A New Purpose
Morton's POV:
Morton's ears were ringing. Ring ring ringing. His vision was bright white. Bright bright white. His head was pounding, throbbing, with pain? Confusion? He didn't know.
He tasted his mouth with his forked tongue. Blood. Again?
He felt around. Or did he? His body was so numb, he just didn't know.
He strained his ears for a new sound. The ringing began to soften, then fade with the white blanket covering his vision. He saw the silhouette of a man as he did, but the background behind the man was unclear. It was shifting, like a pale light provided by strange fires, or something. Behind the man was something large, yet unmoving. A structure, perhaps? Yes…but…it was in the shape of a chair. Or a throne, maybe, instead?
The man became clear, in the flesh, in front of Morton. A pale-faced human in a recently-ironed dapper black suit. A wrinkled forehead, pressed-down black hair curled back. Instantly, Morton recognized him from the vision of a fight between armored Koopas—no, Koopatrols they were, fighting…Illagers, weren't they?—on his first night alone in the wilds. How long ago had that been?
The man, hands behind his back with his fingers laced, shifted on his feet, then frowned. Morton tried to move, or speak, but he could only open his mouth with a lot of effort.
The dapper man raised an eyebrow. "Well?" he said. His voice was low and brisk, unlike what Morton remembered. Or had it been? "What are you waiting for? I'm getting impatient." He started to tap his foot.
Morton let out a groan. He lifted up a claw, and his senses started to return to him.
"Go on, now," said the man dryly, "you're almost there."
Morton blinked, and he was thrust back into reality.
A sharp tang snaked into Morton's snout. He sneezed, even though it hurt to. He tasted the air with his tongue, something Koopas could do but not as well as most other animals with that same trait. Morton looked around, eyes darting back and forth, and took in the scenery.
It was high noon. The evergreens stood tall and rigid, and a blustery, warm breeze tussled Morton's three little hairs. Morton sheathed and unsheathed his claws, sheathed and unsheathed his shell-spikes. He opened and closed his mouth. His entire front half hurt everywhere.
"Errr…gh…" Morton sounded. He pressed his palms into the soft earth. He pushed, and finally, he sat up, only for his left arm to be freed of pressure as the remains of his bronze-and-wood chestplate over there broke off like a cast finally cut off. It felt good, but did nothing to quench the pain.
Morton studied himself. His chestplate and golden boots were in tatters around him, and the leather straps connecting his chestplate and shell-cover were severed. Morton shifted in place, and then the shell-cover slid off with a resounding CLANG. The shackle that he had been wearing came loose, too, and tumbled into the smoking hole before him.
Morton's eyebrows knitted together in worry, but more so, with sadness, at the destruction before him. That leaf beast—a Creeper, though Morton didn't know its name yet—had exploded, and knocked him unconscious. He was surprised he survived the night, laying here prone, fresh meat for the taking, but he happily assumed that anything hostile to him or that wanted him for food had either been killed or scared off by the show he put on last night.
Wincing, he turned to see the wreckage in daylight, but some of the skeleton was just brittle bones, the giant spider's silk webs (and its mangled body) were drying up and wrinkling like a grape into a raisin, and the zombies, floating eyes, and the vital parts of the skeleton were just clumps of ash.
Morton turned back to the crater. Tiny plumes of smoke still wriggled free from the ash and dirt smeared with gunpowder that made up the five by five-ish crater (since it was a circular object, the measurements weren't exactly right). The tall grass was almost entirely reduced to embers, along with the surrounding bushes. Nuts and seeds were scattered across the scene, along with bits of Morton's armor. He also spotted his belt in the distance, and he crawled over to it, wincing at the blackened scars across his soft underbelly that the explosion had caused. The pouches were mostly intact, and so was the belt, so he put it on. His quiver wasn't in too bad of a shape, either, so he slung it over his once again bare shell, shell-spikes out. Unfortunately, his sheath had burst into shards, so Morton dropped his flint knife into his shell as he had before he was blessed with armor.
Then Morton found the copper part of his bow, the metal twisted into a pretzel. The string was embedded in the ground somewhere, he bet. Sighing, he left it there.
Basically back to square one, he thought to himself. He struggled to stand, but got there eventually. He had to lean against an evergreen to balance himself, though. The explosion really had burnt his legs, and though the pain was not as bad as it would've been if he felt it right after it had happened, it was still pretty bad, and his body had passed the shock that would've overridden his pain.
He looked at his legs just to see the damage. It was not good at all. They now looked like a pair of medium rare hot dogs that had been left in the grill too long, but some "ketchup" was still running down from a few open wounds. With the grass and leaves he had in his second pouch, Morton fashioned the equivalent of a weak cast around his leg. He looked for a big stick for a cane, but couldn't find one, and he didn't have the energy to chop and hack one off a tree. Instead, he just had to limp and suffer the pain.
Now I don't have any armor, either, besides my shell, Morton thought. If a monster catches me, I'm toast. Wait a second. I have that darn too-small helmet still.
Morton felt around on his spiked iron helmet, then took it off for better examination. The leather straps that had been too small for him, and thus had just dangled there throughout his adventures, had been singed at the tops, and as Morton looked at it, both of them drifted off into the crater. The helmet itself was smudged with ash and soiled with scars, but it was still usable. Morton's hands left fingerprints that were a mix of mud, blood, and more ash.
Ash, ash, ash. It reminded Morton of a poem Sr. would hum to him to help him go to sleep at night. Morton would have liked to admit it was just when he was younger, but in fact Sr. had sung it to Morton almost every night of Morton's life. It went a little something like this:
"Through the night we run,
Oh what fun,
Until we're done
"But beast of leaf
And beast of grief,
Make ashes, ashes, ashes down
"Through those ashes we run,
Oh what fun,
Piles of the stuff we've flung
"Beast of leaf,
Beast of grief,
Make ashes, ashes, ashes down
"Through those ashes we run,
Oh what such fun,
Ne'er we realize what they're from
"Beast of leaf,
Beast of grief,
Make ashes, ashes, ashes down
"Through those ashes we run,
Oh what such fun,
Ne'er we realize what they're from
"Through those ashes we run,
Oh what such fun,
Ne'er we realize what they're from
"Ashes, ashes, up and down…
Sr. would then repeat that last line until Morton fell asleep. Never did he get what it meant—like those who ran through the ashes—at least up to now. Now he did. Those beasts blew things up, and created ashes. And grief.
What is its purpose? Morton thought to himself. The leaf beast that goes BOOM. Why does it exist? To cause pain? To cause sorrow? Don't we have enough of that in the world? He licked his lips. The open wound on his muzzle stung from being brushed by his tongue. My life is the definition of that.
Everything has a purpose, though. I've always known that. Like how I think my purpose is to find the Koopalings, Kamek, King Bowser Koopa…and learn about The Prophecy fully. I'd like to think that that is my destiny. That I am a "Koopaling," even though I do not know what that means, besides that Thaddeus and the Illagers hate them. Or would it be "us," if I am indeed one of them? Hmm.
Really, though, I just want to make Sr. proud.
One day, I will find him, too. Once this is all over. But…what is "this?" What does that mean? My life? No. He'd probably be dead of old age by then. At least I'd meet him. Once I die, I mean. Huh. I wonder what happens when I die. His mind was still plagued by the image of that graveyard, with the sheer amount of death and melancholy. How many dead bodies had he walked across to get here? It was a chilling thought. Many a time last night, he almost became one. Or, for his most recent encounter with death, he almost became ashes. No body left. At least, not one in a single piece.
"Ashes, ashes, up and down…" I will find you, Sr. But I need to get a foothold in the world first. I need gear, allies, whatever it takes to become a hero, so that I can find you. So that I may slay the Dragonfly. So that I may be a Koopaling, whatever it means to be one, and learn about The Prophecy, learn about the secrets of the world. I will create a life that was not something I could have ever imagined just weeks ago.
Don't worry about me, Sr.—I'm fine if you are.
Just like he said after the fight against the giant black scorpion on the hill that led to that fateful shack. To that fateful event. To the Dragonfly.
To the end I will go, no matter what it takes, Morton thought.
He ate a roasted berry, sighed, then set north once again.
Thaddeus's POV:
Thaddeus's every step seemed to echo through the halls of the Woodland Mansion, despite his brown boots (that had slowly turned black over long periods of trudging through swamps and the Thicket of War) pierced with loose nails that were stomping across the long red carpet, which was outlined with white wool, then actual gold—like almost every other carpet in the Woodland Mansion.
Thaddeus tightened his Raid Captain banner tied to his head before picking up his previously-slow pace. Trying to think about anything else that wasn't what he needed to do, he decided to admire…the walls. Some had wooden plank support beams that stuck out from the walls, some had plus signs incorporated into them using dark oak logs; some were lined with cobblestones, others had big windows that gave a great view of the canopy of the Thicket of War, stretching as far as the eye can see. Some had paintings outlined with gold and studded with emeralds. Most had portraits of Illagers of the past, just like the main foyer, though some had true art pieces that weren't just snobby folk. Thaddeus didn't have a portrait yet, which he found weird—he was one of the most important Illagers in their whole organization on the Mainland—but begrudgingly, he dismissed the puzzling fact.
He couldn't be caring about if there was a painting of his face somewhere in the Woodland Mansion right now. No! He had much more important things to be caring about. Like, for example, constantly pleasing the King. Finding and capturing Morton, the Koopaling of the Darkness. He had to be the one! Otherwise, the King would have him for breakfast, and probably wouldn't even notice! He also needed to keep his Illager squadrons in check, and that was a real doozy, especially on Saturdays, because those were party nights in the Woodland Mansion.
Thaddeus bathed in the torchlight as he came to a stop and leaned against the wooden railing that kept him from tripping and crashing through the window and plummeting to his doom. He sighed, watching the moon gaze lovingly at the canopy of the Thicket of War, the thick leaves of the thick trees swaying in unison in the warmth of summer gusts, almost a baby powder-white opposed to their usual dark green due to the moon. A few groups of eight glowing red spider eyes peered from the canopy, too, but Thaddeus could not identify where their bodies were.
It was a very intoxicating view, something that seemed unreal but was. In this world, a lot of things were real. Like, well, magic. Was the moon casting a spell to turn everything shades of white and blue at this time of night, or was it just the moon being the moon?
Oh, to what end am I thinking? Thaddeus ridiculed himself. Thinking about the moon is a Lunar-oriented thing to do. And I am not Lunar-oriented—I am an Illager through and through! Only crazy Illagers use Lunar magic.
Thaddeus's thoughts of this ilk ended for a bit just then, because he felt around at his quiver. He had since loaded it with arrows tipped with Potions of Harming, just to do even more damage on impact. Even better, it was magic and ranged damage, so many magical things affected his Arrows of Harming positivity. Plus, if anything, they were strictly Darkness, or Shadow, -oriented. The complete opposite on the spectrum of the Jester's Arrows he'd used before. He still probably preferred those, but he felt terrible for using them knowing full well they were made with Lunar magic and materials. By whom? An Illager, that was what. Edward the Illusioner. That was his task. He put it off for a few days now, but he knew he would need to confront his acquaintance sooner or later. It was just a little slip-up, but it was kind of stupid. Which made Thaddeus feel stupid. Like when he killed Mug. Maybe that's why he didn't deserve to have his mug on a painting.
