It was his default state of being. He'd been pissed when the Dark Angel had been dragged before Her Lady and yelled at, he'd been pissed when he dragged him into the prison level of the ship and threw him in a cell, and right now he was even more pissed thanks to a bottle of Ol Janx Spirit. This was his idea of a good day - fuck all to do but eat and drink, shit and piss, maybe sleep. So there he was, slouched on the break room sofa with a bottle in one hand, a taco in the other and several more bottles scattered about him. This was definitely shaping up to be one of his Best Days Ever.
No, he wasn't fucking going to work! It was Frosttime, for Nibiru's sake! The Independance Feast was coming up, there were medals for his service lying in a dusty desk somewhere and there was still some distilled Hypercider somewhere calling his name! So were some fancy glowy screens he had to watch - who cared? Nobody ever broke out of the cells on their own, because nobody in the universe seemed smart enough to figure out how to break Skaro Magnalocks! So there was no reason to pay attention to the screens, and every reason to get drunk, as he was doing now.
Yes, the Vulturite decided as he took another swig of Ol Janx. This was a fucking brilliant day. And he was, in all senses of the word, pissed beyond belief.
So he didn't notice when the door to the break room broke open and the crowd of former prisoners stormed in. Nor did he react when he was picked up in the claw of an enraged Macra, who passed him to a seething Yujata, who hauled him into the arms of an irate Grey, who flung him into the grip of a fuming Taurian, who dumped him at the feet of a llama holding a soldering iron-
"Caaaaaaaarl!"
...Fuck.
-------
Being a chef on a massive Nibirian cruiser was a constant headache.
Head Provisions Officer Daeg could testify to that. He couldn't tell you the number of personel on board the ship off the top of his head - that was all done with computers now. But at a rough estimate, it was close to a hundred people - officers, engineers, navigators, guards and regular soldiers all thrown together in one great big mass of hungry stomachs. Factor in the number of prisoners that were often taken on board, as well as the differing tastes of everybody on the ship and... well, you had long shifts with little sleep, among other things. The roster for worker shifts on these ships were just insane.
Preparing a single massive meal for everyone, however, was a different matter. It was no longer a case of making sure they had enough of one specific thing for Janitor Blun or whoever - now, it was just a matter of quantity. They had the menu planned out perfectly, and all they had to do was ensure that they would have enough to satisfy everyone who wanted one thing or another. On top of that, some of the prisoners were going to feature heavily in the ingredients - the thought of slicing up a helpless Kaled mutant made Daeg cackle with glee, knowing full well it would be one less mouth to feed. And he had to admit, there was a certain joy in perparing all these lavish meals for Her Lady - it allowed him to exercise his craft as a cook more, knowing full well that the rich food would be appreciated for a long time to come, as was the way with festive meals.
So yes, he was feeling quite good today. So good that he didn't think twice before letting the new ameteur cook in to have a crack at the chocolate pudding. So what if he was a wobbly weed of a fledgeling with no sense of balance and an oddly-derformed beak? It would be good experience for him to prepare the desserts for everyone on board, to experience the rush and clamour of the Independance Day Cooking Spree. Nothing could possibly go wrong at this stage, surely! All was going to plan!
Five minutes later, and the kitchen was a graveyard. Soups and sauces formed a veritable oil slick on the ground, with nobody able to stand on their feet for a second without collapsing in a heap. Meats and vegetables of different sizes, shapes and preparations were pasted onto the walls - how they even got there was still a mystery. Globs of pudding and splats of custard were everywhere, as were the unconcious bodies of one or two cooks who hadn't gotten out of the way in time. And in the middle of it all was Daeg, dripping with cranberry sauce, curled up in a pile of mush that was once stuffing and gently weeping for the state of the universe.
And, outside the door, the trio of elves shed their disguise, hopped off each other's shoulders, giggling like lunatics.
-------
"WHAT IS GOING ON?!" screamed Lady Glacia in her throne room.
It seemed like everything had been going according to plan. The food was being prepared, the prisoners were being watched and everything was on schedule. She'd been looking extremely forward to dining on her hated enemy and killer of her husband, and then returning home in triumph and contentment. So when in all the Seven Continents did things suddenly take a turn down into Shitville?! She'd called Head Provisions Officer Daeg for a status update on the condiments, only to recieve hysterical sobbing and half-gibbered explanations and pleas for mercy instead. And then, when alarms had started blaring, she'd turned on the cameras to see her dinner running amok in the lower levels!
Dropping her face into her palms, the Nibirian let out a humongous sigh of irritation. That's what happens, she decided, when you hire Vulturites. In a sense, they hadn't evolved past the carrion-eating, excrement-flinging days before the Annunaki had arrived - despite their newfound proficiency with technology, they were still unbelievably single-minded, selfish and thick. So it was no wonder that things had hit Space Mexico in such a short time as they did, and in all honesty it had only been a matter of time before somebody cocked up. If only it hadn't been now, with Frosttime looming.
There was only one thing for it. As the reptillian princess lifted her face from her palms and gazed upon the Earth, it's serene glow almost taunting her stress and annoyance, the old adage crept through her mind like a spider on the prowl.
"If you want something done right," she hissed to the universe in general, "you do it yourself."
With a fluid, effortless motion, she lifted herself from her throne and slithered out of the room, her scales making only the tinest scraping noises.
-------
Dirk heaved a massive sigh of relief as he watched the assorted alien prisoners file into the escape pods, one by one. The plan so far had been a success - thanks to the Dalek's schematics, he and the others were able to locate the various services on the ship - kitchen, escape pods, engine room, the works. After much debate, it was decided that the five should split into groups to deal with the three different problems presented - namely, getting the prisoners off the ship, ruining the dinner and dealing with Lady Glacia's forces. Dirk had taken up the first responsibility, using Maisy's comb to open the cell doors and ushering the confused creatures and races out.
It hadn't taken long for them to figure out what was going on, and soon they were rampaging through the corridors in the traditional mob mentality, trampling and killing any unfortunate Vulturites that crossed their path. In fact, many of them were clamouring to simply storm the bridge and take out Lady Glacia in one massive mob, and whilst Dirk was not against that idea as a whole, he reasoned that it'd be better overall if they simply got off the ship. And so here he was, watching as Taurians, Greys, Zygons and more filed into the pods and shuttles, ready to fly home.
It wouldn't be much trouble, he'd been reassured. The Dalek had told him the ship eas in a geo-starionary orbit above Earth, and was within range of all the major star systems, so getting home wouldn't be a problem for these assorted aliens. Dirk briefly wondered where that Dalek was right now, then dismissed the thought. It'd be fine, he reasoned. Those overgrown saltshakers were known for tenacity, if nothing else, and it wasn't like it'd be fretting over his progress at all. No need to contact it or anything - there were more pressing concerns right now.
Turning away from the group, the Dark Angel procured a communicator from his pocket - earlier on, he'd cheekily knocked out a pair of Vulturite guards and pilfered these disc-like objects from their ultility belts. Another one had been handed to Merry and, after some fiddling, the two had managed to sync the devices up so they could keep tabs on each other before going their separate ways. Pressing the button, Dirk lifted the disc to his mouth, looking around to make sure he was alone before speaking.
"Merry? How goes the sabotage? Because I'm done up here, and I'll need you to- UMPH!"
"...No answer! Oh, no, Merry, I think he's in trouble!"
"Calm down, Maisy! Our job's done - all we gotta do is go back and help him!"
"Well, that goes without saying! Come on, you two!"
And with that, the three elves drop their communicator and dash down the corridor, headed back the way they come. In their haste to aid their friend, none of them notive the service elevator sliding into position in the opposite wall, a pinging noise announcing it's arrival onto the floor. If they had, they might have seen that it had just come up from Floor 0 - the engine room, where the vital machinery that kept the ship moving and afloat in the void of space.
As well as the lone Dalek that emerged, triumph in it's eyestalk.
-------
Sine may not have talked much to anyone else about the invisible monster she and Zeph fought, or "That Awful Thing", as she called it. But she can probably still remember when it first attacked, trying to squeeze the life out of her before the Robot Master swooped in and saved her. She described the experience as being "wrapped in a hot, wet washcloth", a comical expression that did nothing to dampen the threat of death by either crushed bones or suffocation looming over her. In short, the way she'd described it indicated that it probably an extremely unpleasant experience.
Dirk would argue that being in the coils of a Nibirian was worse.
Not that I'd reccomend trying it, he mentally added. The experience was probably what an orange goes through in the juicing machine - a horrid, warm pressure from all sides, completely engulfing his body and limbs and tightening with every second. The angel couldn't move so much as a finger, arms locked to his sides by ten-inch-thick ropes of muscle, unable to even pull the trigger on the laser that was still in one hand or kick out against his captor. Not only were his bones beginning to deform from the pressure, but getting breath of any sort was becoming more and more difficult as his lungs were slowly compressed inwards, depleting his air supply little by little.
As the angel grunted in pain, spots flashing in front of his eyes, the face of Lady Glacia descended ino view. He could hear shouts and screams from somwhere far off - had the prisoners been found by Vulturite guards? He hoped they weren't panicking and stampeding right now, or everything would go to shit.
"I have to admit," she hissed, faced inches from Dirk's, "this is new! I haven't had a prison break on my ship for as long as I can remember, and certaintly not a riot this big! Congratulations on making history, Dirk - too bad you won't live long enough to celebrate it!" And a laugh like icicles on a window pane rattled through the corridor.
At any other time, Dirk would have fired back with a witty retort, or at least a simple "shut the fuck up" or similar. However, on this occasion this wasn't an option - the Nibirian had managed to get a loop of her tail around his mouth, holding it shut to stop him from calling out for help. On top of that, it further diminished his ability to breathe, and what little air he could draw in through his nose wasn't enough to diminish the ringing in his ears. So he had to be content with a defiant glare, even as his face began to rapidly turn blue from lack of oxygen.
"It's a shame that you've made a mess of my schedule like this," the princess continued, running a claw across the angel's exposed cheek tauntingly. "But really, all you've done is delay the feat by a day or so. And to me and my loyal subjects, that's no problem at all. All we have to do is round up those pesky escapees of yours and get them preserved, ready for cooking whilst we clean up your mess and get things ready. And as for you..."
The coils tightened, and Dirk gave a muffled scream as something creaked inside him. A forked tongue slid out from between Glacia's fangs and lapped at her teeth, her eyes glinting maliciously.
"I wonder what raw angel tastes like..."
"LET HIM GO!"
Glacia rolled her eyes in exasperation, turning in the air to face the source of the shout. "Oh, what-?"
And that's when Punchy's fist collided with her face, and Maisy's boot found it's place in her stomach. The combined attack sent the cold-blooded creature sailing backwards, blood trailing from a broken nose as she slammed into the far wall before collapsing in a heap on the floor. At the same time, the coils around Dirk loosened considerably, and the Dark Angel slid out of the coccoon and landed with a thump on his butt, gulping down lungfuls of air like a starving man binging on praline truffles. Merry was instantly by his side, helping him to his feet as the world slowly came back into focus.
"Are you alright, Mr. Dirk?" the Elf was heard to cry out, although Dirk's hearing was still somewhat muffled.
"Yeah, I'll live," gasped Dirk. His innards felt like play-dough after that, and every one of his bones was screaming in pain. But he didn't get to dwell on it for long, because in the next second Glacia had righted herself, tail thrashing like a whip, and the angel had to throw himself to the floor to avoid being smacked in the face it. The Nibirian towered over him, eyes bulging in her head and turning purple with rage, and the three elves backed away from their enemy as panic suddenly seized them.
"I WILL MOUNT YOUR HEADS ON MY MANTLEPIECE!" Glacia shrieked.
"You're welcome to try, fuckface," snarled Dirk, scrambling to his feet.
Hissing, Glacia charged...
...and screamed as a claw caught her across the face, causing her to spin in mid-air and miss Dirk by incles. As she struggled to right herself, undulating like a ribbon in the wind, the Macra that had been among the prisoners lumbered forward, clacking it's pincers and chittering with defiance and anger. Beneath it, Vulturites that had been trying to round up the escapees howled as they were trampled and prodded by it's pointed feet, and other aliens began to bunch up behind the massive crab, uttering their own rebellious cries.
Glacia swivelled to face this new attacker, seething with injured pride. But she wasn't able to make a move before the Taurian charged in, bellowing, and caught her in the stomach with a swinging fist, sending her sliding backwards. The Yujata's laser shot missed her head by a whisker, leaving a seething burn in the wall, but the Grey's telekinatic blast didn't, and the pummled princess teetered from the onslaught, off-balance for a few precious moments as her former captives advanced.
And that's when Dirk seized his chance. With a yell, the dark angel spread his wings and leapt into the air, tackling Glacia around the midsection and sending them both crashing to the floor of the ship. Both of them immediately began tumbling around on the ground, shouting and snarling in a mad struggle, lost in a tangled ball of scales and feathers. Caught off-guard by Dirk's sudden bold assault, the elves and aliens watched from the sidelines, unsure of what to do as their friend and savour respectively duked it out with their opressor, punching and kicking and occasionaly biting.
Glacia's tail suddenly shot up, curling around and around.
