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Let’s take the fight to him, pals.
Far away in his twisted domain, these words escaped Darkseid’s notice. He neglected them not because he couldn’t hear them, or because the group of cartoonish buffoons on the annoyingly whimsical planet somehow gained a leg up on him. No, rather, the would-be crew of heroes -- seven of them now -- simply, essentially, didn’t exist. They were exactly as they were: rodents and pests not worthy of the Fallen Arbiter’s gaze.
Yet, deep in the depths of Nos’talgia’s most unforgiving domain, Mickey Mouse trudged on.
He felt lost, as did the six following his lead. He stood the smallest and least physically imposing of them all, but the domain they’d lurked into was mighty dark and getting more foreboding with every step. The would-be hero barely knew which way was up. Every path they took, every patch of gray, cracked dirt they stepped on seemed to wend and wind in the most mangled way, and the forest around them creaked and groaned. Mickey didn’t exactly want to believe it, but sometimes his eyes told him the jagged, unruly, leafless trees were… moving?
Yet there was no wind in the Uncanny Valley. The mouse king noted this pretty early on in their trek, lifting his round, spherical black nose and trying to catch a scent of their quarry. He realized rather quickly the only thing he smelled was nothing; emptiness. This forest was devoid of the aromatic fragrances of most other wooded groves like it. No sweet-smelling berries, no savory flowers, no odorous tree sap. Crooked black-and-grey trees tangled ahead of them as far as the eye could see, but the life that normally accompanied plants like them… well, that life was gone.
For Mickey’s money, he would’ve guessed they were the only living things here in this wicked wood if not for the Sqwid Sqwad’s insistence otherwise. The quintet of Inklings had, admittedly, not delved too deep into the lore of the Fallen Arbiter quite yet, despite initially making the rash decision to commit their lives to him. Their brief foray into cultism, however, had turned up some fruit in the midst of this fruitless forest: the existence and location of an outpost of sorts they suspected had been occupied by one of Darkseid’s thralls.
According to their tale, a long-forgotten keep stood tucked into the side of a mountain somewhere deep within the forest. To hear them tell it, the place had always been pretty gloomy, even before the Uncanny Valley encroached upon it (altogether out of character for a Nos’talgian landmark) but had taken on a new, spooky life altogether in recent days. Vlad the Inkpaler had been the only one to really see it -- an accomplishment which earned him his role as the prophet of their short-lived cult -- and he’d told a thrilling story of plants rising to the call to serve their new master, of shades of more human-looking creatures darting through the halls, new life breathed into them by whoever the castle’s new occupant was.
The stories made Mickey shudder; he’d yet to come face-to-face with any of the Fallen Arbiter’s actual minions, but even in Vlad’s vague terms, they sounded a whole heckuva lot scarier than Heffalumps and Woozles.
The zippers on his long, black cloak clinked against each other as he stalked through down the latest fork in their twisty path. He held the Star Seeker out in front of him, its indigo blade close to the only color that existed in this blank, dreary place. The golden star at the end of the weapon glimmered strangely, reflecting a light that Mickey was almost certain wasn’t even there. Much time had passed since he’d last felt like he needed to walk with his keyblade at the ready; even the wilds of Kraw seemed manageable compared to these nightmarish circumstances. He didn’t really know if these Inklings had teeth or what, but he heard some sort of mandibles chattering behind him, and Blues wasn’t exactly the type to so obviously betray his fear.
“All this makes me hella nervous,” Argyle admitted from the back of the pack. Mickey paused, glancing over his shoulder to see her lavender tentacles almost shaking at the sides of her head. He sighed softly, almost to himself. He couldn’t deny the anxiety creeping up his own little bones -- and he couldn’t expect his crew to not be nervous if he himself couldn’t beat back the fear.
The Proto Man stood just off his shoulder. Mickey met the preteen machine’s gaze, trying to silently communicate with his best friend. The mouse king had always been a leader, but he’d never really felt like it. Blues was by far the smarter of the duo, and the closest Mickey’d ever felt to being large and in charge was during their brief experiment with the Potara Earrings, and the Proto Mouse. They’d been through a lot together, and their connection was potent, but they hadn’t managed to figure out telepathy just yet when they weren’t occupying one mind, and he could tell Blues wasn’t really receiving his messages right now.