Wow. My humor is terrible, he thought sarcastically. Even though killing Mug was bad. I mean, he was weak, though. Full of slime. He wasn't going to live. I was just putting him out of his misery. I used regular arrows, too. No Jester's Arrows. That would've been even worse. Alas…ruthlessness and death is a part of an Illager's service to their kind. I had to look fierce to my peers. Use slang, talk aggressively, be an Illager role model or whatever. I should be more like that. Ugh. It doesn't matter. I'm one of the King's best pawns. Like a queen, if we're talking chess. Or is he the queen? No. He's more important. But then, what would his master be? A piece above the king, conceivably. What would the name of that piece be?
Thaddeus cleared his throat. I just need to talk to Edward. "With force," like my master said to. Me losing Morton was a heavy blow to my reputation in the King's crimson eyes. Most of the Illagers don't know about Morton at all yet, thankfully, and I'll make sure it stays that way. Well, in reality, it was Cain's fault. That Raid Captain just needed to subdue Morton for that little bit of time so I could shoot him in the leg or something. But…seeing Morton kill him the way he did, though, was…terrifying. An examination on Cain's body showed Morton's claws pierced Cain's heart, and he bled out a bit before his body went into shock, and he really died shortly after.
I should've acted right then, when Morton was looking at his bloodstained Koopa claws. I should've had the others tackle him. I should've…DONE SOMETHING. I didn't, though. I was too stunned. So, I just stood there like a Lunar-oriented freak, and Morton got away. My shots were slow and sloppy, then, anyway. So maybe it was my fault, and not just Cain's. Cain…I feel bad for him. He was an acquaintance at best. He didn't need to go out like that. He really was a good trooper.
Thaddeus's mind decided to stop thinking about Cain entirely, and instead thought about more reasons the King was mad at him.
Hmm…the whole Jester's Arrows thing was really embarrassing in front of the King like that, though. I should've known better! I know he's serious about winning the war. I am, too. But I can't be as much as him, despite what I've said. I'm a liar.
I don't have to be. I can live up to what I said, and not be a liar. He knew very well he was procrastinating. He did that a lot. But he didn't feel like it was a priority to persecute Edward the Illusioner about one of his magic crafts. He made a lot of good Shadow-oriented ones back in the day, so…?
Thaddeus looked at his reflection in the window. Gray skin, big bushy eyebrows, long black nose, sealed mouth that looked like it was etched from stone. Tall head. Big Raid Captain banner. Glittering, yet piercing, emerald eyes. Every Pillager had either emerald-green or lapis lazuli-blue eyes, which Thaddeus always thought was strange but cool. Their eye color basically destined them to their role. Some Illagers had red or purple eyes, even, though green and blue were the most common. Vindicators were always blue-eyed; Illusioners and Iceologers, an Illager of ice magic, or cryomancy, had red eyes only; Geomancers and Windcallers, Illagers who used geomancy or aeromancy, or earth and wind magic, respectively, had violet eyes; and lastly, Evokers, Ravagers, and Enchanters always had green eyes.
Thaddeus wondered how it happened. Were their fates pre-chosen? Did accepting their magic turn their eyes a certain color? He didn't quite know. Was it worth noting that male and female Illagers were only distinguishable by voice? He knew he should study up on that or something, but he never underwent a magical process where his eyes would change, if that was a thing, and while the Woodland Mansion had an expansive library, he didn't know most of the languages kept within books there.
He could read, write, and speak Koopa Commontongue, for it was the most common language of them all and was necessary for Illagers-in-training to graduate, no matter what field they were in. Thus it, over the centuries, had become the standard Illager language for communicating back and forth. Thaddeus also knew glimpses of Illageralt and The Galactic Alphabet, too, but not much of either. Illageralt was a runic system used by ancient Illager tribes and sounded like a bunch of grunting and harrumphs, but no one really knew where The Galactic Alphabet came from. Possibly the Ancients? Thaddeus had heard of them before. I wonder if the King is an Ancient somehow? He always liked to think that.
"Raid Captain Thaddeus?"
Thaddeus bolted upright and turned to face who was talking to him. It was an Enchanter. They were Illager magic-users that were terrible in hand-to-hand-combat, but that wasn't their use. From their tomes of power, they could, as the name suggests, enchant those around themselves in order to maximize their powers.
They also had distinctive clothing, which consisted of a deep wine-red robe and medium-sized cape, both of which were lined with golden trimmings, a mix of yellow dye and gold nuggets. They also have a golden line of the same trimming material running down the middle of their robe, stopping at the triangle-shaped divet in the bottom of the robe's front side. The outfit also has two flat, very shiny diamond plates fixed into the shoulders of the robe. Enchanters also wore the cubic turbans that started halfway down their elongated heads and ended just above them. The turban was always the same color as the robe and cape, and had another gleaming diamond put in the middle of it. In addition, Enchanters kept black pants and darkish-purple boots under their robes.
Finally, each Enchanter clutched their personal Enchanter's Tome in their mottled gray hands, which had two thick lines across its front, and then a square design on the back. This where their magic came from, and also why their diamond jewelry pulsed so bright. It reminded Thaddeus slightly of Lunar magic, but it had been that way for centuries since the first Enchanter, and it wasn't changing anytime soon.
The Enchanter before Thaddeus tilted his head. "Are you okay, Raid Captain?" he asked in a slurred voice.
"Ah, um, yes." Thaddeus felt his cheeks redden. I just embarrassed myself again, gosh darn it! "Just, y'know, surveying my territory." He made sure his voice was gruff and annoyed, to invoke fear in his fellow Illagers. Fear was the only thing that works, he had come to learn.
"Oh, sorry, Raid Captain Thaddeus."
"Just call me Thaddeus."
"Alright, Thaddeus."
Thaddeus winced and turned back to the window. His face certainly didn't look tough. It just looked like…any old Pillager. I need a more distinctive look. Piercings or something. Most Raid Captains don't have those, surprisingly. I could get an emerald nose ring, to go along with my Ravager, Stonechomper!
"How did you know it was me from behind?" asked Thaddeus with curiosity.
"Well…you always carry potions around on your belt," said the Enchanter. "Both of your boots have nails through them. Ah…yes. That was all."
Thaddeus gritted his teeth for a moment behind his lips, then beckoned the Enchanter closer. There were a few quick yet impactful footsteps that increased in noise as the Enchanter stepped off the carpet onto the hardwood floor that ran between the carpet and windows, like that strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street. Then the Enchanter arrived at the window. Thaddeus did not turn to look at him. He just watched the Enchanter's reflection.
"Remind me your name," Thaddeus said.
"Conjarus," the Enchanter replied shakily.
Thaddeus scoffed. "A combination of "conjure" and "Jarus," I assume?"
"I guess?" the Enchanter said, shrinking away.
"Do ya know what Jarus means as a name?" said Thaddeus.
"No, Thaddeus."
"It means "God bless you," in my interpretation of it. Ironic for one who defies the gods by wielding magic, ey?"
"Yes, Thaddeus."
Thaddeus shook his head at the failed interaction. Next, he came in with a different approach. "Could yea lend me a favor?"
"Maybe, Thaddeus. What does it require?"
"Talking to Edward the Illusioner."
From the reflection marred by the dark scenery behind the window, and the bright scenery in front of it, Thaddeus saw Conjarus raise a big eyebrow. "That Lunar-oriented freak?"
"He is neither," declared Thaddeus.
Conjarus remained silent, for once.
Thaddeus blinked a few times. "You see, he made Jester's Arrows. A powerful craft that pierces through objects, like living things, no matter what and does increased damage to the target. Unfortunately, it contained Lunar materials, so I had to…discard my collection." He cleared his throat. "Will you discipline him on that? It only needs to be a light talking-to. It really was a petty mistake."
"But, Raid Captain Thaddeus," said the Enchanter, "have you not seen him lately? He's a slap to the face of Illagerkind!"
Now it was Thaddeus's turn to raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean, Conjarus?" He emphasized the name of the Enchanter, for he was beginning to dislike him even more.
"His outfit," growled Conjarus like they were filthy words to utter. "It's blue now. Just one long robe. It has little colored stars all over it, too! He's basically wearing the night sky! His dorm says it all, if you don't believe me. I peeked in the other day, and he was utilizing these—"
"Enough!" Thaddeus freaked.
Conjarus went silent. "I am sorry to upset you, R-Raid Captain Thaddeus. But I am only telling the truth."
Thaddeus's emerald eyes lost their glitter and were replaced with rage. EDWARD?!
"Lead me to him, Conjarus."
Now Conjarus lifted his other eyebrow. "But don't you know the way? You've said you know this place like the strap of your banner!"
Thaddeus rolled his eyes. "It'll give you something better to do than wandering these halls aimlessly like a decapitated chicken."
"It's more likely to be the spirits of past Illagers wandering the halls, if that was the case that I am aimlessly trotting along, but I need something here!" Conjarus said in a loud voice. He was still slurring most of his words together, though, with the exceptions of "Raid Captain Thaddeus" and some others.
Finally, Thaddeus lifted HIS other eyebrow. " 'ut did ya need?"
"I was going to pick up a copy of some of my study texts from the library," said Conjarus, "my previous copy of them was destroyed by a stupid Evoker's spells gone awry since he was drunk!"
Thaddeus attempted to still his haughty chuckle and wicked grin. He lost the fight miserably. "That can wait." He rapped his knuckles on the wall with each word to enunciate his seriousness. More than anything, he just wanted to annoy this Enchanter, since he had annoyed him. It was like Batman. He didn't want to be called "Raid Captain Thaddeus," just…Thaddeus. Like how it wasn't the Batman, just…Batman.
"But, Raid Captain—" said Conjarus before being stopped.
"You heard me," Thaddeus hissed, but he wasn't mad now. He was just playfully agonizing the over accomplished student. "I am a Raid Captain after all." This chuckle he stifled.
Conjarus took a double take of the long hallway, then stepped onto the carpet, held his head high like a self-important brat (because he was one), and trotted along his way. Thaddeus made sure the Butterfly Crossbow was loaded, which earned him an uh-oh glance over the shoulder from Conjarus, and then he stepped after the Enchanter, waiting to see what was going on with Edward the Illusioner.
Morton's POV:
Morton slapped his open palm against the bottom of his other water cup. A single droplet of water dripped out and landed on his tongue, for he had positioned the cup upside-down over his mouth. He slapped the cup some more, but it yielded no more tasty water.
