Pitmas (Part 2/2)

LAST TIME ON PITMAS...

"Cry if you want, boy, 'cause you had the chance to walk away. But you let me in, and I ain't leavin' till I get what's due to me. Expect me back same time, every day, until you guess right, and each time you guess wrong, I take somethin' from you. And if you don't get it by Christmas Mornin'..."

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming...

-------

"Utsuho... I'm really sorry..."

Those were the first words Pit managed to croak out, once he'd sipped from the glass of water and got some of his breath back.

"I... haven't been honest with you. There's something about me... that I haven't told you, or anyone else. Because it's a part of my life that I... don't like remembering. I went into a really dark place, then... and I didn't think it'd come back to haunt me like this. But now it's back, and I don't know what to do or how to stop it..."

He paused, swallowing, fighting back the urge to start sobbing again. Then he nearly jumped as two strong, warm arms wound themselves around him, and black wings joined in shortly after, creating a warm, comforting feather blanket. There were times having a living hot water bottle for a girlfriend was a very big blessing.

"...What is it?" Utsuho's voice was soft, and soothing. "You can tell me anything, Pit, especially if it's something important..."

Pit swallowed again, and did his best.

"...it was when I was very young, and a lot poorer. My parents... they used to fight a lot, mostly about money. Dad worked hard to make it, but Mum always spent it on stupid things like drugs. One night, before Christmas, it got really bad. So I did a dumb thing - I ran away, because I couldn't stand it. And I got lost in the seedy part of Manhattan - you know the sort of place. Where all the gangs and illicit business goes on. And then...

"I met this gentleman, he called himself Two-Coats... and he made me a deal that I could get rich and never have to worry about my parents fighting ever again. And I said yes, because I was desperate and frightened and didn't know what else to do..."

He paused, and took a big breath. Then he reached for the box of tissues, because his eyes were watering. It hurt, to admit all of this - it was a moment in his life that he had never told anybody, not even his parents. And now he was admitting it to his wife, the person with whom he ought to be the most honest with, after it would have been appropriate to tell her. Real smooth, Pit, he thought to himself as he dabbed at his face. Aurora would have cut your fingers off by now - and you'd deserve it.

"I don't know he did it, but... I ended up getting a position reserved at Sintendo, for new talent. And I never heard from him since then, until now. Because I owe him. But he's playing some twisted game... he's giving me a chance to get out of it by trying to guess what his real name is. Every time I guess wrong... well, you can see what happens there. And if I don't find out what it is by Christmas Morning... I'll lose everything."

His voice vecame very small, almost inaudible.

 "...even you..."

A moment of silence. Which was the first warning sign - Even when down or depressed, Utsuho stilled liked to talk. It made things easier for the both of them when they did that. Whenever the Hell Raven fell silent, for any reason whatsoever, then that was a bad sign, because either she was really upset about something...

"...So he's given you a chance and now he's taking it away for no good reason, and that includes me?"

...or really angry about something.

And Pit soon discovered, as her temperature suddenly rocketed and flames began to lick the air around her, that it was the latter.

"I wanna know," she hissed, eyes blazing, "if there's any reason I shouldn't just blast his face off the second he steps in!"

It took Pit a few seconds to reply. Mostly because he'd forgotten how scary his wife could be when she got angry. But once he'd remembered that yes, that was his beloved Utsuho standing in front of him, he managed to find his voice.

"...because I'm fairly certain," he responded, slowly, "that he could eat your danmaku and call them spicy meatballs. Seriously, this guy has a stomach bigger than Sarah - no offense to the girl, mind you, but there it is. Also," he added, quickly, to assure that he was still taking this seriously, "he might be a demon. And after all these years with the Kobbers, we both know what a bother it is to kill those things."
 
"Oh..." Utsuho deflated, wings sagging and fire flickering out in dissapointment. It was almost comical to watch - Pit knew how much his wife liked to fight things, and learning that this was a problem you couldn't solve through punching always seemed to dampen her spirits. But it didn't last long, and soon the Hell Raven had a thoughtful look upon her face as she pondered the situation.

"Then how do we figure out his name or whatever? Normally this is the kind of thing I'd ask Lady Satori about but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't know... do we need to find other people or something?"

Pit blanched at the implications. "I... I'd rather not have to get anyone else involved. Two-Coats might come after them as well, and I don't want to inflict this on any of the other Kobbers. Not when they're supposed to be having their holiday." Especially Dirk, he mentally added. He's probably sick of having to play hero on Christmas.

"But I suppose," he added, "maybe we could find someone who does know about this sort of thing... We need to research this guy, and fast, before he ruins Christmas and my life for good."

Utsuho nodded. "Alright, if you've got any idea where to start I'll fly over wherever you need! We don't have that much time so let's get going, Pit!"

"Okay, then..." Immensely cheered up by his wife's ethusiasm, Pit stood up and pocketed the mass of tissues he had accumilated, before heading out to collect his coat. Utsuho followed, as eager as he was to get this problem nipped in the bud.

"First," announced the Light Angel as he threw on the heavy garment, "let's start with the library! If there's any books on demonology that can tell us what this guy does, and if he has a weakness, we'll need them! And if we can find where this guy lurks as well, that'll be doubly useful!

"...You any good at reading, Okuu?" he asked, after a moment's thought.

"Yep! ...Although I need to take lots of notes to actually keep anything, eheheheh..."

Pit shrugged. "Eh, we'll work on it. And if we meet Gloria, that's more help for us. Let's go!"

-------

The library was still open at this time of night, surprisingly. Pit had always wondered why Gloria would keep it open to he public, instead of closing it to spend more time with her family on Christmas, but right now he was extremely grateful that she did. And in any case, there were more important things to worry about then what Gloria did in her spare time - most likely reading, if the angel knew her at all.

Of course, he wasn't one to throw stones at the moment, not when he was frantically flicking through some dusty old tomes himself. He had no idea that there were so many books on demonology - in fact, he recognized a few himself, from his school days when demonology was a compulsory thing. And thankfully, his skills in taking rapid-fire notes whilst the teacher talked hadn't diminished in the slightest. So there he was, copying as much of the old-timey, floral text as he could make out, his wrist groing rapidly tired as he wrote upon what might have been his third piece of paper of the night.

Thank goodness Gloria was so understanding. And had so much paper.

He knew he was done when he turned the page for the book he was on and found it blank - he'd reached the end. With a groan of exertion he closed the book, prised his fingers away from his pen and reached for another. As he did so, he happened to glance sideways, where he knew Utsuho was sitting at another part of the table with her half of the books-

-and found her slumped over her notes, fast asleep.

After a confused pause, he gave a sigh and shook his head a little, although a smile graced his face at the sight. In all honesty, he should have expected this to happen - it was getting late, and the two had already exhausted themselves somewhat by worrying about the Two-Coats situation. He couldn't really fault her for losing concentration like this, especially in here. The angel didn't know of any other places that were more conductive to falling asleep than the stuffy air of a library, except maybe his own comfy bed.

Besides, she looked really cute when she was alseep.

Rising carefully from his seat, Pit reached over and carefully shook his wife by the shoulder. "Okuu?"

"Hnh? What?" Utsuho's eyes fluttered open, and lifted her head to look up at him with bleary eyes. For a moment, it seemed as though she'd forgotten where she was or what she was doing, and Pit's heart nearly melted into goo at the sight of it.

"You fell asleep," he explained.

Realization quickly came to the Hell Raven, and she groggily pulled herself upright. "Sorry, Pit, eheheheh... I guess I just got tired..."

"Yeah, I don't blame you." Pit reached for his chair and shuffled it around, positioning it next to Utsuho. "Shall we compare what we've got, at least?"

Utsuho nodded, and the two sat side-by-side as they looked over what they had managed to extract from the collections of tomes and grimoires on the subject. Much to their dissapointment, only a few went into any detail about the creature they were facing now, and most of them repeated the same thing ad nauseum - perhaps the authors had been in cahoots with each other at some point. The info they had gathered, though, said a lot - their adversary went under many names, the River King being one of them, and it turned out he fed on human misery, and thus had been making unsavoury deals since the earliest civilizations.

"So," grumbled Pit as he observed that particular passage. "It's not just me. He's been pulling this shit for a long time, and on Palutena-knows how many people."

"I wonder," mused Utsuho as she leaned over his shoulder, "if anyone else thought of trying to stop him. I mean, they can't just let him get away with this, right...?"

