dust from his eyebrow, and tried not to sound compassionate towards elsewhere. "It's his to make up to you, ven next you two meet. Religious I'm not, but I tell you ze truth now, I've prayed for fate to keep him. His acts, ze turn of colour vithin zem... Zey should have a chance to make it right. If it can be done in our age." He looked skyward; the castle's entirety was above them. Still standing, rocking as blasts went off outside. "Right now, I am pained most for our bro'zers which strive beyond ze hills. Larry, Lemmy, zey vere... Deputized, I s'ink is ze term? But combat ei'zer vay. Off to fight Kamek in ze closest means. Dad has faith in zem. I do too."

Morton's eyes flit left and right, trying to take such news bombardment in stride. The most even-tempered man alive would struggle now. But he swallowed hard, gave a nod and kept a level chin.

Ludwig started to walk away; not uncomfortable, neither was he bored or judging. In his mind was his wife, and Esmerelda would want him close, now more than ever. Morton couldn't speak; taken aback with emotion, concerns, peace, even woe at what the years had lost him. Ludwig kept going as he went to the door. "You and I both own steadfast hearts, my bro'zer. Consider, Bowser could alvays have used zat compound on himself, as he now helps to fight, nearer even z'an Vendy or Iggy. I vould fill you in, but I lack details on zat, and, vell... Ask for news from ze gates, ven zey come to feed you lunch. Myself... My own darling vaits for me."

Morton leaned up again, all the way. Ludwig started to approach and discourage this, but morton's hand went up, to stop him. "Go to her, big guy. You know like I do what there is to lose." His hand lowered; his optimism didn't. "I'll be thinking about them out there. If Dad believes in 'em, then why not."

He saw the greatest happiness from Ludwig in that moment; a type not exceeded since the day he wore a tux and made vows to his wife. "And as you do, zat makes it even easier."

"Heh... Never been one to mince words..."

The eldest brother reached to the door and pushed, but halted halfway through one last time. "I love you, Morton. As do all of us. Please hold onto forgiveness. It's a rope over chasms."

"I love you Luddy. Thanks for, eh... Defusing me."

Ludwig came back, leaned over Bowser's star-marked son, and in kneeling kissed him on the scalp. The heir made it to the door, hearing only the rhythmic shake of the bed as Morton sobbed tonelessly.

It mattered not a speck now, what the gay prince would've planned. Rededications did. And all the ties that bound.

And the royals battling sludgeful pretenders, where castle's shadow never touched.

They still had each other through these crises. And through Tom's.

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High in the stone-wrapped palace below the keep, three friends fought with honour, and the badass weaponry near-no one else knew of. Todd winged another Magikoopa, making it spin in, hopeless and extinguished on the ground. He didn't own the time to 'pop off' or dap his buds as he'd have wanted, not when ten more flew behind it. Though the noises were narrowed now; though flying drones of Kamek still let fly their battle cries, the footsteps they had ignored were gone from far under them; not unlike the sound of a fridge or furnace, where it's not noticed until it turns off.

Bret stuck his head out the windowslat, quick and impetuous, but found the cause. "Dude, I think their walkin' troops are done in!"

"Come again?" Morie asked, about to reach and pull Bret's head back in until the koopa guy ducked to safety himself. A thick ball of green flame hit the castle bricks just a meter southeast of where his head had been; he would not have died, but been severely burned if not for this.

"I'm saying they're not stormin' the gate anymore!" He smirked like the best kind of fool. "We're winning something!!"

"Yeah well don't go cocky now, dude," went Todd, "The ones who fly ain't gone anywhere else. Help out!! " He rose in pitch at the end, panicking as more Toadies on broomsticks entered sight range... Bret snapped to attention, took up a stone porthole and shot them to kingdom-come, two-by-two. Morie dripped sweat down his collar, but trudged on, besieging the siege.

"Ye-HAAH!!" Bret threw out at full-pitch, scrubbing a trio in a one-two-three punch of plasma blasts, all to the ribcage. It was more machismo than he ever thought he'd be rightly earning. Morie had an aim rough around the edges, but his poker face showed this to be duty, no pleasure. Todd simply spaced out, his brain on autopilot. Trying not to think.

They felled near-automatons of evil; sorceratic puppets, easy pickings. For every wandfire that hit stone walls and crumbled off some pieces, two bodies of wee stature in robes hit the dirt. The stench started rising to meet them... None of Lemmy's friends were of weak stomach, but the nose curdled at gore so burnt and exposed to baking sun.

Several lines had broken by now, all aerial attackers. They met death like it was courage that filled them, though in reality blind followers had little more than obligation. Over the haze of smoke from Grand Koopa City's ruination, a fourth line emerged, shaped as one unrefined arrow, like geese may fly in a flock... They had range, and the castle's torches flickered when coloured beams hit the structure once per second, even more as they closed in. What had been celebration downstairs - king, army's remnants, children and all - was now apprehensive, huddling. Bowser stood above wives of soldiers, his own sturdiest son he sidled up to. Morie hit the first mark from sixty feet higher; the line simply squeezed in and continued on, hell-bent.

"Put 'em down!!" Todd screamed where his helpers flinched, but their arms stayed true. A few of their kills simply fell off the brooms, which went straight on and exploded into splinters on the castle walls, such were their velocities. Too many still lived and shot magic by the time they reached where the other lines had been denied. Part of one blast entered the windowslat where Bret had been; a dodge kept him safe, but the room rattled like never before. It staggered all three, wasting precious moments. They were back on defense and stopping Toadies in no time, but Bret tasted sweat that ran down his lip. Morie blinked, not admitting to himself the pump of his blood inside his veins, elevated.