"WELP," Morton huffed, pulling the clay cap over the cup and dropping it into his second pouch. "THAT'S THAT. I'M OUT OF WATER." He sighed. He hadn't spotted any water source ever since the day after the fight at the Pillager outpost, and the murder of that one Pillager Raid Captain. Those blank eyes rolling back as the body hit the ground, with Morton's claws stained with blood…that image would never be forgotten, and it popped up whenever he thought of the Illagers hunting him. He hadn't seen them either since that Pillager Outpost event.
That fact, it almost scared him. He could feel like he was being hunted, but he never knew where or what the hunter was. Still, in his state, they'd take him down in seconds if they caught up to him. What would they do? Shoot him dead with their crossbows? No. Thaddeus had made it very clear Morton was special. This "Koopaling of the Darkness." Did the other Koopalings know about this? Did Bowser? Did Kamek? Would he even ever find them to find out himself? Who was Thaddeus's master? Was it The Darkness—or just "the monster of the darkness?" It made Morton's head spin, so instead he took out the "eye crystal" (he used it as a fidget like he had the yellow gem and still did with his glop of Nightmare Fuel) and flipped it between his thumb and pointer finger, sheathing those two claws to make it easier. Koopas could sheath or not sheath any of their claws or shell-spikes with ease, but it was just easier to have them all come out or go in at once. But, they could be controlled separately, too, which could be very useful at times.
Morton looked up at the sky. Once again, the moon was starting to rise.
"THAT FAST?" Morton blurted. "YIKES. HOW LONG WASSA I WALKING?" He slipped the "eye crystal" into his first belt pouch and, trying to bear the pain, shuffled about, gathering some sticks. He took out his last gel glob and his flint knife, and together with them he lit another campfire. He released his flint knife into his otherwise-empty shell and then searched for some stones. He hadn't seen too many mossy boulders this last span of the trek, but he had seen lots of flat pebbles and stones suffocating under pounds of pines. The podzol ground had turned to dirt so dry that it felt like the ground was nipping his feet for a while, but now the earth had turned green with lush summer grass and warm, soft soil.
Morton had used some of that grass and a twig here and there to fabricate some more bandages for himself, all of which had been applied instantly. He hoped he wasn't bleeding anymore—and he wasn't, thankfully—but his legs had felt a little faint and numb at times, like somebody was shooting inch-long nails at them. But he kept going.
He'd told Sr. that he'd find him. That he would have a life so that if Kevin was somehow watching over him, he could experience it too. So that his mother Claudie would feel that her premature death had led to something worthwhile after all. They were counting on him. He didn't like the pressure, if there even was any, but he had been born. Despite what Sr. spat out in his fit of rage that sprouted from the yellow gem, Morton had a purpose. If he didn't, he wouldn't exist. That's what Sr. said during different times. Everything had a purpose.
His purpose was to live his life for others. Maybe be a Koopaling. That was all. Not to be the Koopaling of the Darkness as Thaddeus predicted. He'd loved to prove that nasty Pillager Raid Captain wrong! Oh, and to, well, get the yellow gem back from Vincent. Now that was all.
Right?
With not too much effort, which worked in favor of his wounds from the Creeper explosion, Morton collected fifteen stones, some mossy, some not, but all around the size of his open hand. One at a time, he put seven of them around his campfire to keep it from creating a wildfire, even if it would be a small one. Morton picked some berries from some bushes, fashioned some new leaf bundles, and put those through a spit made from three sticks that was positioned over the fire—just like the one he had roasted those squirrels on during his first day in this giant forest. The one that brought the slime rain, King Slime, Thaddeus and the other Illagers, and…Brad, Trevor, Goldberg…the Koopatrols. He only heard the names of those three, plus, Roland, but Morton remembered all too well the way Thaddeus shot Roland without remorse, or a second thought. It just made him hate Thaddeus more.
Morton still wondered if the Koopatrols were okay. Were they dead? What did the Pillagers at the Pillager Outpost do when they finished questioning them? Morton was reminded of his own questioning session with Thaddeus, Vincent, and some more Pillagers, and next…
His thoughts returned him to the Raid Captain's lifeless body crumpling onto the ground.
"EVERY TIME I THINK, IT ALWAYS LEADS TO THAT!" Morton screamed to the wilderness. He looked from tree to tree, arms out, panting. It was as if he wanted a response. The trees didn't talk back, though, and so Morton sat down, put his hand against the side of his face with his dark star birthmark, and sighed. He let the fire illuminate his face, twisted the parts of it bathed in shadow like it was covered with tribal face paint. Exactly it seemed to do whenever Sr. sat at a campfire at night with him, eating their millet soup. He remembered telling Sr. about the decreasing water in the pond, and for a moment he almost wished he hadn't. Doing so prompted Sr. to go to a different shack, and of course it had to be the one that started it all.
Maybe that was a good thing, though? Morton tried to cast the memory of the Dragonfly in a new light. He wouldn't have gone on this adventure if it weren't for that, right? His life would soon grow boring as he kept on begging for Sr. to bring him to the lands beyond, and Sr. never would have reached that yellow gem argument to finally give in.
Now he was in the "lands beyond." He wasn't with Sr., but he was. He got his wish. Now he would let Kevin have his, too.
"AND THUS, I RETURN TO DA LOOP," Morton whispered to himself. Except, someone else was listening.
Ssskitter skit-skit-skit.
Mr. Skits had materialized on the eighth remaining stones this time, which were relatively close to him. It focused its beady eyes that seemingly showed right through the rest of its body on Morton. Its little T. Rex arms twitched. Its bottom jaw opened and closed as it bobbed up and down in place.
"WHY, HELLO AGAIN." Morton said with a cheeky grin.
Mr. Skits made another skittering sound.
"I CAN TALK TO YOU, RIGHT?" Morton asked.
Mr. Skits kept staring.
"I KNOW I'M A LITTLE INSANE RIGHT NOW FOR YA TO SHOW YERSELF, BUT THE CAMPFIRE WILL MAKE ME BETTER SOONER OR 'ATER, YES?"
A click-like noise.
"HEYA, DAT SOUND IS DIFFERENT!" Morton exclaimed. "I LIKE TO CALL THAT…PROGRESS." He laughed to himself.
Mr. Skits slithered around the stones.
"DEFINITELY PROGRESS!" Morton said happily. "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO WITH THOSE STONES?" Hey, progress with my Koopa Commontongue, too, eh?
Mr. Skits made a skittering sound before suddenly fading away.
Morton looked to his campfire. Thanks for the sanity, he thought, then dragged himself over to those stones. He picked one up in each hand, then glanced at his second belt pouch. Oh yeah! An axe! Just like Sr. taught me…I can use it to get wood. With the wood I can make better campfires! More tools. A shelter. A log suit?
Morton set the stones back where they were on the tiny pile and then gathered some more thicker sticks and twigs. Following that, he pulled some cut grass from his pouches and tied some sticks together for a studier handle. Next, he got three stones and started to beat them against a mossy boulder he had seen in the distance. Afterwards, once the stones were smoothed out, Morton used his knife and sharpened the stones that would function as the axe head. Using grass and a ball of gel he found in the grass, he stuck the stones together to make an axe head. Finally, he wove the grass through his claws and made some thin rope before tying the axe head to the wooden handle. The axe head was not big enough.
Groaning, Morton detached the axe head with his knife, then repeated the process he had put the first three stones through with all of the remaining ones. At last, after tying the axe head to the handle, it was a proportional fit. Morton dropped his flint knife into his shell, put his remaining materials in his second pouch, and then held the axe at different angles. It required both hands for it to work effectively, but Morton still thought it was cool. He swung it back and forth like a golf club, then a baseball bat, and ending with some real tree-chopping swings.
He smiled to himself. This is my best axe ever, and I did it without Sr.'s help! I hope you like it, father.
Morton heard the moan of a zombie and the rattling bones of a skeleton far out behind him, but the noises still nudged him into action. He ate some berries, put the now-cooked bundles in his second pouch, and then, holding his new stone axe at shoulder height, marched over to the nearest tree. He licked his lips, squinted his almond-brown eyes, and gave a little swing, like a professional golfer lining up a world-record shot.
"READY…SETTY…"
Morton swung his axe with all his might. Wooden splinters went flying as Morton cut a third of the way through the evergreen's trunk.
Morton's jaw dropped. He studied his axe head for a moment, then put on a devious smirk and took another swing, and then a third. The evergreen made a great splintering sound, like a boulder crashing through a wooden floor, and then it fell forwards, right towards Morton.
Oh crap I forgot run goooo—
Morton lunged to his right, and the tree landed behind him. Pines and wooden chunks broke off before the evergreen settled on the ground. Morton coughed up some dirt before standing. He was still clutching his stone axe, and amazingly it hadn't sliced him in two or anything. Morton looked around, taking deep breaths to end his adrenaline, and then slowly started to cut up the tree.
After a whole ten minutes, Morton had carved out just five wooden planks for him to use, and a short look up told him the moon and the night were in reign once again. He attempted to wipe the sweat all over his face off with his claw-sheathed hands, but that just made both his face and hands sweatier, so he unsheathed his claws and moved into his thinking pose: lick lips first, then eyes closed, claw tapping shut mouth, looking down at the ground.
This process is just too slow, thought Morton. I need a speedier way. Huh…maybe I could just cut down a bunch of trees, get the best pieces of wood from them, and then just leave the trees for later, or someone else? OR…better yet, I could lie the trees on top of each other and create a wall of trees around me! Then nothing could get in, and I would be safe forever!
So, Morton hefted up his axe and put his crazy plan to work. He ran over to the nearest evergreen, almost tripping on the way, readied his axe, and…
THWACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
CREEEEEAK…
CRASH!
"ANOTHER ONE DOWN," Morton said, and moved to the next tree, cutting them down in a circular pattern, widening the clearing he had found and put his campfire in the middle of. He cut down another tree. A third. A fourth. A fifth! The surrounding area was filled with the terrible harmony of Morton chuckling to himself, stone against wood, and trees falling down, down, down.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEAK…CRASH! THWACK! THWACK! CREEEEEEAK! CRASH!
Seventeen fallen trees now lay strewn about. The trunks of the trees were now jagged on top, all watching themselves be slowly turned to planks by Morton.
"HOOO-WEE!" Morton blurted to the trees. He had amassed a (sort of) neatly stacked pile of thirty wooden planks, and after dropping his axe next to the planks, he was painstakingly dragging each evergreen, one at a time, into a rectangular-like formation around the campfire, one that would be about 40 by 26 feet large if he completed it. The chances of him doing so, though, were quickly whittled, just as he had whittled some of the trees.
The dirt beneath Morton shook like a little earthquake. Instantly, he had déjà vu of the Dragonfly bursting from its nest but knew that it couldn't be that. Morton gripped his axe tightly as he turned to see an evergreen vibrate violently, right before two huge arms made of wood and pine that were each almost as big as the tree itself detach from its body. The top of the evergreen straightened to a point, and all the pines bristled. The evergreen's trunk split apart, releasing a cloud of sawdust as the feet of the creature started to move itself at Morton. Two dagger-like shapes came to life as two groups of pines turned and spun from their places to let the wood within show. The bark—no, eyes—squinted at who had wreaked havoc on its fellow trees. A giant upside-down smiley mouth formed in the same way the eyes had before it, and from it the living tree released a low grumble, like hearing a train from inside your house.
