V A Heckin' Harrowing (Quest)

[Mickey Mouse]

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.

Quest: The Root of the Problem
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 1606 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 1606/10000 (according to GDocs)

Mickey Mouse has brought his Summon, Proto Man, and his Minions, the Sqwid Sqwad (purchase pending) to fight the Parademon & co.

 

[Mickey Mouse]

Deep within the bowels of the castle’s monstrous majesty, an ear-splitting, ferocious screech wailed out.

Mickey Mouse’s eyes snapped open.

For quite a while, peace and quiet blanketed the makeshift camp on the cliff-face, in stark contrast to the twisted fortress tucked away in the crook of the mountain. From their high vantage point, the mouse king and his comrades tried for some time to discern the source of the shifting shadows and intermittent chittering emanating from down below. Until the piercing noise, no certain signs of life had appeared, so the septet tried their best to rest before inevitably moving on the keep later in the night.

Despite the eerie quiet, the would-be leader of the troop hadn’t been able to sleep, his mind racing like Lightning McQueen in the World Grand Prix. What the heckskies were they getting themselves into? He barely knew diddly-squat about this Darkseid fella, and here he was about to charge headlong towards what might very well be one of his cronies? Maybe even get into a fight with them? With six wayward souls following behind him, too – golly gee whiz, who the heck did he think he was?!

He knew who the heck he thought was. By Gosh, he was a dang hero.

At least he was supposed to be. He hadn’t acted all that much like one for a hot minute, though, if you asked him. His sketchy dealings with that Viz person; another spin in that evil death tournament, Dante’s Abyss; his inaction as another creepy darkness had crept over the old place; all that nasty business in Nippur. With all that bopping around his noggin, he felt positively vile. When was the last time he’d done something actually heroic? Man, he couldn’t even remember. This whole business, though… it was a chance to make things right, wasn’t it? Who else was gonna rise to the heckin’ challenge if not him?

He sat up and turned his gaze toward the castle. The final echoes of the screech at last faded, but the resumed silence didn’t assuage the chills creeping up the keyblade master’s spine. He shuddered a bit as the sound dwindled into nothingness; even in its final notes, it was unlike anything he’d ever heard. An altogether unrecognizable noise, yet somehow simultaneously sounding like all the pain and misery Mickey’d ever felt – or even just witnessed – in his long, long life. He shivered, abject terror washing over him. Was this what people meant when they said ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire?’ Dang, what a wacky way to recommit to being a big ol’ hero.

“It’s not dissimilar to what Gilgamesh sounded like,” Blues chimed in, “back when he was Diablo’s slave.” Mickey glanced over at the preteen machine, leaned against a tree. With his sunglasses pushed up, he looked almost like he’d been asleep; Mickey knew better, though. Naps weren’t in the cards for his best friend – machines like Blues didn’t need to sleep. That didn’t spare him from the occasional overt emotional response, though, and despite Mickey’s best efforts, the tension between the pair regarding the gilded king hadn’t yet disappeared. “Yea,” Blues continued, “forgot your new buddy used to be possessed by a demon, huh?”

Mickey frowned. “Because of us,” he threw back.

“Served him right,” Blues scowled.

Mickey didn’t waste time responding to that. He pushed himself off the ground and walked away from the android. He didn’t want to fight. Not at a time like this.

He knew the mechanized boy hadn’t seen the King of Heroes’ behavior on the island, and forgiveness had never been hard-coded into Blues’ matrix like it was in Mickey’s. But didn’t he trust Mickey’s judgment at all?

No – why would he? The mouse king had thought it himself, not moments before: what had he done recently to earn anyone’s trust as a hero?

His eyes fell to the castle below. The shadows danced, even though little light filtered in through the dark, overcast clouds above their head. The ceaseless chittering drifted up toward their campsite again in the absence of the piercing screech. He suddenly felt the pit in his stomach urging him to charge forward into the unknown reaches of the fortress, to go down there, knock on this big fella’s door, and be the hero he wanted to be. Was it… selfish of him to fight these evildoers just because he felt down on himself? Was that even the only reason he was doing it? Someone had to do it, right? Someone had to fight back. Someone had to help.

How did he know if he was the right mouse for the job?

He looked at the Inklings scattered across the rocky cliff-face, curled up and sleeping pretty soundly. Somehow, he’d convinced them to put their faith in him, right? Not a super high bar, given that just before trusting him they were gonna give up their whole life to the big, faceless evil that was Darkseid. He’d managed to win them over, though. He’d at least saved them from whatever fate waited at Darkseid’s feet. Wasn’t that heroic?

“I know naught of this being Gilgamesh,” the sing-song voice of Orphie piped up nearby, “but that noise came not from a creature of flesh.”

Mickey perked up at the sound of the pink-tentacled Inkling’s voice; he hadn’t even noticed they weren’t amongst the slumbering others. Instead, they stood precariously on the edge of the cliff, ink-guitar hanging loosely in front of their chest. Their pink tentacles cascaded down their shoulders, wriggling slightly to a beat Mickey couldn’t hear even with his big mouse ears. No gusts of wind blew through the mountainous pass, but their patch-laden jean jacket protected them from the inexplicable cold that seemed to hang perpetually over the Uncanny Valley. Mickey pulled his own pitch-black coat closer around his tiny body and attempted to pinpoint what they were looking at. Their eyes clearly fixated on the castle below, but their gaze seemed farther away than any pair of pupils Mickey’d ever seen.

Orphie was one of the more curious members of the Sqwid Sqwad – they rarely spoke, but incessantly hummed softly beneath most conversations. Mickey had never been able to pinpoint the melody, and never understood why they insisted on rhyming nearly everything they said. Still, he appreciated the way they heard the world. They seemed to have an understanding of the Crossroads he, in his limited experience with the place, could only dream of. His big ears filtered sounds others often couldn’t hear, and Orphie seemed attuned to those sounds and more beyond them without any special traits to make it so. They just seemed… connected to the space around them.

“Ya don’t sleep, Orphie?” Mickey smiled softly, sidling up and sitting down next to where they stood. He let his legs hang off the cliff and looked up at the pink Inkling, observing their focused but absent gaze. Their staring contest with the fortress below didn’t break, and a response never came, so Mickey pushed on. “Yeah, it sounds really weird.”

“It is calling us,” Orphie declared, almost under their breath. “Are you in no rush?”

Mickey glanced up to see that the Inkling’s eyes had turned to him. He felt suddenly seen by them, and not just in the literal way. He felt seen in a way that – now, in the midst of his swirling anxiety about what was to come and his place in it – made him distinctly uncomfortable. “I just…” he started, averting his own gaze back to the castle, “…I don’t wanna do this wrong.”

Orphie didn’t respond. They knelt down, knees touching the edge of the cliff, and sat on their feet. They adjusted their inktar to a playing position, and strummed it once, then again, and again. Almost unconsciously, Mickey’s eyes closed. The soft, tinny sound of the music washed over him; something about the tune sounded strangely familiar, but Mickey couldn’t place it.

Then, Orphie sang.

“Snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint to be seen…”

Their voice was gorgeous. Straight-toned and pure, whistling in the Uncanny Valley’s never-ending night. Mickey knew there was no snow in reality, but with his eyes tightly shut and his imagination running wild, he imagined the little white flakes fluttering down around him. He could almost feel them press against the fur on the tip top of his head, melting into little water droplets and running down his face. Tears welled up in his eyes and slipped through his eyelids, sliding down his cheeks and mixing with melted snowflakes.

“A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like I’m the queen,” they continued. “The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside… couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried…”

Mickey’s eyes popped open. “I know this song,” he muttered, almost quiet enough to escape Orphie’s notice, but the Inkling’s focus did shift to him. They strummed a wrong note on the inktar as he stood up and looked at them. “How do you know this song?”

Orphie shrugged. “I can hear songs of the soul,” they explained. “Your soul, their soul,” they continued, pointing back toward the Sqwid Sqwad, “I hear the music that makes your heart whole.” Mickey blinked – none of that made any sense to him, and yet somehow he understood them completely. He glanced back toward the castle, and wondered if he dared to ask… what was the song of the monster’s soul? If it even was a monster, that is.

Orphie seemed to understand inherently what he wanted to know, and obliged his curiosity with a simple response. “It has no song,” they said, “and that feels wrong.”

Thrum-thrum. Thrum-thrum. Thrum-thrum.

The mouse king’s ears perked up.

“…I hear a song,” he whispered.

Orphie spun toward the castle, flinging their tentacles as they did so. Mickey, too, turned to look down at the large, foreboding structure, and that’s when he saw it: the vines that crept up the outer wall of the keep had started to move. Shadowy figures had started to skulk out of the front gates, across the drawbridge over the moat. They moved slowly, but with a certain shambling rhythm that made the mouse suddenly aware the gross-looking black water surrounding the castle was perfectly still.

“Wake up the others, Orphie,” Mickey commanded. The Inkling didn’t move, at first – they simply watched as the shadowy mass slinked out of the castle and towards the hill path that would lead them straight for their cliff-face. “Orphie,” Mickey repeated, “wake them – ”

He stopped suddenly as he noticed his shadow falling before him, down the cliff and splaying out on the land between the bottom of the cliff and the keep’s wall. He could’ve sworn – knew, even, that he was standing almost completely still, but his shadow seemed to… dance?

What the heck? he thought.

His eyes went a little wide, his focus drawn from the creatures starting to creep their way up towards his squad. Orphie remained frozen next to him.

How is anyone supposed to trust me if I can’t even trust my own goshdang shadow?

It took every bit of mental fortitude he could muster to summon his keyblade to his gloved hand. The light filled the air before his palm, and finally the Star Seeker reappeared and his fingers grasped the hilt. His knees bent into a fighting crouch. He blinked twice, and when his eyes opened again, he realized he’d been so focused on the shadows he hadn’t seen the vines speeding towards him. They lunged at him, and for a moment, he just watched as the thorny, spiky black plant appendages sped through the air, threatening to drag him to parts as of yet unknown.

“Mick!”

Blues’ voice shook him awake. Without thinking, he sprung forward, leaping off the cliff and swinging the keyblade at the conglomeration of vines racing at him. The blade slashed through them like they were nothing; they withered into ash, and Mickey began to fall.

“Mick!” Blues’ voice called out again. The mouse king turned as he fell and saw the preteen machine sprint toward the cliff and stop at the edge, and worried look plastered on his cyborg countenance. For the first time since they’d entered the Uncanny Valley, Mickey really smiled.

And then he whistled.

Quest: The Root of the Problem
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 2060 words (according to MS Word)
Quest WC: 3666/10000

 

[Mickey Mouse]

A little while ago…

“A package?” Mickey Mouse squeaked, incredulously. He looked up, eyes almost bulging out of his head from wonder at the mysterious creature before him. The people and things he’d encountered in the old place had been pretty weird -- and it didn’t slip past his notice that he himself was an anthropomorphic mouse -- but some of the things in the Crossroads surpassed even his pretty active imagination.Standing before him, supporting a long, thin package with one wing, seemed to be a human-sized -- as in, much larger than Mickey -- bipedal stork, purple-feathered and blue-beaked. Strangely enough, her outfit looked perfectly normal, resembling a traditional mail carrier’s uniform, but with a glowing, teal ‘MM’ blazed on the front pocket. Medium Mail Services, she’d clarified when Mickey had opened the door.

“Don’t ask how we knew you were here,” the intergalactic mailperson droned as she stood outside the Toon Town hotel room Mickey and Blues had shacked up in. “The Medium Mail has their ways of getting all packages delivered -- and delivered on time.”

The words seemed scripted, sounding more like a stock mission statement than something the bird’s bird brain had come up with. The postgirl didn’t seem too enthused or keen to make sure that she’d found the right spot, though; either she was absolutely certain that this package belonged to this location, or she just didn’t care, and based on her general demeanor, Mickey suspected it was the latter. He would’ve been more worried about her efficiency at her job if there hadn’t been a large ‘to’ sticker plastered on the side of the package in full view that, indeed, read ‘To: Mickey Mouse.’

“Oh,” she monotoned, “and there’s a note, too.”

She tossed an envelope in the mouse’s direction. It was also addressed to a certain diminutive hero. Mickey grinned; he hadn’t gotten actual, honest-to-Gosh mail in so long! The malbird not-so-carefully shoved the package up against the wall, and turned to the window of the hotel corridor, clambering out of it and flapping away. Mickey barely noticed her exit whilst he took in the sender’s identity, written in excellent handwriting on the top left corner of the envelope: ‘Gilgamesh, Uruk, Mesa Roja, The Crossroads.’

Gilly?!

Mickey smiled, in spite of himself. He musta gotten someone else to write this, he chuckled, his handwriting just can’t be this cute!

Without much hesitation, he tore into the envelope.

Mickey,

I was perusing some shops in my new city -- Uruk, you may have heard of it -- when I noticed one of the businesses seemed to have come into possession of this. As I recall, it belongs to you, so I exercised my kingly powers and obtained it. I command you to use it well, mouse. Do not disappoint your king.

Best,
King of Pals His Majesty Gilgamesh

The mouse king’s smile grew bigger, and he turned his eyes toward the package leaning outside the door of their flat. Gilgamesh was lucky the mail carrier had managed to deliver it today. Tomorrow morning, he and Blues were set to trail after Argyle the Inkling, and who knew when they would be back? He wondered, idly, if the mail carriers really would’ve been able to find him anywhere in the whole Crossroads as he started to tear into the package.

He grinned when he spotted the familiar rolled-up rug inside.

***

Whoosh!

“Carpet?!”

The Proto Man’s eyes went wide beneath his sunglasses as an all too familiar looking purple-and-gold rug swooped out of the shadows of the cliff face and scooped up the plummeting mouse king. Mickey’s tush landed with a plop on the magic carpet, smirking as he pushed himself up onto his feet and ducked beneath an incoming swarm of demonic vines trying to catch him off-guard. He lifted the Star Seeker up, slashing through the thorned limbs and watching as they disintegrated into nothingness once they’d been severed from their host.