Wendy's boyfriend jeered. "For frick's sake, can we even DO this!?" He was too close to throwing down his gun; only one thing stopped him, the slat was too narrow to fit through and jump from.

"We gotta, creampuff!!" Bret shot back, catching Todd's adamance like the flu. "Lock, load and lose the shivers!"

"THAT'S NOT THE PROB---" He went still for a brief measure... Before his eyes, a green pulse had gone through the window, and Bret was shot in the head.

Todd jumped back half a foot's breadth. Morie's jaw went low and loose, thinking the natural worst. Bret was still standing. His head remained on his shoulders. No blood, no open wound. But he was statuesque, though still looking soft and of flesh and skin.

Todd asked with fear. "You... Okay, man? Did it miss you?"

Slow as could be, Bret's head turned to him. Not a word spoken. His neck moved; none of the below twitched a muscle, only that and his face made the turn. His eyes weren't normal. Then with the speed of fifty cheetahs that head swung to Morie, who viewed this all with colour draining from him. No sooner did Morie retreat with a trip, falling rearward, than Bret bared koopa fangs and grew hot blue veins in his eyes, then leapt on the man with viciousness.

"Whoa what the FUCK!!" Todd stammered, as he made the hardest decision he could: kicking Bret but putting his gun back out the window, concentrating on those goons and fragging each one with laser-precision, trusting Morie to handle this. It was 1-on-1 inside, he'd seen enough action films to internalize odds... But none of them dealt with what had infiltrated Bret, infected him. Posession showed in his hissing voice, and this 'force' that had hit him borrowed his memories. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket, held Morie down on the floor with the other hand like it was made of concrete, so strong and unmoveable. The knife came out with sharp sound and Morie yelped; this might be his last breath.

He got his shoe into Bret's crotch, kicked him where vulnerable, and went into a storm of punches on the koopa teen's head; it got him enough leverage to push up and roll out from the pin he'd been under. Bret fell arms-first to the stone, looked over to the heir of a former Duke and dripped green spit, more beast than man in manner. He pushed up to his feet and met up with Morie's fists, dukes-up as it were. Morie recalled lessons in boxing, the least-luxurious sport his mother ever lent him to associate with... a jab on the eye socket got this mind-stolen Bret to reel. The blade was still clutched; it went forward in thrust, heading for the guts of a princess' beau.

Morie dodged but the slip into his clothes cut a line of threads and ribbons, and beneath them a red line showed where his outer skin was compromised. "Ungh" was what Todd heard of the consequence, and he mowed down the men in robes outside, whichever had been the perpetrator. Morie took a vacant bloodthirsty Bret by the shoulder and tipped him over his outstretched knee, tumbling the tranced teen... It was like Bret was zombified, he showed no feeling over any of it. Right back to standing and lunging, and his speed, his accuracy, excelled past any time with his own mind's control; Morie tried to get brave and punch him in the jawline for a quick stagger, but Bret's knife-hand slipped inside his reach and nicked the man's throat. Nearly slashed... If it had gone any deeper or closer, Morie's last seconds would be made that easily.

The nick bled, but not profusely; the arteries held. Morie sent a hail-mary punch to Bret's arm and kicked the blade free... Before taken-over Bret could scramble for it, Morie grabbed up his head and bashed a headbutt onto him, brow-to-brow. No one enjoyed such a thing, but Bret crumpled and hit the stone floor in a heap. Whether it was this blow to the brain, or whether Todd had felled the Magikoopa shitass responsible, the end result was Bret opening his eyes. Dispossessed. Clear in colour and focus, though blinking at the sudden pain's onset.

"Wh-whoa... The fuck happened..." Bret looked up, with Morie over him, still careful. He saw the slice on the guy's side, the wound leaking at his neck... And feeling tingles persist in his hand, he looked at his own palm, seeing white from where the skin still had pressure-imprint in the shape of a familiar blade. It occurred to him that he'd lost a few minutes, and then straightaway deduced what had come to pass. He said nothing... But choking up, he knew fast what had almost happened, and how Wendy would never have forgiven him and how right she'd have been. He stood back up, and Morie walked to him, took him in a hug, and calmed their spirits. "It wasn't you, friend. We both know it. It's over."

And as Todd yelled triumphantly, it DID seem over; the last of the fourth line of broomriders spun in to his doom. Sharpshooting on Todd's part meant a plug for every eye or forehead, and he felt three inches taller just from that. "BRO'S I was like STALLONE in this bitch!! WHO'S BAGGED HIS LIMIT TODAY!?"

Morie came up to him, lifted his hand and shook it, about as 'street' as he'd ever get. But Bret showed his old self restored, jumping on Todd where his buddy had to catch him, and they squeezed hard. There'd been no more lines behind... The aerial scourge was quashed, quelled, quieted. Todd dropped Bret and the latter bounced on his sneakers like cork was his makeup.

"That's the 411, man! Get a load o' Tex over here!" They chestbumped, and Morie cackled.

At least for now, between their handiwork and the work of Roy, Brooke, Kurt, X, soldiers below and indeed their own king... The castle's refugees would stay breathing.

Inside of fate's realm the faintest hope lit a flame.

****************************************************

Wendy saw everything she'd have begged not to, had she any advance notice. Iggy sidled up to her. They glanced at each other, knowing that no matter how armed and dangerous they'd made themselves, this was their imminent scenario.

