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KOOPALINGS: THE TEENAGE YEARS

by Eightane / Foxy Boy

CHAPTER XXIII: UNSILENT

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The bell of a pirhana monstrosity went dark in the gilded plane's shadow. Iggy paid most attention to its face, the sickly drip of orange spittle from the mouth with three-tiered fang rows, what Kamek had allowed himself become. And this persisted, as what could only be a face of shocked awe sat upon the ugliness, and above it, screaming near the sound barrier at hundreds of MPH, the fair Peach's war machine powerdived.

Her pilot had twenty years behind the controls... Numerous medals, honours, ribbons, confirming his investiture at the posh important helm... It served him well as he leveled out the angle, kept aloft, forsaking cold fatal ground.

They ripped through the pirhana plant like a weed whacker. Wendy held her ears, Iggy did the same... Mario and Larry howled in pain at the most dreadful things they'd ever heard, a near-sonicboom seven feet above the ground, sparkling trees flattened in a millionth of a second by close-in force, and the agonized sorceror, still alive while being split in a hundred thousand pieces. Every piece that had once been the deranged one's mouth went off with lamentations in heir own key and tone, like the most evil of demons underscored his curses. From his lack of dying they could very well assume the same.

Wendy's fingers unplugged from her lobes as she scrambled to dive; the plane was long-past by then, but had blown every gun out of her hands, and that of her brothers' too. Mario saw how rapid Kamek grew a leaf, 20 feet in heaight and serrated as a fine steel dagger; his own immuted force, rich with glow and life, jumped and ripped right through it with a fist. Any time after, he would've been too slow as it had already moved to slice across the plain, where three heads of taller nobles would've been removed from their very necks. Larry watched him save them, thus was the last to pick up his guns. Iggy blasted the largest chunk of 'head' Kamek still moved with heavy buckshot, a type of antique weight and quality never made anymore. It got the magic plant shaking and pouring more blood, green and slimish.

"DUCK!" Wendy screamed, and Iggy did so with a perfect drop to the sand. This gave room for her next volley, double-tensile holopoints with extract from Australian nettle. She had told no one she owned this, or that it even existed... A ten-year-old her had been persuasive with an arms dealer in Water Land. And while this got Kamek writhing, uttering cantrips in forgotten tongues that were too garbled to affect, she fistpumped. "That's the sugar!! See how you handle an endless sting, bathrobe boy!!"

Mario stared behind, away from where they focused. He knew Peach had to be SOMEwhere after such a fool move. His heart sank. There were dirt pieces falling off a new scar at the precipice Wendy and Iggy came by. He didn't see her plane above the cliff where land fell to Kamek's domain...

... He didn't see wreckage below, either.

As he stared forlorn at the top of the edge, He was instantly brought back to joy. Her flyer's outline could be seen going straight upwards; it had skimmed the dirt so unbelievably fast, and had likely just touched the ground at the cliffs. Best of all, the landscar her pilot created was long and thin in the shape of two lips.

Princess Peach, poised and unleashing hell, flashed one set of pink lights on her ship as it made the broad turn around towards ground-zero again. This signalled to her ally ships; they unloaded cannons, beams, shells and everything they had on the angry split remnants of Kamek. Pieces were blown about. Iggy stumbled when a leg-sized hunk of stem slapped him in the face on the way past. Larry stifled laughs, and shot a hole through a red-and-white ribbon of plantflesh that wriggled and tried to wrap his leg like a snake. It relented and slinked away, closer to other pieces.

The fragments of evil orbited one another, trying to reconvene. Larry walked over and carfully tapped Wendy's shoulder while she fired on them, cutting some, missing others. "We can't stop the fucker's regroup!" She turned quickly as she quit firing. He continued in frank tone. "Save your ammo. We've both seen Terminator 2."

Her face went red, knowing he was right. "Daaaaangiiiitt!!" She almost swore, and yelled at Iggy when he tried popping caps in the leaves which swirled around the center. He heard the same from her as she had from Larry, and all three put their guns down, watchful to a dire extreme... Powerless as the bell-head sought the center and joined up varying pieces, and greener parts like foliage found the outside. The living shreds were evading shipfire. Peach was almost back around in her 180-turn, yet made no attempt at a second dive. Dangerous as ever it would be, and besides, she knew the same thing through her diamond-crusted binoculars as they did on the ground.

This is why she tossed the view aide to the plane's floor, breaking off twenty or so precious stones. Her pilot dripped sweat on his legs, steady in the cockpit, goggles clear of steam by only hydrophobic coating. Peach's sweet voice was nevertheless strength-incarnate, a makeshift and marvellous general. "He's never going to sputter his last, as long as that Pirhana form holds out." She stomped one ruby stiletto; her silver dress billowed. "We have to find out how we force him back to natural body, and keep him there!"

The pilot nary reacted at all; his focus was supreme, and only thoughts of how to translate her needs into motion filled his brain. Kamek's height increased as more pieces of himself reconstituted. Larry elbowed her gently in the ribs and murmured "Bet he's happy he can do that now, after years as a shrimplet", to which she found herself laughing. It was so unlikely at this point in time, and yet, she stood so glad he could get to her that way.

Iggy tried firing into its head as the shape solidified, to which Wendy barked at him. "It won't work, bub! Unless something gives in a stark way in the next few minutes, we're toast."

Her annoyance fell off on the last half of that, or rather just shrank in volume as horror took its place. The bastard beast was thrice the size it had been before the strike, it had only grown stronger. The scream it started and carried on through the buzzing by planes that circled it came too loud and wicked for this world... Iggy's legs faltered, mushified by high frequency. Toadstool soldiers in scarves and Peach's colours raided the site with turrets, twenty-pound iron balls, wjatever their flying rigs had carried. Some flew within feet or even inches of the monstrosity, threatening that any one of them could act like a Zero. Kamek was too busied with them to strike the nobles, and yet, he made his power known.

The fresh-regrown leaf was now a sickle, sharp and olive-green, which was lifted out from the plantbody... One hapless flyer found himself in the way, and after unloading bulletsprays the leaf made like a scythe across his windshield, through the fuselage nearly perfect-dead-center of the plane front to back. The windshield started sliding off but then was launched free as the plane started rolling, hurtling from the air. So were the contents of the cabin behind, and so too was the head of the victim, sliced free at the carotid, instantly killed before the plane even had the chance to tear itself apart and hit the ground with gutwrenching quake.

Metal pieces, a backpack, the black box, all sailed across the sand with cartwheels, and Wendy looked away as the limp arms of the headless corpse whipped in the winds of inertia. Iggy squealed and felt butterflies in the stomach, holding up less-well than she... War was not his way nor hobby anymore, but had caught him up in its anarchic hell. Other planes sounded quieter, perhaps because they kept more distance, learning well from the demise of one who could now never take the lesson home.

Peach held a fire in her eyes, but held also onto a handle on her plane's ceiling with one gloved hand. The other glove she wriggled out of, so she could inset her nails into her teeth, biting nervously. "Take us down behind him!" she quickly ordered of her escorter, prompting his eyes to cut half-over for the shortest of moments. She explained. "I want him getting his birthday surprise early."

This the pilot acquiesced to, and before long they were banking to the right, curving down to put their trajectory low but well-clear of his scythe hands. Mario shed a cold sweat, wondering what his sweetheart and her military aptitude had planned. He rushed up and, fearing no death of himself, socked the lowest branchlets of the eldritch horrorbomination. It reacted, recoiled and screamed in extinct language, but swept him with a blade, claw, whatever its anatomy could be at this dark moment. He vaulted it, and came off the "hurdle" with a flurry of kicks and left hooks socking right where the bundle of plant fibers fanned out into stem and bud. Kamek doubled over as much as a non-mammal could, the blows hit him right in the stamen.

