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World 1-2: You Can't Pick Your Family, But You Can Pick Which Among Them Dies By The Hammer

"I don't think you really get what I'm about, old buddy," Wario said through a toothy sneer and a mouth loaded with mashed potatoes. A lifetime of experience had granted him the skill to speak clearly through a full mouth. The emphasis he placed on the word 'buddy' made clear that he and Bowser were anything but.

They sat around a square dinning table carved from expensive wispy oak, sharing a late supper in Bowser's private dining room. Constructed with blackest sorcery and cutting-edge insulation technology, the chamber was eavesdrop-proof. This conditioning had mercifully survived the airship's bombardment. Bowser tried not to think about how much coin he'd thrown at various artisans to secure this single room. All the more galling considering Queen Peach had spy and scry-proofed her entire castle with financial ease. In the span of that brief reflection, Wario tucked away the third course and had moved on to assaulting the pot roast.

No matter how much the world changed, the fat thief stayed the same. Morbidly obese, greasy mustache roofing a too-wide mouth, stunted of limb but nonetheless uncannily strong for all that. He wore the usual eye-searing outfit of radioactive yellow shirt and purple pants.

Wario waited until the server had dropped off another basket of biscuits and shut the door behind him before continuing. "I like treasure. I do it for the thrill of the gains ill gotten. The feel of gems tumbling between my fingers. That special clink that only gold coins can make." Throughout, he never stopped chewing. "On the other hand... Torture, getting iced in creative ways, dying explosively. Not my idea of a good time. Way things stand now, even havin' dinner with you in secret puts my bread sticks in peril of becoming intimate with the queen's clamps and pruners and other toys best not named. Get what I'm sayin'?"

Bowser did get it and did his best to dismiss from his imagination the bread sticks Wario alluded to. He made a grand show of shaking his head sadly. "So this is what the world's most fearsome treasure hunter has come to. After squeezing your fat ass into all those monster haunted ruins and pirate fortresses, now you turn chicken?"

Wario laughed in his face, then shoveled in another forkful of tender meat. "Mmmph. Good stuff. But hey, that's cute. The reptile's baiting me. Amateur hour, Bowser. What's next, reverse psychology? At least you started off strong with the grub." Wario shoved his chair back and slid off. Despite having just brandished the threat of walking out, the thief took his time to stretch and belch and scratch himself without taking a single step toward the door. A good sign.

Wario sucked gravy off his fingers. "Cut the crap, eh? We're both old pros here. Not that I'm gonna take the job, because it's insane, but curiosity compels me to ask: what's in it for me?"

"The queen has a treasure vault so vast, so gorged with wealth pillaged from vanquished kingdoms all around the world that it's generated its own myth cycle." Greed's twinkle sparked in Wario's eyes. Bowser grinned wide. The bait was swallowed. All he had to do was tug the line and set the hook. "What better time to discover how far the legends of the hoard fall short of the glorious, glittering truth than during a covert assault? My rescue operation provides the distraction. In the chaos you get a crack at the haul to beat them all."

The dreamy sheen of treasure lust dropped from Wario's face, leaving behind a deeply creased frown. Wario flopped down and grabbed two biscuits. He gnawed them into a mess, spraying crumbs as he talked. "I'd have to hit it fast… ain't no one guarding the doors I can't take care of. They've had it too easy for too long. The queen's rep's done the heavy lifting of scaring off all my competition. But if even one twerp guard escapes to raise the alarm—no, this is stupid. The stacked security measures, the layers of death traps. Hell, the freakin' multi-nodal matrix of locks alone—there's no way any scuffle of yours could last long enough for me to work my magic on the whole works, much less cart away the goods."

Bowser shrugged. "Not my field of expertise, not my problem."

"Yeah. Okay. Be that way. Good thing I'm too smart to ever consider taking such a suicidal job. Where the hell's dessert? Can we get some cake up in here?"

Bowser rang the bell, ordered his chef to bring on the pastry course, hesitated, then requested some pot roast for himself. Diplomacy was hungry work.