The sickly roars of a half-plant monster cast through the air, surrounding Mario in layered leafy bindings. It turned his arms pale, squeezing, cutting off blood. But the tendrils melted, his power was too great. Still another would grow from Kamek's unholy carapace, and take its place. There was no winning nor losing here. Larry pulled the trigger on his pistol and hit the 'bell' of this beast, the dotted skin with patterns like pirhana plants but the face and hue of Kamek's more turtlish nature. It poured green bile and pus, but no blood. He was beyond arterial needs; no one could say what fed his vitality. Mario hooped and yelped, still feeling pain but outside of letting it stop him. He kicked and punched with the strength of bombs, finding pleasure in the yowls and recoil that Kamek-Plant showed, clearly feeling the pinch. Sand melted and caked together at the site of his pouring bullet wound. Larry slapped his hip, not seeing the figures on the cliff, staring down the eyeless abomination and its two mouths, one with serrated teeth and one with terrapin's yellow beak. The soldier prince mocked him. "Can't hold on to your looks when you shed your soul, huh, shitslit?"

The evil one's tongue came out, forked twice, its form a trident that darted for Larry. It stretched yards but the prince limbo'ed and dodged it; it couldn't try again after Mario socked it in the chin and the teeth went crooked. One dropped out, and exploded like a firecracker into nothing. At least they didn't 'bud off' and create more monstrosities.

But Wendy's feet moved by instinct. She vaulted off the cliff... Didn't climb down, didn't slide, simply trusted her legs and left the ground to drop over fifty feet. Iggy yelled out and coughed as his pitch overclocked his weak throat, and he choked on it. When he got a hold of his voice and called "Weeendy!!" he looked out and saw her already running into the peril zone... She'd rolled when she landed, perfectly recovering, and Iggy fully thought she would pull those rifles they'd toted here and mow down both Italian and Lovecraftian horror with hot lead spray. She did yank one modified musket and blast a cap in the head of Uberkamek, but didn't catch Mario in collateral. The head of the magic beast swayed and teetered, connected to his vine body by threads. Limp, but still cursing, conscious. Mario fell to sandy dirt, released from tendril wraps... He stood quickly and clenched every muscle. Glow still emanated out, and for the tiniest moment, Kamek's eyeless sight shook him. Fear of what would happen next. Wendy ran right past them... Threw her arms around Larry, kissed him on the cheek and let out a squeal of relief and heartful pain. "Larry... Oh God, Larry, I thought..."

"I know, I'm so sorry!" Larry gave into regrets, hugging his sister, knowing how he hadn't told her anything before the King sent them, he and dear Lemmy. Even under time's duress he'd known he could have sent a Shyguy courier before they'd gone over the horizon, but duty, the adrenaline, the nerves... He'd already kicked himself on the journey there, and it didn't stop now. He stared past her, and the thread of horrible mistakes continued. "Oh God, Wendy, I can't believe I just let it slip by..."

"Shhh, no skewering yourself over this. I found you. That's all that matters. And we're gonna blow apart his stupid four-eyed-"

"Nnno, sis!" Larry took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her apart from him. "Before you got here I'd meant to take this pistol, and his root system... It's..." The former Kamek, now ingrained as a tendriled beast, had been seeking out ground below with roots. They'd started small, and if Larry had cought them with well-placed rounds, the magick might just have run out before nutrients could feed his new self. But now they thickened, more and more, to where no mortal gun could wing them to oblivion. He'd had his one chance, and it passed him by.

She looked down where he stared, as Kamek squared off with Mario, dripping orange foam from fangs. She comprehended it, and at least got that Larry didn't blame her nor Iggy, so much as himself. As gently as he'd pushed her, she slapped his cheek. "Not your fault. We don't have the time. Let's get Lemmy up and conscious, and... Wait..." She saw Lemmy on the sand, but one thing she didn't see were rises in his chest, where breathing should have bore evidence.

Larry scrunched his eyes together, holding back the most sudden of sobs he'd ever done. He resumed his hug to her, but tightly, trying both to comfort her findings and find any relief himself from the burning hole in his heart where he'd watched it all happen.

And Wendy froze still as stone. Looking down from up-close, she realized Lemmy wasn't just wounded. It was easy to think it so simple from the cliffside, but the lips going blue... The lack of all blood or apparent living trauma... Larry felt her try to leave his hug, and held on; he didn't want her to walk over. He wanted so much for her not to get closer there. But finally he quit fighting it, and she wrenched free, staggered over, and fell to ashy knees. It was him, alright. He was gone.

Wendy's hands hid her face in chipped nails and shaking, grievous loss. She'd never let out a scream like the one Larry heard... He burst into tears swiftly, like he hadn't even been there before, renewed of despondency.

"NOOO!!... Wh-WHY!? I WAS ON THE WAY, LEMMY!! PLEASE... GOD PLEASE, NOT YOU..." The mighty voice she brought here collapsed down, shrunk by spirit wounded. Kamek may as well have cut out her beating heart. She leaned down, took his limpness up, shook him. It felt so unreal, it couldn't be this simple. Yet... As Larry swooped in and took her by the shoulders, removed her from the pits of despair this would only keep her in, she stained her face with streaks and pierced all their eardrums, loud in her rightful hysterics. Lines formed at the edge of her lipstick smears. She turned and almost brought Larry down with her weight, needing his comfort. He cried nearly loud as her. Iggy scrambled slowly down the embankments, rocks crumbled and fell under him... Soon as he jumped down from a metre above sand, he twisted his ankle, but ran at full speed to join up with them. He trembled, learning what she had in this newest moment. He lay a hand on Lemmy's still chest, rubbed it, feeling like someone had pitched him into an endless hole where he just kept falling and falling.

