How to Save the Universe with a Drunk Space Ninja

by Jay Key

LePaco lifted his left arm, raising the Shield against the attack. It emitted a blinding light along with a shockwave that sent everyone back a few paces. Duke noted that it wasn’t overly painful, more confusing, since light typically didn’t move objects. It did provide a distraction, though. He and Ja’a were able to sneak behind the barricade to their allies without being noticed.

  The illumination dimmed as the light appeared to be sucked back into the Shield.

  Both forces looked around in disbelief. Not a single blast had made its way through. The Four I’s were unharmed. As were Ishiro’shea’s parents.

  Admiral LePaco’s cackle escalated in volume and intensity. He rotated his arm so that the Shield faced the ceiling. He slammed down the Orb in the direct center of the Shield. The sound it made was indescribable—it was at once a deep drumming beat and a high-pitched whine; a skull-crushing intensity married with a delicate purr. And yet it wasn’t at all any of those things. It was simply indescribable. And it didn’t let up. The Orb remained in a stationary position, defying the laws of physics by not rolling off the sloping face of the Shield.

  LePaco then yanked the Key from the necklace and jabbed it into the solid Orb. Somehow, the Key cut through its surface like a plastic spork into a tub of never-ending mayonnaise. The noise reached an agonizing climax… then vanished. Silence consumed Cyborg Joe’s for the first time in its existence.

  The trio of inter-dimensional artifacts had now become a single inter-dimensional doomsday device.

  And, despite the efforts of Queen Joe, Duke LaGrange, Ishiro’shea, and countless other brave souls, it was in the hands of Admiral Lothario LePaco.

  The universe’s days were now numbered.

  Chapter 29

  Ninety-Nine

  THE NEWLY-FORMED INSTRUMENT OF UNFATHOMABLE destruction glowed upon Admiral LePaco’s forearm. The uplighting effect added an extra layer of creepiness to his facial expression. Though Duke believed the Queen regarding the power of this weapon, it was hard not to find it outlandish, looking like the cosmic ray guns in the children’s books that his adopted mother would read to him. After all, it was a glowing metallic pendant sticking out of a glowing purple bowling ball adhered, somehow, to a rickety and old glowing shield—like the cherry on top of a scoop of ice cream. And all of this was strapped to the forearm of an outlandishly-dressed super villain. Had the very existence of the universe not depended on the next few moments, there would probably have been comic absurdity to be found in the situation. Then again, what is the universe if not comically absurd?

  Who had money on the universe ending like this? Duke thought.

  The injured Queen Joe raised an eyebrow at the bounty hunter. “You know, Duke,” she said, struggling through the pain, “I always knew that you’d be part of the end of the universe.”

  Duke didn’t reply. He just shrugged his shoulders.

  A shot was fired from behind the rebels’ barricade. It missed LePaco and took out a Four I’s infantryman. The admiral looked up and sneered. He thrust his forearm and the unique apparatus attached to it towards the rebel line. A blinding light followed by a shockwave. But LePaco looked displeased.

  He wanted to obliterate everyone. That bastard’s just winging this, realized Duke. I can’t be out-winged by this dude.

  The admiral repeated the gesture. The same result. A third time, same thing. In frustration, LePaco slapped the Shield. The disc began to twirl; the Orb and the Key levitated a few inches above the Shield as it picked up velocity.

  This can’t be good, thought Duke.

  “Should we shoot it?” barked Lilly. “Queen, what should we do?”

  Joe waved her off groggily. “No, we can’t harm it. We just have to hope that LePaco hasn’t figured out how to use it properly.”

  The spinning Shield began to hiss and wail. Bulbous droplets of light began to peel off of the whirling disc and scatter across the floor of Cyborg Joe’s.

  “What’s going on, Queen?” asked Duke. “Tell me this is normal and you know what’s happening.”

  All eyes focused on Joe as she replied, “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure. But LePaco seems just as confused.”

  Abruptly, the spinning stopped. The Orb and Key returned to their stationary positions atop the Shield. The light droplets remained dispersed across the ground as motionless puddles of golden illumination. They were quite beautiful.

