Chapter Text
Border patrol duty with his sister and father had always been a source of relaxation for Leon, then called Liahnpa of the Hlraskrei clan. Though the nature of their mission was dangerous, something about walking the lethal jungles of Venom brought to him a sense of fell, ethereal serenity that could not be matched even by the deepest meditation. It was because of the danger that lurked that their patrols were made in almost utter silence. Their feet knew their ways around each bog, moving in a pattern they had learned when they were children, lest they fall into the life-claiming mud pits that haunted the jungle floor. When they could, they took the canopy routes, walking through tangles of branches their forefathers had made. Massive leaves belonging to ancient trees obscured their ancestral pathways, shielding them from the sight of any would-be predator that dwelled below.
Their route took them from the Venomian jungles they called home into the hellish wastelands beyond. Tunnels chiseled into canyon walls were their method of travel. Years of treading the darkened paths had made their eyes accustomed to the pitch black. Nevertheless, they kept their weapons close at hand on the off chance something had decided to take up residence in the dark. But as luck would have had it, nothing greeted them in the dry, arid dark of the tunnel and the trio soon found themselves at the cave’s end, which spilled into an overlook. The volcanic region they called the “Deadlands” lay before them. Geysers guzzled into the air and the forest ended in patches of dying, twist trees at its outskirts.
“Another one,” said his sister in her dark tones, orange eyes lifted to the black hole overhead. She rested against the tunnel wall, a grim look upon her face. Her weapon was held lightly in one hand—a hybrid weapon that blended a harpoon and a rifle into one. Its bayonet was a jagged monstrosity with teeth carved in it to rend through flesh like a knife through butter.
“We should salvage it,” Liahnpa said to her and his father grunted in agreement. He had always been a quiet sort, never speaking unless there was an absolute need to.
As with all of the other black holes that appeared in the sky, this one beget a white pod with a circular emblem painted perfectly on its hull. Liahnpa watched it spill out from the abyss and watched it collide into the earth at the edge of the Deadlands. Perhaps a mile north and the pod would have found its home in a lava pit. A quick, fiery death for the pod and whatever laid inside was likely more merciful than the wilderness of Venom.
“Give it a moment,” his sister cautioned. “If it is one of the dogs’ prisoners, then the air will kill them. It will make the salvaging easier.”
Liahnpa nodded. They gave it five minutes before they descended the rocky slope. Finding the pod was an easy feat, as its pristine white paint stood out like a sore thumb against the infernal red of Venom’s surface. Despite knowing the inhabitant was likely dead already, they proceeded forward with caution and weapons drawn. Sometimes, they died instantly. Sometimes, they came out, breathed a few times, then died. Other times, rare times, they lived—assimilating into the cruel and unforgiving Venomian culture and forsaking their old selves in the name of survival. It had been fifty years since the last time that had happened, according to the elders of their village.
When they approached the pod, they found it empty. The hatch leading inside was open, its meager controls exposed. Liahnpa looked to his father, who ran his thin, bony fingers over the pod with thought glistening in his dark eyes. When he contemplated, the scar on his upper lip seemed to deepen.
“We will need a few more hands,” said his father. “I will call for them. Liahnpa. Sorca. Look for the—” He stopped just short of finishing his sentence but they all heard it. A voice. Audible yet… the words made no sense.
Liahnpa looked to his sister and she gave a quick nod. As his father began to radio in to the rest of the village their finding, the two siblings slipped away towards the source of the voice. They crept towards a patch of gnarled trees, their leaves decaying both on the branch and in heaps around its trunk. The voice spoke in a whisper, aimed at no one that Liahnpa could see. But the way the breeze moved, he felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of his nape. His hands tightened around the curved scimitar he carried.
“I will avenge you…”
They found the ape in a small clearing. The stranger laid on his side, pressed against a slab of stone that was leaning against the base of a tree. His eyes were half-lidded, his mouth agape and grasping for air. Tears trickled one by one down his cheeks, flooding from bloodshot eyes. His mouth was decorated with white fur that intermingled with the fur on his head and neck. His nails scraped the stone with agitation. One of his feet twitched.
“He is dying,” Sorca whispered with satisfaction. She turned to leave wordlessly, to let the elements take its newest quarry.
But Liahnpa did not move. He found himself transfixed by the stranger. As Sorca’s soft steps retreated back towards the pod, Liahnpa found his feet propelling him forward in an apprehensive walk forth. He sheathed his scimitar, pulling out his dagger. Silently, he reasoned that ending the deserted prisoner’s life now would appease the spirits of the land—the ones that hid in the shadows and whispered dark things.
“You…” the stranger’s eye had caught sight of the lithe warrior. Each haggard breath beget a small snarl, exposing his curved fangs. “Who are you?”
Liahnpa stopped. His common Lylatian was not terribly practiced but he understood the ape’s meaning well enough. Eyes narrowing, the reptile continued forth, his voice as dark as his intentions.
“I am Liahnpa of the Hlraskrei.”
“That get up. You must be a Venomian,” the stranger said with a humorless laugh. “Corneria would have us all believe you don’t exist.”
He began to rise and that caused the reptile to stop again, just a few yards from the prisoner. The ape pushed himself upright and then shakily rose to his feet. A lock of silvery hair fell into his eyes. Liahnpa could see that the man was indeed clad in the same prisoner’s uniform as all the ones before him had been. His unkempt hair ran down his back, tied in a loose ponytail. What struck the reptile the most about him, however, were his eyes. They were exhausted, riddled with a thousand thoughts… but so incredibly intelligent, piercing through everything he saw as though they were knives.
He is… unusual.
“What’s the dagger for? Did you think I was going to let you gut me?” the simian asked.
“Most die when they breathe this air,” Liahnpa said. “And yet you… stand.”