The mouse’s brow furrowed. These plants weren’t normal; they seemed to have been consumed by whatever darkness had taken root in the keep, warped and mangled almost into… evil versions of what they’d once been. From what Mickey heard, the Uncanny Valley had never been the most friendly place, but the strange indigo energy snaking through these vines looked nothing like the dreary gray that blanketed the rest of this creepy locale. He shuddered as he realized that maybe Darkseid -- or whatever thrall he’d sent to Nos’talgia in his place -- had literally taken over the flora here and deformed them into his own monstrous minions.

A scowl crossed Mickey Mouse’s face. He couldn’t let some shiznit like that slide.

“Dive, carpet!” he shouted, and the magical rug obliged, tilting down and sending itself and its diminutive passenger on a collision course with the ground. The speed of the flight blasted the mouse through the air, and for a moment, he could almost feel gusts of wind blowing on his face. He knew that wasn’t true -- there was no wind here in this part of the Uncanny Valley, after all -- but the familiar feeling of air whipping past his little mousy cheeks warmed his heart even in the midst of all this dark stuff.

He’d certainly missed this old rug. Cruising around on a magic carpet certainly had its benefits, but he didn’t just miss flying around. Truly, this carpet had become an old pal throughout their adventures in the old place -- he’d been a trustworthy friend. Friends were too few and far between nowadays -- Gilgamesh, Blues, Mugen, yeah, but how many of the other myriad souls he’d encountered could he really trust?

He used to have so many people he could rely on, and all too often, Mickey missed the friends he’d made way back when, before he and Blues had ripped through the space-time continuum and landed in the Crossroads. Heck, even before he’d managed to mangle his way through dimensions and land in the old place. He missed Donald and Goofy. He’d missed the carpet, he missed Simba, he missed Erza…

…he missed Minnie. More than anything.

He didn’t know what to think about the fact that she hadn’t popped up yet. She’d been in the Dante’s Abyss facility with him, Blues, and Gilgamesh, after all, right? So where the heck was she? He wanted so badly to drop everything and search for her, to find out where she may have landed -- or if she’d landed at all. But he couldn’t. As much as it pained him to admit it, there were other things that needed to be done. He hated the thought of leaving his lady love behind, of not being there for her when she needed him, yet…

Yet, in the face of such a threat as this, he knew he’d been brought to this universe for a goshdarn reason. He knew that even if he never saw his sweet, beloved wife again, he’d been brought here because the Crossroads needed someone to fight against this great evil creeping into the galaxy. They needed a hero. Fate had brought him here to provide that to them -- if only he could live up to those expectations.

Can I do it?

He wished Minnie was there to reassure him.

Maybe, though, part of this next adventure in the Crossroads was finding those missing links. After all, he hadn’t been the only person from his old universe to show up. Blues was here, by his side, like always. The carpet had reappeared, and Gilgamesh, and Victor Wolfy. He scoffed a bit as he dodged another whipping vine; he supposed not all the transfers were gonna be desirable, but they’d all been brought here for some purpose. He didn’t quite know how he or any of these people fit into the greater conflict against this Fallen Arbiter, but he knew they all did -- and for once, he was ready to jump all in and find out how.

No more hiding on an island in the middle of freakin’ nowhere, he resolved, or compromising with stupid megalomaniacs. From now on, he knew, he had to stick to his values, and value number one was perfectly clear: save innocent people from those who’d inflict evil upon them. Like this Darkseid fella.

His glance fell again on the large, dark keep that rose before him. As he approached, he watched the shades creeping across the moat. Their faces looked positively skeletal, but their bodies seemed to be altogether inhuman right now. Mostly, they dressed like knights and soldiers that may have previously guarded this magnificent palace, but their armor was cracked and broken, wisps of shadows and the same indigo energy that snaked through the vines oozing out of the breaks. Their arms and legs exploded forth from the armor in places, looking almost like exposed muscle -- but the muscle wasn’t any color Mickey had seen before. It wasn’t pink or red or anything in between, but a creepy, dead-looking bluish gray. They poured out of the entrance to the stronghold, almost clambering and trampling on top of each other as they swarmed across the huge gate toward the hill leading to Blues and the Sqwid Sqwad.

Mickey hovered overhead, turning to look at where his allies were making a stand. In the distance, the white of their skeletal faces and the glint of their broken armor almost made them look like teeth surging forward, preparing to crunch down on the sextet of warriors making a stand at the crest of the hill. Blues fired buster blasts into the crowd, holding them back as best he could, while Vlad the Inkpaler and Argyle surged forward and inked as much of the ground as possible. Crush, for her part, had leapt full force into the horde, launching her ink-stained knuckles into shade after shade.

Gotta go help.

“Carpet, take me up th -- ”

From below, a burst of yellow ink leveled a whole chunk of shades. A tiny, yellow squid flew out of the ground and shifted shape into the Sarge, turning and leveling his ink rifle at another sect of gently glowing zombies and firing off a round. The shades scattered, but were too late to avoid the onslaught; they found themselves covered in the yellow ink, sent flying -- some on top of each other and some completely off the hill and down into the valley Mickey himself had barely avoided plummeting into just a few minutes before.

The mouse king refocused as he noticed the Sarge start to fall down into the horde. “Carpet, let’s go get him!” he commanded, and the magic carpet followed orders to the letter, swooping down and catching the military-looking squid boy before he’d fallen into the clutches of a blanket of ruthless shades.

“My thanks, sir,” the Sarge nodded, saluting to Mickey.

“Oh, bud, that’s not necessary!” the mouse blushed a bit, but the Sarge simply blinked at him, as if not using the honorifics was something that made absolutely no sense to him. Mickey would admit that -- much like PLUTA referring to him as ‘captain’ of the Spaceboat Willie -- the affirmation made his heart swell just a bit, but nevertheless, he moved on. “We’ve gotta jump down and fight these sons of guns.”

“Negative, sir,” the Sarge shook his head. “You don’t have time to deal with these guys -- we need someone to get to the source, and you’re best set up to do it, captain.”

Mickey glanced back towards the keep. It was true: the best way to take out this horde was to cut off the head, to face Darkseid’s thrall head on and eliminate it. Without their leader, Mickey had a feeling these shambling zombies would be dead in the water -- or, er, undead in the water, as it were. But how was he supposed to take him down? The Sarge seemed confident in his abilities, which the mouse king was thankful for, but truthfully, he had no clue what they were even facing -- if he tried to go and fight Darkseid’s fella now, he’d be outmatched simply because of his lack of knowledge.

Besides he had no idea how to get past the wall and get to the center of the keep, where whatever had made that ear-splitting screaming noise was undoubtedly holed up. A whole contingency of shadowy archers had begun to gather on the top of the wall, so even flying looked to be a no-go. All this was a fool’s errand -- there was no way in, and no way that he could match whatever awaited him on the other side of the wall. Unless…

“How’d you get down here so quick, fella?!” he spun around and turned his gaze back to the Sarge.