  The pools of light began to expand, their diameters doubling, then tripling. The light then began to flow upwards, each puddle becoming a different height. The glow intensified, then vanished.

  Standing where each of the droplets had landed were numerous beings. No two of them were the same. Some were humanoid. Some were reptiloid. There were a few with wings. More than a few more with horns. One looked like he was made out of molten lava. Another looked like he was made out of notebook paper. Duke swore he saw one that was a pumpkin with fangs and a machete. An eclectic menagerie of alien species with one thing in common—they all appeared to be readying for combat.

  “There have to be hundreds of them,” a Keltian commented. “Who are they?”

  “Do we shoot them?” asked Lilly.

  “There aren’t hundreds of them,” replied Joe. “There are ninety-nine.”

  “Nice party trick, Queen,” remarked Duke. “But I don’t think the exact number really matters right now. The fact is that there’s a lot more of them than us. And they’re fully armed.”

  Ja’a squeezed Duke’s wrist.

  “Fine, I’ll shut up now,” he whispered in response.

  “It does matter, Duke. There’s ninety-nine because these are the previous winners of the Tournament of the Shield.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Apparently, the Shield summoned them.”

  “How? Some of those dudes have to be a million years old.”

  “Watch it with the ageism,” shot back Joe. “I passed that mark a long time ago.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I think I know what happened,” said the Queen.

  “What’s the Tournament of the Shield?” asked Ja’a.

  “A story for another time,” replied Duke.

  “When the artifacts were built,” began Joe, “the Shield was the only one constructed with a fail-safe in case of abuse. The others should’ve been; it was a really poor oversight. If a single being stayed in contact with the Shield for an extended period of time, the assumption was that the being in question probably wasn’t using it for good. I’m not sure how that time translated to this dimension but my guess is many years. Then it would sort of, well, self-implode.”

  “What does that even mean?” inquired the bounty hunter.

  “I’m not entirely sure about that, but I think it would take the abuser and suck them into an inter-dimensional pocket of existence. A purgatory of sorts. After that, I don’t know.”

  “And each of these chumps kept that trophy close by until it gobbled them up, I suppose. Between their press tours, photo ops, and so on and so forth. It probably was a big part of their post-tournament lives.”

  “That does make sense,” said the Queen in between winces.

  The newly-appeared collection of beings looked as confused as the rebels. The admiral ordered his men back, some exiting the crowded bar. His eyes were wide and the corners of his mouth reached his ears. He let loose an uncontrolled laugh, teetering on the brink of hysteria.

  “Lost warriors of the Shield,” the admiral proclaimed, “I am your Shield Master. I have given you all a second chance.”

  The ninety-nine former champions all turned to face LePaco.

  “Unfortunately, it looks like LePaco also figured out who they were,” commented Duke.

  The admiral continued, “You have waited a long time to return to this universe—”

  One of the beings, a gargantuan six-armed combatant, cut him off. “You’re telling me, brother,” he groaned. “Have you ever been stuck on an island for five hundred thousand cycles without aging?”
>
  “What species is that guy?” Duke asked the Queen in a low voice.

  “I think he’s a Timorian. Ancient race. They died out thousands of cycles ago. I’ve only met a few but they’ve all been pretty good folks.”

  “I have not, my friend,” said the admiral to the horned Timorian. “But you are back now. You and your fellow champions have been brought back to help me rid this planet of these insolent bastards that stand before you.”

  The former champions didn’t rush towards the rebel line. They just stood there. Most just whispered amongst themselves.

  “And why should we do that?” said another combatant, who stepped forward to stand mere paces from the admiral and the Shield. He was Psitakki.

  “Ah, you must be Grozzel. Grozzel the Great, if I remember correctly.”

  “Just Grozzel,” the Psitakki replied.

  “Then as the first champion of the Tournament, you must know that your horde is under my control, as I have the last remaining holy Shield. It is your destiny to do my bidding.”

  The Psitakki looked back at his colleagues and rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to LePaco. “I don’t think it works that way. At least, I’ve never heard that. I definitely didn’t sign up for that. Where’d you hear that story?”