"Seems some tried." Pit's tone was sour as he noted a particularly striking image - the fat, fish-faced demon happily picking his teeth with some unfortunate knight's sword.

It wasn't long, however, before some breakthroughs were made. Utsuho had found that the thing needed to be invited into houses, much like a vampire, and could only manifest physically when people had made deals with him. Which meant that, as long as Pit's bargain was in place, the creature was vulnerable. And there was one particular detail that, upon closer examination, the duo had agreed to keep as a backup plan, in case whatever solution they first tried didn't work out. It was worth remembering, at any rate.

But finally, they settled on something. Something that had been repeated consistently and frequently in every book featuring the monster they'd seen, where others either appeared in only a few, or only once. A pair of words that, when put into context, could only have been the solution they were looking for.

Tahm Kench.

"That must be it," insisted Pit, slapping a thumb to the page. "This has to be his real name - why else does it appear so much."

"Great!" Utsuho seemed very relieved that they'd found something of value - and also very baggy-eyed - as she began to gather the books up. "If that is his name, all you gotta do is guess it, and he'll leave you alone, right?"

Pit paused as he helped to sort the tomes, pondering. "I'm not that sure. If what they say about this guy is true, he might try and abuse some loophole to get out of it. 'That used to be my name, but not anymore' - that type of nonsense."

"Well..." Utsuho seemed worried for a few moments, but then her face steeled. "It's worth a try, right? And even if it doesn't work, at least we have the backup plan."

"Do we have a backup of the backup?" Pit grunted as he heaved his stack off the table.

"Yeah." The Hell Raven's eyes glinted. "Blow him off the face of this planet."

Pit laughed. "Of course."

But secretly, he was hoping that they wouldn't need to resort to backups.

-------

The next day proceeded as normally as the two could manage it. Pit did his usual jobs around the house - feeding the sharks, doing the dishes, putting out seed for the birds and things like that. But it was obvious that as hard as he tried to pretend things were okay, they really weren't, and he kept jumping at every sudden sound or movement. Utsuho knew what he was feeling, and helped, in small ways, to alleviate his discomfort, such as sitting next to him when The Muppets' Christmas Carol came on, or helping him with the cooking.

It helped keep his nerves in check come dinnertime.

They had been expecting the knock on the door. How could they not? They had been preparing for it all day - and it was no surprise to Pit that it came at exactly the same time it had previously. Right down to the minute, it was proved upon a quick glance at the clock, and husband and wife shared a look with each other as they steeled themselves for what was to come.

Then Pit put down the plate with the turkey on it, straightened up and went to the front door.

Utsuho had only seen pictures of the monster in the books they'd read last night, so she wasn't really sure what to assume of his appearance or mannerisms. She was not to be dissapointed - the thing that followed in Pit's wake as he walked into the dining room, sliding his copius frame through the door with a grunt of effort, was almost a fraction uglier than the drawings had suggested. The gleam in his eyes as he looked upon her, presumably for the first time, was even worse, almost predatory in their intent.

"Ah, is this the lovely Utsuho I've been told about?" The thing made a show of tipping his battered top hat - a false gesture of congeniality, if ever there was one. "I am delighted to make your acquaitence, my dear!"

"Likewise," muttered Utsuho, holding back the urge to throw up.

Dinner proceeded in the same fashion as it had previously - the monster making small talk as he devoured the food that had been prepared for other people, with his host trying his best to not scream in terror or reach for a knife. It amaed Utsuho at how rapidly the thing could devour the entire spread in front of it - she'd been reckoned a champion eater equal to Sarah, but the beast seemed to have literally no end to his appetite or bottom to his stomach. It was almost commendable, in a gross and off-putting kind of way.

Eventually, the table had been completely cleared, every plate licked clean by the fat tongue of the monster. The latter belched in satisfaction, picked a morsel from between his jagged fangs, then turned to the revolted duo beside him and heaved himself onto his feet.

"Now," he growled, leering ominously, "to business. You figured it out?"

"I've got some good guesses," was Pit's response. But he shared a nervous glance with Utsuho that did not go amiss.

"Well, let's hear 'em." And the bloated form of Two-Coats folded his arms, his enormous grin growing wider, and waited for the responses.

"Clarence?" was the first try.

But the creature shook its head, making its whiskers wobble. "First time wrong, kid. Try again."

"Boudreaux?" tried Pit.

"Nope," chuckled the beast. "But I gots me a cousin by the name Boudreaux? Not as refined of taste as yours truly, of course, but-"

"Tahm Kench."

The change that came over Two-Coats' countenance was startling. In almost the space of an entire second, the smug grin fell away, the yellow eyes widened with dawning realization, and what colour remained in the clammy, grey skin drained out. It was the first time that Pit had ever seen the creature with an expression other than self-confident superiority, and it was almost frightening how different he looked when he wasn't gloating or monologing.

"...what?" he hissed.

"Tahm Kench," repeated Pit, but now with more confidence. "That's your name, right?"

A pause.

Then Tahm Kench gave an ugly chuckle.

"Very good," he growled. "Didn't think you'd get it right - but then again, that be the same mistake ol' 'Stilkskin made. Guess we demon-types be slow learners, eh?"

"Yep," retorted Pit, feeling a weight lift off of his heart. This was it. Finally, he'd bested the demon, and he was free from the horrible bargain that he'd made so long ago, when he was but a young child. Now he could get on with his life without having to look over his shoulder allthe time-

And then the tongue lashed out and scooped the gifts right out from next to the television. There was a flash of wrapping that whizzed by Pit's face for a moment, then it all disappeared with a titanic crunching noise as Tahm Kench bit down with a sharp, almost physical finality.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" screamed the angel.

"Ah gave you till Christmas Morn' to guess my name," snarled the beast, once he had finished chewing. "But I never said nothing about leavin' yer alone if you got it right, and if your honestly though that was gonna happen, yer dumber than a catfish on dry mud! A payment is due, Peter Angelos, an' I will get what is-"

"HOLD IT!"

Pit's vision was suddenly full of black wings and warmth. When he looked again, Utsuho was standing in his way, arms spread in front of her defiantly. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel the intense heat radiating off from her, and could very well picture the barely-contained scowl of rage she would have had on her face. He also couldn't see Tahm Kench, for some reason, but his response showed an uncharacteristic confusion - he could picture the massive brow creasing and the eyes narrowing.

"What's this about?" the fish monster snarled.

"You want to get to Pit so bad?" snapped Utsuho. "Then take me!"

Pit's blood ran cold, and he nearly screamed out something in protest.

"Well..." said Tahm, after a moment's pause, "that's awful kind of ya. I do so like hot food-"

"On one condition. You give back everything you've taken from him. You do that, and I'm yours. Just leave Pit alone."

Instantly, Tahm Kench flung back his head and let out a roar of rage that shook the house. Pit clamped his hands over his ears to try and block it out, but the mere volume of it rattled his bones, and he nearly lost his balance and fell over as the air around him seemed to vibrate.

"WHO TOLD YOU THAT?!" screamed Tahm Kench, in an apoplexy of fury. "WHO TOLD YOU HOW TO DO THAT?!"

"I did my research," Pit thought he heard Utsuho shout, over the gnashing of teeth. But it was clear that the monster wasn't listening anymore - he was in such a fury that he no longer seemed to care what he was doing, or who was inthe room with him. Eyes nearly bursting out of his skull, the River King was alternating between snapping at the air with his crooked jaws as he ranted, and lashing about with a tongue that writhed and coiled like a serpent recieving drastic shock therapy. It was quite horrible to watch, yet Pit didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for Tahm.

"WAS IT AATROX?! BY THE BLACK BAYS OF BILGEWATER, WHEN I CATCH THAT SON OF A-!"

"Whoa, careful, you might bite your-"

There was a noise like a steak being cut in half.

"...tongue," Pit finished lamely, as the appendage flopped to the carpet, still spurting blood.

Tahm Kench stared at it.

Then he gave a noise between a cough and a growl, and all at once everything he'd eaten since turning up at the angel's house came pouring out of his cavernous throat. The decorations, the tree, the food, the gifts - all if it was there, and all of it was whole and untouched, as if it hadn't been ripped callously off the walls, or crunched up and swallowed a day ago. And, much to Pit's surprise, none of it smelt of stomach, or looked digested in any way.

But he had little time to ponder that phenomenon. The thumping of footsteps made him jerk his head up, just in time to see Tahm Kench, roaring and spitting red, barge his way out of the door and lumber down the path. Both Pit and Utsuho ran after him, and reached the door just in time to see him race down the street, still gargling and snarling with blood dribbling down his chin, before he turned a corner and vanished out of sight.

