• Published 17th Nov 2020
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Worlds Apart: The Chosen of the Prognosticus - GMBlackjack



A Void appears, threatening to destroy all worlds. Twilight is chosen to travel the multiverse and save it from an untimely demise. A reimagining of Super Paper Mario with ponies and a few twists. Each world is a different crossover. Complete!

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Android's Dream

“Oh my…” Tippi managed upon entering Celerillion. “It really is like entering a dream.”

“Except every single thing we thought would become reality if we didn’t have these circlets on,” Caspian reminded her.

Cosmo looked up at the eyes that kept blinking in and out of the sky. “I wonder who thought those up…”

“Eyes are very common in a lot of stories,” Vivian said. “So... probably a lot of people.”

“Focus is engaged,” Data said, appearing next to them with even more of a robotic posture than normal. “Caution: I will not be able to hold complex conversations in this focused state. Do not request things of me unless you are certain you wish me to follow it through to the literal fullest. Until you say otherwise, I shall continue with my plan.”

He focused his imagination. As an android with a limiter in place, this was pathetically easy. First… he created a screw, then the beam the screw wound into, then the wires that went through the beam, then the coating to seal all the components in place. Satisfied that the section was functional, he moved to make several dozen components at once. Screws, bolts, wires, screens, conduits; it all took shape in front of him one bit at a time, coming together at an exponentially faster rate. He dared not skimp on the details—he made sure to specifically bring to mind every single component from his internal blueprint and assemble it the way it would have been assembled in the physical world, albeit much faster.

Beams became hallways, wires became weapons, and chambers became warp nacelles. In the end, he had fully recreated the Enterprise as it had been when it flew off of spacedock, complete with the shimmering of fresh letter decals on the hull. Imagining that its transporters would take everyone to the bridge, it did. Mechanically, he sat in the Captain’s chair.

Celerillion bowed to Data’s will. No other thoughts interrupted his own.

“W-well then,” Tippi managed a little shocked at how quickly that had transpired. “I… guess we should go.”

“Scanning for areas of interest,” Data droned, looking straight ahead with a blank expression.

“I can’t sense the Pure Heart,” Tippi said. “If anything, there’s more interference here than elsewhere.”

Data had the screen display what was going on outside. Multiple versions of the eyes were looking at them intently. The angry mountain glared at them and threw flaming rocks. A simple thought from Data and the Enterprise’s phasers disintegrated the boulders. This seemed to make the mountain even angrier, so Data simply pushed the Enterprise into impulse speeds and sped away.

Then the sensors located a place of interest.

“Possible cerebral husk,” Data announced, turning the Enterprise around in a full one-eighty. However, before he pushed it into impulse again, suddenly an intruder was standing on the bridge. He was similar to Provenance in appearance with his dark skin, hairless head, and circuit-like designs on his arms, but his face was completely emotionless.

“What are you?” the intruder asked.

“I am an android,” Data responded, not taking his eyes off their thousand-yard stare. “What are you?”

“Jek of the Tonbrium. Your mastery over creation is astounding.” He cocked his head. “How do you make such detailed constructions without losing yourself to your imagination?”

“I am an android.”

“Maybe we can answer,” Vivian suggested. “He’s a machine—you know what a machine is, right? Right. He’s a machine that self-programmed before coming here to absolutely fixate his imagination so the world wouldn’t end up killing him if he wondered what would happen i—”

Jek held up a hand. “Cease talking. You are outsiders. Outsiders often speak without discipline. The wrong words can end another’s mind by introducing an evil idea.”

“Oh, sorry!” Vivian realized that meant she was talking, so she slapped her hands over her mouth.

“Your circlets appear to keep your dreams from manifesting. A powerful tool. Cannot be created, for it will work until I consider that it does not.” As he said these things, an exact copy of the circlet appeared on his head and vanished a moment later. “I warn you, do not engage with the inhabitants of this world. With a thought, they will kill you—or you them.”

“We seek the Pure Heart,” Caspian said, choosing his words carefully.

