Author's note: Hi I'm back. College is wrapping up and I'll have a lot more time soon. I've something in the works that I've been writing for a little less than and year and I'll be posting it soon. My kid brother gets first crack, since it was written for him, but after that I'll post it here. Keep a look out for it.
This story is one that entered my head a while ago and I just had to take a crack at writing it. I hope you like it. It's a fusion/crossover- well you'll see.
As always feedback is of the good and greatly appreciated.
Stuff inside the parenthasies is the english translation a forgein language. Stick around and you'll see which one.
Also let me know what you think of the formatting. I'm trying something different.
A church was burning. Perhaps this event would have been more shocking if it did not occur in California,
during the Spanish occupation of this fair land. The peasants of this time lived in fear, but it was not of the
man leaping through the burning building, sword flashing in delicate patterns, cutting through cloth and flesh
alike.
Guards collapsed groaning, blood leaking into their garments and onto the floor. Some got up again, others
merely lay in agony as the flames consumed the tapestries and wooden pews of the spacious room. More
soliders poured through the gates of the chapel, pulling their wounded comrades to safety.
Thick smoke choked the masked stranger charging through room after room looking for an escape. The priest
was dead, that would weigh heavily on him later. Much later when he had time to think about the trap, how
he'd stumbled into here after a raid on the Governor's mansion. He'd found nothing, nothing but a single clue
that had lead him here.
His thin soled shoes slammed against the stone floor of the ancient church, as he propelled himself forward.
Before him loomed a thick slab of oak, the only barrier to his freedom. Or it was, before it slammed open,
revealing ten armed soldiers, five kneeling, five behind them, all with bayonet rifles aimed at him.
A small pink blur flew from his body even as he skidded to a halt. The guards didn't notice. A man walked
up behind them. His face was thick with dark hair. His monstrous maw contained rotting teeth, coated with a
yellow film. His skin was dirty, dusty. His hair was thinning, revealing many bald spots. He was overweight
and obviously an officer. He wasunsuprisingly unfit for the same duty as his men. A putrid stench settled over
the nostrils of the men in front of him when he spoke.
(Now we have you. Prepare to die.)
But the masked stranger wasn't listening. Visible through the slits of his mask, his eyes were desperately scanning
the shadows of the room, as if searching for something. Noticing this the officer did the same, craning his neck
over the heads of his men.
A small pink shape dropped, sinking buck teeth into flesh on the top of the man's skull. His fetid maw opened again,
spewing curses as well as stench. He tipped forward, slamming his bulk onto the backs of his men. As one the top
row of soldiers fell onto their comrades. The kneeling soldiers collapsed too, their shots going wide. Small grey
pellets of death sped through the room. One struck him, tearing the black cloth adorning his right shoulder. A spasm
of pain shot through him, as a bloody line appeared where the tear in the uniform occurred. His sword fell to the floor
with a clatter, before his left arm managed to ensnare the grip.
He wasted no time though, once he'd recovered the weapon, charging up and over the fallen troops, hearing small
grunts as his legs landed on different areas of their flesh.
A small pink shape leapt onto his shoulder as he made his way past. It slunk up, inside his wide brimmed hat, as he
burst through the threshold of the door into the airy courtyard filled with solider.
Clapping was the only sound that filled the air.
(Ah it appears you are screwed.)
The pink shape peered out from under the brim of the stranger's hat. A muffled "eep" left his throat before it clambered
back to the relative safety of the garment. The stranger looked around, at the Count who had spoken, at the armed men
creating a circle of death around him, and at the high stone walls of the courtyard. Behind him he could hear footsteps,
as more soldiers cut off his escape. A low whistle left his lips.
"How do I get myself into these messes?"
Kim Possible
Flickering Lights and Old City Nights
For Ronald Stoppable it had been a day like any other. Granted Ron's days were a tad odd, but he was quite used to it.
Right now he'd just finished opening another Naco royalty check. His jaw dropped once again. There were so many
zeroes. Not as many as last time, but still so many zeroes. Unlike the last time there was no one to gasp and peer over
his shoulder in shock. He had learned, as surprising as that fact might be to those that knew him, and he was opening it
in total and utter secrecy, i.e the inside of a locker that he'd been stuffed into. He managed to make out the typed text
through the small bits of light that filtered through the holes of the locker. One of the guys that worked part time at bueno
nacho had come up to him about twenty minutes ago, he'd spent a lot of time in lockers, more than enough to be able to
measure the time accurately, and given him the envelope containing the check. Since he had to wait for Kim to figure out
where he was anyway, he'd figured he might as well read it. At least this was one of the full size lockers that the seniors
got, instead of the cramped half lockers that didn't have nearly enough room for his rather minuscule bulk. Those hurt.
As he stared at the note a hand fumbled with the clasp of the iron door. Good, it was KP, come to rescue him. There was a
loud click and he fell forward, spilling out of the locker onto the floor. He pulled himself up as well as he could, expecting
fully to be looking into the eyes of his best friend. Instead twin blue orbs met his gaze. A single word escaped his lips in a
low hiss.
"Monkey."