Maisy screamed and covered her eyes.
There was a brief symphony of banging and crashing and grunting...
....
...Maisy looked again.
Breathing heavily, but with a triumphant look on his face, Dirk climbed off of the tangled knot that was Glacia and walked over to the elves.
"So," he asked the sea of surprised and bemused faces, "what's next?"
As if on cue, the sound of a massive explosion tore through the ship like thunder, and the entire thing shook like a fresh jelly as a terrible force surged through it. Cries of fright rippled through the crowd of former prisoners as they staggered this way and that, trying to keep their balance on the rocking ship, and Dirk had to dig his Klausium hand into the side of the corridor to stay upright, buckling the metal in his grip. The elves themselves tumbled about like ninepins, screaming as they went, and even the Vulturites around went into a panic, dropping their weapons and scrambling away from the carnage.
And then, just to add even more to the confusion, alarms went off and lights started flashing.
"WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Dirk screamed above the screaming of the pasengers and blaring of klaxxons. He didn't remember explosions being a part of the sabotage at all! Ruined food and escaped prisoners, yes, but not explosions! Okay, so he'd sent the Dalek down to disable the engines so that the ship couldn't chase after the escape pods, but-
"This is Dalek Krang of the 20th Skaro Battlefleet, speaking to all inferior life forms aboard the Nibirian vessel. "The engine of this ship has been detonated, and it is now currently headed on an impact course with the planet Earth. Impact will occur in approximately forty-two Rels, and will destroy a significant amount of the lower levels of the vessel. All re-entry systems have been disabled - heat shields are offline and retro-rockets are incapable of motion. In addition, all landing gear has been sabotaged and will self-destruct if any attempts to engage it are made. Calculated survivor count of impact... zero. "To summarize... you will all be exterminated! "Initating Temporal Shift!"
*click*
-------
A horrible silence.
Nobody moved, nobody spoke. The Macra didn't chitter, the Grey didn't hiss, the llamas had stopped bickering. Apart from the screaming of the alarms and the panicked calls of the Vulturites as they lost their minds (as usual), there wasn't a sound. Everyone just sort of... stood there, unable to grasp what was happening, unsure of what to do.
Then Dirk felt a tugging on his chiton, and looked down. Merry was standing next to him, on the verge of breaking down, and the other elves were bunched behind him, also trying not to cry. It was a few horrible, pained seconds before he spoke, voice cracked with emotion.
"We're... we're going to die... aren't we?"
Dirk looked down at the blue eyes, shining with tears. At the faces and eyes and muzzles and god knows what else aimed at him. Some hopefully, some desparingly, some with no trace of emotion at all, some incapable of showing emotion for various reasons. Glacia's angry glare didn't count, because she probably deserved this, in his opinion. At the iron-gray walls that were rapidly becoming a death trap for everyone on board.
And saw nothing. Not a hope. They'd been so close, so close to getting away scott free, and now they were all going to die. All because Dirk had lost enough brain cells to trust a fucking Dalek with something.
But he couldn't bring himself to say it.
I need a miracle...
-------
Somewhere, somehow, his voice was heard.
And Arceus lifted his head and said: Let it be so.
-------
And that's when he felt it.
It was almost the same sensation as it had been on Lapulas - a warmth, starting as a faint glow in his core but spreading out like waves on an ocean. Only this time, as it grew within him from a murmer to a throb to a pulse, it didn't stop. It wasn't a seed this time, it was a well, a fountain that gushed heat and power that filled him like an empty bottle and it was leaking out of his mose and mouth, anywhere it could. But it was coming too fast, it was filling faster than it emptied and sparks were dancing off his fingers, and he thought he heard Merry say something but he seemed so far away-
The light that filled the corridor was so great everyone had to shield their eyes. Even those who didn't have eyes, like the Quarks. And then came the voice, a voice that boomed loud enough to drown the sirens, but was still the same old cocky irish accent the elves knew.
"Right, then! Now that I'm conviniently a God, let's set about saving your arses! Get to the upper levels, you lot - I'll take care of this!"
A rush of warm wind, a beat of wing. And when the light died down and everyone could see again, Dirk was gone.
After a minute, they decided that standing around made them look rather stupid. And so they turned and headed for the elevators.
-------
The ship wasn't hard to miss. A huge lump of metal, descending from space at breakneck speeds, tends to be quite visible. And in the Manhattan skyline, it looked like a tidal wave of metal and fire, screaming down from the sky towards them. It's glow was conspicuous enough for some people to stop and look up at it, to point it out to each other and stop driving to observe it. The thought that it might impact with their fair city and decimate several square miles of land, as well as crushing them in a fiery inferno, never occured to them.
Many didn't even notice the shining light breaking out of it, swooping around in a circle to disappear into the flames again.
By the time anyone thought to start panicking, the ship was already slowing down in midair. So some didn't bother. Instead they watched, open-mouthed as, with the sound of protesting metal, the great disc began to swerve, changing it's course so that instead of careening headlong towards the city, it was now sort of lazily drifting towards the bay. Okay, sure, it came quite close to skimming the tops of skyscrapers, but after all the stuff the city had been through it would have been more amazing if it didn't.
It didn't so much land in the water as bellyflop. The waves it produced, whilst large, weren't anything to crow about in the grand scheme of things. But for three whole minutes, none of the coast guard or armed forces that moved in could get near for the steam that rose from it. You could have stuck a turkey in it and it would have roasted to perfection.
When they finally got the doors to open, they were very surprised indeed.
-------
"So," mused Dirk as he looked over the hustle and bustle of activity. "What's next?"
"Oh, the others will get home fine," chimed Merry. "The shuttles have enough fuel to get them back to their own galaxies, thanks to those kind military people!"
"And Lady Glacia?" Dirk squinted as he thought he saw the two llamas walk away from the gathering of soldiers and operatives, still bickering.
Punchy snickered behind one meaty fist. "On a one-way pod to Nibiru, with a warrant for her arrest and trial."
Dirk couldn't help but let a grin form on his face. "You sneaky bugger."
"I try."
A pause.
And then Dirk turned to look down on the elves, smiling hugely.
"Right," he cheerily exlaimed. "There's a big pile of presents at home with my name on it, and I've gotta get back in time to open them. So, if you don't mind..."
"Oh, not at all!" Merry's eyes twinkled with delight has he remembered. "We've got to be getting home ourselves - Mr. Kringle will be picking us up soon and taking us back to Lapulas!"
Dirk nodded. "Well, not gonna kep you waiting, then. See you around and all that." And with that, the Dark Angel turned and began the long walk back to-
"Mr. Dirk!"
Dirk paused, looked back and blinked. "Yes, Maisy- Oh."
He blinked again.
Then he knelt down, and Merry and Punchy flinched. But their expressions changed when the angel knelt down and, instead, whispered something into Maisy's ear. Whatever he said, it was enough for the elf to stiffen, and her ears turned a very visible red that surprised the other two. Then, without a word and only a small smile of amusement, Dirk stood up, turned around and resumed his walk homewards.
As he left, Punchy ambled up and tapped Maisy on the shoulder.
"Hey, Maisy. What did he say?"
Maisy turned to him, eyes wide and face like a tomato.
"He... He already has a girlfriend!"
--------
Walking back home, the Party Pavillion looming into view, Dirk looked up to the sky and smiled.
This was something of a problem, for two reasons. Firstly, he was supposed to be guiding the spaceship on it's present course, and in this profession being nervous was likely to result in catastrophe. Secondly, he was a Vulturite, a native of Nibiru and species famed for brutality, depravity and various other unpleasant traits. They weren't supposed to be nervous, or even afraid of anything that the universe could throw at them - not even such wonderful threats as the Daleks or the Martians would make them bat an eyelid. Anything a race could do, a Vulturite would do better and then brag about it to his next door neighbour.
And yet this one was trembling in his seat, bile in his throat as his eyes darted back and forth across the screen, trying to focus on the information readouts and so on. His fingers twitched as he tapped away at on-screen buttons and dials, and a fine layer of sweat stood out on his feathered forehead. A sense of ominous dread was sitting in his chest like a block of ice, one that kep growing with every passing minute - most likely to do with the nature of the mission that he was undertaking, as well as the current destination he was guiding the ship towards. Whilst he was not a person to speak his mind, a quality that was probably instrumental in getting the job in the first place, he was more than ready to admit by now that he was ready to soil himself, had he not already done so twice.
For what seemed like the thousandth time that trip, he glanced over his wiry shoulder to observe the arrangement behind him. Most of the ship's command bridge was in shadow, as it's occupant was quite particular about light levels, so he could barely make out the outline of the throne and the person sitting in it. What little he could see, however, made him shudder - a large, heaped mass of something that lay about the footwell of the seat, catching what little light there was in periodic glints and sparkles and occasionally shifted with a dry rustling noise. Swallowing audibly, the Vulturite turned back to the screen, trying hard to look as though he hadn't lost track of his work and was just minding his own business.
Unfortunately, he tried too hard.
"What a beatifiul planet," came a silken purr, and the navigator's down feathers stood on end. "So much more colourful than home."
Too late did the Vulturite hear the scraping of scale on metal, and then something cold, dry and strong looped twice around his body and yanked him from his seat too fast for him to even cry out. Flailing madly for a moment in his panic, the navigator found himself drawn into the shadows towards the throne, then swung around to face the great window that made up an entire wall of the room and yawned outwards into space. His thin, dry eyes blinked once as he took in the view presented before him - a great orb of blue and green, frosted with swirls of white clouds and slowly growing larger within the window frame, filling the room with a dull glow.
Then he tensed as a claw, thin as a razor, drew itself along the side of his face. There was breath in his ear, and he winced at the icy chill of it.
"Tell me, navigator," came the voice. "What do they call this planet? Ee-Yarth?" The syllables of the last word came thickly, as if they were too big for the mouth forming them, but that tiny detail did noting to reassure the navigator, who was now aware that everyone else in the room was watching him. Most likely they were as frightened as he was. Some colleagues.
The Vulturite gulped. "I... I believe it's pronounced 'Earth', your grace," he croaked, well aware of how dry the inside of his beak was.
A frustrated huff blew bast his ear. "Really? But it has an 'A' in it. Oh, well," hissed the speaker, shifting in her seat a little, "I shall just keep on calling it Ee-Yarth anyway. Shan't I?"
"Y-y-yes, your grace." The navigator realised he was nodding furiously out of reflex, and managed to stop himself.
"And how much longer until we breach the atmosphere?" The claw had stopped at his neck. Not good...
"In ab-b-bout eleven Rels, your grace."
"Perfect."
And then there was a twist and a jerk, and the world span crazily for a brief moment before the unfortunate hand-for-hire impacted beak-first with his own console screen, squawking in pain as his body crumpled and slumped to the ground. Through vision blurred by his latest concussion, he espied a blue glint sliding back into the shadows, and reflexively scrabbled out of the prone position, head swimming with terror and possible brain damage as he returned to his station. Hunching over his screen, he heard a giggle from the corner of his ear, and grimaced.
"My dear," came the voice, low and dangerous. "Your unfortunate death shall soon be avenged. This Ee-yarth is soon about to have a new name..."
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even-
"Fucking hell..."
...alright, with one exception. Dirk Angelos couldn't sleep.
And who could blame him? It was Christmas. Christmas! One of the greatest times of year in the history of anything! It had everything anyone could ever ask for - presents, food, presents, chocolate, presents and getting together with everyone you care about. Also, presents. Can't ever go wrong with any holiday that results in free presents, usually! Plus, it was yet another in one of the dark angel's long list of excuses to get drunk, and that was never a bad thing.
So yeah, Christmas. Which was why, at half-past eleven at night on Christmas Eve, Dirk Angelos was sitting in the shark tank of the Party Pavillion, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand in the hopes of working up enough tiredness to get to sleep. He'd already had a can of cheap cider as a nightcap before going to bed, but it clearly hadn't worked out very well, because he was still awake when the clock rolled around to eleven at night. So with a sigh, and moving carefully to avoid disturbing his brother, he'd pottered down to solve the problem in the only way he knew how. With lots of alcohol.
Sipping from the bottle, the Dark Angel watched the sharks lazily swim in a half-awake stupor above him. The tank had suffered some losses over time - one or two sharks had passed away of old age, whilst others ended up being caught in the jaws of their larger comrades. But thanks to Pit being a billionaire and Dirk himself slowly becoming... well, a thousandare at least, buying replacements hadn't been a problem, and the tank had managed to remain stocked at a decent level. The most persistant relative had been the goblin shark, who's reputation for dunce behaviour lingered even now as he tried to swim through the glass in his sleep.
Sharks were far from Dirk's mind at the moment, however, as he glanced over his shoulder into the darkness of the living room. Beneath the shady branches of the Christmas tree glinted piles of wrapped packages, their cartoony santas and reindeers taunting the young author with the mystery of what cold possibly be lying beneath them. It brought a smile to his face to know that at least some, if not all, of the bargoers had been kind enough to send a package over, and that he had returned the favour by obtaining equally-lavish presents for them all.
Especially for Josephine.
He couldn't wait for Josephine to see what her present was.
A grin now plastered on his face, he turned back to the shark tank, lifted the Jack to his mouth and was promptly smacked in the back of a head with a nightstick.