“My name is Gestalt Andross. I am the head of Space Dynamics… Or I suppose, I was,” the simian replied bitterly. “I have been put on this planet to die. And I… I suppose I am as baffled as you are that I am here. Breathing this air.” He paused. “Are there others like me here? Others that survive?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Where do you live?”
“Beyond the canyon walls, in the thick of the jungle.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Liahnpa,” came the voice of the Venomian’s father and he turned to see his sire flanked by a puzzled Sorca. He stepped back to let his father take control of the situation—as was custom in his tribe to let elders assume authority.
The one called Andross beheld his father with a small, albeit pained smile. Perhaps the air did not kill him but something about the simian still felt weak. His body seemed so frail beneath his uniform, as though he had not seen a decent meal in decades.
“What will we do with him?” Sorca asked.
“We will do what we have always done,” her father replied thoughtfully, staring down Andross. “We will take him back with us.”
And so they did, making the long trek back to their village with their newest ally in tow. Andross did not speak a word the entire time. Liahnpa caught him observing everything—the stone formations of their canyons, the way their paths had been woven into the trees, and even the shadows of creatures that lurked on the jungle floor. He was a silent watcher, his eyes dancing with myriads of thoughts and lips creasing with tiny, knowing smiles. Within days of his arrival to the village, he was already mapping out ways to better bolster the village’s defenses against possible threats. It was not long before he rose to favor with the Hlraskrei… and with the elders too.
Years passed. Andross and his way with technology had advanced their weaponry to the point where their neighbors could not withstand their might. As their territory expanded, so did their admiration for Gestalt Andross until the elders had declared him a savior to their people. They revised all of their village structures, salvaging parts from abandoned technology (from the ones Andross called “the Cornerians) to construct fully sized indoor cities that protected the Venomians from the elements.
Liahnpa had never strayed far from Andross, keeping to his shadow out of curiosity and excitement. Sorca chided him throughout the years for his fascination with the outside world that Andross would speak so fondly of. But despite her lectures and her down to earth mentality, Liahnpa knew that with Andross’s arrival, everything about Venom had changed… and it was certainly for the better for their hellish world. His fascination evolved into fondness. And that fondness was forged into loyalty. Andross had shown him what lay beyond the skies and his inventions had done much to help his people. It was not long before Liahnpa found himself at the simian’s right hand side in the months before the war.
Andrew was the first of the Star Wolf team he had met. His first impression was not particularly great but the reptile understood that the boy was wet behind the ears. Andrew’s constant grandstanding and attempts to measure up to his uncle felt forced. It was as though the young simian craved attention and the reptile was unsure of how to respond to his raucous behavior.
Pigma was introduced next and his presence made Liahnpa feel sick to his stomach. He disagreed vehemently with his leader’s plan to recruit the one they were using as a spy; after all, it would have been much simpler to just cut the loose end and to let Pigma burn with their first target. His fickle loyalty was, at best, a danger to their operation. The reptile struggled to see himself cooperating with someone who was fine with selling out his old team. He only obliged because Andross wanted him to.
And then there was Wolf. Wolfrik O’Donnell, the dreaded pirate that had bled noble houses dry with heists and robberies. Wolf, the one who had been sentenced to a lifetime of prison. To say Liahnpa was intrigued by the vagabond was an understatement; his resume of crime and battle expertise were incredible. Wolf had leadership experience, the ability to see a thousand options in the heat of battle, and was marked as an expert pilot. Despite his doubts about Andrew and Pigma, Liahnpa knew that Andross was not making a mistake by choosing Wolf O’Donnell.
The rest was history written in blood and ash. Even after Andross’s fiery demise, the assassin struggled to let go of his loyalty. He asked himself if returning home was the answer he sought but the notion of going back to border patrols in the Venomian wilds made him feel nauseous. Too much had changed. He could not forget what could have been. He could not let go. Logic told him that Andross’s dream had died along with him. The ashes were simply that; ashes, too scattered to restore an empire of glory and progress.
And yet, there Liahnpa—Leon—was. He continued because there was no other choice. That stubbornness had led him to that drear Eladardian manor. What had happened all before seemed like a blur—their getaway ship had been damaged. Pigma maybe was a traitor. Wolf had someone out to kill him. Someone who was supposed to fix their ship was now being held hostage by some mob boss with a penchant for blood. Why did it feel like misfortune haunted their every move?
Beneath gloomy clouds, bleak remnants from last night’s storm, Leon waited for Pigma. From where he crouched in the shadows, he let his thoughts pass him by. They numbed him to the fear that would have naturally consumed anyone neck-deep in enemy territory. He did not try to stifle them. He did not try to argue them. Leon had never been at war with his mind. The war around him always kept his attention away from his own feelings.
This is a long way from Venom and a far cry from the future we were promised by Andross. I could ask myself how we got here, but it does not matter. Andross died. We ran. We came here. And now, this is where we are.
“Hey you!”
His spot made it hard to see him but not impossible. Without a second thought, the lizard threw his knife at the approaching grunt, letting the blade sheath itself into the thug’s neck. No death cry came out, just a wet gurgle as the thug fell to the ground. Leon skulked out of the shadows to fetch his blade, wresting it free from the newly made corpse. He slid it twice onto his black pants, letting the blood stain them and not the silver of his knife. Clothes were replaceable… and perhaps knives were too, but the one he had thrown had been a special one, plucked off a Zonessian during Andross’s conquest. Leon fancied the carvings in the silver of its blade. They were fluid as water, reminding him vaguely of the war paint members of his tribe would wear.
“Pigma. Where are you?” Leon hissed into the communications channel. He ran his thumb over the flat of the knife’s blade, feeling the indentions of the carvings. “You are putting us behind schedule.”
“Be there soon!” Pigma panted from the other line.
There is much that has gone awry. But if I were to question anything, it would be why Wolf paired me up with this fool.
