Reprisal

By katz

Author’s Note: I’ve come to an impasse. There is a huge writer’s block in my head, and I seriously don’t know how the story is going to progress. So until I can get past this, I’ve decided to write a small side story involving how Mousse lost his curse. I hope you like it. Also, I’ve been thinking about changing the summary to the story. It just doesn’t seem all that effective to me and I was never good at writing summaries, so any help would be welcome.

Side Story

Mousse studied the corpse thoughtfully. Faint sounds of battle drifted to him through the labyrinthine halls of the palace complex, echoing off the walls and high vaulted ceiling. He was in the nexus of numerous adjoining passageways, which at the moment was littered with the mangled bodies of guards he recently killed. But one of the bodies in particular intrigued him.

Mousse prodded at the body with his foot as if to make sure it was dead, in spite of the fact it no longer had any head to speak of. He wiped his face with his hand. He couldn’t remember killing him, or the others. The only thing he remembered was the strangely simian man yelling ‘Shadowfall,’ and something like his own feelings turning against him before everything went blank. Apparently the man was right, but it didn’t turn out even remotely the way he thought. After seeing the way the other men died, Mousse was glad he couldn’t remember.

But there was one thing about the monkey-like man that caught his interest, and that was the fact that he was monkey-like. Very monkey-like. Abnormally long, furry limbs, a stooped posture, and an annoying hooting laugh all made him seem like a chimp. But now that Mousse has a closer look he saw there wasn’t just a resemblance, but that the man was actually a monkey.

“Could this be Tokenkgyo?” he murmured softly to himself.

Footsteps coming from the way he came made him look up. When he saw it was Marc, he stood up.

Marc was a stocky boy about his age, his facial features marking him as having Asian descent. His broad face was almost always grinning, as though he knew something no one else did and was about to make a joke out of it. He was a comedian at heart and was the only one that could make Mouse consistently laugh. However, in spite of his easygoing manner, he also happened to be one of the best, if not the best, marksmen Mousse has ever known.

Marc wasn’t grinning now. This was a job, and it was to be taken seriously. He stopped as he stepped into the room and let out a low whistle.

“Where did you go today psycho boy?” he asked, as he stood beside Mousse. He grimaced in disgust at the body Mousse was examining.

“What do you see when you look at him?” Mousse asked, gesturing to Monkeyman’s corpse.

Marc glanced quickly and looked away. “I see a guy who got his arm ripped off and his head beaten to a bloody mess with it. The hell you do that for?”

Mousse blinked and looked at the corpse. He blinked again as he realized he done just as Marc said.

“Well anyway, just look at it and tell me what you see.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s fucking sick, dude.”

“Just do it.”

“Alright, alright.” Marc sighed and glanced again before turning his head quickly away.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a guy that had his arm ripped off and his head beaten to a bloody mess with it. Now tell me, the hell you do that for?”

Mousse shrugged. “He brought out he worst in me. Did you notice anything strange at all about him?”

“Besides the fact he’s missing an arm and most of his skull?”

“Yes, besides that.”

Marc shrugged. “I don’t know, he kind of looked like a monkey to me.”

Mousse nodded. “I thought so.”

Marc looked at him. “You thought what?”

“I thought he looked like a monkey too.”

“So what the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Mousse turned to him. “I think we’re on the island of Togenkyo.”

Marc stared for a moment before answering. “You really think so? I mean, this could be something else.”

“How many other floating islands in the South Seas with only male inhabitants you know about? And this monkey guy here. There’s no way this could have happened naturally.”

“Good point. So now what, you going to look for that magical spring? You never know, it might not exist.”

Mousse sighed. “I’m not sure but I have to see, right?”

Marc paused for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, you never know, this could be it. I’ll cover for you, but don’t take too long, okay? You’re going to have to explain these bodies to Corbo, not me. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out you killed all these guys.”

