Prologue: Split Night
The night was pitch-black, as it always was. In a dark place, indistinguishable amongst the shadows of the outside world, a lone soul remained… Muffled footsteps were the only thing audible amid the stifling darkness; they trailed back and forth, and as they came to a stop, a high-pitched voice spoke.
"…Yes, yes, that is having its places…" The voice quivered and shook with exhaustion.
A small boy, garbed in black and red, was staring intently at a map. His cloak, clasped with two golden spheres, was tattered and torn. His attire was not in the best condition; his spiraled goggles were cracked down the center—he found himself pushing them up quite often, as he was reluctant to use duct tape to seal them—and his boots were beginning to wear out, with small holes poking through the leather. The green skin covering his body appeared burnt and beaten. From uncovered wounds oozed a blue-black blood, the mark of one who had tampered with darkness and suffered the inevitable path of forced senselessness.
Fawful examined the map closely—he had pilfered it from a castle guard earlier to learn the whereabouts of a special object, one that had caused him immeasurable pain. The Beanstar. He had heard that the artifact had been transported to the Mushroom Kingdom to avoid further attempts to use its wish-granting power for evil purposes.
It was too bad that the authorities of the Beanbean Kingdom did not know that Fawful was hiding out once again in Princess Peach's sewer.
He had survived so much—getting kicked out of Woohoo Hooniversity… getting thrown into the ocean by a barrage of blows from a sharpened sword…even exploding from an overload of dark energy. What would it be for him to abandon his efforts now?
Fawful stomped his foot on the ground. The circled area was leagues away, in Dimble Wood! If only he still ruled Bowser's Castle, it wouldn't be such a huge feat for him to get there. But now, with an injured body and no new mechanized equipment, he was all but hopeless. If only Cackletta was there to help him…
Tears threatened to overflow the edges of his eyes, but he pushed them away both to preserve his own pride and his late mistress's. Instead of crying, he irritably walloped the wall. Not a smart move; it sent waves of pain streaming through his fist, and he let out a small whimper of agitation.
He sat down on a makeshift bed with a loud thump. "I have sadness…"
The Beanwitch was sad. She did not let herself be swallowed by such emotions often. Sitting there, alone, in complete darkness did not help. Sighing, she stared at the wall for the fifth time in as many minutes.
How long had it been since she'd gone? She could not keep track of the time. But as she sat, bored out of her wits as a downright hideous Shayde, she knew one thing. She was feeling remorseful.
She smacked herself on the head to make sure she wasn't going insane. Nope, she was fully conscious and able (at least as able as a dead person was to do anything.).
She had heard his sadness. She had heard his pain. She had heard everything, and she blamed herself. How could she do anything else? It was due to her weakness that they'd failed; her cocky, arrogant means of fighting, her inconsistency with planning… everything was her fault,and she'd paid the price.
She longed for a chance to return. Only problem was, her cell was heavily guarded and there was no way Jaydes, queen of the Underwhere, would allow a notorious criminal to escape using witchcraft. If she were to flee using those means, her eternal damnation would be amplified, and she would never even be permitted to hear anybody, let alone see them.
"You seem awfully depressed."
Cackletta nearly fell off the rock she was sitting on. Startled, she scanned the area for any presences. When she found none, she judged herself as delusional and began to sit down again, in a very wary manner.
"What's wrong? Did you die the wrong way?" The voice paused. "Or… do you have a tie to life that cannot be broken? Is that your fear? That it will be severed?"
"You would do well to show your face, fool." The remark lacked enthusiasm; the voice had buried a dagger in the one spot she had thought nobody could ever touch.
"Oh, believe me, I would gladly do so, if only I had a face to begin with, witch." This alarmed Cackletta more than the voice's appearance in the first place. How could that be—a voice coming from nowhere? "But I do believe I have a way to get you out."
Cackletta was no fool. She knew who to trust, and this mysterious voice was definitely not it. But still, an opportunity to return to life… was that really worth passing up? After all, she was already dead. It was not as if something could get rid of her any further. "Talk."
"Oh, I can do more than talk. Do you see that over there, the skeleton-like dragon?"
"Y'mean Bonechill. Believe me, I've seen him more than I'd like to."
"He's at his weakest tonight, as is the woman in purple."
"I'm not so stupid as to rush blindly out of this cell, in a maddened jailbreak, without knowing first who is giving me this information."
"I do not need to give you my identity to prove this. Just look at her; it's visible in his eyes alone."
