Donnie watched, first with respect, then with revulsion, Mr. Grimm tried to take them all on, only for the Centurion to execute a man who already couldn't fight back. His gauntleted hands balled into fists as he watched the display. And then, Peach of all people absorbing his soul...


Master Shang Xi gazed at his wayward student, a strange creature by the name of Donovan. It seemed that, having been brought into the school later in life than most students, Donovan had been more prone to mistakes than his classmates. The young monk's brash nature and his tendency to punch first and ask questions later troubled the old master, wondering if perhaps he might misuse his talents.

This wasn't the first time the human had been brought before the master, and it likely wouldn't be the last.

"Initiate Donovan," Shang said. "I've been told that you got into a fight yet again. Tell me what happened."

"I saw a thief run off with a bag of gold coins," the teenage human replied, "He was stealing from the old woman who runs the teahouse!"

The master held up a hand to stop him from speaking more, having understood the situation perfectly. "And so you acted in defense of that old woman by physically assaulting the thief. You could have gone to get the guards, tailed him and told a guard where he was hiding, or simply used your brute strength to restrain him until the authorities could arrive. You could have even used the handwraps you had on you to bind his wrists. Instead, you beat him senseless. I am informed you tackled him to the ground, punched him several times, and then intentionally broke one of his legs to stop him from running away."

He looked at his student piercingly. "I understand that you adhere to the way of the Huojin. You value action. But that is no reason not to exercise restraint. You have been trained in the ways of combat, but you must know when to use force and when to use less extreme methods."

"I understand, master," Donovan said, his head hung in shame. "What is my punishment?"

The master looked slightly amused, an expression that nonetheless ran chills down Donovan's spine. "You will clean the floor of the temple for the next week. You will make up your missed lessons at night, the week after."

Donovan stood aghast. "You can't be serious!"

"I am. Your first shift starts in ten minutes. Run along now."

Donovan quickly ran away, mortified.


If there was one thing that week scrubbing floors had taught him, it was that there was a time to use force and there was a time to simply walk away. He could have given the Centurion a tongue-lashing, but while he was in his reverie, the moment had already passed.

And he had a more pressing concern. Seeing Mr. Grimm vanish like that rapidly caused a flood of information to enter his mind. Memories of reviving the dead, and of the spell Resuscitate.

But since Mr. Grimm had no body left, that wouldn't work even if he could somehow remove Mr. Grimm's soul from Peach's body. Besides, looking at their chi, it seemed like their essences had fused completely. It was doubtful that the man's consciousness could be removed in the same way.

Still, seeing the sweet, naive princess from the castle now talk about ripping the souls from her allies' chests...it left a bad taste in his mouth. In fact, this whole thing did. Consuming souls? Fusing with them? Turning them into equipment? This was disgusting. This was wrong. He knew warlocks who wouldn't stoop to such a level, even when dealing with the demons they fought and enslaved. Hell, even death knights wouldn't do that these days!

But it was out of necessity. They'd need all the power they would get, wouldn't they? And he supposed that killing an injured enemy who'd been so hell-bent on killing you not thirty seconds ago made a twisted kind of sense.

In any event, the remaining loot needed to be divvied up. He could chew the Centurion out later. He strolled over to Needles' Spirit, and craned his neck over towards Michael, Franklin, and Gene.

@Simple Unicycle @thedman
"You three need power more than I do," Donnie said, in a voice that made clear that, under the surface, he was quite disturbed by the events on display. "I'm getting spells back by the day. I just remembered my resurrection spell when that Peach ate that guy. Turn the clown into a flamethrower or something. Figure it out between yourselves."

Then, walking a few feet ahead, he looked at Sweet Bot. "Now, that's what I'm interested in. I'll take it if no-one else wants it, and if nothing else it can probably fit a few extra people."

Banjo’s stunting gambit proved successful. With a momentous step, he forcefully swung an arm wide into Grimm, knocking him from his feet to tumble to the ground with the duo. The combatants rolled to their feet to face each other, but Banjo and Kazooie were spared no chance by the reaper to make another move against him. Grimm mimed a ripping motion, and with it, the two stumbled forward as two spectral masses were forcibly drawn from their form--one a gentle blue, the other a soft red. They clung to consciousness as they lingered within a state of being between life and death while Grimm momentarily considered them. After a few seconds of quick consideration, he sent the two spirits spiraling back, coalescing into one as they made contact with their proper vessels and sent them tumbling a few dozen yards across the landscape at speeds just over what their own vehicle could reach. After Banjo eventually slid to a stop on his front, he then picked his head up to shake off the dizziness and assess what had just transpired.

“What just happened?” Banjo began with a groan.

“I could tell you, but you might wish I didn’t,” Kazooie suggested, expecting the spare her partner the disturbing reality of their experience.

“It feels like we just had our souls stolen and thrown back at us.”

“Er… yeah. That’s basically what happened.”

“Aren’t things like that a bit dark for us?”

“Yeah, I can’t say I’m liking the implications here.”

As well she shouldn’t. While such happenings were principally little different from those that kicked off their previous adventure--Bottles’ death, Jingaling’s zombification, and their nemesis Grunty’s plan to literally steal the life force of others to restore herself (which resulted in the latter)--they had yet to witness just how much deeper it went than they realized. They were lucky enough to survive what they had just underwent. Whether there was something somehow keeping their spirits anchored to their being (i.e. will, vitality), the biker had some better reason for letting them go, or if they were thrown back at them just to prove a point would remain a mystery to them. They could see in the near distance that Grimm was finished; overkilled really. A few of their allies were gathered around the reaping biker as his last words and signs of life escaped him, followed by an upward explosion of scattering spirits.

Doing their best to keep track, Banjo and Kazooie were able to closely estimate somewhere between eighty-three and ninety-one spirits, but would otherwise need a third opinion to narrow it down. Hat Kid counted exactly eighty-seven. Though, aside from their explorative instincts, none of them were sure why their minds chose to record such information as if they would be able to do anything with it; the spirits were surely well out of their reach. Shortly after the last of the freed souls disappeared, the duo’s attention was drawn to the prismatic flare that erupted where Peach stood, prompting them to hurry back to see what was going on. When the glow dissipated, the Princess emerged, transformed, bearing uncomfortably familiar features that weren’t previously her own.

“Your Highness?” Banjo started, squinting as if that would somehow sharpen his visual comprehension. “Is that you?” She affirmed that she was indeed herself whilst summarizing her new abilities, which the bear and bird had already experienced firsthand. Putting two and two together from the debriefing about ‘Spirits’ from less than an hour ago, they came to the obvious conclusion as to how Peach received her upgrade. While this news came with its own set of concerns, all the same, it was a relief to know that she wasn’t corrupted by her changes.

“Just promise you won’t do what he did. I’m already having traumatic flashbacks,” Kazooie added in dramatized reference to their incident from earlier. Besides a hard tumble, they managed to come out of it physically unscathed, but it stood the chance of leaving them scarred in other ways.

In the meantime, with the cessation of activity, Hat Kid was free to comb the field as she pleased, and resumed doing so once the spirit fountain ran empty. She would keep a sharp eye out and her top hat on and active while riding another lap or two around the battlefield before regrouping with the others. Provided it wasn’t carrying anything that she might want, she would leave the sole remaining raider vehicle alone and allow it to flee without pursuing it.

@Lugubrious@Dawnrider@Stekkmen@thedman@DracoLunaris

---

Linkle had been wrong. It was not as exciting watching Agoston crush a man as it had been to see him crush a car.

She had lowered both of her bows, content to give the man the minute he'd asked for to catch his breath, when she'd heard a shout of "watch out Linkle" and took an instinct I've jump back from her opponent. She'd expected to see the guy pulling some trick, but it was actually just Agoston coming down on him like a Death Mountain avalanche.

"Darn it, Agoston, I was gonna give him a chance to swing at me." She said as the centurion rolled off a man that was very obviously never going to rise again. She wasn't distraught or angry about what the Centurion had done, but more annoyed. She couldn't bring herself to feel bad about what happened to the sorcerer. He'd demolished her beautiful steed before she'd even given it a name, and had been planning on much worse. You play villainous games, you win villainous prizes.

Still, she started forward to at least give him the dignity of someone hearing his last words. It was the least she could do as his opponent. Luckily, though, she wasn't the only one with that idea.

Princess Peach knelt at the mans side, and held his hand as he began to disintegrate. Something between a dreamy sigh and a squeal of amazement welled up in the back of her throat and, reading the room, she quickly covered her mouth with her hands to hold it in. To have such a caring heart as to give comfort to even a man like this in his final moments was classical princess, the sort of noble and beautiful soul the existed only in old legends. It was like seeing a page from a story book playing out in front of her eyes.

Those wonder struck eyes of hers were quickly drawn kkyward as a veritable geyser of spirits erupted from the sorcerer's body. She uncovered her mouth as the torrent of rainbow light disappeared to wherever spirits went when no one took them. She let out a high whistle of respect. "Wow," she said breathlessly. "He was really tearing them up out here, huh?" She looked back down at the swords laying in the dust. "I wonder why he only used the one?" She reached down and picked one up, weighing it in her hand before he attention was arrested by the return of the Koopa King.

She hadn't expected that hit to have killed Bowser, but she was relived he was back up and bossy as ever all the same. As the younger Koopa surveyed the damaged monster kart and the older tried to rally the rabbits she giggled. "Sorry your majesty." She called over to Bowser as they both watched the rabbit kart swerve this was and that on it's long rout back to them. "I think I riled them up a little."

It wasn't long before her attention was swung back to the princess, this time by a scream and a flash of light that left in her place something radically different from the princess classic she'd been admiring not a few seconds ago. Linkle just kind of gawked, at a loss for words. Her transformation hadn't been as radical as this. All new outfit, all new hairdo, and an awesome tan were insane compared to Linkle's puny ears. She wanted to ask the princess whether she felt a little more dark and witchy than before, but held her tongue when she considered that she didn't feel any more rabbity after her own transformation. What was more interesting was the power she mentioned before walking to her kart.

"She can take spirits out of us?" She wondered aloud. Her ears seemed to droop as she considered the implications of that, before she knocked herself lightly on the head. "Don't worry little buddy, you're not going anywhere. Even if you're driving me deaf." They seemed to bounce back up at that, though whether that was due to Linkle's own cheering up or something else breathing a wholly theoretical sigh of relief was anyone's guess.

