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The End of the Pac revolution was not one of joy. For most it was, but for one it was guilt. Total, complete guilt. But a necessary means to an end?
The Pac people were strongly winning by the end of the pac/ghost conflict/revolution, but there was still worry.
The ghosts would never stop tormenting Pac-Land. Would the people ever have peace from them? If they had kept the chaos regulated to their spectral realm, their ghost island, would they have been welcomed with open arms? Well, the Pac people were surely worn out of welcomes. They just wanted the ghosts gone for good. No entrance to the surface of the Earth. Forever sealed away.
Except for one. One who thought it all to be over excessive. The one who smelled the blood in the water, and was horrified by the others' such strong force to this action.
You would think they would listen to him. The one who saved them every time when they needed it most, without fail. The one who stretched out a kind hand of solidarity and openness to the ghosts before, hell, he worked with them last time a over-looming threat faced Pac-Land and the spectral realm. The first to popularize the title of the "Yellow One." His own name was starting to become a mythical stamp, one to fear. A name to twist into a means to conflict.
It hurt. He thought they were making progress to an established truce. Guess not..
But still, he made one last plea to the ghosts, before the Pac people's final assault on ghost island. He pleaded for a truce, for a surrender. He offered a deal, for those who disagreed with their leaders, to be protected, sheltered from the ghost leaders who's mission it was to terrorize the rest of the Earth. Give those who would defect new lives, perhaps even, new forms. New bodies? Maybe if they choose to. Perhaps he was being overzealous. It didn't matter much in the end. All that mattered was saving those who wanted to be free. And he assured them, that the culprits will get what they deserve.
'If only there was a better way..'
Not many ghosts wanted to take his word as gospel. A few did, and they were spared. But everyone else?
As the Pac army waited behind him for the signal, his heart grew stern, gazing across the landscapes.
Heavy.
'I'm sorry.'
They pushed them all back into the realm. It was a strenuous task.
Now standing somewhere, he had the final task of sealing away the spectral realm, the golden fruit by his side for one last use. And his heart was breaking in all the ways it could. His mind was mixed, but the safety of his family is the thing that finally sticks. He somberly thinks of the ghosts.
And I'm sorry for what you became
Hiding your malice underneath my name
He grimaced, face twisting; frustration, panic, duty. His duty to his people. His duty as a father. Hands shaking. And he almost shouted it out as the golden fruits glowed brighter and brighter.
BUT
WHAT
CHOICE
DO
I
HAVE?!?!
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/sleep/
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With the power of the golden fruits, he sealed the rip between the two layers.
And Pac Land would be safe.
At least for a while.
To make it all clear, he never wanted this. The way the revolution went. The royal status that his name was granted. He just wanted to be a father. A friend. A husband. An ally.
But, this is just how it had to be. He came to live with that. To pursue happiness like he always did.
The spectral realm would decay then morph into a totally different world.
The golden fruit tree would evolve over the years. The golden fruit decaying, fueling a new type of fruit to grow exponentially from the tree.
It was immortalized as the Tree of Life.
And the way ghosts were defined would change.
A new development would create a new wave of ghost kind. Harkening back to spirits of myths of ancient times. But still new.