  “You saw that it brought you back from your stasis, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, and it was really cool of you to do that.”

  “So, you are now my servants. I am the Master of the Shield!” LePaco screamed.

  “Whoa, whoa. Slow down there, guy. You did bring us back. We’re all pretty thankful for that. Totally A-OK from this lot, no doubt. But all of us did plenty of fighting in our day and we’ve kind of enjoyed a more peaceful life. If it’s all the same, I think we’ll all just head out, let you guys figure out what you need to figure out, and we’ll be out of your hair. Sound good?”

  LePaco’s eyes were ablaze. His temples pounded so hard that Duke imagined they could be heard on the Keltian moons.

  “No, my dear Grozzel,” the admiral said with a strained formality, “you and your friends will do my bidding. And my bidding is to kill every one of these pests... now.”

  Grozzel looked at the battered barrier. The heads of Keltians and members of other races peered over it to see what was happening.

  “What’d they do to you, anyways?” the Psitakki asked.

  “They’re trying to stop me,” LePaco replied.

  “From what? Universal domination?”

  The Psitakki began to laugh. His comrades joined in. LePaco’s face turned scarlet.

  “Why yes, my Psitakki friend, universal domination is my goal.”

  “Good one, man. Universal domination—oh, that’s a good one.” Grozzel wiped tears of laughter from his cheek. “I’ve been so rude. I never asked your name.”

  “Admiral Lothario LePaco. And this here is my new toy.” He raised his forearm, once again producing the combination of blinding light followed by a shockwave.

  This again? thought Duke.

  Most of the beings hit the floor, though some of the sturdier combatants remained upright from the blow of the Shield’s shockwave.

  “Hey, what was that for?” one of them yelled.

  Grozzel returned to his feet. “What gives, Admiral? Just because we won’t fight those folks over there, you’re going to try and blind us?”

  “That’s how this whole ‘you will do my bidding’ arrangement works,” answered LePaco.

  “These guys don’t look too bad. Are you sure you can’t work something out? You know how many wars could’ve been avoided if people just talked things out?”

  “Kill them now, slaves!” LePaco shouted, raising the inter-dimensional doomsday device.

  “Fine, fine,” Grozzel said. He pivoted towards his fellow champions. “Hey, guys, wanna just get this over with and then we can leave and not have to deal with this garbage?”

  A wave of “fine’s” and “why not’s” rippled through the group of tournament winners.

  Grozzel turned back to the admiral. “Okay, Admiral. We’ll do it. It won’t be with a lot of enthusiasm, but we’ll do it. Then can we go?”

  “Sure,” LePaco replied, his grin growing even wider.

  The ninety-nine warriors stretched, cracked their necks, and limbered up for the impending assault.

  “Alright, let’s all get into a formation or something,” groaned the Timorian. “These guys don’t look like much but neither did Nedrow Ostravok, the Cuddle Monster of Daedeaus Maroon. Little did I know that ‘cuddling’ on Daedeaus Maroon meant slicing one’s enemy into dainty ribbons with a huge sickle that Daedeans excrete from a mucus cell in their stomachs. Ned wasn’t cuddly at all.”

  Duke hobbled to the barricade. With his bleeding having abated a little, he vaulted over. His right leg was still injured from the dagger wound to the thigh and couldn’t support him on his landing, which turned into more of a tumble and roll. If anything, it was this that caught the attention of Grozzel and his friends.

  Chapter 30

  Sand

  GROZZEL AND THE WARRIORS SHIFTED into their various battle stances.

  “Settle down, fellas, I’m not here to fight you,” pleaded Duke.

  The entire group began to chuckle again.

  “We weren’t overly concerned with you and the fight you might bring to us,” responded Grozzel.

  “Although you might be just like Ned from Daedeaus Maroon,” noted the Timorian. “Tell me, do you have a mucus-covered sickle in your belly?”

  “I don’t, I promise,” replied the bounty hunter. “But before you lot try and kill us, I do have two things to say.”

  “Try?”

  “Fine, before you most undoubtedly kill us.”

