Author's Note: Special thanks to Doug Walker and the others from Channel Awesome, as well as Andrew Dickman, who gave me the inspiration to write this story. All characters depicted in this story are owned by their respective properties, and not by me. R&R, so I know whether or not to continue this.
Chapter 1 – Shaman's Words
He reached for another book off of the shelf. He briefly examined the spine, which read 'Shaman's Words, Vol. 3'. He had read through the previous volumes earlier that day, which contained, among other things, ten different dates for Armageddon and ten thousand different reasons why 'Disaster Movie' didn't need to be made. Given the series' track record, he didn't keep his hopes up for anything substantial.
There was something strange in the air around Washington that day. Oancitizen couldn't put his finger on it, but he definitely felt a disturbance. Not a disturbance in the Force, as his pop-culture flooded brain first assumed, but a disturbance nonetheless. He finished editing for his latest review, and decided to consult his chronicles to see if there was anything foreshadowed. He thought that he was probably reading too deeply into it (Like he made a living out of) but there was a niggle in his mind that wouldn't let up until he was absolutely certain.
He opened the ancient text, its leathery pages stained with time. He scanned the pages, looking for a sign of something amiss.
"Let's see here." Said Oancitizen, scratching his beard with thought.
"Men of earth with the gift of sight,
And who predict when others fall,
Simply do not have the right
If they cannot see their own, after all."
He considered it for a second, but dismissed it in less than a second. "No, that can't be it. I, nor any of my colleagues, ever predict the fall of others. We may in jest, but that can't be susceptible to this, as we know ourselves we must fall one day when age catches up to us."
He continued reading the tome, almost willing something to be wrong so that he could stop reading these books and get back to uploading his latest review, as they were starting to become drier than the desert in 'Gerry'. But then something caught his eye. Another prophecy, much like the others in the book in their wording, but unlike the others in its relevance. He read it once over, and his critically trained brain unconsciously got to work decoding it. He kept reading it over and over to make absolutely sure he knew what he was reading before he reacted too rashly. The prophecy was this:
The Wayfarer has much to fear
And those who share in his ways of mirth
For in order to save all they hold dear
They will be called to protect the Earth
In the darkness, the powers ally
Those of ill mind, of mania and rage
Of misguided protection and vast death tally
Of men who are mirrors of those on the stage
Each twig will break with little effort
If divided and continue to hold past grudges
But if they unite and hold the fort
The bundle will survive and continue to be judges
If the Wayfarer wants to survive
He must prepare to fight the worst
And as for you, from the torch lighter's home
You will be the first
Oancitizen slammed the book shut with a loud bang and dropped it on the floor. He immediately flicked the switch in his brain that activated his neural analytic circuits. In other words, it was time to think over the passage.
"Okay, 'The Wayfarer' itself resides in the Museum Boijmans-van Beuningen in Holland, but what else does wayfarer mean? Traveller? Rambler? Walker?" He paused, as the thought struck him like a bad joke. "Walker, as in Doug Walker, the Nostalgia Critic. The Critic is going to suffer strife. Or, at least, MORE strife than he already goes through every week. But wait, the passage mentioned "those who share in his ways of mirth", as in the rest of us. Not only is he in danger, we all are. We all need to 'protect the Earth' but from what? It mentions powers in the darkness, but that could be anything. Wait, the 'men who are mirrors'. Mirrors, shadows, reflections of something or someone else. They mirror those on the stage, as in those who perform. Performers, as in reviewers. Therefore, people who imitate the reviewers are the threat the prophecy speaks of. But it must mean more than that. If that alone was the case, the Nerd would be at war with the Irate Gamer. No, they are mirrors, not of style but appearance. Linkara, Phelous, Spoony and Nella all have dark duplicates, but they have all been quelled. Or, at least, we thought they were quelled."
He stopped for a few seconds and took a few good deep breaths. He wasn't quite finished yet.
"But those four alone wouldn't be enough to pose enough of a threat, not while we still have THEIR reflections who can easily destroy them like they did before. 'Men of ill mind' could mean someone who has ill thoughts on the mind, or that the mind itself is ill, and the person is insane. Insane, as in Insano. Dr. Insano could be involved in this. Huh, isn't he always? 'Of misguided protection and vast death tally', as in those who wish to protect but are misguided in their approaches. Didn't Linkara fight a guy who wanted to save everyone from something by taking over their realities? Lord Sin or something?" He halted again and thought for a few phemtoseconds. Almost immediately, he snapped his fingers in triumph. "Lord Vyce, that was the cad's name! He could be involved as well. The prophecy spoke of uniting together and putting all grudges aside, meaning we'll need everyone together in order to defeat this mighty meeting of malevolence. But who is this one from the lantern lighter's home, I can't figure it out. Okay, torch, torch, torch…" He kept chanting the word to himself, as if doing so would summon a great spirit called Torch that could help him in this time of crisis. "Torch is another word for light, or flame, or lantern. Lantern, as in the Green Lanterns. The Lanterns were trained by the Guardians of the Universe who, in this equation, we could consider to be those who 'light the Lantern's torches', whom live on the planet at the universe's centre, or what USED to be the universe's centre at least, Oa."
He froze for a second, as the notion sank in like a bowling bowl in a pool.
"Citizen of Oa. Oancitizen."
He immediately ran the few feet from his reading room to the phone. He dialled a few numbers and waited for a response.
"Hello, Critic. It's me, Oancitizen."
"Who?"
"You know, I do Brows Held High, where I review arthouse movies."
"Oh, the pretentious douchebag. What do you want?"
"Listen, we don't have much time. I'm coming to Chicago, and I need to meet you there. Something is coming. And it's coming after all of us, including you. Call the others, get them over there. We need a plan. I'll explain everything when I get there. Suffice to say, it's not good."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"You know, under normal circumstances, I would just hang up right now and consider you criminally insane but…" He sighed. "After all that's happened over the last few months, especially with what happened to Ma-Ti, I can't let this go. Not without hearing what's going on. So… Okay. Get on the next flight to Chicago, I'll meet you there. However…" His voice became softer and quieter, as well as more sinister. "If I find out that this is all just a joke, just an ill-thought out scheme to waste my time… I will end you."
There was silence for some seconds.
"So, I'll see you in a few days." Said the Critic, all bittersweetness and light again.
Oancitizen stood stunned for a short while longer. "Yeah, sure."
The Critic hung up.
Oancitizen went to his computer to sort out the travel details. He decided not to ring the others. Not yet. Not until they know a bit more about what will happen. The hairs on the back of his neck stood tall; if the words of Matacul were accurate, he had little time.