Mousse smiled at him. “Don’t worry. It’s cool as long as I don’t make a habit out of it, right?” He started to leave but stopped and turned around. “How are the victims?”

Marc scratched his head. “Actually, they’re alright. Treated like queens in fact.” He laughed and shook his head. “Oh man, you should have seen what they were wearing. It was like a harem. I mean, I have socks with more cloth on them than what they had on.

Mousse nodded. “I’m sure it was awesome. So we’re leaving pretty soon then?”

“Well the girls are, but Corbo wants us to secure the palace now. He said he wants to interrogate some of the people here and maybe make this a base. I guess I can’t blame him, it would make a nice base.”

“That gives me some time then.” He glanced over Marc’s shoulder to see a dozen guards charging out of a hall. “Think you can keep those guys busy.”

Marc snorted when he saw them. “Easily,” he said, a pair of kali sticks appearing in his hands. “You just find that cure.”

Mousse shook his head as he walked away. He didn’t know why Corbo insisted on using non-lethal weapons. It was the fault of the people who lived here that they still used swords. If they can’t adapt to new things, then they must pay the consequences.

The sounds of the fight faded away as he walked deeper into the palace. Soon he was walking in complete silence.

It seems Mousse was walking for hours before he stopped. He sniffed. There was a faint smell of water in the air. He began to walk faster as the scent began to get stronger. Now he could hear it, a faint roaring sound of a waterfall pouring into something deep. He was running now. His heart was pounding in anticipation.

This is it! It has to be! He was vaguely aware of something huge blocking his way. He leaped and extended his foot, catching the thing under the chin. He got a glimpse of a man with wide, blank eyes and a pair of dog-ears poking out of his turban before his head snapped back with a crack. Mousse kept running as the man fell back from the force of the kick. He wasn’t sure if the Dogman was dead or simply unconscious, and he didn’t care. Getting cured of his curse was the only thing on his mind.

***

Toma, Prince of Illusion and Ruler of Togenkyo Island, was in a panic. An army of strange, black clad men was besieging his castle. Though they were outnumbered at least ten to one by his own palace guards, the invaders easily repelled any sortie they attempted against them. Now they had forced their way deep inside the harem and freed his potential brides. He was able to stop them briefly with his powers of illusion, but they soon saw past it and redoubled their efforts in taking the palace. He would have been captured then if Torristan hadn’t appeared to protect him. Even then, the approaching invader didn’t even look like he was trying as he beat Torristan senseless with a pair of short fighting sticks. Toma was again forced to use an illusion, this time to save himself and his bodyguard.

Toma glanced down at the unconscious form of his bodyguard. He had no idea where the other two were. Probably dead by now. He almost cried. For the first time since its founding, Togenkyo was going to fall.

He gasped in fright as he heard the sound of running outside. He held his breath as he heard it coming closer, until it was directly behind the huge door that led to his throneroom. Suddenly it exploded, bits and pieces of wood and metal flying out in all directions. Toma didn’t have time to draw his sword before a black form flew out of the swirling dust and closed the distance between them with incredible speed. Toma felt a powerful, gloved hand grip his throat and lift him up until his feet dangled in the air.

Toma pounded on the arm holding him up with his fists and kicked at the invader, but stopped as the grip around his throat tightened. He was suddenly jerked forward, until he was looking into the cold, green eyes of his captor.

“Is this Togenkyo?” he asked.

Toma blinked. They were invading his land but didn’t know its name?

“Is this Tokengkyo?” his captor repeated, brutally tightening his grip.

Tears leaked out of Toma’s closed eyes as his throat was forced shut. He barely managed to nod.

His captor nodded and relaxed his grip. “I thought so. Is there a spring here that turns whatever it touches into a man?”

Toma took in as deep a breath as the man’s grip allowed. The invaders really didn’t know anything. He nodded again.

“Where is it?”

Toma’s eyes widened. They were after Togenkyo’s sacred water!