The Princess wasn't the only one that had gotten a dramatic transformation, either. As she watched Poppy and Tora wander off she wondered who in this battle Poppy had absorbed to make her look like that. As she watched she tired to twirl the sword she'd picked up and felt it slip from her grasp and tumble to the ground. She grunted in annoyance. She wasn't really a sword person. She didn't know why, it seemed like an easy thing to pick up. What could be so complicated about "hya, hya, hyaaaaaaa!" She'd practiced with sticks against the village boys when she was little, but had never been able to work it out. Mostly it had just made her dizzy.

"Hey Agoston, you want-" she started, only to hear the Centurion motor off into the distance. She sighed and picked up the other sword. May as well hold onto them then. She could probably store them in Juniors clown kart.

Speaking of Junior she made her was over to him and the monstrous truck. She'd heard the plan to repair this thing. A lot of the others seemed content to move on, but she found Franklin and Michael hanging around the wreck while Donnie scrutinized the other kart she had never really seen all that well and the Kid in the Hat ran around looking for anything that had been dropped. "I'm willing to hang around for a while if you guy want to try and put this back together." She said to Franklin and the little Prince, looking around at the scrap piles and parts that now dotted the roadway. "It'll be like kart salvage two. Probably with less monsters though. I think that sorcerer must have wiped out everything around here."

She got a good look at Michael though, and pulled the Lon Lon Milk out of her pants. "Just in case though, here." She said, uncorking it and handing it to him. Cool air rose out of the bottle, the milk having remained miraculously chilled even in thus heat. You look like you could use a drink. It's real nutritious, should patch you right up."

@Simple Unicycle @thedman @Genon

After taking down Needles with Donnie, Tora, and Poppi, Din embraced Gogoat in celebratory joy, laughing at Poppi's jab at her master's rotundity, then wondered about Needles' soul, which hovered ominously. From what she could tell, the demon clown had been some sort of entertainer, based on his face, despite the fact that it had been warped in an evil manner. But what kind of evil could push an entertainer, one who was supposed to bring joy, to such violence and madness? She looked on as her allies finished their final opponent and the subsequent geyser of souls. A warning from Princess Peach confirmed what Din as thinking; the clown was too dangerous to fuse with, similar to how it probably would have been a bad idea to allow Bowser to fuse with the soul of his evil form. As Donnie, Franklin and Michael convened on her location, she agreed with Donnie about giving the spirit of Needles to one of the other two, as she didn't want anything to do with it. Besides, she had her hands full with the Rod and the keyblade. Still she stayed to keep an eye on them, just in case either of them was reckless enough to fuse with it. "The clown is bad news," Din said, Better to turn it into a weapon or something." She pondered about what it actually meant to turn Needles' soul into a weapon. Was he dead, or did this consign him to some limbo where he was neither dead nor alive? Maybe Needles' deserved such a fate, but surely not all souls were. Or would everything be returned once Galeem was defeated, as one hoped? Which also meant that any force of evil they took down would be returned as well, and Needles' would be free to terrorize whatever mad world he had come from. Perhaps that was for the best; maybe it wasn't their place to pass judgment, much as how Peach seemed to empathize with her opponent. Climbing back on to Gogoat, Din approached the group that lingered behind, fixing their karts.

”Let’s go, partner!” Ratchet affirmed with Clank, who vanished into thin air after nodding. The lombax hopped into his nearby kart, the Blue Falcon, and took off toward the danger. There was so much going on to attack the monster truck that he felt joining in on that fight would’ve been superfluous. Just as many were attacking the transforming mecha, but it seemed more of a threat. For one it could fly, and it also wasn’t stalled out like the monster truck. So Ratchet gave that one a wide berth in order to swing around toward the Sweet Bot.

”Looks like all the action is that way. Let’s go, Dax!” Jak holstered his morph gun and smiled at his best friend, riding atop his shoulder.

”Sure, but how exactly are we supposed to get there Jak? By my last count the Sand Shark was in about a bazillion little pieces, and there ain’t NO WAY I’m letting you take me over there all exposed and in the open like this!” Daxter wildly gesticulated with his arms, ending with them crossed in defiance. Jak merely grinned in eager anticipation.

The eco warrior popped off his jet board and hopped on it like a seasoned pro, without any wasted movement. There was still one car around he could use and he fully intended to do so. Switching the speed setting on his jet board to turbo mode, it truly lived up to the name by jetting him quickly across the sandy road and up alongside the third and final of the ramshackle cars.”You’re up, Dax!”

Looking worried, Daxter jumped from Jak’s shoulder in through the window of the car, landing right on the driver’s face! “What the hell?! Get off me!” the driver cried out. He tried to grab Daxter, but the small rodent person was too quick and slippery. ”Gah!” In a panic, he kicked the steering wheel to the side, forcing the car into a powerful jerking turn which sent the passenger tumbling out the door.

“Get out of my car you piece of-” Before he could finish that sentence Jak dove in through the open passenger door feet first and kicked him right out, taking his place behind the wheel. ”I knew you’d have my back, Dax!” Jak assured as he switched the car into gear. Daxter made a mocking face, but otherwise said nothing and sat down on the dashboard. He was taking this piece of junk straight for that monster truck.

Meanwhile the Courier sat patiently, watching the events unfold before his eyes. He wasn’t the only one who had the bright idea to attack the truck’s wheels, and the thing was left grounded on only one tire, not to mention some other damage it took. The driver opted to get out and expose himself. A fucking stupid decision, the Courier thought. He switched out the Revolution for the Ratslayer and prepared to take aim for that ghoul-wannabe’s head… Which is when Mr. Grimm shot out what looked like a bunch of ghosts clustered together, all homing in on different targets. And two of those were heading straight for the Bowsermobile! 6 prepared to roll out and away from the attack, only for it to be proven to be totally unnecessary: they weren’t homing in on the car, nor himself. They were going specifically after Kamek! Then there was nothing to worry about. The Courier didn’t even bother to watch as the magikoopa teleported away, figuring his survival to be a forgone conclusion.

Instead he brought up his rifle again, and took aim at Mr. Grimm’s head… Only for his allies to get in the way of the shot! First it was the bear and the bird, then it was the little green girl! The Courier sighed. ”~As I go ridin’ merrily away.~” It was over, there was no point anymore. More of his allies were jumping into melee and ruined any chance of a shot he could take. Instead the mailman opted to put away his gun completely and just watch what was going on.

Meanwhile Ratchet raced around the battle to get in and help against the Sweet Bot. He still didn’t have many useful weapons yet, but enough time had passed that the bombbuilder had recharged another trigger mine. One of those places well with the perfect timing and everything would be all over! One hand on the wheel, he pulled the gun out of hammerspace and! … Needles Kane was dragged out of the mecha. Well he couldn’t just shoot the blasted thing into a group melee! Annoyed, Ratchet swapped out for his omniwrench. If he couldn’t shoot into the crowd then he’d jump in and… Needles was dead.

Ratchet peeled into a stop a few meters away from the action, disappointment clear on his face. ”Man!” He turned around to check on what was going on with the monster truck.

As a few of their number jumped into battle against Mr. Grimm, Jak and Daxter sped along toward the Sweet Bot. They plowed right on past Ratchet, Din, Donnie, and all the others. As they approached, Jak pulled a wheelie in the car, grabbed Daxter, and jumped out the windshield to ride the hood like he was surfing a wave! At the perfect moment he leapt from the car, using the stunt to get a ton of extra height, then double jumped while still airborne, grabbing the very cockpit Needles had been yanked out of only moments before.

Jak settled into the Sweet Bot quickly, identifying what controls what and taking the (metaphorical) reins of the mechanized beast. ”Alright, time for some payback!”

”Yeah! Nobody makes Daxter do their dirty work for them! That’s why I have Jak!”

Jak shook his head and rolled his eyes, then took aim with the mecha’s gatling arm, only to be blindsided by the sight of dozens of spirits suddenly bursting out of Mr. Grimm! Both heroes stared on, utterly dumbfounded. Jak kept eye contact with the spirits scattering skyward, while Daxter alternated his gaze between them and the broken heap that used to be Mr. Grimm’s body.

”Oh my god.”

”Can you believe it, Jak? That guy just stole our kill!” Jak frowned at Daxter. ”What? We totally had dibs on that black metal freakazoid!”

With the defeat of Mr. Grimm, the threat had passed on by. As everyone gathered back together from their scattered positions, Courier 6 held his spot inside the Bowsermobile. He had hooked the radio of his pip-boy to the car’s speakers and was now lying back, eyes closed with his hat over his face. If anybody paid attention they would hear a light snoring coming from inside the hat.

Ratchet regrouped with the others and looked over some of the damage that had been caused by the attack. Jak, while still brainwashed, had destroyed Michael’s scooter. A few of the vehicles were damaged but still fixable. ”I don’t mind doing some repair work,” he offered. ”I missed out on fixing the karts last night, and working on some vehicles again could be kind of fun. Maybe I’ll add some supercharge turbo to Bowser Jr.’s hovercraft!”

Donnie offered the spirit of Needles Kane to some of the more mundane of their group, then turned back to admire the Sweet Bot. No sooner had the monk offered to lay claim to it did it suddenly roar to life, speakers calling out, ”Self destruct initiated! 5-4-3-2-1!” Jak and Daxter dove out the cockpit, rolling along the ground as a large explosion spelled the end of the Sweet Bot.

”I swear, that is the LAST TIME I touch anything made by a freaky-deaky murderhobo clown!” Daxter declared as he dusted himself off. Jak, angry, was about to slap his friend when suddenly a large metal rod fell from the sky and beaned Daxter right in the back of the head.

At their own paces, more or less everyone picked up and started off again. Tora respected Junior as a fellow tinker, by sticking around in the middle of an arid scrubland in the baking heat and sticky dust sounded like the exact opposite of a good time. He made no bones about piling into the rabbids' truck, while Poppi hopped up on top of the cab for a loony-free ride. For their part, the lapins crétins regarded the Nopon with wonder, since he shared and even surpassed their cartoonish proportions while outdoing even the largest among them in size. He did not, however, appreciate their poking or prodding, or their incessant chatter. With a heavy sigh, he settled in as best he could, preparing for the worst. Lo and behold, a giant explosion went off less than a hundred feet away. Tora shook his head; he didn't want to know.