-------
The Vulturite agent watched as his target slumped soundlessly to the floor, the beverage in his hand spilling onto the carpet. The resultant stains in the carpet would be more than proof of what had occured, of course, but by the time anything could be done it would be too late. The Lady's orders would be carried out to the letter. The celebrations would go as planned.
Kneeling down, the masked bird creature hooked both arms under the unconcious angel's body and heaved him up off the floor, slinging him over one shoulder. Barely registering the weight of his captive, he reached into one of his pockets with a free hand and produced a disc-like device from it, just large enough to fit within his claw-like hand and consisting mostly of a large button. Lifting the device to his beak, the Vulturite clicked the button down, a green light flashing as he did so, and waited patiently for a few seconds.
It isn't long before a static-laden confirmation comes from the speaker on the back of the communicator.
"This is Command Bridge to Scout Seven. Please report."
"Scout Seven to Command Bridge," hissed the Vulturite, keeping his voice as low as possible in order to avoid awakening anyone else in the house. "The target has been captured, as ordered, and I am awaiting transport back to the mothership."
"Confirmed," came the reply. "Preparing Transmat to recieve you and your captive. Stand by for transportation in five Nanorels."
"Confirmed."
Job done, Scout Seven pocketed the communicator and patiently wated for a few seconds. And he doesn't wait long - soon, the Vulturite was engulfed by a kind of yellowish light that seems to radiate from around him and fill the room with it's glow.
And when it dissapates, he is gone.
So is Dirk.
Only the sharks have witnessed this. And, being sharks, they have no idea what to do about it.
-------
Commander Varn wished, for the umpteenth time, that he didn't have to enter the throne room.
Really, nobody did. That was kind of why the rota was in place - so people could take turns to stammer out the latest news to Her Grace. But it didn't really work out, at least not in Varn's opinion, mostly because everyone was frightened of the Lady anyway. And small wonder - the poor navigator was still in the medical bay having his neck seen to for a bad case of wiplash. Just because Vulturites would work for anyone if the pay was good enough, didn't mean they have to enjoy it, and nobody on this ship really enjoyed working for a fickle, capricious female who would casually kill someone just for ruffling her dress.
But then again, they didn't really have that much of a choice. There was news to be told, and the punishment for keeping secrets... well, let's just say the last crew member who kept vital information hushed up had to be shampooed out of the carpet. And it cost a fortune.
Besides, he was already walking in. No point in complaining now.
"Your Grace?"
Varn braced himself, but the chair didn't swivel round - she was obviously more interested in her view of the planet below. He didn't know wherever to roll his eyes in exapseration or be extremely thankful for it.
"Well?" came a strident retort, cutting through the air like a knife. The Commander winced, but tried to keep his composure, standing tall and straight as an officer of his rank should. .
"The last of the marked targets has been captured," he croaked out. "Scout Seven is returning with him even as we speak."
"Excellent." Somewhere, in the darkness, a tail twitched. "Everything is coming together, all is on schedule and revenge is about to be served. Quite, literally, I might add," finished the figure with a dark chuckle. "Oh, but if only I could decide on what garnish..."
This remark was not conductive to Varn's constitution at all. In fact, despite the facade of professionalism he was keeping up, beads of sweat were starting to form on his feathered temple, tricking down the side of his face and neck and into the collar of his shirt. He suppressed the species instinct to wet himself - washing it out of expensive hypersilk like this was pure murder even when he didn't have to pay ridiculous prizes to use the communal washing machines.
He cleared his throat and continued as best he could. "Your Grace, Scout Seven is enquiring as to what to do with the prisoner. I understand he is of particular interest to you, among all the-"
"You have no idea, Commander Varn." The speaker's voice was dangerously low, tinged with a sort of delicate, knife-like hissing. The Vulturite's ears shrank down as the scrape of claw on steel came once more, like nails on a chalkboard.
"So... what is to be done? Is he to be put in a cell with the- AWK!"
A strong coil had fastened itself around the commander's neck before he could finish, and the next minute he'd been dragged towards the throne as it swiveled around like a ballet dancer that had been stung in the bottom. Eyes like burning coals glared at him with a maniacal hatred, the sort that comes from letting petty grievance stew for far too long. Fangs like polished marble glinted viciously. A forked tongue lashed the air.
"You blithering birdbrain. Bring him straight to me, I said, and he will be brought to me! I want to get a good look at the man who slaughtered my husband before I deal with him, so I can see the fear on his face! And I will not miss that opportunity because you let a direct order slip through that feather duster you call a head! Now bring him to me! Is that clear?!"
Varn's voice was a squeak of terror and asphyxiation. "Yes, your Grace."
And then the work span, and he was on his back at the door, eyes rolling in his head as he fought to get his breath back.
"Now, get out of my sight," snarled her Grace, and the poor Vulturite was quick to oblige.
Once past the door, he was most relieved by the person who came around the corner. Quickly fixing his uniform so as to avoid awkward questions, he did his best to put his Lady's grace out of his mind for now. She'd be appeased, soon enough - and a lot, if the new arrival was any indication.
"Ah, Scout Seven. Just who I was looking for!"
-------
At first, as Dirk came to, he thought he was in bed.
This was not a wholly incorrect assumption to make. After all, he had apparently transitioned from drinking Jack at the shark tank to a vertical position, wrapped up in something warm and soft. So it was natural of him to assume that he'd simply fallen unconcious from all the alcohol and that Pit had simply found him and carried him to bed. Or that maybe he'd crawled back to his comfy covers himself and simply forgot about making the journey there. Easy explanation.
So imagine his surprise when his sheets unfurled and dumped him onto the floor.
"OW! Fucking hell!" he howled as he curled on the ground, now completely wide awake, hands instinctively curling up around his stomach and chest. He was quite sure that some ribs had been bruised from that particular drop - not only had he fallen quite a distance, but the floor he'd landed on had been surprisingly hard, for something that was supposed to be just plain old polished floorboards. He was probably gonna have to talk to Pit about getting a carpet to-
Wait.
He blinked, now registering the steely chill of the surface against his skin. And now, come to think of it, he was sure he could hear some kind of electronic instrument humming away in the distance - one that didn't sound like an automatic shark feeder built by Wes Weasley. His vision was still blurry, mostly from what little whiskey was still sloshing around up there, but the outlines forming in from of him did not look much like the cosy objects in his room, but instead the clinical grey walls and computer banks of... something else. He certainly didn't remember asking for a supercomputer to put into his-
At the sound of the hissing voice, like a gas main intent on murder, Dirk made the mistake of looking up.
Art by Carolina-Eade
"It's a shame you're not as tall as I imagined," the thing continued as it slithered down into the command throne, scales flashing. "But we all know the best stories have a little lie in them, don't we?"
Dirk blinked again, trying to figure out why he was on a spaceship being spoken down to by a giant snake-woman. Had he really hit the Christmas Jack that hard?
"Um, no offence," he tried, mouth feeling full of fluff. "But who the fuck are you?"
"You will watch your language in the presence of-!" screeched a voice from the shadows, and Dirk almost jumped out of his skin. But at the same time, he found his hackles rising with an in-bred genetic hatred - the speaker had the grackled, throaty tones of a-
"Oh, hush, Commander Varn," the snake-thing responded, idly scraping it's talons along the arm of the throne. "It is my fault, after all - forgot to introduce myself, in all this excitement." It's eyes gazed down at Dirk with a sort of idle detatchment, as a lion might look upon an ant, and the angel couldn't help but shudder as a chill he couldn't explain ran down his spine. There was just something about this thing that didn't sit well with him at all.
"My name," it continued, with a thin sort of smile, "is Lady Glacia. Princess of the Seventh Continent, Daughter of Nibiru and, as of now, your master."
Nibiru. That was enough to get Dirk interested - no, more than interested, fired up. Ever since the incident last Christmas, where he fought in mortal combat with a rather genocidal Annunaki, the mere mention of the planet's name was enough to put the dark angel on edge. And now here he was, a prisoner of yet another megalomaniacal somebody from that same planet! With a surge of energy born of righteous annoyance he staggered to his feet, clenching his fists, anger etched across his face as he faced down his serpentine enemy.
"If you're looking to start a fight," he snarled, wings twitching, "then bring it, bitch. I took down Fyros, and I'll just as easily-"
To his surprise, the Nibirian laughed. It was oddly musical and chiming, in stark contrast to the thin speech she'd used to address him, and that only served to derail his train of thought and make his down feathers rise in reflexive fear. And in the shadows, all around him, he was quite certain that others were laughing at him as well, in cackling tones that echoes around the room like a flock of birds trapped in a storm drain. Their mere presence unnerved him even further - he swore he could remember what they were...
"Bless you, no!" exlaimed Glacia as she shifted in her throne, her coils sliding along the floor in great folds. "Fighting is the last thing I want! Messy business, hat is - never gets you anywhere!"
"But..." Dirk lowered his arms, confused. "Then why yank me out of my house like that? What's the point?"
"The point," came the retort, low and icy, "is that I have a score to settle with you, Dirk Angelos. A score that began a year ago, on the surface of the tiny yet powerful living planet of Lauplas. A score that, in a few Macrorels' time, I shall settle once and for all, as befitting of my status as a Princess of the Nibirian race. You will pay," Glacia hissed, lips drawn back to expose cruel fangs, "for the callous muder of my husband one year to this day, Low Angel, I swear it!"
Dirk opened his mouth to reply that no, he'd killed Fyros on Lapulas, and he was pretty sure that Annunaki and native Nibirians weren't exactly the same thing. The last time he checked, that had been the case, anyway - it wasn't hard to mistake a flaming dragon for a giant snake-person, unless you were drunk. But he got halfway through formulating that thought when another one shouldered it's way in, like a rhino forcing open it's cage door, and the resulting mental pictures made his brain scream with horror and disgust, the angel nearly falling down from the shock.
"Fyros was your husband?!" he hollered, eyes wide.
"Move to the top of the class," trilled Glacia, a little too enthusiastically.
It was some time before Dirk could splutter out some more words. "But... Since when did Annunaki start mingling with Nibirians?!"
"Oh, about a thousand years ago." The native Nibiran's tone grew wistful as she idly curled her tail into a small spiral. "And besides, it was an arranged marriage - money, power, putting our families in good standing, blah blah blah..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes vacantly staring into the distance.
Dirk was quick to put two and two together. "I take it you didn't actually like him that much."
Glacia huffed through both nostrils. "Oh, of course not! The man was such a frightful bore - always going on about his plans for conquest and subjugation! Almost never at home, fighting some wretched war on the other side of the universe - never even a birthday card! On top of that," and here an almost rebellious smile curved across the Princess' features, "he was, I believe the saying goes, a genocidal prick."
"You got that right!" Dirk couldn't restrain a small laugh at the innapropriate language, feeling slightly more relaxed now that the reptillian princess seemed calmer and more genial. In fact, it seemed to him that, despite holding a very obvious grudge against him, seemed far more reasonable and willing to talk it out than Fyros had been. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad - after all, if an Anunnaki's wife was this much more friendly than the Anunnaki himself, they couldn't hate him that much.
He was proved wrong very quickly.
"But he was still my husband!"
Before Dirk could react accordingly, the Nibirian suddenly shot out like a whip, and sharp claws flashed through the air like scimitars. The angel gasped with pain as his face was suddenly struck, staggering backwards from the force of the blow as his stomach lurched sickeningly. As he swiveled on the spot, clutching his stinging cheek, Glacia rose up into the air on the great length of her tail, eyes shimmering with both the dim lighting and a rage that could melt ice caps, before diving down to glare at him from eye level.
"You murdered him," she snarled, practically shouted. "Humiliated him and robbed him of his dignity, and then vaporised him as if he were no more than a common lowlife! By killing him, you have impugned my honour as his wife, insulted my name as much as you insulted his own! And no-one insults a Nibirian, native or Anunnaki, and walks away free! You will suffer for this, angel, and I will personally ensure you are suitably punished!"
Despite the shock of being attacked and the fright caused by his hostess' change of demenaour, Dirk remained defiant. He didn't believe much in honour - to him, it was a dumb concept that let people get away with really dumb shit, or stopped them doing the right thing out of sheer stupidity. So no, Glacia's motivation didn't impress him in the least. And despite the fact she was practically shrieking in his face, not to mention that she'd just sliced him open, he refused to let himself back down for a second.
"So, what are ya gonna do?" he growled, ignoring the feeling of blood tricking down his face. "Line me up in front of a firing squad? Rip me limb from limb? Fry me with some kind of death ray?"
"As fun as those sound," hissed Glacia, scales scraping on the metal floor, "I have something far better in mind. You Ee-Yarth people have a celebration as this time of year, do you not? Well, so do we Nibirians - and I have special preparations to make for them this year. And I brought you aboard especially for them - not that you'll be able to appreciate it in any way, of course."
Dirk blinked, bewildered. "Okay, firstly, it's pronounced Earth. Secondly, the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
A toothy grin spread across the Daughter of Nibiru's face.
"You shall see, very soon."