“Yeah, pal, I get ya,” Mickey turned his eyes back to Argyle. He gazed at her through blank, pale stares of the other four Inklings, and could tell they, too, looked to him for support.
He stifled a chuckle -- just a few hours ago, they’d been content to sacrifice him and drag his bloody, nasty corpse to this castle. Now, they had somehow turned the corner and were following him headfirst into battle, fear or no fear.
Did he really have that effect on people? Maybe he’d misjudged himself.
He’d certainly misjudged them. When he and Squee and Blues had spied on Argyle, peering through her window and seeing the scattered notes and red thread-laden conspiracy board, they’d taken her and any of her compatriots for thugs and evildoers, when it turned out they’d just been heckin’ scared, man. They’d somehow ended up in the wrong corner of the universe at the wrong time.
…the mouse king didn’t know why, but he had a nagging feeling that this wasn’t the only wrong corner of the universe. Could this Unmaking shiz be happening on more than just Nos’talgia? He pushed the thought out of his mind: save one thing at a time, Mick.
“Mayyyyybe,” he started, holding out the word as he searched his noggin for an idea, “we should set up camp somewhere soon?” He looked up into the sky. “I dunno exactly how to tell when it’s night in this goshdarn place, but we’ve been walkin’ for a while and I could do with a nap. What about y’all?”
He glanced around at the Inklings, and saw hints of smiles crop up on their faces.
Nice.
“Blues, your sensors tell you anywhere around here that’s good for campin’?” he turned to the preteen machine.
The android whirred for a moment before settling. “Quick scan indicates there’s a structure of some sorts up ahead,” the boy nodded with a smile. “Not sure what the weather patterns are like in here -- this Medium thing the Crossroads has doesn’t give any clear reports on the climate in this section of the world. But… shelter’d probably be wise.”
“Yep,” Mickey nodded in agreement. “Look, fellas,” he smiled to the Inkling crew, “we’re gonna get a little camping in on our way to this castle.”
“The structure’s just up ahead, past that tree line,” Blues pointed, and the septet set off.
They pushed their way through the ashy, spiky brush, each of their diminutive forms letting off an ‘ouch’ or ‘ow’ as they scraped against a thorn or two, emerging on a small cliff-face on the other side. Mickey was first out, and his eyes went wide when he spotted the ‘structure’ Blues’ sensors had detected tucked in the crook of the cliff-face below.
A giant, bluish-black castle rose from the rocky face of the mountain’s foothills. Pointy towers stabbed upward, bending in ways towers shouldn’t have been able to bend. The central structure spread large and bulbously below them, alight with what, from their admittedly far vantage point, seemed to be flickering teal torches. The flames betrayed swaying shadows within the castle’s span, though the adventuring mouse and his compatriots could only guess whether those shadows were just tricks of the light, or if they belonged to some living thing or things. Banners, torn and tattered, hung haphazardly from towers. Either whoever had placed them there had no eye from symmetrical decor, or several of them had been ripped down. Though the latter seemed likely, Mickey wouldn’t be too quick to discount the former: the feng shui of this place was just wholly awful, in his opinion. Minnie could’ve given this place a spit shine that would certainly have, at least, made it less abjectly terrifying.
As it was, though, his dearly beloved wife wasn’t here -- she was thus far nowhere to be found in this whole huge galaxy, as it happened -- and this place looked the worse for wear, inside and out. A huge, formidable-looking wall rose up before the mighty fortress, cracked and broken in places that implied many, many assaults over the years. Most of these cracks were freshly repaired, implying -- most forebodingly -- that someone, or something, currently occupied this place, leaving the mouse king to only guess at what exactly it could be.
“Vlad,” he squeaked a bit as the black-suited Inkling strode up next to him. “This it?”
He wasn’t looking at Vlad, but he could hear the Inkpaler gulp nervously. “Yes.”
Mickey Mouse nodded. So they’d found the keep, then.