But just as rapid as it brought the plantman low, Kamek changed hues into orange-red, and whirled his head around so ferocious it sent Mario careening to a palm trunk, colliding with such force it shook the sparkles off the fronds in the uncanniest of valleys. Another plane with Princess Peach's seal and stripes corkscrewed down from vertically above; the Toadstool man at the controls kept it precise, augured it in. The white splotches of Kamek's new head stayed at middle of the rotating death spiral. He yelled a goodbye to his nephew, his postman, and sang a bar of a Pantera song as his sightline filled all the way up with pirhana's bell... The impact blew sand up in a great cloud, knifing through Kamek's head as if it were butter warmed.

The sorceror didn't fly to pieces, though the brave Toad's sacrifice turned his plane into a curtain of flame and shrapnel... The end from such a suicide was unbelievable, a spectacle as parts of the tailfin buried in the sand, and Kamek was affected; his head's lower half dangled free, and no syllables were formed. The plane had ripped his lower jawline horribly, and he wobbled, shrieked. Dazed and bemused, he slammed the dirt with sharp leafblades, and other pilots peppered him with cannons, plasmatic beams, all while some sniffed and ignored their tears. A sacrifice would not go in vain.

Larry held Wendy in a one-hand hug around her back, and pulled Iggy by the hand... Planes were flying so close and thick in the ground-air melee that the next incident might slice through them with jettisoned metal. Peach had buzzed Kamek right as his sort-of-maybe-ass, the swollen gall below and behind his split mouthline. One wing nicked the surface of the growth; her pilot struggled to keep control, flying off with high-speed turns and acrobatics, but he kept it aloft. At the point they'd nicked, liquid came oozing, then gushing as the skin ripped away by its own internal pressures.

Iggy saw this, close and panting just like his youngest bro and only sis. He thought of blood, then vascular science... His eyes were like fireworks. "I've GOT it!!"

"G-... Got what?" Larry scowled, secretly terrified. "A lump in the back of your drawers?"

He didn't say much else when Iggy chucked him right at the liver. "No mister congeniality. The notion of how we might prevail, and have this behemoth back to warm-blooded flesh."

This got Wendy's attention and held Larry's like a charm. The science-minded son spelled it out. "If Kamek can bleed, something might be made to infiltrate him, and his circulation... Counteract the botany, or put him in such pain that there's no choice but to shift back to warm-blooded corporeality-"

"English, bruthabeans." Larry quipped, swinging the gun over his shoulder to shoot at Kamek while facing Iggy. The bullet glanced off the head but made pure evil's harbinger flinch.

"*Ahem*, if we can inject something in those veins, we can force him back to his same, ugly, diminutive old self."

Wendy sighed, quick and deep. "That's making sense, and we sorely needed it." She smiled Iggy's way, and started thinking of how to translate that to action. At the same time Peach put all her gunners on full-spate with command and coordination; her voice carried perrfect through radio waves. "Team Blue, circle and take out the newest tendril! Team Brown, regroup and check your formation! Teams Yellow and Green, join up, if you focus beams on his neck his head's a goner!"

A lone question returned through the frequency. "Your Highness, it will just take root next to the greenery! What-... What if there's suddenly two of him!?"

Everyone else was silent. Some kept wits on the fight, some just flabberghasted there dared be any backtalk towards her. But she took it in stride. Her response showed much poise and little disdain. "Then we'll cross that bridge if it happens, but doing nothing gives a known problem."

There were no further objections. The majority aimed for the stem just south of Kamek's merciless fangs. They all saw his powers were limited, else he'd not have been juggled by the crash of metal and energy blasts. It bought Koopa nobles and the Princess' hero all the time they needed. A pause to think was in order, after all.

Larry joined left hand to his brother's right, clasped tight. They had to watch the fracas, ensuring they didn't get winged by collateral. Noise was deafening, but they were versed enough in staying cool under war's umbrella. Wendy crossed her arms, rubbing her elbows with sweat-chilled mitts. Anxiety mounted as Kamek hissed upwards, extended his throttled neck and closed teeth around a Toad's plane skimming past. He missed the gas tank, so the poor soul was mangled and mauled inside the fuselage long before his life extinguished. Crumpled remnants of the plane fell out Kamekplant's maw, just before high-power cannons severed the final strings tethering head to body. Gas leaked into the sand, but filtered through without running dangerously surfaceward. No consolation to Peach, who wiped tears with a gloved hand, mourning those who gave their all for her and the future of all.

Kamek didn't lose his bodily perch without a fight; his red-and-white spots rolled, and swear words in familiar tongue issued from the mouth. Larry's eyes widened; the bastard didn't need lungs nor heart to tell them off and endure, both. But the prince in fatigues placed his fingers on Iggy's shoulder, squeezing. "I've got it, maybe."

Iggy was all ears. Larry talked a mile a minute like the air was spiked with caffeine. "You had that acid stuff you baton-passed our way, right? I know you pretty well, you wouldn't just make enough for a trial run. Tell me if I'm off in that guess, but-"

The grin on Iggy told everything. Wendy heard it also, and scrambled to dig through Iggy's pockets. He almost got out a "H-hey!!" Before catching onto the intent, and helping; out of a pouch she hadn't stuck her hand in, he pulled a vial. Out of another, a hypodermic. He put them together in a willowy grasp, before all three's faces. "Don't ask the purpose of needles on me, they have their applications."

He quickly put one in each fist, as to pop the cap off the vial. Safely this was done and he prepared the sticktip to be filled. Both siblings present with him wiggled, impatient, legs dancing like they needed a bathroom. Decisively the needle dipped top-down into the dull opaque liquid. Iggy's small fingers pulled up on the base and drew the fluid into its chamber. "Stand clear," he asked loud, and when Larry and Wendy stepped back he threw the mostly-empty vial to the sandy dirt. It landed on the side; when the last few drops he couldn't procure flowed onto ground, it bubbled, sizzled and collapsed a four-inch-wide hole, wherein the vial fell and went out of sight.

Wendy stepped back even more than before. The needle was full, and bubbled as if a mug of draft beer. He held it high; in the sun's light, he beheld this, his at-least-10th-greatest job of chemistry. "Here's the conundrum, though... This isn't in my custom grenade shells. It's necessary that one of us gets close and jabs the abominable cur."

"Whooooaaa, whoa whoa whoa," Larry spoke in a hurry. " I call, not it."

"This is NOT the time", came the protest from Wendy. Quick was her rise to livid, which took both men by surprise; clearly she knew best that distraction was a liability. "You wanna do Rock-Paper-Scissors? Draw straws? There's no straw or wheat here..."

Larry chuckled, realizing that this too was its own distraction. But Iggy preempted any pause to let it sink in. "I'll go."

Now it was Larry's turn to explode in a brief upsetting. "Bro you're not going in there. I'm not losing two in a day."

"Don't, don't say it like that!!" Wendy groused, but genuine and holding back a chokeup. Yet Iggy's face remained stoic, calculating. Knowing well that no word of theirs would derail him, he'd decided.

His hand closed so tight around the hypodermic's barrel he could feel the minimal ridge where measure-lines were painted. He looked to the place of action, where Kamek #1 seethed and snapped at planes shooting off his leaves, and Kamek #2 grew slow, an off-green colour, weaker. Apparent that it was lesser, or at least less vigorous by the scope of used magic. "I won't be sticking the new arrival, I think he's remote-conrolled or otherwise not connected to the main threat. My best chances lie with the larger of the louts."

"Tell me you're certain." Larry deadpanned, then leaned away from Wendy and spat on the sand. The glob became a bubble around grit particles; Iggy rolled his eyes. "Or tell me you're crazy so I can hold ya back. Pick one."

"The first one you heard." Iggy, in his lack of leisurely cool, still cast the air of casual just as well as his brother. It had its wanted effect; Larry saw he was locked in the idea.