"AND DON'T COME BACK!" hollered Utsuho, waving her arm cannon threateningly. Pit couldn't resist a chuckle at that, knowing full well that his wife was holding back a good deal, for the safety of the people. Had he given her permission, she would have thrown an entire sun on top of Kench to stop him coming back, but the colatteral wouldn't have been worth it, as far as Pit was concerned. People wanted a white Christmas, he'd explained, not a charred one sprinkled with radiation.

Quickly, because it was cold, the two drew inside and shut the door.

Then they turned and wrapped each other up in an enormous hug.

"I'm so glad that worked," Utsuho whispered into Pit's ear.

"Me, too," replied Pit. He had been hoping that Utsuho wouldn't have to resort to that - offering herself in return for all the stolen things had seemed crazy, at first, and Pit had objected quite vehemently. But the old tomes had turned out to be correct in one regard; Tahm Kench simply couldn't stomach an unselfish deal that wasn't for one's profit. Desperate people looking for a cheap way out, or greedy people seeking to better themselves, he could handle. But a bargain made from the goodness of one's heart was literal poison to him, undoing all the terror and curses he'd spun over his victims.

And that meant Pit was free.

Once they'd let go of each other. Utsuho took the food and, after making sure it was clean, helped to set it up on the table, putting the excess aside for reheating at a later time. Pit, meanwhile, busied himself with putting the decorations and presents back in their proper places - they were all completely whole, so it wasn't as hard as it looked. Between the two of them, they soon got the house back into its proper state, looking as festive and untouched as it had been before.

Once dinner was done (and Utsuho had complimented him on his cooking), Pit was washing the dishes when he saw the tongue, which had been put on a plate to deal with later on the kitchen countertop. He looked at it, very keenly, as he finished up the last few plates, set them aside and dried his hands on the tea towel. An idea was forming in his mind, and he let it stew for a few moments, turning it over and ensuring it was thoroughly thought out.

Then he reached for the phone, and made a call.

...

"'Sup, Dirk. How goes it?

"...of course. Listen, I need to ask something of you. Food-related.

"No, no, hear me out. Listen... how do you prepare a giant demon catfish's tongue? Like, I'm thinking of maybe cubing it for a stew, or just boiling and roasting it...

"...lots and lots of salt. Got it. Thanks a bunch, bro."

 You have been reading

~PITMAS: Frozen Creek~

A ZFRP Christmas Story

featuring:

PIT ANGELOS

UTSUHO ANGELOS

And introducing TAHM KENCH as HIMSELF

Featuring cameos by GLORIA ENCARTA and DIRK ANGELOS

MUSIC TRACK:

"You Make Me Feel So Young" - Frank Sinatra

"The River King" - Riot Games

"Sunken Crypt" - Alice: Madness Returns

"Valua City" - Skies of Arcadia

"Timber Owls" - Final Fantasy VIII

"Here Comes Trouble..." - Banjo-Tooie

"You're the Superstar!" - Mario Party 5

"It Feels Like Christmas" - The Muppet Christmas Carol

THANK YOU FOR READING!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Pitmas (Part 1/2)

~THE ANGELOS RESIDENCE, MANHATTAN~

"You make me feel so young...
You make me feel so 'Spring has sprung'..."

It was a dumb song to sing, really. The only reason Pit was singing it at all was because it was on television so much. But it was surprisingly appropriate, considering what he was doing at the moment.

It was only last year that Utsuho had experienced Christmas properly. And whilst that had been a brillian experience, as far as Pit was concerned, that was when she had merely been his fiance, and not his wife as she was now. And this was going to be their first Christmas as a married couple - one that the angel wanted them both to cherish and remember for always afterwards. So, being the old-fashioned romantic he was, he had decided that this year, he was going to do something special for her, to make this year's Yuletide something to remember.

And that something was a Pre-Christmas Dinner back at his house.

It was a strange concept, to say the east, and one that even Dirk had raised an eyebrow at. But Pit knew how much that Utsuho loved her food, especially when it came to the yearly goodies. And thus did the white-winged angel find himself within the kitchen, busying himself over the pots on the stove and the slow cooker and goodness knows what else was going on in there. Whilst the eldest of the Angelos Brothers may not have been the esteemed cook his brother was, the fine, toothsome smell of roasting chestnuts, traditional Christmas pudding, cooking goose and more besides indicated he was making pretty good progress.

And he was pretty happy with that progress, as he continued singing along as he stirred the contents of a saucepan.

"And every time I see you grin,
I'm such a happy... in-dividual!"

Dirk has given some pointers, of course - he was the expert when it came to food prep. But the dark-winged angel had fully admitted that tradition was not something he was partial to, not after the gourmet cooking had been such a runaway success with Josephine. So whilst he'd given what advice he could, in the end it had been mostly up to Pit to make it work. And as he took a small taste of the cranberry sauce he was working on, he was pretty sure he was making it work just spectacularly.

Utsuho is going to love this, he thought to himself.

"You and I...
Are just like a-"

Knock knock.

Pit paused mid-stir, confusion lacing his mind. Then he put the spoon back in the saucepan, turned the heat down to "simmer" and made for the door. Who would be calling upon him at this time of the day? Certainly not Utsuho, as far as he knew - she'd promised to arrive much later than this, he knew, so that the dinner would be ready in time. And Wes Weasely hadn't figured out how to bypass their new honey badger security system, so it couldn't have been him...

The view through the door didn't give much indication, either - just a lare bulk, obscured by the frosted-over windows. Pit did not envy anyone who was outside this year, for it had been the worst sort of snow the city had seen for a good long while. He briefly wondered, as he approached the door, whom would be stupid or brave enough to try and withstand the driving blizzards to call upon his house, if they weren't his wife. Perhaps one of his portly uncles had arrived to share some of the family cider?

"Hel-" he began to say as he opened the door.

And then fearful recognition turned the word to thorns in his mouth.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," drawled the monstrous thing on the doorstep. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything... important."

On the surface, the words seemed sincere, almost melodic. But Pit knew very well what sort of slimy ugliness was beneath them, and it made his stomach churn with disgust even as his blood froze in barely-restrained terror. He had to force his next sentence out, the words sticking in his throat, and they tasted bitter as he spoke, almost as if he was dreaming the whole situation.

"No, not at all," he lied, and instantly hated himself.

The beast gave an ugly chuckle, baring all of his teeth. "Well, now, can a gentleman come in from the cold? You know it ain't polite to refuse an old acquaintance, don't ya?"

"Of course." Pit stood aside automatically, gesturing with one hand. "Come right in."

The creature grinned wider, and turned sideways as he pushed his way through the doorframe, so as he could fit through and cross the threshold properly. Pit could have screamed as the thing entered his house, but said nothing as his uninvited guest ambled towards the dining room, filling the air with the foul scent of stagnant water and pudgy feet leaving damp track marks in the carpet. And as he watched the beast lug it's way past the next door, humming some backwater tune to itself, a horrible thought lanced across his mind like an icicle thrown by an Olympic javelin-thrower.

Please... Not now...

Pitmas (Prologue)

Once upon a time, there lived a very small angel with white wings, who was very unhappy. His mother was poor, and spent all her money on frivolous things. His father worked long hours, and was rarely around for him. His wings were very small indeed, smaller than any angel that had been born, and all the kids in school teased him because they were too small to let him fly. But worst of all was whenever his mother and father quarreled, for although they loved each other very much, they could not stand the other's bad habits, and this made the very small angel very sad indeed.

But the very small angel had a dream - a very big dream indeed. In the very small house where he lived, he could look out of his bedroom window and see the great, shining tower of Sintendo, like a beacon in the inky blackness of the Manhattan skyline. He knews that place was were all the most famous people were - Mario, Link and Samus among them. And before he went to sleep, he always wished that, some day, a very small angel would walk to the very top of that tower and meet those famous people.

"I'll be as famous as they are, some day," he would say to himself. "I know I'll be."

And that day came sooner than he thought.

One Christmas Eve, his mother and father were having a terrific argument, the worst one they had in a long time. The very small angel did his best to not listen to what they were saying, but they shouted so loud that it was very hard not to hear it.

"How do you expect me to feed this family?!" his father was saying. "How can I save up for anything on Christmas when you keep spending my money on your ridiculous Pipe and those wretched beads?!"

"What else am I supposed to do?!" his mother shouted back. "You're never around anymore! You don't even speak to our son, and he doesn't see you!"

