//------------------------------// // Ch 19: Dead 'Mon Walking // Story: A New World, An Old Haunt // by Professor Frogenshtein //------------------------------// You sure you're alright? The narrative nodded, nursing a very large mug of bubbling potionade. Again, I am very sorry for shouting; I didn't know you had a migraine. And I'm sorry for not telling him you had a migraine. It's fine, just– the narrative needs a secondary character chapter to calm itself. Right... We'll just be off. Won't bother you at all. [Aye.] Just go already. Sure, sure. See you later. Bye; Sorry again. [Fair winds and all that.] The narrative sighed as it heard a door close behind it– it finally had some peace and quiet. The narrative started the chapter. Somewhere, deep in the badlands of Equestria, a great evil plotted. The– Hold on, sorry, need a moment; I forgot my keys. Where did I put– ah, there they are. Again, so sorry, please carry on. ... The ritual had been a success. This new body, though weak and immaterial, would serve his purposes for now. As he thought of his new form, he contemplated the golden visage he held in his hands. This was the face of a conqueror, a fearsome warrior-monarch who ruled lands more vast than any simple-minded peasant could hope to fathom! To see such a godlike countenance reduced to a mere mockery of his former greatness enraged him to no end; once he had a foothold from which to take over this pitiful planet, he would find those who had robbed him of his empire and make them beg for death. He was shaken from his brooding as he made to tighten his grip on an absent staff, his translucent hands finding only air. He growled; capable though he was, it would be grueling to claw his way back to greatness. If he only had but a single follower, one minuscule vestige of his former– Ah, sorry, coming through; forgot my bit pouch. Pretty sure it's– yep, there, got it. Sorry to interrupt, go ahead and keep going. ......one minuscule vestige of his former glory, anything to stifle the dreariness that was so far below a god-king such as he! His postulating was cut short as he sensed a presence behind him. Acting on instinct, he whipped around to face the unknown entity, moving as if to behead it with a bladed weapon. Fortunately for the entity, his hands were still empty. The creature that had approached him was large and round, with branching wings and a tail all striped in many colors. It was a sigilyph, bowing deeply to him with no regard– Eh-heh, sorry, have to squeeze by a moment; I forgot my hat. It's embarrassing really, what with me almost always wearing it– right, there, found it! Sorry again, just gonna squeeze past again... Don't mind me, feel free to continue. ......... *sigh*. With no regard for his reactive attempt to slay it. "Oh great master," it spoke, not daring to meet his gaze, "oh highest of all beings, my supreme ruler; I have waited centuries for your return, ever since the palace fell, so that I may serve you again!" He said nothing, thoughtfully considering the pokémon prostrating itself before him; this sigilyph was familiar to him... Of course! It was his weakest of servants at the time of his rule, the one who had been ever willing to follow his every command. Back in his days of glory, he had dismissed the pathetic thing, telling it to pace the castle grounds endlessly; it had complied without hesitation, never stopping to rest for even an instant as he watched in amusement. His impulses told him to disembowl this spineless failure where it stood for daring to sully his greatness with its presence; and yet... [Say, matey, could ye spare a cup o' grog?] SHOVE OFF! [... Well SOMEone's got sharks in their undercarriage...] (Ugh, these wall-breakers... Where were we? Hmm, attempted slaying, weak servant, disembowl... Here it is.) No... An underling as loyal as this would be difficult, and its survival spoke greatly of how the centuries had made it more powerful. Indeed, this sigilyph could be of great use to him in his conquest of this world. "Rise, servant," he commanded, a wicked smirk on his lips, "rise and serve your master." The sigilyph obeyed, its eyes sparkling in awe, filled with the desire to follow his every command. "Your loyalty is welcomed, sigilyph," he said, smirking again at the look of joy in the creature's eyes for merely being acknowledged. "You shall assist me as I regain my greatness. Your first task is to procure a more substantial body, that I may possess it." The sigilyph bowed again before taking off, shaking with eagerness. "As you command... Oh Great War King Ptolemy." "Well," Axtron Grissom muttered, all 4 arms crossed, "that town was a complete waste of time." Corporal marched confidently through the muck and marsh as he led his team through the swamps, paying no heed to the grumbling of the ledian buzzing at the back. True, the experience they underwent in Baltimare was one that he'd rather not relive (or even recount any time soon), but he was steadfast in his convictions that those foul, felonious phantoms had come this way! ...probably. ...maybe. That part didn't matter! The important thing was finding their next clue, a lead to point them straight to the villains! ...which would be easier if it weren't for the fact that none of the natives of this world could understand him. Corporal's bitter scowl at the thought was hidden by his luxurious moustache as he contemplated the difficulties