Mario put a left hook through one of Kamek's leaves, rebuffing an attempt to flatten him. The hole created made itself sharp instantly; on the lift away, it sliced the plumber's arm from wrist up to elbow. The gasp of pain was muted and skin healed bit by bit, until by twenty seconds on, no one could have deciphered it had once been hurt. These two were locked in endless strife, unable to die for reasons wholly different.

Wendy tried to reach for Iggy, stop him, just in case this went south on him... She missed, as the scientific prince kicked off from his heel and ran, ran, ran like the fucking wind while a plane got first-Kamek's attention, the brighter of the pair. He even jumped a gap where the sand gave way; from way earlier, where Lemmy had cleared it, one of the last things he'd done in life. Larry felt a gutteral pain recalling it; the sole reason why he didn't chase Iggy and stop the boy. Wendy screamed, for nothing besides dread. Seeing it play out and being too slow to stop him either.

Iggy fast had Kamekplant fill his field of vision. A scale of greens and reds spun as guns sprayed the air just feet above Iggy's head, targeting a place with less clearance from the prince's brain than the height of his hairdo. Strands were fried instantly or cut to ribbons by lead whizzing through. Wendy squealed "DUCK!!" as the only thing she knew to advise. It didn't matter, Iggy's feet ran him in a mindless line, all thoughts concentrated on figuring where to stick before the instant where he'd have to. Time seemed to go in reverse. He thought through where a vein might be on this leviathan, just off of raw knowledge of sap channels in garden plants. His academia served him well,; when a foot away from the largest leaf of Kamek's bastard body, he tucked his head in a half-roll, dodging a scythelike leaf which strived to cleave him. Unharmed, he brought the right arm down in an arc. The arm which held the needle... The arm which, although thin and willowy, lodged in a jagged line which held green blood, pumping. That vein took the input of searing acid when Iggy's thumb slammed down the plunger.

A stream of liquid fire filled Kamek. It burnt every cell it touched to death immediate. The secondary plant fell silent, then just fell, all parts draining of colour... Green became ashy green, then pale grey, finally to pearly white. Cracks appeared where chlorophyll once lay... In a mess the whole plant monster collapsed, rapidly. Spectacular clouds of old body thickened the air. Kamek himself coughed while he thrashed, the main plant had been the one to be injected after all.

He was broiling alive in chemical reaction, the way strong acid met up with such distinct cell makeup.

"Hell yeah!!" Larry thew out with a fistpump, as white ash of a dead 'helper' obscured many things. His happiness turned to dread, as he realized he couldn't see Kamek, he couldn't see Mario, he couldn't see Iggy. Last he'd seen of his brainiac brother was the back of his hairstyle, swallowed up by smoke, his arm still on the needle plunger. Pushing hard, like the beast would only die if he milked every drop from the deadly trinket.

"Iggy! Are you ok!? WHERE are you!?" Wendy begged in high pitch to the cloud of vapour. There were vortexes, curls of billows as the main man-pirhana flopped about, jerked wildly in the strongest of pains. If only once it slammed on Iggy's head, that would spell the end for him. Larry started to jump forwards, go searching the cloud for him. Wendy's arm shot RIGHT out and arrested this move. "Not a CHANCE, buddy, you're staying right here!"

Larry struggled against her; his male musculature challenged the fuck out of her ability to hold on. His straining ceased, though, when he heard something else from her: "I've lost too many already, not you too-"

Larry looked right in her eyes; she couldn't do the same as hers dwindled down to a trancelike stare at dirt, thinking of Lemmy's face. Haley's laugh. Imagery of both ran laps through her mind and stabbed at her heartstrings; Larry rushed towards her now, and swept her up in a strong hug. She returned it, clung on and hid her sobs on his neck.

The youngest brother patted her; she stuck her nails through tatters on his shirtsleeve, it somehow felt 'anchoring' more. But she wailed in joy with the most edified tone to see Iggy leap out from the cloud... Her pitch as if a new mother being told her infant would survive complications. Iggy's pupils were narrow as could be; Larry figured that what he'd seen inside the ashscreening got him mortified. He asked anyway, just to know. "What went on in there just now, Ig's?"

Iggy just shook his head, catching his breath. He wouldn't answer, and Larry wouldn't press it... How it must have been, seeing the new Kamek degrade into ruin, killed inside his very arteries. Wendy wanted to jump for joy, it seemed so sure that magick's end was nigh.

Peach's plane zoomed towards the cloud. Her navigator saw the demise of the extra plant, and made the same supposition as the nobles. Checking his radar for a human shape, he fired around it. Mario was missed, the shrinking, shrieking plant was peppered again. This time, he didn't seem to be regenerating.

Peach yelled as sweet as a yell can be cast. "Hit every part! Put an extra ten or so in his head around his mouth, maybe we'll knock out some teeth!"

The gunner-pilot did as ordered. Shots rang out from he and seven other planes whose sights were on the target... He stuck to the direction, though, pushing it as to how long he could fly towards Kamek and braise him with bullets... The buzzing of a plane in dive got louder, louder, until the shadow below them was the same size as the plane... Coming in too low, too hot, and Mario backflipped out of Kamek's range just in time to see the hurtling wings spin them in.

He was thrown clear of the rooted magician by impact. Iggy's hand covered his mouth. Wendy doubled over, unable to believe what she'd just seen. Larry mouthed "FUCK!!" without a sound made.

Mushroom Kingdom steel was in ribbons. Princess' plane, dismantled. Fires broke out on the fuselage, now in pieces with half the glass shattered, the other half just gone. Everyone's ears rang from tremendous crash only meters away. Another cloud it had naturally made - this time of sand, and freon gas from the royal plane's A/C... Wendy groaned with disgust seeing an arm fall out from the cockpit, attached to a bloody husk of Toad. Shards of glass stuck out from his headcap; what they couldn't see were several that pierced his brain where death was thankfully undelayed. But he lay back in the chair where he'd steered himself to suicide, and there was no Peach to be found. Not even a piece of dress they could spot.

"Oh geez... Daaaamn that's ugly..." Larry muttered, feeling bad for someone that just a year ago he never would've pitied in perils. Mario fell to his knees, in more shock than they. Under his breath the words "M-mama mia..." whimpered. The dust cloud and ash clouds, both, went to dissipate, and they were left with... Kamek. Yellow, beak-owning Kamek, pathetic without his robe, crumpled in half-fetal pose, naked. Larry switched to anger in a hurry, when the site of that accursed body twitched. Kamek wasn't killed. Peach, however, was MIA... Mario let out a wail, lost in anguish. His fists he cupped on both sides of his head. The hat fell off, as he tipped forward, face in the warm sand... The warlock they attacked and attacked, over and over, stirred as if waking from sleep, while the lovely princess, whose hands could fill the daintiest gloves, whose hair shone bright as the August day, whose tenderness filled Mario's dreams and gave him reason to go on...

.... Could be seen strapped to a parachute, unfurling in the dry winds. Once she'd pulled the ring and it left containment, Iggy, Larry, Mario and Wendy all caught sight of her. Wendy did jump giddily, clapping like she was a kid again. Mario's voice raised to cheers, shouts of happiness. Iggy gave a thumbs-up rather awkwardly. The plumber ran over to be under his best girl, scrambling to follow where she drifted down. He intended to catch her; just back behind him, the bane of their lives stood slowly. Even his glasses were gone... Forced to transform back, he'd shed all plantlike manifestings, shedding the acid from inside him in the process. It was somewhere in the husk of plant chaff that blew away in lowland winds. As it now was, his lonely defense came more apparent. 'By himself' meant more in a state like this. He was stark, short, unsteady and squinting.

Then, his arms raised up. Blue lightning shot out, towards Peach, just barely dodged as she scrunched and bent her knees floating down. Larry felt murderous... The rest felt much the same.

Kamek lived, and showed more instinct to ruin in those beady eyes than any time yet.