"That's because I'm at work, trying to earn for this family!" yelled his father. "But of course, you wouldn't know anything about work, would you?"

"And you wouldn't know anything about being a parent!" shrieked his mother.

The very small angel covered his ears, trying not to listen to all this horrible shouting. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't not hear what came next, nor would he ever forget it.

"You're a disgrace!" bellowd his father. "I wish I'd never met you!"

"And I wish I'd never met you, either!" screamed his mother.

That was too much for the very small angel. With tears in his eyes, he ran down the stairs of their very small house, out of the door, down the garden path and down the street, away from the house. He didn't know or care where he was going, he just wanted to get away from the awful argument and not have to see his parents again. How could they say something like that to each other, on Christmas Eve? It wasn't fair, and it wasn't anybody's fault that they were poor and couldn't afford much! Why did they have to make such a big fight about it?

Night was falling fast, and soon it was very dark and cold. The very small angel didn't know where he'd run to, and found himself in a dark, dirty corner of the city, where not even the bravest dare go for fear of what lurked there. Soon, he began to be very sorry he ran away, and tried to find his way back home, but the more corners he turned, the more lost and frightened he became. He saw the mark of the Black Dragon on a wall, and knew what that meant, so he ran away quickly. And he met many people who looked at him kindly, or chased him away with knives, or didn't even notice him. But he never found his way home, or anyone who could tell him the way.

"Oh, why ever did I run away?" cried the very small angel. "I know mother and father arguing was bad, but it was much better than this! At least at home, I could be warm, and have something to eat!"

Just then, he heard a strange sound, coming from a dark corner that had, at the time, seemed damp and empty. As he listened, the sound grew and formed words, in a language that he had never heard before, not from his friends or at school - flowing and babbling like a river. And somehow, he felt drawn towards that dark, damp corner, as if it was offering him safety and comfort from the darkness around him. So he drew closer, and as he drew closer, the louder the sound became, and the more clearer the words, although he still didn't understand them.

When he got to the dark, damp corner, he saw that it was part of a bridge, that overlooked a river - which strange, because he was very sure the river had not been there before. At first, he couldn't see anything, but then he heard a splashing sound, and saw something move beneath the water.

So the very small angel looked over the bridge, and saw...

...a very large gentleman. 

PITMAS: FROZEN CREEK

Coming Soon... 

Birds of a Feather: Soprano

WARNING: The following contains spoilers for Steel Komodo's major plot. Only click this if you're really sure you want to know about the cartoonishly evil jerks you're going to fight this year. Otherwise, steer clear!

We clear? Now gimme five.

Birds of a Feather: Nevermore

WARNING: The following contains spoilers for Steel Komodo's major plot. Only click this if you're really sure you want to know about the cartoonishly evil jerks you're going to fight this year. Otherwise, steer clear!

We clear? Now gimme five.

Viva Las Vegas

WARNING: The following is really fucking long. Read only when you have the spare time. And also something to drink.

~THE PITBROS HOUSE, MANHATTAN~

"Aaaand... check."

"Alright!" whooped Dirk as he threw his last bag into the back of the car. "All set and ready!"

Pit nodded, smiling. Finally, everything was ready. After months of preparation, planning and... not getting too excited, everything was ready for their third big excursion. This time, the ZFS Corporation had settled down in Las Vegas, looking to branch out into big-budget hotels and nightlife entertainment on top of all it's over services, and the Pitbros. knew the other Kobbers would be right behind. It hadn't been hard to find the new King of Beasts - the combined hotel, lounge and casino resort had been advertised literally everywhere one could advertise such a thing. And where the King of Beasts went, the angels would go, naturally.

As Dirk headed round the car to add his computer back to the collection in the back seat, Pit looked up just in time to see Utsuho emerging from the house, her own small bag slung over one shoulder. The older brother had made sure to pack her suitcase in with the others in the trunk of the car, so the Hell Raven didn't have as much to bother carrying from the house.

"You ready?" grinned Pit.

"Yeah," responded Utsuho, holding up her own bag. "I've got everything!"

 "Alright, hop in." And Pit opened the passenger door, allowing Utsuho to walk down and climb into the seat. Then, as Dirk found his own place in the back, Pit circumnavigated the car and clambered into the driver's seat, ensuring he was well-seated before shutting the door.

"You excited to go?" he asked as he buckled up. "I know Vegas isn't going to be like anything you've been to before, so hopefully you'll enjoy it!"

"Yep!" Utsuho seemed to positively radiate excitement. "I mean, I know you took me to Manhattan, but you said it's a lot different from Vegas, so I'm really wondering what it'll be like!"

"Yeah, I've never been, either!" A grin split Pit's face as he pulled out the Satnav. "This is gonna be a new experience for both of us!"

"Not to mention getting married, too!" Dirk shot back. "Hope you guys booked a decent venue - if they don't do shots, I'm out!" Pit just rolled his eyes at that - maybe asking Dirk to be the best man wasn't the brilliant idea it had seemed at the time.

Utsuho turned a little red. "Eheheh... yeah, I'm looking forward to that... Oh what are you planning on doing, Dirk?" she queried, turning around to face Dirk where he sat.

The dark angel shot her a lewd grin. "More like who," he chuckled.

"Dirk, please," groaned Pit, facepalming.

"But yeah, I'm meeting up with Jo once we get there," clarified the younger angel. "She's been itching to go for ages - wants to challenge all the casinos, I bet." He grinned, knowing that his girlfriend's love of money was one feature he was more than happy to support - especially in a place like Vegas.

 "Huh, didn't expect that out of her..." Utsuho took the time to mull that one over, before brightening up. "Well, hopefully she'll do a good job of it!"

"Don't worry, I'll be behind her all the way."

"Of course you will." Unfazed completely by yet another of Dirk's puns, Pit finished typing in the adress, and then hit the ignition button. At once, the car roared into life, almost as eager to get going as it's occupants were, and the sound seemed to lend some life into the white-winged angel. He gripped the steering wheel with expectant fervour and turned to his riding companions, eyes shining with excitement. "

"Alright," he called out, "we ready for off?"

"Yep!" was Utsuho's response. "I'm ready whenever you guys are!"

"Then off we go!" And with that, Pit pulled the car out of the driveway, swung it around with practiced ease, and then set off with no small amount of tire squeal down the road that lead out of the neighborhood and, eventually, Manhattan.

"Cocaine and booze," crowed Dirk, "here we come!"

"Dirk, please."

Hail to the King (Part 4)

Sam's day had, in a nutshell, gone down the drain.

It had started out okay, really. Christine, as part of the plan to gather more members of the 44, had drawn up a map and told him to basically meander down a path whilst the others split up in search of more help. The reason she'd given was that they would be able to quickly gather forces, supplies and more, whilst Sam, who didn't really know the land at all, would just head to the place where they would all meet up and act as a signpost. Then they would all just head back to where they were needed and get ready to kick the Magpies out.

Sam was fine with that - meandering was something he'd done a lot, back in his home world. Often, he and his troupe would do just that, wandering between villages and looking for problems to solve when the Kingsguard wasn't badgering him to kill the latest maniacal warlord or whatever. And one of the nice things about meandering was that it didn't require life-or-death decisions or unnecessary pain. Nobody tried to randomly attack you

Or so he thought, until the quintet of strangers jumped him when passing by some ruins.

The first thing he knew about it was when a massive slab of concrete came hurtling out of nowhere at him. He didn't even question it at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight, he had to wonder just how it got here - he wasn't even aware there was anyone who knew how to make concrete! Regardless, he let his reflexes do the talking, pulling out the Grandius and swinging before he had time to even think about what exactly he was doing, or how ridiculous it was going to look. Thankfully, the latter never even crossed his mind - if it did, he probably would have been reduced to a jammy paste on the floor.

Long story short, he cut the concrete in half, and let the two halves crash to the ground on either side of him. Standard procedure - he'd done it enough times in his career that he'd got it down pat. Now, all he had to do was to find the guy responsible and lecture him about proper concrete-throwing safety, so he wouldn't have to do it again. Maybe it'd be just some big, dumb brute, like a minotaur or giant, who had been playing stepping stones. Or maybe it'd be some megalomaniac idiot testing his new concrete-throwing weapon - wouldn't be the first time.

So when the man dressed in the Kevlar-paneled bodysuit stepped forward, he was somewhat disappointing.