"You know who bakes a mean cake?" Bowser asked. "Our beloved queen."

"Heard that was a lie."

Bowser leaned back and stretched out, drawing a squeak from his perforated high-back chair. "Oh, no. It's a fact. I've tasted it. The events that brought me to that tasting make quite the tale and I won't bore you with it. But I swear on my mother's shell, the tort of the queen is positively life transforming. My sense of taste for pastry hasn't been the same since. Didn't even notice the poison. She slipped it into the frosting I think, so as not to disrupt the delicate texture of the cake. The look on that harpy's face was priceless when ten minutes later I didn't keel over and puke out my circulatory system." Bowser ran his tongue over his fangs, reliving the memory. "I'd recommend it, if you have a Koopa's tolerance for venom, that is."

"Can't say I'll have the opportunity to try it anytime soon." Wario's eyelids drooped. He fiddled with the silverware, perhaps deciding whether it was worth shoving up his sleeve. Time to give the line a sharper tug.

"That's a shame. So, staying healthy? Getting enough garlic?"

Wario nodded and flexed a bicep. "The manly figure's still intact."

"I see that. How's the island fortress holding up? The old homestead should be due for a renovation after all this time, I'd think."

The frown returned. Wario regarded Bowser through eyelids narrowed to slits. "Everything's fine, I'll thank you not to ask."

"You got quite a vault of your own there, according to rumor. Built by the pirates who used it before you cleared them out and claimed their home for your own, right?"

Wario stabbed a fork at him. "You're asking a lotta questions. Too many for comfort."

Bowser kept talking as if he hadn't heard. "What was their captain's name? Captain Syrup, right? She escaped the final battle alive if memory serves."

"That's it!" Wario swiped a napkin over his mouth and jerked out of his seat.

There came a sharp rap at the door. Wario shot two feet up into the air, eyes bulging.

"Easy there, big man. It's just the dessert."

Wario squared up for a bull charge at the room's only exit. The door opened and in rolled the kitchen staff with five carts of dessert. When Wario beheld the spread he froze, one leg still lifted to take the first step towards an escape now forgotten.

Bowser accepted a steaming plate of roast and set to with a vengeance. The pot roast tasted better than it smelled, and it smelled like a dream of ultimate flavor cooked into reality. Heavy on the garlic as he'd requested (a herb vital to longevity). The best his kitchens had prepared yet. No small feat considering most of their workspace was currently heaps of powdered stone.

Having poured the coffee, the servers excused themselves. The king and his guest dined alone once more. Bowser spoke around a mouthful of tender meat. "Siddown. I'll be offended if you let all dis go to waste."

Wario sat down, but his posture remained stiff, fat fingers twitching. Bowser noticed the eating utensils at the thief's end of the table had vanished. He waited until Wario picked up a mini-blackberry tort and placed it to his lips. "My baker is skilled, but he still falls short of the glory of Peach."

Wario stopped, jaw hanging wide. A few crumbs dropped from the tiny innocent cake in the vice grip of his fingers. Sweat seeped up to brood in deepening pools over his pimply brow. Bowser leaned over the table and snatched the tort from the thief's hand, popped it into his mouth and chewed noisily. "He's getting closer though. Mmmmff."

Bowser then picked up a sheaf of papers the chef had left rolled up between the trays of puddings and jelly rolls. He unfurled the documents and began to read, taking a sip of coffee as he did so. He kept half an eye on Wario, savoring the way the thief squirmed.

Wario, to the credit of his intestinal fortitude, picked out another tort and ate it in small bites as if it might explode if he took too much off in one go. The whole time his gaze kept darting to the room's single door. Finally, he screwed up his face and asked, "Okay. You win. What's that you're reading?"

"Oh, this?" Bowser asked, the very picture of innocence. "Just some security reports my intelligence network has gathered on the Orange Ocean sector. It's pretty dry stuff. I won't bore you with the details."

They shared a long silence together. Bowser finished the roast and started on a pudding and kept reading. Wario touched nothing else. He was looking a little pale and not at all hungry—a historical first for the thief.

