//------------------------------//
// Down the path. (Short chapter + a new story for my extremely small fan-base). 
// Story: Could this be paradise? 
// by Timemaster 
//------------------------------//

	My cold, sweaty hooves reach down towards an oddly shaped, rectangular object in the middle of a slit that is on the right of me. I grasp my hooves on the stick, wondering what this would do, and tug backwards.

*KCarewkwa!*

The thing I was driving in jolted upwards. My face felt like it was being pushed into my skull with great force, but I persevered. In the middle of this slightly painful sparse, I begin to hear something over the immense sound that was this flying thing's jets...

Wait... Flying?

I am just about to scream in slight delight about flying, until the noise from in front of me barked for my attention. "Agent? Where are you? Can you read me? Over." My heart-beat stops, knowing what this must be. This must be one of the inventions that my family told me about... What was it called? Something that begins with ra... ra... rad... radiation? No, that can't be it.

Maybe I can ask Mr. Bubblepants...

"Grrr..." I nearly forgot. that gryphon... griffon... , whatever, took my favorite being from me. Where could he be?

I find a vague green and immediately press it. *Click* Instead of a crackling 'Kaboom' from that button, all of the force going up stopped... except my own. I ram into the ceiling of this thing and cascade down onto the wheel, hurt. I rub my head, making sure to not put any more force on my head than needed.

"Hello? Agent!?" the thing in front of me screeched, "If you do not respond in five seconds, I will send in Delta Team!"

One...

'Delta Team?'

Two...

I just stare at the noisy thing in front of me, wondering what exactly this 'Delta Team' was...

Three...

All I know is that it cannot be good.

Four...

I gulp, waiting for what may happen.

Five...

I just hope it isn't that bad...


That cannot be too much to ask, could it?




It has been many days since the old king was killed. The air is crisp and silent, only a lone man standing with a object straight from his father's old room.
On a brand new, straight from the old royal chambers, is the old king's desk. This thing is chock-full of secrets, just waiting to be discovered. The desk is made of hand-crafted iron and wood, both made in the ancient civilization--England--and have more in common that you would think. 

"My father really did have good taste in objects," said the 'new' king, dressed in his 'royal' attire--consisting of his father's flesh and dye--that makes it a royal purple. No one suspects that the attire is made of human skin, for it was perfectly leather-ed by slaves.

"He just never had good taste in ideals." he said, ripping open a large cabinet in the middle of the desk, splintering some of the wood. He grabs many papers, a smile upon his pale, malnourished skin. He hadn't eaten since he killed his father, so people would believe he truly felt grief or something pitiful like that.

With papers in hand, his eyes scan through some of them, his smile growing larger and larger...