In all his years, the Venomian had never felt such acute rage towards an assigned partner. As he waited for the hog to arrive, Leon Powalski dedicated his time to securing the parameter. Most of Archie’s guards had been called to the front to inspect the plane that Pigma had so unceremoniously crashed into their wilted lawn, so the pickings were quite slim. He had wet his blade thrice by the time Pigma did show up, huffing and puffing so loud that Leon was certain it would draw the guards away from the crash site. Irritation boiling the lizard’s blood, Leon pressed a single finger to the swine’s snout, fiery irises exuding that sort of silent wrath he had become known for.
When he removed the finger from Pigma’s sinfully ugly mug, the hog scowled at him. Barely-hairy brows knitting together at the center of his incredibly round head, Pigma sneered at the lizard, “Hey! You try runnin’ that as fast as I did!”
“If you attract the guards, I’ll leave you here to deal with them,” Leon threatened him. Without another word, the assassin began towards the patio.
Wolf and Andrew had already gone inside. Leon traced their steps, sheathing his blade in exchange for his rifle. The grooves of its handles felt comfortable in his hands, as if they had been crafted for him and him alone. He kept his breathing through his nose, tail curled. The back yard was filled with strange artwork. They were idols, Leon figured, left by the wealthy Cornerians who had built the mansion. One of his wide eyes caught a glimpse of the stone idols, its limbs eroded by the wind and rain. Its face looked agonized, as though it were still feeling the pain of its arms being separated from its body.
Cornerians are such strange creatures. Why would they want to keep these things here? What is it supposed to evoke?
“Heh, wouldn’t mind one of those in my room. The curvy one, I mean,” Pigma remarked crudely and Leon shook his head in confusion. He cast a gander at the one Pigma was referring to, noticing how its head had been removed. Its voluptuous, nude torso, however, was perfectly untouched.
“You can have the one of General Pepper, if you want,” Pigma added, pointing at a statue of the war dog laying in shambles. Leon thought it best to not reward the hog with a reply and merely continued forward.
Grime clung to the patio windows. A stale stench drifted from them as Leon passed them by, the glass so murky that he could not see into the mansion. Pigma pointed his blaster at the windows, a cheery smile spreading wide across his face. Leon rested his rifle against his shoulder, freeing up a hand to grab the doorknob. He opened it carefully, Pigma sidling up next to him to point the blaster at the opening door. Early light flooded a dining room, revealing a table that had not had a visitor in what seemed like years. Immediately, a foul scent drifted over Leon’s nostrils. He grimaced.
This place reeks of death… but without smelling like it. How this is, I am not sure…
“Heh, too bad there ain’t any grub,” Pigma remarked and Leon rolled his eyes. He walked in, grasping his rifle in both hands. Movement caught his eye and his body snapped in its direction, the barrel of his rifle pointed at it. Dust bunnies dwelled en masse in the corners of the decrepit room, brought to life by a stale, hot breeze that filtered in from the open door. Pigma shut it, giving a shrug.
“Well, we’re here now. Where to first?” Pigma asked.
“The necklace,” Leon reminded him and began down a hallway on the other side of the table.
“And where’s that supposed ta be?” Pigma asked.
“The blueprints had a section designated…” Leon began, rubbing his chin.
Damn it. Usually I’d remember something like this. But I guess the lack of sleep and being on the run has me a bit rattled. He cast a wary look at Pigma. And I guess being with this wretched thing has got my focus elsewhere…
“Maybe we should ask Wolf if he knows,” Leon suggested quickly.
And pray I don’t die from embarrassment.
“This is Pigma,” Pigma said after a quick tap on the headset attached to his ear. “We’re on the first floor, looking for the vault. Any ideas where it’s at?”
“North wing, third floor,” Wolf’s voice cutting through the tense quiet was welcome. “Should be behind a big black door.”
“We will find it,” Leon chimed in quickly and quietly. To his partner, the lizard beckoned him with a soft-toned, “Come on.”
Dust-ridden paintings hung about in gold-painted frames. They felt like excesses, testaments to wealth and nothing more. Their lack of upkeep was evidenced in the cracks of their frames and the paleness of the dust that draped in the lumps of paint that comprised the art. Perhaps in their prime, they had been worth something. Neglect had disfigured them. Vanity did not matter in the face of the passage of time. Leon smirked. All that effort for all that coin and what did it matter in the end?
The hallway forked and Leon instinctively went left. A trio of guards hung about the corridor, one holding a can of Katinan beer. One of the guards yelped in surprise a moment before a single shot from Leon’s rifle sniped the life from him—a single laser burning a hole between his eyes. Pigma dispatched the other two with quick, sloppy laser fire. The can of beer fell to the ground and the hog sprinted for it, picking it up off the ground. Its pale yellow tone marred the redwood floorboards. Leon’s scaled snout wrinkled in disgust, eyes drawing from the puddle to where Pigma was downing the last of the beer.
“Are you serious?” Leon asked the hog incredulously.
Wolf… I know better than to question your judgement. But right now, I’m really wondering why you paired me with him…
“There’s still some left,” the swine stuck out a tongue, letting a few drops sate his dry tongue.
Past the bleeding corpses, Leon found an ajar door. He nudged the door open with the nose of his rifle, directing it into the next room. A shadow fell upon him and he paused, eyes traveling upward at the source. A massive set of leaves blotted out the ceiling, faint light making their green hue seem to glow. The aroma of plants and flowers suddenly hit him, a stark contrast to the musk of the rugged manor. Beyond the massive plant towering over him, he could see other Uncertain, the lizard took a step back.
“I do not understand,” Leon looked at Pigma. “They kept a forest in here?”
“Oh, it’s a greenhouse,” Pigma shrugged. “Y’know, for keeping plants in.”
“No. I do not know,” Leon shook his head.