As the somewhat-diminished convoy got back into gear, leaving a couple volunteers behind to catch up at their own pace, the jostling in the rabbid truck began in earnest. Tora found himself pushed and smacked about by the crazy critters as they goofed off with an utter lack of self-preservation, rolling around the truck bed and flying around with every bump in the road. By the time the truck's brakes whined and slowed the vehicle to a stop, Tora had enough of rabbids to last him a lifetime. The truck's doors exploded outward, and the Nopon tumbled out with a tide of rabbids behind. The goons scattered in every direction as the weary inventor pushed himself to his feet, groaning. Poppi landed beside him and helped him up. “Did masterpon enjoy ride?”

Rubbing his head, Tora shook it emphatically. “Not one bit. Next time, not do daring trick with car and blow it up.” He waddled around the truck at took his first glimpse at the convoy's current destination.

The heroes had arrived at a strange sort of oasis, yet one perfect for a wasteland frequented by ardent motorists: a giant gas station and mechanic. As his eyes swept over the garages lined with tools and parts, Tora's eyes went wide. When someone stood up from changing a tire, however, and approached the newcomers with a smile of welcome, his eyes nearly bugged out. The woman wiped the sweat from her brow as she grew near before giving a wave. “Howdy, y'all!” she called, cheerfully. In the eleven o' clock light one could scarcely tell her eyes were red, and little about her seemed threatening. “Rollin' in from out west, huh?” She looked over the convoy, noting the unconventional vehicles with an amused chuckle. “How'd the heck you folks make it out here in those li'l toy things? Bet their innards're all stuffed with dust 'n gunk.”

Her conversation came to a stop as another stranger appeared, this one an old man in a red cap. “Aw, don't mind her. She don't mean t'give ya a hard time.” Neither seemed particularly put off by the bizarre assortment of individuals arrayed before them, from living machine to rabbid to royalty. “Welcome to Hammerhead. I'm Cid, and this here's Cindy. What can we do for ya?”

Too excited to give Peach a chance to talk, Tora blurted out. “Meh meh meh! Hello friend! What that, meh?” He flapped his wing at the garage, bringing a look of bemusement to Cid's face.

“Y'mean you've never seen a car shop before?”

Eyes shining, Tora shook his head. “No-no-no, meh! What all those thingies and big contraptions? Do you make things? Fix things? Please tell Tora everything, Cid-Cid!” All of a sudden, the wiry geezer shone like a saint in the Nopon's eyes, a veritable reverend of repair, a master of mechanisms, and a genuine kindred spirit.

After Poppi reminded him of his manners, Tora hurried to apologize and introduce himself, explaining that he was an inventor and mechanic himself, but one who had only ever worked in his own home. He proudly introduced Poppi, who gave a polite curtsy, While Cid dealt with the both of them, Peach took Cindy aside to briefly speak about the surrounding area, and everyone else got a good look around. Right beside Hammerhead was a diner with a rather dissonant look of wood and brick, reminiscent of an alpine cabin: Grillby's. The sign outside marked it as a branch location, which explained at least some of appearance.

A number of figures could be seen around the gas station, casually going about their business. Many of them seemed fairly nondescript, but a few stood out a greater or lesser degree. A disagreeable-looking man leaned against the wall of the store by the doors, drinking something out of a bottle in a brown paper bag. At one end of the station stood a more futuristic-looking refueling device, next to which a roided-out frog thing was preparing to leave atop a hoverbike, while a muscular pilot sat in a patch of shade reading while his ride got a tune-up. A metal bird slumped, unconscious, in the back of one of the garages.

Meanwhile, a heated argument looked to be brewing by the pumps. A party of four young men, with their fancy-looking black convertible nearby, were exchanging words with a white-haired punk and a tattooed woman about the road ahead. The woman remained behind the wheel of her van, but her friend was all in. Individual words were hard to pick out in the chaotic debate, but it sounded as though the four intended to head northward to the area the heroes knew as the Dead Zone, while the white-haired guy insisted they give it a wide berth.

“Look,” he said, “I'm sure you guys can kick the crap out of some coyotes and bears, but there's stuff in that place that'll eat you alive. Take it from me: stay away.”

The biggest of the four scoffed. “What, you don't think we can handle ourselves?” he questioned in a gravelly voice. “We've beaten a lot tougher than animals, pal. What makes you the boss around here? I bet any one of us could take you on.”

Grinning, his strawheaded friend crossed his arms. “Yeah, you talk a big game, but I betcha a thousand gil that if we went in there as a team, you'd be the dead weight around here.”

Exhaling sharply, the other man shook his head in frustrated denial. He held up his left index finger and pointed it at the four's leader, a youth with messy black hair. As he did so, everyone could see that his right forearm was a metal prosthetic. “Your buddies seem pretty confident, but I'm not letting you go get yourselves killed. If you're ready to take on the Qliphoth, a few rounds with me should be a piece of cake, right?”

---

Gene stayed quiet after the fight with Sweet Bot was finished. Even as Donnie called him, Michael, and Franklin over, the usually extremely talkative fighter was uncharacteristically tight-lipped. And when Daxter's antics caused the vehicle to explode, Gene, instead of giving some annoying quip, instead shook his head and sighed. "Well, so much for that. At least I wasn't planning on taking it."

Gene's curtness surprised even him, and as the group made their way forward (Gene continuing on foot as he did to catch up before), he wondered what had gotten into him. Maybe he was finally realizing the scale of this threat, and how it threatened all life in the multiverse if they failed, and he could quite possibly die horribly on this journey?

... Nah. He was probably just coming down with something.

The only question was what? He couldn't exactly put to words how he felt, but he supposed the simplest way to put it was that he felt... Fate guiding him somewhere. Was there someone he was supposed to meet? Well, whatever it was, he was going to find out. The feeling within him gradually began to subside the closer they got to a truck stop looking place. He wasn't sure if that meant he was closer or further to whatever had a hold on him.

As the group all stopped and got out of their vehicles to look around, Gene's eye was drawn to the argument going on between the four guys and some white-haired guy. He felt that feeling again as he stared dumbly at the white-haired punk, like they were linked somehow. Maybe this is what was calling him? Whatever it was, it seemed like the argument was about to escalate into violence, and as much as Gene liked violence, he didn't need the punk to get hurt.

"Hey, no need to get so heated guys! We're kinda in a huge end of the world situation right now, we don't need to be ganging up on each other!" Gene said as he strode towards the group, sticking his arms up in what he hoped was a placating manner. "Besides, whatever that Qliphoth is, we can all take it down! My group over there's got a bunch of certified badasses among them!"

Donnie hadn’t even gotten to get inside the clown-shaped robot when someone managed to activate a self-destruct sequence (why would anyone want to install a self-destruct sequence in that thing anyway?), and hadn’t even gotten more than fifty feet away before the weaponized truck he wanted was turned into little more than a pile of scrap metal and a scorch mark on the ground. He wasn’t that far from the blast, so he got thrown at least a good few dozen feet away by the shockwave, leaving him face-down in the dirt. He hadn’t even been able to roll to mitigate some of the damage, he was thrown so fast.

“Owwwwwww…” he managed to groan out, before he painfully pushed himself to his feet. Thankfully, the armor wasn’t dented from that impact (probably because he had landed on soft dirt instead of a rock or something), but that did nothing for his temper.

Thankfully, he managed to restrain himself from walking right over there and beating the shit out of Jak and Daxter, who seemed to have gotten into the robot without his knowledge.

But, sometimes the solution wasn’t conflict, nor to butt heads with your allies. He had enough equipment as-is, and would probably have needed to figure out the controls for that thing anyway. Hell, he might’ve caused the same effect in the process of figuring it out.

Besides, if the clown put a self-destruct button into a vehicle that was clearly his pride and joy, what else was waiting in that truck? He would’ve been better off not knowing.

Without another word, he hopped on the Disc and flew off after the convoy.



Donnie arrived a little later than Tora and Poppi, slowing the Disc to a halt and smoothly getting off of it, palming it like a skateboard before he reduced it down to an orb and put it in the Luggage.

Looking around at the gas station, he noticed quite a lot of interesting types here. He saw red eyes on all of them, so they were clearly all under Galeem’s control, but it seemed his brainwashing was more subtle than he realized, since they weren’t attacking him, much less Tora, who was striking up a conversation with the managers.

On the one hand, he kind of wanted to crack some heads and free them right now. On the other...well, one look at the white-haired man and the four fancy types they were talking, much less the helmeted driver by the futuristic pump, told him to back off.

The first rule of adventuring was to never get into a fight you can’t win. Many, many foolhardy adventurers had gotten killed by the likes of gnolls, kobolds, and bandits because they went in unprepared. And that was before you took into account large-scale adventuring missions, like five-man, ten-man, and twenty-five-man quests.
What really interested him, however, was the muscular man’s vehicle. It reminded him an awful lot of the kart that Ratchet and Clank were piloting earlier. Was that kart meant to be some kind of copy of this futuristic hovercar?

While the argument that the white-haired guy and the four fancy gentlemen were having about this ‘Qliphoth’ looked like it would make an interesting quest for sure, they were all brainwashed anyway and he didn’t want any of them to turn on him at a moment’s notice. The last thing he needed was to head off with this adventuring party only to get backstabbed.

But talking cars with the helmeted man seemed a lot safer, so he walked over to the guy and sat down next to him, saying, “Hey, that’s an awesome car you have there.”

After glancing up from his magazine, the pilot briefly affixed Donnie with an examinatory glance. His visor hid his eyes, making them look like glowing white triangles, but they seemed to hold no malice. A second later, his chiseled features showcased a wide smile. “Hehey, someone’s got good taste! Although, it’s not really a car. More of a high-powered racing machine. Would you believe me if I told you it maxes out at a four-fifty kilometers an hour?” He gave a chuckle, realizing he’d let his enthusiasm run away with him just a touch. This man, clothed in medieval armors and garments, was surely a world apart from even the vehicles he himself deemed archaic, let alone his own. “Uh, let’s just say it’s the fastest thing around and leave it at that, huh?” He struck Donnie’s shoulder with a light, jovial punch, more of a tap than anything. “So, you into racing? Or just the hardware? Name’s Douglas Jay Falcon, but most everyone calls me Falcon.” A gloved hand extended to shake.