"I—" The thief swallowed hard. "I live in the Orange Ocean sector."

"Yeah, that's right. Capt'n Syrup's old stomping grounds. I'd forgotten. What a coincidence."

It was Bowser's turn be startled. Wario slammed the table with his fist, the bang incredibly loud in the confined space. Silverware chimed against porcelain. The blow nearly flipped the table. "Spit it out, will ya!"

Bowser slowly set the reports down. "I know about the resurgence of the Black Sugar pirates. I know you know they're mustering a new fleet. Old Captain Syrup's out to get back everything you stole from her, with interest. She's sailing down from the glaciers of World 7 on a grand tour of the coasts, going as far south as Rogue Port. Along the way she's promising every cutthroat and sea dog who can so much as tie a knot or work an oar a cut of the take. All they have to do is hoist the Jolly Roger and sail with her to take back the fortress and mount your manly neck on a spike above the gate. It'll be quite the war. And wars are expensive, even if you fight them alone. Relocating in complete discretion with all your possessions in tow, that won't be cheap either. Certainly not if you want to move the hoard quickly, and believe me, you do want to move fast on this. I know you, Wario. I know how you hate to spend money. Peach has enough dirty lucre stockpiled to wage war with the entire world twice over. Hell, that's probably what she's saved it up for. Help me out. Score some loot and gain a grateful friend in me to lend a hand with your pirate problems. Can you really afford not to take the job?"

"My money isn't your business!" Wario's face purpled with fury. Fists half the size of Bowser's head shivered the trays of sweets as Wario held them clenched to the table top. A pang of doubt pricked Bowser. He had known it was a risk to ask help from the master thief. There were few in the entire world as unreliable and untrustworthy. Worse, the fat man was a tenacious enemy with the memory of a convict.

Wario continued ranting. "All the gold in the world can't bring you back from the dead. I've heard the stories! I know the kinds of things Peach does to a man if he makes her shit list. The kinda shit she's going to do to you soon enough. Mario's your friend. This is your war, not mine. You'd be better off forgetting Mario ever existed and planning your own escape."

Wario really was ready to bolt now. There was no choice. One chance remained to reel this fish in. "The way you abandoned Popple to his fate."

That brought the thief up short. He looked sideways at Bowser, grimace stretched taut with fresh horror. "How do you—"

"I know." Bowser kept his eyes locked on the thief's. "This won't be your first crack at Peach's vault."

"I hated Popple," Wario whispered. "He was competition." Louder now. "And an egotistical butt head besides."

"Imagine that."

Wario turned away, shoulders slumping. "But I respected him."

"He didn't survive long enough for you to steal all his secrets."

Wario shrugged, calm. "True enough. But he didn't deserve what he got. I fought my way clear, but I could still hear his screams. She meant for me to hear. The show Peach put on later in the village square—I wasn't there!—but when I heard about it all later... It's something I struggle to forget." Wario snapped back into the present and scowled at Bowser. "If it'll keep you out of my business and Syrup off my neck, then we got a deal. I get inside and open front gate."

"No. I'll need the side doors unlocked."

"You bast—okay, fine! One side door. Then I grab the loot and you don't see me no more."

"Agreed and done." Bowser held up his coffee cup. "Let's toast the deal."

Wario snorted. He edged towards the exit, refusing to turn his back on his new partner. Bowser waggled a tray of lemon torts at him.

"C'mon. Take some for the road."

Wario accepted the tray. His expression twisted and it looked for a second as if he'd throw the cakes in Bower's face. Instead, Wario hopped backwards, ripped the door open, and charged out, taking the full tray with him. Bowser didn't mind. He had plenty of trays.

Seconds later, Captain Koops and Luigi entered the dining room.

Luigi emanated a presence to chill the skin. He entered whatever space you where in and the sun dimmed or the walls shrank close, and then he'd pin you in place with those dead, all-seeing eyes. Plants curled into themselves, their blossoms turned grubby, when Luigi's shadow passed over them. Bowser enjoyed the reputation of being the great reptile, but he knew he could never best Luigi for sheer cold-bloodedness.