“It’s… something rich people do, I dunno,” Pigma shrugged again. “Think this is the right way?”
“I doubt it,” Leon retorted. “Do you think there’s a door on the other side? A way through?”
“Usually this sorta stuff spills into the outside,” Pigma shook his head. “We’d have better luck someplace different.”
Frustrated, Leon closed the door, fighting the urge to not slam it shut. As a sigh of exasperation fizzled out from his mouth, he turned and began to stalk his way towards the way they had come. Truly, these Cornerian abodes were like labyrinths—stifling with their lack of windows and messy with their abundance of rooms that made no sense. Why have a forest in a house? Did the forest not belong outside? Why have a thousand credenzas resting about the hallways? Why have vases if they were meant to store nothing? Why… why… why! Their lives seemed so asinine, so caught up in trivial matters like having fuzzy ground underfoot in their halls or some particular hue of wood. He did not understand—everyone bled the same in the end, everyone died the same in the end.
The Venomian suppressed a hiss as he stalked back down the hall, careful to step over the corpses. A guard passed by, pausing and turning with an alarmed “huh!?” as he did so. Leon lifted his rifle, clicking the trigger once and watching the man fall—not even slowing his pace a hair. Disgruntled, he took a left at the hallway intersection, going deeper in the mansion’s first floor.
“Do we even know where we’re going?” Pigma asked, hustling to keep up with Leon’s brisk strides.
“Need to find the stairs,” Leon replied. “Third floor.”
“Okay, but you drew the map. Do you know where the stairs are?” Pigma asked with more than a little whine in his voice.
“Should be…” Leon’s fiery gaze spied them as soon as they rounded the corner, spilling into what he could only assume was the manor’s central room. It seemed to be a massive intersection of sorts—auspiciously devoid of any guards.
“Oh, huh,” Pigma remarked. “Weird, no guards here.”
“Keep your voice down. Let’s go to the third floor,” Leon hissed and began to climb the stairs. They had been cut from marble but they were chipped at the edges. The assassin moved carefully as to not clip any of the stair’s jagged edges.
“So he’s got this in a vault, eh?” Pigma said after they had climbed past the second floor. “Isn’t this kinda like what ya see in cartoons?”
“Cartoons?” Leon asked, shooting him a glare over his shoulder.
“Ya know, the stuff that plays every morning on Saturdays?” Pigma asked.
“We did not get much play on Venom,” Leon said sharply.
“Not even the ol’ classics? Like Dom and Terry? Or Marty Mouse?” Pigma asked aghast.
“Can you focus for half a second?” Leon snapped.
“I’m just saying, this guy seems to be your textbook villain. Big scary house. Hired thugs. Keeps his goods in a vault,” Pigma shrugged. “Maybe he’s got some other bits and pieces in there. Like some treasure.”
Leon knew it was bait. He took it nonetheless.
“Like what sort of treasure?” the assassin asked with loathing.
“Like old paintings that are worth a fortune. Or diamonds. Or a paintings made of diamonds,” Pigma suggested.
“I… fail to understand the point of such things,” Leon confessed darkly as they reached the third floor.
“It’s… you know. To show your status,” Pigma shrugged.
Things without purpose will never do you any good. Having things for the sake of having things is an asinine concept, nurtured by those who do not understand where real power truly comes from. Fear is the currency of this world. The more they fear, the more power you have. Fear turns mortals into gods. And money makes blood flow.
“I hate Cornerians,” Leon stated venomously with the shake of his head and resumed his aggressive stalk down the hallway. His mind called back to his home world, where they did not have time to worry about mansions, fancy tables, or having the ability to hoard things. He thought of his village, built upon the bones of the long-gone ancient tribes. One day, his village would be annihilated and another village would build over their corpses. It was the law of nature. Frivolousness mattered not.
The corridor spilled into a large, open parlor with a shattered flat screen TV, a coffee table that used to have four legs (now sporting three and a half), and emptied pots—pots that he was quite certain had once contained plants but now contained only piles of crusty dirt. An old grand piano sat in the corner, its top caved in and a few keys laying scattered about the off-putting maroon and gold rug. Leon scowled at it, giving a slight hiss. He stepped over the mess of piano keys on the floor, eyes shiftily glancing about. A nearby palm tree had been potted and put into the corner of the room. It sat next to an exotic Zonessian screen depicting a naked male bear laying sprawled by the riverside, his private bits only concealed by a large-petaled flower held inconspicuously near his crotch. Pigma snorted at the image. Leon rolled his eyes.
Shuffling of feet in the nearby hallway caused the lizard to give pause. Grabbing the hog by the arm, he pulled them both behind the lewd screen.
“Whaaat?” Pigma asked and Leon ‘shushed’ him.
A pair of guards walked in, decked out in shoddy vests and jeans. Their military-style boots clunked against the hardwood floor to an awkward beat. One of them, vulture from what Leon could tell behind the screen, held a crowbar in his hand. He walked with a limp and his head swung back and forth to scan the parlor lazily. Leon held his breath, feeling his pointer finger rest on the trigger of his rifle. But in that confined space, he knew that he would be at a disadvantage. He quickly side-eyed Pigma, who’s brow had furrowed at the approach of the two guards.
“Weird as shit, y’anno,” the vulture squawked to his companion, a wily looking opossum with missing front teeth. “Tha’ the Boss wants us ta stay inside. I ‘ope this ain’t one of his games again.”
“Heh, better in here where it’s cool than out there frying our asses off,” the opossum remarked. “Don’t care if it a game or not. Anything to get outta the sun.”
“Ya won’t think that if the Boss is wantin’ ta hunt again,” the vulture retorted.
“It’s only been a week since last time,” the opossum retorted. “He prob still pickin’ bones clean from ‘is last lil excursion.”