The twisted 'elder' he'd become rasped violently. "ALL YOU'VE MANAGED TO DO IS PURCHASE A WORSE DEMISE. IF YOU WON'T GO QUICKLY TO DEATH, YOU WILL FIND YOUR ESCORT IS HELL ITSELF!!"

The field inhabited by lightning grew oval, then spherical. Within it, light faded, at first to black, then something different. More dire. Something below utter darkness... Then the cinders started flying out. Profound screams. Something sightable came to be known, and understood, as an ocean, flickering, and figures trapped within it, writhing, desecrated. Wendy screamed. Larry and Iggy staggered back. Mario stood tall as Peach's legs were wrapped by his arms, and as he caught her fully, she caused them both to fall by reflexive kick. Her parafoil - still attached at her back - stayed open, and was yanked towards the void-warp Kamek had made. She fumbled with buttons on her back, desperate and sweating, as Mario grabbed and held on, dragged with her. They were pulled towards the inferno... Mario reached for the cords, only seconds from no return and infinite suffering...

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Quiet had blessed the upper floors of the castle. Attacks on the palace were quelled, ended in full. The portholes - just an hour before, places where guns and weaponry faced off against magic pulse and evil aims - lay as the cold stone they'd always been, only singed by charging residue, chipped by the closest calls Magikoopas had placed on its defenders.

Three men sat on their asses and took a 'union break', that is to say, a chance to rest, talk trash and smoke up. Todd steered the convo to the best hockey game he'd ever been privy to. "And then Gretzky shot it under Barrett's legs, I mean right through 'em!!"

"Get outta town!" Bret fake-doubted, impressed at the mental picture painted. Todd enunciated with gestures, his giant arms swinging at air and miming what the slice that won the buzzer-beater carved through the rink's chill air. As he did so, Bret dug in his right shorts pocket.

Morie sat fiddling with the whiskers on his chin, a proto-stubble as his face fuzz crop was quite a late bloomer. "I'm sure the fans were rocking the glass around them."

"Yerr damn right we were!" Todd enjoyed heartily the truth of it, how the moments were memorized vivid. "The dude next to me dropped his beer on his daughter's head... Two other guys chestbumped, and knocked each other off-balance. They ate shit on the concrete floor under the seats." Morie recoiled from such figuratives and the mere basal revelries, but still smirked, trying to see it as fun. Bret cursed in whispers as his hand got caught in his britches, but soon he wreched it free and came out with what he'd sought: a crumpled pack with red and white colour, script amounting to little more than name brand and surgeon general's warning. Part of a pack of cigs.

"Wow, I didn't know you guys smoked." Morie was honestly surprised; as was Todd, who edged away from the box as if it contained something odious. It did, but only after Bret slid one out of the pack, slid a lighter out from next to it and did the obvious. Light from the flame briefly shined up Morie's nose and the sweat still on it from heated ex-battle.

Bret chuckled, in the way a frazzled mother might when someone noticed her stress levels. "I saw Roy doin' it like a month ago, and decided I'd lift some and try 'em. Probably a bad mistake, I'm on half a pack a day."

Todd's nod was deep. "They'll do that alright. But did I hear that right?... You stole from a prince?"

"Nah, I stole from an asshole."

Based on what they knew of the guy's history, the three-way agreement was well-compelled.

Morie took a deep breath, reached across Todd's chest and held out his hand. Bret saw, noted the fingers starting to curl and uncurl palm-up. He could have stopped time with the eye roll that commenced. "Fine, I guess you've earned it today."

"How generous." Morie received a cig between his first two fingers. Todd glibly watched him borrow the lighter too. They shared a first puff, skater-punk and nobleman's son, without much difference in enjoying the taste. Morie spoke again, his voice changed by new phlegm developing. "These must be what my old nanny smoked, it smells like her dress. You can't get the scent out as far as I've heard." He held back the cough. "Kind of a bright sharpness in the throat, too."

"That's nicotene alright." Bret conceded. Todd leaned his head back; counting the ceiling stones was both restful and kept his nose further from the trails of smoke, unlucky as he was to be so tall right about now.

Todd got back on his chosen pursuit. "Anyways Gretzky took the cup that night, I doubt they ever lifted him higher. They were tossing him up just to catch him."

"Whoa, nice!" Bret provided. "Did any of 'em catch their hand on his ripped jersey?"

"His jersey ain't ripped, he tucked it in at every game, it's superst-"

Morie coughed, and the smoke flew out of his mouth. While they laughed, the third-spent tobacco nail rolled over cobblestones, gained a slight boost when it fell onto mortar between the blocks, and then went back and forth meeting rock 'walls' within an inch's span until inertia died.

The roll got Bret thinking of wheels. Then, his skateboard, and finally, someone else's. His mood took a dive. "I swear," he spoke out, "The shit I've seen Lemmy get up to on his deck... Hey Todd, y'know that time he tried a 50/50 UP the library banister?"

Todd's head hurt swiftly, since the belly-laughs banged his scalp on the wall where he'd rested it. He still kept his mirth. "Y-yeah, he thought with enough speed he could make gravity his bitch. We know who won that day."

Morie's lips went white while he bit them, chest heaving in snickers. "I don't have to have been there, I can picture the pileup."

"Pileup nothin', it was a four-limb spaghetti impression. The ER got him fixed up that same day, his money and all, but he went IN there lookin' like he lost a fight to a fire truck."

Morie fell over, done-in by the colourful explaining. Bret took another drag, and Todd sneezed. Morie got back up, head swimming, and ignored the way spots swirled in his eyes.

Bret added to the reminiscence. "He'd usually run rings around me, though. Still the only dude I've seen pull a 540 Melon over the farmer's market headtable. They were piiiissed."

"Hah! Or they did piss, all down their longjohns. Bunch of old geezers that go there, they can use the excitement."

Morie took another puff himself, as the spots faded. "Are you certain doctors would agree with that?"

Todd slapped his back. "Tee-bee-aych I don't give a crap if they do, they get the paychecks, not me."

Bret pointed high, symbol of just how utterly correct he saw Todd's ideals. The thought train didn't stop for coal, either, but went right on. "I wish he'd had the sack to talk up that filly that coasted with him now 'n' then. I mean -I- ain't got anything to gain by it, but, maybe she'da stuck around more. It's merrier that way, eh?"

Morie, more aged than his partners-in-relaxing here, showed wariness. "That depends, heavily."

Todd hooted, knowing well the pitfalls Morie knew. What none of them could know, presently, was how much their past would always be such. However close Lemmy's face lay in their mind's eye, happiness around his life would nevermore be untainted as this.

And it still was tainted, in a way. They sat in repose, two of them with grand rememberings of the town they tore through... A town now leveled, rebuilding in steady measure as it tends to go. Lemmy's hair had blew behind him as they whizzed downhill on urban streets, now those streets were charred tarmac, chunks of bitumen. The one thing that held these images together, to gladness, was the face of a prince.

Who even knew where the silent lass who befriended him stood now, if she was indeed around, not vaporized in what Kamek rained upon them.

Who could say what she'd think, if after all of what they'd suffered, fought against, she learned what they would have to learn.

Morie's feet went numb against the unheated flooring. He took another soft drag off the cigarette, looked out the opposite wall's portholes. Away from town, to the hills eastward. They were winged by fire, but only where villages had been; the rest had not been burnt, Toadies were precise enough. It gave the rolling land the appearance of birthmarks.

Last Morie thought of before Bret intuned, was how this could shape up to be a rebirth. Near-everyone would have to start over. It was right then that Bret startled him, loud with suddenness. "Shit, I hadn't even THOUGHT of how we just saved the butts of everyone in here! They're gonna party down I bet, and with three honoured guests!"

Todd's reply cut through the lifting of spirits. "Don't count on it, pally. There's 'bout a billion things to do before anyone has breathin' room to be festive."

Morie listened as Bret made noises like he disagreed, then agreed and relented. "... I, well... I think a little higher of the royals, they'll find a way. Set the mood and stage for the recovery below you, eh?"