Mario bashed the sorcerer's head like a punching bag, while gore sprayed out in patterns, leaching into Earth; the gurgles told him that no matter what he did, the bastard didn't die. Iggy unsheathed his biggest gun, and raised it to the threads joining Kamek's head to his tendrils. He had so little practice with firearms, yet the first and only round he squeezed off snapped the link and Sent Kamek's head careening. Greenery and leaves withered and went brown, and turned to vapor. The unclean warlock still cursed from his teeth, but all that was gone was the body. And as an unfamiliar language started from Kamek, he rose up off the ground; a new form would soon be there to join his cranium. Mario ran towards him. Wendy pulled her second gun and dual-wielded shining metal, Iggy did the same though more unbalanced by weight. Larry knew his sister wouldn' mind if he reached for a third that she had tucked in her belt, and now with his 9mm and this, there were six guns there to help the plumber's skirmish. Iggy wiped snot from his nose. Larry spat blood from broken teeth. Wendy cut the deepest bootprints.

Soon as she aimed toward Kamek's swearing mouth, a piece of plantish lip tore off at a bullet's hit, and the force sent him rolling, red-and-white polkadots straight into a palm tree, its shining trunk. Had this been croquet she'd have scored a perfect goal. He spoke gibberish for some moments, sense knocked out of him. She laughed, more out of happy discovery; if he could feel pain or be dazed, anything was yet possible. Larry put his Triclyde-training to use; the 9mm he'd toted went on a surefire trajectory, and right where Kamek's brain should be a round went through his botanical skin. It didn't kill, but got him screaming... It stood to reason it could never be this simple.

Mario sprinted like three cheetahs in one, leapt feetfirst on the tree and parkoured back with one hand held flat. It stamped Kamek's bell of a head, left him flattened. Still the mushmouthed magic man made melodies of curse words, and he returned to round in short order. Wendy spouted words that neither nerd nor youngest bro thought she had in her vocabulary. Mario wiped sweat from his broom of a 'stache and smacked Larry's ass. "Good-a shot, paisano. But we gonna need a better way, or else we're-a toast."

Deathly-scared and awkward, Iggy tried being funny. "Yeah, no princess will want a crisped ciabatta!"

Mario just glared. Iggy didn't try that again.

Kamek's head rumbled, and another set of spiny leaves lifted him from dirt. This set was thick from the start; there would be no cutting of root threads or snapping of a makeshift neck. He even hiked it sideways, 'cracked' the bones inside it that sounded like the crimping of metal. To show they were impervious. "Adulterated steel", he seethed, "To wit, something you can't destroy. Despair, mortal fiends."

To their credit, Wendy and Larry did anything but, raising all four arms between them and unloading several clips' worth of ammo. Three of the guns sounded like grenades going off on every shot, and the pistol didn't exactly bring to mind a coughing butterfly either. Kamek jerked and grunted as his plant skin was ripped to shreds, growing back in instants just to be ripped painfully off by force again. At one point Mario fell back; Wendy quickly looked over while still trained on Kamek and lighting him up; a bounced bullet had tagged the plumber right in his arm. He glowed even brighter, and as she looked back on Kamek to avoid blindness, he was healed and ready to kick ass by his own inner shroom power. Not throwing fireballs, but mini-lightning bursts. Kamek was juggled so violently he couldn't move a muscle on his own, no attack of his could be made. He didn't die. He couldn't hurt them, but they couldn't end this either.

Mario ran low on breath, wise to their lack of progress. The other three saw how much nothing it was getting them, equally. Wendy glanced to Larry. "Any ideas, Larr'? You've been here longer than us."

"I'd give up my prefix for a good answer, right about now." He put just enough lead in Kamek to prevent recovery and counterattack. But they all knew stores were finite; and Kamek's energy may well be endless, warlock as he - it - was. Surely no male prejorative fit him now, more magick than man, but full of twisted life. Mario threw bolts at his leavy vines, catching them afire with voltage, but all this did was slough off outer layers and get new ones fresh and replacing them. Iggy rolled his eyes and tasted salt as he overheated with emotion, fright and the valley heat. This could not end to their advantage.

The human pipe jockey whispered, not spoken word so much as lyrics... Sicilian, in a lullabye that his grand-mama had bequeathed to tuck him in at her last years... For Lemmy's falling, and his own futility as he couldn't stop the twisted Kamek any more than the beastly man may kill him. They inhabited a battle of attrition, he and former foes of Bowser's bloodline. Kamek started to grow even fiercer, stronger... The bullets they put into him did less and less to 'juggle' him, and he praised himself. "Born into your service, remade to a ruling god! I defy you to snipe me from the place so appointed to me, worms!! Even space's VACUUM was no match for my new fury! I could pull Bowser's spine from his neck with so much as three spoken words, and pick it clean like a FISH!! I might just will you all to combine, in a grotesque mix of incompatible bodies, and watch you expire as one like a failed experiment!! Hahah, HAHAHAHA!!!"

Wendy raised her best gun to his cranial bell and pierced him right where any man would instantly keel over. He took the wound, it bled green, and he smiled. The back of his new leafy body shimmied. She cursed his oblong shape for why she didn't strike a fatal blow... But he read her mind, and came out with the facts. "Such a FOOL. No mark upon me could be fatal, now. My power connects to the olde ones, and never shall it sever!!" She gnashed her teeth, presented her back to Mario and he had instinct to grab two more guns off of her, both three feet in length and ornate. Iggy fought against cowering and tried to hit the leaves, thinking the loss of chlorophyll might harm the plant-man; it got him to sputter, but hardly. Wendy hit Kamek again, with less aid returned, no avail nor impact nor even a move from that wizard. Mario marveled for the shortest time; these weapons were like none he'd ever seen, touched, heard of. Heavy, but easy in his powered-up glow and feeling so right as he gripped. He aimed them on the plant-monster and pulled the triggers. A blaze of speed sent out and ripped Kamek's bell in two.