“I know of no Pure Heart. Machine.” He turned to Data. “Imagine it for me.”

Data generated the red Pure Heart, showing it to Jek before dissipating it. “Yours may be a different color.”

“I have seen no such thing,” Jek said. “Nor have I seen it imagined before. You should visit a cerebral husk to investigate. Again, avoid interaction. That is all.” Then he was gone.

“...He risked his life by coming to us,” Cosmo observed. “We could have said the wrong thing and… poof.”

“I’ve thought about thinking about exploding several times since we arrived,” Tippi said. “I’m very glad we have these circlets.”

The Enterprise passed over the mountain again. This time it was swinging the sky whale around like a club, trying to knock the Enterprise out of the sky. Data maneuvered around it with ease. Up ahead was what he had identified as a cerebral husk: a dark hunk of rock vaguely shaped like a skull, the only thing in the entire sky that wasn’t shifting and warping with twisted imagination. It was constant, and it was tremendous. Easily the size of a moon when viewed from their current angle, it invited them to the corpse of some long-forgotten mind.

“Entity standing on cerebral husk,” Data reported. “Onscreen.”

The screen zoomed in on the rocky surface where a single lone humanoid in a bloody, yellow starfleet uniform stood. He held a phaser that was black in color and shared Data’s completely blank expression.

Data twisted his head to the side. “Psychic attack. Compensating.” A spark flew out of his ear. “Difficulty.”

“D-data?” Vivian put her hands to her mouth. “Oh no…”

Cosmo ran to the tactical console and locked phasers on the not-Data thing manually since Data himself was occupied. “Firing phasers!”

The Enterprise unleashed its orange beams onto the creature, but it blinked out of existence before it was hit. It appeared directly on the bridge of the Enterprise, staring right at Data. More sparks flew out of the android’s head. “Error. Error. Error.”

The not-Data lifted his phaser and aimed at Data’s head.

“Foul beast!” Caspian shouted, swinging his blade at the imposter. With his free hand, not-Data smacked Caspian aside, hitting him across the forehead. Caspian went flying…

And his circlet fell off.

Cerelillion heard Caspian’s thoughts… and obeyed.

The mind does strange things when it’s afraid. When it fears for its life or for the lives of others, the fear warps the imagination, often into the worst possible outcome of what is feared. The existential threat of the “worst-case scenario” was a terrible and brutal killer of men in Celerillion, and it would have killed Caspian were it not for one thing—he believed he had someone watching over him. His thoughts of the worst-case scenario were replaced with thoughts of the proud, beautiful lion that he served.

But once the primary difficulty of the “worst-case scenario” was surpassed, the secondary arose: that of fear warping memories and images through tapping into the base survival instincts of humanity. The lion that projected from Caspian’s subconscious was regal, powerful, and dangerous. But all the kind and understanding qualities were gone.

Caspian quickly forced his circlet back onto his head, but the damage was already done. Celerillion had a new entity, and it thirsted for blood. It jumped the thing that was assaulting Data, biting into the neck and tearing out digital components. Once separated from the main body, the imaginative structure of the components dissipated into nothing more than shadowy dust. Three more guttural bites and the not-Data was utterly destroyed.

Somehow, despite having not attacked a being with blood or even substance, the lion’s teeth were a bloodcurdling red. It slowly turned, predatorily moving toward Caspian, teeth bared.

“You’re not him,” Caspian said firmly. “It… it shames me to see my mind produce such a false image.”

“Data!” Tippi called. “Data, imagine it away!”

Data was unresponsive. Every couple seconds he would move something, indicating he was at least partially functional, but nothing was being imagined whatsoever.

The lion prodded toward Caspian, teeth bared.

“I will stand against a false image!” Caspian declared, drawing his sword. “Even though I will fall to my own hubris, I will stand to the end!”

The lion nodded in a brutal respect to Caspian. Then, slowly, it lifted a paw and pointed at Cosmo.