Far away in his twisted domain, these words escaped Darkseid’s notice. He neglected them not because he couldn’t hear them, or because the group of cartoonish buffoons on the annoyingly whimsical planet somehow gained a leg up on him. No, rather, the would-be crew of heroes -- seven of them now -- simply, essentially, didn’t exist. They were exactly as they were: rodents and pests not worthy of the Fallen Arbiter’s gaze.
Yet, deep in the depths of Nos’talgia’s most unforgiving domain, Mickey Mouse trudged on.
He felt lost, as did the six following his lead. He stood the smallest and least physically imposing of them all, but the domain they’d lurked into was mighty dark and getting more foreboding with every step. The would-be hero barely knew which way was up. Every path they took, every patch of gray, cracked dirt they stepped on seemed to wend and wind in the most mangled way, and the forest around them creaked and groaned. Mickey didn’t exactly want to believe it, but sometimes his eyes told him the jagged, unruly, leafless trees were… moving?
Yet there was no wind in the Uncanny Valley. The mouse king noted this pretty early on in their trek, lifting his round, spherical black nose and trying to catch a scent of their quarry. He realized rather quickly the only thing he smelled was nothing; emptiness. This forest was devoid of the aromatic fragrances of most other wooded groves like it. No sweet-smelling berries, no savory flowers, no odorous tree sap. Crooked black-and-grey trees tangled ahead of them as far as the eye could see, but the life that normally accompanied plants like them… well, that life was gone.
For Mickey’s money, he would’ve guessed they were the only living things here in this wicked wood if not for the Sqwid Sqwad’s insistence otherwise. The quintet of Inklings had, admittedly, not delved too deep into the lore of the Fallen Arbiter quite yet, despite initially making the rash decision to commit their lives to him. Their brief foray into cultism, however, had turned up some fruit in the midst of this fruitless forest: the existence and location of an outpost of sorts they suspected had been occupied by one of Darkseid’s thralls.
According to their tale, a long-forgotten keep stood tucked into the side of a mountain somewhere deep within the forest. To hear them tell it, the place had always been pretty gloomy, even before the Uncanny Valley encroached upon it (altogether out of character for a Nos’talgian landmark) but had taken on a new, spooky life altogether in recent days. Vlad the Inkpaler had been the only one to really see it -- an accomplishment which earned him his role as the prophet of their short-lived cult -- and he’d told a thrilling story of plants rising to the call to serve their new master, of shades of more human-looking creatures darting through the halls, new life breathed into them by whoever the castle’s new occupant was.
The stories made Mickey shudder; he’d yet to come face-to-face with any of the Fallen Arbiter’s actual minions, but even in Vlad’s vague terms, they sounded a whole heckuva lot scarier than Heffalumps and Woozles.
The zippers on his long, black cloak clinked against each other as he stalked through down the latest fork in their twisty path. He held the Star Seeker out in front of him, its indigo blade close to the only color that existed in this blank, dreary place. The golden star at the end of the weapon glimmered strangely, reflecting a light that Mickey was almost certain wasn’t even there. Much time had passed since he’d last felt like he needed to walk with his keyblade at the ready; even the wilds of Kraw seemed manageable compared to these nightmarish circumstances. He didn’t really know if these Inklings had teeth or what, but he heard some sort of mandibles chattering behind him, and Blues wasn’t exactly the type to so obviously betray his fear.
“All this makes me hella nervous,” Argyle admitted from the back of the pack. Mickey paused, glancing over his shoulder to see her lavender tentacles almost shaking at the sides of her head. He sighed softly, almost to himself. He couldn’t deny the anxiety creeping up his own little bones -- and he couldn’t expect his crew to not be nervous if he himself couldn’t beat back the fear.
The Proto Man stood just off his shoulder. Mickey met the preteen machine’s gaze, trying to silently communicate with his best friend. The mouse king had always been a leader, but he’d never really felt like it. Blues was by far the smarter of the duo, and the closest Mickey’d ever felt to being large and in charge was during their brief experiment with the Potara Earrings, and the Proto Mouse. They’d been through a lot together, and their connection was potent, but they hadn’t managed to figure out telepathy just yet when they weren’t occupying one mind, and he could tell Blues wasn’t really receiving his messages right now.