He barely gasped. It happened, but Kamek still kept himself awake, though strange blue brain matter exposed in the sheared-off split of his head. Wendy cringed. Kamek had more in store for her, as he saw how she had provided this pain. He spoke with two halves of a mouth, so it sounded as two voices. "Impudent... You brought these tools of yours to help them...." As he finished that thought, she felt lighter. Lifted off the ground, but her throat consitricted. Larry saw her rise from his eye's corner, and tried to drag her back down to ground, but it didn't help her neck, squeezed tight by something invisible. Kamek finished his thought. "But who will help YOU? "

The binding of her windpipe worsened. Mario shot Kamek's two halves full of molten iron, and the rounds all vaporized in less time than he blinked. Nothing would stop this. Kamek squeezed the life out poor Wendy, as her face paled, her chest heaved with struggle, and legs kicked at the air. Larry could do nothing though pulling her away from the sorcerer. Neither could Iggy, begging his brother to give CPR. Mario screamed in Italian, and the guns did nothing. They were such fine craftsmanship, had power like deities themselves, but did zilch. It was spitting in the wind.

... Across the sky, northwest of them, came a buzzing. And an answer to Kamek's query.

None of them at first knew what it meant. Over the horizon dots took on shapes, initially like aircraft, maybe planes, giving off noise like radio static. They closed in on the site of battle, and different components began standing out: wings, of living things. Nonliving planes as well, embossed with white and pink. Those made with metal bore the mark of the crown, or the face of a fair blonde princess. Those alive were Flying Wigglers, streaked with orange and yellow on friendly faces... War paint. Next to them were dive-bombers, heavy artillery gunners, planes with pulse cannons, hydrogen weapons, all done-up in the image of Peach or the mushroom men whose heads had helmets, goggles, all the gear it took to sweep in and exterminate.

Three-hundred-strong, the spurned new allies who came to reckon with the greatest threat of all. Inside the largest plane, behind a TALL glass capsule reinforced tenfold, Peach stood high and poised. In silver flowing dress robes she led the charge. Titanium shoulder pads she bore were embossed with jade, inside arm guards of shining gold-alloy. Her tiara carried jewels and embroidery; her eyes contained rage so determined, toted the fact of how she'd carry back the flag of victory, survival, tethered to Kamek's tongue and his accursed skull.

Mario 'yip'd in the most instinctual glee; he saluted her. Far above, she knew his cap, and blew him a kiss... Then whooped a fighting chant, enlivening her toadstool soldiers, those inside cockpits and on the backs of Wigglers. Her lips were thin-white between orders. "Shower him, boys! Accurate, fast! I want that magician feeling what a goof he made! I'm a future queen scorned!"

Iggy saw her clear by his expensive glasses, and whistled. "I'll never need summaries of what you see in her."

The first tailgunner set off his stream of rounds, fifty-per-second. It hit the ground two meters from Kamek, closer every round. He just managed to teleport away, saving himself from being ripped to plantshreds. But in order to, he had to re-root, and the hiccup of losing nutrients put attacks out of action... Wendy dropped to the ground, her throat released of invisible constraint. Larry picked her up, checked her as she coughed and resumed normal breathing. They hugged again, and Mario had already leapt over to kick that sorcerer's headbulb when the planes moved too far to aim on him.

Another stream of white-hot lead put Kamek in the crosshairs; from a larger ship, and a strange electrical sound gathered steam and power. Its particle cannon had switched on, and soon the two-foot-wide barrel would pour atomic death down on the former-reptile. Larry and Wendy saw Kamek gnash at Mario when the plumber's boots left scuffing him; Larry peppered it with bullets from the larger muzzle, careful not to hit their moustached friend.

Kamek came to be helpless... Hit from above, stomped hard, shot by his former babysat koopalings. Not a word nor spell nor move could be followed through. Juggled, and the cannon above had such energy that its firing bathed them in blue light. Sound itself grinded to a halt, as if it stole the air's ability to funnel vibration. Nanoseconds elapsed, and the vine-bodied Kamek lay right in the stream of the beam.

Sand blew into Larry and Wendy's face, kicked up like a meteor struck. Iggy shielded himself with hair and coat.

Mario rolled like a beach ball, carried by the tidal wave of dirt displaced.

Peach shielded her eyes, but yelled within a smirk, adrenalized. What was always so cute and half-timid was loud to the tone of warriors. Rivalling all. Encased in safe glass, not affecting her pilot, whose earmuffs stayed tight and hands moved with surgeon's precision. He put them into a power dive; they had another surprise in store.

Mario rubbed his hair, picked up his hat, and looked back at the product of shock-and-awe measures.

Wendy spat out a gob of sand. Larry leaned his head and patted one ear to make the other empty out, then repeated. Iggy shimmied like a dog out a bath.

A crater lay before them. Smoking, or steaming, none of the four could tell until the burning stench floated in. Even grains of rock were melted, pulverized.

Then three tendrils leapt out of the earth-void. Larger than ever, a yellow-green, and the roar of Kamek's anger rattled all of them. Even aloft, pilots of the Flying Wigglers bitched about it, and their rides flew a zigzag 'til the cry commenced to quit.

Pirhana-Kamek's head flew up into view, out of the crater. The size of a bus, made of sizzling fibers and sheer hate.

He seemed to be only getting started... But, Princess Peach could say this too, as she wound lower, lower in her plane, and her platoon did the same. The buzz of diving aircraft drowned out an unconsoled Kamek.

Impact was a moment away. Mario closed his eyes. Three noble teens couldn't look away.

Time nearly stopped.