Leon noticed the gun in Pigma’s hand turn slowly from the vertical position to horizontal. The hog made no motion to the lizard. He stared ahead, breath quiet as death’s gentle, unyielding grasp. The barrel pointed at the guards as they walked by, but from the angle he was standing in, Leon could not tell which one Pigma was aiming at. A split second later and the vulture fell, pierced through the heart by a crimson flash of light. The opossum immediately bolted. Leon kicked the screen over, pointing his rifle at the retreating opossum. He fired, the laser searing through the mahogany doorframe. The opossum let out a shriek.
Flinging the rifle onto his back, Leon dove after the screaming rodent. Still adjusting his rifle’s strap, he sprinted through the parlor, towards the corridor with the endless credenzas. Drawing a knife from his belt, he watched the rhythm of the opossum’s gait. Leon pulled his hand back. Movement ahead caught his eye and he spied a dazed looking goat round the corner. Instinct kicked in and Leon flung the dagger further, catching the goat in the throat with lethal precision. The opossum shrieked again and Leon was certain by now everyone in the entire manor had heard him.
A second knife came to his palm, a smaller one with a straight blade. He held it between two thin fingers, peeling back his arm and sending it flying with desperation. It caught the opossum’s leg. He fell to the ground with a cry, grabbing at his bloodied limb. Eyes wide, he looked to Leon, trembling from shock. The assassin pulled out a third knife, reaching down to grab the rodent by his collar.
“This is the north wing of the third floor. Where does Archie keep his valuables?” hissed Leon into the opossum’s face.
“D-don’t kill me!” wept the opossum.
“Tell me where he keeps his valuables and I will consider…” Leon said, the point of the knife prodding the opossum’s chin. “… Not sending this through your jaw and into that tiny brain of yours.”
“Okay, okay!” screamed the opossum, his grubby hands clinging to Leon’s wrists. “I’ll… I’ll show you!”
The lizard dropped him in an instant, letting the thug fall into a heap on the ground. He grabbed at the small blade embedded in his leg and Leon gave a small hiss, jabbing at the opossum’s back with the blade so that it pricked him through his vest. The opossum squawked and began to hobble forward.
“T-this way!” the opossum said, pointing a bloodied finger down the hall.
They began down the corridor, their guide hampered by his injury. His pace could have likely put a lamed slug to shame but Leon knew they had little choice otherwise. More portraits passed them by, dusted over and uninteresting, save for their callous eyes, which glinted like light reflecting off of metal. Leon thought it was a strange trick of the light at first, but after the third or fourth time, he began to feel unease crawling up his spine. Before he could mention it to his unorthodox partner, Pigma turned to one, reaching up to the portrait’s face with two fingers poised in a claw-like fashion. He seized something hidden in the paint and pulled, producing a small camera that fit on the end of his thumb. Without a second thought, the swine crushed it.
“We’re being watched,” Pigma announced darkly.
“Great,” Leon murmured under his breath.
Their captive escorted them down a jagged hallway, its walls crumbled in small places. The building’s infrastructure stared at them, unnatural as the sight of bone among bloody, maimed flesh. It was a wonder that the building hadn’t collapsed; its disarray was unfathomable, as if it was a cluster of memories the keeper had no issue locking away until it decayed into nothing.
“Here,” the opossum croaked, pointing at an ebony-painted door down the long hallway. It was flanked by twin statues, their identities unknown as their heads had fallen off.
The opossum fell to the ground, grasping his injured leg. Wordlessly, Leon stepped around him and began down the hall at a brisk pace. He heard Pigma hurry along after him, marginally surprised the swine had decided to not put the rodent out of his misery. Perhaps there was honor among thieves and degenerates after all.
“Seems a bit on the nose, eh?” Pigma remarked and Leon could not help but agree. The hog readied his blaster with a crooked grin. “I been in enough of these to know where this leads.”
“A trap?” Leon asked. “More than likely.”
As they approached the door, Leon could feel apprehension fester in his stomach. Triangular snout wrinkled, the assassin shot Pigma a glance. Despite everything, the cocksure hog seemed to be unfazed, his pale eyes gleaming with childish glee as he pointed his blaster at the vault door. For a moment, Leon wondered if this was all just an elaborate game for him.
I should be careful, just in case. He sold James out when his tail was backed up to the flames. He could sell me out too if things go poorly.
“Whatcha starin’ at?” Pigma asked with a raised brow.
“Got any grenades on you?” Leon asked quickly, averting his gaze towards the door again. “Might be better to go in with guns blazing.”
“Heh, you’re in luck. I snatched a few off a dead guy awhile back,” Pigma replied with a cheeky grin. “Ya thinking of blasting the door down?”
“Better than opening it and getting a face full of lasers,” Leon remarked.
“That’s not very stealthy of ya,” Pigma pointed out.
“Sometimes you need finesse. Sometimes you need explosives,” Leon retorted.
“What we gonna do after we blow up the door?” Pigma asked. “What if we blow the necklace to smithereens with it?”
“I doubt that’ll be the case,” Leon scoffed. “Just how potent are those things?”
“Potent enough,” Pigma said with a wink and Leon scowled at him.
He and the swine backed up a fair amount, giving the door a wide berth. Pigma plucked a grenade from his belt, holding it up with a maniacal smile. He activated it with the flick of his thumb, chucking it at the door with all of his might. Leon heard a small laugh fringe his breath moments before the door erupted into flames. There was nothing subtle about the explosion but with the trail of bodies that they had left in their wake, Leon was beginning to question how many of Archie’s cronies were even still alive. Blazing irises staring at the smoke-clogged doorway through the aiming reticle of his rifle, the assassin began forward in prompt, but cautious steps. His trigger finger twitched with anticipation.