Cackletta turned to Jaydes and looked into the monster's dark gaze. His eyes betrayed the pain he was in—it was true. "How did you know?"
"It is the Lunar Eclipse. It is not so hard to remember. Or are you that unenlightened?"
She had heard that before. The Lunar Eclipse, when the forces of dark lost their supremacy and the sun gained control, destroying the bars that closed Hell off from the other worlds—when chaos ensued. Portals out of the Underwhere abounded on such nights, but so far those who ruled the Underwhere had been able to summon enough strength to divert them. Disasters were known to happen on these nights… however, the risk was low, and the next Lunar Eclipse would be in years. Cackletta couldn't afford to wait that long.
"I'll go."
"You run a risk; are you aware of that?" There was a slight chuckle in the entity's voice, as if it was laughing at the witch's nervousness. Upon Cackletta's nod, it added, "All I can do is destroy the charm. You can get past Bonechill yourself, I assume?"
"I may be dead, but I can still make my way around in my after-game."
"Very well then." There was a blinding flash—a swirl of light, and the dark bonds surrounding Cackletta's cell had dissolved into nothing but tiny wisps.
The Beanwitch then proceeded with the escape. Dragging her "body" as quietly as it would go, she crept around a large stalagmite and watched Bonechill carefully. The guardian of the prison was drooping limply, and his body sagged, as if under an invisible weight. Still, he looked on the alert; his eyes flicked back and forth, long neck occasionally lurching to look around. Cackletta was thankful that she didn't need to breathe; otherwise Bonechill would've caught her and sent her tumbling into the depths of the prison once more, where she would have to start over again.
Bonechill jerked his huge head forward. Cackletta jolted and dashed behind a rock that offered more cover, similar to a little Toad girl she'd once zapped. But this wasn't herself she was up against… it was the freaking lord of the Afterlife's prison. That was something to be frightened of.
But before she could devise a way to creep around the keeper, a large CRACK resounded through the still air. A portal had opened, menacing, raging, and churning with an intimidating aura of hatred.
Cackletta had no time to think, no time to react. The miniature whirlpool of darkness promptly sucked her into its mass, sending her flying into the great unknown. As she was pulled through the darkness, she felt a spark, and then a heat, and then a fire.
She was being revived. Only natural, as whatever dimension she was being so rudely hurled into would surely be one inhabited by the living.
She could feel the shadowy physique of the Shayde she had been fading, being replaced by the fully functional body of a Beanish. With every second, bone reappeared, and muscle latched onto bone, and skin hooked onto muscle. It was excruciatingly painful, but Cackletta found herself enjoying it. The most gratifying part was the feeling of renewed will, refreshed energy, regenerated pieces combining together to form a whole being…
Through the amplified throbbing of her heart, she hardly noticed the extra zings of pain across her face and neck. That was when her sight faded away as well, and she lost consciousness.
Chapter One: Discovery
The map was glowing. No mistaking it; it shone with a bright blue light. Fawful stood silently, jaw gaping, occasionally wiping his bottle-cap goggles to ensure that he wasn't hallucinating. He tentatively inched forward, cocking his little round head to examine the strange parchment.
To his surprise, the map was not at all glowing by Dimble Wood—right where the Beanstar had been hidden. The light was located relatively close to where he was: just off the outskirts of the Toad Town outside the castle.
Naturally, childish curiosity was piqued, and Fawful's numerous head gears (no pun intended) began to work. Even with his lack of knowledge of the magic arts, he knew that if a map was glowing, something important had to be going on. After all, how often do pieces of paper light up? He knew that he would have to get there somehow—he knew that unless he went to the site, he'd go mad with suspense.
He could get there within a day, if he was careful of the guards. Heck, he could get there in less. All he needed was a good disguise… he'd have to work on that.
Cackletta could not see anything. Her eyes were blocked, somehow…
Was she in subspace? She couldn't know for sure. All she knew was that she couldn't see anything, and there was something at the edge of her mind, being annoying.
"You didn't heed my advice, witch. I didn't know you were that ignorant. You should have stored some energy before plunging into a Dark Tunnel like that."
Suddenly, Cackletta remembered where she was. She was in the portal—the swirling darkness that she had stepped into. The one that had brought her back to life.
Trying to move, the Beanwitch was dismayed to find that motion brought agonizing pain. It was as if something was digging into her, draining her of all strength… like a leech. She raised an arm to feel for her face, and then stopped with a flinch. There was light reflected off her arm. There shouldn't have been any there. And that's when she noticed.