Todd was poised to scoff, but the meaning of the last portion slowly dawned on him; what 'below' meant in this sense. At the same time Morie provided a thought of his own. "It's a matter of time before we have abundance. It has to start somewhere."

Bret snapped his fingers in agreement. "And here's the thing, I think Grand-Poobah Bowser gets it. The family know their way around PR and makin' a big to-do for the right reasons. It ain't fake, it's just... Performance."

"This is all still to say they're gonna throw us a party, right?" Todd asked geniunely, starting to lose the thread.

"Oh yeahyeah, for real!..." Bret took a last drag and ground the cigarette butt on the stone floor, killing cinders. "... It ain't like we're strangers. And they've always been good enough to this group o' hooligans!" He elbowed Todd's hip, there was barely a reaction. Deep in thought the taller one sank and remained. There weren't too many reasons - Lemmy notwithstanding - they'd never ran afoul of Bowser nor his loyals. It called out a certain tolerance; maybe bits of relatability shining through. Or, it could just be the king was tied up with more pressing matters... For years. It just didn't feel as likely as the idea they were spared the drama, despite damage caused in the old town for those same years, the bad 'look' of a prince galavanting with commoner curs... The basic fact that they weren't doing the monarchy favours, well, before now...

... Perhaps a fête was likely after all. Todd started warming to the chance of it, and even fantasized. Cake and lavish desserts. Liquor flowing like water. Being center-stage to tell and retell the story of blowing those fuckers outta the sky, straight off their hokey brooms.

Bret imagined meeting some thankful ladies at a shindig like this... A place where attendees were rich too, so a bunch of honeys could be real sugar mommas, spoil the skaters what protected their turf.

Morie, quietest, visualized how the old man would feel right now, if he knew. If he could look on his own flesh and blood, owing them so much. How much pride would be behind the older set of eyes.

Only this reward spoke to his heart. Elsewise, he needed no acclaim. Being lionized by the right man, it must have been universal, much as he was soon not the only one in the room having such wordless hopes... Todd and Bret, after all, came from somewhere too...

Respect for Bowser's style of rule, and indeed for him as a person, grew measurably. Whether fed by memories Bret and Todd shared of boarding and shamming it, or the bright future Morie could explain with educated flair, happiness for the land, themselves, for Lemmy, was right here and now. Before half the fallen city walls were re-raised.

And thus would that happiness be strongest then and there, and ever-be reduced once news of him reached them. This moment in time was his, and theirs, joined bittersweet.

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

"Was the Brita pitcher working, love?" Esmerelda asked, concerned that her spouse was helping with only one good hand to use.

"Yes, it vas. I feel zis batch vill be crisp, as you call it." He chortled, noticing his cast was making it harder to squeeze through the space in the fridge where fruit lay. He picked up with his good limb the lemons, and laid them on a crystal platter before heading to the cabinets, searching out.

"Wonderful. I'll be there to juice them soon, I need my luggage bag."

"In ze linen closet, behind ze washtowels, love. I moved it zere ven I filled up our clothes storage from ze trip to Versailles."

"Oh, right." She tried not to let the wonderful reminder squeak-ify her tone, and succeeded. He could tell, though, she was in a good place.

"Love," He yelled, before finding the sugar. She didn't even ask what, but heard the grains settle in the bag. That told her the whole sum total.

He went to pour, and let loose words from his soul too. "I'm more fortunate in every vay zan ze people already know... And honestly I'm glad zey do... Becuase vith all eyes on us, zere vill be mountains moved."

"Perfectly right, sweetie."

"Do you know ze last time ve did something like zis? I vas young enough to hate vegetables."

"Hahahah! Oh, I must have been jumping rope and hula-hooping, then." She decided to tease a smidge. "... Did you hate girls, too?"

"Haah, I... I had Vendy as a sister, it's not truly my fault."

They both cracked up, and she entered the room with the rolling wheels of a huge suitcase in tow. "Have we any coriander? Maybe some fresh bergamot..."

"Affirmative." He cutely hunched over the platter; she didn't mind a tease back when it showed off his butt like this. Her eyes didn't miss the bump on her way to smooch him on the temple and grab the plate, then look for the juicer.

He talked, and almost forgot where they were. "I'm lucky to have had a sister. To have five bro'zers, to live as I do... And now I have ze luck to see us bring our home back to life, to glory... All ze beauty of zis realm, ze grassy glens, ze villages... Alright, I've prattled on enough. Ve have an evening to be a part of."

She nodded, steady, heartily. "Let's be the best part of the evening."

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

Outside of the chipped stone, the bloodied scraps of gate wood, the stained and ruined moat, men and women - those who weren't squeamish - made a pilgrimage. Up the hill where Bowser's Keep had always been, up from the city that had stopped smouldering.

Some carried satchels. Others had simple tools in-hand, hammers, wrenches, nail boxes. Some brought baskets, wicker covered with doilies or netted cloths, steam rising from fresh baked bread or treats. They were all together, some hundred-strong, on a laudable mission. The largest things toted were two giant logs; three men each had to lug the fresh-cut tree trunks horizontally.

For years, if those had been carried to the castle's entry, Bowser would have panicked, assumed an overthrow was imminent and battened down hatches. But today, the two logs were carefully set down, where Toadies had destroyed the drawbridge, still and blankly floating dead in red water. The logs were pushed side-by-side, longways across the gap... They were lashed together with twine in a minute's time, so as not to roll away from one another. They *klunk*ed as the far ends touched down on the lip of the doorway into Palace square footage... And this was the first indication to those within, someone was outside.

Troopas who'd been regaling each other with stories, or talking of the future, went quieter. The King himself - who'd been entertaining Roy with joke and jest, happy for this son's new abilities to care and listen - excused himself, and slowly approached the sunlight streaming through chunks of old drawbridge gate.

In fact, most occupants were more than skeptical. "One moment, please, your Majesty" spoke an elite troopa, brandishing his spear. Brooke was of like mind, and cocked her gun, ready to go out there with him and defend. God forbid there were more to deal with. Ready to aim and fire in an instant, Brooke and elite both shakily neared the outside, saw several figures walking slow, and lifted their weapons to strike.

A pair of hands went up from outside. Brooke just managed to avoid squeezing the trigger in time. The elite sighed and lowered his throwing-blade... There were glad tidings here. As approaching men calmed, and Brooke turned casually to explain the sight with "Townspeople, here with... It looks like gifts!" All hearts were warmed and alleved.

The elite stood to the side, knocked the butt of his spear once on the floor, and thus koopas, goombas, galoombas and all manner of friendlies streamed through the archway, from the makeshift new bridge. No hands were empty. No sadness was found in their faces. This would truly be a new start.

First and foremost of the group, an older Boomerang Bro, in a suit and tie... Some soldiers recognized him, a community organizer, respected local patron. He waved and greeted each by their names, while his other hand held a piece of paper. "Grady, always a pleasure! Mike, good to see you again. Ah, Sandy, I hope your garden survived our plight!" Bowser, meanwhile, had relaxed his pose of concern, and approached the old gent at the same time he himself was walked towards likewise. Folks were slowly, respectfully, pouring into the now-crowded ground floor. Chatter was constant, as if in a concert before the lights go down; the new arrivals were flush with supplies and salvaged materials as well as their tools and foods, and Bowser extended his hand. He wrapped half of the smaller man's arm in his hand, shaking kindly. Spirited. Happy.

"I have to say my hopes were answered, your Eminence. We're all ecstatic to see you and yours yet survive."

"And I can say the same, sir. Although I pray my forces, and my sons, and this one's contemporaries," He mugged towards Roy, who stuck out his tongue and gave a peace sign. After a snicker the king finished his thought. "... Take the greatest accolades."

"I understand. But as you can see, we city folk find ourselves able to do more than help each other." He glanced over; it so happened at that moment, a young koopa girl holding hands with her mother, handed something to Brooke. A cosmos flower; pale blue, only one petal missing, still beautiful.