"IS WOOD MAN!" Morton said, his voice grappled by terror, his eyes wide. He held his axe even tighter as his vision began to pale and whispers floated through his ears. The tree beast, whatever it was, was draining his sanity fast, and was REALLY peeved that Morton had cut down so many trees without much consideration at all.
The lumbering beast roared before walking menacingly towards Morton. Its eyes grew wide, and the mouth widened, letting more rumbling come forth.
"WELL," said Morton.
He turned and ran. Ran ran ran. It felt like that one King Slime or the Dragonfly all over again. Is this the third time's the charm for death? Is this when I'll die? It'll be a dumb way to go, being attacked by whatever this evil tree thing is, but who am I to judge how I go out?
The tree beast pounded after him, the pines seeming to hiss at him, form both the enraged tree, and the normal ones—but for all Morton knew, almost all of these trees could be tree beasts. Morton hopped over the trees he had chopped down, then started to zigzag between trees and tree stumps, mossy boulders, and dips and hills in the landscape.
The tree beast was gaining. It was much slower than the other two giant things that had chased Morton in the fast, but that didn't make it less scary at all. If you couldn't tell, Morton wasn't the most athletic Koopa out there, and soon his body was aching from all the pains from his past few fights, plus there was a stitch in his left side, and he was out of breath. He slowed to stop for a second, his body shaking, and put his hand against a trunk. An extremely faint shadow of the tree beast cast over him then, and he didn't dare glance back as he took off running.
The tree beast was dodging every single other tree in its path, but still was now at Morton's pace. But Morton tired; it did not. It kept going, kept gaining speed, as Morton lost his momentum. It eventually got to five feet away from the poor Koopa, and with a sadistic rumble (if you could detect emotions in its rumblings), it brought up its arm and swung it at Morton like a sword. It made a sound like a rapier across stone, combined with the crunching and snapping of a falling tree. Pines flitted through the air as the arm swooped down at Morton.
Morton felt the rush of hot air above him, and his mind belted forth image after image of the Dragonfly. Its scaled, clawed arms batting him back and forth in his shell like he was a plaything; its onyx eyes that caught the light of the sun, lava and flame, showing reflections of a horror-stricken Morton Jr. and Morton Sr.; its hissing and roaring as it pursued them mercilessly; how it picked Morton up and would've dropped him to his death if he hadn't tucked into his shell.
No. Morton thought. No. NO!
Morton rolled into his shell the best he could with his helmet. The tree beast's arm went by a millisecond later, decorating Morton's shell-spikes with wood chips and dirt. Morton rolled along in his shell, went under a tree, and kept rolling a bit before popping out and tearing through the thicket. The tree beast growled and swung its other arm, but missed and instead almost hit a tree, but it retracted its limb at the speed of sound as to not hit it.
He kept running, legs pumping, sweat coursing through his scales. His heart thudded with the might of the tree beast's trunk legs stomping after its prey. Morton would not die. He would make Claudie Sr. proud, let Kevin see the world. He WOULD NOT DIE TO A WALKING TREE!
Morton shot a look at the tree creature. It was getting ready to lash out at Morton again. Feeling the weight of his newly crafted stone axe, Morton gave it a sad face before spinning away and then hurling it at the tree beast. It lodged itself in the tree creature's chest, and it roared in pain. Chunks of wood crumbled off as the axe sunk even more into the tree beast's chest as it walked, and it clumsily missed its swipe attack. It stopped to pull the stone axe out, and that's when Morton snatched up his opportunity and got more steps in.
That was when Morton saw something marvelous. The edge of the forest! After so many days, he finally was free! Morton's body felt celebratory as he left that place, and gave him an energy boost. Morton took it for granted, putting on a shaky smile as he put space in between him and the tree beast.
He regarded the landscape as he bolted: an open plain with sparse rolling hills, light-ish green grass up to his knees, and was dotted with tall twisting oaks here and there, accompanied with tall spires of clean grayish-white stone, carpeted with patches of moss. He especially saw the handfuls of wild wheat, bouts of tall grass, and even some of the quaint ponds in the plain, too. But what was in the distance caught Morton's eye. About three football fields away, over two hills and a clump of trees, was a tall and thick stone-brick wall on another, much wider hill, and behind that was a massive, spiraling city of mud-and-stone brick houses, huts, and businesses, and behind it all, in a moat of lava, sat a giant castle with the face of a growling Koopa over it.
In parallel with my vision! I'm almost there—just like that man said in my…second vision?
Morton ran faster, faster, and faster towards the destination. He was finally here. He would fuel his purpose. He'd gather weapons and armor and allies and see Sr. again and become a Koopaling; a hero. The tree beast started to catch up once again, though, and Morton was suddenly stricken with the thought of What will happen when I get there? He thought he saw an arch, or entrance, in the wall, but it was obscured by those trees, and as he went up and down that one hill, which had a birch tree with a beehive on it, he started to notice towers within the trees, as well as being tactfully positioned around the entirety of the wall, inside and outside.
The towers had a square smooth-stone base, with, on each side of the upright rectangle, a wall of three oak logs stripped of their bark, that eventually led to a square top seventeen meters up. The top had raised corners and a metal brazier containing a harsh fire inside. Each tower also came included with metal support bands that went all the way around the tower, with two near the bottom just off the base, one much higher up, and then one just a meter below the square top. And in between those two top bands was a wide arrow slit on each side, and in it, a Koopatrol with armor just like the ones Morton encountered on his first day in the forest. Brad, Trevor, Goldberg.
Every single arrow tower was like this, even with the armored Koopatrols, which made it even more intimidating. Morton slowed a bit, wondering if they'd attack from the towers, but instead he braced himself for impact and sprinted towards the arch in the wall, which he really hoped was a safe entrance for him.
A song of horns being blown and bells being rung echoed through the vast plain. Morton heard the sound of arrows being fired from bows, and he kept going, not wanting to die. He didn't really even know what he was doing. For everything Morton had gone through this far, rushing towards this fortified structure while appearing to lead a tree beast straight to it could easily be a suicide mission. But he didn't know what other choice he had. The creature from the forest would smash him flat if he didn't, for Morton really was winded now, and the tree beast just seemed even angrier, swinging it arms and barely missing him almost every few seconds now.
"You there!" shouted a Koopatrol from the first tower as Morton came close to it.
Morton looked up at the Koopatrol to see she was pointing an iron bow with a burning arrow loaded into it at him. Morton, with a face that easily explained how scared he was, cried, "HELP!"
The Koopatrol fired the flaming arrow out a different slit, catching the tree beast's arm. Morton felt grateful and kept moving forth. The Koopatrol in the tower pulled a slate of copper from the tower and tilted it back and forth, poking it out of the back slit, where the other towers and the soldiers on top of the wall could see. The copper slate caught the moonlight and shone like a flashlight signal. She was sending a message in their "battle code," as you could call it.
Morton ducked past some more arrow towers and eventually made his way into the cluster of tall oak trees. He heard yelling from the Koopatrols in the arrow towers and, as he looked up, from the top of the wall. More Koopatrols were appearing, pouring forth and manning giant ballistas with gray and red metal bases, mounted with crimson crossbows, and firing out arrows as big and long as spears, with wood shafts and iron arrowheads. Other Koopatrols were shooting from iron, lead, gold, or platinum bows fitted with arrows. Most of the arrows like the Koopatrol's ones from earlier were lit aflame with ignited gel, but some were just regular arrows. Also, as Morton noticed as he got closer to the wall, some of the Koopatrols' armor and bows had a faint purple glow.
Magic? Morton thought, and his heart skipped a beat.
Morton pushed through a bush and finally came to a stop, almost collapsing as he tried to catch his breath. He pulled himself into a crawl as he got a load of the twenty-square-meters deep, ten-square-meters wide moat that had been carved out around the entire structure. From what Morton could see, the only easy way in was via the huge plank drawbridge on the other side of the pit, one covered with metal bands and was currently up, fitting in nicely in the arched opening in the wall (though it wasn't open right now, obviously!).
Now, Morton knew drawbridges and arrow towers and big heavy-hitting weapons and castles and all from, you guessed it, Sr.'s stories, tales, and myths that he shared with his son, but even now, it was still magical, seeing what he thought to be somewhat false things be…real. Right in front of him was a scary moat, impressive drawbridge, and a platoon of Koopas all geared up and ready to fight as Koopatrols. It was all here around him, and it was very real.
He could hear the clanging and banging of Koopatrols running back and forth; the harmony sung by the thrumming of the bows' strings; the footsteps and swinging of the arms of the forest creature.
He could feel the grass, the dirt, the trees, his clammy hands and hurting scales.
He could taste sweat in his mouth and spat out a broken pine that had slipped in between some of his fangs.
He could smell the stench of the Koopatrols, left without the time to wash their filthy bodies and armor; he could detect a rotting scent wafting from the tree beast; he could smell his own intangible degree of stink; he could smell the blooming earth.
And, well, you know what he saw. The physical, true incarnation of the dreams Sr. had woven into him as he fell into sleep. It was magic, without the magic.
A roar brought him back into reality from his head, and in a plight of panic Morton rolled up in his shell and hid in the bush he had recently smashed through. At least it entirely covered him somehow.
"Fell that Treeguard!" screamed the Koopatrol from the arrow tower closest to Morton.
Treeguard? Is that what they call it? Morton mused. Aye, then.
The Treeguard advanced, grumbled, and then smacked its left arm across the bottom of the first arrow tower. The arrow tower got some cracks in its foundation, but nothing much seemed to happen. The Koopartol in the arrow tower just yelled and kept firing her flaming arrows. The Treeguard kept whaling away at the tower, though, and eventually it gave way. The arrow tower broke apart and fell backwards, crumbling into a pile of wood, stone, and sawdust, with some of it going on fire as the brazier crashed into the middle of the heap. The Koopatrol had disappeared, being suffocated under the arrow tower, and with no trees being hit by the tower in its collapse, the Treeguard snorted happily and moved towards the next arrow tower.
"NOO!" said a Koopatrol from the top of the wall before firing what appeared to be a grappling hook at the Treeguard. It wrapped itself around the Treeguard's arm, right before the Treeguard snapped another arrow tower in half. The Treeguard was disoriented by the action and instead just took out a chunk of one of the arrow tower's logs that built up one of its sides.
The Treeguard turned to face the wall, only to be met with ten more grappling hook-like harpoons attached to long ropes. The Koopatrols firing them had other Koopartols help them move backwards, and slowly, the Treeguard was dragged forward through the tree cluster.