Donnie shook the pilot’s extended hand. “Well met, Falcon. The name’s Donovan Lee, but you can call me Donnie.” He laughed a little afterwards, saying, “And don’t worry, we’re not that primitive where I come from. We do have spaceships, tanks, giant war robots and lots and lots of magic.” He summoned the Luggage, pulled out the orb for the Disc again, and threw it to the ground to his right, revealing the Disc. “That there’s what I prefer to use. It gets a pretty high speed, but I’ve never measured it. The thing doesn’t have a speedometer, after all. It flies, but it can’t break the sound barrier or anything. Titan-forged flying machine and it can’t even break Mach 1! Kinda disappointing, really. But I can fire chi attacks from it, so it works for what I need it for.”

“Hey, not bad for a start!” the Captain reassured Donnie.

He looked towards the Blue Falcon, saying, “Thing I’m wondering about is that our group has a go-kart we found in a scrapyard that looks just like that racing machine. Was the design licensed out or something? Are you famous back home?”

Falcon rubbed his head, though the helmet prevented it from doing much good. “I don’t know about go-karts, but I’ll admit I’m preeeeetty famous. Bounty hunter turned racing champion, a superstar known across worlds! And wouldn’t you know it, I’m humble too!” His hearty laughter rolled across Hammerhead. After composing himself, he looked out at some of the new faces that had glanced his way. “Friends of yours?” he asked, curious. “Odd-looking bunch.” Falcon zeroed in on a familiar face and pointed it out. “Bowser. I know him at least from the tournaments. Not that we’re pals or anything. He’s kind of a jerk.” With narrowed eyes he scanned everyone else, but recognized nobody. In a cruel turn, Peach escaped his notice, thanks to her changed appearance. “So what’re you all up to?” The man seemed to hold nothing back when it came to conversation; he practically oozed confidence and geniality.

“Tournament, eh?” Donnie said. While the Bowsermobile was one thing, Bowser was no slouch in fighting either. This tournament that Falcon had been in could’ve been either fighting or racing, and for what he had planned, it didn’t really matter which since the man could clearly do both. He grinned mischievously. “Tell you what. I’ll tell you what we’re up to if you can beat me in a fight. We’ll do it a mile away from the gas station, just in case it gets ugly. What do you say?”

Were it not for Falcon’s helmet, Donnie would have seen his eyebrows furrow. “...You serious? You want me to fight you just to get a conversation? Sure, I fought in a few tournaments, but those were official competitions, not brawls in the desert. Plus, if the public caught wind of me doing something like that, I’d be done for. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know?” The Captain leaned back, a little put off by the proposition.

"Eh, fair enough," Donnie replied, looking a bit embarrassed, but quickly recovering, "I was just looking for an excuse to test my skills. I like friendly bouts, and old habits die hard. Sorry about that." He shrugged.

"Long story short, my group is headed further into the Land of Adventure. At least that's what we call this region after one of us mapped out this world from a spaceship. We come from Peach's Castle to the northwest."

“Anyway, these tournaments,” Donnie continued. “How exactly did you end up fighting Bowser? Multiversal shenanigans?"

The apology and explanation set Falcon at ease, and after a shrug he replied, “Something like that. There’ve been five Smash tournaments, and every time one’s in the works, these sealed invitations get delivered to participants. Then we’re pulled to the spot where it’s being hosted. Last time, it was this land of castles and waterfalls. Real pretty.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Other than that, details are scarce, but there were places from all sorts of world to fight on. Kind of like this place.” He gestured broadly to the surroundings, indicating not just the Paved Wilderness, but the whole world. His eyes settled on the everpresent Galeem, far off in the sky. “I was there when this whole thing happened. Wasn’t fast enough to stop it, or even get away.” Briefly, a bitter look took hold of his face.

Understanding dawned on Donnie’s face as he stared at the point of light that caused all this. He turned back to the Captain, saying, “Well...what if I told you our group is aiming to kill that thing and return everything to normal?”

Falcon said nothing, but Donnie could tell he had the man’s attention.

“A little pink puffball named Kirby managed to escape Galeem’s wrath, avoided getting brainwashed like the rest of us. And you.” He materialized a Friend Heart, showcasing the cartoony object in all its pink glory. “This here’s a Friend Heart. It’s what Kirby used to free us. Long story short, it’s let us act against Galeem and given us our free will back. Keep in mind that his control is subtle enough that none of us knew we were under the influence until we were freed.”

“I can free you, if you want. You don’t even have to join us if you don’t want to. I’d have to beat the shit out of you and then throw this at you, but it would work. I can heal you right up after the fact, though you won’t remember exactly how you got here. The benefits are obviously worth it though. What do you say?” He dematerialized the Heart as he spoke.

Frowning, Falcon stood up. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not under any control, and my will is my own. I’m me, same as always.” He crossed his arms. “And I’m still not fighting anyone, but if anyone’s going to be doing any beating, it’d be me, bud. As for this Galeem thing, I’m fine on my own, thanks. I’m more of the solo type.” A glance went the way of the Blue Falcon, confirming that the mechanic’s work was just about done. Falcon gave Donnie a stiff nod of farewell before heading its way, leaving the car magazine he’d been reading on the bench.

Donnie power-walked over to him, using his Windwalking to catch up quite quickly. “Just one more thing before you go, Captain. When you get the chance, take off your helmet and look in a mirror. Red eyes are the hallmark of Galeem’s influence. If they’re not there, then you’re good. Just know that you won’t get very far if you do have them.” He turned around, craning his neck back one last time. “Good luck, Captain.” He watched the man shake his head in disbelief, and give a parting wave. With that, Donnie headed back over to Tora, to see if he was done talking to Cid and Cindy.

The few clouds that rolled in during the early hours of morning gave way to a cheery, sun smiling down on the Land of Adventure as noontime came around. Bit by bit, people made their way to Lumbridge's town center, the Guild. More of a castle than the typical wooden guild hall, the building served as the go-to place for the simple town's number-one trade: quests. Here, tasks and requests piled up and were divvied out into eager hands, sending bright-eyed youths running across the plains, throughout the woods, and into caves to do whatever need be done. Now, however, the questers who'd gone out bright and early were returning, their objectives complete and their bellies empty. Some headed to the blacksmith or farmstead, or to the house of a patron directly, perhaps to deliver an object or information. More than a few, particularly the youngest, made a beeline for the Guild's mess hall instead.

First into the yard charged a gang of boys very familiar to the town's residents, with a shared name more familiar still. Most of the usual questers sported a friendly and obliging demeanor, but these four worked together especially well, earning them a consistent top spot on the leaderboards. Laughing and dirtied, they charged toward the great oaken double doors leading inside, pausing only to wave at the town sheriff, a somber-looking lawman with a huge dog by his side, whose gruff exterior everyone knew masked an uncommonly compassionate heart. After returning the gesture, the houndmaster watched them head in, then turned to see a young pair approaching. Newer than most others, they'd nevertheless been a tremendous help for the town's seemingly never-ending supply of jobs.

Once they passed by, the houndmaster found himself distracted by a butterfly flitting around a bunch of flowers on the other side of the yard. The colorful, dainty little thing twirled about before settling on a bright purple cone flower. Only when he heard the tramp of a number of feet did the houndmaster glance back at the yard entrance, his loyal beast perking up as well. Even before the principal newcomer could be identified, the houndmaster could guess from the retinue surrounding him. Only one man attracted this kind of adoration and respect of the local questers: Geralt of Riviera. Ever since his recent arrival, the monster hunter quickly earned a reputation among the kids and wannabe heroes as a veteran and a hero, practically worthy of discipleship. The houndmaster wondered with amusement if Geralt, more a warrior than a celebrity, ever found the attention annoying.

Cracking a slight smile, the houndmaster gave the Witcher a nod as he grew near. “Good morrow,” he greeted him. “Rarely do I see you bound for the Guild. Did some notorious creature rear its head in the wealds?”

Geralt groaned internally as he was surrounded by locals and admirers, part of him wondering why he'd been bothered by the scorn and insult of peasants in the past. If this was fame, truly he wanted to be ignored. Nonetheless, he treated them with enough respect and caution to not upset anybody: the last thing he needed was to get gored with a pitchfork again. Death, as it turned out, had not been pleasant, nor was his resurrection.

The houndmaster's greeting was met with a nod and a shrug. "Just rumors of a werewolf rearing its ugly head a bit of a ways North of here. I'll have to give quite some effort for this one, unfortunately. I'm lacking most of what I'd normally use to take one down. Regeneration factor that outclasses my own, and they're strong, too. Shame I can't find any wolfsbane around these parts, or I'd be able to make some blade oil to handle this one."

Realizing he was rambling, Geralt offered a small smile and gave a look around the yard. "Anything interesting happening here lately, or is it just the usual?"

@Lugubrious

While others went on ahead to the couple of buildings in the distance, Ratchet was staying behind in order to help fix up some of the damage to the vehicles. An explosion caught his attention, which he just shrugged off once he saw the cause. It wasn’t any kind of surprise that Daxter had done something to blow up the group’s biggest vehicular advantage. Besides, that ice cream truck turned robot was an eyesore anyway, absolutely no class to it. His attention was better put elsewhere, like Bowser’s kid’s hovercraft dohicky.

Ratchet pulled up next to the clown car and surveyed the damaged. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it definitely took a beating from that shot Mr. Grimm put into it. The lombax prepared his omniwrench and gave the vehicle a good whack, not to fix anything but to listen reeeeeal closely. The sounds of the vibrations made his large cat-like ears twitch and told him where some of the internal damage was.

”I can fix this,” he boasted, then dove into it over the top. Ratchet went to work grabbing some loose wires, untangling them then reconnecting where they needed to go.

”Hey. Now that we dealt with those enemies, you want to fill us in on what’s going on?” asked a familiar voice from outside the clown car.

”Yeah! Because last time we saw you everything got all freaky-deaky mish-mashed and I almost lost my tail!” spoke another all too familiar voice.

Ratchet peaked up over the rim of the car to confirm that Jak and Daxter were indeed just a few feet away, then dipped back down to continue his work. ”Well we’ve definitely got the mish-mash thing going on again, that’s for sure. But instead of some dopey aliens wanting to copy our moves or a polygon face pitting us in a tournament, we’ve got to deal with that.” Ratchet’s omniwrench pointed up from down in the car, signalling the two heroes to gaze into the sky. As they did, the ever present ball of light, Galeem, caught their attention.