Brooke, with gun slung over her back, smiled and accepted the gift. The little girl didn't speak clearly just yet, having lived 4 years thus far, but said it like she meant it: "I heard tha blue ones are good luck, and are an o-... An umm..."

"-Omen," her mother gently helped.

"Yah, an o-men of rebirth." Brooke smiled, just as much comforted and struck by cuteness as she was amused that the tyke could say 'rebirth' but not 'omen'.

The older gent nodded while chuckling. "What those destructors didn't know, was how much they created at the same time. We can't bring back the fallen..." He went more morose, but didn't lose his nicer tone, its optimism. "... But what they left behind, we can share. And there's too much for just the lowland neighbours or hoarding."

Bowser went through a range of feelings. His eyes dipped down, even closed for a moment. He knew where these supplies, these tokens originated. And he walked forward, overshadowing the whole of that koopa elder... And hugged him.

Stunned silence, most of all from the commoners.

He ended the embrace and stepped back, speaking loud enough that all would hear. "I accept undeservedly esteem. And if you wish to lend a hand... You won't refurbish us alone." He walked over, still holding everyone's attention, and took the largest, heaviest hammer from a teenaged dry bones. There was much to do... He twirled the hammer once around, and grabbed it back tightly. "On one condition... We all open those baskets your more fetching members have brought in, and have ourselves a feast. Yours, and mine. " As eyes brightened, he turned to those in cook's uniforms around them, and bellowed. "Open my kitchens! If we undertake this, we do it right."

Cheers erupted, from soldier, townsperson, old and young, all castes and origins. And fate chose this very moment in time, for the shapes of two castle-dwellers to come decending down the stairs.

Roy was walking back, casual, having chat with Troopas of his age group, throwing jokes to Kurt, when he happened to look at those stairs. The first to recognize Ludwig and Esmerelda... And the tray the latter carried, and the heavy bags in the formers' princely hand. "He-heeeey, heirbritches!!" Roy prevented himself laughing at Ludwig, who staggered down with those bags, unaccustomed to lugging. His wife had chosen the nicest platinum serving tray, and a most ornate pitcher, filled to the brim with gold liquid and standing over 8 glasses, crystal and equal.

Ludwig's sweaty face looked up and saw his most stoic brother. He laughed nervously. "Thank heavens, my back will conspire to assassinate me if this kept up."

"Hahahah!!" Roy scooped himself up and over to grab half the weighted bags... Meantime, the love of the next-in-line's life stooped down, in her flowery silk dress, to offer sweet livations. Children were first to get glasses of lemonade, and as Ludwig less-poisedly took containers from the bag, it was made clear to all the extra satchel was 200 refills for the pitcher on Esmerelda's tray.

And it became a community undertaking. As if obligated, but by their own volition, Troopas, parents, denizens all crowded Ludwig, helping him with the bag, pulling out the containers. Kitchen staff retired to the cabinetry and came back with goblets, snifters, wine flutes, all to be filled by the lemony goodness. Portions handed out, and just as everyone was wetting their whistle, a fresh smell filled the vestibule where so many stood and mingled.

Ciabatta, with exotic spices. Upon a plank of hickory wood, next to flanks of seared lamb. It was visually delectable, olfactorilly splendid. And as servers assured, there would be plenty for everyone.

Esmerelda never had so many compliments on her dress.

Roy was given phone numbers out the wazoo, and none of them were for drug pushers or ne'er-do-wells. As his body was no longer in dissent by way of shakes, collar sweat, and only the day's action gave his heart rapidity, for the first time in a long time he was absolutely fine with this.

Ludwig's pants were dotted with snot as young children came up smiling, thanking him, telling him he'd be an awesome king. He'd never been so touched to be unlaundered.

Bowser abstained from taking bread, though it was offered him by soldiers and families alike. To be providing was its own reward.

To share stories, warm hearts... To be among those still beating, while doing, caring, empathizing... He could only feel worry for those who weren't here. The victims. The survivors stuck in far-flung townships. Those lost or struggling. His own sons, and his missing daughter, half of which he knew were still in war's busom.

When he left the room, parting with waves and smiles... He waited until shadows overtook his shape to hide his snout in such large hands. Not one ear heard his pleading with fate.

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

Peach shrieked as the parafoil sucked Mario, she AND it towards the hole in space-time with an outlet to the underworld... She couldn't get the last few buttons, they were impermeable with fingers while they choked her from the force of pulling. She'd never unharness them in time. Closer and closer, feeling the wind as air poured into the portal and caught literal fire once it entered Hell...

... Mario created flames of his own. Still wielding tremendous power, his fingers wrapped around the cords and they were instantly melted, burning up towards the parachute, disengaging them.

Billows of fabric twisted up and fell through the portal, and Mario's strong legs pushed the dirt, getting them farther from doom. Kamek's toxic smile started fading as he realized they were no longer headed for death. The magician went scarlet in his cheeks; the plumber gained a foot of distance every second, easier to scramble the further they got.

Iggy pumped his fist, Wendy bit her nails as they lay between her teeth, and Kamek held his hands high. With one loud clap, he closed the Hell-portal and despaired. "CURSES to the lot of you! Any respect I could wish to attribute towards your teamwork dissolves on the presence ofUNNHH!!"

His monologuing ended abrupt with a bullet to the knee. Straight from grandoise speaking to stooped-down gasp, holding that joint's bone as it bled.

Larry held the smoking gun high. "Yappin' ain't fightin'. And conjure up some clothes, I can see your damn fishing tackle."

Kamek's seethe of a pained huff turned into blood-curdling scream of rage; his tongue stuck far past his bill's sharp end. He stood, wobbly, refusing to give in to wounds, while a spiraling pastiche of blues shot white-hot towards Wendy. She ducked it in record-time, and not a hair on her head wound up sacrificed. She outright-laughed, in the same heckling spirit as Larry. "Try again, bubs. I've seen kids' party magicians with more handle on coolness." She knew his lack of glasses since returning to standard form was half the good luck; getting shot was the other half.

Still he strived to end them. Mario picked Peach up and carried her to safety; his hands were warm on her dress, and would have been hot to touch if not for the royal garb she filled out. Knowing he was that strong now, and showing chivalry... For one bright second she forgot the noise, the calamities, planes flying overhead. Mario received an honest smile, from pink lips with sparkling gloss. His moustache perked up; he set her down gentle by a tree, tipped his hat and felt so tall. She saw nothing but good in this dashing everyman, inhabiting tight denim and quite hairy on the sizeable arms...

... Shouting broke their moment to pieces. They both looked to the nobles, where Kamek placed direct attacks. Star-shaped runes of absolute-zero barely missed Iggy, and had they connected his head would have been solid-iced and frozen dead. But he rolled clear of it, and Wendy shot a holopoint round to Kamek's ear. Earlier in the fight it would've been caught in one hand; now, his focus suffered from the leg wound and led to this injury. A chunk flew off into the middle-distance; half his left ear was gone.

"HAH." Was all she said, standing badass, while Kamek fanned his head as it stung him dearly.

He roared a comeback, dripping spit down stiff mouthparts. "Frumpy slattern!! I'LL show you the price of treason!!!"

Iggy had long-since got back to his feet, but was the only one who heard this threat and didn't have confusion. Kamek had rebelled against their father; but he saw opposition as mutiny to him. Iggy put it into vocal vigor, seeing red. "YOU do not own ANY such thing as to be so entitled!! No one can honour the dishonourable! Even your precious gods now forsake you!" He let fly the righteous hate, with Kamek's leg pouring blood, his chopped earlobe trickling it.

Together Larry and Iggy went for cutting him down; Iggy borrowed one of the two biggest firearms and Larry kept the other. Ig's trigger discipline was shoddy, but he made easily at least half the shots his youngest bro managed. All for naught, though, as Kamek poured all magic and resource into holding out hands to form shielding. A pale green, impermeable, bouncing lead away and in wild directions. Wendy grabbed them both by the back; the last thing they needed were stray ricochets.