The man didn't look like much, in all honesty. Close-cropped brown hair, angular face and green eyes presented a rather plain appearance. All that really stood out about him was the way the ground seemed to quiver beneath his feet as he walked, as well as what he was wearing. And once again, hindsight kicked him in the butt as, only a few moments later, would he recognize the insignia of the spread-winged, two-headed crow-like bird upon the chestplate of the outfit. Really, it had not been one of Sam's days for quick thinking.

"Sorry about that," said the stranger as he came into view. "I wasn't really aiming for you."

"Well, I should hope not," Sam retorted as he straightened up. "You don't just throw concrete about like-"

"No," responded the man, patiently. "That was meant to be the signal. But my throwing's not so good, you see."

Quite Contrary, Faceless

It had started like any other day. Daniel was in the living room, enthused by Top Gear reruns on the grounds that there was nothing better to watch that day. Robbie, having completed his homework for the day, was engaging Crusoe in the morning newspaper's Sudoku challenges, although the not-a-cat had more than once complained about how easy the challenges were. And Carol was putting out the garbage - technically it was Daniel's turn, but he'd done it for two weeks and had complained vehemently about it, as was his style.

So here she was, lifting the lid of the bin and wrinkling her nose at the awful smells within. Ugh, there was a whole medley of stuff in here - the takeaway pizza from last night, that lasagne she couldn't finish, bits of fish, the piri piri sauce Daniel had taken one bite of and ran screaming from the room... Someday, they were going to give that bin a proper wash-out. But for now, the technopath concentrated on throwing the bag in and shutting the lid, pushing it down a bit to help it fit properly.

It occurred to her, at that moment, that the bird feeders needed refilling. They'd been brought recently, and Robbie enjoyed looking out of the back window and watching starlings, blackbirds and more gather around them and peck away at the seed within. So instead of heading straight back indoors, Carol turned around and headed down the side path, down to modest back garden that saw the brunt of the spring sun. The feeder hung by a wire on the fence at the other side of the garden, and the redhead had to cross the whole length of the grass so she could reach the feeder and unhook it.

Then she made the mistake of looking over the back fence.

At first, she thought it was just another one of the scraggly trees, lined up in neat rows in the field beyond. But she blinked, and it had moved forward by several meters, and then her brain began to register several things in a mad, cold rush of terror. Firstly, it wasn't even the same moss-dotted brownish-green colour as the other trees trees - only white and black, with a hint of red. Secondly, it was still moving, in a wobbly, foot-dragging and arm-swinging fashion that suggested it was too top-heavy for it's own good.

Third, it was moving right towards her.

Meal Ticket

~SCOOPA KOOPA'S, LAS VEGAS~

Nine in the morning, and Scoopa Koopa's was just opening up. Through windows marred by grease, an observer would notice the lights being turned on in the kitchen area, bathing the rest of the restaurant in sickly yellow light. The chintzy plastic tables had been wiped and polished, the checkerboard floor mopped thoroughly and the counter-tops disinfected with healthy doses of sprays of various brands. Now, the staff were hard at work behind the kitchen, rattling utensils and banging cupboards as they prepared for the day ahead of them, be it slow or busy. The ovens and grills hummed eagerly, the fryer sizzled with anticipation and a fine, toothsome smell of greasy food came wafting from the air vents.

As did the shouting.

"Hurry up with those fries, dino-brain! The customers can't wait forever!"

The staff didn't actually talk much. Being pseudo-dinosaurs of various fantastical species, speech was not really their forte, limited only to demands for orders and cash. They weren't the type to hold conversation around the grill, or complain about their mortgage payments, or anything that the average human working in a diner like this would do - they were more used to working in silence, if anything. So there was only one gruff, growling voice barking insults and orders at them, and that could only come from one source.

"Move it, ya mooks!" bellowed Koopa as he stomped through the kitchen, shooting impatient glares at everyone and everything. He was in a bad mood today, and the reptilian workers around him could sense it - it radiated off him like the stench off a rotten egg, filling the entire room in an atmosphere of ominous anticipation. Knowing their boss' temper all too well, the dinos kept their heads down, hoping that by just doing as told, they'd escape notice and avoid the verbal abuse that came from the massive green turtle monster looming over them. Normally, this worked as Koopa was usually too wrapped up in his own ugly thoughts to pay much attention to what his workers did.

Sadly, on this occasion, it didn't help them.

"I'll need more eggs than that!" growled the former King of Darklands as he rounded a counter. "Get your tails in gear and-" His ranting stopped abruptly as he caught sight of something out of place on the counter-top - a near-empty plastic bottle, the bottom lined with remnants of red gunge. After staring at it for a moment or two, Koopa quickly swiped it up in one massive paw and turned to his work-force, brandishing the bottle furiously as he vented his anger once more.

"BUGS-FOR-BRAINS!" he roared, making each and every dinosaur jump in fright. "Which of you forgot to refill the tomato sauce?!"

For an awful while, nobody said a word. Replying to a bad-tempered Koopa was like driving a glacier through the eye of a needle, and nobody really felt like taking responsibility for this particular mistake. So when somebody finally found their voice, they resorted to the usual trick - lying their ugly reptilian face off.

"It was Marty!" that someone piped up, pointing a trembling claw at the Rex next to him. "He was on condiment duty yesterday!"

"I was not!" protested his companion with an indignant growl. "I was on mopping duty! You were on condiment duty, Zack!"

Koopa rolled his eyes as the two continued to bicker. Whilst lying was, in his opinion, an excellent trait, it was a skill that took refinement and practice over the years. And as far as he was concerned, these dinosaurs were absolute greenhorns at it. It couldn't have been more obvious if you'd painted them purple and stood them on top of the Eiffel Tower. Coupled with his current surly mood, the former tyrant was getting more and more exasperated with his own staff by the minute.

"Y'know what?" he cut in, shutting the both of them up. "I've suddenly realized I don't care. Just refill this stinking thing, or I'll make Special Scoopa Sauce outta the both of ya!" With practiced ease, he pitched the empty ketchup dispenser across the kitchen, and the two dinos nearly fell over themselves trying to catch it, shoving each other back and forth in their efforts to outdo each other. When one of them succeeded in catching the bottle in his claws, he quickly scurried out of the room via the back door, hastily followed by his equally-terrified companion.

Koopa gave an ugly chuckle to watch the two flee, but with a single sigh he was back to his former dour mood. The empty ketchup, he knew, was just another symptom of the restaurant's struggle to stay afloat in the crowded mass of lights and excess that was Las Vegas. There was little space for a small, greasy, overpriced diner like his in a world where half the hotels came with their own bar and restaurant pre-installed, and it seemed that fewer and fewer suckers- er, customers were coming here nowadays. Who wanted to bite into a delicious Egg Scoopa Koopa when they could just order a three-course meal via room service?

I gotta do something, the ill-mannered monarch thought as he surveyed the kitchen. Or this place - and my reputation - is gonna go down the drain!

Drat, he mentally added with a shudder, I just made myself think about those pesky pulmbers again. Ugh...

"Mister Koopa, sir?"

Irritated at having his mental spiel interrupted, Koopa whirled his masive green bulk around. "Whaddya want?" he snapped.

The Rex who'd addressed him flinched, but then recovered himself in short order. "Um... just got today's paper, sir. It's about the Zoofights Corporation - they're moving here within the month."

"...And why the Koop," asked Koopa with a raised eyebrow, "should I care? I've got food to sell, money to make! I ain't got time to muck around with some company that doesn't even know what it's doing anymore!" Something inside him cringed, for reasons he couldn't explain, but he brushed them off as Un-Koopa-like.

"See for yourself, sir!" The Rex quickly held up the paper, already a little crumpled from being carried around so roughly. Quickly snatching it away, Koopa yanked the flimsy pages open, nearly ripping them in the process, and took a good look at the major article within it. And just as he was about to lose interest, because it was going on and on about business ventures and other boring things he didn't care about, a paragraph caught his yellow eye.

"Of course, it is no mere speculation that the famous Kobbers, who's name and presence are just as important a fixture as the King of Beasts name, will be making an appearance this year. This motely legion of assorted extraterrestrials, superhumans, millionaires and more have always been present at ZFC's many industrious outings, and have beaten back many an unusual, over-the-top and convoluted threat time and time again. How will our band of evil-defeating, justice-upholding, ridiculous-loads-of-cash-spending adventuers adapt to the glamor of Vegas? And what additions and departures can we expect from-"

"Um... sir?"

"Huh? What?" Koopa quickly shook the dollar signs from his eyes. "What did you say?"