Mario's brother had been a gentle man when Bowser first met him, before Peach began kidnapping his brother, before the waves of assassins attacking at random, before she locked Luigi in her dungeons after a failed rescue attempt. Luigi would not speak of what happened during those three nights and two days underground in the queen's care. That monster in a woman's blushing, rose-scented skin had a way of transforming everyone who crossed paths with her, and never for the better. Perhaps as Mario stayed gentle and vulnerable, Luigi was forced to harden up for the both of them. Luigi learned the hard lessons and walked the dark paths, and somewhere along the way lost his heart, except for one tiny piece of gristle he saved for his brother. The taller brother's body was blocky with hard muscles, rigged with thews of steel, yet limber from a hundred battles and a tireless regimen of training. Luigi wore the usual, what he called his "work clothes." Green shirt, green cap, thick work gloves that had once been white, and a pair of frayed, darkly stained denim overalls.

Koops, captain of the elite Kommandos unit, had likewise undergone a grim transformation. For him it was a razed hometown and an once-in-a-lifetime soulmate left broken and bled out in the ashes. But unlike Luigi, Koops retained some koopanity. To most others he remained the slump shouldered wall flower, bashful and quick to blush. The ol' softshell routine. Koops stayed his steel for when it was most needed: when he led his troopas into battle. When the enemy fell into his sights those hooded eyes focused with all the hard sharpness of a well honed knife, and all trace of insecurity's telltale inward curling straightened from his posture. Sometimes he even worked a bit of swagger into the performance, if he felt his boys needed to see it. Koops wore a bandage over his beak though the original crack had been mortared whole years ago. It served as a reminder of the past and for what he'd lost.

Luigi remained by the door while Koops helped himself to a chair.

"You're looking pretty content right now, boss. I take it the world's widest klepto signed on?"

"He agreed."

"You think he'll stick?"

"I'll trust him the day he can walk past a doughnut and leave it unmolested. What's the backup plan if Wario bugs out?"

Koops sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. He made a surreptitious glance at Luigi. Bowser gave a slight nod, signaling to his captain it was fine to discuss their sensitive plans before the man.

Mario's brother was not technically a part of the Koopa military. Luigi lived in the castle and worked with Bowser against the queen because of Mario. Ever since Bowser and Mario mixed blood and swore to each other they would be forever blood brothers, Luigi had come as part of the friendship package. And as long as Bowser's and Mario's interests aligned, Luigi would be there to make sure they got everything they wanted. If Mario and Bowser ever found themselves on the opposite sides of a conflict, if he so much as hurt one hair on Mario's head… well, Bowser was pretty sure he could take Luigi, but not without a terrible cost. He had seen what the strong hands of that man could do to his enemies.

Koops fidgeted. "Uhh, okay. Plan B. Right. The queen's castle boasts the tightest defense of any fortification in the known world. Ground, underground, the moat, the sea approach, and air space—all locked down airtight. The castle itself is garrisoned in layers of increasing security. Multiple patrols will sweep the same route at staggered intervals, though being Toads their scheduling discipline slips on the weekends. We know of a blind spot her patrols and guards overlook most of the time, but moving safely from there to penetrating the outer wall, that's the trickiest problem we have yet to solve.

"Toads are weak but they breed faster than mold in a warm fridge. My boys can take them on and win even when outnumbered three-to-one. Problem is, the ratio of us against them is going to be considerably more dire that close to the queen's nest. If even one of the little toenail spawn escapes an engagement and manages to raise an alarm, it's over. They could crush us with the sheer weight of their bodies just by dog piling over us."

Bowser rumbled. "A lovely visual image, captain. Perhaps poetry was your true calling."

Reaching up to touch his neck again, Koops gave a strained laugh. "Sorry, boss. Airdrop onto the roof might work. If there's any weak points in the garrison, we'll find them there."

"No good. She'll anticipate us hitting there first. What else?"

Koops shrugged. "High explosives."

Bowser clicked his talons together. "Ooooh, daddy likes the sound of that."