Morton saw the tree beast approaching and mentally flipped a coin to decide if he should stay in his bush or not, and he decided to, but he put his arms and legs out of their respective arm-holes and leg-holes, in case he needed a head start to a quick escape. He watched as the night sky was filled with flaming arrows and long arrows from the ballasts and just normal ones, too, all striking the Treeguard. The woodland golem struggled, but that only granted it more harpoons, ones that wrapped around its head, legs, arms, and body. The Treeguard's body began to sizzle where the flaming arrows struck it, and then there were fires as big as Morton's campfires. Flaming pines rained down around Morton, and one singed his arm, so he pulled his limbs back into his shell in retaliation.
"Move!" said a different Koopatrol from the wall, and Morton got a glimpse of catapults being wheeled to the edge of the wall before boulders and balls made of a black metal and adorned with gleaming iron were hurled through the air, slamming into the Treeguard, knocking chunks of leafy wood off. Morton rolled around in the bush and narrowly dodged a spiked metal ball as it created a small crater as it landed right next to him, kicking up a torrent of dirt.
The Treeguard bellowed and yanked its limbs in all directions. Eventually, one Koopatrol holding his harpoon was pulled off the wall and flung over the cluster of trees, landing in the grass somewhere beyond them. This tactic of the Treeguard's went against it immediately, though, because the hapless Koopatrol still had a (literal) iron grip on his harpoon, and thus the Treeguard was tugged the other way for a second. This allowed for more flaming arrows and giant metal spiky objects to be chucked at it from a different angle, and the results showed. One metal ball went right through the Treeguard's back and out it went, straight through the chest, landing in a tree behind the Treeguard and leaving a sphere-shaped puncture in the Treeguard.
This attack made the Treeguard below in pain, and so it turned around to try and sweep at the offenders on the wall, but it was met with a fistful of long arrows, and a smooth boulder for good measure. The fire spreading across the Treeguard was reaching its head now, and also now, the fire was seizing the opportunity to eat away at the Treeguard from the inside. The metal ball that had gone right through the Treeguard, and all the pens that had bounced off of it, had taken some of the flame with them, and unfortunately that fire was growing, and spreading.
Morton tried to plug his nose as smoke wafted through the air, mainly from the Treeguard, which was sending out whirlwinds of the stuff from its head, but also from all the little fires bursting up throughout the oak tree cluster.
Finally, with a roar like a tree through a woodchipper, the Treeguard, which was head-to-toe in flame and now looked like one of those fake black Christmas trees, with the exception of being splattered with embers and ash, was hit with one last spiked metal ball to the face. Wooden shards flew everywhere off it, along with some strange mottled logs, and lumps of charcoal. The Koopartols severed the rope of their harpoons and cheered in triumph, while others still shot arrows. The Treeguard swayed back and forth, hissing. The pines forming its face died and fell off, and like a wave of magma, the Treeguard fell backwards and landed with a tremendous THUMP, throttling the earth it was created to, and sworn to, protect.
The Treeguard was dead.
Morton looked around him at the growing wildfire. He could feel the heart pressing in on him from all sides. The embers and smoke and ash stung his snout, ever inside his shell. He wanted to get up and move, but he didn't think it was safe, and so he stayed, but he still hoped to leave…his mind was just running in circles.
Out of the blue, Morton heard the creaking of chains, and the drawbridge was lowered over the chasm. A squad of twenty Koopatrols carrying overflowing water buckets in each hand, and with water bottles in their shells and on their belts, ran forth across the drawbridge. They went right past Morton each and every time as they cast that fire-stopping liquid on all the small fires, and un-purposefully giving the oak tree cluster a much needed watering session.
Morton studied the Koopatrols with curiosity. They all had the same armor and gear, but at times they pulled out glass bottles filled with a warm, glowing orange liquid. When they drank it, light orange spirals flew from the cracks in their armor, and then…they just walked right through the fires! It was like they were immune to it. Their armor was untouched by flame or any blackened burn marks, and neither was their skin, or items, or whatever it was, as long as it was touching the one who had drank it.
This discovery sent Morton's mind into a frenzy. What are they drinking? What's the special liquid? How do they get it? Is it rare? Why aren't they drinking the special liquid all the time? What's the limit? IS there a limit? A time limit—or, maybe instead, there could be some kind of immunity limit? How exactly does it work? Is it a potion? There, he got something. Yeah! It is a potion! A magic drink that gives them fire resistance? That's pretty cool. Maybe I could have one. Do I have to ask? Are they free? Available to the general public?
The Koopatrols moved over to their last target: the burning Treeguard. Some took out empty sacks from their shells and tossed the mottled chocolate-brown wood inside it. Upon squinting again, Morton could make out weird, haunted faces in the mottled woods. And it wasn't a chance formation, or a coincidence—every single one he saw had a face like that. It was unnerving, and not just to Morton.
The Koopatrols tossed in any charcoal lumps they could find in order to fully pack their sacks, and then they sealed them with rope and trudged off. Half remained to fully extinguish the Treeguard, which by now was just a black outline of an evergreen made of complete ashes, and once that was done they picked up the sacks that they had filled to the brim and went off after their comrades.
The tree cluster was silent for a bit, besides the wind blowing the remaining soot and smoke around, the chirping of birds, and the chatter of Koopatrols off in the distance, lugging their haul back to someplace important. Morton stuck his noggin out of his head-hole and looked to and fro, like a real, normal turtle. He popped his arms, legs, and tail out of his shell entirely, and started to rise from his bush and navigate around the spiked metal ball when he heard more Koopatrols approaching. Quickly, Morton crouched in his bush as thirty Koopatrols, brandishing halberds, claymores, swords, shields, spears, iron bows, quivers full of pointy arrows, and belts of other miscellaneous items spilled out from wherever was beyond the drawbridge, for Morton still couldn't see it from where he was sitting.
Angry tumblers, Morton thought, words Sr. would mutter to replace a curse in the presence of his son.
"Spread out!" said the lead one. This Koopatrol looked different than the rest—his Koopatrol armor was blue and black shades and shining purple, added with the helmet being wrought of cobalt with a thick white outline, having two white devil-horn -like spikes protruding from its sides, plus a third spike on top, purple helmet straps, and finally, in the middle of the outline on the front of the helmet having a silver symbol of the face of a growling Koopa.
The same as the one on the castle from my vision, Morton wondered.
The lead Koopatrol's spear was glowing violet in similar fashion to his armor, too, and had a platinum three-pronged top like a trident, with a little platinum tip on the bottom of the staff, which was painted an azure-blue from the bottom up after the platinum tip, up until a tiffany-blue portion that signaled that the spear should be held anywhere under that point. Adding to that, between the platinum three-prong head and tiffany-blue portion, the spear was painted azure-blue again.
The Koopatrol's shell was a true blue as well, and had white spikes sticking out of it within the crystal-white outline; a long, ivory-colored sheath for his spear was attached between some of his shell-spikes on his cobalt shell-cover, but it was transparent, and so his shell could be seen underneath. The Koopatrol had blue-plated shoulder guards that were five inches wide and shaped like wings, and his purple belt was covered with bottles of more multi-colored glowing potions, a few special artifacts, and had a similarly-colored purple quiver bristling with arrows, though Morton could only see their tops since they were put in the quiver facing downwards; they appeared to be made of yew wood and showed off their cloth tips with the design of white-and-cyan feathers. There was also a bow clipped onto his belt, which was light-gray and sporting deep-cyan designs. With that fact, on his belt as well, sat a shield that, for the last time, was a true-blue, included with, for the last time, a white outline…and also a large golden cross imbued into the middle of the shield.
Finally, attached to his leggings was a jar of very-very-light blue glass that appeared to contain a miniature, ongoing snowstorm inside; horseshoes made of obsidian embedded in the bottom of his boots; and a golden ring with some diamonds on it around his left wrist.
That guy is decked out! Morton thought, impressed by all the flashy magic items and similar things, but also terrified to be on that Koopatrol's bad side.
"I SAID SPREAD OUT!" the commander Koopa shrieked. His voice was austere, with a hiss that could remind one of a snake. "Or are you deaf, dirt-miners?"
"We ain't, General Knife!" croaked one Koopatrol before going off in his own direction, following suit of the other Koopatrols.
Wait a second…Morton thought to himself. That Koopatrol sounded familiar…!
General Knife's gaze cut through the like, well, a knife. Behind his black-and-blue nose armor and dark visor over his face, his eyes, whatever the real color under there was, shone like opals in an endless void, piercing through the night. It almost reminded Morton of Vincent and his missing eye, but Morton shook the thought off after some chills took a ride through his skeleton.
Morton shrank into his shell, but kept his head mostly out, which was easier to do anyway since he still had that too-small helmet on him. He was scared about what would happen if the Koopatrols found him. He knew it shouldn't be a terrible thing, and definitely wouldn't be like when the Pillagers got to them…but still. General Knife was terrifying, and they looked a lot tougher, and much more hostile, then Brad, Goldberg, or Roland ever was. Trevor was about on par with fierceness, he could tell.
There was a rush of air above his head, and Morton looked up to see that a large iron blade had just slashed the top of the bush off. Morton winced as a Koopatrol leaned over the other side of the bush and stared down at Morton.
"Ah-ha," said the Koopatrol with a smirk.
"H-H-HELLO." Morton stuttered.
The Koopatrol didn't take his eyes behind his visor off of Morton as he announced, "General! I found 'em!"
"NOT FOR LONG," Morton said sassily before spinning in his shell through the bush and jumped out of it. He nearly caught himself on one of the spines of the spiky iron ball, but Morton was thankful he didn't, and he took off.
" 'Ey!" snapped the Koopatrol behind him.
"NAY!" Morton said back with a grin before whipping around, narrowly missing a burned-out tree as he got away from the Koopatrols.
"Not for long!" repeated the Koopatrol that came up from his right out of nowhere; he had been the one who had found Morton in the bush.
Morton's eyes bugged as they both ran at matching paces. "WUT?" he said.
"We're skilled Koopas!" said a Koopatrol who zoomed up to Morton's left. "We can't tell if you are, though." He ripped off a snort of laughter.
"IF YA SO SKILLED, THEN WHY HAVE YOU NOT CAUGHT ME 'LREADY?" Morton taunted.
To Morton's horror, he watched as General Knife dropped from the tree Morton was just about to swerve around and thrust his enchanted spear at Morton's chest.
"HOLY—"
"Stop right there, vermin," growled General Knife.
"I AIN'T NO RAT," said Morton like it was an obvious fact. Even so, his gray-plated soft underbelly was heaving, with each inhale making it almost poke General Knife's spear. His heart was also in RUN mode, but there was no way to run. He saw, from the corners of his eyes, the two Koopatrols take out their weapons and point them at his head, blocking the ways left and right. Morton slowly started to back up, but his middle shell-spike was poked with the tip of a fourth Koopatrol's iron halberd, and Morton was prodded back into the center of the sharp yet shiny metal circle, with General Knife's spear right at his chest again.
"Well?" General Knife said after twenty seconds of silence. "What do you have to say about yourself?"