”Don’t see that every day,” Jak mused, crossing his arms.

”Woah! Dang, that thing’s brighter than you are anytime you use your light eco powers, Jak!” Daxter said, shielding his eyes. ”EXCUSE ME! GIANT BALL OF LIGHT IN THE SKY? WHERE’S THE DIMMER SWITCH? HEEEEY! I don’t think it can hear me, Jak. Man! And just when I was getting excited about going to the beach and sitting in the shade! Watching all the girls run by in their frilly little things. Aaah, that’s the life.”

”What about Tess?” Jak asked, a bit confused considering Daxter’s girlfriend.

”Hey, just because Keira’s a stick in the mud for you doesn’t mean some of us don’t have ladies that understand we can still lookie and no touchie, capiche?” Daxter waved his right hand in a finger gun motion.

Jak shook his head, then refocused on what was important. ”I remember that light. We were driving and it just sort of… Appeared over the horizon.”

”Yeah, that’s Galeem, our new bad guy,” Ratchet continued, still deep in the inner workings of the clown car. ”From what we can tell, he, or it I guess, poured its light all over the multiverse and made this new world that’s an amalgamation of a bunch of different worlds. Everyone in it has some kind of influence from it. Sort of like brainwashing, but I don’t know. More subtle, I guess? But Galeem can take direct control if it wants. We were all under its influence at first, just like the two of you. Ah, so that’s where that wire goes!”

”So how’d we get free? How did you free us?” Jak leaned up against the clown car and peaked inside. He didn’t like how any of this was going.

”Well, there was one person that escaped the light. A little pink guy named Kirby. He had the power to free people, and even gave it to us too. Once you’ve got enough of your strength back you should be able to do it yourself. Ack! Ok, note to self, don’t cross the red and green wires, shocks are bad.” The car jostled a bit under Ratchet’s movements. ”Anyway, we’ve determined that Galeem has a few elite enforcers around this world that need to be beaten before we can go take him on. We already beat one before finding you guys.”

”Pfft. Just one? Sounds like you guys will need our help.”

”Yeah! The dynamic duo, back at it again on a new adventure! Hero and sidekick, Daxter and Jak! I wonder if they’ll make a game out of it? Or even a book. I call 50% of all proceeds!”

”Well, I certainly won’t turn down your help,” Ratchet admitted, ignoring Daxter’s antics. ”If the rest of them are as tough and powerful as the last one, we’ll need all the help we can get. Aha! There we go!” Ratchet popped out of the clown car, wiping his hands together. ”All fixed up, Junior! Your car is ready to go!” he called out.

”Alright, well is there anything else that we need to know before we kick some serious butt?” Jak punched into his open palm for emphasis.

”Oh yeah, there’s plenty. Let’s talk about spirits.”

Ratchet hopped back into the Blue Falcon kart while Jak pulled out his jet board. The three of them took off side by side, keeping up the conversation as they headed for the rest stop the others were already en route to.

---

The ever impatient monarch that he was, Bowser made sure his car went on ahead of the repair crew, which meant that Courier 6, still sleeping in the Bowsermobile with his Pip-Boy radio hooked into the car’s speakers, went along. The ride wasn’t too long, so his nap didn’t last long either. The Courier awakened with a start as the Bowsermobile came to a stop at a mechanic shop which seemed to house a good number of people all around, each one under the influence of Galeem. Alarmed, the Courier pulled out his shotgun, but thankfully saw that nobody was getting into any fights quickly enough that he didn’t accidentally make one himself.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the Courier put his shotgun away and pulled his hat back on. It looked like some of the others were missing, while others were already striking up conversations with the locals. Tora and Poppi were having some sort of conversation with what appeared to be the head mechanic around these parts, while the new guy (Donnie, was it?) was embroiled in talk with a muscular man in a helmet and spandex, oozing with confidence (and wasn’t all that quiet either). His car looked exactly like that kart that Ratchet had picked out, too! Well, except it was an actual large machine instead of a kart. The real McCoy compared to a child’s plaything as it were. Machine looked fancy enough, the Courier was impressed by it. Not as impressed as he was by its driver, however.

Figuring he hadn’t had a good bang in some time and having nothing to lose by asking, 6 dragged himself out of the Bowsermobile to go schmooze up to the racer, only for him to leave Donnie behind with a rather sour tone. Miffed, the Courier walked right on by Donnie and mumbled, ”Had to fuck it up fer all of us, didn’t ya?” just low enough that he’d only have been heard if the monk was specifically listening to him.

Seeing plenty of other molerats in the junkyard, the Courier went on to grading each of these new faces on a scale of one to ten. Mechanic woman - 8. Old guy in red hat - 4. Drunk with neck tattoo - 3. Buffout frog - 7. Robot bird - 7.5. White haired cyborg - 9. Tattooed van chick - 8.5. Ah, then there was the leather-clad boy band. From left to right their numbers were 9, 6, 6.5, and 7. Damn, there were some pretty attractive people (and a robot) here! And some not very attractive ones, but hey, he couldn’t blame the old guy for being old. Accounting for the extra decades and he’d probably be a very solid 8. Didn’t change his rating now, though.

Before the Courier could act on his impulse to approach any of them however, he noticed the log cabin style diner named “Grillby’s” and his stomach growled. Well, food was a more important necessity than banging one out. Hopefully they took his bottlecaps as currency. The Courier shrugged and went inside the diner, ready to sit down and order some grub.

With his mouth running a mile a minute, Tora scarcely let Cid get a word in, but after a few moments the frenzy returned to normal conversation. When the grizzled tinker could respond, he gave the enthusiastic Nopon everything he wanted to know and more, from the duty of a mechanic to the sorts of projects worked on to the tools of the trade. After that, he went on a brief tour with Cid, which only served to add more fuel to its fire. When it finished, Tora was literally bouncing up and down. “Wow-wow-wow! Is dream come true, meh!” he exclaimed, dancing in excitement. “How did Tora toil on own for so long, when places like Hammery-head exist? How soon can Tora join!? Want to make huge-huge dohickies and explodies and awesome machines!”

Poppi might have snorted in laughter, if she could breath. “Is Masterpon forgetting something?”

The look on Tora's face said that he hadn't, and the wind was taken from his sails. “...No, meh. Will not give up on quest to save world. And, when world get saved and go back to normal, Hammerhead and friends Cid and Linky-Linky and Mina and Blazermate and Ratchet and Junior and all rest go away, too. But working at place like this nice thought.”

Cid looked baffled by all the nonsense that just spewed from Tora's mouth. “Uh...”

Steamrolling over him, Tora gave as resolute nod and proclaimed. “Later, Tora will come back and visit. Then, when back to Alrest, Tora earn money and make mechanic shop just like, meh. This Tora's new dream!”

The sight of Tora so passionate brought a smile to Poppi's face. “Then, it Poppi dream as well!” She gave Cid a proper bow, then smiled with a tilt of her head. “Thanks to kind wrinklypon for inspiring masterpon.” After a few more words, the duo bid Cid farewell and headed into the nearest garage for another look around, only to run into Donnie.

---

A new voice caught the attention of everyone present, cooling their tempers for the time being. Nero sized Gene up, noting that he looked like much more of a fighter than any of the four friends, except perhaps the shirt-deprived one. “Don't know about end of the world, pal, but it's sure not making things any better.” At Gene's prompting, he looked among the new arrivals, noting their equipment.

He then refocused on Gene. “Yeah, I bet you do, and I bet you can, especially seeing as you don't know what the Qliphoth is. Your group over there have any demon blood amongst you?” The ensuing second of silence told him everything he needed to know. “Well then, I've got bad news. The city's swarming with demons, with the weakest one taking more than a whole clip of rifle ammo to knock over. Plus, there's swarms of zombies, far as the eye can see. If you want your blood drained or brains eaten that bad then you can head on up there, but take it from me: leave this to the professionals.” A snort came from the van, and Nero threw his friend an exasperated look. He sighed before starting to walk around to the passenger's side.

---

Inside Grillby's was a quaint, cozy atmosphere. For being almost lunchtime, there didn't seem to be too many customers. The Courier could only spot two parties: a group of dogs playing cards, and a leather-clad armadillo halfway through a plate of glazed beetles and fried grubs. Behind the counter stood a flaming machine, presumably the staff, casually cleaning out mugs as though he wasn't a living fire hazard. Luckily, the place seemed fairly inflammable.



The houndmaster scratched his dog's ears, and considered Geralt's predicament while giving his reply. “The usual, intriguing as that might be. With the rollover only an evening prior, the youngsters still rove eagerly across the countryside, accumulating goods and knowledge. Perhaps one has stumbled across a fresh surge of your desired herb.” He paused, glancing about. With the thrill of Geralt's arrival subsiding and the man going about his business, most of the mercenary's devotees peeled off to go about theirs. Two of the older, more serious lads -the sort who wished in earnest to learn from Geralt's experience and emulate his prowess- acknowledge the houndmaster before heading inside; Gran and Euden were their names, and while rather straightforward in character, they shared an uncommon knack for making friends.

After they left, and the children drifted away, the houndmaster began again. “If you seek to better equip yourself, you returned at a fortuitous time. Malo's surely features new stock, owing to the firstfruits of the rollover, and the smithy's flames lay kindled for metalworking.” Despite Geralt's newness, the houndmaster hardly need go into detail on the Land of Adventure's principle phenomenon. Once a week, the vast majority of the region regenerated itself, the terrain changed and replenished in the darkest hours of the night. As new bounties arose, so did new threats, growing in strength over the course of the week. On the first day, the scouting parties ranged far and wide, and not long after the gatherers and fighters made their rounds. This never-ending cycle of discovery and adventure made the region what it was. A few things remained constant: the climate, the approximate danger level one could expect of various areas, Lumbridge, a couple other settlements, and at the far end of the Land, the End, where the world gave way to an otherworldly void none dared brave.