"But blasting a hole in the place will be next to impossible if we don't keep her busy on multiple fronts. Not possible with the small force of Kommandos we're deploying." Koops' eyes widened hopefully. "Unless—"

Bowser waved the unspoken request away. "My army stays put. If this goes badly, they'll be needed here. Peach will slap back at my kingdom for any trespass, if only to maintain face. She'd love it if we threw our main strength against her castle walls now. The next day Peach would be Queen of World 8. Nope. We send out just enough to make some noise along the borders. Make it look as if we're serious. Then I lead the strike team inside the Mushroom Capital. We'll try your blind spot. Wario either opens the door for us, or we use high explosives. If anything goes wrong on the way to the castle we'll pull back and try another day." He did not say what they would do if something went wrong once they were inside Peach's stronghold. He didn't have to speculate out loud. They both knew the likely result.

"Right." Koops didn't bother hiding his anxiety. His king entering enemy territory, a clawful of retainers at his side, was a nightmare come true. "Fewest casualties that way."

"Besides, Peach is expecting us to counterattack within the month. She might be planning to snatch my castle while we charge out like courageous idiots to the slaughter. I feel safer with our forces camping here. And you'll feel safer with one magikoopa attached to your unit. With rebuilding underway that's all the magical backup I can spare you."

Koops looked down, blushing that his next request had been so easily anticipated. "Right. I appreciate it."

"Speaking of mages, has Kammy gotten through to Sub-Con yet?"

"This just isn't your day for working with the overweight, boss. Wart isn't answering our calls. We can't tell if that's on purpose, or if something's putting up interference. Sub-Con isn't easy to reach at the best of times."

"Tell Kammy to keep trying. The frog owes me a few favors and it's time to collect on a couple of 'em. That everything?"

"Pretty much. We leave tomorrow at sundown."

Koops saluted and took his leave. There was a long checklist to complete and little time. Bowser stayed behind, alone with Luigi.

"Hungry?" He motioned at the remains of dinner. Luigi stared, unmoving.

"I promise you, I'll get your brother back from Peach or die trying. Just don't ask me for the odds on which of those is most likely," he said to Luigi.

Upon hearing the queen's name, Luigi dragged a fingernail down the jagged welt of scar tissue running over the left pleat of his throat. It was an old twitch, one that Bowser had seen far too often. It never grew less unsettling. Like Koops's bandage, touching it was a reminder of things lost and doors closed forever. Peach had given him that scar when she tried to slice his throat open with a spring-loaded knife hidden in the top of that vile living parasol of hers, and only just missed cutting deep enough. That had happened years ago, during the battle of Joke's End—the Mario brothers' first face-to-face encounter with their nemesis. Luigi fought the queen alone over the bleeding body of his brother, holding her off until help arrived. Back then Peach had been keen on eliminating Mario from her considerations rather than exploiting him.

Prince Mario. The Starfriend. Stranger from another universe. The only living creature with which the holy Star Sprites were on direct speaking terms. And they'd oblige, if he asked nicely enough, and Mario always asked nicely.

Bowser risked his shell and gambled the safety of his kingdom for Mario's sake—not just for his own ambitions, and not at all for the brooding Luigi, but because Mario was his friend and because this sad war blighted world needed its last light burning bright and uncaged.

Luigi tilted his head forward in acknowledgment and turned to leave. He stopped, hand halfway to the doorknob, big ears twitching.

Luigi turned slowly to face him.

Bowser almost had time to ask what was wrong when Luigi bolted forward and slammed into the table, flipping it over. Baked goods spattered the floor, transforming it into an impressionistic canvas. Luigi crouched to the floor, long fingers spidering over the gaps between the black and white tiles. In seconds he found a hidden latch and pulled open a trap door.

A shrill squeal of panic shot from the hole. Luigi darted headfirst into the secret space and then backed out, hauling up a thatch of rainbow hair snarled in one fist. The hair in turn connected to a head rounded with a face Bowser had hoped never to see again, alive.

"Iggy," Bowser hissed between fangs.