Morton heard two more Koopatrols come up behind him, then heard the rest gather 'round on all sides. His eyes slid to General Knife's spear.
"I'LL TALK IF YOU PUT DAT THING OUTTA MY FACE," Morton mumbled.
"It is called the Whispering Spear, mind you," said General Knife. He slowly lowered the lethal weapon, with Morton's eyes following that enchanting glow on it the whole time. "Watch your language, young Koopa."
"WHAT DO YA MEAN? WHAT DID I SAY?" Morton questioned.
"Uhm, sir," piped up a Koopatrol from behind Morton. "I believe that Koopa kid is—"
"Silence," General Knife demanded. "Let the freak speak."
"I AM NOT A F-FREAK," said Morton. "T-T-THAT'S MEAN."
Morton couldn't tell what General Knife's face was under that visor and armor, but he really wished he knew. He bet the General was smiling.
"It may be mean," said General Knife with a shrug, "but mean things are usually the honest ones."
"ALSO NOT TRUE," Morton replied.
General Knife threw back his head and laughed, his armor and accessories clinking and clattering against each other. He held the Whispering Spear above his knee-height. In reality, he and the Koopatrols were an inch or so shooter than Morton, and easily not as big-boned, but Morton was still scared of him. His thoughts screamed that he shouldn't be. That he would beat every last one of them up. There was no reason to do so, though. This was what he wanted, right? This was what he was looking for! For another purpose! For a better life!
It's General Knife, that's what, Morton thought, I was too very scared of the Koopatrols earlier. I am just scared of Knife! If I can get past that, they're my allies, right? Brad said I was a Koopaling. And so did Thaddeus, I guess, for a little extra. I may be involved with the Prophecy!
Then tell them that! The rest of his mind thought-yelled.
General Knife's head shot back, catching Morton's gaze with his own. "Let's cut to the chase, Koopa. Are you a criminal, an outcast, a street urchin, or what? I have yet to spot you crawling about with your muddy mitts on our streets," he said, gesturing to his fellow Koopatrols. So maybe he ain't all bad? Is he even bad? Or am I just scared of his threatening demeanor? "Do you care for a shred of bread or what?"
"I…I…I AM NOT A THIEF," Morton responded bitterly. "I MEAN, A CRIMINAL. I AM NOT ONE. I ALSO NOT OUTCAST, OR STREET URCHIN, OR WHATEVER YOU SAID FOR THE LAST PART." He took a breath and looked around, making sure every Koopatrol was listening. They were. He turned back to General Knife and boasted a sly smile like he had shown to Thaddeus during his questioning at the Pillager Outpost. It worked in putting Thaddeus and the other Pillagers off, at least. He couldn't tell if it had worked on General Knife or not, though. He was just too ominous. Too unreadable. I wonder what face is under that helmet…
General Knife put out his free hand and made a circling motion with it, urging Morton to go on and speak already. Morton saw the General's grip tighten on the Whispering Spear. The situation was beginning to feel a lot more like when Morton, Brad, and the other Koopatrols met the Pillager patrol, before they were captured, and Roland was shot to death. That image of the unfortunate Koopatrol, lying there, dead and bleeding gel and blood, popped up again, but Morton kicked it into the dustbin of his mind, if only for a moment.
Morton took another deep breath and gave a cold stare at General Knife. "I AM A KOOPALING."
The cluster of trees seemed to be silent. It would've stayed that way if the Koopatrol behind Morton that had tried to speak up before hadn't spoken up again.
"I told ya, General Knife!" he said. "This bud right here is a Koopaling. And his name is Morton Koopa Jr.!"
Morton was caught off guard for a second before finally matching the voice to a person. He turned and faced his acquaintance. "BRAD?"
Brad smiled and nodded. "We escaped the Pillager Outpost just this morning. Trevor and Goldberg did, too, but they're both on different duties right now."
Morton's smile lit up. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT KNEW IT KNEW IT! I HAD A FEELING YOU GUYS WEREN'T DEAD! YA SURVIVED INSTEAD."
Brad nodded again, even faster this time. "If that one-eyed Pillager dude and dat Raid Captain had been at the Pillager Outpost, we would've been dead! They were going to shoot us today, just like they did…with *gulp* Roland." He looked down at the ground.
Morton's face dimmed a bit but was still brightened up. At least I have SOME Koopas to count on here. He opened his jaws to speak, but General Knife poked his shell with the Whispering Spear. Morton felt a little shock go through his body or something like that, and he turned around to face the lead Koopatrol.
"You two can reunite and talk later," said the General. "First, I'm going to have to bring you before King Bowser Koopa and see if you're really a Koopaling."
Morton's mind went into a craze at the mention of King Bowser Koopa. At last!
"I'm sure he is, sir," said Brad, "and if you recall from what I told the squad, and thus what you told King Bowser, that Raid Captain and the others thought he was a Koopaling, too. I even heard some of his interrogation at the Pillager Outpost when I was two floors up and—"
"OH, WOULD YOU SHUT UP!" roared General Knife, his visor-eyes flashing. He twisted the Whispering Spear in his gloved fingers and drove it into the world's flesh like a pitchfork in a haystack. Morton was amazed to see purplish-pink streaks of light flow from its prongs and the staff as he did. Must be part of the magic in it, or exactly whatever it is. I dunno! Maybe I'll find out soon, I guess. No, I HOPE! Nah, WILL!
"I AM A KOOPALING…SIR," Morton said, hoping he was addressing the General in an appropriate fashion. "I AM A KOOPALING THROUGH AND THROUGH."
Now General Knife was 100% smiling behind his armor. "Do you even know what it takes, Morton?" The way he said Morton's name nibbled at his temporary courage.
He sucked his lips into his mouth, like Sr. would do when he was worried. Morton was beginning to be more and more like his depressed father. "TO BE HONEST? NO." Morton hoped he was talking formally and the like as those words left his mouth.
General Knife tipped his chin up a bit. He sighed, his eyes cutting deeper into Morton's soul, and then he thrust the Whispering Spear from the ground, which sent out those magical streaks again, and twisted it in his fingers in a lightning-fast motion so that he was holding it upright again. He pointed the head of the spear towards the drawbridge, which was still open.
"Go," said the General to his squad. All of the Koopatrols nodded, and they started to move along, forming a full circle around Morton. Morton went without struggle, not wanting to partake in any prodding. He felt General Knife's eyes digging into his throat as the General took up the rear, kicking aside some collected ash to a snort of distaste, which ended up leaving his boots even grayer with the ashen remains of the Treeguard.
Suddenly, there was a blazing pain that started from Morton's stomach and jolted through his bloodstream, dodged his heart, and traveled up his body. Morton convulsed and fell to his knees with a wretched cry. He wrenched his eyes shut as he regurgitated blue slime slathered on other junk. It felt terrible to throw up, and Morton always closed his eyes in the events it happened. It had only happened thrice before, one after eating a bit of an undercooked scorpion, and the second after drinking tainted water. Both were in the Redpepper Mesa, and Sr. was there to help him through it each time. The third was in Gecko Fields traveling through the pipe, but that wasn't much of throwing up as was coughing some food still in his mouth from breakfast.
But Sr. wasn't here this time. It was just the Koopatrols. They sheathed their weapons and rushed towards him, patting his shoulder and head and saying his name, especially Brad, but the spontaneous chaos made him barf even more slime balls.
Screw that slime rain, Morton thought, just before his knees buckled and he fell face first into his own mess. He let out a muffled groan and rolled over, gel running down the sides of his mouth. His vision blurred and distorted and whitened, and he heard the whispers of insanity. His body felt on fire, like his skin was slowly being peeled off, and he screamed.
The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the glow of General Knife's eyes as he stood over him, directing his Koopatrol squad with the Whispering Spear.
Thaddeus's POV:
"Right this way, Raid Captain Thaddeus," said Conjarus in his slurred voice, pointing his book down the dimly lit hallway. "Edward's room is the one where the torches above the door are brightest."
Thaddeus chuckled. "No, no, Conjarus. You keep leading me. When we confront Edward the Illusioner, the both of us will be doing some talking, if his new Lunar mannerisms are really so severe."
"But, Raid Captain Thadd—" Conjarus started.
"JUST THADDEUS," boomed Thaddeus. "Are you that stupid? How many times have I told you my preference?"
Conjarus took a few steps back, his diamond ornaments on his Enchanter clothing gleaming as bright as ever. "W-w-w-well…many a time…Thaddeus. I must emphasize your power, dexterity, and perseverance, though! You see, Raid Captain, you—" Conjarus couldn't finish his sentence.
"Unlike toast, I am not easy to butter up." Thaddeus thumped his chest. "Besides, I ain't gonna do any favors or act kinder to you any time soon. Take a break from your studies and help me out here."
"But, Thaddeus, you are so cunning! Edward the Illusioner will bow down to you immediately upon first hearing your voice!" Conjarus complimented. "Now, I must get back to my studies." He turned to leave, holding his head high.
Thaddeus lunged and grabbed the foolish Enchanter's cape and yanked him back. Conjarus yelped and almost dropped his Enchanter's Tome, but once he recovered, he hugged it like a teddy bear and turned to face Thaddeus. Thaddeus grinned his malicious grin at seeing genuine fear in Conjarus's green eyes.
"Enough dilly-dallying," snorted Thaddeus. "If I'm really so enchanting"—he said that word with a viscous bloodlust to his voice—"you'll waste your time for bothering me and wasting mine to talk to this idiot!" His last words had him pointing down the hall, straight at the heart of the door to Edward the Illusioner's room, and getting up in Conjarus's face. He had his yellowed teeth gritted, nostrils flared, and green eyes glaring, too. That face alone made Conjarus gulp and shrink away again. Thaddeus spotted sweat beading on Conjarus's forehead, just under the Enchanter's turban, but refused to unveil any sympathy.
Conjarus said nothing.
Thaddeus jerked his head down the hall, and Conjarus nodded hastily before slinking out from under Thaddeus, who was arched over Conjarus, showing that terrifying face of his. Conjarus trod down the elegant red, white, and gold carpet, feeling the eyes of Thaddeus's Raid Captain banner and Thaddeus himself shooting daggers at his head and neck. After Conjarus was about a yard away, Thaddeus removed himself from his arched position, smiled darkly while putting on a face like it was just a leisurely stroll through the Woodland Mansion with his best friend in the world, and tailed after Conjarus.
The paintings of Illagers in the past watched the odd duo walk down their halls. There were paintings in the middle of the empty area between each door, lit by torches in sconces on either side, that led to an Illager's room; there were also purely aesthetic tables and desk topped with potted plants and blank stacks of paper under the paintings, though maybe it was wrong to say "purely aesthetic," because you could still use them, but no one ever did. They were just there for show, proving the Illagers of the Woodland Mansion, the biggest Illager headquarters known to Illagerkind, had many an amount of wealth to waste on petty things like extravagant furniture carved of jungle wood!