“As for specific happenings, I can attest that the Guildmarm commands a bevy of fresh tasks. Whoever lurks behind the new guildmaster's cowl, he surely knows his business. More likely than not, they can tell you more about this wolf of yours, or even advice for laying it low. As for me...” the houndmaster quit stroking his companion to pat the spiked club lying by his side. “Blackjack to the head, then bleed it with the dog. Regeneration or no, inordinate exsanguination will take it before long. Would that I could join your hunt, if not for my duty.” It went unsaid, though not unknown, that the houndmaster could be more of a burden than a help, as he lacked the Witcher's stamina and would surely fall behind. “If you pay heed to rumors,” he continued, “That Shulk boy claims to have beheld a monstrosity of uncommon size and power in the hills to the southeast, the sort to demand a whole battalion to bring low. Guildmaster hasn't put out a contract yet. Whatever you do, take care out there.” Leaning back in his chair, the houndmaster waved Geralt off.

The Courier stopped in the entryway of Grillby's to take in the small eatery around him and took a deep breath, almost snorting the air. The atmosphere reminded him of some of the smaller bars and diners back in the Mojave, even if the aesthetics weren't exactly spot on. First his eyes laid upon the bartender, another robot but of different design to the bird one outside, as it seemed to be exuding flames from all around it. An interesting design, he wondered how it generated this fire? Surely it had to have a very efficient fuel source. Next his eyes fell upon the armadillo man standing upon two legs. Now this was an hombre he could get on with, another man of the road with Western sensibilities. A cowboy, er, cowarmadillo? Weird, but hardly the strangest thing he'd seen in this new world.

The Courier was about to approach the armadillo when the largest sight in the whole place practically smacked him in the face: a large number of dog-like creatures sitting at a table, playing poker. Slowly his eyes opened wide, his grin spread across his entire face. Oh yes. Oh yes.

"Deal me in, hombres," he said, taking a seat between masked dog and the abomination looking dog. He placed his hat on the table, minding his manners, and looked at the pot. It didn't matter what was being bet honestly, he'd look to match it if he could. "Bartender! Whiskey me. I'm aiming to take the whole pot."

The death of the grimm fellow wasn't too ceremonious or flashy, although the arrival of Peach before his demise and the subsequent soul merging Peach did with the man's soul was pretty fascinating. And much like Blazermate herself, Peach went through an appearance and a very noticeable personality shift, Peach becoming a lot more blunt and a bit more cold in the process. Blazermate liked this new version of Peach, she felt like she'd be able to have some fun chats with her later on.

Some of the group decided to continue on in the Bowsermobile and the other cars that weren't damaged, while others stayed behind to see if they could repair this big monster truck which gave everyone quite a bit of trouble, Bowser Jr. being one of the most gung ho about fixing this thing. Tora decided to follow Bowser, but Blazermate still had to stay behind to heal those who were hurt after such a large fight, so she stayed behind. "I can try to help, sure. But I'm still only learning all this mechanic stuff." Blazermate said, looking over the wreckage. Getting an idea, she pulled out a toolbox and threw a bit of scrap into it. AFter pushing a button, the toolbox folded out and started to build a tower like box object slowly. "A Dispenser should help us repair this thing. Just tell it what you want and give it materials and it'll dispense what you need. Plus it heals." She said, hitting the building with her fist to make it build faster and upgrade it to expand its capabilities.

Blazermate's scanners went off when Michael and Fraklin came into her sensor range, having done quite a number on the clown truck that a few of her allies had been ransacking for gear and spirits. As they looked at the truck, they also mentioned how they could probalby fix it, but weren't sure. Seeing as how they were injured, Blazermate was more concerned about that, and yelled at them. "Hey fellas, if you wanna help fix this truck, come by my Dispenser. It'll heal you up and help you make what you need to fix this thing." Blazermate said, pointing at her building that she had made. "That goes for anyone else who needs heals or stuff made!" She continued, making sure everyone nearby knew what it did as this was the first time she made one for non testing purposes and probably the first time most of these people had seen this building.

Blazermate hoped most would use her building, because she only knew what she knew about her own buildings and constructions and only a bit of general knowledge about mechanical stuff. Her healing beam meant she didn't need to know much about Medabot repairs, although most medabots didn't know much about how to repair themselves and bots like Blazermate probably knew the most, second only to a Nursemate. And since she couldn't really 'heal' this truck to working order, she mostly did what she could, but stayed out of the way of those who knew a bit more than her like Fraklin and Michael. Jr seemed to not know much either, but he was doing an excellent job himself with a wooden hammer he had acquired earlier, which was a bit odd. It was probably a spirit the young koopa had gotten earlier. What was really odd about it was that it looked... familiar to Blazermate for some reason, but she knew she had never seen it before.

@Lugubrious@Dawnrider@thedman@DracoLunaris
@Stern Algorithm

---

"Erghhhh!" Linkle groaned, pulling the milk back and wrapping her arms over her head as a new explosion rocked the battlefield. She wasn't sure what that kart had been, she'd never gotten a very good look at it, but it was apparent that Ratchets new friends were the cause of it blowing up. They hung around for a bit, Ratchet pulling some repair work on Jr's clown kart, but that sudden surprise had put Linkle off enough that she didn't really pay any attention to them until they sped off along the dusty trail.

At least that new guy had taken out the final car before he'd left. Another good thing was that Blazermate had decided to hang around. Linkle had been sure the robot girl would be headed off with Bowser, so the fact that she not only stuck around but erected a healing building was a goddessend. She put the cork back onto her bottle, safe in the knowledge she could save the milk for a more dire situation.

Still, she had offered Michael that drink. As the light began to beat down on all of them it became apparent that soon they might all need one. Suddenly, an idea struck her. If they needed something to drink, than maybe the bad guys had too.

"Hold on." She said, jumping into the cab of the monster truck. "Go hang out by Blazers miracle machine for a minute while I look around in here. Maybe I'll fine something more your speed."

They had to have water or something stashed away in here, right? Riding around under the hot Galeem hunting spirits was tiring work. So she searched the cab of the Brother's Grimm for anything that might make their work here a bit more comfortable. If she couldn't find anything there she'd hop and and plunder that one surviving buggy Ratchet's new friend had been kind enough to bring back in one piece. If nothing else someone could at least drive up to those building in the distance to pick up snacks.

Three things happened in quick succession that made jr’s mood whiplash.

First the fat hamster blew him off for a ride onward with the Rabbids which was outrageous

Then the two humans came along and offer their help with the car, which was great.

Then the clown mech exploded because some dumb rat pushed its self destruct button.

“Why! Why why why gahhhhhhhhhhhhhh” jr raged, stomping his foot on the bettle back of the monster truck ““what coind of absolute moron puts a self destruct button in their robot, and why do dumb rodents keep making my day worse!”

Jr was left panting after his temper tantrum but eventually got a hold of himself “ugh. Suuuucks.” he complained one last time before turning to look at what was actually left of the enemy's machines. This turned out to be a bunch of wrecked cars, robot parts and disabled monster truck.

As he looked it all over he could see rather clearly what needed to be done to get the most out of all this junk. Jr grinned to himself and set to work.

---

After he’d the rabbids had finally retrieve his vehicle (and he's kicked them out to go back to their own wagon or stay to help jr) he’d spent part of the rest of the journey admiring peach’s new form, part enjoying the cowboy mercenary acting as the car’s new radio system and the rest wildly swerving to avoid the consequences of not paying attention to the road well enough. Bowser’s love for peach was not a physical attraction, more a kind of reverse Stockholm syndrome, but her transformation had certainly moved her appearance closer to the king’s preferred aesthetic. He’d mentioned that to her. It had not gone down well.

When Bowser rolled up to the rest stop there was only thing that interested him. Engineers and cool/edgy/pretty dudes he could take or leave, but the cozy looking restaurant called to the king.

He turned off the Bowser mobile’s engine, pocketed the key and step out of the car. He stomped over to the front door of grillbys before being confronted with the problem of its small door size. He frowned momentarily before snapping his fingers. Dark magic drained from his body like purple smoke as he shrunk down to a size similar to that of the greater dog sitting at the table inside. His suit and mecha mit, repaired by jr before he left, shrunk with him. After taking a few moments to set his clothes in the right place he pushed open the door and headed for the bar. Its patrons, mostly a bunch of dog people, where the most normal looking group Bowser had met so far in this whole adventure. The king had no idea why every other universe seemed to be filled with only people from the metro kingdom but it made them, in his opinion rather samy and hard to tell apart sometimes. He nodded to the courier as he passed by him sitting at the poker table and then found a seat at the bar. The Barkeep himself was a robot that was on fire, but they did not seem to mind, so that was fine.

”TWO BURGERS AND A SIDE OF FRIES FOR ME BARKEEP” he told robot, who he incorrectly presumed was the titular Gribly, after they’d received the courier’s order for a liquid lunch.

---

Quite a while after he had vacated the battlefield Kamek re-appeared in a puff of smoke. He’d gotten distracted reading and had lost track of time. Fortunately his absence did not seem to have been of great import to the battle, nor had he been left behind. Down below he could spot Koopa prince, along with a few others, who were all putting the finishing touches on the repair job of the massive monster truck that had attempted to destroy them less than an hour before.

Mostly jr had used the remains of the other smaller cars to fuel the necro smasher’s insatiable hunger for scrap, supplementing the dispensers slowly regenerating supply, and then turned the stated hammer on the various damaged parts of the machine. Rather than brutishly smacking the thing in any which place he had focused his efforts on beating the most important parts back into shape. The wheels where back, the front axle mended and the engine successfully patched together. The skeletons chained to the back had also been cut down and graffiti now marred the outside of the vehicle, scratching out Grimm own symbols in favor of the team's own. The koopa clan’s logo, painted in multi colored ink, was on prominent display on the hood of the car.

A few new modifications to the truck had also been made in addition to the repairs. Most notably half a dozen more seats had been stuffed inside the massive drivers compartment to accommodate the number of party members that had stayed behind without any other form of transport. A pile of guns, ammo, engine blocks and fuel tanks salvaged from the wrecks of the other cars were also chained down to the truck bed, along with useful bits of the sweet bot like the remains of it’s head and minigun arm.

As Kamek approached he saw that Jr’s clown car extend a pair of saw blades mounted on slim mechanical arms which the boy used to hack apart one of the remaining junker cars for scrap metal.

”I see you got those working again“ Kamek said to the boy as he drifted down on his broomstick to float next to the propeller lifted cart.