“We can travel through the ink, sir,” the beret-wearing Inkling pointed toward the trail of yellow ink snaking beneath the feet of the encroaching army of shades. “If we can spray it, we can swim it.”

Mickey glanced over the edge of the magic carpet, and suddenly found an idea popping into his brain. “...ya can, huh?”

The Sarge’s gaze turned towards the Sqwid Sqwad’s new de facto commander -- at least as far as he was concerned. He narrowed his eyes.

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

Quest: The Root of the Problem
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 2206 (according to GDocs)
Quest WC: 5872/10000

 

[Mickey Mouse]

Meanwhile, at the top of the hill, Blues watched as the magic carpet sped their way.

“Cover Mickey!” the preteen machine shouted, launching another buster blast into the crowd. The bright blue beam of energy crashed into the huge, shadowy blob of zombie knights; as it collided, each one exploded in a flash of indigo sparks, the essence of Darkseid’s influence overwhelmed by the sheer force of the Proto Man’s blast.

From their vantage point atop the magic carpet, Mickey and the Sarge both knew the amount of power the Fallen Arbiter ‘blessed’ each construct with probably was miniscule compared to his true breadth; he certainly had enough to spare. Shade after shade fell, but they seemed to keep on coming; where a few toppled, a whole slew more crept out of the stonework of the fortress to replace them like a weird, zombie-comprised hydra head.

Mickey shuddered. The original Hydra back in the Olympus Coliseum had been creepy enough, goshdangit!

Despite not really needing to breathe, Blues let out a long, exhausted sigh as the light from his Proto Buster blast dissipated and the never-ending army continued its trek up the hill. To be honest, he didn’t see how just seven of them would ever manage to get past them and inside the keep.

But by this point, Mickey Mouse had become far more optimistic about their chances of coming face-to-face with whatever embodiment of evil the Fallen Arbiter had sent to Nos’talgia. He’d always been the less pragmatic of the two, and as he grabbed onto the carpet’s corners with his gloved hands and jerked it this way and that towards the Proto Man, Vlad, Argyle, and Orphie, avoiding the swiping swords and axes and maces (oh my!) of the shade army, the seeds of a plan rooted into his noggin. He didn’t know if that plan would end in their survival or just a slightly quicker trip to an imminent doom at the hands of whatever monster lurked within the keep, but it was a plan nonetheless -- and heck, they had to try something, didn’t they?!

The mouse king turned to the militant Inkling, conspiring about his whack-a-doodle idea as they descended toward friendlier real estate. The carpet slid behind the front line, and Mickey Mouse leapt to the ground, helping a nervous-looking Sarge down afterwards.

“Ugh,” the yellow beret-wearing Inkling groaned, “I hate flying.”

“Hope you like swimmin’ better, fella,” Mickey winked, and the Sarge smirked.

“Sarge -- ” Crush called from within the mess of the horde. She knocked her fist into yet another shade, straining her neck to try and catch a glimpse of the good soldier, but he’d already embarked on his mission.

The Sarge sprinted forward and dove into the messy ocean of ink. Little bubbles popped up behind him as he swam forward towards the horde, dodging and weaving when he needed to but mostly swerving literally right beneath the feet of the shades. He sprang up just before reaching Crush, knocking a group of zombified freaks that meant to corner her into a tizzy, before submerging once again and continuing to race toward the keep’s outer wall. Mickey watched with great interest as very few of the oncoming horde seemed to even notice the Sarge’s rapid descent down the hill.

“Crush! Cover him!” the mouse called, and the orange-tentacled Inkling nodded determinedly. She spun on the heel of her tennis shoes, lunging into the horde fists flying and ink pistol pumping out little blobs of ink both to incapacitate the shades and extend the Sarge’s path even further.

The horde continued to pour out of the gates of the fortress, but for the first time, Mickey thought he saw their numbers begin to lessen. His curiosity about their origins grew even bigger. They looked, for all intents and purposes, like misshapen shadows of the guards that supposedly once stood guard here, but any function in their noggins other than the directive to march forward and attack seemed to have been shut off. Whatever was controlling these goons viewed them as altogether expendable, but… how many could they expend? The mouse king felt a lurching pain in his stomach as he realized the Sqwid Sqwad would’ve been in for an all-too similar fate if he hadn’t shaken them from that course.

This Darkseid fella… he spared no f*cks, did he?

Mickey’s expression steeled further. He had to end this jerkwad. He truly didn’t know if he was the right mouse for the job -- if he was capable of matching Darkseid’s undoubtedly immense power. Or if he was even capable of being the leader these Inklings believed he was and getting them out of here alive. But at this point, he had no choice. He had to be the guy, didn’t he?

“Where’d the carpet come from?!” the voice of the preteen machine rang out, shaking the mouse king out of his thoughtful trance and back into focus. “I thought for sure it’d been left back in the old place!”

Mickey’s eyes zeroed in on Blues, and he couldn’t help but make his answer a little pointed. “A little gift from the King of Pals,” he revealed. “He found it in a shop on the planet he’s on now and sent it my way.” Blues wasn’t quick enough at fixing his face to hide the obvious disdain, but Mickey decided not to dwell on the conflict for now and pushed forward; they’d settle the Gilly Problem later on, once certain death wasn’t surging towards them. “Hop on!” he said as he jumped back onto the racing rug, waving a gloved hand at the boy.

The preteen machine obliged, following the mouse king up onto the carpet. The reliable rug didn’t hesitate, following Mickey and the Sarge’s plan to the letter and immediately jetting off, sailing above the crowd of oncoming shades and racing toward the keep. It sped forward until it was keeping place with the swimming Sqwid Sqwad member below them. Just behind Sarge’s trail of ink, Crush continued to absolutely wreck each and every enemy she came across, slamming her fist into one, jabbing the butt of her pistol into another, and shooting still several more. Back at the top of the hill, Vlad, Argyle, and Orphie held their own, taking out shade after shade and buying time for the duo formerly known as Proto Mouse to get to their checkpoint.

They’re so goshdarn impressive, he thought. He breathed a sigh of relief and almost allowed himself to smile -- he was certainly glad he’d convinced them to join his side instead of sticking with this Darkseid fella.

“Mick,” Blues interjected, “there’s shades on top of the wall -- we won’t be able to get past them.” The mouse looked up from the Inklings below them towards the wall and, indeed, the line of shadow archers had become thicker and more formidable.

But the plan would work.

“We won’t have to,” the mouse assured his bestie.

Mickey’s eyes trained on the line of bow-and-arrow wielding zombies creeping along the top of the keep’s outer wall. They shambled wildly and unpredictably, but somehow their aim managed to stay true; Mickey and Blues only managed to avoid getting impaled by dark arrows thanks to the carpet’s expert maneuvering skills, the preteen machine getting a buster shot off whenever the rug steadied and the angle allowed. But Blues’ worried expression didn’t subside as they inched closer to the line of archers, arrow after arrow zipping toward them. The mouse king, normally the more anxious of the pair, remained focused, staring straight ahead.