Sparks showered from one Toad's plane flying overhead; as Wendy feared, there was collateral, and his fuel line severed, pouring jet fuel onto hot sand. His plane sputtered, started a dive, and he rocketed from the cockpit, ejecting just seconds before impact. His chute deployed and he lived, but his contemporaries, powerless. Peach was no longer in position to give orders, no access to radio. And they couldn't fire on something with larger guns, anyway, risk larger catastrophe if ground weapons failed this quickly.

Iggy dropped the gun; Wendy picked it up, put on the safety while he rummaged in his coat. A moment later, there in his hand lay a shining stone. It was round, rather pretty, and as it happened very different from any she'd seen in creeks or rivers. "What would that be?" she inquired.

"The heaviest mineral around, and the biggest specimen I've seen." He sounded like he knew well its uses, and soon made this apparent. "I carry it for good luck, and, well, I've lifted it repeatedly in either arm when I felt skinny. But if guns are bupkus in this impasse, then let's just discover if this goes identically."

She didn't understand at first, as didn't Larry, until he 'wound up', gave a halfway-impressive baseball throw, and the four-pound rock sailed through clean air.

It got to Kamek, alright. Right at the edge of his shield, which he held despite no attacks coming to him. The rock floated, like gravity stopped; it then drifted up to the shield's wall and gained dark-green borders; it adhered to the shield like stickers. Iggy boo'ed, deried him and shouted for the sorceror to "Give it back!" The scientist fipped the warlock the double-bird.

Then the warlock flipped him the stone. after one-quarter-second of bright flash, the rock flew off the shield at hundreds of MPH. It flew toward Iggy. His two closest allies, sister and brother, saw a spritz of red as it hit the side of his head, just below hairline. He flinched, his eyes rolled back, and now limp he fell to the sandy dirt. Far off the stone went skipping on grit, while Wendy dropped down, yelled his name, shook him. No response.

Larry's stomach sank. He almost felt like vomiting. Not another one. He looked to Kamek, whose cruel sneer of command showed no guilt. Larry's teeth grinded. His eyes could have popped from his skull, so complete his rabidness. "MOTHERFUUUUCKEEERR!!" He lifted his rifle and unloaded. Kamek made the swirling gesture at his own head meaning 'you're cuckoo' inside the safety of barrier. He winced only from the two hurts he'd taken, and still their interrupting diminished; he got used to them, which only hurt their chances.

Wendy frantically squeezed Iggy's shoulders; his pupils weren't visible, he didn't budge after that blow to the head. "IG' STAY WITH ME. IGGY PLEASE! PLEASE WAKE UP!!"

Nothing. It looked hopeless for him. She flashed back without wanting to; every step they'd taken getting here, his words, how unprepared he was to face this down. She was sure she'd made a grave mistake, and as her heart clouded with regret, knowing she wanted him along, blaming herself... A figure appeared next to her knelt-down self.

Mario stooped down, shedding light from his powered-up skin on the koopaling whose brain swelled. Wendy saw through fresh tears, the human's empathy. Concern. And he reached down with gloved hand, then took his other hand and removed the glove. It almost hurt her eyes to look on it... The plumber stretched his fingers knuckles-out over Iggy's temple, where he'd taken the blow. It shone brighter, and Wendy turned to not be blinded.

When the glow faded and she looked back, she saw movement in Iggy's chest. Breathing. Then his eyes, rotating back to normal. He slowly waxed lucid. He moved, and gazed straight into the face of Mario. He and Wendy both knew instantly what had taken place.

Wendy swept the human into a hug, before accidentally dropping him when his bare flesh sizzled on hers. A few waves of the hands, though, and she fanned herself cool again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I... Th-thank you."

As she choked up, Mario just smiled and turned away. He didn't even stay to nod towards Iggy, who rubbed his repaired noggin and graciously thanked the pipe-fitter even more stammeringly. To Peach's side Mario slowly made his way, put his glove back on, and accepted a kiss from his love.

Kamek shook from toe to forehead. "So, you ARE a group of fools who prolong misery." He let down his shield, fast, unceremonious now. "Enough hiding, this bores me to be so impervious. I'd much rather ascertain how DAFFY you can be!!" And with that he formed long projectiles in the air, a golden lot of needles. Arranged like quivers of arrows, and shot towards every one of them in series. Wendy shot most out of the air; rapid in action, her old fighting instincts came back to her minute by minute. Childhood Wendy was back.

But magic didn't run out of tricks. Kamek broke open the soil, parted it into two. A fissure ran from his feet to Iggy's, and stopped. Within it, growls began, of a low key, almost mechanical.

Mario knew this sound well. He took on a fighting stance. Peach, though frightened, did the same, still dressed for war. Larry aimed his barrel in the pit; Iggy stood up slowly, finding he wasn't woozy. Wendy took an item from inside her blouse, like a capsule, and affixed it on her anti-tank shooter. An accessory. She hit its trigger once, and a stream of flames erupted in the pit.

Still came growls from there, but now irritated. This told her what she needed to know, while Larry stood shocked at this new tactic he hadn't known she had.

The Earth shook, and dark void underground produced a shadow, rising. Then another, and another; at length there were five figures, tall, no substance but blotting out light; as if 3-Dimensional shade in a quintet. Groans and screeches roared from each; none were unified. Chaos in sound, foreboding. Blood ran cold as ice in Larry's veins. Iggy and Wendy fell back. Mario held Peach. Pilots above flooded airwaves with terror. Most blurted the name of their god.

This would spell the end. Of Kamek, or of them, or Mario, but someone would not be leaving that field. That sunken, eery valley, that artifice of landscape Kamek helmed and bastardized.

No day beyond today.

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

Beyond outpost after outpost, dust blew thick amid the desert wastes. No one's view was more splendid than the young boy Ninji's, and at the same time, just a fact of his life he'd long-since stopped noticing. The very edge of a mesa held his house; 350 meters up, 80 meters of tabletop hill that looked down on cedars and yuccas.

That is, in the present tense, it still had eyes to look down; other houses of this nomadic village had men sweeping stoops at their stone porches, or beating sides of beef with mallets, tenderizing. Far outside the interests of koopa nor magic, Toadies had not thought to come and murder through these old towns. And the boy's biggest trepidation was what had happened to his fishing line last night... Maybe brush mice had chewed the twine strung through it? His nose got in close, sharply seeking evidence, and sure enough, tiny tooth marks on the line.

No matter; he simply pulled-cut the offending portion, used tiny nubhands to tie the two ends and let the damaged bit blow to the winds. No huge fish lived in the little oasis below them anyway; this was just for minnows, for fun, learning slowly so one day he'd make the trek as a man to the rivers and bring real dinner prizes. The perch that more revered men carried into their adobe abodes could hide their own torsos. He always loved the glad and thankful women heard when theirs was the day's best haul. Even better than that, smells of cornmeal, spices, when one spouse or the other went working to make it a banquet.

A rare language was what the child swore with; this was the second pole he'd ever constructed, with bendy twig, a long piece of bark he'd stripped off the trunk of an acacia tree. It was shoddy, but didn't have to be anything more. When his granduncle had told him to "go outside and be of honourable use", this was close enough. Plus it let the adults talk of things he never yet had mind to follow; smoke in the distance, chatter of the 'others' and if they'd ever come and cause casualties. It wouldn't be history's first.

But he smiles. Tugging the fishing line, finding little chance it would break before he could climb down and run his strong legs to the water's edge, peek into the pond at fins flapping small and long scaly bodies curved in swim-dance through crystal clarity. He knew them as fantasy races. Friends of the hunters. Like fairies that flew inside the cool wet sky under air, as folktales immortalized.

