Summary: Liquidator and Bushroot are a great team; and apparently, the same applies for Isis Van Derchill and Bug Master. With the bad guys fighting amongst each other and Darkwing perfecting his change-diapers abilities, maybe it's time for Gos to shine; if she manages to hand that biology paper, that's it.

Disclaimer: This story is just part of a series –"The Quack Chronicles"- which is a long story by itself: my rendition to those cartoons that made my childhood perfect; as so, I now take the opportunity to write the first CrossOver I ever dreamed of: DarkwingDuck/DuckTales/CountDuckula.

I've got chills just for thinking of writing it. Still, the crossover this time will be extremely minor. But it'll become mayor in future fics.

The idea for this story is pretty old, actually. Originally, I wanted to present this series as a comic, but it would have taken too long for my taste. Still, I have the intention of drawing at the very least some fragments of these stories in comic format.

If possible, I would love to someday draw all of them.

Now, I already have sketched several chapters and the general story on the long run. My goal is to upload a chapter biweekly –if possible, weekly-. If you have any idea or request for a chapter or the whole series, please message me so I can take it in consideration, giving you full credit, of course.

QUACK CHRONICLES

01. The Duckette Knight Rises

Part 1

St. Canard City, fair jewel of the beautiful state of Calisota.

St. Canard… the City that Never Sleeps Soundly… home of the Greatest Feathered Crime-fighter of all and, no... we are most definitely not talking of Gizmoduck.

No... We are not talking about Phantom Duck either...

…

Feathered! I said FEATHERED! Does Super Goof seems "feathered" to you?!

DARKWING DUCK! He is the greatest Feathered Crime Fighter of all!

What the heck is wrong with you, people?!

Know what? I quit! No way I'm talking to such a bunch of jerks!

I'm outta here!

-o-o-o-

Ahem…

Sorry for the outburst….

St. Canard City's streets are commonly thought to be completely deserted after the sun sets. At least, by those who doesn't live in the city nor in the suburbs.

Truth be told, St. Canard does have a great night live; after all, St. Canard is the City that Never Sleeps Soundly, right?

Now, St. Canard citizens are smart enough to avoid those parts of the city, most likely than not, to be targeted by some wacko supervillain after office hours; like jewelries, banks, museums, toy and candy stores, plant nurseries, Home Depot, Electric-Appliances-R-Us…

Keep away from those and your life will be fine. Unless you are drive over by a bus. That would suck.

Except, of course, you are stupid enough to defy common sense and decide to take a walk on the park on Tree Day…

Or buy lightbulbs on Edison's birthday…

Or go to the Aquarium on Talk Like a Pirate Day...

Or step out of bed on April's Fool…

Or dropped school and get a job as security-guard…

Weird enough, the last ones are also the ones who buy lightbulbs on Edison's birthday…

This particular gray cat was too scared to think about the nasty turn his life has taken since he had dropped mime school and answered an ad to be a security guard at St. Canard's First National Bank. He hadn't pondered either if that meant St. Canard was its very own nation.

His green eyes widened with fear as thick vines snaked their way around him, surrounding his body and tightening; his mouth opened in a silent scream as the potted plant dragged him out of view.

"Tom? TOM! Now where the heck did that cat go?" grumbled a bulky bulldog some minutes later. He washed his flashlight's light over the empty corridor, finding nothing but a few leaves scattered on the tiles. "I swear, that cat is sneaky as a mouse… wouldn't surprise me at all if he managed to get into the vault just to take a nap…"

Suddenly, the sprinklers on the ceiling turned on, drenching the gruffly guardian. The canine looked up, frowning in annoyance, failing to notice the droplets at his feet moving, congregating behind him…

-o-o-o-

The concrete around the big and heavy vault door ripped with a thunderous crack, being firmly held and carried away by an army of vines and branches. A tidal wave flooded inside the vault, dragging out bag after bag of wealth and cash.

In the lobby, the stolen treasure rested on a pile. Two mutated anthropomorphic figures –a plant-duck and a canine made of H2O- surveyed their loot, gloating over a job well done.

That's when the bank main door burst open from a sudden crash of freezing air. Before the One and Only Liquidator could do as much as turning around in surprise, he found himself turned into an ice sculpture; his partner-in-crime was shivering and bracing himself for warmth when the bees attacked.

The yellow and black insects chased the mad botanist as he ran around, flailing his leafy arms widely and screaming form the top of his lungs (if he still had any; don't plants breath through their cells?).

From the opened doors, two figures cackled; one thin and big-headed, the other fairly plump. They didn't waste any time in retrieving others ill-won earnings and fleeting the place, not looking back even once.

-o-o-o-

The bank was eerily quiet; the only sound was a weird ticking accompanied by a low humming.

A small explosion happened at the entrance, leaving behind a cloud of blue smoke.

"I am the Terror that Flaps in the Night... I am the Remake that makes you miss the original movie... I am the classic scene that writers keep using until it turns cliché... I am DARKWING DUCK!"

Smoke dissipating, Darkwing stood high –or as high a duck his height could-; hands on hips, he glared at Liquidator -an ice sculpture- and at Bushroot, on the floor, in fetal position, rocking back and forth on his side, mumbling incoherently, clearly traumatized.

"Okay... Who's catching bad guys in my city?!" the purple-clad duck demanded to know, utterly annoyed, not only for wasting his time, but more importantly, because there was someone in his city trying to steal his thunder… again.

He marched purposely to the half of the evil pair which could answer his question for the time being, finding some significant resistance for his interrogatory.

"Okay, Bushy, what happened here?" asked the short duck, eyeing the supervillain suspiciously.

"Bees aren't real... They can't hurt me... Bees aren't real..."

Darkwing glaring at him. "Well? Who did this?"

"Bees aren't real... They can't hurt me... Bees aren't real..."

Darkwing crossed his arms over his chest, fuming as the former investigator remained in the same fetal position, rocking back and forth and repeating the inexistency of bees and their consequence incapability to perform any kind of damage to his person.

"Come on, Bushy! Snap out of it! I need you to tell me what happened since Drippy here won't be able to utter one of his sales speeches until we get him a cup of salt or a hair dryer. Whatever comes in hand first."

Launchpad entered the bank at that exact moment, carrying a large bag of pretzels on one arm and a slightly smaller bag of salt in the other. Darkwing raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, D.W.! Sorry to make you wait, but my super salty pretzels weren't that salty... Did I miss something?"

Darkwing eyed the bag of salt. "How... convenient..."