The carpet crossed over the wall, and the sound of bows being strung reached Mickey Mouse’s big ears. He closed his eyes, keeping as calm as he could. He had confidence in their plan, and even if he didn’t, now wasn’t the time to waver. He didn’t freaking know if he was destined to be the hero the Crossroads needed, but goshdangit, he was gonna try, and that meant he had to go whole freaking hog!!

SPLOOSH!

On cue, the Sarge burst forth from a puddle of ink he’d managed to spill across the drawbridge and through the gate. He flew into the air, appearing from behind the wall in the nick of time. He leveled his ink rifle at the squadron of archers on the wall and fired, knocking his head back and letting loose as ferocious a battle cry as he could muster. Just as they’d prepped their bows and planned to launch their dark arrows at the mouse and the robot boy, a wave of yellow ink crashed into them, and the whole troop stumbled forward. Their arrows flew every which way, the carpet dodging and weaving until it’d managed to carry its passengers over the wall and into the fortress proper.

“Now!” Mickey shouted, leaping off the carpet and landing on two feet below. He tightened his grip on the Star Seeker and slashed at the nearest shade, knocking its broken helmet off and sending it crashing to the ground. The Sarge stood behind it, smirking, and saluted to the mouse. Nearby, Proto Man’s boots slammed to the ground, and he fired off a buster blast at a gaggle of zombified guards lumbering toward the mouse and the Inkling.

Mickey turned. Before him, the central keep rose up, deep blue and black stones twisting and contorting into ominous towers and fortifications. The courtyard expanded out around them; from the looks of it, a grand garden had once adorned it, but now nothing remained but gnarled trees and thorn-laden skeletons of bushes. A smattering of shades remained inside, beaten down by the trio of warriors, as the mostly-expelled horde began to realize their treachery and shift course.

“Mr. Blues, sir!” the Sarge called out, “there!” The preteen machine’s gaze followed where the Inkling pointed, and he quickly lifted his Proto Buster and launched a bolt of energy towards the axle of the drawbridge. When it collided, the whole wooden gate snapped up, flying back into place and shutting them off from the castle’s exterior. Mickey slammed the Star Seeker into one last shade, sending him back into the realm of unconsciousness before turning his gaze toward the keep’s entrance across the courtyard’s vast expanse.

Within the shadows of the already-opened doors, something moved.

“That’s it,” Mickey Mouse muttered. “That’s what we came for, boys.”

The three warriors bent at the knees, preparing for whatever was to come. The creature that emerged from the darkness, though, wasn’t anything they could’ve ever been ready for; the mere sight of it sent shivers down their spines.

Metallic greyish-black claws crunched onto the stone frame of the doorway, the creature’s brute strength running cracks through the keep’s exterior wall. Mickey gulped as a pair of glowing, red eyes stared across the courtyard directly at him, and the parademon stepped into view. Thin, filmy wings flapped behind its back as its other three armored claws curled into fists and its sharp, ugly teeth gnashed in what the mouse king could only describe as fury.

Though, from the way it looked at them, Mickey felt more like an annoyance than a true bother.

And then it flew. It zipped forward, wings beating at a rapid pace, and slammed one of its gargantuan, muscled legs into the Sarge’s comparatively tiny chest. The squid soldier flew back at a breakneck speed, connecting with the wall and exploding it in a cloud of rubble and dust. Buried beneath the fallen stones, Mickey Mouse knew their Inkling ally was down for the count, so he cartwheeled toward Blues and took up a fighting stance next to his best friend.

Up close and personal, the parademon’s hulking size and impressive, barely-scuffed power armor captivated Mickey’s attention. The grotesque locust stood at least three times the mouse king’s height, and had a considerable advantage over the preteen machine as well. It stalked closer to them, closing the gap steadily and deliberately this time rather than in a flash like it had with the Sarge.

Mickey sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

Okay, ugly, he scowled, let’s see what you can do.

Quest: The Root of the Problem
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 2033 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 7905/10000

 

[Mickey Mouse]

Mickey Mouse faced down the hideous, hulking horror with a big ol’ scowl on his little mousy face. The parademon’s teeth gnashed, drool slipping through the gaps between its canines and incisors. It stopped its advance, reaching up and adjusting its glowing red goggles, and took a long, mostly silent look at the pint-sized hero. This was a fastidious fella, Mickey noted; the way it chomped and licked its gums as it scanned him, its quarry, terrified and captivated the mouse king in equal measure. Tension hung palpably in the air between the three remaining combatants, but the demon paid no mind to the preteen machine just off to the side, for whatever reason. It ignored the Proto Man completely in favor of taking in every last detail of the mouse’s figure, and Mickey allowed it to, almost as if the darkness pulsing within the beast was hypnotizing him. He couldn’t bring himself to attack the terrifying beast -- its very existence lulled him deeper into that ever-present curiosity that always seemed to get him into a lot of heckin’ trouble.

The parademon licked fizzy saliva off its gross, gray gums with a shockingly loud slurp, then jolted upright again, its observations seemingly complete. Mickey’s face scrunched as a single thought echoed through his noggin. Ew.

The thing reached one of its long, veiny arms for the long, obsidian-black laser rifle slung across its back and swung it around to the front, letting its barrel train on the perfectly round head of its diminutive prey. A hiss escaped its sharp teeth as a crimson laser began to charge and glow at the weapon’s tip. Fear began to creep up his spine, but Mickey Mouse didn’t budge an inch.

I’m the hero, he reminded himself. I have to be.

“Mick!” Blues shouted. “Move!!”

The gun fired. A flash of white light met the rifle’s red blast, and when the brightness faded, the keyblade master stood -- but no longer with his trusty Star Seeker. His ancient weapon had transformed yet again, this time into a shield the likes of which only the most legendary Olympian warriors bore. Standing behind it? The truest hero of them all, of course, at least the way he saw it -- the Crossroads’ best hope, their very own version of the mighty Hercules… just a few feet shorter and with considerably less muscles.

Its attack held off, the parademon released an unmistakable screech, undoubtedly the one that rose from the keep earlier in the night. The ear-splitting sound blanketed the courtyard as the monster jerked the weapon back and made to double back from any potential counter attacks. Mickey shoved the Counter Shield forward, a Wrathful Fist of stone leaping from it and sailing toward the parademon’s face; it connected, and the creature stumbled over itself in pain, lifting a claw to its cheek and whirring frustratedly. It snapped its gaze back to Mickey, curling its misshapen mouth into what the mouse assumed must’ve been a scowl.

So it wasn’t invincible, then. Ho-ho!

The beast didn’t give its tiny adversary long to revel in his equally tiny victory. In moments, its sharp-taloned feet crunched into the stone of the courtyard’s floor, rippling chasms beneath the mouse king’s sneakers as it threw itself toward the Proto Man. Mickey growled almost automatically, reaching down and ripping his long black overcoat off and tossing it aside. Freed from the extra weight, he bounded forward, the Counter Shield morphing into something altogether new even within his tight grip.