Then she snapped her claws, and figures emerged from the shadows - tall, gangly things covered in feathers, with cruel, hooked beaks and blank, staring eyes. As one, they assembled in a ring around the low angel, blocking off escapes of any kind as they slowly advanced on him, brandishing truncheons, knobbled clubs and other assorted implements. At the sight of them, Dirk felt anger flare in his mind, and he looked upon each one of the uniform-clad soldiers with disgust and hatred.
"Vulturites," he snarled, teeth and fists clenched. "You hired fucking Vulturites."
"Oh, they are merely hired help," crooned Glacia as she slowly backed awat. "Not that it was diffucult, you understand - show them money and food and you'll have them eating out of your hand." And with a dignified movement that hardly belied her earlier seething rage and possible mental complexes, she resumed her seat in the throne, smirking with palpable triumph.
"Now you can throw him in a holding cell."
-------
"Oof!"
That is the sound of a Dark Angel impacting with the far wall of a large holding cell, for those of you who are interested. As Dirk slumped to the floor, holding his ribs, the Vulturites loomed in the doorway, derisives sneers on their beaks.
"You're not getting out of this one, Angel," hissed one, elicting a cackle from his companion. And then the door swished shut, the magnetic lock sealing with a decided "click", and whatever witty retort Dirk has in his throat died away as his tormentors laughed away down the corridor. And it occured to him that it was going to be another one of those days, where things had gone slightly out of control and there wasn't much he could do to stop it just yet.
"Well," he grumbled as he picked himself up. "What a lot of bollocks."
"You can say that again," said a voice like silver bells.
Dirk froze.
Then he turned around, and laid eyes on a familiar face, decked in a very familiar green outfit with an equally familiar jingle to the bells.
"Merry Elf?" he gasped.
The small, brown-haired figure looked up sheepishly at him. "Not just me, Mister Dirk. I've brought friends as well." And from behind him came two other familiar faces - a somewhat taller figure, solidly built and with enormous hands like cinder blocks, and a petite young girl with chocolate-brown locks and a distressed twinkle to her eye. All three of the elves regarded him with mized expressions of relief and sorrow, and Dirk didn't know wherever to be amazed or horrified at their presence.
There was a long silence.
"Some reunion, huh," rumbled Punchy after a while.
Dirk nodded. "So ol' Ice Queen caught you guys as well, huh? Figures she'd want to get back at you guys as well."
"She's quite mad," muttered Merry, head lowered. "Madder than her monstrous husband was, I fear. Kringle knows what terrible plans she's got in store for us."
"Hey, don't worry, guys!" Dirk knelt down to meet the elves at eye level, smiling as encouragingly as he could. "I saved you guys once, and I can do it again, right? No crazy snake-lady is gonna get the best of us, if I have anything to say about it!"
On hearing this, Punchy gave a little whoop of joy. "That's our Dirk! Fightin' talk, all the way!"
"But remember," trilled Maisy, batting her eyelashes, "you still owe me a kiss!"
It was Dirk's turn to grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, about that-"
"This conversation is irrelevant."
Dirk froze.
Then he looked to his left.
Dalek 2002 render by Rob Semenoff
"OH, JESUS CHRIST," he screamed, "IT'S A FUCKING DALEK!" And he promptly back-pedalled to the opposite wall of the cell, pressing himself against it in a vain attempt to merge with it and vanish.
"Cease your hysterical screaming," grated the Dalek as it rumbled towards him, head lights flashing with each syllable. "I am incapable of harm."
"Incapable of-?!" Dirk's terrified rant immediately stopped as a glint of metal caught his eye. Looking reflexively down, the angel noticed that the Dalek's gunstalk was crooked and buckled, the glass focusing lens shattered beyond repair and the main barrel a sorry, crumpled mess. Relief washed over him, although it was a small relief considering he was still locked in a small room with a member of the most genocidal race ever.
"They broke his weapon, Mr. Dirk," Maisy chimed in, simultaneously reassuring yet nervous. "He can't do anything to hurt us."
"Yeah, right," hissed Dirk, wings still crossed low behind his back in fear. "The fuck is he doing here, anyway?!"
"I am a prisoner, like yourself," came the reply. "I was abducted from my station and brought abord this vessel. My subspace-communicator is damaged - I cannot send out a distress signal to my superiors."
"Probably best you didn't." The idea of a whole fleet of Daleks swooping down to raze the entire planet at Christmastime did not settle well in Dirk's mind. And the unblinking stare from the alien's eyestalk aimed right at him wasn't helping him to stay calm, either.
"But why would Glacia capture you?" enquired Merry, tilting his head to the side. "That doesn't make sense - you haven't done anything to offend her, surely?"
"Negative." The Dalek's eyestalk swivled down to observe the tiny elf. "Daleks do not intrude in Nibirian space - the distance between our planets is too great."
"Wait a moment..." Dirk's voice was hesitant as he spoke. "If that's the case, then why would she go out of her way to abduct you?"
The Dalek turned to stare at him, but gave no answers. The elves were staring uo at him too, just as confused, and Dirk realised a rather nasty idea was creeping into his head, bit by bit. He took a deep breath, figuring this would need some explaining - it was just the ghost of an idea at the moment, but the implications were not pretty at all.
"See, Glacia can't just be after us. Me and the Elves, I mean," he added hastily. "If she's caught a Dalek as well, then that could mean she's got other species as well, from different planets, galaxies or maybe even universes. All of them locked up in this dungeon of hers. And she mentioned something about a special celebration, when she was interrogating me - some kind of freakish parallel to Earth's Christmas that she's apparently making big preparations for, and I'm supposed to be a big part in it.
"So, what I want to know is... where do you lot fit in?"
There was a long, tense silence as angel, Dalek and elf tried to figure out the mystery.
Fortunately, the tension was broken by an announcement on the tannoy, crackling over the speakers in the corner of the room. As one, the prisoners turned to look at it, wondering what sort of an announcement it would be.
Unfortunately, the voice coming over the tannoy was that of Lady Glacia.
And, as Dirk listened to what was being said, his face slowly went paler and paler with horror.
"This is your Lady speaking - Lady Glacia of Nibiru, Princess of the Seventh Continent, with an important announcement! As you're aware, the celebration dinner for this year's Independance Festival takes place in about three Macrorels, and attendance is mandatory for all crew and staff - failure to attend is punishable by execution. Unless you're one of the three-hundred current sufferers of the Jovian flu, in which case the cost of your portion is being docked from your pay. I didn't put this together so you could let it go cold, you ingrates.
"Anyway, I have some very good news to impart - the menu has now been completed! A copy has all been sent to your personal data pads for your perusal, and you are expected to make your selection of food and send it back to our main computer so we can prepare it for you. Don't want to end up like last year where we couldn't make enough chocolate pudding so some of you ended up with the custard instead! Honestly, how was I supposed to know you'd all froth at the mouth and die? Your fault for not mentioning your allergies on your CV's...
"So, this year's looking to be the biggest Independance Feast so far! We've got a wide range of dishes and delicacies from across the galaxy, including:
Dalek tentacle soup with fresh bread!
Korath gizzard a la carte!
Lapulas Elf fricassee with salad garnish and Spiridonian mint sauce!
Chocolate and diced dryad pudding topped with marzipan and nutmeg!
Imported Plesioth liver creme brulee!
And our centerpiece for tonight - Low Angel rump roast with parsnips, roast potatoes and Spicy Angel Wings!
"This has been your Lady and master, saying... Happy Frosttime!"
Click.
-------
"She... she wants to eat us..."
A long, awful silence filled the cell. The Dalek hadn't moved from it's position, but it's eyestalk was staring intently at the speaker. Merry and the other elves, by contrast had taken to hiding behind Dirk's legs, trembling in fear and hugging each other to try and keep each other calm. The Dark Angel himself, meanwhile, could only stand there, wings twitching in horror as he tried to digest this latest bit of news concerning his predicament. Not only was Lady Glacia, the alien who'd taken him onto her ship, extremely angry with him for killing Fyros, her husband by arranged marriage...
...but she wanted to eat him!As pert of her race's annual celebrations, no less!
He was beginning to understand how a turkey feels.
"Guess I was right," muttered Merry from somewhere behind him. "She's even worse than her husband, after all."
"As if being burnt alive wasn't bad enough," sobbed Maisy, ger voice laden with hysterical fear. "But now we're going to be roasted and eaten instead!"
"Well, she's not roasting my rump," burst out Dirk, "and that's for fucking certain! I'm getting out of here before that happens!" At this determined shout, the elves looked up at him, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and hope.
"But how?" Punchy emerged from his hiding place to look at Dirk properly, eyebrows high with bewilderment. "This place is locked up tighter than a Boxing Day moneybank! And they've probably got guards on patrol as well - what if they catch us?"
Dirk turned to look down at the elf, eyes set with classic Kobber determination and righteous anger. "Don't worry about that," he growled. "Vulturites might be foul, disgusting and a whole lot of other rude names I could use right now, they're also dumb as shit. If there's an excuse to get drunk, they'll drop everything to do so - they're probably getting pissed right now, not even paying attention to us."
Also stepping out from behind Dirk's legs, Merry fixed both of his eyes on the door. "But what about that?" he enquired.
Dirk blinked, realising he'd hit something of a snag. In his enthusiasm to defy yet another Christmas-ruining villain, he'd completely forgotten one of the most basic steps of a prison break - figuring out how to break out in the first place. And it was going to be tricky - the door was completely smooth, with no evidence of handles or locks on it, or even any buttons that would give a clue as to how to open it. It was also probably made of some fancy material that repelled magic, as well, so that was out of the question, and nobody in the cell had any explosives or cutting implements on them as far as he knew. Looking at the souleless, grey lump of metal that stood between him and freedom, the Dark Angel was not omly completely stumped, but also felt a little hopeless.
And then the Dalek, silent until now, swivelled to face the angel. "I have been performing preliminary scans of the ship's structure since my capture," it growled in it's trademark staccato tones. "The technology is Nibirian in origin, but includes facillities borrowed from vessels of other races."
Dirk sighed in irritation. "Very bloody useful, mate. Now tell us something that would help us escape."
"This prison is Dalek design. The doors use magnetic locks manufactured on Skaro."
Magnetic locks. At those words, something clicked in Dirk's head, and a memory popped up like a duck at a shooting range. A few days ago, bored and not in the mood to wrap presents, the dark angel had slumped onto the couch and endeavoured to watch the first thing that came on TV, no matter how rubbish. By sheer coincidence Daleks Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. had been on BBC2, and although the film wasn't bad, he'd still found himself falling asleep during parts of it. But one time, when he was awake, he remembered Peter Cushing opening the doors of a cell by...
Quickly, he turned to Merry and the other elves. "You guys got anything plastic on you?" he asked. "I think I got an idea on how to bust out."
"I don't think so, Mr. Dirk," said Merry, and Punchy also shook his head likewise. But Maisy was already digging through her pockets, and before Dirk could blink she'd produced a large, flat comb from sonewhere on her person. The tiny elf held it out between thumb and forefinger, just high enough so Dirk could take it without bending down.
"I always carry one with me," she explained as the angel took it from her, examining it closely. "Just in case I need to fix up my hair."
But Dirk was already running towards the door, kneeling down as he reached it and examining the bottom of it. From what he remembered, there would be a certain lump in the door that indicated the presence of the magnetic- ah-hah, there it was! Now, all he had to do was force the comb, point-wise, through the- Yes!
With a click and a swoosh, the door opened, and both angels and elves scrambled out of the cell, nearly falling over each other in their haste to get into the corridor that formed the prison bay. As a bunch they all collapsed against the opposite wall and flattened themselves against it, fully expecting alarms to start blaring and patrols of armed guards to come stampeding around the corner with guns loaded and blugeons drawn. But after half a minute or so, waiting with baited breath, the four were shocked to see that absolutely nothing of the sort was happening, and didn't seem likely to happen in the near future. Not a single Vulturite showed up, and there wasn;t even so much as a flashing red light to mark their escape.
There was a long, awkward pause, in which the Dalek glided slowly out of the cell, seemingly non-plussed by the other's brief moment of panic
"...but why-?" Punchy began to say, but trailed off.
"That's probably how the door works," Merry tried, staring at the cold, square room he was in just a moment ago. "They probably just cut the power to the lock every time they open it, so there's no way to tell if-"
"Are we escaping or not?" cut in Maisy, sharply.
"Actually," muttered Dirk after a while, "I've been thinking - why do we have to just escape? I mean, assuming we manage to sneak past the gaurds and, I dunno, find drop pods back to earth or something. Assuming we succeed in all that. What's gonna stop Glacia from hunting us down when she finds out we've flown the coop and bringing us back in?"
"...So what do we do, Mr. Dirk?" piped up Maisy, after a moment to mull this over.
"Well," replied the angel, "if we're gonna dick a Nibirian over, then we gotta go all the way." Picking himself up from the floor, he turned to the Dalek, who had been amusing itself by counting the rivets in the walls. "Oi, tinpot - please tell me you downloaded a map of the ship during those fancy scans of yours."
"Correct," boomed the Dalek, the volume of it's voice making the evles jump to their feet out of shock. "I was successful in downloading the schematics of the ship via remote hacking."
"Fucking ace." Dirk clapped his hands together, grinning. "Can you display them holographically?"