Thaddeus thought that even if he didn't have a portrait of a souped-up version of himself, he at least had a fancy place to stay in the Woodland Mansion. Low leveled, medium leveled, and a select few higher-up-leveled Illagers resided on the Woodland Mansion's first floor, for there was a place for every Illager in the Woodland Mansion; if there wasn't, they'd sleep in tent outside the mansion's outer stone wall, or would share a first-floor room. These Illagers included the likes of normal Vindicators and Pillagers, or the Ravagers, if you counted that, because the barn they were kept in is accessed through a door to an outside patio on the first floor.
The second floor mainly consisted of rooms for Enchanters, Geomancers, Windcallers, and Iceologers, if those cryomancers ever came around. One or two Evokers and Illusioners, as well as exceptional higher-up-leveled Vindicators and Pillagers, plus most Raid Captains, resided on this floor. This was where Vincent, Conjarus, and Edward the Illusioner stayed, too.
The third and final floor was about half the size of the other floors, and almost all Evokers and Illusioners, coupled with some exceptional Raid Captains, resided on this floor. Thaddeus spent most of his time in the Woodland Mansion on the third floor, where his room was, and was the only Pillager Raid Captain to be on that level. While technically he was higher in power to Thornton, the Evoker Raid Captain and the most prominent Illager in the Woodland Mansion, as he'd never been seen outside of it, Thaddeus and Thornton respected each other as equals.
There wasn't truly a ruler of the Woodland Mansion—Thornton and other Illagers who mainly resided here held meetings and instructed authority throughout the place, but things like cleaning and dusting, refueling light sources like torches and lanterns, watering plants, caring for Ravagers, all of that, were/was done by lower-level Illagers. Illagers on the third floor did most of the planning and orchestrating explorations and Illager patrols, while those on the second floor led patrols and taught other Illagers. Thaddeus appreciated the system, and strived to keep it how it was.
"Well, we are here…Thaddeus," said Conjarus.
The two Illagers had arrived at the far end of the carpet branching down the hall, which stopped right at the door farthest down the hall. The torches on either side glowed brighter than most, and an upright rectangle painting of a lightning bolt across a stormy night sky like obsidian was hung above the door. Engraved in the frame were the symbols E, 㕕, ᐜ, ᙁ, 卅, and 㕕, or "E㕕ᐜᙁ卅㕕," which Thaddeus knew to be Illageralt for "Edward." He suddenly remembered Edward the Illusioner's quirk of painting things when he was upset, sad, or frustrated.
Thaddeus smiled and went to the door, he balled his right fist and rapped the door three times with his knuckles, then stood back. He heard Conjarus's shaky breaths behind his back, and grinned evilly again. The grin disappeared when Edward answered the door.
Edward the Illusioner had the body of an Illager, but his eyebrows were not as thick, and his nose, instead of thick and dark gray, looked like it was sculpted from coal. That was nor what caught Thaddeus's attention, though; it was the new outfit. Illusioners usually had clothes of deep blacks and purples with orange leather bands, and caps that made it look like they were scowling like an anime character would. Edward, though, had none of that. He had changed his clothes out for a long yale-blue robe with a triangular cut and the neck and at the front-bottom of the robe, like an Enchanter would wear. The outlandish robe was speckled with seafoam-green, grayish-white, and mauve-purple dots like…stars on the night sky. Edward wore gray slacks beneath that, and gray shoes under that. Finally, he wore a cap of the same yale-blue as the robe, but with only the grayish-white stars painted on, and it ran down the back of his head like a mullet before stopping an inch before his robe.
Thaddeus's eyes expanded for a second before reverting to normal. The only Illusioner-like thing that remained of Edward was the bloody red eyes, and crossed arms tucked into each other arms' sleeves, as was customary for Evokers, Illusioners, Enchanters, and Vindicators to do when idle and not doing anything with their hands.
"Edward the Illusioner?" said Thaddeus in a hush but very stern voice, like a parent scolding a child in public after doing something really embarrassing. "What the heck is this?" He gestured at the flamboyant new outfit with disgust.
Edward the Illusioner wrinkled his nose and gave Thaddeus a blank stare. "It's a robe, Thaddeus," he said at last, after standing around for a few seconds. His voice was a little high-pitched for an Illager, and sounded very casual, but that was how it always had been.
"But why?" asked Conjarus from behind Thaddeus.
Edward shrugged. " 'Cause I—"
"Let's go in your room to talk," Thaddeus whispered without really whispering.
Edward's eyes squinted so that his eyebrows formed a unibrow, which was what happened when Illagers had stern or solemn faces, and then nodded slowly, turned around, and walked inside his room, still keeping his arms crossed. Thaddeus exhaled loudly and followed, and Conjarus came in last and closed the door with one hand before putting it back around his Enchanter's Tome.
Thaddeus was very puzzled when he arrived in Edward the Illusioner's room. The ragged shades usually put over windows in an Illager's room, if they had a window even, were wide open, and moonlight had lit up the room. The floor was covered fully with a deep blue carpet with a white outline, and then some thin silver lacing beyond that. A chandelier made of platinum except for the candles and their soft light swayed back and forth very, very slowly as it hung from the top of the wall.
In the far back of the room, there was a desk and chair set made of dark oak wood, but it had since been splattered with white paint droplets to look like even more stars. Several books from the Woodland Mansion library, plus some old parchment, a feather pen, and a jar of ink sat on the table. Edward's bed was large, taking up almost one-fourth of the room, and came included with a dark oak frame and a woolen mattress and blanket, of which both were colored ultramarine, and the black pillow propped against the back of the bed had a little moon painted in the middle of it. On one side of the room sat a chest of dark oak logs, and above that, an oval mirror stained cyan.
"It's worse than I thought," said Conjarus to Thaddeus. Thaddeus just shook his head. The curses, Edward? he thought. What is with all of this Light-oriented furniture and clothing? Moons and stars? Whites and blues? Only a mad Illager would use this much of these colors! Sure, we use them, but to this extent it is a crime! An Illager could get arrested and jailed for this! And if they weren't' an Illager, they would probably be killed. No, definitely. The Lunar side are our true enemies. We chop 'em to bits every day! So why is Edward the Illusioner doing this? Illusioners are supposed to be some of THE MOST Shadow-oriented Illagers of them all, besides Evokers and Raid Captains—LIKE ME!
Edward the Illusioner hummed as he shuffled over to his bed and sat onto it. It was very bouncy and cushiony at the same time. None of them spoke until Edward stropped bobbing up and down, and once he did, Thaddeus rang out first.
"What is the meaning of this, Edward?" said Thaddeus, walking over to his acquaintance. Sure, his posture, his appearance, his voice, and himself as a Pillager Raid Captain were stern, but he couldn't help but not scream and beat up Edward. They'd had some of the same classes together, in learning how to read, write and talk in Koopa Commontongue and Illageralt, and had shared some archery practice sessions, for Illusioners used ranged weapons if they weren't in a situation where they could use magic. They weren't close or anything, but at least they felt fine talking with one another if need be. If he didn't know the guy, Edward the Illusioner would be in a LOT more trouble.
Edward locked his eyes with Thaddeus's. "What do you mean?"
Thaddeus snorted and did a full 360° in place before looking at Edward the Illusioner again.
"THIS," spat Thaddeus. "Why all of the Lunar furniture? And what's with the change of clothes?"
Edward shrugged again. "I was just doing some remodeling. You know how I like to knit and sew. Painting is fun, too."
Thaddeus rubbed his temples with two fingers. "But why Lunar? Just stick with purples and blacks and reds and browns like a normal Illager! Or, at the very least, a normal Illusioner!"
"Illusioners are magic wielders," said Edward, "we should be unpredictable."
"Acting like our lifelong enemies isn't acceptable, though!" screamed Thaddeus. He then took an awkward glance at the door, hoping no one outside him, Edward and Conjarus heard that.
"Who said I'm acting like 'em?" said Edward.
"The colors, my friend, the colors," snapped Thaddeus. "The clothing. The furniture. Moons and stars are strictly Lunar-oriented. You don't see us Illagers using that crap in our architecture, do you?"
"Well, sorry." Edward glanced at the moon, then back to Thaddeus. "I think I'll stay with it for a while, though, for a change of scenery." He crossed his arms even more.
"Bah!" conveyed Thaddeus. "You've got to change back, or the others will have your head! Especially other Evokers and Illusioners!"
"I'm an artist," said Edward, his tone getting angrier ever so slightly. "I rotate through my different tastes."
"Since when was Lunar architecture a taste of yours?" Thaddeus said, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Since a week ago, or something like that," Edward the Illusioner told him. "Don't worry, Thaddeus. I'll move out of it soon. My phases, like the moon, change fast."
"No! No talking about the moon!" growled Thaddeus. "If the moon didn't exist, the night would be much darker, and the Shadow side, OUR SIDE, would control the world except for the day!"
"Darkness is already the dominant ruler of the Great Underground," Edward barked, "us Illagers already control a lot more of the world. Not without mention of the deep seas, either."
He had a point there. Those places were rarely touched by the sun, and only artificial light, lava, or bioluminescent flora and fauna lit up those places. The thing was, both extreme climates were dangerous for all, and while Illagers had made many expeditions in the Great Underground, there had just been too many fatalities to amount for the research conducted and special items collected down there. Illagers really only went underground for ores, like almost everyone else. For all Thaddeus knew, practically no one had gone to the deep sea and come back to tell the tale, too. Only possibly the Ancients had done that, and their tales were almost impossible to decipher. There were just too many creatures, hazards, and deadly traps and terrain for one to sustain life in either place. Besides…
"Ain't there a lot of Lunar things out in the ocean?" Thaddeus said. "That's what I've heard."
"Yes, there are," said Edward the Illusioner, "but not so much in the deep, deep depths, eh?"
"No one goes there, though!" said Thaddeus. "They would die if they did."
"To the monster of the darkness, or some other Shadow-oriented creature," Edward told him. "The Darkness still rules."
Thaddeus took an annoyed breath and shut his eyes for a while. He then reopened them when Conjarus said, "Are you okay, Edward the Illusioner?"
"Uh, yes?" said Edward in a response.
"Then what are these?" Conjarus asked, holding up three papers covered in Illageralt runes and drawings of stars and arrows. He had gone over to Edward's desk and picked them off the top of some books and sat his Enchanter's Tome down on the desk's chair. "These look like the writings of someone gone insane."
At that, Thaddeus popped a cooked green cap from one of his pouches into his mouth, and his vision returned to normal. Because of the aesthetic of Edward the Illusioner's room, he hadn't even noticed what was happening. Strange, he thought.
Edward promptly got from his bed, unfolded his arms to reveal gray hands, and snatched up the texts. "These aren't the scrawls of a madman," he said, "they are just my plans for my Jester's Arrows, a new and improved magical arrow type." At that, he tucked the papers into his robe and turned to Thaddeus.
"How did you like the Jester's Arrows?" he asked Thaddeus.
"I've replaced them with Arrows of Harming," Thaddeus responded.