Blues readied himself for the oncoming onslaught, having watched carefully as the creature’s attempt on his partner-in-(not)-crime’s life fizzled. The preteen machine’s reflexes were on point; he’d spent the majority of this battle much more on edge and ready for an assault than his mouse bestie. His sensors locked on to the parademon, and he ducked beneath the swipe of its gleaming claws and fired a buster blast right into the monster’s stomach.

Simultaneously, the Hyper Hammer swung down, Mickey’s gloved hands launching it into the parademon’s spine. The thrall of Darkseid screeched and wheezed as something cracked, trapped within the full force of Team Proto Mouse’s combined attack. Blues slipped underneath it, somersaulting out of its melee range and leveling his blaster at it as it crashed to the ground. Mickey glided down to the cobblestone floor on the demon’s other side, turning on his heel and bringing the Hyper Hammer up into a defensive position. He locked eyes with Blues over the parademon’s writhing form.

“Boy, we are a good team, huh?!” the mouse chuckled with a bit of cocksure smirk. “This big lug didn’t know what hit him!”

He knew a lot of people -- at the very least the whole Sqwid Sqwad -- were counting on him to get this right. The threat of Darkseid remained mysterious even in the presence of one of his actual, honest-to-Gosh servants, but seeing even just a taste of what the Fallen Arbiter could muster lit a fire inside Mickey Mouse that couldn’t be put out. He knew that he this was it -- this was what he’d been flung from universe to universe for. This was his great quest, and for once in his goshdarn life, he was starting to feel like he might be up to it. And to be honest, that feeling -- a sense of surety he hadn’t felt since his musketeer days -- was pretty darn titillating.

“Don’t get cocky, Mick,” Blues warned, bending slightly at the knees, “I have a feeling all we did was make it angry.”

“Ya think this fella can talk?” Mickey asked, stepping ever so slightly forward towards the parademon. Across the way, he could see the scowl beneath Blues’ sunglasses only growing. “Maybe it can tell us!”

The mouse reached forward with the Hyper Hammer, poking the parademon in the side of the abdomen with the weapon's head. Blues’ mouth opened to try and stop him, but before any words of warning could escape his lips, the creature’s claws wrapped around the Hammer’s handle, its goggled gaze snapping towards the offending mouseketeer. It tightened its grip, and Mickey’s confident expression slackened as its talons scraped along the metal of the handle and tugged.

Goshdangit!!

Mickey lurched forward, the parademon’s strength yanking his sneakered feet off the ground and pulling him towards it. His eyes ballooned to a cartoonishly wide size as the monster lifted itself slightly off the ground, placing one of the razor sharp edges of its wings directly in the mouse king’s path. He yelped -- he did not envision becoming a mouse fillet today, no siree. In the nick of time, he pushed himself off the handle of the Hyper Hammer and, against his better judgment, released his hold on the transformed keyblade, flipping into the air and hovering for what seemed like forever above the parademon’s head.

The creature looked up, glowing red stare meeting Mickey’s suddenly frightened gaze. The mouse began to fall, weaponless, and landed soundly on the ground between his adversary and the Proto Man. The demonic monstrosity unsheathed a spear from the litany of weapons on its back and charged forward, zooming the tip towards its tiny prey. Mickey Mouse placed two gloved fingers in his mouth and whistled. He hopped into the air just in time, landing and being carted out of the strike zone by the magic carpet, but the parademon didn’t cease its assault, instead zipping forward and --

“Blues!” Mickey screamed, watching helplessly from his perch in the air as the preteen machine dove away just a little too late. The parademon’s spear pierced through the cyborg boy’s red armor and into what would’ve been the Proto Man’s left set of ribs, if he’d been made up of normal human stuff. Blues winced, holding in his own pained yelp, and simply gasped for air as sparks flew from the fresh impalement. He jerked himself away, the unpleasant sounds of hardware ripping and crunching filling the air.

The mouse king’s best friend staggered away from the parademon, placing the hand not toting a Proto Buster onto the wound. He scowled, and turned back to see the parademon refocusing its attack, prepping its spear for another dash -- one that, while it might not totally finish off the cyborg, would at least probably put him down for the count. The android frantically looked around, trying to figure out the best place to run, but no avenues of escape made themselves immediately available to him. His eyes fell back on his attacker as, once again, the parademon kicked off the ground with its feet and dashed forward to land another blow.

Mickey grabbed the front ends of the carpet and pushed it into overdrive, swooping down and trying to grab the Hyper Hammer from where he’d dropped it and make it to Blues in time, the Heart of Te Fiti clinking against his chest as they descended. Unfortunately, the parademon’s flight speed seemed destined to beat the carpet’s. Mere seconds passed, and now only meters separated the preteen machine from the nightmarish ghoul trying to initiate a shutdown all by itself. Mickey sucked in a nervous breath as the realization set in:

He wasn’t going to make it.

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

An orangey-colored blur leapt from the top of the battlements, slamming a fist into the back of the parademon’s head just before its spear reached Blues again. Crush’s Ink Knuckles splattered orange goop all over the back of the monster’s noggin, and the force of the impact sent it stumbling forward. Blues leapt back, out of reach of the spear, and although he had no need for oxygen, he let out a deep exhale. His original wound sparked and caused some of his programming to sputter, but at least it wouldn’t be joined by a worse one.

The Inkling latched on to the creature’s head, and flung about as it whipped this way and that trying to dislodge her. “This is for the Sarge, you beastly bish!!” she shouted, lifting another fist up in the air and bringing it down right on the parademon’s crown. Its goggles splintered and cracked from the force of her punch. “Ten points for Hufflepuff!!”

The parademon’s growl was low and throaty this time -- it did not like being interrupted in the middle of a killing blow. Talons wrapped around Crush’s midsection before she could even react, and lifted her high into the air.

Mickey held the Star Seeker in his hand just a little ways away. He glanced over to Blues, whose gaze was focused intently on the parademon. He knew what his best friend was thinking: nothing they were doing was making any sort of sizable dent in the creature’s might. From the looks of it, no matter how much they battered away at it, they couldn’t keep pace with it. It towered above them both in size and in power, and although it wasn’t invincible, it was certainly more invincible than either of them were. They might be able to stave off the inevitable for a while, but eventually, it would overtake them.

Eventually, it would heckin’ kill them.

If they’d met their match with this goon, how the heck were they gonna defeat the big fella himself? How would they stand a chance against Darkseid?

Mickey huffed.

That doesn’t heckin’ matter.

He bounded forward, against his better judgment. From afar, he watched as Blues saw him, shook his head, and then joined him in his assault. He heard Crush’s bones snap as the parademon… uh, crushed her in his taloned fist, and let out a big, loud battle cry as he leapt into the air and lifted the Star Seeker above his head. He aimed straight for this ugly fella’s head, swinging his weapon with all the force he could muster.

THWAP -- the back of the parademon’s other hand smacked into the mouse king, sending him flying. He sailed into Blues, crashing into the busted-up android with a thump. The pair rolled across the courtyard, bouncing into a patch of dead flowers that crunched beneath them as they flopped down, thoroughly swatted away like the flies they were.