Her arms, legs, and face were glowing. They were glowing. In all of her magical life, she had never laid eyes on a spectacle like this.
Then again, it seemed as if there were suddenly a lot of things she didn't get.
"Do you see that?"
She said she saw it.
"It is you, now."
What the heck?
"Now don't worry… this will only hurt a bit." Cackletta could catch a slight snicker in the way the voice was speaking. But she had no time to contemplate it—suddenly, a wave of pain erupted over her, jolting her newly-reformed nerves, and she fell, plummeting like a comet to the earth below.
Fawful stepped in front of a mirror-like cabinet to check his appearance. In all honesty, he felt like a complete girl. At least he wasn't so devoted to his disguise as to put on makeup.
A baggy red sweatshirt (acquired in a dumpster) with the stench of rotting mushrooms on it was covering where his black bodysuit used to be, and sweatpants, a warm-greyish color, served as a cover-up for his laser gun and other mechanics. So, he smelled, but that was good—Fawful had never smelled in his life, so that would discourage passersby from the idea that it was, in fact, him. (It was annoying, but it worked.) As a completion to the outfit, he'd made new glasses, this time without the swirl that, due to his lacking eyesight, he'd never noticed anyway.
It was time to go.
He instinctively began to creep out of the gutter, and then internally scolded himself. I must be acting with much casualness. Idiot of stupidity I am! So he began to stroll calmly and confidently—or at least he hoped it looked calm and confident—down the alleyway of the sewer and past the castle gate, almost to Toad Town, and then—
"Stop!" Well, why should he have expected any different. A capable guard, among a pile of the idiotic minions of that oh-so-angelic Peach. He always managed to get the competent ones.
Fawful felt himself starting to sweat. Would his strange speech mannerism be his downfall again? "Er… um… Hi to you?"
"Uh… hi." The greeting was tossed out with great disdain, and revealed more than a little suspicion. "Kid, how'd you get here? You got a passport?"
"No, I am not needing a passport, for I have… the connections." The guard blinked once, and then asked:
"To the prince? The queen? The shopkeepers? Who do you have 'connections' with?"
"Do you have authority to be asking?" Fawful was relieved that, even in his manner of speech, it still sounded like a relatively normal sentence.
"It appears that I do. It also appears that I won't be getting anywhere with this conversation anytime soon. You can pass through, kid—just remember, I'll be watching for suspicious activity."
Fawful quite honestly didn't know what to say to that. He warily stepped past the guard, attempting to restrain himself from running away while screaming like a little girl. He grimaced at the lookout, who sneered back with a swipe of his lance, and then stamped away, with the horrible realization that he couldn't insult the guard without drawing attention to himself.
What he didn't hear upon stomping away was the snicker from the sentry, and the slightest words escaping his lips:
"Yes. That's him, all right. Master will be pleased."
"Ouches!" Fawful yelped as he stumbled over a spot of rock that jutted out of the ground. "Stupid environment, you like to have the tricking of me. Well, I will be showing you who has the bossiness! Yes! How are you liking that?"
The rock did not respond.
Fawful plopped down on a patch of soft grass, huffing with exhaustion. He'd been walking for four hours straight. Fawful wasn't such a fan of exercise; he cursed himself inwardly for not reconstructing his headgear while he'd been in hiding.
He sighed again, and got up to continue on his tiresome way. Pulling out the map, he saw that the illuminated spot on the map was now shining with such force he thought he would fall backward—
BOOM. The noise sounded from across the stream ahead.
Fawful's feet thudded across the grass as he momentarily forgot his exhaustion to investigate. Skidding to a halt in front of the stream, he covered his eyes; the light shone into them with a force so powerful, he thought he'd become blinder than he already was. Then, the light suddenly turned black.
The entire field, and the area around the stream, was darkened in such a way that Fawful could hardly see in front of himself. He dimly groped around for something to cling onto. Upon finding a low-reaching branch close to the shoreline, he looked around. Nothing. Nothing except the never-ending sense of foreboding that the small child could not shake. That, and the steady throbbing of a pulse, sending rippling waves throughout the darkness.
He slowly but surely made his way across the stream, hopping across a few rocks that protruded out of the water. The small waves nipped through his clothes with a freezing-cold bite. Setting foot on the easygoing, cushiony grass of the meadow, he crept ever closer to the birthplace of the dark-light.
When he finally was close enough to distinguish the source of the strange power from the surrounding dark-light, he stifled a gasp, and felt his heart speed up at rates he didn't think to be possible.