"I obey."
The travel machine's manipulator arm tilted upwards, the outer edges of the plunger glowing blue with light. There was a brief flash of light and, before the eyes of the other four, a large replica of the ship materialised above the plunger, spinning gently in the way of all holograms. Leaning over, Dirk beckoned the elves over, who crowded around him with fascination as he began to modify the hologram, pushing and pulling to enlarge it and cutting parts away into cross section with a casual flick of the wrist.
"Guys," chuckled the angel, "we're going to steal Frosttime.
Last time on Dirkmas...
"Now, where was I?" Fyrros mused to himself. "...Ah, yes. Mass genocide."
And with that, the Annunaki dropped the arm, turned and paced towards the forest, where the elves were still trying to take refuge. It wouldn't take long, the pyromaniacal warlord reckoned - a few strategically-thrown fireballs would turn the place into an inferno in seconds, trapping the stupid creatures and sealing their doom. There was no way the elves would survive that, and nothing they could to to stop him.
A horrible smile crossed his smouldering features.
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
We now return to your regularly scheduled programme...
-------
Blackness.
Dirk slowly became aware of the aching in his entire body once again. The pain was almost unbearable, and for a moment the dark angel found himself unable to move as his joints sang with agony. His body felt like every possible bone within it was broken, apart from the stump where his arm had been, his glubok was in tatters and his head felt like it was immersed in ice-cold porridge with the way everything seemed to swim around him like the sharks in the tank back home. Everything felt like lead - he couldn't have moved an inch even if he wanted too, thanks to the beating Fyrros had just given him.
But his heart was heaviest of all.
I failed them. I tried, I really tried to protect them from that Nibirian shithead, and I failed. He's going to wipe Lapulas clean of life, and then he's going to do the same to Earth, and I'm not going to be there when his miserable planet rolls around and starts the apocalypse.
And not even the others can stop his miserable kind. Sarah, Erebus, Zeph, David, Del... they're all gonna die. The whole planet's doomed. And it's my fault. I should have stopped him here, but I failed. Because I'm not strong, like big bro.
Pit... You're gonna get it, too. They'll kill you first, for what you are.
I'm so sorry, bro...
"Dirk?"
The voice was barely audible at first, and Dirk put it down to imagination. He'd taken so many knocks to the head that it was no wonder he had started hearing things, like being on hallucinogens without the criminal charges and double the headache on coming down. There couldn't be anyone else in the village, there just couldn't!
"Mr. Dirk, sir?"
But when the voice came again, louder and closer, the Dark Angel realized that the porridge in his head was starting to fade way, and his ears were picking up the sounds of footsteps crunching on the snow and the sound of those silly bells. The next thing he knew, a pair of unusually large arms had hooked under him and lifted him up out of the snow, and someone else was holding his head up.
"Wh... Who...?"
Dirk opened his eyes...
And there was Merry, stooping over him and fumbling for a hip flask on his belt that, for some reason, the angel hadn't noticed until now. There were other elves there, too - a burly specimen at least a foot taller than Merry, with arms like battering rams holding his body and wings clear of the snow, and a red-lipped, rosy-cheeked elf girl holding his head up, blue eyes looking down upon him with intense worry. As Dirk's heavy eyes flitted from one to the other, Merry finally unclipped the flask from his belt, uncorked it and set the mouth of it to Dirk's lips.
"Here, Mr. Dirk," came his tiny bell voice. "Try and drink this."
With an effort, Dirk managed to pry his cracked, bleeding lips open, and Merry quickly tipped the flask up, pouring the contents between then and into his mouth. The distinct, fruity taste of sherry hit the angel's tongue, which thankfully was not one of the things ruined by Pyrros's assault, and even as he gratefully drank from the flask Dirk couldn't help but raise an eyebrow towards Merry at the odd choice of tipple. He would have asked why, but with his mouth plugged that would have been a difficult task - it was Pit was famed for his ability to eat and drink at the same time.
"It's most common at this time of year," the elf explained. Oh, yeah, it was Christmastime, wasn't it? Of course.
Eventually, Merry titled the flask back down, stemming the flow of liquid and letting Dirk catch his breath as he replaced the cork. With a grunt of effort, the muscled elf and his friend began to heave the Dark Angel back onto his feet, and Merry quickly reached out to grab hold of the arm that was still there, tugging on that for support. By degrees, the trio managed to get Dirk back upright, and for a moment they could only stare at him as he stood there, gasping and shaking, one hand clutching a stump that still leaked blood.
Eventually, through the haze in his mind and the pain in his shoulder, Dirk found his voice.
"Why... why did you... come back?" he gasped, looking at the diminutive figures around him one by one. "Fyrros could've... killed you."
"We couldn't leave you to suffer like that, sir," rumbled the biggest elf, his voice hollow like a copper bell. "Merry said we had to help you somehow."
"Dirk, these are my friends Punchy and Maisy." Merry indicated each of the other elves in turn, who nodded solemnly in response. "Sorry I didn't get to introduce them earlier, but you know how it is - flaming alien attacks the planet, there's barely any time for introductions."
"Oh, no, I totally understand. Nice to meet you two."
A fresh spike of pain suddenly lanced up Dirk's leg as something wrapped around it, and he hissed between his teeth as he looked down. Looking back up was Maisy Elf, her lips set in a distressed pout and eyes wet with tears as she looked up at him like a puppy that had been caught wetting itself, chocolate-brown hair accumulating snow. In typical Dirk fashion, the angel let his mind wander, letting the thought "Damn, she's kinda cute" slip by before catching and berating himself for letting his libido get ahead of his brain, as was his way.
"You gotta stop him, Mr. Dirk!" Maisy almost sobbed, her voice like a polished ocarina ringing in the silence of the empty village. "He's gonna kill everyone here if you don't!"
On hearing this, Dirk let his head fall as a sudden depression overtook him. "I appreciate your concern," he muttered, as if talking to no-one in particular, "but you've got the wrong angel. I can't beat Fyrros."
"But you gotta, man," cried Punchy, waving fists as large as Dirk's head. "You were the only one who-"
"No, I can't!" Dirk disengaged himself from Maisy's grasp and turned to face the other elves, and this time the pain on his face was an internal pain. "There's nothing in the universe that can compare to that thing! He's an Annunaki - the strongest beings to come from the planet of Nibiru, which as we speak is heading right towards Earth with every intention of ripping it apart if he succeeds in destroying this place! And he just made complete mincemeat out of me - a Low Angel, a being bred for fighting, the same species that drove his kind off of Earth when they subjugated the primitive people! I'm short of an arm and the one thing that would give me an advantage - my magic - has literally been punched out of me by that thing!"
Dirk blinked as he heard the echoes of his own words die away in the air, and realised that he had been shouting. The elves were looking up at him, open-mouthed with shock at his tirade, bunched together as if at any moment he might turn into a raging panther and leap for their throats. The desperate anger and exasperation within him burned away, leaving a smouldering depression where it had once been as he let himself slump forward, ignorant of the pain in his arm stump now.
"So no," he said, with an almost crushing finality. "I can't beat him. I don't have the power."
There was a silence. A long, pronounced and awkward silence. The sort where no-one can think of anything to say or do, just shuffle their feet and stare in one direction. The fires in the village were dying out now, their brilliant lights dimmed to dull, reproachful glares as they ran out of log cabins to plunder and destroy. The snow fell much less thicker now, coming in mere drizzles instead of the picturesque fall it had been a while ago.
Then Dirk felt a hand on his knee, and looked down.
"Don't have the power, you say?" Came Merry's voice. "Oh, but I think you do."
Dirk blinked in surprise. "You wh-?"
"We elves aren't strangers to people like Fyrros," continued the elf in an oddly-soothing voice. "I know his sort - the kind of person who thinks that power is the ultimate answer to every question in the universe. The kind of person who is secretly terrified of anything that could topple him from his imaginary pedestal, and bullies others into fearing or serving him in order to hide it behind a veil of darkness and evil. That's not power, that's a child stomping on ants to stop them getting into the pantry."
Merry was smiling. In the midst of all this carnage, with a genocidal fire demon hunting his kinfolk down, he was actually smiling in an encouraging manner at Dirk.
"We elves of Lapulas believe differently. We believe power doesn't come from how many planets you've conquered or how much wealth or influence you have. We say it's the little things - small acts of kindness from everyday people - that make a person who they are. Things like letting someone in from the rain, or donating money to a good cause, or guiding a drunk person home. That, we say, is a greater power than any military might or money, and worth much more notice than those who terrorise and conquer for the sake of respect. Unconditional love - that's the greatest power of all."
"And there's no greater show of that," rumbled Punchy, "than by sticking up for those less fortunate than yourself. That's what Christmas is really about - not all the tinsel and presents and trees and stuff, but putting aside your differences to help other people and make them feel good about themselves. And that's exactly what you did when you challenged that Fyrros bloke - you stuck up for us when it looked like we were all gonna get roasted and our planet blown up. That takes guts, and that showed us you're twice the man than that flaming bozo."
"We know you can beat Fyrros, Dirk," chimed in Maisy. "We believe in you, now all you gotta do is believe in yourself! The power is inside your heart, not your glubok!"
Now, Dirk would not be the first person to describe himself as cynical. Probably the third or fourth, but never the first. The point is, more often than not things like "true love" were usually filed by the Dark Angel under the subheading of "dumb kiddy shit" that, while working fine for Sarah and Disney movies, just didn't cut it for the sort of person who's idea of a good time was baking stolen medical marijuana into brownies and getting shitfaced. No, Dirk didn't believe in that stuff - kid's stuff, designed to protect their tiny minds from the horrors of the real world. Let someone better (or stupider) than him believe in it.
But... something in the words of the elves, the way they spoke so encouragingly, struck something in him and bored past the layer of casual cynicism that existed as a consequence of his being Pit's dark half. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that what they were saying was true, even thought they said it in the soppiest way possible, and that, deep down, he still had what it took to defeat Fyrros and save Lapulas. He just had to keep telling himself that he could do it, to believe that despite his wounds he could still do it, and then go for it.
Jeez, when did I get so soft? Curse you, Morgana and Baby Conrad!
"...you're right."
The elves blinked as Dirk straightened out, clenching his free hand into a fist and gazing up into the starry sky.
"I'm nowhere near as strong or nice as my big brother," he declared, determination burning in his eyes, "but that doesn't mean I have to just sit by and do nothing. If you believe that I can beat Fyrros and save your people - and my planet and Christmas, to boot - then I believe that, too. And moreover, I'm going to do a lot more than that - I'm going to kick his arse so fucking hard, he's going to fly all the way to Kanassa before he realises what hit him!"
The angel's voice rose to a passionate shout, the echoes bouncing around the village as if the very buildings themselves were joining in to affirm his beliefs.
"NOBODY FUCKS WITH CHRISTMAS!"
"YAAAAAAY~" Upon hearing this awesome, somewhat heroic declaration, the elves leapt up and down on the spot, cheering in their high-pitched voices and alternating between waving their hands and clasping them together. Once again, Dirk couldn't help but grin at their boundless optimism in these dire circumstances, and the comparison between them and Sarah came up in his mind once again. Were Christmas elves related to white mages somehow? Dirk was gonna have to look that up.
Anyway, back to business. Beating the shit out of Fyrros.
"Right," he cut in after they'd done cheering and hopping about. "I've got good news and bad news. The bad news is that Fyrros is already headed towards the woods to try and find the others and blow them up. The good news," he quickly added, as he saw the looks of dismay on the elves faces, "is that he was going at a casual walk, for some reason, so if we get moving now, we could catch up with him before he does any real damage."
"But you've only got one arm, Mr. Dirk," chimed in Merry, an expression of worry on his face. "Won't that put you at a disadvantage in the fight?"
"Hey, you focus on getting your village out of trouble, Merry," retorted Dirk. "I'll worry about Fyrros. I think I have a plan, but it's gonna be a bit risky."
"Whatever it is, count me in," growled Punchy, banging his fists together. "No way am I gonna let my buddies be turned into charcoal!"
"And if you win," piped up Maisy quite suddenly, batting her eyelashes at the Low Angel, "I'll give you a kiss, you handsome thing, you!"
There was an awkward silence.
"D-don't mind Maisy, Mr. Dirk, sir." muttered an embarrassed Merry, going red. "She's always trying to-"
"Hold it," cut in Dirk. He looked down at Maisy, a grin forming on his face as he dropped to his knees in order to look her in the eyes. In typical Dirk fashion, his libido had suddenly put his common sense into a chokehold, and had now taken over the driving seat for a bit. Really, you should have seen this coming at some point - after all, this story is about Dirk Angelos, the closest you can get to Johnny Bravo without actually being Johnny Bravo.
"What sort of a kiss?" he asked.
Merry's eyes widened in shock. "What kind of a question-?!"
"A big, wet one!" Maisy squealed.
Dirk leant forward eagerly. "With lots of tongue?"
"As much as you like!"
"And will there be-?"
"Ooh, you have no idea!"
"Deal!" Dirk leapt back to his feet and punched the air with a free arm - finally, someone was giving him the reward he deserved for putting his life on the line! "Come on, let's go! Punchy, stick with me - I'll need your help with this!"