Mickey Mouse groaned, mustering up the energy he could to stand up. Blues, at this point significantly weakened by his damaged hardware, rose to his knees. The two best friends watched together as their greatest enemy yet swung its laser rifle towards them. As a bright beam of crimson energy charged at the end of the barrel, the preteen machine sighed.

“See, Mick? Just had to make it angry.”

Mickey Mouse has used a Focus point to execute the badass Proto Mouse attack in the earlier portion of this post. 3/4 remaining.

Quest: The Root of the Problem
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 2094 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 9999/10000

 

[Mickey Mouse]

Mickey Mouse placed both hands on the hilt of his keyblade and prayed to Gosh themselves that this would work.

He hadn’t tried to summon the power of the Kingdom Hearts since he’d been in the old place, and it had been enough of a shock to him that he could do so there. Now, in yet another completely new dimension, the idea of being able to call upon that energy seemed like a farfetched hope, at best. But as it was, he had a big, scary parademon aiming a huge laser rifle at him, and a robotic best friend kneeling next to him to protect.

Blues’ wound from the ugly creature’s earlier spear thrust sparked and crackled to life, reminding him of the urgency. At this point, his best friend probably didn’t have much juice left in him for fighting, so it was up to him to figure out what the heck to do.

“You gotta plan, Mick?!” Blues shouted, as if reading his insecurities like a book. The mouse didn’t respond aloud.

Gosh, I sure hope so.

***

“Gawrsh, Mick, how’d ya manage that?”

“Well, Goof, I’m glad ya asked!” the mouseketeer shouted, leaping up onto the table. Below him, an enraptured Goofy, ears flopping alongside his head like always, and Donald Duck, uncharacteristically wide-eyed, sat listening.

It seemed Mickey had, once and for all, rid them of their troubles with the dastardly head of their musketeer society. Pete had been at the head of the organization for what seemed like forever, even since they’d just been innocent janitors, but now that they’d become musketeers themselves, they had the ability to do something about it.

“Y’see, I felt like I was down for the count for sure, Big Bad Pete’s sword pointed at my noggin, but then I saw it!” Mickey continued his story, living for every bit of

“Da shiewld?!” asked Donald.

“Nope!” replied Mickey.

“The magic wand?!” hyucked Goofy.

“No way, pal!” Mickey shook his head, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. “I saw… her.” He could picture it now, his perfect love, Lady Minnie, standing there, needing his help. He’d known, in that moment, that he had to succeed, no matter what -- because she needed him. The odds might’ve been against him, but his desire to save Minnie… that was enough to push him across the finish line. That had been enough to get the job done.

He sighed, then blushed, tiny cupids flying circles around his big ol’ ears.

The things he did for love.

***

BYOOOOOOOOOM!

A huge, crimson energy beam burst from the tip of the parademon’s rifle. It sped towards Mickey Mouse and Blues, carrying with it a knell of certain death and destruction. As Mickey watched it approach, he knew the blast was larger and more potent than the one he’d blocked with the Counter Shield. This one would require all his strength — any amount of magic he could muster. He didn’t know what he would do when they survived it, but he couldn’t think that far ahead; the only thing to do was focus on the now.

Blues wasn’t going to be much help in this fight from now on, that much was certain. And that was okay -- the amount of times the preteen machine had helped Mickey out of a pinch, by this time, couldn’t be counted on just his two hands. He looked over at his best friend in the split second the huge laser beam rushed them, and in that moment, he felt his heart flutter just a little bit. This guy -- this quirky, cybernetic robot boy -- no matter how much they fought about silly shiitake mushrooms like Gilgamesh or plans or whatever, they would always have each other’s back. Blues was Mickey Mouse’s best friend, and by Gosh, he heckin’ loved the kid.

The reality was that this parademon thought he had ‘em pinned. He thought he’d overcome the heckin’ great team that was the Proto Mouse. But if he thought that either Mickey or Blues was just gonna give up, he was sadly mistaken — the mouse and his boy had been in tight spots before, and there was no way they were gonna just throw in the towel on his one.

Mickey let out a deep breath as he watched the gigantic laser blast speed towards them. This was it. Either they were freakin’ heroes, or they weren’t.

“Hiiiiiiiiyaaaaa!” he yelped, lifting his Star Seeker high into the air. Blue energy swam from every fiber of the blade, encasing he and Blues in the powerful energy of the Blue Kingdom Hearts. A huge, cerulean dome of pure light magic surrounded them, deflecting the parademon’s attack.

The impact rocked the mouse, destabilizing his footing, but he held fast against the assault. The forcefield blocked the big ol’ laser, and for a moment, Mickey thought maybe the force of it all was going to push him back, but it didn’t. He dug his yellow sneakers into the ground, gritted his teeth, and furrowed his brow, giving this last ditch effort to protect himself -- and, most importantly, his best friend -- all the strength he had.

But although Mickey managed to subvert the brunt of the demonic creature’s attack, luck didn’t seem to be on the pair’s side. The energy rifle’s beam bounced off the forcefield and crashed into the tallest tower of the fortress, splitting it apart into hundreds of pieces that came raining down towards the mouse and the preteen machine. Huge block of stone after huge block of stone pelted the barrier until Mickey couldn’t hold it any longer, and it dissipated, leaving himself and the Proto Man to be buried in a grave of castle rubble.

And just a moment, all was still.

Across the courtyard, the thrall of the Fallen Arbiter licked its chops. The tip of its laser rifle’s barrel clanged against the cobblestone ground. Something that sounded like a chuckle, or perhaps a scoff, escaped its gross, slimy lips, and its form slackened a bit, certain that it had finally finished its directive: kill anyone who dared to get in Darkseid’s way. The mouse, the preteen machine, and the squad of squid people had certainly made more formidable adversaries than it could have even expected, but in the end, they, too, had succumbed to the dark lord’s will. They, too, had suffered under his mighty hand, and they hadn’t come out the other side. Eventually, any memory of them would fade into shadow, any hope they’d managed to cultivate in others dissipate into nothingness.

Then a freakin’ gloved hand burst through the pile of stony castle.

The parademon whirred with frustration. Another white glove burst out of the rubble, and it watched as Mickey Mouse dug himself up. The mouse king clambered up, his whole body bruised and battered from being absolutely clobbered by a bunch of falling, bluish-black rocks, and finally managed to push himself to standing. He leaned forward, shoulders slack, arms hanging limply before him, and stared at this, his greatest enemy.

The monster quirked its head to one side, and just the simple motion of it, the notion that it was surprised to see him alive? Well, that made Mickey more PO’d than anything.

“You…. won’t… win!” he screamed, high-pitched voice filling the keep. He reached his hand inside his shirt and wrapped one of his gloved hands around the Heart of Te Fiti hanging loosely from his neck. The tiny green emerald, spiral pattern embedded on it, had been a gift from Karl Jak after the last Dante’s Abyss -- and therefore, Mickey had sworn he wasn’t going to use it.

Desp’rate times, I s’pose, he thought, and ripped it off his neck.

“I am Mickey Mouse, and I summon the power of the goddess Te Fiti!!”