"Are you alright, sir?" The Rex was now looking rather puzzled. "You seemed to space out for a minute there. And you were drooling," he added resentfuly, pointing to a large puddle that had mysteriously formed on the ground.

"Never mind that!" snapped the former king, putting on his old grouchy persona. "Just clean that mess up!" But as the befuddled staff member waddled away to fetch the bucket and mop,he failed to notice his boss turning towards his own office, cackling and rubbing his hands. It wasn't just dollar signs in his eyes - it was plans and plots as well, hatching like eggs and turning like gears in his head. For a brief moment, Koopa was feeling like his old kingly self again.

"Looks like Scoopa Koopa's" he cackled to himself, "is gonna be Koopin' on up!"

INTRODUCING

Harvey Atkin as the voice of "KING" KOOPA

Hail to the King (Part 3)

~PORT BLACKSAND~

Sam had never seen Star Wars before. The only reason he knew it existed was because the people he associated with often referenced it, usually in a dumb in-jokey way that he wasn't really parlay to. So therefore, he only knew about Mos Eisley being a thing because he had heard that one quote over and over, and had no real idea of what it looked like.

Port Blacksand, he reckoned, was close.

"There's a joke about scum and villainy somewhere," he muttered as he strolled down the grime-ridden streets. He wouldn't have been far-off in making that joke - the general look of the town, even from a distance, was a shifty, side-eyed one that kept an eye out for the cops as it filched someone's wallet, and up close it was no better. Gruff-voiced men and rasp-voiced women hollered out their wares from side corners and crannies, half the populace seemed to stare at the floor or cover their faces as they walked and the smell of damp and poorly-cooked food hang like a foul perfume over the place. The only mercy Sam could find was that nobody seemed inclined to look at him, and when they did they usually gave him a wide berth.

It might have had something to do with Walter trotting by his side, though. It would seem that having a Leowolf - that is, a canine now the size of a lion - next to you was a good way to carve out a decent personal space. A good metre or so of thin air around Sam had gone practically unmolested, and the former Destined Hero had the impression that this was more to do with the wolf than anything about himself. Mind you, brightly-coloured clothing was something of a target for stares in a place like this.

It hadn't felt like long before a nose pushed itself into his leg, and Walter gave a whining bark to indicate that Sam should look at something. He did, and found that they were now approaching a tavern, which looked so ashamed of it's shabby appearance it seemed to by trying to hide itself between all the other buildings on the street. A forlorn, knife-hacked and torch-burned sign swung above the door, and the blond-haired swordsman couldn't help but snort at the faded name etched into the wood "NOBODY INN". At least the place had a sense of humour.

"You thirsty, big guy?" he asked Walter, knowing his guess was not far off.

The wolf replied with a short yap and a mad wagging of the tail.

"Alright," chuckled Sam as he tousled the wolf's furry head. "We'll stop for a drink, and then maybe ask for directions."

The two promptly changed course, and their first obstacle came in the form of a man built like a diseased gorilla, who stepped between them and the comforting warmth of the tavern on the instant they crossed the threshold. His mere appearance turned nearly every head in the bar - it seemed people were accustomed to the routine scuffles that their bouncer got into.

"Fuck off," were his first words, growled out like an industrial meat grinder.

Sam groaned, already familiar with this kind of scenario. "Look," he tried, "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want-"

"Fuck off, I said," repeated the bouncer, stepping forward. "We don't serve your lot here, with your poncy outfits and too many belts. And take your mutt with you, or else I'll-"

Sam didn't even have to say anything. If there was one thing he knew Walter hated more than anything, it was being called a mutt, mongrel or any sort of pejorative relating to his breeding. A blur of silver-grey shot up from his left, there was a thump and the bouncer collapsed to the floor, half-dazed and clutching his own forehead. And then, in case that wasn't hilarious enough, the Leowolf casually trotted over to the prone juggernaut and sat on him as though he were a cushion from his bed back home.

This set every table in the tavern at a roar at once. It must have been the funniest thing they'd seen all week.

"Thank you, thank you!" Sam laughed back and waved as he stepped into the building. "He does headstands, too!" Which probably wasn't true, but he could smell that half of them were already pissed out of their minds, so anything would prolong the hilarity. And as they lapped it up like monkeys at feeding time, he took the time to check the medallion from Victoria, just in case it had any clues as to-

Huh. It was blinking rather brightly. That meant somebody from the Forty-Four, that group of heroes Sam had needed to seek out to try and deal with the Magpies, was in this very building. But where...?

Sam looked up.

Hail To The King (Part 2)

Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of strong men.
- Seneca the Younger, De Providentia, 5, 9.

Sam had wondered why on earth a place would be called 'Megan's Woe'. 'Woe' wasn't exactly a word he associated with historical place-names, especially concerning military leaders or great battles. 'Triumph' was a good, solid name that could be depended on, conjuring images of conquest and celebration in his mind. 'Folly' was also good, and spoke of madness and stubbornness in the face of impossible odds and crippling setbacks. As adjectives go, 'woe' was kind of overtly poetic, and lacked the powerful dramatic impact the former two did.

Arriving there, though, he could easily see how the name would apply.

"Fucking hell..." the blond swordsman muttered under his breath as he took in the scenery. It wasn't exactly picturesque - certainly not in the traditional sense. Mostly consisting of volcanic rock, the landscape was occasionally punctuated with spurts of superheated water from geysers dotted about the place, topped with wispy plumes of gas leaking from cracks in the earth. The crowning centerpiece of it all, impaled on a massive rocky spire and surrounded by plumes of erupting lava, was what might have been a luxury yacht of some kind but was now a burnt, blackened shell of its former glory. All-in-all, not the ideal vacation spot.

At least it's better than Blackpool, said the inner Nicodemus, but Sam was too busy trying to breathe to laugh at that one. The Grandius had screamed it's head off about the level of poisonous gases in the area before he'd gotten within earshot of the place, and thus he'd had to take out and clean the MantraTech Personal Air Filter he carried with him. He barely used it since the one time he'd had to delve into a poison-filled mine to rescue some workers, but it somehow still worked as well as ever despite the neglect, filtering out all the awful toxins and replacing them with soothing, clean air. At least he wouldn't choke to death here.

But then there were the other, more obvious dangers to deal with. The heat, for instance, was something awful - you couldn't just fry an egg on these rocks, you could cook a three-course dinner! Then the water spurting out of the ground was also an obvious problem, as it would be full of nasty bacteria and viruses as well as being hot enough to remove the skin. And to say nothing of the constant volcanic eruptions going on...

Which is why we left Walter behind, Sam's brain reminded him. This place, apparently the site of a major magical battle in this world's history, wasn't really between them and the next village they had to go to, but he'd been about it being close to their route and had advised them to steer clear of it. Sam would have liked to mention that it was pretty hard to do that when he didn't know where the place was, and his suspicions proved to be right when the grass abruptly died beneath his feet. So he'd left Walter behind with the others whilst he went out and scoured the area for trouble.

It was a decision he was regretting already. In fact, as he leaped away from another blast of superheated gas, he was considering just ditching the exploration and-

"YOU!"

Hail To The King (Part 1)

Sam had wondered what the point of getting out of bed today was.

It had started whilst he was having his breakfast. It had been a quiet, stress-free week so far, full of absolutely nothing to bother him and all day to not be bothered in. Walter was dozing by his lap, still struggling with trying to be a morning dog, and although he'd grown as large as a lion by now the landlord had been strangely reluctant to complain. Things seemed to have finally quietened down, at last as far as the former Destined Hero was concerned, and no longer was life handing him any bum hands for the sake of it's own sick pleasures.

And then the Grandius had started beeping and babbling nonsense about dimensional breaches. Sam's first mistake had been to try and figure out what was going on, despite not understanding hadn't a lick of it - in fact, he hadn't been aware that the Grandius could sense things in other dimensions. Oh, sure, he'd experimented with its safety teleportation feature - Priority Three, to be exact - but he'd never really tested the full capability of it at all. And hey, the disturbance was only a few miles down the road...

Sam's second mistake was initiating Priority Three.

VROP.

And that was how he ended up in the wreckage of a village in a place he didn't recognize, with an equally-confused Walter by his side.

Things got even more confusing when, upon wandering out of the town, Sam located what he assumed were the people of the village, madly evacuating their former homes in a frenzy of panic. All his questioning could get out of them was that something had arrived from seemingly nowhere and trashed the village without breaking a sweat, and it was in the opposite direction he had come from. So Sam made his third mistake of simply flying back the way he'd come, using his newfound powers instead of walking.