“No, don—”

The lion jumped Cosmo. She pressed down on her phaser, scoring a direct hit, but the image was immune to the attack. With a light yell, she ducked and rolled under the lion’s pounce—but it still managed to claw through her outer leaves. Twisting around, the lion moved in for the killing blow. She wouldn’t be able to dodge it.

Vivian didn’t waste time thinking. She removed her circlet, keeping her eyes shut as tight as she possibly could, cutting out all else. He is a good lion. He is a gracious lion. He is a powerful lion. He will not abandon us. These are all the things Caspian said… So let the right one appear!

She slammed the circlet back on her head and opened her eyes. As she’d hoped, there were two lions on the bridge now—one with a bloody, dripping mouth, and the other with a calm, regal expression.

“You have no business here,” the new lion said. “Begone.”

The bloody lion vanished into the winds of Celerillion.

“A-aslan?” Caspian asked.

Aslan nodded curtly to Caspian—but quickly turned to Vivian. “Well done.”

“Bu-bu-bu—” Vivian stammered.

“Blessed is she who has not seen.” His face seemed to smile at her. “Do not be afraid. I am he, I am no fake. No perfect fake could exist, for then it would become me, and I am.”

“I shouldn’t’ve sorry I um…”

“Child. Now is not the time for fruitless wondering and destructive self-doubt. There will come a time where you will examine your life for what it is, and understand what was good, and what was evil. Today, you have victory.” He laid his head next to Vivian, brushing her with his mane. “Relish in your new light.”

Vivian couldn’t help but smile—even if she was still completely speechless.

Backing up, Aslan returned his focus to Caspian. The King of Narnia hung his head. “I have failed you, my Lord. I have no right to stand.”

“You never did. Stand anyway.”

Taking a deep breath, Caspian rose to his full height.

“Son of Adam, not everything is in your power to control. Rest. The evil within you is exposed, it will not live long.” He lifted his head up and shook his mane, letting out a roar to the sky.

When he turned to leave, Cosmo held up a hand. “Um… thanks for the save.”

Somehow, he seemed more delighted at this than anything they’d seen before. “You are welcome, Cosmo.”

Then he was gone.

“...Well then…” Tippi said. “Is... it even possible to tell if…? I… You know what, I’m not going to ask.” She fluttered over to Data. “Data?”

Data’s head flopped to the other side.

“He’s down,” Caspian said. “We need to get him back to Starfleet.”

Vivian took a deep breath, gathering her wits. “We do need to—but there’s also a cerebral husk right outside. We… we should see if we can find what we need on it, first.”

Caspian nodded slowly. “Right… it may not be easy to get here again.”

“Cosmo? Can you run the transporters and the ship?”

Cosmo examined the cuts in her leaves, finding them not to be that serious. “Sure! I’ll have you in and out. Just… hmm.” Cosmo took the communicator off Data’s uniform and tossed it to Caspian. “Just call me when you want to be beamed back.”

Tippi fluttered over to Vivian and Caspian. “Energize.”

Cosmo pressed a few buttons and the three of them appeared on top of the solid rock of the cerebral husk. They could feel the death within the ground, and if any of them had not had their circlet, they would have imagined themselves into a decaying heap of flesh before being reduced to nothing. As it was, they were just unnerved. It was impossible to tell the entire structure looked like a skull from afar, but it was as though the husk wanted them to know the entire time they were on its surface.

Vivian focused upward at the beautiful eyes blinking through the sky. They filled her with an inner peace the rock below didn’t.

“This…” Tippi paused. “This place is different.”

“How so?” Caspian asked.

“Everywhere else, there’s been this buzzing in my sensors. Ones that let me know the Pure Heart is somewhere in the universe. While here, on this husk, I feel nothing. This dead thing is a hole. There is no Pure Heart here—I can only sense the Pure Heart being away from this.”

“And you’ve never felt this before?” Caspian asked.

“Never,” Tippi confirmed. “Even near the Void, I feel something. This is… as if part of the Pure Heart itself had died, if that makes sense?”