“Yeah, pal, I get ya,” Mickey turned his eyes back to Argyle. He gazed at her through blank, pale stares of the other four Inklings, and could tell they, too, looked to him for support.
He stifled a chuckle -- just a few hours ago, they’d been content to sacrifice him and drag his bloody, nasty corpse to this castle. Now, they had somehow turned the corner and were following him headfirst into battle, fear or no fear.
Did he really have that effect on people? Maybe he’d misjudged himself.
He’d certainly misjudged them. When he and Squee and Blues had spied on Argyle, peering through her window and seeing the scattered notes and red thread-laden conspiracy board, they’d taken her and any of her compatriots for thugs and evildoers, when it turned out they’d just been heckin’ scared, man. They’d somehow ended up in the wrong corner of the universe at the wrong time.
…the mouse king didn’t know why, but he had a nagging feeling that this wasn’t the only wrong corner of the universe. Could this Unmaking shiz be happening on more than just Nos’talgia? He pushed the thought out of his mind: save one thing at a time, Mick.
“Mayyyyybe,” he started, holding out the word as he searched his noggin for an idea, “we should set up camp somewhere soon?” He looked up into the sky. “I dunno exactly how to tell when it’s night in this goshdarn place, but we’ve been walkin’ for a while and I could do with a nap. What about y’all?”
He glanced around at the Inklings, and saw hints of smiles crop up on their faces.
Nice.
“Blues, your sensors tell you anywhere around here that’s good for campin’?” he turned to the preteen machine.
The android whirred for a moment before settling. “Quick scan indicates there’s a structure of some sorts up ahead,” the boy nodded with a smile. “Not sure what the weather patterns are like in here -- this Medium thing the Crossroads has doesn’t give any clear reports on the climate in this section of the world. But… shelter’d probably be wise.”
“Yep,” Mickey nodded in agreement. “Look, fellas,” he smiled to the Inkling crew, “we’re gonna get a little camping in on our way to this castle.”
“The structure’s just up ahead, past that tree line,” Blues pointed, and the septet set off.
They pushed their way through the ashy, spiky brush, each of their diminutive forms letting off an ‘ouch’ or ‘ow’ as they scraped against a thorn or two, emerging on a small cliff-face on the other side. Mickey was first out, and his eyes went wide when he spotted the ‘structure’ Blues’ sensors had detected tucked in the crook of the cliff-face below.
A giant, bluish-black castle rose from the rocky face of the mountain’s foothills. Pointy towers stabbed upward, bending in ways towers shouldn’t have been able to bend. The central structure spread large and bulbously below them, alight with what, from their admittedly far vantage point, seemed to be flickering teal torches. The flames betrayed swaying shadows within the castle’s span, though the adventuring mouse and his compatriots could only guess whether those shadows were just tricks of the light, or if they belonged to some living thing or things. Banners, torn and tattered, hung haphazardly from towers. Either whoever had placed them there had no eye from symmetrical decor, or several of them had been ripped down. Though the latter seemed likely, Mickey wouldn’t be too quick to discount the former: the feng shui of this place was just wholly awful, in his opinion. Minnie could’ve given this place a spit shine that would certainly have, at least, made it less abjectly terrifying.
As it was, though, his dearly beloved wife wasn’t here -- she was thus far nowhere to be found in this whole huge galaxy, as it happened -- and this place looked the worse for wear, inside and out. A huge, formidable-looking wall rose up before the mighty fortress, cracked and broken in places that implied many, many assaults over the years. Most of these cracks were freshly repaired, implying -- most forebodingly -- that someone, or something, currently occupied this place, leaving the mouse king to only guess at what exactly it could be.
“Vlad,” he squeaked a bit as the black-suited Inkling strode up next to him. “This it?”
He wasn’t looking at Vlad, but he could hear the Inkpaler gulp nervously. “Yes.”
Mickey Mouse nodded. So they’d found the keep, then.