****************************************************

Inside one of the tallest palace rooms, time marched on, at least for the lady whose dress billowed in ruffles. Seated on her bed, eyes sunken from worrying. Chest withdrawn to an extent, as someone very special to her knocked on the open door, while standing in threshold.

Esmerelda looked up, and Ludwig was gifted a smile, both upon his own face from viewing her, and her own, though narrow and compromised. He knew on-sight she was not without troubles. “Vould my sunflower like to speak?”

She couldn’t stop her giggle. That sentence from him could always get her talking, whenever she might have wanted. Right now, though, her lips did little else. And the reason had to do with photos; next to her on the nightstand, in jeweled frames, of familiar folk… The princes of the line she married into. By the time she lifted her arm, and traced the outlines of Iggy, Morton, Roy – all in their younger, rambunctious days, but thriving – all mirth ran away from her face.

Ludwig walked to her with love and concern, wrapping his arm tenderly on her shoulder before his butt even hit the bedcover. He twirled her hair, and put his forehead to her temple, feeling her warm blush-laden skin. It was smooth from beauty regimens, from her own age of merely twenty, and still the lines were there today, fretting’s faults. They died down with his touch, and with moe calming words he so readily gave toward his love. “Zey have high opinions of ze goddess who’s petting zeir past.”

“S-stop…” She giggled, not as quickly shifting to sad this time around.

“I should know. And ve’ll organize a cookout, vere ve all get together once cleanup of all zis mess concludes. You’ve never seen me nor Dad in an apron.” He placed a hand on hers, rubbing it, careful past the ring she wore for him.

Her tension relaxed even more, ‘falling’ into him side-to-side, anchoring her weight on his shoulders. Against their broadness she could find it in her to vocalize. “I rather hope it fits him better than that robe. It drags so low I half-expect to see him trip over it.”

“Hah! He HAS once, and zat vas ze last time he stepped backwards in it.” Ludwig felt freshened, just sharing this with her. He gave her cheek a quick peck, and a slower nuzzle. “I can’t pretend to know vat's going on up here right now," Her head found his snout, and lips, pressed on her hair. It was always fresh with lilac shampoo, well-conditioned. "... But it von't have fears to house, sooner zan soon."

She was assuaged from worries, to a great extent... But one picture she still saw fit to reach over, pull close, and hold below her breast. Her shining prince when he was but a child... Long before fate brought them together. She strived to think of young-Ludwig as incomplete; she knew his life was lesser, in his own eyes, before she walked into it. At the same time, one thing had brought her mind to where it fixated now... Time downstairs, in the ER, around another son of Bowser. She spoke, feeling Ludwig's heartbeat calm and regular astride her. "If something like what happened to Morton, happens to me... I couldn't bear to think what it would do to you..."

She instantly felt a squeeze from him, and a breath being drawn deep. Guilt within her came on immediate, understanding how she'd hurt him by even asking such a thing. But in her state, it was needed. She couldn't carry this feeling alone... And Ludwig, ever-honourable, took in stride the implied reason why. "Sweetness, I vould never let a thing like that befall you. And if by ze devil's hand it did, no one vould prevent me from staying by your side, until the last of your vounds were but a memory."

Her tone was quiet. "It's not like you have the power to steer life. Nor the most unjustified accidents."

"No, you're right. Vat I have, is ze power to protect you from everyz'ing predictable, plan for vat isn't, and be a part of you every step you take." He clutched her head in his fingers, spreading them across the curve that grew her pretty locks. His pulse calmed once more, knowing she was here with him, they were as safe as could be in the world's turmoil. "And I have zis power, since your love is vith me just as strong, as bespoken. My strength is yours, and your creation, every day you wake up next to me."

She sniffled; the tears of happiness flowed, and her eyes shut tight as she buried them in his chest. Holding him as he did her. Living like the land, their country, ended at the tip of his arms' reach. She talked with sureness, denying how the flow of emotion could have tested it. "I'm sure Tom's is for his starmarked half." She pushed a chuckle through the pathos; he responded with embrace, rotating so softly side-to-side, thanking the gods for her, fate for how they endured today, even his father for allowing their betrothal.

Indeed, the King had many moments to hold a share of pride. She whom his son had chosen, the future Queen someday where he was no longer with them, worth more than a modicum. In the back of Esmerelda's mind, somewhat more frontward in Ludwig's, and honestly high on Bowser's thoughts, they all hoped that future day was far from their present.

Ludwig realized what he might offer to help; a truth he observed. "Downstairs, I saw King Dad and a multitude. Zey all fight sturdily. And pop, he's... Vell, I don't know quite how to spell zis out... He's seemed different in the past little vile."

"O-oh?" She had no need to wipe her face; his regal woven shirt absorbed from her eyelashes.

"Call it intuition, and I don't believe it's ze battles doing it... He's reflective. Maybe more metered in how he deals with ozers." Ludwig looked up; the ceiling had no mars or broken wings of plaster, an unflawed space. "I never used to get ze feeling I might vaste time going over past delights, like our mistakes as children. But if I vanted to vax nostalgic now, I feel he could meet me there."

She didn't have to ask what he meant, or what brought him to such an idea. Merely allowed him to go on, feeling his voice through the cleave in his upper core, her favourite valley.

"He vas entertaining some soldiers, last I saw. Before zis latest heat broke out. Not that he NEVER did such a thing, but..." He wiped his nose. The smoke across their land, most notably from the ruins of a city, smacked at his allergies. "Maybe I'll make some lemonade, bring it down to zem."

She brightened, in a real way. Her brow leaned up from his shapely chest. "I'll help. Some bergamot might give it a nice twist."