“yeah the big ear yellow rat guy, Spanner or something, found the crossed wires that were stopping them from coming out when I pushed the button.” Jr said as he absorbed the scrap pile into the necro smasher. “I’ve got some ideas for improving them and the monster truck if we ever find any kind of workshop.” he added.

”Very good young master. Lord Bowser has gone ahead again has he?” Kamek responded, doing his best to hide his disinterest in mundane machinery.

“yeah yeah. Probably at the rest stop by now.” jr said between hamer swings which smoothed out the last of the bumps in the truck's frame.

“Let’s be off and catch up with him then?” Kamek said, turning his broom towards the direction the party had been headed before they had been so rudely interrupted.

Jr nodded “Hope there's still something left to eat there. I’m starving” he said before turning and yelling at the rest of the repair crew. “Try not to break it before you get to the junction. Also one of you two” jr pointed at the gta team and then to the soul of needles currently sitting in a jar he’d gotten from his father that itself sat on the dashboard of the car “crush the clown’s soul already! If you don't like whatever clown cannon pops out throw it on the back with the other scrap. Alright I’m outta here!”

“Good work today minions.” Kamek added, thanking them in Jr’s stead.

With that the two Koopas soared away though the sky towards a reunion with their king.

Hat Kid’s search turned up nothing; nothing that she was interested in, anyways. She wasn’t likely to find anything in the open, empty, unremarkable stretch of off-road wasteland, but she had to be sure. She would have to be sure everywhere she went. That routine was sure to become tedious in a hurry. If only she had a better way of finding… wait! She paused and squinted quizzically mid-thought and decided to check substantially reduced inventory for the relevant key item that she could have sworn wasn’t there before. To her surprise, however, she found it--another one of her badges. Strange… she couldn’t recall having it with her when she left the castle, and she certainly never got the opportunity to repurchase it. So how did it end up in her pockets again? Well, no matter. How it came back into her possession didn’t matter to her if it could help take most of the guesswork out of future exploration. She shrugged in acceptance, pinned the badge to her hat, and set off to tail the rest of the moving convoy.

Banjo and Kazooie wouldn’t be far behind, but Banjo saw fit to make himself useful to the salvaging process. Though, they were limited in ways in which they could help without having any experience in automotive repair--or rather having plausibly deniable experience… maybe. They’d been driving around in what may or may not have been their own handiwork, but the important part was that it was eighty percent cargo bed. They had the benefit of taking with them what they couldn’t fix on the spot, which pretty much amounted to the bunny-eared ranger’s motorcycle and not much else on account of the bed’s size. While Banjo did the heavy lifting to get the crumpled remains of the Master Cycle into the Trolley, Kazooie couldn’t help overhearing and getting annoyed with the sentient rodent boasting about their twosome while putting a meta, capitalistic spin on his ramble.

“Get a load of Weasel Boy over there, stealing our bit…”

“You think he knows that most of these guys have their own games, like us?”

“Or that they’re penniless hasbeens like us? Probably not.”

“*sigh* Yeah… Good thing we live in the country.”

After loading the bulk of the bike and the bigger pieces missing from it, Banjo would call for Linkle’s attention. “Excuse me, Miss. This is your bike, isn’t it?” he inquired rhetorically with a gesturing thumb. “If you need a ride, you’re welcomed to hop in the bed. Sorry there’s not much room, but I figure you’d prefer it to walking. Also, sorry about what happened to you’re bike,” he finished while rubbing the back of his head, topping off his polite offer with an added layer of empathy. Whether she accepted it or not, him and Kazooie would finish up and be off after the others in short order.

The convoy arrived at an active service depot, their company effectively more than doubling their clientele on what already looked to be a decently busy day for them. They were received warmly by an elderly man who was clearly the owner of the place and his kin who helped him run it. Curiously, the red glint in their eyes showed lingering signs of Galeem’s influence, so it was strange to be regarded cordially rather than threateningly. Whether the same could be said for all of the station’s patrons and attendants remained to be seen, but for now, the change was more than welcomed (even if it meant they would still have to somehow release them later).

Kid didn’t need her scooter serviced, so she parked right outside the diner and headed inside while the others talked shop and took care of whatever business they had. While the establishment’s exterior gave the impression of belonging somewhere… colder, the quaint aesthetic and inviting atmosphere indoors made it an almost perfect fit anywhere. Business was oddly slow for the time of day, which may have had to do with being located at a pit stop in the middle of nowhere. They probably didn’t get a lot of regulars; just passersby like herself and her party. The relative vacancy of the joint left the child with her pick of seating, so she picked an empty barstool at random and planted herself on it. As a bonus, they were SPINNING barstools. Nice!

Kid loved sitting, especially in fresh new locales. The only thing missing from the scene was a majestic view, but that made it no less picturesque. After her seat slowed to a stop midway through its third rotation, she relaxedly kicked her feet while taking in the setting and its strange offerings. Most notable was the full table of various breeds of dogs playing a game of cards. The player dog with the extra-dimensional neck stood out even among them. He certainly had a bold strategy going. He could see the hands of his opponents, but not his own; a move that mixed classic and unconventional. Whether that made him a cheater or an innovator perhaps depended on the type of game, player consensus, and the dealer’s ruling. Whatever the case, the Courier--who had just joined the table with a declared aim of claiming the pot--might have his work cut out for him.

Redirecting her attention to the bar, Kid scanned the shelves and menu for whatever they would be legally allowed to serve her, which excluded most of everything behind the bartender. Speaking of which, it was surprising--and probably ill-advised--that a license to handle alcohol would be granted to someone with a flaming head and hands, not that she would be ordering any. It was a miracle in itself that he could handle cleaning supplies and water, the latter of which she would start with to wash out the dryness in her mouth from spending all morning driving through the barrens. While she was working on her first glass, she would be figuring out what food and drink to get to follow it with… and how she was going to pay for it.

Back at the garage, Banjo dropped off the motorcycle with the more mechanically inclined to leave in their much needed care. Before the bear and bird could catch up with their fellow party members in the diner, they caught a dispute going on between a black-clad quartet that could easily be mistaken for a boy band and a young handicapped swordsman calling their ability into question. At the polite distance Banjo kept, it was difficult to make out the nature of their argument, but it was clear that it was due to escalate if left alone to play out. Luckily, the human(?) brawler of their group intervened and attempted to diffuse the situation before a fight broke out, and judging by the white-haired man’s apparent withdrawal, it seemed to work out…

“Whew… I thought we were gonna have to step in for a minute there…”

“Honestly, I was hoping we’d get to place bets.”

Donnie, fresh off of the Courier muttering curses at him and the Captain walking away thinking he was crazy, was a bit annoyed. However, he’d certainly dealt with worse in his time adventuring. If he had a copper piece for every time he’d gotten on someone’s bad side, he wouldn’t have needed to do errands for random townsfolk or track down bounty targets just to get the gold necessary to fund his questing.

The thing he planned on doing next, however, was significantly more troublesome. Seeing as Tora and Poppi were done talking to Cid and Cindy, now was the opportunity to pull them aside, if he wanted to do it.

No, he had to go through with this. This talk needed to happen sooner rather than later, before it became a problem.

Dismissing the Disc on the ground nearby and walking up to Tora and Poppi, he asked, “Hey. Do you two have a minute to talk in private?”

The pair recognized the man, by sight if not yet by name or reputation, as an ally. While at first glance he didn’t seem particularly interesting, encouraging Tora to have gladly walked right by, the way he spoke -and sort of got in their way- commanded their attention. As such, the Nopon raised his eyebrows and replied, “Am listening.”

“What can Tora and Poppi help with?” his companion chimed in, an innocently curious expression on her face.

“Look, we need to talk,” Donnie said, beckoning to a relatively out-of-the-way spot at the east side of the gas station. When they followed him, leaning against the wall, he said to them. “SInce the fight earlier in the scrubland, there’s been something that’s bothering me. When we killed the clown, you two immediately treated it as a casual act and started talking about Tora’s weight.” He looked at both of them, standing next to him.

“I’m not going to claim sympathy for that piece of horse dung, far from it,” he continued. “But I’ve killed many in my travels as an adventurer, and killing people never gets any easier, even when they’re violent, murderous monsters like him. I’ve learned to deal with it a lot better, of course, but it’s still an incredibly serious situation. When I saw you talk like that, I figured you two had been simply gotten used to conflict better than I have. And I wanted to ask you about that.”

The implication was clear. Donnie had, under his rough yet casual exterior, had been quite disturbed by what he had heard from them. How would they respond?

Poppi, who didn’t know the answer herself, turned with an expectant look to Tora. “That good question. Poppi assumed Masterpon had good reason all along, but never ask.”

Plainly in deep thought, Tora took a few more moments before responding in a slow, less-than-confident fashion. “W-well, meh...did not think very hard about it. Back in Alrest, Tora and friends fight all the time, lots of monster and machine but a few people too. For some, it very simple: it either them or us. Still, we never kill people, even rogue driver.” A hefty silence momentarily filled the air. “...Suppose I look at it like this, meh. When Galeem beaten, according to Master of Masters, everything return to what was before. That mean everything done in this world get undone. So, even if Tora have to kill to stop very bad man here, it not really real, meh.”

After getting it out there, Tora started to sound a little more sure of himself. Closing his eyes and rubbing his non-chin in an authoritative manner, he continued, “Plus, if it is what seems like and everyone really just spirit in this world, with fake bodies, destroy body not really kill spirit. Meh, meh. Can be brought back in way or another, yes?”

The explanation took some consideration from Poppi, but after a few moments she nodded in agreement. “For once, Masterpon make sense. This world clearly work different from normal. But is obvious that even if actions not matter so much in temporary world, should still hold to principle.” A notion occurred to her, prompting her to gaze off into the distance with a worried expression. “Plus, what if friends cannot win? Would have to live on in this world, with consequences of actions. Very interesting.” Her Nopon creator, who clearly didn’t think of this last point, mulled over her suggestion.

Donnie seemed to stiffen during their explanation, and stare at his hands. “You know, I arrived late last night. I got filled in on the whole MegaDragonBowser thing from the rest of us, but I wasn’t really there for the Master of Masters’ explanation. Hell, I didn’t even really know who he was. I got the basics, of course--Galeem ripped our universes to shreds and stuck them together with duct-tape and glue for some insane reason, and we have to kill it--but uh”--he looked back at them--”that does explain a lot.”