"Hey Dad—ow!—watch the 'do will ya?"

Luigi dumped Iggy Koopa into the dessert pile at the feet of his father and stepped back, one hand resting on the haft of his hammer.

Bowser struggled to keep his voice below a roar. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be holding down World 4."

Iggy adjusted his glasses and gave Bowser his most unctuous smile. "When I heard about the attack I warped here as quickly as possible. Then I listened in. Built this secret surveillance crawlspace years ago and you never found it. Years! Finally, today, conversations worth spying on."

Bower squeezed his temples between two fingers. "And why are you spying on us today?"

"Saves you from having to brief me on the relevant mission details, thus we operate more efficiently, see? And I hear you laying out this beautiful crazy doomed plan and I said to myself, 'Self, that's hot. What a wonderful opportunity to score some of that sweet, sweet validation from daddy dearest,' and here I am." He paused to inhale. "Experience informs us that there's always room in a suicide mission for one more warm body. You won't find more eager cannon fodder in the width and breath of the land than I. And I can be more helpful at your side than playing a similar role in the contested lands. How about it, Dad?"

Bowser returned to his chair. He picked up the coffee cup, threw it against the wall, then took up a neglected bottle of wine and began chugging. The wine was fine, but it couldn't rinse away the bad taste Iggy brought to his mouth. While Iggy looked on, and Luigi glared at Iggy, Bowser sought for a benefit hidden in this setback and found none.

"I never meant for you to serve as—you know what? Fine. I don't even like you enough to lie to your face anymore. I did want you to die fighting for an island I have no use for. And as your father, I order you to get back to it."

Iggy danced a jig of obscene delight, the glare in his bottle glasses swirling. "That's what I love about you, Dad. Well, one of several things I love about you. There's no self-righteousness to your poor parenting. It's so... The word I'm thinking of is honest, I guess."

Bowser smashed the empty wine bottle against the wall. "You've sold me out to Peach!"

"Yes, on multiple occasions. What I can say? She promises me hot, frantic weasel-styled lovings in exchange for state secrets and sabotage, and I keep giving them to her. Though I harbor suspicious she has no intention of ever upholding her end of the bargain. It hardly matters. Abuse and neglect are the drugs I'm hooked on. By the Stars, when she grinds my face beneath her high heels..." A sharp suck of air let out in a shuddering sigh. Iggy produced a soiled red stiletto heel shoe and rubbed his cheek into its scratched up leather. "Spicy, oh yes. Between the two of you I almost get enough punishment. I'm a very needy Koopa."

"What you are is worse than useless to me. Especially now."

Iggy dropped the shoe and went down on all fours. He crawled, his crazed eyes seeming to whirl with strange colors under the thick lenses. On his approach to Bowser's feet he stopped to scoop up a finger of whipped cream and sucked it off with exaggerated moans of pleasure.

"I'd concede the point, under most circumstances. But this time I can make a difference. Just give me one last chance, Dad. I want your forgiveness." He laid his head down on his father's feet. Bowser kicked him off.

"Forgiveness?" A second wine bottle in his clenching fist cracked, then shattered before he could club it over Iggy's head.

"Forgiveness!" Bowser reared up and with a savage kick rammed his pointy toenails into the beige undershell of his son's belly. It wasn't enough. He gave Iggy three more punts as his son tried to crawl away.

"Your games have cost hundreds of my citizens their homes, their livelihoods, and sometimes their lives. In the past I've pardoned your traitorous shit because you are my son. I've got the heart of a tender idiot. Thank the Stars the rest of me ain't so dumb. There is nothing like forgiveness inside of me for what you did to Lemmy. Nothing you can promise or do will ever lift that black stain off your shell."

Iggy let out several pained wheezes. When he saw that Bowser had finished kicking him for the moment, he used the wall to drag himself up to standing. "Okay. Forgiveness off the table. Right. Then at least I can still make a positive difference. You have to believe me, I want to help our people."

"I don't have to do anything."