And with that delightful little bit of dialogue out of the way, Dirk dashed down the street towards the village exit, where he knew Fyrros would be approaching the forest by now. A squealing Maisy followed hit on his heels, and Punchy and Merry, after exchanging awkward glances with each other, followed. They knew that time was of the essence here - if they wanted to save the other elves from the Annunaki, they were going to have to think fast and act fast, and put their faith in what plan it was the angel had under his single remaining sleeve.
It was now or never.
-------
It hadn't taken long to find the elves.
Fyrros could have laughed. It had been almost too easy - hampered by the cold, held back by carrying their injured and elderly, the diminutive aliens hadn't even reached the outskirts of the woods yet. In the Annunaki's mind, the simpering wretches must not have had any actual will to live. If they had truly wished to survive his wrath, they'd have abandoned the weak and sick to get themselves to safety. There was a reason the Nibirians gave up such things like compassion long ago - in the great game of life that was the universe, such idiotic concepts would usually see you dead or picking jackboots out of your teeth.
As it was, they had barely reached the first line of trees when the fireball impacted right in front of them. The pyroclastic explosion absolutely terrified the villagers out of their wits, and the morale of the tiny beings broke almost instantly - their protector was dead and the Destroyer of Life had found their hiding place. Screaming in terror, the elves broke ranks and ran in every concievable direction that could take them away from the carnage - some collided with each other and fell in tangled heaps, whilst the elderly and weak were abandoned and trampled by the younger ones in their haste to escape their impending doom.
Standing on the hill that overlooked the forest, a sadistic chuckle rolled from Fyrros's jaws as he watched the chaos his one solitary attack had created. This wasn't quite the plan he had in mind - he had been hoping to try and hem the elves in between the burning forest and himself, or trap them in a ring of burning trees and leave them to suffer as their own sanctuary burned around them. But this was just as good, in the Nibirian's twisted opinion. At the very least, he enjoyed moving targets.
The Conquer of Worlds lifted his arm-
PAFF!
-and shrieked as a snowball struck him in the back of the head. He staggered from the simultaneous pain and ice-cold chill that ran through him, and the fireball that had been building at the end of one arm dissipated in a flickering puff of smoke, never to reach it's destination. Steam rose from the area where the projectile had struck, the snow melting and evaporating against his skin as he recovered his balance, shocked and outraged at the sneak attack he never saw coming.
"WHO THREW THAT?!" he bellowed, wheeling on the spot to face the direction the snowball had come from. "SHOW YOURSELF, WRETCH!"
No response. Except for the elves ceasing their terrified runabout at the sound of the Annunaki's roaring, stopping to stare in amazement and confusion, nothing happened in direct response to Fyrros's demands. Nobody new appeared, nobody shouted anything in response. The Annunaki glared all around the landscape in search of his attacker, but all his blazing yellow eyes could see where snow dunes as far as the horizon, forming valleys and trenches of white, with no clue as to-
PAFF!
Another snowball, this time right in the side of the face. Another hissing sizzle, another shriek of pain and rage, and this time the icy projectile succeeded in leaving a mark - a horrific, fist-sized welt on the lizard's muzzle, like some kind of burn. With a snarl, Fyrros whipped around and lashed out with one arm, casting a fireball that impacted heavily with the snow and sent up a white-hot plume into the air. But nothing came of it, for the dust cleared to reveal absolutely nobody had been caught in the blast.
"STOP THAT!" The Annunaki was getting thoroughly pissed off now, his fire burning hot enough to melt the snow beneath his feet. "COME OUT AND FIGHT ME!"
And then another snowball got him in the back. PAFF!
"AAAAAARGH!" Fyrros turned and launched a fireball that way, too. But once again, the showy, flashy impact was all for naught, for the snow dune he demolished had nobody in front of, behind or next to it, and thus the Son of Nibiru was merely wasting his energy on hitting something that wasn't there. And thus, this pattern began to repeat itself - a snowball would fly seemingly out of nowhere to strike Fyrros, a fireball would hit the snow with apparently no effect, and the Annunaki would grow even more perplexed and furious with the whole ordeal.
Watching from a distance, the elves blinked in shock. Many of them who had began to run showly trudged back to get a better view, whislt otheres helped to pick up and/or untangle the fallen so they could watch as well. Like Fyrros, the ensemble had no clue as to what was going on - as far as they were concerned, Dirk had been slain and most of their kind lay dead in the village. Who on Lapulas remained to challenged the mighty Nibirian, after all the lives he had taken.
Then a flash of black feathers rushed by, and the entire village understood.
As one, they turned and headed for the trees.
-------
"So how long we keepin' this up for?" hissed Punchy under his breath.
"Until the others make it into the woods," whispered Dirk in response.
The angel had not called this plan risky for nothing. It had meant drawing Fyrros's attention away from the elves making their way into the woods and onto them, which put them at risk of burnination or pummelling if they were caught. But both Dirk and Punchy were willing to put themselves on the line to ensure the other elves got to safety, and hopefully they could keep out of sight long enough for the whole thing to work out. Currently, the two were ducked behind a completely different snow dune to the one the Nibirian had just incinerated, Punchy moulding another snowball in his massive hands with rapid speed.
"So how did ya know them Nibirians don't like ice?" asked Punchy as he worked.
Dirk quirked an eyebrow at him. "I didn't," he admitted, having to raise his voice slightly over Fyrros's shouts of rage. "In fact, I don't think I ever rememebred that part from Galactic History lessons. That was boring as hell."
"Galactic History, huh?" Punchy quickly handed his completed snowball over to Dirk, who took in his remaining hand and tested it's eight. "What'cha learn there?"
"Why the Annunaki are dicks."
And with that, Dirk stood up from behind the dune and hurled the snowball with all his might. What with having a missing arm and all, his balance was somewhat off, but his aim was good enough - the projectile soared through the air to smash against Fyrros's side with another PAFF sound. With a scream, Fyrros turned and spat another fireball in their direction, and both angel and elf hoofed it to the next one just in time, throwing themselves flat as their previous barricade was destroyed with a flash of light and heat and half-melted snow.
"Good thing he didn't rip off my other arm," muttered Dirk as he picked himself up. "I need this one for writing and pelting people with snowballs."
"You think the others made it yet?" hissed Punchy, shaking from the near-miss.
Dirk quickly popped his head over the dune and peered towards the forest. In the dark of the night and the driving snow, it was hard to make out exact details of anything, let alone the glowing Fyrros on his hill, but he could see something moving at the foot of the trees - lots of little somethings, all moving in tandem together. The angel couldn't tell if they were actually elves or just bushes blowing in the wind, but he was never the type to play pessimistic - a trait he picked up from Pit, of course.
"I think so," he hissed when he ducked back down. "One more ought to do it, I think - just to make sure."
"Oh, I hope ya know what'cha doin," trembled Punchy as he scooped up more snow and began to mold it between his paws.
"So do I," whispered the Dark Angel. To tell the truth, he was almost as terrified as Punchy was - having one's arm ripped off tends to leave a lasting impression, especially when an Annunaki is responsible. But he was still determined to get the elves to safety and then deal with Fyrros before he found the strength to blow up the entire planet. Seriously, this guy was straight out of Dragon Ball, minus the over-long transformation sequences.
Punchy quickly plopped the snowball into Dirk's palm, the icy cold of it biting into his skin. Steeling himself, the angel pulled himself up to his full height to face the bewildered Fyrros, who was turning about on the spot as he searched for his seemingly-invisible tormentor. Screw being subtle now - the elves were out of the way and safe, so there was no reason to hide away now.
"OI! DICKHEAD!"
Dirk wheeled his arm back to throw the snowball...
...and got a fireball in the face for his trouble. Screaming at the heat, the angel dropped his own projectile to disintergrate in the snow as he staggered back, clutching his burnt face with his hand. Losing his balance, he topped backwards and landed with a thump on his back, snow going everywhere as he writhed in pain from the unexpected attack.
"MR. DIRK- AAGH!"
There was a spray of cold fragments as Punchy suddenly flew into a nearby snow dune, and from then on his speech became muffled and inchoerant. Dirk was on the point of pushing himself up to shout for him when a clawed foot suddenly thudded down dangerously close to his head, the points grazing his ear. Ignoring the pain as his skin sizzled from the fireball, Dirk moved his hand away and managed to wrench his eyes open to see what was going on.
"Well, well," rumbled Fyrros, glaring down. "I'm legitimately surprised you're still kicking, pigeon, and I admire your attempt at an underhanded sneak attack. But snowballs are naught but a mere distraction to me."
"Yeah, right," snappred Dirk. "Ever taken a look at yourself?" Even from where he stood, it was clear the Annunaki was not in the best of conditions anymore. The wounds inflicted from their previous battle were taking their toll, the alien's heavy breathing showing his exhaustion, and his body was covered in red welts where the snowballs had struck him again and again. On top of that, his fire was a dim glow rather than the flickering furnace it had once been - he was low on power, having expended most of it in blowing up piles of snow.
"I may have taken a few blows," growled Fyrros, "But I am still the strongest on this planet, bar none. Do you still think that you, with a missing arm and an elf for company, can defeat me?!"
"The thought had crossed my mind," was the reply.
"Well, here's some news for you." The Nibirian lifted his fingers, which began to glow with renewed fire. "You won't. You will die on this miserable planet, which I am going to rip apart with my bare hands, and Nibiru is going to destroy Earth and take it's rightful place in the solar system. Without your magic or strength, you are literally powerless to-"
"LEAVE MR. DIRK ALONE!"
Fyrros turned. "Oh, now wha-?"
The next moment, Maisy had literally barreled out from behind another snow dune, hair flying and eyes burning with boundless anger. Before Fyrros could even register what was happening, the enraged elf girl had rammed a foot right into his groin, causing an unholy popping noise from somewhere within. The lizard's eyes bugged out of his head as he gave a yelp, dropping to his knees and doubling over in pain as his fire dimmed down, revealing brown scales underneath.
"Gonna whizz red," he croaked between his teeth.
Dirk blinked as a boot-covered leg planted itself in the snow in front of him, and looked up to see Maisy standing defiantly between him and the pained Fyrros. As her hair blew in the wind and her bells jingled, the girl turned her head to look down at him over her shoulder, a smile crossing her lips as she caught sight of him. Once again, Dirk had to attempt wrestle with his own brain to not make some kind of lewd comment - thank Palutena on High for the small amount of decency and common sense Morgana had instilled into him.
The next sentence, however, completely wrecked that attempt.
"Are you okay, my handsome hero?" trilled Maisy.
Handsome hero. She just called him her handsome hero.Oh, was that one to tell Pit when he got out of this awful mess.
Dirk permitted himself a grin. "Sure am, sweet-cheeks. And you?"
"Oh, I will be." Maisy's tone suddenly shifted into iron anger as
she turned and paced towards Fyrros, who was still clutching his ruined crotch
in pain. "As soon as I teach Pepper-Breath here what it means to mess with
an elf!" And with a shrill battle-scream, the chocolate-haired girl reared
her entire body back before lunging forwards, delivering a solid headbutt
straight towards the crown of the Annunaki's skull.
To Dirk's amazement, the attack actually hit, and Fyrros howled as he
collapsed sideways in the snow, clutching his head and writhing in pain. The
angel could only watch open-mouthed in shock at this suddenly display of
strength from the diminutive figure - up until now, the elves hadn't
demonstrated any other skills beyond inspiring speeches and the comuplsion to
greet each other with "Hi-ho!" a lot. But Maisy was far from finished
yet - turning around, she bent at the knees, then leapt high into the air with
a shriek before suddenly dropping down...
CRACK!
...and ramming her butt straight into the downed Annunaki's midsection.
"MY GAS POCKET!" screamed Fyrros, his voice high-pitched with
pain, before collapsing into a limp pile
"ARE YOU SORRY YET?!" screamed Maisy, her voice echoing around the
valley and her eyes burning with apopleptic rage.
No response.
"GOOD ENOUGH!"
Maisy delivered a quick punch to the Nibirian's head, hopped off his chest and turned back to Dirk, who was slowly picking himself up, jaw open in wonder. With a smile, she began to walk briskly towards him, eyes fixed intently on him as he struggled to pull himself to his knees, until she reached the spot where he was knelt. Before the angel could rise to his feet or say anything, the elf girl had placed both hands upon his face and pulled it back down, bringing it level with hers and staring right into his eyes, every one of her intentions sparkling in her own.
Oh, fuck yes, was all Dirk could think as he saw immediatley where this was going.
"Well, that takes care of him," cooed Maisy. "And now, my handsome hero, I believe we-"
A roar of rage cut her off - Fyrros was now back on his feet, and none too happy about being caught off-guard like that. Dashing forward, the enraged Nibirian reached out with one clawed hand and grasped Maisy by the hair, yanking her off her feet and pulling her up into the air. With another blurr of movement, the lizard-creature had adjusted his grip so that now he held the struggling elf-girl by the head, the claws of his other hand pressing into her temple and glowing dangerously.
"INTERFERING WHELP!" he bellowed, clearly at the end of his tether. "I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR THAT!"