There, at the center, surrounded by charred grass and swirling energy, was a young Beanish girl.
Chapter Two: Eyes
The girl's chest heaved with labored breaths, but Fawful otherwise would have thought her to be dead. She lay sprawled out on the grass, her face contorted in pain.
Fawful thought it was a little creepy to be sitting in some kind of magical aura, next to a girl who was just lying there. Kind of awkward. He cocked his head in examination. She was wearing an ordinary-looking sundress, stained so heavily with dirt that one could hardly tell it was purple. A matching purple bow, fluttering in the breeze created from the strange energy, sat atop her head.
A slight twitch from the girl, and Fawful scrambled away. "Are… are you having the up-ness?"
A moan. Then: "Ehhhh…. Five more minutes…"
She was up.
A lone figure floated peacefully in the night. It looked up; the view he received was one of nighttime beauty, complete with a dark blue sky, twinkling stars, and the light of the ever-present moon. He scowled at it, kicking the ground and sending a clump of dirt flying into the air.
A low growl sounded, splitting the silence. He shrugged it off; even with his keen senses, he didn't sense anything particularly dangerous.
The growling steadily became louder. Now he figured that whatever was making the noise was probably dangerous.
The noise was now a roar. What could produce such a noise?
The figure turned around—and saw a gigantic green dragon swooping towards him faster than a rigged Bullet Bill. He narrowed his eyes, gave a wide smirk, and… held out his hand. The dragon's eyes widened, it tried to stop—
It flew straight into a barrier constructed entirely of brick-hard magic energy.
POOF! A cloud of opaque purple smoke filled the air.
Then: "Ow! Owowowowow! What was that for?"
From the smoke, a green, square-like girl had emerged. She wore a pretty yellow-and-red dress, with a shiny gem embedded in the fabric just under the collar.
The figure hopped lightly out of the range of the smoke, feet hardly touching the ground as his yellow-and-purple cloak billowed out. He landed without a sound, the air inflating his black pants so they looked twice as puffy as they already were.
"It was for your sudden ambush, that's what. Learn how to fight and maybe you wouldn't lose like a sitting duck in a nest full of thorns."
"Well. You don't have to be so harsh."
"Mimi, believe me, I'll be harsh when I want to be harsh. It's a shame I'm too tired to laugh at you right now."
"And, here we go again with the sarcasm. If you're so tired, then sleep, Dimentio."
"I can't." Dimentio adjusted his mask with the tip of a finger. "It's impossible, as impossible as trying to dig yourself out of a metal box. There's some kind of disturbance in the—"
The jester's voice was abruptly cut off as the earth shook with violent force. A loud BOOM exploded in the pair's ears.
"What was that?" Mimi's voice betrayed a sea of fear.
"What I was trying to say—a disturbance in dimensional energy! I feel like I'm going to be sick… ahaha…" He clutched his stomach, and slumped to the ground.
Mimi rushed over, in a panicked daze. "Dimentio! Are you all right, or are you just faking?" The groans from the jester were answer enough. He wasn't all right at all. "Oh… oh no! Um—um—I'll get you to a doctor, or something! Hold on!" She heaved the magician onto her back—he was heavier than she would've thought—and began to summon a rectangular box, translucent and glasslike. As the box spun upside down and back once more, she prepared herself for the familiar feeling of "flipping"; teleporting between places, which were quite often different dimensions. As the multicolored space-time continuum whizzed past her, there was another BOOM—and all turned black.
"Where… am I?" The girl's voice was hoarse; Fawful guessed she hadn't been drinking enough fluids. Well, he hadn't either. She'd just have to deal with it. "Eyehhh…"
The small boy couldn't help but freak out. "YOU ARE BEING TAKEN OF THE PRISONERS! BE PREPARED FOR THE TORTURING AND FOR THE BUZZ-CUTTING! Lord Fawful will be taking you now!"
The girl suddenly sat upright, eyes broadening. "Fawful?"
Suddenly, a fresh wave of pain rushed through her, and the echoing words: 'Don't speak to that boy!'
"It's me, I'm—"
The pain jolted up her spine again. 'DO NOT SPEAK TO HIM! You are not to reveal yourself! Cackletta glared threateningly at nothing in particular. If you dare to tell him who you are—'
'I get it, I get it!' Cackletta was now genuinely distraught. If she couldn't tell Fawful who she was, then where was the point in being here at all? She'd just have to hope he'd figure out somehow.
She tried to stand—but it was too much. The physical pressures of the atmosphere, and the newness of her body, were already wreaking havoc on her stamina. The dizziness resulting from that was unbearable. She sprawled out on the grass with a flop.