"Absolutely!" He eskimo-kissed her, and their bed was once again made vacant.

They didn't yet know that the fighting downstairs was done. It made no difference in their choice. Ludwig made one detour on the way to their kitchenette; the old phonograph machine, antique and kept in fine condition. He put on some mellow Big Band, and the rich sound from vinyl filled their abode. Then lemons were squeezed together.

At no point did the pitcher of yellow liquid have to ripple; not another explosion resounded outside. Ground troops of Kamek's were all but extinct, thanks largely to Roy and his gang. The same could be said for air attackers, courtesy of Morie and co.

In the stillness of reprieve, Roy sat with his father. They played craps, and the bully-son showed his king and forebear how to roll a 'trick' toss, how to cheat at small-scale gambling. Bowser was amused, maybe more than he was impressed, but still the monarch had it in him to be proud. Be good, or be good at it. The more brash Troopas watched; the meeker set stayed in groups to tell of nice homes or day trips to Water Land or all the pleasantries their lives had once held and would start to again. Brooke watched and listened as X' geeked out over all he'd created to assist them... Kurt preened as he wrapped his clawfeet over the largest bronze statue nearby.

Time had to elapse, with rebuilding. And in the low reaches of Kamek's abode, there had to be a victory, for the pipefitting human and those two he had armed to send... And in truth, those who'd come to join forces...

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Splintered wood and brick lay in heaps, no pattern to the strewn scene. Pieces lay pointing upwards, held aloft by bunched-up rubble that mounded up on every side. Few places even had room to walk, without splinters, nails, sharp chunks of plaster, even on the roads that now presented arm-sized cracks where bombs or fallen houses had split asphalt like marbled cake.

Grand Koopa City was a ruin. Like a landfill, piled with so much dissimilar rubbish, unsorted by workers and unsmoothed by any shovel truck or bulldozers. This was life for many, now, and for just as many others, had been the end of theirs. Buried inside houses that folded tight as they fell... Half-exposed where they'd been killed and the limbs still stuck out bloody from windows, or underwhole collapsed walls. Flies buzzed in the sweltering air; debris still shifted and made sickening sounds while finding the lowest it could go by gravity. Those who crawled out from hiding places heaved chunks of vomit on the trashed homes, cars, neighbourhoods, seeing and smelling a war zone.

"Beth... B-beth... Come here..." An old Goomba woman turned in circles, voice weakly calling for her granddaughter. There was never to be a reply.

Young men recoiled in pain, pulling themselves shoulders-first from furinature or objects that had pinned them, only to feel the day's baking of dark surfaces, skin-searing.

A young boy curled up by his father; the boy had a stuffed lion in one arm, his forehead on the chest that no longer moved. Thinking children's thoughts of bedtime stories, chocolate milk, all things he'd no longer have now that magic extinguished his single parent. He didn't break down; he would have to be the man now.

A limping teenage Koopa girl shifted through a boulevard, searching for food. She nearly fainted when coming upon a canine, tongue dry and numb, as it slowly died impaled by a mailbox. Not enough strength left to 'yip', not bleeding out fast enough.

A Pidgit man searched through what was left of his double-wide. He knew he kept the gun somewhere. As long as it would fire one bullet, true through his skull, that's all he needed... This would be over when he found it.

Two 40-something Ninji women hugged, wailing. All had been lost in their cases, loved ones, personal effects, any sense of neighbourhood. How could the last of those persist, when every street blended into the next as they languished under layers of garbage, business walls, no borders to the hellscape? It just seemed to roll on forever, down the slopes away from Bowser's Palace, a sea of refuse and the dead as far as there once had been a populace.

Bloodied shells. Goombacaps with hunks missing. No soldiers or hostiles. Orphans, and the end of communities.

A Snifit man, just entering adulthood, took his tiny sister to running water; a broken main, gushing from an ex-house's blown-apart sink, next to a red car hood that sat nowhere near its engine. They filled a bucket, and drank from it as soon as it filled. The young girl screamed when a bee landed on her arm; she got stung on the nose for the trouble, and in a tizzy upturned the bucket. The elder brother sighed, waved the insect off, and started refilling the bucket.

Near these two, an elderly koopa male emerged from a utility shed, which had wonderfully survived the siege, pure chance; he was quick on his feet, though wrinkles showed his years. Seeing the pair, he didn't even have to think befoere reaqching in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cheese crackers, and motioning for them to take it. With utter gratitude in his eyes, the young man did so, opened the plastic and split it three ways, he, sister and kind stranger.

"You'll need more." The old man spoke, soft and concerned. "The old Quik-mart across the way, it should have some packaged treats under its walls or shelves. If it ain't been scoped out by others yet." He said it nicely for the benefit of the young girl; no innocent like her needed to hear truths about looters, violence that would doubtlessly erupt over something like chips or a tin of tuna.

It was justified, though, as food and water would soon be known absent. Some of the more abled men already searched through rubble - their neighbours' homes before their own - picking up window frames with others' blood on them, finding scant more than a crumb. Some held a look in their eyes; that certain coldness, resigned to the worst and contributing therein. Coughing was the second-loudest sound made by the living, next to wails of discovery, those clutching the bodies they once knew as loved ones. The hiss of leaking gas lines, gushing water pipes, overbore these sounds... But the most deafening silence came from those looking uphill.

All roads led to the palace... Crumbled, standing but marred on every side by siege, burn marks. Glory was no more the hallmark of the castle. It was built to survive, and survive it did, but at what cost? Most commoners assumed the worst; that iside were only more bodies, maybe even the king himself. Surely if the fiends of Kamek came to rain hellfire, he was the greatest of targets. They were wrong in thinking he expired, but in effect, the belief was positive...