"PUT HER DOWN!" screamed Dirk a little too loudly, scrabbling to his feet. Maisy dangled from the Annunaki's grasp, whimpering in pain and fear as his claws dug into her skull and his body heat theatened to scalp her. His fingers were glowing with power again, and his bodily flame was starting to re-light itself, showing his internal magic was starting to return.
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that." Fyrros snarled as he pressed his claws closer to Maisy, causing her to shriek. "This female seems to have a great affection for you - amazing, considering that you're an unwashed pigeon. All this time I've been picking these elves off like popcorn, and they haven't resisted one iota. But now it turns out that at least some of them are willing to risk their lives to help you out. Tell me, what is your secret?"
Dirk clenched his fist. "Maybe it's because I'm not a genocidal maniac?"
"Wrong answer." Fyrros took a step forward, the snow hissing as it melted under his foot. "Now, here's a simple, two-choice question for you. Either you surrender to me and I spare the female now, so she can watch this planet and her bretheren die with you. Or I kill her now and you waste your energy trying to avenge her. Frankly, even I wouldn't want to make this choice, but either one is fine so long as I get this mess over with."
The Nibirian's eyes narrowed.
"Make your choice."
-------
The elves had, indeed, made it to the safety of the woods, as Dirk had predicted. But in their concern for their protector, who had risked his life to divert Fyross away from them, they had not gone so far that they could not see what was happening. Now, peering out from between the trees, they had witness pretty much everything, from Fyrros's anger to Maisy's brave interference, and were now watching as the Nibirian held one of their own hostage, threating the angel. It was a horrible sight, and each one could only hold their breath as they heard the exchange between the two fighters, horror rising in their chests at what they heard and saw.
However, each one had a lingering thought in their heads, one that refused to go away no matter how many times they dismissed it out of fear. They knew that compared to the Annunaki they wer mere ants, not possessing the same sort of destructive magical power that would give them any advantage. Yet the fact that Dirk continued to stand against him had inspired both Punchy and Maisy to take a stand, no matter how small, against their flaming tormentor, and this had not gone unnoticed by the other elves. Even as they watched from afar, something stirred within them, crying out for them to assist in some way despite the dangers of going up against Fyrros, to not leave Dirk in the peril he was in right now.
The thought was "What can we do?"
"Guys!"
As one, heads turned. Merry had reached the sanctuary of the trees a few minutes after they had done, and was now bent over, panting and gasping for air as he laid his hands on his knees, trying to recover from all the running. Immediately, a crowd gathered around him, all of them offering to sit him down or fetch something to drink and asking what happened.
"Enough of that!" Merry was quick to brush his companions off, glancing round them as they backed away in fear. "We have to do something! Fyrros has got Maisy, and he's gonna kill Dirk if we just stand by here!"
"But what can we do?" cried Derpy, the elf with the voice like a broken saxophone. "Maisy and Punchy stood up to him, and look what happened to them!"
"Well, we can't just sit here!" cried another elf with a triangle chime in his words. "If those guys could help out, then so can we!" And following this, there was a general murmur of agreement. Even if they were vastly outmatched in strength, that was no reason for the elves to hide from Fyrros. They had needed Dirk's help, a few hours ago, and now the angel clearly needed their's, no matter what. Their bretheren had done their part, and so would they.
But what was to be done?
"I think I have an idea."
The voice, like a silver gong, reverbrated through the crowd. As one, the elves turned and moved aside to give the speaker room - a wizened old elf, leaning on a twisted, cruedly-carved walking stick, his bear down almost to his knees. This elder looked around the company with twinkling eyes that nonetheless bore a serious look to them, the sort of look that commanded respect and knew exactly what to do in times like these.
"What is it, Grandfather Willow?" cried all the elves in unison. "What do we do?"
The oldest of the elves cleared his throat. "There is," he intoned gravely, "a special ritual that we elves have kept secret from the world. A power that is to be used only in the direst of times, when the sanctity of Lapulas is threatened and it's people in danger. At all other times, we are forbidden from using it due to the danger it poses to ourselves."
"...And we're just going to abuse it, right?" asked Merry after a pause.
Grandfather Willow grinned. "Oh, maliciously," he chuckled.
"So how do we do this?" asked someone else.
"It's quite simple." The old elf dropped his walking stick and turned to face the forest exit. "Firstly, we all need to link hands, just as we do in the Christmas celebrations. Merry, I'll need you to direct everyone in who should be next to what - the exact arrangement of elves is crucial."
There was a general kerfuffle at this. Elves moved, pushed, found places, swapped places, bumped into each other and trod on each other's toes. But the feeling of excitement and wonder in the air overcame the occasional accident and mishap. And all through it, Merry was calling out directions, telling which elves where to go and pointing out any slip-ups.
"That's the way, Speedy, stand next to Ricky... No, Flora, you're meant to be with Derpy... Sunny, keep your hands to yourself!"
"Is everyone ready?" asked Grandfather Willow, after an especially long pause. And they were. Everyone was in a large group, hands linked with someone else's hands, forming a sort of choir or huddle that jingled and rustled when it moved. Each elf looked from one to the other, nervous at the thought of what was going to happen, but still determined to go through with this if it meant helping Dirk to overcome Fyrros.
"Right, then. Now, on my count! One, two, three!"
-------
Fyrros blinked as the first strains of the song reached his ears.
His tail twitched. His fire flickered.
"Wh... what?" he tried.
Then he slowly turned on the spot, still holding Maisy in the air, until he was facing the forest. He blinked time and time again, but there was no mistaking what he was seeing. The elves of Lapulas, the very seme elves he had been tormenting an hour or two ago, were walking out from the forest, hand-in-hand, as if forming some kind of defiant army against him. But they came not with swords or shields or spears, or even guns or cannon. Not one of them was armed, or brandishing some kind of magic, or making rude insults and gestures like football hooligans, as was the custom of most of the races the Annunaki had conquered over the years.
No, they were singing.
"Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, Christmas, come this way. Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, Christmas, Christmas Day!"
"What?!" Fyrros tried again.
Singing! The whole thing made absolutely no sense to the bewlidered Annunaki at all. The diminutive creatures had just been driven from their homes, terrorized and butchered like pigs at a market festival! They were practically going to become extinct, he'd killed so many of them, and he'd torn their entire holiday plans to ribbons! The tinsel, the presents, the tree - all of it had been destroyed in the fires he had started in the village! And yet instead of cowering before him like the dogs they were, they were SINGING?!
His grasp slipped from Maisy, who dropped to the snow with a yelp and a flurry of limbs. Punchy, who by this time had extracted himself from the snow dune, was quick to dash to her side, picking her up and ferrying her to a convienient hollow where they would be out of the way of whatever happened next. Fyrros didn't even notice them, so fixed was he on the utterly illogical spectacle in front of him.
"Wh... what is this?!"
"Welcome, Christmas, Fahoo Ramus! Welcome, Christmas, Dahoo Damus! Christmas Day is in our grasp So long as we have hands to clasp!"
Dirk blinked as he looked down at the elves. In all honesty, he was just as confused as Fyrros was. What were the elves doing, leaving their hiding place like this? Did they intend to confront the Nibirian as one, or had they accepted their incoming death at his hands? Whatever it was, it was a pretty fucking stupid-
...Wait.
The angel could feel... something... welling up in him. It started as a tingle, deep within his heart. Then it began to grow, putting out tendrils the same way a seed puts out roots, until it was spreading as a sort of warmth throughout his whole body. It grew from a tingle to a murmur, from a murmur to a dull throb, and in almost no time at all it had transformed into a steady pulse that coursed through him, smoothing over his aches and pains and filling him with...
Power.
The same magical power he used in his spells.
A smile crossed his face.
"Oh, you crazy bastards," he grinned.
"Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, Christmas, bring your cheer. Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, all things far and near!"
"WHAT?!" Fyrros finally rounded on the angel, and his face bore the expression of one who's hinges have finally snapped and now nothing in the universe makes sense anymore. "Explain this, pigeon! Why are they doing this?! Why do they sing, after I have slain their kin and ruined their holiday celebrations?! WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!"
Dirk stood tall, no longer the hunched stance he was taking earlier. Warmth dance through his body, the sort of warmth one gets when cuddling with one's mother, or sitting by the fire on a cold winter's night, at peace with the world. As Punch and Maisy watched, his wings glittered, throwing off silvery sparks as they flexed, and his eyes began to glow with the same light as he stared the bewildered demon down. The two gasped as they finally understood what was going on.
"I'll tell you what it means, lizard," retorted Dirk. "The elves have just shared their greatest gift with me. Something I didn't believe in until now, something that they can always hold onto no matter how dark things get. You can take away their homes, their presents, their decorations and their food, but there's one thing about Christmas that, no matter how much you try, you will never be able to take away from anyone. Because they will have it as long as they have each other, and you will never take it away because you just can't comprehend anything that isn't to do with subjugation or wanton destruction or your petty grudges.
See, Fyrros, the whole point of Christmas..."
"...is about love. A greater power even than yours."
"Welcome, Christmas, Fahoo Ramus! Welcome, Christmas, Dahoo Damus! Christmas Day will always be, Just so long as we have we!"
Fyrros's eyelid twitched. His body began to shake. His fire spluttered fitfully.
"Wh... what kind of tripe is that?!" he spat at last. "What good is love when compared to the sheer power that I alone wield at my fingertips?! There is nothing more powerful than the Annuaki, Sons of Nibiru! Nothing can match our might, nothing can ever stand up against us! NOTHING!"
Finally at the end of his tether, the Conquerer of Worlds lifted an arm to put an end to-
CRACK!
"ARGH!" he howled as Dirk retracted his fist. Doubled over with pain, yellow blood dribbling from his maw, he looked up at the angel standing over him, and seemed to shrink as the eyes bored holes right through him. But most distressingly of all, his fire choked, spluttered and finally fizzled out, revealing the frail, old lizard beneath all that flame and grandeur, and the Nibirian began to shake with an almost palpable terror
"I'm sorry," Dirk grinned. "Was that your glubok?"
And then he moved.
Fyrros had absolutely no way to prevent what was coming next. One moment a foot was in his jaw. The next, a fist in his gut. The next, his toes were stamped on. The attacks came blindingly fast, faster than any right they had to come at him, and every blow either cracked something within his body or knocked him spinning on the spot. And Dirk kep that grin of his on his face all throughout, even as he pummelled the helpess Annunaki senseless, each blow delivering spikes of power that shook his opponent down to the bone.
Watching from a distance, Punchy and Maisy decided now was a brilliant time to give moral support.
"COME ON, DIRK!" hollered Punchy, hopping up and down. "SOCK IT TO HIM!"
"AND IT'S A LEFT!" cheered Maisy, a wild fire in her eyes. "AND A RIGHT! AND A JAB!"
"Woah, Maisy," cried Punchy, a little disturbed, "when did you get so bloodthristy?"
"WHO CARES?! GET HIM, DIRKY-BOY!"
-------
It had been travelling for many long centuries. Millenia, even.
But now, it was there.
The sandy-brown bulk of Nibiru heaved into sight as it approached Earth, on this fateful day that their orbits intersected. Many had predicted it's coming, some had dismissed it as flights of fancy or conspiracy theories, but none had believed that it had truly existed, until now, when they could see it clearly from the sky. Faster and faster it approached, dwarfing the blue-green orb with it's sheer size as it grew ever closer, blocking out the light of the sun with it's titanic mass.
All the planet waited with baited breath. Some had quietly accepted their fate, holding hands for comfort. Others had taken to praying in churches, hoping that tjeir deities could deliver them from the horror that was to come. Many more, unable to stand it all, had thrown themselves off buildings or shot themselves rather than face the predicted apocalypse. But all eyes were directed up at the massive interstellar object as it grew bigger and bigger in the sky, until they could see the faint outlines of countries and continents on it.
Nibiru passed by Earth...
...
...
...and went on it's way.
Nothing. No earthquakes, no tidal waves. No masses of alien beings descending from above, shrieking war-cries and brandishing laser beams. Not even so much as a UFO or Mothman to announce some terrible coming. Nibiru had passed by Earth without leaving so much as a mark.
There was a long, stunned silence.
"Well," said someone somewhere. "What a lot of bollocks."
-------
There was a crack as Dirk delivered a solid haymaker, and Fyrros grunted as he collapsed in the snow, yellow blood pouring from his wounds. Everything ached - his bones, his skin, his gas pocket and what remained of his glubok. His fire had gone out completely, and all of his strength had simply left him. But even if he had even an inkling of power left, he wouldn;t even have been able to pick himself up anyway, given the circumstances. He had bee beffudled, tricked, outwitted and bested in honourable one-on-one combat by a member of the same race that had driven his kin off of Earth long ago, along with forcees he didn't couldn't understand. And now, he had sensed that Nibiru had failed to even scratch the surface of Earth.
It was too much. He had lost the will to fight.
A hand clasped him by the throat and drew him up. Opening his eyes, he once more shrank into himself at the glare of Dirk Angelos, who towered over him like some avenging god or a stern teacher brandishing a bad report card. Raw power danced off of his skin and sizzled where his open wounds already stang in the cold. From the corner of his eye, he noticed an orangey glow coming over the horizon, and realized that the sun was coming up, in an almost symbolic mimicry of the events occuring right now on Lapulas.