“Still, Poppi brings up a good point. Galeem is extremely powerful even by cosmic standards, we might not be able to kill it. And if we fail, we’re going to have to live in this sick experiment it’s cooked up for the rest of our lives in these fake bodies even if we survive. Hell, we’re stuck like this for the foreseeable future even before the final battle. Playing the long game is admirable, but the short-term matters as well. Our actions do have consequences as long as we’re here, and this quest might take years. If we go around acting like killing people, even in self-defense, is no big deal, others are going to judge us.

“And,” he continued, recalling the conversation with Captain Falcon painfully, “Not everyone is going to believe us about what’s really going on here, nor that we’re somehow the only people who are free.

“Besides, even if all the spirits are gonna restored to normal with Galeem’s death, that doesn’t actually mean that the Spirits that were consumed, turned into items, and so on will have their consciousness intact until then. I’m not sure how spirit fusion or spirit-infused item creation works, but there’s nothing I’ve seen that shows their minds are still intact. For all we know, they might cease to exist until we kill Galeem, which may never happen. And what if the person who’s been fused kicks the bucket, or the spirit item is broken beyond repair? What then?

“What I’m getting at here,” Donnie said, “ is that this is all a lot more complex than you’re making it out to be, Tora, and it’s best to tread with caution even if it seems at first like your actions don’t have consequences in this world.”

At some point Tora lost the thread of what Donnie was saying and stopped really paying attention, but when he arrived at his eventual conclusion, it seemed straightforward enough. Plus, the Nopon really wanted to resume his exploration of the garage’s facilities. Vigorously nodding, he said, “Yes, yes, mehmehmeh! Tora will be very careful. Poppi too.” he glanced at the artificial blade for assurance, who gave a grave nod.

---

Michael was the first to pick up Needles' spirit, holding it up in his right hand. "Well, he looks friendly..." Just by looking at it, he could tell that this was the spirit of a madman. Fusing with it would be a terrible idea. Sure, part of Michael told him that fusing with a spirit would make him powerful, letting him fight without relying on his weapons. Still, the idea disturbed him, and if he had to fuse with a spirit, it sure as hell wouldn't be this one. With a single motion, Michael crushed the spirit in his hand, turning it into a weapon. Whatever weapon came from it, he would keep it in the truck until it was needed. "Well, that's that. I'll let you work on it, I need to rest." He said to Franklin, who nodded, moving to investigate the truck.

Michael began moving away when Linkle offered him a sip of the Lon Lon Milk, something that he remembered as being in the 'loot box' from the castle. He took the bottle and drank about an eight of its contents, handing it back with a nod. "Thanks..." He sighed as he felt his body healing, the milk's effects kicking in nearly immediately. Once Blazermate's Dispenser was set up, he would stand by it, letting its healing abilities fix the rest of his wounds.

Franklin stopped by the Dispenser soon after, picking up a few basic tools to help with the repairs. Seeing this, Michael walked over to test something out. "So, if this can make anything..." He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out his last full Uzi magazine. He held it in front of the machine for a few moments, and suddenly a new magazine popped out. Michael stared at it, grabbing it and comparing it with the original. "Son of a bitch, it works!" He grinned as he put the magazines back into their holders. He still had a means of finding ammo, which meant his guns wouldn't be useless in the long run. He repeated the process with one of his sniper magazines, and then repeated it again, leaving him with a decent supply of ammo for the rifle.

Franklin, meanwhile, began his work on the monster truck. He helped stitch together the broken systems on the vehicle, his knowledge of vehicles helping him identify which parts needed to be worked on. It was hard work, but with the help of Jr. and everyone else, they managed to get the truck working, and made some new modifications. As they finished up working on the truck and began to remove the symbols of its previous owner in favor of their own, Franklin took out a spray can and a stencil from the Dispenser, spraying his gang's symbol on the right side door. "Alright, all good." Franklin said, looking over their work.

"Finally. Let's catch up with the others. Hop in, people." Michael got in the driver's seat, gesturing for those without vehicles of their own to get in before turning on the truck's engine. "Woah...alright, let's hope I don't crash this thing. Jesus..." He drove off, following Kamek and Jr. to where the rest of the group had went, while Franklin followed on his bike.

---

It didn't take them long to catch up to the rest of the group, stopping at what looked like a truck stop of some kind. Michael could see the rest of the group's vehicles, but also a few unfamiliar people walking around. Stopping the monster truck just outside of the stop, Michael turned off the engine and got out, Franklin pulling up on his bike soon after.

"Well, guess this is the place." Michael said, looking at the place. It looked to be a fairly decent truck stop, with a gas station and some kind of restaurant nearby. Michael frowned as he saw the red eyes of the people nearby, but they didn't seem to be hostile to them. It was clear at this point that being under Galeem's influence didn't make someone immediately hostile, but it still made him uncomfortable. Franklin noticed it too, crossing his arms as he watched people go by. Michael turned to look at him. "They won't attack us immediately, but I'd be careful." Michael said, half-whispering to Franklin.

"Yeah, yeah..." Franklin continued to check out the people nearby, before pausing as he saw someone familiar. His eyes went wide as he took a closer look. "Shit, Mike, look."

"Wha- oh shit." Michael froze as he saw who Franklin was looking at. While he had wondered what happened to him, he didn't expect to see his old friend so soon. Thinking about it, it really wasn't much of a surprise- Trevor Phillips thrived off chaos, and this new world was exactly that. If Michael had to guess, he was probably having a blast out here, running around doing God knows what. "Come on." He began to walk towards him, and Franklin followed.

As they got closer, it was clear that Trevor had the red eyes that the other occupants of the stop shared. That was unfortunate, but expected- as far as they knew, their group were the only ones who weren't under Galeem's influence. "Trevor!" Michael announced, walking towards his old friend. "The fuck are you doing here, man?"

[center]This was a collab done with @Lugubrious

Geralt gave another nod to the houndmaster as he passed by, going over the information he’d been given in his head. Out of everything, the hope of perhaps finding wolfsbane with the weekly regeneration was really his best bet, small a hope as it was. Even if he could find it, however, he’d still have to hunt down a few wolves for their fat if he wanted to make the blade oil he wanted. He’d take any information the guild members might have, hoping to at least narrow down the places he had to look for its lair, and to see if the local canine populations had been getting more rowdy. That was almost always a sure sign of a werewolf’s presence.

Making his way to the Guild proper, Geralt thought over his options in his head. The houndmaster was right about the best way to take down the werewolf, for sure: bleeding it out. If he couldn’t get the ingredients for his oil, he’d have to rely on targeting its softer parts, drawing deep wounds and making the beast drain itself dry.

Lost in thought, the witcher found himself at the guild’s desk in the span of just a few short moments. With her faithful palico friend by her side, the Guildmarm handled the lion’s share of quest distribution, and the meticulous records maintained by herself and her team catalogued the vast majority of flora, fauna, and phenomenon to be found throughout any of the Land of Adventure’s iterations. No matter what the bizarre region threw her way, the bookish lady and her cats were ready to commit it to paper. After a short while spent accepting the quests returned by those returning from their morning ventures, and assigning rewards to be doled out of the guild treasury, the Guildmarm noticed Geralt as he stepped up to the counter. Instantly the young woman went flush, and after a moment straightening her hat she greeted him. “G-good morning, master witcher! What can I help you with?”

Geralt had to suppress a chuckle. While he’d normally be...flattered...by the attention, he was more concerned with the job at hand. How odd for him, to not allow himself to be sidetracked by conversation or some silly card game. It felt like an eternity since he’d sat down with Zoltan or Dandelion and played some Gwent.

“Looking for a werewolf. Supposedly one’s shown up a little ways up North, and I was looking to see if anybody’s posted a request to have it dealt with.”

The mention of a job got the Guildmarm focused, and in an instant she’d slammed the heavy logbook into the table and started rifling through the day’s dealings. “Wolf...wolf..wolf..” she murmured aloud, tracing along the page with a fingertip. It didn’t take her long to find. “Aha!” Spinning the tome around, she slid it across the desk toward Geralt. Close to the bottom, in the ‘E’ section of the Guild’s A-G scale, lay an investigation prompted by someone known as the Monster Rancher. “Bipedal wolf, blue in color, sighted roaming the woods not far from this little castle thing that sprung up. Four Swords went out to try and hunt it, but it sent ‘em packing. Fast, vicious, and really smart. Sound about right?”

Responding with a grunt, Geralt looked over the request. “E, huh? That’s fair. Werewolves are a dangerous bunch. Reward ain’t bad, either. Alright, I’ll take it. Got one question for you, though: wolfsbane, know where I can find it? I’ll need some to make the job go a lot more smoothly.” He didn’t add that he’d also need canine fat, that in and of itself was easy enough to get, especially with a werewolf in the area.

With an odd smile, the Guildmarm replied, “As luck would have it, scouts reported lots of unusual plant growth near the castle where the werewolf was sighted. Herbs, flowers, the like. If the Four Swords are to be taken at their word, the wolf was actually gathering some itself when they arrived. Weird, huh? Wonder if it’s adapting to the sudden shift in ecosystem…?” The Guildmarm seldom went long without thinking about her ecological studies.

Geralt’s face screwed up at that. Was the werewolf still sentient while it was shapeshifted? Could that be part of this world’s strange rules that he’d yet to fully get a grasp on? Quite possibly. “Near the castle, then. I’ll have to be careful, beast sounds clever. Thank you for the help, ma’am. I’ll be off.” Bidding the Guildmarm farewell, Geralt made his way out of the guild hall, thinking over his plan of attack. He’d have to see what those herbs were that the werewolf was seen picking, then he’d have to confront the monster itself.

While it wasn’t unheard of for werewolves to retain some control of themselves while transformed, it was rare to hear of one so apparently put-together as to gather herbs and plants, even if only for decoration. Their minds usually went to slaughter and destruction, not alchemy.

He didn’t have much to prepare, thankfully: a benefit of his nomadic lifestyle being that he was almost always ready to move at a moment’s notice. “The castle...wonder if it’s holed up nearby, then. Wouldn’t do to put itself too out in the open, especially in a world like this with hunters and warriors everywhere in sight.” He mused to himself, beginning his journey towards where the last apparent sighting had been.