"Okay. Yes. I see," Edward the Illusioner said. "Did something go wrong with them? I thought I foolproofed every wrong that could go wrong."
"No no, they functioned perfectly fine," said Thaddeus with a dismissive hand wave that would have annoyed most, but Edward seemed unaffected. "But it was the fact that they were made of Lunar materials that set the master off the other day, and thus I had to get rid of my set of them."
At this, Conjarus gave a questioning look. That's not what I was told, he thought.
"Well?" Thaddeus questioned, getting impatient with his acquaintance. "Do you have an explanation for that?"
"I was experimenting with some materials…I found in the storage room on this floor." Edward the Illusioner looked down. "Sorry."
Thaddeus shook his head. "What materials?"
"Sticks, flint, iron ore, and feathers, for the arrows," said Edward, "and…warm milk, raw quartz, and…yeah."
"Wow. What a waste of materials," said Conjarus.
"Oh shut up," Thaddeus glared at the Enchanter, who was tossing his Enchanter's Tome up and down. It almost hit the chandelier and the ceiling once, both on separate occasions.
"You didn't even see them in action!" Edward the Illusioner said aloud. "And I gave my first batch to Thaddeus only."
"...plus, you weren't on any of my patrols," said Thaddeus, making sure Edward's statement was true. "Take that."
Conjarus rolled his eyes. "Alright, okay, fine. They're still Lunar, though. You need to end production of them. That, and go burn all of…this." Conjarus stomped the carpet and then kicked it.
"When I switch to a different art style, I will put it away," said Edward the Illusioner, his red eyes blazing with exasperation.
"Okay, okay, we've got it," Thaddeus told his acquaintance, then gave Conjarus "the look." Conjarus held his Enchanter's Tome close and looked away before starting for the door.
Thaddeus looked back to Edward the Illusioner. "Sorry about this," he said quietly. "I just got a little mad, and the master commanded that I'd discipline you with force." A pause. "I'm glad we had this quick talk. I haven't seen you in a while."
"I agree. Apology accepted," Edward the Illusioner said with a single nod. Next, he took out his texts from his robe. "Depulso," he muttered, and the texts flew back several feet and landed neatly on top of one of his Illageralt books at his desk. Thaddeus didn't see spells as often as he liked, so he smiled a good smile at seeing that. Finally, Edward shook Thaddeus's hand even though it wasn't outstretched, and sat back down on his bed.
"Just remember to not let the others see your room, Edward," said Thaddeus as Conjarus opened the door for Thaddeus. "And a change of attire may be in order."
Edward the Illusioner held up a hand. "I know what I'm doing, my friend. Go on now, do your Raid Captain duties, and I'll do mine." He slipped his hand back into an arms-folded position.
Thaddeus nodded one last time and left the room. Conjarus shut the door quietly, then followed Thaddeus out of the fork in the hall and started his trek to the library.
"See you, Raid Captain Thaddeus," Conjarus called, then held his head high and went his way.
Thaddeus waited for Conjarus to disappear around a corner, and then, with a great exhale, he straightened out his Raid Captain banner and went the other way. He planned to go back to the Pillager Outpost and check for any more sightings of Morton Koopa Jr., but as he came to the great cobblestone staircase that led to the grand foyer of the Woodland Mansion, he spotted a commotion.
At the foot of the staircase was Thornton, and by him, another Evoker, and two Pillagers, each fitted with black helmets, darker clothing, golden shoulder pads, and a golden line running through the middle of the black helmet; medium leveled Pillagers. The Evoker next to Thornton was wearing the traditional Evoker robes, which were either black or a very deep purple. This Evoker's robes were black, with a golden line running down the middle of the robe's front, starting at the triangular cut at the neck and stopping at the triangular bottom upward cut. Starting to see a pattern here? An Evoker like this one here also had gray pants and black shoes, and always had green eyes.
Thornton, on the other hand, besides having the same banner was Thaddeus around his head, wore the Splendid Robe, a robe like an Evoker's black one except it had the slightest hint of an extremely dark purple, and all the golden outlines were made of reflective purple amethyst crystals. Purple particles floated around the Splendid Robe as it glowed with the flashy light purple light of enchantments. To top it off, Thornton, defying every other Evoker before him, possessed royal-purple eyes, showing his true devotion to the dark arts, spells and chants and powers that even Thaddeus didn't know about. While Thaddeus had full military control now, he usually lent the powers to Thornton, and had the well-respected elderly Evoker Raid Captain do the plotting instead!
"Raid Captain Thornton," said Thaddeus with a knuckle-crack and head dip. Thornton returned the signature. While the two were on good terms, Thornton did prefer to be called "Raid Captain Thornton," and he was also bossier than Thaddeus, and a little haughty too because of his extensive knowledge of the shadows.
"Thaddeus," he said back in his rich, oily, voice. "How are you?"
"I am good, Raid Captain Thornton," Thaddeus told him in response. "Are you?"
"Why yes," said Thorton with the one-sided smirk that he was known for. It was a very cocky smirk, one that made you want to yell at him or something, but also let you know that he was in full control and could obliterate you in seconds.
"What's the deal here?" asked Thaddeus. He waved his hand at the reasoning of this gathering. There, in front of the double doors, which were open and had the diamond-embedded, high leveled Pillager and Vindicator guards peering in, was Vincent and four other Pillagers, with three of them carrying the loot box from outside the Pillager Outpost, and the fourth one struggling to stand, blood pooling onto the nice, sealed cobblestone floor from an open gash in his chest.
"I am sorry, meh Raid Captains," coughed Vincent. He stared at both of them; one green eye, one empty socket. "I was out on da patrol with some of da udder Pillagers, but then when we came back the Koopatrols were all gone! Da Pillagers on top were attacked by da Koopatrols last night apparently, 'cause they didn't bind them fully to the wall, and they got out, beat 'em up, and jumped out our Outpost in their shells. Now dhere gone, probably talkin' to Bowser Koopa and crap."
"What about da others, Vincent?" asked Thaddeus in a light tone, before Thornton spoke in a rage.
"Well, the Pillagers recovered at the Pillager Outpost," said Vincent, "but I thought that we could bring the supply box back to the Woodland Mansion 'ere to put it in da storage room, so I got four of my men and I, but as usual da the Dark Forest screwed with us and drove some of us insane for a bit, and then dis dude got bit in da heart by a Terrorbeak!" Vincent leaned his head back and groaned angrily.
As if on cue, the struggling Pillager fell to the ground. "Help me," he wheezed quietly.
Thaddeus looked to the Pillagers still holding the loot box, motioned them to sit it down (which they did and then started to stretch their arms out), then spied Vincent, the dying Pillager, Thornton, the medium-leveled Pillagers, and finally the Evoker next to Thornton, who was a member of the Illager Council and was named Kradel.
Thaddeus drew a breath, rolled his neck around, cracked his knuckles, shrugged at Vincent, then whipped out the Butterfly Crossbow and shot the Pillager in the back. The Potion of Harming that had been imbued with the arrows mixed with the blood as the Pillager's muscles went rigid and he fell forward, sliding a centimeter before stopping. Maroon swirls indicating the Potion of Harming was affecting the target, even though the target was dead, spewed forth like smoke from a chimney, if the Pillager was a chimney, before ceasing shortly afterward.
Thaddeus reloaded the Butterfly Crossbow and then slung it back over his shoulder. I had to. I saved him from that terrible pain.
"Kradel, instruct Vincent how to discipline his soldiers for the first time ever without me there," Thaddeus said only half-jokingly to the Evoker beside Thornton, "and leave me be to plan better patrol formations to catch that Morton character." Word had spread about Cain's death and the search for Morton, the Koopaling of the Darkness, and now every Illager was itching to get in on the action.
"I will come assist you, Thaddeus," averred Thornton, taking short but extremely quick strides to reach the Pillager Raid Captain, which was a common trait for most Evokers to have.
"Thanks, Raid Captain Thornton," Thaddeus said, and with a nod from Kradel for each, the Pillager and Evoker headed for the third floor of the Woodland Mansion.
Before long, I'll have that stupid Morton Koopa Jr. in my grasp once again, and then I'll give him to the King, and then from the King to his master he'll go, thought Thaddeus. We'll unlock the true potential of the Koopaling of the Darkness, and just like that, us Illagers will have a great advantage against the Lunar! And after that…we'll have a great advantage…over EVERYTHING.
New references to games in this chapter:
118. The throne Morton sees in his second vision is the Nightmare Throne from Don't Starve; Treeguards are from that game, too, and so are the "mottled brown logs," being Living Logs
119. The Illageralt language, Iceologers, Geomancers, Windcallers, Enchanters, the Enchanter's Tome, the Splendid Robe, the look of medium leveled Pillagers, and the Whispering Spear are all from Minecraft: Dungeons
120. Pillagers having either green or blue eyes, and Evokers having either black or deep purple robes, are both references to how in Minecraft, Pillagers have green eyes and Evokers have black robes, while in Minecraft: Dungeons Pillagers' eyes are blue, and Evoker's robes are deep purple
121. "IS WOOD MAN!" is one of Wolfgang's quotes from Don't Starve; Treeguards being described both as a "lumbering beast" and a "tree beast" are quotes from that game, too, and so is the specific wording of wood armor being "a log suit"
122. Edward the Illusioner's new look is the look of Illusioners in Minecraft; the "normal" version in this fanfiction is their look in Minecraft: Dungeons
123. The Galactic Alphabet and Arrows/Potions of Harming, plus Potions of Fire Resistance and Morton's stone axe are all from Minecraft; Edward the Illusioner's deep blue carpet and ultramarine-blue bed all but Blue Carpets and Blue beds respectively
124. The arrow towers and the plains around Bowser's Castle, or the Fatelands, are both from Minecraft: Legends, and so is the texture of stone and trees in that area
125. The ballistae and harpoons are the Ballista Rod's sentry summons and Grappling Hooks, respectively; the specific "iron, lead, gold, or platinum bows" are from Terraria as well, and so is Edward the Illusioner's Platinum Chandelier and lighting painting, or the "Thunderbolt painting;" the "balls made of a black metal and adorned with gleaming iron" are Spike Balls from Mario
126. General Knife is the unnamed "Koopa General" from The Super Mario Bros. Movie; his helmet and shell are from that, but the rest are from other games; his quiver is the Magic Quiver from Terraria, and so is the "jar of very-very-light blue glass that appeared to contain a miniature, ongoing snowstorm inside," "horseshoes made of obsidian," and "golden ring with some diamonds on it," being the Blizzard in a Bottle, Obsidian Horse(s), and Gold Ring respectively, and the "true-blue, included with, for the last time, a white outline…and also a large golden cross imbued into the middle of the shield" is the Cobalt Shield; the arrows in the quiver are Shock Arrows from The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild; General Knife's Koopatrol armor is dyed with the Sky Blue and Black Dye from Terraria
127. "Depulso" is a spell from Hogwarts Legacy