“I’ll never tell you,” he spat, knowing that this would be his last act of defiance. “I’ll die first.”

His captor wasn’t fazed. “How old are you boy?”

Toma blinked again in confusion.

“I asked how old you were boy,” his captor said, again tightening his grip.

Toma almost starting flailing his limbs again before realizing it wouldn’t do any good. The man was simply too strong.

“Twelve,” he gasped. “I’m twelve years old.”

“Twelve,” the man murmured. “So young.”

The man glanced down at the unconscious body of Torristan. “Wake up,” he said, nudging him with his foot.

Torristan groaned and rolled on his back, revealing his masked face. “What?” he asked in confusion, unsure of where he was. He saw Toma.

“My Prince, what…” he began, and then screamed in pain as the man shot him in the leg.

“Torristan!” cried Toma, who kicked furiously as he saw his devoted bodyguard writhing in pain on the floor.

The grip tightened again. “Where is the water?” he asked in the same level tone.

Toma looked frantically between his captor and Torristan, torn between his duty to his kingdom and his duty to his friend.

“If you give me the water, I swear I won’t hurt him anymore,” his captor said almost gently.

Toma paused for a moment longer, considering his choices, before sagging in defeat. “You win,” he said softly.

“Good,” the man said, setting Toma on his feet. He held out a hand to stop Toma from rushing to his bodyguard, who was still moaning in pain.

“Where is the water,” he said.

Toma sighed and reached for the gourd hanging at his waist. “Here,” he said. “This is it.”

The man snatched it from his hands, an eager look on his face as he popped the cork out. He ignored Toma as he crouched by Torristan’s side. Toma looked up and watched as the man lifted the gourd and poured its contents onto his head.

The man screamed as the water worked its magic on him. Light emanated from his body in flashes as he convulsed violently. Toma stared as the man’s body seemed to flicker in and out for a moment into what looked like a small duck. The duck and the man’s body were still flickering in and out of existence as they seemed to suddenly separate, the man solidifying as the duck disintegrated into a wisp of steam.

The only sound in the vast, empty throneroom was the man’s heavy breathing. Soon the breathing was replaced with soft, giddy bursts of laughter, almost giggles. The laugher grew until it was full blown hysterics.

Toma watched in fear, clinging to Torristan as the man stood up, still laughing. He walked slowly up to them, no longer hysterical but now grinning like a madman. He didn’t stop until he was uncomfortably close to Toma and crouched down, face to face with the young prince.

“Thank you,” he said simply, the grin replaced by an earnest expression.

Toma only stared back in fear. The man stood and pulled something out of his sleeve.

“This is Mousse,” he said into the device. “I’ve captured the leader. The palace is ours.”

***

There was a huge party thrown when they found out Mousse was no longer cursed. It began when he got back to the helicopters and didn’t stop until the next morning when they got back to base. They would have arrived sooner, but some people fell out of the choppers into the sea because of the wild celebration and they had to stop to fish them out. When they did get to base, it began all over again when everyone who didn’t go on the mission found out, and that didn’t stop until the morning after.

Mousse lay on the couch in the rec room, exhausted from two straight days of celebration. All around him were the sleeping forms of his equally tired brothers and sisters, all of whom were ecstatic at the news of his cure. Hours of music, dancing, food, swimming, and whatever alcoholic drinks they could force on him left him a little lightheaded, but sleep couldn’t find him.

He could only think about how alone he was now, in his mind. He was never lonely, he had his family near him, but the duck was gone, its presence completely disappeared from his mind. Before he could always feel it, just on the boundaries of consciousness, but now there were no thoughts but his. He reveled silently in the feeling.

Inevitably his thoughts turned to the ones who made him that way, who forced the duck onto his mind and body. The cold rage returned and his gaze hardened as he stared at the ceiling. He was stronger than any of them now. He had the ability, he had the weapons, and now the last thing standing in his way was gone.

It was time.