It was, admittedly, a lot faster, so he arrived at the massive iron-gray, factory-esque building in a few minutes or so, wondering what on earth it was doing there. And then he ran away from the massive, rapid-firing gun turrets in almost half that amount of time, swearing like a sailor with a stubbed toe. But he'd lingered long enough to notice the familiar symbol plastered on the side - the double-headed, spread-winged crow of the Magpies, the criminal organization who he'd run into on more than one occasion and specialized in... well, being a criminal organization.

So what was it doing here, building factories and raiding towns?

Unfortunately, he never got enough time to figure that out by himself, because then he came face-to-face with a very large army. It was lead by some guy named Caleb, who happened to be the king of that particular piece of country, and had gone up in order to check out reports of super-powered people trampling his villages and ransacking his people. And, of course, when a dude lands in front of you in a pillar of flame, you're not exactly going to ask any questions. Especially when you've already been told about it by the evacuees of that village.

Sam did the sensible thing and surrendered.

He didn't know how long he'd spent in that prison. Not that it was uncomfortable or anything - the food was decent, the cell was comfy, but the chains clearly needed greasing because they chafed like crazy. But the former Destined Hero had no idea what day or the week it was when Walter suddenly prised his door open, took his sleeve in his jaws and lead him out of that camp and across a field or two to a hotel in some other village. On the morning when Walter trotted into his room with the Grandius in his mouth, wagging his tail happily, did he realize that his own dog seemed to know this strange new world better than he did.

So he had no complaints when Walter lead him out of the hotel and through a dozen more miles of countryside. It was here that Sam noticed something very odd indeed about this world - it was like looking at a patchwork quilt up close. One minute, he'd be walking past some farmland, then ten miles later it'd be all steampunk and copper, then farmland again, then early 20th century tech... The blond warrior had a bit of trouble wrapping his head around the whole thing, and wondered just what had happened to get things into such a state.

Eventually, he came to a very large market town, which seemed to be in the middle of a trading convention with a strange civilization of... well, the Grandius translated their name as "Skinweavers", so that was what he was gonna call them. Walter had indicated, by barking, that he ought to have a word with some of these people, and by this time he'd long given up on whatever reasoning the dog had on doing any of this. Also, he was tired, hungry and more than a little fed up with this shit. If the dog wanted him to speak to the scary face-painted tribesmen, then that's what he'd do.

Their first question, when he filled then in on the situation and what he needed, was wherever the local law enforcement could handle the issue. When he told them, in no uncertain terms, that this was extremely unlikely, they decided to take him to their leader instead.

Sam was really starting to regret getting out of bed.

Hangover

The first sign that I'm awake is the volume of the television in my room.

"-has been found in an alleyway close to the Triden National Park. Forensic experts have been unable to identify the cause of death, but say that some sort of animal was definitely involved. Clark Wayne reports live from-"

It's enough to make me snap my eyes open, fright coursing through my body. Then I have to shut them again because the light from the screen is too bright, and the pounding headache is the second sign that I'm awake. Really you'd think it'd be the first one, since it is a planet-sized hangover and everything, but I suppose it was waiting to introduce itself after I heard the T.V. come on. Hangovers can suck like that. Makes you wonder why people bother with alcohol at all.

With a groan, I sit up in bed, but that only makes the pounding worse. There's a lot of questions in my head right now, all buzzing for attention, but the one that manages to barge it's way in front is "how much did I drink last night?" See, I have literally no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever - one shot of rum and vodka is enough to get me reeling - and I remember one of my flatmates managed to coax me into going out partying last night. But that's all I can remember clearly - the rest is a complete blur, so I know I must have gotten drunk at some point. Part of me wonders how much of it went up on Facebook or whatever.

I reach up to nurse my forehead, and two things make me freeze in horror. The first is the dried blood flaking off my fingers in shards and fluttering to the bedsheets. If I were anyone else, maybe I would have assumed I had some kind of accident, but instead I drop my hand to my mouth and yep, there's more around my lips and on my chin. Some of it even migrated up to my cheeks, and I have to boggle at how it got there.

The second, as I turn my head, flashes up on the television.

The Gallows

Night had fallen on the village of Wensdale. Taverns and shops had been shut up, lights had been turned off, market stalls packed away. The shutter of almost every house was closed, doors had been bolted and whatever security measures were needed were in place. Even at night, the place was a village of contrasts – medieval folk on the cusp of modern enlightenment. Electric lamps lined the streets where horse and cart roamed, some villagers would be tuning in to late-night television and cheeky children would be playing games consoles under the covers. Ancient and modern lived side-by-side in non-judgmental harmony, unlike in the rest of the world where they sat on opposite sides of a fence and snarled at each other.

Another noticeable contrast was the figure standing by the gallows, watching the body swing from it.

The figure was large, not just in height, but in proportion as well. There was a person who would fit the great, obscuring coat that it wore, but this was not that person – too tight around the shoulders, too baggy about the trunk. Legs like great columns peeked out from beneath the hem of the garment, arms like tree trunks stood placidly at the person’s sides. An eerie red glow permeated from underneath the hood, aimed like fiery spotlights at the corpse that hung from its neck and illuminating the blood and puke that stained the front of it.

The body had belonged to Meredith Forsythe, the authorities had claimed. She had been hung this very afternoon, guilty of charges of fraud, grand larceny, petty theft and more than a few incidents of sexual deviancy. She’d been oddly silent and calm as she’d been lead up to the gallows, not saying so much as a single syllable as the executioner grimly fitted the noose around her neck. The only flicker of emotion, as the final rites had been read out, was a small smirk as the priest attending the execution had croaked out in his humourless drone “May all the Gods and Goddesses, from Armadon to Raijin, have mercy upon thy soul”. It had been quick and painless, the authorities had said.

The figure waited and watched, watched and waited. A crow came down onto the gallows, hopped over to the body and began pecking away at the eye sockets.

The thing about the authorities, however, was that they only knew what suited them. If there was anything that they didn’t understand, they ignored it - it was more convenient that way. They could not explain how two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, stolen by Meredith, had gone completely missing, with all possible sites turning up completely empty. They did not account for why the Duchess of the Moorlands insisted the one who had visited her in the night and charmed her silken garters off had been a tanned brunette, not the fair-skinned blonde they’d hung.

They probably would not have explained the cracking noises from within the body, either.

They explained themselves in short order.

The corpse bulged horribly, the crow squawking in fright and flapping away. The sternum tore in half and ribs snapped like breadsticks as the entire front half of Meredith Forsythe split in half like a clam shell. With a choking gasp and a gush of fluids, Amanda Dime slid out of the body she’d grown around herself and collapsed to the ground, rolling down the wooden ramp that lead to the noose and leaving a sticky trail behind her. The huge figure did not move until she’d come to a stop at the foot of the ramp, writhing in the dirt and clawing at her own throat until she found out she could breathe again.

Then it approached her with slow, measured steps, procuring a bottle of water from its pocket, and knelt down.

“Some Water, Miss Dime?” it asked. The voice rumbled like a grindstone wheel, and each word was deliberately pronounced, as if the speaker was assembling them out of instructions. 

The prone woman said nothing, but yanked the bottle from the other’s hand and practically tore the top off in her haste to unscrew the cap. That was the one issue with being a Changeling – whenever you shed a body, you felt, for the first hour or two, all the sensations your last vessel went through before you ditched it. In this case, the tightness of woven hemp constricting the windpipe, a problem that could only be solved by gulping down the entire bottle in one go, which Amanda Dime demonstrated with surprising speed.

When it was all over, she looked taller and fuller, and there was more shine to her brown-tanned skin. She yanked the bottle away from parched lips and gasped once again.

“I liked that body,” she groaned, hauling her nude form into a sitting position in the mud she’d created. “It was slim, it was active. I could do things with it!”

“I Do Not Doubt That,” rumbled the tall figure.

“And those fuckers ruined it!” Amanda practically howled, trying to stand up. But the ground was like a skating rink, and her feet slipped out from under her, throwing her onto her back with a splat. “Still,” she groaned from where she lay covered in mud, “at least we still have the money. Good job with that, by the way, Crank.”

“It Was My Pleasure, Miss Dime,” was the response. A massive paw of a hand was offered, and the Changeling clasped it with both of her own and hauled herself up it. Her feet found purchase on dirt not smeared with unidentifiable liquids, and soon she was standing up and looking at her massive companion with glinting, iris-less eyes.