that lack of communication had caused; the stoutland could not even offer words of encouragement to his loyal young companion, Biscuits. Corporal pondered on their conundrum, remembering the first time he'd encountered their quarry; the ghosts had brought a psychic-type with them, using the poor creature as a translator. Though the idea repulsed him, Corporal wondered if the fiends had been on to something... "Yes!" The ghost hunter exclaimed, and he stopped short on a small patch of dry ground. He ignored the cries of indignant protest from the other two 'mons in his group, whirling around to share his epiphany. "What's your stupid problem, skippy?!" Grissom grumbled gruffly. Corporal raised a paw into the air. "If our quest is to succeed, we must present a unified front! We need to achieve understanding with one another, to overcome the cumbersome confines of our linguistic limitations! We need a psychic-type!" "...what did he say?" Biscuits asked to no one in particular. When Arceus had moved all the pokémon off of Earth, Machoke wasn't really fazed. When he figured out that switching worlds had made him evolve, Machamp was even a little happy. Machamp was a machamp of simple tastes; he liked eating, training, fighting, punching things, fighting, sleeping, and training, and having two extra arms made it a lot easier to punch things (although none of the rainbow ponyta had wanted to fight). When the message from Arceus told him not to punch the rainbow ponyta, Machamp shrugged his double shoulders and went to find some big rocks or something, eventually coming across a place called the 'badlands' that had plenty of stuff to punch. That had been really nice. That had changed, though, when the psychic bird came for him; punching psychics was hard, and punching birds was even harder, so trying to punch both at once... It was not fun. It hadn't stopped Machamp from trying, but the pokémon (that he didn't recognize, and was probably from a different region) was fast to take him down, hypnotizing him as it said something about 'the mighty liege' and 'a fitting vessel for control.' The last thing Machamp had felt was the cold chill of a ghost (a type he also hated fighting, since he couldn't punch them at all). The last thing Machamp heard was a deep, powerful voice; one that scared him on a deep level he had never known about. And the last thing Machamp saw... Was blinding, shining platinum. Sigilyph hovered anxiously, waiting for her master's decision on the vessel she had found for him. She watched as the great king tested the machamp's body, flexing his muscles and holding his four hands to the flawless platinum mask on his face. He rolled his second pair of arms in their sockets; they would likely take some getting used to, but such matters were no doubt trivial to a king as mighty as he. As if to confirm her thought, her master plunged all four fists into a nearby boulder, striking again and again until he was left with two perfect staves of solid rock. Finally, he spoke. "You have done well, sigilyph," he said, taking a staff each in his right hands, "this body will serve my conquest nicely; you have clearly grown in power, that you were able to subdue this pokémon's mind." At these words, Sigilyph trembled in near ecstasy. Her king had praised her work! "Anything for the mighty war king," she said, bowing before his majesty, "though the machamp's mind was simple, your glory could easily have suppressed it without my aid." Suddenly, however, her prostration was disrupted as she detected four minds drawing close to their position. "Great one," she spoke, rising, "forgive me for interrupting my praise of your might, but there is a small group very near to us; they are weak-minded and foolish, and they seek a psychic-type to join them." Sigilyph watched with interest as the great king's mask contorted into a sinister smile. "Then I believe they shall find one." Radi shook her head, clearing out a strange residual fog. What just happened? She remembered following Axtron as their ragtag group looked for a psychic-type, got lost, stumbled out into a desert-like area, and got lost again, but after that... nothing. It was a few moments before the ariados realized what was going on in front of her. The stoutland, Corporal, was shaking paws/hands with a machamp, a sigilyph hovering nearby. "It's great to have you both on our quest of justice," Corporal was saying. "Together, I'm sure we can take down those morbid miscreants and make this planet safer for pokémon and Equus-ites alike." Radi squinted her almond-shaped bug eyes; was she seeing things, or did the machamp's face look strangely... lustrous? Then the sigilyph looked at her, and Radi almost felt an odd pressure on her brain, a foreign buzz reverberating through the venom in her mandibles. The sensation was over in an instant, almost before it had begun, and when the ariados looked up she saw a completely normal machamp. "It is my pleasure to assist such a noble cause," the machamp replied, "and Sigilyph will gladly act as translator on our journey." 'It's just my imagination,' Radi thought. Or was that her thought? It almost felt like someone else spoke to her... 'No, it's definitely my imagination.' Grissom buzzed up to the pair shaking hands, looking at the taller fighting-type. "So what's your name, bruto?" The machamp smirked– no, smiled, meeting eyes with the ledian. "You may call me King."