"Now, listen here," came Dirk's voice. "I don't like you. Merry doesn't like you, Punch and Maisy don't like you, and I don't think any other one of those elves down there likes you. In fact," he went on as he hoisted the Annunaki higher up into the air, "I'm inclined to think nobody likes you. Which means you're not exactly welcome here, are you?"
Fyrros blinked, putting the pieces together.
"...mercy?"
Dirk's grin returned.
"Survey says: Fuck off!"
Then Fyrros's world span, and suddenly he was airborne, twisting through the early morning air as though he were a ragdoll thrown by a baby in a temper tantrum.
Dirk glowed as he lifted his hand up towards his airborne foe.
"You want joy, you overgrown iguana? Have all the joy on this planet! It's the gift that keeps on giving!"
And the sun was blotted out by the massive laser that soared upwards, that cut through the icy air and struck the Annunaki, engulfing him completely.
For a moment, there was nothing but white-hot agony.
"SO... MUCH... JOY..."
And then his world when white.
-------
As the laser died away, Dirk slowly lowered his arm, still staring fixedly at where Fyrros had been a few seconds ago. The morning sun was hot on his back, his feathers rustled in the cool breeze and his wounds no longer stung him in any measure. And for once, his soul was seemingly at peace. The thing that threatened his peaceful planet was gone, never to trouble anyone in the universe ever again, and Nibiru would not be doing any harm to Earth this year. Not only had he just saved one planet, he had saved two at once.
So yes, he felt pretty damned good.
Then he felt the power dissapate, leaking out of him as if he were a colander, Looking down, he watched as tendrils of gold flowed from his body and slink, snake-like, across the snow in all directions, shimmering like the real thing as they moved. Some slipped back into the earth, to filter back to the core of the planet from whence it came, while others, much to the angel's wonder, began to slip towards the village, which had long since ceased to burn and was now smoldering quietly away to itself. It moved, ghost-like, through the streets, splitting into even more pieces as it alighted on a wreck here, a corpse there, flitting from one to the other.
And then Dirk's jaw dropped.
"Holy shit."
The wrecked buildings were knitting themselves back together. Splinters formed shards, which formed entire beams that slotted together into walls. Roofs locked back into position, the burn marks fading away. The tinsel and decorations unraveled from their shrivelled states back into their former splendor, crumpled stalls shot to attention like soldiers and the crumple tree bloomed back into splendor. No doubt that the interiors of all the places that had been destroyed in the battle where restoring themselves too, carpets and curtains and other such things springing back into shape with every touch of the golden energy.
And in the streets, there were stirrings. Stirrings turned into movement, which turned into once-dead elves groaning in pain as they picked themselves up from the snow, holding their heads. Their groans soon changed into gasps of wonderment, however, as they saw the energy of Lapulas soaring over their heads, and understood that the thing that had tormented them was now gone forever. There was a thump and an "OW!" as Rosie Elf, restored at the exact point in the air she had been before death, fell from the sky and landed on somebody else.
One by one, the golden streams filtered back into the snow, vanishing with a shimmering of sparks until they had all gone.
"I get it now," breathed Dirk.
And he did.
Lapulas was alive...
Then he looked down, and saw the elves emerging from the forest and walking towards him in a bunch. As he watched, the walking turned into jogging, which tansformed into running, and before the angel knew it he was promptly swarmed by tiny, jingly elves, all of them cheering ag the tops of their voices and alternatively hugging and high-fiving him in turn. The commotion brought the ressurected elves from the village out in curiosity, wherupon they immediately joined in the celebrations and dashed forward to meet their saviour. Even the elderly elves, Grandfather Willow among them, reached up to shake his remaining hand with enough enthusiasm to almost take it off.
"YOU DID IT!" cried someone. "YOU SAVED OUR PLANET!"
"Three cheers for Dirk!" came Merry's voice from the crowd. "Hip-hip!"
"Hooray!"
"Hip-hip!"
"HOORAY!"
"Hip-hip!"
"HOORAY!" cheered all the elves in unison, and Dirk laughed aloud in joy as the did so. So what if he'd been dragged onto a planet he didn't understand or hadn't heard of before? So what if he'd lost an arm fighting an evil alien from Nibiru? He'd not only saved the Earth, but he'd saved Christmas, and all his friends from the King of Beasts, as well! And now everything was going to be just fine, and nobody was dead except the bad guy, and he'd learnt one of those Christmas Special Moral Lessons, too - that there is nothing more powerful than the love between people.
There was no way this day could get better.
"Oh, Dii-iirk~"
Dirk paused, and his trademark grin came over his face. The cheering stopped almost immediately.
"Aw, yeah," he chuckled. "It just got better." Turning on the spot, he pushed his way through the suddenly silent crowd until he found a space not occupied by hundreds of shocked elves. Standing there in the snow was Maisy, a sweet smile on her face and her baby-blue eyes gazing up at him as he approached, ignoring the stares of amazement from her kinfolk. Dirk's grin grew even wider at the sight, and he promptly dropped to his knees in front of her, his face level with hers and wings twitching in anticipation.
"So, handsome hero," the elf girl crooned, battering her eyelashes. "You ready for your reward?"
"Abso-total-lutely," was the angel's response, putting his hand on the brunette's cheek, and Maisy gave a little squeal with delight. Before he made his move, he took the opportunity to spare a quick glance at the elves around them, and almost laughed when he saw that each and every one of them bore expressions of horror or embarrassment on their faces. Merry, in particular, had turned red as a tomato, whilst Punchy had covered his face with both hands and was muttering something about cooties under his breath.
Prudes, the lot of them.
"Pay attention, ladies," he called out to those elf girls that might have been lurking somewhere in the audience. "This is how you reward a man when he saves your entire species and planet!" Getting no response (as he figured), the angel turned back to find that Maisy, unable to contain herself any longer, had already tightly shut her eyes and puckered her lips, leaning forward slightly in anticipation of the kiss. Good. That was just how he liked his rewards - served up with the minimum amount of fuss.
The crowd watched with baited breath as Dirk closed his eyes, leaned in...
-------
And woke up.
His head was thumping like a tribal drum, but he was definitely awake this time. He wasn't kneeling in the snow any more, he was on the living room couch, still sprawled in the same position he'd been whilst watching the faeries make out in the party. The arm that had been ripped off was actually still there, and not hurting in any actual way at all. And all of his clothes, right down to the chiton and laurel wreath, were still on him.
And, most dishearteningly of all, he wasn't about to make out with a cute elf girl.
That meant only one thing.
It had all been a dream. One big, stupid, Rophynol-based dream.
"God damn it," he groaned in irritation as he pushed himself upright, rubbing his head. "Only in a roofie-induced dream could something like that happen. Only there could I end up on a snowy planet inhabited by elf people! Only there could I fight against a flaming lizard-demon from Nibiru and beat him with the power of Christmas! And only there could I come anywhere close to actual first base with a female type of some persuasion! I mean, fucking hell, couldn't I have least woken up after we-
"...What?"
The last time Dirk had checked, most of the living room had been in a state of complete disrepair thanks to drug-induced shenanigans. Tables were covered in broken glasses and crumpled cans, the curtains had been torn down and sick and piss coated the walls and floor. But now that Dirk looked at it, he could see that the entire place was cleaner than even Pit was accustomed to keeping it. The walls were completely vomit-free, the tables were squeaky-clean and the curtains looked as thought no-one had tried ripping them down at all. Even the glasses looked like new, as if someone had magically glued them together without so much as a hairline crack to show the joins.
Dirk immediately got up and began to check the house.
Kitchen as it should be, with mopped floor and perfectly whole cutlery. Halls devoid of laser burns and Minotaur head holes. Dance floor completely intact and dry as a bone. The shark tank was unharmed, with it's new occupant trying to master the art of swimming through a glass wall. Bedrooms tidy and neat, with no torn pillows, broken springs or soiled sheets. And looking outside revealed no trace of Yig or his maniacal attempt to defy gravity. Even the Christmas decorations, from tinsel to tree to wreaths, were all in their proper position.
Looking down, Dirk made another discovery. Yes, it was true that his clothes were still whole, but now they were also completely free of beer and sick and without a burn or rip on them. A quick sniff of his chiton revealed the scent of fresh pine needles, an almost eerie echo of what had happened when he had awoken in Merry's hut in his... dream? The angel wasn't so sure about that now - he remembered that smell quite vividly, along with almost everything else. The meal at Merry's, the fight with Fyrros, the feeling of all that Christmas joy welling up inside him, the ringing of Maisy's voice in his ears...
What had happened? And who had fixed the house?
Dirk was still pondering this question when, upon re-entering the living room, he noticed the envelope on the coffee table. It wasn't that difficult to miss, considering he'd had a headache and all, but the Dark Angel did wonder how he'd managed to do such a thing, seeing as how the coffee table was the first thing he saw when he woke up. Curiously reaching down, he picked it up in one hand, noting the unusual wax seal on it - some sort of deer, he reckoned - and ripped it open with the other. A flash of red caught his eye, and his quickly took hold of the contents and yanked it out, revealing a folded piece of paper with red borders.
Unfolding it revealed it to be a letter, penned in old-fashioned quill ink. And this is what it read:
"Dirk Angelos,
My heartiest of thanks go out to you, my dear boy! When I recovered you from your house and took you back to my home planet of Lapulas, I will admit that I had my doubts. But you have shown me that even the most unlikeliest of people can become heroes, and no matter how gloomy things get there is always a glimmer of hope. My planet needed an angel to fight off the Annunaki, and you proved yourself to be a whole lot more than that. For saving my people from Fyrros, and by extension Earth and Christmas from Nibiru, I cannot thank you enough. Well done, indeed!
You know, the sad part is, I always did try to visit Nibiru after the Annunaki were exiled. However, the planet's residents - the Vulturites - weren't very accommodating. Kept trying to eat my reindeer and the presents! In the end, I just stopped trying - I couldn't risk myself getting devoured and disappoint all the children, you know. While I understand where Fyrros may have been coming from, that doesn't in the least bit excuse all the terrible things his kind has done over the years. In fact, I think a certain planet's headed for the Naughty List!
I'm afraid to say you passed out right before you could get anywhere with Maisy. Poor girl was frightfully upset about the whole thing, of course, but I promised her that if she was especially good, she could come and visit you, if she felt like it. I smartened you up with my healing magic, fixed your clothes and took you back the same way I fetched you - very quickly indeed, whilst there was time to spare. I also brought along some of my best elves along to fix up your house while you were asleep - wouldn't do to have your brother come back to a pigsty! You can thank Merry as chief craftsmen for the outstanding work.
Your new arm was designed by myself and built by Sparky, the village scientist and mechanic. It's forged from pure Klausium coated in synthetic skin - 100% guaranteed waterproof and resistant to extremes of heat and cold. It's built directly into your muscular and nervous system, so it feels and reacts like a real arm, and also contains a built-in thaumic converter to allow you to keep using your magic with it. It also has a custom-built plasma cannon in the forearm - it should activate on a mental signal of "Power on", although you can program it to respond to voice commands as well. Always pays to be prepared when you're a Kobber!
Well, I must dash - Rudolph is getting impatient, and I must start my deliveries. Perhaps I shall see Nibiru pass by Earth while I'm about it - no ill effects, of course. See you on Christmas Eve, all being well! And remember to lay off the Rophynol, or you might not get that mountain bike you've been wanting this year!
A Merry Christmas from all on Lapulas,
- Christopher "Santa Claus" Kringle."
Dirk stared.
Then he lifted his arm and looked carefully at it. It still looked like his arm, and he could still feel it as he flexed the fingers, but...
Power on.
With a whirr, the skin split open, and a shining tube emerged from the slot left in the forearm. It looked like something that should belong in a modern-art museum - the sort of thing Wheatley would be proud of - but at the same time, it's design carried an air of menace about it. There was no doubt that white-hot death came from one end of it, and whatever was on the receiving end probably wouldn't be getting up again any time soon. It glowed like a miniature furnace from within.
A smile crossed Dirk's face, even as the corner of his ears picked up the sound of Ferrari California tyres on the gravel driveway.
"Fucking ace."
~THE END~
"Oi, SK! How about we give the readers some awesome Christmas music to read the credits by?"
I'm way ahead of you, Dirk.
~ YOU HAVE BEEN READING DIRKMAS~
A Zoofights Roleplay Side-Story
Inspired by Team Four Star's "Christmas Tree of Might" and "Episode of Bardock Abridged"
Written by Steel Komodo
~WITH THE VOICE TALENTS OF~
ANTONIO DEL RIO as Dirk Angelos
ELIJAH WOOD as Merry Elf
BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH as Lord Fyrros
JOHN C. REILY as Punchy Elf
FRANK WELKER as The Predators and The Minotaur
KAT STEEL as Maisy Elf
YIG, FATHER OF SERPENTS as Himself
and introducing KYLE HEBERT as Santa Claus
~FEATURING THE FOLLOWING MUSIC~
"Shots" by LMFAO and Li'l John
"Firebender" by Immediate Music
"Divine Hatred" from Devil May Cry 3 by Capcom
"Welcome Christmas" from How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