His eyes opened wide, a beautifully bright, emerald green light bursting forth from them. The flowers beneath him began to sing, wrapping around his legs, and he could feel the life force of the very earth beneath his feet surging into his bones. It whizzed up through his feet, his legs, his body, then into his arms and to the tips of his fingers. He felt it in the ol’ cranium as a flaming, green aura erupted to life around his body and he started to be lifted into the air.

At first, he felt like he must be flying, but when he looked down, he saw that plants seemed to be literally growing beneath his feet. He stared at his little legs amazed. The plant life buried beneath the rubble, surrounding him, in one of the courtyard’s little patches of what used to be garden, had all been dead before. They’d been gross shades of gray or brown, broken and cracked and hard, but now, they seemed to spring to life, wrapping around his limbs and transforming him into a giant five times his own size. His body remained the same, now augmented by his not-so-garden variety extra arms and legs. He held up one of his tree arms and watched as flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors -- from pink posies to the weirdest wildflowers -- sprouted from the cracks in the vines and stems and bark that twisted together.

The sight of himself, wreathed in emerald flame and looking like a freakin’ walking garden giant, was astounding, but the thing that amazed him even more was how he felt. His wounds remained, but he could no longer feel them; he felt enlivened, energized in a way he truly hadn’t felt before. His bones crackled with power, and he could see more clearly, connected to even the most dead, cut off roots in the ground below him, than he’d ever imagined anyone being able to. For this one moment, he didn’t just feel connected to the world. They were one.

His brain couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. He burst forward, huge, tree-like legs crashing into the ground as he sprinted toward the parademon. The creature screeched, flapping its razor-sharp wings and leaping off the ground, flying straight towards him. The mouse king lifted one of his new trunk arms in front of his face and caught the full brunt of the parademon’s attack; its wing sliced through vine and stem, but barely penetrated the outer shell the Heart of Te Fiti’s power had constructed to protect the mouse. Had the mouse been able to see the monster’s eyes beneath its glowing red goggles, he might’ve seen it, at this moment, suddenly begin to fear that maybe this battle wasn’t going to end the way it had imagined.

Mickey Mouse plunged down, submerging himself in the very ground beneath the pair of them. The parademon whirred fearfully, launching itself vertically into the air and trying its best to escape as cobblestones exploded around the burrowing mouse. Beneath the ground, Mickey Mouse prepared one final assault at the creature and took a brief moment to relish in the clarity the power of Te Fiti granted.

So Karl Jak hadn’t been joking. The items he provided were powerful. He remembered, idly, the earrings that had allowed he and the Proto Man to share one form for a time, that had allowed them to… to… banish Gilgamesh.

Mickey Mouse blinked, deep beneath the crust of Nos’talgia. What was he to do about this monster, then? There was no banishing here in the Crossroads, as far as he could tell, and besides, just before they’d been thrown into this universe, he and Gilgamesh had made a pact: no more banishing. Death before banishment. So what, then, was he to do, faced with the opportunity to rid the galaxy of this beast for good? Would he spare it, and allow it to go running like a feckless insect back to the Fallen Arbiter, to rejoin his ranks and regain its strength? Or would he do what he had to do to rid Nos’talgia -- and the Crossroads -- of this dark splotch for good?

Would he do what was necessary?

From the top of the castle wall, the little orange puff ball known as the Squee Squee watched as the parademon flew higher into the sky, desperately trying to escape from the planet. Then, it turned its gaze down to the ground as Mickey Mouse, bolstered by the energy of the Heart of Te Fiti, burst forth from beneath the surface of the courtyard, a blinding blaze of green light surging towards the thrall of Darkseid. The creature screeched as it felt vine and stem and branch alike wrap around its midsection, and felt the pull… pull… pull…

Until finally, the mouse king ripped the goshdarn thing in two.

Lights out, pal.

Mickey Mouse has used two Focus point to execute the “Blue Kingdom Hearts” move from the beginning of the post and to summon up the strength to rip the Parademon in half. ¼ remaining.

Mickey Mouse has used the Heart of Te Fiti relic.

Quest: The Root of the Problem
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 2118 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 12117/10000 (according to GDocs)

 

[Mickey Mouse]

For the first time in what seemed like ages, the sun peeked into the Uncanny Valley.

The scene in the courtyard of the dark keep, the first bastion where one of Darkseid’s thralls exerted his influence on the normally peaceful planet of Nos’talgia, was bleak. Chasms streaked the ground, through the cobblestone and the carnations alike. Darkness crept out of them, but it didn’t swell. It writhed in defeat, beaten down and punished, as it recognized the corpse of the parademon splayed prostrate -- in two parts, even -- on the steps of the main fortress.

Green blood oozed out of both sides of the creature’s ripped apart midsection and countless different wounds. The creature’s once bright red eyes had dimmed, and its limbs twisted asunder, beaten into submission and, against all odds, dead.

Lying in the fetal position surrounded by a bed of withering calla lilies, Mickey Mouse gasped for breath. The augmentations that the Heart of Te Fiti blessed him with had crumpled away, and now he lay here, exhausted beyond belief, reduced back to his two-foot-three-inch-tall self. He heaved, and sucked in as much air as he could, and slowly summoned the strength to open his eyes and sit the heck up.

Across the courtyard, he saw the destroyed parademon, evidence of his victory. He couldn’t muster up any happiness at the sight — death was never in his cards, and the destruction he’d wrought upon this creature wasn’t anything to celebrate. He wished, more than anything, that it could’ve been spared. He wished he could’ve found some light in the darkness, some sparkle of hope and optimism within its terrifying code of evil. But evil, it seemed, was all that it had to offer; its light had long since been snuffed out. The mouse king didn’t know if it had ever existed.

But that didn’t matter now.

Above him, the fluttering sounds of a helicopter reached his ears. He looked up into the sky and saw a big, purple contraption flying towards him, its propeller spinning madly. On the side of it, he could see written in big white letters: WONDERTAINMENT. He remembered that name from before -- they’d been the ones who’d sent him on the wild goose chase to deliver the Squee to some scary planet with a hard-to-pronounce name, a journey he hadn’t finished. Seems news of the fight with this big ugly monster had reached outside the valley, somehow.

He crawled over the pile of rubble that had, before, buried himself and his best friend. He picked through rocks, his strength failing him, until he found the crumpled form of the Proto Man lying on his stomach. The mouse king laid himself beside the preteen machine and stared for what felt like forever at his face, waiting for him to wake up, until finally, thank Gosh, his eyes flickered open.

“Blues,” Mickey exhaled. “It’s good to see ya.”

“Yea,” Blues nodded as much as his broken and busted joints were able. “Is it over?”

Mickey blinked for a minute. It wasn’t over, was it? It wouldn’t be over until Darkseid himself, whoever he was, wherever he’d holed himself up, had vanished back into the shadows. But they’d won the battle.

“No,” he smiled, “but that thing’s dead, at least.”

“Good enough,” Blues muttered.

Mickey grinned. “Yeah, pal,” he said, “good enough.”

Quest: The Root of the Problem
Mickey Mouse
Post WC: 556 (according to Google Docs)
Quest WC: 12673/10000

AND FIN!