He thanked the spirits that today was a day he can go down, watch the tiny beings bite his hook or circle it, teeming with life, interest. And he thanked them for his mam, his papa, granduncle Ferpol, nan Latuna. Their humble home, and all the village kids he could play with. One ran up as a matter of fact, and asked him if he wanted a trawling buddy. Thus they set off down the red rocks of the cliff, barefoot, on precarious handholds, but as known to them as a walk to a mailbox for folk in big villages.

A cloud blew past the sun, covering it, then leaving. As brightness hit the boy's unscarred face, and that of his friend, he wondered pleasantly: how many other tribes with children and lakes to splash in and the loose sand that stuck in his toes but felt so good when the sun set and air turned cool. How many things to see when the year passed, and another, and his face grew dirt as grandfather always called it, where the hunting trips began and made his daily burden.

How many children in big towns looked up and saw the vulture glide in silence, or down and saw the shining stones of mineral ground, firm and barren yet comforting?

It would be dusk soon. He heard the first cricket, he mimicked its call. His friend did the same, and they laughed as only youthful souls might.

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"Heave! HO! Heave! HOOO!"

Connected to ropes, the plinth lifted by physics and the arm-strength of ten koopa men. At the top of the church were several more able bodies, there to grab it, position and set in place. Hoisting it to there was the easy part, now came the painstaking accuracy, making sure it fit, no level or carpentry tools of high quality to use. But the eyes of the young and strong prevailed... From below, the man in cross-patterned robes smiled. They did their part with love and care. And next to him, bearded and under a cap, the imam of their local mosque patted the preacher's shoulder. A third of the labourers were his; a third of the parishioners of here were at the site of that mosque down the broken road, glad to be helping hands.

Hands here were shook, words of happiness expressed. The smell of smoke in the city was now just traces, caught by only the sensitive noses, then gone on the slightest breeze. The preacher stepped up, under the threshold fresh-rebuilt; around them were tens of huddled people, all castes, and without entering he turned and opened his book. Townsfolk were treated to an outdoor sermon, of thanks, of spiritual abundance. Children bounced on the knees of fathers. Small tykes upturned sippy-cups given by optimistic moms.

Soon, on the holy day of Sunni faith, the same preacher leading here would attend worship led by that imam who now stood by. Mutual respect of the highest order.

Half a block down the crippled streets, the last brick was laid on pasty mortar, squishing it before it dried. The corner grocery was close to open again; it would be more solid, more visible, than the wooden veneer of yestermonth. And with the mural promised by a patron, whose hands wrought visual wonders, everyone would come here for their bread and butter.

A mile further still, the beating of a hammer concluded. The final window was nailed up on Old Lady Pearson's goomba house; the gingersnaps she baked on a bonfire in her front yard wafted past labourers, eager to do it and do it right so they'd retire soon to pastries. Her remaining money they'd kindly refused when she pulled it from her purse; it went back in, and they learned just how strong the elderly woman could still hug.

At the bottom of the hill - the low rolling land under all these citizens' feet - A pidgit threw a piece of plywood down on what was once a sidewalk. They lacked anything to fasten it, but they'd be back with what could. In the meantime, no one should have to stroll on shards of concrete. As for these ruined roads, the city crews would be back soon enough. Time was all that stood in the way.

All help made a difference, skilled or unskilled. And all those who pitched in heard the racket at the same time; loudness from above them, on the highest mound, at the tallest dwelling. Good cheer issued from the palace. Those aiding plentifully today, and the young, and those of more-forgotten caste, were welcome equally. Several made their way on-foot to the rapturous ruckus... A party was about to commence. A celebration of new life, of the day itself, all taking place on the king's lawn and dime. Who could resist?

Many poured in through the gates, now cleaned of red residues by volunteer soldiers. Most would have no idea what had happened just earlier that day... It was Bowser's idea that they shouldn't. And his design, too, was in opening his house thusly. It didn't matter that as far as he knew the fight still raged on, past the edge of where anyone here could see under the sky... That was for him to carry, and his children, as a burden rightful. Though he didn't greet them individually, he entertained, answered questions on how he felt or who made the salmon or where the bathroom was.

No one cowered in fear from him. Not a soul saw his face and missed the full congeniality.

His worries he locked away in the mind, and never did it crack the shield he forced to exist from brain to mouth.

Young Shyguys latched onto his leg, play-tackling, or showing loyalty when their moms and dads told them so, bellies full with feast. They accidentally rubbed snot all over his scales; he didn't care.

Baskets continued coming out of the kitchens. Servers were laughing, carrying on. "Three more steaks, two racks of ribs, who's famished!?" They shouted with gleeful report.

"Here!"

"I could have another, yeah!"

"Ma'am!"

They were distributed. Faces got messy with sauce, throats moved swigs of lemonade or water to the stomachs. Those who came separate, after arguments or long times not speaking, felt good enough to reconcile.

And through it all, the king held jolly, barely contemplative. He saw Roy fraternizing with a family - two Spiketops, man and woman, in their 30's, and their young adopted Shyguy - and having pleasantires, telling jokes. They were neither put off nor fear-wracked. Remarkable was their strength, ignoring blood from earlier battle, evidence of violence, Toadies' many ends. Here these chat-engagers were good common folk, given to peace with one another so greatly that not one even got cross nor complained. The patriarch learned from Roy's level-headed looks that very hour, he'd not need to ask nor hold concern on whether Roy was clean. He saw from across the room Ludwig's fitted clothes, the happy expessions he didn't start to lose at all. Bowser knew also he'd not need to wonder if this would be a good king one day... And indeed, as Esmerelda bent down to rub a Goomba's scalp, a good parent.

The King even read one word from Roy's lips: 'Chenra." The mention of it brought both Spiketops to a shocked surprise. The ex-bully prince proved his knowledge... And through opening his wallet and giving them alms in the form of folded bills, proved respect and the slightest hint of reparation.

Any day before now, this act would incense the monarch. Today... In this room, on this date, surrounded by these warm survivors who forgave his trespasses so thorough they'd scarcely say a thing if asked to recount them, he knew. He knew why Roy wished to bring the past to light. Why Ludwig looked at young and old with considerable empathy. Why Esmerelda dressed down, in her oldest and most muted gown, to hand out quenchers to children.

He knew that his line was nothing without them. And at this moment where that plaintive statement crossed his mind, he felt a tap on the wrist, by a short neighbour. He glanced over, it was a koopa, around the age of his kids. His ears were open to hear out the young man, who carried a plate in his koopa hands. "Pleased to meet you, Your Excellence, name's Barkley. I couldn't help but notice, you haven't eaten, and the kitchen's still banging out pound after pound of vittles, so, uh..." He lifted his plate of chicken, not one bite taken out; it was fresh and hot off the titanium grill. "... This would be my second. But I think I wanna see you satiated, if you'll forgive the directness, m'liege..."

The young adult was different in manner, but all people common or noble had idiosyncrasies. What mattered was the gesture, the offer... So, given unto him, Bowser accepted and spoke his own kind intents. "Forgiveness is superfluous. What I wonder, though, includes whether or not you're a college boy... You seem about the right age, and constitution. I can't promise we'll salvage the campus you might have studied on, wherever that be..." Bowser saw the poignance of Barkley's focus, knowing he'd nailed that truth. "... All I can promise is use of our palace libraries. All academia therein. A good man deserves a good job."

The koopa beamed, and jumped with joy, dorkily. Bowser chuckled, not amused but just ... Happy.

He held the plate, and took the first bite from a giant poultry wing. His amenable charms grew six sizes in as many hours... Blooming past his ability to crumble at the fact there's no news yet, from the edge of society, the edge of their lands. The people here needed him; he'd have no such luxury of brooding or making it about his extensions.

He sent his sons all the love and faith he held, and to the plumber, too, for comparable reason... Theirs was a clash for the million. Nations under Bowser united, the peoples and place.

May they be kept and victorious...

To be continued...