“Not really,” Vivian admitted. “But at least we know it’s not here.”

Caspian tapped his communicator. “Cos—” the communicator burst into flames, making Caspian tear it off and throw it to the ground. “What in blazes!?”

Suddenly, there was a Tonbrium in the middle of the three of them, and this individual was a lot less chatty than the previous one. He imagined a massive hammer in his hand and brought it down, only for Caspian to roll out of the way—but not before an imagined snowball hit him in the face, making him move as though time were slowed down.

Vivian shifted behind the Tonbrium and punched him in the chest, lighting him on fire. All he had to do was imagine that he was no longer on fire, and he was fine.

This is going to be problematic.

Vivian turned to the shape of the Enterprise and started shooting fireballs. I need to get Cosmos’ attention. Come on, Cosmo, come on!

The Tonbrium imagined that Vivian could no longer shoot fire, so she couldn’t. She backed away from him, fearing the Tonbrium would imagine her into a plate of food or something, but Caspian ran to her rescue—stabbing a sword right through the warrior’s chest.

He imagined Caspain’s sword didn’t exist and that he was fully healthy.

“I keep losing my swords,” Caspian muttered.

The Tonbrium imagined a whip aflame, cracking it in the air.

“Be careful, you might hit yourself!” Tippi called. The instant she said this, the whip cracked onto the Tonbrium’s back. “That’s right, try not to think about hitting yourself!” The whip seemed to take on a mind of its own, whipping the Tonbrium across the back—but he regained control of his mind, glaring right at Tippi.

“Listen closely,” Tippi said, fluttering a fair distance from him. “Your arm is essentially just a very large sausage being cooked by the inner fire of your bones. The more you move, the more your internal organs burn the material you’ve ingested over the day. The flames of the organ systems within you are always a split second away from failing…” He tried to imagine her freezing solid, but the focus required to do that made him think about his foot bursting into flames. Seeing the weakness, Tippi pushed. “You are on fire. You must stop thinking about fire to stop being on fire. Use that mental discipline of yours to force the fire of fire out of your mind—fight fire with fire, as it were, like I’m doing, firing at you with words you cannot ignore about the burning blight of your buttocks.”

Suddenly the Tonbrium’s butt lit on fire. His posture remained passive, though, and he attempted to keep his expression flat.

“Also don’t think about ice,” Tippi suggested. “Especially not growing from your head down, stabbing through every little part of your skin like it’s a—” he swung his hammer, but she noticed he wasn't generating any more imagined weapons. “—a trampoline net, that you need to jump and jump and jump on until it shreds like rubber right down the middle, snapping and popping with every little piece of the thread—or spinal cord, your pick.”

The Tonbrium’s bones started cracking, but he still moved forward, simply because he knew how to avoid thinking about his own death while also fixating on his life. Tied up in his own thoughts as he was, he would still move toward her. Still—

“Oh look at that, Vivian just cast Explosion.”

Vivian did not cast Explosion until Tippi had said that, and then an explosion erupted from her finger and threw the Tonbrium off the cerebral husk and onto the ground below.

“Huh,” Vivian said. She checked to make sure her fire powers were back. “Neat.”

“Creatures like us that can say anything without endangering ourselves really are monstrous here,” Caspian said. “No creature of that sort would be able to do what you just did, Tippi.”

“I try,” Tippi said, giggling slightly. “Now, we just need to get Comso’s attentio—oh no.”

The mountain beast that they had seen several times before was running right at them, throwing a boulder not at the Enterprise, but the three of them on the cerebral husk.

“Cosmo!” Vivian shouted. “Now would be a good time t—”

The transporter picked them up just before the boulder smashed into the husk.

“—o beam us up,” Vivian finished on the bridge.

“Your communicator broke, didn’t it?” Cosmo asked.

Caspian nodded. “Quite. Now, what is this mountain’s problem?”

Cosmo pressed a few buttons, putting the mountain on screen. She had to fire phasers to destroy the incoming boulders. “I have no idea. It certainly seems very fixated on us, though…”

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