... The might he'd stood for was mortal. No more gilded walls separated man from monarch, expendible from sacrisanct. He'd protected them, years and years, when Mario came or when insurrection threatened. He could not prevent such horror as their 'now' afforded, so placing blame was a fool's errand. What few had resented the oligarchy in better times realized that class now took the most direct of it all.

Older folk in the new ruins made appeals, to fate or the heavens. Spare the nobles who lived so they may fight again. One day soon to triumph, be of magnificence, cloak themselves in gold.

Younger sufferers had come into their own with varied reverence, but still they wanted something to unify. A touchstone that had seen loss what likened to their own.

Some prayed for their head of state's deliverance.

Either way, they would all require brighter times, room to rebuild and recover. Maybe in the years to come there'd be a day to honour their dead; for now they just needed to find them, then the process of burials.

The post office in the wealthy quarter caught fire, and caught the attention of those nearby. Three goombas of good strength heard popping, shifting of the rubble, and a yell for help. They all converged on the heap of masonry and wood quick, knowing well how flammable sat the historic structure. The Lakitu beneath it shrieked for aid... Both legs lay broken and trapped, flames were closing in and his sweat could only do so much. He felt pieces slide away as the Goombas kicked at lighter pieces, but they could do little more. He shut his eyes as pain seared his eyes, blinded slow by fire. They saw hope slipping away, and barked orders at each other trying to give organized plans, but it mattered none... They couldn't dislodge the giant wall that had him immobile. Worse still, the lack of arms meant they couldn't plug their ears, but only winced... Came to the knowledge he would die right there, and jumped clear of the growing blaze. Two of the three called loudly for a Koopa, a Parakoopa, ANYone, to come lend power. Too much and too many made other noise. The last of the three just turned away, gnashed his fangy teeth, hearing a helpless man burn to death and the sickening sound as his whimpers fell to nothing.

It felt like a dream, that a future might exist for them. Nothing prospered now but vultures, cockroaches. Maybe assholes who scavenge, as had already been happening while body counts increased.

No one in town cried louder than the grandfather Fire Bro, who set his infant granddaughter on a fallen tree, felt around her lungs, found them collapsed. Prior to retirement, he'd been the greatest surgeon in this area code... He knew what could be operated on, and what couldn't. She barely breathed. Her mouth was twisted by the bookcase that had fallen on it when Toadies scrubbed their mansion from its foundations. If she even had the faintest chance to live, hers would be a painful, wretched life. So he took the fingers of his that once gave patients a tomorrow, wrought miracles, and placed them tight over her face. She was suffocated. He felt as if his soul was snuffed out and still took jabs from a million blades, so unspeakable this pain.

Tempted as some may be to claim others were luckier, it couldn't be so, as this collective hell they shared. One way or another it would touch them all and destitution was nigh. Some had only to call their friends and get no answer, or a far-off relative to find they'd been surprised and the massacre went well beyond city limits. Nearly nowhere to go. Automated bank help lines were flooded with calls by the thousands; it didn't matter, every branch was a memory, the system itself wiped from this Earth when all servers were destroyed. Wealth was as gone as anything else. Some of the smarter denizens, thinknig through, understood Kamek might have planned it that way.

Miracles were fantasy. No platoon came to liberate. All force and promise stood far from this scorched burg, in two princes, two princesses, the guns and the unlikely Italian. Every bit went unknown in a capital devastated.

Smack-dab in the center of town, a man of old Spiketop stock and an elder's garb shuffled down a path, one straight and cobbled, once ornamental pebbles and cement... Now under darkness of wood beams, bite-sized brick chunks, no longer standing tall as the sanctuary. He wore the robes of a deacon, and the frown of understanding what was lost. He could see through the missing doors to his church's nave... Broken statue pieces littered the transept, and a warped shape of bronze showed the bell in the ex-tower was melted and wrought to hole-dotted shapes, come to rest on the altar steps. The table for communion burned, its oaken legs gave way with a bump and a cloud of carcinogens.

He bowed his head, and spoke the only help he could start to wrap his head around giving. This had all been in a higher power's hands, so there it should be remedied. The faithful, however, screamed lamentations far and wide no less than laymen or sinners.

"... Father?" Came a voice behind him, as he turned to see a Dry Bones he'd seen before. Any other day just a newer face in the pew, the congregation's fresher blood, but today there were hammers in the bleached white hands, one for each. "You'll need this."

And so it was, that they set about the monumental move. Minutes later they were joined by a Boomerang Bro, long-active in the parish, so two became three. The steeple was lifted. The baptismal bath swept out. What could stay stayed, what couldn't was respectfully demo'd. Sweat on any other day would be unpleasant, but now, it fed the spirit. Those from the neighbourhood, crawling out unhurt from awnings, doorframes, they all congregated, even those who never prayed. Men who never intended to worship. Women whose thoughts never tended towards eternal, they lended hands or food to supply them. Before anything else in Grand Koopa City could rise again, they had the outline of St. Gregory's Basilica on its legs once more. The parsonage followed, whereby children, the elderly, sick and injured had a shelter.

One was inspiration, the other substance... And the city led by example. Help came to everywhere, from everyone abled. Hours passed and the feel of life flowed back into the cursed span of wrecks... The look and feelings of hope. Hope they sent to the fight, layered, genuine, unified.

To their families, by blood or any bonds as mightened.

To their monarchy, and the times it saved their past and assured some type of present.

To Bowser, Ludwig, Roy, Iggy, Wendy, Lemmy, Morton and Larry. Foundation for their culture, these peoples and societies.

Destiny outpaced them.

To be continued...