“You still got it?”

In response, Crank reached inside his coat. There was a sound akin to a mouse trying to perform opera and a series of clicks, and then the hand probed deeper into the shadowy recesses before withdrawing. A large bag, full to almost bursting, rustled and clinked its way into the open air, and was practically snatched away by Amanda, who looked as though she might burst into crowing at any moment as she weighed it with both hands.

“Just think,” she whispered, nearly hissed with glee. “Those fucking guardsmen looking everywhere, and they never thought to look for a really tall man in a suspicious coat!”

“Everyone Knows,” droned Crank, “That Amanda Dime Works Alone.”

“Everyone is a git, Crank,” the woman responded as she handed the money back. “And some are bigger gits than others. That’s why we do this – to show the world that gits don’t deserve to swan about in fancy fucking coats and dresses, pretending to be people.”

“You Grow Bodies To Hide Your Identity, Miss Dime,” retorted Crank as he put the money back into who knows where. “Does That Not Count As Pretending To Be A Person?”

Amanda shot the man a look that could melt metal, were it capable. “Hey, at least I’m honest about it. Not like the rich folk I pick on, lying about how influential they are and their cousins being in some foreign government somewhere. They all make me want to puke, the Agaryulnaerea.”

“As You Say, Miss Dime.”

That was the funny thing about Crank. He asked questions, yes, but he never seemed to linger on them for long. He wasn’t like most sidekicks Amanda had been with, who challenged her way of thinking as though it were a personal affront to themselves or the world – they usually ended up in prison or dead, or she simply abandoned them after a quick fuck and minus their wallets. Crank just… accepted things, even though he posited the kind of questions that most human con artists would stumble to answer without um-ing and ah-ing. 

Amanda, though, was a Changeling. Concepts such as morality and philosophy didn’t enter her head very often, and when they did they fit in there like old furniture in a space station. In her experience, this meant that she could think clearly about the more immediate things, as well as some way into the future, and not get sudden changes of heart as she handed forged coins over to fat, bristle-chinned gentlemen. It was simply better to not care, sometimes.

And right now, as she looked over the sleeping town of Wensdale, the immediate situation did not look very good.

“We can’t stay here,” she muttered, an air of disappointment in her voice.

“We Cannot,” agreed Crank in his rusty growl of a voice. “The Watch Was To Come Here To Collect The Body At-“

“No,” hissed Amanda, throwing up her hands, “I mean we can’t stay here. On this fucking world. What’s left for us, Crank? We’re wanted people here, in Ardea, Todenwald’s poor as shit and full of vampires and ghouls, Barrath hates me for fucking their queen – can’t blame me, she was hot – and Ostaria hates everyone, me included. And we can’t just take a fucking boat to somewhere else, because half the kingdoms over their either want me dead or think I am, or want to melt you down!”

“I Understand,” droned Crank very patiently, “That Zindovia Is Still Open And Welcoming.”

“Yeah, if you like sand and camels.” Amanda shivered at the memory of that place – there was no way in all the hells that existed anything she did there had been worth it. Sultan’s son was rather cute, though, and by now he’d probably grown up to be a fine young man, assuming they stopped feeding him roast peacock every dinnertime. But still, that wasn’t worth all the dust storms and scorpions and palm oil. Okay, maybe the palm oil, but still…

No, she decided. There had to be something else out there. Somewhere where she – and, by extension, Crank – could make a fresh start, with a clean record and no royal soldiers out to kill them. Where she could do what she did best, to her heart’s content, and have all the excitement come back again. Walking into a town, putting on a show for the people and lining her pockets with the results. Getting caught, running away, sometimes fighting and getting away, sometimes getting thrown in prison only to escape in two days. And all the little pleasures on the side, too – the food, the booze and the sex, sometimes two at the same time and sometimes all three at once.

Oh, yes. She loved being a con artist.

“Crank,” she said slowly, after a moment. “What do you know about the Star Festival?”

Crank took a moment to respond. “The Star Festival Is Over, Miss Dime,” he rumbled. “There Is Nothing To Know.”

“I mean in general,” sighed Amanda with irritation. That was the other thing about Crank - you had to be specific, otherwise he didn’t understand.

There was a creaking noise from somewhere.

“It Is My Understanding,” said Crank slowly, “That The Star Festival Is The Chief Meeting Place Between The Peoples of Porphyrion And Those Called The Star People. It Is During This Time That The Two Sides Interact And Trade Vital Goods Between Each Other For The Purpose Of Building Trust, Good Will And Strong Business Ties. Occasionally, A Group Called The Kobbers Descends To The Planet To Right Some Wrongs And Save A Kingdom Or Two. The Details Are A Little Fuzzy On That One.”

There was silence as Amanda turned this over in her head. 

“And… where do these ‘Kobbers’ come from, Crank?”

“Most Appear To Originate From A Planet Called Earth, Or Terra. It Is A Highly Developed Planet, With A Technology Level Far Above Ours. It's Culture Has An Unusual Fascination With The Female Posterior, There Is A City By The Name Of Las Vegas Which Is Dedicated To The Pastime Of Gambling, And A Woman Named Celestia Canicco Is Famed For-"

But Amanda had long since tuned out her associate's rambling spiel. Did she hear that right? An entire city dedicated to gambling? Of course, she was no stranger to casinos and other luck-based shenanigans - she could still recall Brightfields and it's dazzling lights and freak shows, as well as how completely gullible the townsfolk were. They'd even fallen for the old fake diamond ring act, a ploy so old it was gathering dust with the fossils in the Natural History Museum of Orvance by now, and all for the mere chance of winning a few extra thousand gold.

But an entire city...

Something went click in the Changeling's mind, whirred, and brought up a very attractive picture. It involved elaborate disguises, silver tongues, sleight of hand and distracting attention with a flick of a wrist. Finding a good contact, gathering information, targeting the biggest and most smuggest of stuffed shirts. Sneaking in, pulling off, getting caught, running for the hills, sneaking back in to do it all again but bigger and better. And, somewhere along the line, a very handsome man or pretty girl to weasel a sneaky double-cross out of.

And this picture was captioned "Greatest Heist Ever."

"-Which I Cannot Understand, As I Do Not Find Skeletons To Be-"

"Crank." Amanda rounded on the tall figure, eyes gleaming with the excitement she hadn't felt in years. "You are going to pick me up and take me out of this miserable shithole of a village, out through the north gate, right now. Do it."

"...As You Wish, Miss Dime."

Without further comment, Crank leaned down and reached out with an arm that could crush the ribs and lungs of a man with the lightest of movements. Yet the way it picked up Amanda and hoisted her onto one massive shoulder had all the grace and care of a mother bear carrying her cubs, and the brunette reveled in the feel of the cold night air on her skin as her transport set off down the streets. The cobbles echoed with each heavy footfall from the huge unknown, yet not a single soul stirred in their houses - the Changeling was more than thankful for that.

"What Is Your Plan, Miss Dime?" came the rumble, the reverberations of Crank's voice traveling up its cargo's spine.

"Plan?" Amanda grinned at the star-dotted sky above her, seeing dollar signs and possibilities written in every glimmering pattern above her. "Who said anything about a plan?"

"You Have Not Spoken So Eagerly," comes the retort, "Nor With Such Determination Since The Great Eggplant Caper. You Must Have A Plan In Mind."

The cackle that comes from the brunette in response rings off the streetlamps. "Simple, Crank! This planet's done, finished. Nothing left for us to do or exploit. So we go to this Earth place, yeah? Fresh start, new cultures and sights to take in, no gguardsmen trying to kill us everywhere we go! And we start in this Vegas place, where everyone throws their money away so willingly they don't even care if the diamond is really a polished-"

“But Miss Dime, We Cannot Go Just Yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because You Are Naked And Covered In Mud.”

Amanda looked down at herself, noticed that Crank was right and sighed with disappointment. Where she in any other position, time or place, naked and covered in mud was something she’d be more than happy to be – especially if there was a young, impressionable prince on hand. But there wasn’t one, and her plan of getting off-planet relied on not being noticed long enough to sneak aboard a shuttle. So in this case, being naked and covered in mud was not really an option. A pity, that.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s get me cleaned up and find me some clothes. Maybe I can grow a new body whilst we’re on the shuttle.”

“Which Shuttle Will That Be?” asked Crank, not changing pace for an instant.

A smile cracked across Amanda Dime’s face, like a shark seeing it’s dinner being wheeled in.

“The one to Earth.”

TO BE CONTINUED

(Probably)