Pigma stood at his side, hoisting his heavier blaster with one hand. His spare had an unactive grenade in its palm. The hog poised to throw it if need be, but the silence on the other end of the door made him stay his hand. As they neared it, Leon began to realize that the grenade had been a bit overkill—the door lay in splinters at their feet and Archie’s supposed loot storage seemed as devoid of life as Eladard’s wastelands outside. The lizard frowned. It was odd that no one was here, guarding something that was supposedly precious to the old mob boss.
“Huh,” Pigma remarked.
They stepped into the room, causing the lights to flicker on. It was large and stretched a long ways, formed in a rectangle. There were a few chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, their gold prongs tipped with bulbs in the shape of flames. Various glass cases had been lined up in a museum-like fashion, forming aisles. The cases were all occupied from what he could tell. The first thing that caught Leon’s eye was a gold-hilted saber, forged so that the metal looked as though it contained a myriad of metallic waves. Its guard was lined with blazing rubies. A small label in front of it declared it was a “Native Titanian Saber, Restored by Cornerian Archaeologists”. Leon thought about adding it to his collection but opted not to. Its sheen felt gaudy.
“Door was pretty flimsy,” Pigma remarked. “This place wasn’t built to store things.”
“If what I’ve heard is true, much of this place wasn’t built for what it’s being used for,” Leon replied.
He passed more glass cases by, their prisoners a strange jumble of random items—fragments of meteors of unknown origin, a weathered crown that had supposedly belonged to a noble from Animus, an Eladardian gauntlet forged from the metal of a fallen star, a Civil War-era blaster… the list went on and on. As he wandered the aisle, searching for anything that looked like a necklace, he felt his impatience grow.
For a “cartoonish villain” he keeps odd things in his treasure room. And why position everything like this? It just seems so strange and inefficient.
“I think I found it,” Pigma announced and Leon whirled around to face him. He hopped over an aisle of glass cases and bounded to the swine’s side.
Pigma was squinting at a collection of jewelry enclosed together. Two necklaces sat next to each other—a silver locket with a midnight-blue opal imbued into its pendant. Flecks of light shimmered within the stone’s rich hue, as if the opal itself was a night sky littered with countless stars. A wreath of small diamonds circled the dark gem. Even with his inexperience with jewelry, Leon could tell it was expertly crafted.
“ ‘Burning Stars’,” Pigma read its description aloud with a small scoff. “Huh, fancy name. You’d think this would be somethin’ important. How’d some backwater croc get his claws on this?”
Leon did not grace the hog’s question with an answer. He plucked a thin-bladed knife from his belt and worked the padlock open with a deft twist of his wrist. As the lock fell to the ground, it gave a clamor that sounded like gunshots against the marble. The lizard flipped open the lid and reached for the necklace.
“Someone’s comin’!” Pigma alerted him and instinct kicked in.
The Venomian assassin snatched the necklace and ducked under the case, flattening himself against the ground. Though the cases’ thin legs made cover still sparse, Leon knew it was better than nothing. He just hoped whoever had come in did not look down. Quietly, the lizard pocketed the necklace and firmed his grasp around his knife’s hilt. It took a moment for Leon to realize his partner had not followed suite.
No. No, what are you doing, you stupid pig!? You’re blowing our cover. We need to sneak out of here, meet up with Wolf, and make a run for it.
Anxiously, the assassin whispered, “Pigma, get down.”
“Too late,” the swine mumbled lowly and out of the side of his mouth. His stance was still lax, though Leon could tell from the concentration in the hog’s eyes that he was staring holes through something… or perhaps, someone.
“Well, well, well,” the raspy tones of a stranger caught the lizard’s attention. From beneath the table, he could tell nothing about the voice’s owner, save for their affinity for military-style boots. The jiggling of what sounded like keys persisted between each of the stranger’s heavy, thudding steps. “What do we have here? A petty thief looking to snatch some goods? Can’t say that’s what I expected.”
“What can I say, darlin’?” Pigma asked. “Got a thing for big… jewels.”
“Cap’n, the wolf ain’t here,” a second strange voice chimed in.
“He’s around here somewhere, go find ‘em. Karl, Donny, you stick with me,” the first voice snapped. A few footsteps in the distance shuffled away. Leon tried to catch a peek at their enemies and could see only three sets of boots.
“Heh, you look a bit tougher than the rest o’ the punks we saw on our way in. Can’t say I’m disappointed, though, I was startin’ ta get bored,” Pigma remarked. The assassin tried to make eye contact with his porcine companion but Pigma’s pale eyes seemed to stare forward with burning intent. Leon could see something in the hog’s other hand—a small black orb mostly concealed in Pigma’s massive palm.
A grenade.
He snuck another glance at Archie’s three cronies. The one standing in front was a hyena, built like a tank but with vivid turquoise fringe flowing from her head. Protective armor covered her chest and arms, but her head was exposed—a reckless sign of confidence if Leon had ever seen one. At her flank were two impressive brutes; one was a flat-faced gecko and the other was a baboon with a fanged smirk.
If Pigma’s planning what I think he’s planning, then I need to make sure I’m ready. The problem is… I do not know where he intends to throw the grenade – at her or at the wall.
He backed up, quietly sheathing his knife. As carefully as he could, he loosened the strap about his torso, pulling out his long-barreled rifle. Leon heard the hyena click her blaster into kill mode.
“We sent ya the bottom of the barrel. Boss got tired of paying some of those louts to sit on their asses. Congratulations, you just trimmed down our payroll,” the hyena said savagely.
Ugh. Even in the final days of the Lylat Wars, Andross wasn’t this crazy.
“Brutal,” Pigma laughed. “I like this boss of yours.”
If Pigma aims the grenade at the wall, it gives us an escape route. If he aims it at her, it might be enough to kill her and her two friends outright. But if it doesn’t work, he’s going to be killed.
Leon pondered for a moment if that was a bad thing.
I could wait this out and see if he dies.
He tried to envision what he would say to Wolf. None of the scenarios ended well. The lizard gave a muffled sigh.