The fake introductions would just have to wait.
Chapter Three: ?
The marketplace was crowded and bustling with excited energy. People of all sizes, shapes, and colors—and species—rushed through the busy streets, boasting to their friends about the expensive wares they had purchased. As Fawful pushed his way into the writhing swarm of people, he caught a glimpse of a group of young girls giggling as they sorted through various outfits, some lightly colored, some dark, but all painfully frilly.
Fawful hated this place with a passion. Especially considering it had been so convenient to get to from the field. All he had needed was food, but no, that girl he'd found wanted nothing more than a new dress and something to look at. Now they'd taken twice the time that the Bean had anticipated. Annoyed, he tapped his foot loudly on the cobblestone footpath, once in a while muttering "I have FURY." At long last, he saw the girl striding confidently down the path—an air of annoying self-pride floated around her, and Fawful could think of nothing else to compare it to besides "a swarm of the stingy yellow fink-rats that has much buzzingness."
But, the girl's arrogance aside, he had to admit that she looked a lot more like a person than before. Even though her attire was just a cheap purple top (adorned with yellow ribbon) and an equally cheap pair of khaki shorts (she preferred to go barefoot, Grambi knows why), she still somehow managed to pull the look off without seeming like a hobo.
His eyes spun. He quickly shook his head, and stomped toward her. "WHY IN THE NAMINGS OF GRAMBI DID YOU TAKE SO MUCH LONGNESS?"
All she had to do to cease his rampage was shoot a vicious glare in his direction. She whispered one short sentence—"Don't you ever speak to me that way again"—with as much authority in her voice as a commanding officer in the army. It scared Fawful like nothing he'd ever seen.
Instinctively, he muttered, "Yes, ma'am," and began to scuttle away to a nearby shop. The girl stopped him, however, just by letting out an indignant grunt.
"Excuse me, but if you don't mind, I've got something to show you. I found this—" she held up a poster with assorted messages on it—"on the street. It says something about a necessary meeting in the middle of the city."
Dimentio awoke to find himself under a dark-barked, gigantic oak tree. The leaves swayed peacefully in the wind, and his first thought was of how much the tranquility annoyed him.
His second thought was of how much Mimi was annoying him. The square-like girl was wandering around aimlessly, examining the area… and making a lot of noise while she was doing it. He plugged his ears (from behind his mask) and prayed for an excuse to get out of this accursed meadow. But before his prayer was complete, he noticed something crucial: the dimensional field in the vicinity of where he was sitting was more messed up than anywhere he'd ever traveled to. Could it be the source of his sudden illness?
The only possible answer was yes.
Fawful traveled triumphantly back to the girl, waving about in his hand a large wad of cash.
"And… how did you get that?" Her expression was not so much disapproving as curious.
"Fawful has decided not to be stealing in such a place of crowdedness. Instead he has sold some things. Just some small trinket-ish things…"
She noticed him looking down shamefully at the missing golden pin that had been on his left shoe.
"ATTENTION! ATTENTION!" A voice was blaring from a loudspeaker. "IMPORTANT MEETING FOR ALL TOWNSFOLK! PLEASE REPORT BY THE ENTRANCE TO THE GEAR SHOP. THANK YOU."
Fawful jumped awkwardly, startled at the sudden announcement. (Of course, he'd expected something of the sort, just not that loud.) Moaning from the ringing in his ears, he muttered, "Let us be going…"
The young Beanish girl started to head toward the meeting place, and then turned, saying, "If we're going to be going to the meeting together, you should probably know who I am."
"And you would have the being of…"
"My name is Mona. Just call me that." For, after all, what better thing was she to come up with? Fawful could not possibly know that "Cackletta" was not her real name. That, the voice would allow. Geragemona shortened to "Mona"—simple but effective, for Fawful seemed pleased to not be in unknown company.
Mimi couldn't help but gape in awe at the huge city they'd come upon. It glistened with the joy of spring. She flipped her green hair out of her face and beckoned for her ill companion to come forth.
Let us suffice to say that the happiness of the city didn't improve his foul mood. In fact, he felt twice as sick just looking at it. He straightened himself up (for, of course, he could not float in his present condition), and surveyed the scene. From what he could tell, nobody was on the outskirts of the place. There was most likely a commotion at the center. A commotion that could be a perfect cover, given the person seeking refuge was intelligent enough to form a plan (which, of course, he was).
Oh, this would be great fun.