  “Better. Go on,” said the Psitakki graciously.

  Duke pointed to Admiral LePaco. “First, and I can’t stress this enough, that guy you’re helping over there, well, he’s a bad dude. He wants to take over the universe. All of it. We may not look like much but we’re the best shot of preventing that. The big, funky-looking weapon on his wrist—that’s no joke. Imprisoning you and your friends for a million years is nothing compared to what it can do given free reign. We’re talking destroy-the-entire-universe level here.”

  “He speaks the truth,” shouted the Father, as he remained in the clutches of LePaco’s guards.

  Grozzel glanced at the human then began to scratch his chin in contemplation. Duke saw a few of the other champions doing the same, or what he assumed was an equivalent gesture.

  The Psitakki’s cephalopodan gaze locked on to Duke again. “And your second point?”

  “If you kill me, you’d be killing a fellow winner of the Tournament of the Shield of the Colossal Calamari.”

  A collective gasp rang out amongst the warriors.

  “Is that so?” inquired Grozzel.

  “Yes, I’m the last winner. And I’m sure there’s a rule against murdering another winner.”

  “Not to state the obvious, ‘Mister Winner,’ but you don’t have the Shield, do you? That guy over there does.” The Psitakki nodded his head in the general direction of Admiral LePaco.

  “And if you are telling the truth,” the Timorian began, “the Tournament must be going downhill. No offense.”

  “None taken,” said Duke, trying to ignore the six-armed alien’s disrespectful jab. “He stole the Shield. Ask anyone. Make a quick call to the Grand Shaman. Or to one of your ancestors. In fact, a relative of yours named Gjrazzel fought in the event. And did so honorably. He’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Lies! This man is lying!” screamed LePaco.

  “And how do we know you’re telling the truth?” the Psitakki asked the admiral.

  “I have the Shield, don’t I?”

  “You also tried to kill us with it,” countered Grozzel. “So there’s that.”

  “I won the damn tournament! I have the damn Shield. That should be enough proof. Do you think the Psitakki would let some
stranger just walk right up and steal it from the champion? Wouldn’t a real champion be able to protect a single shield?”

  “He has some good points,” said the Timorian.

  “True, Eux-Auhr-Herx, very true. So, Admiral, tell us about the Tournament. What did it feel like to compete?”

  LePaco let out a deep sigh. “It was great. I went in there, killed some guys, and claimed my trophy. The Psitakki fans loved me. They said that I reminded them of Grozzel the Great, the first champion of the Tournament of the Shield. There were parades. I don’t know… what else… oh yeah, I beat a giant two-headed Jungafallowian that turned out to be a robot.”

  Grozzel leaned over and said something to Eux-Auhr-Hurx. The Timorian appeared to be in agreement .

  “And you, my wounded friend. What did you feel?” the Psitakki asked Duke.

  Duke closed his eyes. The images from his time on Psitakki raced by, and he tried to pluck out the ones that he thought would be meaningful to the former champions. But the flow of memories was too rapid. He closed his eyes even tighter, trying to tune out the remnants of the battle that surrounded him. He blocked out the images of the ninety-nine warriors staring him down. He blocked out the lingering pain in his thigh from Mazilda’s dagger. He did his best to ignore the fact that the most evil being in the known universe was on the other side of the room, wielding a weapon that could send the dimension onto the scrapheap of extinction with the flick of his wrist. Duke let the wave of memories wash over him.

  Duke opened his eyes. He looked into the black pupils of the tournament’s inaugural champion. He stopped thinking and he simply spoke.

  “The sand on the arena floor. I remember the sand. When you walked on it, or pivoted, or dove away from a strike, it was cushioned. But you didn’t sink into it, nor did it fight against you. But, when you were thrown from your feet by another’s force, it was as solid and painful as any club or rock. It was like it knew if you were deserving of comfort or pain. It had a smell to it too, somewhere between that deep musty smell of wet soil and the sharpness of a salty sea. I felt that it had a mind of its own, it was alive, organic. Somehow it knew the worthiness of the combatants that stood atop it.”