Iggy ignored him. "I feel very much responsible, especially for this latest drama. I am responsible, in fact. That airship she attacked in? That was my design. It's the first prototype the queen's factories have built to completion. Over the last two weeks she's been taking it on its maiden voyage, raiding deep into Sarasaland, practicing up for today's strike against you, I bet."

Perhaps it was merely the sound proofing, but suddenly the private dining room grew ten times more quiet. Quiet, save for Bowser's heavy breathing. The King of the Koopas clenched and unclenched his claws. He raised one foot, found he could not savor Iggy's cringing, and lowered it.

When Bowser finally spoke, his voice creaked with barely restrained wrath. "No nation has yet built a working airship larger than a dingy. Until now. And it's the most powerful tyrant on the planet—my personal nemesis—that's achieved the military breakthrough of the age, which will forever alter the nature of war. Right. Yeah. Fine, it's only to be expected, really." Iggy began to speak. Bowser raised the back of his hand. Iggy slammed his jaws shut with a clack. "Not gonna ask why. Don't care how or when. All I'm gonna do is ask Luigi to execute a traitor, and then my evening will be complete. Luigi, please kill my insane son before he hurts anyone else."

Luigi nodded, a spasm racking his lips, perhaps his version of a smile.

"Hilarious Dad. Best one in a while," said Iggy. Behind the smeared glass slabs of his spectacles his eyes flicked between father and Luigi, closing in.

"I deserve it, fount of ill-considered wit that I am. But I can and will do better. P-please call off Scarneck now." But Bowser did not call off Luigi. He watched with a slack, blank face as Luigi lunged in and snagged Iggy once more by the hair.

"Dad! It's no fun if he does it. I don't want to—" The rest was lost in a groan as Luigi buried his fist deep into Iggy's midriff.

"Give him one more," said Bowser.

Luigi put some gusto behind his fist this time. Blood whistled out from Iggy's mouth along with the hot air.

Luigi threw him to the floor. Iggy's spiny carapace acted like the legs of a tripod, preventing him from rocking back and forth to gain the leverage necessary to winch himself upright. Arms and legs groped weakly at the air for purchase.

After an agonizing intake of breath, he sputtered, "This is a mistake."

Luigi didn't agree. He planted one boot on Iggy's belly. The enormous black head of the hammer glinted in the candle light. Slowly, Luigi raised the hammer high over head, dark and certain as an ancient doom.

Iggy squeezed his eyes shut. "I know where Peach keeps the blueprints." Luigi looked to Bowser.

"The airship blueprints?" Bowser asked.

"Yes."

"She's already had them copied. And she already has a working ship. The damage is done."

"They're not worthless to you."

That was true enough. Yet, Bowser wanted a better reason than this to stay Luigi's hammer. "And?"

"I've spent enough time around her to know her quirks. Peach is too paranoid to have the designs copied more than once. One copy she carries with her, the other's locked up in the castle. The airship she has now was a partially complete prototype that I built, so her shipwrights aren't intimately familiar with all the overall structure yet, much less the fine machinery of its motors and drive shafts. Their understanding of material science pales in comparison to ours, so they don't know how to make a ship light enough to fly. If we're successful tomorrow, we can destroy her ability to mass produce an armada. Or at least put her grand plans a year behind schedule." Iggy wheezed to catch up on oxygen intake. "While hanging out with her, I spied where she hides her most valued possessions. I'll show you."

Bowser waved all this away. "She'll have the spare copy in her vault. No way Wario's going to make it inside. We wouldn't have a prayer."

"No. She has a super secret walk-in office safe for the really sensitive stuff. I'll show you where."

Luigi watched Bowser for his reaction. Bowser did not think he could trust Iggy anymore than he could Wario. At least the 'treasure hunter' was driven by hungers he understood. That made Wario predictable. Yet, if even half of what Iggy said was true, then he might be able to keep his kingdom's head above the lava for a while longer. If Peach constructed even a small fleet of those soaring battleships before anyone else could, then the fate of the world was sealed.

Bowser scratched his expansive chin, dragging out the suspense. All for show. The decision was made.