Wolf seems to think we need him so I’ll try to get him through this alive. I need more distance.
He shuffled back, keeping underneath the row of glass cases as best as he could. Stomach scraping gently against the carpet, he crept backwards, trying to get a decent amount of distance. He kept his rifle in his hands, securing its weight against his chest as he crawled. He feared the long barrel would stick out from under the table but it thankfully was just short enough to stay concealed.
All I can do is provide fire at this point. I don’t think I can sneak behind either of them. Not without blowing my cover….
“We can do this one of two ways, pig,” the hyena continued. “You can make this quick and just tell me where Wolf O’Donnell is. Or I can show you some real Eladardian hospitality and break your fingers bone by bone. Which is it?”
“Eh I like my fingers,” Pigma shrugged. “And I think I’ll like hearing you scream more.” His tone shifted. Leon could sense the tension in the air build. Soon, it would be time to move.
“Tough talk for someone who’s about to see how hot Hell really is,” the hyena snapped back.
“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Pigma laughed. “I’ve been at this too long to die in a shithole like this.”
Leon heard the swine exhale loudly, through clenched teeth, with a small, raging cry. A few shocked yells were cut off by the sound of an explosion. The glass case that Leon was underneath shivered from the impact. He pulled himself out, pointing his rifle at the malicious black smoke and firing. Pigma had kicked over a table and was crouching behind it for cover, unloading a few fiery red lasers at the clearing smoke.
The baboon lay slumped against the tattered doorframe, blood seeping from shrapnel in his cheek and chest. The hyena and gecko had fallen back to the hallway, exchanging fire with angry sneers. Leon pulled his aiming reticle to his eye, aiming for his fellow reptilian. One shot and the gecko slumped to the ground.
“Another!?” the hyena snarled when she saw Leon, pointing her gun and popping off a few shots. “Shit… I need more back up!”
The lizard ducked behind a few cases, hearing the lasers singe their way through the fancy wood. He paused for a moment, fastening the strap of his rifle tightly against his thin torso. His palms found twin daggers, broad-bladed with a slight curve at their tips. They shone like diamonds when he nimbly stepped from behind his cover. Keeping low to the ground, he did his best to keep a line of cases obscuring the hyena’s view. His toe brushed shards of glass that had sprayed onto the ground from the crossfire but the carpet muffled their shrill scrapes.
A peek at his swine companion and Leon quickly noticed that Pigma had pressed forward, using a statue of great, long-bodied dragon as a shield. The hyena’s blaster was trained on him. Leon crept forward, grip tightening upon the dull black hilts of his knives. He neared the corner, watching her confidently step into view. Her pearly white fangs bared at the hog with savage glee. When she took two more steps, turning her back towards Leon’s hiding spot, the assassin made his move. Feet moving silently against the tattered carpet, he poised his knives upward like twin scythes ready to crash down upon the hyena’s skull.
“Gotcha!” the hyena snarled, turning and firing at the lunging chameleon.
Leon tried to twist away at the last moment but nothing saved him from the searing heat of the laser’s blast. It clipped his side, sending a flare of pain through his body. He landed a foot in front of the hyena, swiping up at her but she jumped back a few steps. Through the agony, he slashed at the hyena’s chest, the tip of his blade slicing just inches from her vest. His vivid irises met hers, staring into the gaping maw of her blaster. His foot kicked off the carpet and though his side screamed in pain, he leapt upwards and kicked the hyena in the chest.
Footsteps approaching from the hall alerted him but he could not afford to even spare them a glance. He pursued the faltering hyena as she stumbled back. She pulled the trigger and Leon saw the shot careen into the ceiling. His dagger found her vest but the blow fell away like a pebble thudding against the side of a massive boulder.
Protective armor? Shit.
A flash dark metal blurred in his left peripherals and the world suddenly went sideways. He blinked and found his nose against the carpet, inhaling its musk. He rolled over in time to see Pigma body slam the hyena, catching her in the crook of his arm and tossing her outside into the hallway. Outside, he heard the footsteps growing louder. Something flew overhead and into the decrepit corridor. It hit the floor once then exploded into fire. This time, Leon could feel the manor’s structure churn underneath.
“Wolf, are you there!?” Pigma shouted into his earchip. Leon could hear it in his own communication channel with a slight delay. His head was still spinning from the blow but his vision was clear enough to spy his fallen knives. He snatched them up, trying to steady himself and his eyesight.
“I can’t get Wolf to respond!” Pigma said to Leon.
What?
“W-Wolf!?” Leon activated his own radio with a quick tap. Static greeted them. Desperately, he tried again. “Wolf!?”
“We gotta get outta here. Something ain’t right!” Pigma replied. “You got the necklace!?”
“Yes,” Leon replied. “But we aren’t leaving without Wolf and Andrew.”
The smoke in the hallway began to clear. Two dead bodies sat midway down the hall with lifeless eyes staring up at the unclean ceiling. A hole had opened up in the floor where the grenade had hit. Below, he could see into a darkened room lined with shelves. A quick glance up and down and the Venomian realized he did not see their hyena friend. Rounding the corner, however, was the cavalry that she had called in—armed to the teeth and firing as they ran towards the blasted doorframe. Leon shoved Pigma out of the way, pressing himself into the wall next to the hog.
“I got two grenades!” Pigma shouted. “Throw this one at the wall over there and I’ll chuck this at our friends in the hall.”
Since when have you ever been so resourceful? Leon remarked silently, callously. But I guess you had to be in order to get this far.
“And do what? Watch the building fall to pieces?!” the reptile asked the hog, a hiss in his voice.
“We gotta get outta here. We gotta regroup. Maybe Wolf and Andrew lost their radios. They could be outside, waitin’ on us,” Pigma shook his head. “We can’t go the way we came, that’s for certain. And I don’t wanna tango with that hyena anymore if she’s out there. Throw the grenade before they figure out how to get on this side and blast us to bits.”
Could it be true? Could Wolf and Andrew have really gotten out already?
The reptile tossed a glance down the hall, towards Archie’s band of thugs on the other side of the hole. Even from a gander, he could tell that these were different than the ones they had been facing—they were cut from a different sort of bloodthirsty cloth. Dread covering his heart, the reptile took the grenade out of Pigma’s hand, making sure to send the hog a stabbing glare. With a scowl, the reptile tossed the explosive into the wall, shattering it and letting in Lylat’s blinding rays. Pigma’s grenade resounded as a heartbeat, and Leon felt the manor shift again under their feet.
“Go, go, go!” Pigma yelled, booking it towards the opening in the wall. Leon hustled after him, skidding to a stop and looking down at the ground far below them.
Three stories… Leon was not afraid of heights but he knew that this was dangerous. Is there something we could land on? A pond or something? His eyes scanned the lawn and saw nothing of the sort.
“Down there!” Pigma pointed. The reptile’s eyes traced to where he was pointing at, spying the wall. It was devoid of thugs but a few had gathered in the courtyard below them. The assassin’s eyes flashed back to the wall. Leon’s heart sank. No. It was too far. Too far for even the spry and athletic assassin to make. The Venomian was certain of it. Certain that this was going to end in catastrophe.
“Pigma…” Leon began in a low voice but the swine was not listening.
“On 3…” Pigma began.
“Pigma, I don’t think…” Leon tried.
“1…” the hog counted.
“Pigma, wait, let us…” Leon said in a panic.
“2…” Pigma continued.
Something behind them was moving. Leon heard something crash. He heard the sounds of exerted gasps and grunts. The Venomian glanced back. One of the thugs had crossed the hole, with a blaster in hand. Two more were about to make the jump. The first one that had crossed hefted up his blaster into the firing position with a crooked smile.
“Go!” Leon shouted, grabbing Pigma’s shoulder and shoving him. With a cry, Pigma toppled off the third floor.
The assassin did not spare a second—he leapt after the descending hog with the air whipping from his lungs. As tempting as it was to look to the sky and pray either for a quick ending or for a painless landing, Leon kept his gaze on his destination. As cruel as it was, he did not look to see where his companion had landed. When his feet hit the wall’s top, the additional momentum flung him forward into a roll. His shoulder scraped uncomfortably against the stone but his feet knew to maintain his pace. He ran along the wall, listening to the sound of blasters fervently trying to find their mark. As lasers flew overhead, he caught sight of Pigma, who was limping his way towards the wall’s edge.
Not this again.
The hog looked at him, flashing him a smile. He gave a salute then, much to Leon’s horror, jumped off the wall.
He’s insane!
Scampering to the edge, the reptile looked down to see in what twisted fashion the hog’s body had landed onto the hard, Eladardian ground. Instead, he saw the hog look up and wave at him, sitting in the back of a hovercar. It had a few laser holes burned into its side and the nose of it was crumpled in, but it looked operational. A few suspicious Pigma-sized dent was on its hood.
“C’mon, c’mon!”
He is either a genius or insane. I’m not sure which.
With a sharp inhale, Leon leapt, turning mid-air and sinking his daggers into the stone that made up the wall. The noise of metal on stone was deafening but Leon gritted his teeth through it. He landed a foot from the car’s trunk. Nimbly, he climbed in through the open window, flopping into the back. Pigma hit the accelerate and they jerked forward. Wincing, the reptile grabbed onto his injured side, breathing out a string of Venomian curses under his breath.
“I know ya got dinged, but see if ya can’t find the other two,” Pigma said. “I’mma try to get us to somewhere safe in Corona.”
Is anywhere safe in that hellhole?
Leon nodded, grimacing as he pulled his shirt up to look at his wounded side. He tapped his earchip, activating his radio.
“Wolf? Andrew? Can you hear me? We have the necklace,” Leon spoke tiredly into the microphone.
The voice that answered back was unfamiliar.
“New radio, who dis?”
Leon’s eyes narrowed. “I-I’m sorry?”
There was a snort of laughter on the other end. It swelled into high-pitched howls.
“Let me guessssssss, you’re the one responsible for blowing my happy, humble little abode to itty-bitty pieces, aren’t you? Did ya have fun at least? Blowin’ my shit to pieces?”
Leon’s blood ran cold.
“Where’s Wolf!?”
“Oh, you’re looking for Wolfie are you? Weeeeeeell, he can’t come to the phone right now. I can take a message for ya, though!”
Archie. This must be the one Wolf kept talking about. If he has Wolf’s radio, then the worst has happened… His brightly toned gaze fell on Pigma, who tossed the reptile a panicked look over his shoulder. Clearly, he was hearing the conversation as well through his own earchip.
“Hey, hey, hey, you still with me? I already feel like we’ve got a connection, so please don’t hang up. I need you to help me decide somethin’,” Archie said on the other line. “What do you think Wolfie would look better as? A bathrobe or a blankie to cuddle at night? I’ll let you pick, Mister!”
Heart thumping against his chest, he let his hand drop from his ear chip. Keeping his voice low, he looked to Pigma. The hog laughed but it did not sound like he was humored by anything at all. Wolf and Andrew were captured. Or, well, at least Wolf was captured. Andrew was dead for all they knew—a notion that made the reptile feel ill to his stomach. Sure, the boy was a brat inside and out, but the thought of him lying dead in Archie’s manor felt like a betrayal to Andross’s memory. Leon rubbed his pointed chin in thought. His breathing shuddered with emotion, his burnt side jolting with pain. The odds had been against them from the get-go. But now, things were worse…
Pigma’s laughter subsided, ending in an incredulous, sour smirk.
“Well, looks like it’s just you and me, Leon.”